‘Now you are my prisoner, Miss Curzon.’ His voice was harder, with a certain relish.
‘What are you going to do with me, Mr Finch?’
‘First, I’m just going to sketch you.’
‘Oh. With my clothes on?’
‘Yes, briefly.’
Briefly? Her heart was pounding. ‘Very well.’
After a minute or two out of sight, he showed her a drawing of herself bent over in the stocks – a helpless woman in a long summer dress, looking very vulnerable to the rear … Could her bottom look that big, she wondered?
Then he and the drawing vanished but she felt him behind her, his hands low on the outside of her legs, just under the hem of her dress.
‘Oh!’
‘Now I want to sketch you a little less draped. Is that OK?’
‘How much “less draped”?’ She breathed deeply.
‘Tell me when to stop lifting your clothes – just say “when.”’
With a shock, she noticed the mirror to her right. He already had her dress raised to her thighs. My God, he would soon discover …
She kept silent and he kept lifting – slowly, right over her bare bottom, past the dip of her naked waist. If he was surprised by the lack of knickers, he wasn’t showing it. This man was an artist, she thought, completely at home with the female form. The dress was now up to her shoulder blades, revealing the tight, white brassiere strap. Had she been a less well-endowed woman, she would have forgone the bra too, but to jiggle about noticeably braless in school, even after-hours, would have been quite indiscreet.
He’d now lifted her clothes right up to her neck and forearms, revealing the sturdy cups of her brassiere, which, she could now see, gave a rather conical outline to their charges. She rather wished she hadn’t worn it. Foolishly she tried to move her arms as if to reach around her back and unhook … Immediately, she felt the firm restriction of the hardwood surrounding the leather encircling her wrists.
‘No “when”, Miss Curzon?’
‘No!’ she laughed. ‘Can you, ah, undo the strap for me? I really would like to be completely natural for your sketching.’
The woodwork master’s heart was thumping as the full, splendid form of the drama teacher was revealed to his gaze. Her skin was so smooth. Not white, but creamy. Looking down on her back, he savoured the way the swell of her round behind narrowed into her waist and gently out again to her long back, the sight only marred by the strap across the groove of her spine.
Hardly trusting himself to speak, he unhooked her. On both sides of her back he could see the slightly whiter swell of her released breasts as he cleared the straps over her shoulders. He glanced in the mirror and saw how her tits had adopted a beautiful natural line as they hung lower in their fullness, the generous pink nipples pointing slightly forwards and outwards.
‘Lovely!’ he breathed.
‘Thank you.’
‘I’d like to clear away these clothes. Promise you won’t run away if I release you for a moment?’
‘I promise.’
She remained bent over in the stocks as he unlocked and lifted the top board to one side. She raised her neck and arms slightly as he pulled her clothes over her head. His hands made slight contact with the cool flesh of her breasts and they jiggled and swung with the movement. Soon, she was safely locked up again, quite naked in the stocks.
The sketching phase didn’t last long. In a few minutes, he showed her the results. Excellent, of course, but she did not dwell on them, something more functional than mere sketching was on her mind. He must have noticed her preoccupation and seen the look in half-closed eyes, for he moved to her side and reached around and under her, boldly grasping a breast in each hand.
She sighed deeply. His touch was delicious. He soon gave up trying to play with both her breasts at the same time – they were more than a handful, even for his manly hands. His mouth joined in as he moved under her, sucking while his fingers squeezed and kneaded.
She looked in the mirror and watched him fondling her. But she also saw her bare bottom sticking out, unattended. He noticed her looking and she wiggled her waist and behind, suggestively.
With parting kisses on her nipples, he stood up beside her. His hand stroked down her back to the dip of her waist, then rose up smoothly, rounding over her bottom. His hand dallied there. He patted her right buttock. It was the lightest of smacks, yet it sent a dart of electricity through her loins. ‘Oh!’ He patted her left buttock – a trifle harder. No one had ever dared to do this to her before. ‘Oh, Mr Finch!’
‘You have only to say “stop”, and I shall, Miss Curzon.’
She didn’t trust herself to reply – but he had not asked a question, after all. A moment later, she felt his renewed touch on her bottom. His powerful, slightly rough, working hands were kneading the flesh of her bottom instead of her breast, opening and closing her buttocks, imparting the occasional firm slap. In response, she found herself wiggling her bare arse from side to side.
He began to spank her, fairly hard.
She cried out a little with each loud smack, discovering that quite a loud smack hardly hurt at all, but made her breath come quicker and her heart beat faster. Sometimes the spanking would pause and his hand would stray between her legs, then trail up delightfully through her moist lips.
‘I am your prisoner,’ she breathed, ‘you can do with me as you will.’ A little over-dramatic perhaps, but she had already seen that his trousers were fit to burst their straining contents.
He took them off.
She was not displeased with the side view of him in the mirror: a magnificent member raised in salute to her naked body. She wanted to be closer to him. ‘Please bring him around to the front for a moment, Mr Finch.’
It was an order. She had her bossy voice on, but he was happy to come around to where she could eyeball his cock directly. He saw her hands convulse slightly as she went to hold him and found her wrists constrained once again by the leather padding.
