This takes place in Coalville, sometime the first fall semester after I'd begun work on my M.A. Since I was new to the T.A. program, my first assignment was as a tutor in the Writing Center. One morning, I arrived breathlessly from an early class, got settled in at my desk, and saw a woman in her late twenties coming into the room. She was short, about five-one, dressed in a coral cableknit sweater and skintight black Levi’s. I noted that she was on the voluptuous side, with larger than average breasts, round meaty buttocks, and a delicious curve of fullness to her belly. Her hair grew halfway down her back, a rich chestnut brown, and her eyes were a lustrous shade between green and brown.

"Can I help you with something?" I began, adding my usual spiel, "please sign your name, course number, professor's name, and the time on the register."

As she dispensed with the tutorial amenities, she inquired, "Do you have a good handle on APA documentation format? I'm doing a senior thesis in experimental psychology, and I have a ton of questions on writing up the results of a lab study I did."

"Do you have your draft and experimental data with you?" I crossed to the reference shelf for a copy of the APA style manual.

She rummaged in her backpack for a moment, then brought out a thick sheaf of paper secured with a binder clip.

"Let's see what you have," I remarked, taking the papers from her. I quickly read through the abstract, skimmed the experimental premiss and design sections, shot a glance at the table of contents, and located a hand-written series of notebook pages with research data on them. "First question: you don't mention in your experimental design whether you modeled your study after a previous study or created it entirely on your own."

Her eyebrows raised for a fraction of a second, then she recovered, answering, "Of course - I'd have to document that, wouldn't I?" She pulled a Xeroxed journal article from her pack. "Do you want to read it or should I give you a summary?"

"Just a quick recap."

It turned out that her primary design model was based on an earlier study, and I remarked, "To be ethical about this, you'll have to track down a copy of the original study in Morris Library."

"I'm with you so far." Her face fell as she said this, and she opened her mouth to say more when I interrupted.

"You'll also have to indicate, in your premiss and design sections, the differences in design, sample group, variables, and controls between your study and the experiments conducted earlier. Likewise, if you depart in the statistical constructs you employ, an explanation will be necessary. I shouldn't have to remind you of this, based on what I've read so far."

"Actually, I appreciate the tip. A second person always reads my stuff more objectively." She smiled, a warm light that eased my apprehension over being hypercritical. "Is there a chance that I can have you edit and proofread my final draft before I submit it?"

"I can't do that here in the center - it's not part of our responsibility. I could do it privately for a nominal fee."

"We can discuss it over coffee later. What time do you finish in here?"

"One p.m.," I replied, "but then I have a seminar from 1:30 to 3:00."

"I'll meet you in the Roman Room, say, between 3:15 and 3:30. Will that work?"

"Fine - I'll look forward to it." She rose and waved, then turned and strode out the door, her delectable ass swaying as my eyes nearly fell out of my head.

An undergraduate intern at the next desk, a senior notorious for her overreactions to anything that smacked of sexual politics, remarked, "Glue your eyeballs back in, Gramps. I swear you'd tutor even if you didn't get paid for it, just to get the opportunity to ogle women."

It took me a few minutes to locate her, seated halfway across the Roman Room in a deserted area catercorner to the Bake Shop. Then she spotted me, smiled, and waved me over. I walked briskly toward her, depositing my pack on a spare chair, and sat down facing her. "I hope you didn't have long to wait - I was a few minutes late out of the seminar because I had to talk to my thesis director about forming the rest of my committee. I'm going for a cup of java - do you want anything?"

"Black with one sugar. Wait, here's some money." She dug deep into a side pocket of her too- tight jeans.

"Forget it - on me this time." I walked off before she could protest.

Minutes later, I returned with the slightly overfull cups and handed her one. "It just occurred to me, as many times as I looked at your sign-in on the log after you left the center, that I don't remember your name."

"It's Tricia, and yours is Paul, right?"

"Guilty as charged." Silence seemed to hang heavily as we sipped our coffee.

Finally she asked, "What kind of rates do you usually charge for private editing and proofreading?"

"It varies from fifty cents to two dollars per page, depending on the complexity of the material and the competence of the writer. From what I've seen of your work, everything except maybe the appendices and statistical charts would go at the fifty-cent rate. You write as lucidly as any psych student I've ever met."

"Thank you, I think." She looked down as we finished our coffee, then asked, "What do you do with private clients who have a cash-flow problem? Are you amenable to alternative arrangements?"

"My guiding daemon suggests that I respond with a threat to take it out of your hide, but seriously, I've helped people out in exchange for a few hours' use of personal computers, or home-cooked meals, or even use of laundry facilities. I'm learning that being a grad student implies a vow of poverty, so I'm not anxious to put too fine a point on such transactions."

She laughed heartily at this, and remarked, "I could just pay you cash, but I'd kind of like to get better acquainted with you, if that isn't too obvious a come-on." Lighting a cigarette, she regarded me archly and added, "And from the kinds of noises the other tutors made when I stopped by the center after your shift ended, I'd say you wouldn't turn down such an opportunity yourself."

