The Teacher and the Whore

09/08/2019

The Teacher and the Whore

(A love story)

By Pril

“She knows who you are.” (Ancient Tahori proverb)

1

I love quiet.

I’ve always loved quiet without knowing why. Because I was born like so many

others of our time in the big city, and did all my schooling, from beginning to

end, there. Then I got my first job in the big city, and then my second. And,

after many years of big city, I decided that I had had enough of the noise, the

smog, and the crazy people, and –soon after my mother’s death– I took my bags,

said good-bye to everything and everyone, and moved to the suburbs, hoping to

find the relaxed, better life I always wanted. And you know what? I did find

what I always wanted. Funny thing is… although I thought I did, I didn’t have a

clue as to what I really wanted. Because what I found is just the most amazing

thing I couldn’t have imagined in my wildest dreams.

My name is Cyril O’Connor. I’m forty-five years old, a certified teacher by

profession. I was the only child born to a lovely home although soon in life I

lost my father, of whom over the years I have almost completely lost every

recollection. The cruel trick life played on me with his sudden demise was

absolutely made up for with the most caring, loveable of mothers who, to her

last day in her quiet old age, continued to give me the unconditional warmth and

confidence that bred me from the very minute I opened my eyes to this world. Her

death two years ago was a decisive factor in my decision to move away. I could

fill up pages and pages about my dear mother, but I’ll need to leave that for

another story since what I’m here for is to tell you about another lady, a very

special woman that brought to my life what can only be described as uniqueness.

But first I think you should know a little about me to better understand the

special circumstances that brought me and her together. As I said, I’ve always

loved quiet, and I am a quiet person myself. In a society that never stops

reminding us how insignificant we are unless we make this much money, buy the

right things, dress in a particular kind of way, and watch that special TV news

program, I’ve somehow managed to grow up almost immune to all that. I think I

must have been the quietest of children or, at least, I was definitely very

quiet compared to those I’ve been teaching for over twenty years now.

I took to books when I still couldn’t even read, and soon art and music followed

in my list of early conquests. By the time I was ten I could recite off by heart

a few dozen poems, including the greatest by Emerson, Kipling, Shelley and

Burns. I took violin lessons for quite a few years and my mom had hopes I’d

become an accomplished musician one day, but time showed how poor my talent

really was, especially in comparison to the big ones, which I admire to this day

through their unforgettable recordings. Then came Michelangelo and his

sculptures, which left me speechless the first time I saw them badly reproduced

in an old book. My only trip overseas ever was precisely to Italy, where I spent

endless hours at the museums of Rome, Florence, and Venice, and I never stopped

wondering how anyone can achieve such a degree of perfection.

I’ve always also been a very good friend. Envy is virtually non-existent in me,

and I find it hard to think poorly of anybody. I accept the world and its people

as they are and for what they are, and leave judgment and conclusion to others.

I know how to keep a secret and never make a fuss when some friends of mine,

even good ones, don’t keep mine. But all that has changed in the last few years,

for when I moved out of the city I was also trying to put an effective end to a

social behavior that has become of my dislike. Basically, I was running away.

You must be wondering where wife and family fit into this picture. After all I’m

forty-five. Well, it might be my temper, or maybe my upbringing, but there have

been two aspects of life for which I haven’t been greatly endowed. One is

ambition, for I can live on little, as long as it’s good. The other is love.

I do love women; don’t misunderstand what I’m saying. I said I have an eye for

art and beauty and I definitely have an appreciation of beauty in mankind,

especially the other sex. If not precisely shy, I had never given girls much

importance when I was still a student. I would even say I was reasonably

successful with them, since I’m not a bad-looking fellow at all. But I noticed

from the beginning I was far from having the crazy impulse I could detect in

most of my mates and I remember I had almost had to be convinced by others to go

and try to get a girl.

So a girl did I get, and I married her two years later. Mary was lovely and my

mom immediately took to her. For the first three years of our early life

together things were more or less all right, but soon after she started to

complain that she wasn’t getting enough out of our marriage and that she was

getting bored, for which I can hardly blame her. I’m not going to go into that

too much, but I will tell you that everything between us was fine. Just fine.

Too fine, maybe. Not having children yet, our divorce was a relatively easy

process, and no one suffered really much. Even mother overcame it pretty

quickly.

So, believe it or not, for the last twenty years I hadn’t had a regular

companion. I could mention at least two caring girlfriends that, more or less,

ended up feeling like my ex wife, plus a sporadic encounter with a woman I don’t

think I could remember her face, or body. The rest of my sexual impulse, I don’t

know whether to feel ashamed to admit it or not, simply went down the toilet or

stayed messily entangled in my bed sheets after a silly wet dream.

So, you may be asking yourself, what am I here for? To tell you how anonymous,

quiet and uninteresting I can be? Well. That would have been the case until a

year ago. Because the course of action of the last twelve months of my life has

brought the most fantastic change, discovery and revolution I could have ever

envisaged for my future. Life has presented me with the most amazing woman you

and I could dream about. Life has brought me happiness, completion and blessing.

Life has given me Elektra.

 

"The Teacher and the Whore"

(a giantess love story)

Chapter 2

Funnily enough, although I am now in the suburbs, I don’t live in a house. Mind

you, I could have easily gotten one for a very reasonable rate, but the school

that hired me owns a few apartments here and there that they sometimes offer to

their teachers or staff members, especially when they feel their experience and

record qualifies them for that. Ms. Penders –my new and most peculiar

schoolmistress– had particularly insisted on me taking one of them. Although I

had met her only recently and wasn’t particularly afraid of her authority, she

was famous for being the toughest lady in town and, believe you me, she looked

her reputation every bit! I’ll have to tell you more about her later on, since

she is such an unusual character. I had almost made up my mind to argue my

school’s generous offer with energy when I –wisely– decided so see the apartment

first. I fell in love with it the minute I saw it, for it was located in a

rather small building with only three other apartments in it. The whole place

was so tidily kept and it looked so nice that I soon realized I could save

myself right away the trouble of a house-hunt and all the dealing with real

estate agents. Although it was empty, I quickly furnished it with my own

furniture and, once the books were on the shelves and the disks on their racks,

it looked like home in no time.

