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The Friday Night Male Nude Art Club

Whatever I'd expected, it wasn't this...
“Do you find me attractive?”

The question sounded like more of an accusation, a reprimand, than anything.

Professor Milford eyed me sternly over narrow, rectangular lenses. I wasn’t keen to meet her eye, but it was better than making things worse by staring at the stretches of red nylon visible from half-thigh to calves on her crossed legs.

This was what I’d done habitually during lectures, and what I now imagined, given the question, had caused the professor to summon me to her office. There was, I decided, nothing for it but to metaphorically prostrate myself.

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you in any way,” I blurted out. “I hope I haven’t. I mean…”

I broke off. Professor Milford was giving the ghost of a smile, lips pursing in concealment.

That was even more unnerving. I was expecting to be reprimanded and sent packing, but she seemed to find something amusing. Professor Milford was a woman all the students understood was not to be trifled with. Her greatest claim to fame was an 800 page study of the female nude in art which one particularly enthusiastic blurb on the back of the book, which was required reading, described as a “razor sharp castration of millennia of patriarchy”.

That said, it hadn’t escaped most of the male students that whatever Professor Milford thought of the female nude, she was, while pushing 50, a bit of a looker. I don’t think I’d seen her wear anything other than her thigh-high skirts and nylons in various colours. Consequently we didn’t quite know what to make of her, but a surreptitious study of her legs and the thrust of mature fruit beneath various jumpers was a luxury I had allowed myself during lectures. Except I was now suspecting that I’d been too obvious.

“You haven’t answered my question,” she said now.

I tried, as quickly as I could, to gauge the situation. It seemed to me that I was damned whatever I said. Better to let her make the running.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

Now Professor Milford did smile. Thinly. “It’s a perfectly simple question,” she said. “Do you find me attractive? Yes or no?”

Did I want to be hung for a sheep or a lamb? Did it matter? “Well, yes,” I stuttered, “but…”

Professor Milford held up her hand, motioning me to silence. “See, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

I looked down, expecting to be metaphorically castrated at any moment.

“So bashful,” Professor Milford went on. “And it hasn’t escaped my notice that you try to be discreet. When you eye me up during lectures, I mean.” I thought it better not to say a word, for fear of digging myself deeper into a hole. “Would you say you’re a discreet kind of person, Martin?”

I think I frowned. I didn’t understand the situation at all. I didn’t understand the Professor. I had no idea where any of this was going. Looking up I saw that one of the Professor’s nails was scratching the surface of red nylon below the hem of her skirt. I think I started. I must have reacted in some way, because the Professor looked amused.

“I-I- don’t know,” I said. “It depends, I suppose.”

Professor Milford’s whole hand slid down her thigh, giving her knee a little rub, then she shifted, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward a little. “None of that, Martin,” she said. “Just tell me, yes or no, if you’re the kind of person who can keep a secret.”

“That would depend on what kind of secret it was,” I said. “If it was something illegal…”

“What if it was just something that is frowned upon?” Professor Milford asked.

“I don’t know. It would depend…”

“Oh for goodness sake!” Professor Milford clacked her tongue impatiently.

I’d had enough of this cloak and dagger stuff now. “It would help if you gave me a concrete example,” I said.

Professor Milford leaned back, re-crossing her legs. By now I’d forgotten myself, and let my eyes linger a second too long on the red nylon. I saw that Professor Milford saw, cursing myself. But by now she had clearly made her decision. “Suppose, as a hypothetical situation, that you found a member of faculty attractive, and they let it be known they found you attractive, and you found yourself in their office, and… well… one thing lead to another. Could you keep that a secret?”

I bit my lip. This was difficult. Was it a trap? Or was Professor Milford actually coming on to me?

“It’s problematic,” I said. “There’s the power angle to consider.” Professor Milford was big on power, or rather big on critiquing power.

Now, however, she waved an impatient hand. “Oh forget that,” she said. “There’s no coercion, complete consent, and no question of special favours – or for that matter punishment if things turn out less than satisfactory. If that happened, a mutually fulfilling moment or two… Could you keep that a secret, Martin?”

She was scratching her thigh again, and there was the merest hint of a tongue swerving onto lip. I still wasn’t sure if it was a trap or not, but curiosity and temptation were working together to edge out common sense. “The ethics of it would still be shaky,” I said. “But if there were no harm done…”

“Excellent!” Professor Milford exclaimed. “Then I intend to make you a proposal, Martin. If you do not want to accept, fine, we’ll say no more of the matter, and it won’t affect your grades in any way. But whether you accept or not, before I tell you want I’d like you to do, I want you to guarantee that nothing of what is said will ever be repeated outside of this room.”

