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Old 01-10-2012, 09:49 PM   #1
Angellica1612
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Bringing back "Erotic Toolbox Challenge"

I think this is a fun way to get your imagination going. Here's how it works:

I will give a list of words. The next person has to write a short scene that incorporates all those words.

When they are done with their story, they pick a new serious of words, challenging someone else to write a story with those words.

Anyone game? Here's my list:

horse, sofa, bourbon, lighter, shoes, sex
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Old 01-11-2012, 06:05 PM   #2
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Wink toolbox

Sounds like fun! Will see what I can cum up with.
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Old 01-12-2012, 09:33 AM   #3
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We're headed toward the "Perfect Country Western Song"....
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Old 01-13-2012, 09:29 AM   #4
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LOL! You could be right.
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Old 01-14-2012, 06:02 PM   #5
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Here's my list:

horse, sofa, bourbon, lighter, shoes, sex
This was the part he relished and would replay for himself over and over between conquests. Not unlike breaking in a horse really. It’s the moment between the challenges when the philly is still breathing hard but clearly tiring; the moment when the last vestiges of wild resistance are about to be claimed from her. He’d broken in more than his fair share of horses but this was always more fun.

He stood fully clothed admiring the contrast between her rich brown skin and the white sheet he had thrown over the back of the sofa anticipating the wetness now dripping from her exposed sex.

Bent over as she was, her hands tied behind her back and her heeled shoes barely touching the floor she couldn’t see him as he approached her from behind. Just to see her flinch, he tossed his keys and lighter over her head to land on the coffee table across from the sofa seat to which her cheek was pressed.

He chuckled and downed the last of his bourbon before removing his cowboy hat and kicking her heels further apart with the tip of his dusty boot. “Don’t be scared darlin’. I’ve done this before.”


and now for something completely different...

orbit, sash, scorned, thigh, tea
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Old 01-15-2012, 06:38 PM   #6
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Talking

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and now for something completely different...

orbit, sash, scorned, thigh, tea
How about a trip to the Orient?

She moved in a silken orbit around the table as the men talked in hushed voices. Her sapphire sash, tightly bound around her middle, fluttered behind her, a gentle question mark. Who would be the one to choose? Each of the men had attributes any woman would admire. The one along the far side of the table held much of the property near her village – she might be allowed to see family from time to time. The man at the head of the table, the eldest, had been born into wealth. He had called her to him once – taking her quickly in a reserved room. There had been no caresses, no kisses, no time for her to become ready. He had pushed into her pinning her to the wall with his thrusts as he openly scorned her; calling her names reserved for prostitutes and common whores. His climax barely dampened her thigh and later that night she had laughed with the other girls comparing his juicelessness to his thinning hairline.
The man closest to her was the one she longed for. His deep dark eyes locked with hers as she served, his lips teasing her with the hint of a smile. His voice wrapped around her, sneaking under the silk of her gown and tickling the private area between her legs. She could not allow herself to think of his hands touching that very spot for fear of going weak and crumpling to the floor in delight.
The elder man signaled an end to the dinner, motioning for her to place the tray on her cart. The men stood and exchanged final words, bowing to one another as they made their way from the room leaving her to wait. Seconds stretched to minutes and she replayed her training and composed herself to the elder man's return. It had been his party after all and she would be expected to be dessert.
A footstep and the swish of the curtain signaled his return and she stood quietly with eyes downcast, hands grasped inside the bells of her sleeves, her ears burning with anticipation of his curse. But instead of derision a gently laugh tickled the notch at the base of her throat and her eyes were opened by the touch of warm, gentle lips on her red lacquered mouth. Her knees no longer needed to support her against his teasing as the man she longed for scooped her into his arms and carried her from the room, her tiny foot tipping the cart and unceremoniously spilling their tea.


