Juliet Takes the Prize

By K.D. West

"Strong recommend!... One that will stick in my thoughts. Great stories do that, and this is one of those." — Sylvia Storm, EreadErotica.com

When you fall in love with your teacher, that's taking a chance. When your teacher falls in love with you, that's taking it to a whole new level. Allison finds her Romeo, but Ken is much older - and he's her teacher.

In this collection of tales by K.D. West, this young Juliet finds that love can cross all boundaries, and can lead you in directions you never expected.

Sexy, surprising, and moving, this collection includes:

1 - Juliet Takes Stage: Allison has wanted Ken ever since he became her teacher. and how could Ken not want this passionate young Juliet? Now Ken's alone and Allison has graduated. He still wants her. She wants to give him... everything.
2 - Juliet Takes Off: What if Romeo were more than twice Juliet's age -- and her teacher? Would that have made a difference? Allison tries to find another leading man, but ends up being drawn back to the first person who ever inspired her to real, undeniable desire. How can this Juliet convince her much-older Romeo to take her seriously? How can she convince him that she is a woman, and no longer a girl?
3 - Juliet Takes Her Leave: After dreaming of going to college for years, Allison finds once she gets there that she misses the people she left behind: her best friend Jordan and especially Ken, her lover, her one-time teacher. Fortunately for her, they miss her just as much.
4 - Juliet Takes a Chance: As Allison’s awakening continues, she discovers that sometimes what seems far away can be incredibly close. When her friend Jordan comes to visit her in college, she finds that BFF and ILU mean a lot more in person than over a text.
5 - Juliet Takes the Floor: In the aftermath of Jordan's visit, Allison finds herself rethinking everything that she thought that she knew about herself — and her lovers. And she comes up with a brilliant, terrifying idea.
6 - Juliet Takes Charge: Getting what you want can be wonderful; it can also be terrifying. For her birthday, Allison asked her lovers Ken and Jordan to join her for a threesome. She wants to give them both something special. But are any of them ready for what comes next?

(M/F, F/F, F/F/M. Sexually explicit romance. Bisexuality, ménage à trois. Adult readers only.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stillpoint Digital Press
• Release date: May 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311146052

K.D. West

K.D. West is an Amazon best-selling author of contemporary short fiction, a teacher, and a performer living in a small suburb of a big city in the American West: "Not a huge amount to say -- I'm an author of steamy stories who happens to be a teacher; these things don't mix well in public, so I tend to be fairly quiet about real life in my blogging. I am, however, interested in all sorts of things -- books, writing, theater, mythology, and, obviously, erotica! I'm a huge reader of genre fiction -- mostly mysteries and fantasy, but also science fiction and historical romance." West is writing two intertwined series involving a young woman and her older lover (the Juliet Takes Flight and Erotic Tales: Letters to Allison stories), a series of stories about friends discovering that they can become much more (Friendly Ménage Tales), and a series of stories that the Brothers Grimm might have collected, if there had been traditional tales where the heroine got the princess (Sapphic Fairytales). Also on the way: an erotic paranormal/urban fantasy novel involving a long lost friend coming all-but-literally back from the dead, and showing a happily married couple just what they'd been missing. Say hello at K.D. West’s blog (kdwestwrites.wordpress.com)!

Book preview

Juliet Takes the Prize

Six Tales of Complicated Erotic Romance

by

K. D. West

Juliet Takes Flight #1–#6

When you fall in love with your teacher, that’s taking a chance. When your teacher falls in love with you, that’s taking it to a whole new level.

Stillpoint-eros-header

Copyright © 2015, Stillpoint Digital Press (stillpointdigital.com)

Published by Stillpoint/Eros on Smashwords

All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places or events is purely coincidental.

Warning: This work contains explicit descriptions of sexual activity. All sexual encounters in this work occur between consenting adults aged 18 and above.

ISBN: 9781311146052

Cover model: Mary Cyn

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Juliet Takes Flight:

When you fall in love with your teacher, that's taking a chance.

When your teacher falls in love with you,

that's taking it to a whole new level.

Juliet-1-smallJuliet-2-Banned-smallJuliet-3-smallJuliet-4-smallJuliet-5-smallJuliet-6-small

Coming soon: Juliet Takes Flight

The grand finale of Allison's adventure!

Juliet-Takes-First

Juliet Takes First

(Juliet #1–#4)

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Juliet Takes First

Juliet Takes Stage

I am kneeling between Ken’s thighs. Though he is still clothed, I am naked. It seems appropriate; he has made me feel naked since the day I walked into his Beginning Acting class five years and a lifetime ago.