Now, firmly convinced that things were getting immensely interesting, I tried for smooth charm. “You needn’t worry, Professor Milford. Your secret’s safe with me.” Her smirk made me feel like an idiot.

Eight days later, I lingered at the back door of Professor Milford’s house, smoking a cigarette and thinking how different her secret had been to what I’d somehow brought myself to imagine.

Except what had I imagined? That Professor Milford would lean back, throw her legs apart to reveal a naked pussy under her skirt, crying out, “Lick me, Martin! Lick my hot pussy and then fuck me and make me scream!”

No, that was preposterous; I hadn’t quite imagined anything, except that Professor Milford was coming on to me and that I had felt vaguely flattered, even though I was somewhat intimidated by her too. In the end, I wasn’t entirely sure why I’d agreed at all. I just had, as if unable to resist some invisible force of nature.

Professor Milford appeared to be a smoker too. There was a large, circular, stone ashtray set to one side, with a scattering of cigarette ends in it. I deposited my own there and rang the bell. I didn’t have to wait long. Professor Milford welcomed me in, looking much the same as she always did, except that today her nylons were black, and this was the first time I’d seen her wear a dress, a patterned turquoise affair.

She led me through a hallway lined with various prints, and what looked like fairly expensive decorative items on small tables. I imagined they were old, possibly antique. Where I came from, we hardly had a hallway, far less antiques. I was lead through a doorway, into a well-lit space, this one cleared of objects, save for three or four lamps and a chaise longue. Who the hell had a chaise longue these days? Just in front of it, heavy drapes hung hid the rest of the room from my inquisitive eyes.

“I’ll leave you to undress and position yourself comfortably,” Professor Milford said, indicating the solitary item of furniture. “The others are already here. We’ll begin in about ten minutes or so.”

I nodded. Getting comfortable was going to be a problem, not physically but in every other respect. I had never been in a situation remotely resembling this. As I pulled my sweater over my head and dropped my trousers, I wondered again why I’d agreed to this. But I had, and it was impossible to extricate myself now.

I wasn’t sure how to position myself to Professor Milford’s satisfaction, but assumed I would be given directions. I just sat on the chaise longue, legs outstretched, waiting. Thoughts were racing through my mind, and I tried to relax, but my stomach knotted when I heard voices.

The drapes were pulled aside. I found myself staring at four females, besides Professor Milford, who swiftly moved to the vacant seat, chairs arranged in a semi-circle in front of me.

“Here’s Martin,” she announced, “who has agreed to be our model for the foreseeable future. No need to worry, he’s been sworn to secrecy.”

I still wasn’t sure why this was necessary. There was no law against modelling, with or without clothes. There were plenty of representations of naked men out there, these days a lot of them by women. What was the big secret? “You must never say a word to anyone about what happens during our little sessions,” Professor Milford had said, back in her office. It was all very mysterious. I assumed that there would be those who didn’t think it could be as innocent as it looked, and that Professor Milford was anxious to avoid any kind of suspicion of impropriety, both on her own account and that of the other four women.

For I recognised them all. One was a full bodied lecturer of Iranian descent, who everyone called Iris, presumably to avoid mispronouncing her real name. Like Professor Milford, she wore spectacles and could look slightly austere. Her body seemed to be a mass of shawls, a long skirt draped over her legs. The other three were all students. I’d seen them around, and one of them, a freckled redhead in combat trousers, I’d worked on a project with. Her name was Felicia. The thickset girl called Sarah was a redhead too, though in her case it came from a bottle. She favoured Doc Marten style boots with black nylon on her legs and the same thigh-high skirts as Professor Milford. Her jumpers always gave the impression she couldn’t find one quite large enough to accommodate her large breasts. Then there was Sophie, whose hair colour also came from a bottle, but leaned more towards auburn. Her hair swept down over her shoulders, and she too was wearing black nylons, with a tight skirt the colour of woodland that stretched down over her knees.

“Turn on your side and recline a little more,” Professor Milford said. I shifted on the chaise longue, surprised when she said, “What a striking pose! Why don’t we start there?”

The women voiced their agreement. This was still all very hard to take in. Professor Milford, who had spent goodness knows how many years trashing the whole concept of the female nude, apparently had no problem with male nudes, or perhaps it was her idea of revenge for a whole history of patriarchy. I had no idea. I should have asked her when she made the proposal in her office, but I hadn’t dared.