I blushed furiously, coughed to recover my composure, and asked, "Did Wanda the Witch overwhelm you with her gynocritic outrage when you came back?" My sweaty palms made it impossible to light one of my own smokes in self-defense.

Laughing, she grabbed my shaking right hand with her left, extended her lighter with her right, and remarked, "Oh, she just mentioned your approval of a portion of my anatomy best viewed on departure." Chuckling wickedly, she concluded, "Let's get out of here, shall we?"

Silently I followed her switching, swaying rump out to her car, a robin's-egg-blue Trans Am, taking a deep breath after she let me in and walked around the hood to the driver's seat.

She started the engine, and we pulled away from campus. Within the space of a few blocks, we pulled up in front of a medium-sized pastel blue racetrack house. She hit a switch to open the garage door, drove in, closed the door, and led me to the entrance through her living room.

"Wait until you see my computer," she remarked. Her decor was another surprise - the living room boasted walls of the same pastel blue shade, as did the deep pile carpet. Furniture included a gigantic white leather L-shaped couch, several white leather recliners, stereo rack and components in black and chrome, and several lamps in black and chrome.

She led me into the kitchen, furnished entirely in gold and white, continuing the leather upholstery. "You really like leather," I remarked. "Do you ever wear leather clothing?"

"Sometimes." She said this with an enigmatic grin on her face.

"I'll bet you'd look great in black leather underwear." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

"You'll find out one of these days - if you play your cards right."

I felt an involuntary twitch in my groin as she said this, and I turned a quarter circle away in an attempt to hide the sudden stiffening of my troublesome id monster.

"What's wrong? Is the conversation too arousing for you?" Smiling, she moved closer, threw her arms around my neck, placed her lips wetly and openly against mine, then thrust her tongue into my mouth. All I could do was respond by wrapping her waist with my arms, bringing my tongue into play, and pressing my center against hers.

"Tricia, I've wanted you since the minute you walked into the center." I slid my hands further down her back to clutch the pneumatic roundness of her buttocks. We remained like this for several minutes, tongues dueling and hands roaming, until she broke away from me with that same enigmatic expression on her face.

"Let's get some work done first, then we can play." She led me to a spare bedroom she used for a study. Here the motif was pearly gray, and on a chrome computer desk sat an Apple Macintosh II-cx, with a modem, color monitor, and laser printer. "This is my pride and joy," she explained. "I have a two gigabyte hard drive, 3.5" floppy drive, a 16X CD-ROM, a mouse, a 28K modem, and tons of software." She sat down at the ergonomic chair, turned on the computer, and quickly opened her thesis file. "I'll start you at the beginning and you can do some editing. But first," she rose, took my hand, and led me to the couch, where we sat closely together, "let's discuss payment. My cash flow is really tight right now, so how does $100 up front plus dinner whenever you're over here working sound?"

"It sounds fair - even generous. But what about that scene in the kitchen?"

"That's just because I like you, and I take it that the feeling's mutual." She kissed me quickly on the lips, then grabbed my crotch.

I raised my hands in mock self-defense. "If we keep that up, we'll never get anything done."

"Right," she replied, rising to pull an executive-style ashtray off the shelf. "I don't mind your smoking in here, but keep the ashes out of the equipment. I'm going to make some coffee." She swung out of the room as I drooled at her departing rear.

I soon became engrossed in her thesis, a study of sadomasochistic sexual fantasies. By the time she returned with two steaming mugs of black coffee, I was through editing the abstract, introduction, premiss, design, and methodology sections, and I hit the save command before lighting a cigarette and turning to face her.

She glanced at the screen. "You've gotten pretty far along, haven't you?"

"Page 26 - there weren't very many mistakes. Hardly anything in grammar and mechanics, but I do have a couple of questions about your structure and organization."

"Fire away," she directed, pulling up a recliner next to my chair. She sat down, crossed her legs, and swung one leg against mine as we ran through the problem sections. "More coffee?" she asked a half hour later.

"Could you dump a splash of booze in it? I'm getting way too wired."

She looked at me with concern in her eyes. "Your eyes are getting bloodshot - I think this is enough work for one night."

"What time is it?"

"8:30. Come out to the kitchen with me - I'll fix up those jittery nerves."

I followed the lascivious sway of her derriere out to the kitchen and took a stool at her dinette. "Something smells really good," I remarked, as the odor of broiling meat hit my nostrils.

"I started a batch of London broil just after I turned on the coffeemaker." She crossed to a cabinet, took out a cookie tin, and opened it. "Forget the high-octane coffee - I've got a bottle of wine chilling in the fridge." She extracted a joint from the tin, handed it to me, and said, "Light this up while I set out some plates."

"Need any help?" I lit up and took a hearty toke, suppressing a cough because I'd inhaled too much.

"No - just relax." She took the joint, hit off it, and handed it back. We finished it as she set the table, pulled a large bowl of salad from the fridge, and checked the meat and baked potatoes a final time. "Do you like yours medium or done?"

