
an38852@anon.penet.fi (Steven Edwards)

"Tease"



Hi everyone,

Here is my latest offering. I hope y'all like it. :-)

In case anyone wonders: this is definitely fiction. I'm not a lecturer!
(I think)

Comments welcome, especially detailed criticism of my grammar or style. I want
to get better at this.


BTW: Could someone confirm that my short story "Bound and Pleasured" showed
up on alt.sex.stories a few weeks ago?  



Also, sorry if this is an inappropriate place to ask, but I am looking for
two stories that have been posted here (or on rec.arts.erotica) in
the past. I'm afriad I accidentally deleted my copies some time ago.

One is about a girl, her boyfriend, and a girl friend, who are discovered
in a compromising position by the girl's mother. She sends the boy
packing, and gets the girls to sit a "purity-test". She then takes them
to her club/gym ... and they have a frustrating time.

The other is about a boy who is one of the last to leave a party. He is talked
into playing a game a strip poker with a group of about 5 girls who are still
at the party. The action is described really well.

Sorry I can't recall the names or authors of the stories.

If you could please send me copies of these stories, I would really appreciate
it. (I don't have read access to alt.sex.stories)

thanks in anticipation,

Steve Edwards
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Copyright Steve Edwards, February 1994. 

Warning: The following is a work of fiction, which hopefully you will find 
erotic.  All characters and places are figments of the author's imagination 
and any resemblence to real events is purely coincidental. It may be 
distributed electronically and archived, but only with these disclaimers and 
byline attached. It may not be sold for profit, except by me. :-)


                                      Tease

                          "She plays the virgin in the light,
                          but needs no urgin' in the night."
                                                     Les Miserables


          1. Set Theory

            "Hi."

            I look up to see a girl standing in the doorway of my
          office. She is a first year student who is taking my set
          theory class. I think her name is Melissa. She is smiling and
          I smile back. 
          
          "Hello, how can I help you?" I'm in a particularly good mood, 
          I've just heard that I've had a paper accepted in a reasonably 
          prestigious journal, so smiling is coming naturally at 
          present. Of course, it is hard not to smile when a pretty 
          girl smiles at you. It seems that their smiles release 
          happy-particles into a male's blood stream. When you are 
          younger it can leave you grinning like an idiot; of course, 
          as a mature lecturer of twenty-eight, I am thankfully past 
          that stage.

            "Can I come in Dr Edwards?" she asks tentatively, her
          expression revealing nothing of her reasons.

            "Sure."

            As she enters I idly note her clothes: she is dressed in
          figure hugging blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt. The
          t-shirt is a little bit too taut. That is, too taut for my
          peace of mind, for it is stretched tightly over her breasts
          making them beacons for my eyes. I can certainly testify that
          there is nothing strange about these attractors. Normally,
          whatever the provocation, I'm very careful about ensuring
          that my appreciation of female students isn't detectable,
          there are enough pit-falls for a male lecturer as it is, but
          I could tell that this time was going to be extra taxing on
          my nerves.

            "It's Melissa isn't it?"

            "Yes." And I'm rewarded with another smile. Smiles like
          that could become addictive.

            Melissa takes a seat and launches into her problem, "I'm
          having trouble with your last couple of lectures. I don't
          really understand this `ZFC' set theory."

            There nothing like a chance to lead another soul to see the
          light of axiomatic set theory to take this mathematician's
          mind off more earthly matters. Thus engaged, my enthusiasm
          quickly leads me into explaining the necessity of putting
          naive set theory on a sound footing, and I start to describe
          the role of formal axiomatisation in this. I then proceed to
          enumerate the axioms of ZFC and explain where they come from.
          However, I'm not so blinded by my enthusiasm to fail to
          monitor the glassy-eyed-ness of my audience. I've bored far
          too many people to make that mistake.

            After a while I become aware that Melissa is licking her
          lips and looking at me strangely. It puts me off my stride
          and I lose my concentration. Unaccountably, I find myself
          blushing. Melissa just looks up at me innocently. I suddenly
          notice that her nipples are visible now, little mole-hills
          which have sprung up on her over-wise smooth t-shirt. Why
          would they have done that? I master myself, and bring my eyes
          back to my scribble of the white-board. Now where was I?

            Melissa supplied the answer, "You were just about to start
          explaining what the axiom of choice means," almost as though
          she could read my thoughts.

            I look up, and nearly lose myself in her twinkling eyes. Is
          she laughing at me? No, but she seems aware of the spark
          which has passed between us.

            "What I'm having trouble with is ...," she breathed, as she
          rose from her chair to stand next to me and point at the
          board.

