Seneca 2

by Greg Ossog

narrated by Neal Scoville

(Continues from "Seneca 1")

(Author's note: as it turns out, there really is a Seneca 
College in Ontario. This story's college, in upstate New York, 
is entirely fictional.)

During my first day at Seneca I was interviewed, hired, and had 
sex with my recruiter; then I was assigned to a gym class where 
a dozen coeds, all of them cute, would run around wearing almost 
nothing; and for good measure, I fucked the swim teacher, who 
spends most of her time naked, and is willing to have me any 
time I want. But not everything is easy; not all goes smoothly. 
An early problem I had was a student, a senior named Claire 
Tillen.

I first saw Claire at the infamous gym orientation session on my 
first day here. Out of many beautiful women there, in shorts and 
T-shirts, Claire stood out as especially curvaceous, a tight 
pink Seneca T-shirt stretching to contain large braless breasts. 
She had straight black hair with brown highlights, falling down 
to her shoulders. There seemed to be a bit of Italian or 
Spanish, something exotic, in her skin and eyes.

She was one of the first to ask me a question, and hers 
concerned what experience I had teaching phys ed. (Answer, of 
course, was "none.") And when Sandrine stripped off my clothes 
in front of them, Claire was a picture of shock, amusement, and 
bawdiness as her eyes widened and her hand demurely covered a 
gasp. I had the sense that if a man she fancied suddenly grabbed 
her ass, she'd have the same expression: pretending to be 
outraged but welcoming the attention. But aside from being the 
prettiest in a good-looking bunch, the girl who usually got the 
star quarterback, she didn't stand out that much from the 
others.

The first day of gym class, ten of eleven students had showed up 
on time, and all but two were properly dressed: bikini bottoms 
and crop top, no bra. That day I had decided to allow amnesty, 
and with Sandrine's help I had gathered a few spare "uniforms," 
so those two didn't go naked. Each one was allowed to go in the 
locker room and change; more leniency. In the future, the 
students would strip or change right where they stood.

Even inside those strict rules there was a lot of variety in 
color and cut, which I liked. Some tops extended as far as the 
rib cage did, baring only the belly. A couple tops were cut so 
high that the bottom curve of each breast poked out underneath. 
This class would be a feast to the eyes. I still had yet to 
figure out what activities we'd be doing, but I had some ideas 
based on how the girls would look doing them.

The class had started some light stretching when Claire Tillen 
arrived, five minutes late, in matching dark blue sweatpants and 
a jacket. "Sorry I'm late," she said. "My earlier class is on 
the other side of campus." I told her that she couldn't wear the 
sweats in class.

"You've got to be kidding," Claire said, and didn't budge.

"Look around you," I said. "You know the dress code, because you 
were at the orientation. Just take off the sweats and we can get 
going." At that time I had assumed she was wearing the correct 
clothing underneath.

In a huff, Claire unzipped her fleece jacket, tossing it on the 
floor, and then quickly stepped out of her pants. She wore 
nothing underneath. Her pussy was shaved. Her breasts were 
lusciously large, perfect, nipples pointing directly forward. 
Another ten pounds and she would have started looking thick; as 
is, she was like a ripe peach that would never taste as good 
tomorrow as it would today. She walked right up to me. "That was 
all I had time to put on. Well, now I have nothing to wear, and 
I'm late too. So what's my punishment?"

Since it was the first day, I said, there's no punishment, and I 
brought some spare clothes. But inside the canvas bag, there was 
only one top left. I handed it to her and she put it on.

"Whose is this?" she scowled. "This is ridiculous." I recognized 
it as the modified top Sandrine had worn for me in the office. 
Where it was a racy fit for her, just barely covering the 
breasts, it didn't fit Claire's larger chest at all: an inch 
below where the top ended, her nipples jutted out; and from 
there down she was nude. That's the way she spent the class, as 
we did stretches, light aerobics, and some flexibility training. 
Her breasts were not really covered or hindered in any way; she 
might as well have been naked. And I couldn't stop peeking at 
her bare pussy and ass.

