Normal Dinner Conversation

         Private Lessons with Mrs. Rice: Normal Dinner Conversation
         Angelina Page


         Mrs. Victoria Rice was massaging my G-spot, her index and middle fingers rhythmically moving back and forth inside me as I wriggled around on the hard wood of her dining room table. A mix of perfume and culinary aromatics filled my nostrils with every inhale.  Mr. Rice's darting tongue came down on my erect right nipple while he tweaked and pinched the left with his firm fingers. I watched the shadows flicker and move with the candlelight as I stared up at the ceiling, allowing myself a moment of reflection into how I had acquired such dinner company.
         Just a few hours earlier I was sitting anxiously in Mrs. Rice's classroom. She was my junior year college English teacher, as brilliant as she was beautiful. She would walk around the front of the room as she lectured, tight skirts clinging to her round ass, waist emphasized by the blazer buttons which stopped at her chest, unable to contain the mounds of soft flesh found there. 
         I loved to listen to her speak, her smooth voice flowing over me as the rest of the classroom drifted away.  I always knew I wanted to be a writer, and for that reason strange things like vocabulary turned me on. Being a book nerd, I had a thing for teachers that spanned back to high school (but that's a whole other story, isn't it?) In the last few months I had come to idealize Mrs. Rice and seek her approval.  When she said she liked my writing and that I had a lot of potential, I felt feverish. I wondered what she'd say about it after the last assignment.
         "Ms. Page!" Her voice snapped me out of my daydream and I looked around to realize class had been dismissed. It was just me and her there, and the way she stood over me left me breathless.
         "Uh, uh, sorry, I-" Stammering I reached for my bag, but she stopped me.
         "We need to talk about the story."
         Yes, the story. An apple for the teacher reinvented. It was my brave attempt to get her attention, a risky move that I had been on the fence about since I handed it in.
         "Come to my desk."
         Hesitantly I followed her to the front of the classroom, my eyes shifting to her bottom as it moved back and forth. When she turned around I rushed to bring my eyes upward, but the smirk on her face let me know I had been caught.
         "I don't usually get stories like yours." She motioned at the neatly stapled pile of paper on her plain black desk.
         "You uh- you didn't, uh, specify a genre, so-"
         "I know. Despite that, in all the years I've been teaching, I've never received an erotic story."
         I breathed in sharply. My story was a semi-autobiographical account a few "first" sexual encounters of mine, encounters that were on the unusual side. My first kiss with a girl the summer before high school, my first spanking at the hands of a friend's father, my first experience having anal sex with a high school boyfriend. I wanted to tell her about the things I had done, show her I was willing to take chances in my work. I wanted to turn her on with my writing the way she turned me on with her spoken words. When I was tapping away at the keyboard I had been so confident; now I looked at the floor and tugged at the end of my hair nervously.
         "I uh, I'm sorry, I guess it's not really normal-"
         "Normal?" She laughed, and I looked up with confusion on my face. "There's much to be said on the subject of normal, Angelina." A shudder went through me when she said my name; I swooned at the sound.
         "Let's take a look at it." She bent over seductively, elbows on the desk and ass in the air. I was perplexed to say the least; was I reading into her body language correctly? With a flick of her wrist she gestured for me to join her and do the same. Tentatively I did so. My face was starting to burn and the heat ran through my entire body. Embarrassed to look at her, I kept my eyes on the papers; my story. Pieces of it ran through my head;
         "Mr. Miller bent me over his knee, my body vulnerable, my confidence waning."          
         I felt the same way at that moment, when Mrs. Rice removed herself from the desk, leaving me there in my submissive position. Swimming with uncertainty, my head felt light. I breathed heavily with anticipation.
         "Normal." Mrs. Rice laughed again and walked behind me. "You think that the things you like aren't normal, is that it? Millions of people like to be spanked, Angelina." My name again. It sounded perfect coming out of her mouth, like a song sung just for me. "Rousseau liked to be spanked."
         "Yeah, I ...uh, heard that." I practically whispered. 
         "He too realized it at a young age, at the hands of an authority figure. It's quite common. However, despite the fact that part of you will like it, it will still be a punishment."
         Even though I was hoping for it, praying for it and waiting for it, it caught me off guard. The first blow hit my arched ass and I hollered a high pitched cry. My cunt felt like it was on fire, the sensation left me quivering. I couldn't believe what was happening; I would have pinched myself but the tingly pain trailing down my thighs was proof enough I wasn't dreaming.
         I stuttered through broken breathing. "I'm- I'm sorry!"
         "But you don't even know what you are being punished for."
         "F-F-For the story, it was...um, inappropriate...."
