By Lolileah (MF, Mf, rom, cons, cheat, voy, oral, 1st, reluc, preg, Asian)
This story was written for and by adults. It is ADULTS ONLY. If you are an adult, please enjoy. If you aren’t, please leave now. Your parents would be disappointed.

This story will seem a bit crazy like how so many porn scenarios play out in their ludicrous scripting. It’s the honest truth though. And not all problems can be solved with cocks. But some of them can and should be.

I like to consider myself a smart bloke, maybe smarter than I truly am, or maybe less smart than I give myself credit for. At any rate, I’ve been a tutor for a while, usually to exchange students since they’re the ones who can afford my services. Math (ironically), science and English (especially). If they need it and can pay for it, I’m their guy.

As it turned out, a 40-year-old Chinese mother and her 16-year-old daughter requested my services, the mother for English and the daughter (by way of mom) for math. Because I did a really good job and calmly clarified all their questions and it was a cultural thing, I was often invited for dinner, a fringe benefit I was more than happy to accept since a college guy is all over free food.

Because my housing with my parents off-campus was in the same neighborhood as their house, it never took me long to get there and so I could tutor the mother in the daytime and her daughter after school. This is where the story begins.

During one tutoring session, while I was waiting upstairs as my student made some Kopi Luwak, an expensive coffee from Indonesia or Malaysia or something, I installed hidden cameras in the master bedroom like a pervert. If one is planning to make love to a woman and lose his virginity, it might be the only proof he gets.

During many lessons, my pupil May (her English name and birth month) had leaned forward to hear better. What if I leaned forward at the same time once? She was married, sure, but her husband was halfway around the world. I’d been wrestling with this particular what-if for some time now and thought maybe today I’d act on it.

I didn’t have to wait very long. While I was explaining what some idiom she’d been reading meant, she leaned forward to catch every word as if they were made of gold. I leaned forward as well and pressed my lips to hers as her eyes grew enormous. She pulled away, though not as quickly as I’d expected, and said she was married. I told her I knew that and pressed her back against the wall as she stood, passionately kissing her the whole way.

Now clearly I didn’t have a lot of experience with women but I’d been reading every story I could think of trying to find clues as to what women might enjoy physically but girls are all so different. Some like this, others like that. Some like nice boys, some bad boys, some no boys.

The fact that May had a husband and a daughter was reassuring to me so it was time for another bold move as I lifted her shirt and caressed her small breasts (A-cups?) through the fabric of her lacy bra. More arousing still was my discovery that the bra clasped in front and I was all-too-eager to free them of their restraints, her small dark nipples already firm and begging my mouth to taste them.

May let out a small whimper as my hot breath washed over her sensitive flesh. I couldn’t tell if it was because it had been so long and she was enjoying it or it was a protest. I’m glad she didn’t attempt any futile screaming. It would be useless as everyone in hearing distance (we two) would be deafened. Her neighbors all worked days so I had no fear of their interference. I thought to myself that we’d been alone together many times before (which could be dangerous to both) but she never seemed to be worried about it. Maybe she never thought I would (oddly insulting) with her small yapping bitch dog around. Maybe this was exactly what she had wanted. A young, strapping Caucasian cock which was probably bigger than her poor husband’s.

I returned my mouth to hers, my tongue caressing her strawberry-flavored lips, tasting the addictive bitter coffee taste of her mouth and my right hand unbuttoned her jeans and slid inside, softly brushing across her erect clitoris as 2 fingers caressed her labia and slipped inside her, hair tickling me the whole time. She was so tight and–more importantly–wet so the second negated the first. Maybe Asian girls are just that way?

I’d been told there was a spot in the front wall of a woman that felt a little different and I must admit I wanted to find it (badly!) if it meant she’d enjoy this as much as I was enjoying fingering her most-holy of holies. When I’d found it, I made a hook of my fingers inside her, keeping a steady pressure on her front wall and frigging her faster and harder, smacking against her hard clitoris at each stroke. I was supremely pleased with myself when she squirted all over my hand and I massaged her sweet pussy juices into her small breasts as her orgasm took its toll and she slumped against the wall.

