Denise Richards

Authors Note:

I don't know if anyone knows this, but Denise Richards is still a very sexy lady. I chose her for the role of the teacher because I think her sexuality (prevalent in most her movies) is very upgradeable.

*

"That performance was a great," the voice came at me forcefully through the din of the bar.

"Yeah?" I smiled, not bothering to turn around, "Was it enough to make you want to throw your panties on stage?"

It was a bold line, and it had worked once or twice on the young club-goes that sometimes spilled over into the bar.

"Yeah, made we wish I hadn't left them at home,"

That got my attention. I spun towards the mysterious, flirtatious voice and was struck dumbfounded.

"Ms. Richards? Holy shit!"

A look of confusion clouded her face, then dawning surprise, then finally reproach. She had been my twelfth grade Phys-ed instructor.

"Oh my god," she put her left hand to her face, trying to hide her embarrassment (no ring), "I can't believe I just told you I'm not wearing any panties."

"Hey, hey" I widened my arms in a distant greeting, "I'm not wearing any either. My psychic tells me it messes with my mojo."

A second of stone, then a breathless smile.

Oh god, she still had it.

Two years ago, back when I was eating paper bag lunches and playing Grand Theft Auto on my PSP when I was supposed to be doing math problem, Ms. Denise Richards had been my sexual fantasy. I don't feel weird to admit it now; I'm not even ashamed to admit that I also had a crush on my second grade teacher either. At the time they had both seemed very foxy.

Denise was different however, for she aged gracefully. I blinked, doing quick math. She was now 30. Very young. She had been twenty eight when she first came to our school, put on that school t-shirt that stretched tight across her tits and rod up her waist whenever she bent down to pick up a basketball.

Two years doesn't add a whole lot of ugliness to a person, especially if they know how to take care of themselves. And Ms. Richards really knew how to take care of herself. Her hair, which had always been one of the sexiest facets of her body, was still the same sort of sun bleached blond muted with darker strands. It fell from the part on her head like a great golden rush of softness, all the way down her shoulders and mid way down her chest. It had grown and as I gazed at it now I couldn't help but think back, like I was reviewing my favorite episodes of Friends.

Any style she wore (and she changed the as regularly as an ADD sufferer flips through channels) had driven me wild. On great days she blessed my eyes with what I called the cascade of loveliness, as she was wearing it now, and of coarse there was the 'off to the side part' with the hair tied up in behind her head. Sometimes she would go with a strait bun, and other times she would fan the hair out, making her look like a radiant wild bird. And of course there was the huge range of styles in between the two, but I don't want to get carries away.

Her bangs were teasing me now, letting me get just a glimpse of her dewy blue eyes. I always liked it when she pulled them up back over her forehead so I good get a perfect look at her face, with it angular, vibrant zeal. I always loved to see her eyes flash with excitement at either watching or participating in a competition. She had the kind of face which committed itself completely too every expression. When she smiled the stars shone and the moon radiated, when she was thinking hard storm clouds formed in her eyes and her thin and arching eyebrows furrowed like the edges of the Grand Canyon. And when she was mad lighting coursed and catapulted around her face.

In this awkward moment her embarrassment was so utterly total that I couldn't help but empathize.

"Do you want a hug?" I still had my arms open. She nodded, moving into my embrace.

"When did you get so tall?" She asked into my chest.

"I was always this tall," I made a point to put some hurt in my voice to carry on the moment. It worked. She didn't let go for another extra second.

It was more than her hair that looked radiant tonight. She had wrapped that knock-out body of hers in a little navy blue dress, the kind that hung loose and frilly but had a sash that hugged tight underneath her breasts. It was shoulder-less, strapless and quite almost butt-less.

Her breasts had still not gone out of style. In their pushed up and squished together state they looked fit to be a coffee table, or at the very least a soft and sexy shot glass holder.

"So you like Frank Sinatra?" I asked, putting my best smile on my lips.

"You were great, really." The flush of embarrassment was disappearing from her cheeks and chest. She was wearing a set of those really big loop wrist bands that looked like it was made out of plastic. It was blue and gold and matched the dress she was wearing and large hoop earrings that poked out of her hair. It also slid up and down her forearm as she kept reached to adjust that wild, temperamental mass of hair. Her smile was easy coming, as it always had been, beautiful white teeth behind wide nude colored lips. She had the kind of lips that were meant to suck cock, being large and soft looking, tight at the corners and melding perfectly into small, playful dimples.