Allison, he murmurs, his fingers running through my hair.

Yes, Ken, I say, unable to disguise the tremor that his voice, his caress raise in me. My eyes remain locked on the raised front of the button-fly jeans just inches before me.

Tell me what you want, Allison. His strong, warm voice is low, and I tremble all the more, knowing what he wants me to say.

I want to heal you, Ken, I whisper, my voice high, thin, and warbling.

I can hear the smile, even as the lump in his jeans seems to grow, to rise. Oh, sweetheart, he says, you do that every day that I’m blessed enough to see you.

My heart fills my throat, leaves me breathless.

But that’s not what you want right now, is it, Allison. Not a question, not really: he knows me, knows me better than I do myself in so many ways, and I am raw clay before him, the girl he made and remakes, just by looking at me. By desiring me. By speaking to me in that low, throaty voice so full of love, desire, and control.

N-no, Ken.

Tell me what you want, sweetheart. His fingers trace a silver-soft line down from my ear to my collarbone, and from there to the nipple that aches at the tip of my breast. With middle and forefinger, he gives my nipple the gentlest of pinches, sending a spark all of the way to my toes, back up to the crown of my head, and then down into my crotch, which flowers open, so that I can feel the cool air of the room flowing over then. Whatever you want, you can have. If you ask. There is power in words, he always says, and I love the power that his words have over me, that my words give me over him.

I… Exquisitely conscious of his fingers, his voice, I didn’t notice my own hands sliding up to the insides of his thighs. They are warm and substantial, even through the jeans, and they ground me, even as they lead me upward toward the object of my quest. I want… to eat you. Ken. Please. It has been a month and a half since I have had his cock—thick, heavy, and just long enough—inside of me. In my mouth. In my hand. In my cunt. In…

You want to suck my cock, Allison?

Yes. Ken. Please.

And?

And… Why am I embarrassed? Why do I feel once more like the virgin I was before Ken first took me into his bed? He knows what I want, and I know he knows how he makes me feel. How many times has he told me, There is no shame in love, Allison? I… want to fuck you, Ken.

He waits, the other hand sliding up my arm and finding my other breast, which had been feeling deprived, but now, oh…

I want… I want you… I want you. I want you so bad. I want you so bad, it’s driving me mad…. I want to fuck you, for you to fuck me.

I can hear the smile grow, and feel his caresses intensify.

But that’s not all I want.

Name it, I hear him saying in acting class. If you don’t know where to go next, name what’s happening—what’s really happening. Name what you want. I want you to f-fuck me, Ken. Please. And… And fuck my ass. I want you to fuck my ass, Ken. My voice finds its strength as this confession of the desire.

His breath catches. Really?

Please. The desire, the need has been building in me over the last month, since he sent me the story of his affair with Rachel, the actress he met in New Orleans, of how, when they were both nearly totally spent, he slid into her ass and fucked her there, the one place he has never fucked me, and that it never occurred to want him to fuck me, and the air flows between my open cunt lips. I want… I want to give you everything. Everything.

He slides down off of his desk chair and onto the floor with me, and his hands slide over my ribs, down my sides, over the fat ass I’ve never really thought of except as a place to sit or shit—until I read about what he had done with Rachel. His mahogany eyes fill my world, and once more I cannot breathe. You gave me everything, Allison. Even before you gave me your virginity. He leans forward, his body pressing against my naked one, and whispers huskily into my ear. I told you—

I gave you back your life.

Yes. His hands, like his cock, are large, and wide, and each slides over one of my ass cheeks, one up, one down, so that one thumb finds its way to circle the opening between them, and the long fingers of the other hand trace the moist, trembling lips of my cunt from the back. Shit, Allison….

It fills me with pride and desire to hear that I’ve had that effect on him. Please, Ken. I want you to come in my mouth, in my cunt, in my ass. I want…

His fingers find my clit, and he pinches it just as he pinched my nipples, leaving me gasping for air. And what are you going to get out of this, sweetheart?

Hnh? I’m struggling to focus on his words when the pressure of his fingers around my lips, around my clit, against my anus are forcing out all other awareness.

I want all of those things. Shit, Allison, I want to fuck your mouth and your cunt, and fuck, yes, I want to fuck your sweet ass. His thumb presses against my asshole, and I gasp as he pushes it just far enough to force the muscles to open. But—

But? I whimper.

