WELCOME TO THE HOME OF THE HORNY SPINSTER

To her this page is devoted, should the videostore not have a copy of Raiders of the Lost Ark during one crucial night. A little inspiration for my mistress, The Horny Spinster.

This comes from a woman who goes by the non de plume of Arson. I'll spare you any sad puns about how "hot" her writing is, suffice it to say it made my mouth dry and my clothing feel constrained. Enjoy

UNDERTHERE II

It was the end of a long, hot day for me and I was tired and cranky after nine hours of unruly students and late trains. Teaching in June is a pointless task and if I hadn't been damn near destitute, I wouldn't have been subjecting myself the painful futility of it all.

Around me, summer was in full gear and it seemed that everyone who had enough of a life to get out of the city for the weekend was blasting annoyingly peppy, pop music from their car stereos as they headed out. I felt they were mocking me somehow, as I was lugging my weekend plans in my bag --- a stack of essays thick as a phonebook.

Despite my irritation, I'd noticed the man from the train behind me after a block or two, but I needed to be sure I was actually being followed before I kicked an innocent man in the balls. When I had to wait for a light to change at an intersection, he quickened his pace to make sure we both stopped at the corner at precisely the same time. Now I was sure.

I looked forward, ignoring him, but I felt him boldly look me up and down. Even though I might be a little sweaty from the long day, I knew I didn't look too horrible. I was wearing a long floral print sleeveless dress, with my hair twisted up in a knot behind my head. Given that I'd had guys hit on me in the morning while wearing slippers and a robe to move my car, it was no stretch to think someone would come after me now. Unfortunately for him, today I was too hot and tired to play games with someone who might be interested, but too afraid to approach me.

"Can I help you?" I asked, turning his way.

He looked to be a few years older than I am, maybe 35. He was not unattractive, but odd in that there was absolutely nothing remarkable about him. He was my height in heels, which put him at five ten, with broad shoulders on a stocky build, offset by wire-rimmed glasses. There was no wedding ring or a tale-telling wedding ring tan line. A leather bag was slung over one shoulder, but in his blue button-down shirt and khakis, he could have been anything from a businessman on casual day to a grad student.

When he didn't answer me, I shrugged and faced forward again and waited for the light to change. Just as it did, he thrust his hand forward in front of me. In it, he was holding a small folded sheet of paper and he nodded upwards to indicate I should take it. I looked at him again before I unfolded it, but he wouldn't meet my eyes. I ignored the walk signal and read his note:

"Hello. I hope you will be willing to cooperate with me. I want to purchase the panties you are wearing. All you have to do is remove them right here, right now, in my presence, and I will pay you $50.00 cash. There are no strings."

I looked up at him and this time he did make eye contact. His eyes were a chilly blue. "That's it? I just take off my panties and you give me the cash?"

He nodded.

I didn't even think twice about it.

Trying to be quick and discreet, I moved out of the path of the other pedestrians and squatted down next to a mailbox, as if to adjust my sandal. With the long skirt of my sundress covering my hand and arm, I stuck my thumb in the skinny strap on the side and pulled my panties down, keeping the freed purple lace bunched up in my palm as I maneuvered them over first one foot and then the other. People kept walking past us, but no one seemed to pay any attention, except for the man. He hovered over me in the manner a friend would, casually waiting for me to fix that sandal. Only I could feel his eyes watching the activity under my dress a lot more intently than any friend would.

I stood up and handed him the bundle. Without looking, he pushed them into his pocket, pulled out a folded fifty-dollar bill and he pressed it into my palm. He then crossed the street without looking back. I stood there while the light changed twice more, watching him as he walked away. The whole episode had probably taken place in less than three minutes and he hadn't smiled once.

Later, I tried to explain to myself why I'd agreed to do it. It seemed to be mostly "why not?" With my salary, it would be hard to turn down fifty bucks for doing something that seemed so trivial. And on a busy city street, it hardly seemed like anything bad could happen. Besides, I could tell he was harmless. Living in the city, you learn to distinguish your perverts. I could tell he was too comfortable in his white, middle-class existence to risk losing it too much. If I'd refused, he'd simply smile politely and move on to the next woman. Now, the question was what distinguished me from the next woman? Why had he chosen me, out of all of the other women on the train and on the street? Could he tell from a moment's glance that I'd agree? Not once did he express any surprise that I agreed to his offer. If he'd chosen my sister, he'd have gotten the chewing out of a lifetime, but he didn't choose my sister. He chose me.

