A 10

When the pressure's on I can never seem to come up with any ideas. This is the thought tip-toeing through my mind as I leave the last Creative Writing lesson of term. The assignment's due first week back meaning I've only got three weeks. What am I going to write about? Just time for a quick cigarette outside the main entrance - cold wind whipping against my bare thighs, why did I wear such a short skirt on such a cold day? - before rushing inside for Late Victorian Fiction.

It's one of my favourite lectures but, as usual, I'm late. It's a small, intimate class so I've no choice but to sit near the front. I sidle into the room sheepishly and slide into my seat. Sarah (the lecturer) looks at me, noting my lateness, but not seeming to be bothered by it. Looking down I notice that, with the cold, my nipples are protruding quite prominently through my top. I glance round, embarrassed, to see if anyone's noticed; Sarah catches my gaze and smiles slightly.

"So," she's saying, "themes of female power and, indeed, sexuality, are common in the Fin de Siecle novels. There's a strong lesbian subtext in many of the pieces we've looked at, which was seen as dangerous at the time of writing." I feel quite relieved as this is the topic I wrote my essay on. I smile Sarah when she looks my way again.

I get on well with Sarah. I'm a bit older than the rest of the class so we're quite close in age. I'm twenty-six (considered a 'mature student,' a label I'm not too fond of) and Sarah is in her early thirties, teaching and working towards her PhD. Our relationship's purely that of teacher and student, but I feel like she thinks of me differently than the rest of the class. It's like we're closer to being on the same level.

It's true though that some of the students are scared of her. She almost looks like one of the characters from the Gothic novels we're studying with her jet black hair and pale skin. She has an air of confidence and authority that exudes power. I can see how that could be a bit daunting to some, but her confidence makes me feel confident too. She also has the longest fingernails of anyone I know - like elegant black talons - and I find them quite amazing.

"I'm pleased to say," announces Sarah, "that everyone passed the essay assignment. As you know I'd like to see each of you separately for the Individual Feedback. I'll just read out the appointment times for you now." I'm hoping that mine will be early as I want to go out clubbing after. I'm disappointed to hear that my appointment is the very last: eight o'clock this evening. I'll have to change my plans, I think. I wanted to get the meeting out of the way so I could go home, get dressed up, have a bit of a drink, and meet the others in the pub. I guess I could just get ready first, go to the session in my 'going-out clothes' and head straight to the club from there. Why not? The feedback meetings take place at Sarah's house, which I know is nearer to town than my flat. It could work quite well.

The lesson finishes and the class shuffle out, chatting, excited that the term's finally finishing. A few of us arrange what time to meet for drinks later. Bending down to pick up my bag I think I notice Sarah looking at my smooth, bare legs, but when I look round she's straightening her papers and packing up. I head back out into the cold, light another cigarette, and walk briskly home to get dressed up for the evening's revelry.

* * *

After a quick snack and a hot shower, I pour myself a vodka and tonic, put on some house music, and start to select my outfit. It's a relaxed club we're going to later, but I'm feeling good about finishing term so decide to get properly dressed up. I've also just bought some gorgeous white patent six-inch heels and I'm determined to wear them. I choose a stretchy little white skirt and a skinny white t-shirt with angel wings printed on the back. I slip into a white g-string that won't show too much through the skirt and decide to go without a bra - my breasts are quite small and really firm so I'm lucky enough not to need one. My hair stays the same as always: a short bob, straight fringe, bleached platinum blonde.

I take a long sip of vodka and dance in front of the mirror a little, pleased with how my slender body looks as a wriggle around. I keep myself in good shape at the gym, and guiltily the tanning salon, and I'm proud of the way I look. I put on light eye-shadow, my trade-mark thick, black eye-liner, and shiny, candy pink lipstick and I'm all set. I light a cigarette, blow myself a kiss into the mirror and phone a taxi.

* * *

I arrive at Sarah's house just as the previous student is leaving. It's my friend Carly who I'm meeting later. We kiss hello and I compliment her on her outfit - she looks gorgeous, as always - and I knock and wait as she leaves. I start to feel a little apprehensive. Maybe it's because I'm about to get my essay grade, maybe it's something else. After a minute I knock again, and Sarah opens the door smoking a cigarette. This relieves my anxiety a little, as I didn't know she smoked. I follow her through to the living room and can't help myself from looking her curvy figure up and down as she walks ahead of me.

