Whoa … sorry … still out … of breath …. (gulp) …. just got off the treadmill … there, that’s … whoa … a little dizzy …. there, I’m OK now. I hate running on the treadmill, but it was cold and rainy out, and too much flooding around … wouldn’t want to swim home. I’m sure you saw the title of this one and thought I was going to talk about earning a living. I may eventually, but the title has a different significance, which will become apparent shortly.
I took a run to give the boys time to fill the jacuzzi. I’ve decided to indulge myself today; this is all about me and my pleasure. You may watch if you wish, but I’m sure there are several of you that will decide I’ve gone too far this time, so I won’t be offended if you give this a miss.
I normally prefer to shower after I run, but today I’m going to take a bath, a special bath that my boys – acolytes, chosen not for their musculature (except for Seth, a nice lusty farmhand), but rather for their staying power, and believe me, they are going to need it today. The girls are back there ready to lend them a hand if any of them falter in their task. No, they aren’t going to pleasure me today, not directly at least, but I will enjoy the fruits of their labours, their labours for me their goddess. I think they won’t be pleasuring anybody for some considerable time.
As I said, today is about my pleasure. I’m sure you all have a kinky fantasy that you’ve dreamt of, but never had the guts to try or even tell someone about. Today, you get mine. I’m going out of my comfort zone this time, and I’m going to break a few of my taboos – as you see, I’m already using periods, because I want to relax and savour this.
As some of you know, I’m into all things wet and slippery – in fact, I’ve been sitting in a pool of my own damp, anticipating this all day. I was starting to worry that I’d start getting a case of panty rash. Two hours of running means that I’m literally raining sweat. (The girls in the back are giggling at me, but I love it!) One of the advantages of indoor running is that I can wear whatever I wish, so just my white running bra, which is now more or less transparent. You can even see my pink nipples through it. Don’t worry, I’ll have to take it off soon, then you’ll get a better view. I’ve also worn my skimpiest running pants – they’re light blue, a miscalculation when I bought them. If I’m running in public, I need to wear something under them, or I give a free show to all and sundry when they get damp with sweat like they are now. As you will see if you look carefully (yes, do take a closer look), you can see my bush. (Oops, there goes another taboo!) Here, why don’t I just slip them off (my shoes came off as soon as I was off the treadmill). There, I’m all rosy red from my exertion. Be careful as I slip my bra off, or you’ll get showered with my sweat. Perhaps you’d like that, come a little closer then. I really am dripping, as I rub my chest – ah, don’t touch! This is my fantasy, not yours.
Let’s just go in and see if the jacuzzi is ready. Mmmm, don’t you just love it? The smell of sex, or more specifically, cum. (Oh no, another taboo gone!) Gee, the boys look all worn out. Girls, do take care of them. They won’t be needed the rest of the day.
Isn’t that a beautiful sight? A jacuzzi full of pearly white semen. Yes, a very special bath coming for me. (Don’t you just love the double entendre?) Haven’t you just dreamt of swimming in fresh cum?
I breathe deeply and step to the edge – ah, the aroma! I step down onto the ledge. Ooh, how warm it is. I have to be careful not to slip. I’ll sit on the edge first. Ah, warm on my calves. I splash – well, if you can call it that – some on my thighs. It’s so slick, like glycerin. I step into the centre, up to my waist. It feels so heavenly, not quite like jello, more like warm double thick cream. I think about all those little spermies, blindly swimming around trying to find the appropriate orifice. Some will find it, but I’m afraid they will be disappointed if they make it all the way in. Maybe I’ll give them a little help. First, I’ll lower myself in right up to my chin. It’s getting in my hair, but that’s OK. It’s like being in back in my mother’s womb. (Going all the way back to conception!)
Time to give them a little help. Ah … ohhhhhh … yes. It’s a pity I’m too tired to do anything more. I’m just going to relax for a few minutes …
… Mmm … this is nice, you should try it. Not now! You find your own jacuzzi! This is my time; it’s “me” time. There is one thing I haven’t done yet. Full immersion. Yes, I’m going to do it. I’ve gotten this far. Here I go …
Pfpfpfpfffffft! Oooh, that feels weird. I got some in my ears. I think I’m going to smell like cum for weeks, but that’s OK. It’s worth it. It doesn’t quite drip off like water – that’s not unexpected, but it feels … ooh. It’s still nice and warm. Hmm … tastes like, um, oysters, salty … maybe I’ll take a little on my tongue … yes, oysters … swallow them whole, right? Mmm. I love oysters.
