Loving the Pershings

When I first met the Pershings, I sensed an innate sadness in them.

I was only eighteen years old, and inexperienced in many ways. To begin with, I had only been in the United States for a month. In that time, I had devoted the entirety of my focus towards my studies. The dormitory I had been assigned to was full of vivacious, intelligent, and gregarious Americans, and I lacked the confidence to say anything to them. They knew so much more than me, it seemed - about parties, about graduate school, about drinking, and about sex. Though I had ranked as the best English student in my entire country just the year before, I felt it impossible to speak with them.

I come from a small town in the Balkans few people have ever heard of. From a young age, I showed a gift for languages, English especially. This enabled me to earn a scholarship to study at a private university in a sleepy Midwestern town. It looked very much like the college towns I had seen in pirated films, and I felt overjoyed to finally be in this land, achieving my dreams.

But reality is quite the stubborn and disappointing master of our lives. It became apparent to me that my scholarship would not be enough for me to live in the United States without significant hardships. Unfortunately, it is quite difficult for international students to secure employment in the United States due to our visa restrictions. One of the few options available to me was a job I never expected to take up.

I started applying to be an au pair.

I was the oldest of five siblings back home, so I was more than qualified for the role. However, despite my shyness and discomfort with American exuberance, I was more than a bit arrogant when it came to my own skills and abilities. An au pair was a career I considered beneath me. I was going to law school, and then into international politics. In my wildest dreams, I imagined working at the UN building in New York City.

But mathematics (among my least favorite subjects) made things brutally simple.

I interviewed with many couples, and I found myself disappointed with the process. My accent was clearly a deterrent to some, and my looks became an issue to others. At that age, I did not possess confidence, but I suppose there were elements of my appearance that men found desirable, and their wives found threatening. I did not like the way men's eyes lingered on me. In fact, I never had.

I had left my little village a virgin, and was thoroughly unbothered by it. Though it occasionally hindered me in my conversations with my American classmates, I had no interest in dating or intimacy with men. This had never struck me as odd, merely a side effect of my ruthless focus on my academics. But things changed when I met the Pershings.

I had not realized before our meeting at a campus coffee shop, that they were both women. Now, I knew about gay couples. Despite my humble background, we did not live cut off from the rest of the world. I had never really met one until now, though I heard gossip and rumors about some of my classmates. This I tuned out, not out of bigotry, but out of boredom. Sexuality was simply not a subject that interested me.

My surprise came because I was a new immigrant and unfamiliar with American names. I had expected Alex Pershing to be a man, and she was anything but. She was the first to arrive, dressed in a slim blue skirt and blazer, her white blouse unbuttoned slightly so I could see a hint of her cleavage. Olive skinned with light brown eyes and dark hair tousled and spiked in pixie locks, she reminded me of an old Greek actress I used to watch on bootlegged DVDs back home.

She ordered me a coffee. "Sorry that Martha's late," Alex said, her lips turning up slightly. "And I appreciate you meeting us on such short notice. We've been trying to manage things without help at the house, but it hasn't worked out."

"No problem. I don't mind to wait," I said, inwardly cringing at my minor grammatical slip. I had no problem deciphering complex texts and research, but my spoken English still occasionally slipped up. "Please know that I don't have any problem or mean anything," I said, slowly, hoping this wouldn't ruin things for me. "But I didn't know that you were a woman."

Alex's eyebrows rose. "It's not a problem, right?"

"Not at all!" I waved my hands emphatically. "I'm happy to work with any family."

"Hmm," Alex said. Her eyes flicked over as the door to the cafe tinkled. "There's Martha." I saw no excitement or fleeting joy in her eyes, as I did when my father saw my mother. It struck me as odd.

Martha was dressed in a gray pantsuit. She was taller than Alex, almost as tall as me, though very few women I encountered in America were as tall as me. She was of African descent, it seemed to my foreigner's eye, but relatively light skinned, perhaps a few shades darker than her partner. She had strong, impressive cheekbones - that was what I noticed first. Her brown eyes were imperious, distant, and her ringlets of black hair rose high and fell down to her sharp shoulders. She appeared to be about ten years older than her wife, who looked to be in her early thirties.

When she sat down and shook my hand with a firm, demanding grip, I instinctively straightened my back. Martha Pershing came with an aura that demanded respect, and I felt this within my bones from the moment I met her.

"Thank you for coming, Besa. I've looked over your resume, and you seem like quite the impressive young woman. I don't think Alex or I have you in any of our classes, but I would certainly hope you join one at some point." She spoke in a calm, placid manner, different from the light, nervous fashion of her wife.

"Oh yes, I am hoping very much to take your class on civil rights next semester, Professor Pershing," I said. It was true, and while I was less interested in the other Pershing's work on gender studies, I expected I would take one of hers too. I made this clear to Alex, who gave me a polite, melancholy smile, as if she knew I was only humoring her.

They hardly spoke to each other during my interview. Martha asked me a long series of carefully prepared questions, to which I am proud to say I answered with great poise and success. Alex mostly listened. I felt her eyes on me, however, the entire time. And for some reason, a reason I could not understand, it began to make my cheeks warm. Neither woman seemed to notice, however, and in time, we concluded our interview. Martha had consumed three cups of espresso in this time, and it appeared to have no effect on her. Alex had merely nursed her matcha latte. My own Americano was only half-drunk and very cold.

Martha nodded. "As you know, our son is two years old, and needs quite a bit of management. You'll need to move your class schedule around his school and feeding times, but I think we can be flexible. Overall, I think you're a very strong candidate. I can give you a competitive salary rate, and of course, you'll be given housing and a stipend specifically for managing groceries and household expenses."

Alex sniffed. "Do I get a say?"

They looked at each other, and I felt a chilliness enter the air. Martha's jaw stiffened, then slackened. "Of course," she said, calm as ever, but I could see a flicker of sadness in her eyes. "Do you have a concern?"

Alex looked at me. I felt in that moment an utterly foreign sensation, even for a foreigner. It was as though it was the first time anyone in the world had looked at me, and I was naked before her, baring my soul and body to a woman who I had just met. The warmth in my face grew, and I had to look down, averting my eyes from that intense, scrutinizing gaze.

"I think she'll work," Alex said, a note of hesitation in her voice. "If you're fine with it."

"Yes," Martha said. "Do you want to..."

