Giantess Stories: The Teacher and the Whore

The Teacher and the Whore(A love story)By Pril“She knows who you are.” (Ancient Tahori proverb)1I love quiet.

I've always loved quiet without knowing why. Because I was born like so manyothers of our time in the big city, and did all my schooling, from beginning toend, 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, thesmog, 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 tofind the relaxed, better life I always wanted. And you know what? I did findwhat I always wanted. Funny thing is… although I thought I did, I didn't have aclue as to what I really wanted. Because what I found is just the most amazingthing I couldn't have imagined in my wildest dreams.

My name is Cyril O'Connor. I'm forty-five years old, a certified teacher byprofession. I was the only child born to a lovely home although soon in life Ilost my father, of whom over the years I have almost completely lost everyrecollection. The cruel trick life played on me with his sudden demise wasabsolutely made up for with the most caring, loveable of mothers who, to herlast day in her quiet old age, continued to give me the unconditional warmth andconfidence that bred me from the very minute I opened my eyes to this world. Herdeath two years ago was a decisive factor in my decision to move away. I couldfill up pages and pages about my dear mother, but I'll need to leave that foranother story since what I'm here for is to tell you about another lady, a veryspecial 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 thespecial circumstances that brought me and her together. As I said, I've alwaysloved quiet, and I am a quiet person myself. In a society that never stopsreminding us how insignificant we are unless we make this much money, buy theright things, dress in a particular kind of way, and watch that special TV newsprogram, I've somehow managed to grow up almost immune to all that. I think Imust have been the quietest of children or, at least, I was definitely veryquiet 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 followedin my list of early conquests. By the time I was ten I could recite off by hearta few dozen poems, including the greatest by Emerson, Kipling, Shelley andBurns. I took violin lessons for quite a few years and my mom had hopes I'dbecome an accomplished musician one day, but time showed how poor my talentreally was, especially in comparison to the big ones, which I admire to this daythrough their unforgettable recordings. Then came Michelangelo and hissculptures, which left me speechless the first time I saw them badly reproducedin an old book. My only trip overseas ever was precisely to Italy, where I spentendless hours at the museums of Rome, Florence, and Venice, and I never stoppedwondering 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 peopleas 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 asocial 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'mforty-five. Well, it might be my temper, or maybe my upbringing, but there havebeen two aspects of life for which I haven't been greatly endowed. One isambition, 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 forart 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 muchimportance when I was still a student. I would even say I was reasonablysuccessful with them, since I'm not a bad-looking fellow at all. But I noticedfrom the beginning I was far from having the crazy impulse I could detect inmost of my mates and I remember I had almost had to be convinced by others to goand try to get a girl.

So a girl did I get, and I married her two years later. Mary was lovely and mymom immediately took to her. For the first three years of our early lifetogether things were more or less all right, but soon after she started tocomplain that she wasn't getting enough out of our marriage and that she wasgetting bored, for which I can hardly blame her. I'm not going to go into thattoo 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 easyprocess, and no one suffered really much. Even mother overcame it prettyquickly.

So, believe it or not, for the last twenty years I hadn't had a regularcompanion. 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'tthink I could remember her face, or body. The rest of my sexual impulse, I don'tknow whether to feel ashamed to admit it or not, simply went down the toilet orstayed 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 ayear ago. Because the course of action of the last twelve months of my life hasbrought the most fantastic change, discovery and revolution I could have everenvisaged for my future. Life has presented me with the most amazing woman youand 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 2Funnily enough, although I am now in the suburbs, I don't live in a house. Mindyou, I could have easily gotten one for a very reasonable rate, but the schoolthat hired me owns a few apartments here and there that they sometimes offer totheir teachers or staff members, especially when they feel their experience andrecord qualifies them for that. Ms. Penders –my new and most peculiarschoolmistress– had particularly insisted on me taking one of them. Although Ihad met her only recently and wasn't particularly afraid of her authority, shewas famous for being the toughest lady in town and, believe you me, she lookedher reputation every bit! I'll have to tell you more about her later on, sinceshe is such an unusual character. I had almost made up my mind to argue myschool's generous offer with energy when I –wisely– decided so see the apartmentfirst. I fell in love with it the minute I saw it, for it was located in arather small building with only three other apartments in it. The whole placewas so tidily kept and it looked so nice that I soon realized I could savemyself right away the trouble of a house-hunt and all the dealing with realestate agents. Although it was empty, I quickly furnished it with my ownfurniture 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, quietpeople who welcomed me warmly from the very beginning. As for the secondapartment on my floor, which was empty at the time, I wrongly assumed itbelonged 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 –worsestill– a young couple with noisy children, would have moved in there, instead ofmy beautiful Elektra.

