Numbers

"You are supposed to be doing your homework, young lady!"

Her pounding red pussy quivered, secreting off another layer of pre-cum arousal. A trail of sweat ran down her forehead. The scenario only grew torridly hotter as Cat went on berating her.

"And here I catch you playing with yourself instead! Masturbating!" she scolded, as if it were a crime. She shook a finger.

"You're a naughty young lady, Miss Angie Cadwick. A very bad, ill-behaved, naughty young lady."

Angie's naughty fantasy character froze with fear, gazing at Professor Reeds in a petrified fetal position. Her vulnerable body shivered. The real Angie chuckled, perspiring, only getting hotter and going more aggro on herself.

I am, she thought, ear-to-ear grin cemented on her face. I am a naughty young lady. Now make me pay for it.

As logical as person with as logical a mind as Angela was, she didn't bother figuring out rationale of why Cat Reeds had decided, of all students, to appear in her home, in her room, to make sure she was doing her homework. The lack of reasoning just made it kinkier and better. All she needed was this setup, and to make it beautifully, splendidly play out.

"You cannot simply get away with this, young lady. On your belly."

"Wh-what?" Angie's meek, timid character peeped.

"You heard me, you perverted little girl," a cross-armed, no-nonsense Cat admonished. "I must properly reprimand you for this, to discourage you from letting it happen again. Now lie on your stomach, and hold still."

"But...b-but I—"

"NOW."

The blazing fire and passion had built into waves, crashing and washing over Angie one after another. It felt so damn incredible...she felt the first orgasm already approaching. It was a real shame, she thought, that it was the '90s now, and some people still didn't seem to know that women could even have orgasms—single or multiple. Angela, however, had been toying with her body and her privates since puberty, and discovered the magic of the big bad 'o' early on. Certainly far earlier than discovering she was gay. She was a tad regretful that she'd not begun frigging to women till recently. So this was why her climaxes abruptly became much more intense and satisfying of late. Just think of all of 'em I could've had before this. But oh well, that's in the past. Can't change it, so just focus on the ones we're having now.

Her submissive character sprawled out on her tummy to assume the position and accept her fate.

"What're you gonna do to me?"

The reply did not come until a moment later.

"You may ask me no questions, Angie. I do not answer to you, but vice versa. I'm the teacher, you're the student."

Fantasy-Angie lay motionless, face down, feeling a chill riddle her body with goosebumps, wondering what was to befall it. What was about to be done to her? Would she suffer through it, or actually enjoy it deep down? Her fantasy pussy leaked. Of course, real Angie knew precisely what Fantasy-Cat was going to put Fantasy-Angie through. And she was going to like it.

Her face contorted from the ear-to-ear grin to a helpless, lust-filled grimace as she groaned and frigged. She was about to collide with climax one already, as her fantasy domme loomed ominously over her, punishment literally at hand. Fantasy-Angie's arms hugged the pillow her face was buried in, in whimpering wait. Finally, Fantasy-Cat leaned down over her ass... raised a hand... and...

SPANK!!

"OHHHHHH-HO-ho-ho-ho!" cried Angie as the first orgasm nailed her. "YEEEEEESSSSssssss!"

"Count them, you delinquent!" Cat commanded.

"Wuhmpff!..." Fantasy-Angela tearfully counted.

Another spank. "Tfoo!..."

"What interval gives the range of 'f' if 'f' of 'x' is equal to minus-'e' to the 'x' minus two??" Cat demanded.

Fantasy-Angie raised her head from the pillows and tried to think.

"Um... um, p-paren, minus-infinity... uh, a—"

A particularly nasty next SPANK! cut her off.

"OWWWWWCH!"

"You have to be quicker, young lady!" Cat chided young Fantasy-Angie, as real Angie rode the next ascent, assaulted by surge after surge of searing pleasure. She whapped her feet in the mattress, curling and linking her left and right toes together, squeezing her hand between her rumbling thighs. Prof Cat taunted her on, continuing her kinky pop quiz.

"What's the area of a square whose diagonal is forty meters?!"

Fantasy-Angela frantically wracked her brain.

"Uh...d—it's-it's eighty met—" Gasp. "NO, no, I meant—"

SPANK! "OWWWW!!"

"Incorrect, my randy pupil. The answer is eight hundred meters squared."