Another thing I loved about it was the fact that the two apartments downstairs

(for I took one of the two on the upper floor) were occupied by elderly, quiet

people who welcomed me warmly from the very beginning. As for the second

apartment on my floor, which was empty at the time, I wrongly assumed it

belonged to the school, too. Today I thank my muse that that wasn’t the case,

for if it had been so, some boring teacher, a bachelor, or spinster, or –worse

still– a young couple with noisy children, would have moved in there, instead of

my beautiful Elektra.

The other apartment continued to be unoccupied for a couple of months after my

arrival, and I had already gotten used to coming back to an extremely quiet home

where I could comfortably listen to my music while reading a classic until well

into he night. Then, one evening, as I came back from school, I found a few

empty cardboard boxes lying on the short corridor between both apartment doors

and I knew right away someone had moved in. I didn’t know whether to be happy

that I’d have a new soul living on my floor or concerned about the person being

loud, or impolite, or any of the things I hated about the big city. I even

thought of knocking on their door and welcoming them, but then I thought that

might be misinterpreted as nosiness on my part, so I decided to let it happen

naturally.

Although I’ve been an early bird all my life, I’m also fond of going to sleep

quite late at night, thus having longer days to enjoy all I like doing. I don’t

remember ever sleeping more that five or six hours a night, and that has never

tired me much. In any case, although I continued my regular life for the next

two or three days, I was a bit curious to meet the new person, and a bit

surprised not to have seen them at any time of the day. For all I could tell the

apartment was as quiet as usual, only that every now and then you could hear

some kitchen pottering through the door, and smell the food being prepared, and

very tasty that it was.

Then, one night, I was about to fall asleep well past midnight when I heard soft

hammer-like knocks along the corridor, which quickly disappeared into the

distance. I don’t think I had the lucidity to register anything particular about

it that first night, since I was drifting off. But the following night I heard

the sound again and thought to myself ‘who on earth could possibly start

hammering, however soft, in the middle of the night?’ The third night it

happened I decided to satisfy my curiosity and quickly ran to my door and stuck

my eye to the peephole. That was our –or, at least, my– first contact ever. I

saw the back of a woman carefully locking the door of her apartment and quickly

walking to and down the stairs. Although I didn’t see her face two things became

very clear. The first was that the hammering was actually high heel shoes

walking on the corridor’s wooden floor surface. The second, that the woman I had

managed to snatch a glance at had to be very tall and attractive. What I

distinctly remember of that ‘first night’, though, is that I found myself

realizing I hadn’t thought of a woman as ‘attractive’ for a long, long time.

Next day at school I was a bit absentminded and had to force myself not to drift

into some kind of daydreaming about someone I hadn’t even looked straight into

her eyes yet. Something was the matter with me, and the children (and children

always do) noticed it right away, and much faster than me.

“Mr. O’Connor is in loooove,” they sang.

Ms. Penders, the schoolmistress, also looked at me with a mixture of curiosity

and firmness, so typical of her personality.

“Is everything all right, Mr. O’Connor?” she asked me when I briefly walked into

her office to hand in some form or piece of paper.

“Of course, Ms. Penders,” I answered with my brightest smile. I knew she had a

kind heart deep down, and I wasn’t going to allow her stern mask put a barrier

between us.

“Hmm…” she said.

When I returned home that day I bumped into Mrs. Sampson, one of the lovely

elderly women downstairs. We had gotten on fantastically from the beginning and

I had to almost beg her to stop making food and cakes for me.

“Hello, Cyril, dear,” she said to me with a faint smile on her face.

“Hello Mrs. Sampson,” I replied guessing that something was somewhat wrong. “Is

everything all right?”

“Oh, yes, dear. I guess it is,” she said. And proceeded to ask me about school,

health, and whether I was eating properly or not. But soon she went on to say

what she really intended to,

“By the way, dear. Have you met the new neighbor yet?” there was a tone of

concern in her voice.

“Actually, no,” I answered. “Although I did notice someone moved in the other

day. Have you met the person, Mrs. Sampson?” I asked, avoiding saying I already

knew it was a woman.

“Well, not exactly, dear,” she said. And further explained, “but Harry (that’s

her husband), well, you know how he wakes up so many times at night for his

toilet… he says he’s seen her a few times in the middle of the night… and… and,

well… he says she’s always wearing these fancy clothes, and that there is always

an expensive car waiting for her on the street…”

She stopped herself to see whether I was taking in what she was trying to

express. I for sure knew what she was describing, although my first thought was

that a suburb was hardly a location for such business. Nonetheless I pretended

to take things easy and said with a smile,

“Oh, Mrs. Sampson. There might be many reasons for that, I guess,” I waved my

hand casually. “Maybe you should just wait a little bit longer to see whether

Mr. Sampson’s impression is really correct. I doubt a girl like that would be

interested in living in such a quiet neighborhood. She’s probably running back

and forth from her previous lodgings to this one… I’m sure we’ll soon get to

know her better and everything will become clear. Aren’t you?”

“Well, dear, “ she said smiling. “Maybe you’re right. Yes, you’re probably

right. Let’s hope she’s just a nice lady. And if she is I really hope you look

at her for you… You know, dear, a man your age…”

“Oh, yes, I know, Mrs. Sampson,” I said looking at her with my friendliest

smile.

Poor Mrs. Sampson. She could have hardly known then how literally I’d take her

advice after only a few months.

In any case, the news she’d just given me did worry me a little. Was it possible

a lady of light life had moved into this quietest of buildings? What for? As I

climbed up the stairs I heard a little music coming out from her apartment and

the now familiar kitchenware clatter. I stopped for a second at her door not

quite knowing what to do before getting into my apartment.

