Brandy in the Afternoon

In my thesis for my degree in social studies I had argued that many of our social 'rules' regarding extra-marital sex, adultery and incest had been formed by a heterosexual male-dominated ruling class. In the cases of both pre-marital sex and adultery, it was outlawed by that class, represented by religious leaders, in order to protect a husband's 'property.' On the one hand protecting the 'purity' of his daughters and on the other, protecting his wife from disgrace. Also, of course, protecting himself from the humiliation of cuckoldry.

As regards incest, I argued, the prohibition was specific to preventing the genetic defects possible as a result of in-breeding. I drew the analogy that some religions banned consuming pigs and shellfish, mainly because experience showed that these foods could cause disease. Similarly, the children of incestuous relationships were often defective.

But, I went on, in each case the ruling class didn't consider non-reproductive sex. There can be no offspring from a sexual encounter between lesbians, for example, and therefore the prohibitions of incest, extra-marital or adulterous liaisons need not apply in the context of lesbian relationships. Religion, however, largely rejected the concept of sex being simply good fun, and, in most cases, viewed same-sex relationships as inappropriate at best and a mortal sin at worst.

I accepted that certain relationships were justifiably proscribed: underage sex and the attendant risks of emotional and mental health impact, relationships between those in authority and those subject to that authority for example.

"So," asked my tutor, Professor Elizabeth Grade, "if I am in a position of authority over you, it would be inappropriate for us to fuck, regardless of the fact that neither of us would get knocked up, is that what you're saying?" She had the Australian's natural frankness.

I fancied my Prof. She was 45, tall, manly, handsome with short grey hair and ferociously gay. She knew that I was gay too.

"Sadly, I believe it would." Her arched eyebrow suggested that my use of the word 'sadly' interested her. "Because it is possible that someone would suggest, when I get my incredibly well-earned first-class degree, that it had been awarded because of your interest in me and your consequent help to get me that degree. Were you not open about your sexuality, there might be the added concern that I had obtained your help by blackmail."

"So, what you mean is that because I could enhance your prospects or you could damage mine, any sexual relationship between tutor and student should be outlawed?"

"Yes, I do."

"What, though, if my enhancement of your prospects was driven by a desire to see you succeed because I, chastely and secretly, loved you?"

"In that case, I agree, the possibility exists but the student would not be complicit."

"And what if I were a tutor who had no influence over you if, for example, I worked in another faculty?"

"I suspect the college authorities would still fear the possibility of some opportunity for you to exercise influence, or that all teaching staff, whether directly connected to me or not would be seen as in a position of authority."

"I agree. The good old days when everyone fucked students are long gone. I reckon most of my colleagues took to academic work partly because they got to fuck them. Aside from the college's view, would you feel coerced if I or another tutor fucked you?"

"We both know that you'd never allow your personal feelings to have any impact on a student's results, nor would you ever coerce someone to have sex with you.

Elizabeth stubbed out the cigarette she was smoking. "Brandy?"

"I'd love one, thank you."

She got out of bed and, naked, went through to her study and returned carrying two glasses. Her short, black hair shone in the light of the bedside lamps. She placed a glass on the table by my side of her bed, kissed my mouth, then went to her side of the bed and got back in.

"Of course," she said, "you're right. Too late now though, isn't it? Your thesis is very good, incidentally. There are things that need to be developed and improved but we'll get to them."

Her mouth tasted of brandy when she kissed me again. "But now, inappropriately using my authority over you, I demand a little lingual attention."

Needing no second bidding, I slithered down under the duvet and, as she opened her long legs, I let my hair brush over her thighs and licked her cunt. It was a thing of beauty in my eyes and I lingered, enjoying her taste, my tongue gently and slowly tracing her lips and the little valleys either side of them. I knew she wanted me to be firm but I was toying with her. Eventually she'd get frustrated by my softness and urge me to greater pressure with her hands in my hair or, with a show of simulated anger, she'd drag me back up, slap my arse and fuck me. Either was good. It was the hair grip this time. Her fingers gathered my long, chestnut hair into her fists and she pulled me to her. I gave token resistance. Her hips lifted as her arms pulled and I gave in and concentrated on getting her to a wet, noisy conclusion.

My tongue pressed into her, then licked up to her clit and rubbed it as a finger delved into her, curling, stroking her inner walls. Lifting her knees, she encouraged me as she usually did with her body language and her words.

