textfiles/sex/EROTICA/C/chem.txt

"THE CHEMISTRY BETWEEN US"  - part 1

When I was a graduate student and teaching assistant at the University of
Miami, I was given a space in a basement office, down a very steep flight
of stairs, with several other graduate students.  I taught freshman
chemistry labs, and students who needed to pick up their graded papers or
see me about problems in the class were to meet me down there during office
hours.

A girl in Lab Section 3 of my Chemistry 102 class used to really get to me.
Brenda was petite -- probably not over 100 pounds -- and had long,
straight, jet black hair and snappy, black eyes.  My favorite among her
outfits was a short red plaid wrap-around skirt she wore, with a big gold
safety pin holding closed it in front.  It came about to mid-thigh, and
often she came to class barefoot.  This was Florida, and even in the
stifling heat of late August she looked cool and breezy.  I ached to rest
my face against her belly, reach under that little skirt and cup her
buttocks in my hands . . .

Late one afternoon there was a knock on the door of the graduate office.
"Come in?" I said, distracted by a stack of lab reports I was grading.
"Dr. Davis?" I heard a female voice timidly say.  I didn't recognize the
voice at first.  "Come in, come in," I said, a little annoyed by the
interruption.  But my annoyance turned quickly to delight as Brenda came
around the corner into my cubicle, and damned if she wasn't wearing my
favorite outfit -- that tiny plaid skirt.

"Did you get my lab report graded yet?" she said.

"Well, have a seat and I'll check," I told her.  "By the way, it's Mr.
Davis.  I'm not a doctor yet" I said.  "I'm working on it."  But this was
common -- students assume anybody teaching a college class must be a Dr.
somebody.

She sat down in a chair next to my desk as I shuffled through the papers
looking for a Brenda Miller in the top corner.  And indeed I did find it in
the stack of those I'd finished.  But unhappily, I had it paper clipped to
another student's paper, Jack Daniels, with a note to speak to these two.
I had forgotten it was hers, but the two students had almost identical
wording in several answers.  I am very intolerant of cheating on class
assignments, and usually drop a student with a failing grade if I find it.

"Uh, well, I need to speak to you about this paper," I said glumly.
("Damn!" I thought to myself.  "Why couldn't this have been that fat mouthy
bitch I really wish WOULD drop the course?  Why did it have to be Brenda?")

I turned toward her, and for a moment I was almost speechless.  Her legs
were crossed and the slit on the front of that little plaid skirt had
fallen open.  The skirt had slipped off both sides of her leg, almost up to
the bend of her hip.  She was a real Florida girl -- had a great tan on
that smooth-skinned, firmly muscled thigh.  I don't know how long I sat
there daydreaming and saying nothing.  To me it seemed like an hour; maybe
it was only a second to her, and maybe she didn't notice.  She made no
effort to cover her thigh.  I tried to regain my composure.

"Um," I said.  "I'm a little concerned about this lab report of yours.  You
realize, a lot of your answers are the same, verbatim, as, uh... (I looked
at the other paper to remember the name) Jack Daniels' answers."

"Oh really?" she said, innocently.

"You know what it says in my syllabus, that any cheating on papers will
result in an automatic F for both students involved.  I'm going to have to
speak to Jack about this, and decide what to do."

Her eyes were welling up with tears and getting a little red.  "Dr. Da--
need it to get into nursing school.  I don't know WHY his answers are the
same as mine."  Her voice quivered a little, and I felt bad.

"You know what my policy is," I reminded her.  "I'll make a decision over
the weekend."

Brenda got up to leave.  Her skirt fell back in place, and I watched it
swish back and forth across her cute little ass as she walked around the
corner.  "I shouldn't send her away so depressed," I thought, so I got up
in a moment to go after her.  By this time she was at the top of that steep
stairway.

"Brenda?" I called to her, and she turned around at the top of the stair to
face me.  Again I was speechless.  Because of the angle of the stairs, I
could see not only the extent of her little white panties but even a little
of the smooth tan skin of her waist above that.  Her panties were lacy and
sheer, and I could see the milky white of her hip above the tan line of her
thigh, and a patch of jet black pubic hair through the fabric.

"Um, uh.  Um."  I forgot what I was going to say.  "Ah, just come to class
Monday, OK?  I'll think about this over the weekend and we'll see what we
can work out."