The next day Claire was late again, but she had the right 
clothes. For punishment, she had to give up one item, and chose 
to go topless. She had a sour attitude throughout the class, 
like a spoiled heiress denied what she thought was hers by 
birth. I tried to ignore it. One other girl, Dana, had the same 
punishment. She had pink nipples and a few freckles along her 
neckline. I decided this was the best job of my life.

The next day Claire was late, and in street clothes. Nothing she 
was wearing was legal, and she had to take everything off. So 
there was an infraction for wrong clothes, and an infraction for 
being late; and since she was naked already, she couldn't give 
up clothes. At a loss of what sort of punishment to exact, I had 
her run five laps around the gym. She gave me a death glare for 
that. I don't think she liked running. I liked watching her run.

The next three sessions Claire was late each time, and had taken 
to stripping off in the hallway and walking in nude. More laps 
each time, which she hated.

The Friday after that, I had finished dinner with Sandrine and a 
few other staffers and was walking back to my suite. I met 
Lorraine coming the other direction, dressed in (surprising for 
her) a Syracuse T-shirt. I had only ever seen her either 
completely naked, or dressed in only a towel. The shirt looked 
like it was from the set of clothes I had been provided. Before 
I could even greet her, she glared at me, furious. "There is a 
student in your bedroom," she hissed, and stamped past.

I couldn't think of anything to say, and I knew she wouldn't 
want to hear it. Shit. And I had a good idea of which student it 
was creating the problem.

In my suite, the bedroom door was wide open. The foot of the bed 
faces the doorway. On the bed was Claire, naked, head propped on 
two pillows, knees in the air, legs spread apart. She had one 
finger inside her pussy, and her other hand fondling a breast. 
"Oh, there you are," she said airily, sounding bored. "The naked 
swim teacher was in here. Are you fucking her?"

"Claire, put your clothes on. You need to go home."

She ignored that; she had her own points to get across. "I'm 
surprised, with all the girls here, that you'd be with her. She 
seems kind of mannish to me." She gazed at the breast she was 
caressing, as if looking for blemishes. "So -- Mr. Scoville -- 
I've been late several times for class, and you have me running 
around naked all the time, and your so-called punishments are 
just actually what we do in gym class anyway. So how many 
punishments do you think I have stacked up?"

At this she was actually waiting for me to answer. "I haven't 
kept count."

"I have ten," she said. "So when are you going to even things 
out? When are you going to spank me? Or fuck me, or something."

I was still standing in the doorway. "Claire, this is doing no 
good. Where are your clothes? Go put them on."

She sighed. "I don't _have_ any clothes here. I walked up just 
like this." She smiled wickedly. "And when anyone asked where I 
was going, I said I was going to Neal Scoville's room, where he 
was going to fuck me until dawn. Because he dreams of having my 
tits in his mouth. Because he can't stop thinking of my bare, 
smooth, wet cunt everytime I'm running around naked in his gym 
class."

By god, I hoped she was lying. It seemed a little to hyperbolic 
to be true. Otherwise, it was a scandal I didn't need. Even 
though the rules seemed to be different here. "Claire, you're 
done here. Just pick up a T-shirt or something and leave. You're 
getting nothing tonight. Go."

"Fine," she pouted, bounding out of bed. "Excuse me," she said 
sharply, and I stepped aside, letting her through the doorway. 
She walked out of my place as naked as she had walked in.

The next day I was in the south solarium, enjoying the balmy 
weather and studying. Claire came by in a crop top and bikini.
"I'm trying to find something you'll be happy with in gym," she 
said, still a little petulant.

"What you have there is fine," I said.

"I've got some other ones," she said. "I'll be right back."

This was the start of a little fashion show, as she ran back to 
her room several times to pick something else to wear. She 
showed a Brazilian mini bikini; then a mono (covering her 
breasts); and a sheer light blue one. Then she came out with 
what she called the "invisible" one.

The invisible bikini was barely there, and basically a mockery 
of a swimsuit. The top was composed only of straps. Picture a 
capital A on each breast, its feet connected to a strap leading 
around the back, and its head to a strap going around the neck. 
The A is hollow, not solid, framing a bare nipple. The bottom 
was even worse: a thong in back, and an empty hollow triangle in 
front, framing her bare pussy. In this suit, someone could fuck 
Claire without having to move anything aside.

