Dee Saves the Program
Chapter 2

Copyright© 2013 by peregrinf

Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 2 - Not your typical NIS story. She's tall, athletic, joyously bisexual, and one of her first challenges is saving the Naked in School Program at Central High. But first there's a pep rally to run. This will be the last volume in Dee's story. If you haven't read of Dee's earlier adventures, begin with Carl and Beth do Sex Ed in Middle School or you'll be lost. Better yet,start with Carl Naked in School. Story codes will be added as needed.

Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   mt/ft   Ma/ft   Fa/Fa   ft/ft   Fa/ft   Consensual   Romantic   Lesbian   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Incest   Mother   Daughter   DomSub   MaleDom   FemaleDom   Light Bond   Orgy   White Female   Hispanic Female   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Fisting   Sex Toys   Food   Exhibitionism   Double Penetration   Doctor/Nurse   School   naked in school sex story

"Have I ever told you how much you mean to me? How grateful I am for all you've done for me?" I whispered, blinking back tears.

Oh God. How maudlin. I'm a big girl now, I shouldn't be fighting tears, even tears of joy, but it was so good exchanging confidences here in the dark, just the two of us, nothing between us.

"I'll never get tired of hearing it. You mean just as much to me, and the school owes you a huge debt of gratitude.

"But that's enough patting each other on the back. How about patting something else? Like this?"

I shivered at the touch, welcoming the digression into the erotic. "Oh yes. And how about this?" I asked, returning the favor.

I was rewarded with a heartfelt sigh, a gasp of pleasure that resolved itself into "Oh, yes, indeed!"

"And here?" I asked, only to be beaten to the punch, so to speak.

"Brilliant minds."

"And similar paths," I responded, reaching even as I was reached, touched as I was touching.

It became a loving contest of who could find the most erogenous zones. It was amazing how many we found to stimulate, and amazing the ways we found to stimulate them, the two of us soon awash in touches and teases, kisses and licks, lips and tongues, fingers and even noses and toes, the wondrous sensual joy of exploring each other's bodies yet again. Nothing was sacred, nothing profane, nothing prohibited, nothing restrained. We were totally free with each other, in access allowed, in liberties taken.

The feel, the flavors, the aromas, the sounds, even the sights, dark as it was, if you got close enough, and closeness drew us onward to ever greater efforts. Both of us were determined to give as good as we got, and the more we gave the more we received -- a positive feedback loop if ever there was one -- until we were straining against each other, synchronizing our pulsations, milking every drop we could out of the ecstatic peak.

Inevitably it had to fade. Such pleasure was unsustainable, but as it receded it left behind a wash of warm affection and good feelings. We clung together, panting and sweating and kissing and snuggling, sated -- for the moment, at least.

"You saved the program."

I wrestled with my conscience, but finally yielded, knowing that false modesty would be met with scorn.

"Yes, I did," I answered in a matter-of-fact tone, suppressing a giggle.

"Oh you are so full of yourself!" That was delivered with a tickle to my ribs, which naturally invited retaliation, and for a few minutes were middle-schoolers at a sleepover, until we were both gasping.

"But not alone. I had a lot of help," I added seriously. I was remembering those weeks of meetings, challenges and confrontations. "I couldn't have done it without all the support I got."

"But you led the way."

Maybe so, but I remembered when I distinctly felt like I was dragging an anchor.


Another afternoon chairing a meeting of the Student Advisory Committee for the Naked in School Program...

Try turning that into a decent acronym. SACNISP? I don't think so!

I was ready to scream. Six weeks. Six fucking weeks we'd been meeting and we hadn't accomplished a fucking thing.

This day it didn't help my mood that I was also getting over a cold, which Mom blamed on my naked fly-in to the pep rally.

Oh it was a whole bunch of stuff. I was still growing, more up than out, which meant my knees hurt if I forgot to take my selenium. I blamed that for my diving only getting worse, though I suspected -- no, don't go there.

Swimming practice was an exhausting slog of endless wind sprints -- in my case interrupted while I hacked gobs of snot into the pool's gutters. Coach was trying to get us into condition for the season that opened in November. And my boyfriend Greg was beating me regularly, darn it. The weather had been unusually sucky, not helping my cold and making Missy's and my morning jogs less than joyous, while the house was in chaos because of our imminent move.