         Another hit landed on my backside and I gripped the edge of her glossy desk. I felt the creamy fabric and cold buttons of her blazer against my skin as she leaned over the desk and I couldn't help but press into her. Chanel No 5 and strawberry shampoo filled my senses; I could taste her. I raised my eyes to her only to be humbled by the power in her expression. She brought the paper in front of us and opened to the first page.
         "Inappropriate?" She hissed into my ear, my flesh trembled, my panties dampened. "Do you really think I would censor you,  to say what's appropriate and inappropriate about your literature?"
         "Well-"
         Mrs. Rice yanked my skirt up fiercely. A barrage of smacks found my backside, harder and quicker than the ones before.  I whimpered during the entire thing; "Ow! Ow! Ow!" between each slap. When she stopped I laid my head upon the cool finish of the desk, sniffling.
         "You are being punished for your grammar. Look at this. A than/then error? I guess in your excitement you got a little hasty, hmm?"
         "I, I've never been very g-good with grammar," I admitted weakly.
         "I suppose no one has ever taught you properly. You have a very specific learning style."  With that, my simple, pink boy-cuts were tugged down. They fell to my ankles as she spanked me, whack after whack sending waves of stinging gratification into my body. I moved and undulated for her, throwing my head back and shouting out. I wondered what else Mrs. Rice would do to me; would she continue to show me ecstasy, knowing what I wanted from the story I wrote her? Would she bring me beyond those nostalgic fantasies, into a new place of pleasure?
         No, it seemed, she would dismiss me, leaving me wet and wanting, rubbing myself furiously and begging for her touch.
         "Please," I turned my body to her. "You can't leave me like this. No one has ever made me feel the way you have!"
         She put her hand over mine and I greedily ran it over my yearning clit. I was met with a quick slap to my soaking pussy and I fell into her arms.
         "Relax. Don't cum yet." Her fingers guided my face up to hers and I grasped them tightly. "Come to my house tonight for a private lesson. My husband is an excellent chef; we'll make you dinner."
         Feeling dizzy, I nodded frantically and pulled her close to me.
         "Won't you please make me cum right now?"
         "Patience, Angelina." I inhaled the energy in her voice.
         
         There is no word in any dictionary or thesaurus to describe how I felt as I approached the large, two story house that night. I was ripping the edges of the paper Mrs. Rice had given me, the address written in her flawless cursive. Anxiety and excitement battled for supremacy of my mind. I hadn't worn underwear because my ass was sore and swollen, but when it my flimsy dress brushed against it the sensation sent shivers of desire up my spine. I smoothed my hair, took a huge breath in and knocked on the door.
         An attractive, middle aged man answered. At about 6'3 he wore a blue button down over his medium build, the type that worked out a few times a week but didn't obsess over it. His dark eyes sparkled when he smiled at me.
         "Hello! You must be Ms. Angelina Page. I'm Timothy Rice. A pleasure to meet you!" He held his hand out and I took it; his grip was stable and strong. "Please come in and make yourself comfortable!"
         I stepped into the lavishly decorated house. Art was everywhere, from paintings on the walls to sculptures standing on roman style columns. The smell of spices floated through the air.
         "Angelina, are you of legal drinking age?" Mr. Rice asked as he led me into the dining room, candles lighting it in yellow and orange hues.
         "Yes, I just turned 21 about a month ago."
         "Well! Happy belated birthday then! Can I offer you some wine?"          
         "Please!"
         He put the bottle and glasses down on the strangely empty dining room table. No plates, candles, not even a runner adorned the rich mahogany which was in glaring contrast to the rest of the house's furnishings. 
         "Victoria is upstairs, she should be down in a moment. She asked me to look and see if you needed some aloe."
         I furrowed my brow in confusion. "Aloe?"
         "Sure, it's the best thing for a spanked bottom- she said she may have been a little hard on you." He put his hand to his mouth as if he was telling me a secret.  "Victoria does get a little crazy over grammar! Always a perfectionist! Let's see how you're doing."
         My face flushed with warm humiliation and I bit my lip. I reluctantly turned around and he lifted the back of my dress, grazing my bottom slightly with his hand. I gasped and shuddered.
         "Sore to the touch, is it? Don't worry." I watched as he broke a small piece from a nearby plant. The broad green leaf oozed a cloudy gel, which Mr. Rice dipped his fingers in. "Fresh Aloe Vera! Bend over for me, won't you?"
         I couldn't believe how casual our exchange was, like he was helping me fix a flat or find a contact lens. This time I pulled up my dress as I leaned over, sticking my ass into the air.
         "Thank you!" He replied. "It might hurt a little at first, on account of the soreness, but not for long." I jumped when his hand touched my tender flesh, but the rubbing actually felt wonderful. The Aloe Vera juice glided over my red, raw rear end. I sighed in relief.
