It would have been easy and tempting to have blamed Steff, and so there were moments when I did; but that would have been to have ignored the ease with which I had given into temptation; so more often I blamed me. Circumstance, of course, played a role.
Teaching at a Women’s College had many advantages for me. Having been educated in all girls’ public schools, it was an environment in which I felt at home. There was none of that mansplaining one got elsewhere, none of those masculine eco-systems of which men were never aware, having created them, and none of that being talked down to. That didn’t mean things were perfect; in this world where would they be? But it did make it more comfortable.
I have never been sure how great a part my being a lesbian played in that feeling of comfort; but it would be silly to pretend it played none.
It did, of course, expose one to the temptations of the flesh. There would be the delicious moment in a tutorial or seminar when one of the students would flash a little more leg than they might have realised, or when they leaned forward to give me sight of a delightful flash of cleavage. Then there would be the occasional minx who would sit in the front row in class and part her legs, knowing what she was showing you, and also knowing you could do nothing about it. Not having affairs with the students was a given.
It wasn’t just the training seminars one went to, which emphasised the power imbalance, though one took that one board of course, it was the difference in age. I was in my thirties and my students were all between 18 and 22. There was something which just said “no” to any sexual connection with someone half my age.
I’d worked hard to get where I was. Home was a privileged environment, and my parents had both been shocked when I turned aside from the path laid out for me of a good school and a college education which would prepare me to meet the right man, settle down, and be the sort of socialite my mother and sisters were. No, I had been a “girly swot,” as Daddy put it.
Rejecting their path, I had followed my own. First-class results at the end of school, followed by an Oxford First and then a D.Phil. at the same University, I had gone one to get a Junior Research Fellowship followed by a proper College Fellowship. That had left little time for sexual adventures.
Such was my explanation. It was okay as far as it went. That it omitted my size (4′ 10¨) and lack of the usual female endowments of curves, was a way of telling myself that my celibacy was self-chosen, not imposed by circumstances.
So, you might wonder, how did I know I was a lesbian?
That was simple. I had never been attracted to men. That made it easy when I discovered they were not attracted to me. At the end of term balls in school I was never chosen to dance, and much the same was true at College. This did not bother me; but I did wish that one of the girls I looked at from a distance had asked me to dance.
I assuaged the horror of communal games at school by catching glimpses of some of the bustier girls, and I even volunteered to help with the swimming competitions so that I could get out of participating, but also look at the other girls in their swimsuits. I just loved the way that during activity they would ride up, exposing more of the arse and sometimes emphasising the camel-toe.
It was all pretty harmless, and absent a love-interest, helped to deal with my sexual urges. There had been occasions when I had thought there might be a spark of bursa escort interest from fellow scholars, but they had never come to anything. That was where Steff came in.
The College took part in the University sports activities, which included swimming, and given my previous experience, I helped referee. I knew Steff, Stephanie to give her her proper name, from College where she was studying Geography. As we came back from the swimming pool on the coach, she sat next to me, saying she had a question for me. Thinking nothing of it I invited her to sit down.
“Dr Hoffmann, why do you always look at my tits, is it because they are so big or because yours are so small?” She was smirking, asking the question as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “What’s up, has the cat got your tongue?”
I was dumbfounded. I could not, at first, believe my own ears. Steff was in her final year, she was tall, athletic, and blessed or cursed with a big bust; blonde, sun-tanned and fit, I had looked at her from a distance, but had not realised she had known I was looking.
“Stephanie, I not sure,” I said indignantly, “that this is a conversation we should be having. I am a Fellow of the College, you are a student, and there is a power imbalance; so can we drop this?”
She smirked again.
“I’d say, Hoffy, I’m tall, well-endowed and sexy as fuck, and you are tiny, flat-chested and a swot. I’d say that put me in the driving seat, and you know, I’m comfortable with that, how about you?”
I hated being called Hoffy, and felt humiliated by it, and by the comments about my appearance; but something odd was happening; I felt a tingle between my thighs, and a moistness.