But if you live in a four-apartment block you can’t wait too long before sooner

or later meeting everybody. When the weekend came I went food shopping on

Saturday morning as usual and then came back home, carrying the plastic bags

from the supermarket. I had just placed them on the ground and was about to

unlock my door when I heard the other door behind me open up. I instinctively

turned around and saw her coming out.

The first thing I noticed was her height. I’m five nine myself and I don’t

remember ever having any problems with it. I don’t recall having ever before

looked at women and judged them by how tall they were, either. In short, I don’t

remember height as ever having been an issue in my life at all. Yet, my first

reaction to Elektra’s appearance was astonishment at her sheer length. She stood

six feet three inches on a very simple pair of thongs she was wearing and,

instead of looking massive and uncouth as you’d think a woman that size would

be, she had just one of the most fantastic bodies I had ever seen, including on

TV and in magazines and movies.

Her face was a poem to perfection. Without a gram of make-up on, her

breathtaking green eyes shone with intensity in the middle of her white

demeanor. Her high cheekbones were supported by a ravishingly beautiful mouth

and the white teeth smile that she gave me when meeting my eyes. A mass of

straight shoulder-length blonde hair fell naturally behind her head and

contrasted playfully with the simple denim dress she had put on. The bottom of

it was slightly above knee length, thus exposing quite a lot of her magnificent

long legs, which I now know and love with mad passion. As for her age, well, she

had to be very young, and now I know she was only twenty-two at the time.

My smile took a split of a second to surge up to my face as I fought

inexplicably with a rush of confusing thoughts that bombarded my brain the

second I saw her. Still hoping not to have made a complete fool out of myself I

managed to say with uncertain voice,

“Hello… Welcome to the building. I hope you settle down well.”

She kept her smile but didn’t answer. A bit confused on getting such a pleasant

although wordless response, I quickly stretched my arm and introduced myself,

“Cyril O’Connor. Nice to meet you.”

The single word I got for an answer will forever sound like the opening of

Heaven’s gates to me.

“Elektra,” she simply said, and delicately put her hand into mine.

I’ll never forget the purity of that handshake. Her long, beautiful fingers

rested on mine for a second or two, and I felt I had been touched by an angel.

There was still an extra half a second of further looking into each other’s eyes

before she quickly disappeared downstairs. I must have stood at my still locked

door for many long minutes before I managed to break the spell that had invaded

my whole self after seeing her. I got into my apartment with shaking hands,

dumped the shopping bags in the kitchen, and collapsed on an armchair, trying to

decipher what had actually happened to me.

"The Teacher and the Whore"

(a giantess love story)

Chapter 3

Later that Saturday, as I managed to recover a little, I tossed our brief

encounter in my head a million times and not only came to the conclusion that

the young woman’s scant speech was due to a language impairment, but also got

convinced she had pronounced her name with a bit of an accent. In any case

‘Elektra’ wasn’t what people called their children around here, and she looked

foreign, too. I couldn’t know it then for sure, but it turned out I was

absolutely right. That same night I had a frightening confirmation of my theory.

Unless I have an unavoidable social commitment on Saturday night, I love staying

at home and engaging myself in some reading or, sometimes, TV movie watching.

That particular night, trying to escape the weird sensations of that day, I was

playing chess against a computer that had always given me a hard time on its

last two levels. I was focusing hard on an extremely tight match while listening

to a soft Schubert symphony.

Suddenly, a loud shout broke into my concentration, and I jumped off my chair as

if knocked by a truck. Running to the door and gluing my eye to the peephole I

saw a man standing at Elektra’s door, which he was now banging with his fist. He

accompanied his hits with loud shouts in a language I had never heard before. He

was a big, burly balding man of broad back and was obviously very angry.

Soon Elektra’s voice became clear from behind her door. She seemed to speak the

same language or, at least, they understood each other. She also sounded upset,

or worried, and was obviously unwilling to open the door for him. In my

imagination I concluded she was asking him to leave or, at least, stop shouting.

Whatever it is she said, it made the man only madder and his banging

intensified. His voice was now threatening and clearly in command. Whatever the

case, after a couple of seconds the door was opened. I even managed to briefly

see the woman through the gap. She was dressed very attractively, exactly as

Mrs. Sampson had described it to me. Still she tried to keep the man out of her

house, but he wouldn’t give up. On the contrary. He almost forced his way in,

literally pushing the tall woman aside.

I remember I felt a wave of indignation rushing up my spine and even considered

getting out of my apartment and standing next to my neighbor’s door in case

something bad happened. I still waited for a few minutes standing where I was

while the shouting continued. I think I was prepared to do something about it

when suddenly the barking stopped. Finally I decided to relax and not make

something huge of what probably was a fight between a pimp and one of his

workers. Much as the thought hurt me, it was becoming obvious that Mr. Sampson’s

conclusions had a lot of truth in them.

I tried to get back to my game but I knew perfectly well that that would not be

impossible. And it wasn’t. Then I switched off the stereo and sat in the middle

of the dark, silent living room trying to gather my thoughts together. I felt

uncomfortable in my own home-clothes on my soft armchair. I didn’t know where to

locate the reason of my feelings. Was it the woman, the situation, or me? I

suddenly stood up and started to pace the room. Then I got into the kitchen and

started to boil water for a tea, but soon I changed my mind and grabbed from the

fridge a bottle of white wine. I was about to pour me some in a wineglass when I

came to the conclusion I’d never calm down as long as I stayed within the four

walls of my house. It became clear I was dying to know what was going on at my

neighbor’s and, risky as I knew it was, I just opened my damn door and walked

the few steps that separated it from hers.

The minute I tuned my hearing into what was going on in there it became evident

that, although the shouting had stopped, the argument was far from being over.