         "Aloe has been used for years by many different cultures for medicinal purposes." Mrs. Rice's silky voice slithered through the air and my body tensed when it reached my ears.
         "Some people even eat it!" Mr. Rice laughed. "But we have a much better culinary line up tonight. Victoria, won't you take over here while I check on things in the kitchen?"
         Mrs. Rice stepped behind me and I gulped. Sensing my angst, she placed her hands on my arms and stood me up. My dress floated up and over my head and was flung into some corner. Just like in the classroom, I breathed her in as I let myself relax into her hold. She massaged my naked shoulders, her thumbs pressing circles into my muscles.  My flesh rippled when she kissed my back, making her way down my body in gentle, moist kisses that turned cold as they left her hot mouth. When they reached my ass I started to moan, bending to expose my waiting wetness. Teasing me she kissed along the lips but never touched them.
         "Have a seat," She walked away from me suddenly and stood next to otherwise bare table which held the wine. As I pulled out a chair she shook her head and patted the wooden surface.
         "You want me to sit on the table?"
         "Yes, I want you to sit on the table- with your legs spread open, parting your labia and showing me that eager little clit of yours." She didn't stutter, smile, or flinch. Her voice and body posture demanded obedience; I did what she said.
         Mr. Rice came in with a platter of assorted fruit that provoked my curiosity. He put it down beside me and picked up the bottle of wine. Mrs. Rice took a glass and held it right underneath my parted pussy. No way will they do this, I thought, sensual scenes racing through my head- but the warm red wine flowed over my cunt as I held it open, mixing with my sexual nectar and filling the glass below. When it was full, Mrs. Rice licked the dripping wine from my hole in one broad, rapturous stroke. I groaned and pressed myself into her tongue.
         Each cup was poured like that and each time Mrs. Rice made sure not a single drop was spilled. Mr. Rice handed us each a glass and raised his.
         "Would you like to make a toast, Angelina?"
         "To...learning." I said simply.
         "To learning!" they repeated, our glasses clinking harmoniously. I poured the liquid into my mouth ambitiously. It was fruity and acidic lingering in the back of my throat.
         "Angelina!" Mrs. Rice giggled, a delightful sound I had never heard before. I gazed up at her and she brushed my glowing cheek.
         "Typically we sip wine, as opposed to guzzling it down. I hope we're not making you uncomfortable."
         I shook my head and felt Mr. Rice at my knee. His large hand melted into my milky thigh.
         "We can stop any time you want. Don't be afraid to say no, or tell us if you don't want to do something."
         "No I, I-" My face felt like fire and my voice got low. "I like it. It's just...I've never met anyone like the two of you. You seem so...normal." It slipped out and I gasped, struggling to explain myself. "I mean, I know what you said about normal, I didn't mean-"
         "What's your favorite fruit, Angelina?" Mr. Rice said, reaching for a sizable orange from the tray.
         "What?"
         He cut it open with a small silver knife that had been placed on the platter. The juice ran into his palm and Mrs. Rice grabbed him by the wrist. She lifted his hand to her mouth, licking it clean. They smiled at each other before turning their attention back to me as I tried to imagine where the conversation would lead.
         Mr. Rice brought half of the orange to my mouth. With just a gentle squeeze the ripe fruit gushed over my lips, trickling down my face, further still until the sticky liquid ran over my exposed breasts.  He followed the trail, circling the center of the orange into my erect nipple. Mrs. Rice positioned herself between my legs once more, lapping at my twitching lips as the fresh juice dribbled down my flesh. My head rolled back and I closed my eyes, focusing on her talented tongue. After a few minutes she withdrew, my twat throbbing for more.
         "Strawberries are my favorite." Mrs. Rice retrieved a few from the plate. She pressed the tip of one into my swollen clit and almost involuntarily I shoved myself against it. Of course they are, I thought, remembering the scent of her shampoo. She rubbed my clit with the red fruit until I was grinding pulp into her fingers. As the orange juice dried it clung tightly to my nipple; spasms of passion traveled through my abdomen and escaped in droplets of arousal.
         Mrs. Rice tried to take her hand away but I caught it, desperate for her to continue. Her eyebrow arched and she gave my pussy a few juicy slaps, like the one I had received on her desk. I moaned and writhed against the table. How long would they tease me, how long would they let me squirm and shake for them before they let me cum?
         All of a sudden it hit me, the point of the "private lesson." I had grown up assuming that what turned me on was strange; I had always felt different and somewhat uneasy with my sexuality. However, comparing sexual preference was like comparing apples to oranges- or in this case, oranges to strawberries.
