This is a work of fiction, written for enjoyment and amusement; hopefully yours as well as mine. It originally formed part of what was to be a trilogy, recounting the same events from the point of view of each of the participants. Sadly, it didn't work, so I've taken Meg's part, tidied it up and present it here, hopefully for your enjoyment.nn* * * * *nnI met Mike at a party. Actually, he rescued me. The football jock I went with got too interested in the booze that was available and tried to get too fresh, too crudely, too soon. It was only the first time we went out together and I told him forcefully that it was the last, then slapped him as hard as I could.nn"Why, you cheap bitch." he'd started and lifted his hand. I think he meant to hit me, but I'll never know for sure because his arm was stopped in its downward flow by the interception of another.nn"No, Jimmy. You don't hit ladies."nn"Ladies!" Jimmy said, "This bitch is no lady!"nnThat was as much as he said, when his face went white and sweat appeared on his face. I looked curiously at my knight-errant. Tall, well-built without any excess, sandy hair, blue eyes. Quite tasty, actually. I knew his name, Mike Henderson, and that he was an engineering student, but that was all I knew. He seemed to have a hell of a grip, because Jimmy couldn't break it.

"You'll need to nuzzle in deeper than that to lick me, Honey." Ms. E's voice was a gentle contralto - just as calm and pleasant as it was when she greeted me in the hall.nn"Are you going to crack my head like a walnut again?" She'd pulled up her skirt so our eyes could meet, and she could see that I was smiling.nn"I'd never." But we both knew that she would - or at least her plump thighs would try to when she was on the verge of orgasm. The truth was that I really didn't mind, but I liked to teas her.nnI gave her thighs one last kiss. I always started by kissing her thighs - her skin was so soft there, so supple that it begged to be nibbled and licked. When she wore nylons (and she often did) I couldn't ignore the curve where her pale skin blossomed fleshily out of the top of the lacy band - I was an addict.nnHer legs shifted position, and her round bottom lifted from the comforter as I slid further into the vertex between her thighs. She cinched her skirt up to watch me and flinched, giggling when my lips pressed against her panties. This week her panties were cotton, but a sleek black printed with tiny purple flowers; they were always pretty and feminine. And as always, they were new - the creases had been ironed out, but they still smelled faintly of plastic beneath her subtle perfume and her own, stronger odor. I sucked them into my mouth until they were slick with my saliva, until I'd leeched out both the light dew of her anticipation and the slightly bitter stain of some excitement earlier in the day when she must have soaked them through. I often found her new panties previously (or still) moist, and I liked to imagine that she'd spent the whole morning at church thinking about the afternoon. I imagined her sitting on a hard wooden pew in my mental image of some generic church, pretending to focus on a hymnal, crossing her legs to contain the warmth flowing in her loins, but squeezing her thighs tight and squirming just enough to cultivate the pleasure of her clandestine fantasy.nnFor a minute or two I pushed my nose into fleshy part of her mons while I tongued and nibbled at the bulges of her labia through the screen of her panties, but that was just a wicked tease for both of us and she'd soon slipped the panties down her legs to drape around one of her ankles. It was important to her that she be the one to remove her panties herself, so while they were in place I didn't probe with my tongue or finger or push the crotch stirrup away for better access.

My wife bought herself a new book recently.something about learning to give the best blow-job ever. This is something my wife is already great at so I can't imagine her learning anything new ??“ but I'm open. nnI asked her what she has learned so far ??“ she's into the book to about the 3rd chapter. She told me she's learned a few things already such as:nn#1) Men like blowjobsn#2) The tongue is one of the strongest muscles in the bodyn#3) Men love blowjobsn#4) There are a pile of different exercises for the tongue to give maximum pleasuren#5) Men would rather have a blowjob than almost anything elsennBut she wanted to keep reading for a while so I told her when she actually learned something new I was willing to let her use me as a guinea pig. nnAs I'm rolled over trying to sleep at 2:00 a., my wife is still propped up on 3 pillows with her little book light attached to her new book reading away. I peered over the blanket, checking to see if she might be finishing up soon and there she is, doing the craziest things with her tongue. She is stretching her tongue as far as it can go, it comes to a pretty good point and then she tries to touch the tip of her nose. nnI finally couldn't stand it any longer. "What are you doing?" I mumbled thorough sleep deprived lips.nn"I'm doing the exercises in the book. Honestly, what does it look like I'm doing? I'm doing this for you you know.just wait ??“ my tongue will be in such great shape you won't be able to stand it!"nn"What I really can't stand is that damn light shining in my eyes. Any chance you're almost done with the reading?"nn"Chapter 7," she reads. "A man's favorite position is, of course, with the woman between his legs where he can gather her hair up and hold it away from her face.

