15-06-2019, 06:18 PM
It clings to her curves and shows the full, heavy weight of her breasts under her tight blouse, her flat belly, her slender hips and legs. The neck of the blouse is low, low, low and he can see her cleavage winking temptingly at him, the gold chain nestling in the valley, vanishing into the squeezed fold between those luscious, ripe mounds.
In profile, he can see her breasts straining at the tight blouse and wants so much, so much to run his hands along it and then to cup her breasts. There's this sexy little *bindi*, a vermilion dot, in the middle of her forehead, and her hair is coiled up high on top of her head and accents the lovely line of her neck and throat.
He looks at her and drowns in her brown eyes, rimmed with kohl, their colour and warmth accentuated by the burgundy gold of her spectacles. She looks at him and sighs.
"Oh well, Manish. This really isn't working for you, is it?" she murmurs.
He looks down glumly. He can't seem to understand a word of what she's saying or wanting him to read, not a word, it's all just a crazed jumble of letters and drawings and it's only geography.
All he wants is her, her body, her lovely, lovely body. He sees how her breast rests on the edge of the table and can't take his eyes off it. She smiles gently at him over the rim of her spectacles and points to his biology book.
"Let's try that, shall we? The chapter we were doing yesterday?"
Manish's eyes brighten. This he can look at. He gets the book and flips open to the page. She starts talking again, and now it's more of the same and also a diagram of breasts, mammaries, and nipples, and aureoles. The chapter ends. He wants to do it all over again. She looks at him, taking off her spectacles.
"You know Manish, there's such a lot about this they don't tell you in the books. Stuff you should know."
He stares at her. What's she talking about?
"I mean, there's more to reproduction than that. And there's more to that than reproduction. Much more."
What? What?
Her smile broadens. She has such a cute mouth.
"You have a paper in practicals, too, don't you?"
"Uh, yeah, yes. Chem. And Physics."
"Not bio?"
"Yeah, a bit. Cutting up frogs and such."
"Nothing else?"
"Um, no, no I don't think so."
"Not in this chapter?" She points to the book.
He looks down, looks at her, looks down, at her again, shakes his head.
"Well," she says, getting up. "They should. At least I think so."
What? He looks at her. Where's she going? It isn't time yet.
"Where's your video?" She's rummaging in her purse on a sofa.
"What?"
"Your video. Where is it?" She straightens, holding a cassette. "I've got something you should see. It might help you understand better."
"Um, in my room. I ... I was watching a film before. Took the trolley in."
"Very well. I'm leaving now. I know it's a bit early, but I want you to spend the rest of the time watching this. It will teach you several things, which I want you to remember. We'll go over them tomorrow when I return. Okay?"
What can he say? He doesn't want her to go, but he can't tell her that. She gives him the cassette, smiles, and he sees her out. When she's gone, he feels lonely and empty. He shuffles back to his bedroom.
It has typical teenage clutter, weights, music, magazines, Samantha Fox and Madonna battling boobs and thighs on the wall, another of a couple of luscious Indian film stars in erotic poses, showing quite a lot.
He doesn't know it then, of course, but these film-stars, they're graduates of the same whore-school Shirlyn's at and often come back to do time.
He pushes the tape into the video machine and rewinds. His back is to her. He presses the play button.
In profile, he can see her breasts straining at the tight blouse and wants so much, so much to run his hands along it and then to cup her breasts. There's this sexy little *bindi*, a vermilion dot, in the middle of her forehead, and her hair is coiled up high on top of her head and accents the lovely line of her neck and throat.
He looks at her and drowns in her brown eyes, rimmed with kohl, their colour and warmth accentuated by the burgundy gold of her spectacles. She looks at him and sighs.
"Oh well, Manish. This really isn't working for you, is it?" she murmurs.
He looks down glumly. He can't seem to understand a word of what she's saying or wanting him to read, not a word, it's all just a crazed jumble of letters and drawings and it's only geography.
All he wants is her, her body, her lovely, lovely body. He sees how her breast rests on the edge of the table and can't take his eyes off it. She smiles gently at him over the rim of her spectacles and points to his biology book.
"Let's try that, shall we? The chapter we were doing yesterday?"
Manish's eyes brighten. This he can look at. He gets the book and flips open to the page. She starts talking again, and now it's more of the same and also a diagram of breasts, mammaries, and nipples, and aureoles. The chapter ends. He wants to do it all over again. She looks at him, taking off her spectacles.
"You know Manish, there's such a lot about this they don't tell you in the books. Stuff you should know."
He stares at her. What's she talking about?
"I mean, there's more to reproduction than that. And there's more to that than reproduction. Much more."
What? What?
Her smile broadens. She has such a cute mouth.
"You have a paper in practicals, too, don't you?"
"Uh, yeah, yes. Chem. And Physics."
"Not bio?"
"Yeah, a bit. Cutting up frogs and such."
"Nothing else?"
"Um, no, no I don't think so."
"Not in this chapter?" She points to the book.
He looks down, looks at her, looks down, at her again, shakes his head.
"Well," she says, getting up. "They should. At least I think so."
What? He looks at her. Where's she going? It isn't time yet.
"Where's your video?" She's rummaging in her purse on a sofa.
"What?"
"Your video. Where is it?" She straightens, holding a cassette. "I've got something you should see. It might help you understand better."
"Um, in my room. I ... I was watching a film before. Took the trolley in."
"Very well. I'm leaving now. I know it's a bit early, but I want you to spend the rest of the time watching this. It will teach you several things, which I want you to remember. We'll go over them tomorrow when I return. Okay?"
What can he say? He doesn't want her to go, but he can't tell her that. She gives him the cassette, smiles, and he sees her out. When she's gone, he feels lonely and empty. He shuffles back to his bedroom.
It has typical teenage clutter, weights, music, magazines, Samantha Fox and Madonna battling boobs and thighs on the wall, another of a couple of luscious Indian film stars in erotic poses, showing quite a lot.
He doesn't know it then, of course, but these film-stars, they're graduates of the same whore-school Shirlyn's at and often come back to do time.
He pushes the tape into the video machine and rewinds. His back is to her. He presses the play button.
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