Message-ID: <24421asstr$959829015@assm.asstr-mirror.org> From: michaeld38@aol.communism (MichaelD38) X-Original-Message-ID: <20000531122255.10818.00005956@nso-fi.aol.com> Subject: {ASSM} Vector, ch. 1 {MichaelD}(MF, MFF) Date: Wed, 31 May 2000 23:10:15 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: english, newsman AUTHOR'S NOTE AND LEGAL STUFF I did not e-mail you this story. If you unexpectedly found it in your mailbox, it's because your kid and/or your spouse is subscribing to adult newsgroups without your knowledge. Flame them, not me. This story contains explicit sex. If you're a minor, you've obviously gotten past whatever paltry filters your parents tried to put on your computer, so hell, you might as well read it. No one ever died from reading about sex. This story is mine. Free reposting and archiving is okay; commercial use is not (that includes using it on some slimeball banner farm). Contact me if you have any questions; cross me and I'll have you fed to rabid weasels. This is another serial like "Call Girl Cheerleaders." I have no idea where it's going or how it will end. Want to find out? Send me mail. My stories, including this one, are archived at: www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/MichaelD/www/ www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Richard_Bissell/www (all the work of my alter ego) www.storiesonline.net (complete but not always up) --- VECTOR Copyright 2000 by MichaelD38@aol.com. No commercial use without prior authorization. <-> vector (n.): 1. an animal, esp. an insect, that transmits a disease-producing organism from a host to a noninfected animal. 2. a mathematical expression denoting a combination of magnitude and direction. 3. the particular course followed or to be followed by an aircraft; compass heading. --Webster's New World Dictionary <-> Chapter 1. Victor Hayes was an ordinary man who led an ordinary life until the day the girl walked into his office. She was a sophomore, no more than nineteen or twenty at most. He had seen her in his nine a.m. Modern American Literature class and remembered her solely because she was far and away the prettiest girl he was teaching that semester. She had long frosted blonde hair and a tiny little snub nose, and her breasts would strain against the satin blouses and school sweatshirts she wore like an ocean of water being held back by a single flimsy sheet of spandex. He had tried to catch her eye a few times at the beginning of the semester (even at fifty-one and mindful of the prohibitions against impropriety with one's students, he was not immune to her incandescent beauty), but she had never spoken up in class or even given any indication that she was paying attention to the things he said. Now she had shown up at his office, clutching her first essay of the semester, to which Victor had awarded a well-deserved "C-." "Professor Hayes?" "Yes?" "Could we talk about my paper?" "Certainly. Have a seat." The girl took the seat in front of his desk, and Victor had to force himself not to watch the bounce of her breasts as she settled into place. Instead, he reached for the essay, which she handed to him. He flipped through it to refresh his memory of her work. Yes, indeed. He had been generous in giving her a C-. He sat back in his chair and sighed. "Leslie, I'm assuming you read both books?" A hurt look shot through her eyes. "I did. I promise." "I didn't get the sense that you understood what my question for this essay was." "I thought I did. About what Fitzgerald and Hemingway wanted to say about World War I, right?" "Well, they weren't just talking about war being bad, which is about all I got out of your essay. They were trying to encapsulate the effect that the war had had on their generation, and I wanted you to look closer and tell me how you saw those experiences coming through in their prose. How it had affected their world view, in one way of putting it." "I thought that's what I did." "I think you tried." Victor's eyes battled mightily to drop from her face to her chest, but he managed to avoid the impulse for now. "What . . . um . . . what you failed to do was show me that you had had any insights of your own about the books. It does little good to merely parrot back the things I tell you in class." "So what can I do to do better next time?" Show me your tits, the imp in Victor's head said. But he managed to suppress it again. "What you need to do, what might help in your case is . . ." Victor's voice trailed off in shock. The girl was nonchalantly unbuttoning her blouse. When she reached the last button, she flipped the blouse back off her shoulders, then reached behind her back to unsnap her bra. She let it fall forward and clutched it in her lap. Then she straightened her back and thrust her breasts forward. Victor's eyes goggled. This was not the first time one of his students had come on to him--granted, it had been quite a while, and it had certainly happened more often when he was younger--but he had never encountered quite such a blatant approach. "Professor?" He forced his eyes back up to Leslie's face. She sat there calmly waiting for him to finish his sentence, though her forehead