“Wh . . . what are you doing?” asks the professor.
A swift hand (Pat’s of course) reaches for the hooks at the back of the professor’s bra and deftly undoes them. The sturdy garment springs forth and flies across the room.
“Wha . . . ?” is the professor’s eloquent comment.
She bends and writhes, tries to look back over her shoulder at the bonds that hold her. Oh she’s certainly gone red again: one can hardly blame her, what with her big boobs bouncing all over the place. The really humiliating thing is, she can’t help struggling against her bonds, but that’s just what gives the other two such a fine show.
“Bouncy, bouncy,” sings Pat. Felicia has stopped sniffling, and there’s even a bit of a smile on her face.
The hooter show continues as the professor splutters her indignation: “This is the most unconscionable . . . unforgivable . . . what makes you think you can just . . .”
Pat calmly reaches forward, and grabs the zipper at the front of the professor’s pants. Zzzzipp! She’s flying low. She gasps, shocked at the audacity, instinctually turns her back to them to zip up.
It’s not an easy thing to do, in those pants. And with her elbows tied behind her, it’s actually quite impossible. She futilely wiggles and twists, and a strange look comes to Pat’s eye. Before Felicia can say, “Pat! No!” she gives the professor a resounding smack on the backside.
Open-mouthed with shock and disbelief, Frenesi Foxx turns to face her student. The apple comes in handy here – kershlorp! Pat wedges it deep in the older woman’s gaping mouth.
“Pat?” asks Felicia.
Pat undoes the button at the waist of the professor’s pants and hauls them halfway down her firm thighs.
“Glmmph?” says Professor Foxx, uncomprehending.
“Oh my God, Pat, you’ve humiliated the History department’s most prestigious scholar!”
Well, that much is certainly true. Pat steps back to admire her handiwork. The professor totters about the office, unable to free her hands, unable to pull her pants up (lovely black panties by the way) and unable to spit the apple out. She stares at Pat, a huge question mark on her lovely face, and the question seems to be “this can’t really be happening, can it?”
“Well,” says Pat, “the packer unpacked.” Calmly, she reaches forward and slowly pulls down the professor’s panties, revealing a lovely dark bush.
“Glmmph?” responds the professor helplessly. The situation really seems to have detracted from her intelligence significantly.
Pat holds the salami before the professor’s face and she stares at it, almost cross-eyed. Clamping her thighs tightly together, she tilts her hips forward as far she can to conceal her womanhood as much as possible. But this motion thrusts her posterior back to a ridiculously provocative extent.
Still holding the salami, Pat says, “I go thus far, and no further. I wouldn’t do that to another woman. But I will leave your salami here on the desk to give you something to think about.” Looking down, she smiles. Frenesi Foxx has been unable to hide the fact that she is actually a little wet.
Pat and Felicia turn towards the door. But can they leave the professor this way? Er, mmm, actually, yes, they can. She’ll wiggle her way out of the belt soon anyhow.
And, not too many months later, when the professor puts on her usual Christmas party do, are Pat and Felicia invited? Oh, yes.
Funny How Things Turn Out
Mandy Scott
It was one of those relationships that was doomed from the start, but Paul and I had remained firm friends. To put it bluntly, in the bedroom department, it just didn’t happen. We got on so well that we saw each other regularly for meals, or a take-away, and we chatted about current relationships, or problems at work. Quite often I would sleep over at his house after a couple of bottles of Merlot, and just drive home the next morning. We were mates, and on the odd occasions when he did get a bit frisky and try it on with the help of beer goggles, we reminded ourselves that we didn’t really physically fancy each other, so what was the point? Nevertheless, he was tactile, and we still enjoyed a snuggle up on the couch, enjoying each other’s company. It was a strange relationship, and neither of us had formed any lasting friendship with a member of the opposite sex since our own relationship had failed.
I had a busy work life, which left little time for a steady boyfriend, and it had been two years since there had been any “I think I’m in love” moments. Quite content with my life, I wasn’t really looking; I had many good friends and an excellent social life, so I didn’t feel desperate enough to settle for something that wasn’t all that. There had definitely been that little something missing in all my relationships, and I could never put my finger on what it was.