         "Normal...depends on the person...the situation..."  I said, staring at them hopefully.  A smile tugged at the corners of Mr.  Rice's mouth.
         "It's a societal standard, a way for us to understand each other and what we find acceptable. This standard changes over time as people and ideas evolve." He looked at his wife, indicating for her to continue.
         "It also changes in different cultural settings. We label things as normal, but that's all it is- a label, a concept. There's really no such thing as normal outside of how we define it." She ran a hand though my hair, bringing her face inches from mine. I closed my eyes and let her voice seep into me. "People have used the power to define what's normal to control others, or make them feel inferior, like something was wrong with them." She paused thoughtfully.  "There are some things that I will never agree with, Angelina-like rape, incest, or pedophilia. I don't believe that they are fully consensual, and that hurts people...but who's to say what's normal practice in the bedroom of consenting, comprehending adults? Don't let anyone make you feel badly about who you are."
         I kissed her. I couldn't wait any longer, my lips couldn't suffer another second away from hers. Our tongues battled madly, but I submitted and let her merge into my mouth. My skin shivered as her fingertips crawled up my scalp and her hand closed around a fist full of hair. She pulled gently at first, then harder as I moaned in approval, pulling me all the way down until I was lying on the table.
         "What's your favorite fruit, Angelina?" Mr. Rice ran his fingers over the remaining pieces as he spoke; grapes, apples, cherries and bananas mounted atop one another. I swallowed a hard gulp.
         "...bananas."
         Mrs. Rice tightened her hold on my hair. I yelped and wiggled. Mr. Rice found the biggest banana of the group, tore it from the bunch, and placed it on the table next to me. My breathing accelerated, my body trembled, my head raced. Is this really going to happen? I sighed as Mrs. Rice slid her fingers inside of my craving snatch; it had waited so long for satisfaction. It didn't take her long to find my swollen g-spot. Mr. Rice's quick lips sucked the sticky juice from my nipple and I squeezed my eyes shut, recalling the events of the day. The smooth skin of the banana was pulled across my stomach and I held my breath.
         Mrs. Rice's fingers were covered in a thin coat of my sensual fluid when she removed them from my twat and put them in her mouth. The banana felt heavy on my pelvis as Mr. Rice rubbed it against me. Lower it went until the tip pressed against my pulsing opening. Little by little it pushed, little by little my tight pussy pulled it in, stretching to accommodate it. I arched my back as it penetrated further until it could remain inside me without Mr. Rice holding it.
         "Lift her legs up, Timothy. Give me her ass." Mrs. Rice's tone was back to business and my body went taut. Mr. Rice set one strong hand around my ankles, the other tweaked and teased my budding nipples. 
         "I'm going to have to keep my eye on you throughout the year, aren't I? First your grammar, now you're lying to me!"
         "Lying?" My voice wavered with confusion.
         "That's right. Lying. I can obviously see why you said bananas, Angelina. After all," She snickered. "They're a great source of potassium." First she toyed with the banana then stroked my exposed ass; the sensitive flesh trembled at her touch. "If you recall, I had the entire class fill out a "My Favorite Things" survey in the beginning of the year!"
         My face flushed- oh no! Favorite book, favorite color, favorite fruit, et cetera! Cherries. That was the real answer, the one I had scribbled down on the handout. My heart saored that she had remembered. I bit my lip and braced myself.
         "Part of you will like it, but it will still be a punishment."
         Her hand came down harshly. I thrashed but Mr. Rice's grip held me tightly in position. The vibrating waves of pain and pleasure traveled over me and I gyrated against the banana which was being pushed out of me as my cunt convulsed. Smacks echoed through the dining room followed by my rising cries. The banana shifted against my g-spot and I pressed into it, screaming as Mr. Rice squeezed my nipples and Mrs. Rice spanked me. Harder still they went until I exploded into orgasm, deep and breathtaking, the magnitude of which still makes my pussy twitch and drip when I think about it.  The banana fell out, landing with a comical "splat!" on the hardwood floor. Mr. Rice tried to hold me steady while my body jerked and jumped, my mind dizzy and blank with fulfillment. Sighing I finally started to relax and he slowly brought my legs down, aftershocks pounding through my pussy. When I opened my eyes my vision seemed clearer and more vivid, like Mrs. Rice's radiant face as it hung over me, smiling.
         "Timothy, I'll take care of this. Won't you see how things are going in the kitchen? Maybe another bottle of wine as well..." He came close and they shared a kiss that was happy and passionate before he walked into the other room. Her hair fell in my face, tickling my cheeks and neck, strawberries in my senses. Her mouth met mine, and I wondered what the main course would be.


(Word Count:3809, not including title and author name.)