Kathy Likes Women Ch. 04

Still holding my hand, she stepped around the desk and moved close to me. Hoping she would kiss me goodbye, I raised my face. Still holding my hand, she took some tissue from a box on her desk and wiped her lipstick from my mouth. "Kathy, I'd kiss you again, but it would be too much of a challenge. If it makes you feel any better, it was the first time I ever kissed a woman, and it really was very nice. You are a fantastic kisser. And you can call me Candice, at least when we're alone." Then with a little squeeze, she let go of my hand and sat down behind her desk and picked up her glasses. I was being dismissed.

I put my hand on the doorknob, and as a parting joke, I asked, "Would it be okay to call you Candy? I mean, Candice is still so formal..."

"The day I change my mind about having sex with you," she grinned, "Then I'll let you call me Candy!" She shook her head with amusement at my persistence and turned her attention to grading a paper.

I sighed and started to turn the doorknob when, without looking up from her work, she added, "And Kathy, I can't help but feel that your class work in my course suffers somewhat for your constant attempts to look up my dress. In the hopes of removing this stumbling block to your higher education, I'll just tell you outright that, yes, I'm blonde all over. Now go!"

I went. Blushing like I'd never blushed before. She'd known all along how I felt about her! I felt like such a fool! I felt like I was three feet tall and still wearing pigtails. I was just another of her female students being let down easy. Horror! Ugh! I wanted to die. Instead, I decided to orgasm in some self-indulgent manner. I went to Sheila, who, thank God, I found alone in her sorority-house room, doing her homework. "Calling in all favors; past, present and future!" I declared, slamming my books down on her desk.

Surprised, Sheila dropped her pen, "What's wrong, Kathy?" She could see that I'd been crying, and her voice was full of genuine concern. I couldn't help myself and threw myself on her shoulder and bawled like a baby. "Rejection pain," I finally managed to sniffle.

"Hmph, and after stealing my boyfriend to blackmail me!" She softened again and added, "And you came here because you want me to..."

"Do you mind?" I asked, "I mean, you said that you liked it okay, and like, I'm really in a need, see. Laura's gone out of town again and..."

"Let's go to your room, then. My roommate definitely wouldn't understand!" So we went to my room, and tossing my books on my desk, I reached under my skirt and pulled my panties down and kicked them away without removing my heels (I'd worn heels to seem taller to Ms. Folsom, but she still dwarfed me.) I leaned back against the wall and spread my legs, "Right here, right now," was all I said. She stepped close to me and moved, tentatively, to kiss me. I almost didn't let her; it wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want to share sex; I just wanted to take it. I let her lips touch mine briefly, and then turned my head, "Just eat me, bitch!" I snarled. I was half afraid of scaring her off, but my need was my NEED. I had to come, and I needed to humiliate someone in the process. I needed to get even for my loss, and Sheila owed me for all the times she'd pulled this shit on me. As it so often happens, things didn't go how I'd planned.

Oh, Sheila obediently dropped to her knees, all right, and she pushed my skirt up my legs to bare my pussy. But even her compliance was irritating, maybe because she was being too easy. I jerked my skirt up and flopped it over her head, and in the iciest tones that I could muster, I said, "I can look at your preppie, yuppie, cute, fucking face in the goddam halls! What I want is for you to use that face to fuck me and make me come. So do it! And it better be good!" I added with a growl. I was shocked to feel her panting so hard on my pussy that she was having trouble kissing me the right way! Hell, she was getting off on this treatment!

Well, I could fix that! I reached under my skirt, grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head away from my cunt. "If you can't do any better than that, then you can practice on my ass!" I turned around and bent over, leaning on the wall with my back to her. I still had her by the hair and dragged her head to my ass. Now, I should explain that, although I'd gotten Sheila to eat pussy for the first time a few days ago, she still had no inclination to lick ass. She was so shy about it, in fact, that she didn't even like me to mess with hers too much. Sure, I'd gotten a few licks in, but every time I'd tried to give her a good rim job, she'd directed me firmly back to her pussy. I thought for sure that she would balk at licking my ass, then after trying to force her, I would relent and let her just lick my cunt. But, as I said, things weren't going my childish way that day.