The other apartment continued to be unoccupied for a couple of months after myarrival, and I had already gotten used to coming back to an extremely quiet homewhere I could comfortably listen to my music while reading a classic until wellinto he night. Then, one evening, as I came back from school, I found a fewempty cardboard boxes lying on the short corridor between both apartment doorsand I knew right away someone had moved in. I didn't know whether to be happythat I'd have a new soul living on my floor or concerned about the person beingloud, or impolite, or any of the things I hated about the big city. I eventhought of knocking on their door and welcoming them, but then I thought thatmight be misinterpreted as nosiness on my part, so I decided to let it happennaturally.

Although I've been an early bird all my life, I'm also fond of going to sleepquite late at night, thus having longer days to enjoy all I like doing. I don'tremember ever sleeping more that five or six hours a night, and that has nevertired me much. In any case, although I continued my regular life for the nexttwo or three days, I was a bit curious to meet the new person, and a bitsurprised not to have seen them at any time of the day. For all I could tell theapartment was as quiet as usual, only that every now and then you could hearsome kitchen pottering through the door, and smell the food being prepared, andvery tasty that it was.

Then, one night, I was about to fall asleep well past midnight when I heard softhammer-like knocks along the corridor, which quickly disappeared into thedistance. I don't think I had the lucidity to register anything particular aboutit that first night, since I was drifting off. But the following night I heardthe sound again and thought to myself ‘who on earth could possibly starthammering, however soft, in the middle of the night?' The third night ithappened I decided to satisfy my curiosity and quickly ran to my door and stuckmy eye to the peephole. That was our –or, at least, my– first contact ever. Isaw the back of a woman carefully locking the door of her apartment and quicklywalking to and down the stairs. Although I didn't see her face two things becamevery clear. The first was that the hammering was actually high heel shoeswalking on the corridor's wooden floor surface. The second, that the woman I hadmanaged to snatch a glance at had to be very tall and attractive. What Idistinctly remember of that ‘first night', though, is that I found myselfrealizing 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 driftinto some kind of daydreaming about someone I hadn't even looked straight intoher eyes yet. Something was the matter with me, and the children (and childrenalways 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 curiosityand firmness, so typical of her personality.

“Is everything all right, Mr. O'Connor?” she asked me when I briefly walked intoher office to hand in some form or piece of paper.

“Of course, Ms. Penders,” I answered with my brightest smile. I knew she had akind heart deep down, and I wasn't going to allow her stern mask put a barrierbetween us.

“Hmm…” she said.

When I returned home that day I bumped into Mrs. Sampson, one of the lovelyelderly women downstairs. We had gotten on fantastically from the beginning andI 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. “Iseverything 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 saywhat she really intended to,“By the way, dear. Have you met the new neighbor yet?” there was a tone ofconcern in her voice.

“Actually, no,” I answered. “Although I did notice someone moved in the otherday. Have you met the person, Mrs. Sampson?” I asked, avoiding saying I alreadyknew it was a woman.

“Well, not exactly, dear,” she said. And further explained, “but Harry (that'sher husband), well, you know how he wakes up so many times at night for histoilet… 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 alwaysan expensive car waiting for her on the street…”She stopped herself to see whether I was taking in what she was trying toexpress. I for sure knew what she was describing, although my first thought wasthat a suburb was hardly a location for such business. Nonetheless I pretendedto take things easy and said with a smile,“Oh, Mrs. Sampson. There might be many reasons for that, I guess,” I waved myhand casually. “Maybe you should just wait a little bit longer to see whetherMr. Sampson's impression is really correct. I doubt a girl like that would beinterested in living in such a quiet neighborhood. She's probably running backand forth from her previous lodgings to this one… I'm sure we'll soon get toknow her better and everything will become clear. Aren't you?”“Well, dear, “ she said smiling. “Maybe you're right. Yes, you're probablyright. Let's hope she's just a nice lady. And if she is I really hope you lookat her for you… You know, dear, a man your age…”“Oh, yes, I know, Mrs. Sampson,” I said looking at her with my friendliestsmile.

