The Jizz club 1.

Amanda entered the room slowly. The decoration of Clifford's
Tea House was unlike any other she had ever seen; the walls
had dozens of unusual trinkets hanging from them. Colorful
masks, swords of all kinds---even a scimitar---, old guns that
were probably fake, wooden sculptures of different parts of
the world, small animals made of wood, plastic and metal
(culminating into one of those classic big plastic pink
flamingos that nobody understands why were so successful,
which dominated one of the walls), and much more. Her head
moved from trinket to trinket, trying to recognize some, to
appreciate others, to loathe a few.

"This way please," said the hostess.

Mark was already there. She expected so, even being right on
time. He was the advisor for her PhD thesis, and was always a
gentleman. In his late thirties, Mark was not married, and
soon after she arrived she heard the rumors about his
customary seduction of students. She vowed not to fall for
that one. She had had enough bad relationships in her life to
find herself into another one that was doomed to have problems.

Things had not happened that way, however. She quickly became
the favorite of his tutees, thanks to her culture, desire to
learn and intelligence. Amanda thought her looks had little to
do with it. But, while she was really competent, Mark enjoyed
her appearance. Her dark hair was always pulled tight into a
bun, and her light glasses gave her a distinguished look that
pleased Mark.

"Hello, Amanda, dear. You look very nice," Mark said, when she
arrived to the table. He stood up for her. Against her wish,
Amanda felt herself blush. She was liking Mark, too much. She
knew that she was falling for him, that she shouldn't fall for
him, and that she should have said that it was not necessary
to meet him at the Tea House to discuss her thesis.

Yet here she was

"Interesting place," she said, to start conversation. She paid
attention to his brown hair, soft. His jaw was attractive,
delineating a masculine face that she couldn't help but stare at.

"Isn't it? One wouldn't suppose that a college town would have
such an odd place. The old deans probably enjoy their teas,
but the decoration isn't what one would expect."

Amanda looked around for old deans. There were none; the place
was almost empty, in the middle of the afternoon. "They don't
seem to be here," she said, smiling.

"It is not five o'clock yet," he replied, grinning. Amanda
giggled, feeling a little childlike. She had been prone to
giggles around him; anytime he made a remark slightly amusing,
she would burst into a delightful giggle.

The conversation flowed easily between them. It had since the
first time they met, and nowadays anyone would have taken them
for friends, and not professor and student, even though the
age difference was considerable---a little more than ten

The waitress arrived with a big wooden cart, having the widest
selection of teas Amanda had ever seen, all stored in tiny
china pots. She didn't know which one she wanted, and accepted
the waitress suggestion, based on a few questions about
Amanda's tastes. The resulting combination of orange,
cinnamon, ginger and green tea was strong, but delicious. Mark
went for something more classic---a blend of two dark tea

Amanda thought Mark full of contrasts. He dressed lightly,
often with a polo shirt and sport trousers. He enjoyed trash
movies and Greek poetry. His English had an Oxbridge accent,
but the words he chose didn't fit the accent. Every time
Amanda noticed another of these contrasts, she liked him even more.

"Tell me, how's your thesis going?" he asked at last, after the
waitress was gone. Amanda had worried---and also hoped---that
he had invited her with second intentions, and was
disappointed, to her surprised, that he had moved the
conversation into that direction.

"I'm still stuck. I can't seem to move forward and get myself
unentangled from that messy discussion."

Amanda's thesis was thriving to survive. She had moved into an
uncharted territory, looking for an original discussion, and
now she didn't quite know how to proceed. They were soon
discussing the same issues they had went through over and over
again. To Amanda it wasn't boring at all; Mark never seemed to
be boring. He always had a light comment or a joke ready.

To Amanda, the tea was over too soon. They said good bye at
the door of the Tea House.

And, Amanda thought, as Mark walked back to his office, he
didn't seem to have second intentions. Those rumors were
probably just that, rumors. All she knew is she was feeling
horny, and would have to take care of that.