My mind began to wonder if she was into sucking cock or if god's gift had been wasted.

"You look great," I appraised her with my eyes, "Gives 'Hot for Teacher' a whole new meaning."

"Solomon!" She gasped, but the gasp was not sharp that it implied she didn't like the compliment. "What are you doing these days?"

"I'm retired," I had to make my face serious when her eyes began to laugh at me. "I'm telling the truth, I've put a couple million in the bank and I'm set for life on investments."

"How?"

"I'm a master thief," I laughed, "what does it matter?"

"If you say so." She leaned against the bar, her hip swung out just so to appear cocky and seductive at the same time.

"Let me buy you something." I said, "To prove I'm not some desolately poor college drop-out."

"I could use a Ferrari."

"With legs like that, woman, you were made to walk everywhere," I scoped out her slender calves and the bits of her thighs that I could see. They were freshly shaved and as glossy as a playboy magazine. "I was thinking more along the lines of a drink."

"A drink." Her eyebrows raised and her lips straitened slightly at my forwardness.

"We're defiantly not in high school anymore, Denise, that's right, I said Denise; and in this place when a guy thinks a girl is hot and tempting he buys her a drink to see where his luck will end."

"A drink it is then," her smile returned in force, slightly lopsided in its coyness. My heart nearly soared out of my rib cage and laded on the bar counter beside us. She beckoned over the bartender and ordered for both me and her.

"Vodka and Red bull?" I eyed the drink she slid to me, "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Just drink it, Solomon." She smiled, tilting her own mystery concoction down her throat. As she finished her sip the second set began to strum their guitars and pelt their drums. She said something that was lost in the music.

"Come here," I coaxed her with my fingertip, and then tapped at my ear, "I can't hear you."

She must have though this ploy to get her closer to me, but something about my cheesy confidence was playing the right chords with her. She stepped (actually it was more of a liquid movement, like the kind slow steady motion warm honey makes as it drips off the lip of the pot) until I could lean into that great tangle of lustrous hair and hear her speak.

"I'm coaching a college swim team now," she said, her arm was laying flat across he bar, her hand curling somewhat around my elbow, "At Northwestern."

"Are you liking it?" I asked, and as she nodded I felt her nose brush against my ear. "It gets me out of the city and free access to a gym."

"I noticed." Upon saying this I could practically hear her smile.

"Have you always been this crazy for me," she asked, her hand snuck a little closer to my elbow.

"No," I lied, "I always thought you were a mean bitch in school. I didn't like to move my body and you made me."

"Aww, baby" she sensed my joke and poked me softly in the abs, "Oh, but you seemed to learn anyways."

"Yeah, well, watching you bounce up and down doing the jumping jacks was a strong motivator. I'm surprised you didn't notice every guy in your period was sporting wood whenever you were in action."

"Eww, Solomon." She laughed, "You guys were in high school."

"It's a terrible time for wood," I assured her, her hair was fragrant and soft against my cheek, "You just don't know what kind of effect you have on boys."

"Oh," she cooed lightly, flirting with being flirtatious again, "If they are anything like men then I have a pretty good idea."

She swayed her hips a little bit and then flicked a crop of her widely curled hair gently across her back, uncovering a wide berth of soft cleavage.

"Yes you do," I breathed, "Jesus Christ."

"Do you have a thing for older women?" She laughed, catching my eyes staring at her very youthful looking cleavage.

"No, just you," I said, "You're only nine years older than me." I reminded her. She obviously didn't like the reminder however and I was forced to drop my eyes to her tits again to cheer her up.

"You're such a cheese ball," she slapped my shoulder with that un-owned hand.

"I may have matured in looks, but not in heart." I agreed, "It's made worse by that dress you're wearing."

"Are you sure it's the dress, or is it that I told you I'm not wearing panties."

"Shit," I mocked my embarrassment, "I almost forgot."

"Like hell you did," She swayed a couple inches closer, "Lets get another drink."