Poor Mrs. Sampson. She could have hardly known then how literally I'd take heradvice after only a few months.

In any case, the news she'd just given me did worry me a little. Was it possiblea lady of light life had moved into this quietest of buildings? What for? As Iclimbed up the stairs I heard a little music coming out from her apartment andthe now familiar kitchenware clatter. I stopped for a second at her door notquite 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 sooneror later meeting everybody. When the weekend came I went food shopping onSaturday morning as usual and then came back home, carrying the plastic bagsfrom the supermarket. I had just placed them on the ground and was about tounlock my door when I heard the other door behind me open up. I instinctivelyturned around and saw her coming out.

The first thing I noticed was her height. I'm five nine myself and I don'tremember ever having any problems with it. I don't recall having ever beforelooked at women and judged them by how tall they were, either. In short, I don'tremember height as ever having been an issue in my life at all. Yet, my firstreaction to Elektra's appearance was astonishment at her sheer length. She stoodsix 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 wouldbe, she had just one of the most fantastic bodies I had ever seen, including onTV and in magazines and movies.

Her face was a poem to perfection. Without a gram of make-up on, herbreathtaking green eyes shone with intensity in the middle of her whitedemeanor. Her high cheekbones were supported by a ravishingly beautiful mouthand the white teeth smile that she gave me when meeting my eyes. A mass ofstraight shoulder-length blonde hair fell naturally behind her head andcontrasted playfully with the simple denim dress she had put on. The bottom ofit was slightly above knee length, thus exposing quite a lot of her magnificentlong legs, which I now know and love with mad passion. As for her age, well, shehad 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 foughtinexplicably with a rush of confusing thoughts that bombarded my brain thesecond I saw her. Still hoping not to have made a complete fool out of myself Imanaged 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 pleasantalthough 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 ofHeaven'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 fingersrested 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 eyesbefore she quickly disappeared downstairs. I must have stood at my still lockeddoor for many long minutes before I managed to break the spell that had invadedmy 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 todecipher what had actually happened to me.

"The Teacher and the Whore"(a giantess love story)Chapter 3Later that Saturday, as I managed to recover a little, I tossed our briefencounter in my head a million times and not only came to the conclusion thatthe young woman's scant speech was due to a language impairment, but also gotconvinced 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 lookedforeign, too. I couldn't know it then for sure, but it turned out I wasabsolutely right. That same night I had a frightening confirmation of my theory.

Unless I have an unavoidable social commitment on Saturday night, I love stayingat 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 wasplaying chess against a computer that had always given me a hard time on itslast two levels. I was focusing hard on an extremely tight match while listeningto a soft Schubert symphony.

Suddenly, a loud shout broke into my concentration, and I jumped off my chair asif knocked by a truck. Running to the door and gluing my eye to the peephole Isaw a man standing at Elektra's door, which he was now banging with his fist. Heaccompanied his hits with loud shouts in a language I had never heard before. Hewas 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 thesame 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 myimagination 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 bangingintensified. His voice was now threatening and clearly in command. Whatever thecase, after a couple of seconds the door was opened. I even managed to brieflysee the woman through the gap. She was dressed very attractively, exactly asMrs. Sampson had described it to me. Still she tried to keep the man out of herhouse, 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 consideredgetting out of my apartment and standing next to my neighbor's door in casesomething bad happened. I still waited for a few minutes standing where I waswhile the shouting continued. I think I was prepared to do something about itwhen suddenly the barking stopped. Finally I decided to relax and not makesomething huge of what probably was a fight between a pimp and one of hisworkers. Much as the thought hurt me, it was becoming obvious that Mr. Sampson'sconclusions had a lot of truth in them.