"Medium well."

"Okay, five more minutes." She sat at the stool next to mine, circled my neck with her arms, and regarded me with those bottomless dark eyes. "I have a really good feeling about working with you on this, both academically and personally." She kissed me again, pressing her breasts against my chest as she did so.

We held each other for another minute or so - I could feel the stone ache of arousal starting as we sat in breathless silence. Suddenly, the oven timer rang, and she rose to take out the London broil. "Pour the wine, okay? It's the magnum of burgundy in the top shelf of the fridge door."

I pulled out the bottle, found the cork already loosened, and removed the chilled goblets from the refrigerator rack. After I'd set them on the table and poured, I inquired, "Should I put the bottle back in the fridge to keep it cool?"

"No, just recork it and set it on the table." She brought the meat and baked potatoes to the dinette on matching platters, sat down, and beckoned me to a seat beside her.

Little was said as we inhaled the meal. Her left thigh was pressed against my right one almost constantly and, hungry as I was, I found it difficult to pay full attention to my food because of my overwhelming desire for this warm, enticing woman.

Finally, I sat back, stifled a belch, refilled our glasses, and remarked, "That was delicious, but I think I ate too much."

"Me, too. I guess vigorous exercise will have to serve in place of dessert.

"Where's the bathroom?" As I asked the question, I barely suppressed a fart.

"Down the hall, door on the right." She squeezed my groin gently and got up to rinse the dishes.

My trip to the john entailed a lot of farting but nothing visible. As I returned from cleaning up, she asked me, "Are you feeling better?"

"Got rid of some gas," I blushed at the intimate nature of the question. "Maybe I should take a raincheck on the other plans we discussed."

"Nonsense," she remarked, a hard edge of command creeping into her voice. "I've got something that will eliminate the problem." She flashed an enigmatic smile that held mystery and a perverse something I couldn't identify. "I want you to go into the master bedroom and strip down to your underwear. Now march!"

Submissive that I am, I had no choice. I moved quickly to the rear of the house, to a huge bedroom dominated by a king-size waterbed in a redwood frame. In an empty corner were heavy iron eyehooks screwed into a 6"x6" ceiling beam.

"Hang your clothes neatly on a chair," she directed. I did as ordered.

"Now lay your T-shirt and socks on the chair seat." Again, I complied.

"Now pull your shorts to your knees, bend over, and grab your ankles."

As I hesitated, she jammed her right knee against my groin. "Do it now!"

She crossed to the headboard of her bed, opened a cabinet drawer, and pulled out a heavy rubber paddle. Returning to my side, she pelted my tush until it was on fire. She laid down the paddle.

"Now pull your shorts the rest of the way off, get on your knees, lower your head to the floor, put one hand on each cheek of your ass, and spread them as far as you can!"

I assumed my position of humiliation as she walked into the adjoining bathroom. I could hear water running and the sound of objects being moved, slightly chilly because of the air conditioning in the room. I waited, not entirely sure what was afoot.

Fifteen minutes later she returned, knelt at my side, and asked, "How long since your last bowel movement?"

"Two or three days - I don't really remember."

"You probably need some help, then." She leered at me, in the same moment sliding a thermometer into my exposed rectum. "I'll be back to check it in five minutes."

My erection had returned from the shock of the cold steel and glass against my prostate. I heard the sound of wheels rolling across the carpet, but couldn't see the object being moved.

She returned to my side, removed the instrument from my back passage, wiped it off, and remarked, "You're running a fever of 100.8o." She paused, then stuck a rubber-clad finger coated with K-Y jelly up my bung, wriggling it around to thoroughly massage my prostate. "It looks like constipation complicated by a severe case of analitis." She withdrew the finger with a popping sound.

I felt her insert something else into my behind, something cool and greasy, longer and thicker than the swab or thermometer. She remarked, "I'm prescribing a two-quart clear water irrigation to be held for a minimum of twenty minutes, to be repeated as necessary." Suddenly, I felt the object in my ass expanding. "Don't panic," she warned, "it's just a inflatable nozzle nozzle I'm inflating to help you retain the water." I realized I could relax as she opened the clamp to release the water into the nether reaches of my bowels.

The water was very warm, not scalding but heated enough to put a flush into my face and to elevate my body temperature by a degree or so. I felt the water pushing itself relentlessly into the full length of my colon, making me fuller, forcing my abdomen to swell visibly outward. I looked up, spotted the rack from which dangled what appeared to be a jumbo-sized enema bag. "Are you sure that thing only holds two quarts?" I asked, a quaver in my voice.

"It actually holds five, but I'm just going a quart at a time until I determine your physical tolerance."

"Is it full all the way to the top?"

"Yes." Her right hand went to the clamp and snapped it shut. I felt the fullness and pressure in my belly increase momentarily and then hold steady. "That's one quart," she explained. "Now lie on your left side and bring your knees up to your chest."

I complied, trying desperately to hide my aching arousal as I changed position.

