On the wooden floor of my office, a young Asian coed lies face-down in utter sexual exhaustion. Her straight jet-black hair clings to her sweat-covered innocent face and petite naked body. The bikini lines on her golden-tanned skin contrast with the scarlet palmprints that cover her rounded buttocks and the backs of her upper thighs. From her dilated anus, my recently deposited semen lazily seeps to mingle with her sexual juices from her sweet little love box. Her name is Ivy, and she is my student assistant - and more specifically, my teenage fuck-slut.
Ironically our unique relationship began about three months ago when I became the Sex Equity Compliance Director for the State's community college system. Because my work involved a lot of confidential complaints, investigations, and report writing, I was provided with a converted grounds keeper's cottage that was secluded in the far corner of the system headquarters' sprawling grounds. While within walking distance from the main compound, my place provided privacy, allowed me to come and go as I pleased, and to burn the midnight oil to meet reporting deadlines and other contingencies.
Another perk of my position was that I was allowed one student assistant to help with the general clerical duties and light custodial functions. Carole, the assistant that I had inherited from my predecessor, informed me soon after I assumed my position that she would be graduating in a month and that if I didn't mind, she'd begin interviewing for and training her replacement.
I was so consumed with settling into the new job that I gave Carole free rein in selecting her successor. I just told her to pick a "keeper" who would follow orders and be in it for the long haul. I was nevertheless surprised when I was introduced to Ivy a week later.
"Cute as a button" popped into my mind when I first lay eyes on Ivy. She was an eighteen-year-old Japanese-American who was petite with large twinkling almond eyes behind her funky granny-glasses and a toothy grin that spoke volumes of her bubbly eagerness. Standing at four-feet-ten-inches in height, Ivy had a trim figure as readily seen in her flat stomach, trim waist, narrow hips, firm buns, and shapely legs. However, what immediately stood out (literally and figuratively) about Ivy was her enormous breasts that dwarfed her diminutive frame.
Ivy's unbelievable 32D boobs were an erotic blend of youthful firmness, sensual softness, and jaw-dropping fullness. Her globular mounds jiggled enticingly and sorely stretched the thin material of her thin top. Each was capped with a puffy dark pink areola from which a thick cylindrical nipple jutted up and out to give Ivy's breasts that sexy upturned look.
I discovered this when shortly after our introduction Ivy bent over in front of me to file some reports given to her and amply demonstrated that she loved to go braless. There before my startled eyes were her mouthwatering mammary delights, obscenely dangling and swaying with their burgundy nipples fully extended. It went without saying that this sight of blatant sexuality was indelibly burnt into my memory as I struggled to maintain a wavering cool, calm and collected demeanor.
The semester quickly ended and Carole soon graduated, leaving Ivy and me to get to know each other better over the course of the long hot summer. Since the temperatures soared in our poorly airconditioned cottage, we took to dressing quite casually and comfortably, keeping an extra set of clothes on the side just in case there was some official business that had to be conducted.
For Ivy, her normal attire consisted of extremely thin tight tops that clung obscenely to her massive but seemingly gravity-defying tits. Her short shorts barely hid her crotch and failed miserably to cover the lower curve of her butt cheeks. Although Ivy didn't appear to be flaunting her physical charms, her massive bosom, tantalizing nipple bumps, scantily-covered crotch, and displayed buttock cheeks were terrible distractions as we worked side by side in our cramp cottage. I never knew whether the heat that I felt was due to the summer temperature in our cabin or from the friction caused by me frequently popping a boner in my loose slacks.
As we worked together, we freely shared our personal lives and experiences. I griped about my recent divorce settlement with my "blood-sucking" ex-wife and how I was so destitute that I could only manage to afford a small rental not far from the system headquarters. Given my total lack of any kind of social life and all-consuming professional demands, I bemoaned having to pay rent since I spent more time at work in my office cottage than at home.
"Hmmm, Jim, if you don't mind me asking, what was the reason for your divorce?"
"Ha! My wife, that uptight frigid bitch, said that my 'sadistic kinkiness' was too much for her to handle," I flippantly but honestly replied. I was surprised when Ivy instead of being shocked, just looked at me in a new way that I couldn't quite place at the time.
Ivy, it seemed, had relationship problems of her own. "Don't tell anyone, Jim, but although I have a steady boyfriend, he isn't 'up to par.' When I asked what she meant, Ivy coolly said, "Shaun is constantly complaining that I'm...over-sexed...since I got on the pill. He claims that my constant sexual demands are taking him away from his friends and distracting him from playing his video games with them..."
"What a blithering idiot!" blurted out of my mouth before I knew it. "Why don't you just dump the loser?"
"I've been thinking about doing that. However, I won't do so until I've found a good sexual partner." Realizing what she had just said, Ivy looked at me defensively before uttering, "Hey, I know I sound like some nympho, but this girl has some basic needs. I mean that I need to get laid every so often - even if it's only halfway decent fuck. Shaun says I am too bossy - but - when I know what I want, I'm just used to getting it. You know what I mean?"
New lewd and lascivious thoughts about my student assistant were added to the powder keg of my mind and that between my legs. Although I didn't want to admit it as I struggled to hide my bulging erection, the situation was primed and just waiting for the right spark to set it off one hell of an explosion.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
That spark came on the Fourth of July fireworks celebration that took place over the city. Ivy convinced me that the best vantage point to watch the show was on top of our cottage's roof. In the ambient light of the city and the bursts of the frequent aerials, we kicked back on a blanket, relaxing with wine, cheese, and more wine in what started out as an innocent evening.
However, the air was still and muggy without any hope for a cooling breeze. Perspiration beaded and dripped from us, making your clothes cling miserably to our already over-heated bodies. The wine we consumed, the invisibility of our rooftop perch, and the surrounding darkness quickly served to loosen our spirits, our inhibitions, and then our clothing.