Alex nodded impatiently. "Yes, I do. Besa, do you want this job? If so, why don't we take you to our house and you can look around. The sitter's watching Charlie, so you can meet him too."

There was something I didn't quite understand or trust about them. But I also found myself compelled to agree. Looking back upon it, I know very well what drove me to accept their offer. But at eighteen years of age, my naivete, my impulsiveness, and my financial desperation were reason enough to accept.

I stood up and slung my bag over my shoulder. "Let's go."

#

So I began my tenure as the Pershing's au pair.

My first two months were spent in a feverish mess of managing my schoolwork and taking care of Charlie. He seemed to be a somewhat neglected child when I first took over his care, throwing tantrums and running all over the house. His parents seemed unbothered by his antics for the most part. Alex, I found out, was struggling to secure tenure at the university, and spent most of her evenings drinking wine and watching television on her own. Martha traveled almost every other weekend, speaking at seminars and attending research symposiums. Charlie and I were left to our own devices, which I didn't mind at all.

They had a wonderful three bedroom house with tall maple trees in the backyard. With Martha's backing, I installed a little toddler's swing for Charlie, which kept the boy happy. Charlie was clearly Alex's child, with those same eyes and the aquiline nose, yet his skin color was darker and he possessed some elements closer to Martha. Alex told me one evening, a dull flush on her cheeks, that she had borne him, but Martha's older brother was the donor.

"Would you like to put him to bed?" I said, rocking the sleeping boy on my lap.

"No, you do it." Alex wiped the wine from her mouth and poured herself another glass. "I have to go review some research."

At this point, I had lived here for two months. I liked my little, private room, and my bathroom. I enjoyed access to their kitchen, which I typically took responsibility for stocking. I didn't even mind cleaning up around the house and taking care of Charlie's messes.

My next words would turn out to alter the course of my life.

"I'm sorry if this is over boundaries," I said, trying to choose the right words in my second language. "But is it common for gay couples to sleep apart?" The only reason I even asked this question was because I was eighteen and didn't know better. It was an incredibly rude question, with hindsight, and I was very fortunate Alex didn't fire me on the spot.

Instead, her face crumpled a bit. I saw, panicking, that tears had sparked in her eyes. "No. It's not. It's not normal. Not for gay people, not for straight people. But ever since... since him," she said, her eyes fixed on Charlie. "She doesn't look at me the same way. I just... shit, what's wrong with me?" She rubbed her eyes and shook her head. "I shouldn't be dumping my problems on you. These are the problems of married academics, not college girls. And you're doing a great job with Charlie. I wish I was a better mother to him."

I felt an incredible wave of sadness cross over me. I was eighteen, but I wasn't stupid. The way Alex behaved, around the house, and towards Charlie, was now clarified for me.

I smiled at her, in that girlish, innocent way that only someone so young could. "Come on, Alex. Put him to bed with me."

Alex tucked in her son that night, with me by her side. She sang him a lullaby. And she told me she hadn't done that in over a year. But from that evening on, she would, every night. With me by her side.

Watching her sing to her son, her bronzed skin glowing in the dim light of his bedroom, I felt something twist and coil inside me. It was a feeling I had not known in a long time, and did not fully recognize yet. It had stirred once in a while, watching that favorite Greek actress of mine. Or when I saw Blerta Kola in the gym showers, her rosy nipples erect under the cold water. I felt it in the flutter of my heart and the space between my legs.

That night, I lay in my bed, restless. I could not sleep, could not think. My mind was consumed only with thoughts of Alex. And only when I slipped my hand between my legs, to cup the wet heat of my sex, for perhaps only the third time in my life, did I feel any relief.

That night, I pleasured myself to the image of a woman. A married woman, whom I worked for. It was the first time in my life I remember climaxing, my shorts down to my knees, my legs spread under my blanket, my fingers eagerly rubbing at my button in the dark.

It would not be the last.

#

Things in the house changed after that. When Martha was at home, we ate our quiet dinners together, a dourness sitting in the house. When Martha was away, the three of us found joy and excitement in our daily activities. We took Charlie to the park, and played with blocks, and watched movies, and when he fell asleep, Alex would even pour me a glass of wine (one glass, she was always very strict) and we would chat about anything and everything.

Alex's background was foreign in some senses, like mine. Her parents were Israeli immigrants. They'd never approved of her sexuality, and so rarely spoke anymore. I told her one time that mine would probably do the same if I was gay, and found myself blushing. She didn't respond, but the way her eyes settled on me continued to grow more bold and ravenous with each day.

She liked to help me with my coursework, and I would return the favor by helping her edit the new research paper she was working on. The project was more fascinating than I expected, with a focus on new sapphic expression in the arts. Some of the art and artists she had researched and interviewed for the graphic produced content that set my cheeks aflame. I didn't know or understand it yet, but I was learning about new urges of mine that lay beyond the academic.

Before coming to America, I had touched myself probably twice in my life. Once, by accident, as adolescents often do. Another time had been just after my eighteenth birthday, where I was determined to have one orgasm before shipping off to America. I failed miserably at this, which was why it surprised me how easy it was to climax when I thought of Alex.

I do not know how it began, but we grew to become more comfortable with open doors in the house. I lived on the ground floor, and when I knew Charlie was asleep or at school, but Alice was in the house, I made a habit of leaving the door open when I was changing. I only ever flashed her my underwear, but I always knew when she was passing by, her burning gaze raking over my body.

Alex was even more bold. I once caught the briefest glimpse of her breasts, as she undressed one day after work. I held that feverish, brief glimpse in my mind for days after as I desperately utilized the imagery to stroke myself to orgasm. I felt dirty afterwards, lying on my bed with my underwear soiled. It felt wrong, really, to touch myself to a woman. And more than that, a married woman that I worked for, whose son I cared for.

But I couldn't help myself. I knew what I wanted now, even if I didn't fully understand the urge.

#

"Have you ever kissed a girl?"

I looked up from my laptop, blinking exhaustion from my eyes. We were both sitting at the dining table. Charlie was asleep, and Martha was away at one of her endless conferences. Martha was much more successful than her wife, and in great demand, something Alex found incredibly humiliating. I mention this now because I did not know Martha as well as I knew Alex at this time. And I still felt guilty for my response here.