I found myself daydreaming about the incident all through the usual routines of my weekend. It thought of it while grading mediocre essays, shopping for groceries and even while talking to my Mom on the phone. Saturday night, while I languished in the scented bubbles of a bath, I closed my eyes to help myself focus his image in my mind. Based on his looks, I tried to guess his name. It had to be something conventional and succinct, like Ed, Dan or Bob. Yeah, definitely a Bob. I tried to know what Bob's voice would sound like talking, or whispering. I wondered whether his hands would feel rough, like the washcloth I rubbed all over my body, or softer like my own hands stroking my skin?

As I toweled myself off afterward, I watched myself in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door. The candlelight cast a pleasant smoothness over my skin. I took in the fullness of my breasts and the rosy color of my nipples. I appreciated the curve of my ass as I bent over, and the nice, clean lines of my toned legs as I rubbed lotion into them. But were these really Bob's thoughts? What he would think if he were there silently, watching me with those cold blue eyes?

By Monday evening's train ride, the day's annoyances had pushed the episode back a little further in my mind. Besides I doubted I’d ever see Bob again. I'm sure he didn't want to risk being seen too much in the same area, should someone be a little less cooperative than myself complain to the police. Because of this, I was unprepared for the jolt of energy that raced through me when I did see him. He boarded the car after me and pushed his way through the crowd to stand next to me. He stood closer than strangers usually do and faced me straight on, but didn't acknowledge me. It was a little startling to see him again, but not at all unpleasant. Same blue button-down, same khakis, same bag, and again, I could find absolutely nothing about him that was anything other than ordinary. Such a Bob. I watched him and waited, expecting him to hand me another note. He didn't until after we'd both got off at our stop---I mean, my stop. We walked silently---together, but not together---to almost the same place as where he'd stopped me before the letter came out.

"Hello again. This time let me take off your panties and I'll pay you $100. Again, no strings."

This time, I thought for a few seconds. It wasn't that I was unsure whether I wanted to do it, I was simply concerned about logistics.

"How...where do you want to do this?" I asked.

He motioned toward the park across the street where I could see kids on bikes, some runners and a few parents with babies in the playground.

"You'll sit on a bench," he said. His voice was softer than I'd expected, but confident as a knife. Mine, on the other hand, quavered as I agreed.

We walked into the shady park and he picked a bench facing an unoccupied baseball field. The path was behind us, so no one walking or riding by could see what we were doing, but I knew that if I screamed I'd be heard. I sat down, perched on the edge of the bench and nervously smoothed the soft cotton of my skirt over the tops of my thighs. This time I was wearing a shorter skirt and I felt compelled to keep my knees modestly together, despite the fact that soon this man was going to see everything for himself. Bob stood in front of me, watching me fidget for a minute or two. Then he knelt down in the grass in front of me, leaning back to sit on his heels.

"Pull your skirt up," he said in a voice that was low, but not a whisper.

I lifted my hips up and tugged so that the hem hit mid-thigh.

He shook his head. "Higher," he said. I complied, lifting my hips again.

Bob had to say it one more time before I got it bunched up the way he wanted it, all the way up on the very tops of my thighs, more or less even with my crotch. I couldn't see my panties from above, but I figured he could see a small triangle of white between my legs. Realizing this, I squirmed a little and felt the rough wooden bench scrape the back of my legs.

"Open your knees," he said.

I stared off into the distance and moved first one foot, then the other, so my legs were spread a generous distance. I didn't want splinters and I didn't want him to have to tell me twice. Bob had a very clear view of my panties, now. He leaned a little closer and I imagined he could probably see my dark pubic hair against the sheer white cotton. I felt myself getting wet as he stared.

Bob looked up from my crotch to my face, as if to warn me he was going to come closer. Such a considerate gesture caused my thoughts to leave the scene for a moment. He leaned even closer, reached up toward my thighs with both hands and delicately pinched both sides of my panties between his thumbs and index fingers. Although he barely touched me, his fingertips felt warm and a little rough on my skin. I helped him get them off, lifting my hips as he tugged them down; picking my feet up as he passed them over my shoes.

