She stepped into the dark hotel room with trepidation. The door clicked shut behind her. She could hear her own breathing and feel her heart thundering in her chest.
“Are you here?” she asked in a whisper, voice wavering, revealing her nervousness.
“I’ve been waiting,” came the reply, the older woman’s voice husky.
“Can I put the light on?” Amy wiped sweaty palms on her black skirt.
“No!” The reply was stern and immediate.
From the concealing darkness came the sound of movement. Bare feet padded on a thick carpet, coming closer.
Amy couldn’t see anything. There was no light from even the faintest source. She swallowed hard.
The touch of fingertips on her right thigh made her jump. She gasped in surprise and tried to make out the woman she knew was before her, but she was hidden in the darkness.
The fingertips stroked her skin, moving to the damp crotch of her pale panties.
Amy took a deep breath. She shivered involuntarily as her knickers were slowly moved aside. A fingernail moved along her lips from bottom to top, pausing at her hooded clitoris for the merest instant.
A hint of warm breath brushed against her legs. She felt her skirt being raised and a strange kind of helplessness in the darkness.
The finger moved between her lips with a gentle pressure. They held it in their weak, moist grasp and Amy caught her scent rising. The finger pushed deeper. It slid inside and she leant against the door, finding comfort in its solidity.
Her breathing became heavier as the finger began to explore. The blackness of the room increased the sense of its presence, heightened its movements so they became all consuming. The sensations took over. In those moments her vagina was the center of her existence.
A second finger entered. She inhaled with pleasure and licked her lips. The hairs on her bare arms rose. She tingled. Then the touch of a tongue upon her thigh made her . . .
There was a knock on the lecture room door and Miss Spencer quickly turned over the story she’d been reading at her desk. Wendy walked in without waiting for a reply, displaying her usual confidence, something afforded her partly by the fact she was a mature student of thirty-eight, ten years the senior of Miss Spencer, her tutor.
“Did you like my work?” asked Wendy as she strode over to the desk in a pale blue summer dress, its hem not far below her waist.
Miss Spencer took in the bright and breezy creative writing student, gaze lingering on her shapely legs and the soft bounce of her large breasts, which were unsupported as usual. “It was . . .” She searched for suitable words as she felt herself blush, running a hand through her shoulder length, dark hair.
“Yes?” responded Wendy expectantly as she perched on the corner of the desk, her dress rising slightly.
Miss Spencer noted the wisp of black pubes which were visible and could see that it wasn’t just bras that her student didn’t wear. She averted her gaze, looking up to see that Wendy had noticed, a wry grin on her dark face, which was framed by tumbling ringlets.
“I haven’t finished reading it yet,” said the tutor after a pause, wanting to avoid talking about the piece of erotic fiction which had so unbalanced her. There had never been a student who’d written erotica before. It wasn’t that she didn’t think it had its merit, it was just such a surprise, as was its content.
“What do you think of it so far?” There was a mischievous sparkle in Wendy’s brown eyes as she regarded Miss Spencer, catching the scent of her mild arousal as it drifted from beneath her dress, the sight of her tutor looking between her legs having sent a small shiver of delight through her.
“It’s well written,” conceded Miss Spencer.
“Did it turn you on?” Wendy fixed the other woman with her gaze.
“I hardly think . . .” began Miss Spencer defensively. “Only, there’s not really much point writing erotica if it doesn’t turn on its readers.”
Miss Spencer felt her cheeks flush again. She had to admit the story had made her excited and she could still feel the heat between her legs.
Wendy’s grin grew. “I can see from your expression it did have an effect.” She slid forward a little on the corner of the desk, her dress riding higher, revealing more, her fleshy lips apparent amidst the dark pubes.
Miss Spencer glanced at them and felt her heat grow.
“Do you like what you see?”
“I . . .” The tutor was at a loss for words.
The door to the lecture room burst open and a knot of students bustled in, barely noticing the two women at the front desk as they playfully jostled, laughed and joked with each other while going to their usual seats.
“I’ll speak to you after class,” said Wendy, reaching out and squeezing Miss Spencer’s left hand with a show of affection, which made the tutor curiously excited. It held a potential, a promise for the future, which she hoped, would bear fruit.
Other students filed into the room, most in their late teens and early twenties. Wendy slipped from the desk and walked to one of the seats at the front of the room. She took out a writing pad and a pen, smiling at Miss Spencer.
After the final stragglers had arrived, Miss Spencer stood before the students and began to talk about the exercise she wanted them to begin during the two-hour class, an autobiographical piece which featured an event that had changed them forever. Once she’d given her instructions Miss Spencer sat back at the front desk and turned her attention to the stories she had yet to mark, well aware which one she’d last been reading. She turned the sheets of paper over and continued to read Wendy’s piece of erotic fiction, the heat in her vagina growing once more and her nipples straining against her bra beneath the cream top she was wearing.
When she looked up she saw Wendy looking at her. Miss Spencer’s eyes drifted to the view beneath the table. The thirty-eight-year-old student’s legs were open, the hem of her dress at her wide hips. Her index finger glistened as it pushed in and out of her vagina.
Miss Spencer could hardly believe what she was seeing and couldn’t tear her gaze from the seductive sight. She stared at the rhythmic movements of the finger as it plunged inside and then slid out, its pace and vigor increasing now she was watching.
Wendy savored the small, discreet audience, kept her eyes open and firmly fixed on her tutor. Her pulse raced as she masturbated for their mutual enjoyment. The orgasm came closer, her finger’s movement quickening further.