The Panty Perils of Me 11byHarleyFatboy1©
It seems that Dr. Thrasher and I are not quite getting along as fabulously as Jackie and he had. It also seems that he has shared details of me with his department head at the university.
A Dr. (PhD, not MD) Spoocher has contacted me and wants me to meet with him in his office tomorrow over the lunch hour.
As I have already stated, Dr. Spoocher is the head of the psychology department at the university, which essentially makes him Dr. Thrashers boss. I don't know whether he demanded that Dr.Thrasher allow him to see me or if Dr. Thrasher volunteered me. In either case I am meeting with him tomorrow.
Isn't it a bit curious that the university seems to have replaced the park for my adventures?
Some little voice inside of me seems to be directing me to wear something with long zippers so I put on my denim mini skirt with the side zippers that run from waist to hem along with a black open weave sweater top. Underneath I am wearing something a bit unusual for me as I don't have on a pair of itty-bitty panties. Does this still qualify as a panty peril? I am wearing a black lace body suit that fits me like a second skin. I have completed my outfit with a pair of tan cloth high heels.
I decide that if the head of the psychology department has already heard about me and my tendencies than it doesn't make any sense to disappoint.
This time I almost blend in with the student body as I make my way to the psychology building. I climb the 3 flights of stairs to Dr. Spoocher's office, walk about halfway down the hallway and find a door with his name painted on the glass. I am not quite sure what to do as I stand outside his doorway. Does he have a waiting room so I just walk in and present myself or do I knock and wait for an answer? I decide that since he is expecting me I might as well just walk in. It turns out that he does have a small waiting area but no assistant is to be seen. I suppose that since it is the lunch hour, they might be gone to lunch.
I tentatively knock on the inside door and a commanding voice responds with "Enter."
I open the door and Dr. Spoocher is sitting behind a large unusually colored marble desk. He has a much smaller circular one to my right as I enter. He is probably in his late 50's and wears a professorly looking tweed sport coat and camel colored pants. His shirt is sky blue that highlights his blue eyes magnificently. In a way he reminds me very much of my neighbor, the professor. In fact as I realize this I feel a little pang of regret that I haven't heard from my neighbor in a while. I still harbor fantasies of him despite his blackmailing ways of getting me to strip for him.
My thoughts are broken by Dr Spoocher's greeting, "Ah, Ms. Harley, won't you please take a seat. The chairs in Dr. Spoocher's office are placed further away from his desk than most offices that I have been in. Once I settle into the chair I realize immediately why. Dr. Spoocher has an unobstructed view of my legs and considering the extreme mini of my mini skirt; I imagine that he has already seen well up my skirt.
"Very nice." He almost seems to say to himself.
I start to blush and am feeling a bit uncomfortable.
Dr. Spoocher than proceeds to tell me that he has heard quite a bit about me from Dr. Thrasher and is quite intrigued by my little tendencies. Am I supposed to say, "Thank you," to a comment like this? I remain seated and quiet watching Dr. Spoocher's eyes never stray too far from my bare thighs and the space created between my closed legs and skirt.
"I feel that it would be appropriate to have you give me a demonstration."
The words hit me like a kick in the stomach. Am I now the little girl toy of the psychology department that performs on cue? I only wish that I could voice my indignation and walk out, but I am glued to the chair shaking in anticipation of what may come next.
"Would you take your sweater off for me?" Dr. Spoocher asks but it sounds more like a command.
I am visibly shaking knowing that my bodysuit is quite transparent. Why do I continuously wear lingerie that I know, at least subconsciously, that I will be modeling for a complete stranger? It doesn't seem that my question is not going to be answered by the good doctor, as he seems to have a different kind of session in mind.
I slowly stand up and pull my sweater up and over my head laying it across the back of the chair. My nipples react immediately to the cool air and sudden exposure by becoming little pebbles of flesh pushing provocatively against the sheer lace of my body suit. Dr. Spoocher smiles in a most unpleasant way while asking me to sit on his circular conference table. So did he purposely move the chairs away from the table to make it my personal stage?
Again I comply with his request as if I have no other choice.
I place my hands on the table with my back facing it and in a singular motion lift and slide my body up and onto the table. I keep sliding until my entire body is on the tabletop with my legs stretched out and my skirt riding well up my legs.
Dr. Spoocher gets up from behind his desk and walks over to me. His camel pants have a large lump right behind the zipper and I suspect that it is filled with liquid. A little smile creeps across my face as I think about my little entendre.
"I see you have a very conveniently placed zipper down the side of your leg, Ms. Harley?" I notice a slight tremble in his voice as he notices my long zipper.
I sit frozen and watch him with a shaking hand take a hold of the tongue of my zipper and pull it up towards my waist. My entire thigh comes into view as well as my hip and cheek.
I don't want to feel this way, but the flight of the zipper up my thigh causes a fluttering right between my legs.
Dr. Spoocher's breathing has changed to something akin to excitement and pleasure. He gives an additional little tug and my skirt is completely free on the left side of my body. Essentially he unwraps me pulling the flap of my skirt from across my crotch and yanking it away from underneath me.
I am in nothing but a sheer lace body suit and high heels.
Dr. Spoocher steps back to admire his work asking me to submit to some poses for him.
I notice that he never puts my skirt down, but continues to have a hold of the zipper in his right hand.
With each pose he either rubs his other hand up my legs stopping just short of my now glistening pubis, caressing my almost bare cheeks while I bend over the table, or pinching my very visible nipples bringing a low moan of supplication to my lips.
As he strokes and caresses my bare skin his breathing becomes more labored almost as if he is masturbating. I can't quite figure it out as he continues to hold the zipper of my skirt with one hand and uses the other to essentially feel me up.
Despite the awkwardness of my situation I can't but start to feel aroused. It seems that Dr. Spoocher is getting off by simply looking at me, touching my skin, and something with my zippered skirt.
Suddenly he goes back behind his desk and sits down trying to conceal his hands. Since I am sitting on top of a table his attempt to conceal fails miserably. I watch as he grasps my skirt to his groin and a series of convulsions shake his body while his eyes roll back and he lets out a long moan.
This man has just orgasmed and it occurs to me that what I originally mistook for an erection undoubtedly was a large wad of tissues stuffed into his briefs encircling his penis so he wouldn't stain his pants.
Still a bit out of breath, Dr. Spoocher tells me to stand in front of his desk with one hand on my hip. As I slide my sheer lace covered bottom off of the table I feel a warm liquid soak my right cheek and realize that I have been secreting the entire time that I have been on his table. I have nothing to conceal the tell tale indication of my state of arousal as I awkwardly try to use my bottom to wipe the small pool of secretion up.
I watch him savor my embarrassment and discomfort. His eyes flit from my nipples to my crotch to my navel to my legs over and over again. "At least he can't see the lace of my body suit sticking to my bottom." I think to myself feeling little consolation.
Although his left hand now rests upon his desktop the other still seems to be buried in his lap undoubtedly rubbing his leaking appendage trying to coax it into a resurrection.
When I am sure that I am about to be used in some kind of sexual depravity, as if this hasn't been strange enough, Dr. Spoocher takes a quick glance at his wall clock and announces, "I have to attend to other business but would like to see you next week Tuesday about the same time. Please wear something with long zippers."
I get dressed and slink out of his office feeling like a reprimanded and slightly used student. In his outer office his assistant has just returned from lunch. She hardly gives me a look as I slip past her.
Is it Alice in Wonderland that exclaimed, "Curiouser and curiouser"?
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