Let's go tropical this time:
hibiscus, palm tree, bikini, tan-line, surf

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Old 01-15-2012, 06:40 PM   #7
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PS-Ruby: loved your post. Very clever use of the words and the Wild West motif!!
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Old 01-15-2012, 07:44 PM   #8
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He stood amongst the palm trees, watching. The woman was now 100 yards away, her attention out over the water, unaware of his approach. The gentle surf washed up over her delicate ankles, then pulled back, revealing them. His eyes moved up, following the line of her lean, shapely legs to her soft pink bikini bottoms. He lingered there, watching as she moved slowly, her hips swaying in a tempting, teasing manner that his body responded to. She had a guazy cover up tied low on her hips, floating out on the wind behind her. Finally, he looked up her torso, noting her flat stomach and the curve of her waist, and then the swell of her breasts covered by more pink fabric. Her long black hair danced in the breeze, and the hibiscus flower she'd tucked into her ear trembled. A delicate hand came up and tugged the strands off her face as she stopped. She stood very still, staring out to sea, and he imagined her face, the high cheekbones, the soft generous mouth, the dark brown eyes with little flecks of gold. She began to turn slowly.

He held his breath, watching, waiting. She froze, staring in his direction, though he knew all she could see against the setting sun was his outline. His eyes drank in her beauty, and he longed to touch her.


They broke at the same moment, launching themselves forward. "Paul!" she screamed. "Lani!" he answered. They met on the beach, she throwing herself into the air and wrapping her arms around his neck, he wrapping her tightly in his strong arms. He twirled her, his face buried in the fragrant mass of her hair, hers pressed into his neck. He felt the warmth of her tears, felt the trembling of her body.

"Lani," he whispered, and began planting kisses against her hair. "Lani," he said again, louder this time.

"Oh, Paul," she cried, and turned her face up to his.

His lips found hers, and their bodies pressed against one another, as if they couldn't get close enough. His heart pounded, and joy filled him, so much joy he felt faint with it. It had been so long since he'd felt this way, so many, long, gruesome days in the desert, when he didn't know if he'd ever see her again.

He pulled back to look at her, bringing a hand up to touch her cheek, wet with her tears. "Don't cry, Lani, I'm home. I'm safe."

She smiled then, a huge, utterly delighted smile, though she still trembled. "I can't believe you're really here," she said. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He smiled back, and pressed another kiss to her lips before pulling back to answer her. "I didn't want to get your hopes up." His fingers traced the strap of her bikini over her shoulder, noting the tan line as it shifted beneath his touch. Her skin was soft and golden, but he knew those soft curves beneath the fabric would be a soft creamy white, her nipples a dusky rose. He felt himself getting hard. Thinking of her always had that affect on him, and he'd spent many, long, frustrated days and nights, wanting her, craving her.

She gazed up at him with so much love in her dark eyes. He felt something inside him shift into place, something that had been out of synch for almost three years. He was home, with his Lani, safe at last. Her fingers came up to touch the medals on his breast, pinned to the cammoflauge jacket he wore.

"I'm so proud of you," she said. He gazed down at her, his face somber now, his thoughts going to those who would never experience a homecoming, never see their wives again. She saw it, and her eyes filled with compassion, but she said, "No. Not tonight. Tonight is for us. Tomorrow, you'll tell me. But tonight, it's just us."

He nodded, and smiled, touching her face gently. "Just us," he agreed. "And now, I'd like to go home and make love to my wife all night long."

"And your wife approves."

Holding hands, they ran towards the house.


New words: smoke, rain, fan, book, red, notes
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Old 01-17-2012, 08:11 PM   #9
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Originally Posted by cyanskye View Post
PS-Ruby: loved your post. Very clever use of the words and the Wild West motif!!
Thank you for your encouragement. I've never thought of myself as being much of a writer. After reading your delightful story, I was having an attack of being embarassed at having had the nerve to post mine in a forum for writers.

Reading your compliment made me think that maybe I might try again.

ruby
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Old 01-17-2012, 09:21 PM   #10
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Quote:
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New words: smoke, rain, fan, book, red, notes
Quote:
Originally Posted by Angellica1612 View Post

New words: smoke, rain, fan, book, red, notes
"I read your book from cover to cover. I'm such a huge fan. I even took a few notes." Mandy blushed as she said it, for the book she had just handed him was about the art of sexual intimacy and how to intensify orgasm.