‘Can you release me again, please – just briefly?’
He opened the stocks. Her hands came together to hold him firmly and to guide the swollen head into her mouth. He gasped, feeling the sweet, wet warmth of her mouth as she took him in. He lifted her a little from the wooden slots, reaching again for her creamy, swinging breasts as she now took her turn at sucking.
It was difficult to say how long she sucked him – certainly longer than he had sucked her breasts – but he was surprised and slightly shocked with the skill of her tongue around his cockhead and the way her hands played along his shaft, lifted and fondled his balls and even felt around his bottom. He was more than ready for her, and even in danger of culminating his performance when she finally released him.
‘Now, Mr Finch, lock me down and come up behind me.’
That bossy voice again.
‘I’m locking you down, but I’ll decide what happens from now on.’
Her silence was eloquent.
Maybe he’d hurt her feelings but the tone of his voice had done the trick. Behind her again, he gave her one or two more spanks for good measure.
‘Oh!’
Then he spread her cheeks wide. Her wet lips opened a little and he guided himself into her.
‘Aaaahhhh!’
Most of the sigh came from her, but he joined in a little too, as he felt himself slip deep up inside her tightness.
He slowly slid in and out of her.
He took his time. He held onto her waist but also stroked her wide hips and buttocks, spanking them alternately as she rolled her penetrated pussy around his penetrating member, very gentle and easy fucking to start with, apart from the smacks.
This was what she had been craving – the intimacy with Mr Finch and the forced submission of the stocks. To her surprise, both ha
d measured up superbly! With her head held down and her hind quarters free, she allowed her bottom to toss around wildly while the spearing cock moved inside her, now slow and steady, now pistoning fast, right up to the hilt, flattening her labia at the end of each deep stroke. With her knees bent forward a little and her thighs slightly apart, she was wide open for him, a direct line from the root of his crotch into the depths of her belly
She felt her excitement build and build with the hard thrusting, felt herself beginning to tighten around him, knowing he would be feeling her squeezing him along his length. She began to cry out, to howl, her bottom seeming to come alive, rolling and thrusting against him. He was crying out too, holding onto her waist, his motion even more urgent as the long strokes of his hips began to deliver his body’s purpose deep within her body.
He lasted a long time, filling her, pulling on her creamy buttocks to bounce and quiver, hard up against him, again and again.
They were still for a long time afterwards, locked together, basking in the afterglow.
‘Oh, Mr Finch … That was so … so lovely!’
There was less noise in the class these days and the quality of work had improved noticeably. He saw her tap on the glass in the corridor and motioned her inside the door. There she waited, her hands behind her back on the door knob, unconsciously emphasising her impressive bosom. She looked absolutely radiant these days. One of the boys attempted a wolf whistle but Mr Finch’s swift scowl at the culprit nipped it in the bud.
‘OK you lot, get on with your work.’
They did.
At his desk, the two teachers could talk business.
‘Mr Finch, I was wondering if you would be interested in constructing another major prop for our next play – it’s set on the quarterdeck of an old ship. Specifically I need a ship’s wheel.’
‘Right.’
He sat down, opened his pad and started sketching a detailed ship’s wheel as she looked over his shoulder.
‘Hmmmm – how big would that be? Can you draw in a person to give it scale?’
He sketched again. The naked woman was bent low over the wheel, arms lashed to the spokes, her heavy breasts hanging down, her bottom offered up.
She lowered her voice and spoke close to his ear. ‘Perfect! That’s exactly how I want it.’
E620
by Lucy Felthouse
Morning lectures are a bitch. No matter how much sleep I get the night before – whether it be the recommended eight hours, or an excessive ten – I still cannot get to grips with mornings. I’ve just come to accept that I’m far from being an early bird, and always stop at the University shop for a can of Red Bull before continuing up to room E620. I then saunter in, half-asleep and grin weakly at my classmates and lecturer before slumping into a chair and popping open my can.
Today is no exception. Although I’m not bored, or particularly tired, I still feel myself dozing off. Aware of how bad this would look if the lecturer noticed, I decide to do something to spice up the atmosphere a little. I let my mind wander, not even telling it off when it hesitates outside the door marked ‘XXX.’
I chuckle inwardly at its boldness, particularly this early in the day, and my consciousness takes this to be the nod, and we’re in. Welcome to the naughty part of my brain, probably the largest part, and certainly not a place for the faint-hearted! A mischievous little character wanders up and down the aisles of my ‘X’ files, and finally re-appears, carrying a box marked ‘favourite fantasies’. Ah, he chooses well.
Back in the real world, I catch Karl’s eye across the room. He grins, and I suspect his creative mind is up to mischief, not unlike mine. Funny really that it should be Karl. Perhaps he sensed he was in my thoughts. More specifically the box marked ‘favourite fantasies’.
Karl is – to borrow the cliché – “the one that got away”. Our relationship exists purely in erotic daydreams, safe from the prying eyes of the outside world, and safe from rejection.