Hey, I’ve got an idea. Turn the jets on. The switch is just behind you. Weeeeeee! That’ll confuse the buggers, not to mention what it’ll do to the pumps. Well, it’s due for a maintenance tomorrow. Look at it foam up! Fantastic.
I stand up and it dribbles off me like honey, it feels amazing as I rub my breasts. Have I told you I like it when you watch me? A massage sounds fantastic right now. Too bad I sent the staff home. Oh. You will? Well, OK, but don’t get any ideas, and you can’t get in with me. This is my bath.
Hey, that’s not my back! OK, it feels nice. Don’t they just fit perfectly into your hand. Careful, no pinching; I’m not into pain. Mmmm. You know, if you don’t mind getting it all up your arm, there is something else you can do for me. Yes, you guessed. Cumming in cum. What a novelty. OK, be gentle now. I’m very fragile after a run and it’s going to take a long time, I wouldn’t want to go numb, and I want you to milk me for all it’s worth. So roll up your sleeve and reach down. I know you can’t see anything. Feel free to rest your head on my shoulder. Oooh, there, that’s the spot … gentle, even more gentle, two fingers are enough for now, slowly. I’m afraid you won’t get the …. ooooh …. satisfaction of me screaming with delight. I’m quiet when I have sex, until I climax, and I’m told that’s a sound that can’t be described.
If you are careful … mmm … you may hear it se … ssss …. several …. t-t-t-t times. Sorry …. can’t t-t-t-t-t-talk anymore.
You want it, don’t you – I do – “it” is all about seduction, have I got your attention yet, that’s what great writers do, they seduce you, seduce you with words, perhaps by seducing you with the same sexy syllables that remind you of the past, sex, sex and Becket, repetition, memories, ahh, those memories, those obsessions, that feeling, the feeling of anticipation, like foreplay, it’s a physical sensation with me when I write, and sometimes when I read a real page-turner, but writing is where it always seduces me, I can feel it, right there between my legs, I feel it now, you will, too, hopefully – think about it – yes, you do, that’s it, I’ve got you now – I want to be seduced, no, I want to be possessed by what I read, and want to seduce you, dear reader, no, it’s more than that, I want to possess, possess you with my words, my thoughts, you can’t leave me, you can’t look away, I’ve got you, and I’m looking at you with my large hazel eyes, and they have that glint, the leer of a woman possessed, a dominatrix, I’ve got that feeling, there, yes, between my legs, I’m even salivating now, that’s what I do when I write, I’m at my best then, and my weakest right after, yes, if you want to have me, find me AFTER I’ve just finished a session of writing, I’ll be up for it, but not during, the words are more important than you are, and you’ll probably get slapped, you must feel it now, it’s in the air, you might even be sweating a little, I like the smell of a light sweat, it’s so – visceral, so – alive, that’s what I hate about my job, trying to make other people’s words sexy without changing their style, without making them sound like me, they deserve their own words, if they aren’t sexy that’s their problem, and their readers, I’d rather concentrate on touching my own readers, yes, touching them, seducing, possessing and touching their lives – have I touched you – I want to, and I’m running out of time, do you remember time, do you remember the past, maybe the last time you were seduced, do, but I’m seducing you now, and next time you will remember me, because I want you to, because I possess you, and because I’ve touched you – there, yes, you know where, you’ve been thinking about it ever since I mentioned it, I’m almost there now, too, so get ready world, Anne’s on the loose and she wants it, she wants you
I awoke in the morning with my laptop closed between my legs. I hadn’t even been able to close things down before falling asleep.
Charlie sent me an email with her twitter handle. @hornyredhead91
I clicked to follow her.
@hornyredhead91: has discovered a cure for insomnia. Thanks Eirica. Luv ya! @ClanGoddess87: can't wait for an encore.
She could discover my true feelings about Arlen now, but I didn’t care. I suspected she already knew them and shared them. It was time to push Arlen further, so I emailed him a nude photo of Nipples, who knocked on the door just as I clicked send.
“Did you hear all the ghosts last night?” she asked, still wearing her nightdress. “They were rather noisy.”
“Were you doing anything?” I asked. “Were they interested in you?”
“I think all the commotion was in the hallway. Didn’t you hear it?”