Only that now I could hear mainly her voice and almost none of his. She did stop

to listen to his answers but –at least within my ears– I couldn’t make up his

part of the script anymore. Little by little Elektra’s voice turned from

frightened and upset into just argumentative, and finally it also relaxed quite

a lot. Within minutes the first signs of normality reappeared in her speech and,

towards the end, there was also a funny, friendly giggle.

Glad as I was to see –or hear– that everything seemed to have come back to

normal, I couldn’t help wondering at the man’s most unusual arguing tactics. He

had literally disappeared from the scene after what had seemed to be the

angriest fit of his life. Was everyone like that in their country? I thought. If

they were, they sure had a most interesting way of sorting problems out.

After a few more minutes of almost complete quiet I slowly turned around and was

about to walk the short distance back to my door when I heard, to my complete

dismay, the unlocking of hers. Before I knew it Elektra had come out of her

apartment, slightly lowering her head to get through. I could hardly believe my

eyes. If I had been impressed earlier on that day by her sheer beauty and height

when in simple clothes, no make-up and rubber thongs, now I was almost knocked

off my feet by the vision I had in front of me.

Elektra was wearing a blue fitting dress that outlined and enhanced every curve

of her unbelievable figure. Her bust was sticking out, full and firm, clearly

exposing how generous nature had been with her. Her black pair of high heel

sandals was one of the sexiest I had ever seen and she seemed to walk in them as

comfortably as other women do in their sneakers. They were at least five inches

high, hence the reason for her head tilting when passing through her doorframe.

Her face had an exquisite layer of suggestive make-up on, and her hair was made

into a complex array of wild waves. She was a vision from another, superior

dimension and my stupor on seeing her was the only sensation that could have

been stronger than the embarrassment to have been caught in my evident nosy

attitude.

Elektra was at least as surprised as I was embarrassed and she was completely

taken aback when looking down at me from her imposing height. Obviously there

couldn’t have been a smile on her face (as there wasn’t one on mine), although

she didn’t give me a rude look either. I desperately fumbled for words,

“I, I…, I’m very sorry, E… Elektra,” I said, feeling a million gallons of blood

rush up to my head. “I, I…, I was a bit worried… Are, are… Are you all right?”

Now I know she didn’t understand a word of what I had said, and I would have

sure had to accept a good slap on my face from a woman that had obviously had

enough from men for one night. That’s why I was totally put off balance when her

beautiful red lips turned into a friendly smile and she said,

“Tanky,” and quickly went downstairs.

Had that been a ‘thank you’? Had she just thanked me for keeping guard at her

door in case anything wrong happened to her? All I know is that her ‘tanky’

resounded in my head for hours as I lay down in bed trying to fall asleep. That

night I didn’t manage to fall asleep. But I was well aware that I was falling in

love.

It was only next day, when I woke up to the powerful light of early afternoon,

that I came around to realize that the big guy she had argued with hadn’t been

with her when she went out. The whole thing didn’t make any sense. Where was he?

"The Teacher and the Whore"

(a giantess love story)

Chapter 4

For the first time in my life I found myself obsessively thinking about a woman.

That Sunday afternoon I went for a long walk by myself to the park in order to

tidy things up in my head. I felt free and happy to saunter between the trees,

plants and flowers, breathing the intoxicating spring air that seemed to

permeate the world. I still wasn’t able to decide what to do with the magic

influence my beautiful neighbor had on me, but I concluded I was much better off

if I just continued to live my life as normally as if she didn’t exist, letting

things happen in their natural way. I knew what she was and what I was. I had

heard and read many times about men –or women– who lose their minds when falling

in love, and I was ready to invest my best creative energy in order not to make

a complete fool out of myself. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, and I didn’t rule out

any possible endings to what was going on. But I was strong in my decision not

to lose control over the impact in my life of a woman twenty plus years my

junior. Little did I know then what control really was.

Nonetheless, I also thought it would be wrong to shift completely to the other

side in order to avoid dependence on another person by ignoring them. I decided

that same afternoon I would ring on Elektra’s bell before getting back into my

apartment just to ask how she was. I knew she might regard it as an excuse I

made up to snatch another look at her but I didn’t care. She could think

whatever she wanted and as she wanted. It was a fact I liked the woman beyond

mere attraction and I was quite ready to expose myself in front of her in spite

of my fears. You can’t always win in life, and you certainly can’t decide your

fate.

So it was that when I got back to my building I climbed up the easy stairs to my

floor and stood at my neighbor’s door. I was about to knock when I heard her

voice engaged in conversation. First I was convinced she was on the phone and I

decided to try a little bit later. But when I turned around to leave I heard her

switch from her –for me– incomprehensive language to a very basic, almost

unintelligibly bad English.

“No, heer. No, de’er. I spik ya!”

My attention to her speech told me that hers was hardly a tone or way of

speaking on the phone. I couldn’t help remembering the previous night, when the

voice of the big guy that had forced his way into her apartment had virtually

disappeared from their ongoing argument. Was she talking to him again? And if

so, why her sudden change to English? Now my curiosity was aroused and I found

myself again standing secretly at her door, trying to guess at every move that

happened in there. The little chattering died away after only a few minutes, and

I still waited some more before mustering courage and making up my mind to knock

on her door.

“Yes?” I heard immediately from behind it. The voice wasn’t frightened or

concerned. Just asking who this was.

“Elektra,” I said aloud and politely, “this is Cyril, your neighbor. I hope I’m

not disturbing you. I just…”

My speech was interrupted by the sudden opening of her door. There she was,

tall, young and beautiful, casually dressed in a lively colored T-shirt and

fitting jeans that exposed in a natural yet suggestive way her prominent bust

and erect bottom. I was about to apologize for my unexpected and unsolicited

intrusion into her evening when she gave me one of her disarmingly sweet and

winning smiles that melted within a split of a second all my bombastic and

elaborate theories of earlier that afternoon.

Again fumbling for words in front of the towering beauty I stammered,

“I, I…, I just wanted to ask how you were… I was a bit worried after yesterday

night… I hope everything is alright… is it?”