The correct thing to say would have been, "This is incredibly inappropriate. You shouldn't ask your eighteen year old au pair questions like that."

Instead what I said was, "I've never even kissed a boy."

Her eyes glowed. I felt my skin crackle. "Really? Why not?"

I shrugged and dragged my eyes back to the keyboard. Finals were in a week, and I needed to finish this essay by tomorrow. But my burning cheeks were betraying me. Why was she asking me this? What did she want to do? What should I say?

"I'm not sure. I didn't have the interest. I focused on school." I was trying to focus on school now.

"Do you want to kiss a girl?"

My focus dissipated. I looked up at her. I stared at her lips, thick and shiny in the warm light. She was halfway through a glass of wine, dressed in a house coat that did little to conceal her cleavage and shapely legs.

She licked her lips. I couldn't resist.

"Yes," I said.

She stood and came around the kitchen island. I smelled her perfume strongly now, redolent of lilac. She touched my chin with the tip of her finger and tilted my head up to hers. Though I towered over her, sitting down I felt small right now, owned by the older woman.

Her lips were as soft as I imagined. She gave me just a little peck, and I hesitated for a moment before pecking her back. Our pecks grew quicker, more daring, and soon, for the first time in my life, I felt another woman's tongue enter my mouth. I moaned, feeling her arms circle my waist and pull me closer. My own hands snaked up to the small of her back and then her neck. Alex was gentle with me, but hungry too. I wanted to moan and buck but resisted, knowing her wife was sleeping upstairs.

She pulled away, and we stared at each other, cheeks flushed and breathless.

"Well?" she finally said.

I licked my lips. Her minty taste lingered. "I... I liked it."

"I liked it too."

"What do we do now?"

A shadow crossed her face. Her hands reached for the knot of her housecoat. I stared, slack jawed, as she untied it, and let it fall to the floor in a pool around her ankles.

"Alex..." I moaned, standing up to get a better look at her. "We shouldn't do this."

She gripped my jaw, harder this time, and fixed those intense, longing eyes of hers on mine. "I've wanted you since the moment I saw you in that cafe. I've been lonely for so long, Besa. You're the first good thing that's happened to me in two years."

I looked down at her body. Her plump, perky breasts with rosy areolae, and small, budded nipples. Her slim, toned waist that flared out to sharp hips. Her simple cotton white panties, splotched at the gusset from her arousal. I leaned forward and seized her hips, squeezing down to the firm flesh of her pert, tight buttocks. Our mouths met again as we kissed and fumbled our way down the hall to my bedroom.

She pulled off my shirt as soon as we entered and I gasped as my nipples were exposed to the air, and then her eager, nimble fingers. I fell backwards and onto my bed, where I had lain so many times before with my fingers tucked between my legs, dreaming of this moment. Now that it was finally here, I felt thrilled and scared at the same time, my nervousness only growing as she kissed my neck, her hands fumbling with the drawstring of my sweatpants.

It was only then I remembered that I was wearing what my American classmates had taught me were called "granny panties". "Wait, Alex, not yet..." I said.

"What's wrong?" Her olive-skin was beaded with sweat already, her eyes hot with lust. "Are you okay?"

"I was not prepared... I," I mumbled, cheeks flaming, "I wore the wrong underwear. And I didn't clean... trim... oh god, I have embarrassed myself."

Alex giggled. It was a sound I had never heard from her, a truly girlish expression of joy. "You'd look sexy in anything, Besa. Trust me." She tugged at the waistband of my sweatpants and looked up at me.

My heart hammered in my chest. Before I could chicken out, I whispered, "Yes."

She yanked my pants down and I lifted my legs so she could tug them off my ankles. I was wet down there and I blushed as she clambered back over me, one hand cupping my cunt over the fabric of my unflattering gray underwear. Alex didn't seem to care, though. She pressed soft kisses to my lips and took her time, trailing more kisses down my jaw and then to my neck.

I tilted my head and reached out to switch off the light. Just as I did so, I looked outside and saw flakes of snow dusting my window. It was finally winter.

Then in the darkness, I succumbed to Alex and my deepest desires.

She set my hands on her hips and encouraged me with kisses on my nipples. I peeled her panties off and gasped at what I managed to see and discover in the dark. I stroked the denuded folds that hung between her legs, glistening with arousal, coaxing low moans of long-denied pleasure from her. She kissed her way down from my ample bosom to the swell of my belly. Our scents rose hot in the air as she took off my panties next. I felt her nose slip through the shallow grassland of my mons. I tugged my fingers through the elven spiky shocks of her hair as she eagerly claimed my virginity with her tongue.

I nearly orgasmed on the spot. I had never known that anything could feel so good, that a woman could do this to another woman with nothing but a wet, muscular, dexterous tongue. It would have been nice to say that I was composed and sensual the night I lost my virginity. That I arched my back gracefully and let out a few breathy moans as a thirty-two year old professor of women's studies demonstrated her expertise on my virgin cunt.

But I remember every single moment of it like it was yesterday.

I remember her turning on the radio, a mournful country song song twisting through, forming a backdrop to our sighs and moans.

I remember her eyes, barely visible in the faint moonlight leaking in, lidded and devoted as they peered over my pubis, her tongue lapping away.

I remember her whispering, "You taste better than I imagined," and I remember whining wordlessly in response.

I remember when she introduced a finger, and then another one, and how that was all it took to make me explode.

I remember gripping my bedsheets with desperate hands, biting my lip to keep from shrieking, the flashing shocks of my orgasm rippling through my pale white flesh.

When I was finally done, panting and glistening with sweat, she licked me clean off my thighs and her fingers and kissed her way back up my body.

Then she guided my hand between her legs. I found myself climbing on top of her, stroking her pearl. Her breaths were soft and squeaky as I fumbled around. She used her left hand to guide me, the other clutching my chest. I slipped inside of her, one finger first. Then she began to stroke herself.

"Slowly at first," she whispered in my ear.

"Like that?"

"Yes, Besa, yes sweetie, just like that." Her pussy squeaked obscenely as my finger pumped eagerly in and out of her. She was so wet and tight and warm. I couldn't believe it.

"Do you want another finger?"

"Yeah sweetie, go ahead," she moaned, her arms around my back, pulling our breasts together. Our breaths mingled together, hers hot and smelling of my sex. I kissed her as I slid another finger inside.