“Stephanie! You can’t say things like that. I am a member of staff, you are a student, and that’s the real power imbalance.”
“No, Hoffy,” she smirked again, “that’s the thrill of it for me. The idea of making you eat me out turns me on, tell me it doesn’t you?”
Without warning, in the darkness of the coach, she put her hand up my skirt, forcing my thighs apart and touching my dampness.
“I can feel that I am right Hoffy. Who’s a wet girl?”
I wriggled, knowing I should stop her, but not only not knowing how to, but not actually wanting to. Her fingers slid under my knickers, touching me, finding my swollen lips and gooey slit. She fingered me for a moment before sliding out. Finding my mouth she traced a line along my lips, smearing me with my own juices.
“Suck it Hoffy!”
I did as I was told, tasting my tangy, gooey juices.
“And by the way Hoffy, your internet security needs attention. I am in the room under yours and love those Literotica stories you like, you know, the ones where a younger woman takes control of an older one!”
In the darkness no one could see me blush, any more than they could see what Stephanie was doing to me.
“The power imbalance, Hoffy, is in my favour. Now, if you are a good girl and we keep this private, we both win; we both get what we want. What do you say?” As she said that, she pulled her finger out of my mouth.
“But Stephanie … .”
She shushed me with a hand on my mouth.
“What does a pet call her mistress, Hoffy? You are my pet, aren’t you?”
At those words my knickers flooded. All those stories I had read, they were nothing compared to this feeling. I needed to touch myself, I wanted to orgasm, and yes, I wanted to be her pet.
“I am, Mistress,” I whispered.
At that moment bursa escort bayan the coach began to slow down as we approached the College. Recalled to my senses and duties, as we stopped, I rose and told the girls that they should try to be quiet as they left the coach to stop complaints from the neighbours.
The girls thank me as they left. Stephanie lingered. Once they had gone and I had thanked the coach driver, she touched my arm.
“We are going to the same staircase Hoffy, and fuck but i am horny. You will come to my room and attend to it.”
I went in front of her. As we climbed the staircase she pushed her hand up my skirt and lowered my knickers so that my arse was showing. It felt awkward and embarrassing, and I dreaded anyone catching us, though that was unlikely as I lived on the top floor and there were only two rooms below mine, one of which was Stephanie’s.
“Wait there, Hoffy, hands on head.”
I did as she said.
It felt humiliating to be standing in public, outside her room, my hands on my head and my knickers pulled slightly down; but I was a wet mess between my thighs, and the fact that Stephanie knew that and would soon be able to handle the evidence made me weak at the knees.
She opened the door and went in, beckoning me behind her.
It was a typical student room, though the pictures on the wall, of famous sportswomen, gave something away about Stephanie’s preferences.
She turned to look at me.
“Stop worrying, Hoffy, all those naughty stories you have been reading will be nothing compared to this. Take your hat and coat off, but stay standing.”
I did so, as she did likewise. In just her tracksuit, that bust seemed to jut out even more. I could not help gazing at it; she noticed.
“Tell me Hoffy,” she smiled, “would you show me yours if I agreed to show you mine?”
Part of me loved her technique. There was nothing crude or overtly bossy about her treatment of me, though she must have known from my internet usage that I would have been amenable to that sort of treatment; but she preferred to lead me there by other means.
Looking up at at (she was five foot nine) I nodded:
“Well, silly girl, what are you waiting for?”
Blushing, I unbuttoned my blouse, and as I opened it, she saw my all but non-existent boobs; I was too undeveloped to wear a bra. I took it off and threw it on her table.
She giggled, which made me blush more.
“My goodness Hoffy, you ARE a small girl. They are more like titlets than tits. “These,” she emphasised, unzipping her tracksuit to show her bra straining under the load, “are what I’d called tits. How do you like them?”
