Ron Taylor - Teacher_s naughty wife

Alice was wearing a snug cotton t-shirt, nothing under it, and the shape of her tits was very obvious. They were fuller than Joanne's, with small taut nipples that stretched the cotton covering them. She also wore a loose tie-around skirt that looked like a piece of tablecloth. It was tied in the front and, when Alice sat down on the floor in a modified lotus position, the skirt opened and Joanne could see the younger woman's crotch and panties. The panties were tight and skimpy, white with a red heart printed across the crotch. There was a shadow at the edges of the crotchstrip, evidently tangled curls of hair peeking out.

Joanne cleared her throat, opened the satchel she'd brought along, and took out a couple of sheets of paper – some junk mail she'd received a few days ago and never gotten round to throwing away. It looked enough like a questionnaire. "The first thing we'd like to know, Ms. Custer," she said in what sounded very much like an interviewers voice, "is…"

Alice leaned over, put her hand on Joanne's knee. "My name is Alice," she said, drawing back her lips, towing the smooth even tips of her white teeth. She had a nice smile.

"Alice, then," Joanne replied. "My name is, uh…"

"Joanne, you said on the phone."

She didn't recall mentioning her name on the telephone but she let it pass. "Yes, Joanne," she said, turning over the first sheet. "Now – our study group is very interested in the status of women on college campuses today, in 1978. As you know, there are a number of new federal laws, not to mention the state ERA, but we want to find out if these are being followed scrupulously at the school level. Do you feel that you're discriminated against because of your sex?"

"Not on your life," Alice said. "If anything, quite the opposite. But maybe I have a different outlook from your group's. I enjoy being treated like a woman, not like one of the guys, you know?" Her hand was still resting on Joanne's knee. Joanne looked down, frowning. The pressure was light, but it was more than a little disconcerting. She wished she'd worn a pantsuit instead of jacket, blouse, and skirt.

Alice began to drum lightly on Joanne's knee, her fingers making a soft persistent tap on the skin, just below the hem of the skirt. She made a funny face, then slid a little closer. Her hand didn't fall away.

"Do you mind?" Joanne asked, pointing to the hand.

"Oh," Alice laughed. "I thought you'd be more comfortable that way, you being a feminist and all. I mean, we're both women, aren't we? And women shouldn't be uptight with one another. Not when we have so many other things to worry about. Right?"

Joanne nodded but she didn't say anything. She didn't know what to say. An old fleeting memory slipped into her mind, something from years ago, something she'd almost forgotten, pushed to the back of her memory. It hadn't meant anything, really. Just one of the silly things you do once in a while, when you're young and growing up and full of a newfound sexuality that you don't know what to do with… her first winter at college, and she was in rehearsal for her first play. Nothing big, just one of the dancers in "Carousel". But it was a start, and she was part of the whole glamorous, special world of college dramatics, and wasn't that why she'd come to college, to learn to be an actress? Of course it was. And there were no small parts, just small actors. Everyone knew that she had a lot of fun.

Rehearsals ran late, especially for the bigger production numbers, which were often hacked out when the principals had already gone home. Lots of coffee, half-smoked cigarettes, blocking. Some of the steps were beyond her ability, but she was game and eager, and one of the older girls in the dance chorus, a tall, lean-bodied brunette named Lisa, had offered to give her a hand, in the wee small hours when the rest of the crew had packed up and gone home.

They had a record of the tow's score and while it played, Lisa guided her through the steps, showing her how to move, when to jette, when to pile. She was the nicest, most helpful person a nervous freshman dancer could ever hope to run into.

"You're still too tight," Lisa had told her. "See? When you should be loose, your stomach is taut and tense, and your shoulders are set too high, and your legs too stiff. You can't get into it if you're not loose, darling, do you know what I mean?"

"I think so," Joanne had said, trembling in her leotard. It was very late and she was very tired. The janitor had already been in twice to find out if they intended to finish up soon so he could turn out the lights. "I just don't think I can do it."

"Sure you can," Lisa encouraged, slipping, her arm around Joanne's shoulders. She hugged affectionately, and the tips of her fingers slid around, came to rest on the edge of Joanne's left tit, snug under the leotard top – but not so snugly that she didn't know when it was being touched. "You know," Lisa went on a moment later, turning Joanne around to face her, "I think you have a fantastic body and it would be so graceful in motion, if only you were more confident in yourself. You're sexy, but it's the raw, untaught kind of sexiness. Do you know what I mean? Have you ever – you know? Have you?"

"A few times," Joanne confessed, "but I didn't really like it."

Lisa bent in, kissed the younger girl at the top of her forehead, just below the part in Joanne's chestnut hair, which she wore long and straight at the time. It was tied back in a taut bun this evening, because that's how, the other dancers wore their hair. Lisa touched the smooth, taut hair, and then she was busy unclasping it, shaking the hair loose so that it fell down Joanne's shoulders.

"That's better," Lisa purred, smoothing Joanne's hair with her fingers. She held up a lock, made it rub back and forth across Joanne's lip until the younger girl giggled nervously. What was Lisa up to, for God's sake?

"Come here," said Lisa, and she put her arms around Joanne, pulled her tight and warm, into an embrace. Joanne's tits rubbed Lisa just below her own, which were higher set, for she was several inches taller, and the sweaty tang of Lisa's boobs drifted up into Joanne's nostrils, made her twitch a little. "I want to do everything for you," Lisa said in that silky smooth voice of hers. "And first I want to show you how to get loose, really loose." She took Joanne's hand, and the younger girl was about to point out that they couldn't practice that way. But by then they were in the makeup room and Lisa had let go of Joanne, had let go and begun to unbutton the front of her leotard suit, slipping it off her shoulders.

Even while it was happening, Joanne could hardly believe that it was happening to her. She didn't know how to protest and, once things got started, she wasn't sure she wanted to protest. Lisa, naked, slender, almost breastless, skinned Joanne out of her leotards, settled her on the edge of a makeup chair, knelt between her legs, and reached into the younger girl's dark-furred crotch with both hands. "My God!" Joanne chirped as the fingers made first, sweet contact with her clit.

She'd never been touched that way before. Her boyfriends, the ones she had allowed to have sexual use of her body, had been so crude and direct. All they wanted to do was get their cocks into her, in her cunt, in her mouth, someplace they could fuck until they squirted their hot sticky goo. When she was a lot younger she'd sometimes experimented with her girlfriends, but it had all been innocent curiosity. None of them had really known what they were doing, and furtive games at pajama parties just seemed part of growing up.

And now – now she was stretching her legs, grasping wildly at the head that moved into her opened crotch, moaning as a frisky snakelike tongue began to wiggle across her slit, into her pussy, making clever love to her erected clit. "Oh. God, Lisa – pleeeeease!"