My discourse gradually dwindled, as there was no answer from her except for the

curious, interested smile that seemed to be scanning my soul through its green

eyes. She never spoke; neither did she move. The gorgeous woman just stood there

looking down at me, as if waiting for me to say something else. As the seconds

quickly succeeded one another I was certain she was going to close her door on

my nose unless I said something, and quickly. Yet she continued to stand there

and smile. And it was then that I had the first suspicion ever that she might

also be interested in a kind of friendship with her intellectual, single

neighbor.

A bit more relaxed in the wake of her open, awaiting attitude I allowed a little

smile to appear on my face and decided to ask in a more fatherly way,

“Do you speak English, Elektra?”

She slowly shook her head negatively.

“No English at all?” I insisted.

She gave me the same quiet and smiley answer.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” I delicately ventured.

Now there wasn’t even a head motion. Only a curious look on her pretty face, as

someone that is trying to decipher an exotic and interesting code. ‘God’, I

thought, ‘the girl doesn’t have a clue as to what’s going on around her’.

Suddenly possessed by a feeling of protection beyond my deep infatuation with

her, I proceeded to explain to her with very simple words and a lot of

gesticulation that I was there for her to count on for whatever she needed. My

last repeated gig was to impersonate the big guy that had given her hell the

previous night and gesturing to her that next time she shouldn’t hesitate to

call me, even screaming, if she had too.

“If any problems,” I succinctly summed it up, “scream: Cyril, Cyril, help,

help!”

I thought I was doing a pretty good job, considering my poor acting skills, and

I was most surprised when the beautiful girl exploded with laughter at my

hand-waving and body-jerking in the air. She must have laughed for a good long

minute, and I remember thinking that she had one of the healthiest, purest

laughs I had ever heard. I watched her with fascination as she tried to calm

down. I just could not, did not want to let those seconds go. I loved the very

idea of knowing that such a creature existed. And do so to this day.

“OK, OK,” she said, still drying a tear or two from her penetrating green eyes.

“I cream, I cream, Cyril, heeeelp, heeeelp!”

When I got into my apartment I closed the door behind me and leaned on it for a

long time. I had an intense tickling sensation between my eyes, as someone whose

enjoyment is so that it ends up taking a physical manifestation.

Much as I would have liked to see my neighbor as often as I could, I didn’t

really know how I would ever manage that at my age and my not too ambitious

personality. How much was each one of the dresses she wore at night? What could

I offer her? A poem by Tennyson?

Now, I’ve seen time and again that there are good and bad spells in life. For no

reason, without any logical explanation, sometimes everything goes wrong and

sometimes everything goes right. Life had always been fairly good to me and, for

the same unknown reason, now it was about to become incredible, for soon it

would show me exactly what I could offer Elektra.

And so it was that for the day after, a Monday, there was an excursion to the

park planned for my pupils. Ms. Penders –the strict schoolmistress I told you

about– had frowned at the idea, but my smile had convinced her and she had

finally agreed to let me apply my own methodology to my eager pupils. Once she

consented I took the children to that beautiful park, halfway thorough the

school and my house, to show my little ones nature in its beautiful habitat

other than in boring books. My pupils and I were walking along the park’s large

extensions while I was engaged in an explanation about this or that tree when,

suddenly, I saw Elektra jogging happily nearby. I was lucky that she saw me too,

and even luckier that she decided to make a little detour to trot past my

children and me, waving a friendly hand at us. Her golden hair was made up into

a lovely bun, her blue and white jogging suit clearly outlining the young,

strong, energetic body within.

I think my smile must have circled round my face and I instinctively raised my

hand to wave back, as did some of the children. I was wearing my teaching outfit

and was clearly conducting an open-air lesson, which proved to be decisive in

the developments of later that day. As she jogged away, every now and then

turning her head back for another little smile, I thought that if I could only

see Elektra for a few seconds every morning my life would be ten times more

worth living that it already was.

“Who is she, Mr. O’Connor?” one of the children was curious to know.

“Oh, she’s just a neighbor,” I said, trying to sound casual, even though I felt

rushes of emotion go up and down my spine.

“Are you going to marry her, Mr. O’Connor?” one of the most perceptive ones

risked.

I looked at him sweet and long, and tried to find a plausible answer, before

forcing myself to continue to deliver my lesson as well as I could.

And so it was that that same evening, when I was making myself dinner while

listening to some jazz in the kitchen, I heard a soft knock on my door, which I

mistook as Mrs. Sampson, the lovely old lady downstairs, surely bringing me a

piece of cake or another tidbit, as was her wont. I quickly opened the door with

a big smile while holding a ladle in my hand. You can easily imagine what I felt

when I saw standing in front of me not the sweet old lady but the ravishing

young girl who had blessed my life when moving into my building and floor.

She was wearing a white cotton summer dress that showed her wild young flesh in

all its intensity, while her face smiled at me warmly. This was the first time

since she had moved in that she had actually knocked on my door, something I had

never really expected to happen. I was so surprised I just didn’t know what to

say or do. ‘Stupid me!’ I thought. ‘Do something! Say something!’

I was still busy racking my brains for the right thing to do when she simply

asked,

“You magister?”

I looked at her a bit longer before guessing at was she was trying to say. She

had to be asking me whether I was a teacher.

“A magister? A teacher, you mean?” I ventured.

Elektra nodded affirmatively,

“Skoolah? Magister skoolah?”

“Yes, Elektra,” I said with a smile, trying not to sound condescending. “I’m a

teacher. A school teacher,” I pronounced the words slowly.

“You teechr Englich?” she still asked.

“Yes,” I answered with a more professional smile. “I’m an English teacher, too.”

Then she put in the words that opened up our universe together forever.

“You teechr Englich me! Me Englich no spik. You magister. You magister Englich

me!”

She was the most beautiful thing that ever existed, and I could hardly believe

my ears.

“Are you asking me to teach you English?” I asked slowly and prudently, using

lots of gestures.