I tried to get back to my game but I knew perfectly well that that would not beimpossible. And it wasn't. Then I switched off the stereo and sat in the middleof the dark, silent living room trying to gather my thoughts together. I feltuncomfortable in my own home-clothes on my soft armchair. I didn't know where tolocate the reason of my feelings. Was it the woman, the situation, or me? Isuddenly stood up and started to pace the room. Then I got into the kitchen andstarted to boil water for a tea, but soon I changed my mind and grabbed from thefridge a bottle of white wine. I was about to pour me some in a wineglass when Icame to the conclusion I'd never calm down as long as I stayed within the fourwalls of my house. It became clear I was dying to know what was going on at myneighbor's and, risky as I knew it was, I just opened my damn door and walkedthe few steps that separated it from hers.

The minute I tuned my hearing into what was going on in there it became evidentthat, 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 stopto listen to his answers but –at least within my ears– I couldn't make up hispart of the script anymore. Little by little Elektra's voice turned fromfrightened and upset into just argumentative, and finally it also relaxed quitea 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 tonormal, I couldn't help wondering at the man's most unusual arguing tactics. Hehad literally disappeared from the scene after what had seemed to be theangriest fit of his life. Was everyone like that in their country? I thought. Ifthey 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 wasabout to walk the short distance back to my door when I heard, to my completedismay, the unlocking of hers. Before I knew it Elektra had come out of herapartment, slightly lowering her head to get through. I could hardly believe myeyes. If I had been impressed earlier on that day by her sheer beauty and heightwhen in simple clothes, no make-up and rubber thongs, now I was almost knockedoff my feet by the vision I had in front of me.

Elektra was wearing a blue fitting dress that outlined and enhanced every curveof her unbelievable figure. Her bust was sticking out, full and firm, clearlyexposing how generous nature had been with her. Her black pair of high heelsandals was one of the sexiest I had ever seen and she seemed to walk in them ascomfortably as other women do in their sneakers. They were at least five incheshigh, 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 madeinto a complex array of wild waves. She was a vision from another, superiordimension and my stupor on seeing her was the only sensation that could havebeen stronger than the embarrassment to have been caught in my evident nosyattitude.

Elektra was at least as surprised as I was embarrassed and she was completelytaken aback when looking down at me from her imposing height. Obviously therecouldn't have been a smile on her face (as there wasn't one on mine), althoughshe 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 bloodrush 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 havesure had to accept a good slap on my face from a woman that had obviously hadenough from men for one night. That's why I was totally put off balance when herbeautiful 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 herdoor 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. Thatnight I didn't manage to fall asleep. But I was well aware that I was falling inlove.

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 beenwith 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 4For 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 totidy 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 topermeate the world. I still wasn't able to decide what to do with the magicinfluence my beautiful neighbor had on me, but I concluded I was much better offif I just continued to live my life as normally as if she didn't exist, lettingthings happen in their natural way. I knew what she was and what I was. I hadheard and read many times about men –or women– who lose their minds when fallingin love, and I was ready to invest my best creative energy in order not to makea complete fool out of myself. I knew it wouldn't be easy, and I didn't rule outany possible endings to what was going on. But I was strong in my decision notto lose control over the impact in my life of a woman twenty plus years myjunior. Little did I know then what control really was.

Nonetheless, I also thought it would be wrong to shift completely to the otherside in order to avoid dependence on another person by ignoring them. I decidedthat same afternoon I would ring on Elektra's bell before getting back into myapartment just to ask how she was. I knew she might regard it as an excuse Imade up to snatch another look at her but I didn't care. She could thinkwhatever she wanted and as she wanted. It was a fact I liked the woman beyondmere attraction and I was quite ready to expose myself in front of her in spiteof my fears. You can't always win in life, and you certainly can't decide yourfate.

So it was that when I got back to my building I climbed up the easy stairs to myfloor and stood at my neighbor's door. I was about to knock when I heard hervoice engaged in conversation. First I was convinced she was on the phone and Idecided to try a little bit later. But when I turned around to leave I heard herswitch from her –for me– incomprehensive language to a very basic, almostunintelligibly 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 ofspeaking on the phone. I couldn't help remembering the previous night, when thevoice of the big guy that had forced his way into her apartment had virtuallydisappeared from their ongoing argument. Was she talking to him again? And ifso, why her sudden change to English? Now my curiosity was aroused and I foundmyself again standing secretly at her door, trying to guess at every move thathappened in there. The little chattering died away after only a few minutes, andI still waited some more before mustering courage and making up my mind to knockon her door.

