It was Monday, the first day of my sophomore year at university. While walking to Bradford Hall to attend my first class of the day, I was thinking about how right my decision had been to move with my parents to Florida and attend university there instead of staying in our native England. Of course, I missed my friends and life in our town, but the past year had been wonderful and I looked ahead to an even better year.
Kasey, my roomie from last year in the dorms, and I had moved to a two-bedroom apartment. What an enormous difference. Of course, we didn’t have a dining hall, but it was a good experience to make meals for each other, simple as they might be.
She’d helped me flourish so much in this new environment. It wasn’t as if I or my friends and family were totally unsophisticated, but here everything was different. Different weather, different opportunities, different rules. Mum and Dad seemed quite happy with how I was settling in, how I was adapting to our new life. So was I. My eyes had been opened to all kinds of new ideas—including how to dress. I felt a part of things much better now than when I had first arrived. Gone were the chunky knit jumpers and baggy jeans, having been replaced with shorter skirts or leggings and fitted blouses.
It was August and Florida was hot. The common classroom attire for female students was either shorts or a midi to mini skirt, usually with a tee-shirt type top. As long as the shorts or skirt covered your butt, they were socially acceptable—there was no formal dress code. I was wearing a mid-thigh length skirt that day with a white, tailored blouse. Matching white bra and knickers completed my ensemble. I’d always remembered my mother’s admonition, “Emme, you never get a second chance to make a good first impression.” So today I’d dressed a bit smarter than I would at other times.
Finding my way to the lecture hall that was posted for Studies in Twentieth-Century American Literature and Culture, I walked in determined to sit in the back, as usual. I’m not shy, exactly, but am somewhat of an introvert. People often mistake one for the other—they aren’t the same.
So as I prepared to take a seat, I glanced down the shallow steps to the well of the room. She was standing there looking directly at me. Our eyes locked. I could barely break the connection. It felt thrilling. A quick shiver ran through me. It seemed like she’d gestured to me. Seemingly on autopilot, I continued down to the front row. Karen motioned me to a seat directly in front of her. I thought a brief smile crossed her face as I crossed my legs. Had I imagined the smile? Was her look good or bad?
“Karen Andersen” and the course’s title were written on the old-style, black-slate chalkboard, along with the class web site, a phone number, office location, and “4pm–5pm Tues & Thurs.” I’d expected Dr. Douglas Black. It was his course. He’d written the textbook I’d had to purchase, used of course. No point in spending twice the money for a book I’d most likely never use again. He was the main reason I’d chosen this particular course from a list of possibilities. His reputation was well known and well regarded.
As I contemplated all this and glanced at the blackboard several times, I caught her appraising glances directed at me, my thighs in particular. Once again that tingling flashed through me. It seemed like there was hunger in her eyes, hunger for me. I purposefully did not meet her gaze.
“Good morning everyone.” Her voice somewhat startled me. I sat up straighter and uncrossed my legs, leaving my knees slightly parted. “As you might have noticed, I’m Karen Andersen, Dr. Black’s TA for this semester.”
She went on to explain about being his Ph.D. student and how she would be filling in for him when he couldn’t attend the class. She covered other basic administrative items and then launched into the day’s lecture. I knew what this really meant—she’d be the de facto teacher and he’d make guest appearances occasionally.
During her talk she moved around the well, making eye contact with as many students as she could and writing important points on the board. Several times our eyes again locked, briefly. Every time I felt that special tingle. Some part of me was beginning to feel a hunger—I pushed it away.
I knew this was crazy. For one thing, I was nineteen and she had to be at least twenty-six, most likely with a boyfriend or girlfriend or even both. For another, I wasn’t a lesbian. Sure, I’d had the usual girls fooling around together experiences: touchy-feely stuff, tryout kissing, once even mutual masturbation, but nothing that approached romance or even passion.
I’d lost my virginity at sixteen with my then boyfriend in England. All my following sexual experiences had been with guys. Never had I considered another girl as a serious sexual partner, until maybe now. But that was foolish. My tingle was just a systemic, biological response. Surely it had happened previously. It just didn’t come to mind at that moment. Mentally, the thought was banished.