That was the end of the fashion show, and Claire left.

It was still apparent that the problem would probably get worse. 
I wasn't getting through to Claire (and my meager experience in 
dealing with problem people didn't help); she was disrupting the 
class. Sandrine was a natural choice for a "higher-up" to 
consult, and we spoke over dinner, sitting on a balcony 
overlooking a grassy slope into the forest. This area was truly 
outside, not in a solarium. The sun was getting ready to set.

Sandrine had already heard much of what was happening in gym 
class; I got her up to speed on the rest, and told her about the 
episode at my suite. Fortunately, she had some insight.

"Claire has been here three years and has thrived," she said. 
"Honors student in high school, and nearly a straight-A student 
here. To anyone's viewpoint, she's got everything going for her. 
And she's had no conduct problems in her other classes."

This didn't make me feel better. "She only has a problem with my 
class?"

"She's had a sheltered life here. From what I've heard, she had 
a hard time growing up, some problems with the family. And it 
wasn't until she got past her early teens and into high school 
that she could really focus on good things. She's got a high 
aptitude, and when she put in the effort and got results for it, 
then everything clicked.

"When she came here, we could maintain the controlled, 
supportive environment and she continued to grow. That's 
primarily what this college is about."

I had known none of this. In this context, Claire's behavior was 
making a little more sense. "I guess in her mind, I'm the 
disruptive one then?"

"I think that's key," she said. "Since last year, the college 
has seen a number of changes, even before you arrived. And not 
everyone favored you coming here. But people here are 
well-mannered and they trust the administration. That's why 
there hasn't been protest."

"But Claire has taken up the protest, it seems single-handedly."

"I agree," she said. "I think your presence here offends her, 
not you particularly, but because you're a man. And she's acting 
out."

"How do you know it's not me in particular?"

"What has her attitude been toward you, specifically?"

"Let's see," I said. "Haughty; indignant; abrupt... like she's 
being unfairly singled out; that I don't have the right to 
discipline her. But in my room, there was also this sense of, 
she was daring me to do something."

"Do you think she's attracted to you?"

"No." I was pretty sure of this, even though a woman showing up 
naked in your own bed would make you think otherwise. "Bottom 
line is, she doesn't like me. And I don't really like her."

"You should give this some more thought," Sandrine said. "She's 
been a brat, and deliberately making trouble. But unless she's 
directly insulted you or your work, you shouldn't rule out that 
she may have a better opinion of you than she's letting show."

"How does that help me, though?"

"Maybe there's something she wants that you're not providing. 
And it's not just a roll in the hay. Even though she's 21, she's 
just a kid in a lot of ways. She's not that good about speaking 
with someone she's angry at." Sandrine folded her hands, and 
seemed to change subjects. "Now. You think she's cute, right?"

"Well, yeah." That was undeniable. The Claire problem wasn't 
entirely bad if a side effect was her running around naked in my 
gym class. And I remembered one episode I hadn't told Sandrine 
about: the impromptu fashion show outside the residence 
building. When I described the invisible bikini in detail, her 
eyes widened in horror.

"My god, I have never seen anything like that," she said. 
"What's the point? You can't wear that anywhere."

"Instead of covering up her 'naughty bits', it frames them," I 
said. "It's like she's nuder than nude. And still there's 
something she can take off. And I can't stop thinking about it." 
In a dream two nights ago -- I didn't tell Sandrine about this 
-- Claire wore that suit and I fucked her with it on. And then 
she peeled it off, and I woke up, with messy sheets, for the 
first time since I was in my teens.

Sandrine was engrossed now, as if I were a 20-letter clue in a 
crossword puzzle. "If Claire likes you, but doesn't know how to 
handle it or show it, she might act in the same way you're 
seeing. She'd be unsure of herself, and frustrated, and would 
lash out at you, who in her mind is causing the problem." She 
paused. "If she wanted sex, would you do it?"

"A personal question, don't you think? We're talking about her 
conduct in class."

"It's all part of the big picture. You can't tell me there's not 
sexual tension between you. Even if she's manufacturing it. 
Anyway, when she was in your room, what stopped you from just 
shutting the door and fucking her brains out?"