I’d been given to understand that the members of the Friday Night Male Nude Art Club might choose any medium they cared for. Most of the time, Professor Milford, had told me, photography was preferred, but this evening she and Felicia were armed with charcoal, while Iris and Sophie used water colours. Only Sarah was wielding a camera. At this point none of that was of any concern to me. What did concern me was my own sense of embarrassment, the acute awareness of my own nudity. I’d been naked with women before, of course, but only one at a time, and they’d been naked too, so it hadn’t really mattered. I felt absurdly gratified that Professor Milford had assured me that any pictures that resulted were “strictly for personal use”, whatever that meant.

I stared blankly at one of the walls, trying to idle my thoughts away as I would if I were lounging around at home. Of course, at home the chances were my thoughts would turn to sex, and that was one thing I didn’t want to think about. The women were all quite attractive in their way, even combat-Felicia, but there was something about the situation that militated against such thoughts. So I quite literally thought of England, or at least tried to remember as many players as I could who had turned out for England in the World Cup; Hoddle and Waddle, Gazza and Lineker, and John Barnes sprinting down the wing, making the opposition look like shop dummies.

It worked, for a while. I was never quite unaware of the brushstrokes and the scratch of charcoal, nor the snap of the camera as Sarah moved around, trying out different angles, but I managed to shove them to one side of my mind. In fact I succeeded so well in this, that I didn’t catch what Iris was saying when she at length addressed me.

“Would you stand up, please,” she repeated, a touch impatiently.

I stared, then swung my legs into position and got to my feet. I suppose I felt a tad insecure; I mean I knew I was no Adonis, but it appeared I was good enough for them.

“A fine, upstanding figure of a man,” Professor Milford said. I got the feeling she was taking the piss; especially when Sophie snorted a laugh.

“Except he’s not really upstanding,” Felicia said.

They all laughed at this. Ribald, insulting laughter. It took me a few seconds to get what she meant, and then I went all hot and bothered, hoping I didn’t look as red as I felt.

“Maybe he needs a hand,” Professor Milford said. “Who wants to do the honours?”

Call me dim, but it took me even longer to work that one out. Not until Iris moved towards me did I get it, and then I almost recoiled in shock. Her skirts swished as she walked, and got down on her haunches next to me. This was hardly behaviour you expected from a university lecturer towards a student. I’d never imagined not being able to get a hard-on from the touch of a woman’s hand, but the situation was so awkward that for the first time in my life, I remained flaccid, incapable of producing the proper response.

That was, if possible, even more embarrassing. “Oh dear,” Iris said, her fingers squeezing my soft member. “Don’t you find me attractive, Martin?”

This was one of those situations where it doesn’t matter what the truth or otherwise is. There was only one possible answer. “I find you very attractive. Perhaps it just needs a bit more time. I had a… I mean, I… earlier.” Obscurely I couldn’t bring myself to use the word ‘wank’. It was a lie in any case, if it counts as a lie when you can’t get the words out.

“I see,” Iris said. “That was naughty of you.” I didn’t quite understand why such a thing should be considered so naughty, at least in our day and age. “These modelling sessions,” she continued, “We need you to be good and fit. You understand what I’m saying?”

I did now and nodded. Somehow I felt both aroused and afraid. I understood, but I didn’t. Not quite. They all had their eyes on me, or rather, on one part of me. In spite of my conflicted feelings, my body finally decided to function as nature intended. I felt myself grow. I felt relief, letting Iris squeeze me until I was fully erect. She made sure the foreskin was pulled down, exposing the head. Five pairs of eyes stared at me, at my swollen cock. At that moment I thanked my lucky stars I was endowed with equipment of somewhat above average size.

“No slacking,” Professor Milford said, as Iris retreated to her chair. “Make sure you keep it up, young man!”

I nodded. Now that I was erect, and it being clear that this was expected of me, my embarrassment faded. I solved the problem of keeping an erection by focusing on Sarah, who was busy focusing herself; on occasionally changing lenses, angles, snapping up close and from a distance. She was the one I felt most attracted to, her sweater stretched over her plump tits, black nylon stretched over her thighs, a certain shyness in her eyes, even as she focused on my nudity.