was beginning to crease in confusion. "Uh . . . uh--" "Is something wrong?" Victor swallowed hard, fighting to regain control. He felt beads of sweat beginning to form on his upper lip. It wasn't just that her breasts were all but flawless--big, firm, protuberant pink nipples, the type of hooters that exist only in male imaginations and the pages of "Playboy"--Lord, he wanted to leap across his desk and grab her in both hands--it was her utterly casual attitude about it, like "Have a nice look while we're discussing Hemingway." As if she did this every day, with all of her professors. As if it was nothing unusual. As if she didn't even know what she was doing. It occurred to him that maybe she didn't. It was crazy, but something in the innocent expression in her eyes told him she wasn't trying to come on to him, wasn't angling for a better grade simply by flashing her tits at him. She really wanted help with her essay. Victor swallowed hard. With nothing else to do, he finished what he had been trying to say. "Uh . . . what I meant was that you should . . . you might think about re-reading the books before you write your essays. Maybe keep your notes by your side while you're doing it, so you can gain a better understanding of our discussions. It might help if you participated a bit more. I don't hear much out of you in class." God only knew how Victor managed to keep his eyes on her face now, but he did it. Leslie nodded slowly. "I'll try. Just sometimes I just don't know what's going on." "Do you have any friends in class?" "Yeah. Stacey Bennett. She's in my sorority." It was getting easier now. The shock was beginning to wear off. Yes, this is perfectly normal, Victor told himself. I have topless students in my office every day. "Well . . . perhaps the two of you should get together to discuss the readings. Not write your essays together I mean, but to help with your understanding." Leslie nodded again, and Victor recognized the look he saw in her face. It was not the "I can help you if you'll help me" look that should have come along with her peep show, it was the "I want so badly to learn and maybe this is helping me" look he usually saw on the students who came to him for help. Absent her lack of upper-body garments, this was nothing unusual. Victor forced himself to glance down at Leslie's essay, because if he spent another second looking her breasts, he was going to do something very stupid. He flipped through it again, trying to look as if he were thinking something profound. Then he saw it. Somehow--this made no more sense than Leslie showing him her breasts--she had typed her essay so that the letters along the left-hand margin spelled out "I want to fuck you so bad." Victor shook his head in shock. He looked down at her essay again. The secret message had disappeared. He took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. When he looked up again, he got another shock. Leslie was dressed again. She sat there fully clothed as if nothing had happened. "Professor?" "I'm sorry." He shook his head again. Had he imagined the whole thing? "I think I may be coming down with something." "Oh. A friend of mine has a cold. Maybe it's going around." "I suppose. I should be getting home. Is there anything else?" "No, this helped a lot. I'll try to do better next time." "I'm sure you will. Have a good day." "Thanks." Leslie stood, gathered her things, and left. --- Victor sat at his desk for several minutes wondering if he was losing his mind. Certainly he had done his share of _imagining_ one student or another without her clothes on, but he had never once actually seen it happen, not the way that meeting with Leslie had gone. Student crushes were an occupational hazard, especially in the humanities, and though they had become less and less frequent as Victor began approaching his fifties, they still occurred now and then. But Leslie had shown no signs of that at all, no sign whatsoever that she was attracted to him. And though, nearly every year, almost like clockwork, there was at least one girl who thought she could increase her GPA simply by flirting with him to some degree, none of them had so casually disrobed the way Leslie had. If in fact she had done it. Victor was no longer so sure she had. She had definitely not acted like it. There had been no hint of flirtatiousness in her eyes, no indication whatsoever that she had known what she had done. Either she had done it unconsciously, or Victor had simply been hallucinating. The latter option was beginning to seem increasingly likely. Girls, pretty and otherwise, simply did not take their tops off in his office. --- Victor drove home on the Santa Monica Freeway to his little craftsman-style house in West L.A. He lived alone, sharing his house with a temperamental gray cat and his large collection of books. There were two messages on his voice mail, both colleagues from the university wanting to discuss things Victor no longer had any interest in discussing. He reheated last night's dinner and sat down to watch "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?" Every time he watched this show, he thought about trying out to be a contestant, but