"Do you mind if I smoke," I ask?

"What do you think," she exclaims, rolling her eyes and forming a perfect smoke ring. We both laugh and I feel more relaxed.

The living room isn't how I expected it. The house is early Victorian so it has lovely wooden beams traversing the low ceiling, with metal hooks on that look really old. But the room is done up in a modern style: bare laminate floor; low, ambient lighting; slick, firm, boxy leather sofa; small glass coffee table. There's a large, neo-Gothic mirror over the fireplace. The room is warm and smells of perfume and nicotine. I notice on the table an art photography book titled, 'Honey-Lingus,' which makes me smile. I light a cigarette and sit down on the sofa.

"I'll just get your essay from next door," says Sarah, walking out, hips swinging smoothly.

I'm quite taken aback by her appearance this evening. I'm not sure whether she's supposed to be coming out clubbing tonight, but she certainly seems dressed up. Her straight black hair, like usual, is in a high pony tail, but she's got more make-up on than earlier and a black choker round her neck. She's wearing a fitted black blouse and long sleek skirt with a slit up the side, through which I can see she's wearing spike heeled black boots. Absently I flick through the art book on the table. It opens on a close-up image of a black woman's shaved vagina, dripping with honey. Sarah comes back in and I close the book and blush, not sure if she saw me.

She sits on the settee next to me and we both stub our cigarettes out at the same time, our hands inadvertently brushing against each other. I notice the difference between her pale and my tanned skin, and again her amazing long nails.

"OK Zoe," Sarah says, "If you'd like to read me your essay aloud we can go though it afterwards."

I begin, faltering slightly: "Sexuality and female power are intrinsically linked in Victorian literature. A good example is Bram Stoker's seminal novel Dracula."

"You seem nervous. Would you like a glass of wine? I'm going to have one anyway."

I accept, relieved, another drink is just what I need. Sarah pours us both a large glass and I take a sip. The wine's strong at tastes thick and rich. My head swims a little.

I read OK, but I think Sarah can tell I'm pretty edgy. I've finished nearly two glasses towards the end. I'm also somewhat distracted: Sarah has lit another cigarette and keeps leaning forwards to flick her ash onto the ashtray, and every time she does her skirt rides up a little more. Through the slit in her skirt I can now see the whole of her knee high boot, and a fishnet-clad knee and thigh. I think I can feel Sarah's eyes studying me as I talk. I breath a big sigh of relief when I get to the end, and flop the pages of the essay down onto my knee.

"Was it OK," I ask, unsure? Though I'm confident in day-to-day life I lack the same self-esteem in my writing.

"There's really not a lot I can say," Sarah replies. "It's a great essay. A-plus. You really picked apart the novel and used some great quotes."

By now I'm quite tipsy and a bit giggly. We finish talking about my essay - I got the best mark in the class - and go on to other topics. Sarah seems interested in my love life and by now it's quite clear that she's flirting with me. Of course, I reciprocate. She nips out to the kitchen to get another bottle of that intoxicating wine. I stand up, check my hair in the mirror, and gloss up my plump lips with my candy pink lipstick. I sit back down with my knees slightly apart, skirt pulled upwards a little, light a cigarette and recline on the firm settee.

When Sarah comes back in with the wine, it's clear she's undone several buttons on her blouse. Her cleavage looks incredible, her large pearly white breasts pushed together. She sits next to me on the settee, closer than before, and pours me another wine, handing me the glass.

We're both very tactile as we talk, touching each others' arms, shoulders, hair. Before long our knees are almost pressed together and it's clear to me that something could happen. As I take another sip of wine I drink a little too fast and some runs onto my chin. Sarah takes a slender finger and catches the drip, runs the tip of her finger along my bottom lip and puts it into her mouth. She keeps her finger in her mouth for a little longer than is natural, looking me straight in the eye with a sensual expression. She licks the tip of her finger, reaches over and takes my chin in her hand. I'm already moving my face towards hers as she pulls me in and we kiss, eyes open, slowly, gently. A surge of electricity shoots through my body and goosebumps raise on the back of my neck.

