by Zane
I got P.J. out of the crib with a quickness, promising him we would do it again sometime. He left out with a gigantic smile on his face. I don’t know if he got in trouble because he delivered his mail late, but I’m sure he felt it was worth it. I wiped off the mirror with glass cleaner, propped it back up against the wall, broke out the air freshener, and sprayed the entire house. I turned on my potpourri Crockpot on the kitchen counter and threw a turkey breast in the oven. Then I jumped in the shower just long enough to wash the vital parts with a loofah sponge and my herbal body wash. I brushed and gargled before slipping into a pair of sweats and one of Richard’s T-shirts just in the nick of time. He walked through the door ten seconds after I got to the bottom of the stairs.
“Did you have a productive day, sweetheart?” he asked me.
“Absolutely!” I chuckled. “Very productive!”
Several months have passed since I first met P.J. The house is all fixed up now, and Richard is acting more romantic. Even so, about once a month I stand up in front of the bay window in my birthday suit when I see P.J. approaching the mailbox out front. It is our version of the bat signal. I call it the fuck signal. Those days are always interesting. As for that antique mirror in the guest bedroom—it gets put to a hell of a lot of use.
Body Chemistry 101
His name was Professor Vaughn Mason. To me, he was simply heaven on earth. I was lucky enough to be in his organic chemistry class my freshman year at State. I started lusting after him the first day of class. One glance into his captivating bedroom eyes, one flash of his charismatic smile, and I was hooked.
I used to daydream during his class lectures, undress him with my eyeballs, and wonder if he was a tender or rough lover. During one of our lab periods, I almost spilled a beaker of hydrochloric acid on my thigh. I’d lost my concentration, fantasizing about milking his dick with my mouth.
After freshman year, I didn’t get to see Vaughn that often. A wave here, a smile there, an occasional greeting when we passed each other on the steps or in the halls of the Natural Sciences building. It was depressing.
Senior year rolled around, and purely by the luck of the draw, I ended up snagging his student assistant position. It was like winning the lottery. I would get to spend time with him, talk to him privately, and maybe even brush up against him on the sly every now and then.
So there I was, his assistant, and excited as I could possibly be about it. Vaughn, who I never addressed by his first name to his face, was so dayum fione. He was about five-eleven, 180 pounds, deep chocolate with dark bedroom eyes, and had a sexy-ass bald head. His body, dayum, what I say except the man was cut and looked like his muscles were chiseled out of stone. If ever there was a man who could make a woman’s pussy get wet by looks alone, he was the one.
I had just celebrated my twenty-first birthday during the summer. He was much older than I was, about forty, but I never asked. When a nucca is that fine, who gives a dayum about a number? He had never married, but he was shacking up with some nurse from the university hospital. Did I care? Hell, naw!
You can never control the way you feel. Which is why what happened just two weeks into the fall semester was beyond my control. Whenever I reflect on that day, I realize it was the single most erotic experience of my entire life—one that I wouldn’t trade for anything in this world.
I remember it so vividly, like it was yesterday. Vaughn had a faculty meeting that morning. I stayed behind in the chemistry lab to grade some exams for him. I was sitting at his desk, grading papers, and my mind began to wander as usual. I imagined him and me alone in the lab as we often were, but instead of just going about the course of a normal day, he had me bent over his desk and was fucking me doggy-style from behind. The thought of it made my pussy so wet.
Even though it was mid-September, it was terribly hot that day. The form-fitting white button-down oxford shirt I had on with a navy above-the-knee skirt, white slouch socks, and a pair of Nikes was clinging to my breasts. I had the windows ajar in the lab. The Natural Sciences building was one of the oldest on campus and without central air. The only real breeze in the room was coming from the box fan I had strategically placed on the top of one of the long laboratory tables.
The mere thought of his hands on me was driving me berserk. I masturbated in my dorm room all the time thinking about him, but on that particular day, I needed some fast relief and couldn’t stand the thought of having to wait until I went home. I analyzed the whole situation like a silent movie in my mind. The faculty meetings would usually last at least two hours, and I didn’t have a dayum thing to satisfy myself with. Unfortunately, I didn’t tote my vibrator around in my book bag. I would have done anything to have it at that moment.
I locked the door to the lab and went to sit back down at the desk. I leaned back in the comfortable leather desk chair with the reclining back and swivel base. I closed my eyes and fantasized about him kissing me on my lips, and my hands suddenly became his hands. I caressed my nipples through the cotton of my shirt. They were ripe and hardened. I unbuttoned the top three buttons and pulled both of my nipples out so that they were protruding from my bra.
I licked my lips, fantasizing about Vaughn sucking on them one at a time. I threw one of my legs up on top of the desk and, pushing my underwear aside, began to finger my pussy. It was so hot and moist, longing to feel his tongue. I stuck one finger in at a time until I was working three of them inside. I still had my eyes closed. In my mind, Vaughn was feasting off my sweet, tender pussy.
Finger-fucking myself was pleasing, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted to feel something deep inside my pussy walls. I took my fingers out and licked my pussy juice off them, savoring my own flava. I opened my eyes and took a quick survey of the lab looking for something, anything, to use to fuck myself with.