“I must have slept through it,” I lied. “What do you want to do today? We could put up a Christmas tree. There are some for sale in the village.”
“That’s a great idea! I forgot that Christmas was on Saturday.”
“I don’t usually bother when I’m on my own.”
Finding a suitable tree in the village took a short time, during which I obsessed about Arlen. I couldn’t wait for him to say something about Nip’s picture. It might be the closest I could get to talking dirty with him. My mailbox was empty when we arrived home, and again after dinner.
@ClanGoddess87: Why doesn't he say something about her picture?
My following was quick to respond. Several said that I should give him more time. Some said I’d gone too far, and the smart-alecs wanted me to post the picture for them to decide.
@hornyredhead91: Maybe he would rather see you! I would.
Her reply filled me with dread, not for what she said, but because she said it. Should I tone down my tweeting until after I achieved my objective? I couldn’t. That was part of the fun. It was part of my exhibitionist nature: the buzz of the risk.
During my Facebook crawl, I discovered Charlie was online. I desperately wanted a repeat, but I withheld my approach. She didn’t, not entirely.
Charlotte Weeks: You there?”
She didn’t request a video chat.
Eirica Johnstone: Just going to bed. I'm not sure I have the energy to stay up late tonight. Charlotte Weeks: Me, too. I've been thinking of you all day. Eirica Johnstone: I've been doing the same. Charlotte Weeks: You've been thinking of Arlen. Eirica Johnstone: Are you jealous?
I was. As his student, she saw him regularly. My access was limited to his intermittent emails.
Charlotte Weeks: No. Last night scared me a little. I don't know what got into me. Eirica Johnstone: Do you regret it? Charlotte Weeks: Not in the least. Do you? Eirica Johnstone: No. What scares you about it? Charlotte Weeks: How much I want to do it again. I'm definitely a het, but this was so exciting. Eirica Johnstone: You were right, though. I needed it. Charlotte Weeks: I don't think Arlen is going to reply to your email this morning. That's not like him. He's never that overt. Eirica Johnstone: What will he do? Charlotte Weeks: Nothing. He will go on as if it never happened.
Charlie was right. I heard nothing from him until the next night, although another gaggle of his former students sent friend requests. These were mostly British, but much like the previous crowd. Most were successful musicians or composers, and had one or two children and an apparently absent husband. Did Arlen break up marriages?
As I checked them out, his email came in.
Arlen Stewart: Dear Eirica, I have another fantasy for you. I know you want something more explicit, but this is all I can muster. It is another that began as a dream and is structured like one, repetitive, as usual. I am teaching a class, but only four students show up, all former ones of mine, but one current undergraduate. I won't say their names, as they will be meaningless to you. All are nude except one, who is wearing only a man's unbuttoned dress shirt – one of mine. “Are you good in bed?” she asks. “I don't know,” I replied, as if such discussion is normal in a music class. “I'm not sure I am qualified to answer.” “We could find out,” replied another, who stands and lays down on the table in front of me. It is only then that I realize that I, too, am nude. I decline the offer, but the first student insists. The student prostrating herself on my table is like a tiny china doll, and I am afraid to hurt her. “We just need to get you started,” suggests a third woman, possibly the least attractive of the three, although I might be most attracted to her. I've never known why. She, too, stands and accosts me, dragging her hand down my chest to find my sex standing at attention. “I think we need a survey,” the fourth comments. “Yes, we must be scientific about it,” says the first. “You fuck the four of us, and then we vote on whether you're a good lay.” The second woman squeezes me and insists on being first, requiring me to say what I'm doing as I do it. It happens quickly, and I take her roughly, standing against the wall. Meanwhile, the second woman waits patiently on the table. She wants me on top. “It's more traditional,” she explains. She is from a conservative Chinese family. She kneads my buttocks, as I squeeze myself into her. A very tight fit, I doesn't take long to climax, and I can't take much more. The fourth woman pries me off her and drags me to the floor before climbing on me. I find her more satisfying as she rides me hard. The first woman was the youngest, and has a filthy mouth, yet she was the most cunning. As I roll out from under the fourth, she sits in her chair and waits … and waits. Meanwhile, I sit on the floor shivering. At first, I just want her to get it over with, and I become impatient as she plays with the button on her shirt – my shirt. She buttons