His Old-Fashioned World by Emily Tilton – Extended Preview

Michael had always had a vague worry that when the time came to train a girl properly—not the way a single man did with his girlfriends but the way a husband did with his wife—he would find himself at a loss as to how exactly to proceed. That worry flew away completely, never to reappear, as he looked down at Jenna with his cock on her tongue.

He could hardly believe he had only met this strange, wonderful girl a few hours before, in a hospital room. Jenna Burke had already changed his life, it seemed to Michael—so thoroughly that he could hardly remember how he had thought about his world before he had learned that at least one more world existed, and that it contained women like Jenna. Her wildness, as it still appeared to him—her foul mouth and her belief in the rights it seemed girls in her world had—seemed to create a tension between them that he couldn’t resist.

He gazed at her, in this lewd, submissive position that enchanted him so completely he felt himself nearly at a loss for words. Her copper-colored ponytail was very unkempt now, from the soaping, and the understandable tiredness showed just a little around her eyes. Michael felt the simultaneous desire to fuck her until she couldn’t get out of bed for a week and to cuddle her in his arms for that same week, not letting her rise from his side until her face appeared as fresh as the new morn of their love.

The urge to thrust in, as deep as he could, rose very high, but the idea of doing as he had promised, and taking this precious moment to enjoy the anticipation of pleasure and of dominance, won out. He went on stroking her cheek, only the tip of his cock inside the sweet recess between her lips where he knew such ecstasy was to be found, as soon as he sheathed himself there.

“I wonder if premarital sex in your world is at all the way it is here, Jenna,” he said softly. He watched her eyes grow a little clouded, as she looked obediently up at him. “Here, unless the girl is a professional, like you—and you’ve seen how few women professionals there are in my world—the girl’s custodian needs to be asked whether the girl is on birth control, and whether the custodian thinks the man is a suitable partner to fuck her.”

Michael put a little emphasis on the word fuck, as the word that had caused such trouble for her that day. Jenna gave a little cry at the sound of it, and he used the moment to shift his right hand to the back of her head, twining his fingers gently in her ponytail and holding her still as he thrust his penis into the velvety cavern of her mouth at last.

The pleasure of the soft, moist place in which he began to move, and of the beautiful sight of her pretty face obediently receiving the cock exactly as he chose to drive it in, between her lips and over her tongue, and then withdraw it until only the tip remained inside, robbed him of his wits for a moment. He couldn’t help merely grunting a little, giving himself to the pure enjoyment of his mastery and the lovely sensation of a girl’s mouth submissively attending his manhood, before he could continue her instruction. He would come very soon, he knew: the thought of making her swallow his seed, as a sort of natural follow-on to the soaping of her mouth, aroused him almost as greatly as the actual act of fucking her face.

Her eyes showed him that her submission aroused her very greatly—as if he didn’t know, from the astonishing way she had thrust her hand into her jeans to masturbate right in front of him. The regulation of self-pleasure wasn’t an area into which he had ever gone with a girlfriend, since such matters were the province of a custodian, and then a husband. Michael could see, though, that he would have to spend some time and thought on Jenna’s habits in that regard.

He managed to find more words, then, though as he spoke his voice seemed to grow thicker and thicker with his impending orgasm. “The custodian decides whether the man should be allowed to teach the girl how to give fellatio, or should only be allowed to fuck her pussy.”

Jenna, breathing steadily as if to demonstrate that, yes, she was as good at blowjobs as she had claimed, gave another whimpering cry around his cock at this news. Suddenly, to his surprise, Michael thought he could see the matter from her perspective, and it brought him to the very brink of coming. The notion that a custodian made such decisions for a girl seemed normal to him, of course; he had met with three different custodians over the ten years of his dating life so far, to present his credentials and to learn what the custodian thought best for the girl. He had found it mildly arousing—and faintly embarrassing—to discuss the fucking of a pretty girl that way, he supposed, but the conversation always proceeded in clinical terms. Now, seeing the matter through Jenna’s eyes, it seemed very dominant indeed: he imagined discussing Jenna that way, and deciding that she needed a good face-fucking to teach her her place in this parallel universe.

He growled deep in his throat the warning he always gave a girl before he came in her mouth, and he held Jenna’s head in both hands to make sure she understood that she would swallow every bit of his seed. She held his knees tightly, almost desperately. “Good girl,” he murmured as the sperm seemed to boil in his balls, and then to erupt. “Oh, such a good girl. That’s it. There you go, darling.”

Michael’s orgasm went on for long moments, bestowing spurt after spurt of his semen. He had not fucked a girl in several months, and the uniqueness of this new relationship with Jenna had excited him more than he could ever remember having been aroused before. Jenna swallowed every drop, only a frothy little trickle escaping the corner of her mouth.