She looked a little relieved and even managed a faint smile.  "OK, thank
you," she said, and turned to leave.  The sheer panty fabric hid virtually
nothing of those round buttocks I had so often yeared to cuddle in my
hands.

Sunday evening I had to go in to the lab and mix up the chemicals and put
out the glassware for my Monday morning class.  I had a Bunsen burner
going, heating up a solution on one bench.  A magnetic stirrer whirling
around another.  I was getting out some brass-tipped meter sticks and amber
rubber tubing when a sudden voice behind me made me nearly jump out of my
skin.

"Dr. Davis?"

It was Brenda!  Presumably her little plaid skirt was in the laundry, but
what she had on was just as good -- a stretchy little tube top that just
covered her breasts, leaving her shoulders and belly bare and making it
clear she was not wearing a bra, and a pair of tiny white shorts.  She had
the snap on the shorts undone and the corners of the waistband turned down
like a shirt collar, with only the zipper holding them on her hips.  She
had the prettiest little navel I have ever seen this side of a Florida
orange.

"I saw your car outside," Brenda said.  "I went down to your office but you
weren't there."

"It's MISTER Davis.  Come in!  Come in!" I said joyfully -- not expecting
such a vision of prettiness on this dark Sunday evening, momentarily
forgetting the unpleasantness of Friday afternoon and the decision I had to
make by Monday.  I was just delighted to have such wonderful company to

break up the tedium of preparing the chemistry exercise.

"Mr. Davis, I just wanted to see you again about that lab report.  Do you
mind my coming by?"

"Do I mind?!", I thought, amused by her humbleness.  "Do I mind.  Listen to
this little nymphet!"  She was still standing somewhat shyly by the door.

"No, no, not at all," I told her and repeated the invitation to come in.

She came over to the bench where I was weighing out some sodium citrate.
"What are you doing?" she asked.  "Oh, walking my dog," I said in mock
sarcasm.  She laughed a little.

"Well, what can I do for you?" I said.  ("To you," I thought.)

"Dr., I mean Mr. Davis.  I was so upset Friday, I just didn't know what to
say.  I can't get an F in this course.  I'd have to wait a whole year to
take it again, and it's the last course I need to get into the nursing
program."

"I am SO sorry about that paper," she continued.  "Is there ANYTHING I can
do?  Maybe do the lab over again, or something?"

"Well, that would be kind of like a slap on the wrist, wouldn't it?" I
said.  "I mean, somebody cheats on a paper, so I'm supposed to just slap
them on the back of the hand and say 'Now now, bad girl.  Don't do that
again'?"

"No, that's not what I meant," she half laughed.  She walked around from my
right to my left, and I guess that little butt in the white shorts got the
better of me for a moment, so in the playfulness of the moment I reached
out and spanked her lightly on the bottom as she came around my left side.

"Oh!" she exclaimed and jumped a little.  "Is that part of my punishment?"

I was relieved she wasn't offended by my slight lapse in judgment.
Instructors get fired and sued over things like that, but she seemed in a
playful mood.

"Well, the punishment hardly fits the crime, does it?  One little slap on
the bottom for a plagiarized lab report?"

"No, I guess not," she said.  "Are you going to do it again?"

"Nah, you'd probably sue me for sexual harrassment."

"Oh, I'm not like that," she said.  "It was a little exciting, actually.
And I know I deserve whatever punishment I get."

"Oh yeah?"  I wasn't sure whether to come on to her or not, and decided to
let her carry the ball.

"Mr. Davis, I just wish you'd forgive me for the paper.  I'd take whatever
punishment you think is fair, if I can just stay in the course.  You know
all the rest of my grades are passing."

"You can call me Tom," I said.  "I'm not that much older than you.  So
anyway, what am I going to do about this disobedient student, eh?"

Brenda pouted and swiveled her shoulders from side to side a little.  "I
dunno.  A real bad spanking, maybe?"

She seemed to be joking.  "Nah," you'd probably run away screaming down the
hall and get me in big trouble," I kidded her.

She walked slowly away from me toward the door and closed it.  She turned
toward me.  "Oh, I think you could prevent me from doing that," she
languidly said, and walked back over toward me, in deliberate footsteps
that made her hips sway  ever so little, tantalizing me as I focused on
that navel amid her soft belly down.  She knew I was looking now, no
question about it.  I thought I'd been staring at her abdomen too long, so
I started to look up and along the way I was arrested again by that little
tube top.  Her nipples were standing out more now, and I felt myself
getting hard as well.  I continued my upward progress to her face, where
she had a wry little smile.