"What's this I see? Is my patient getting excited?" She reached under my ass and between my legs to fondle my family jewels. "Does baby get horny when I pump his little tummy full of yummy hot water?"

"I'm so hard I could drive nails with my dick."

Snap! She opened the clamp and the water flowed deeper and higher into my thirsty bowels. She continued to massage my balls as the water poured in.

I felt rather than saw a few drops of pre-ejaculate emerge from the head of my burning dick. A slight cramping began just below my navel.

Snap! The flow stopped and I was breathing more heavily due to the unaccustomed fullness of my nether passage.

"Now I want you on your back with your knees pulled up to your chest." I obeyed, my dick sticking visibly straight above my turned-turtle belly. "If you start to feel painfully full, tell me and I'll stop for a while. Since you didn't complain on the first two quarts, you can probably do another quart or so." Snap! She opened the valve, and I could immediately feel my transverse colon beginning to fill. I felt heavy, soggy, overloaded, and horny as a deciphallic billygoat. My stomach was grumbling and gurgling in an alarming manner.

"If you keep that up, Tricia, I'll come before I can touch you."

"It's Mistress Tricia, and you won't come without my permission." She fairly spat the words out. "Keep talking that way and I'll fill you until you bust a gut."

Suddenly an excruciating cramp wracked my whole abdominal region. I felt even warmer, nauseous, weak, dizzy, but still surprisingly wanton.

Snap! she extended her right hand and gently kneaded my bulging middle for several minutes. "Three quarts down. Can he take four?" She gave my dick a rough squeeze and directed, "On your right side, with your knees up to your chest."

I shifted position, waiting for more pressure inside my bursting gut, but she walked away for a moment. Returning from the bathroom, she knelt at my side and stretched a condom over my throbbing organ. "If you make this quart, can you guess what's coming next?"

"We are," I replied cockily.

She slapped my left cheek (of my face, silly) and said, "Watch your mouth, or you'll have another thing coming." Snap!

She grabbed my tool in a viselike right hand, massaging it to even fuller erection. "This is why I buy nonlubricated condoms," she explained, lowering her head to engulf just the tip of my manhood in her mouth.

The water flowed inexorably into my hugely swollen paunch as she worshipped my lustful staff with her mouth and tongue. I didn't know whether the agony or the ecstasy would kill me first.

Snap! She closed the clamp and silently repositioned me on my back, knees drawn up to my chest. "You can let your legs down." As I stretched out flat on the floor, she removed her pastel blue terrycloth bathrobe to stand revealed in a black leather corset which left her bush, buttocks, and breasts naked, gartered to black fishnet nylons. She lowered her torso over mine, placing her knees on the floor, straddling my hips.

Slowly, tantalizingly, she lowered her dark pubis over my throbbing penis, pausing just as the tip began to touch her outer labia. "I call the shots. Got it?"

I nodded.

Centimeter by centimeter she lowered her gaping womanhood onto my shaft, finally settling her full weight on me after what seemed like an hour had passed. She lowered her face to mine, pressed her lips onto mine, and searched my eyes with hers. After a moment, she locked eye contact and gave me a devious grin.

Snap! She raised herself slowly, then sank back down. For several strokes she opened the flow on the upstroke and closed it on the downstroke. Then, after one last raising of her body, she closed the clamp, held her position, then came down quickly, speeding into a locomotive rhythm that left me gasping for air. As we rocked, she buried her mouth in my left shoulder and let me feel her teeth. My belly felt still nearer to the exploding point as my burning erection kept throbbing inside her molten cave. She thrust her left breast into my mouth and ordered, "Bite my nipple, you bitch!"

I was so surprised that I reacted without thought and did just that. Snap! She opened the clamp and let in the last of quart five as we galloped to climax. I howled as I jetted my essence into the rubber while her snapping vaginal muscles milked the last of my seed.

We collapsed into each other's arms as she closed the clamp on the now-empty bag. We rested for a few minutes, then she asked, "Can you hold off releasing that until I track down a joint?"

"I feel like I'm gonna explode."

"Tough it out. I won't be gone long."

As I awaited her return, I contemplated the gut-buster I still retained. My middle was swollen five inches past its normal curvature. I drew my knees up to my chest and moaned until I heard Tricia's footsteps. She walked in with a lit bomber in one hand, handed it to me, helped me to my feet, and assisted me to her master bathroom. "Straddle the toilet and I'll deflate the nozzle." I obeyed, then felt the release of the tennis ball-sized balloon up my moon. She tugged gently and eased the instrument out of my ass, directing, "Sit down and roll that condom off."

Once I'd pulled off the rubber, she took it, threw it into the garbage, and rolled another one on me. This she lubricated with K-Y jelly. Handing me the tube, she bent over to present my face with her lovely ass and inquired, "Want to lube my poop chute, baby?"