At last he raised her from her knees. She looked up at him with a satisfied little smile on her lips. “Should you wash my mouth out again?” she asked. “I think I just did something very dirty with it.”

Michael laughed, and kissed her. “Let’s get all of you into the shower,” he said.

Jenna pouted a little. “I thought you were going to take down my pants,” she said softly. “You promised, if I was a good girl.”

Michael felt himself start to harden again, to his great surprise, at the look in her eyes. The idea of having her jeans taken down by a man had clearly seized her erotic imagination to an unexpected extent. Now she seemed to beam into his eyes a thirst for the pleasure he had denied her before, and a willingness for it to be on Michael’s terms—to have her pants and underwear pulled down, her pussy exposed to his dominant gaze and fondled as he pleased, because the time had come for her to learn the ways of a man with a girl in this world.

He took her by the hand and led her, on willing feet but with her brow puckering a little in continuing protest, to the ranch house’s master bathroom. He stood her in front of the mirror, an erotic whim suddenly coming together into a cock-stiffening plan as he saw the arresting sight of them both in the bigger mirror here. Jenna’s eyes met his, questioningly, in the reflection, as he stood behind her, looming a head taller.

“Your jeans are most certainly going to be taken down, now, Doctor,” he said softly. “And those adorable panties, too.”

That made Jenna bite her lip and draw a little whimpering sigh. Her eyes dropped, to fix themselves on the counter.

“Look at yourself,” Michael said, though. “I’m going to undress you, I want you to watch.”

The whimper became a tiny, puppy-like whine as she obeyed and lifted her eyes. When Michael felt sure of her obedience, he reached for the hem of her cotton sweater and stripped it off in a single motion, to drop it on the white tile floor. A faint scent of lilacs, perhaps from her shampoo or her deodorant, rose sweetly into the air.

Jenna put her hands up, instinctively, to cover her little braless breasts, cupping them to hide from view the little pink nipples of which he had gotten a glimpse for only a moment.

“Put your hands at your sides, Jenna,” Michael commanded, but in a gentle voice. “I want to see those little peaches.”

Jenna closed her eyes and dropped her hands. For a moment Michael enjoyed the lovely sight of her uncovered chest, before he said, “Open your eyes, darling.”

She obeyed, and then she opened them even further as she watched his right hand slip under her arm and cup her breast, rubbing a circle on the instantly stiffening nipple. Her face had grown very red.

“They’re very small,” she whispered in a self-deprecating tone, as her breathing quickened.

“They’re very beautiful,” Michael said, right into her ear, and kissed her jaw, then her neck, then her cool, sweet shoulder. Jenna lifted her chin and closed her eyes again, but Michael let her keep them closed for a while as his hands roamed her upper body, drawing from her little cries as he told her with fingers and lips alone that he would decide how her pleasuring would proceed.

Finally he said, “Open your eyes, Jenna. It’s time for these inappropriate pants to come down for good.”

Her eyes flew open, to see that he had put his hands to the jeans’ waistband. He unfastened the button deftly, and pulled the pants down to her knees, to show the cute polka dots once again. The spanking already seemed like it had occurred an age ago—before they had understood; before they had known that in them two universes, and not just two people, were coming together.

In a gesture of bold possession, Michael put his hand right on the front of the panties, three fingers cupping the place he knew he would find warm and wet—but not as warm and wet as he did find it. The gusset of the panties was absolutely soaking, and at the same moment as he felt his fingers grow instantly slick with her arousal, the heady scent of girlish passion seemed to fill the air, vying with the floral aroma and making a mixture that made Michael’s cock strain against his own jeans, raised and buttoned after the amazing blowjob.

Jenna cried out as he discovered her lascivious secret, and learned also that she still had her pubic hair, feeling its crinkle through the cotton. How strange, seeing as her legs and armpits were as smooth as a girl of this world kept them.

Fascinated, he pulled down the panties too, at last, to rest atop the jeans, and looked at the tight little red triangle that couldn’t quite hide the furrow of her pussy from his sight, even with her legs still tightly closed.

Jenna’s face was crimson, her lips parted, her breath panting. She had fixed her eyes there, on the place between her legs where Michael now began to feel his way, as she made her little puppy noises. He had never caressed a cunt that still had its covering of fur before, and he found it strange and very arousing.

“Why is this hair still here, you naughty girl?” he murmured in her ear. “Didn’t they teach you to shave it, when you turned eighteen?”

