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Dr. Robert Allyn walked quickly down the hall to his 8 am class. Not because he was late, for he always arrived a few minutes early to be sure to start his class on time. He enjoyed teaching and especially liked early classes, him buzzing from three cups of coffee and half the class waking up to the jolt of his lectures. Another thought putting spring in his step was the image of the lovely young women who took his class. Faces fresh and beautiful were always there, sometimes with the added bonus of sexy fashions. Occasionally blouses with an extra button left undone or a top with a scoop neck cut a little too low woke him up during his first-of-the-day class, but more often the thin or tight fabrics revealed the shape of lacy bra.

“Women’s liberation has won, at least here on campus. Why are the bras still around? By all rights they should be in the dustbin of history,” he thought, remembering the bra burnings of the sixties. “But what we’ve lost up top, we’ve gained down below.” Today’s fashions ran to short skirts and, the most popular, tight, thin leggings that looked sprayed on. Watching young women walking in the halls or across the campus was a unique pleasure that gave each day at work its own little fantasies.

This morning’s class, however, had its own special attraction. While all classes had some women with curvy legs or soft breasts or sensual lips, it was rare to find that perfect fantasy woman who, wherever your eyes or imagination roamed, slipped past your thinking, conscious mind and moved directly into the lair of animal reflex that grabs and shakes the libido awake. Amy was one such woman. As Dr. Allyn entered the classroom and greeted the early students, he noticed she hadn’t yet arrived. Laying out his notes, he found images of her flashing through his mind. Her face was fascinating; although she came from Thailand, her features were a mix of Asian and European with eyes not quite round, and a nose just bit broader than most. He wasn’t sure if her dark brown hair was natural or tinted to fit in better with the rest of the students. Her fair skin covered a soft, lushly padded, petite body. Often she wore skirts, knee-length or shorter, that displayed curved calves and soft thighs. This perfect hourglass shape was accented by a larger than normal bustline. Two of her outfits in particular had low scooped necklines that showed cleavage worthy of the finest pin-ups. Many times since the semester began, the good doctor found himself at home, gripping his cum-smeared dick in pleasure as he ran through every fantasy he had ever had, and some he didn’t know he had, placing Amy in the role of his personal succubus.

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It started when I was in junior high school.

One day, as I was sitting in the back of the classroom during study hall, I began to daydream about one of the older boys in the school. Unconsciously, my hand drifted under my skirt, and my fingers were lightly rubbing the edge of the elastic of my panties.

Vickie’s voice, from the seat behind me, was startling when she whispered, “Oh, Barb, isn’t that lovely.”

“Shut up! Someone might hear you!”

“Don’t worry, No one is paying any attention.” Then Vickie’s hand was suddenly under my skirt, feeling the location of my fingers. She squeezed my hand, and her hand drifted slowly, gently upward. “Where is it?”

Her fingers generated marvelous feelings as they caressed my pubic mound. But, all too soon, the bell rang and it was time to leave. Confused, I tried to avoid her as we left school, but she caught up to me and walked beside me.

“I can make it feel really good,” she said in a hoarse voice, as we walked side by side. Frankly, my knees were weak, and my mind whirled with plans for letting her prove her ability.

Although I hadn’t paid much attention to her before, I began to treat Vickie as a best friend.

Just a few days later, we were playing after school in her back yard. Her house was the same as the others in the neighborhood, but her back yard was very deep–it actually extended the length of two or more of the ordinary back yards. And, there was a grove of about a half dozen pine trees, that surrounded a cool, dark glade. In that glade, I felt completely isolated from the rest of the world.

We were doing something–I can’t recall what–then I felt her presence behind me, and her warm breath in my ear, as she whispered, “I’d like to make you feel good.”

Her arms went around my waist, and she kissed me, or licked me–I don’t know–on the nape of my neck. It would sound icky to a young girl, but it felt–well it felt nice. Very nice.

How hot she seemed as her lips caressed my neck–and how natural it seemed as she pulled my arms upward, and lifted my shirt off in a fluid motion. Her hand rubbed the surface of my ‘teen’ bra, and focused pressure on my right nipple. My breasts were still conical, just developing, but her rubbing showed me for the first time just how sensitive my nipples could be.

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Mary had been working for me for three weeks and she was driving me crazy. She’s a petite little thing with a fantastic figure and full, mouth-watering tits. Since I had hired Mary as my secretary all I could think about was fucking her in that perfect little [tag]ass[/tag].

Maybe if Mary didn’t wear those damn tight jeans that push right into the crack of her ass, I would have been okay, but as things stood, all I could think about was that ass.