I turn my shoulders to face Sarah and we're kissing each other deeply. I feel amazing, a bit drunk from the wine, and very eager. I'm pushing my tongue into her mouth, breathing deeply through by nose. Despite my pressure, it's clear that Sarah 's in control: she holds my face softly but firmly with one hand, the other on my waist.

Nose to nose, I stare into her eyes. I feel almost ravenous now, desperate to make love to this woman. As I start to unfasten Sarah's blouse her hands are exploring my torso, my back, then come to rest cupping my pert breasts trough my t-shirt. Taking off her blouse I can see why Sarah's cleavage looked so good :she's wearing a tightly tied, black satin corset, pushing her plump tits together.

We start to kiss again, deeply like before. I run my hands over Sarah's curvy figure, the top of her breasts, down her sides to her hips. Sarah's squeezing my tits through my t-shirt, hard but not too hard, caressing my nipples with her thumbs until they're two bullets pointing through my top. We're both breathing hard, I'm almost moaning as she moves her lips from my mouth onto my neck. She's kissing me, biting softly, my neck and behind my ears. I moan heavily, tingles of pleasure wherever she touches me.

"Do you want me to take you," she asks? I moan some sort of affirmation.

"Do you want me to TAKE you, you dirty little whore!" She says firmly, pulling away.

"I want you to fuck me," I reply.

Sarah kisses me hard for a few seconds before standing.

"Wait here," she tells me heading to the door. Sitting there, my heart's racing. I take a large swig of wine and feel the buzz all over my body.

* * *

Sarah strides back into the room purposefully, drops a large make-up bag on the floor. I rise as she approaches the settee and she yanks me up by my slender wrist, pushing me roughly across the room. She unties a satin belt or scarf from her waist and ties it tightly round my wrists, then loops the other end over one of the hooks on a ceiling beam. I'm at full stretch with my arms above my head, and my body is vulnerable to her, in the centre of the room. I can see myself in full in the mirror over the fireplace; I look like a sacrificial virgin, bound, waiting for the ritual to begin.

I watch Sarah as she lights another cigarette and drinks from a glass of wine. She's reapplied her deep red lipstick and it leaves a dark semicircle on the rim of the glass. She unfastens her skirt and lets it drop to the floor. I've never been able to make out how her figure looks before, and she looks incredible. Her body is curvy in all the right places. The tight, shiny corset brings in her slender waist even more, accentuating her big, round breasts and her broad hips. Below the corset she wears black fishnet stockings and those knee high stiletto boots. As she turns round to put down her wine glass I can see she is wearing a black satin thong, her buttocks are large, round and creamy white. Her thighs too look strong and glossy, with the tight stockings pinching them in and defining their shape. Suspender straps go up to the corset and pull tight against the flesh of her behind.

Sarah paces round me, smoking, blowing smoke into my face and over my body. Her breath gives me goosebumps where I've been sweating slightly, and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I examine her body as she circles me, the way her chest wobbles slightly with each step, the rolling motion of her perfectly round buttocks. She extinguishes the cigarette. I squirm around slightly, enjoying the feel of the material of my tight clothes as it pulls over the contours of my body.

She comes up close behind me and whispers in my ear, "I'm not going to hurt you, you fucking slut." I can feel her hot breath on my neck and smell the rich red wine and cigarette smoke. I relax into her, feeling her body press gently against my back. Sarah's hands start to creep over my body, moving all the way up to my arms in the air, down across my neck, my flat stomach, my taut thighs. I moan gently and press my ass into her hips, feeling waves of pleasure wherever our bodies touch. I can feel her bulbous tits through the corset, wedged against my back.

Suddenly, Sarah presses her curvy body firmly into mine, and reaches around to my front. One hand grabs my throat and the other clamps onto my crotch, pressing hard on my groin through my skirt. She hisses in my ear violently: "I'm gonna fuck you so hard you won't know what day it is, you filthy fucking slut!"

I let out an involuntary groan in surprise and pleasure, and play my part by writhing my body against her grasp. She's biting at my ears, sucking on them hard, biting my neck as she squeezes and grinds my crotch.

Now, as quickly as it started, she's let go of me again. Somehow the lack of contact makes me more aroused, and a shudder passes though me. She walks round to the front, to face me, kissing me very gently on the lips and neck. Now she's caressing me with those long, elegant fingernails, barely touching my skin as she explores every inch of my body: from my bound hands, down the sides of my arms, across my smooth armpits making me squirm, down my ribs and onto my hips.