Karen made it clear on that first day that we could make an appointment to see her with any questions that were not addressed in class or on the website. After Wednesday’s class I had a question. She’d requested contact via a text that described the issue, explaining that she’d respond appropriately. Following her request, I sent a text. Her response was prompt: see u thurs @4:15. I acknowledged with a simple: thanks.
My question hinged on the differences between American and British English. It was relevant to me since back home I’d been taught the UK version, obviously. I needed to get a handle on the changes to spelling and grammar, though the punctuation so far appeared to follow the same rules. I know it seemed a bit lame since I’d been here a year, but there was some truth to it. Was I being transparent? Would Karen, how lovely that name felt on my lips, would Karen sense the alternate, deeper question? Was I making a fool of myself? The only sensible thing was to play it straight. Did I really think that? Straight? I meant, straightforward, of course. I was straight. Wasn’t I? Oh dear. I so hoped I wouldn’t just blush and stammer my way through our 4:15.
Thursday afternoon seemed to suddenly appear. Arriving at Bradford at 4:00 pm, I headed for the basement, room B-118. It was in the middle of a dimly lit, concrete-walled corridor. At 4:15 exactly the door opened and a fellow student walked out, glanced at me, and mumbled something about good luck as he hurried down the hallway. Wondering what that was all about, I poked my head in the doorway.
“Ah, Emme. Come in. Close the door and let’s talk.”
She was smiling at me. I took that as a good sign and sat on the chair next to her ancient desk. The room had a single fluorescent tube on the ceiling and, of course, no windows. It was dreary. I must have given a skeptical look because she said, “Don’t be shocked. This is a typical office for all the TA’s. We’re at the bottom of the pecking order. So, let’s talk about your question.”
I explained my deep interest in the vagaries of our shared language. As I was doing so, she kept eye contact except for occasional glances at my tee-shirt. It was just an orange university shirt, nothing special. When I finished, she said, “I have to tell you, I love your accent. I spent last summer traveling through England, Scotland, and Wales with a friend. We just loved it.”
“Uh, wow, that’s great.”
“Yeah, it was. Listen Emme, first your question, while also quite interesting to me, is outside the scope of this class.”
“I guess I sorta suspected that but I was hoping—“
“I don’t usually do this, not because it’s unethical or improper, but because I don’t want all the students thinking they can also ask for it. So, can you keep a secret?”
Having no idea what was coming, but already liking her, I replied, “Sure!”
“Okay, so we’re running out of time. These appointments are only for fifteen minutes. Most students have a question that I can easily answer in that time. Yours will take longer and I’d enjoy talking to you about its many sides. You could come to my apartment tomorrow night if you’re not already planning something, and we could talk about our shared language and writing differences plus maybe just about the UK.”
“I’d love that!” I blurted out.
“Cool. Between five and six work for you?”
“Yeah. That’ll be great. Should I bring anything? Sorry, but I can’t legally buy liquor yet or I’d bring a bottle of wine. This is really nice of you.”
“No worries. I’ve got all that covered. Just bring yourself… and dress casual, no need to dress to impress as some would say.” There was a knock at the door. “See, my next appointment. Here’s my info. See you tomorrow. I’m looking forward to it.”
We both stood up and she walked me to the door. That’s when I really noticed her figure. Tight jeans and a scooped-neck, cap-sleeve knit top. A bit of ample cleavage peeked over the top of the tight sweater. Casual dress indeed.
As I lay in bed that night, thinking about going to Karen’s apartment tomorrow, my fingers wandered down between my legs.
It was just for tranquility, to make me feel better, to give me confidence when visiting Karen. Cupping myself with my right hand, I said her name out loud. “Karen. Karen Andersen.” It gave me a thrill, and I pressed harder, feeling that lovely tingle. Replaying our very brief meeting, certain words stood out, like unethical, improper, and keeping secrets; I really liked the sound of those, especially keeping secrets.
My fingers opened around either side of my pleasure center, sliding in parallel, lightly squeezing my inner realm. I was definitely thinking unethical and improper thoughts as I recalled how Karen had looked at my tee-shirt and the way I filled it. Obviously, I was reading more into everything than was really there, but I let myself run with it, pretending her “…don’t want all the students…” meant she just wanted me. In casual clothes. Maybe tight jeans plus my slight cleavage showing.