On a cold Tuesday morning in March, my mobile phone bleeped, indicating that I had a text message. It was from Paul, inviting me over that night, and he said he had someone he wanted me to meet. Assuming it was another new girlfriend, I accepted the invitation and, since it was a more formal invitation than usual, requested a time for arrival. His second text said simply “8, B a B” which in our text-speak meant eight o’clock, and bring a bottle.
The taxi was late as usual, but I always booked early, so by the time I arrived at Paul’s five-bedroomed townhouse, it was bang on eight. After greeting his nosey neighbour outside, I kicked off my shoes at the door and announced my arrival with a loud “yoo-hoo”. Instantly, I detected the aroma of “Irresistible” perfume. She has better taste than the last one, I sniggered to myself as I made my way upstairs. The house had a strange layout; the kitchen was on the ground floor, the lounge on the first floor, and the bedrooms scattered all over. I didn’t like it, but it was trendy and affordable, and overlooked a nice park. Paul kept it spotlessly clean, a trait I thought unusual for most blokes, but he was fussy about a lot of little things. Paul was thirty-six, tall, slim, smart, witty and fun to be around. He had introduced me to a string of prospective girlfriends of his lately, but I had never been overly impressed. Maybe it was because I cared about this man like a sister would for a brother, we chatted like best friends, and his slightly feminine attitude to life never failed to amuse me.
Sat in the lounge chair was my mate, and opposite him on the couch was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. I remember thinking, how the hell has that ugly twat pulled her? We were formally introduced: “Abbie, this is Emily.” I wasn’t sure if I should shake Emily’s hand, so I just smiled and we exchanged an acknowledging nod to each other. She was smart, and wore a fairly short skirt, which showed off her tanned legs. Not too skinny; I estimated a size fourteen, with an expensive taste in clothes, and nice bobbed hairstyle, which had obviously been well cut.
She looked sexy without looking like a tart, I thought, but she was definitely not Paul’s type. Her cerise pink satin blouse was just a little tight, but it showed off her curves nicely. As the wine flowed, so did the conversation. It emerged that Paul had met Emily at the headquarters of the IT company he worked for. They had both been involved in developing some software for a Japanese car manufacturer. Boring, I thought, just get to the juicy stuff, how long have you been seeing each other, what’s going on and why am I sitting here like a gooseberry?
After a couple of bottles of red and one pink champagne, we all sat on the floor for a game of “I Have Never . . .”. A bottle of vodka was positioned in the tray on the big fluffy mat, and three shot glasses sat before it. Paul began the game by saying “I have never been shagged over the bonnet of a Ford Fiesta by Alan Fremlin in Morrisons’ car park”. I objected that the statement was far too precise, but my protest fell on deaf ears, and I was forced to take a shot of vodka. I hated vodka. Needless to say I got him back. It was Emily’s turn and she suggested that she had never had a threesome. Both Paul and I grabbed our glasses and burst into fits of laughter; of course we hadn’t. As the vodka bottle drained, the suggestions got more explicit, and my last statement was “I have never had sex with a woman”, knowing that Paul
would have to take a shot, but never thinking that Emily would. My eyes must have bulged out of my head as Paul looked at me, smiled, and raised one eyebrow. She downed her drink, and Paul declared her the champion; then, realizing he had burnt the supper, jumped up and ran downstairs to rescue the pizza.
Emily and I sat back on the couch, complaining about our numb bums, and she turned to me and smiled. What a nice girl she was – attractive, intelligent, funny, just right for Paul. Like a mother hen, I quizzed her about her intentions toward my friend, and she stopped me in my tracks, insisting he was definitely not her type. I felt naive, but the penny suddenly dropped – she batted for the other team. Not all lesbians were butch, I knew this, but she was gorgeous. The saying “don’t knock it till you’ve tried it” came up in conversation, as Paul announced from the bottom of the stairs that he was nipping out to the shop for more supplies. I had been set up, that git had set me up with a fucking lesbian, for god’s sake. No wonder he had nipped out for more bloody wine.