Most of the items, like the microscopes and Bunsen burners, were out of the fucking question, but suddenly I spotted something that would do the trick. As I got up from the desk, I peeped the wall clock and realized that Vaughn hadn’t even been gone a good hour. I assumed there was enough time to finish myself off. I walked over to the closest lab table to the front and retrieved a large test tube, one that held 500 ml, and went back to the desk, positioning my leg back on the desk.
I moved my panties out of the way again and gently inserted the test tube into my pussy. I had it inverted so that the bottom, round part was the entry point of the tube. It was made out of unbreakable Pyrex, so I wasn’t afraid it would break and cut me if I got too carried away. To be honest, though, even if the glass had been breakable, I was so horny that it wouldn’t have mattered much.
The cool glass felt great as I slid it in and out my pussy. It even tickled a little. After I got a good rhythm going, I closed my eyes and began to fantasize about Vaughn again, imagining him sliding his hardened dick in and out my sugar walls. I began to moan as I caressed my nipples with my other hand, lifting one of my breasts as high as I could and flickering the tip of my tongue over the nipple. I moved the test tube in and out faster and faster and the pleasure was so intense that—
I never heard his key in the lock or the door open, but I heard it close. I opened my eyes, and he was standing there, with a look of shock on his face and his mouth hanging wide open. I was so embarrassed to be caught like that, with my leg on his desk, breasts hanging out everywhere, test tube in my pussy with juices all over it. I should have taken it out, gotten up, and fixed my clothes but something happened.
The look on his face was not one of disgust but one of desire. I don’t know how I could tell for sure, but I could. I was about to remove the tube when he said, “No, don’t stop!” Vaughn locked the door, came over, and knelt between my legs. We looked at each other with desire, even though we both knew we had no business being together like that.
He said, “Let me help you!” I could manage nothing but “Okay!” He put his left hand on the inner thigh of my right leg, the one that was raised on the desk, and with his other hand, he too
k control of the test tube. He fucked me with it, and the experience was so intense. I pinched my nipples and, with both hands available at that time, I pushed my breasts together and pushed then up toward my mouth, licking on my own nipples.
I was about to explode, and apparently he could tell that I was about to cum, because he took the test tube out of me and said, “No, I don’t want you to cum yet!” He put the test tube up to my mouth and said, “Lick it! Taste yourself for me!” As he held it in place, I placed my hand over his and began to lick my pussy juice off the test tube while we gazed in each other’s eyes. I licked it clean, and he gave me a kiss on my lips and sucked on my bottom lip, withdrawing a quick sample of my nectar from it.
He slowly put the test tube back into my pussy and began to fuck me with it again, but this time, he sucked on my breasts for me. I cupped my left one in my hand and fed it to him. He was grateful to have it. After a few moments, I fed him the other one too. He pulled my hips down a little farther on the seat and reclined it so that my ass was exposed just enough for him to finger it.
I couldn’t hold back any more. I came harder than I had ever cum before. I can’t be sure, but judging from his reaction, I think he came also, even though his dick never left his pants. He pulled the cum-drenched tube from my pussy and devoured every last drop of it.
For at least ten minutes after that, we were speechless. I sat there recovering from what had just taken place. He stared at me while he ran his fingers through the baby-fine pussy hair on my swollen vagina. I cannot explain how it feels to make love to a person and never have actual intercourse. It was so sexy.
We were still sitting there, basking in the afterglow, the only sounds in the room being the rotating blades of the box fan and voices of coeds walking across campus far below the ajar windows, when a knock came at the door. We both snapped out of our trance instantly and I struggled to get dressed while Vaughn told the dean of the Chemistry Department that he would be right there. It turns out Vaughn had left the meeting to come retrieve some notes for a proposal he was supposed to give to the rest of the professors in the department and was due to go straight back. I guess the sight of a woman fucking herself with a test tube could throw most any man off track.
He left the room grinning from ear to ear, and I went back to grading papers with a smile on my face as well. I couldn’t believe what had happened, but I have never regretted it to this very day. Vaughn and I never mentioned it for the rest of my time at State. I remained his assistant and continued to call him Professor Mason.
I am now a chemist for a pharmaceutical company in Texas. Recently, I was going through some old boxes from college, and guess what I found? A 500 ml test tube made out of Pyrex. I wonder where that came from!
Alpha Phi Fuckem
We are a sorority. You won’t find us on any college campus, though. Nor will you see us participating in step shows or collecting canned goods for the needy or having parties at a sorority house. We walk alone. We are as close as any sisterhood can get, and we would lay down our lives for each other. We are professional, well-educated women from all walks of life: bankers, lawyers, accountants, doctors, teachers. We are the proud sorors of Alpha Phi Fuckem Sorority, and we are here to stay.
We were founded over twenty years ago in a penthouse overlooking the Potomac River in Georgetown, an upper-class area of Washington, D.C. Most of the founding members have moved on, but they’re always around to guide us if ever we need their wisdom. A classmate at law school inducted me into the sorority eight years ago. Her name’s Patricia, and she’s my mentor, having been in the sorority a good two years before myself.