What are you getting out of this, besides giving this old man a heart attack?

Not… old, I groan, as I always do when he gets stupid like that.

Old enough, he moans back.

Most girls get a crush on a teacher at some point. Most boys too, I suppose. Only a few ever actually get to turn the fantasies to reality.

I did. With Ken.

He did, with his teacher, Dana.

Dana did, with her teacher, John.

I know this because of the inscriptions in the book of John Keats’s poetry that’s sitting on the floor beside my knees. John inscribed the book to his student Dana on her eighteenth birthday. Dana inscribed it to Ken on his.

And last spring, Ken gave the book to me for my eighteenth birthday, and changed my life.

I… I grunt, pushing myself back, onto his thumb. The feeling of his finger, of his flesh pressing in, pushing into someplace where nothing, no one has ever gone fills me with heat; my nipples buzz with need and my cunt lips flutter against his searching fingers. I get… you. I look up into his dark eyes, whose lids are drooping with lust. I get to know that I am blowing your fucking mind, you old fucker. I want to feel you come all of the way up my ass and know that I’ve taken your mind to infinity and beyond.

He kisses me, and a tremor of passion passes between us. Buzz fucking Lightyear, he murmurs against my lips, pulling me against him, pushing his thumb deeper into me. God, Allison. What’s gotten into you?

You! I pant.

I took Ken’s Acting classes through all four years of high school—and his Poetry and Advanced Comp classes Junior and Senior years. My friends used to tease me about being his biggest fan, which I guess was true; I loved his classes, and even I would have admitted that I had a huge crush on him. Hell, I wasn’t the only one: a bunch of my girlfriends did too—and at least a couple of the boys, for that matter. He’s a good-looking man, definitely, and that rumbling voice and those eyes… Well, they did things to me that I honestly didn’t even have words for at the time.

But it was more the passion with which he taught, and the passion for the subject that he inspired in me and in the other students that put me under his spell. I’d taken acting classes before I got to high school, but they’d never felt like a personal journey of discovery before. He would ask all of the classic acting-teacher questions: What do you want? What’s in your way? What are you going to do to get what you want?

But where those questions had always seemed academic before, suddenly, under his piercing gaze, they felt inspiring and deeply, deeply personal. He was asking about the character, about her motivation, but he always said, What do YOU want? He always said, Every character is just some aspect of you, some part of you that you don’t usually show the world. So don’t ever think of the character in the third person: you are the character, and the character is you.

The first time I ever thought of Ken sexually was actually in the middle of an acting class. We were working on Shakespeare monologues, and I had just done Juliet’s Gallop apace ye fiery-footed steeds speech, which I still dearly love. I had worked hard on the iambic pentameter the way that he had been teaching us, and I had made sure that I understood—really understood—all of the words, and I had sung the speech like an aria, which had felt really good at the time. The rest of the class had applauded energetically—even Erica Travers, who hated everything I ever did, who hated me for no reason that I could ever see. But when the applause died down, Ken just sat there against his desk at the foot of the stage, face stony.

Very pretty, he grunted. The scansion was great, and you’re on-voice, which is a nice improvement. Now he scowled, dark eyes flashing. But. What. The. Hell. Do. You. WANT.

I was caught off-guard by his question, by his tone. I could see my shock reflected in the faces of my classmates. I… Juliet is waiting—

Not Juliet, Allison. YOU. And I know what you’re doing: you’re standing on a stage, dancing back and forth, looking like you have to pee.

The class tittered. Erica looked like she’d just been given a Christmas present in April.

Now Ken stood, walking to the foot of the stage, and I had to fight the urge to step back, to hide—even though I was humiliated, I knew my need to do what Ken was asking, to learn what he was teaching meant far more to me than my own puny ego.

Still, I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t see what he wanted me to do. I’m… I huffed. It’s… It’s just a monologue, Ken—there’s no one else on stage, I mean, who could I want anything from?

Just a monologue? he asked, voice low and intense in a way that I found sparked all sorts of interesting responses in my body. Listen to me, Allison—it’s not just a monologue, not just one of the greatest soliloquys ever written. He turned to the class, who were scattered through the seats of the little theater that served as the acting classroom. What’s the difference between a monologue and a soliloquy, anyone?

The other students, who were all sitting wide-eyed, shrugged or shook their heads.

He turned back to me, his gaze piercing me.

A… a soliloquy, I rasped, trembling, is a monologue where the character is alone on stage.

"Thank you, Allison. But just because the character is