Abigail Knox Taylor stepped from the shower and began to study her blurry-looking self in the fogged glass of the full-length mirror as she towel-dried her hair, Irish-red, just below shoulder length and now hanging in shiny, wet, ringlets. At five foot one and theoretically petite, she was an eye-turning twenty-two year old with pouty lips and a body ready for plunging necklines and form-fitting jeans.
She turned away from the glass and over her shoulder surveyed her rear as she came in focus. Flexing her backside she clenched further what felt tight as a drum at rest, first right, then left and then both cheeks as she daintily explored the dark split that dove between her legs. As the bathroom exhaust fan finally cleared the mirror, she turned to view herself in profile, 36 C breasts jutting out from her narrow physique—to her eye anyway—in somewhat caricaturesque fashion, like she had cartoon tits she thought to herself. But only she felt that way about her endowments and, perhaps, a jealous rival or two she was happily unaware of. Guys just whistled under their breath (sometimes more obviously) and imagined what they might do with them given the chance.
Lovers—those few actually given that chance, and she used the term lover quite loosely, as she considered most of them to be more drooling beasts—had groped, squeezed as if they were testing grapefruit, licked and sucked on, chewed as if her nipples were insensitive little gum drops, and the more creative had nestled their distended manhood twixt one and the other, wrapping left and right into a soft tunnel, and insistently slid back and forth between them until she heard the telltale groan, saw the expression on his face as if he had been stabbed with a knife, felt the warm discharge running down her neck and onto her pillow, and simultaneously she sensed her boobs being squeezed with characteristic male lust and release as if they were attempting to milk her mid-orgasm.
One memorably wanted to clip clothes pins onto her nipples before he video-taped her, as pain—he breathlessly explained—underlay all pleasure. And though she forcefully declined his offer to usher her into a sort of 'tit-bondage' as he put it, where undoubtedly she would—he again insisted--soon ask him to move from wood to weighted alligator clips, she nonetheless in the dark and alone, had dragged herself to numerous orgasms with her own fingernails, judiciously harnessing pain as the lad had suggested. It wasn't that he was wrong necessarily, but he wasn't the one who she was willing to follow in such a direction. Such an individual, she hoped, she would see later today.
At the thought of him she dropped the towel, her hands hovering over her head as if he were there and she were posing for him. To push her breasts even further out she took a full breath and held it to make them appear even larger, her up-turned nipples forming the end of a lazy 'C' that began at her chin, curved around the arc of her neck, plummeted downward and at last turned up slightly with each nipple.
She turned still again, faced the glass and dropped her arms, her hands rising to cup and delicately lift each independently before her thumbs tracked predictably to brush delicately nipples already stiffening from the thought of physical attention. So horny she ached, she needed a release, but would delay long enough to see through her plan. Tonight either would find her paired with a stand-in, temporary and expedient, alone, riding one of her toys, or with him.
She sighed and let one hand caress her thin waist, one finger lazily driving through the droplets of water, around her navel and eventually to the short growth of her trimmed mound. She first lewdly seized her flesh as a man cups his cock and balls, squatted slightly to part her thighs, one finger soon dredging shallowly along her moist slit between sensitive pink petals from back to front and pausing at her clit, her first and her third finger parting her hood to unmask her hot-wired little nub to her practiced middle finger as her entire body shuddered as if in response to an electric current.
A deep breath and consideration for the time pulled her out of her reverie and reminded her that today was the day when she would finally see if her intuition were flawed and if she had misread the signs that led to this infatuation. In her bedroom she finished drying herself and modeled panties.
The white cotton ones gapped at the top of her crack in the rear and bloused slightly between her cheeks, folded neatly in the front into the gap between her lips. The string of the thong however disappeared into her crack and as well molded itself to her lips. After trying and eliminating the boy shorts she chose the diminutive white thong, matching bra that barely contained her flesh, and over her head slipped on a white, cotton, knee-length summer dress that unbuttoned to the waist and buttoned, enticingly bared enough of her cleavage to form a dark fissure and as well showcased the slope of her alabaster, lightly freckled breasts.