I don’t know how long I stood like that, as the women sketched, painted and snapped away. I thought of Sarah for a good long time. Not Sarah as she was, but Sarah when she was alone. I didn’t think she had a boyfriend, so fantasized about her alone, fantasizing, stimulating her own body; only occasionally looking at the others, who were engrossed in representing my nudity, as far as I could make out. Occasionally I stimulated myself, making sure to do as Professor Milford had instructed, catching a gleam in one or other of the women’s eyes. Even at this stage, I still hadn’t cottoned on to why secrecy was absolutely required – well aside from the problems it might cause if it became known that Iris had touched my cock and made me hard.

I started at the sound of a voice, Sarah’s. “Are you all done? Can we try something else?”

The others agreed. Perhaps because I had Sarah pegged as shy, I was taken aback when she turned to me and said, “Hold it for me.”

“She wants you to grab your cock,” Iris clarified when I didn’t move.

Taken even further aback, I did grab my cock. Sarah moved about, taking shots from every conceivable distance and angle. Then she whispered something in Sophie’s ear.

“My pleasure,” Sophie said. She got up, moving towards me.

By now I was thoroughly disoriented. I had no idea which way anything was going, or what might happen next. And yet in spite of that, I still had it in me to be surprised when Sophie went down on her haunches next to me, saying, “Let me hold it for a bit.”

I removed my hand, only for Sophie’s fingers to slide over my hard shaft. She gripped it between finger and thumb. Sarah moved about, snapping the odd picture, but the other women had put their things aside and were watching intently. Sophie’s thumb moved up the back of my shaft, causing me to jolt slightly when it moved across the tiny string. A trickle of pre-cum oozed out, which Sophie promptly spread across my bulging head with gentle fingers.

There was silence, except for the sound of Sarah’s camera. More pre-cum trickled out as Sophie leaned in, her extended tongue telling me what to expect before it happened. She held my cock at the root, pushing her tongue against my cock head, just holding it there, while Sarah snapped more pictures, coming in really close. One, two, three exposures.

Sophie adjusted the position of her tongue, letting it linger against the underside of my cock. Sarah snapped more pictures. Sophie withdrew her tongue, her lips suddenly pressing against the tip of my cock. Sarah snapped again. Unseen by the others, Sophie tickled the little hole in the tip of my organ with the tip of her tongue. More pre-cum oozed out.

Then Professor Milford spoke, sounding surprisingly stern. “Tell me Martin, would you like to have that cock of yours inside Sophie’s mouth?”

It was the first time I’d heard her use such language, too, and it took me aback. Again I felt slightly afraid it was a trap, but decided that truth was preferable to fiction. I nodded.

“Say it out loud, Martin. Would you like Sophie to suck your cock?”

I wouldn’t like to say I was beyond shock, but I was definitely beyond any kind of rational thought in a totally irrational situation.

“Yes,” I said. “I’d like that very much.”

“The thing is, Martin,” Professor Milford said, “that much as I’m sure Sophie would love to oblige, that’s a privilege you have to earn.”

Sophie, gave a deft flick of her tongue, as if to encourage me. “Meaning?” I queried.

“If we think you’ve earned it, maybe next week we’ll treat you.”

“And in the meantime?”

They were enjoying this, I thought. All five of them. What the hell had I stumbled into? What the hell had I unwittingly let myself in for? Though I suppose Professor Milford’s interrogation in her office should have alerted me to things not being entirely on the straight and narrow. They were smiling, the five of them, like unusually attractive witches in a coven, even Sophie, who had now leaned back, still holding my cock. The pause was a long one, as if Professor Milford was determined to prolong my discomfit.

It was Iris who moved, standing up and staring at me with a slight twinkle behind her austere glasses. Briskly she hitched up the mass of material that hung from her waist down. To my amazement she was naked underneath. She sat back down, skirts hitched, legs spread, leaning back a little, sliding her buttocks forwards to the edge of the seat.

The situation struck me as both bizarre and unnerving, but there wasn’t much to work out. Any reward that come my way, depended on me performing the good deed myself. I certainly didn’t imagine for a minute that Iris was going to let me fuck her. I moved forward, aware that Sarah was following me with the camera.

“All fours would be a nice position, I think,” Professor Milford said.

That felt strange, almost humiliating, but I did it. I stood on all fours like a dog in front of Iris, my face inches away from her neatly trimmed bush. Sarah was using the flash now. I was blinded as I inched my head forward, extending my tongue and feeling it connect with Iris’ labia. The scent of female penetrated my nostrils as I wriggled my tongue between the woman’s pussy lips. The flash went off again. I felt moisture, tasted illicit lust. My tongue slid to Iris’ entrance. I heard her sigh as I poked my tongue against her opening.

