an38852@anon.penet.fi (Steven Edwards)
"Tease"
Hi everyone,
Here is my latest offering. I hope y'all like it. :-)
In case anyone wonders: this is definitely fiction. I'm not a lecturer!
(I think)
Comments welcome, especially detailed criticism of my grammar or style. I want
to get better at this.
BTW: Could someone confirm that my short story "Bound and Pleasured" showed
up on alt.sex.stories a few weeks ago?
Also, sorry if this is an inappropriate place to ask, but I am looking for
two stories that have been posted here (or on rec.arts.erotica) in
the past. I'm afriad I accidentally deleted my copies some time ago.
One is about a girl, her boyfriend, and a girl friend, who are discovered
in a compromising position by the girl's mother. She sends the boy
packing, and gets the girls to sit a "purity-test". She then takes them
to her club/gym ... and they have a frustrating time.
The other is about a boy who is one of the last to leave a party. He is talked
into playing a game a strip poker with a group of about 5 girls who are still
at the party. The action is described really well.
Sorry I can't recall the names or authors of the stories.
If you could please send me copies of these stories, I would really appreciate
it. (I don't have read access to alt.sex.stories)
thanks in anticipation,
Steve Edwards
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Copyright Steve Edwards, February 1994.
Warning: The following is a work of fiction, which hopefully you will find
erotic. All characters and places are figments of the author's imagination
and any resemblence to real events is purely coincidental. It may be
distributed electronically and archived, but only with these disclaimers and
byline attached. It may not be sold for profit, except by me. :-)
Tease
"She plays the virgin in the light,
but needs no urgin' in the night."
Les Miserables
1. Set Theory
"Hi."
I look up to see a girl standing in the doorway of my
office. She is a first year student who is taking my set
theory class. I think her name is Melissa. She is smiling and
I smile back.
"Hello, how can I help you?" I'm in a particularly good mood,
I've just heard that I've had a paper accepted in a reasonably
prestigious journal, so smiling is coming naturally at
present. Of course, it is hard not to smile when a pretty
girl smiles at you. It seems that their smiles release
happy-particles into a male's blood stream. When you are
younger it can leave you grinning like an idiot; of course,
as a mature lecturer of twenty-eight, I am thankfully past
that stage.
"Can I come in Dr Edwards?" she asks tentatively, her
expression revealing nothing of her reasons.
"Sure."
As she enters I idly note her clothes: she is dressed in
figure hugging blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt. The
t-shirt is a little bit too taut. That is, too taut for my
peace of mind, for it is stretched tightly over her breasts
making them beacons for my eyes. I can certainly testify that
there is nothing strange about these attractors. Normally,
whatever the provocation, I'm very careful about ensuring
that my appreciation of female students isn't detectable,
there are enough pit-falls for a male lecturer as it is, but
I could tell that this time was going to be extra taxing on
my nerves.
"It's Melissa isn't it?"
"Yes." And I'm rewarded with another smile. Smiles like
that could become addictive.
Melissa takes a seat and launches into her problem, "I'm
having trouble with your last couple of lectures. I don't
really understand this `ZFC' set theory."
There nothing like a chance to lead another soul to see the
light of axiomatic set theory to take this mathematician's
mind off more earthly matters. Thus engaged, my enthusiasm
quickly leads me into explaining the necessity of putting
naive set theory on a sound footing, and I start to describe
the role of formal axiomatisation in this. I then proceed to
enumerate the axioms of ZFC and explain where they come from.
However, I'm not so blinded by my enthusiasm to fail to
monitor the glassy-eyed-ness of my audience. I've bored far
too many people to make that mistake.
After a while I become aware that Melissa is licking her
lips and looking at me strangely. It puts me off my stride
and I lose my concentration. Unaccountably, I find myself
blushing. Melissa just looks up at me innocently. I suddenly
notice that her nipples are visible now, little mole-hills
which have sprung up on her over-wise smooth t-shirt. Why
would they have done that? I master myself, and bring my eyes
back to my scribble of the white-board. Now where was I?
Melissa supplied the answer, "You were just about to start
explaining what the axiom of choice means," almost as though
she could read my thoughts.
I look up, and nearly lose myself in her twinkling eyes. Is
she laughing at me? No, but she seems aware of the spark
which has passed between us.
"What I'm having trouble with is ...," she breathed, as she
rose from her chair to stand next to me and point at the
board.