"Suck my clit, girl. Don't fucking tickle her, give her a good thrashing." I worked hard, my tongue firm on her clit, now two fingers inside her. "Don't forget my arse. I haven't forgotten yours." So she went on, vocally urging me as she, I knew, approached her climax. I delayed touching her arse until that point because, as I had learnt, it brought things to a delightful outcome. It arrived, as so often, suddenly and she convulsed and stiffened and let out a cry of orgasm. I kept going, just as she had taught me. She loved the secondary orgasm, the little one that followed the first. She savoured it, relished it and loved that I was an enthusiastic student, in bed as well as out of it.

"Get up here."

I struggled back up and sat beside her, our backs against the padded headboard.

She lit another cigarette. "I find that breaking rules is much more fun than observing them, don't you?"

"Definitely."

"What rule should we break next?"

The bedroom door suddenly burst open and an angry voice said, "What the fuck is going on here?"

I was startled but Elizabeth smiled at the woman who had arrived so abruptly. She was about my height, slender and with long, lustrous blonde hair that was loose and wind-blown. "You have a problem?"

"Brandy? At this time of day?"

"I don't think you have met my almost-wife," said Elizabeth. "This nag is Anthea. Anthea, meet Rebecca."

Anthea began to strip of her overcoat and smiled. "Hi, Rebecca. Aren't her tutorials simply the best?" You may imagine that this was not a situation for which life had prepared me. She continued, "Don't be alarmed. Elizabeth and I are both wonderfully promiscuous."

Elizabeth slipped her arm around me. "She," pointing to Anthea, "uses the word 'promiscuous,' I prefer 'adventurous.' Do you agree 'promiscuous' has a pejorative tone to it?" I didn't get a chance to answer. "Are you joining us?"

Anthea smiled. "No, I have to go out again. I just need to shower and change."

"Where are you going?"

"You've obviously forgotten that I have a concert tonight."

"Anthea," Elizabeth explained to me, "plays the piano moderately well."

"Brilliantly, in fact." Anthea was stripping off without any apparent concern at my presence. She took off her blouse and a black bra to reveal firm, pert tits with very dark nipples. Her skirt dropped to the floor and she rolled off black tights and panties then turned to reveal a perfect arse before going through to the bathroom from which, soon, the sounds of a shower running were heard.

"Did you really expect her to join us?"

"Why not? Oh, don't look all shocked. Unreproductive sex is fun with two, more fun with three. And you have to admit, she's easy on the eye." There was no arguing with that. "If you were unhappy it wouldn't happen but open your mind as readily as you open your legs."

It may sound like she was cross but the hands that caressed my breast and delved between those readily-spread thighs gave the lie to that.

Anthea returned, selected a long, simple black evening dress from the wardrobe, clean tights and knickers and dressed as unabashed as she had stripped. As she dressed, she said, "Is Rebecca likely to become a fixture?"

Elizabeth looked at me. "What do you think?" I rather surprised myself by saying I hoped I would.

Anthea smiled as Elizabeth pulled the zip of her dress up her back for her. "Excellent." The two women enjoyed a warm kiss before Anthea left. She turned and hesitated briefly at the door. "My fucking brandy, too. Drunks, the pair of you." She blew a kiss and left.

It was a few days later that I went back to Elizabeth's house. Anthea answered the door and invited me in. "She's just called. Something's come up and she will be a while. Why don't we go for a walk and grab a coffee by the canal?"

It was a beautiful, warm summer day and the idea appealed. I was wearing a pale cream linen dress that came to about four inches above my knees. It had a square neck supported by two thick straps over my shoulders. Other than that and a pair of brown sandals, I wore nothing. Anthea was wearing jeans with brown slip-on shoes and a pale blue denim shirt. Her hair was tied back and she looked fresh and lovely. There was a gentle, warm breeze as we crossed the park and emerged through the gate onto the canal tow path. Trees overhung the path and there was that lovely summer smell along with the occasional putter of canal boats as they plied the waterway. We held hands.

"She called you her 'almost wife.'"

"Yep. She does that. It's because I called her my 'almost boyfriend' once. People see her and see butch. I see a beautiful, clever, free spirit. She hates convention." She stopped and turned so we were facing each other. "First time I met her she was wearing a beautiful dress. I told her I liked it and she said, 'Take a good look, sister. This is a once in ten year event.' Since then I have never seen her in anything other than trousers or shorts. So, since I know you're dying to ask, we have been lovers for about five years, lived together for three, and we both fuck anyone we want to. The only rule is, no secrets."