Around her neck she hung a silver and turquoise pendant cleverly twisted into a Celtic knot. She wasn't much concerned about the form of the pendant so long as it pulled his attention downward. Slipping into white summer heels that added an inch to her height, she finished drying her hair, sparingly applied her makeup and headed off to campus to retrieve her final Contemporary American Lit essay from Dr. Cox.
Knox and Cox she smiled to herself as she drove to campus. Abby had been her intended nickname. But her middle name, an old family name dating from the eighteenth century, had been the one that caught on. And when she developed, boys now grown into men had found the nickname devilishly appropriate. They thought her unaware of their clever double entendre on Knox and knockers, but she wasn't a fool and besides, she liked her middle name.
He just had to feel the same way about her she thought, her mind veering back to what she now almost considered to be her prey as she turned onto campus and made her way to the Liberal Arts Building with one distinct memory of him standing above her in her mind's eye, his eyes flashing to her mouth and neck and below as she sat at his feet so to speak, taking notes and pretending not to notice where his attention had wondered. They chatted in seminar, sometimes to her mind as if the rest of the class wasn't there, and all of twentieth century American literature soon became an extended metaphor for their desire, she hoped.
A final look in the visor mirror, some lip gloss and a breath mint for good measure and she was on her way across the parking lot and into the building, her hips hypnotically swaying in time to the rhythm of the seduction she had long been devising, one that would clearly make more than her feelings known and, even more importantly, force him to declare his.
His office door was ajar as she walked down the otherwise conveniently empty suite and so as not to lose her nerve and as well catch him unawares she walked straight to the door and pushed it open without so much as a warning tap. He was seated at his computer, body in profile, and as he turned she realized he was in summer attire, canvas shorts and sneakers and a polo shirt. She noticed his eyes dart up and down her entire body before he eagerly said "Hi Knox. Come on in!" Sweeping into the small space on his invitation she gave the door a barely imperceptible encouragement with the back of her heel that ended in the sound of the latch clicking into place and ensuring their privacy.
He was about five ten or eleven, trim and tanned always, with thick, prematurely graying hair atop a well-toned forty-five year old physique. His hands were simultaneously delicate and masculine, his fingers long and thick. She remembered lore from her home town identifying the fingers as the key to estimating the size of a man's equipment. If Dr Cox's fingers truly foreshadowed the size of his manhood. . . hmmm, a guttural moan was all she could think of to express the feeling.
Smiling broadly, she moved across the small office in two steps and propped her butt on the corner of his desk, the rounded angle pushing insistently into the skin separating her little back door and the rear of her pussy. The 'taint' one of her first liaisons had called it: "taint ass and taint pussy." Stupid as the sentiment was, quite as foolish as the person who had offered it, for some reason she could not forget it. Her legs fell akimbo in front of her as if she were subtly offering herself to him; her toes almost touched his sneakers after he had wheeled around from the computer screen where he had been working.
"Hi Doc" she said; "are your grades all turned in" she continued, watching him for any sign that would encourage her.
"Finally" he said as he smiled broadly, stood and brushed against her arm as he went to a stack of papers atop a filing cabinet, "and I have something for you" he continued, "your essay is here somewhere and a wonderful job it was, as usual."
Pulling an essay out of the pile he turned and approached her, a shiver running through her as he handed the essay to her. "Here you go! You're really good. I mean, your analysis was really good; I really have nothing negative to say about it."
"Thank you" she said, hanging on his every word, and pretended to examine the final page with a comment or two, all the while her peripheral vision trying to determine where his eyes were focused. With no warning she looked up quickly and fixed him staring at her cleavage and neck, and though he reddened almost imperceptibly, he recovered just as fast.
"That's a lovely pendant Knox. Is that old? Because the silver looks it, old silver just looks differently than new to my eye" he added nonchalantly.
"It is" she said, reaching out to take his hand, turning it palm up, and with her other, she placed in his hand the pendant, quite warm from dangling almost down in the fissure of her cleavage.