I squeezed a generous amount on the index and middle fingers of my right hand, smeared the excess on her outer anal region, and plunged both fingers smartly up her backside. She moaned as I began to fingerfuck her asshole briskly, still in agony because she hadn't given me permission to release the water. "That's so good," she exclaimed, reaching behind her back to grab my wrist. "But what I really want is that bone of yours up my greedy little butthole." I withdrew my fingers and waited as she lowered her plump tush onto my rod. "Release!" she shouted, and I relaxed my sphincter. An immense, wetly explosive fart wracked my gut as I gave way to unrestrained emptying.

Her anal muscles squeezed me tighter than I'd ever been squeezed before, and I pounded counterthrusts to match her vigorous bouncing action. "I - can't - hold - it - anymore," I groaned, bringing my left hand into her crotch to massage her clit.

"Now," she screamed, and I bit down on her shoulder, just below the neck, as a veritable gallon of my seed shot into the rubber barrier inside her fiery asshole. Again, we slumped exhaustedly as my purged bowel contents flooded into the toilet. "You can stay here tonight," she whispered when she finally raised herself slowly into an upright position. She eased the condom off me, gave my dick an affectionate squeeze, and walked over to the sink to begin washing her equipment. "As soon as you're done there, jump into the shower. I'll be in to join you in a minute."

In the shower, I had just lathered and rinsed my hair when Tricia slid in beside me. "How do you like this shower?" she asked, reaching between my legs to fondle my genitals.

"Is it big enough?" Suddenly, an idea struck me. "I was wondering if you and other lovers had ever used it for sex."

Nodding, she replied, "Nearly every man I've had since I moved in here has gone the rounds of this shower. Not just conventional sex, either." Gripping me tighter, she whispered, 'Wait until you see what fun we can have in here with a five-quart bag and a y-hose." My erection stirred visibly at this comment.

We lathered each other thoroughly, hands slipping and sliding over every contour and nook of each other's bodies, and came together in a deep soul kiss. I felt a soapy finger enter my tingling bung, and moaned loudly as she massaged my prostate. Just as I was about to explode, she squeezed my dick in a stranglehold and cautioned, "Wait." We rinsed off and dried each other with huge, heavy towels, then she took me by the hand and led me back into the bedroom.

She sat me down at the edge of the bed, sat on my lap, and asked, "How do you feel?"

"Refreshed, clean, tired, but still horny as hell."

"Good. Assume the submissive position on the edge of the bed, knees on the floor." As I bent over, she added, "Spread your cheeks, lover." I opened the globes of my tush, holding them apart with both hands. I felt a cool,

greasy finger rooting in my rear passage, teasing my prostate and bringing me to full erection yet again.

The finger was withdrawn, and I felt the insertion of a tiny, hard, slippery object. "This is a mentholated suppository to relieve any soreness you might feel." Suddenly, she began pressing a thick, blunt object into my expanding rectum. "And this is a vibrating butt plug," she added. "You'll keep it inserted overnight because I have a special surprise for you in the morning." I moaned as the plug pushed deeper, stretching my sphincter muscle, until it seated with a pop. My prostate was on fire, and I groaned in arousal. "Get up on the bed," she directed, and I positioned myself to relax against the pillows. She sat down beside me and guided my head to the rosy aureoles of her breasts. I responded by taking one, then the other, into my mouth, sucking and biting the nipples into full erection, pacing my action to the speed and intensity of her moaning. After endless minutes, she pushed me away, reaching into a drawer in the headboard, and produced another condom. After rolling it onto me, she stretched flat on the bed and remarked, "You get to be on top this time."

As I positioned myself above her, she guided me gently into her moist heat. "Slowly," she directed. I began to pump slowly in and out, hearing the rhythm of her breathing become more ragged as a roaring began in my ears. Suddenly, she grabbed my hips, digging hard into my buttocks with sharp fingernails, and our pace began to accelerate. Sharp cries escaped from her lips, and one hand left my ass momentarily, after which I felt the vibrator begin its humming caress of my prostate. Her hungry mouth was all over my shoulders, chest, and nipples, and her nails raked my back and tush until I was sure she'd drawn blood in half a dozen spots. I felt myself go over the edge, heard her screams interspersed with my shouts, and we bucked in tandem until, drained, we lay still on the sweat-soaked sheets.

Morning came - I felt the buzz of the plug up my ass - I was erect again, but Tricia was nowhere to be seen. I heard footsteps then, and she entered the bedroom bearing two cups of coffee. "Do you have any early classes?"

"I don't have anything until my seminar tonight."

"Good - we can spend the morning in bed." She handed me a cup - the aroma was heavenly, laced with chicory and a touch of brandy. We finished our coffee silently, looking deep into each other's eyes. She reached over and shut off the vibrator switch. "How do you like my little friend?"

"Feels very good - full and yet arousing in a perverse way."