it up to her breasts, which are small but fine, yet their enclosure balloons them within my mind. All I can think of is burying my face between them. “What are you waiting for?” I asked. “I haven't seen anything worth getting excited about yet. I might as well not bother.” “Please?” I beg. I needed her. “Why should I,” she asks, tossing her ruby-red ponytail over her shoulder and un-crossing her legs just wide enough for me to see her ...” I can't say that. It is also a deep red. “It's my pussy,” she says as though reading my embarrassed mind. “It isn't so bad if you say it aloud. Fucking is another word. It's just a bodily function. She swears a lot, and I try not to look at … it.” “Say it!” she insists. “I can't.” “You won't know what you are missing if you don't speak to her.” “Speak to her?” “Come closer,” she bids, spreading her legs wider, but the shirt-tail covers it. “Say, come out to play little pussy.” “Come out to play little pussy,” I oblige. “She's a little deaf,” the woman says. “Come as close as you can.” I say it again, only a few inches away. I can smell her musky fragrance. “Why don't you release the lowest button so she can see you? But don't touch. You'll frighten her.” I do it. Meanwhile, I ooze a drop of semen, which slops slowly to the floor. “Blow on her. You might get her attention.” At the touch of my breath, the little pussy convulses. The woman's legs spread wider. “Taste her,” the woman bids. She leans back on her chair to let me closer. I taste. It is bitter at first, but then I try deeper where it is sweeter. Her thighs close around my head. My greedy member drips more, leaving a dark wet spot on the floor. I can't see it, but I know it is there. She clasps her legs around me, pulling me deeper into her. I can barely breath. The spot on the floor expands. I'm kneeling in its slippery pool. The whole floor is covered an inch deep with my semen. Finally, she releases me, inviting me to unbutton the rest of the shirt with my teeth, tasting her, as I go. The chair is gone and she is laying in the pool, my shirt, soaked, clinging to her torso. She rolls me over, so that both of us are gleaming with semen. I can't wait any longer, but I ease myself into her. She accepts me with a moan, whispering my name quietly in my ear. I glide in and out easily, faster and deeper, deeper than I have ever been into a woman. Her hair has come loose and floats freely in the pool, now three inches deep. Again, she locks her legs around me. I clench and then release as we float freely in the buoyant pool of semen. Suddenly, all is dry, and she is laying on top of me, playing with the hair on my chest. “You get my vote,” she whispers, then I wake up. I'm sorry that is so crude, but I couldn't describe it any other way. That took a lot out of me. I'm not sure I can give you any more of my fantasies. It does my head in. Charlotte told me she wants to play my trumpet sonata with you. Is that OK? She wants to write one for you, too. She's very good, and writes well for her own instrument. You might want to coach her on writing for piano, though. She writes difficult music at the best of times. Knowing you are a virtuoso might tip her off into oblivion. I can't stick around tonight. Sandra is over for a late dinner, and I must be social. I've spent too long here as it is. All has gone ominously quiet in the other room. She is staying for Christmas, and I'll have lots of duties, so I won't be around until Monday or Tuesday. As they say, don't wait up. Enjoy your Christmas with Nicole. Happy Christmas, Arlen
Damn! It was just getting me going. Why did he have to fade to grey at the end? And why did it have to be about Charlie? That must have been about her, but what could I do? She was there and I wasn’t. No more messages until Boxing Day either. How could I change his mind? Another fantasy? And Sandra was there! Now I was seriously jealous.
Charlie was still online.
I clicked on her link and typed,
Eirica Johnstone: Fuck me, please. Charlotte Weeks: Why so sudden, sweety? Eirica Johnstone: Arlen fantasizes about you and I am very jealous. Fuck me hard up against the wall. Be as dirty as you want.
I waited. No reply.
Eirica Johnstone: Please? Charlotte Weeks: How do you know he fantasizes about me? Eirica Johnstone: We send each other fantasies, The one he sent me must be about you: 'a current student with ruby-red hair' and a foul mouth. Speak dirty to me. Charlotte Weeks: May I see it? Eirica Johnstone: If you promise not to get him in trouble. I still need him. Charlotte Weeks: I promise. Need him? Eirica Johnstone: I plan on seducing him.
Could I have been more blunt?
Another silence. I took the opportunity to excerpt the fantasy portion of the email and forward it to her. I waited as she read … and waited. I was about to give up and log off, but she stopped me by replying.
Charlotte Weeks: Interesting. Can I see you? Are you naked?” Eirica Johnstone: Of course.