“Yes!” she said loudly and cheerfully. And then she said and did something that

nearly knocks me down with surprise,

“Me money!” she added, and produced from her pocket a huge quantity of bills,

probably amounting to a few hundred dollars, which she tried to deposit in my

empty hand.

I instinctively backed off, quickly putting my hands out of her reach, and said,

“Hey, hey,” I smiled. “Wait a second. There is time for that. Don’t worry about

it yet!”

Much as I wasn’t ready to accept any money –if at all– without knowing first

what kind of a deal we’d have, I loved the fact that she had trusted me so much

as to just give me such an amount for a job that hadn’t even been discussed yet.

It only spoke of her unconditional generosity to those she cares about.

Within the next few minutes I gestured at her to give me some time to finish

dinner and come again right after, at eight o’clock, for our first lesson. I

don’t think I’ve ever had such a virtual meal in my life. I’m not even sure I

ate any food at all that dinner, so busy was my head with the gift destiny had

dropped on my lap.

“The Teacher and the Whore”

(a giantess love story)

Chapter 5

At eight o’clock sharp Elektra softly knocked on my door again. For some reason

both of us had tacitly agreed to change into slightly less casual, if still

informal, clothes. I had removed my shorts and T-shirt to put pants and a

checkered shirt on, whereas she had changed her skimpy white dress for tight

jeans and a rather loose-fitting blouse, a pair of simple old brown leather

striped sandals hardly covered her beautiful feet. She had also innocently

brought a little notebook, pencil and erasure with her. I just loved how she

looked. We smiled at each other and I let her in. Examining with her curious,

aware eyes the rather conventional decor of my apartment, she quickly sat down

at the table where I had prepared some material for our first English lesson,

casually crossing her long legs under it. I could right away sense she felt at

home.

I sat right across from her, the medium-sized wooden table between us. On its

top there were a few books and notes I had dug from some old files containing

material I had gathered during the two or three years –long ago– during which I

had also taught some ESL (English as a Second Language) to foreign adults.

First we went through personal pronouns (I, you, he, she, it, we, you, they) and

then the verbs ‘to be’ and ‘to have’. Next I named a few simple objects on the

table and immediately around us, using also an illustration book that I had

precisely for that purpose. I must say that Elektra surprised me with her power

of concentration. For some reason I had wrongly assumed she’d be just a regular

student, but I soon realized her receptive capability was definitely above

normal, which only made our lesson more enjoyable. Her writing skills were also

quite accomplished and, funnily enough, she was familiar with the Latin

alphabet.

For a full hour both student and teacher dedicated our complete attention to the

material, thus calming me in my fears of not quite knowing how to handle such a

peculiar situation. After the hour was over we both looked at each other not

knowing whether to continue or not, when I had the brilliant idea to offer her

another coffee. Her understanding now improved in something like a thousand

percent, she accepted immediately my offer and, right after I made some, we

continued for yet another hour, until the weight of a long day became evident in

our proficiency.

Once the second hour was over we looked at each other again with tired eyes and

decided it had been more than enough for a first meeting. Elektra got on her

feet and, pulling again a disproportionate amount of money out of her pocket,

said,

“How much?”

I emphatically waved my hands negatively but she insisted, trying to leave all

her bills on my table. I quickly thought that I didn’t want our lessons to seem

unprofessional by not charging at least something, so I decided to compromise

for an almost symbolic figure, which I had to insist on her not arguing it.

Although during the lesson I had successfully minimized the effect of the

fantastically attractive woman on me, I have to admit that here and there I

found myself snatching glances at her pretty face, lovely hair, beautiful hands,

sexy feet, not to mention her expressive, devastatingly alluring green eyes.

When standing at the door about to say goodnight for now she suddenly said with

a huge, almost childish smile,

“You are very good teacher!”

“Well, thank you, Elektra. And you are a very good student,” I replied politely,

meaning every word I said.

“Tomorrow?” she asked, thus answering my prayers.

“Tomorrow,” I agreed positively.

Then she did one of those things that have always fascinated me in her.

Completely taking me aback, she leaned down and, placing warmly both hands on my

shoulders, lowered her head to give me a big kiss on my cheek. Before I could

react, she had opened the door herself and left the apartment. I stood at my

door for a long time touching with a trembling hand the spot where she had

kissed me. Then, still feeling slightly floating on light clouds, I walked up to

the chair Elektra had occupied during our lesson, knelt down in front of it, and

gave its still warm upholstery a long, passionate kiss.

I had never been through anything remotely like that in my entire life.

From that first evening on my days turned into a mere and impatient countdown

until our lessons. I found myself smiling for no reason in the middle of the

street, the middle of the supermarket, the middle of the gas station, the middle

of nowhere. Life was just beautiful. I was literally the happiest man on earth.

Elektra made huge progress within a relatively short period of time and, after

two weeks, she started to be able to conduct her first real conversation beyond

a few pleasantries and silly sentences. Our lessons took place religiously every

evening at eight o’clock and lasted for two hours invariably. Elektra was a

committed student and I sure was an experienced teacher.

As she improved her speech I found it easier to ask her more important

questions. I was very eager to know who she was but, although always with a

smile and extremely politely, she somehow kept dodging questions about her past

and origin. All I gathered was that she came from some Eastern European country

which she astutely avoided talking much about until it became clear my curiosity

wasn’t really contributing in any way to our special relationship, so precious

to me. Soon I stopped asking questions I knew would only get devious answers,

and I continue to respect Elektra’s anonymous past to this day.

Together with the development of our teacher-student relationship came the

beginning of our incredible love affair.

As you can easily imagine I was absolutely marveled and mesmerized by my unique

student, and the more at ease we felt with each other the more we relaxed our

formalities. Thus, we started to dress very casually when spring was giving way

to summer, which means we exposed large chunks of flesh in front of each other

that, obviously, didn’t go without effect on me. I was particularly dumbfounded

by her lean, long, shapely legs, which she always crossed so naturally and

easily wherever she sat, including the couches we started to use for our lessons

after a few weeks.