The flash went off again. Keeping my eyes closed I slid my tongue upwards, reaching Iris’ nub. She sighed again, a little louder, a little more contented. I gave a flick of my tongue. A flash of light penetrated my eyelids as I flicked my tongue again. Flick, flick, flick, feeling how my tongue teased the woman’s clit into swelling a little.

Iris sighed a little louder still. I sensed her hands near my face; sensed her pulling her pussy lips apart, making it easier for me to lick her all over. There was plenty of slippery space for my tongue to roam. I stood on all fours like a dog, lapping at Iris’ pussy. The flash went off repeatedly as I kissed her cunt, my tongue wandering from opening to clit and back again. She grew wetter and wetter, her sighs becoming little groans. The flash went off. Her scent penetrated my nostrils and my brain. I dipped my tongue in her pit; grasped her clit between my lips. She groaned some more. I stood on all fours like a dog, licking and licking, lapping up her moisture, slobbering over her wet cunt.

The flash went off. I lapped and lapped, flicked at Iris’ clit, tasted her pit, licking and licking, then sucking on her clit. She groaned louder, growing wetter still. There was movement behind me, but I didn’t see who or what. The flash went off, it would have blinded me if I’d had my eyes open. There was someone on my right. I felt a hand grip my cock.

I was on all fours like a dog, and someone was wanking me as I tasted Iris’ cunt, licking and lapping, her scent and moisture driving out what little sense I had left. I sucked on her clit, she groaned. My cock was tugged as I licked and licked and clamped my lips round Iris’ clit. The woman groaned and sighed and I sensed she was coming close. This was surely what was required, if I was to get my reward next time.

Not that this was unpleasant. I was having my cock wanked while I licked and licked, tasting Iris’ arousal, albeit on all fours, like a dog. Iris gave another loud sigh. My own arousal felt more like ferocity as my tongue was impregnated with the fluid evidence of her illicit lust. I kissed her cunt. She groaned as the flash went off. I continued lapping at her cunt, concentrating on her clit, thinking that she was obviously ready for it, ready to climax.

Then I felt a new sensation. It came as a shock. I’d never experienced it before, and I wasn’t prepared. A finger was wriggling behind me, between my buttocks, giving me little time to prepare before inching into my anus. I couldn’t believe it, my lips held Iris’ swollen clit tightly. There was no time to get my head around it all; the hand tugging on my cock, my arse invaded by the finger. Iris was breathing heavily. The flash went off again and again.

Just the one finger, fucking my arse as my cock was wanked and my tongue flicked, flicked, flicked at Iris’ swollen bud. I was a little ashamed to realise I enjoyed the sensation, and so I concentrated on Iris instead, dipping my tongue into her pit, the taste and smell invading me from one end while that finger penetrated me at the other.

I sensed that Iris’ body was tensing. She moaned out loud, shook. Her hands were pushing my head away. Behind and beneath me, hands were removed. I opened my eyes, blinked, turned, and discovered, to my amazement that it was Professor Milford herself who had amused herself wanking my cock and sticking her finger up my bum.

“The boy definitely deserves a reward,” Iris said. “Even if it’s too early for him to have his cock sucked.”

The women looked at each other. I noticed that Felicia had her hand down her trousers, and that Sophie was sitting with her hand clenched between her thighs, shoving her skirt down there too.

Professor Milford cleared her throat, looking at me with serious eyes. “I hope, Martin, that you understand the necessity of absolute discretion.”

I nodded. “Yes, Professor Milford.” Even if I did feel the need to tell someone, who would believe me? They’d think I was making it all up.

“Good. I hope you’re happy to continue as our resident model? As you know, the Friday Night Male Nude Art Club meets every week at the same time.”

Was I happy? I didn’t quite know where I stood, how I felt. I did, however, know that my cock was still stiff and aching. That decided it.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m happy to continue.” Strangely I found myself hoping Professor Milford would resume her previous activities. The thought shocked me, and I drove it away for the moment.

“So who…?” Felicia broke in, looking at Professor Milford.

The Professor gave a wicked grin. “Sarah!” she cried. “Don’t think you can hide behind that camera all evening! Get your top off!”

I was still sitting at Iris’ feet, mute, as Sarah handed the camera to Sophie. Then Sarah, looking a little bashful, pulled her white sweater over her head. Underneath she was wearing a sturdy black bra, which still seemed to have trouble holding the girl’s huge assets in place.