he could not stand the idea of prostituting his knowledge the way he saw people doing. And what would I do with a million dollars?, he thought. Victor was a tenured full professor and if he was not wealthy, he was certainly comfortable. He had no significant debts and had paid off the mortgage on his house five years before when his mother died. He made enough to travel out of the country at least once a year on vacation and more often--on the university's dime--for academic conferences. Never having been married and dating only occasionally, he had no female drain on his finances. Although there were some redecorating and architectural improvements he wanted to make to his house, the delay was more an issue of time and inclination than money. So. A million dollars dropping out of the sky might be more trouble than it was worth. All it might allow him was some silly self indulgences like hiring three or four call girls for a month. Victor sighed. He was professionally fulfilled and happy living by himself, but the fact remained that he got lonely from time to time. His last real relationship, with a woman who taught at UCLA, had ended badly two years before, and Victor had decided then and there that fifteen minutes of sex once or twice a week was simply not worth the attendant hassles of dating. Since then, he had considered hiring a professional now and then, but had never been willing to debase himself in such a fashion. The episode with Leslie that afternoon had not helped. Dear God, how he wished sometimes that the Leslies of the world would pay him more attention. He was not bad-looking, he thought, and he tried to keep himself in shape. He still weighed the same that he had--well, almost--twenty years ago, and he still had most of his hair. But he could never seem to get all the necessaries lined up in such a way that the women who really attracted him were willing to give him much consideration. He thought back to Leslie that afternoon. Those breasts, Lord, those breasts. It was unfair for any woman to look like that. Unfair to him, and unfair to all the other women in the world, who had to contend with sags, stretch marks, asymmetrical physiques, and all sort of other natural flaws. Even if he had imagined her somehow. How nice it would be to simply conjure a Leslie into existence, one who would give him an hour or two of her time and then disappear. Two of them maybe, one blonde and one redheaded. The three of them could-- Victor lurched, almost falling out of his chair. He had been picturing two girls with Leslie's physique standing beside him, and then they were there. One blonde, one redhead. "Hi, Victor," the blonde said. She wore a white bra, panty, garter belt, and stockings just as he had been envisioning. Beside her stood her twin, though with rich, deep red hair. She wore an almost identical outfit, though hers was bright red. "Hi, Victor," the redhead said. Victor struggled for a response. He reached out slowly with his right hand, finger extended, and touched the redhead's thigh. She was solid. Smooth, firm, and solid. The girl giggled, turning toward him so his finger moved toward the crotch of her panties. Victor's hand shot back. The blonde moved sinuously around his chair to stand on the other side. Her full breasts rose and fell with each breath, and he could see a deep flush spreading over her skin. "Who are you?" Victor gasped. "I'm Leslie," the blonde said. "Don't you recognize me?" And it was her. Except . . . it wasn't. It couldn't be. This girl, though no older than the girl in his office, looked down at him like an experienced call girl, eyes filled with a hundred perversions, not with the wide-eyed innocence of a college sophomore. "I'm Laurie," the redhead said. But she was Leslie. Leslie with red hair and the same look of desire. The two girls knelt in unison before him. Leslie pouted as an impish look grew in her eyes. "You don't recognize me . . ." She reached slowly behind her back, undoing her bra. ". . . but I bet you recognize these." Her bra fell into her lap, and she cupped her big breasts for him. Her thumbs and forefingers came together, catching her nipples and squeezing gently. He watched the blood swelling in the little cul-de-sacs of flesh, straining as if to escape such sweet imprisonment. Victor's cock began throbbing in his pants. Hallucination or not, he was fast being drawn out of his shock by the sight of these two girls, especially now that Laurie had lost her top as well. The redhead giggled as Victor looked back and forth over the two of them. "36D," she said. "Unless you'd like us bigger." "Bigger?" Somehow, both sets of breasts swelled at least a cup size, though they remained just as firm and upthrust. "Uh . . . how . . ." "Or did you like them the way they were?" Leslie asked. "Uh . . . before," Victor gasped. Their breasts immediately returned to their original sizes. Leslie grinned. "Well, are you going to fuck us or just stare at us all night?" That jolted Victor out of his inertia. "F . . . fuck." The girls rose to their feet, and each took one of Victor's hands, pulling him out of the chair. They led him to his bedroom in the back of his