I kept up the playful mood, still not wanting to misjudge and get too
serious too soon.  "Well, doors are easily opened," I said.  "I'd have to
tie you up to be really sure you weren't going to run."

"Ooh!  That sounds like fun!" she said, and so I knew we were past the
point of ambiguity, though not past the point of making this fun.  I picked
up a length of that amber rubber surgical tubing I had gotten out, and I
said, "Y'know, this would do the job quite nicely."

"I sure it WOULD," she said.  "What, do you want to tie my hands behind my
back or something?"

"No," I said in a more commanding voice (deciding to GO FOR IT).  "Stand
over there, facing that lab bench."  She laughed a little, but she want
over there and stood at the bench, with her palms down on the cool black
benchtop.  I took a pair of surgical scissors out of an equipment drawer
and snipped off two feet of the tubing.  I went over slapping this lightly
in my palm, and when I got to her I stretched it back like a slingshot and
let it go with a snap.  She jumped a little and smiled.  I tied one end of
the tubing around her wrist.  It doesn't take a very tight knot, because
the stretchiness and friction of the surgical tubing keeps almost any knot
from slipping.  I pulled the other end over to the opposite side of the
bench from where she was standing, and I tied it around a gas jet there.  I
snipped off another two feet, and tied her other wrist to a vacuum nozzle
on the bench.  The tubing was stretched just enough to force Brenda to lean
over the bench, her arms outstretched towards the far side where the tubing
disappeared over the edge, leading to the jets on that side.

"Well now," I said.  "What do we have here?  A naughty young lady who
cheats on her chemistry lab reports.  What are we going to do about this?
Drop her from the course with an F?"

"Oh please sir, no sir," she said in a tiny little voice, like a poor
little British housemaid caught stealing from her employer.

"How about a snap on the old bottom?" I said as I patted her butt a little,
savoring the firmness through those tiny white shorts?

"If you think that's what I deserve, sir," she said in her playful little
voice again.

I took up the scissors again and cut off another two feet of the surgical
tubing.  I pulled back my arms and stretched this way out like a big rubber
band, and let it snap against the back of her shorts.  She jumped and
exclaimed, "Oh!" though I could tell it really didn't hurt.  I didn't
really want to hurt her anyway.  I'm not into that sort of thing.  This was
just sex play.

I stretched the tube and snapped her again, and she jumped.  And again.

"You know, I don't think I'm getting through to you," I said.  She giggled
at the joke and replied, "My daddy used to say that.  He'd paddle me on the
jeans and I'd sniffle and pretend to cry a little.  Then he'd say, 'I don't
think I'm really getting through to you,' and he'd make me pull my jeans
down and paddle me so it hurt more.  But I haven't been spanked like that
since I was ten.  That's when I started growing boobies and I think he got
embarrassed to paddle me."

"Well, maybe you need a good paddling like that again," I suggested in a
half-serious, half-joking tone of voice.  She went back to her little

British maid's voice again.  "Oh sir, whatever you say sir.  You have
complete control.  I know I've been bad."

"Well, I don't happen to have a paddle," I said, "but I've got a meter
stick here.  I picked up the brass-tipped meter stick and lightly patted
her bottom with it."  She changed voices again, this time mimicking the
high contralto voice of Mister Bill on Saturday Night Live.  "Ohhhhh
noooooo, not the meter stick, Mister Hand!" she said.  So I went into my
imitation of the Mister Hand voice:  "Well, you know you've been very bad
today, and you really must learn some discipline," I said in my faux voice.

I brushed the tip of the meter stick up the right side of her ribs, and she
flinched a little to the left.  "Tickles," she said.  I ran it up her left
side, and she flinched to the right.  I stroked up her spinal column with
the brass tip of the stick, and she arched her back a little.  I pushed
about an inch of it under the back of her tube top.  She didn't say
anything.  I took the meter stick out of her tube top and stoked the back
of her knee with it, then up the inside of her thigh.  She didn't say
anything and I couldn't see her face, just her straight black hair
cascading over her tan shoulders -- but I noticed for the first time I
could hear her breathing in the room.  She spread her legs apart just a
little bit more.  I brushed the tip of the meter stick up the inside of her
other thigh, and she spread her legs a tiny bit more, and arched her butt a
little higher into the air.

