Bra Strap


It was simple, really. Why shouldn't they walk around in their underwear? And why shouldn't I be sitting there in the living room if it pleased me, even though we were alone in the house now, just the three of us, April, October and me?

It was no big deal -- if it didn't embarrass them, why should it have embarrassed me? -- I was a man of the world after all -- but of course their undress charged everything, each moment electric with sensual potential, the possibility that any casual glance might fall on their barely concealed charms or that a chance movement might bring the press of bare skin or soft satin.

It was all because I'd had such a hard time getting through the archives in Florence and hadn't been able to get back to the college until just before term started.

I took my usual rooms at the Strong Arms only to discover that the entire remainder of the premises had been taken over by the sisters of Gamma Eta Pi while their sorority house was being renovated.

The Dean had given them permission to move en masse off campus on the condition that they have a live-in faculty member as chaperone, and in my absence and unbeknownst to me, they decided that I was the perfect candidate. After my hurried return the whole situation was presented to me as a fait accompli by their rather forceful president, April, and, having no other place to live, I agreed.

After a short period of cohabitation I discovered that the sisters were in the habit of wearing only their bras and panties "in private," a distinction which evidently included me, the only man allowed on the premises. They would strip down the minute they walked in the door and remain that way as they ate, did housework and homework, or just sprawled around, claiming that they felt "more comfortable," although they seemed equally interested in my dis-comfort.

And I couldn't help but be a little discomforted in such close quarters with twenty-odd young ladies, all of them, from the slightest a-cup freshman to the fullest figured bra busting six year plan senior, always in front of my eyes in lingerie, some of it seemingly selected just to dazzle those eyes.

Certainly they were more than aware of the effect on me as they posed teasingly, meeting my surreptitious glances with knowing smirks, or making me get up and walk across the room on some pretext, knowing full well that I now had a constant and somewhat painful erection.

My evenings became a round of cold showers followed by an irresistible reimmersion in the warm, voyeuristic current, a changing whirlpool of just dressed females that I was unable to escape. My nights became drowned in half remembered phantasmagoria, silky fabric rustling through my sweaty dreams, precise lace arabesque patterns joined by embroidered butterflies and tiny pink bows playing on my eyelids, the luminous scalloped waistbands of high cut panties seeming to arch above, punctuated by dark nipples mashed against sheer mesh. There were even moments when it seemed like the veil would be removed, torn aside to reveal the tantalizing treasures underneath -- at which point I would always wake up, denied the pleasure of even a nocturnal emission.

It all came to a head that fall night. I noticed at dinner that all the girls were dressed except for April and her cohort and vice president October, the rest of them crowding out after dinner amid conspiratorial glances and barely suppressed giggles.

As usual I tried to ignore their theatrics and went to sit in the living room. It was starting to get cold, and they'd compensated by building a roaring fire in the huge, old fireplace. Despite myself, their obscure little schemes had annoyed me, and overdressed as I was, I grew hot under the collar, and was already sweating by the time fair April and dark October sashayed in.

"It's boiling in here," I snapped.

April just slouched onto the sofa languidly. "We're comfortable."

"Well, all I can say is that the heating bills are going to be a problem around here this winter." I loosened my tie. "If you ladies can't bring yourself to start wearing a few more clothes."

It was the first time any of us had mentioned the subject, and April and October seemed galvanized, as if they'd been waiting for this moment, grinning at each other triumphantly. Still April waited a moment, cocking her head, wispy blonde bangs framing her mischievous pug face. "What's the problem, Professor? Don't you like the way we dress?"

She leaned sideways on one arm, giving me a clear view. April's breasts had a gravity of their own, a monumentality that inevitably drew my eyes, her bra itself a triumph, a cunning combination of efficient American engineering and provocative French fashion, a pattern of embroidered deco flowers circling the cup, those little metal circles joining the bra straps to the bra, the shiny smooth fabric an unearthly, glowing white. But even this marvel could barely contain the vitality of her bosom, the shadow of her wide aureole dawning above the petals.

I was surprised to find I could hardly talk. "N-N-N-o..."

"Maybe," Now October confronted me, dark and lean, looming above, the black lace and elastic tight against her high, full breasts. "Maybe the problem is the way you dress, Professor."

"Yeah, Professor, maybe you're the one with the problem."

"Oh, no, you girls don't want to see me in my underwear." I got up to leave -- I didn't like where this was going.

October quickly stepped in front of me, daring me to collide with her body. "Oh, but we do, don't we April?"

"Oh, yeah. I mean, it's only fair. You've been staring at us all semester.."

"Really girls, honestly..." I pivoted but April was there. "Now, really, enough's enough."

"Come on, Professor, what's the big deal, if you're so hot and everything? April's right -- you've seen us often enough."

They just stood there, flanking me, arms crossed, unashamedly daring me and I realized they weren't going to give in.

"Well, it's ridiculous, but it doesn't really matter to me."

"Then do it, Professor. Strip."

"If you'll give me a chance -- and some room."

They stood back, watching me with derisive smiles as I self-consciously struggled and fumbled my way down to my boxers.

"There -- are you happy? Well, I'm sorry, but if you'll excuse me I'm going to my room --" I said, but before I could move April squared herself in front of me, her jutting chest millimeters from mine.

"Is there still a problem, Professor? You seem to be a little overexcited..."

"Now, April, I insist that you --"

"Or is this the problem?" Her hands quickly disappeared into my shorts, adroitly fishing out my penis, which throbbed, heavy and sensitive in her grip. "Is this the fucking problem?"

Just her touch excited me to the point of spending. "Ahhhhh..."

"Oh, Professor!" Now October called, pressing up on the side as April still handled me. I turned to her, bleary eyed, and she laughed, tugging at her wispy black bra until her nipples, black and cherry red, poked out. "Lick them," she said. "Make them wet."

I leaned down to her and felt her flesh harden under my tongue, the material below soaked with saliva, as all the while April gently squeezed me. October hooked her finger and dragged one side all the way down, completely exposing one round breast and obliquely jutting nipple. "What do you think, Professor?"

"My, god, I..."

Now April yanked my attention back with a single rough stroke. "What's the matter, Professor? Still got a problem?"

"So tell us, Professor," October bared both her breasts now, the fabric of her bra bunched underneath, the straps falling off her shoulders, lifting and framing the released perfection. "What do you have to say for yourself now?"

"Your body is sacred, do you understand?" I gasped. "Every inch is precious, every pore, every hair, everything that touches you, that touches your skin -- your underwear --your --"

"It's all right, Professor, all right..." April crooned, pumping harder as I slumped against her, half sobbing, kissing the white of her bra strap.

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