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

As It Is

The melodious sound of her laughter wafted across the room and Ben stared out of the corner of his eye at the person who'd made her laugh. Not surprisingly, it was a man. She had her hand linked in his and she pressed against him in such a way he had little doubt it had brushed against her pert breast.

Ben readjusted his glasses and swallowed painfully, pretending to study his papers but actually going back to their meeting a few hours before.

He had walked into the auditorium, hoping to use the time before the seminar to practice his speech. Unfortunately, someone had had the idea before him and was prancing about on stage, notes held in front of her, obviously engrossed in mumbling to herself, scanning the invisible audience.

He walked towards the stage and stopped at the bottom to wipe his smudged glasses. When he put them on again, he was staring at a woman. He judged her to be in her mid-twenties with high cheekbones and that just-waking-up-from-sleep set of eyes peculiar to Asians.

He must have been staring too intently, because she stopped and stared back, arms akimbo. He didn't appear to notice.

'Well?' he r voice jerked him back to reality.

'Umm, hi,' he squeaked. 'Benjamin...' what was his surname?

'Kim,' she said, saving him. 'Are you one of the speakers?'

'Yes,' he replied, sweat breaking out on his forehead. He'd just noticed something which required some delicate handling. Her skirt was not indecent, but with the full glare of the lights behind her, he could make out her dark triangle. He gulped.

'Nice to meet you,' she said. 'I was just practicing.'

'Your skirt,' he blurted out before he could stop himself.

'What about it?' she asked.

He couldn't go any further. She looked down, and said,'Oh!' without any embarrassment while he colored, looking away.

'Thank you Mr Benjamin. May I call you Benjamin?' she asked as she gathered up her notes.

'My friends call me Ben,' he said, slightly bolder.

'Mine call me Kim,' she smiled sweetly at him. 'I've got to run.'

She hurried out of the hall and he found a seat, a little too excited to practice after what he had just seen.

'Here he is!' someone cried, jolting him out of his reverie.

He looked up sheepishly as Kim settled in the chair beside him.

'Thanks for the warning Prof,' she said putting an arm around him. She turned to her companion,'Ben saved me a great deal of embarrassment today.'

She introduced hem both, and ordered some wine. They chatted, and he noticed she noticed she touched both of them a lot, Reason told him she loved touching people, but something deep down spoke of a special meaning the times she touched him.

Herbert left and they found themselves alone, talking of all kinds of things. Gradually, her speech became slurred and he realized she was getting tipsy. He offered to take her up to her room.

They went up in the elevator and he had to hold her up to prevent her from collapsing while he searched through her handbag for her keys. Instead, he encountered the usual jungle in ladies' handbags -- makeup, mirrors and various odds and ends. He finally found it but she had almost passed out. He had to carry her the rest of the way.

Once in the room, she straightened up and pushed him with a strength he found surprising. He landed unceremoniously in the sofa and she straddled his chest.

'What the...?' he began.

'Shut up,' she pinched his lips shut, then released them. 'Well?'

'You weren't drunk?' he asked.

'Of course not,' she said, smiling at him when his midsection jerked. Her hand had found its way into his pants and was fondling him through his boxers. His pipe elongated and pushed against his trousers. She unzipped him and freed his cock.

Kim leaned towards Ben and kissed him on the lips. He was not a great kisser so she took charge, her tongue and lips playing games in and out of his mouth as she stroked his hot penis.

She disengaged and got off his chest, as she began to strip. He watched her, following the gentle swell of her small breasts as they came into view, down past her navel and stopping at her mound on which there was a luxuriant growth of black hair. As she took each item off, she folded it in half and placed it carefully on the table -- including her white panties.

She swung a leg across his chest, presenting her ass to him as she took his cock into her mouth. He spread her butt cheeks and buried his tongue inside her. It was an almost comical sight -- the little lady stretched all the way across his seven foot frame, trying to take all of his monster cock into her mouth while his huge Roman nose bored into her sweaty asshole as he tried to get his tongue into her pink slit.

He hadn't shaved for a while, and soon his rough chin and cheek began to take it's toll on her thighs. She got off him and rummaged in her handbag, returning with a condom which she expertly slipped on him. At that moment his cock became flaccid, the latex hanging off it limply. He was deeply mortified.

He sat on the sofa, perfectly ridiculous in his glasses and suit with a limp dick sticking out of his trousers.

'It's okay' she cooed, going into her bedroom to fetch something. It smelt like menthol and looked slightly greasy. He watched her uneasily as she applied it all over his cock. It was hot in a way that wasn't heat.

'What's this stuff?' he asked, alarmed. His cock quickly became blood-engorged. He was so hard it began to ache.

'Chinese balm,' she said, smearing the last of it on his cock. She picked the condom off the carpet and tossed it in the wastebasket, fetching a fresh one from her handbag. She unfurled it over him and sat on his cock.

He grabbed her small ass in his big hands, the urgency of the burning sensation in his member urging him on. He slammed into her all nine inches of him. She loved a rough fucking, moaning her pleasure as the feelings began to climb.

As quickly as he had begun, he held onto her and ejaculated, leaving her behind. She tried to move, but he was already limp.

'Ben,' she whispered. He was fast asleep, snoring like a locomotive.

She sighed with resignation as she headed for the drawer where she kept her vibrator...