Dr. Sullivan finished signing the dust jacket of his book with a red sharpie, then he pushed his spectacles forward to the tip of his nose to have a good look at her. She was in her late twenties, with dark green eyes and ashen blonde hair. Her hair was luxuriously thick. It flowed in waves that broke in curls on the sandy white beach of her shoulders. Her breasts were perky and ample -- both of them -- like a well torpedoed submarine that just wouldn't quit.

"Would you like to fuck me?" he asked, as cooly as if asking the time of day. No sooner had the question slithered from his cigar stained lips, the incessant, dull murmur of the crowd gasped into silence. The steady sound of the falling rain outside was the only suggestion that motion continued to exist while he undressed and penetrated her with his smoke gray eyes..

"Why, Doctor Sullivan, I do declare!" she broke the awkward silence in grandiose, southern belle fashion, complete with fanning herself with her hand and batting "I want you" in Morse code with her eyelashes. "That positively has to be the worst pickup line I have ever heard." A cautious laughter rippled through the crowd, then hushed to voyeuristic silence.

"Chapter six, paragraphs four through eight," he whispered without breaking eye contact, and she melted. Then, both of them, never breaking the gaze that bonded them as one, began tearing off their clothes with shameless abandon. Arm in arm, Sullivan and Mandy stepped naked through the stunned crowd, out the door of Sammy Rodriguez's Smog Check Station, and into the sunset to have sex and intensified orgasms on the hot asphalt of the parking lot. Even though it was raining.

- The End -


Next: jacket, noodle, stethoscope, iconography, submarine, ambivalence, mortuary, ejaculate
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Old 01-17-2012, 11:01 PM   #11
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Next: jacket, noodle, stethoscope, iconography, submarine, ambivalence, mortuary, ejaculate
Color me impressed with whoever tackles this one! **heading for dictionary...**
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Old 01-17-2012, 11:45 PM   #12
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Color me impressed with whoever tackles this one! **heading for dictionary...**
Aw, come on! It's not so bad. I'm fairly sure I used every one of those words just this morning, calling in my prescription for ass crack fungus cream.
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Old 01-18-2012, 08:11 AM   #13
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Aw, come on! It's not so bad. I'm fairly sure I used every one of those words just this morning, calling in my prescription for ass crack fungus cream.
Ooohh...TMI, TMI!!!
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Old 01-18-2012, 02:23 PM   #14
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Originally Posted by mynameisben View Post
Next: jacket, noodle, stethoscope, iconography, submarine, ambivalence, mortuary, ejaculate

It promised to be the usual uneventful Wednesday night at the mortuary.

"Yeah," said Ben to no one in particular, "seldom any kind of a death, let alone an interesting one. Why can't I ever draw the Saturday night shift; they're special. Always something gruesome. Oh, well."

The kettle started whistling, and Ben poured the boiling water into his bowl of Mr. Noodle.

As he sat to stir and eat his midnight snack, he contemplated the posters around the prep room. They were interesting, he granted, but he always felt a bit of ambivalence about their thanatologically erotic iconography. His boss obviously considered them quite inspiring; after all he was the one who had them framed and hung, but necrophilia, no matter how sensually portrayed, was never Ben's thing.

"No," he said, again to no one in particular, "I prefer my partners to be warm and breathing."

Just then the bell rang for the delivery bay.

"Well," Ben said, though no one was there, "looks like this Wednesday may be different."

He raised the garage door to the bay to find an ambulance waiting there. It was a bit unusual, he thought; deliveries usually came in hearses or staion wagons.

The EMT addressed him.

"You Ben?" he asked. "Big accident down in the harbour. That recreational submarine ride hit something. Got about twenty tourists out of it. I figure they're all goners, but this is the first OPDed one. They told me to get it here quick to make room at the ER for the others in case any can be resusc'ed."