Mike finished droning through the minutes so I dragged myself out of my gloomings. "Do I hear a motion that the minutes of the last meeting be approved as read?"

At least my sinuses had cleared so my skull didn't resonate like a barrel when I talked.

"So moved," Heather responded, as usual.

"Seconded," Matt agreed mechanically.

"All in favor?"

Mumbled "ayes" and I banged the gavel -- gently so my ears didn't ring.

"Old business," I began, looking at the agenda. "Mrs. Devers, please tell me you have something good to report on the towels issue?"

She shook her head. "I wish. It's been bucked up to the Board of Education for them to find money for it. It's on the agenda for tonight, but it'll probably be referred to the budget committee for recommendations, which'll take another two months, knowing them. I suspect there are dark forces aligned against us," she added ominously, like something out of Lord of the Rings, but didn't elaborate.

"Why isn't there any money? Isn't The Program funded by Washington?" Matt asked.

"It is, and the funds should come out of The Program budget, but thanks to some unauthorized expenditures by -- well, you know who -- what little money that's left is frozen."

I groaned. Every time I thought the Worm was forever out of my life someone turned over a rock and there he was. Turns out he wasn't just a predator but also a thief.

I distracted myself studying Mrs. Devers's tits -- nice and firm, imagining my fingers curling around them so I could gently pinch her stiff nipples.

She drummed her fingers on the table. "About the towels, I'm not optimistic anyway. Men don't secrete the way women do and don't realize how -- ah -- open to infection we are. Of the seven members on the Board of Ed there's only one woman and she's so repressed she probably can't even end her sentences with a period. It has to be a 'full stop.' I think she blow-dries herself after peeing, rather than touch her crotch."

That got a snicker. Given our reason for being here the discussions tended to get rather bawdy.

"Personally," she went on, "I'd like the Office of Social Awareness to stick all school board members in The Program for a week. We're just lucky our unions are smart enough not to have protested our policy requiring staff and faculty do it. On the good side, I'm seeing an attitude adjustment in those who've taken part.

"As for the Board of Ed and towels, until we can somehow convince them it's a serious problem I think we're stuck. Meanwhile the nurse is taking swabs when and where she can, running up lab costs to get a head-start if we do have an epidemic of something ugly and unpronounceable, and the custodial staff is putting in more and more overtime -- at time-and-a-half -- sanitizing everywhere a naked girl or guy might sit. Next they'll be running out on the soccer field when someone slips and lands on her ass.

"All we can do is remind participants to bring their own towels and encourage potential participants to have a towel with them just in case their number comes up. But they forget, and frankly, for some families a clean towel a day is a strain.

"So, that's where we stand, or, rather, sit."

"Thank you, Mrs. Devers." Tearing my eyes off her boobs -- she'd noticed my look and gave me a smile as she cocked an eyebrow -- I looked around the table. "Anyone have any ideas?"

All I got were head-shakes. We were all in Program Uniform, of course, sitting on our own towels. Interestingly, as the committee sustained this tradition I noticed that everyone sat up straighter. Max Wang, a pudgy junior class boy, had even been motivated to switch to salads and take up Tae Kwon Do and it was having an effect.

It is to be noted, off the record, of course, that there's no causal relationship between Max's name and his better-than-average endowment. Furthermore, it is undeniable that his demure but naked classmate Samantha's admiration of said member has a stimulating effect on him. That may explain why Sam and Max have become somewhat of an item.

Wrenching my mind back to the towels got me thinking. There was a Board of Ed meeting tonight and towels were on the agenda. Hmmmm.

I decided to let my subconscious mull that over and moved on in the agenda.

"Retta, has your committee come up with any alternative to using The Program as punishment?" God I envy her great big milk chocolate tits with their Special Dark Chocolate Kiss nipples! Though on me they'd look ridiculous. She took a deep breath, which resulted in an awe-inspiring display.