“Yes?” I heard immediately from behind it. The voice wasn't frightened orconcerned. Just asking who this was.

“Elektra,” I said aloud and politely, “this is Cyril, your neighbor. I hope I'mnot 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 andfitting jeans that exposed in a natural yet suggestive way her prominent bustand erect bottom. I was about to apologize for my unexpected and unsolicitedintrusion into her evening when she gave me one of her disarmingly sweet andwinning smiles that melted within a split of a second all my bombastic andelaborate 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 yesterdaynight… I hope everything is alright… is it?”My discourse gradually dwindled, as there was no answer from her except for thecurious, interested smile that seemed to be scanning my soul through its greeneyes. She never spoke; neither did she move. The gorgeous woman just stood therelooking down at me, as if waiting for me to say something else. As the secondsquickly succeeded one another I was certain she was going to close her door onmy nose unless I said something, and quickly. Yet she continued to stand thereand smile. And it was then that I had the first suspicion ever that she mightalso be interested in a kind of friendship with her intellectual, singleneighbor.

A bit more relaxed in the wake of her open, awaiting attitude I allowed a littlesmile 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, assomeone that is trying to decipher an exotic and interesting code. ‘God', Ithought, ‘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 withher, I proceeded to explain to her with very simple words and a lot ofgesticulation that I was there for her to count on for whatever she needed. Mylast repeated gig was to impersonate the big guy that had given her hell theprevious night and gesturing to her that next time she shouldn't hesitate tocall 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, andI was most surprised when the beautiful girl exploded with laughter at myhand-waving and body-jerking in the air. She must have laughed for a good longminute, and I remember thinking that she had one of the healthiest, purestlaughs I had ever heard. I watched her with fascination as she tried to calmdown. I just could not, did not want to let those seconds go. I loved the veryidea 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 along time. I had an intense tickling sensation between my eyes, as someone whoseenjoyment 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'treally know how I would ever manage that at my age and my not too ambitiouspersonality. How much was each one of the dresses she wore at night? What couldI offer her? A poem by Tennyson?Now, I've seen time and again that there are good and bad spells in life. For noreason, without any logical explanation, sometimes everything goes wrong andsometimes everything goes right. Life had always been fairly good to me and, forthe same unknown reason, now it was about to become incredible, for soon itwould show me exactly what I could offer Elektra.

And so it was that for the day after, a Monday, there was an excursion to thepark planned for my pupils. Ms. Penders –the strict schoolmistress I told youabout– had frowned at the idea, but my smile had convinced her and she hadfinally agreed to let me apply my own methodology to my eager pupils. Once sheconsented I took the children to that beautiful park, halfway thorough theschool and my house, to show my little ones nature in its beautiful habitatother than in boring books. My pupils and I were walking along the park's largeextensions 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 mychildren and me, waving a friendly hand at us. Her golden hair was made up intoa 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 myhand to wave back, as did some of the children. I was wearing my teaching outfitand was clearly conducting an open-air lesson, which proved to be decisive inthe developments of later that day. As she jogged away, every now and thenturning her head back for another little smile, I thought that if I could onlysee Elektra for a few seconds every morning my life would be ten times moreworth 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 feltrushes of emotion go up and down my spine.

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

I looked at him sweet and long, and tried to find a plausible answer, beforeforcing 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 whilelistening to some jazz in the kitchen, I heard a soft knock on my door, which Imistook as Mrs. Sampson, the lovely old lady downstairs, surely bringing me apiece of cake or another tidbit, as was her wont. I quickly opened the door witha big smile while holding a ladle in my hand. You can easily imagine what I feltwhen I saw standing in front of me not the sweet old lady but the ravishingyoung 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 inall its intensity, while her face smiled at me warmly. This was the first timesince she had moved in that she had actually knocked on my door, something I hadnever really expected to happen. I was so surprised I just didn't know what tosay 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 simplyasked,“You magister?”I looked at her a bit longer before guessing at was she was trying to say. Shehad 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 ateacher. 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 Englichme!”She was the most beautiful thing that ever existed, and I could hardly believemy ears.

“Are you asking me to teach you English?” I asked slowly and prudently, usinglots of gestures.