"That-that's what I meant! I just sai—"

Spank! "Tough. Guess you'll just have to put your thoughts in proper order before you answer. And quickly, you young slut."

Angie went on imagining suffering through the pop quiz, ass cheeks getting redder and redder with each spank. She couldn't think straight—or gay, rather—though Cat relentlessly forced pressure on her. Real-life Angie couldn't get enough of it. It was such a wild, explosive turn-on, she felt it send her careening through a second orgasm after just a few more minutes. Once more, she rode its spinning hurricane till it released her, and let her sexual tach relax to zero. But she still wasn't done yet.

"This doesn't look good for you, Miss Cadwick. If you cannot pass this pop quiz, I might just have to become very present in your life, to force you to learn my material. In fact, I might even have to kidnap you," she threatened.

GOD, yes. Kidnap me. Keep me as your slave. Make me learn. Teach me a lesson.

The next thing Fantasy-Cat did was locate a permanent magic marker and put it to use, scrawling equations across Angie's back.

"You must now discern the problems I am writing on you, and correctly solve them."

"But I can't, professor!" Angie desperately cried. "I just can't! It's too hard!"

The strict professor domme went on, working way down the student sub's milky, silky young skin. It turned her on and melted her cunt like she couldn't believe. She whimpered, knowing she couldn't hide the proof of her arousal. What Cat would do to her when she noticed this, she didn't know, but whatever it was, she had a feeling she'd be sorry. Cat addressed her.

"Tough, you little ruffian. Perhaps this'll teach you not to molest yourself when you should be regarding your studies!"

Real Angie Cadwick had already re-revved herself to full acceleration. Her wrist throbbed, but couldn't stop without just one more. Her moans had grown to screechy wails. Too much further and she'd explode. Oh, the literally and totally awesome power Cat Reeds had over her... it was just so intoxicating.

Cat reached her tushie crack with the magic marker, and Angie felt the prickly goosebumps sting its tender flesh. She felt the next symbols written on her sore pink ass, starting with the left cheek. Her face scrunched into a painful wince.

"...Ow!" she lamented, twitching and wiggling. But Cat would have none of it.

SPANK! "Hold still I said, brat!" castigated Cat, with yet one more palm lash. "You'll learn yet how to behave like a proper, studious young lady! You'll have learned several lessons by the time I'm done with you."

Angie couldn't take it anymore. As her fantasy counterpart lay sprawled on her belly, writhing in agony, she rolled on her back, doing just the same in raw, primal, breathless passion. She ravaged her drenched, blood-engorged sex, mind steady on its one track, on a loose, runaway train headed for paradise. The rest of the storyline had to go nowhere; this was all she needed. She did her best to control her screams, which wasn't very good. But she didn't care. Orgasms like this didn't come—pun intended—every day, Cat in mind or not, no matter how hard she tried. Her head whapped and smushed the pillow until hair peppered her face, glued by sweat. A few strands blew haphazardly out of place, by Angie's mouth croaking swear words in her throes. She sometimes couldn't help but wish she could explain the magic of masturbation—and incredible feeling of sex in general—but supposed not everything in the universe could (or should) be explained. Perhaps some aspects of life weren't meant to be analyzed. Only enjoyed.

And enjoy it she did. Angie let loose with everything she had. She sent her jilling hand into overdrive, knowing this was the one that really counted. She shook and gyrated in the bed, seizing and penetrating herself with all musterable vigor. Her facial expression pleaded for the mercy of sweet release. Her quaking crimson cunt clenched on her digits, signaling to its owner the activation of big bad orgasm three... in—

Ten... nine... eight... seven...

"Oh... g—... o-oh god..."

Six... five... four...

"AHHHHH... OMIGOOOOOD... AHHHHHHHH!!"

Three... TWO...

ONE...

"FFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUU—"

The 'f'-bomb fizzled before its fuse burned down, but was taken over by Angie's cunt gates. She came, a world-rocking, girl-shocking third time, and squirted like a loose sprinkler. This third and most euphorically intense climax hugged and tugged every part of her, inside and out. It was like being made love to by real angels. And somehow made even better by Cat's agreeing to go out with her. As if had she declined, Angie's orgasms would not have felt as special. Instead, with their blessing, they felt ever more wondrous and divine. She never wanted it to end, never wished to have to "awaken" from this, the dream of dreams.