"We didn't meet last week because of illness. We're scheduled to get together Wednesday," Retta answered. "It's complicated, 'cause some of us think it makes sense to give program bullies a taste of their own medicine."

I gave a silent sigh. It was always something, and she, herself, was of the "some of us" faction.

"Thank you. Please work on it. Consider reserving 'program as punishment' for only those offenses and come up with something else for spit-balls.

"Matt, does your committee have any alternatives to corporal punishment for program participant infractions?" God, reading from the agenda made it sound so stilted!

He looked unhappy. "We've met, but have yet to come up with anything."

"Next week, Matt? Please?" I begged, getting a nod in reply, which I interpreted as meaning in my dreams! Both subcommittees were struggling to come up with alternatives.

"Is there any other old business," I asked, making little check marks as we worked our way down the agenda. Mike's thumbs were busy as he took the minutes on his smart phone.

Silence.

"Does anyone have any new business?"

"Last week's incident during lunch?" Mrs. Devers ventured.

Cue the chorus: "Eeeewwwwww!"

We were all too familiar with what she was referring to.

"Does that fall under our charter?" Matt asked.

"It did involve a program participant," Heather pointed out. "What can we do?"

Matt made a face. "Take chili off the lunch menu."

"Add Kaopectate to the beverage dispenser," Retta Jones suggested.

"Diapers," Max Wang put in.

"Diapers would be a violation of The Program's 'no cover up' rule," Samantha Keeler pointed out in her usual dry, meticulous style. A slender, soft-spoken, mousy-haired but pretty junior in glasses, she was the committee's authority on Program rules and a stickler for details. She claimed to have memorized the pamphlet the day after orientation, when it was handed out. In fact, she was one of the few to even read it before she was put in The Program. She'd even researched endless pages of fine print on the Office of Social Awareness web site.

Getting students to read the pamphlet before their number came up was another issue on my list of things for us to do.

But getting back to Sam, I'd heard that at the age of twelve she'd announced she wanted to grow up to be a librarian or a lawyer. I loved her, but what is it about middle-of-the-alphabet professions?

"So our hands are tied when it comes to containment, though a towel certainly would have been of some help," I decided. "Basic cause is the kitchen's responsibility, and decontamination is the janitors' problem. Let's move on. How many complaints have we had from participants regarding unreasonable requests?"

"So far this week, none," Walter Miflin, the sophomore boy, responded.

I'd suckered him into fielding those while we sought a better solution. By default, in the absence of an official Program Coordinator, we committee members had become the recipient of Program violation complaints. It wasn't the sort of responsibility any student should take on, but word about the committee had gotten around and people came to us.

Most complaints he could resolve by simply quoting the program guide. The tough ones he referred to Mrs. Devers, who was herself like the little boy with his finger in the dyke -- I mean dike. In committee speak she was Program Coordinator pro tem and de facto, meaning she was stuck with the Worm's job. The appointment of a new Program Coordinator was pending, and probably would be for some time to come. The Worm's arrest had set off a tsunami of lawsuits and finger pointing stretching from here all the way up to the Federal Office of Social Awareness. Congress was getting involved. Heads were likely to roll like a bowling tournament. Everyone wanted to know how that miserable predator had slipped through.

"It's only Monday," Mike pointed out. "What've we been averaging?"

"Three a week," Walter admitted glumly.

"You've been doing a great job, Walt. I'm sure we'll come up with a better system for dealing with them soon," I pointed out. His hesitant smile and nod made me feel a little better.

For lack of anything better to do, we all batted the problem around and, as usual, reached no conclusion. My feeling was that the Student Guide would have to be rewritten to clarify things, and to provide for some sort of a panel to resolve the inevitable disputes. That was way beyond our responsibility, but in the absence of leadership from above we might just have to do it anyway.

In the end we finally adjourned, once again having accomplished exactly nothing.

But all was not lost. My devious subconscious had come up with a plan to motivate the school board on the towels issue. Without sharing the scheme with her, a brief consultation with Mrs. Devers confirmed the board's schedule and agenda, and she assured me that students were welcome at the meeting. In fact, she thought it was a good idea for us to be there to remind them who was actually at risk while they dithered.