Then I thought I'd give her a surprise.  WHACK!  I gave her a swift stroke
of the meter stick across her white denim bottom.  "Oh God!" she said
breathily.  I gave her another WHACK on the bottom, and she waggled her
butt a little from side to side.  "Am I getting through to you?" I said in
the sternest voice I could.

"Sir?" she said meekly.
"I said am I getting through to you?"
"Soon, sir.  I think maybe soon you will."
"Well, what's it going to take?" I said.
"That's what my daddy used to say," she replied with a hint of suggestion.

I put down the meter stick and stood up to her, and spanked her on the
shorts with my hand.  "Hmmm!" she said in a little burst of breath.  I
could see around the side of her face now and see her eyes were closed.
She was resting her cheek on one of her outstretched hands.  Her mouth was
expressionless.  I shifted to stand more directly behind her, my crotch
pressed lightly to her bottom, my penis stiffening against my pants.  I put
both my hands on her waist, the first time I had touched her skin.  It was
wonderfully cool and taut, and my imagination went back to Friday when I
was transfixed by her thigh showing through the slit of that little skirt.


"THE CHEMISTRY BETWEEN US"  - part 2

I had never done anything remotely like this before -- just read stories
like it in magazines, and fantasized a lot.  I didn't even know for sure
where this was heading.  My knees were literally shaking and my hands
trembling as I reached around toward the front of her shorts.

As I felt those little flaps where the snap was undone and turned down, her
words echoed in my mind: "My daddy used to make me pull my jeans down and
paddle me so it hurt more."

I found the tongue of her zipper, and flipped it up to the unlocked
position.  She was breathing heavily.  She didn't say a word, but in my
mind I heard her earlier statement: "I haven't been spanked like that since
I was ten."  Her shorts actually began unzipping themselves, since they
were so tight and I had released the catch on the zipper.  I lowered the
zipper a little more with one hand, and rested the palm of my other hand on
her belly, below where the waist of her shorts used to be.  I cautiously
lowered my hand, millimeter by millimeter, a part of me still afraid of
rejection and humiliation, or afraid she would suddenly think it's gone too

far and change her mind.  The zipper was down as far as it would go now.  I
kept expecting to find the edge of her panties, but there was none.  As the
edge of my little finger touched the edge of her pubic hair, I realized she
was not wearing any.

I leaned forward and lightly kissed the back of her neck, then stood up and
went back into my role playing mode.  "You know Daddy loves you, Brenda.
That's why I have to punish you, so you'll grow up to be a good girl."  I
picked up the meter stick again and brushed it along her right side, then
her left -- lower this time to where her beautiful little waist began its
outward curve to the flare of her hips, the skin now exposed by her
unzipped shorts.  I gave her a moderate pat on the shorts, and then I said,
"You understand why Daddy has to do this, don't you?"  She remained silent
but nodded her head a little.

I grasped the leg holes of her shorts and pulled a little.  The now
loose-fitting waist came halfway down her buttocks, just to the point where
they exposed her tan line.  I felt like I was about to burst through my own
pants, I was so hard with excitement.  The sound of my breath mingled with
hers, echoing softly together off the painted cinderblock walls of the lab.
I lightly rubbed the upper half of one cheek, and then pinched it near the
crevice, leaving a little red mark that faded in a few seconds.

I took the legs of the shorts again and pulled them down a little farther.
The waistband was now about even with the lower curvature, where her
buttocks met her upper thighs.  I could not see her vulva yet although I
remembered the little jet black patch showing through her panties when she
stood at the top of the stairs.  And though I could not see it, I began to
smell it -- an intoxicating, warm, delicately musky odor rising from her
shorts.  I decided to chance it, and I reached around front again to where
her vulva was completely exposed.  I felt her soft black pubic hair in the
palm of my hand; I rubbed the sweat of my palm into the sweat of her mons
pubis.  I reached farther down and I felt the swollen labia, the more
viscous wetness between her thighs, leaving no doubt of her enjoyment.

