an38852@anon.penet.fi (Steven Edwards) "Tease" Hi everyone, Here is my latest offering. I hope y'all like it. :-) In case anyone wonders: this is definitely fiction. I'm not a lecturer! (I think) Comments welcome, especially detailed criticism of my grammar or style. I want to get better at this. BTW: Could someone confirm that my short story "Bound and Pleasured" showed up on alt.sex.stories a few weeks ago? Also, sorry if this is an inappropriate place to ask, but I am looking for two stories that have been posted here (or on rec.arts.erotica) in the past. I'm afriad I accidentally deleted my copies some time ago. One is about a girl, her boyfriend, and a girl friend, who are discovered in a compromising position by the girl's mother. She sends the boy packing, and gets the girls to sit a "purity-test". She then takes them to her club/gym ... and they have a frustrating time. The other is about a boy who is one of the last to leave a party. He is talked into playing a game a strip poker with a group of about 5 girls who are still at the party. The action is described really well. Sorry I can't recall the names or authors of the stories. If you could please send me copies of these stories, I would really appreciate it. (I don't have read access to alt.sex.stories) thanks in anticipation, Steve Edwards ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Copyright Steve Edwards, February 1994. Warning: The following is a work of fiction, which hopefully you will find erotic. All characters and places are figments of the author's imagination and any resemblence to real events is purely coincidental. It may be distributed electronically and archived, but only with these disclaimers and byline attached. It may not be sold for profit, except by me. :-) Tease "She plays the virgin in the light, but needs no urgin' in the night." Les Miserables 1. Set Theory "Hi." I look up to see a girl standing in the doorway of my office. She is a first year student who is taking my set theory class. I think her name is Melissa. She is smiling and I smile back. "Hello, how can I help you?" I'm in a particularly good mood, I've just heard that I've had a paper accepted in a reasonably prestigious journal, so smiling is coming naturally at present. Of course, it is hard not to smile when a pretty girl smiles at you. It seems that their smiles release happy-particles into a male's blood stream. When you are younger it can leave you grinning like an idiot; of course, as a mature lecturer of twenty-eight, I am thankfully past that stage. "Can I come in Dr Edwards?" she asks tentatively, her expression revealing nothing of her reasons. "Sure." As she enters I idly note her clothes: she is dressed in figure hugging blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt. The t-shirt is a little bit too taut. That is, too taut for my peace of mind, for it is stretched tightly over her breasts making them beacons for my eyes. I can certainly testify that there is nothing strange about these attractors. Normally, whatever the provocation, I'm very careful about ensuring that my appreciation of female students isn't detectable, there are enough pit-falls for a male lecturer as it is, but I could tell that this time was going to be extra taxing on my nerves. "It's Melissa isn't it?" "Yes." And I'm rewarded with another smile. Smiles like that could become addictive. Melissa takes a seat and launches into her problem, "I'm having trouble with your last couple of lectures. I don't really understand this `ZFC' set theory." There nothing like a chance to lead another soul to see the light of axiomatic set theory to take this mathematician's mind off more earthly matters. Thus engaged, my enthusiasm quickly leads me into explaining the necessity of putting naive set theory on a sound footing, and I start to describe the role of formal axiomatisation in this. I then proceed to enumerate the axioms of ZFC and explain where they come from. However, I'm not so blinded by my enthusiasm to fail to monitor the glassy-eyed-ness of my audience. I've bored far too many people to make that mistake. After a while I become aware that Melissa is licking her lips and looking at me strangely. It puts me off my stride and I lose my concentration. Unaccountably, I find myself blushing. Melissa just looks up at me innocently. I suddenly notice that her nipples are visible now, little mole-hills which have sprung up on her over-wise smooth t-shirt. Why would they have done that? I master myself, and bring my eyes back to my scribble of the white-board. Now where was I? Melissa supplied the answer, "You were just about to start explaining what the axiom of choice means," almost as though she could read my thoughts. I look up, and nearly lose myself in her twinkling eyes. Is she laughing at me? No, but she seems aware of the spark which has passed between us. "What I'm having trouble with is ...," she breathed, as she rose from her chair to stand