I hoped she wouldn't regret having been so eager. I was going to kick some ass.

I waited until I got home before I gave the now well-programmed speed-dial on my cell a workout as I marshaled my forces. The response was truly gratifying and we rendezvoused in the high school auditorium early enough to set the trap without being caught, the custodial staff having set the stage and gone to dinner.

By the time the Board of Ed and their minions emerged from their scheduled executive session in the conference room -- supposedly dealing with personnel matters -- we were occupying the auditorium's first row. With me sitting tall in the center, flanked by my fellow SACNISP members -- no that really doesn't work very well, does it -- supplemented by my Lunch Bunch accompanied by suitable male escorts we were, you might say, a noticeable presence.

Especially since, as alums of The Program, we were all nude, boy - girl - boy - girl. We ladies had our naked legs demurely and uniformly crossed, right over left, while all of our male members' members were up-standing, shall we say.

Tripping over their own feet at the sight of us the Board of Ed made its way to the seats behind the long table at stage center. The chairman was in the middle. The lone woman on the board, on the far right, flushed bright red at our display.

Mrs. Devers had followed them out and by the look she gave me she immediately realized that Something was Up.

I gave her my best "innocent" look, along with a smile and a little wave.

Not being a member of the Board of Ed, but a mere employee representing the Principal, who had somehow managed to avoid this meeting, she took a seat to one side, next to the clerk taking the minutes, and I heaved a silent sigh of relief. That avoided collateral damage. My target was the Board of Ed's dignity, not hers.

Just as the board went to draw out their chairs to sit down, by pre-arrangement we naked ladies flashed our charms by gracefully uncrossing and recrossing our legs -- from right over left to left over right -- in perfect unison, making sure the board got a clear view of our goodies.

The distraction worked perfectly. Not one board member was looking at what they were about to sit on -- uh -- in. It was clear, cold, and wet, nicely contained in seats carefully curved to cup a bottom. It took only a few seconds for our deposit to soak through their clothes. As it did they bounced back up like Jacks-in-the-Box -- Jack-in-the-Boxes? -- their chairs shooting backwards. They reflexively reached for their asses, and quickly regretted it.

They were not happy.

Being front and center, and tall, made me the obvious target. The chairman of the board, Albert Wilson, vented a naughty word before fastening his eyes on me, shaking goop off his fingers. He knew me from my opening speech at the dedication of the Spirit of Central High statue, a speech that had gotten a lot more attention than his had.

"Miss Walker!"

"Sir?" My legs once again primly crossed, my hands in my lap, I looked as innocent as I possibly could, while I felt some of my companions jiggling as they fought their giggles. The rest of the audience, maybe twenty or thirty adults, Mom and Elaine among them, murmured. Most of them had no idea what was going on. I had prepped Mom and Elaine, which was why they were there. Knowing what I'd planned they wouldn't have missed this for the world, and I had a role for Elaine to play in this little drama.

"What is the meaning of this?" He flushed, plucking awkwardly at the soggy seat of his pants. "And why are you here naked?"

"Is something wrong, sir?"

"Our chairs! They're wet with -- with -- with something disgusting!" the woman protested weakly. Having found her bottom she was now trying to find something to wipe her hands on.

"What have you done?! I'll -- I'll..." Mr. Wilson was reduced to sputtering.

"We're naked because we are representing the Naked in School Program," I answered his second question first in an effort to keep him off balance. "We've heard there's a matter of interest to us on the agenda."

Wilson shot a sharp look at Mrs. Devers, who could only sit there and raise her hands palm up and look as innocent as she was.

"This is ... this is revolting!" the woman shrieked, mopping her hands on a lacy hanky totally inadequate for the job. We'd used a lot of aloe -- a LOT of aloe.

"It is only aloe gel, ma'am." I'd chosen it specifically for its gooey viscosity. "It is sanitary, odor-less, non-staining and easily washed off. In fact, it is good for your skin.

"But I think we've made our point. Someone please take Ms. Pierce a towel, and the rest of the board, too, of course." I'd done my research, and anyway, her name was on a little sign on the table in front of her place.