She was breathing so hard that I worried that she might be asthmatic. Her fingers trembled as she spread the cheeks of my ass, and her kisses were infinitely tender and sweet. I sighed. So, the real Sheila comes out! A fucking masochist! "Tongue my asshole, you stuck-up sorority bitch!" I ordered, letting my temporary frustration slip me easily into the role of dominatrix, at least where our relationship was concerned. And it was a permanent change. But over the years, I think I've come to love it as much as she does. Whenever I feel really mean, or pissed off, I just call Sheila, and she drops what she is doing, leaves her husband and kids and comes running. She loves me. Yeah, she eventually married Derek and had kids. Once, I even had her come running when she was bloated with pregnancy and I even milked her tits dry!

Anyway, at the time, I made her rim and poke me with her tongue until I started to get excited myself. Then I leaned back against the wall and let her lick my cunt. When I did come, I was thinking of the delicious sweetness of Ms. Folsom's heady kiss and the fact that I'd actually put my hand on her knee! As the swirls and bubbles of orgasm filled me and carried me away, I did something that's hard to explain, in fact, I don't understand why I did it. As my orgasm finally started to fade, I peed right on Sheila's face, soaking her and her clothes with hot, salty sharp-smelling urine. I kicked her away and sat down in the chair and raised my skirt. "You can look at my cunt while you jack yourself off, Sheila. That's your reward."

Did she slap my face or beat me up like I deserved? Hell, no! She backed up against the wall, brushed her piss-soaked hair out of her eyes, pulled her panties off and squatting like a savage, jacked off while staring hungrily at my cunt. I relented and let her kiss it while she was actually coming. Then I had her lick the excess pee off my cunt and told her to swallow it. And she did, happily. Afterwards, she meekly asked for a shower and to borrow some clothes. From then until today, as I said, I own a love slave. She'll do anything that I tell her to do. I think she'd even kill for me!

After our shower, for I took one with her (made her do all the scrubbing, naturally), she asked me, with adoring eyes, what had put me in such a mood. I told her.

"That's a funny coincidence," she frowned, "I found out something about Dr. Folsom just today! By that I mean Mr. Dr. Folsom, of course. Do you know Mary Cantrell?"

I nodded; Mary was a senior in pre-law and top dog in Sheila's sorority. She was beautiful, born rich, and an aggressive, snobby bitch. Everybody knew that Mary Cantrell was going places! I hated her. But then too, I would have had sex with her in a heartbeat. Sex maniacs aren't complicated people if you just focus on the central drive.

"Yeah, well, Mary is sleeping with Bob, that's Candice's husband. Been doing it for a year or more, ever since he did some guest lecture for some course on medical law from the medical profession's point of view. Isn't that weird? I mean, who cares about the medical viewpoint, the whole issue was the price of insurance... and the ramifications..."

"Shut up, Sheila. Let me think!" I didn't know what to do! The woman of my dreams won't sleep with me because she wants to be faithful to a man who's boffing some rich-bitch coed! It wasn't fair! I mean, I couldn't tell Candice! She'd always hate me for telling her, and I sure as hell didn't want that! I realized that there was nothing that I could do, at least not directly. But if I didn't do something, their affair might end quietly, and my poor Candice would be none the wiser. She'd still be saying no to temptation, thinking that her asshole husband was doing the same. But then, if she found out, she'd be so very hurt, and I couldn't bear the thought of that. No, I finally decided, dully, there's nothing that I can do. Even if I had someone else tell her, it would still hurt her, and I just didn't want that to happen. Sometimes, I'm not only stupid, but naive as well.

As it turned out, I didn't have to do anything. A couple of weeks later, Ms. Folsom missed two days of school. When she came back, she looked drawn and ill, sporting bags under her eyes, her normally brisk lecture voice was dull and apathetic, and when I walked by her podium on the way out of class, I could even smell body odor. She hadn't been bathing! Shocked, I went straight to her office and waited for her. When she came and unlocked the door to let us in, she hardly acknowledged my presence. She sat behind her desk and rubbed her face. Her hair was up in coiled braids, a way that I'd never seen her wear it.

"What do you want?" she asked without grace or preamble.

"To help," I said.

"Well, you can't help. So go away."

"I-I'm not rich, but if it's money, I do have about twelve thousand in the bank left from my scholarships this year. You can have it, Candice." It was the first time that I'd ever called her that.