I caught her small body (I could neatly tuck her under my chin) as it sagged, lifting her by her buttocks and carrying her to her bedroom. Halfway there she came to and her toes attempted to find purchase on the carpet to no avail except kicking her jeans off. There was no turning back now for either of us as I tossed her onto her water bed and tucked her pink Victoria’s Secret panties that entangled her feet behind her head. 

Was I meant to eat her out now? Certainly the cameras were picking up her helplessness. There’s gotta be a first time for everything. Why not now? I leaned over and gave her other mouth a tender kiss. Acrid musk assaulted my nose; heat, my face. Still, I treated her lower lips even more gently than I had her lipstick-laced ones. That is, at least until I started full-on French kissing them as she whimpered even more. She mumbled in Chinese (I really would have to get her to use the English she knew) as I lightly traced the characters for “I love you” into her sex. She said more and then went silent. Why were Asian girls trained to be quiet when they came and American girls the other way round?

I leaned forward and kissed her lips yet again, hoping she found herself as delicious as I had. By now my sex was pressing painfully against my jeans so I unzipped them and freed the monster from its cage. Not that I was anything more than average, or so I’d been told, but to see the way she shrieked and how big her eyes went, maybe it was a monster, a monster she was just as powerless against as a paper tiger is against a lit match.

I pulled her helpless body toward me, my sword somehow fitting into her sheath. Our respective sizes and her posture made my assumption quite true. She was amazingly tight. Amazingly wet. Amazingly hot. She was amazing. It is hard to put into words what a guy’s first time is like. If I had to put it in one word: Louisiana. Hot and humid as hell.

Starting slowly, letting her adjust like she’d been a virgin up to now (maybe an American cock virgin?), I thrust down into her, juices overflowing as my pestle displaced them from her mortar. Harder and faster I jackhammered into her, grinding sex against sex. She squealed and said her first English word this whole encounter, “Please” followed by further Chinese as her pussy grabbed me with a kung-fu grip, inescapable, and I unloaded deep inside her. Even had I wanted to leave her warm gash, it would have been impossible. Suppose I should have used protection. Oh well, she was a big girl and I doubted she was banging everybody she ever met.

When she finally relinquished her hold on me, I slid from her warm embrace and freed her legs from her Victorian shackles, pocketing the now stretched-out fabric and letting her legs fall to the bed. She turned over, burying her face in the pillows to hide her shame I suppose. I caressed the bottom of her foot, giving her a soft squeeze. It must have tickled because she pulled her legs beneath her. Head down, ass up. The sight of her little ass in the air was titillating enough to recover me for a second go, a bit rougher and more selfish this time, her head being buried further into the mound of pillows as I buried myself in her soft fleshy mound. We continued for longer given it wasn’t my first time anymore, today or ever. Inexorably, the heat and pressure built around me but instead of a diamond cock, I was left with a dormant volcano, she with hot lava slowly and inexorably coursing through her cervix in their optimistic and unlikely hopes to find a waiting egg. Poor bastards!

I collapsed beside her on the bed, breathing heavily, her face still crushed into the pillows beside me. Presently she stirred and made her way to the shower to try and wash away the evidence of what had just transpired, I presumed. I watched her shrug out of her top and bra as the bathroom and master bedroom had no door between them. I suppose I’d already seen all of her so there was nothing left for May to hide. It made for a beautiful mental picture.

I got up and followed her into the shower. She made no effort to stop me and soon I was pressed against May from behind, embracing her, caressing her as I soaped her body, nibbling at her ears and neck and penetrating her once again in our vertical spoon. I had to lose my 30-minute shower virginity sometime, right? Our third time of the day, sex wasn’t something I did to May, sex was some steamy hot, sensual thing I did with May. This time was truly mutual and overwhelmingly sexy and I left my mark on her neck, like I was some sort of sex vampire in the heat of passion.