"Follow me into the bathroom." She wore a dark bathrobe that hit her at midthigh, opaque so I couldn't see what she wore underneath. "On your knees, baby. I'm on top this time." As I assumed my submissive position, she took off the robe to reveal a red satin corset and a dildo of two inches girth and eight inches length strapped to her hips. "Put your head down and close your eyes." As I complied, I heard her moving things around to the sound of running water. She pulled the plug out of my tush with a pop, replacing it by inserting the dildo slowly, teasingly, into my behind, not stopping until I could feel her crinkly pubic hairs against my fanny globes. She pulled out slowly, until just the head was inside me, then drove back in swiftly and smoothly. After a couple of dozen strokes I heard a clicking sound, and the pressure inside my ass increased with a spreading heat and fullness. "Have you figured out what's happening yet?" she queried.

"That dildo is another enema nozzle, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. The water contains Castile soap, and you'll be taking all five quarts nonstop. No whining or begging either, or I'll start over with twice as much."

I groaned, aware of nothing except the growing fullness in my gut and the stone ache of my manhood. To top it off, she continued pummeling my ass, in and out with the nozzle until I was sure she'd pull too far out and I'd have a nasty accident on the floor.

That didn't happen, though. Just when I was sure my guts would explode, she pressed hard into my backside, reached around, took my dick in her right hand, and pumped me to orgasm as the invading water continued to bloat and swell my belly. After the bag was empty, she held me for many minutes, massaging my expanded gut and crooning as I suppressed agonized whimpering.

At last, she helped me to my feet, the dildo nozzle still up my ass, and walked me to the toilet, pulling out of me just before I sat down. "Now," she ordered, "suck my dick."

I looked at the dildo with distaste, coated with brown from inside my smelliest depths. She slapped me across the face. "Do it."

Suppressing a gag, I licked and sucked the foul rubber organ as I began to pass the brutal purge, my bowels cramping and farting thunderously in time to the obscenities my loving Mistress Tricia shouted at me.

At last it was over, and I slumped wearily against the toilet. Tricia rinsed her equipment and again ordered me into the shower after wiping me and patting baby powder into my sore anal region.

I was nearly done cleaning myself up when Tricia entered the shower carrying the five-quart bag connected to a Y-hose, to which were attached two nozzles shaped like medium or queen-sized anal plugs. She hung the bag on the shower nozzle, put her arms around me, and kissed me lasciviously. "Are you ready for a major turnon?"

"Always," I replied, reaching down to stroke her lubricating vaginal lips. She eased one, then two, lubricated fingers into my bung, then handed me the tube of K-Y jelly so I could return the favor. A soft moan escaped her throat as I slipped greasy fingers into her tight bottom hole. We lubricated the plugs, got on our knees on the shower floor, and slowly pushed them into each other's backsides. Lips meeting in a kiss, we engaged in a highly erotic tongue duel for several minutes until we gaspingly came up for air.

Snap! Tricia opened the clamp to let the soothing warm water flow into our thirsty bellies. Since these hoses were longer, she sat me on the floor, straddled me, and eased her mossy slit over my turgid manhood.

Slowly, we began to move in rhythm, our heated genitals increasing the friction as the water filled us. The slapping motion of our bodies was punctuated by audible cries and gasping. I felt filled, my dick was hard enough to drive nails, and her twat squished sloppily in rhythm to my upward thrusting. Finally, Tricia screamed out in a continuous, passion-possessed ululation, and I jetted my burning seed upward as her hips drove heavily down on my thighs one last time. We slumped wearily in each other's arms as the last of the water drained into our backsides.

After we had expelled into the shower, rinsed off, and scrubbed the drain, we dressed and ate a late breakfast. Departing for the campus, we took a moment to hold each other and engage in a long, deep kiss. Squeezing my buns before we got into her car, she remarked, "I'll be in the writing center tomorrow during your tutoring hours. I'll bring in my final draft and we can meet at the end of the day to discuss it."

"Fine," I replied. "I don't have anything on tap for Friday. What are your weekend plans like?"

"I should spend some time in the library researching a paper for another course, but other than that, I thought I'd kick back, watch some videos, and just mellow out." She smiled enigmatically, then inquired, "Would you like to spend the weekend with me?"

"I thought you'd never ask. I'll get my research materials together, pack a bag with clothes and stuff, and have it all in the center with me when you come by tomorrow."

"Perfect." A sudden thought crossed her sultry features. "Do you ever cross-dress?"

"Only at home."

"Good - bring all your toys and wear your sexiest undergarments when you come to work tomorrow."

By this time, we were at the Student Center parking garage. We got out, locked the doors, and walked toward Faner Hall, which was directly on the path to the Life Science building. With a brief hug and a tender kiss, we parted to pursue our separate purposes.

I collapsed exhaustedly into bed after returning from my Wednesday night seminar, sleeping peacefully until the sound of birds woke me at 5:30 a.m. I rose, eased two vaselined q-tips up my bung, replaced them with a glycerin suppository, and followed its passage with a small anal plug. I took a pair of elastic suspenders and fastened the short ends tightly around my waist, crisscrossing my thighs with the long ends like a makeshift garter belt. Then I donned a red ciré garter belt, a tight-fitting black cummerbund, a similarly tight abdominal supporter with attached jockstrap, applied two hundred strokes to each asscheek with a rough-surfaced ping-pong paddle, donned a matching red ciré teddy, fastened hair clips tightly to my nipples, put on a pair of sheer pink cotton panties, stuck a tape in my stereo, turned it up loud, and did twenty minutes on my stationary bike.