She looked up at me, and I could see she was crying. "My husband's been unfaithful!" was all she said. She broke into heavy sobs and blew her nose from the box of Kleenex on her desk.

"I know."

That stopped her like a fist in the stomach. "You do?"

I nodded, "That sorority bitch, Cantrell. I can't understand it, Candice, and I'm sorry, that's all I can say. The man must be out of his mind!"

She was frozen, and when words came out, it was in a dull monotone, "He was arrested for propositioning an undercover police officer that was pretending to be a prostitute. I kicked him out of my house. I don't know anything about any Cantrell person."

I gulped and turned as red as an embarrassed fire hydrant. My big mouth! I jumped up and tried to run, but a voice like a pistol shot, a voice not to be disobeyed, cracked, "Stop!" With a sigh of mortal dread, I sank back into my chair. Now, it was I, hiding my face in my hands.

She spoke slowly, each word a dagger into my heart, "Who is this sorority bitch Cantrell? How many people know about this?"

Tears sprang through my fingers, I'd never been so miserable. I didn't want to tell her this shit. She'd hate me forever! But the worse part was, I hurt for her, maybe even as much as she did. God! I loved that woman. I'd come to realize just how gentle she had been with me, down to and including the remark about her pubic hair. She'd been telling me, jack off if you want to, but I can't give you more than a mental picture to do it with. And I had used it, too, more than once.

I guess she finally noticed that I was bawling harder than she was, because her voice softened, "Okay, calm down, Kathy, and tell me about it." So, snot running down my face, I did. She handed me some Kleenex and asked me, "Did you know about this when we had our little scene here in the office?"

I shook my head, "No, but I found out later that day. And I don't know how many people know about it, but I heard about it from a friend who is in Mary's sorority, so I guess at least a few people there know."

"Why didn't you come to me?" She asked, but that started me crying again. She tried to calm me.

I laughed, and then I sobbed, "I don't know what-what's the matter with me, Ms. Folsom. I guess that I've been under more stress than I thought."

"Why didn't you come to me?" She asked again, but more gently.

So I tried to explain the mess to her, about how I hurt for her, about how I didn't want to hurt her and, "I guess I was selfish, too. I was afraid that you'd hold it against me for telling you. I know you don't want to sleep with me anyway, but I couldn't bare the thought of your hating me. Selfish, selfish, selfish! I'm really, really, sorry!" I wasn't sure what I was apologizing for, but I was sincere as I could be, and at least, she seemed to know it. "I realize now that I was just being a selfish little bitch, and I am so sorry, Candice!"

"You're being honest, Kathy. And right now, that means more to me than you can guess." I looked up at her, but she was looking out the window. She went on, "I'm going away for a few days. I've arranged for a substitute until I get back. We'll talk again." My momma didn't raise no dummies; I was being dismissed again. I rose slowly and opened the door. She didn't say another word. Didn't turn around. I left. And for the next few days, Sheila caught holy hell and loved every minute of it. Poor Sheila or lucky Sheila, however one wishes to look at it. She only wanted to be normal, but only abnormal people want to be normal. Normal people want to be abnormal. The sun crosses the sky, night comes, winds blow, cows shit where they stand and then step in it, and all people are fucked up to one degree or another. That's reality!

She was back in the middle of the next week, looking her normal, irresistibly gorgeous, ice-goddess self. At the end of class, she said, "Ms. Patterson, could you come to my office?" A few people shot me sympathetic glances, figuring that I was in trouble. I figured they were right. Not only I'd been the one to tell her about Mary Cantrell, but also she was probably mad at me for not telling her sooner. I was damned any way you looked at it. I climbed the stairs to her office slowly, giving her time to get there first. I knew how hanged men felt, marching to the gallows.

I sat down, and she spoke, "Maybe you'd better lock the door."

Was she going to murder me, or what? I got up and locked the door. "Kathy, I was a virgin when I got married. Do you understand that?" I guess my dimwitted facial expression was answer enough, "No? Well, let me put it this way then; Although, I'm nearly ten years older than you, I'm not a woman of experience." I'm sure my face was still as blank as my brain. Surely this was not how a murderer proceeded, but then how could we know? The victims are always too dead to testify.

She sighed, took her glasses off and leaned back in her chair, "I don't know how to do this, Kathy! Would you help me?"