After we had dried and dressed again, she went to her purse and gave me the money for back lessons and this one. I guess that made me a whore? I gave May a sweet kiss as I headed out the door to end our “lesson”. She had to pick up her daughter June from school and I really needed to crash. They don’t tell you how tiring good sex can be, just that it’s amazing.

A few days later was the next time I tutored June, From my experience tutoring her in math, she was more flighty and unfocused than her mother was. Maybe teen girls are more prone to it. She was one of those artsy-fartsy types and had made it very clear that she considered math to be useless since she was going to be an artist.

Occasionally she deigned to teach me a few things about art and I was definitely seeing a marked improvement. I would never consider it to be nearly as good as my math (being a logical person) but nevertheless she complimented my progression. Sometimes she told me stories of art class. She was pretty talkative and not as shy as she made herself out to be. She’d even tried out for drama and her English was far better than her mother’s. I guess going to an English-speaking school and having English-speaking friends really worked in her favor.

One of her stories was about having to draw a nude male subject and how the teacher had made her sit very close to him. She’d been severely embarrassed. She thought maybe it was time I was so flustered, nerd that I was. “Next week, I’ll be your nude model,” she told me. I blushed as red as the Chinese flag and she snickered. It wasn’t that I was afraid of seeing her nude or anything like that. She and her mother were always getting mistaken for sisters when I took them places. No, I’d already seen her mother nude. Nothing new here.

What it came down to wasn’t her age. She was old enough for this decision as far as I was concerned, though her volunteering to be the model blew me out of the water. It wasn’t that she was ugly. Michael Angelo should have been honored to paint or sculpt her. The problem for me was the time she’d worn something a bit less conservative and had bent over while taking her seat beside me for a good view down her blouse. She was bigger than her mother, as subsequent generations often are: probably was a decent B-cup. The problem was that ever since then, I’d tried to keep it out of my head, tried not to let it distract me while I taught. It’s hard to teach when you’re by a beautiful girl with a pretty nice body you really want to be kissing and holding.

Here, now, a few days after she’d thought about modeling nude for me, I was in my usual chair waiting for her (I did that a lot) and she peeped her head around the corner and told me to get her sketchbook and not to look until she said. I readied the sketch pencils and sketchbook and flipped to a page that didn’t have one of her own drawings on it.

“It’s okay for you to turn around now. I’m ready.”

I turned to my subject and I’d like to think I didn’t go all red. I’d been trying to get her out of my head at night and she was in almost the exact pose as in the little flip sketchbook in my shirt pocket. I often found it therapeutic to put things on paper to try and get them out of my head but I’d clearly gone overboard. She wasn’t kneeling; her feet weren’t directly under her body. Her left arm was across her waist, holding onto her right hip; her right was thrown across her breasts and clutched her left shoulder, the skin spilling out a little from the top and bottom, unnoticed. Her skin was white as snow, her cheeks red like cherries and her lips had her usual reddish-brown lipstick on them.

Small talk turned out to be awkward and I decided maybe it would be best to focus on my work, only glancing up occasionally as I’d drawn her so many times in this semi-censored version of nudity. It didn’t take very long when I set down to it and I approached her cautiously to let her critique my work.

“Do I really look like this to you? Do I really look like a dog?”

“No, sorry the page must have flipped as I walked over. You don’t recognize your own work? You draw dogs like you’re trying to preserve a dying species. Dogs, foxes, wolves.” I flipped the page to my work and she sucked her breath in through her teeth.

“Yes June, this is what you look like from my perspective. You are beautiful, even when you don’t think so.” I pulled my sketchbook from my shirt pocket and knelt behind her so I could flip the pages for her. I’d drawn it in the Japanese manga drawing style she was fond of. Girls with big eyes, big boobs, tall pretty boy men. I’d attempted to write all the dialogue in Chinese but it was Google Translate-generated so I didn’t have much confidence in it.

It started out roughly the way we’d started. My view, watching her, then moving behind her. She was complaining about math and praising her stupid dog and talking about her crush on Legolas until my lips found her neck and pressed warmly and tantalizingly against her bare skin. Her mother had always wondered to me about her lack of a boyfriend and her seeming disinterest in boys.