I have a new co-worker. We work tight deadlines, most weekends, and with too little time spent in one place. We're in the middle of working a Construction Expo in Charlotte, NC, long hours, lots of teasing, all through the day.nnWe just finished dinner at the hotel bar, where we drank some wine, and kept flirting, less and less subtly as the night wore on. Our hands would touch, as if by accident, until he finally touched my thigh in a way that couldn't be an accident, really.nnMy hand moves over his, as I debate with myself whether to move it off my leg. Instead, I touch it gently, and move if higher on my thigh, pulling up my skirt at the same time.nnOur eyes meet, smiling.nnHe starts to knead his hand into my thigh as he asks the bartender for the check. He's barely audible as he asks, "you don't want dessert, do you?"nnI look at him, and answer, "I do, but not here," a grin spreading across my face.nnThe hand on my leg clenches me as I shrug my shoulders and bite my bottom lip, my tongue darting out just enough for him to see it before I tuck it back in.nnHis hand moves to the small of my back as he guides me to the elevator. Our rooms are next to each other's at the end of the hallway, when we get to their doors, he looks at me smugly, asking "your place or mine?"nnI answer quickly, "let's start in yours," as he opens the door and walks over to the bed.nnHe pulls me into his arms as he backs me onto the bed, pulling me underneath him as his mouth closes over mine and his hands glide under my cashmere sweater.nnI mirror him running my hands under his shirt, then press myself against his chest as my hands find his waistband, sliding underneath it, teasing his ass, his cock, his balls, then his cock some more. nnAs he feels my hands on his cock, he lifts my sweater above my head, unclasps my bra, and pulls it off. He kneads and tugs at my breasts, pinching and twisting my nipples. His head moves between them, licking, sucking, nibbling and kissing, seemingly everywhere, his chest against my belly as he sucks on my hard nipples.

She took a fistful of my hair and she pulled my head backward, toward her, until my back was arched and my face was touching hers. Still standing behind me on the dance floor, she brushed her lips on the tender skin of my cheeks, up to my right ear, and whispered: "I think you are in trouble, girl."nnI could not see her clearly, and I did not dare turn my head, but I knew exactly who had grabbed me so firmly and would not let me go. I had spotted her right away, the minute I entered this all-dyke Halloween party. How could I have missed her? There were still a few tables left, but she was just standing there, tall and fierce, in full Halloween butch attire. Only, it did not look like a costume on her. Tonight, she was the knight, dressed in leather and metal, and from her looks, one could tell she was prepared to face the dragon. Or the slutty damsel.nnFeeling whorish in my saloon girl costume, I was there, dancing, showing off, revealing half of my tits, the tender skin between the upper band of my fishnet stockings and the seam of my underskirt, which I had rolled up and clipped up each thigh until it barely hid my crotch. The corset that was cinching my waist was putting all the attention on my pulled out buttocks and my pushed up breasts. My outfit made me look like an old fashion whore and made me move and dance like a genuine slut.nnShe had spotted me too; I knew it from the look on her face. She just stared at me calmly, confidently, as if she knew from the start that she would get me in her bed tonight. Her features remained undecipherable, but I could see her eyes following me as I moved about the room, going to the bar and coming back with a drink, getting up and jumping on the dance floor. All along the way, I knew there were greedy, butchy eyes studying me.nnMy friends did not feel like dancing, so I joined the wiggling lesbian crowd all by myself. Alone with a hundred of sexy dykes moving to the same beat, I could feel the sexual surge all around me, the collective desires of dozens of horny women, and the deep thrust of techno music into my willing body. Strong rhythms arouse me, and I feel as if I could make out right there on the spot if I met my match on the dance floor.nnI knew she was watching.