"Candice," I said slowly, "I know that you have to put your life back together and go on. I'll help any way that I can." I must have said the right thing, because she looked relieved and even smiled.

"Any way that you can?" she asked me softly, "Then you can call me Candy from now on! Um, just when it's the two of us, of course." Duh! Slowly, it sank in as I remembered the condition for calling her Candy. I scrambled around the desk and sank to my knees at her feet.

"Candy," I said, tasting the sound of it as she took my head in her hands like she had done before. "Kathy," she answered as her lips molded around mine. As our tongues touched, my hand slipped up her skirt and found bare flesh halfway up her thigh. It was stockings, not pantyhose! At least that was what she was wearing today! The thrill of it made me pause and savor the moment while her tongue massaged mine. God! She was a sexy kisser! My hand inched further up her leg and my fingertips lightly stroked the smooth surface of her panties and I could feel her pubic hair and her slit through the nylon. Instantly, she stopped kissing me with a little gasp. Her thighs tightened on my arm, and she drew away from me.

"Oh, Kathy!" she gasped, terror in her voice, "I'm so sorry; I really can't believe I did this..." Tears welled in her eyes as she saw herself as a pervert seducing a child. I could read her like a book now that I was back on my feet, um, as it were. But what do I do about what I was reading?

I got up and held her head against my tummy while she cried, and I made soothing noises. This wasn't going well! I decided that the only thing that would save me now was harshness, "That's okay," I crooned, "Make me feel like a stupid, awkward teenager again. It's okay; hurt me as much as you feel the need. I understand. Bob hurt you by being a faithless asshole, and I have only been a silly girl who wants to enjoy sex with you. It's only right that you ask me up here, then act like I wasn't woman enough to even distract you in your grief." My tone was still comforting, but the words were having an effect. She stopped crying.

"Oh no, Kathy," she gasped, "It's not like that!" Then she gave me a suspicious squint. Apparently my manipulations were too obvious. Ha, obvious! I only wanted her to stop crying and it had worked like a charm!

"Of course it is," I said softly, "You pretended that you wanted some honest sex, and then as soon as you get me stirred up, you snatch it away from me. Only, you should understand something. You're not hurting Bob; you're hurting someone who really cares about you, and you're hurting yourself. Okay, I don't know you well enough to claim I really love you. But I feel like I do, and that hardly qualifies me for a put down on my sexuality. So, I don't turn you on. When I put my hand up your dress, you cry instead of enjoying it. Isn't that what happened?"

I pulled away from her and walked toward the door. I was being a deliberately callous little shit, hoping to shock her into perspective, and okay, I stooped to a little guilt tripping. Like she couldn't see through it – jeez, this is a painful memory for me! But like I said, at least she wasn't crying.

"Goodbye, Ms. Folsom. If you ever want a friend, just call me up. But I'm a sex maniac, not a masochist."

"Stop." she said softly and added with a little smile, "Please. I admit that I'm more in pieces than myself, if that makes any sense. But I didn't ask you up here to turn you down. Could we try one more time?"

I turned around and walked over to her and around her back. I put my hand on her shoulders and began to massage her. After her neck muscles began to relax, I said, "Maybe what you really want right now is just a good friend. I'm pretty flexible you know; I could be a lot of things to you; whatever you like."

She moaned with pleasure at my ministrations, and then giggled, "Well, I'll certainly be happy to consider you as my masseuse, although, sex maniac sounds more interesting." She let me relax her shoulders and neck for a few more seconds, and then she whispered, "What would a sex maniac do with a helplessly confused woman who needs an ego boost and an honestly good thrill? I mean, besides pitching a silly fit and trying to make me feel guilty?"

I let my hands glide over her shoulders and over her huge breasts. Lord, she was stacked! She was wearing a bra; I could feel its lacy texture beneath my palms as my hands kneaded her firm flesh. She moaned throatily, and I whispered in her ear, "Tell me about your sex life." I unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse.

"Nothing to tell," she said, bitterness creeping into her voice, "I was a virgin when I married Bob. And I was faithful. That time that I kissed you was the furthest I've ever strayed, and that was just to help you get over it, Bob was even amused when I told him about it. I-I guess that's why I asked you to... be with me. You're the closest, physically to me, other than Bob. And I'll never let him touch me again."