next to me and point at the board. I confess, "I sorry I missed that." Her delicate perfume assaulted my nostrils as she stood beside me and suddenly parsing her sentence was the last thing on my mind. She repeats her sentence while stretching and pointing to a formula at the top of the board. I'm mesmerised by the resulting lifting and straining of her breasts. It is suddenly very hot and stuffy in my office. Now, what did she say again? Rather than reveal my inattention, I talk generally about the axiom in question. "Yes, but how do you know that sets have that property? It's a little bit arbitrary isn't it?" Melissa brushes against me as she points to part of the axiom, her breast squashing slightly against my arm. I retreat behind the safety of my desk before replying. It was getting much too difficult to think with sweet Melissa so close. Unbidden, I'm suddenly reminded of the lyrics of a song by The Police, "Young teacher, the subject, of school-girl fantasy, She wants him, so badly, that's where she wants to be ... Don't stand so, Don't stand so, Don't stand so close to me". They suddenly seem all too relevant, and I develop a new sympathy for the hapless teacher of the song. Of course, the real situation is that Melissa has been behaving above reproach, and there is no evidence that I'm the subject of one of her fantasies, it is only me who is having trouble with my baser instincts. In particular, my desire to pull her into my arms, crush her ruby lips under mine, caress her tantalising breasts, suck on her pert nipples, and fuck her. Another reason for my retreat was to hide a growing bulge. Did I catch her looking at my crotch before she raised her big innocent eyes and fixed them on my face? I can't tell. And is that sensual, surreptitious licking of her lips with her tongue a come on, or an unconscious action? Her eyes reveal nothing, they are simply questioning, awaiting my answer, but they sparkle. At that moment, a colleague, Andy, barges in, and reminds me that we have a faculty meeting this morning. Apologising to Melissa, I suggest that she comes back another time. Andy and I both watch as she leaves my office. Was that hip swing deliberately provocative? "She's a fire-cracker! What a cute ass!", Andy exclaims. I give a non-committal grunt, inwardly deploring his outspoken lechering and crudeness, although honest enough to admit that similar thoughts had occurred to me. We head off to the faculty meeting. 2. Confession "How was your day, babe?" I ask Liz, when she picks me up after work. "Not too bad, but I did have a sad case of a fifteen year-old with a probable ectopic." Liz's work as a doctor is so much more dramatic than mine. My day consists of giving lectures, attending meetings, and, if I'm lucky, some time to think about my research. Her day consists of breaking the news to someone that they have cancer, or fighting to ensure a baby is born safely. There is no comparison. Not that I'd swap for any money. "Will she be all right?" "Probably. We should be able to save her ovary and tube. How was your day, love?" "Fine. Pretty normal, only I did have a boring faculty meeting this morning." I consider briefly whether or not to mention Melissa. Knowing Lizzy, I decide to tell her. "One high-light was this cute student who came to my office this morning." "Oh yes?" This is a playful hint of suspicion in Liz's voice. "Yes. She was wearing the tightest t-shirt over her full breasts you've ever seen," I exaggerate slightly. "She kept on giving me these seductive smiles, and she made sure she brushed her breasts across my arm." Liz's was wearing a mock frown. "Where her breasts as nice as mine?", she asks, taking a hand from the wheel to cup one of her beautiful breasts through her blouse. "Mmm let me see ... you know, I can't remember what yours look like. Perhaps I ought to remind myself." I lean over to start to undo her buttons, but Liz slaps my hand away. "Not while I'm driving you maniac!" I laugh. We've done some mad things while driving, but not on the short drive home from work in broad daylight. "So," Liz continues her cross-examination, "did she make you hard?" "Yes. I had to hide it on the way to the Faculty Office" "Ahh, poor baby," Liz laughs. Our easy going attitude is built, not on a promiscuous philosophy or life-style, but on trust. There is no way either of us would be unfaithful to the other. 