Ben transferred the body bag to a stretcher and wheeled it to the prep table.

When he opened the bag his eyes nearly popped out of his head. There was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Or at the least the most beautiful body of a woman he'd ever seen.

"Good thing the boss isn't on duty tonight," he said to the corpse, "I'd hate to even think of what he'd be doing to you."

He deftly flipped the body onto the prep table and began carefully to remove her cold, wet clothes so he could wash her.

"What a loss, though," he said, given as he was to talking to himself on the job, "such a lovely body gone cold and dead."

Yes, she was cold, as might be expected of anyone who died in the frigid waters of the harbour, but, as Ben discovered while slipping off her thong, she was unexpectedly warm between her legs.

Warm enough to send Ben to the cabinet to dig for the old stethoscope they kept there. With the instrument in hand, he headed back to the table and unbuttoned the woman's jacket and blouse.

"Nice breasts," he couldn't help but note as he placed the stethoscope beneath the left one. It wasn't hot, but it too was unexpectedly warm.

In the silence of the mortuary he had no need to strain to listen, and sure enough, he heard it. Faint, to be sure, but still there; there was still life in her.

Quickly Ben sprung into action, tilting her head back and sealing her lips with his. A strong breath to fill her lungs, and then another. No need for chest compression, though; her heart still beat! Another breath and another, and then he felt his breath come back at him. Forcefully. The woman coughed.

She started breathing on her own, and gradually regained consciousness. Her memory kicked in as she looked around the room, and her eyes showed that she comprehended what had happened.

"God!" she gasped, "you've saved my life!"

The woman threw her arms around Ben and pulled him to her. His warmth began to relieve the chill of her flesh, and she drew him closer, to lay atop her on the table.

"Warm me inside, too, please," she whispered in his ear, and he obliged.

He held her tight as he added friction to his radiant heat to bring her further from the brink of death, and she sighed into his ear.

"Ejaculate deep inside me," she said, "warm me with your hot juices."

And that's just what Ben did for the lucky woman.


(OK, Ben, now that you forced me into this near-necrophilial tale...)

New words: Intaglio, millenarian, occiput, lacustrian, existential, davenport, prehensile, masoleum.
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Old 01-18-2012, 08:03 PM   #15
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Is this thread required reading for the Brainiacs Club?

Color me impressed, Tio! And before I could write a story with the words you suggested, I'd have to look several of them up in the dictionary, lol! Guess I'd better go ahead and do that, so I'll understand the story that gets posted. Thanks for contributing!

Angel >>>>>
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Old 01-18-2012, 09:03 PM   #16
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The cleaning lady was something of an odd bird. She wore flamingo red hair with black roots tied neatly into a conservative bun, skewered in place with one pencil and one chopstick. An understated pink tube top sphinctered her lungs, sporting an elegant NASCAR motif. Depictions of auto wreckage engulfed in flames drew attention away from the hirsute expanse of her stretchmarked midrif. A birth control patch, peeking above the line of her Spanx, shone like a badge of honor. Her less-than-conventional attire went largely unnoticed by everyone in the stately university library. Dutiful college students with phono-jacks in their ears were preoccupied with studying downloaded porn on their iPhones and idly fingering their multipiercing ornamentation. Lupe Alejandro was ignored by everyone. Everyone, that is, except for one dapperly attired, elderly gent, who sat primly behind the davenport desk that supported the most massive dictionary she had ever seen.

Professor Baritone cocked an eye from the ponderous tome he was presently perusing and traced the gracefulness of her motions as she bent over, camel-toed, to wring PineSol scented water from the ragged braids of her mop. That was exactly his style. The good professor was incapable of merely reading a book. It had to be a tome, it had to be perused, and if it wasn't a thesaurus, it damn well better be a dictionary. Plot, characters, and setting muddled him so. At least, that's what all the students in his Advanced English Composition class whispered beneath their breath, between strained suppressions of laughter, as they groaned their way through the examples in his personally authored pamphlet, Literary Panache!