I was so surprised to hear this language from Sandrine that I 
probably blushed. "Well... it didn't feel right. She's a 
student, after all. And I felt like I was being played. So I 
declined." The truth was, I had thought about this over and over 
since that night. I obviously wanted her and I could have had 
her. And I grew lightheaded just imagining my dick inside her, 
my hands on her ass, my lips around a nipple. Why not then? 
Because, I think I had an instinct -- and it was a little 
clearer now -- that things would be more to my advantage if I 
just waited.

"You haven't slept with any students?" Sandrine said. "You know, 
it is okay. We're all adults. I mean I'm not going to be 
jealous; I'm not dating you. But all you need is their consent."

Lorraine was jealous of Claire, though; and I hadn't been able 
to talk with her since. She'd walk away, or swim to the other 
side of the pool.

There was one student -- Jodie Wing -- and she had definitely 
made the first, 10 moves? She had been a model student so far 
during the regular class. But the first day after I added 
wrestling to the activities, and Jodie had been stuck with 
Claire, she missed a class. Later that day, she called the 
office and said she had overslept. We arranged a makeup class, 
one on one, at 10:30 that night. Her preference. A little 
inconvenient for me, but not much.

By 10:30, that entire wing of the campus was deserted. The open 
side of the gym looked out into darkness, making the overhead 
lights seem especially bright. It was almost 10:40, 10 minutes 
late, and I was ready to give up on her, irked at her for 
wasting my time, when she finally showed up. She was wrapped in 
a bath towel, her hair was damp, and I could smell the residual 
fragrance of her shampoo. She left wet footprints on the gym 
floor. Even though it wasn't cold, she was shivering. "I'm sorry 
I'm late," she said, undoing her towel. Her bare skin was not 
yet dry. She was facing the floor, but eyes upturned at me. "I 
know I've been bad."

Her makeup gym class was not much gym and quite a bit of sex. I 
felt bad for comparing, but in many ways Jodie was a Claire 
Lite. She was more slender in every respect, and shy and 
reserved -- much too shy to show up naked in front of everyone, 
like Claire, but still bold enough to devise this plan that 
ended up with her offering herself naked, with no one else 
around. That took guts. I couldn't let her efforts go to waste. 
She had willfully racked up enough infractions and clearly 
wanted the sort of "punishment" I was meting out; and she was 
achingly beautiful. So that's why we did it many times -- on the 
mat, with her hanging from the rings, in the showers, and 
outside on the grass, in near total dark. The makeup class 
lasted nearly 3 hours. That was probably punishment enough.

Back to my conversation with Sandrine; her idea (a pretty good 
one) was that I should meet with Claire off campus, in a more 
neutral setting. After all, at Seneca she felt she could do 
these things with impunity; but some real-world experience could 
show her otherwise. I should have a good reason for doing so 
(but she wasn't sure on specifics). Perhaps she could get a 
different view of me other than sadistic gym teacher (Sandrine's 
facetious term) and I of her other than petulant exhibitionist.

That was the best idea I had heard, and brought that topic to a 
close. Sandrine spent the night with me, and we spoke of Claire, 
or school at all, no more.

A change of environment... it took a few days for me to devise 
and arrange something constructive; but now it was ready. On 
Wednesday, we had another typical gym class, with Claire 
completely naked for the nth day in a row, and in a storm-cloud 
mood.

After class, as students filed out, I called her name.

"What?" She spun around, annoyed. Class was bad enough, but now 
I was taking up her personal time.

"Can I speak with you for a moment?"

"OK." She tilted her head slightly, shooting me a patronizing 
look. As if she were doing me a favor, instead of vice versa.

"Class is over, you can put on your clothes."

"No, I'm fine just like this," she said, legs apart, hands 
behind her back, arching her breasts forward, defiant, showing 
everything.

If that's the way you want to be, I thought. And why was I 
helping her again? Any other student would have been more 
deserving.

"I've talked with other teachers here," I said, "and they say 
you're a top-flight student. Doing an excellent job in all your 
classes."

"All except this one." She just couldn't resist digs like this, 
even after I had given her chance after chance.