"Nope, Daddy mustn't do that."  I went back into my role.  "Baby Brenda
needs her punishment."  I picked up the meter stick again and I gave her a
moderate stroke across the bare buttocks.  I didn't hit her hard -- again,
I had never done this, and didn't really feel like hurting her.  I was just
prolonging the game, doing what I thought she liked and hoping not to cross
the narrow line into what would make her call it off.  The meter stick left
a pink line about an inch wide across each buttock, but the line faded in
just a moment.  She didn't complain or cry out, just jumped a little.  I
gave her another similar slap of the stick, and watched the pink line glow
and fade.  She let out a faint "Mmmmm" of pleasure, the way my old
girlfriend used to do when I gave her a back massage and she was too sleepy
to talk, but wanted to vocalize her pleasure in some way.

I smacked Brenda a little bit harder, and this time the line was redder and
stayed longer.  She said, "Mmmmm," again, just a little louder than before.
I gave her another stroke, and this red line lit up while the previous one
was still glowing deep pink.  The musky smell increased and made me feel
drunk with her sexual aroma.  My head was swimming, and my pants were
fitting tighter and tighter about the crotch.

I smacked Brenda's bottom again, and then I took hold of her waistband and
pulled her shorts down past her knees.  Now I could see her downy vulva
from behind.  Since she was leaning far forward over the bench, her swollen
labia protruded toward me, the inner labia also engorged and peeking out of
the pubescent crevice.  The insides of her thighs glistened with the
wetness of her excitement.  I gave her a few smacks across the upper backs
of her thighs, and now the red lines remained longer, merging into each
othe and taking on a deeper crimson hue.  I remembered how I had always
wanted to caress her buttocks, and so I rubbed them with my hand.

"Feels hot," she said, as I rubbed and massaged the tight gluteal area,

lightly tickled the crevice with my fingertips, then explored the swollen
labia and the soft wet valley between.  I rolled the tip of her clitoris
like a pill between my thumb and finger, and she pushed her buttocks back
against me, grinding against the front of my pants.

"Oh, it's hot?" I asked in my mock-serious voice.  "Well, maybe I can cool
it down a bit."  Before she came, I had mixed up a beaker of saline for the
Monday lab class.  I hated to waste that work, but hell, I thought -- it'd
be a bigger waste to use it on the class than to use it on this beautiful
girl.  I picked it up and dribbled a little of the salt water across her
reddened buttocks.

"Ow!  It stings!"  Brenda said, squirming more violently now as if trying
to get free.  "Ow."

"You just gotta take it, Brenda," I said.  "Pain builds character."  I
dribbled more saline on her buttocks, and she squirmed and protested some
more.  Finally I just upended the whole beaker over her derriere, and half
a liter of saline splashed over her, all over the floor, soaking the shorts
around her ankles.  She bucked and jumped a little and one foot came out of
the shorts.

"Now, Daddy's got a little surprise for you," I said, feeling creative.  I
cut another two feet of the surgical tubing, and snapped her bottom with it
like a rubber band.  "Ow!  That smarts!" she said.  I snapped her again.
"Ouch!  Ow!  Owee," she said with each snap, but with a slight undertone of
laughter, still playful.  But what I really cut this length of tubing for
was this:  I pulled her ankles together and pulled her shorts off the other
foot, tossing them under the lab bench.  I tied her ankles together with
the amber tubing.  Then I went around the bench and untied the tubing from
the gas and vacuum jets.  Still holding the tubing stretched, so her arms
were over her head, I tied her wrists together with one of these pieces,
leaving the other to dangle from that wrist.

I went back around to Brenda's side, and reached under her arms and knees
and picked her up -- surprised by how light she was.  I held her cradled in
my arms, wearing nothing but the little tube top now.  My eyes roamed
adoringly over her abdomen, her little triangular delta of black hair, so
clean and demure looking, at the meeting place of her thighs. I relished
the soft feel of her long black hair now flowing over my left arm.  I
looked at her face.  She smiled beatifically at me and put her arms around
my neck, wrists still tied together.

"What are we going to do now?" she said softly.
"Trust me -- I'll think of something," I said.

I laid her down on her back on one of the other lab benches.  She arched
her back a little because the bench was cold, raising her belly and mons
toward my face.  I kissed her navel and nibbled a bit on the rim of it,
then took her arms from around my neck.  With the loose length of tubing I
tied her arms over her head to a water tap behind her.  She lay there
expectantly as I went to one of the supply drawers and took out a roll of
gauze.  I rolled this around and around her eyes about four times,
blindfolding her, leaving her with only that milky, gauzy white visual
field and no idea where I was or what I was going to do.