Emily’s arm had been draped over the back of the couch, and as she began to tell me how beautiful and intelligent she thought I was, she touched my hair. It was strange but nice, and I felt a stirring between my legs. I had never experienced anything like this before but I felt sexy, and she was arousing me in a way that no man could ever do. Her gentle words and soft hands made me feel at ease; she was an extremely attractive girl. I could feel the wide smile starting to spread across my face as she touched my knee with her other hand. She drew my head towards hers and kissed me gently on the forehead.
Apparently Paul had told her so much about me, and had indicated that it was time I “woke up and smelt the coffee”. I never was quick on the uptake, but as I tutted and shook my head in disbelief she turned her head to the side and kissed my lips. Part of me wanted to pull away and yell abuse at her for assuming that I would be susceptible to her charms, but the other part wanted to interrogate her, ask her what it was like to be a lesbian: what do you do in bed, how can you feel satisfied without a big hard cock inside you? I was curious and intrigued by this fascinating young woman, so I kissed her back, and the feeling between my legs got stronger and stronger.
Neither of us heard Paul come back in until he was halfway up the stairs. He must have known by the grin on my face that we were getting along just fine. He had been to the pizza shop around the corner and presented a chicken kiev pizza, his favourite – he never ever ordered anything else; he was a creature of habit. I sat on the floor with Paul, with my back to the chair. Emily remained on the couch as we tucked into our supper. Oblivious to the events only minutes before, Paul didn’t notice Emily’s legs open slightly; but then it was for my benefit, so why should he?
As she ate her slice of pizza, she licked her lips and at one stage slid her finger in her mouth, pursed her lips and indicated how very hungry she was, suggesting to Paul that the food was delicious, but insinuating something totally different to me. As her long pink tongue swept over her plump top lip, her lips pursed and she winked at me. My God, she was flirting with me.
What a strange situation it was. I had been transported to another plane, the night’s events were unexpected and, as I prodded at my lukewarm pizza, my mind wandered off. I looked across the room at a grinning Emily, who commented on my lack of appetite. As she bent forward for another slice, I noticed the top button of her blouse was undone. It gaped open and her plump breasts were pushed together like two massive melon mountains. Paul tucked into his pizza and commented that we should definitely do this more often. Both Emily and I agreed with way too much enthusiasm. Emily suggested the following night, but Paul was due in London for a meeting, so Emily and I exchanged phone numbers and agreed that we would meet up the following night. It was obvious that Paul liked the idea of us both getting along so well. He yawned and declared it was past his bedtime, and my taxi was due any minute, so I bade my farewells to my friends and made my way downstairs. Emily followed me out to check the status of her taxi and, as we stood in the porch waiting, she pushed me up against the wall.
Astonished as I was to be kissed passionately by another woman, I felt elated, excited, and boy oh boy was I turned on. In situations like that, it’s always best to go with the flow, and my juices were certainly beginning to do just that. Her hand was on the back of my neck as she grabbed a fistful of hair and drew me closer. The other hand moved to my crotch and she rubbed the side of her forefinger up and down the crease between my legs. Through my linen trousers I could feel the warmth of her hand. She commented on how wet I was and she grabbed my hand and thrust it between her thighs. She was wet too; it was seeping through her silky pants, and it only made me want her more. This was amazing. I had never felt so turned on in all my life. Was it the alcohol? I wondered, or was this the feeling I had been missing out on all my life? Sex wasn’t so overrated after all. God, this was amazing, I thought as she buried her head in my breasts.
The elasticized top I wore that night was now positioned underneath my large breasts; like a push-up bra, it held them in place while she caressed and fondled them. She was forceful and I liked that. I enjoyed being the sub in any relationship, and she played her part well. Her large blue eyes looked straight into mine as she sucked and squeezed both breasts, biting them as she snarled at me like a wild animal. In her eyes, I could see the passion, in her breathing I could feel the excitement, and I wanted her to fuck me. My God, how I wanted her to fuck me!