Finished, I went into the bathroom, pulled down the panties and took out the buttplug, sat on the toilet, and did my business. Stripping, I entered the shower, scrubbed down and shampooed thoroughly, then dried off, shaved my face, genitals, abdomen, chest, and anal region, refastened my undergarments, pulled a medium vibrating buttplug from a drawer, sat on it until it was fully inserted, put the panties back on, tucked the power unit of the plug inside the panties, and padded to my bedroom. There I donned tight Levi’s, placed the power attachment in the left hip pocket, and pulled on a heavy flannel shirt, leaving the tail out to cover the vibrator cord.

I breakfasted on a banana, a peanut butter and honey sandwich, orange juice, and a cup of instant coffee. Putting the dishes in to soak, I quickly packed texts, notebooks, computer discs, and writing implements into my attaché case, then pulled an oversized canvas sport bag from the closet, packing toiletries, socks, an extra pair of jeans, t-shirts, another flannel shirt, a windbreaker jacket, shower thongs, the remainder of my kinky undergarments, toys, and an assortment of my favorite fetish magazines into the now-bulging piece of luggage.

I quickly returned to the kitchen, washed and rinsed the dishes, drying them with a towel and putting them away. I shut off the stereo, took a quick glance around to see that all my burners, lights, etc., were off, glanced at my watch to note that it was 9 a.m., hefted my luggage, locked the door, and walked quickly to Faner Hall. I deposited the sport bag in a coin locker near the writing center, pocketed the key, and entered the room with my attaché case swinging.

The senior woman who'd razzed me about ogling Tricia's tush was just putting her books into a shoulder bag as I came through the door. "I'm glad you're early, Paul. Can you cover the end of my shift? I have to run home and take my mother's health insurance papers to the hospital."

"Sure - I hope there's nothing seriously wrong with her."

"Actually, she had a mild heart attack after I left for classes this morning." Her face was drawn and tight. "Here's the key. I probably won't be back until after your shift ends, so I'll return the favor next week, whenever I can."

"Whenever is fine - don't worry about it." I gently squeezed her right shoulder. "I hope your mom pulls through okay."

She patted my hand, her eyes softening. "Thanks, Paul. This about makes up for you ogling that psych major the other day."

"Actually, we're getting together when I get done today."

"What an operator!" she groaned amusedly, and exited the room.

I signed in, setting my case on the desk, took out a notebook and pen, and had just opened a book of critical essays on Philip K. Dick when Dr. Simons, the center coordinator, walked in.

"Morning, Doc," I greeted cheerfully.

"How goes the war, Paul?" His face became a question mark. "Where's Wanda? You're at work a bit early."

"She had to rush some papers to the hospital. Her mother had a heart attack this morning."

"Well, I hope she'll be okay. Incidentally, I was going to suggest that she take some time off. She's been so stressed out lately that some of our regulars are complaining. Sometimes her feminist rhetoric gets a trifle overbearing."

Chuckling, I nodded. "Yes, it does. But I know she means well - she's actually a sweet kid who's a bit intimidated by this big academic playground."

"If you say so, Paul. Do you have a key to the records cabinet on your ring? I left mine in my office."

I produced the keyring from my pocket. "Is it this little gold one?"

"Thanks." He opened the cabinet, pulled a folder full of tutorial feedback slips from a drawer, and put it on my desk. "It should be slow this morning. Will you help me pull all the slips from students in Dr. Kellogg's philosophy classes?"

"Sure - I can leave Philip K. Dick until later. Is there a problem?"

"The academic senate is investigating about fifty grievances for sex discrimination in his grading, and, since you and Wanda, especially, have been very detailed in recording feedback from students and faculty, the information on the slips should assist us greatly in determining the facts behind the allegations."

We sifted through the records until 11:15, when a student entered and I was off and running on my first tutorial of the day. After I finished the session and let the student go, it was 11:40. Dr. Simons stuck a pile of slips in his briefcase, waved, and wished me a good weekend, heading out the door. Minutes later, Tricia walked in, perched on my desk, and greeted me with "How's tricks, Toots?"

"Hello, pretty lady. I'll close in another ten minutes, take the key to the department office, then get my bag from the locker and we can go out to your car."

"Why don't I get your bag now? I'll take it to the car and meet you by the door when you get done dropping off the key."

"All right - it's a date." We blew each other a kiss as she departed with my locker key. I finished my paperwork, silently hoping nobody would come in at the last minute.

As the second hand of the clock inched up to 12 even, I replaced the materials in my attaché case, snapped it closed, got up and locked the door, shut out the lights and the surge protectors on the computers, and walked to the department office complex. Returning the key, I signed it in, left the office after picking up my mail, reentered the elevator, and rode it back to the fourth floor.