“Yes!” she said loudly and cheerfully. And then she said and did something thatnearly 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 myempty 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 aboutit yet!”Much as I wasn't ready to accept any money –if at all– without knowing firstwhat kind of a deal we'd have, I loved the fact that she had trusted me so muchas 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 finishdinner and come again right after, at eight o'clock, for our first lesson. Idon't think I've ever had such a virtual meal in my life. I'm not even sure Iate any food at all that dinner, so busy was my head with the gift destiny haddropped on my lap.

“The Teacher and the Whore”(a giantess love story)Chapter 5At eight o'clock sharp Elektra softly knocked on my door again. For some reasonboth of us had tacitly agreed to change into slightly less casual, if stillinformal, clothes. I had removed my shorts and T-shirt to put pants and acheckered shirt on, whereas she had changed her skimpy white dress for tightjeans and a rather loose-fitting blouse, a pair of simple old brown leatherstriped sandals hardly covered her beautiful feet. She had also innocentlybrought a little notebook, pencil and erasure with her. I just loved how shelooked. 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 downat 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 athome.

I sat right across from her, the medium-sized wooden table between us. On itstop there were a few books and notes I had dug from some old files containingmaterial I had gathered during the two or three years –long ago– during which Ihad 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) andthen the verbs ‘to be' and ‘to have'. Next I named a few simple objects on thetable and immediately around us, using also an illustration book that I hadprecisely for that purpose. I must say that Elektra surprised me with her powerof concentration. For some reason I had wrongly assumed she'd be just a regularstudent, but I soon realized her receptive capability was definitely abovenormal, which only made our lesson more enjoyable. Her writing skills were alsoquite accomplished and, funnily enough, she was familiar with the Latinalphabet.

For a full hour both student and teacher dedicated our complete attention to thematerial, thus calming me in my fears of not quite knowing how to handle such apeculiar situation. After the hour was over we both looked at each other notknowing whether to continue or not, when I had the brilliant idea to offer heranother coffee. Her understanding now improved in something like a thousandpercent, she accepted immediately my offer and, right after I made some, wecontinued for yet another hour, until the weight of a long day became evident inour proficiency.

Once the second hour was over we looked at each other again with tired eyes anddecided it had been more than enough for a first meeting. Elektra got on herfeet 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 allher bills on my table. I quickly thought that I didn't want our lessons to seemunprofessional by not charging at least something, so I decided to compromisefor 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 thefantastically attractive woman on me, I have to admit that here and there Ifound 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 witha 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 myshoulders, lowered her head to give me a big kiss on my cheek. Before I couldreact, she had opened the door herself and left the apartment. I stood at mydoor for a long time touching with a trembling hand the spot where she hadkissed me. Then, still feeling slightly floating on light clouds, I walked up tothe chair Elektra had occupied during our lesson, knelt down in front of it, andgave 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 countdownuntil our lessons. I found myself smiling for no reason in the middle of thestreet, the middle of the supermarket, the middle of the gas station, the middleof 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, aftertwo weeks, she started to be able to conduct her first real conversation beyonda few pleasantries and silly sentences. Our lessons took place religiously everyevening at eight o'clock and lasted for two hours invariably. Elektra was acommitted student and I sure was an experienced teacher.

As she improved her speech I found it easier to ask her more importantquestions. I was very eager to know who she was but, although always with asmile and extremely politely, she somehow kept dodging questions about her pastand origin. All I gathered was that she came from some Eastern European countrywhich she astutely avoided talking much about until it became clear my curiositywasn't really contributing in any way to our special relationship, so preciousto 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 thebeginning of our incredible love affair.

As you can easily imagine I was absolutely marveled and mesmerized by my uniquestudent, and the more at ease we felt with each other the more we relaxed ourformalities. Thus, we started to dress very casually when spring was giving wayto summer, which means we exposed large chunks of flesh in front of each otherthat, obviously, didn't go without effect on me. I was particularly dumbfoundedby her lean, long, shapely legs, which she always crossed so naturally andeasily wherever she sat, including the couches we started to use for our lessonsafter a few weeks.