"Do you love her?"

"No fucking idea. I mean, I have no idea what love is. I like her, enormously. Would I miss her if she left me? Too bloody true. But, do I get jealous when I come home and find her in bed with you? No. I just think, lucky bitch."

"Me?"

"Both of you. She's fucking amazing, and you are not too shabby yourself." We moved on, found the little hut that sold probably the best coffee in the region and carried our cups to a bench, close to a waterside pub.

"Do you," she asked, "love her?"

"No. I'm a bit in awe. She's so fucking intelligent. She makes me feel stupid."

"She'd never make you feel stupid if you weren't clever. Has she given you her 'chain' line yet?"

Arguments, essays are chains. You start at one end and make every point forge a link with the next. If you get it right, every link is solid and dependable and you hardly need to write the conclusion because it's totally fucking obvious and the last link joins the first to make a perfect circle. Miss a link and the whole thing falls apart.

I said that she had.

"That's her problem. She is so forensic. She sees what you know if even if you haven't written it and then, if you're bright enough, she cuts you in slices. If you're dim, she tells you what to do. So, if she makes you feel stupid," she brushed my long brown hair behind my ear, "it's because you're not. Clear?"

"As clear as that," I said, pointing to the murky canal water.

"She laughed. "Oh no, you understand perfectly. Were you shocked when I came home the other day?"

"No," I lied. "A normal, everday occurrence."

Her finger traced my collar bone. "Untie my hair for me." As I reached behind her to untie it she kissed me. I stopped fumbling with the black ribbon and concentrated on the kiss. It lasted a few, glorious seconds. She leant back, smiling. "What are you like? People will see us!"

We walked back via a different route that took us through another part of the park. We stopped twice to kiss. The second time, the back of her hand brushed over my nipple, hard under the thin linen. "Are you naked under that dress?" I nodded. "Saves time in her tutorials, doesn't it?" My turn to laugh. "She told me you're a horny woman. That, coming from her, is a huge accolade." Her free hand stroked up the outside of my thigh under my dress, and she patted it. "Come on, she may be home and, if she's not, we can let her find us in bed. It'll do her good."

She was there when we got home. "I was called to see the Dean. What a dick that man is. Could I do a lecture for him in America? He was supposed to go and do some shit about pastoral care for students, to an audience of super freaks at Yale. His wife, mousey little bitch with buck teeth, doesn't want to go because," here she used a whining voice, "she'll miss their daughter's sixteenth birthday. I told him I knew fuck all about pastoral care, that I cared even less and that he should take his secretary because she's hot and looks like she could do with a good shagging. Not that he'd provide that, but he'd give her a reference point for when she gets one."

Anthea and I listened to this rant, smiling initially, and laughing more and more as it went on.

"Come on, I need to fuck that out of my system."

Anthea put her arm around me and the three of us went quickly, chuckling still, into the bedroom. "This bitch," said Anthea, "came dressed for action." She lifted my dress.

"Fucking good show," said Elizabeth. "Get started, I need to get tooled up."

Anthea pulled my dress up and over my head and chucked it into a chair. She nodded her head at the bed and, as I clambered aboard, she stripped unhurriedly before joining me. We started lying facing each other, fingers tracing each others arms and hips as our mouths met and our tongues did a little dance. Elizabeth got on the bed behind Anthea and as we continued our kiss I felt Elizabeth's hand on mine and I sensed she also had a hand between Anthea's thighs because she lifted her leg up and over me, obviously to make life easier. She groaned into my mouth and then another louder groan.

I could vaguely see the tip of a strapon, just before it disappeared and Anthea's groan became a moan. Elizabeth's hand was on my arm as she fucked Anthea. I could sense the rhythm of her thrusts, gentle at first, then harder, faster. Anthea was loving it. It broke our kiss and she smiled at me. "You next."

Her prophecy came true, when Elizabeth told me to get down between Anthea's knees. I wriggled down and found her cunt, wet, swollen. I licked her, fingered her. I was desperately aroused by then and when I felt strong hands lifting my hips, the dildo at my cunt, I said, 'fuck' into Anthea's cunt. I said it twice more. The first time was when I felt Elizabeth drive into me. The second was when I went over the edge and bucked under Elizabeth's body. That seemed to precipitate Elizabeth's own orgasm and she let out an extended 'fuuuucckkkk' too.

"Honestly, you two," said Anthea. "Such language! And brandy in the afternoon. Disgraceful."