At least in my book, she’d let out a soft gasp and moan. In real life, she just said “OMG!”

I hadn’t drawn her any more provocatively than she was now, but the next scene elicited a muffled “OMFG!” as I’d parted her legs gently and caressed my way up from her knee until I was stimulating her in a very inappropriate teacher-student relationship. I’d even made sure to draw the juices she’d make on her thighs.

I hadn’t finished the scenario, how we’d ended up in bed together. I thought that would just be presumptuous. Unbeknownst to me, I’d wrapped my free arm around her protectively and she’d parted her legs, inviting me to continue. The unmistakable smell of female arousal drifted toward my nostrils as clearly my drawings or fantasizing that I was Legolas were doing the job.

She was soft as velvet and hairless completely, unlike her mother. Her soft lips greeted me and sucked me in until I reached resistance and stopped. I kept kissing and caressing until the hand covering her breasts suddenly shot to her mouth, revealing all their alabaster shapeliness. I was tempted to try and preserve her modesty, some stupid gentlemanly thing, but I was already fingering her little cunny and her endorphin high was fading and she did it herself, blushing fiercely red. Was that her first orgasm or her first fingering? I was privileged either way.

She got to her feet a bit shakily and I stood and prepared myself to leave, letting her sketchbook stay where I’d placed it. She grabbed for my hand and said, “Come” as she pulled me to the master bedroom, to the same bed I’d defiled her mother on a few days previously. She turned to me and pressed her lips against mine: black cherry flavor.

“Did all my jibber-jabber about Legolas and fangirlness about Kili from the Hobbit make you all jealous?”

“I don’t own you. I don’t have a right to be jealous. But yes, a little sometimes.”

“Hey every girl has fantasies, just like boys. Impossible dreams. But secretly, I don’t hate you as much as I let on. And sometimes I’m moody. Artsy people can be. I just hate that your arrival means math and that I still truly hate. So that part of you being here I hate but I don’t hate you, if that makes any sense.”

“Yeah, it does. You can’t just be honest and say you like me a little, can you?”

She just flopped backward onto the bed in reply, her arm around her chest just as I’d made to kiss her again. I lost my balance and so found myself staring down into her beautiful brown eyes, her soft black hair splayed out around her and our tongues forgot which mouth they belonged in.

“Do it.”

“Do what?

“You ask that with a beautiful naked virgin underneath you who likes you? Just do it. It’s a safe day so don’t worry.”

I freed my “monster” from my pants and was pleased when she let out a small “EEEP!” of shocked dismay like her mother had. I guess to a virgin any cock seems impossible so there was that. Then I entwined my fingers in hers and lifted them above her head, pinning them gently to the bed and freeing her soft pillowy Chinese dumplings for my mouth to feast on as her girlishness gave way to womanhood, her childish cunny to a woman’s pussy. She might not remember the tune she lost her virginity to but it was by her favorite band: One Direction’s “That’s What Makes You Beautiful”.

I didn’t know when her mother would finish her cleaning up downstairs so, I confess, I wasn’t strictly as gentle after deflowering her as the situation required. I didn’t last as long as I’d have liked (not all my fault!) before filling her belly with my seed and her legs wrapped around me, holding me there. As I lay beside her, cradling her warmth against me, the unthinkable happened as she turned me on my back and pinned my hips with her own, straddling me. My cock liked her initiative and roused itself from slumber, leaving a warm, sticky snail trail up to her navel. She impaled herself, easing the full length inside of her before leaning over and kissing me sweetly.

“Thank you for being my first. I’m glad it was with you.”

“Shouldn’t we hurry? Your mom could be done any time now, even if she is a neat freak.”

“Fuck my mom!” Already had. “Though it would be good for her to find out at a later time, I suppose.”