I decided to tease her, and I had to go to the bathroom anyway, so with
audible footsteps I walked to the door, went out into the hall, and closed
it behind me.  "Mr. Davis?  Tom?" I heard her calling behind me.  "You're
not going to leave me here, are you?"  I didn't answer.  Better to leave
her with the uncertainty for a while.  Relieving myself in the men's room,
I thought again about that dark triangle through the white panties, at the
top of the stairs...

When I went back to the lab, she turned her head in the direction of the
door and said, "Oh God!  I thought maybe you weren't coming back!  I

thought maybe your final punishment was going to be to leave me here for
the class to discover when they come in tomorrow!"

"Well, I'm not quite THAT daring," I said.  "After all, I need this job and
I WOULD eventually like to get my Ph.D. here!"

"What are you doing?" she said, not even sure where I was in the room.  She
turned her head from side to side, trying to figure out where I was.
"Patience, my love.  You'll see," I said.

The next thing Brenda would sense would be an acrid, sulfurous smell, a
pause, and then a little thump on her belly followed instantly by a
pinpoint burning sensation.  Then another on her forehead, just above the
gauze blindfold.  Thump, burn.  Then one on the middle of her thigh.  If
Brenda could have seen anything, she would have seen me standing over her
with the candle, dripping hot wax onto her belly, her thighs, then between
her toes.  "Ow!  What IS that?" she said.  "It's OK, just hot wax," I
revealed to her.  "Relax and enjoy it."

She flinched a little each time a new drop hit her skin, cooled, and stuck
there.  She said, "You're right, it feels kinda neat."  I let a drop fall
into her pubic bush, where it solidified into a little white mass amid the
hairs.  I bombarded her pretty little mons with drop after drop, until all
her pubic hair was matted together with cooled wax.  She now had the
combined aroma of sexual musk mingled with with that of hot paraffin.  I
put my nose to her labia, as if to a snifter of fine brandy, to savor that
intoxicating smell.  I kissed her in the soft little crevice between the
labium and thigh, her waxy hair brushing my cheek.

"You like it hot?" I said.  "Mmmmm hmmm," she nodded.  Nobody's ever done
that to me before.  I picked up the candle again and let a few drops fall
and fill her navel with a little waxy plug.

Then I got another idea.  The Bunsen burner was still going, and I had a
big two-liter beaker of water boiling on the ringstand.  I picked up the
meter stick again, and I held the brass tip in the burner's flame for a
minute.  I gingerly touched the brass with my thumb and fingertip.  It was
just warm to the touch, not really hot.  I pressed this into the skin of
Brenda's abdomen.  "What IS that?" she exclaimed.  "Feels weird."

"You said you liked the heat," I answered.
"Mmmmm.  It is warm," she said.  Feels kinda good.  This lab is cold.

I warmed up the brass tip in the burner flame again and felt it.  It was
hotter than before, but no more than the feeling of a hot cup of coffee.  I
pressed the brass tip into the skin of her waist. "Oh!" she said.  "It's
warmer this time.  What IS it?"

"Not gonna tell you," I said as I put the stick back in the flame.  I
didn't test it this time, and I pressed the end of the stick into the
inside of her upper thigh.

"Ow!" she screamed, in real pain this time.  "Oh, it burns!  It burns!  Get
it off of me!"  Oh shit! I thought.  I quickly pulled the stick away, and
there was an angry crimson rectangle, just the shape of the end of the
meter stick, burned into her thigh like a brand.  It was swelling and
getting almost purple, and already I could see two or three little blisters
coming up around the edges.  "Oh shit.  God, I'm sorry," I said.  I grabbed
the surgical scissors and cut the tubing that bound her wrists to the water
faucet.  She sat up, still blindfolded.

Now, every chemistry lab has an emergency shower, to be used for acid burns
and other accidents. Brenda's ankles and wrists were still tied up, so I
just reached under and picked her up again, and carried her over to the
shower on the far wall of the lab.  I set her down and held her with one
arm, and reached up with the free hand and pulled on the big brass ring

hanging from the shower head.  Cold water poured out over us both, soaking
my clothes.  I splashed water on the burn on her thigh.  I got down on my
knees, water streaming over my face, and I fervently kissed her belly, her
waxy mons, her thighs (avoiding the burned spot).  As I stood up I saw that
her little tube top had gotten heavy with water and fallen down to her
waist, exposing an alert little pair of breasts with light brown nipples,
reaching out as if to me.  I kissed one of her breasts and sucked and
nibbled lightly on the nipple, then the other.

