Free Recess by Corinna Parr Page A

heart. Once this woman had flashed across the floor. I could feel it in the way she rode down on my digits, heard it in the hoarse moans she gave me, ghosts of earlier fuckings.
    I might have bent Mrs. Pickman over the desk and taken her right there, in the full daylight of afternoon, with her skirt around her hips.   That’s where she must have been in her head, bumping at my crotch with a bodily need, and the caress of her buttocks shot through me every time we fetched against each other. It mounted in me and the wave of it became too much— too much light, too much color, too much raw space for two people in that barren classroom. Mrs. Pickman’s musk mingled with the giggles of children in the air. I took out my fingers and oiled her enflamed clitoris, rolled it, teased it until her whole body arched back against me. She thrust her sex into my hand, and her voice choked in her throat, and she shook, and shook; she couldn’t know it but each tremor she gave was mine. It caressed me. I took her orgasm along my chest and belly and cock.
    Since then we’ve always spoken normally. Mrs. Pickman blushes a little but smiles. Randee is a very good student.
     
     
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    Please enjoy these excerpts from other works I’ve completed!
     
     
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    from WETWARE DREAMS
     
     
    In her dream, Dorothy was bound to a gurney.
    Leather straps crossed her shoulders and her ribs. They pinned Dorothy’s arms to her sides and pressed her back against the stainless steel beneath her. Squeezed between those bands, her breasts seemed even larger than they were. They strained the buttons of the threadbare grey shirt she wore.
    A draft prickled over Dorothy’s legs, and she realized that she wasn’t wearing anything else. Below her thighs, where the shirt’s hem gave out, it was all plump, smooth flesh to the tips of her toes. As the chill crept higher, Dorothy tried to close her legs and was brought up short with a rattling sound. She raised her head.
    Dorothy’s ankles had been shackled to the sides of the gurney.
    She struggled then, but all she could do was shift and raise her hips. The helplessness of that undulation clutched her heart and quickened her pulse. Dorothy had no idea where she was, or who had done this to her. She didn’t know what they wanted with her. All she knew was that she couldn’t get free.
    Dorothy fell back against the gurney, breathing heavily. Strands of hair had fallen over her face, into her mouth, but she couldn’t brush them away. The only light in the room was a dull, remote fluorescence that did little more than touch the edges of objects around her. Unable to see well, Dorothy listened instead: to her own breath, and the whisper of conditioned air, and below these, to a hum that she could not identify.
    She heard someone approaching.
    Before Dorothy could turn her head, a face appeared above her. A face, or perhaps a mask. The eyes were bulbous, glassy, without whites or pupils; the nose hooked like the beak of an ibis. Dangling from the back of the head were greasy black things that might have been feathers, or tarred ropes. There was no mouth.
    The thing reached for her. Dorothy tried to scream, but no sound came out.
    Its fingers narrowed at the tips to fine points. With a delicate motion of these points, the figure slipped the topmost of Dorothy’s buttons from its hole. Then the next, and the next, its fingertips clicking on the plastic of the buttons. Each button unfastened revealed more of her breasts and the deep cleft between them. Carefully, the stranger folded back her shirt between the straps until her bosom rose bare, kissed by the cool air and the fluorescent light.
    Dorothy shivered. Her shackles clattered against the gurney. With her torso pinned down, Dorothy could only watch as the thing moved its hands over her.
    Those fine fingertips brushed both of her breasts, tracing furrows into their curves. It stung a little, then tingled deep under the surface. The skin