I also discovered a streak of good humor in her, especially the way she tried toimitate my accent and mannerisms when teaching. Practically every lesson I foundmyself cracking up at one of her sallies, which she'd totally take advantage ofto make me laugh even more. I swear I kept pinching myself every morning whenwaking 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 couldhave given me the strength to resist temptation. I knew I had a fairly goodchance to be accepted by my student, had I made physically evident the madattraction 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 themin, but never for a long time. I don't think she ever conducted her business ather premises. Maybe those men just came for money arrangements of some sort. Ido know, though, she kept going out almost every night well after midnightbecause many times I was still awake and could hear her high heels tapping onthe floor. I even took to getting out of bed and stretching my body out thekitchen balcony, from where I had a little view of the street below.

Elektra would go downstairs and wait seductively dressed on the street for onlya few seconds, before being picked up by all sorts of expensive cars. Sheobviously had a busy and organized timetable and customers knew exactly when tocome for her. The scene started to gnaw at my nerves as I got to know her betterand better. I just couldn't accept that a young woman like my student, with herevident capacity, would have resorted to prostitution as the way of making herliving. This, together with the restraint I mentioned before, was what kept medelaying my natural impulses toward my beautiful princess.

My lovely neighbors downstairs, on the other hand, started to ease their pooropinion about the newcomer. I don't think they ever accepted her business, butthey could have hardly blamed her for or accuse her of anything wrong. She wasas quiet as you could expect a neighbor to be, and she was also a good pal. Asher English quickly improved and everyone saw we got on fantastically well, theygradually started to greet her with a smile and, although never what they hadexpected, she became part of our small community.

Only one thing remained unclear to me, though: for some reason she never invitedme to her apartment. She would open the door for me and even let me once ortwice into her tidy kitchen, which was the first room in the house. But shenever showed me the rest of her place, even though she had gotten to see mine inits entirety, neither did she give any hints as to what it might be thatprevented her from doing it. Once I even went as far as to mention it in ahumorous way,“Here opens the gate of mystery,” I said with horror-movie-like voice one daywhen I saw her opening her door to get into her apartment. She looked at me witha big smile and got right in without making anything of it. It still annoyed methat, here and there, some men were let in late at night, albeit for a fewminutes, but I had to accept that I wasn't but her English teacher and goodneighbor, and I had no right to pry into her private affairs.

The mystery about her apartment remained unsolved for good two months until oneday it was revealed to me. And when it was my life changed forever, for what Isaw 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 6One evening, about two months after our lessons had started, Elektra and I weresitting on the same loveseat, reading an easy book together. I remember it wasan abridged version of some Agatha Christie's M. Poirot story, made especiallyaccessible for students of English. I swear I hadn't read the book before, but Isoon realized I might have made a mistake, for the main character, beside theclever little Belgian inspector, was a prostitute. I think I guessed at thecontents of the book much before Elektra did, and by the time she realized too Iwas angry with myself with remorse. Once more my beautiful princess came to myrescue gently placing her beautiful hand on my lap on seeing my guilty face andsaying,“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 medo it. That was our first real contact ever. Something told the two of us thattime was ripe for further developments in our relationship. Softly taking thebook and putting it on a side table, I took both of the beautiful woman's handsin mine and said plain and straight,“Elektra, I love you.”She gave me her sweetest smile, brought her angelic hand up to my face, andsaid,“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 alsoevident that she did have feelings for me. I delicately took her hands andkissed them on their palms and fingers, letting their beauty invade my soul. Shewas wearing a short, simple denim dress, well above her knee, and her fantasticlegs were easily crossed right under my nose. I felt a sudden urge to possessthe 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 mostpassionate kiss I had ever experienced. I remember the thrilling sensation ofkissing a much taller woman for the first time in my life. The way she hadlowered her head in order to prevent me from craning up mine gave my erogenousareas 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 freeticket into a different, better dimension I quite didn't know how or who tothank for. I thought that was the ultimate power I could have expected from akiss, but I was wrong.

My many weeks with Elektra the student had almost completely erased myperception of Elektra the mistress of lovemaking. She seemed to have beendesigned 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 slightlyup. When I suddenly felt her lips leaving mine I instinctively looked for themstretching my head up in their quest. Soon I felt a little uncomfortable abouthaving to stretch my neck, which only boosted my desire. Elektra allowed me oneor two minutes more of that arousing position before proceeding to uplift herhead a bit more. My neck now was hardly able to do the job anymore. Soon I foundmyself 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 awarethat, as opposed to my now more than a little uncomfortable position on mytiptoes and craned neck, my lover was easily standing full length, her feet flaton the ground, her head still bent down a little.