At precisely the wrong moment, the taxi turned the corner and the headlights shone into the dark porch. The sign on the top was not the rank I had booked. It was Emily’s taxi, and she kissed me on the cheek and skipped off down the drive. As the car door opened, she bend forward and her G-string deliberately flashed underneath her denim skirt as she bounced into the seat. My taxi followed shortly afterwards and I yelled goodbye to Paul. There was no response; he must have been asleep. As I was climbing into bed that night, my mobile bleeped; the sender was Em, and the message read “X”.
The following morning, I woke from what I thought was a dream, a very wet dream. I looked at my phone and realized it was 8.30 – I was late for work again. I ran into the bathroom and turned on the shower, tossed some clothes on the bed and had the quickest wash in history, then threw on my jeans and T-shirt, tripping over Bob my little border terrier on the way down the stairs. I threw my jacket over my bag and headed through the door, dog in arms. Bob came to work with me at the farm, where I was the bookkeeper for a local farmer. I loved my job, and my employer was so laid back; I worked hard for him, and was rewarded with a good salary and flexible working hours. Being allowed to take my dog to work was of course a bonus.
I tried all day to concentrate on finding the twenty-seven pence I had somehow mislaid in the books somewhere, but my mind was on the events of the previous evening and it was a fruitless exercise. During my tuna sandwich, I received another text message from Em suggesting we had dinner that evening at a nice little Italian close to where I lived. I agreed and told her I would meet her there at seven thirty. Rob, my boss commented a few times throughout the day how chirpy I seemed, and I had to agree. Surely it wasn’t that obvious? I shook my head to rid myself of horny thoughts as I jumped into my little black MG that evening and headed for home.
The heating was roaring full blast when I got in, and I raced upstairs to light some candles and run a hot bath. As I poured myself a large glass of red, the back door opened; it was my friend Sandy from next door. The usual format for a Wednesday night was a few cups of coffee with Sandy, and discussions about plans for the weekend, but tonight I had my own plans. I explained that I had a date, which wasn’t a good idea, because then she demanded to know more. What was his name, where did I meet him, was he hot? I made my apologies and escorted her to the door, promising I would fill her in on all the details the following evening. She smiled, and told me to enjoy myself. I fully intended to. I locked the door, grabbed my wine and headed up to my bath.
Relaxing in the bubble
s, I picked up the soap and began to lather my breasts; I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I thought about the previous evening, and Emily, and my reaction to her advances. I could not help myself; and my hands soon wandered further and I fondled myself while thinking of her. The thought of being all shrivelled up for my date forced me to jump out of the bath and get dried. I blew out the candles, all but one, which I carried into my bedroom. As I put it on the bedside cabinet, I looked at the clock; I had thirty minutes to spare, so I lay on the bed. It was hot, and I was flushed and wet; my hands began to wander again. I found my erect clit waiting for me and, as I imagined Emily’s face buried deep within it, I became wetter and wetter. I reached over to the drawer and fished out my faithful rabbit. It fired up slowly and I made a mental note to buy some new batteries. It was nearly flat, I had used it so often. I pressed the revolving tip hard onto my clit as the little vibrating rabbit head wriggled about my lips. Then I turned it around and stuck the whole thing deep inside me, thrusting hard as the vibrator shivered against my clit. Next, I turned it around so the vibrating head just touched the tip of my arse while the cock was still deep inside me, swirling around, finding every crevice. As I closed my eyes tight, I imagined that it was Emily thrusting the huge member deep inside me while licking my clit. This of course made me climax immediately; a taste of things to come?
In the restaurant that evening, I waited in the bar area for Emily to arrive. I noticed the same taxi pull up outside, and knew it was her. She was blown in through the lobby by a strong gust of wind and her hair swept across her face as she acknowledged me with a little wave. She hung up her jacket on the coat stand and headed for the bar area, pecked me on the cheek and asked if I had enjoyed my day at work. I listened quietly as she told me about her day, and how much she had been looking forward to our evening together.
The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica Page 36
