Ann Crouse - Runaround Stews

"Hello, Ann. Hello you delicious cunt. Hello, mouth sucker."

"Who is this? Who the hell is this?" The sleep drained from Ann Barot's beautiful eyes.

"Ohhh, poor baby bitch! Don't remember the voice, eh? But do you remember sucking my big cock, lickin' it so smooth with that educated tongue of yours? Remember getting it up that sweet ass of yours? I remember your voice, Ann. I remember it from the way you screamed with delight every time I cornholed you, and the way you moaned at the sweet taste of my prick, mmm, you used to say how yummy it tasted. Know what else I remember? I remember them big tits of yours, especially those big wine colored nipples… when they'd swell up nice and hard. But don't worry, you little cock-hungry nympho, you won't have to remember, 'cause soon now I'm gonna let you blow me again, and then I'm gonna fuck you nine ways from Tuesday, and I'm gonna lick you like a slurpee, eat you until you die from the heat of it and…"

Ann hung up the phone.

Ann thought how lucky it was that her husband wasn't home. Or was it? If he were here, he might satisfy that damp little cloudburst in her crotch, brought on, she had to admit, by the both lovely and filthy language of the obscene phone call.

She stroked her bare breasts lightly and the nipples came alive. The caller was right, her nipples were unusually large, and they did have the color of wine to them. The stroking finger trailed down over her flat tummy and into the slightly creamed hole in the nest of soft crotch hair. She masturbated furiously, then forced herself to sleep. After all, she had to be wide awake for her biology class the next day. She would think about that, and not the sound of that monstrous voice.

The next day, in class, she thought again of the phone call. The voice had a familiar ring to it, and she told herself half a dozen times, no, it just couldn't be him. The rotten sonofabitch, she wouldn't put it past him, even after all this time. He'd be just that much of a bastard, she thought.

"Has everyone made the first incision on the dorsal side?" Professor Jacobs stood with his hands clasped behind his back, pacing back and forth between the laboratory tables where students sat clad in white smocks in her Biology 101 class.

Gradually Professor Jacobs sauntered in the direction of one of his older but prized students. "Ann, is everything okay here? Any problems separating the layer of skin from the muscle? Takes a steady hand to use the scalpel effectively."

"No, no problems, Professor." She gulped and swallowed hard as her deft hand sliced into the muscle of the artichoke-colored muscle ripping and tearing under the pressure of her graceful hand.

Professor Jacobs marveled at the woman's precision of movement. He'd taught at the University for twelve years, and never had he witnessed a female as captivated by the subject of biology as she. There was nothing this woman was frightened of. The professor, his index finger resting on his lip and one arm still clasped behind his back, recalled how enraptured and mesmerized she had been when a live snake was passed around the classroom, disproving the popular belief that snakes are cold to the touch. One student, he remembered, had fainted as Ann passed the snake entangled around her arm stroking its head, smiling.

"We have night classes with special instruction for those few students who excel in the field of biology and anatomy. Each student is given private lessons in dissection, just in case you're interested."

Ann raised her blonde head. "That's very kind of you, Professor. But you see I'm only going to school part time and I don't think it's really necessary."

Professor Jacobs removed his bifocals. He'd seen Ann from a distance, walking around the campus, books under her arm. She was, by any standards, one of the best looking women on campus. Once he had hidden in the bushes lining the football field, watching her with hungry eyes as the women's physical education class went through its ritual of exercises to warm up for their game of soccer.

She had stood with long well-developed legs and thighs, their golden tan set off appealingly by the blue gym shorts she wore. Her hips were slim and yet her buttocks stood out in an attractive way, for her waist was even smaller. Her breasts were her crowning glory; their voluptuous fullness topped her slender frame in a way that brought a pain of desire to his groin.

On countless occasions, Professor Jacobs had watched her through binoculars from the private seclusion of his office in the science building directly across from the field. His mouth would fall open as she bent and stretched her body in provocative stances, her breasts moving under her white gym shirt, the shirt unbuttoned and open at the neck, revealing the beginning of a cleavage that was golden tan and sprinkled with a fine film of perspiration. Two lovely mounds of flesh jiggled and rippled as she played goalie, bouncing the ball back to her opponents by the force of her slender foot.

The binoculars were raised now despite the shaking of his trembling hands, as he focused on her long flowing hair reaching down to her mid-back in even swirls of waves. Her face was well tanned and exceedingly healthy looking, indicating she spent a great deal of her spare time in the sun. Her brown eyes were offset by high arched brows, giving her an appearance of intelligence and alertness that favored few women. The classic straightness of her nose ended in curving nostrils, introducing her full lipped red mouth which smiled a great deal of the time. He studied her chin now, as the ball slipped through her block and she grimaced at her error in judgment. What a firm jaw line she had! So determined and set.

Professor Jacobs sighed warily. No way could he make her even look at him, except of course to ask questions that he often had to consult textbooks for an answer. He had tried everything his shrewd intelligence could muster to find out more about this mysterious beauty. Once in desperation he snuck into the registrar's office under the guise of needing information on a failing student and flipping through the files of B's, found an "out" card in her place. Accepting this misfortune as an omen, he laid his binoculars and pretensions aside for a week, but the frustration kept him awake for nights on end. He would lie there, tossing and groaning all night beside his snoring wife. The image of her blonde hair blowing in the wind would not leave him to rest. She reeked of sex. Every time she moved he interpreted her motion as a provocative invitation to sex. The way she called him 'Professor Jacobs', so polite and husky-voiced. Above all it was her selectiveness, her concentration whether she was lighting a cigarette or kicking a soccer ball, an attention to detail that made him guess she'd been around. Nothing could distract her.

Professor Jacobs treasured a scrap of paper discovered under her desk in row 2, seat 4. Although it was only a curt message to a man named John, he kept it stashed in his desk drawer along with his assortment of pipes and tobacco, right next to the bottle of sherry and two glasses – just in case Ann Barot might consent to private consultation over her mid-term exam. He had the stage set…

Until, on a breezy fall day when he had followed her from the science building to the library, his hopes soaring with desire, she was intercepted by a tall, dark haired man who grasped her lovingly. The professor could sense his heart drop to his knees as he Blinked by the embracing couple who muttered something about 'going home and spending the night together for a change.' He watched them, his armful of test papers scattered to the wind as his lifeless arm dropped in desperation to his side, and they drove off in an embrace in a white MGB enshrouded in dust.