* * *

A few days later, in another discussion that seemed to go
nowhere, Mark suddenly thought of a book that could help her. "
I'll get it from the Library," Amanda said, noting down its

"It will be difficult. I'm reading the only copy. But I'll
bring it to you tomorrow," Mark offered.

"Thanks. I want to take this weekend off to write, it would be
wonderful to have the book tomorrow. I'm running behind the schedule."

The next afternoon, Amanda arrived at Mark's office. "Shit," he
said, when she opened the door. "I forgot your book." Amanda saw
that Helen was inside, grinning at her with schadenfreude.
Amanda didn't like Helen. To put it bluntly, she thought Helen
was a brain-dead slut trying to fuck her way to a nice place,
possibly nothing more than a marriage.

"It's all right," Amanda replied, disappointed. "I'll come back
next week."

"No, no. Helen was just about to leave, please come in." Helen
looked at him, surprised; it was Amanda's turn to grin. "Well
Helen, see you later," Mark continued. Helen had no resort but
to walk out.

"Thanks, Mandy," Mark said, when Helen was gone. That was the
first time she called Amanda Mandy. "I know she's my student
and all, but she's a pain in the ass. Don't worry about your
book, I'll give you a ride home and we'll drop by my place
first. Where do you live?"

Amanda smiled, grinned, blushed and felt a shiver at the same time.

* * *

"Just come in," Mark said. "Don't mind the mess. I'm a bachelor,
my house is supposed to be messy."

Helen entered his house quietly. It was filled with books.
There were books everywhere, but she didn't see much of a
mess---her own apartment was messier. The books were all lined
up in shelves, only the shelves were everywhere. Every wall
seemed covered with books.

"Come into my office."

His office had only a big table, a wooden chair and an arm
chair---aside from the shelves, of course. The table had piles
and piles of books on it.

"Sit. I have to find the book." She sat and waited, browsing the
shelves with her eyes. The only place in the shelves that
wasn't covered with books had a strange looking object. She
was trying to understand what it was, and why it was there,
when she felt Mark by her side.

"It's an oracle."


"An oracle. Do you believe in oracles?"

She laughed, but he seemed serious.

"Why, do you?" she asked.

"Well, I didn't. But this one seems to work. Every time. It's
spooky, almost. Here, hold the book. Let me show you."

Mark took the oracle from the shelves, and place it over his
desk, at the only empty spot there. The oracle seemed very
old. It was made of silver and brass, in the format of a bowl.
It had two holders, with intricate ornaments, by which Mark
had carried it. The body was covered with many symbols on the
outside; the inside had a irregular but smooth shape except
for the symbols and a few small holes.

"You see, to put it simply, this thing works like a roulette."
He picked a small silver ball from the side. "The idea is to
throw the ball inside the bowl, where it's going to roll until
it falls into one of the holes. I could never find out who
made this thing. I bought it at a flea market, being sold to
serve soup. It's certainly not Roman, as it is not much like
the sort of metal work they did then. It wouldn't have
survived in such a good shape either. It may be from the
sixteenth century, but I think it's actually from the
nineteenth. Nobody I showed it has seen anything similar. It
was probably made for a rich fortune-teller. A sort of
impressive version of the Tarot. The symbols are the same."

Amanda examined it carefully.

"Do you want to try it?"

Amanda hesitated.

"I thought you didn't believe in oracles. Funny thing how our
mind works, uh?"

She picked the ball from his hand.

"Just think of a question, and throw the ball inside."

Amanda did.

The ball started to roll around, making a remarkably loud
noise. It rolled around many times, making strange
convolutions thanks to the irregular shape of the bowl, until
it finally stopped in one of the holes.

"The Lovers," Mark smiled. "You--"

Amanda kissed him. It was an unconscious, primitive action
that surprised her as much as it surprised Mark. She was raw,
animal, pulling him to her, feeling her body against hers. She
wrapped one of her legs around him, and her tongue sought his,
eagerly. She wanted him.