“What?” Jenna said, looking into his eyes again, apparently startled. “Some… I mean, porn stars, and…”

“What stars?” Michael asked, trying to follow the thread of her reasoning, whose slight derangement he took as a tribute to his skillful way with a girl whose pants had come down. He ran two fingers down, to press them gently into the moist sheath where his cock would go.

“Oh, God,” she breathed. “I… I… Are you…”

She seemed less and less in possession of herself now as he put his other hand behind her, upon the bottom he had spanked and now promised himself he would spank again—as well as do other things, usually reserved for marriage. He pressed a finger against her tight, tiny hole to make it clear to Jenna that that part of her would belong to him, too.

“Are you going to make me…”

“Make you do what, darling?” he asked, paying attention now only to the pleasure his hands wrought.

“Make me shave?” she whimpered.

“Of course, Jenna. We’ll bare you here very soon, so that no one suspects, at the gym or the doctor. And so that you feel as submissive as you should. That’s the true reason, after all.”

We’ll bare you here very soon.

Here, where his hands seemed to unlock a level of pleasure Jenna had never even imagined.

I’m going to train you the way a man trains his bride on her wedding night.

Michael’s hands had a great deal of skill, certainly: the side of this experience purely related to her nervous system—which represented the terms in which Jenna had previously thought of her sexual experiences, really—felt very good. But the distribution of nerve endings around her clit, and the way Michael clearly had a working knowledge of how far they extended, and where, didn’t go very far at all in explaining what she really felt.

It couldn’t describe, it seemed to her, the smallest part of why Jenna, watching his hands in the mirror, one in front upon her pussy and one behind upon her bottom, thought she might literally die from the sensations her nervous system sent rocketing through her whole body, from tingling scalp to curling toes. She moaned and bent her knees, tried to spread them despite the confining denim, helplessly begging him for more.

Begging him to do precisely what he wanted with her, as long as it involved forcing this kind of pleasure upon her. Jenna wanted him to take the grownup hair away from her pussy, so she would be bare for him inside her panties. She wanted him to fuck that bare little pussy with his beautiful cock until he pronounced her well-trained. She wanted him to claim her backside with the fingers he pressed there, and with his cock.

“Ride my hands, now, darling,” he said in her ear. “Show me how you need it.”

Jenna gave a little sob, seeing herself so utterly claimed, topless and pants down, and knowing how very badly she did need it, after the spanking, the soaping, the blowjob, and above all after being forbidden to touch herself. She watched in the mirror as she obeyed him, helplessly humping the saddle he had made for her of his big hands. She ground her clit against the heel of his hand as his fingers moved in and out of the place where she needed it most. She whimpered in frustration as she found she couldn’t get it just right, couldn’t get quite where she needed to go yet.

He held her bottom more firmly, then, and the fingers between the cheeks he had punished pushed more insistently against the tiny opening.

He said nothing, but Jenna knew what those fingers meant, because in this world, where men trained their wives for pleasure, they could mean nothing else. Jenna had never had anal sex, not because she found the hygienic aspects off-putting, really, but because no guy had ever asked. She suddenly wondered, as Michael taught her how much pleasure her body could feel when she submitted to a man’s dominance, whether she had learned in her own world to fake such a businesslike, transactional attitude about sex that the men she slept with assumed she wanted nothing but vanilla, with the occasional woman-astride thrown in for variety.

Jenna came with guys, generally—sometimes even during intercourse. She didn’t come the way she now realized, as if seeing a mountain rising in the distance across the prairie, she would soon come. Usually, even when she played with herself—Is he really going to tell me I’m not allowed? Why does that turn me on so fucking much?—Jenna’s orgasms were elusive. You had to see the mountain, and run toward it, looking neither to the right nor to the left. This climax, though… Michael had put her on a speeding train toward the mountain, with the roar and thump of the diesel and the rails sounding in her ears, and no way to get off the train even if she had wanted to.

She cried out, for one of the two fingers had entered her bottom, and at the same time Michael had employed his knowledge of the clitoris to its utmost effect, with a firm caress around the hood, then down further, then up to take the little bud itself between thumb and middle fingertips.

Then, after long moments of silence in the bathroom except for Jenna’s moans and the shameful wet sounds of her submissive pleasures, she watched him lean in, and he spoke softly into her ear.

“In my world, a bride gives her bottom on her wedding night.”

Jenna looked desperately into her own eyes, in the mirror, then into his, as he looked steadily back at her, obviously enjoying the effect of his words. He had known, somehow, that his hand on her bottom, that his finger in her bottom, would make her come as she had never come before, when combined with this piece of lewd information about the differences between her timeline and his.