Right on cue, members of my crew rose to their feet, two of them carrying stacks of towels liberated from the athletic department closet. Like high-class waiters they filed up on the stage, handing each board member a spotless hand-towel. Then they all got busy wiping off the seats. As they finished they spread a fresh, dry towel on each chair and courteously eased it back to be reoccupied.

"And what, exactly, was your purpose with this little prank?" Wilson asked acidly as he dried his hands.

I respectfully stood up. "Sir. It was a means of getting your attention, sir. We wanted to make sure we'd be allowed to express our opinion regarding the agenda item with respect to towels for program participants," I responded. "Sir," I added respectfully.

Mr. Wilson was a large, dignified man in a three-piece suit. He was boiling, his bald spot glowing red, but was there just the slightest hint of a smile at the outer corners of his lips? I could only hope he appreciated my ingenuity and would listen to reason.

"Being heard is one thing, but this..." He ran out of words.

"This was my way of making sure we'd be heard -- not just heard, listened to. I respectfully beg your indulgence. And this was my idea and mine alone, should you feel disciplinary action is deserved, but I hope you'll listen to me before throwing me in jail, or whatever it is you decide to do."

"Let her talk," Elaine shouted as he started to open his mouth. There was a wave of applause.

Snatching up his gavel he swung it so hard I thought he'd break the handle. "I will do so, madam, if you'll kindly shut up!"

Fortunately, and I'd counted on it, he did have a sense of humor.

"Unless I hear an objection we will postpone the reading of the minutes of the previous meeting," he sputtered, the words running together. "The chair recognizes Miss Walker.

"Speak your piece," he added to me gruffly.

"Thank you, sir. I suggest that if you resume your seats, now that we've dried them off, you'll find that the clean, dry towels we provided will quickly absorb that which has made your butts cold and sticky. My apologies for the discomfort, but I felt that a demonstration of what we encounter every day in the high school might encourage prompt action on what is an important matter."

I took a deep breath, mentally reviewing what I intended to say. Heaven forbid I should have bothered to make notes! I decided to get right to the point.

"Sirs -- and ma'am -- there's no delicate way to put this. The fact is, we ladies leak, almost constantly. Not a lot, but when we're naked there's nothing to contain it. Even naked boys often leave something from their behinds -- uh -- behind -- sweat, if nothing else -- for the next student to use that chair, stool, bench or desk to sit in -- on -- whatever.

"Whether we're in the program or not, almost every day we are in danger of encountering something very much like what you just experienced."

As I spoke the board members had gingerly returned to their seats. They squirmed as they listened.

"What's more, about every four weeks a sexually mature female's leak problem is particularly messy. While we of course apply or insert protective measures, accidents happen. When they do it is monumentally embarrassing and unsightly."

The Board of Ed was developing a distinctly green tinge. Ms. Pierce looked like she wished she were anywhere else but here. Good! I had their attention.

"Also, it is not just a matter of appearances, discomfort or embarrassment. There is a very real threat to our health. As I hope you are all aware, ladies' vaginas are, by their very nature, moist and warm... ,"

I touched my bare pussy as I drawled out the last three words sensuously.

" ... making it a perfect home for germs and yeasts and funguses -- or should that be fungi? -- even athlete's foot if a couple has been into toe jobs."

Mildred Pierce was clutching at the table like she was riding out a storm on a ship.

"That's why I'm here. As most of you already know, I chair the Student Advisory Committee for the Naked in School Program. Six weeks ago, at our first meeting, we requested that towels be issued to Program participants to deal with this issue. A good towel can absorb even the worst mess, and can be discreetly folded and tucked away, rather than leaving an ugly, potentially infectious splotch behind for the next person to sit in, just as you sat down tonight. Per our wishes, Vice Principal Devers promptly conveyed that request to higher authority.

"It has been six weeks and nothing has happened," I pointed out forcefully.

I paused for a deep breath, my anger building.

"Nothing! Forty-eight students have since been in The Program, numbers forty-nine through fifty-six are in it this week, and nothing has been done!"

As I'd gone on I'd gotten more and more steamed up. Much as I tried to hide it I know my frustration showed.