She was so close, flying like a Mig in my airspace, weapons hot and guns a' blazing. Her face, which was a collection of seductive angles, scooping shadows and brilliant eyes were working hazards on my self-restraint. I kept trailing the smooth plains of her forehead, down the hair framing her face and finally down the sharp angle of her jaw to where her lips moved.

Oh god, I was in serious trouble.

We blasted out of the bar doors a little after one o'clock. The last band had butchered their chance at making girls swoon and had cleared most of the patrons out of the bar. Denise was a little tipsy, but still steady in her lace up, stiletto-heeled sandals. I had pulled the tie loose from around my neck and popped open a button, the suit coat I slung easily across my shoulder. She hugged my waist as we walked down the cool, well light northern avenue.

"I want to take you home," she offered, "Oh God; I can't believe I just said that."

"You're blurting out a lot. Next you'll tell me you're a stripper when you're not coaching swimming."

"Girls swimming," she nodded, pointing towards her car, "That's me."

"If I had known you were a terrible role model back in high school I wouldn't have voted to make you best teacher."

She gasped, remembering the awful popularity contest some of the more self-infatuated teachers decided to start, "You voted for me?"

"It was either you or my shop teacher who taught us how to make water bongs."

"Mr. Hill?" She laughed at the memory of that monstrous old man, "His nose hair was so long it grew into his moustache." She paused, looked at the car then gave up on it, "he hit on me all the time."

"Really?"

"They all did."

"Did you sleep with any of them?"

She slapped me playfully on the chest, her hand resting there on my pectoral a little longer than it should have, "Gross! They were all twenty years older than me. And Fat. And terrible facial hair. I hate moustaches."

"I have a moustache."

"No," she shook her head, great tumbling locks of curls exaggerating her disagreement, "You have a very well kept goatee," she traced a finger along the collection of short hairs on my jaw and upper lip. "To have a moustache you can't have any hair here," she petted my jaw, "Or here," her thumb rested on the bottom tip of my face, "on your chin."

I nodded, pleased with myself at tricking her into touching my face. Her finger, even though they were touching bristly hair, felt soft and warm and friendly, the kind of hands a lotion tester might have. "Can you get us a cab?" she said once we reached the corner of the Ave. A dark silent coffee shop stood behind us and she took a second to lean against the wrought iron post that heralded the sign for the shop.

"I live a block up that way," I pointed, "I can call you a cab from there,"

"Yeah right," she took my hand, letting me feel (and be blown away) but just how hands really were. "You won't call me a cab."

"You're probably right," I agreed, "But I promise to walk you to your car tomorrow morning after buying you breakfast at this shop." I nodded to the silent coffee shop.

She moaned her contentment with my plan and kept beside me all the way to my building. It was a nice place, approaching he entrance to the walk-up I pointed out the great stone archway that was decorated with flowers and old men with staves, I said that they guarded the entrance. It never actually had made me feel any safer at night but Denise seemed to like the thought.

"This is a good neighborhood." She was loosing her wobble with each passing step. I commented on this and she squeezed my hand, "I'm still going to sleep with you, don't worry."

My cock stiffened just a little bit.

For most of our night together my crotch had been blessed by that happy little tingle men get when they think about something sexy. The tingle was now starting to warm a little more into a quiet ache.

I opened the door and let her through first. She smiled, very timely and ladylike. For a second she marveled over the apartment, at the hardwood floors, the hanging pictures of Chicago's skyline and the artsy attempts at porn. She found the great black and white photo of a woman's curving ass to be quite amusing.

"It looks like I have some competition," she smiled, taking my jacket, slinging it in the crook of her arm and loosening my tie until the long band of fabric was loose from my neck.

"She's not a threat," I chided her, "At the most she'll give me something to look at while you blow me."

"Bastard," her soft palm grazed my crotch, flaring my senses, "If you think I'll let you talk to me that way th-"

I pressed my lips hungrily into hers, parting them without more than a whisper of my tongue. She was willing against me, my clothes dropped from her arm onto my toes. Her body, just a little shorter than mine, firm and tone and everything I wished for in a woman, was molded against mine, her breasts were like soft barricades beneath my chin. She breathed against me, I felt her belly and ribs expand when out lips parted and flatten to marvelous narrowness when we connected again.