I also discovered a streak of good humor in her, especially the way she tried to

imitate my accent and mannerisms when teaching. Practically every lesson I found

myself cracking up at one of her sallies, which she’d totally take advantage of

to make me laugh even more. I swear I kept pinching myself every morning when

waking up to make sure I wasn’t just having a very long dream.

I don’t think anything else other than my many years of sexual restraint could

have given me the strength to resist temptation. I knew I had a fairly good

chance to be accepted by my student, had I made physically evident the mad

attraction I felt for her. After all –I couldn’t help thinking with frustration–

she accepted a different man almost every night of the week.

Every now and then someone would come to knock on her door and she’d let them

in, but never for a long time. I don’t think she ever conducted her business at

her premises. Maybe those men just came for money arrangements of some sort. I

do know, though, she kept going out almost every night well after midnight

because many times I was still awake and could hear her high heels tapping on

the floor. I even took to getting out of bed and stretching my body out the

kitchen balcony, from where I had a little view of the street below.

Elektra would go downstairs and wait seductively dressed on the street for only

a few seconds, before being picked up by all sorts of expensive cars. She

obviously had a busy and organized timetable and customers knew exactly when to

come for her. The scene started to gnaw at my nerves as I got to know her better

and better. I just couldn’t accept that a young woman like my student, with her

evident capacity, would have resorted to prostitution as the way of making her

living. This, together with the restraint I mentioned before, was what kept me

delaying my natural impulses toward my beautiful princess.

My lovely neighbors downstairs, on the other hand, started to ease their poor

opinion about the newcomer. I don’t think they ever accepted her business, but

they could have hardly blamed her for or accuse her of anything wrong. She was

as quiet as you could expect a neighbor to be, and she was also a good pal. As

her English quickly improved and everyone saw we got on fantastically well, they

gradually started to greet her with a smile and, although never what they had

expected, she became part of our small community.

Only one thing remained unclear to me, though: for some reason she never invited

me to her apartment. She would open the door for me and even let me once or

twice into her tidy kitchen, which was the first room in the house. But she

never showed me the rest of her place, even though she had gotten to see mine in

its entirety, neither did she give any hints as to what it might be that

prevented her from doing it. Once I even went as far as to mention it in a

humorous way,

“Here opens the gate of mystery,” I said with horror-movie-like voice one day

when I saw her opening her door to get into her apartment. She looked at me with

a big smile and got right in without making anything of it. It still annoyed me

that, here and there, some men were let in late at night, albeit for a few

minutes, but I had to accept that I wasn’t but her English teacher and good

neighbor, and I had no right to pry into her private affairs.

The mystery about her apartment remained unsolved for good two months until one

day it was revealed to me. And when it was my life changed forever, for what I

saw is –I’m convinced– the greatest miracle the world has ever witnessed.

And that’s what I’m here for; to tell you about it.

"The Teacher and the Whore"

(a giantess love story)

Chapter 6

One evening, about two months after our lessons had started, Elektra and I were

sitting on the same loveseat, reading an easy book together. I remember it was

an abridged version of some Agatha Christie’s M. Poirot story, made especially

accessible for students of English. I swear I hadn’t read the book before, but I

soon realized I might have made a mistake, for the main character, beside the

clever little Belgian inspector, was a prostitute. I think I guessed at the

contents of the book much before Elektra did, and by the time she realized too I

was angry with myself with remorse. Once more my beautiful princess came to my

rescue gently placing her beautiful hand on my lap on seeing my guilty face and

saying,

“Don’t worry, Cyril. I’m not upset.”

I gently put my hand on hers and left it there for a long time, and she let me

do it. That was our first real contact ever. Something told the two of us that

time was ripe for further developments in our relationship. Softly taking the

book and putting it on a side table, I took both of the beautiful woman’s hands

in mine and said plain and straight,

“Elektra, I love you.”

She gave me her sweetest smile, brought her angelic hand up to my face, and

said,

“I know, Cyril. You are very special to me, too.”

If well it’s true that I didn’t hear all I would have wished for, it was also

evident that she did have feelings for me. I delicately took her hands and

kissed them on their palms and fingers, letting their beauty invade my soul. She

was wearing a short, simple denim dress, well above her knee, and her fantastic

legs were easily crossed right under my nose. I felt a sudden urge to possess

the woman, to love her right there and then, forever.

Before I knew it we had gotten up to our feet and were engaged in the most

passionate kiss I had ever experienced. I remember the thrilling sensation of

kissing a much taller woman for the first time in my life. The way she had

lowered her head in order to prevent me from craning up mine gave my erogenous

areas a sensation hitherto unknown. I don’t know how long that kiss lasted for,

but I do know that I completely felt in Elektra’s hands. I had been given a free

ticket into a different, better dimension I quite didn’t know how or who to

thank for. I thought that was the ultimate power I could have expected from a

kiss, but I was wrong.

My many weeks with Elektra the student had almost completely erased my

perception of Elektra the mistress of lovemaking. She seemed to have been

designed to know much better than myself what was good for me to feel or not.

Little by little she started to withdraw her face from mine, pulling it slightly

up. When I suddenly felt her lips leaving mine I instinctively looked for them

stretching my head up in their quest. Soon I felt a little uncomfortable about

having to stretch my neck, which only boosted my desire. Elektra allowed me one

or two minutes more of that arousing position before proceeding to uplift her

head a bit more. My neck now was hardly able to do the job anymore. Soon I found

myself standing on tiptoes in order not to lose the magical contact of our lips,

which had turned into the very center of my life. In the meantime I was aware

that, as opposed to my now more than a little uncomfortable position on my

tiptoes and craned neck, my lover was easily standing full length, her feet flat

on the ground, her head still bent down a little.