But I was not to be deterred, and ignored that. If anything, to 
doggedly press on with my own agenda was something I learned 
from her. "I have an associate who owns a prominent business in 
your field of study. He's willing to take on a limited number of 
students as interns over the winter break. This could be a big 
opportunity, and an advantage when you're graduating and looking 
for work. I told him I think we have a good candidate."

I could see her brighten up a bit as I spoke, but still her 
trademark diffidence prevailed. "So you need a resume? Or do I 
have to go in and talk to this guy?"

"He's very well off, so he usually spends weekends on his 
48-foot boat down on the lake. He says I could bring you down on 
Saturday and you could have a chat. Very informal and relaxed."

"A boat," she said. "That sounds... I like boats." (Well, now I 
know something that makes her happy, I thought.) "This is a guy, 
right? President of the company?"

"Founder and CEO," I said.

"This could be good," she said, almost resisting having to 
concede the point. "I talk to the guy, I get the position, and 
then we can all just chill on his yacht!"

"You talk as if that position is already yours," I said, unable 
to hide a smirk.

"Let's be realistic. My looks, my grades, and my charm, and that 
job is mine if I want it."

"Charm? That's a part of you I haven't seen." Now that I had her 
interest, I felt I could afford to tease a little.

She glanced down at herself, then raised her arms and turned 
fully around. "Seriously. What part of me haven't you seen, Mr. 
Scoville?" Then her hands were back behind her waist.

I chuckled, pleasantly surprised. Up to this point, she had 
offered no evidence whatsoever of a sense of humor.

She continued: "Last summer, I went to St. Maarten with my 
friend Debbie, who's actually as cute as me, if you can imagine 
that. And there were tons of girls our age, all tanned and 
siliconed and walking around in next to nothing. But still, we 
got the attention, and we could practically get guys to do 
whatever we wanted. I don't think we paid for a drink or meal 
the whole trip."

"But your gym teacher hasn't fallen under your spell."

"Well, you've got problems." But she was smiling. As Claire 
goes, this was almost flirtatious.

"Anyway, you'll need to turn on your rumored charm and otherwise 
act professionally. The spoiled naked brat act will not get you 
far." I regretted that verbal slap as soon as it came out, and 
expected her to retaliate. But she didn't.

Her next question must have been bothering her. "There are a lot 
of smart girls here; why are you doing this for me?"

"Well... a lot of people wouldn't have to put up with the way 
you are acting. They would just push you aside. Or they'd just 
use you; fun sex until they got tired of it. But I _have_ to 
work with you. I don't know much about teaching, but I do know 
my students should be better off for the experience, otherwise 
the I haven't done any good. I care about everyone, including 
you. It just happens that you need more work than the others."

She shook her head and looked at the floor for a few moments. 
Something was sinking in. She looked up again. "What should I 
wear? Maybe the sheer blue one?"

"No, no, no. In fact, none of the ones you showed me. They'll 
give him the wrong impression of you... or at least a correct 
impression that you'll want to conceal anyway." She smiled at 
that. "What you should wear is a one-piece -- not a monokini but 
a true one-piece swimsuit. There'll be waterskiing which you 
should try out. Taking initiative, team participation and all 
that. Have some nice sandals that can still get wet. And have a 
windbreaker in case it gets chilly."

"What time should I be ready?"

"I'll pick you up at your elevator at 10 am. We're borrowing 
Sandrine's Jag convertible."

Again, she was silent for a while, looking me in the eyes with 
an unreadable expression. She extended a hand, and I shook it. 
"Thanks." she said, awkwardly. "Thank you."

She walked away, only to turn on her heel and walk briskly back 
to me. She gave me a very quick hug, and a kiss on the lips, too 
fast for me to return either one. "Thanks," she said, one final 
time, and walked off; and I stared at her lovely naked bottom 
until she was gone.

I stood there, the feel of her arms still around me, and the 
taste of her still on my lips. Her kiss had been quick but 
moist, her lips apart, briefly parting mine with her tongue. 
Very sensual; not the sort of polite kiss one gets from 
acquaintances at parties. Maybe it was the only kind she knew 
how to give.