"Oh god, sweetie."

"Is it okay?"

"Mngh, oh my god, sweetie, faster sweetie, please. Oh... oh..."

I did not fuck her as well as I would have liked that night, but I fucked her well enough to induce a short, shrieking trill, from her, accompanied by a stiff shudder of her shoulders and thighs. She gripped me as she shook her way through it, her hands around my neck. Tears shone in her eyes.

"Thank you," she gasped, as the last dregs of pleasure flickered across her face.

"It was amazing," I whispered back.

We giggled together and silenced each other with a final kiss. Then we drifted to sleep, my large, pale frame wrapped tightly around her petite, bronzed figure.

#

She was gone when I awoke. I was still naked and my bedroom smelled of her lilac perfume and a smell I now realized to be that of sex. I shifted my hips, and grimaced as I realized my pussy still ached with need.

I showered and masturbated, unhappy with the result. In comparison to Alex's tongue, nothing would do. But Martha returned this afternoon, and after finals, the two of them would take Charlie and leave town for the holidays. Any other chance to have sex with Alex seemed unlikely. And it was also quite possible she had meant it only to be a one time thing.

Grimacing at the thought, I pulled on a fresh pair of sweats and a t-shirt and headed for Charlie's room. It was time to wake him up and prepare breakfast.

To my surprise, the little boy was not in his bed. "Charlie?" I said, half-jogging to the kitchen. If he'd gotten himself in trouble while I was lying on my bed in a fucked-out hangover...

He was laughing happily in his high chair, jamming a spoon into his favorite kiddy pancakes. A fresh pot of coffee was brewing, and music drifted lightly from the radio. From the kitchen window, I could see light dusting of snow on the backyard lawn and the bare-leaved maple trees. The sun was shining through, causing me to blink.

And Martha was sitting across the kitchen counter from me, reading a book, coffee and toast right beside her. "Ah, Besa," she said, placing her book down and fixing me with that cool, imperturbable look of hers. "You're up. I decided to make Charlie and myself some breakfast. There's eggs and toast and coffee if you want some."

I nodded. My laptop was still on the counter. "I'll take coffee, thanks Professor. I have the essay to finish." I picked up my laptop and walked to the coffeepot. My cheeks flared hot.

Alex's housecoat was still lying where she'd left it, on the kitchen floor.

"That's good," Martha said, eyes fixed back on her book. "After all, if you don't pass, you can't take my class next semester. I'm so looking forward to being your teacher."

I didn't turn around. I poured myself coffee, black, my ears burning. What was I supposed to do or say about the housecoat?

I decided to ignore it. I was going back to my room. Charlie giggled and gave me a high five as I passed. It was sort of our thing, but right now his timing was unbelievably bad.

"Oh, Besa?"

I turned, relieved she wasn't looking up from her book. "Yes, Professor?"

"I think Alex dropped her housecoat here. Can you bring it back up to her?"

My face was crimson now, I was sure of it. But I could never disobey Martha. She was every bit the woman of the house.

I grabbed the housecoat and tucked it under my arm with my laptop. Then I walked upstairs as quickly as humanly possible.

I knocked on Alex's bedroom door. "Who is it?" she called, drowsily.

"It's Besa. I have your coat." I spoke quietly, but I was sure Martha was listening from below. It was a sense more than a realistic judgment, but I was certain of it.

She opened the door, dressed only in cotton boyshorts. "Thanks, sweetie." Her hair was a mess and her eyes were bleary. She yawned and grabbed the coat from me, tossing it inside lazily. Her breasts tempted my eyes, but I kept them above her neck.

"Professor Pershing is back early," I said. I was sweating, and my face was scorching hot.

She gave me a quizzical look. "Is that so? Okay, I'll come down soon." She patted my arm. "Go work on your essay, sweetie. We'll talk later."

I nodded stupidly, and ran back downstairs, avoiding the kitchen. It was a long time before I could focus enough to write my essay. Looking back, I was quite fortunate to score a B+ on it. My mind was utterly filled with fear and dread.

I had fucked up royally, and I would now pay the price.

#

My fears were unfounded. The Pershings didn't mention anything at all out of the ordinary for the remainder of the semester. Alex did not attempt to solicit my affections, and Martha did not make an insinuation as our liaison. My exams and my work with Charlie went as smooth as one could hope, and I felt reasonably good about my marks save for the one aforementioned essay.

Charlie was unhappy to go on vacation without me, but I was relieved to be away from the tension of whatever quagmire I had gotten myself into.

I did not have enough money to take the long trip home for the holidays, so I spent most of my time getting ready for the next semester. I was taking a heavy courseload, as I had decided my goal was to graduate a year early and go to law school as soon as possible. This would reduce my financial burdens, and get me on the fast track to success I craved. In the times that I wasn't studying, I was, I must shamefully confess, pleasuring myself compulsively. For the first time in my life, I was watching lesbian pornography regularly, and also enjoying some of the artwork the Pershings kept in their personal library. She owned several artbooks of lesbian eroticism, and I found the works by a certain artist named Ana Flores to be my favorite.

Still, it was never good enough.

I came to realize that making love to a woman for the first time had unlocked a part of me long dormant, and now released, refused to be silent. And the Pershings never texted me anything that assuaged either my anxiety, nor my libido. Just the occasional picture of Charlie, who I must confess, I missed almost as much as his mother, and housekeeping instructions.

A few days before their return, I finally received a direct text from Martha. Heard very good things about your work from Professor Corless. I look forward to having you in my class this semester. Make sure you do the pre-reading.

I blushed. It was rare to hear words of praise from Martha. She was normally so distant and reserved. I reflected in that moment, that it was a small wonder that Alex was seeking comfort elsewhere, and instantly felt bad about it.

A few hours later, I received a text from Alex. Or rather, an image. An image of the pink, denuded folds between her legs, slick with arousal, parted by slender, olive-skinned fingers.

Martha and Charlie are staying with her mother, but I'm coming back tomorrow. I want you to taste me.

I got up and ran to my bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, I sent her an image of my freshly saved cunt, my delicate little pussy almost as wet as hers. I wanted us to match.

#

Alex and I spent the next two days making up for two weeks of pent up sexual frustration on my part, and two years of dissatisfaction on hers. Some people might think it was an unfortunate thing for my first sexual experiences to be with a woman fourteen years older than me. I heartily disagree, and every lover I have taken since has benefited from the lessons I learned in those first few frantic lovemaking sessions with Alex.