Lost in a fantasy, my hand moving faster up and down, gripping my clit between fingers, teasing and torturing myself, thinking of Karen’s hand inside my knickers as her unintelligible voice played in my brain. Oh, fuck. My finger slipped inside my tunnel, in and out and in again. Yes, this was good, getting faster, firmer, now two fingers. Fuck. Mentally, I hear her voice, feel her fingers pump in and out of me, thrusting hard, bringing me to my special place. It’s there, it’s now. Oh!
Riding the sensations until they calm into a panting afterglow, I smile shyly at Karen. She really is a very good teacher.
Eventually, I fell into a happy, relaxed sleep dreaming of tomorrow.
Unknown to Emme and Karen, their desires ran on parallel tracks. Both had been infatuated with each other since the first day of class. Their first eye contact had been one of those moments when time seemed to stand still for both of them.
Emme really had intended to sit in the back row. She always sat in the back—her introverted nature demanded it.
This was Karen’s second year as a TA. She’d never made a gesture, or any other indication, to a student regarding where to sit—let alone inviting one to the front row, to a seat directly in front of her.
Emme had sexually experimented with other girls in secondary school, but it was always just an experiment, never anything close to serious arousal or passion. Now each of Karen’s glances gave her a tingle. Her dampness was undeniable. Every time she uncrossed and recrossed her legs Karen’s eyes were drawn. Previously unknown passions were rising in Emme. The need to explore, to experience these feelings was almost overpowering.
Unlike Emme, Karen totally understood what she was feeling. Having had several intense, lustful relationships with other women, she’d long ago embraced her bi-sexuality. So as Emme walked to the front row that first day, and the days after, Karen embraced the feelings she experienced. Each time she took in Emme’s perfect figure–enchanting blue eyes, chestnut brown hair hanging past her shoulders, tantalizing breasts, creamy-smooth, perfectly formed legs–desire began to rise in her. To act or to suppress was her dilemma. She’d chosen to walk the thin edge of an ethical wedge.
So late Friday afternoon both were not only contemplating how to dress, but what the big picture of the evening would be, or maybe more accurately, how it could be steered to play out as they wanted.
Emme took Karen at her word about casual, but did that mean casual sexy or casual casual? Narrowed down from tight jeans to tight, super-short, old denim shorts or a mini denim, stone-washed skirt, she finally went with the skirt over a black thong and, wanting to show off her belly button piercing, a navy, cropped tube-top, braless of course. Once dressed, she laughed to herself as it occurred to her that she usually didn’t spend this much time getting ready for a hot date, and this was just an evening meeting with her class TA. Just a meeting… a meeting she hoped was much more than that.
At the same time, Karen was having comparable thoughts. She settled on an abstract patterned blue flounce mini with a black thong and a somewhat baggy, maroon, button-down silk blouse leaving the top three buttons undone and foregoing a bra. She knew her perky boobs would not disappoint and hoped she’d not gone too far.
Emme arrived promptly at 5:00 pm. Her doorbell ring was answered directly.
“Oh Emme, you look wonderful! C’mon in.”
“Thanks! You look delightful.” Not missing her bralessness, she continued, “I love that blouse on you. Oh, and for you,” she said handing her the package. “I know you said not to bring anything, but I couldn’t resist the chocolates.”
“Thanks so much. Maybe we’ll enjoy them together. Come sit down and have some wine and cheese.”
It was a short walk to the living area where Karen sat on a love seat and patted the space next to her, indicating where Emme should sit. They were only inches apart. The coffee table in front of them had the hors d’oeuvres.
“I hope you like Chardonnay. This is an oakey one from California. Plus, I love Stilton and thought you might also. I always keep some on hand. I have a cheddar if you’d prefer…”
“Karen, you’re amazing. I love Stilton. I’m far from a wine connoisseur, but I’m sure I’ll love it since you picked it.”
So far so good, Karen thought as she poured the wine and Emme put a portion of Stilton on one of the slices of French bread.
“Shall we toast?” asked Karen as she raised her glass.
“Oh my yes!” replied Emme, raising her glass also.
“To new and hopefully close friends!” Karen said, while thinking: god she looks delicious, please let me find out.