I positioned my computer so she could see all of me before opening the video link. When her picture came up, she was touching herself. I watched until she swooned, flopping back onto her pillow, leaving me a close view of her soggy bush. “I thought you were going to fuck me,” I pleaded, lightly aroused by her demonstration.
“That was your punishment,” she said.
“I didn’t want to know that he fantasizes about me, although I hoped he did, and I wouldn’t have wanted you to know. It’s your turn, and you must let me watch.”
Suddenly, I felt self-conscious that she was watching. I massaged myself lightly. I was already damp, but I waited. “Tell me why we all want to seduce him,” I said, sighing. I was going too slowly, yet slower hurt so good, not in a painful way, but through self denial.
“There is something we all get from him,” she replied, shrugging. “Favouritism, I guess. Maybe professional approval. His students win all the contests, and he puts us up for performances. He has a reputation.”
“A … reputation?” I wheezed.
“The boys have to earn it, but each year, a new person catches his eye. He does nothing, but we always know when it happens.”
“How … do … you … know?” I gasped, searching for that spot, flinching when I found it. I couldn’t hold off much longer.
“I think it is different with each of us. I knew when … keep going …”
Keep going? I couldn’t stop.
“Well,” she continued, “we run together sometimes. If I wear lycra, he gets at erection before we start. If he wears cotton shorts, and I wait long enough, he’ll have a spot, sort of like in his dream.”
“Don’t you …” I sighed, inserting another finger. “Don’t you just think he’s a perv?”
“He’s a straight as you can imagine. He’d never touch me, unless I touched him.”
“Sex … ual … ly?” Not long now.
“No, just normal touch. I don’t think he does sex. He’s asexual.”
“His fantasies …” I couldn’t continue, tensing, panting, moaning, groaning, tensing, wound tight like like a clock. My vision blurred as though I was losing consciousness, then I felt it, an intense warmth at my core, then the spring broke, and I convulsed in ecstasy, not as good as the previous night, but good enough for now. “… aren’t.”
She giggled. “I didn’t tell you I was a voyeur, too.”
“I thought you said you’d never had cybersex before,” I groaned, relaxing on my back, hands still working, trying to prolong my orgasm.
“Not over the Internet.”
“You mean … in person?”
“I have a room-mate, and she fucks her boyfriend at least twice a week. It doesn’t matter if I’m in sleeping in the room or not. Once they start, it’s as if I wasn’t there.”
“Is she there now?” I asked, finally stopping.
“No, I’m at my parents. They’re asleep.”
“What’s it matter? I’m locked in my room now. They don’t know what I get up to. I’m not sure they care that much. Do you want to fuck on Christmas day?”
“It depends if I can get away from Nipples. She’s still here.”
“Maybe we could make it a threesome.”
“I’d feel uncomfortable.”
“You mean her seeing you naked?”
“She already has.”
“Really? Have you had sex?”
“Not with each other … with the ghosts, but not at the same time.”
“The ghosts touch her, too?”
“They do now. I taught her how to open herself to them. She’s not afraid of them any more.”
“I want to come visit you. This sounds exciting.”
“Not while she is here. She’s very insecure, I think.”
“Maybe,” Charlie shrugged. “When, then?”
“I don’t know. Sandra is staying a few days when she leaves. After that, your term starts again.”
“How about for your concert?”
“I’m hoping Arlen will be here.”
“I’ll stay out of the way.”
“I want at least one night alone with him,” I stipulated, “but I may need more.”
“I’ll only be able to stay the night of the concert anyway. I have a seminar the next day. I’ll have to drive back early in the morning.”
“How do you know the date?”
“Arlen’s posted it outside his office. We may need to hire a bus.”
“I have plenty of room, but I won’t have the time to take care of everyone. Besides, I will probably stay on campus that night.”
“Arlen can’t stay there anyway. I can bring a sleeping bag.”
“We’ll see, once it gets closer to time.”
“Please? Just the two of us? Separate beds, no physical contact?”
“Maybe, but let me just see about my schedule. Nipples may want to stay with me, too.”
“Fair enough. I’d better get to bed. We have family arriving early tomorrow, and we are going to a carol service in the evening, so I won’t be on until late.”
I closed up and shut down. The ghosts were restless during the night, perhaps jealous that I didn’t need them. I fell asleep reminding myself that I was not Charlie’s lover, nor was she mine.