Sticky Situations

Eliza couldn't believe it. It was like a dream come true. Her whole life, her upbringing, her education, her friendships, her relationships, all of it had led to this moment. And she was so happy!

Lips drinking deeply of Joey's, the heat of his body against her own reminding her that she was alive in a way she hadn't felt in years. Between them, her hand had snaked inside his pants, gripping his throbbing, youthful erection. The slick feeling of his precum on her palm, the needy moaning that the pair seemed to sing in chorus, all of it was exactly what she wanted in life, not just now, but in the future. How had she been so blessed to have her career turn out so well, to have manifested her dreams so perfectly.

Joey's hands had slid around, gripping her back tightly, holding her like she was preventing him from drowning. Perhaps she was. Perhaps she was the only thing that was keeping his head above the choppy waters of adulthood, preventing him from washing out of his education, stopping him from stunting his development. These were important roles in Joey’s life, but right then, none of it mattered. The feeling of Joey's body between her bare legs, the ****, hungry look in his eyes, the throbbing appendage in her hand, those are the things that mattered. Her world, her dreams, her happiness, all of it embodied beneath her, laying on the bed that she had given to Joey earlier that day.

"Mmmmmm, Joey, sweetheart," she said in a sultry voice, briefly coming up for air, her hand beginning the jerking motion she remembered Derek enjoying when she'd give him handjobs during their courtship, "Is this for me? It's so big!"

She leaned forward, again affixing her lips to her student's, enjoying every second of the experience. Teaching at the school had never been this rewarding. Not even close.

Beneath her, Joey's body stiffened. She recognized the feeling and braced herself. Almost immediately her hand was coated with wave after wave of hot, sticky sperm. Joey moaned loudly into her mouth, shaking, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Again and again thick, hot ropes of release pulsed from him, emptying his reservoir, filling her emotional trophy case. She had just redefined her career, and she was already thriving, already a success. She couldn't wait to do it again.

Joey lay there, breathless, his body still shuddering from the intensity of what had just happened. Heartbeat pounding in his ears, he looked up in the eyes of his teacher, her hand still inside his pants holding onto his deflating penis. She had a look of joy in her eyes, something he'd never seen on her normally stern face. It was contagious; smile tugged at his lips.

He'd never, never, orgasmed from someone else's touch before. His entire body felt boneless, floating in the aftershocks of pleasure. Eliza Matthews, his teacher, had taken him to heaven. It had only taken him a few short minutes, but he felt like he had taken a journey. Eliza leaned down and softly kissed his lips, a woman kissing a man. Her man. Joey.

They lay there, gently coming down from the rush of arousal, the rest of the room beginning to come back into focus. Joey could feel the mattress beneath him, the cool of the air conditioning, the weight of his teacher's body, the stickiness in his pants...

There was a mess in his pants.

Heat rushed to his face, shame curling in his stomach as he became hyper-aware of the damp, sticky sensation against his skin. He clamped his legs together instinctively, mortified. His hands twitched at his sides, uncertain whether to move, to speak, to do anything at all.

But Eliza, kneeling above him, looked absolutely radiant. Not only was she the embodiment of a wet dream, straddling him in her panties and a silk nightie, but her eyes shone with pride, her lips parted in a breathless smile, causing her to look angelic. Slowly, she released his penis and slipped her hand free of its messy home. She sat up and held the hand in front of her, examining it, appraising, seemingly elated. With her clean hand she cupped his face gently, thumb stroking his cheek. Her messy hand she brought to her lips and began to lick her fingers clean.

"Oh, my," she murmured, a soft, reverent laugh escaping her between licks, "That was perfect. You are doing so well." She slipped another finger into her mouth, sighing, then, "I’m so proud of you."

Proud. Like he’d just passed a test. She still believed that Joey's development, his encouragement, his manhood was her job, but at least now she was enjoying it.

Eliza shifted off him, still glowing, and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Come on," she said, standing and offering her clean hand, "Let’s get you cleaned up."

Joey hesitated, but she just gave him an encouraging smile and tugged him to his feet. He followed as she led him through the apartment, down a short hall, and into the bathroom.

"Shower’s all yours," she said, reaching into a cabinet and pulling out a fresh towel, "Literally. It's part of your apartment, so enjoy. You can leave your clothes here," her gaze flickered down to his pants, still damp with evidence of what had just happened. The smile she gave him wasn’t mocking. If anything, she seemed pleased, almost impressed.

"I’ll grab something for you to wear. I'm sure there's something here."

Joey swallowed hard, nodding, and turned to the shower, grateful for a moment alone. He stripped quickly, stuffing his ruined clothes into the hamper. As the hot water pounded against his skin, he tried not to think too hard about what had just happened, about how quickly things had escalated, how easy it had been to let Eliza take control. Not that he hadn't enjoyed it, not that he wouldn't do it again if he was offered the opportunity, but because the last thing he needed was to get hard in the shower and have to take care of himself.