I confess, "I sorry I missed that." Her delicate perfume
assaulted my nostrils as she stood beside me and suddenly
parsing her sentence was the last thing on my mind. She
repeats her sentence while stretching and pointing to a
formula at the top of the board. I'm mesmerised by the
resulting lifting and straining of her breasts. It is
suddenly very hot and stuffy in my office. Now, what did she
say again? Rather than reveal my inattention, I talk
generally about the axiom in question.
"Yes, but how do you know that sets have that property?
It's a little bit arbitrary isn't it?" Melissa brushes
against me as she points to part of the axiom, her breast
squashing slightly against my arm.
I retreat behind the safety of my desk before replying. It
was getting much too difficult to think with sweet Melissa so
close. Unbidden, I'm suddenly reminded of the lyrics of a
song by The Police,
"Young teacher, the subject, of school-girl fantasy,
She wants him, so badly, that's where she wants to
be ...
Don't stand so,
Don't stand so,
Don't stand so close to me".
They suddenly seem all too relevant, and I develop a new
sympathy for the hapless teacher of the song. Of course, the
real situation is that Melissa has been behaving above
reproach, and there is no evidence that I'm the subject of
one of her fantasies, it is only me who is having trouble
with my baser instincts. In particular, my desire to pull her
into my arms, crush her ruby lips under mine, caress her
tantalising breasts, suck on her pert nipples, and fuck her.
Another reason for my retreat was to hide a growing bulge.
Did I catch her looking at my crotch before she raised her
big innocent eyes and fixed them on my face? I can't tell.
And is that sensual, surreptitious licking of her lips with
her tongue a come on, or an unconscious action? Her eyes
reveal nothing, they are simply questioning, awaiting my
answer, but they sparkle.
At that moment, a colleague, Andy, barges in, and reminds
me that we have a faculty meeting this morning. Apologising
to Melissa, I suggest that she comes back another time. Andy
and I both watch as she leaves my office. Was that hip swing
deliberately provocative?
"She's a fire-cracker! What a cute ass!", Andy exclaims.
I give a non-committal grunt, inwardly deploring his
outspoken lechering and crudeness, although honest enough to
admit that similar thoughts had occurred to me.
We head off to the faculty meeting.
2. Confession
"How was your day, babe?" I ask Liz, when she picks me up
after work.
"Not too bad, but I did have a sad case of a fifteen
year-old with a probable ectopic."
Liz's work as a doctor is so much more dramatic than mine.
My day consists of giving lectures, attending meetings, and,
if I'm lucky, some time to think about my research. Her day
consists of breaking the news to someone that they have
cancer, or fighting to ensure a baby is born safely. There is
no comparison. Not that I'd swap for any money.
"Will she be all right?"
"Probably. We should be able to save her ovary and tube.
How was your day, love?"
"Fine. Pretty normal, only I did have a boring faculty
meeting this morning." I consider briefly whether or not to
mention Melissa. Knowing Lizzy, I decide to tell her. "One
high-light was this cute student who came to my office this
morning."
"Oh yes?" This is a playful hint of suspicion in Liz's
voice.
"Yes. She was wearing the tightest t-shirt over her full
breasts you've ever seen," I exaggerate slightly. "She kept
on giving me these seductive smiles, and she made sure she
brushed her breasts across my arm."
Liz's was wearing a mock frown. "Where her breasts as nice
as mine?", she asks, taking a hand from the wheel to cup one
of her beautiful breasts through her blouse.
"Mmm let me see ... you know, I can't remember what yours
look like. Perhaps I ought to remind myself." I lean over to
start to undo her buttons, but Liz slaps my hand away.
"Not while I'm driving you maniac!"
I laugh. We've done some mad things while driving, but not
on the short drive home from work in broad daylight.
"So," Liz continues her cross-examination, "did she make
you hard?"
"Yes. I had to hide it on the way to the Faculty Office"
"Ahh, poor baby," Liz laughs.
Our easy going attitude is built, not on a promiscuous
philosophy or life-style, but on trust. There is no way
either of us would be unfaithful to the other.