My own nipples hardened at the sight. Her breasts, which I later learned were 38E, were held in by a lacy pink bra with black edging; her breasts swelled up, her cleavage pointed directly at my face.
“Get your face in there Hoffy.”
Without hesitation, I pushed my face into her cleavage. She smelt, felt and tasted delicious. She gripped my head, pressing my face in. I felt light-headed, smothered, but turned on beyond belief. Her scent was overwhelming. I felt her hands move, and before I knew it, her bra was off and her breasts were free. She adjusted my head so I looked up at her. I felt breathless, excited and totally hers.
“You are so cute Hoffy. At first I just wanted to use you, but I think this could be more fun. Would you like to sit on my lap bursa sınırsız escort and suckle these motherfuckers?”
In a daze, I must have nodded, because the next thing I knew I was on her lap and she was pushing a swollen, crinkled nipple into my willing mouth. Pushing my face into the warmth of her breast, I frantically sucked. Oh it felt so, so good. It was as though nothing else in the world mattered. There was a feeling of warmth and happiness; and yes, my already wet knickers got a second wave of gooey juices secreted into them.
I felt her stroke my hair.
“Mmmm, this is nice little one, oh yes, I like it, use your teeth Hoffy.”
Hesitantly, my small sharp teeth grazed her nipple; she moaned loudly.
“Bite it, Hoffy, bite me!”
Well if that was what she wanted!
So, gently, but firmly, I bit her succulent nipple.
“Oh Hoffy, fuck, that is so good!”
I alternated between biting and sucking her nipple, using my tongue to flick it. Pulling away, she put me on the other breast, where I repeated my ministrations.
Suckling her breasts was so sensual. I was aware, as I sucked, that I was not the only one who was wet; her scent was quite different to mine.
As I sucked, I felt her raise her bum to pull he track-suit bottoms down.
“Fuck this, Hoffy, between my legs, NOW!”
I slid down as she lowered her lacy pink knickers. I could see the crotch was sticky, and there were strands of goo as she pulled them down.
Her cunt was hairless, her thick lips swollen, her slit glistening. She did not need to tell me what to do.
As she laid back on the bed, my fingers parted her lips; her inner labia were red and wet. I licked, She tasted so good. I sucked her nectar in before moving my tongue up. I had watched this so many times on screen, and so I knew what to do – and did it.
The one thing you don’t get watching on screen is the sensory stuff. The taste, and the smell were overwhelming. I’d tasted myself, of course, but never another, and there was an excitement in the difference. As she pushed herself against me, the feel of her lips rubbing my face turned me on, I loved being coated with her juices.
My world shrank to what I was experiencing between her thighs. The warmth, the smells, the intensity aroused me more than I had ever felt before. Her juices were trickling down to the cleft between her arse cheeks and by instinct, my finger began to rim her there, which turned her on even more
There was something deliciously naughty about playing with her bum, it felt dirty, but in a very erotic and intimate way, and I was so close to it that I could smell her scent there. I acted on instinct, pressing my lubricated finger into her and making her moan, at the same time as I licked her clit faster. Then I crossed my fingers on my right hand and, parting her wet lips, thrust in. I went right in, she was so wet. She screamed.
I felt her grip my fingers, exercising her cunt muscles, so I pushed harder. She squelched, and began to jerk her hips, pushing herself onto me, causing my fingers to penetrate both her holes as deep as they could go.
I felt totally caught up in the moment, ignoring the wetness between my own thighs. I felt her cunt clench, I could sense what was coming, but the wet squirt striking my face surprised my; I’d seen it on film, but experiencing it in real life was something else. She moaned and rubbed against me. Keeping my fingers where they were, I cleaned her with my tongue.
Finally she stopped shaking. She stroked my hair and pulled me up.
“How was that for you, Hoffy?” She asked in a breathless, rather sleepy voice, smiling at me. “God you look so sexy with your face covered in my squirt.”
I smiled back.
“I loved it.”
“Good,” she smiled, “let’s see where we take it from here.”