Allen Whitten - The teaser next door

"Just the two of us." He seemed to sigh as he spoke.

"I'll be over in a few… oh, minutes. There's something I've got to finish."

"Certainly. Come when you can."

"I'll come. It won't be long now."

And it wouldn't. The heat in her pussy had grown greater, licking her insides as she stroked.

"Good-bye, Wendy."

"Good… bye, Professor… Wynn."

She heard the click as he replaced the phone on the hook. Then there was something snapping in her, and she hunched furiously against her finger.

"Coming, I'm coming, Professor Wynn. Oh, how I'm coming!"

The house was white sandstone. The Wynns had taken excellent care of the house, and much of their summers were spent in loving care of it.

Wendy parked her car behind Professor Wynn's station wagon. His wife would be using the El Dorado.

When she rang the doorbell, it was answered immediately, as though Professor Wynn had been poised just on the other side of the door, waiting expectantly for the first tinge of the bell so that he could jerk open the door and usher her quickly inside before the neighbors saw.

"Come in," he said.

She stepped through into a small alcove ringed with mirrors. Just the thing for prim and proper Mrs. Wynn to be sure her makeup was on straight, her hat was not awry, or heaven forbid a hint of lace did not show beneath the hem of her skirt.

"I'd have you take my wrap, but I'm afraid I'd be quite bare without it," Wendy said teasingly, touching the knot of her blouse gathered just above her navel.

"Yes," said Professor, no, Martin Wynn. She would call him Martin. He cleared his throat. "I see your point."

"Oh, you do. I didn't think they showed." Wendy looked down at her blouse where her nipples were soft inside her blouse. She felt a slight twinge of tightening.

"If they showed any more, my dear, then you and I would be bosom companions."

She laughed and watched the leer gather in the corners of his mouth.

"Touch, Martin."

"Don't give me ideas, Wendy."

Right, dear Martin, she thought that's exactly my purpose. Giving you ideas, and perhaps a few other things.

"Would you like a drink?" he offered, as they walked past the living room and into the lounge where the bar was situated.

"Why, Martin may I call you by your first name?" He nodded, "You know I'm only seventeen."

"Sorry, I…"

"Tom Collins, please."

He stopped, seemed to be reassessing her.

"You are toying with me, Wendy. That's not showing the proper respect to your elders."

He slipped behind the bar and began mixing two drinks.

"And how would you have me show respect, Martin?"

He passed her the Tom Collins. His hand shook and he spilled some on the bar counter. He quickly wiped it up.

"There are ways."

"This is very good." He acknowledged her compliment with thanks. "You wouldn't be trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me, now would you?"

"Perhaps. Though I'm beginning to wonder just how innocent you really are, Wendy."

Slow down, girl. You're coming on strong. Let him take a little of the play. Don't make it too easy far him.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to sound so sluttish."

"I didn't take it that way. I find it refreshing in a woman, and despite your age, you are assuredly a woman."

He was sitting on the stool next to her, admiring her cleavage.

"This is a beautiful place," she said, changing the subject. She would play it a little more coyly for a while. Make him wonder just where she stood.

"Beauty is so relative. This place pales in comparison to you." He stood and took her empty glass from her hand and placed it on the bar. He took her hand. "Come with me, and we'll have a look around."

He did not let go of her hand. His fingers were warm, and his hand clutched her fiercely, as though afraid that at any moment she would turn and bolt out the door.

She noticed that his free hand was held tightly to the front of his pants. He must be keeping his hard-on from poking out the front of his pants.

"This is the library."

It was a massive room the walls lined with books, almost taking up the whole world with their multi-covered bindings. Against the far wall stood a desk, and in the middle of the room a large couch.

"I've got a number of first editions. Let me show them to you."

Perhaps she misread his direction, or he hers, but they collided as they made the turn to head for the shelves where the valuable books were kept.

She stumbled, and he caught her, pressing her to him to keep her from falling to the floor.

She could feel his breathing change, grow more rapid. And his prick, insistent and ready, poked into her belly. He held her tightly, and she buried her face in his chest as she clung to him.

"You are the softest, most sensuous creature I have ever met," he whispered in her ear. "More valuable than all the first editions in the world."

His hands were rubbing her back, and his loins were locked to her.

"Oh, Martin, I can feel your… er… your strength."

"Call it by its name," he urged.

She pressed her cunt mound to him.

"I can feel your prick, your cock. It's so hard!"

"You've known all along that I wanted you, haven't you?" His face was buried in her hair, and he was inhaling the fragrant softness of her blondeness.

"Yes, but I'm afraid." She was lying. She wanted him to fuck her, to force her to submit to his hard prick.

"You needn't be. I won't hurt you."

She clutched herself to him. She felt dizzy, and wondered if the booze might have anything to do with it. She had strange desires clouding her mind. She wanted Martin to rape her. She wanted him to fuck her against her will, even as she admitted that she wanted him now. He must completely dominate her.

"I'm afraid that you'll get me pregnant, Martin."

That was the least of her worries. She took her birth-control pills regularly. But he didn't know that.

"I won't get you pregnant. I'll pull out before I come. But I've got to fuck you."

His hand climbed up to her hair, and he pulled her face from his chest and mashed his mouth to hers. She did not open for him at first, but waited for the touch of his tongue at her lips. Then she accepted his kiss, as though he had forced her to.

She felt his other hand slipping inside her blouse, cupping her tit, squeezing it. The nipple jumped into the palm of his hand.

She broke away from his kiss then and twisted out of his embrace. He was wild-eyed, his chest heaving, gulping air.

The breast he had been massaging was still free the blouse pushed to the side.

He was driven by his lust. She would make him take her. Her protests would be just enough to arouse the beast in him, to bring out the animal that was a part of every man. She wanted him to hurt her when he fucked her, to be fuck crazy as he mounted her.

"Please, Martin, please," she begged.

"I want you," he panted. "I'm going to fuck you. You are beautiful, and wanton, flaunting your body in that outfit. I'm going to strip it from you, and fuck your naked cunt, and suck your wonderful tits! And you won't stop me."

She backed up, until her thighs bumped the front edge of the couch. He stood between her and the door, as though he expected her to make a mad dash for it at any moment.

"I don't want you to… rape me. I-I can't let you." She whimpered, as though she were fighting to protect a cherry long since ruptured by a hard cock. She loosened the other tit from her blouse. "Won't you be satisfied to feel my tits? You can even suck them, too. But please, don't fuck me…"

"Gonna eat your tits, and gonna fuck you too."

He tore off his shirt, popping the buttons as he did so. Then he kicked off his shoes and stripped off his pants to reveal his stiff cock shaft.