Their glasses rang as their edges touched. Emme thought: please let my dream come true. I hope she invites more. My desire has never been this intense.
“So,” said Karen turning toward Emme, their knees touching, “tell me where you’d like to start.”
That simple knee touch affected them both. It focused their senses. It was their first physical touch, having been preceded by much enticing contemplation.
Emme gulped as the thrill of their touch ran up her thigh. “I… er… I was thinking, I know this is really broad, but is a brief explanation of the transition from Old English to Modern English possible?”
Emme mentally kicked herself for being too reserved to ask the question that she’d prepared. It was supposed to be an innuendo-laden question about old rules to new rules, breaking rules; things developing in unexpected new directions. Transitions from one expression to another. All being meant to more than hint at how does a straight girl try out being a lesbian or something in-between
But it didn’t come out that way. It came out as an academic question when all Emme really wanted was to experience the desire her mind and body were yearning for.
As Emme listened and moved gently closer so that their thighs also touched, that tingle started up again, not merely present but shouting its arrival all through Emme’s body. It affected her skin, her breathing, her concentration. She found herself gazing with adoration into Karen’s eyes. They were gorgeous eyes, but even so, every few seconds, Emme would drop her gaze to that stunning chest almost visible between the buttons of the silk blouse that clung seductively to Karen’s nipples.
It wasn’t a conscious move, it just happened. As she watched Karen’s sensuous mouth forming words she could no longer hear, Emme, ever so slowly, moved closer and closer. None of this was lost on Karen. This was decision time. Embrace passion with the risk it entailed or move away and end the moment.
Choice made, she turned to Emme. Both surrendered to the moment. Their lips touched.
For the first time in her life Emme experienced what the great writers of literature try to express in evocative words, what film makers try to communicate with bursts of fireworks and unique camera angles—lovers joined.
It was a whole other world.
Emme melted into Karen’s embrace, lost; yet she felt safe and at home, like she belonged, as if this were what all her previous sexual fumblings had been preparing her for.
The fireworks weren’t just in her head. She had exploded down below also. Okay, mildly, just a little dampness, not a dramatic squirt, but her insides had clamped, and she’d experienced that little thrill that so far had only ever come from her fingers or her special toy.
Karen broke the kiss. They looked deep into each other’s eyes, noses almost touching. There was a profound communication, unspoken yet eloquent, full of meaning and agreement.
Emme was waiting for the invitation. Could it possibly be?
It was Karen, again, who took the lead by reaching for Emme’s hand and pulling it to her breast. “Hold it. Caress my nipple.” Their lips met again as they both softly moaned in their own pleasure.
Emme was enthralled, her feelings beyond what she’d imagined. Their kiss broke. Unsure of what to do, wanting Karen to teach her, lead her, show her the way, she waited.
“Bed?” Karen asked softly.
Emme smiled and nodded.
Standing and holding out her hand to the young student, Karen lead her protégée towards the bedroom, undoing the remaining buttons of her silk blouse with her free hand.
As they walked into the bedroom, Emme saw the bed had been turned down, ready to be occupied. Her first thought was that Karen knew, or at least anticipated, that they would find themselves in there. Somehow that sight released her lingering tension—Karen wanted her.
As that thought was going through Emme’s mind Karen let her blouse fall to the floor, fully exposing her breasts. Emme sucked in her breath.
“You’re so beautiful. They’re exquisite. Mine are—“
“Exquisite also,” Karen said quickly, as she freed Emme’s from her tube top. Don’t you ever forget that.”
Emme wanted to say I love you, but instead hugged her tightly, and whispered, “Thank you. This is brilliant.”
I knew from that moment that everything was going to be perfect—the hunger was no longer suppressed.
As we parted, she cupped my boobs, her thumbs and forefingers finding my nipples, tweaking and caressing them. I didn’t need encouragement to do the same to hers. What a marvelous feeling. I don’t know which was more exciting, being fondled or fondling her—both increased my cravings.
Soon Karen said, “Come lie with me.” And began to loosen her skirt, letting it drop to the floor. I swiftly followed suit. “Great minds think alike I see,” she said with a chuckle as she looked at our matching thongs. Both had quite visible, large wet spots. “Let’s save the last mystery for a bit.”