She darted her tongue into my mouth like a slippery minnow, testing mine then tangling together and wrestling. Her hands slid possessively around my back, dipped low and cupped my ass.

Tense, thrilling electricity was pulsing through me, spurred on my each squeeze, each caress and each nibble of her teeth.

As we broke off for a long second to breath. She touched her lips curiously. I made a move for the wall, she held onto a belt loop though and I could only get so far. I could just get my fingers on the black frame of the offending picture and I gave it a flick.

It crashed to the floor and the glass fractured in the pattern of a spider webbed, but didn't break.

"You have my complete attention."

She glowed and looked around; I could only assume she was looking for my bed. "That way," I pointed.

She dragged me (it was only dragging because she was so much faster than I was) into the bedroom and fell back on the bed. For a sliver of a second the short frilly hem of her dress bounced up her thighs and gave me a peak at the delta of her womanhood. And then it was gone, even before I look for pubic hair.

She didn't so much as stretch as 'unfolded' her body along the length of the bed. I watched, my hand still clasping onto hers. Back arching, chest curving, legs folding over one another like the soft ends of a ribbon. She flung her hair back, golden curls splaying magnificently across my dark red sheets and pillows like a nighttime sunrise. The smile on her face was radiant and paralyzing like the headlamps of an oncoming train.

She gingerly raised one ankle to me, not high enough to cause her skirt to slip up her thigh but enough to catch the light from the open window. I touched the glossy, shimmering skin, took her calve in my palm and slid it (it was more of frictionless glide) down to her ankle. She giggled.

"This can't go much further if you don't get naked, Solomon," she observed with a wink and a playfully tilted smile, "unless you want me to rub you through your pants like a high school girl would."

"Fuck no!" I laughed, tugged at my belt and whipping it into my closet. Off my shirt came, and then in a breeze my pants crumbled around my ankles.

Denise leaned forward to hook a slender finger behind the waste strap of my boxers. "You're a liar!" She gasped, "What would your psychic think?"

"I can't please everyone." I shrugged. She grinned up at me and tugged downwards a little,

"We'll have to see about that." Further her hand dropped until my cock hung loosely in the hot air between us, "Holy fuck," her eyes flared wide with surprise, like flower pedals searching for sunlight, "you're huge."

"You'd think I would get tired of hearing that," I laughed, striking an informal pose, "but I don't."

Denise looked up at me from the bed, "And shaved, too." She set her palm to glide along the smooth reaches of my pelvis and the soft weight of my balls. "You have no idea how great this is." She pinched the hardening flesh with her thumb and ring finger, "and you're not even hard yet."

The manipulation by her fingers was quickly helping things, "getting there, Ms. Richards."

"Oh," she rubbed a little more playfully, "Ms. Richards? Are you living out a fantasy, Solomon?"

Every heart throbbing minute of it, "Nope. This is my average Saturday night."

She laughed pleasurably from deep inside her throat, "I bet you started getting all the girls once your secret got out." She couldn't take her eyes off her prize, "It's like a loaf of bread."

"Please," I pleaded lightly with her, "I like to be modest about it. Slide over."

I fell onto the mattress next to her; she bounced up with the sudden shift of the mattress and fell against my bare chest.

"One last thing," her voice was determined, her fingers quick at tearing off my socks. Once the fabric was gone her hands slid upwards from my ankles until they gracefully cupped my springy eleven-inch mass of hardening flesh. She let out a low breath, barley audible. "Some girls would say this is too big."

"Would you?" I didn't care how she answered; I was going to fuck her three ways to the weekend in any case.

"No, no," she said with admonishment, "I know just what do to with it. So smooth," her fingernails, painted with a opulent shade of blue, trailed sharply down the length of my dick, curling a little underneath the head and teasing it a little. She let it go and it flopped down on the bed. I squeezed hard, making an unpleasant face and managed to bring it back up level between us for a few seconds.

"Impressive," she smiled, and then fully wrapped her fingers around it from the top, pulling it down and slowly fisting me while her lips tasted my neck...

I was quickly getting so hard that she had a difficult time holding me down. She let my cock go as if it were a wild animal out of control and upward swing of the thing caught the end of her skirt and popped it effortlessly aside.