Alex may not have had tenure, like her wife, but she was still a gifted educator. I spent several hours over those few days with my head dutifully between her legs, my fingers and tongue probing and exploring the contours of her cunt. Alex knew when to relax and enjoy herself as I lapped away at her pussy, and she also knew when to use a gentle hand or shift of the hips to guide me in the right direction.

I loved the way she tasted. I had never expected a woman to taste so succulent, so earthy and yet sweet, nor had I thought her folds would be so soft and delectable on my tongue. Alex showed me how to tease out her pearl, coax her into bloom, and then slowly unravel her. The first time I ate her to orgasm, I remember her legs spreading further apart, her hot wetness smearing my cheeks, her labia parting for my tongue as it sent wave after rollicking wave of pleasure through her slender, well-toned body.

She demonstrated by example as well, and she soon knew my pussy and its preferences better than I did. Her tongue and fingers could assail me from any angle and any position, and drive me to a wailing, throbbing climax at whatever pace she decided upon.

We made love in her bedroom, with its mess and clothes strewn everywhere, and we made love in my bedroom too. I ate her out once in the kitchen as well, but grew nervous after that, fearful the scent of our arousal would linger. In my bedroom she was more gentle and loving, suckling my nipples with care. In hers, I began to learn that she wanted me to take her by force, to own her, and while my confidence had not grown to that point yet, I was learning fast and enjoying doing so.

In between our bouts of copulation, she helped me with my studying. Sitting naked on her bed, I would pore through my books and she would give me advice on the subject matter. It was the pre-reading for Martha's class that truly interested me.

"She's a great writer," I said, flipping through the pages of Martha's first, brief examination of civil rights in developing nations. "The research is fascinating as well."

Alex sighed. "She used to travel the world. She was so inspiring. I watched her type away and write for hours. I thought she was so sexy, so smart, so accomplished."

I looked at Alex, seeing a wistfulness in her eyes, I hadn't seen in so long. "What happened?"

Alex shrugged. "We got married. I was only twenty-six, and she was thirty-six. She wanted a baby, and I was the younger one, so I had the baby. My career never really got off after that." She pulled up her knees to her chest, small and compact against me, her head nestled against my neck. "I guess I was mad at her. And she was mad I wasn't the mother she wanted me to be. And we sort of stopped fighting one day, and it got cold between us."

She hesitated here, and looked up at me, those brown eyes wide pools of desire, staring into my own flinty greys. "It's changed recently, actually. This was the best trip we've had in years. I was better with Charlie, better with her. We really talked."

I felt my heart lurch. "So... you want to end this?"

She sighed. "No. But I also don't want to end it with her."

I looked back down at the book. I couldn't blame her. Martha was a brilliant political scientist. I hadn't understood before, but I admired her now. I was excited to learn from her.

"You tell me," I said, my voice dropping as I pawed her breast, my thumb flicking her nipple, "when you want for me to stop."

She didn't tell me to stop them, or when I bit her neck, or when I pushed her legs apart. She began to whimper something else when I slid my fingers into her hot, needy cunt.

"Hngh."

"Yeah?"

"Mmmm, sweetie."

"You like it?"

"Oh yes, sweetie, yes. Hngh, oh my god, hngh, oh my god, sweetie, sweetie, please, mmm."

I paused, and heard her release an impatient groan. My fingers were wet with her. "Do you want me to stop?" I started again.

"Oh sweetie, please don't stop! Don't ever fucking..."

Her mouth opened in a wide, silent O. Her eyes clamped shut and her legs rose from the bedsheet, high and trembling in the air.

I didn't stop.

#

So I entered the second semester of university conducting an affair with my professor's wife, while also working as her au pair. I would never claim to be a good person, and this is one of the many reasons why. Our affair was conducted in sporadic bursts, as Martha traveled much more infrequently this semester. The obvious cause was that she was teaching a class full-time this semester, but from my observations, I got the sense that she simply enjoyed being at home more than usual.

For one, she was spending more time with Charlie, and chatting more with Alex. The only times Alex and I got together ended up being those times she took Charlie to visit family and I got time off. We made the most of those times, but I also found myself growing increasingly guilty each time we slept together. I think it was because of Professor Pershing's class.

She was an excellent professor, one of the best I ever had. Her passion and knowledge about her subject matter was a revelation to me at such a young age. And she was dedicated to her students. I attended office hours many times with some of my classmates, and Martha never went home early or on-time. When she critiqued my papers and assignments, it was thoughtful, incisive, and made me a better writer and researcher.

Our conversations at home grew more collegial and significant. The four of us actually enjoyed dinner together now, and talked at length about politics, history, and culture. I was starting to feel as though I had two mentors in the house now. One for my political science education, the other for my sexual education. My guilt only grew and grew, and yet I couldn't stop stealing those moments with Alex. I felt more than sexual desire for her now, it was genuine passion, maybe even love. And she felt that way too, but I knew Martha would always stand in the way.

Perhaps that was the reason I chose to confess to her.

It was May. Months had passed since I had begun my affair with Alex. It was a rare occasion when it was just Martha and myself at the house. Alex had taken Charlie to a lakehouse for the weekend with a few of her other friends, to give me some time off before finals week. I was working on my final paper for Martha's class.

She walked into the kitchen and glanced over my shoulder at what I was working on. "Hmm, don't think because you live in my house I'll help you cheat on my term paper," she said, emitting a rare, barking laugh.

I turned and smiled at her. She was wearing a yellow sundress today. Her dark skin was glowing and the usual coolness in her eyes had a spark of life to it. A few ringlets of hair strayed over her forehead, giving her a bit more of a youthful look today.

It felt bad to give her such awful news right now, but I couldn't take it anymore. The anxiousness had burned in my stomach for weeks, and seeing her looking so beautiful and happy made the guilt bubble to the surface.

"Professor, I have a confession to make."

"Oh?" she said, crossing her arms and leaning back against the kitchen counter. "Don't tell me you're cheating without my help."

"No... I... it's not about school. It's about our home, and our life here." I bit my lip, and took a deep breath. I could feel her cool eyes upon me. "It's about Alex. And me."

She didn't say anything, just gestured for me to continue with one hand.