There were two gym classes between then and the weekend; and for 
both Claire wore the correct uniform. On the first day she was 
even on time, and was officially fully clothed for the first 
time, however scantily. The next class, she was two minutes 
late, but out of breath from running, obviously trying to be on 
time. She apologized, to the class as well as me, and took off 
her top. Not to say her disruptive side was gone -- she was 
still defensive at times, conceited at others -- but she was 
making the effort and it was gratifying.

That Saturday morning was beautiful; I had taken an early 
morning run in the crisp air. It was going to be hot outside, 
but not sweltering. Claire was also in a sunny mood when I 
picked her up. Under an open green nylon windbreaker with a 
flattened hood dangling in back, she wore a dark blue Brazilian 
cut string bikini. She must have seen my eyes widen. I never got 
tired of looking at her.

"I didn't have a one-piece," she explained. "For swimming, I 
don't wear anything at all anymore. This is the more 
conservative suit I have." I conceded that she had done the best 
she could. It's not like we had a Macy's on campus.

As our car left the underground garage and followed the main 
drive, it felt like vacation already. Claire was more animated 
than I had ever seen, making small talk for the first time: her 
roommate's trip to New York, her pet cat, a book that her mother 
sent her. I mainly listened; it seemed as though she needed to 
both unwind and get acquainted with me for the first time. As 
for me, I was fighting a growing infatuation with her, and 
losing. Beautiful, smart, and now good-natured; no guy had any 
defenses for this.

We stopped briefly at the gate, chatting with the guard, who 
probably wondered what I had planned for this bikini-clad 
student but was too professional to pry. I did reassure her that 
we'd both return to campus later that night.

Claire was pensive after that, silent until we were out of sight 
of the gate. Then she simply said "Good", peeled off her 
windbreaker, and tossed it in back. Then she leaned forward, 
undid the string, and did the same with her top. She was untying 
the strings at her hips when I had the presence of mind to say 
"Claire?" but she kept going, and then everything was off. She 
stretched her arms languorously, then ran her hands through her 
hair. "Isn't this great?" she said.

Of course it was; she looked hot as ever. But now I had a naked 
coed riding shotgun in my convertible on a public road. "Claire, 
what are you doing?" After all the progress she made, this 
seemed like a huge step back.

"Don't worry," she said, taking my hand. "No one's out here." 
Which was true: I hadn't seen another vehicle since we left the 
parking garage.

"Here," she said, placing my right hand on her thigh. This was 
OK; with an automatic, I only needed one hand to drive. And if 
she had simply said pull over and Let's Fuck, I would have done 
that too.

I could only take glances at her gorgeous nude body, as the road 
had a number of curves as well. But I could tell enough by feel, 
as she spread her legs and placed my hand on her slit, which was 
already moist. I exploringly stuck af inger inside.

"Are you always this wet?" It was a rude question, but I was 
caught offguard by the situation. The old Claire would have 
probably slapped me; but then unzipped me and jumped on top. 
Maybe I didn't know.

But she took no offense. "Sometimes. I knew as soon as we were 
off the grounds, I wanted to take everything off. So I was wet 
just thinking about this. And in gym class, I am. Every day." 
She sighed. "I wish there was a way you could do this to me in 
gym. If you just knew."

Again, a new side of Claire. I kept going and she gripped my 
arm, swaying a bit in her seat. Neither of us noticed the pickup 
truck coming around the bend toward us until it was a little too 
late. "Car!" she screamed. Fumbling blindly in back for her 
jacket, she finally found it, but couldn't get herself 
completely covered before it went past. The driver and his 
buddy, both middle-aged men, hooted and hollered, but kept 
going. As for Claire, she was badly shaken.

"That's going to happen... we're outside now, and getting closer 
toward town," I said.

"I didn't think of that," she said, her body rigid, in the same 
position she had when the truck went by. Her jacket only covered 
one breast and most of her torso. "I don't know why, I'm sorry, 
I was just. I don't know."

"You should put your clothes back on."

"We're still out in the country, right? How long until we get to 
town?"

"Probably an hour."