Tricia hadn't returned yet, so I lit a cigarette and paced near the center door. The butt was only half-smoked when she loped up to me, pulled it from my mouth, took two quick drags, and smashed it out in the ashtray. "We're going to give up those nasty things this weekend. Come on - we've got a luncheon reservation at a vegetarian restaurant I just discovered." Taking my hand, she led me out to the parking lot.

The restaurant was wonderful, with an East Indian decor, huge plants, rattan furniture, and the lightest scent of patchouli incense in the air. We ate a special salad, an unrecognizable rice dish, a curry, and drank a half-liter of very mild currant wine. Tricia put a foot in my lap halfway through the meal, teasing me slyly with the open toes of a sandal. At this treatment, I asked, "So what's the game plan? Is it back to your house, or are we headed to the library to finish our research first?"

"Definitely the library. I want no pressing calls of duty once I get home and turn off the phones and answering machine for the weekend." We finished our meal silently, looking lustfully into each other's eyes, then belched contentedly as we finished our wine.

In the library, I managed to locate several more articles in Extrapolations and other SF journals relevant to my research on the early stories of Philip K. Dick. I had just finished Xeroxing these and filling Interlibrary Loan requests for several more when Tricia came up behind me and squeezed my buns affectionately. I whirled quickly to hide my rapidly-erecting dick against her torso. How's your work coming?"

"Got all I need. Are you ready to fly?"

"As soon as I give these to the ILL librarian."

"I'll be at the south exit door when you're done." She walked off, hips swaying lubriciously.

I completed the last form and handed the pile to the librarian, closed my attaché case, and rushed out to join Tricia.

Out in the car, she said, "I want to stop at a fabulous adult bookstore I discovered last week. It's right on the way to my house."

"Fine - sounds like fun."

"You'll like this place - they have a wide selection of magazines and toys devoted to all kinds of fetishes. When I'm between men, I love to browse in such places - the displays get me so hot I have to rush out the door, zip home, bolt the door, rip off all my clothes, and take matters in hand." She squeezed my left thigh affectionately with her right hand as she steered the car with her left.

I belched, uttering an apologetic excuse, and winced because I felt bloated with gas from the Asian cuisine at lunch. She looked at me with concern.

"Upset stomach?" she inquired.

"Just a lot of gas. I'm not used to so much fiber at one meal."

"We can take care of that when we get to my crib." She pulled up to a parking lot, wheeled the car in expertly, and I was at her side putting money into the meter before we headed into the store.

Inside was a fantasy come true - displays, complete with appropriately posed mannequins of both sexes, of an uncannily complete assortment of enema, bondage, and punishment equipment and garments. Taking my hand, Tricia led me to a display featuring a male dummy wearing tight rubber shorts, from the seat of which dangled an inflation catheter. Cupping my crotch surreptitiously, she asked, "Doesn't that look like fun?"

I had no time to respond before she led me to another display, this one of a female dummy seated on a huge red sit-down bag with an oversized nozzle protruding from the center. "Here," she replied, extracting some bills from a wallet in the right hip pocket of her too-tight jeans. "Go pick up some magazines - more ideas for the weekend. A hundred bucks should get us a good assortment, shouldn't it?"

"Yes," I said meekly. "Are you sure you can afford to spend so much?"

"I got a big tax refund in the mail today. Paid three months' house payments and I'm still rolling in cash." She squeezed my crotch furtively, then swatted my tush with an open palm. "Go on - pick out what you want. Meanwhile, I'm buying some new toys." She directed me to the section where the watersports magazines were displayed, then walked away to find a salesperson.

I must have bought a copy of every Water and Power, Enema Erotica, Enema Thrills, Waterworks, etc. issue which I didn't already have, plus five or six paperback novels devoted to the same topic. As I was paying, Tricia joined me with her purchases. "What color underwear are you wearing?"

"Red teddy and pink panties," I whispered in embarrassment.

"Good - I got you a set of breast forms, a black cutout bra and matching crotchless panties, another set in white, one in pink, one in pastel blue, an imitation leather skirt and top, a black satin garter belt and corset, and some nylons of various textures."

"Got any money left?"

"Of course." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "We're going to detour to my connection's house, get some more grass and an ounce of `shrooms before we land at my crib." She turned away, paid for her purchases, and handed the packages to me to carry out to the car for her. I placed the stuff in the trunk with my bag and our school gear, got in, and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her to me for a deep kiss before she could start the engine.

"Thanks for being so generous."

"My pleasure - I'm looking forward to dressing you up, then undressing you." She pulled away, and we slid down the street to our next destination.

It was after five when we pulled up in front of Tricia's. She unlocked the trunk and loaded me with literally every piece of gear we'd amassed during the day, then led me to the door. "Just set our purchases and your sport bag on the couch, then carry our school stuff back to my study. When you return to the living room, remove your jeans, shirt, shoes, and socks, take them back to my bedroom, and wait for me on the living room floor on your hands and knees." With a stiff swat to my rump, she dispatched me on my errands.