            I confess, "I sorry I missed that." Her delicate perfume
          assaulted my nostrils as she stood beside me and suddenly
          parsing her sentence was the last thing on my mind. She
          repeats her sentence while stretching and pointing to a
          formula at the top of the board. I'm mesmerised by the
          resulting lifting and straining of her breasts. It is
          suddenly very hot and stuffy in my office. Now, what did she
          say again? Rather than reveal my inattention, I talk
          generally about the axiom in question.

            "Yes, but how do you know that sets have that property?
          It's a little bit arbitrary isn't it?" Melissa brushes
          against me as she points to part of the axiom, her breast
          squashing slightly against my arm.

            I retreat behind the safety of my desk before replying. It
          was getting much too difficult to think with sweet Melissa so
          close. Unbidden, I'm suddenly reminded of the lyrics of a
          song by The Police,

                  "Young teacher, the subject, of school-girl fantasy,
                   She wants him, so badly, that's where she wants to
                   be ...
                          Don't stand so,
                          Don't stand so,
                          Don't stand so close to me".

            They suddenly seem all too relevant, and I develop a new
          sympathy for the hapless teacher of the song. Of course, the
          real situation is that Melissa has been behaving above
          reproach, and there is no evidence that I'm the subject of
          one of her fantasies, it is only me who is having trouble
          with my baser instincts. In particular, my desire to pull her
          into my arms, crush her ruby lips under mine, caress her
          tantalising breasts, suck on her pert nipples, and fuck her.
          Another reason for my retreat was to hide a growing bulge.

            Did I catch her looking at my crotch before she raised her
          big innocent eyes and fixed them on my face? I can't tell.
          And is that sensual, surreptitious licking of her lips with
          her tongue a come on, or an unconscious action? Her eyes
          reveal nothing, they are simply questioning, awaiting my
          answer, but they sparkle.

            At that moment, a colleague, Andy, barges in, and reminds
          me that we have a faculty meeting this morning. Apologising
          to Melissa, I suggest that she comes back another time. Andy
          and I both watch as she leaves my office. Was that hip swing
          deliberately provocative?

            "She's a fire-cracker! What a cute ass!", Andy exclaims.

            I give a non-committal grunt, inwardly deploring his
          outspoken lechering and crudeness, although honest enough to
          admit that similar thoughts had occurred to me.

            We head off to the faculty meeting.


          2. Confession

            "How was your day, babe?" I ask Liz, when she picks me up
          after work.

            "Not too bad, but I did have a sad case of a fifteen
          year-old with a probable ectopic."

            Liz's work as a doctor is so much more dramatic than mine.
          My day consists of giving lectures, attending meetings, and,
          if I'm lucky, some time to think about my research. Her day
          consists of breaking the news to someone that they have
          cancer, or fighting to ensure a baby is born safely. There is
          no comparison. Not that I'd swap for any money.

            "Will she be all right?"

            "Probably. We should be able to save her ovary and tube.
          How was your day, love?"

            "Fine. Pretty normal, only I did have a boring faculty
          meeting this morning." I consider briefly whether or not to
          mention Melissa. Knowing Lizzy, I decide to tell her. "One
          high-light was this cute student who came to my office this
          morning."

            "Oh yes?" This is a playful hint of suspicion in Liz's
          voice.

            "Yes. She was wearing the tightest t-shirt over her full
          breasts you've ever seen," I exaggerate slightly. "She kept
          on giving me these seductive smiles, and she made sure she
          brushed her breasts across my arm."

            Liz's was wearing a mock frown. "Where her breasts as nice
          as mine?", she asks, taking a hand from the wheel to cup one
          of her beautiful breasts through her blouse.

            "Mmm let me see ... you know, I can't remember what yours
          look like. Perhaps I ought to remind myself." I lean over to
          start to undo her buttons, but Liz slaps my hand away.

            "Not while I'm driving you maniac!"

            I laugh. We've done some mad things while driving, but not
          on the short drive home from work in broad daylight.

            "So," Liz continues her cross-examination, "did she make
          you hard?"

            "Yes. I had to hide it on the way to the Faculty Office"

            "Ahh, poor baby," Liz laughs.

            Our easy going attitude is built, not on a promiscuous
          philosophy or life-style, but on trust. There is no way
          either of us would be unfaithful to the other.