After a few deep breaths, she was calmer, and folded the 
windbreaker at her feet. "This feels so good... you look out for 
cars. The moment you see one, you tell me." She put my hand back 
and I started fingering her again. It wasn't long at all before 
she was back in the mood. And me... I had a boner straining my 
swim trunks. The way she moved, her bare skin, her warmth, her 
wetness, her attitude... just the whole thing. Being naked was 
how she belonged. A girl that beautiful was best left uncovered.

She was ramping up, writhing in the seat, moving up and down. At 
times, her nails dug into my arm and she moaned. Her eyes were 
closed now. An odd thought struck me that she wasn't wearing a 
seatbelt, and if I didn't hold on she would bounce out.

Another car was coming, but this was no time to stop. The people 
inside were too shocked to do anything except stare out the 
window. And what Claire, her eyes closed, didn't know, wouldn't 
hurt her.

She came with nearly a scream, and all her muscles went rock 
rigid, nearly crushing my hand between her legs. Eyes still 
closed, she leaned back, leaving my finger inside for a while. 
Another car went by. I didn't tell her.

"Oh, that was wonderful," she gushed, taking my hand out and 
licking the tip of my finger, tasting herself. Then she lustily 
sucked the entire finger, and the one next to it, getting every 
last drop, and it was heavenly, so warm and wet, and my dick was 
so hart it hurt. Then she moved my elbow up, turned my forearm 
around, and placed my palm on her left breast, moving it around.

Then she opened her eyes, and they shot wide open: a semi, about 
100 feet away, coming the other way. "Oh my god!" There was no 
time to cover up at all; another second, and it was past us, 
with a honk of appreciation.

"Dammit!" she said, reaching for her bikini and jacket. "How 
many people saw me while I had my eyes shut?"

"They're all strangers," I tried to reassure. "You'll never see 
them again. Besides, weren't you on the nude beach just last 
summer?"

"We never ever took off our tops. Though we might have led some 
to believe we would. The only guys who have ever seen me even 
partly naked are my boyfriends. Well, and you. And now fifty 
hicks in pickup trucks."

Now she had both halves of the bikini on, and stared out the 
side window.

After a while, I decided I had to apologize. "I used bad 
judgement back there. I didn't think about how you might feel if 
you got caught."

She turned back to me. "It was my fault. I wanted it so bad. And 
it was such a thrill. But getting caught just spooked me." She 
slipped two thumbs under the straps of her top. "And I still 
really want to do it again."

"We're getting closer to town," I said. "There's just going to 
be more and more traffic."

"I know," she said. "I'll keep it on." She took my hand, slipped 
it inside her bikini, and once again I had a finger in her. Then 
she covered her lap with the jacket. "There."

"Now this is naughty," I said, enjoying it.

"Mmmmm," she agreed, caressing my arm, kissing my shoulder. 
"When we get back, you're spending the night in my room."

"I'm not allowed there." I stuck another finger inside, and she 
jumped as if she had touched a bare wire. "Only place on campus 
I'm not allowed."

"Then I'm coming to your room," she said, almost a whisper now, 
breathing hard.

"I know what," she said. "Hold on." I didn't know what she was 
doing, until she untied her bottom again, lifted her butt off 
the seat, and took it off again. So she was bottomless, but the 
jacket hid that fact.

"We're almost in town," I warned.

"If someone gets to close a look, you just move your hand." Her 
bikini had stretched enough to allow easy access, but it was 
even better without it. And to be fingering her pussy in public, 
right in front of people potentially... it seemed like a thrill 
to get away with it.

I took my time, teasing; when it seemed she was at the brink, I 
would slow down a bit, prolonging it. When she came, we were 
stopped at a traffic light, with pedestrians crossing right in 
front of us. I think it took every effort she had not to make a 
sound, to hardly even move, except where every muscle tensed up; 
she couldn't avoid the shiver then.

"My god, those people were looking right at me," she said 
softly, teeth clenched, like a ventriloquist. "They _had_ to 
know what was going on."

"Well, I don't know," I said. "They might be noticing the fine 
car, the beautiful girl in a bikini, the guy's hand in her lap 
underneath the jacket..."

"This goddamn fucking top," she said. "I wish I could just leave 
it off."

(Continues in "Seneca 3")

  
seneca2