Professor Baritone never heard the whispered taunts of his students. Whenever his mind disengaged from the lexicographical allure of polysyballic peonies, his gray matter meandered the ethereal canyons and hillocks of feminine pulchritude, percolating prurient images of pursuit and conquest that permeated his cranial cavity from cerebellum to occiput, leaving him in a perpetual state of mental erection.

The boner in his mind was still vibrating like a twanged, wall-mounted doorstop spring when a maddening vision of beauty woke him from his reverie.

“Leeft jore choose. I gah da mop,” she beckoned from somewhere beyond the misty, lacustrian fantasy that roiled in the pools of his eyes.

“I beg your pardon,” the professor replied, stalling for time to recapture his social context.

Lupe had time for neither pleasantries nor sluggishness. She sloshed her mop over the marbled azure floor, banging the wooden handle against the desk he sat behind, perched on a stool. Her quick motion caught him completely off guard. His feet catapaulted to the upper rung of his stool, and his hands clutched tight at the elbow patches of his earth brown blazer so that he approximately assumed a seated, fecal postion. His rocking motion stopped when he noticed the gash her carelessness just added to the delicately carved intaglio of the davenport's left front leg. His eyes grew wide in horror.

“Hey, I like ju, Profeesor Nevrabone!” Lupe winked at him unexpectedly.

“That's Professor Baritone” he bristled. Which student taught her such an outrageous bastardization of my name! His mind screamed out as a rash of red F's appeared on term papers that had yet to be written. His oily passions of mind ricochet'ed between anger, disgust, outrage and lust. But when his shifty brown eyes locked onto the tattoo that adorned the exposed flesh above Lupe's right boob, he settled on lust. Woven amidst inked curlicues that rose up her skin from somewhere below her tube top, gothic letters spelled out to him everything he ever wanted to know. “Meat Straddle,” the letters said.

“Umm...how do you know me? And why do you like me?” he asked her simply, his vocabulary abandoning ship as the dinghy behind his trousers struggled mightily to raise its mast.

“Well, Meester Nevra...”

His palm shot out. “Please. Call me Tio.”

“I like ju, Meester...Tio,” she continued, “because ju talk to me.” She flashed him her girlish, meat straddle smile. “And because ju has a deek and balls.” She subtly emphasized her latter point by reaching an arm out to him and honking his giblets.

“...I theenk,” she hesitantly added.

Tio's mind stripped a gear. “You think, therefore you am! What a marvelous affirmation of existential ontology!”

Lupe plucked something out of her arm pit and blinked at him.

He was off his stool now. “The inherrent didacticism of your observation, so eloquently articulated, so sublime in its rammifications! It wraps the mind in its prehensile grip of concomitant implications...”

“I know a storage closet where we can fuck.”

“...so concise, yet so Brobdingnagian in its scope...”

“I geeve ju a blow job, no?” Lupe idly wondered why professor Tio was staring glassy eyed up at the ceiling, gesticulating wildly with his arms as he raved and spewed about god-only-knows what. She admired his passions, but she was getting a little concerned over whether it was being directed at her.

“...an apocalyptic profundity, sure to withstand the most aggressive assault of millenarian pessimism...”

She was on her knees in front of him now, her tube top lowered to her belly. She held her sagging breasts out to him with both hands, offering them up to him to fondle and tease however he pleased. She pinched her nipples and moaned so loudly, a rush of students detached from their internet porn and fled for the exits.

“...vanishing alternative conjectures inevitably to the realm of mere floccinaucinihilipilification, whereas...”

She had to search quite some time, but her lips, at last, found his manhood standing rigid beneath the canopy of his thick pubic forest. She parted his follicles, surrounded him with her lips, and rolled her tongue like she was whetting the tip of a number two pencil.

“...whether 'tis nobler in the mind to to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arems against a sea of...”

BOOM! The master lighting switch thundered, and the library thrust into darkness. Professor Tio shut the hell up, and looked around him in the blackness.

