Goddess of the Moon - Sex Stories

Goddess of the Moon

... both hands, you examine the amber coloured liquid. I tap my glass against yours, say “chin chin” and knock it back in one. You gingerly bring the glass to your lips. It doesn't smell like Rakı. You don't know what it smells like, but you know you don't like it. You feel a little queasy. You grimace before taking a decent sized gulp. As you swallow your grimace turns into a look of pure shock and horror. For a second you think you’re going to vomit, but fight it back. You glug down some tea to take the taste away and sooth the burning in your throat. A wave of warmth rises up your gullet, partly from the booze and partly from the still quite hot tea. “Yuk! That's horrible,” you say in disgust. “Do English people really drink that stuff?” “Almost everybody, every morning.” It occurs to me, at some point you might discover this is not true, but I don't worry about that for now. You look a little puzzled and slowly sip the rest of your tea. You feel a tiny bit dizzy and your cheeks are slightly flushed. I feel better now, much more relaxed. Johnnie always hits the spot. I take out the books and papers for today's lesson. You pop your glasses on, Channel I notice. They make you look so cute and innocent, I can't help but smile at you. You smile back and your cheeks flush redder. Something stirs in my underwear, but try to ignore it. We progress smoothly through the usual stuff. I outline the syllabus, discuss the possibility of you taking the CPE exam sometime in the future etc. ...

... etc. After that I give you an article to read and some questions to find the answers to. You work away assiduously, highlighting sections, underlining bits here and there, making notes. Occasionally your glasses slip down your nose and you push them back up with pristinely manicured fingers, never taking your eyes off your work. You are adorable. I don't read the article. I've been through it countless times with other students and I know it backwards. I'm content to sit here and observe you. It's difficult not to stare. In fact, it's taking all my willpower not to jump on top of you, kiss you and tear your clothes off. I need a distraction, something to dull my prurience. I grab the bottle of Mr. Walker's finest restorative and refill my glass. Automatically I do the same for you, I’m a good host. I throw mine down my neck and to my surprise you actually pick yours up and take a sip. Not a large sip, just wetting your lips really. You're probably just trying to be polite. Soon you finish your task and we go through your answers together. As we sit discussing your ideas, you take a couple more little sips of scotch. On your third I pause mid-sentence and give you an inquisitive raised eyebrow. “It's not too bad once you get used to it,” you confess. I suggest a short break and you lie back on the sofa, a content smile on your delicate lips. You seem very comfortable. The drink has done its job well. Thank you, Johnnie Walker! We lounge about for a while and chat. You tell me ...