house. Working together, they undressed him in a few seconds. His cock stood out like a flagpole, and Leslie took it in her hand. "Ooo . . . nice." She dropped to her feet in front of him, keeping her grip. She brought up her other hand and stroked him gently a few times. Then, keeping her gaze locked on his, she bent to take him in her mouth. All the way in. Bit by bit, she swallowed every last inch of him. He passed effortlessly into her throat, and the sensations made his legs buckle. She drew back oh so slowly, dragging her teeth gently against the underside. Laurie had remained standing, and now she took his attention away from Leslie. She wrapped her arms around his head and kissed him deeply. He tried to return the kiss, tried to match her skillful lingual gymnastics, but couldn't. She took one of his hands and placed it on her breasts, pressing him against her. Down below, Leslie was fellating him slowly, in and out, in and out, her tongue working against him as skillfully as Laurie's. His other hand went down to her head involuntarily, gripping her long blonde hair. Laurie continued to kiss him as he groped at her, feeling the wonderful spongy softness of her breasts. Her nipples were like little pink pebbles, erect and hard against his fingers. Laurie finally broke their kiss. She lowered herself down, sucking on his nipples as Leslie continued sucking on his cock. Leslie had one hand wrapped around his balls and the other pushing between his buttocks. He groaned as he realized what she was doing. One finger forced its way past his sphincter, curling around, finding his prostate and rubbing it hard. It was too much. He tried to fight it off, but Leslie's mouth was locked on his cock like a vacuum cleaner hose. He groped at both girls, holding them close, and cried out as his sperm flooded down Leslie's throat. She took it without losing a beat, swallowing effortlessly until his orgasm began to subside. Then she withdrew, sucking out the last bits and rubbing him gently with her tongue. Victor staggered toward the bed, which wasn't easy considering that Leslie still held him in her mouth. He dropped on the edge and fell backwards. He never come like that in his life. She had sucked him off as if she knew precisely what to do, as if he had been masturbating himself by proxy. Leslie finally withdrew. He heard the girls giggling, and looked up to see them swapping his come back and forth with their tongues. They saw him looking, smiled and climbed up beside him. "How was that?" Leslie asked. "Uh . . . uh . . . " Victor was still incapable of coherent speech. "I think that means he liked it," Laurie said. Leslie took his slick cock back in her hand and stroked it slowly. Gradually, through the vestiges of that incredible orgasm, Victor realized that something was out of order. His erection was not subsiding. "Mmm," Leslie said. "Good thing for us this will last all night." "I want to go first," Laurie said. "Greedy bitch." "You got to suck him off." "Okay, but only if I get to eat his come out of you afterward." "Deal." Laurie sat up, throwing her leg over Victor's waist. Her panties had disappeared--when had she taken them off? Victor had no time to consider this anomaly, because Laurie was now swallowing him into her flame-red sex. Her lips curled back from her teeth in a snarl as he bottomed out, then she was squeezing him so tightly that it almost hurt. She pushed down on him, angling her hips so that the head of his cock was rubbing against her cervix. Leslie giggled. "Don't break it off." Laurie rocked herself back and forth, squeezing Victor rhythmically. He groped at her hips, but she pulled his hands up to her breasts. "Pinch my nipples. It makes me come so hard." Victor tried to oblige, and Laurie groaned, moving faster. "Harder." He did his best, but Laurie's expert attentions were rapidly preventing him from doing anything but lie there and fuck up at her. This was impossible--all of it. He could explain the girls, maybe. Maybe Leslie really did have a twin sister. Maybe they had somehow followed him home and snuck into his house. Maybe this was some crazy scheme to blackmail him. But how could he explain his own reactions? He should not still be erect, should not be feeling as if he was going to come again any minute now, not at his age. He was either losing his mind or the whole world had gone crazy. Laurie cried out, throwing herself back, screaming out her impending orgasm. Her body thrashed above him, sex spasming around him, gripping him like a fist. Victor thrust up into her, lifting her off the bed, and erupted into her. The feel of his ejaculation--and he was coming even _more_ than the first time, however that was possible--seemed to spark another climax in her, and she shook as if she were in an epileptic fit. As it peaked, she threw herself forward, hair spraying over Victor's face, and fainted dead away. Victor continued thrusting slowly into her tight sex, feeling the shivers of her body and the last twitches of her orgasm around him. He felt something moving against his balls and the base of his cock, and realized that it was Leslie, licking up his fluids as they oozed out of