Meeting Jeanne

The woman standing outside my door was dripping wet. I briefly considered turning her away, but decided against it.

I pulled back from the peephole and unlocked the door.

"I'm sorry I got stranded and..." she stammered, pulling the motorcycle helmet off her head.

"Come in," I said, holding the door open.

"Thank you," she hurried inside. "My bike had a problem and the frigging rain decided to fall at this moment."

I stood looking at the wet spot forming around her shoes on the carpet. She looked down at her feet and grinned apologetically.

"I'm sorry about your carpet," she said, hugging herself tighter. I noticed her teeth were chattering and realized that in my preoccupation with the soaking of my carpet I had forgotten to offer her something to dry herself with. A brief survey revealed she was soaked to the skin and a simple towel wouldn't do.

"Wait here," I said, disappearing inside my bedroom. I chose some old clothes and picked a towel.

"Here you go," I handed them to her when I returned. "You can change in the bathroom over there."

She had unwrapped her hands from around herself and although I trained my eyes on her face to maintain some level of propriety, they strayed a little and I caught a brief glimpse of nipples poking though her wet shirt. If the front view was tempting, the back was definitely alluring and I could stare unabashedly at her shapely ass as well as the outline of her panties underneath her skirt as she went to change.

I waited until she had disappeared inside the bathroom before going into the kitchen to make coffee. When I returned from the kitchen with two cups of coffee and some croissants, I found her dressed and standing in the living room, too polite to sit down without being asked to. The pair of shorts and shirt I had given her hung loosely on her and I wished she was still in her wet clothes.

"There was a dryer outside the bathroom," I said. "Did you put your clothes in it?"

She nodded. I handed her a cup and she lowered herself into the seat I indicated.

"How bad's the bike?" I asked.

"Not very bad. I could probably fix it in ten minutes -- it's hard to do that in the rain when you're getting soaked -- and I needed some shelter," she said.

While she sipped delicately from her cup and nibbled on a croissant, I studied her. She looked to be in her mid-twenties with brown eyes, black hair and soft-looking luscious lips. She caught me staring at her and a faint blush appeared on her cheeks.

"You do a lot of writing don't you?" she nodded towards the pile of paper with my handwriting all over.

"A little," I said, adding, "Nothing much."

She picked one of the sheets and glanced through it. When she looked up at me there was surprise written all over her face.

"My God, The Real Fantasia! You're The Professor," she said.

"Yes," it was my turn to be surprised. "You read my blog?"

"I'm a fan!" she gushed.

I'd been writing my fantasies on a blog for a little over a year. I got hits from all over the world, including the city I lived in but never had it occurred to me that there was a possibility of running into one of my readers.

"I'm glad you like it. Thanks for reading."

"How do you make up your stories?" she asked.

"I just write them. A little from one fantasy, a little from another, and soon I have a story," I explained, trying all the while to look calm. Writing about sex doesn't faze me -- discussing it does.

"Do any of them come true?" she leaned forward and I could tell she wasn't wearing a bra under my shirt. Her coffee was ignored, her fascination with The Professor in the flesh taking over.

"No," I laughed. "But it doesn't hurt any to imagine they will does it?"

"I suppose not," she said.

"Your coffee's getting cold," I warned.

She looked at it and shrugged.

"Surely, there must be something you base your writing on," she said.

"Yes -- equality. No domination on either side, no rape, no threats."

"But in Restrained, you had something..."

"That wasn't what I originally intended," I said defensively. "The agent was supposed to have been rescued by his real controller but the rescue sequence was too long. Most of what I write is consensual -- just two adults having a good time."

"Like us," she said softly.

We stared at each other over our coffee cups. I looked away and the moment passed.

"What's with the fascination with buttholes?" she asked suddenly.

I had expected the question from the moment she discovered who I was but it still caught me unawares. I spilled some coffee onto my hand but it wasn't hot enough to scald me.

"When I was little," I began. "I wanted to see people exactly as they were." I placed my cup carefully on a side stool. "Unfortunately, that wasn't always possible. The famous, the rich, the important, the respected, all loomed larger than life. To a 3-year-old boy, the solution was simple -- think of them as having er... buttholes."