"Today Mrs. Devers told us it's a budget problem. The athletic department says it's not in their budget. The nurse says it's not in hers, building maintenance says it's not their responsibility!

"The Naked in School Program's budget is frozen because of -- larceny!

"Mrs. Devers also said that the custodians are piling up overtime sanitizing the furniture in an effort to prevent the possible spread of infections, while the school nurse is taking swabs and having them analyzed so she has some warning as to what she may have to treat.

"All that must cost something, don't you think? Where's that money coming from? Why can't some of it be used to provide us with clean towels instead of just pissing it way!?"

I finally ran down, and I was having a hard time fighting back tears. Damn! Why do I cry when I get mad?

"I'm sorry, but I've gotten really frustrated. I guess that's all I have to say."

I started to sit down before I remembered my manners. "Thank you for your consideration."

I plunked myself back down, fuming, and Heather passed me a leftover towel to dry my tears, while the audience rumbled before bursting into applause and the Board of Ed meditated.

"Mr. Chairman, may I be recognized?" It was Elaine, rising right on cue and speaking straight out of Robert's Rules.

"Yes? And for the record, who are you?"

I knew for a fact he knew her. It was "Elaine" and "Al" between them. She was his wife's doctor.

"Doctor Elaine Smathers, OB/GYN ... Board Certified," she added, as if it were an afterthought.

Wilson was visibly bracing himself. He knew her alright. "The Chair recognizes Dr. Smathers."

He had read Robert's, too.

"Thank you." She spoke clearly and carefully so everyone could hear her as she stepped out into the aisle, certain she had their attention.

"I'd like to point out that the chances are at one time or another you men may have had experience with what we doctors call Tinea Cruris, more indelicately known as jock itch or crotch rot, a fungal infection of the groin, or one of its relatives. It or similar organisms affect women as well, though less often. Imagine how unpleasant that can be for a woman should it infect the vaginal area, and how hard it is to treat.

"There are any number of opportunistic infections which flourish in warm, dark, moist areas, all uncomfortable, some of them potentially quite serious if left untreated, and young ladies so infected are often embarrassed to report the problem, which only makes it worse.

"Trust me, I know.

"If the eyes are a window to men's souls, and the stomach a way to their heart, a woman's cunt is the route to her reproductive guts, while a bladder infection has an open road to her kidneys.

"Sharing is easy. Transmission does not require sexual activity. We've all seen how quickly a common cold can spread through a school, or athlete's foot through a shower room.

"If what Miss Walker says is true, what you've created with this Naked in School Program, as you're running it now, is a superhighway to an epidemic.

"At naturist resorts, where nudity is voluntary, everyone from the littlest toddler on up carries a towel to sit on. It's simple courtesy which serves a sanitary purpose. Your NiS Program participants, on the other hand, don't volunteer to be naked, you require them to be naked. Most are probably unprepared for it. Who's going to lug around a towel just in case they might be chosen? Once into the Program, for some families the cost and labor of supplying a clean towel every day for a week is impractical to impossible.

"Frankly, it is some kind of a miracle that there hasn't been a very ugly epidemic already, which would invite a lawsuit on the grounds that the school district has been grossly negligent in protecting the health of its students. I'd be happy to be an expert witness for the plaintiffs, pro bono, because you'll have given me more than enough business to retire on.

"I respectfully suggest that you now get up off your damp asses and find the money fast. It will be a lot cheaper to issue towels NOW than deal with the consequences later."

Her little speech drew a round of applause.

"Thank you."

She returned to her seat next to Mom, who patted her hand and kissed her cheek.

"You could always kill the program!"

I whipped my head around at that loud comment, recognizing the voice from our home answering machine.

"Sir, you are out of order, and that is not on the agenda," Mr. Wilson responded promptly and forcefully.

"When will it be?"

I was scanning the small crowd, trying to spot the guy. He'd been harassing me on and off ever since I was named chair of the committee, always leaving the same message on the answering machine.

"KILL THE PROGRAM!" You could practically hear the capital letters and the exclamation point.