          3. Revelation

            This morning I gave my First Years another lecture on set
          theory. I was acutely conscious of Melissa's piercing blue
          eyes upon me the whole time. However, I succeeded in ignoring
          her and not letting it interfere with the usual theatrical
          entertainment which I provide for them in a vain attempt to
          keep their interest for an hour. I couldn't help noticing
          however, how beautiful she looked, her face framed in her
          delightful blonde locks. Melissa came up to me afterwards and
          contrived to press against me again as she reached over to
          pick up on a copy of the question sheet I'd prepared for
          them. She was the only one who was this clumsy. I felt my
          cock harden slightly, but I couldn't prevent a pang of guilt
          at such a response when she looked up innocently at me and
          apologised for her clumsiness. Did she know my eyes were on
          her as she crossed the room? Was that roll of her hips
          natural, or was it put on for my benefit? If she
          was still a few years younger, she'd definitely be what they
          call "jail-bait". As it was, she was still dangerous enough.
          Liaisons between students and staff are so frowned on that it
          is dangerous to even think about forming one. Certain
          feminists on campus seem to have ESP for such thoughts.

            Not, of course, that I was seriously considering anything.
          Liz is more than enough woman for me. But Melissa provokes
          certain fantasies, however much they are obviously going to
          have to remain as fantasies.

            I successfully dismissed Melissa from my thoughts for the
          rest of the day, until, that is, she turned up in my office
          at six o'clock. I was still there as Liz was working late
          tonight. The hours that junior doctors work is criminal,
          especially given that one day it will be my life that a
          dead-tired doctor is looking after. Melissa knocked and
          entered.

            I immediately noticed that she was dressed differently; she
          had swapped her t-shirt for a blouse and her jeans for a
          skirt. The blouse was not as taut as her t-shirt had been,
          but it was more shear, promising, but not delivering,
          glimpses of paradise. Perhaps more importantly, its first few
          buttons were undone. Melissa wasn't indecent, but my
          imagination quickly made her so.

            Remembering my position, I quickly brought the subject of
          set theory up, hoping that it would detract me from her
          sensual lips, the sweetness of which called out to be tasted.
          It soon transpired that she had been doing some background
          reading, and that her questions were more sophisticated
          today. I mentally harangued myself for ever thinking her
          motives were other than professional. Surely this industry
          put the matter beyond question?

            Delighting in the attention of a interested and intelligent
          student, I soon found myself going beyond my lecture material
          and touching upon the Borel Hierarchy. Or was it that I kept
          talking so that I could remain in the presence of those blue
          eyes?

            After a while I noticed that Melissa was idly fiddling with
          a gold necklace, and that her toying had caused another
          button to slide undone. Unconsciously, while I continued
          talking, I stared at the start of the gentle swell of flesh
          that could now be seen. When I noticed what I was doing, I
          searched her face for an indication that she was toying with
          me as well, but found only innocent concentration. Liz must
          be right, my mind must be one track.

            However, Melissa's next actions caused me to question her
          motives all over again. She tucked one of her legs under her,
          in the process giving me a glimpse of her white thighs.
          Fidgeting, she managed to repeat this torture. Now, once
          could be an accident, but three times? Again her eyes twinkle
          with her natural vivacity, making it impossible to sure if
          her innocence is true or only assumed, a cruel facade. A
          facade I'd love to tear down and expose, along with her
          breasts, which I have come to believe are braless under her
          blouse.

            Of course, uncertainty prevents me from doing or saying
          anything. A wrong move could have her running screaming from
          my office, my career in ruins. My lusts are indeed "sickled
          over with the pale cast of thought" to a degree which even
          rivals Hamlet's tragic dithering. The ambiguity in the nature
          of his father's ghost was as nothing compared to the
          ambiguity of the nymph in my office. Is she the purist of
          angels, or the wickedest tease this side of hell? Scholar or
          wanton?

            Any action in such circumstances is, of course, perilous.
          Moreover, I never trust my reasoning when my erection is
          throbbing like this. Hence, I continue talking about sets,
          while sex is all I can think about. I manage to keep going for
          a few minutes, until Melissa decides to stretch. The
          shifting, thrusting, and straining of her gentle breasts
          within, makes her blouse a magnet for my eyes, and my
          thoughts dissolve like the mist.

            "Sorry, I'm getting a little tired," Melissa apologises
          into my pause. "I still have a few questions however. Do you
          mind if I come back and ask you some more questions another
          time?"

            It would take a stronger man that me to turn down such a
          request. "Of course not." I say, managing to keep all signs
          of arousal out of my voice. I hope.

            As Melissa walks out the door, the apt phrase "She's a
          seven sector call-out" from a favourite childhood
          science-fiction book springs to my mind. A beauty she
          certainly is, but is she also a saint or a witch?

            My answer comes as she turns in the door way, revealing her
          completely unbuttoned blouse and magical breasts. For a
          second we are both frozen, and then she is gone. I rush to
          door in time to see her hurrying down the corridor. 
          
          The wicked tease!