"We're... we've been sleeping together."

"Yes," she said calmly, as though I'd announced the weather forecast. "I know. I've known from the start."

I gaped. "What? Why didn't you say anything?"

She sighed and sat down next to me. To my great surprise, she placed a hand on mine and gave it a squeeze. "Because Alex needed it. It made her happy, and it made things better between us. It's not ideal, but I felt it was the right thing to do." Her lips trembled, then parted into the smallest of smiles. "But I'm proud of you, Besa, for finally being honest with me. It's not right to betray people's trust, and I think you know that."

My cheeks were hot with shame. "I didn't mean for it, Professor, I promise. I just... I never knew this was what I wanted. That I was... attracted to women. That I wanted your wife so badly."

She held my hand and I looked up at her dark, almost black eyes. "Listen to me. This all goes back way further before you came into the picture. It's a long story, but it's one you should understand, so that you know what is really going on between Alex and I."

I sat and listened.

"I was the first woman Alex had ever been with, and until you came along, the only one. We met when she was twenty-three, a newly minted graduate student, and I was ten years older. It was that instant, unstoppable, fiery love. The kind of love that consumes you all over, and leaves you burnt out at the end. As we got older, and got married, I wanted to be a mother. But I was deep in the tenure track, and I was getting older, so we decided Alex would carry the baby. It was tough on her."

Martha paused here and took a deep breath.

"Aren't you mad at me? And Alex?" I said, confused out of my mind.

"A little bit. But I'm not blameless. She had issues with her body and postpartum depression. And I had become... my needs were different from hers. Physically, sexually. I had taken many lovers before Alex, and I asked her if I could take on new ones."

My eyes widened. "You did?"

"Yes. We wanted different things in bed, so we tried to make it work. But it hurt Alex. We grew distant. And she resented Charlie, and she felt that the pregnancy had ruined her career and her marriage." Martha rubbed her eyes. "That is how we came to this. Sleeping in different rooms. I take on lovers where I can. She finally got you. And you were innocent and fresh, which I think is what she needed. She wanted to feel sexually gifted, powerful. I never was able to give her that feeling."

I was quiet for a moment, my mind whirring. "You want... you have different needs? For sex? But Alex is amazing." I blushed. It was perhaps in bad taste to tell a woman how good her wife was in bed.

Something changed in her eyes. Something that sent a shiver down my back. "There's always more when it comes to sex. And I suppose she's taught you all you know. But I taught her all I know. And I'd like to see what you've learned." Her fingernails scratched my wrist as she seized my hand. "I think it's the least you can do."

My throat was dry. "I have to finish your term paper."

Her lips curled into the first truly wide smile I'd ever seen from her. "Consider this your final exam." She pointed at the floor. "Now get on your knees."

Her tone was imperious, cold. It brooked no argument, and what argument did I have to give? I was fucking her wife. She was my professor, and my employer. If I disobeyed, the consequences were dire.

Besides, I felt a familiar pulse between my legs. One that had taken full control over me.

I knelt on the cold tiles of the kitchen floor, and she sat on a chair before me. She hiked up the hem of her sundress, revealing yellow, lacy, matching panties. "Take them off," she ordered.

I obeyed, taking them in my hands.

I felt degraded, yet aroused. This was utterly different from when I was with Alex. With her, I felt adored and worshipped. Here, I felt subservient and dutiful. But I found quickly that there was an equal beauty and passion to this dynamic.

I pulled them off her long, dark-skinned legs, and looked up.

Her scent was hot and intoxicating, much spicier and muskier than her wife's. She maintained a fine patina of hair above her cunt lips, which were darker and thicker than Alex's or mine's. It was the second pussy I had ever seen and it smelled and looked so different. Eagerly, I placed kisses on the flesh of her plump inner thighs, making my way up to the treasure of her loins.

She spread her legs wider, setting one foot on the sink counter and one on the kitchen island, shamelessly displaying her genitalia. I had no complaints about this as I delivered a probing lick to her labia. The taste was thick and smoky, hot on my tongue. She was wet and eager, her flower engorged.

Martha's vocalizations were different from her wife's. This too fascinated me, to know that each woman made her own sounds, moved her body differently. She pulled up her sundress further, freeing her enormous, dark-nippled breasts. She tugged at them as she twisted her hips, guiding my mouth across the sopping wet folds of her pussy

I delivered upon her cunny the full repertoire of my oral expertise, and with eager, gentle licks, coaxed the hard nub of her clitoris out. Hers was bigger, more suckable. My sucking elicited low, breathy groans from her. I was amazed at how much hotter and wetter she was compared to Alex, and how violently her hips bucked.

"Fingers," she grunted from above.

"Mhm," I mumbled.

"That's good. Oh, fuck that's good. You're perfect."

I swallowed her praise as eagerly as I did her wetness, my fingers pumping in and out of her cunt. The kitchen was now silent but for the creaking of her chair, the squelching of my fingers, the noise of my tongue, and her scattered, breathy groans. I tried to match the rhythm of my lapping tongue with my fingers, and was rewarded with longer, more tortured groans.

"She... she taught you well... pet," my new lover croaked out.

"Thank you, Professor," I whispered, taking one breath before I dove in again, hungrier than before.

It was not long before her sharp nails dug into my scalp, and her thighs tightened around my head. Her little groans coalesced into a quiet, long one that petered into a single squeak as her huge fleshy thighs stiffened, then relaxed.

I gasped out a desperate breath, nearly suffocated under her strength and pleasure. Looking up, my face utterly ruined, I creaked out, "How was that?"

"A fine beginning," she said, carelessly putting her dress back down. "We shall continue your education after finals week. Back to your assignment. And clean up this mess." She left me kneeling in front of a damp chair, my face flushed and streaked in her arousal.

I blinked. What the hell had just happened? My arousal hung around me mixed with shame and confusion. As I cleaned up the kitchen, I wondered what this meant for my relationship with both women.

#

In the short term, nothing changed.

That summer I conducted research under a history of law professor at the university. I took a short two weeks to visit my family in Europe for my birthday at the end of May, but otherwise I lived with the Pershings and continued my duties as Charlie's au pair. He was growing bigger and more troublesome, but he wasn't anywhere near as troublesome as his parents.