Bob sat back on his heels and grinned at me boldly. His smile was seductive and I felt no need to pull my skirt back down until he stood up. He took folded bills from his pocket and handed them to me. "Thank you," he said and walked away.

I didn't see him again for the next three days, except for in the elaborate fantasies I wove with what little I knew. His fingertips preoccupied me. While in bed, I imagined lying naked and perfectly still while Bob traced elaborate patterns all over my body. I began to touch myself, starting with my toes and feet, moving up my calves and legs, so gentle on the flatness of my stomach and lingering on my breasts. I swirled my fingertips around my nipples, feeling them grow taut and hard. I held them between my thumb and forefingers. Bob would tug a little on them, I suspected, so I did, too. Keeping up the friction on one nipple, I softly raked the fingers of my other hand back down my stomach. Then I reached further down to stroke myself, dipping my middle finger in between my lips. I played in my sticky wetness, pushing my finger in further and feeling the warmth of my soft inside flesh. I let another finger slip in, and angled my thumb to jiggle my clitoris. I was moving my hips in rhythm with my hand, riding the hand I imagined was Bob's. His was bigger and I knew his fingers would fill me better, the full pad of his thumb pressing firmly against my clit. He would pull a little harder on my nipple as he felt me writhing and heard me moaning. I moved my body thinking of him and I felt my orgasm building. I let myself I cry out as my body shuddered, and after I came I continued to gently stroke myself, still feeling warm trembles of pleasure spread throughout my body.

Lying in my bed those nights, I worried that I wouldn't see him again. I admitted to myself that it was crazy for me to be attached to a man for whom I'd created a fake name---not to mention that I'd twice given my panties to him for money---but I desperately wanted to continue this unnamed thing. And I wanted, I knew, for it to get more daring.

I kept myself awake trying to figure out a way to find out who he was, where he lived, or how I could insure bumping into him again. There was no way I could, I finally accepted, but I knew I wanted to be prepared for the next time he orchestrated a meeting.

After a few more hellish weekdays, finally, it happened. I smiled when he approached me on the train and was pleased to see he did, too. He was still Bob. As we got off the train this time, it felt like we were indeed walking together toward a destination. I turned toward him at the usual corner, waiting for his note. When he handed it to me, instead of opening it, I handed him the note I'd written and rewritten, carrying around in my bag for the day I'd use it. His eyes registered surprise, but he unfolded it and read to himself:

"I'd like to meet you somewhere where we can be alone. I want to touch myself while you watch and watch you touch yourself, too."

He smiled broadly and took his note back from me. I wondered if maybe I'd trumped him.

"C'mon," he said, leading the way across the street.

"Wait, where are we going?" I asked. I was willing, so it wasn't the risk involved in going somewhere alone with him that bothered me. It was just logistics, again. We needed the right place

"I've got keys to an office in a building nearby. It's a friend's place. No one will be there now. It's pretty comfortable."

I hadn't wanted to go to my apartment or his, so Bob's plan didn't sound too bad. He lead the way to a nice looking brownstone just up the street, with steps going up to two apartments, and steps going down to what turned out to be the office. He unlocked the door quickly, and we stepped in.

I was happy to note that as Bob closed the door behind us, he didn't lock it. The air inside was cool and I let out a quiet sigh of appreciation as I set my bag on the floor. While he pulled the drapes over the windows next to the door and turned on a lamp, I looked around the spacious room. A brown leather sofa was in front of the windows, with two tan upholstered armchairs arranged nearby. Further back, there was a large desk, with bookshelves and a credenza against the wall. A short hallway lead back to a bathroom and maybe a small kitchen, I guessed. There were little tables and lamps and a few plants that lent coziness to the space, but no photos or clues as to who inhabited the office. From the decor, and its blandness, I was guessing it was a psychiatrist. They were usually gone during the summer months, so it made sense.

Bob motioned toward the sofa, so I sat down. He sat in the chair on my left. I crossed my legs and swung my foot, while he was perfectly still. We were both silent, but I think only I was conscious of how long that silence was. Finally, he spoke.

"Take off your top. And skirt," he said.

I stayed seated and unbuttoned my blouse slowly, not meeting his eyes. I felt a hot blush spread across my cheeks. I was afraid, but thrilled at the same time. I pulled the blouse off, and draped it on the back of the sofa. I was wearing a pale blue satin bra, and already my nipples were hard enough make sharp points in the fabric. I stood up to pull my long skirt off, stepped out of it, placed it on top of the blouse. I stood there for a minute, watching Bob looking at me before I sat down again. My bikini panties matched the bra and I'd kept my sandals on.