Alyssa may be in graduate school but she sure doesn't look like it. She is 5'4 150 lbs (curvy in all the right places) with a 38DD chest. She could easily pass for a young 18 even though her ID says 22. She constantly gets questioned about her life and her career aspirations, but she isn't really ready to grow up yet. nnA lot of the time Alyssa has people ask her why she works at a grocery store when she is in graduate school and could very easily have a much better job. She often makes one excuse or another, "It is just brainless menial labor," "I get to work with a lot of cool people," "I'm not the only college student who works there." While all of these reasons were true, they were not the only reasons. There were many other reasons that Alyssa worked at Buy Low. Rob, Joshua, David, Nicolas, Bryan, Rick, and Al were just a few of them. nnWhen Alyssa had first thought of applying at Buy Low it had been in hopes of a temporary job just until she could find something more appealing. When she went in to interview she was not really taking it seriously. She had got up that morning and laid out in the sun for an hour or so. She remembered her interview at the last minute so she threw her hair up and pulled on some jeans and a tank top. She did not even look in the mirror, but when she got in the car she realized that she looked a hot mess. But she was late so she had to hurry.nnWhen she pulled into the parking lot the first thing she noticed was the bagger pushing buggies into the store. He had stopped for a minute and pulled his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face. His chest was so ripped that Alyssa got so distracted that she almost hit another car. She parked and hurried inside, making sure to catch the hottie's eye on her way in. After scoping out several other really hot guys she decided that she really needed to give this job a chance.

Author's note: This story is not so much about the adventures of Batgirl, but more about the developing sexuality of Barbara Gordon. The storyline continues from that of 'Batgirl Risks All' and re-introduces the character of Jennifer Goodbody A. Sparrow.nnEnjoy!nnWarning! This story contains material of an adult nature and is intended for mature readers and for personal use only. No copyright infringement is intended.nnAdventures Of Batgirl: The Price Of SilencennChapter 5: Silence On The Installment PlannnBarbara, unlocked and threw open the door to her apartment, and walked in, wearily. Jenny had offered to accompany her home, but she'd declined her kind offer. All she wanted now was a nice hot shower and a couple of hours of shut-eye, before she got ready for her evening Bat-patrol. She threw her coat over the back of a chair, slumped down onto the sofa, and pulled off her 'sensible' shoes, and wiggled her toes inside her stockings, uttering a sigh of pleasure. "Mmm, that feels sooh good!" she murmured.nnShe stood up and eased down the zip of her heavy tweed skirt, and went to slip it off, before remembering that she'd left her panties somewhere in the storeroom, back at the library. "Damn, that was careless!" she muttered, with a frown. "Still, I can recover them in the morning. No one ever goes in there, except for Jennifer and myself!" She stretched out on the sofa, and started to relax.nnShe must have dozed off, because she came to, with a start.

The shower water has long since run cold. Those laughing, jeering voices have echoed into nothingness. Still I stand here, shivering and cowering, hoping like hell I am truly alone. Soon I will climb out of this cold, thundering stream and run through to the changing room. Naked. Those bastards have taken my towel and my sweaty cricket gear, even my box, shoes and socks.nnI flick the tap off, momentarily staring down at my pale, goose-pimpled body. I'm tall, around 6'3". Since I've gained height in a hurry over the last two years, I often feel uncoordinated. My wet arms are long and thin; lean, my Dad calls it. I'm like that all over. Sparse, black hair forms a triangle at the top of my chest and trails like ants to my pubes. To each soft, erected hair, a few tiny droplets of water cling, resisting the urge to run down my skin and join the rest on the floor. My nipples are blushing pink and have hardened in response to the cold air and water. Despite the temperature, the bruises are beginning to show on my chest. They sting a little as I move. I think the pressure of the shower has stirred them up. nnI'm not the sort of guy that cries. No, I grin and bear this sort of shit, give some lip and a fist back where I can. But today, grinning and bearing it doesn't cut the mustard.