“Lupe?” he called out in the darkness. But the echo of his own voice was all that pierced the mausoleum silence of the vacated library. Lupe was gone.

Professor Tio noticed, then, the coolness of breeze in an odd sort of place, and that his pants lay in a slump at his ankles.

“Huh. Just when I was about to give up on that low carb diet,” he muttered to himself. He wondered whatever happened to Lupe. He wondered when everybody left the building. Had he fallen asleep? But his entire presence of being was inexplicably lighter now, and for that he was overwhelmingly pleased. He headed for the exit, stumbled, then remembered to pull up his trousers. After repackaging his giblets, he beamed once more over what he was certain was his successful weigh loss. “Oh, frabjous day! Calloo, callay!” he chortled in his pride.

The End -

Next up: lavender, savage, caress, burrito, potent, carwash, reticence, demure
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Old 01-18-2012, 10:13 PM   #17
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Pretty good, Ben. And not a subjunctive to be found!
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Old 01-18-2012, 10:21 PM   #18
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Pretty good, Ben. And not a subjunctive to be found!
Hey thanks, Tio! I liked your story too.
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Old 01-18-2012, 11:00 PM   #19
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I vote for Ben as vice-president of the Brainiacs Club

And head of the Comedy Club too Got to go now, I haven't found my dictionary yet...
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Old 01-19-2012, 01:02 AM   #20
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Next up: lavender, savage, caress, burrito, potent, carwash, reticence, demure
Time for some minimalism, perhaps...

The offer of a potent burrito overcame the reticence of the demure savage as the naked carwash girl enticed him to caress her lavender-scented bosom.

New words:

ceratopsian, bumbleberry, antipodes, osteology, orienteering, fulcrum, maladroit, voluptuary
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Old 01-19-2012, 07:53 AM   #21
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Lol!

Great story, Tio!
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Old 01-19-2012, 09:49 AM   #22
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Amber settled herself into the cramped space and pulled the curtain closed, stifling a nervous laugh when she heard the door open and several students entered the auditorium, talking loudly. Their voices echoed in the cavernous space, but to Amber, secreted inside the podium on the stage, they were too muffled to understand. That was close, she thought, I barely made it here in time! She settled in to wait, remembering how she'd met Dr. Stewart Marsdale. She'd been staying with a friend while she looked for an apartment, having just moved here. Her friend, Jill, was a student at Harbor College. She told Amber about an upcoming event she was volunteering for. "I'll be manning a checkpoint for the "Orienteering for the Adventurous Scavenger Hunt."

Amber hadn't known what 'orienteering' even meant. "What the hell is that?" she'd asked.

Jill had explained that it was a kind of race/scavenger hunt, where the participants were given clues, a map, and a compass. They had to decipher the clues and use the map and compass to reach the checkpoints in the correct order. It was a fund raising event, headed by one of her professors, Dr. Stewart Marsdale. Jill was gaga over the guy, describing him as a Greek god. She'd decided, what the hell, she'd help out too. And then she'd met him. Incredibly handsome, extremely well dressed, and brilliant, he was unlike anyone she'd ever dated. It was lust at first sight, and he seemed to feel the same. They'd made love on the second date. Stewart had affectionately called her his voluptuary antipode, because she'd told him he was sexy when he used big words. They did appear to others to be opposites, because she was very nicely endowed and dressed to show it off, while he was a bit uptight and reserved. In private though, he was very sensual, and he certainly enjoyed his luxuries.

Amber was drawn out of her reverie when there was thump nearby, and Stewart's polished Italian loafers appeared at the edge of the curtain, making her smile. Speaking of luxuries! He switched on the microphone.

"All right, everyone, take your seats please. I'd like to get started on time." His smooth baritone filled the room, and the subdued conversation of the students trailed off into the squeaks and shuffling of people settling into their seats.

"Thank you. Before I begin, I'd like to announce that I finished grading the first quiz, and the results were quite dismal." A deep silence settled over the room. "I expect more from you, at this stage in your education."