Alas... the inevitable. She began to float back down from heaven, bidding the angels farewell until next time. Angie wished she could achieve such awestriking orgasms more often, but questioned whether they'd lose their novelty. She was looking very forward to her next...but that wouldn't be tonight. That last one had knocked her cold. She was down for the count, out like a light. So very happy, and but also so very drained. One thing was for certain, Angie thought, as she felt the warm touch of sleep taking her under...

Tonight... three was a magic number.

*****

Flix, Four Two...See

Saturday, June 22nd, 1991, 10:17 a.m.

Angie'd had crushes throughout her teens, but the one woman with whom she'd fallen head over heels in love—before Winona Ryder came along, that was—was Cyndi Lauper. She was such a hip, rad role model, and there were just so many things to love about her. First and foremost, Angie loved Cyndi because she was fiercely fearless to be whimsical, quirky and unique, and had overcome determent from it earlier in life. She definitely had a hand in inspiring some of Angie's fun fashion choices. Cyndi had an additional few years on her as she got famous—already 30 when her solo music career started. And she taught Angie to just want to have fun (and to "bop" herself). And, she was literally pretty damn strong and a former wrestler. And yes, a little just because she was hot.

Cyndi was currently engaged to marry some gentleman actor, which didn't "faze" Angie when she found out. Even if Cyndi wasn't a star, she was straight—and vice versa—so oh well. Didn't mean Angie couldn't admire and crush on her. If, on the other hand, she wanted a lesbian role model... well... she had Amy and Emily Indigo, as she liked to call them. Angie wasn't musically talented, but if she were, she thought, and she had a band, she'd call it ROYGBIV. In partial tribute to the Indigo Girls, and to her homosexuality.

But in the meantime, her true talent and love remained mathematics. And another of her big crushes was the woman who'd guided her through the past five months of it. Evals would be mailed out two weeks after finals, with a summary of the students' grades and overall performance. But Angie just didn't know if she could wait that long. She didn't receive a call from Cat for the first week, which she more or less expected. By this point in an academic's life, he or she could perceive professors were occupied awhile after finals. Grading exams, going over students' own evaluations of them, meeting with admins, etc. One week seemed ample time for most of this. So Angie waited till Thursday evening, May the 30th, dug out Cat's number and called. Her sharp, quick mind then impatiently raced through musing after random little musing.

555-2397, thought Angie as she finished dialing and heard the first ring. Nice handwriting. 'Course, she's a teacher, not a doctor. And I've watched her scribble on the board a hundred times. Actually, 's a hundred figuratively, but... well le'ssee, the class started January 14th. So that's two times a week, and if none of those're holidays and I didn't miss any, it would've been... thirty-eight, I think. Okay, three-and-a-sixth dozen times. 2397...that's only three off a round multiple of three, 2,400. 3 times 799. First glance, a lotta people'd think 799's a prime number. But actually, 17 and 47 multiply up to 799. Mine's 4651...four-digit prime, nothing too special about it. But look at that, eight different digits between us. I like how her '2''s got a loop in it, but the '7' also has a line through the middle. Weird. Who came up with that line through the '7'? I—

Click. "Catherine Reeds."

"...D—oh! Um...uh, Cat! Hi! Hi. It's Angie. Angie Cadwick."

"Oh, Angie! How are ya, kiddo? Long time no nothing."

"Ohhh, you don't have to call me kiddo. I-I mean, you can—I don't mind—but it's not like you're nearly that much older than me."

"Wow, I can hear your nose growing. But I appreciate the hell out of it nonetheless."

"Hee hee!" Angie giggled. "So, um...I know you're probably kinda busy. I just wanted to let you know I didn't forget about you..." Yeah. Fat chance that'd happen. "...And say thanks for your number, and that I'm really excited about going out somewhere with you. I-I know we can coordinate the where and when and all, but for now, um...h-how's that dinner and a movie sound?"

"Lovely idea. Am I then to presume we don't have specifics picked out yet?"

"Yeah, that's a negative. But what I thought we could do's pick a date, stay in touch with each other and work it out along the way."

"Outstanding. I'm onboard."