Currently, there are twenty-four active members of the Washington, D.C., chapter. Yes, there are other chapters. There are seven chapters altogether, with sistahs in about three or four other cities trying to form groups now. We have the D.C. chapter and others in New York City, Chicago, Los Angeles, Detroit, Atlanta, and Miami. We even have an annual convention under the ruse of an African-American female business organization. At least, that’s what we tell the hotels where we stay.
It takes a significant amount of time to start a chapter because it takes a certain type of woman to be eligible for membership. What are the requirements? First of all, you have to be able to pass an initiation. Every aspect of your life is scrutinized and gone over with a fine-toothed comb. We have to all feel comfortable around you and feel you have that edge about you that sets you apart from other women. We have to feel you are deserving enough to participate in our erotic adventures.
Secondly, you must be trustworthy, secretive, and willing to take all the freaky shit we do to your grave. No one outside the sorority can ever know the things we do. You must be willing to lie to your husband or boyfriend or, in some cases, your girlfriend about where you’re going and what you’re doing. We all lie, but the sexual gratification we get as our reward is well worth it. We give a whole new outlook to the word creeping. The men we engage in our little escapades are not in the position to tell on us, mostly because they have no idea who the hell we are. We’re just faces and bodies, tits and ass, to them. However, the members of the sorority all know who the others are, and therefore, it’s important that the trust is there. We could all lose our reputations, possibly even our careers, if the existence of Alpha Phi Fuckem ever came to light.
Thirdly, and this is by far the most important qualification, you have to straight up love fucking. There is just no getting around that, but it goes beyond the normal spectrum of society’s definition of fucking. You have to be down for whatever, whenever, and with whomever. No limitations, no inhibitions, and no mental hang-ups are allowed. You must be a woman looking to take sexuality to another level.
Let me give you a quick overview of our mission. We have two “gatherings” a month. The first one is indeed a business meeting. Like I said, we’re all professional women. We have an investment club where we pool our resources and invest in certain stocks and bonds. It’s each member’s responsibility to bring detailed information to the meeting pertaining to at least one corporation and/or product. After all of the options have been discussed, we decide as a group what new investments we will undertake. We also discuss the profits and losses of the stocks already in our portfolio and decide whether to increase or decrease our shares. We have quite a portfolio established. It is a very lucrative investment for all those involved.
The second “gathering” of the month is what we affectionately call Freak Night. Each month, two members are selected at random to organize an activity for the month. The activity chosen must be both sexually stimulating and completely off the hook. Allow me to elaborate. For example, two months ago in January, Yolanda and Keisha decided to host a night of checkers. Yes, I said checkers. Checkers with a twist. Our two sorors rented a ski chalet up in the Shenandoah Mountains of Virginia, a couple hours drive from D.C. It was a huge chalet with six bedrooms, huge whirlpools, a great room, and a breathtaking view of the ski slopes.
It was snowing heavily when we arrived at the top of the mountain. We all met up at the chalet. Patricia and I rode up together in her Mercedes ATV. After all the young ladies had arrived, Yolanda and Keisha went over the agenda for the evening before the men showed up. As usual, the men my sistahs selected were right on point. We all have the same general taste in men, and that’s a good thing, because there are never any complaints. Where they found them, who knows? They were somebody’s sons, somebody’s husbands, somebody’s lovers, somebody’s baby’s daddies. Who cares as long as the sex is good!
The men arrived one, two, and three at a time. Some knew each other already, if they were “picked up” together. All of them were taken off guard when they entered the chalet. In every room throughout the house, there were butt-naked women strategically positioned in front of a checkerboard, including myself. They were informed by the two hostesses, both of whom greeted them naked at the door, that they could challenge the lady of their choice to a game. Imagine their shock to arr
ive at what they were told would be a cocktail party and discover a virtual smorgasbord of pussy instead.
So play checkers we did, after asking all the men to get naked as well. They were all down because they knew something like that would probably never happen to them again. Maybe in a wet dream, but not during waking hours. We played checkers everywhere—at the dining room and kitchen tables, on the coffee table, on the hearth of the fireplace, on all the beds, on huge stuffed floor pillows. Everywhere. We chatted with the men about the typical things people would talk about at a cocktail party and served them drinks when they requested them so they could see our tits and ass as we walked across the room to get their drinks.
Their dicks were all degrees of hard and came in all different lengths and degrees of thickness. I love dick more than I love my next breath, so they were all mighty appealing to me. I played checkers with a guy from Baltimore. He offered his name. I declined to accept it and refused to give mine. Instead of calling each other by our real names when men are present, we call each other by nicknames like Soror Deep Throat, Soror Cum Hard, and Soror Ride Dick. Yeah, it’s silly but we’re not trying to impress anyone. It’s extremely vital that our real identities remain sacred.
We sat there in the snow-covered chalet for most of the evening playing checkers and shooting the breeze. Wet pussies were everywhere because all of us are multiorgasmic. Just looking at all the dick in the house made us horny as hell. Then came the highlight of the evening, and just in the nick of time too. One more game of checkers without getting some dick, and I was going to start fingering myself and eating my own dayum pussy.