She held onto his hand as he examined the pendant, eventually letting go as he continued to look at it, almost as if he didn't want to let it go. Finally he decided to return it to her, so to speak, and rather than rudely let the locket fall against her chest, he guided it back to her body and rested it there, the knuckles of his hand brushing the slope of her breasts and setting her nipples to tightening up.
He took a breath and looked away to move to his chair as she slid her feet out of her heels and billowed the rear of her dress behind her so that the cheeks of her ass, now scooted back on the desk so she could be seated, sat in direct contact with the cold glass. The physical sensation of the hard desk on her soft skin, his touch, and her desires, all began to concentrate so that when he again sat down, she was near ready to act.
"I'm going to miss chatting with you, Knox. On to grad school though, big changes" he said, in a curiously uncomfortable voice, talking but not saying anything; "I'm sure you'll be very happy though."
"I know I will" she said.
"Well," he paused, clearly of a divided mind, "just doing your best will. . ." he started to say when she calmly stood, reached under her dress and peeled her thong from her, slid it down to her knees and then let it drop to her ankles before she placed her bare feet on his chair between his legs and wiggled her painted toe nails.
"Doing my very best, Dr Cox is what I plan on" she said in a husky voice as she slipped one foot out of the flimsy string, slid her foot into the gap in his shorts and lay her bare toes against his manhood, clearly thick with desire and getting thicker now she sensed. His mouth hung open slightly, and he stared at her speechless as she crossed the leg on which the thong still hung and pulled it up to within her reach and took it in her hand from between her toes. It felt wetter in to her hand than it had on her foot, having been pressed into the seam of her slit, moist since she had exited her shower an hour or so earlier.
He started to speak and she shushed him familiarly as she would shush a lover, or playfully quiet a child, and standing, she bent to kiss him, bringing the musky thong up between their lips as she balanced herself with her hand pressed against his crotch. She kissed him through the triangle, and as she kissed him she inhaled her scent on the cotton. His lips moved in concert with hers as she continued to kiss him, lips crushing harder against lips, her tongue tasting and exploring the material and pushing the damp cotton into his mouth as his tongue pushed back to meet hers, his breathing accelerating.
She knew she had him; she smiled to herself at a job well done.
Not giving him a moment to reconsider she upped the ante by subserviently dropping to her knees between his legs, her thong dropping strategically onto a fold in his crotch as she slid a hand up each leg of his shorts. His balls and cock were stuffed into bikini-style underwear now as tightly as her boobs felt smashed into her bra, and the former was uncomfortably swollen and bent on its side, throbbing with the beat of his heart. She sensed him flexing in response the muscles of his joint as it flooded with longing, his hips pushing ever so slightly against her pressure.
After caressing him with her warm hands she softly said "stand up," which he did without a word, as if he were afraid to speak and break the spell. In one motion she pulled his shorts to his knees and then his ankles, looking up into his eyes as he watched her look hungrily at his bulging crotch, burying her face in his balls and inhaling deeply, kissing them again and again, before she kissed the length of his cock, still mostly trapped in his briefs but outlined in the cloth.
She pulled back on the waistband and out sprung a swollen purple head with thick flared sides that had been so stuffed into his underwear that it bore the imprint of the weave of the material.
She licked the base of his head and tasted his skin and the clear fluid that had seeped out of him now that he was aroused. She wished cum were clear like that, not thick and so pungent in some men. But his desire smelled to her like an aphrodisiac and seemed to impel her to give him the pleasure she so wanted back from him, eventually, resisting the urge to rest one hand on her own sex.
Again in one motion she pulled his underwear to his ankles, sat back on her heels momentarily and beheld him, six or seven inches standing straight out, pointing toward her and involuntarily pulsing, with a thin shaft crowned by that huge, circumcised head. His balls hung low in a dark sack lightly covered with fine dark hair.
She reached between his legs and fondled them, one finger reaching back almost to his asshole but stopping just short. Why give him everything at once she thought to herself as she retracted her finger. She pulled down on his sack with her nails and at the same time said "please sit down again Dr C."
And as he did he swallowed and said in a hoarse voice, "Knox, maybe we've moved beyond where you need to call me Dr. . ."