Laurie. She rolled Laurie to the side and immediately latched her mouth onto the other girl's sex, probing and sucking. She wrapped one hand around Victor's cock, which was inexplicably still hard, and stroked it slowly. Victor watched as Leslie ate her friend, no longer trying to fathom an explanation for all this. Laurie came slowly back to consciousness and reached down to caress Leslie's head. "Mmm," she said. "That was great. I don't think I've ever come like that before." "Me neither," Victor said. She stroked Leslie's head again. "Your turn." Leslie stopped licking Laurie for a second. "Almost done." She sucked out the last bits of Victor's semen and sat up. "Can I fuck you now, Victor? I know I got to suck you off, but it would be really cool if I could." "Why are you doing this?" he asked. Hurt and confusion shot through her eyes. "What do you mean? Don't you like me?" The sad look on her pretty face instantly dissolved Victor's remaining reservations, such as they were. "I'm sorry. Come on." Leslie beamed at him and immediately climbed up the bed to lie between him and Laurie. She pulled at him until he was on top, and she spread her legs under him. He pushed forward into her blonde-fringed sex, finding her wet and very ready. She pulled him down to kiss him, and as he bottomed out, he felt her massaging his cock with her inner muscles as Laurie had. Her body writhed against him, hips rolling, abdomen heaving. She sucked on his tongue and held him tightly. He tried to make love to her, but she would have none of it. She urged him on, trying get him to thrust faster and harder. As he did, she clawed at his buttocks, teeth clenched, obscenities streaming from her mouth. "Fuck me. Fuck me hard. Shove that big cock up to my lungs. Hurt me with it. Come on, fuck me!" Victor lost the last bits of his control and began hammering into Leslie's body. She let out a shriek, back arching, and came at once, thrashing around under him. Somehow he was already on the brink of a third orgasm, something he hadn't achieved in at least ten years. The girl under him was coming again, sex spasming and clenching his cock like vise, breasts shaking on her chest. She continued to pour a stream of perverse filth into his ears, much of which was anatomically impossible. Finally, as Victor grunted, stabbing himself entirely into her and shuddering into orgasm, Leslie shrieked as if she were being murdered, and came so hard Victor thought she might be having a heart attack. Victor then lost himself in his own titanic climax, buried as deeply into her as he could get, come still streaming out of him in a flood. His head swam, and at last the orgasm began to subside. He fell onto Leslie's heaving body, feeling her big breasts pillow against him. Laurie leaned in and kissed his ear, gently stroking his back. "You're the best. Nobody can fuck like you." "Never . . . " Leslie gasped, "never. Never. Never come like that. I've never . . . " She shuddered again, hugging Victor tightly. --- They let Victor rest, though something told him he could have continued. They gave him a gentle massage and brought him a perfectly mixed Scotch and soda from his kitchen. He finally fell asleep between them around ten o'clock. --- When Victor awoke at dawn, he was momentarily disoriented. He sat up slowly. The girls were gone, not that he expected them to still be there. If they had been there at all. He got up and staggered through his house. Nothing jumped out at him until he got to the front door. His alarm system was on and activated. He had set it when he got home the night before, as he did nearly every weekday night. That meant, of course, that no one could have entered his house, unless Leslie and Laurie had somehow figured out his passcode. The passcode that existed only in his head. He had been very careful never to write it down. So. He had imagined last night as he had imagined Leslie showing him her breasts. It hadn't happened. But, of course not. It could _not_ have happened. Gorgeous college sophomores did not seduce fifty-one-year-old English professors, not in tandem. And even if they did, fifty-one-year-old English professors did not get it up three times in one night without chemical assistance. Victor sighed. Something was seriously wrong. Momentary visions of sophomore breasts were one thing. Hallucinating a two-hour orgy was something else entirely. He staggered back into his bedroom and prepared to take a shower. That was when he saw it--a little pile of white lace on the floor. He bent to pick it up. It was a pair of white thong panties. He turned them over in his fingers. There, in the crotch, was a blonde pubic hair. What the hell was going on? --- -To be continued.- --- Vector Copyright 2000 by MichaelD38@aol.com Free redistribution permitted; no commercial use without authorization Michael ~Story Archives~ www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/MichaelD/www/ www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Richard_Bissell/www ~Other Archives~ www.storiesonline.net www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/BitBard/www/forray/michaeld/ -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+