She still continued to literally hold me in that position until she introducedher hand into her divine game. While keeping me firm with her long arm behind myback, she brought her free hand under my chin and gently pulled it up, makingher long fingernails mildly bite into my skin.

The same kiss was still going on as I felt all my juices quickly rush up to mysluices. 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 neverexperienced 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 tome,“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 hercount 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 myfirst pre-spermal liquid wet my underwear.

“You understand, little man?” she repeated more firmly, and removed her mouthfrom 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 hadpressed her lips against mine again and started to explore the interior of mymouth with her tongue. “Two”. I was gently rubbing my face against hers inecstasy, trying to squeeze every ounce of pleasure I could get from an alreadysurreal sensation. My liquids were now almost uncontrollably fighting not togush out. Her last number took a little longer to come, but I did manage to holdit 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 mybutt to the end of my penis. The dormant desire of years of restraint seemed tocome out all at once. It felt like boiling lava exploding out of a powerfulvolcano that had been sleeping for centuries. As I was shaking completely out ofcontrol, Elektra had effectively secured me between her strong arms, neverstopping 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. Mysemen just continued to jet out impulse after impulse, as if someone had turnedon a faucet only to forget to turn it off. Soon I felt the warm, thick liquidsliding down my legs. There was so much!After what seemed to be hours of indescribable pleasure I finally felt my legswobble 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 herlong, bare legs, first with my hands, then my mouth. Elektra carefully sat downagain on the loveseat we had shared before, right next to us, and let me liedown at her feet for a long, long time, as she stroke my hair gently with hercelestial hands while I kissed her feet as a dog licks his bone. As I was slowlybecoming fully aware of this revelation and change in my life, I burst out intoa passionate sob. I was crying like a baby.

I was crying tears of happiness.

"The Teacher and the Whore"(a giantess love story)Chapter 7After that first sexual experience with my queen I put myself completely in herhands. During the next few days our lessons didn't survive the initial ten orfifteen minutes of our meetings, for I was crazy with love and passion. I simplycouldn't have enough of the young goddess fate had brought to my life. She was aconsummate master of love in ways that were completely unknown to me with mylittle experience in that field. She could literally finish me in no time withthe sole power of her presence. Every caress was a message from heaven, everykiss 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 thisfactor had always been absent from my lovemaking and partner choosing, whichexplained a lot of my apparent failure. Without ever turning up at my place withhigh heel shoes, her natural height was more than enough to ensure that, nomatter how we stood, she was always well above my head, thus transmitting asense 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 athand 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 ontop 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 toits fullest to try and get it. Then, after a few good seconds of amusedexpression at my futile efforts, she'd slowly approach me and easily lift herhand 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 whereher tongue would tickle every corner of my mouth while her hands wouldadminister the most arousing massage all over my shorter body.

She made me cum in the kitchen, the bedroom, the toilet, the living room, thebalcony, the second bedroom, inside the closet, the bathtub, on a chair, on thetable, into the sink, the basin, a pillow, a cushion, and once even up there onthe building's roof under the stars.

She made me cum in her mouth, her breast, her hands, her legs, her feet, hertoes, 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 toquestion why she wasn't letting me penetrate her. Not only that. She didn't letme give her an orgasm either. It isn't that she wouldn't let me touch her. Ohno, on the contrary. I was free to explore every pore of her perfect body asmuch as I wanted. I could also rub frantically anywhere I wanted, including herholes with my fingers. But she never came. Not even once. She'd look at meintently while I desperately tried to make her reach a climax; she'd smile at myattempts as if I were a little gold fish trying to satisfy a shark. I wasconfused and frustrated about it but, curiously, I also knew she was enjoying itin her own way and felt completely unauthorized to question the secret wisdom ofsuch a mistress of love. I just accepted the rules of her divine game as ifdictated from high above. Little did I know then what she still had in store forme.

And then, one day –a day that forever will be circled in red in the history ofmy 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 somethinglighter before coming over to my place. We were both mad with desire after thelong saunter under a lovely sun and I hugged her from behind to kiss her tal