It was difficult to know how to categorize this one—there are elements of interracial relations, non-consensual sex, and it turns out (at least, I think) pretty erotic—ergo, the reason it ended up in 'erotic couplings.' So just be warned, if those aforementioned elements aren't your pleasure, you may want to stop reading now. If, however, you are even the slightest bit intrigued...then please continue reading, and I hope it's as enjoyable to you as it was to me and mine.
*
It'd been a helluva day, the kind that makes every nerve scream for release. Final exams were coming up all around the college campus, and everyone was under immense pressure, most noticeably the seniors in my literature course and the freshmen in my basic composition courses. Exhausted from the daily grind of classes, help sessions and the added burden of panicked students, I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with a good book, but with the stack of papers still awaiting grades, it just wasn't to be.
With a sigh and a glass of wine, I settled into the corner of my couch, feet propped up, bowl of m&m's within easy reach, and started working through freshman compositions. An hour later, six papers had been reviewed, graded, and filled with compliments or suggestions. The stack seemed to have barely moved at all.
Rubbing the dull stabbing pain which had settled into the center of my forehead, I laid my head back, mentally bargaining with myself. I finally decided that in return for a hot, soapy candlelit shower, I would persevere through at least half of the stack of papers. Once again I'd miss out on some much-needed sleep, but a steamy-hot shower would be worth it.
Uncurling from the couch, I stood up, stretching onto tiptoe with a muffled groan. Muscles I didn't even know I had were achy and tight. The wall mirror reflected a tall, curvy redhead in a baggy t-shirt and loose sweatpants, but as usual, I never even glanced at the reflective glass. I still saw myself as overweight and frumpy, and avoided mirrors out of habit. Although my workout habits had improved greatly since grad school, I was too busy and too tired to look for dates, causing my newly toned body to go unnoticed – by either me or anyone else, so I assumed.
Stopping to pour some cat food into Gator's empty dish, I loaded the Rippingtons into the stereo, then snagged a clean towel out of the laundry basket, mentally adding "fold clothes" to an ever-growing list of summer chores. Humming softly to the upbeat instrumentals drifting through my small house, I lit a few select candles and placed them around the sink ledge and various shelves in my bathroom. Finally I adjusted the water spray pouring from the chrome showerhead, and dropped my comfy, stay-at-home clothes to the floor, using the small pile of fabric to prop the bathroom door open. A soothing interplay of guitar and piano filled the dimly-lit room as I stepped under the warm, cascading spray.
As the strains of "Tourist in Paradise" trickled into the bath, I could feel the stresses of the day slither down the drain. The muscles in my neck relaxed, unknotted by the thrumming pulse of water. Lathering coconut scented shampoo through my hair, I unconsciously began to shimmy my hips in time to the music. As the toasted vanilla scent of body wash mingled with the tropical scent of shampoo, I ran soapy hands along my body, feeling the curvy profile I'd reacquired from relentless trips to the gym—but the mental image was the same old frumpy form I'd become accustomed to.
As the music segued from one lively tune to the next, my hands began to explore more and more of my wet, relaxed body, using the soap as a lubricant to slide from one slippery slope to the next. Head back, I held my hair directly under the water, its natural curl straightened by the water's weight. Twisting my head slightly, I could feel the slick wet caress of my own hair against my waist, and the sheer sensuousness of that act made me bite back a moan of pleasure. Between my divorce and the demands of grad school, I'd become an expert at pleasuring myself, and sometimes the most seemingly innocent sensations could arouse me to incredible heights. And yes, my favorite place to find relief was under the hot, soapy spray of a leisurely shower. Some weeks I gave new meaning to "squeaky clean"!!
With a last fanning rinse, I turned back under the spray and readjusted the setting, my knees almost buckling as pinpoints of water slammed against my sensitive nipples. Already aroused, this new sensation made them harden to eager, cherry-colored points on those ample white breasts. Arching my back to offer more of my breasts to this self-inflicted torment, I braced one hand on the slick tiled wall, while the other slipped down to the clean-shaven furrow between my long, toned legs.
Stepping one foot up onto the side of the tub, I cupped her fingers and aimed this gentled plume of water onto my aching, throbbing clitoris, the heat and waterfall-like sensation sending me through a shuddering climax which only left me hungry for more. Mentally commanding myself to finally invest in that hand-held showerhead I'd begun eyeballing, I focused on the streams of water cascading along my length, shivering in pleasure as those heated streams of water caressed me from head to toe, their trickling path teasing and arousing everything from swollen nipples to the slippery, engorged lips of my quivering pussy, and only adding to my deep and aching need to be filled by cock.
Leaning carefully out of the shower, I reached around the corner to the shelf where my toy was hidden away, concealed by towels and toiletries but easily located by the knowledgeable groping hand. Long, thick, and black, it was everything my pussy craved, even as my mind and heart begged for the warm, creamy feel of a man's cum. Holding it tenderly as I would a lover, I caressed my body with this pleasure-toy, sliding it along neck, shoulders, and especially between my breasts. I rubbed it against my nipples, hissing as the engorged points swelled even more in anticipation of the fucking to come.
Positioning the fat rubber cock against the showerhead, I licked and stroked and sucked it, closing my eyes and imagining that I was servicing my lover in a torrential downpour, music tumbling out of a nearby café, both he and I exposed to the elements as I struggled to fit 'his' 8" black dick down my throat. With a moan of pleasure I felt the rubber base against my lips, and trembled as my pussy dripped juice down my thighs.
A blush of shame crept up my cheeks as I involuntarily put a face to my imaginary lover's body, whimpering his name around the impressive dick filling my mouth. I knew I shouldn't think of my students in such a way, but from the first day of class when I'd looked up and met his sexy, smiling gaze, I had felt an attraction the likes of which I had never experienced before. His dark skin and melted-chocolate eyes made me agonizingly aware of myself as a woman, each nerve ending jumping to attention whenever he was near. Going to class each period was both heaven and hell, for as much as I looked forward even to seeing him, I knew I could do nothing to act on this attraction, not only because the college forbid faculty/student relations, but I disliked the idea of professors having sex with students. Even if the student in question was sexy, funny, and very, very smart.