She ground her hips harder against my own, her hot baby oven doing its level best to bake my cock in the process. Finally (did I just say that?) she leaned over and kissed me, breasts dangling like the fruits above Tantalus as we came together (well, not quite, I came AFTER from the sexiness above me), her lips sucking at my neck as passionately as mine had her mother’s. To me nothing was hotter, not even May or June’s womanly desires (and parts). She got off me and I dabbed at her pussy with the white handkerchief I kept for emergencies (it was clean!), her lips leaving a crimson first kiss that should fade to match her shade of lipstick and then pocketing it. She did her own attempt to clean up as she took me in her mouth, just to try to clean off the smells as I still had to go downstairs and might get accosted by her mother.

“It tastes funny. It tastes like skin and metal. Is it true if the girl’s on top during sex, she’ll have a girl?”

“The skin is me, the metal is blood. That’s you, June. And no, it’s not true. But you can be on top any time we try to have a baby if you want. I’d love to feel your breasts up against me in the lotus position.”

She nodded and tested her palate again. “Also kind of a bitter, salty flavor. And a more earthy, heady one.”

“Me. You. Cum, both of ours.”

“You should go now though. Don’t want to let mom in on this just yet do we? She might separate us somehow. Time for me to go take a bath. Maybe a shower. Probably a bath in the nice jacuzzi tub. Feels right, you know? Either way, I know you’ll be dreaming of me tonight lover boy.” She then proceeded to kiss me long enough to negate her talk about her mother and enough to make sure I would be thinking about her before abruptly heading for the tub and running the tap. “Go finish your drawing. Shoo!”

I definitely couldn’t get her out of my head now. I guess that was okay as I packed up and headed downstairs, grabbed a handful of May’s ass in the kitchen as she finished up cleaning and headed for the door and my bed with a little spring in my step.

I definitely felt more awkward the next day. I just didn’t feel guilty. I’d had sex with May. I’d proceeded to have sex with her daughter. I’d continue to have sex with both of them so long as they wished it, there was no doubting that. I wasn’t exactly a ladykiller at school. That May was my first was evidence enough of that.

I’d lost my virginity a few weeks before Thanksgiving. On Christmas Eve, I’d been invited by both the girls to eat with them since it was tradition for a bit of a shindig in their family. I helped set up, lights, ornaments, tree and generally just continuing to prove my usefulness. May was always impressed by the ease with which I handled situations (English, duh!) and had enlisted my help before. Not only that but she’d asked me to cook dinner before as she knew I dabbled and wanted me to try and teach June sometime when I was free.

The night of the feast, I brought a few gifts with me to put under the tree. It was the least I could do for all they had done for me. I was the only guest there and there was plenty to eat. It seemed strange but May said all her other friends had other engagements. They seated me at the head of the table, June beside me and May directly across. Maybe it meant nothing in China but I felt honored nevertheless.

May told me not to be shy. I was their guest. I ate heartily, not being much of a conversationalist with good food before me until June smiled her dazzling smile at me and said out of the blue, “We’re pregnant!”.

Food was no longer very important to me. “You’re pregnant, June? I take it I’m the father.”

“Of course, I’m not a slut. But I said we. Mom’s pregnant too. That one’s yours, of course. I found the cameras and the tape of you and mom. You know that bit where she said ‘Please.’ and something in Chinese? What she was saying was to pull out and not to cum inside her as she might get pregnant. I guess that one’s both of your faults for a communication problem. As for me, I thought it was a safe day but I guess sperm can live a little longer inside a girl than they tell you in sex ed.”

“In America, it’s customary when an unmarried girl gets pregnant for the father (of the baby) to propose marriage to her to save her honor, at least it traditionally has been. And if you marry me and become a citizen that way, our child would also be an American citizen. As for your mother, ever since I had my first time with her and ever since I left my mark on her neck, like you did to me, I’ve thought of her as mine. I’m not jealous or possessive usually. I just more than anything want to be the man in your lives.”

I knelt before May and asked June to translate for me. “Because your husband isn’t here to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage, would you give your permission in his place? I love her and I want to do right by her.” She nodded and I went and knelt before June, producing a ring that her daddy had inadvertently bought. “June, I can’t imagine a world without you and it looks like we’ll be giving your parents grandkids sooner than anticipated. I’m not proposing because you’re pregnant. I’m not proposing because I was your first. I’m proposing because I love you. June, will you marry me?”