She interrupted and said, "I know your name, but I just like to call you Dr Cox" she finished with a smile. "OK?"
"Sure" he said as she kissed her way up the insides of his thighs, pushing his knees as far apart as she could in the desk chair and gazing alternately into his eyes and at his manhood.
She leaned back and unbuttoned her dress to her navel, parting it to reveal her breasts in almost their full glory, so insufficiently stuffed into her bra that a thin crescent of her areola peaked above both cups, but ultimately covered, her nipples a sort of forbidden fruit she wanted to save for him for a later snack.
"Oh my god" he whispered as he reached out to touch her. But she intercepted his hand and pulled it to her face, sliding one finger into her mouth and swirling her spit around it with her tongue as she slowly pulled it out again while at the same time briskly sucking on it to give him an idea of what her mouth was capable of.
"Oh my god" he said more loudly as she lay his hand back on the arm of the chair.
"Sucking brings out your spiritual side, Dr Cox" she said puckishly.
"I guess it does" he said as she leaned forward and dredged the head of his prick into the dark warmth of her cleavage, then rubbed it back and forth across her chest.
"I really want you to cum on my tits, Dr Cox" she said, playing her best school girl. "All I could think of today was the taste of you oozing out of that big cock of yours and running off my lips down my chin and dripping on my boobs. OK, Doc?"
"Is that what you want, Knox" he said, now playing along with her.
"Yes, Professor" she smiled as she leaned into his head and proceeded to flutter her wet tongue over the very tip of his prick, wetting him enough so that her thumb could effortlessly make delicate circles over the sensitive nerves on the underside of his head. From the amount of fluid oozing from him she knew she wouldn't be able to keep this up long before he exploded.
She had hit her stride now and combined the words of an experienced woman with a naïve girl's voice: "Mmmm, your little pee-hole tastes so good Doc. Oh I want your cum all over me." She held him firmly at the base of his stiff cock and fluttered the very tip of her tongue on the bundle of nerves just under the head while with her other hand she fondled his balls and in the back of her throat moaned ever so slightly.
It happened so fast that she barely had time to react. As he suddenly groaned she leaned forward, her tongue continuing to flutter over the tip of his little hole as a rush of thick cream shot out in a ribbon that found its way to the back of her throat. She had to close her mouth to swallow to keep from choking as still another groan quickly preceded another pulse of warmth that splattered her closed mouth, nose, cheeks, lips and chin as she softly kissed his little hole, his cum dangling in a string from her chin and finally dropping in several gobs to her boobs and onto her pendant.
Four or five more smaller streams came from him, becoming runnier and runnier as she continued to lap at his business end, her one hand still holding his cock firmly, feeling his muscle contractions, while her other hand tickled his balls and braced her on the seat of the chair.
When it was all done she finally looked up at him. His eyes were closed and as they opened and she was sure he was watching she engulfed all of him, took all of him down her throat, fighting the urge to gag as his flared head plugged the back of her throat. She sucked on him as hard as she could as she slowly pulled him from her mouth, stopping with just his head in her lips to pull the last of his cum from the source.
She sat back on her heels and sighed, looking down at her spattered chest with a smile and taking her hands, massaging his spunk into her tits and pushing it down into her cleavage and under her bra to her nipples, while all the while never letting him actually see her areola or nipples, finally buttoning up her dress. She popped her pendant into her mouth and swirled his cum away with her spit. She took her thong and wiped her cheeks, mouth and chin. The room reeked of sex she realized as she folded the wet thong and placed it into his hand.
"Could you bring this to me tonight Dr Cox?" she said as she rubbed her boobs through her dress.
"I'll keep my hands off of myself until you come by tonight, so you can do whatever you want with me. How's between seven and eight for you?"
There he sat, his shorts and underwear around his ankles. His dick, wet and still swollen, hung down and lay on the seat of the chair. She stood and—making it up as she went along—slipped a finger under her dress and slid it along her swollen lips with closed eyes, both of them marveling at her slutty insolence as she pulled her hand from beneath the folds of her dress and slid it into her mouth before she bent to kiss him once again, hard, rubbing her tongue across his with the tang of her desire.