And so he soaped up, washed up, rinsed off. He kept his mind off of the encounter by taking in the sensations of the room: the hot steamy air, the floral scent of Eliza's shampoo, the neat, well-ordered way the room was put together. Joey could appreciate the way Eliza took care of her spaces, the way it seemed an extension of herself. He wondered, now that she had come up with her scheme to give him all of her possessions, how that would reflect on the space, whether he would begin to see changes over time.

When he stepped out, a neatly folded set of clothes was waiting on the counter. He picked them up, frowning as he pulled on the oversized t-shirt. The sweatpants were even worse, hanging loose around his waist until he tightened the drawstring. The sleeves of the hoodie swallowed his hands completely, and the pant legs pooled around his ankles until he rolled them up.

These weren’t Eliza’s clothes.

These belonged to a man. A man much bigger than Joey. Staring at himself in the mirror, he looked dwarfed by the outfit, a child wearing his father's suit. Who was this man? Had Joey intervened in a relationship, diverting Eliza from someone she had cared about?

When he stepped out, Eliza was waiting, watching him with an amused little smile.

"You look absolutely adorable," she teased. She walked up to him and helped him roll up his sleeves. "There. All better. Now you look much more presentable."

Her fingers slipped down from his sleeves to take his hands. She paused, then bent down and kissed him again; slow, lingering, tender. When they finally pulled apart, Joey gave her a look, considering.

"Thank-you," he said, "for earlier, you know, in your bedroom..."

"Your bedroom," she corrected, "You have to remember that. If you don't, I don't now what I'll do, who'll take care of me."

"But you can..."

"No, Joey," she said, again leaning down and giving him a quick and tender kiss, "I need you. I know my job, you need to know yours."

They stood there, holding hands, staring in each other's eyes. Joey's mind was focussed yet uneasy. The responsibility of taking care of Eliza would be a lot, more than he'd ever had on his plate before, but if the benefit was anything like what he'd just experienced, it would be worth it.

"Okay," he said, "but I'm going to leave you the key. You know, for safe-keeping. You can check in with me when you need. What to wear, what to do, but I can't always be around so you need to be able to come and go."

"From your apartment."

"From my apartment," he agreed.

He then walked hand-in-hand with Eliza back into the bedroom and to the closet. His closet, she reminded him. It wasn't difficult to select an outfit for her to wear the next day. A pink blouse, skirt, and jacket combo he'd seen her wear before. Picking out his teacher's panties and bra wasn't difficult either, although the experience of his fingers running over the items caused his penis to twitch, threatening to bring his erection back for round two.

The rest of the evening was calm, intimate in its simplicity. Eliza asked permission to use Joey's kitchen, his food, his dishes, and prepared for them a simple meal of chicken and rice. They ate over a pleasant conversation, sharing knowing smiles, laughing comfortably like a young couple. Which, Joey realized, they had become. He didn't know what bearing that would hold on him and Madison, but that question was for tomorrow. That evening was for Eliza.

When the sun had set, and the dishes were done, Joey asked to be taken home. Eliza, of course, asked permission to sleep in his bed, in his apartment, which he granted emphatically.

"You'll have to stay here," he said, "to watch it for me. You know, while I'm away."

He gave her an outfit to wear, something less sexy, to wear the rest of the night. A grey sweatsuit, something that looked old and worn in the drawer, but her body made it look sexy. The look in her eyes was pure bliss. He had never seen her so happy. She seemed to take delight in him in every way, something Joey had never experienced from anyone before, and he liked it. No matter how much damage he had done to her life, he could rest assured that he, at least, had made Eliza happy.

And so, the end of the evening, hand-in-hand, they walked out of the apartment.

"Let's get you home," she said, "my man."

Derek drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, watching the apartment door. His stomach had been in knots for the past hour, his brain spiraling in a dozen different directions. Should he just go up there? He could see the lights in the windows, shadows moving around. She was there. He could get to the bottom of things quickly if he just went up.

Every time he got up the courage, he talked himself down. Derek didn't want to be one of those ex-boyfriends who turned stalker, not leaving their exes alone, making their lives miserable.

Then again, he felt no sense of closure whatsoever! She dumped him via text. Text! And no explanation at all. Derek was left with only his self-doubt.

Before he could talk himself into going in, though, the lights to the apartment turned off. Derek sat up. The door opened, and his breath caught in his throat.

Eliza stepped out first, her hair tousled, her lips a little too red. And then...

Him.

A guy. Some skinny short kid.

Wearing Derek’s clothes.

Derek’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his jaw clenching so hard it hurt.

Who the hell was this guy, and how could Derek get him alone to kick his ass?