I did not have another encounter with Martha for the rest of the summer, but I did continue my affair with Alex. It seemed that Martha had given her blessing to it, and we had an overall pleasant summer. I was having plenty of great sex with a woman I adored, her wife was fine with it, and I had a good job taking care of a very sweet young boy. Plus, I was getting the research done I needed for a strong law school application. Martha was happy to mentor me, and give me advice, and I had the feeling she would write me a fantastic recommendation letter.

I thought things were going my way. But Martha was not the kind of woman to let your guard down around.

#

"I'm sorry," I said. "I am not understanding, Professor."

It was a week before the start of the new semester. The Pershings had taken me along to their friend's lakehouse on the shore of Lake Michigan. We had the place to ourselves, and I had spent the entire afternoon helping Charlie build a sandcastle. The boy had tired himself out and was now napping under the shade of an umbrella. The sun was out and glittering on the shore of the beach, that curved away to stand of trees curling up a hillside.

Martha was sitting beside me in the sand, a skimpy beach dress slung over her swimwear. She was reading a book, and wore sunglasses that concealed her gaze from me.

"I want to watch," she repeated, in that cool, almost expressionless tone of hers.

"You wish to watch me... and Alex?" I spotted Alex now, walking down from the lakehouse, a picnic basket in her hand.

"Go up to the woods there. There is a little inlet that she likes." Martha closed her book and looked over at Charlie. "I'll take Charlie to bed. And then I'll come out to the woods."

I flushed deeply. I'd only been sexually active for a year, and I'd never imagined having sex outdoors. "I can't do that, Professor! What if someone sees us?"

She lowered her sunglasses. Her eyes, as cold and unflinching as ever, fixed upon my own. "Only one person will see you."

As always, I found I could not disobey Professor Pershing.

Alex came bouncing towards her, grinning brightly. She looked beautiful in the warm Michigan summer, a bright red bikini doing little to hide her stunning body. We had not made love in several days, as she had been busy submitting her latest research proposal, and Martha had also been around the house. The idea of making love to her here, in this beautiful place, looking out at the endless edges of the lake, suddenly felt very appealing.

As did, I admit, the idea of Martha watching us.

"I'm going to go put Charlie to bed, Alex," Martha said, pulling the yawning boy into her arms. "He needs a nap. And I can get started on dinner."

"Are you sure?" Alex said, pouting. "We're having so much fun."

"Oh, very much so. We don't want a cranky three year old ruining our evening, do we?" Martha and Alex shared a laugh, a genuine one. I found myself looking at both of them with surprise and adoration. The coldness and sadness I had felt between them when I first met them was dissipating, like receding frost in the springtime. I ran a hand through my long, light-brown hair and rose to my feet with Martha and the boy.

"Come on, Alex, let's go up to the woods there. Martha says it's beautiful."

Alex's grin fluttered. She looked at Martha, who only smiled back at her. Then she looked at me, and allowed her smile to return, fainter this time. "Sure, that sounds like a nice place to picnic."

We walked together, and when we saw Martha retreat into the cabin, we held hands. I felt my heart race with girlish excitement. We'd never held hands in public before, or kissed. We'd only ever made love and kissed in secrecy, and the two of us both felt the immenseness of the moment. Alex and I ran, barefoot onto the grassy knoll where tall pines and spindly oaks rose above the water, down to the little private inlet Martha had told me about.

We supped on sandwiches and sparkling wine. Alex let me have two glasses, for the first time. "Just don't make a habit of it. The drinking age in this country is twenty-one."

I laughed. In my homeland, we all drank at fourteen, sometimes younger. "I can, how you say, hold my bush."

"It's booze, you silly girl!" Alex said. "But I'll hold your bush, if you want." She burst out giggling as she waggled her toes in the water. I'd never seen her this happy before. It made me want to kiss her, and so I leaned in.

She hesitated. Embarrassed, I turned away, but she took my hand. "No, no, Besa, it's not that I don't want to. I love this place. I would love to share a kiss with you here."

I turned to her, and squeezed her hand back. There was something bubbling beneath the surface of her face, a story she wanted to tell. I could sense it, and so I waited patiently, quietly, the water lapping over my feet. The trees above us provided shade, for which I was grateful, lest my pale skin burn. It had been a while since I'd applied any sunblock.

After a while, she spoke. "I used to come here with Martha. We even made love here a few times. I wasn't sure if I was ready to share it with you." I turned to her, and saw tears swimming in her eyes. "But the truth is... I love you, Besa. I'm so glad you're in my life, and in Martha's, and Charlie's. You're part of the family. You've made me realize how much I love my wife and my son, strange as it may seem. And you've made me love myself again."

The words echoed dully in my head. Love? Was this love? And as I wiped the tears from her eyes and cupped her face in my hands, I felt certain that it was.

"I love you too," I whispered back.

I kissed her, softly at first, then fiercely, hungrily. She moaned into my mouth and undid the strings of my blue bikini. We knelt in the sand, the water rolling over our legs, as I did the same for her. Soon, we were naked, kissing under the sun and trees, with the only sound in our ears our desperate hot breaths, the chatter of birds, and the slow crackle of the lake water.

I didn't know when exactly I became aware of it, but I knew acutely, certainly, that Martha was watching. Her gaze burned on me. It consumed me, and inflamed my ardor further. Grabbing Alex's pert buttocks, I kissed my way down her neck, nipping and biting.

"You'll leave a mark," she protested, weakly.

"I don't care," I hissed, my mouth and teeth and tongue set on claiming every inch of her skin. "I love you, and I want you, and you're going to be mine."

Our hands roamed and tugged at each other's flesh, now so familiar and beloved, we could hardly have imagined not touching one another. Our hands wandered lower, to the already wet heat between our legs. I held her head, stroked her hair, as I rubbed at her eager little button. She let out little shrieks into my neck, and I responded with breathy moans of my own as she slid her fingers inside me.

Our passions grew hotter and more febrile as we rose to our feet, still plunging our fingers in and out of each other's cunts. Stumbling into the water, tongues swirling, muffling each other's sighs of pleasure. Knee high in the water, I gasped as she suddenly wrapped her legs around me. I gripped her by her hips and raised her up against me, high up on my thigh. My tongue flicked her nipple as she began to hump herself upon the pale flesh of my thighs. She ached her neck and wailed out, no longer caring about restraint or secrecy.

