The Panty Perils of Me 12byHarleyFatboy1©
Tuesday has arrived and I find myself again walking across campus towards the psychology building to meet with Dr. Spoocher. You would certainly think that based upon my initial experience with him, I would just stay home, but I guess by now you realize that a much stronger urge deep inside of me dictates my actions as well as dissolving any other kind of resolve I might harbor.
As for Dr. Spoocher's request to wear something with zippers, I went shopping since our last get together and found a remarkably unique pair of light blue summer pants that fit me like a glove. As for the zipper part, each leg of the pants has a zipper that runs from the ankle to the waist as well as a front zipper for more practical uses. To say that I am quite proud of my find would be an understatement. To try and analyze why I cater to the prurient nature of so many different men would take a lifetime to figure out.
To provide my own little self analysis, Dr. Spoocher reminds me so much of my neighbor, the professor, who has been sorely lacking from my life, that I am using him to supplement my feelings for the real thing. How's that for messed up?
I am quite excited to experience the effect that my new pair of pants has on Dr. Spoocher.
I climb the stairs to his office feeling pins and needles invading most of the erogenous areas of my body.
I pause in the hallway just outside the doctor's door and take a deep breath before I enter. As before the outer waiting area is vacant so I proceed to the closed inner door. I am surprised that my beating like a drum heart doesn't signal my arrival. I knock on his door and again hear his commanding voice telling me to enter.
Tentatively I crack the door open and there he is sitting behind his desk with his air of authority and self-importance.
I can tell by his look that he is disappointed at my attire. The zippers aren't readily apparent since they look more like sewn seams than zippers.
I can't help myself as I place my high-heeled foot upon his desk almost in front of his face taking a hold of the tiny zipper by my ankle and playing with it. Dr. Spoocher's demeanor changes completely. He is not only thrilled at my little demonstration, but has become quite clearly excited. I mean sexually excited.
Without him saying a word. I pull the tails of my blue and white pin striped blouse out of my pants and slowly unbutton it until Dr. Spoocher sees the red fabric of my silk triangle bra underneath. The look in his eyes is seductive watching me continue to undo each button right down to the bottom of my blouse. Surprisingly I am in a very playful mood, which I am sure is related to my self-analysis that I shared earlier i.e. my yearning to hear from the professor. Dr. Spoocher really does remind me of my neighbor. I now undo each button on my cuffs and with a simple shrug of my shoulders, my blouse slips off and flutters to the ground. I place each hand on a hip turning around to show him how wonderfully my pants fit and the resulting outline of my string bikini panties. The fabric of my pants is perfect for displaying visible panty lines.
His moan clearly indicates his approval.
Up and onto the round performance table I slide my bottom until I am completely lounging on its top.
Dr. Spoocher looks like he is going to erupt in his pants. He can barely contain himself as I see him more than once rub his hand directly on his crotch. I do notice something different this time. He doesn't have the mound that he had before and I am wondering why.
He gets up from behind his desk walking over to my perch and begins to examine my long leg zippers. Just as before his breathing has become much more labored.
His next unexpected move answers my question regarding his lack of lump. Dr. Spoocher takes a hold of his own zipper pulling it all of the way down. Then reaching into the opening just created he frees his penis from its confines. He is of average size and circumcised and pointing straight at me. I can't help but stare at his erection, as it seems to be staring back at me.
The mushroom head is a deep crimson color and throbs with each of his heartbeats. And the little eye is pulsing with a gooey clear liquid oozing out of it.
It is quite clear to me that he has no intention of filling his pants with his crème today.
I am not sure what to do. My little fantasy of him being the professor is completely gone. I have Dr. Spoocher fully exposed standing within inches of me with his miniature cannon ready to explode.
My mind immediately yells, "Not the pants." Funny what goes through a person's head under the most extreme circumstances? (I apologize for the double entendre of the last sentence.)
Dr. Spoocher then takes a hold of the tongue barely visible at my ankle and in a singular motion pulls my zipper completely to my waist. I feel the fabric of my pants unwrap itself from around my legs as I watch my leg from my ankle to my hipbone become entirely visible. The tiny red string of my panties hugging my hip bone comes into view as well..
As if a starter's gun has gone off signaling the initial burst out of the runner's blocks, Dr. Spoocher begins to ejaculate all over my exposed leg. His warm spunk provides such a lewd contrast to the air-conditioned air of his office. My own reaction is to try and protect my pants as one rope of white liquid after another issues forth from his throbbing penis.
I feel no arousal or excitement, only a strong sense of shame and humiliation as the doctor empties his load on me.
When he is finished splashing me, I am summarily dismissed like a used napkin.
Dr. Spoocher says something about "next week", but I am too angry to hear or acknowledge him.
Trying to keep my unzipped pant leg from touching my dripping skin I walk out of his office and into the hallway. I can feel the tears of humiliation starting to form in my eyes as I look for the nearest Ladies room.
I immediately head to the nearest sink unzipping my other pants leg and strip out of my pants while filling a sink with warm water to soak them. Once I feel that I have gotten his entire gooey residue rinsed away, I wring my pants out and hang them over the door of my temporary refuge: a toilet stall.
While his spunk dries on my unwashed thigh tears again form in my eyes. Here I sit inside the last stall of the Ladies bathroom on the third floor of the psychology building sobbing quietly to myself with one hand down the front of my red silk string bikini panties furiously playing my g chord.
Yes, I am a mixed up little bitch, however the recognition that I just made a man squirt all over my leg without ever touching him is beyond arousing to me. I hate the feeling of being used for someone's sexual pleasure, but at the same time it is quite an ego boost to consider that I am a middle aged mom and still get people off. And the graphic visual of seeing a man squirt his load through the air has me in an absolute sexual frenzy. I need to orgasm.
My fingers pick up their speed as these thoughts flood my senses and within a minute or two, I have my legs stretched out as far as they can go and as wide apart as the two walls of my stall will permit. I have nothing to grab onto to steady myself as the first glorious wave of release overcomes me. My sobs are replaced by incoherent moans of raw pleasure. My narrow perch upon the toilet seat no longer supports me and I slide off to the side pinned between the toilet and the sidewall of the stall. Somehow my legs remain up in the air with one hanging across my recently vacated perch and the other sticking straight out from underneath the confines of my stall. My whole body convulses through one orgasm after another as I shake and shimmy on the tiled floor.
Thankfully no one has entered the bathroom during my rather violent and noisy spastic attack.
Leaving my pants still hanging on the door of the stall I push myself up to a standing position and walk back to the sink. Grabbing a large handful of paper towels, I proceed to wash the dried spunk off of my leg as well as any part of me that just did the boogaloo on a public bathroom's floor.
I use one piece of dry towel to wipe my crotch, which bares considerable evidence of my recent orgasms.
When my pants are reasonably dry, I slip them back on and for the first time realize that I have left my blouse in Dr. Spoocher's office.
It is virtually impossible for me to consider returning to his office. First, I don't want to ever see him again, and secondly, what if his assistant has returned. Right now all I need is for her to see me wearing a bra for a top asking to retrieve my blouse.
Instead I set my resolve to traipse across campus wearing a red silk triangle bra for a top. I try to convince myself that it looks like a bikini top and shouldn't cause much notice.
Suffice it to say that maybe it did look like a bikini top, but it was noticed by everyone and anyone. It certainly didn't help to be sporting two very erect nipples clearly visible under my bikini top.
I did make it home and now all that I can think about is how betrayed and ashamed I feel.
What is wrong with these people?
I don't want to ever go back to Dr. Spoocher's office again and at the same time my entire body is vibrating as I think about it.
What is wrong with me?