Author: Martin L. Fletcher
Title: Moving Day
Summary: An erotic encounter with MaryAnn on moving day
Keywords: M/F, bdsm, cons, oral
ONE
When I left my office I found MaryAnn waiting for me, watching the door expectantly. She was leaning back with one foot propped against the wall, hands in her pockets.
She was probably ditching another staff meeting.
Instead of the office-lady outfit she wore when 'auditing' one of my classes, she had on a short, fitted leather jacket that hugged her trim waist, and a tight satin blouse. She had unfastened the top buttons, revealing the swell of her striking cleavage and giving a teasing glimpse of the scalloped edge of her bra. Skintight leather jeans showed off her shapely ass and elegant legs.
She saw me and broke into a mischievous grin.
"Darling!"
She jumped up and threw her arms around my neck, and wrapped her legs around my waist. I reflexively dropped my briefcase and put my hands under her ass. She put her face close to mine so that I was looking into her dark eyes and kissed me passionately, purring contentedly as our tongues met.
After a long minute she jumped down and stood gazing up at me, her hands resting on my shoulders. She cocked her head and smiled expectantly. "Miss me?" she said.
"If you're here about extra credit, Miss Carter," I told her, "you'll need to come back tonight. Say around nine o'clock."
In a smooth dancer's motion she leaned in, went up on tiptoes, and bit my ear gently. "Bastard," she whispered, giggling.
"Let's get out of here," I smiled, "before the Dean walks by."
TWO
As we made our way out of the building, MaryAnn hugged my arm possessively.
"I missed you last night," she pouted, glancing up at me.
Since MaryAnn and I had taken her sister Becky as our personal slave, I had been spending most weekends and nights at the house they rented. But since it was the end of the term, I had been at my office late last night getting final grades in.
"I get restless when we can't sleep together," she continued petulantly, "and it's so much more fun to play with Miss Priss when you're around. You think of the most delicious things to make her do."
I looked down at her and grinned. "So move in with me."
She looked up at me, startled, her mouth a round 'O' of surprise.
"And don't pretend to be so shocked," I laughed. "You've been dropping hints for the last month that you wanted to start living together."
MaryAnn flushed and stuck out her tongue. "Aren't you just so smart."
THREE
Moving day.
The moving company had dropped off MaryAnn and Becky's furniture, and we had left Becky in the room designated as her 'slave quarters,' unpacking her things. MaryAnn was following me around the house, peeping in the various rooms. She had on a pair of cut-off denim shorts that hugged her shapely ass, and a tight crop top that showed off her slender midriff and marvelous tits. Her auburn hair was tied back in a ponytail with a length of bright red ribbon.
After touring the rest of the house, I led her down into the basement. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and gasped. "Oh. My. God."
The house had been built in the nineteen-seventies, and I had bought it from the original owners when they moved into assisted living. They had owned the house from their twenties onward, and had, at some point, converted the basement into a 'rec room.'
It was a veritable museum of seventies kitsch.
The walls were paneled in wood, and the floor was wall-to-wall shag, in the weird mustard color popular then. There was a wet bar, a disco ball, and even a full-sized pool table--the original owners probably hadn't been able to sell it. And, of all things, a stripper pole mounted on an elevated platform.
They must have had some incredible parties back in the day.
The room was such a perfect time-capsule of the era that I didn't have the heart to change it when I renovated the house. So I had left it intact, only replacing the worn carpet--after spending months tracking down several rolls of authentic Harvest Gold polyester shag.
MaryAnn looked at me and laughed. "Wow. Just wow."
"You were expecting something else?" I smirked.
She slipped her sandals off and stood in her bare feet, giggling as she curled her toes in the shag carpet.
After walking around the room and examining the period-correct furniture, she stopped in front of the couch and peered inside the cardboard box that was sitting against one arm. She chuckled and lifted out a pair of handcuffs, raising an eyebrow at me.
"I thought this would be a great room for playing with Miss Priss," I said, "so I brought down a few things we might need."
She giggled and replaced the handcuffs in the box, then continued her circuit of the room, stopping in front of the stripper pole. She grinned over her shoulder at me, stepped up on the platform, and jumped onto the pole, wrapping her legs tightly around it. After a few twirls, she thrust her legs out so that she was clamping the pole between her bare thighs and leaned toward me, arching her back so that her head was upside down and her ponytail nearly touched the floor.
I looked down at her, slowly clapped my hands, and gave a slow whistle.
She grinned up at me, lifted her torso upright again, and hopped down off the pole.
"Where did you learn how to do that?" I laughed.
"How do you think I paid for graduate school?" she smirked, sauntering up to me and putting her arms around my neck.
"You're a woman of multifarious talents," I said.
"What big words you know, Mister."