Even more excited, Angie made herself be patient and wait for a day Cat could thoroughly accommo-date her. This date, once decided upon, was to coincide with the summer solstice: June 22nd. Cat could tell how much this meant to Angie, and it took almost a month to come up with a date she'd have totally free for her. So Angie called work and took it off. Going out to eat was simple enough. Picking a movie, however... not as much. When asked by the other for a title or two she wanted to see, four different ones popped up. Angie wanted to see Don't Tell Mom The Babysitter's Dead, or the newly opening Rocketeer. Cat wanted to see City Slickers, or Robin Hood: Prince Of Thieves. It took all of about five minutes to decide... hell, why not? Yes to all! Make it a festival!

So, this would merely be one expansive, expensive first date, that was all. Which was fine; they'd start in the morning and split everything. Putting their mathematical minds together, they snatched some newspapers and pieced up a schedule. Angie wanted to pick Cat up, so she did so. She got up early, grabbed an invigorating shower, made and dolled herself up with the prettiest dress she had, found Cat's house, and drove them to the Mooney County Juniplex.

"You look positively and figuratively breathtaking," Cat told her on the way.

Fortunately also only figuratively, Angela's heart swooned.

"Oh, I may, but your 'breathtaking...-ish...-ness' is almost literal." Angie giggled. "And now you know why I'm not an English major."

She stopped at a light, discreetly gulped, summoned some guts, and reached over to link Cat's fingers with her non-driving paw. Cat did not object, so Angie held her hand and rubbed it with her thumb. She could manually discern Cat's time-softened flesh and trace her veins...god, she really did love older women. Her throat almost went dry. She swallowed again.

"I'm really excited."

"Me too, Angie. And now you know why I'm not an English major, or technically, grammatically, that should've been 'I too.'"

Huh, I just learned something academic for free. ...I'd like to think there's some things I could teach you as well, Kitty Cat.

They arrived, made sure the movies were still playing at the times they wanted, and purchased tickets. They'd see The Rocketeer first, at 10:50. After that would be Robin Hood at 1:25, Babysitter at 4:15, and City Slickers at 6:40. This sequence, which they'd worked out beforehand, enabled them to save time by killing the least of it. Metering out concessions was another yes-yes. Eleven a.m. may've been a little early for "junk" food, but as everyone knew, movie snacks became magically free of fat and calories upon entering the theater, letting them gorge as much as desired.

Their wallets, alas, were fathoms short of bottomless. So they began with an enormous "medium" popcorn—for a congruently astronomical price—a soda for Angie and a Minute Maid for Cat. The only reason they went with a "medium" and not a "SMALL" was that they planned to make it last past the first feature. A thorough restroom break was taken before and between each movie. As they finished The Rocketeer and resumed neighboring stalls, Angie blushed a bit, opened her purse, removed a small day planner and a pen, tore off a blank page and scribbled some words. Under the stall divider it was passed with a "psst."

that was totally killer, read Cat. i'm having an awesome time

"Aw," Angie heard one stall over. "May I have the pen and the thing you're writing on, please?"

Angela passed them, and Cat scribbled back on the other side.

I'm so delighted to read it. I'm having fun too. You're a lovely companion.

Angie's heart pounded with adoration. She wanted to write more, but they were done in here. They flushed and washed.

"Wow. So!" Angela let out a breath. "Now we gets to go in there and wait!"

Robin Hood was one of Cat's picks, by which Angie secretly thought she'd be a little bored. But it enchanted her. The beverages ran out a little ways through, and the popcorn was more than half gone. It lasted still, however. This was because Angie rested her head on Cat's shoulder, hugged her arm, and let Cat feed them both. A second set of credits, one more bathroom visit and "psst" later, Angie wrote another note.

i always wanted to pass notes in school but i didn't want to get in trouble

Cat chuckled, and once more turned it over to reply.

Well, I think you're safe from trouble here. That is a wise policy, though.

The ladies replenished their snacks—this time in the form of sodas and candy—and wandered to theater three. This one, Babysitter's Dead, was the one Angie was really looking forward to. She knew from the previews it was right up her alley. That this film had her number, as it were. And she couldn't have been more right. For her money, it was an absolutely Swell blend of funny, cheesy and... not so cheesy. Although, she had to confess, for the second half her peepers were darting back and forth, dividing attention between the movie and the Cat, 50-50. Well... maybe more 40-60...