My entry into the world of erotic literature has plenty to do with Karl’s interference. We were chatting one lunchtime, about sex in general, funny stories and so on. He then suddenly came out with,
“You should write porn!”
“What!” I said, shocked.
“You should. You’re one of the most open-minded women I’ve ever met, you should have a bash at writing something. I reckon you’d be really good.”
I didn’t think much of it at first, and soon forgot about the conversation. Karl, however, refused to let it go and kept bringing it up, then eventually he dared me to write something. I relented, and asked him what his favourite sexual fantasy was. He told me the gist; every teenage boy’s fantasy, having sex with his young and attractive teacher. I wrote my first piece of erotic fiction based on that. Needless to say, he read and thoroughly enjoyed the story, and encouraged me to write more erotica, then gave me feedback on what I’d written. From those lunchtime chats, we developed an insight into each other’s sexual tastes.
The fantasy I’m thinking of right now takes place in this very room, E620. As you walk in, you’re standing in a slight alcove, then the room opens out to tables, chairs, and a seldom used overhead projector. The door has a sturdy-looking Yale lock, the type you can lock from inside without the key.
In my fantasy, I’m looking fab in a knee-length black skirt, black patterned stockings, knee-high boots and a chunky jumper. It’s winter, for God’s sake!
Karl’s looking damn fine in faded light blue jeans. Tight, of course, clinging to his ass and thighs. His black T-shirt emphasises his broad chest and muscular arms. His sexy tattoos, always an element of fascination for me, are clearly visible on his right arm, one encircling his bicep, the other adorning his inner forearm.
So there we are, both looking good enough to eat, in our morning lecture. We unintentionally keep making eye contact, and smile at each other as we glance away, embarrassed.
Not so embarrassed that I don’t look again, however, and this time he’s yawning and stretching, his T-shirt has risen enough to give me some pleasant eye candy. I slip my phone out of my bag and send him a text:
“R u thinkin wot I’m thinkin?”
His reply:
“Yeah, I’m horny as fuck!”
“That’s not wot I meant, u were yawnin!”
“Yeah but u look sexy 2day, ur distractin me!”
The banter continues throughout the lecture, as it always has, all mouth, no action.
Lunchtime arrives, and the class files out in dribs and drabs and I notice Karl’s making a right old song and dance about putting his stuff in his bag. Finally he stands up, bag in one hand, his empty coffee cup in the other. We walk to the door, and he throws the cup in the bin, pushes the door closed and flips the latch.
“What ya doin?”
I ask, already half knowing the answer, but not quite letting myself believe it. Karl drops his bag to the floor, and holds his hand out for mine. I pass it to him, and they lie abandoned by the door.
Within seconds, they are forgotten as we look at each other, this moment so frequently thought of, but neither of us ever knew what would happen next, or ever thought we’d find out.
There had always been something stopping us getting it together before. It certainly wasn’t a lack of chemistry! Our friendship was just a friendship, but strong sexual attraction and mutual admiration has long bubbled away underneath.
Months of flirting, talking about sex, and discussing my dirty stories in fine detail have finally come to a head. Suddenly, in a classroom, we’re kissing. Karl’s tongue is in my mouth, his full lips pressed against mine. It’s such a hungry kiss I’m taken aback; mind you, it had been building up for so long it’s hardly surprising.
My hands are currently very confused. Being presented with this wonderful gift, they’re unsure where to grope
first. So I settle for one hand on his arse, and the other playing with the mop of curls at the nape of his neck. The cleverly placed hand on his arse enables me to pull him closer, and I feel his hard-on against my groin. I groan inwardly, my pussy positively drooling. My pants are stuck to me, but I’m in such a state of bliss, I couldn’t really care less.
Now, one advantage of having Karl read my dirty stories is that he knows what kind of sex I like. A second advantage is his feedback, which hints at what kind he likes. In fact, we’ve talked about it so often, and in such great detail, sometimes I feel like we’ve already done it!
I tug his hair gently, rendering his throat exposed. I pounce, covering the sensitive skin with alternating butterfly kisses, tiny nips, and sensual sucks – giving him a taste of what’s to come.
I feel like I’m going to go crazy. My mind is a tumult of emotions. On the one hand, I want to savour this as long as possible, exploring every inch of his naked skin. But on the other hand, I’m so horny I want his cock deep inside me, fucking me long and hard, making me come all over his balls, while filling me full of his hot spunk. Even kinkier, he’d then pull out, and shove his cock in my mouth so I could taste our combined juices. Satisfied he was clean, he’d go down on me and lick me clean, saving just a little bit in his mouth to kiss me again.
The decision is taken out of my hands. Karl takes my wrists and guides me backwards until the back of my thighs hit a table. He continues to push, so I hop onto the table, my feet dangling in mid-air. Grinning filthily at me, he slowly pulls off his T-shirt. I feel my heart skip a beat as the muscular body I’ve so long envisioned is revealed to me.
I attempt to stand, so I can reach out for him once more, but he forces me back onto the table. His body covers mine; his arms restraining mine, his lips covering mine, his groin exciting mine.
Sex, Love & Valentines Page 6