She still continued to literally hold me in that position until she introduced

her hand into her divine game. While keeping me firm with her long arm behind my

back, she brought her free hand under my chin and gently pulled it up, making

her long fingernails mildly bite into my skin.

The same kiss was still going on as I felt all my juices quickly rush up to my

sluices. I knew I was ready to cum anytime if I rubbed it a little. But my tall,

spectacular angel had a little surprise for me. Something I had never

experienced in my life, something I hadn’t even imagined could be a turn-on.

Softly whispering into my ear in her still strongly accented English she said to

me,

“Now, little man, you let go when I count three. You understand?”

In the middle of my shaking I did work out that she was telling me to cum at her

count of three. No. She wasn’t telling me. She was ordering me!

Had she called me ‘little man’? Soon I realized her words had actually made my

first pre-spermal liquid wet my underwear.

“You understand, little man?” she repeated more firmly, and removed her mouth

from mine a bit more for me to answer.

“Yes…” I said, as in a dream.

“Yes, my queen,” she corrected me.

“Yes, my queen…” I whispered.

Then I heard the word “One”, which woke my penis to its task. Elektra had

pressed her lips against mine again and started to explore the interior of my

mouth with her tongue. “Two”. I was gently rubbing my face against hers in

ecstasy, trying to squeeze every ounce of pleasure I could get from an already

surreal sensation. My liquids were now almost uncontrollably fighting not to

gush out. Her last number took a little longer to come, but I did manage to hold

it till then.

“Three,” my angel’s voice softly commanded.

I felt a sudden rush that seemed to suck my entire groin from the bottom of my

butt to the end of my penis. The dormant desire of years of restraint seemed to

come out all at once. It felt like boiling lava exploding out of a powerful

volcano that had been sleeping for centuries. As I was shaking completely out of

control, Elektra had effectively secured me between her strong arms, never

stopping kissing me, her tongue well into my mouth.

I swear to God I don’t know how long I came for. It might as well been hours. My

semen just continued to jet out impulse after impulse, as if someone had turned

on a faucet only to forget to turn it off. Soon I felt the warm, thick liquid

sliding down my legs. There was so much!

After what seemed to be hours of indescribable pleasure I finally felt my legs

wobble and didn’t want to stop a sudden impulse to fall at my queen’s feet.

Somehow she read my thoughts and slowly eased her grip and let me slide down her

long, bare legs, first with my hands, then my mouth. Elektra carefully sat down

again on the loveseat we had shared before, right next to us, and let me lie

down at her feet for a long, long time, as she stroke my hair gently with her

celestial hands while I kissed her feet as a dog licks his bone. As I was slowly

becoming fully aware of this revelation and change in my life, I burst out into

a passionate sob. I was crying like a baby.

I was crying tears of happiness.

"The Teacher and the Whore"

(a giantess love story)

Chapter 7

After that first sexual experience with my queen I put myself completely in her

hands. During the next few days our lessons didn’t survive the initial ten or

fifteen minutes of our meetings, for I was crazy with love and passion. I simply

couldn’t have enough of the young goddess fate had brought to my life. She was a

consummate master of love in ways that were completely unknown to me with my

little experience in that field. She could literally finish me in no time with

the sole power of her presence. Every caress was a message from heaven, every

kiss nectar from a mythological land.

Elektra made me cum in every imaginable way, although her favorite –and mine–

was stressing the tangible height gap between us. I now understood that this

factor had always been absent from my lovemaking and partner choosing, which

explained a lot of my apparent failure. Without ever turning up at my place with

high heel shoes, her natural height was more than enough to ensure that, no

matter how we stood, she was always well above my head, thus transmitting a

sense of power and supremacy over me of which I just couldn’t get enough.

The most imaginable yet simple variations on that theme seemed to be always at

hand in her repertoire. While cooking together in my kitchen, for instance,

she’d take a frying pan I just asked her to hand me and easily put it high up on

top of a cabinet quite out of my reach, and tell me,

“There it is, take it.”

I’d know then that one of her games had just begun and I’d stretch my body to

its fullest to try and get it. Then, after a few good seconds of amused

expression at my futile efforts, she’d slowly approach me and easily lift her

hand to take the pan by its handle and give it to me saying,

“Poor little man. He need help.”

Then the kissing would start - one of those eternally long kiss encounters where

her tongue would tickle every corner of my mouth while her hands would

administer the most arousing massage all over my shorter body.

She made me cum in the kitchen, the bedroom, the toilet, the living room, the

balcony, the second bedroom, inside the closet, the bathtub, on a chair, on the

table, into the sink, the basin, a pillow, a cushion, and once even up there on

the building’s roof under the stars.

She made me cum in her mouth, her breast, her hands, her legs, her feet, her

toes, her hair, her ears. She made me cum a million times absolutely everywhere…

everywhere except her… sex.

In the best present she’d ever give me, for some reason I never dared to

question why she wasn’t letting me penetrate her. Not only that. She didn’t let

me give her an orgasm either. It isn’t that she wouldn’t let me touch her. Oh

no, on the contrary. I was free to explore every pore of her perfect body as

much as I wanted. I could also rub frantically anywhere I wanted, including her

holes with my fingers. But she never came. Not even once. She’d look at me

intently while I desperately tried to make her reach a climax; she’d smile at my

attempts as if I were a little gold fish trying to satisfy a shark. I was

confused and frustrated about it but, curiously, I also knew she was enjoying it

in her own way and felt completely unauthorized to question the secret wisdom of

such a mistress of love. I just accepted the rules of her divine game as if

dictated from high above. Little did I know then what she still had in store for

me.

And then, one day –a day that forever will be circled in red in the history of

my life– the revelation came.

We had just come back from a walk in the park one pleasant Sunday afternoon.

Elektra pulled out her apartment keys to get in there to change into something

lighter before coming over to my place. We were both mad with desire after the

long saunter under a lovely sun and I hugged her from behind to kiss her talMORE ABOUT The Teacher and the Whore


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