She giggled.

"Introduce me to anyone famous or exceptional today," I continued. "Introduce me to an actor or an actress who's won ten Oscars and in my mind I go, 'Yeah, but he's got one of those' or 'Yeah, she's got an asshole.'"

"I've got one too," she said.

Our eyes met again and this time she looked away before I did. She was baiting me, but why? I wasn't exactly drop-dead gorgeous or muscular, or whatever it was ladies liked in men but...

The feel of her soft lips touching mine halted my train of thoughts. We kissed briefly -- a slow, sensual brushing of lips that had to end because our haunches couldn't hold us leaning forward for very long.

She dropped her mug and crossed the little table between us. I lifted her onto my lap. Her tongue was soft like the rest of her, wet and wild. We kissed like we had all the time in the world, my hand rubbing gently up and down her back.

She slipped her hand under my shirt and caressed my stomach, stroking the hair that ran up my abdomen and stopped just shy of my chest. She began to kiss my neck -- soft feathery kisses with the occasional hickey. When she lifted the hem of my shirt and sucked on my nipple, I moaned, surprised at the sensations. I know I would have cum if I hadn't held her off then.

I unbuttoned the shirt she was wearing and lowered my head to her breasts. I nuzzled them briefly, then took her left nipple between my teeth.

"Please be gentle," she whispered.

I didn't bite her. I held the hard nub in my teeth, flicking my tongue against it, feeling her respond with complete abandon. I switched to the right breast, then trailed my tongue down her abdomen, stopping briefly at her navel. I lifted her off my lap and placed her on the sofa.

There's something about looking into someone's eyes while you pleasure them -- a feeling of oneness, an indescribable connection. She held my gaze as I performed my magic with my tongue, not looking once at her cunt but relying on eye communication for guidance. She bit down on her lowerlip and from the tightening of her thigh muscles I knew she was getting there. I left off tonguing her and got her to lift her legs above her head.

Her anus was a converging set of reddish-brown wrinkles. I blew lightly on it and watched it twitch reflexively, then waited, letting her expectation mount before touching it lightly with the tip of my tongue.

"Oh my God," she gasped. "Oh my God."

She breathed shallowly, her asshole twitching as my tongue swabbed it. She clenched up suddenly, then went limp as she came. I didn't stop. My tongue lapped at the juices that ran into the crack of her ass.

I expected her to relax and catch her breath but she dropped her legs quickly and pulled me up into the sofa, trading places with me. It didn't take her more than two seconds for her to get my shorts off and grasp my dick. She licked teasingly at the underside, then took me completely into her mouth.

"Stop," I said when I felt the familiar pressure before the tingling.

"Why?"

"I'm one of those guys who only cum once," I said.

I pulled her into my lap again. I had just positioned the head of my cock at her entrance when she got off me.

"I have to go," she sounded desperate.

"Why?" I was incredulous. It was still raining outside -- and there was the matter of having not yet cum.

"Not that. I have to pee!"

I watched her dash into the bathroom, wondering all the while why women could feel the urge to relieve themselves while aroused and hoping she would still be in the mood when she returned. I made a fist around my cock and masturbated slowly, unwilling to lose my erection before she returned.

She ran out of the bathroom in the same haste and straddled me. I held onto her ass and she wrapped her hands around me as I bounced her up and down my cock. She climaxed twice on my dick and when I came, she just kept moving. Surprisingly, I remained hard.

We switched positions and I entered her from behind, getting a wonderful view of her pucker. My balls slapped against her ass every time I thrust completely in. She bucked her hips to match my tempo and I could feel another orgasm building up.

For a moment I was on the brink, then she tightened her vaginal muscles around me and I came, my cock jerking inside her as I shot all I had left in my balls into her.

After we had cleaned up and she was lying across my lap, my forefinger playing with her asshole, she asked, "So what's your name Professor?"

I told her.

"I'm Jeanne -- with a double n and an e," she said.

Thank you Jeanne.

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Fictitious