The Idris Stone: Power Complete.

The next morning Beatrice came out of the rooms in time to take her grandmother to church. She blushed prettily and smiled when she saw me.

“I’m sorry about yesterday, Mr Muzz,” She said. “I don’t know what came over me. I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much by taking my clothes off and dancing around your house? I’m so glad you didn’t tell Mammy. She would have stuck me in that convent she always threatens me with.”

“That’s alright, Bea,” I replied. “You can dance naked in my house anytime you want.” Then I gave her a big grin to show I was only kidding.

Beatrice took my hands. “You look different this morning, Mr Muzz. Did you dye your hair?”

I had no idea what she was talking about. I turned to the mirror on the wall in the lounge. The face of a younger man was looking back at me. I had somehow lost about five years off of my age.

My hair was a dark brown with only a few flecks of grey in it, as it was in my early 40s, not my late 40s as I am now.

I seemed to have dropped a few pounds as well.

“I think your lamb chops have given me a new lease on life,” I joked.

“American humour, I don’t think I’ll ever understand it,” Beatrice said.

Janela came out dressed for church.

“You two lovebirds chatting again?” She asked.

“Mammy! Mr Muzz doesn’t think of me like that! Besides, he’s way too old for me!” Beatrice protested.

I noticed she hit her lower lip after she spoke.

“Every pretty young woman should have at least one older man in her life to teach her what she needs to know. Your daddy ran away when you were young. Mr Muzz can teach you the things your father should have.” Janela told her granddaughter.

I knew this was the stone working. It seemed to have convinced Janny that I would be a good experience for her granddaughter. Did I dare hope for something similar from Beatrice?

Janela looked at me, “Are you not well, Mr Muzz? You look like you’ve lost weight.”

“I feel better than ever, Janny,” I told her, realising my hip, knee and ankle hadn’t twinged or protested this morning at all.

“Maybe I should stay home and make you some soup, Mr Muzz,” Janela said. “You look like you’re wasting away.”

“I’ve got a class this morning, Janny. I’m fine. I’ll see you for dinner around 6.00 pm, please?”

“Okay, Mr Muzz.”

Janela and Beatrice got in Beatrice’s old civic and drove off.

The class I was giving this morning, ‘Genetic Determinism’, was poorly attended. I currently only have six students, all women. It was a contentious subject amongst the feminists as most feminists I knew believed in the nurture over nature debate. Genetics had little to do with human behaviour. Nurture was the leading cause of how people behaved. I would be told this as if it were fact, not a rational argument.

I had a small room to give the class in an out-of-the-way part of the University. Maybe the course was so poorly attended because nobody could find it.

I felt so good I rode my pushbike to the University for the first time in ten years.

I handed out the course material and engaged in the usual desultory conversations with the students. This was a two-hour block lesson. By the time just 25 minutes had passed, my brain was yelling at me.

‘Tell these screaming harpies to pull their heads out of their feminist pamphlet-filled asses and do some fucking research.’

Of course, nurture has a big say in how we are as people, but so do many other things. So don’t accept the glib and trite answer found in the feminist handbook, do your research, and make your mind up about what you think is the most significant cause or are the biggest causes.

Then if you think nurture is the most significant component, argue your point from a researched, reasoned position. That’s the whole fucking point of doing a philosophy course. Learn how to think, not what to think!

I put my hand in my pocket and felt the stone there. I was sure I had left it on my dresser, yet here it was, on my person.

I think you are all feeling a little too warm to think clearly,” I said. “If you all strip down to naked, I think you’ll be able to reason more deeply.”

What the fuck was I doing? This is a class of feminists! I suspected at least two of them were dying for any chance to report me so they could get me suspended and a credit on the class without having to do any of the course work.

The stone felt warm in my hand as its joyous song burst out again.

All six stood and began to take off their clothes, chatting about how I was right. It was too hard to think when you were fully clothed and hot.

“Wait!” I said. “Is anyone here under the age of 19? If you are, you’d better leave your clothes on and leave the class, never mentioning what happened here ever again.”

None of the young women left.

‘Thank goodness for that,’ I thought. It would be bad enough when word of this got out. If underage girls were involved as well, I’d be in jail. I was probably going to be anyway, but as all that young nubile flesh came into view, my brain stopped thinking, and my dick started to.

“Anybody not a lesbian?” I asked.

Five of the six put their hands up. I mentally castigated myself for having such a ridiculous preconception of what being a feminist meant to the modern woman.

“How many of you are bisexual?”

Four of the five raised their hands again.

“I think if you made love to each other, it would help you to think even more deeply still,” I said as the stone’s song swelled around me. “If you’re not into other women, you might find me attractive enough to make love to,” I added for the benefit of the one student who was the exception.

Tina was the only student that hadn’t indicated she was lesbian or bisexual. She was a fresh-faced girl with wide blue eyes behind thick glasses. Short and a little tubby, she wasn’t the prettiest girl there. She had an enormous pair of knockers, though. Something she had kept well hidden under loose blouses and too-big cardigans until now.

Tina had long, straight, dark brown hair cut short in the front but long down the sides of her face and the back of her head. Feathered bangs, I think they call it.

Tina walked across to me, seemingly unfazed about being naked in front of her 49-year-old professor.

“I love older men, Professor Smithson,” Tina whispered huskily. “I’ve masturbated many nights dreaming about sucking your big cock.”

She was on her knees and fishing my rapidly stiffening cock from my trousers seconds later.

“Hmmm, does Professor Smithson have a big hard pork sword for his little princess?” Tina cooed.

I did. I have a long and thick 8 inches, at least, of throbbing man meat. I was uncircumcised, and my big purple head showed angrily out of my foreskin.

Tina purred as my thick cock hardened in her stroking hand, “So big, so perfect, so exactly as I had imagined as I fucked myself with a cucumber,” she sensually moaned.

Leaning forward, Tina lapped at the eye of my cock. Smacking her lips lasciviously, she said, “Hmmm, hmmm, sweet cock juice. I bet your cum taste’s even better.”

She cupped my big balls in her hand, opened her mouth wide, and accepted about half of my length into her sucking mouth. Wrapping her hand around the part of my shaft that wouldn’t fit in her mouth, Tina began to stroke and milk me. Pulling insistently up as she bobbed down, then pulling down, stretching my frenulum deliciously tight as she lifted her head back up.

I hadn’t had a girlfriend or even a ‘friend with benefits’ for over ten years. I didn’t last long in Tina’s delightfully sucking and swirling mouth. Grunting fit to raise the dead, I shot my load into my 21-year-old student.

“Hmmm, hmmm, Professor. You had such a big load for me,” Tina hummed as she used her forefinger to gather up my cum spillage from around her mouth and feed it into her mouth.