“What delicious suspense,” I replied as I followed her to the bed.
We lay together, touching, kissing, fondling, caressing, tasting—we explored our desires and each other. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. I’d never felt so wet. Thoughts of my juice soaking my thong and running freely down my thighs ran through my head.
All my previous sexual encounters had been hurried, rushed in an attempt by the guy to do as much as possible before his appetite exploded from between his legs and the need was gone. This was so different. It was sensual, exciting, suspenseful, and deliciously fulfilling.
I had never had my little boobs so admired and enjoyed. Karen had the perfect touch, a balance of caress, kiss, and pinch that had me whimpering in lust and pleasure. I did my best to copy, but it was clear who was the student and who was the Mistress. Under Karen’s guidance, I caressed her nipples and breasts until I was intimately acquainted with their reactions and desires. I loved them.
My own were in the boob equivalent of a girl in a sweet shop, getting everything she could ever have desired.
And Karen’s kisses. Oh my! Her tongue slipped so delicately inside my mouth yet transformed into a ravaging dragon, raising me to yet new heights, taunting and dancing with my own until I couldn’t tell whose was whose.
Karen had been as silent as my thoughts while our fingers, lips, and tongues were running rampant. Eventually, she said, “You really didn’t want to know about English language history when you came to see me did you?”
My face flushed. The mood was a bit broken, just a bit. “Well… I, er… well sorta. I am interested…”
“But you were just as interested in this weren’t you?”
Not wanting to be totally caught out, I replied, “You were pretty quick to invite me over you know, so…”
“So…?” she said, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“Okay, yes. But you must admit that when we first made eye contact and you basically invited me to the first row, similar thoughts were going through your mind. In fact, it was your invite and glances at my legs that gave me these thoughts. So there!”
We both chuckled and she said, “So you’ve done this with other girls?”
“No. Well, sort of.” I had to get off this line of questioning, so I said, “How long have you been a lesbian?”
She laughed and said, “I’m not a lesbian. In fact, I’ve got a boyfriend. I’m bisexual.” She laughed again and said, “Doubles my chances for a date.”
I laughed with her as she went on, “You know you still have to explain your ‘sort of’ comment.”
Oh god. I couldn’t believe we had gone on playing with each other’s tits during this exchange. I was on medium, approaching a high boil, and wanted more.
“Okay. Some minor league high school and college playing around with other girls. Kissing, boob touching, things like that, mostly instigated by guys. Never any orgasms or feelings like I think we’re both having.”
As I was talking her right hand slid down my body and one finger grazed ever so softly down my soaked thong. “Oh fuck,” I moaned.
“So, nothing like this?”
“Fuck no. Please, please, please don’t stop… please. You’re such a fucking tease! Please.” I was begging her. At that point, her finger was a hundred times better than my own. I felt like I would explode. Then her finger came up with more weight and paused briefly on my clit, just long enough to press down and scratch across it with her fingernail before leaving. “Fuck!” I shouted. “I’m so fucking close. I can’t believe this. Just rub my clit. Do it! Please get me off!”
“Well, since you said ‘please…’”
In a flash, she’d moved my thong and her two middle fingers were in me, the base of her thumb on my clit and her lips locked with mine. I tried to scream as I came but our twisting tongues held it back. Over and over, I came until I couldn’t take it any longer and pulled her hand away as my body quivered and I gasped to recover my breath. They were the strongest orgasms I’d ever had—at least to that point.
“Oh my god,” I stammered over and over until Karen pulled me into another tongue-twisting kiss.
When we broke apart, she said, “Looks like that agreed with you.”
I started laughing and blurted out, “Ya think so!? Holy shit Karen, you’re an enchantress who has seduced me into your thrall.”
“Moi? No my sweet. Just two women doing what we’re good at, if we give ourselves the chance. Now it’s your turn. Let’s see what your mouth can do with my pussy.”
I hesitated. What to say? “I… umm… well—”
“You’ve never done it before and are thinking something along the lines of what if I’m terrible at this.”
I grinned. “Guilty as charged. I so want this to be perfect for both of us, especially you, and I’m quite unsure of myself.”