He didn't fight. A minute later they were rolling, naked, over
his bed, Mark feeling her body, warm and inviting, their
breathing shallow and ragged; he delved into her body, feeling
the delicate skin, hearing her moans. Amanda just felt inside
a dream, dazed, enjoying the unique sensations.

* * *

It was close to ten when they finally quieted down. Mark had
his third orgasm, and was completely spent. He fell asleep,
holding Amanda in his arms. She wasn't sleepy. She was happy
and satisfied. There was a feeling of completeness that filled
her. All was right. Why did they wait for so long? It wasn't
wrong. She wasn't guilty.

Then, she had an epiphany.

Like all epiphanies, it hit her out of nowhere, and it almost
knocked her out. She felt stupid, a naive girl taken advantage
of, used and seduced with the simplest trick. She was played.

She stood up, watching Mark to avoid waking him up. She walked
downstairs, still naked. Her hair was free, falling behind her
shoulders. Her body was still glinting from sweat. Her round
breasts, which Mark had held just minutes before, fitting them
perfectly into his large hands, juggled lightly from her steps.

She entered the office in a daze. The oracle was still there,
and she felt even more stupid. The ball was still in the hole
it had fell into; the symbol of the lovers was easily seen.
She noted a few other symbols she recognized; the Hanging Man,
the Death. She studied the bowl for a while, trying to see if
it was obviously rigged.

"Easier," she thought, picking up the ball again. Just as she
was about to throw it, she saw Mark, watching her from the door.

"You think I tricked you," he said. He looked hurt.

"Did you?"

"You never let me explain what the Lovers meant. You kissed me
before I could."

Amanda didn't move.

"Do you believe in oracles, Mandy? Have you ever had you
fortune told? Do you read horoscopes, and half believe in
them? Even non-believers are afraid of a bad prediction."

She was still silent.

"What would you do if the ball fell into the Lovers again?
Would you think it's the confirmation of a prophecy, that the
bowl is really magic, or would you think it's rigged and hate
me? Isn't it funny? The same outcome, again, would make you
act in a very different way.

"What if I told you know that the meaning of the Lovers is
another one? Because it's obvious what you asked to the
oracle. Ironic. You asked a question to it, but I got the
answer. Anyway, in the Tarot, the Lovers isn't only about love
and sex. It also means that you have to struggle with
temptation, make a choice, be true to yourself. It means you
have to make a decision. Choose between right and wrong.

"You see, you didn't wait for the rest of the instructions. The
oracle says you have to throw the ball three times. The first
throw is the present. The second, the past. It helps you to
understand the present and to see what you should do. It's
pretty much like now. You know the past: you hit the Lovers.
Now you're trying to see if the oracle is rigged. Your choice
is based on what happened before.

"The third throw is the future. It's not what your decision
will be, or even what will happen. It's what will come of your
decision. The consequences. Things you didn't foresee.

"Mandy, you have a choice, right now. You can throw this ball,
or not. Before you do, I'll say one thing to you. I like you.
I liked you from the moment I saw you. You were different. We
could talk, we shared interests. I know there are rumors about
me and students. You decide if they are true or not. You
decide everything. You have many, many choices. You can trust
me, just that. You can roll the ball and see if the Lovers
comes out again. You can throw the ball twice and use the
oracle's answer. You can just leave.

"The problem of an oracle, Mandy, is that it gives you an
answer. And you have to find what exactly the question is. I
know mine. I'll be waiting for you, in the kitchen."

Mark turned around. But, before disappearing through the door,
he said, "Please, stay with me."

* * *

Amanda walked into the kitchen. Mark was sitting, his head

"Just never tease me about it," Amanda whispered, "and swear you
love me. That's all I need, except for one other thing."

Mark looked at her, waiting.

"Sell that thing. Throw it away. Give to a museum. I don't
care, as long as I never see it again."

"It will be gone, first thing tomorrow."

They stared at each other, steadily, for some time.

"May I sleep here tonight?"

Mark smiled.

"I think you won't be sleeping anywhere else, anymore."

  • More sex stories