Both sides of her chubby little lips were fully defined by the clothing she wore and I wondered if they gave her a kind of sexual push. Everything about Mary spelled sex. Just 20 and with her blonde mass of curls and big brown eyes, it seemed that a kind of sensual steam flowed from every part of her.

I was always threatening to jump on that cute [tag]ass[/tag]. She would wiggle it playfully then laugh her way out of the office. All in good fun, until the night we had to push hard to get a rush order out.

Mary and I were alone. I had always made it a rule to never fuck around with my help. I had kept to that rule all my life, but for some reason Mary tempted me to break it.

There was so much paperwork that we had to do some of it on the floor. I found myself just standing there, watching her little ass sway back and forth as she crawled around on the floor. That ass was so cute and sexy that I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

I guess the animal in me took over then, because I don’t even remember getting down on the floor. Fully clothed I wrapped my arms around her and slipped my fingers into the crotch of her jeans. Mary dropped the papers she was holding and I felt her warm ass rolling against my huge boner.

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I was in the window seat of a Piedmont 737, taxiing out at Washington National that morning. My destination was New Orleans with a change of planes in Atlanta. As we passed the transient ramp in front of Butler Aviation, I saw my old airplane. It had been repainted, but bore the same numbers along each side of the fuselage. The sight of it brought back a memory from the 1960s that marked the highlight of my brief career in commercial aviation.

Officially, the airplane’s registration number — and radio call sign — was N-5558B. But to my two partners and me — and to the tower crew at her home airport in Opa Locka, Florida — Beech Travelair N-5558B was “Triple Nickel 8-Ball.” She was a outside business venture of three lawyers — my two partners and me — who shared a criminal-law practice in Miami, and a love of flying. Sherlock — the name my father, an Arthur Conan Doyle fan, gave me — earned the law firm some early publicity, and we were doing well enough to afford to buy Triple Nickel 8-Ball. Our aviation business involved flying bags of bank checks from Miami International Airport to Atlanta Hartsfield Airport where they were taken by van to the Federal Reserve Depository for processing. The income was predictable; but the flying wasn’t — particularly in the summer when the Florida thunderstorms topped out at about 40,000 feet.

What we admitted, to everyone but the I.R.S., was that our money-losing business was just an excuse to fly and hang around the airport’s Fixed Base Operation trading lies with the other pilots and would-be pilots that inhabited the pilots’ lounge.

There was a flying school there — a collection of Cessna 150’s, young instructors with their eyes set on the airlines, and students from the local area. Late afternoon usually found a fair sprinkling of women in the pilots’ lounge; some of them students, but mostly the girl-friends of the students and instructors. They all knew about our operation, and with suitable hints, could wrangle a ride in Triple-Nickel-8-Ball on our Miami-Atlanta-Miami trip when we wanted the company.

A few weeks before, the female “regulars” in the lounge had jokingly announced formation of a local chapter of the “mile-high” club — and that subject had replaced discussion of instrument-approaches and engine overhaul prices. As I understood it, the rules were simple: sex above 5280 feet, unaided by co- (or auto) pilot. The novelty of the topic wore off after a while; but one day a female student showed up with a small pendant hanging from her neck on a gold chain: a set of small gold wings with a cloisonne’ panel in the center, bearing the numbers “5280.” A second, and then third, pendant soon appeared on other necks. Although none of us had the nerve to ask, it appeared that the mile-high club was more than talk.

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Anna is a very beautiful woman. She is tall, blonde, and tans to a gorgeous golden hue.

I’ve worked with her on a project for quite some time and have had fantasies about her from the start. I feel an attraction to her every time that I see her.

I’d noticed her looking at me at times when we’ve worked together but neither one of us have voiced anything. She knows that I’m married and I’ve been too frightened to say anything since I know that not only is she married, but I could be very wrong about the way that I’ve interpreted her looks.

There have been many times though that I have longed to kiss the back of her neck as she leaned forward while we worked at the computer. She has very sensuous shoulders and neck.

Anna’s husband is on the road most of the time trying to land more capital investors for his company. Anna hints at her loneliness at these times, and we often work late on the days when her husband is out of town.

My wife was in New York on a business trip and Anna’s husband was out as usual. It was in early evening and I was totally lost in gazing at her pretty neck and profile when I realized that she was staring at me over her shoulder. She had just asked me a question three times without a response. She noticed me turning red with embarrassment and started to turn red also as she realized what I had been daydreaming about.

I apologized and stood up to leave as she turned toward me to say something. She froze staring at my crotch where my hard on was showing. My whole body felt on fire as I looked down at her, her red lips were glistening in the light and her eyes seemed to be deep blue pools. I moaned another apology and started to leave when she reached forward to feel my cock. (click to read entire story…)