She takes hold of the flimsy skirt and peels it downwards exposing my thighs and my tiny g-string, I step out of the skirt and kick it away. Crouching, she kisses my flat stomach and the crease of my pelvis, before standing again and peeling my top upwards, hooking it on the beam. My high, golden breasts are now exposed and my nipples are rock hard. I have quite unusual nipples: a puffy areola with a long, pink nipple like the eraser on the end of a pencil, they point upwards slightly.

Sarah continues to be tender, pinching my nipples gently and rolling them between her thumbs and forefingers. Now she's licking them, and taking them into her mouth. She sucks hard, squeezing my tender breasts that fill her hands perfectly. Kneeling, still licking and nibbling at my long nipples, she hooks her fingers through the side strings of my thong and pulls it downwards. I wriggle slightly to free the strap from my buttocks and it drops down to the floor. Sarah kisses my pubic mound where there's a small tuft of light hair; the rest of my pussy shaved smooth like my legs. She breathes in my scent before standing again and opening the make-up bag on the floor.

From the bag Sarah has a bottle of gel - it's either massage oil or some kind of lubricant, I can't really tell.

"Let's grease up that hard little body of yours," she sneers, "ready for a good hard fucking."

"Come and fucking get me, you bitch," I reply. I'm feeling confident now, exhilarated by our role-play.

"Don't talk back to me, slut!" says Sarah, walking round the back of me. She smacks my behind hard with an open hand, making it tingle in hot pain. I groan, gritting my teeth to stop myself yelping.

Sarah squirts the slimy clear gel onto my chest and rubs it over my tits, making them glisten. She squirts more onto the small of my back, letting it run down a little onto my bare buttocks causing me waves of pleasure. She rubs the lube over my buttocks with her slender hands as I stand expectantly with my feet apart. Slowly her hand moves under my behind and onto my pussy, which is almost dripping as I'm so turned on. I can't help myself moaning as her fingertips touch against my clitoris, swollen. She comes round the front again, wiping the rest of the slippery fluid onto my neck and arms, and kisses me deeply, forcing her long tongue into my waiting, gasping mouth. She steps back again, and sits on the edge of the settee, legs open, back straight.

"Look at yourself in the mirror," she commands, "a greasy little tart just waiting to be fucked."

I look in the mirror, turning slightly. The low lights shine off every curve of my toned body. My smooth ass and thighs shining, my perky boobs glimmering like mirror balls. As I look at my figure, twisting around to see every angle, Sarah is unfastening the corset, studying my body too. We're both breathing deeply now, and it feels like a calm before the storm.

Sarah slips off the corset and lets it drop to the floor. I see her magnificent breasts in full for the first time. Despite their large size (they must be at least a DD cup) they're firm and taut. Big, full and round like two fleshy melons. Her nipples, too, look amazing. They're large - maybe three inches in diameter - and perfectly round, very dark in colour against her pale flesh, with prominent bumps around the edge. Both nipples are pierced too, with silver hoops. She pinches the dark nodes against the rings, making them stand up stiff, and cant resist rubbing her clit through her shiny satin thong before she stands. She's only wearing the g-string, stockings, boots and that choker now, and she looks like a predatory burlesque vampire.

"I'm going to let you down now," she tells me, "but you have to promise to behave." She grasps my face tightly in her hand and looks into my eyes. "Promise me, " she orders.

"K, I promise to behave, " I say, obligingly. I don't feel scared of Sarah, though I know she could do anything she wanted to me. I feel safe in her power and it turns me on to think that I'm pleasing her.

I slip my hands off the hook but keep my legs locked straight, pushing my buttocks back and my chest up. She undoes the knot and ties the length of satin instead around my neck, not too tight, leaving the end dangling like a dog's lead. She pulls me into her with the makeshift leash and we kiss deeply again, our breasts pressed together, slipping around slightly as the lube rubs onto her skin. With my hands now free I reach behind her to feel those magnificent, full buttocks. They're firm but pliable, and her snow white skin is like silk.

Observing us in the mirror we look amazing together. Me, oiled, my golden tanned skin shining in the dim light. Sarah, pure, pale white; round and curvaceous figure and that shock of black hair in a high pony tail.