My Student And I – cunnilingus anilingus fucking anal sex

Juana was Mexican but lived in the same English town as me. Her husband was a bigwig restaurateur who wanted to set up a chain of quality restaurants, as opposed to the usual melt-cheese-and-Doritos joints that gave his country’s cuisine a bad name.

I was a teacher of English as a foreign language (TEFL) and Juana had answered my little ad in the local newspaper. We met three mornings a week at home and spent ninety minutes running through the grammar and having stumble conversations as I tried to increase his confidence. That’s the way it is with most of my Spanish-speaking students.

They did English at school and knew the basics, but they hesitated to put it into practice. And they all make the same mistakes, so by the time Juana arrived, I felt like I knew a thing or two because I had met them before.

In class, she was polite and quite formal, not flirty at all. Eager to establish a good reputation, I also behaved professionally. But as soon as she left, I’d be alone with my right hand and the recent memory of her sitting right there at my kitchen table.

I was resigned to never having sex with Juana in reality, unless something unexpected happened.

Then one Saturday, I was walking around the city when I saw her sitting in her car under a tree in a public parking lot. I went over and she went down the window and put her arm on it, palm up. Nothing significant about it. But as we talked about this and it seemed to me that she was leaving her arm in this position when it would have been natural after a while to take it and rest it on the steering wheel or on its knees or something.

A body language expert would probably be able to tell you exactly what it meant, but in my own amateur mind, I just knew he turned me on somehow.

Instinctively, I leaned over and licked the crease of his elbow. She did not flinch and did not react in any way. I put my fingers in her palm and tickled and she wriggled, but left her arm there defying. I leaned again and licked her more strongly, more slowly, in that same innocent place.

And then she snapped. She raised her head towards me and closed her eyes. I kissed her slightly on the lips and I swear she sequestered her legs slightly. She wore one of her knee-length orange dresses – she had several because she loved dresses and orange was her favorite color. I put a hand on his knee just under the hem of his garment.

This, of course, was a completely different proposition than a language in his elbow. Or was it? A more contentious area, certainly, but not more provocative.

“Maybe I need more class,” she says. Hispanics are too lazy to pronounce the sound “iz” that makes the plural of a word ending with “s”. “Are you busy?”

“Now? Of course, I say.

“Come to my house,” she murmured. “Where’s your car?”

“No car,” I replied. “I walked all the way here.”

“Come in,” she says, and I found myself having to suppress the urge to correct her English, like “Where Is Your Car” and “Come in, don’t come in.”

She drove like a maniac, still struggling with the idea that you sit on the right side in a British car and drove on the left side of the road. Or maybe she was driving like a maniac wherever she was.

Within two minutes we were outside their rented house on a leafy side street.

“Where’s your husband?” I asked nervously.

“Play golf with her lawyer,” she says, pronouncing it “lou-yer,” to rhyme with more noise.

She led me into the house and up the stairs, stopping in front of a bedroom door and holding her arm.

“Another time,” she says. I licked the inside of his elbow. It seemed to seal the deal or something.

Inside the room, Juana sat on the bed and took off her shoes, then got up and pulled the dress over her head, to reveal a black bra and panties. A thong, actually. It was substantially built – some would say overweight, but for me it was perfect, and very sexy.

Without a word, she took off the underwear and lay down on the bed with her arms outstretched and her legs ajar. His eyes were closed.

As I undressed, I looked at her shaved with her fleshy buns and the surprisingly large, sealed packet of inner thighs and buttocks.

She wasn’t going to talk, neither was I. I didn’t even kiss her, I just separated her thighs and I had my face in there, where the air was moist with sweat and the sweet smell of fat.

I sucked Juana’s clitoris and she grunts contentedly. Maybe that’s how she approached sex all the time. Perhaps her husband knew that her role was to serve her orally without question or comment.

Maybe he knew his place, and this place was here between his legs. His face and crotch. But I didn’t want to think of anyone else there, because it was Juana: my student, my fantasy, and she wanted to be licked.

I licked it. I slurped on its juice, which flowed so freely that after a while I had to wipe my mouth with my hand. It was fabulous, unctuous stuff, Juana’s juice, and I felt he was going to do me unspeakable good as it went down my throat and into my stomach. His bodily fluids.

They have a bad reputation, bodily fluids. You only hear about them in medical reports and sexual advice, as if they were inherently bad.

I wasn’t done with Juana and her bodily fluids. Actually, I had just started. Now I wanted to kiss her and get that other liquid, her saliva, mixed with mine and incidentally deposit her own juice in her mouth. A lot of women seem to like it.

I left Juana’s crotch and walked to her face and she kissed me, eyes now wide open and looking into mine.

I kissed his mouth, his nose, his ears. I licked her neck and slipped down to suck her nipples, which made her squirm, but not as much as when I moved into her left aisher. It was slightly fragrant with deodorant, but tasted more of its natural, fresh and exciting oils. She waved her hips, as if to get my attention, so I went back to the fork in her drive, stopping only to put my tongue in her belly button, which again caused her bottom to move.

I turned her over and lay down with my face on her buttocks, kissing them adoringly.

“Yes, yes,” she said, breaking her vow of silence in the ecstasy of being about to be surrounded.

I had searched for this on Google Translate.

“Quiero lamer tu culo,” I said unnecessarily. (That’s, I want to lick your, I think.)

“Yes,” she repeated, “whether it was grammatically correct or not, she liked my actions.”

She had a big and the entrance was deep and dark, more like a bruise than the usual brown. I had dreamed countless times of licking Juana’s and now I was doing it. She writhed, in the delights that her English teacher invaded her private property.

Then she stopped writhing and took control of herself.

“Go fuck me,” she said. “I want you to fuck me now.”

She got up in the dog position and I licked her again, because it’s my favorite thing, before getting up behind her and sticking my cock in her pussy.

“You’re making me fuck,” she said. “You cum too, in me.”

I reached around and took her beautiful big tits in my hands, humming like the sensational wild beast she was, all her formal stiffness gone, all her decorum thrown to the winds in her need to be fucked. She had made me serve her with my tongue and now she needed to be ravaged by her own orgasm and feel ecstatic, out of control, inside her.

Juana began to scream, quietly for the sake of the neighbors, and to like a rodeo bronco, but she was not trying to throw me out. If something she wanted me to get right inside of her, where I could stimulate her with my whole body. She was fucked and that was what she wanted, what she desperately had to do, to be plowed by this man and to have him pull his cum into her as she fulfilled her role as a woman, the receptive, but no less demanding half of the mating ritual Human.

But before I could cum, she somehow shook me and repositioned herself, trembling with orgasm, so my cock dipped in her ass and I threw my load in there.

Juana lay quietly afterwards, caressing my arms and whispering Spanish ardour before rushing into the bathroom in a feminine way. When she came back, wearing fresh underwear, she pulled the dress back on and she was Juana the nice, respectable fMexican emme again.

We never talked about it after that day. We resumed English classes and she gave herself and her husband no reason to have reservations about having private lessons in the teacher’s house.

Then one day she announced that she was returning to Mexico and she thanked me sincerely for my help. Her husband came to pick her up and he too shook my hand and said, “Thank you.”

I touched Juana subtly but significantly in the crease of her elbow and she put her hand on mine. And then she was gone.

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My student and I