“Consider yourself lucky,” Professor Milford said, as Sarah undid her bra. “Sarah’s got the biggest tits of all of us. Now stand up and let her take care of you.”

Much as I’d been through a lot this evening, I still couldn’t believe it when Sophie cupped her breasts and began fondling them, moving towards me. Sophie got into position with the camera. Snap, flash, snap flash. I stood, Sophie dropped down in front of me. Snap, flash, snap flash. Without a word, the girl wrapped her big, soft breasts round my throbbing cock. She fondled them, pushing them against my stiff flesh, not a word coming over her lips. Nipples engorged as she slid her fingers over them; huge dark patches on huge breasts. Sophie moved in, capturing the moment for… what? Posterity? Art? “Strictly for personal use,” Professor Milford had said, whatever that meant. Snap, flash, snap, flash.

The other women were closing in, standing round, staring at my knob where it emerged from between Sophie’s dual mounds of flesh. There was delight in their eyes, wicked, depraved delight.

“Felicia,” Iris said. “You haven’t been very active tonight. Perhaps you ought to lend a hand.”

Felicia gave a little grin. Sarah pulled back, pushing her tits together. Felicia stepped forward, grasping my cock. Sophie continued to snap away, the flash going off at intervals. It struck me that there was something almost rehearsed about all this, as if they’d done it many times before, becoming like a well-oiled machine, or as if they’d planned it beforehand.

There would be time enough to mull that over. Felicia’s hand was working, moving to and fro. I stared, at her hand round my cock, at Sarah’s breasts. Sarah held them up, looking at me with something approaching expectation.

“Are you sure he deserves to cum?” Felicia asked, looking at Iris.

I was desperate to cum, but I wasn’t going to beg if they didn’t let me. I needed to cling to some kind of self-respect.

But Iris nodded. “Oh yes,” she said. “He definitely knows how to eat a woman out. You should all try it!”

What, tonight? I wondered as the women gave each other knowing glances. Then Sophie concentrated on her task again, aiming the camera at Sarah’s tits and my cock and Felicia’s hand. The hand was moving faster. Finally I could feel that release was on its way. I glanced at Felicia, her face rigid with concentration, then at Sarah, her huge, soft breasts, the tongue that was teasing her lips as she stared hungrily at my cock. The cock that was getting ready to explode.

I grunted, cried out like a wounded animal, sperm shooting out of me, splattering all over Sarah’s tit flesh. Sophie was there; snap, flash, snap, flash.

“Go on,” Professor Milford urged, “Milk every last drop out of him!”

And Felicia went on wanking me until everything I had to give had been delivered onto Sarah’s huge breasts and the sensation became completely unbearable.

I spent the entire weekend reliving the whole of Friday evening over and over, without being able to get my head around it. I could just about understand the whole thing as Professor Milford’s way of avenging millennia of female nudes, even if it was a weird way of going about it, but what did the others get out of it? The same thing? I didn’t quite think so.

How could I get out of it? Always assuming that I wanted to, of course. I didn’t seriously consider pulling out, just toyed with the idea. It wasn’t so much the half-promised reward that did it, as the sense that there was something in this I didn’t understand at all. I don’t like not understanding things.

Exiting the lecture hall on the Monday, I suddenly spied Sarah coming straight towards me, but giving no indication of recognition. That wasn’t going to stop me. I put myself squarely in her path, and when she slowed down I said in a low voice, “Are we allowed to communicate outside of, you know?”

She shrugged. “There’s no law against it.” Then she jerked her head, indicating a quiet spot.

“So what’s it all about, these Friday meetings?” I asked.

She stared at me as if she didn’t quite understand the question. “A bit of fun,” she said. “Letting off steam.”

I tried hard to suppress the memory of my spunk flowing all over her huge tits. “But it’s more than that to Professor Milford, isn’t it?”

Sarah’s eyes twinkled. “Can you keep a secret?” she said.

“More secrets,” I groaned.

“You’ll like this one,” she said.

“Go on then.”

“I shouldn’t be telling you this… But, your predecessor, the rest of us reckon Professor Milford got greedy. We all think she couldn’t bare sharing him, that she’s kept him on as her own private toy boy.”

I grinned. “Well now…”

“So now you know what to expect,” she said.

That didn’t necessarily sound reassuring. “But it’s a bit rich her setting all this up, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” I gave a little sigh. “If it was five blokes and one naked woman, it would look very different, wouldn’t it?”

Sarah gave a little smile. “Maybe it would,” she said. “But it might be a lot of fun too.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving me to wonder.

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