She was fucking a woman she loved, and she wasn't ashamed. And neither was I. For I knew that Martha watched us. Setting my head on Alex's shoulder, my grey eyes settled on the dark line of trees above the shore. I saw her, her head peeking out from behind the tree, her teeth clamped down on her lip, her elbow visible, cranking relentlessly to the same pace that her wife frotted herself upon me.

The water splashed and then thrashed violently as Alex spasmed, securing her climax. I felt her slender frame wriggle and twitch and explode as I held her through the undulating waves of pleasure. I kissed her as she mumbled expressions of love, tenderness, all jumbled together in the lustful haze of her bliss.

When she finished, she sank down to her knees before me, eyes shining as she looked up at me. Eager, needy, I spread my legs. I couldn't see Martha anymore. I waited for my lover's tongue and fingers to bring me deliverance.

It didn't come.

Alex's phone rang. "Sorry, sorry, sweetie!" she said, running back to the shore. I didn't mind, though my pussy ached almost as bad as my bruised leg. She had humped it well and good, and I didn't mind the mark she'd left.

"Oh fuck," Alex said. I looked back to the picnic blanket. "Martha needs me to go back to the house. She has to go to the store and get some stuff." She grabbed her bikini top and started tying it back on.

"Oh, yes?" I said, trying to conceal my nerves. "I should go. It is my job."

"No, she wants you to enjoy the beach. And you should." Alex pulled on her bottoms, eliciting a frustrated groan from me. "I'm sorry baby, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you. Can you clean this up and bring it back?" She gestured at the picnic stuff.

"Yeah, okay," I grumbled, walking back to the shore, my entire body desperate for release.

Alex blew me a kiss and ran off down the beach trail. I bent down and reached for my swimwear.

"You won't need that."

I looked up, shivering as I set my eyes upon Martha. She was fully nude, her face flushed and sweaty, and her eyes glazed over with a post-orgasmic serenity. I had no doubt that she had taken her full pleasure from behind those trees, enjoying our copulation.

"I will not need?" I said, feeling my breath hitch.

"No. Turn around and face the lake."

As usual, I obeyed her. It never occurred to me to do otherwise. I looked out over the calm, endless expanse of Lake Michigan, its horizon stretching away into nothingness. I felt the cool breeze and the heat of the sun. And I felt Martha's strong, big hands settle on the plump cheeks of my rear.

"Bend over."

I hesitated. And experienced, for the first, but certainly not the last time, her strong hands swatting my buttocks. The pain was brief and mild this time, just a little crackle of heat, but it made me whimper. It also made me obey.

Bent over, I placed my hands down in the cool water. I fixed my eyes on the distance, letting out a soft moan as she parted my ample buttcheeks. When her breath hissed across the sensitive bits that lay between, I may have squeaked.

"Now I see why Alex adores you," she said. "I think I'm coming to adore you too."

My cheeks burned as her hot, warm breath set my cunny aflame. She practically sniffed her way through, prodding and tugging at my genitals until my legs bucked. My fingers curled in the sand, the water splashing over it my only relief.

"I admire you too, Professor. I respect you, and I care for you and your wife. And your son."

"Yes, I believe you." Martha's fingers scratched my buttocks. "Do you want me to fuck you, Besa?"

"Professor?"

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

I didn't know what to say. I was her wife's lover. And yet, I also desired Martha. It felt right, in a way, to be shared between them. To be part of their family.

"I... I think so, Professor, yes."

"What do you think, my love?" Martha said. I stiffened, cold shock flooding my body as I felt another altogether familiar gaze upon my nethers.

"I think you should fuck her." Alex's voice was low and sweet, and crackly. She was on the phone. I dared a glance over my shoulder, panic clearly in my eyes. She was on Martha's phone, held up to admire the view. "I don't know how you could resist."

"Head down and spread your legs, pet," Martha said. I lowered my head and bit my lip as I gingerly spread my legs for her. One year ago, I had been a clueless virgin who'd never dreamed of being with another woman.

Now I was the plaything for two of them.

Martha fucked me with her tongue first. Where Alex was nimble and dexterous, she was strong and thorough. Her mouth captured my pussy and urged it into submission. She used her tongue vigorously and without hesitation, sweeping my clit with hungry, violent strokes. I let out a stream of curses in my native tongue as she moved upward, tasting me in regions I had never known pleasure in. My taint was claimed by her tongue and her teeth, the soft flesh sending sensitive sparks of pleasure through my body. Then she continued her assault against the tender, wrinkled flesh of my asshole. I had never considered it an orifice of such pleasure, and was subsequently delighted by its capabilities.

"A marvelous taste indeed," Martha remarked, taking a breather to wipe my mouth. I was a shattered wreck by now. My legs were shaking, hardly able to support my exposed buttocks, and my elbows were sunk into the sand, water lapping over my forearms. I was panting, mumbling obscenities in my native tongue.

Then she fucked me with her fingers.

She fucked me in my cunt, with precise powerful rhythmic moments. She slapped my ass.

"Po, keshtu. Me fort!" I gasped, wanting it harder.

She slapped me again, harder. Martha herself was quiet, but for a few grunts of exertion. Her fingers were churning me like butter.

"Oh Zot, mos ndalo!" I never wanted her to stop.

Her tongue slapped noisily on my rosebud in counterpoint to her hand whaling on my rapidly reddening buttcheeks.

"Mmm... hah... o Zot! O Zot!" I squealed.

Her fingers curled inside me and my knees buckled, falling into the sand. She didn't miss a beat, pulsing in and out of me with practiced, expert motion.

"O Zot! Professor! O Zot! Keshtu Professor! Keshtu! O Zot O Zot.... O Zooooooooot!"

I felt it in my ass first, then in my nipples, a constant surging jolt of pleasure. My core exploded later, but longer, and she wrang every drop of orgasm out of me with those powerful fingers of hers. I had never been fucked like that before, and I never wanted it to stop. I writhed it out on that beach, letting my voice cry out my pleasure into the world. Surely I must have echoed across the beaches, but I did not care. This was who I was now.

And so, as I lay in her arms after, dripping with lakewater, utterly ruined and fucked out, I knew a new chapter of my life had begun. My life with the Pershings, as their third. And I intended to live it to the absolute fullest.

There is more to this story, dear reader. Perhaps, if you leave a comment, I shall indulge in the telling.