"Show me how you touch your breasts," Bob said. I was able to detect that he was breathing a little harder. Expectantly.

I became acutely aware that this was actually happening. This wasn't a fantasy. Bob was really here watching me and this flash of consciousness gave me the courage to do what he said. I closed my eyes and slowly let the fingers of both hands wander gently around my breasts. I squeezed their fullness, letting the flesh balloon up above the soft satin. I then pushed the fabric up and down, enjoying the sensation on my tender nipples.

This made me want to play elaborately with them, first patting the tips with one finger from each hand, strumming them, rolling them, tugging them. Already, I was fantastically aroused. I was beginning to feel my juices flowing and I rocked involuntarily on the cool leather sofa. I opened my eyes to look at Bob as I moistened a fingertip in my mouth and rubbed my nipples more, with little circular motions and occasionally rough pinches.

As my mind continued to get off on the performance I was putting on, my body continuously drove me forward. Without waiting for him to tell me to, I reached behind myself and unhooked my bra and repositioned myself on the sofa so that my back was against the arm furthest from him, my legs stretched out the seat in his direction.

Bob sucked his breath as he took in the length of my body and watched my legs and hips move as I started to writhe fervently.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he said, in a whisper more gruff than before.

Hearing him increased the urgency of my desire. I ran my hands up from my stomach, to my breasts, to my face, in quick stroking motions. Then I touched the soft mound of my pubic hair through my panties, opening my legs a little so I could tease my lips and so Bob could see the motion of my fingers. The softness of the satin and the gentleness of my own strokes sent shivers of pleasure through me.

My wetness had seeped through the fabric, and I coyly brought my fingers up to my face so I could sniff my own scent while maintaining eye contact. He groaned, rubbing and squeezing himself through his pants. I pulled my legs up to my chest and pulled the panties off, giving him full view of everything I had to offer.

"Talk to me more," I said.

"I can see how wet you are," he said, starting to hurriedly undress. "Your pussy is wet enough for me to see from here."

Hearing Bob talk to me like that, and seeing him naked made me even hotter, and I fingered myself while I took in his body. His chest was broad, but not overly muscular, covered in a thick pelt of curly blonde hair that I desperately wanted to touch. When he undid his shoes and took off his pants, I saw that he wasn't wearing underwear at all. Bob's hard penis was very medium in size and thickness. The thought that it was as nondescript just like the rest of him made me smile a little to myself.

When Bob sat back down, he started to slowly stroke himself. I didn't take my eyes off him and he didn't take his off me. I slipped two fingers into my vagina and rubbed my engorged clitoris with my thumb. I pulled my feet closer to my torso, lifted my hips and reached around to let my slick fingers slide back toward my ass, and rubbed gently around my asshole.

His breath was quickening, his rhythm getting faster. "Let me see your pussy more," Bob grunted. I slid myself forward toward him on my ass, and opened my legs further. I let him see my fingers stretching myself wide open with my left hand, then slid two fingers of my right inside. Then, feeling how lubricated I was, I went for three. I was moving in and out of myself frantically and my hand was drenched. I was certain he could smell my juices, and I imagined he was imagining the taste. So I licked a finger myself, for him, tasting my flavor for him. I felt lewd and I was on fire.

His movements quickened. "I see your clit. Rub it. Make yourself come."

This time Bob's words pushed me right to the brink. I increased the pressure and moved my hand faster and felt my muscles begin to twitch. I orgasmed in quick, powerful waves. I cried out a little, tensed my thighs and lifted my hips high, and I think that did it for him. He winced and came in a few short spurts that splashed up onto his chest.

After a few seconds or so, I sat up on the sofa. My body was still recovering from the force of my orgasm. I turned forward so I wasn't facing Bob directly and held my knees tight against my chest, covering myself. I waited like that, although I can't say exactly what I was waiting for. We spent a few minutes in silence. Then Bob quickly got up, grabbed his clothes from the floor and walked across the room to the hallway. When he returned, he was dressed. I hadn't moved.

Bob came over to me on the sofa and looked at me once more. Then he picked up my pale, blue satin panties and put them into his pocket.

"The door will lock behind you when you leave," he said.