Maybe that embodied the strange connection between them: it didn’t lie in the mere fact that they had figured out together at least the beginning of what had happened to Jenna. Yes, they alone knew that a traveler from another universe had arrived in this one. Whether because of some cosmic providence or because of something essential randomly found in Michael Weathers and Jenna Burke, though, the nature of the differences between their worlds meant something greater, for them at least.

Jenna had come to a world where a man knew about her the thing she hadn’t, it seemed, known about herself. In no other world, she suddenly thought, and especially not in her own, could she have felt a man’s finger in her bottom, and heard the news that if she married him she would be expected to surrender her anal virginity on her wedding night, and come like a train crashing into a mountain.

She threw her head back, closing her eyes and trusting that Michael would hold her up, because her knees were trembling uncontrollably. Her bouncing upon his lewd, caressing hands became frantic and jerky. She screamed with the extremity of the pleasure, riding on and on, reaching for the counter to steady herself and finding only air as Michael withdrew his left hand from her bottom—to her momentary sorrow—so that he could put his arm around her waist and hold her close. At least he kept his right hand down where it could keep doing her the world of good it appeared she was no longer allowed to do herself. Jenna snuggled her face into his chest, her eyes still closed and her face burning with the knowledge of the shameful display she had just made, and giggled softly as he kissed the top of her head, tenderly, over and over.

The right hand kept going, and Jenna kept shuddering, wondering when Michael would stop. His fingers had become less insistent, less demanding of her pleasure, but the possessiveness remained. She gave a little sigh into his chest. He was winding down, of course, and she would get into the shower. Jenna pushed away a little bit, to show she was ready for him to stop.

Michael didn’t stop, but held her more tightly. Instead of easing the pressure of his fingers down below, he started to rub more firmly. Jenna gave a little cry as he ran them down further, to spread her pussy open.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “I came, in case you didn’t notice.” She giggled again, sure he would get the message. It was time for her shower, now.

“That doesn’t mean we’re done here, Jenna,” Michael said. “We’re done when I decide we’re done.”

The tone in his voice drew a whimpering moan from her chest. She had never been multi-orgasmic, had always gotten out of bed—or dropped off to sleep—right after orgasm. It seemed like simply too much, to keep going. Especially after the climax she had just had, it seemed excessive. She pushed away again.

“I need a shower,” she said.

“You’ll have your shower when I’m done with you, darling,” he said in her ear, and now his fingers were pushing deep inside her, to let her know what he had decided must happen next, whether Jenna liked it or not.

“Do you know what I’m going to do now, Jenna?” His voice had become very quiet, but also so growly and menacing that it sent a thrill through her. She felt her wetness gush submissively into his hand. Her cheeks blazed as she caught the scent of her helpless passion in the air.

She bit her lip and shook her head—not because she didn’t know, but because she wanted to oppose him. Suddenly it seemed like her whole body had caught fire, yearning to be bent to his will, made to submit.

“Yes, you do. You couldn’t stop saying it, before, could you? I had to spank you, and wash your mouth out with soap, didn’t I?”

Jenna opened her eyes so that she could watch herself in the mirror, shaking her head against Michael’s chest, the topless girl with her pants down in the bathroom, a man’s hand between her thighs, getting her ready for his cock.

“Say it, Jenna,” he growled, his fingers becoming more and more insistent. “Tell me why a girl’s jeans and panties come down, when a man decides the time has come for her to please him. Tell me what you want me to do, down here.”

Jenna sucked her lips into a tight line, and felt her brow pucker. Part of her wanted to scream the dirty word, and another part of her wanted to refuse to say it at all—to see what he would do, whether he would spank her again, this time for not swearing.

Fuck. She had become so used to saying it, in her world, from such an early age. She and her friends used fucking practically as a particle, the way they used now or even like.

Is he hot now?

He’s, like, so hot.

He’s so fucking hot.

Here in Michael’s world, the dirtiest word, nearly robbed of its power in her universe, had kept its special majesty. Girls mustn’t say it. Men probably said it all the time, the way men always had and always would, but the power even for men lay there, hidden, to emerge anew in the presence of mixed company.

How much more mixed could company get than a girl from another universe and a dominant doctor from this one?

Michael took his hand from around her waist, as she lost herself for a long moment in this reverie, and brought it down hard on her bottom. Jenna yelped and squirmed, trying to get away, but the strong arm instantly returned, holding her fast.

“Say it, darling,” he said, much more gently.

Jenna looked into his eyes in the mirror.

“Fuck,” she whispered, and then a sort of delirium took over, and she wanted him to know exactly how dirty her mouth could get. “You’re going to fuck me, in my little cunt, with your big cock.”