Brenda pulled my T-shirt up over my head and tossed it on the floor. I
stood up the rest of the way and we kissed, hard, while her left hand went
down into the back of my pants.  I started to undo my belt, and she pushed
my hand away and finished it, pushing my pants down with her hands, then
her foot, until they lay soggy around my ankles.  I massaged her breast
with one hand, grasped her bottom firmly in the other and pulled her to me,
as I kissed her on the ears and neck.

I was hard as a rock again, harder than I could stand, there under the
shower with Brenda against me.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw the
boiling beaker on the ring stand suddenly crack.  The bottom of the beaker
came off and what was left of the water doused the flame and sputtered and
crackled on the hot metal of the ringstand, as I myself exploded
colvulsively into my underwear.

Brenda held me tight, and started laughing, the points of her breasts
jiggling against my chest.  I pulled on the other ring that shut the shower
off, leaving us standing there soaking wet, the shower just dripping.  My
wet discarded T-shirt had stopped up the floor drain, so there was a huge
puddle of water on the floor flowing under the lab door and out into the
hallway.

Brenda stepped back a little and pulled the tube top over her head.  She
wrung it out, and put it back on, then walked across the room and found her
shorts, putting those on.  As she zipped up her shorts she said, "I don't
know how I'm EVER going to get all this wax out of my pussy!"  Her wet hair
hung down, plastered across her back and shoulders.  She glistened with
water drops from forehead to feet.  I just stood there, in my soaking wet
Fruit-Of-the-Looms (now more than a little sticky as well), still dizzy
with excitement and amazed that this had really happened to me.

"Can I tell you something, Mr. Davis -- I mean Tom?" she said.

"Sure, anything."

"You know that Jack Daniels you thought I cheated from?" she said.  "Are
you aware he was kicked out of Chemistry 101 last semester for copying
somebody else's lab report?"

"No, I wasn't."

"Well, I wasn't either last Monday, when he asked me if he could look at my
report just to verify some data.  My roommate told me about it Thursday.
She told me I should never let him see any of my papers, even for a
minute."

"You mean HE copied YOU?" I said.

"Apparently so.  That's what he did to somebody else last term."

"Well why didn't you tell me this Friday?" I said, aghast.  "I almost
flunked you!"

"Oh, I just wanted to see what kind of punishment you were capable of
administering," she said coyly, with sideturned head and flirtatious smile.
"Enjoyed it.  Can we play again sometime?" she said, lifting a wet eyebrow.


"Jeez, you bet!" I said.  "God, I'm sorry about the burn, though.  I won't
do THAT again."

"Oh, it doesn't hurt anymore," she said.  "You just branded me, that's all.
Now I've got something to remember my chemistry teacher by.  See ya in lab
tomorrow."

She walked down the hall, leaving little wet footprints on the carpet.  She
turned and waved bye, then disappeared into the stairwell.

I surveyed the damage.  I had a mop, so I could clean up the lab floor, but
the carpet in the hallway was soaked--couldn't do anything about that.  I'd
just claim a sink overflowed.  I cut off the gas to the extinguished Bunsen
burner, and tossed a couple of pieces of broken glass into the wastebasket.
I saw my meter stick, the end of it charred black, but at least I had
others.

It was already after midnight, and I still had to get the lab set up for
that class the next day.  "I'll have to make another liter of saline," I
thought, and then, "Oh shit!  I need an 8-foot length of tubing for that
lab, and I've cut it all up into 2-foot pieces!"

I continued to survey the damages and think where to begin.  I picked up my
wet shirt and pants from under the shower and was just about to take off my
sticky underwear, when I was startled by a man's voice behind me.

"Everything OK in here?" he said.

I spun around, my clothes in my hand, my soaking underwear half falling
off, the heat in my face affording some clue to how red it must look.  The
man was a campus police officer.

"Uh, yeah.  Just had a little accident, is all.  Everything's OK though."

"Well, y'all have a good evening now, here?" he said, and walked off down
the hall checking door locks.

"Oh, I did," I muttered, closing the lab door behind me.

(end)