Amber could picture him, tall, dark hair neatly trimmed and combed, clothed in a custom suit, his dark eyes cold with displeasure. "I took quite a bit of time commenting on your papers. I expect you to read my remarks, and take them to heart. I also expect you to pay more attention during my lectures. My grading will only get tougher as we go." He let another silence fill the room, and then shuffled his notes. The lights dimmed, and then the big screen above him lit up. Amber could see the glow.

"At the end of our last class, we were discussing the osteology of the Ceratopsian in the late Creteceous period."

Now that he was into his lecture, Amber got to work. She parted the curtains a few inches, then reached out to tug, every so gently, at his zipper. She'd oiled it after it came back from the cleaners, so it would slide easily. She heard Stewart continuing with his lecture.

"Can anyone explain why the fulcrum of the jaw made this particular fellow maladroit when it came to eating large prey?"

Amber got the zipper all the way down. Now came the tricky part. A student was answering the question as she parted the front of his boxer brief. She laughed under her breath when he went very still. Smiling, she reached in and tugged him out, running her fingers lightly over the tip. Always a sure way to get him going.

The student stopped speaking, and there was a brief silence. Stewart cleared his throat. "Thank you, that is correct." Amber licked the tip, then ran her tongue around and under the bulbous head. Stewart swallowed, apparently having taken a moment to take a drink of water. He was getting hard now. He cleared his throat again, then resumed his lecture.

Amber wasn't listening to his words, just his voice. His voice alone could get her wet. Having him in her mouth really turned her on. She sucked, eager for that first taste of pre-cum, as delicious to her as bumbleberry pie. His shaft grew thick and hot inside her mouth, and she moaned softly. The vibration made him stumble over his words, and she laughed as he coughed, then got himself back on track. His voice flowed over her, as if he were caressing her skin, as she encircled him with her fingers, pushing down his shaft, then pulling back up to meet her lips. Her tongue continued laving him as she sucked. He grew even harder.

Suddenly, he barked, "Stop!"

Amber froze, and apparently so did everyone else. There was utter silence for several long, long moments. Then Stewart said, "If you wish to text on your phone, you may leave." There was subdued laughter from the other students.

Amber smiled. Good save, she thought, and went back to work. Her other hand moved between her own legs. God, she was so turned on!

After several more minutes, she knew he was close. She'd tasted pre-cum, and he was rock hard and breathing deeply. She heard him shuffling his notes, and stumbling over his words, before he said, "Can we please start the movie now?" A moment later it got even darker, and loud music filled the room. Amber pumped harder, sucked harder, urging him on, and with one forward thrust of his hips, he filled her mouth, pushing down her throat. Hot, salty cum shot into her, as he pulsed and throbbed. Amber moaned out loud, nearly coming herself. She let him go when he pulled back, but kept her hand under his penis, so it didn't drip on his suit. She picked up the towel she'd brought and cleaned him up. After a last loving kiss, she tucked him back in and eased his zipper up.

The movie wasn't very long. When it ended, Stewart made a few comments, assigned some homework, and dismissed the class. The students shuffled out quietly but quickly, as if afraid if they made too much noise he'd change his mind about letting class out early. Amber smiled. Not a chance.

New words: Amatory, Bezoar, slumgullion, sentience, quincunx, ort
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Old 01-19-2012, 11:29 AM   #23
mynameisben
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That was hot! I'm running out right now to buy a podium and some zipper oil.

I can see the look on the checkout girl's face now. "A podium and zipper oil, eh?" Wink, wink. Smile.
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Old 01-19-2012, 11:55 AM   #24
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Thank you, thank you very much
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Old 01-19-2012, 03:40 PM   #25
Tio_Narratore
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And thank you for that story, Angel ; as Ben noted, it was indeed hot . Luckily, I'm not lecturing in palaeontology this semester; I'd find it impossible not to think of your tale and end up looking like a very unusual monoceratops.
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