I'd put it down to some crank and tried to ignore it. Guess maybe I'd better pay more attention to it after all. He obviously knew our schedules so we'd never pick up on him, or maybe he was that hang-up I got sometimes.

Shit!

"I've told you before, it is Federally mandated and it is out of our hands. However, if it would satisfy you, we'll take your request up when it is properly submitted to the Board of Education, in writing, over your signature, not anonymously, and then at the discretion of a majority of the board," Wilson retorted. "Now sit down, please, sir."

They'd obviously had this exchange before. Who was this creep? Damn! Whoever he was, he was back in the shadows under the balcony. Before I could get a good look at him a door back there was cracked open and he slipped away, a shadow. Shit! I wanted to put a face with that voice so I'd know who to spit on.

We'd had the usual pickets, especially after the Worm affair surfaced on the news and just as quickly submerged again. I'd ignored them, hoping they'd go away. Unfortunately it looked like they were gathering strength among the religious fundamentalists. The Restored Temple of the Holy Redeemer Reformed Evangelical One True Church was the most persistent. I don't even like to think about what they've started calling me. I think "Whore of Babylon" is the mildest.

But somehow this guy didn't seem to fit there. He was coming from somewhere else.

It looked like maybe we were going to be fighting a battle on more than one front.

Shit.


"Problem?"

"Nothing," I answered, snuggling closer, not wanting the memory to spoil what we were sharing, determined to preserve this precious encounter, untainted, to carry with me when I left this place.

The hand stroking my bare back was soothing and caring. She knew me well enough to know when something was bothering me, but kind enough not to pry. Instead her lips found my ear and she breathed heat into it, into me before her tongue began to explore its curves and hollows as if seeking something.

Oh God yes, that felt so good! My hand cupped her modest, soft, warm breast, my thumb flicking a stiff nipple. After toying with it a few minutes, my hand slid down her trim, fit abdomen, lower, over the yielding bulge of her pussy with its carefully trimmed thatch. I pressed my own smooth mons against the wing of her pelvis, gently rubbing heat into my clit, squirming to get closer, ever closer to her.

My hand cupped her crotch and I felt the heat and humidity, but still put off letting a finger invade her crevice with its appetizing slippery folds.

"Oh Dee," she sighed, "you are a tease!"

Me? Tease her? I was teasing myself. I had my goal, but knew that getting there would be half the fun, more than half the fun. I dipped my head, my lips finding the rubbery nubbin topping her breast to nibble on it. Yum! I tongued it, gently nipped it with my teeth, drawing a groan from this wonderful woman.

From the moment I'd first seen her, outside her office, listening intently as a student confided in her, I'd wanted her, but only now did we dare to risk such an encounter, now that I was teetering on the boundary between student and graduate, when we were no longer subject to the restrictions imposed by protocol and her responsibilities as vice principal.

Abandoning her breast, my lips and tongue began a long, leisurely journey lower, savoring her satin skin, her trim fitness.

Mrs. Devers -- Helen she was to me now, here -- moaned. "Oh, Dee!" her hand stroking my head, ruffling my oh-so fashionably trimmed bob.

I purred in response, licking, tasting the sweat from our earlier activities. I'd lost track of time, of orgasms. Every one had been different, a new experience as we'd discovered new ways of stimulating each other. Now it was her fingers tickling my left ear while my right one, pressed to her sternum, picked up the drumbeat of her heart, and then, as I slipped lower, a soft gurgle from her gut. She was so alive, so vital!

Oh how I looked forward to pleasuring her! My desire only made me linger all the more. My tongue skated the verge of her navel, finally slithered into the crater to probe, convulsions in her tummy muscles my reward.

"Please," she begged, "Let me love you again! Please! While we still can."

In response I scraped the swell below her belly button with my teeth as I squirmed around. A wriggle, a writhe and her arm slid beneath me, drew on my hip, her mouth now hot on my flesh as my legs straddled her. We were getting closer and closer to paradise and I could smell her arousal, her trimmed bush scratching my lips, my cheek. As my face dipped between her thighs her mouth found my cunt, and we sipped from each other the sweet, intoxicating liquor of our mutual passion, a passion made all the more wonderful by our love and respect.

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