3. Revelation
This morning I gave my First Years another lecture on set
theory. I was acutely conscious of Melissa's piercing blue
eyes upon me the whole time. However, I succeeded in ignoring
her and not letting it interfere with the usual theatrical
entertainment which I provide for them in a vain attempt to
keep their interest for an hour. I couldn't help noticing
however, how beautiful she looked, her face framed in her
delightful blonde locks. Melissa came up to me afterwards and
contrived to press against me again as she reached over to
pick up on a copy of the question sheet I'd prepared for
them. She was the only one who was this clumsy. I felt my
cock harden slightly, but I couldn't prevent a pang of guilt
at such a response when she looked up innocently at me and
apologised for her clumsiness. Did she know my eyes were on
her as she crossed the room? Was that roll of her hips
natural, or was it put on for my benefit? If she
was still a few years younger, she'd definitely be what they
call "jail-bait". As it was, she was still dangerous enough.
Liaisons between students and staff are so frowned on that it
is dangerous to even think about forming one. Certain
feminists on campus seem to have ESP for such thoughts.
Not, of course, that I was seriously considering anything.
Liz is more than enough woman for me. But Melissa provokes
certain fantasies, however much they are obviously going to
have to remain as fantasies.
I successfully dismissed Melissa from my thoughts for the
rest of the day, until, that is, she turned up in my office
at six o'clock. I was still there as Liz was working late
tonight. The hours that junior doctors work is criminal,
especially given that one day it will be my life that a
dead-tired doctor is looking after. Melissa knocked and
entered.
I immediately noticed that she was dressed differently; she
had swapped her t-shirt for a blouse and her jeans for a
skirt. The blouse was not as taut as her t-shirt had been,
but it was more shear, promising, but not delivering,
glimpses of paradise. Perhaps more importantly, its first few
buttons were undone. Melissa wasn't indecent, but my
imagination quickly made her so.
Remembering my position, I quickly brought the subject of
set theory up, hoping that it would detract me from her
sensual lips, the sweetness of which called out to be tasted.
It soon transpired that she had been doing some background
reading, and that her questions were more sophisticated
today. I mentally harangued myself for ever thinking her
motives were other than professional. Surely this industry
put the matter beyond question?
Delighting in the attention of a interested and intelligent
student, I soon found myself going beyond my lecture material
and touching upon the Borel Hierarchy. Or was it that I kept
talking so that I could remain in the presence of those blue
eyes?
After a while I noticed that Melissa was idly fiddling with
a gold necklace, and that her toying had caused another
button to slide undone. Unconsciously, while I continued
talking, I stared at the start of the gentle swell of flesh
that could now be seen. When I noticed what I was doing, I
searched her face for an indication that she was toying with
me as well, but found only innocent concentration. Liz must
be right, my mind must be one track.
However, Melissa's next actions caused me to question her
motives all over again. She tucked one of her legs under her,
in the process giving me a glimpse of her white thighs.
Fidgeting, she managed to repeat this torture. Now, once
could be an accident, but three times? Again her eyes twinkle
with her natural vivacity, making it impossible to sure if
her innocence is true or only assumed, a cruel facade. A
facade I'd love to tear down and expose, along with her
breasts, which I have come to believe are braless under her
blouse.
Of course, uncertainty prevents me from doing or saying
anything. A wrong move could have her running screaming from
my office, my career in ruins. My lusts are indeed "sickled
over with the pale cast of thought" to a degree which even
rivals Hamlet's tragic dithering. The ambiguity in the nature
of his father's ghost was as nothing compared to the
ambiguity of the nymph in my office. Is she the purist of
angels, or the wickedest tease this side of hell? Scholar or
wanton?
Any action in such circumstances is, of course, perilous.
Moreover, I never trust my reasoning when my erection is
throbbing like this. Hence, I continue talking about sets,
while sex is all I can think about. I manage to keep going for
a few minutes, until Melissa decides to stretch. The
shifting, thrusting, and straining of her gentle breasts
within, makes her blouse a magnet for my eyes, and my
thoughts dissolve like the mist.
"Sorry, I'm getting a little tired," Melissa apologises
into my pause. "I still have a few questions however. Do you
mind if I come back and ask you some more questions another
time?"
It would take a stronger man that me to turn down such a
request. "Of course not." I say, managing to keep all signs
of arousal out of my voice. I hope.
As Melissa walks out the door, the apt phrase "She's a
seven sector call-out" from a favourite childhood
science-fiction book springs to my mind. A beauty she
certainly is, but is she also a saint or a witch?
My answer comes as she turns in the door way, revealing her
completely unbuttoned blouse and magical breasts. For a
second we are both frozen, and then she is gone. I rush to
door in time to see her hurrying down the corridor.
The wicked tease!