3. Revelation This morning I gave my First Years another lecture on set theory. I was acutely conscious of Melissa's piercing blue eyes upon me the whole time. However, I succeeded in ignoring her and not letting it interfere with the usual theatrical entertainment which I provide for them in a vain attempt to keep their interest for an hour. I couldn't help noticing however, how beautiful she looked, her face framed in her delightful blonde locks. Melissa came up to me afterwards and contrived to press against me again as she reached over to pick up on a copy of the question sheet I'd prepared for them. She was the only one who was this clumsy. I felt my cock harden slightly, but I couldn't prevent a pang of guilt at such a response when she looked up innocently at me and apologised for her clumsiness. Did she know my eyes were on her as she crossed the room? Was that roll of her hips natural, or was it put on for my benefit? If she was still a few years younger, she'd definitely be what they call "jail-bait". As it was, she was still dangerous enough. Liaisons between students and staff are so frowned on that it is dangerous to even think about forming one. Certain feminists on campus seem to have ESP for such thoughts. Not, of course, that I was seriously considering anything. Liz is more than enough woman for me. But Melissa provokes certain fantasies, however much they are obviously going to have to remain as fantasies. I successfully dismissed Melissa from my thoughts for the rest of the day, until, that is, she turned up in my office at six o'clock. I was still there as Liz was working late tonight. The hours that junior doctors work is criminal, especially given that one day it will be my life that a dead-tired doctor is looking after. Melissa knocked and entered. I immediately noticed that she was dressed differently; she had swapped her t-shirt for a blouse and her jeans for a skirt. The blouse was not as taut as her t-shirt had been, but it was more shear, promising, but not delivering, glimpses of paradise. Perhaps more importantly, its first few buttons were undone. Melissa wasn't indecent, but my imagination quickly made her so. Remembering my position, I quickly brought the subject of set theory up, hoping that it would detract me from her sensual lips, the sweetness of which called out to be tasted. It soon transpired that she had been doing some background reading, and that her questions were more sophisticated today. I mentally harangued myself for ever thinking her motives were other than professional. Surely this industry put the matter beyond question? Delighting in the attention of a interested and intelligent student, I soon found myself going beyond my lecture material and touching upon the Borel Hierarchy. Or was it that I kept talking so that I could remain in the presence of those blue eyes? After a while I noticed that Melissa was idly fiddling with a gold necklace, and that her toying had caused another button to slide undone. Unconsciously, while I continued talking, I stared at the start of the gentle swell of flesh that could now be seen. When I noticed what I was doing, I searched her face for an indication that she was toying with me as well, but found only innocent concentration. Liz must be right, my mind must be one track. However, Melissa's next actions caused me to question her motives all over again. She tucked one of her legs under her, in the process giving me a glimpse of her white thighs. Fidgeting, she managed to repeat this torture. Now, once could be an accident, but three times? Again her eyes twinkle with her natural vivacity, making it impossible to sure if her innocence is true or only assumed, a cruel facade. A facade I'd love to tear down and expose, along with her breasts, which I have come to believe are braless under her blouse. Of course, uncertainty prevents me from doing or saying anything. A wrong move could have her running screaming from my office, my career in ruins. My lusts are indeed "sickled over with the pale cast of thought" to a degree which even rivals Hamlet's tragic dithering. The ambiguity in the nature of his father's ghost was as nothing compared to the ambiguity of the nymph in my office. Is she the purist of angels, or the wickedest tease this side of hell? Scholar or wanton? Any action in such circumstances is, of course, perilous. Moreover, I never trust my reasoning when my erection is throbbing like this. Hence, I continue talking about sets, while sex is all I can think about. I manage to keep going for a few minutes, until Melissa decides to stretch. The shifting, thrusting, and straining of her gentle breasts within, makes her blouse a magnet for my eyes, and my thoughts dissolve like the mist. "Sorry, I'm getting a little tired," Melissa apologises into my pause. "I still have a few questions however. Do you mind if I come back and ask you some more questions another time?" It would take a stronger man that me to turn down such a request. "Of course not." I say, managing to keep all signs of arousal out of my voice. I hope. As Melissa walks out the door, the apt phrase "She's a seven sector call-out" from a favourite childhood science-fiction book springs to my mind. A beauty she certainly is, but is she also a saint or a witch? My answer comes as she turns in the door way, revealing her completely unbuttoned blouse and magical breasts. For a second we are both frozen, and then she is gone. I rush to door in time to see her hurrying down the corridor. The wicked tease!