Not long after Viku Dicae went home to Moldova and in so doing gave her back control of sex life, Kiki started seeing Wistler on the side. Like her other lovers, Kiki got generous gifts from Wistler and expected more, but the relationship was turning into more girl-friend/boyfriend than slut/sugar daddy.
Wistler often told Kiki that: "Your unrestrained supply of sexuality and my unlimited demand and desire for you is defining the equilibrium point of my life!", which is about as romantic as you can expect from an economist. Kiki became the focus of the man's deepest thoughts, his preoccupation, his obsession, the erotic impulse that kept him alive as a sexual man while he spent his day toiling to teach and to make his intellectual contribution to the "dismal science", which his colleagues increasingly believed was profound. The young economics professor was feeling rebellious himself now that he had tenure and his academic job was secure. His career was, assured, he thought, and he thought he had little to fear from approbation by his colleagues, in a department where sex with Kiki had already become a regular social event. Wistler had fantasies of a long-term relationship with her, emulating Keynes' relationship with his ballerina life, to the envy of his colleagues. After all, hadn't Keynes, the great economist, lived a scandalously dissolute life? (Well, yes, but Keynes was rich, upper class, mostly gay, and indispensable to his country. Wistler was none of those things.)
Wislter thought, quite simply and correctly, that Kiki was beautiful. He knew she was good in bed – the best he'd ever had or dreamed of! He had fantasies about her, fueled by the rumors of what she had done to keep Dicae sexually satisfied and away from the students. He lusted after her responsive and sexually expressive body the way a superb musician lusts after a particularly fine instrument. He admired her free spirit and her willingness to play the role of slut in a society where that role was not always valued. It seemed to him that this gorgeous young woman who made him weak in the knees was a sexual rebel, like he was a rebel against the orthodoxy of economic theory. She was living life on her own terms and rebelling against the conformity of the modern age. That's what he wanted to do! What if they could settle into a modern open relationship, live together but have sex with anyone they chose? Everyone in his department would envy Wistler because, although they already freely fucked his wife on numerous occasions, she would go home with him at night (more often than not, he hoped) and he would have that gorgeous body anytime he wanted (he was getting way ahead of himself in the fantasy department now). For this dream to come true, he was showering her with expensive gifts he really couldn't afford (he worked for the College, after all, not an investment banking house like Clarissa Aptos). But the amount he was spending on Kiki from his academic salary was, to him, an investment in a future relationship with the woman he was coming to adore. In short, he had fallen in love with the town slut.
From Kiki's point of view, on the other hand, Wistler was a nice, good-looking guy, a good vanilla lay, who gave her trinkets. She liked to have sex with him. Other than that, she didn't think about him much.
When she did think of him, there was one thing in particular about Wistler she really liked: his penis! That's because it was normal size, about six inches. Years of disciplined kegel exercises combined with her natural attraction for well-endowed lovers gave Kiki a fantastically versatile pussy. She could take a cock that was huge all around, like Charlie's, let it stretch her every which way, and after it was out of her it only took her a half hour or so of working her cunt muscles to bring it back into shape again, ready for the next lover. (Wide was no problem – length over a foot long was a problem.) Or, if her lover was smaller than normal, all she had to do was tense up her pelvic muscles and it felt just fine, tight for him and fine for her. Wistler was nice because his dick was entirely normal and that meant that Kiki could take it without strain, feel tight without any effort, get off on it because it hit all the right places, and not have to work to get her pussy back in shape after they were finished. Kiki had sex a lot, of course, and she put a lot of effort into doing it well. Sometimes, though, especially when she was having a busy week or a parade of ambitious or demanding lovers had marched through her bed, she just wanted to get laid without having to work too hard. Wistler's penis was just great for a slow, leisurely fuck.
In general, Kiki did not like her lovers to stay overnight, because then they might meet other lovers who dropped by. So when Wistler started hanging around her like a puppy, she either made him go home soon after breakfast or she spent the night at his place. She remembered the first time he took her to his apartment – how bare it was, nothing but books and Ikea furniture but also how masculine. Only a man could live there. Paper were everywhere in the front room, covered with math formulas and graphs and tables of statistics. But that didn't matter. The bedroom was free of clutter, spare, furnished in black and white, and immaculately clean. In the middle of the bedroom, under a mirror that had been installed on the ceiling, was a big bed, where Kiki spent almost all of her time when she was in his apartment.
It was there that Wistler usually took her after a date. Kiki was not used to real dates. Sometimes they stayed in town and went to dinner and a movie or sometimes a College drama department play or a concert of some entertainer on the college circuit. This often didn't work too well, because it was a small college town and Kiki had grown up there, so they were always running into people she knew and who knew that she was the town slut or men who she had sex with and who made it clear that they wanted it again. When she was with a boyfriend, this was a little awkward, so they often went to the city, an hour away, and did something there , like a show, a candlelit dinner at an expensive restaurant, or perhaps a really special concert. Once they went to see Lady Gaga.
Wistler had a certain routine he liked to follow when they made love. He brought a sense of chivalry that marked every sex act he performed with Kiki. He usually began by telling her how nice she looked in her clothes (even when she was wearing her boldest slut fashion) or how beautiful she was or asking if she was comfortable. He began this way because she really was beautiful and he really did love the way she looked. Then he would make some intimate gesture, like brushing the hair off her face or stroking her leg. He would stare into her eyes and then he would kiss her, soulfully, deeply, and without tongue, at least at first. Then he would hold her tight and tell her how much she meant to him and when he released her he would kiss her again.
This was all very strange for Kiki – she wasn't used to that at all but she liked it. It gave her goose bumps and made her heart flutter. The only problem was that it was so slow. It made her a little impatient. But at that point he would begin to French kiss her and to unbutton her blouse or dress, if she was wearing one. Since Kiki rarely wore a bra, once her top was open there would be no obstacle to fondling her or kissing those perfectly shaped, creamy breasts with broad pink areoles and little nipples, which by then would be hard under his fingers. He would take it very slowly from there, stroking her and undressing her as he went, always making sure that she was comfortable and warm, until by some means or other she was lying on her back. He would find some way to put the palm of his hand over her mons, giving her gentle pressure but not too much. Usually she would sigh and he would kiss her on the mouth one last time before nibbling at her front all the way down until he reached her pubes. There he would pause, position his face above her, kiss the insides of her thighs, breathe deeply the intoxicating aroma of her sex, kiss her prominent and pretty outer lips, tug her long and elegant inner lips gently with his teeth, and lap at her elegant pink hole as, invariably by this time, she began to juice. He would spend a lot of time worshiping her pussy this way.
She would moan and arch her hips, pushing against his mouth as his tongue pushed deep into her. Wistler could spend hours, it seemed, exploring her pink folds and rippling labia and changing scents and she enjoyed the long, concentrated, selfless oral pleasure that only he gave her.
Kiki had a very pretty vulva, it was true. But sooner or later, he always honed in on her jewel, that warm and responsive pearl that would come out from under its little hood to meet his tongue and lips. He would suck it into his mouth and pull on it with his lips until it was stiff as it could be and then he would flick it with the edge of his tongue. He took care to lick all around it, too, so that the stimulation was not always directly on her most sensitive spot and he watched her breathing and her little movements to follow her arousal. Sometimes he put two fingers in her, curling them to stroke the sensitive front wall of her tight channel, and felt her soften and moisten while he licked her beautiful, responsive clit. Sometimes he wrapped his pursed lips around it and sucked it in with short kissing pulses, pulling it out as much as if it were two inches long and he was stroking it with his fingers.