She threw her arms around me and told me “是的，我要嫁给你!” and then “You’ve gotta start learning Chinese sometime. Yes, I’ll marry you!” over the background sound of Savage Garden’s “Truly, Madly, Deeply.”

I stayed kneeling in front of June, holding her hands in mine and placing a ruby ring on her finger. “I have something else to ask you. Would you give your permission for me to try and do right by your mother and our baby and let her be my wife while in America?”

“I guess I can share you. Wanna know something I haven’t told mom? I’ve been going to school here for over 2 years now. From what I found out through my friends back in China, my dad cheated first. He and this whore with the same name and age as me who probably role-plays that she’s his daughter in bed have a one-year-old son. Guess who the father is? So as far as I’m concerned, mom didn’t cheat on him since he broke his vows first and it might cost him lots of money in court proceedings. Infidelity clauses, blah, blah. I guess it just hurts more because he was my father and he created a replacement family when we left. Even though we were halfway around the world, I can’t excuse him. Because of that, I understand mom lapsing on a man halfway around the world and falling into your arms. She’s got needs that weren’t being satisfied. Because of what I told you before, I give my blessing.”

She then translated what she’d said for her mother and May started crying. I’m not an asshole; I’m fairly sensitive really. I hate to see a woman crying, especially one dear to me. I walked behind May and took her in my arms, squeezing her tightly even when she tried to escape. Eventually she calmed down, pulled her husband’s ring off her finger and hurled it across the room. I took that cue and knelt before her with my own ring (also bought with her husband’s money technically), this one carrying a sapphire blue as tears. “May, because you made June and I love her, I extend my love with my big heart also to you. Because I love you, I don’t want to see you cry like this and I hope I won’t ever make you. Because I’ve started a family with you, I want us all, with all my heart, to be a family. Though you cannot be mine legally, I still want you to be mine. Will you marry me?”

Again, I waited for June to translate. Her mother threw her arms around me, weeping again, her small breasts pressed against me and her arms felt liable to choke me. “Yes. Yes, I will” and I wreathed her finger in gold and blue to another of One Direction’s hits “I Would”.

We held the wedding in January, rather rushed as June didn’t want to have a belly for her wedding and that couldn’t wait months. She was dressed all in red, a lucky color in China as the flower girl threw red rose petals before her. As her father walked her down the aisle, I smiled inside. He’d messed up, ruined his family and in a way I was “stealing” something he’d thrown away. The wedding and the rings and everything were on his dime. My baby was providing the most effective birth control May would need if she had pity hate sex with him later. My sperm had been deposited again in her that morning so he would be getting MY sloppy seconds. I was “winning”. And as I looked down into June’s hopeful, expectant eyes and said “I do” and got to kiss her like a woman in front of her douchebag daddy, I meant everything I did and said.

On July 31st, a month after June’s 17th birthday, my sweet June went into labor and 4 agonizing hours later at 21:15 delivered a 6 pound, 5 ounce squalling baby girl we named Julia after her Russian classmate BFF. May and I had been working hard on English on the nights her butt had been the one pressed against me at night and the nights that butt was June’s (also bigger than mommy’s, in the nice way), she’d been teaching me Chinese. So it was doubly a surprise when she handed her granddaughter back to June to nurse when she told the room, “oh shit, my water just broke.”

As I held her hand, or rather, she crushed mine, I looked at her sweat-soaked bangs and her deep dark eyes as she gave the final push a minute past midnight to a 7 pound, 8 ounce baby boy we called August (very original, right?). She broke down into tears like the night I’d put that ring on her. “You can hold me, love. But it’s not those kind of tears. I’m glad it’s over and I’m glad it’s the baby of a man who has been there for me when he was needed the most. I love you and I’m so glad you married my daughter.”

Did I live happily ever after on money extracted legally from May’s “husband” and June’s father? Oh yes. Did I ever charge them for lessons again? Hell no. I clearly got the girl(s) and lived happily ever after. Do I have a name? Yes, my name is Janus.