“Give it a go,” she said, as her thong was quickly removed and her legs spread wide, revealing her glistening lips. “Do you remember the Golden Rule? ‘Do unto others—”
“As you would have them do unto you.” I finished. “Thanks!” I said as I kissed my way down.
Settling in between her legs, ambrosia was all I could think as her aroma and heat wafted up to me. Her fingers spread her petals. My heart was pounding with excitement and anticipation as I gazed at her sensual core. I so wanted this to be right, to be great for her.
Starting at the lowest point, my tongue just touched her at first. Then I pushed in, my lips contacting her lips, my tongue as deep as I could extend it. Thoughts of a ripe peach fresh from the tree occurred. The taste was not the same, but the texture was close and she was sweet. Moaning, she held my head, guiding me upwards—it was wonderful. Her clit was prominent. I ran my tongue around it, then flicked it twice. She shuddered and pulled me tighter, moaning louder as she kept me in place. “Just like that. Yes, yes. Oh it’s so good. Keep it up, I’ll cum soon.” Another shudder ran through her. “Emme, you’re wonderful. Oh my god! Just… oh yes, there, like that. Oh fuck!” she exclaimed as her body quivered and juice poured from her.
I tried to drink it in as she moved my head up and down her slit, my tongue in constant motion. I was thrilled. My fingers were on my clit. Her peach was giving up its nectar. Finally, she moved me away and released me. “Come here my sweet sweet pixie minx.”
Bolting up to meet her lips, I hungered for what I’d given her. She licked her juice from my smeary face as she told me how wonderful I was. Our mouths met, tongues intertwined, sharing the remains of her.
Then she pushed me away just enough to see my face. With a stern expression, she said, “This is really the first time you’ve done that?”
Oh god! What had I done wrong? She’d said I was so good… Slowly nodding my head, I stammered out, “Ye… yes, honestly.”
Suddenly laughing she said, “I’m just fuckin’ with ya. You were great!”
“You bitch!” I exclaimed. “And I fell for it. I’m so gullible.”
“I’m sorry. I’m a big tease sometimes. I’ll make it up to you.” With that, she gently pushed me onto my back and was quickly between my legs. “Spread nice and wide for Mistress Karen.”
I giggled and did exactly that.
Soon I was moaning as my hands unsuccessfully grasped for purchase on the sheets. Her tongue was in constant motion, mostly around and on my clit. God, she was good. Now I really knew. Her fingering had been lovely but this… this was breathtakingly spectacular. Then her fingers found my nips. My back arched as I shouted out, “Fuckkk! Oh my god Mistress… It’s… It’s… Fucking wonderful!”
I was so damn close, and she knew it. Every time I thought I’d cum, every time I began to tremble, she backed off, slowed down just enough. I later described it as suspended orgasmation. Each time my need to cum was greater and greater. Then finally, when I expected her to once again ease off, she got even more intense. My minor trembles became fervid shudders. “Oh fuck I’m cumming! Fucking fuck I never…”
Lost in the pleasure, I was incoherent. Only blubbery, wordish sounds would come out. Thank god she stopped. As my gasping stopped, I lifted my head to see hers resting on my thigh. With a giggle, I said, “I guess this wasn’t your first time.”
She laughed again. “No, not exactly my first time. I assume you’d be in favor of further rendezvous?”
“Oh god yes! Is tomorrow too soon?”
This time we both laughed.
Tomorrow was too soon. She was spending the weekend with her boyfriend. However, the rest of the year worked out perfectly. I worked hard and received an “A” in both semesters with no special favor asked or given. Karen and I became rather regular lovers.
After about two months of our togetherness, as we referred to it, she asked if I’d ever considered a threesome with a guy. Much to my surprise, I blurted out, “Oh my god, yes!” Quickly followed by, “Oh shit, did I actually say that out loud?”
After getting over my embarrassment, I explained that I’d actually fantasied about the idea but never expected it would come to fruition. But that’s a story for another time.
Copyright © 2021 Story Copyrighted By Keaton N. – Kee@LushStories.com All Rights Reserved. This story is for viewing on LushStories.com only. If you are seeing it anywhere else it has been copied without consent. No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author, Keaton N.
All names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters portrayed in this story are over sixteen (16) years of age.