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Extreme lesbian corporeal punishment sex

Extreme lesbian corporeal punishment sex

At eighteen, Emma would be faced with choices, two apparent and another less obvious. The two apparent choices were college life followed by work in office or laboratory; or a career as a glamour model. The former was worthy but dull; the latter lucrative, but considered by Emma to be demeaning. Unknown to her however, there was a third "choice" for which Emma was being carefully rounded up: Emma, a mixed race Jamaican-Welsh girl, had found subconscious racism a keystone of her secondary education.

The only expectation from Afro-Caribbean girls at her original senior school was athleticism. In this Emma had not disappointed, being the inter-school long-distance running champion for several years in succession. But Emma also had brains and beauty, and was determined she would use them both to advance herself. Excelling in facial and physical charms, Emma could easily have become a model. At eighteen, Emma would be faced with "choices", two apparent and another less obvious.

The two apparent choices were college life followed by the constraining world of work in office or laboratory; or a career as a glamour model. Nonetheless, it was toward the second choice that Emma was leaning, when a third "choice" suddenly became Emma's destiny, and to turn out in fact to be no choice at all for her.

For a long time, at first innocently unrealised by her, it was this third future for which Emma was being carefully rounded up: Emma begins her story, with her first arrival at college, aged eighteen, and her first meeting with Alena, "Prof", the older woman who would change Emma's life in wholly unexpected ways.

And, yes, you can believe that my nipples as well as my tits are really and truly that big. Two-inch diameter brown-pink aureole, since you're asking. And, no, I have never had enhancement of any sort at any time. All you see is beautiful bountiful me: Nor would you run a mile from my mile-long legs, because my stupendous legs can run a mile faster than yours can.

And, anyway, you would want me to catch you wouldn't you?! She wanted to spice the site up, she said. What she wrote was no more and no less than the truth. Starting from my amateur website I was, in time, to be talent spotted and become the very highly paid glamour model I am now. But there was an intervening life-changing destiny I was to endure, and it is that that is my story.

She was to be my tutor-counsellor from the day I started university aged eighteen, till my bachelor degree graduation, aged twenty-one. By the time I was twenty-one, I would therefore have been under Prof's care for three years. By the time I was twenty-one, I had also been under Prof for three years in another way. Alena and I had been lovers of a sort almost from the very outset of my college life.

For both Alena and I, it had been love at first sight. But what a first sight I must have been for Alena. It had been "freshers' week". The "getting-to-know-you" week when the new students assemble at English universities to settle into their accommodation, find their way around campus, meet their tutors for the first rime, and say hello to their fellow new students. No productive work was expected from the students during freshers' week, which was just as well.

Most of the students were away from the restraining control of their family homes for the first time in their young lives. Dedicated drinking was expected, and that expectation not disappointed. When Alena first came across me I had indulged in a lot of drink with my new found pals around the local town.

It was three in the morning. I was staggering back alone to my room when I bumped into Alena. Alena, a professor at twenty-eight, was not so long from having been an undergraduate student herself as to have forgotten the joys of getting rolling drunk for the very first time.

For me this older tall slim ice-cool blonde English white girl, whom I was yet to meet formally and be introduced to as my personal tutor, looked knock-dead gorgeous, even in the sodium-yellow lights that dimmed the walkways of the college campus at three in the morning.

I took one look at her and I entirely purposely, entirely literally, fell entirely into her arms. Alena swears to this day that I greeted her with a very slurred, "Hello gorgeous", with breath that reeked of beer and whisky a plenty, and then kissed her, totally uninhibitedly, full on the mouth.

Both you and I will have to take Alena's word for that. I was so drunk that night I can recall as much about it now as I could the morning immediately after: What I do recall for certain though, was that the morning after, I awoke for the first time, around What part of Wales are you from?

The first phrase I actually recall saying to Alena is: So ill did I feel, that any marching tambourine tapping temperance tempter would have recruited me for the rest of my natural life had one been passing through Alena's bed-sitting-room at the time.

The phrase "the evil of drink" did not, for me at that moment, need to be preceded by "beware". It was too late to warn me. I had succumbed and how. And how I regretted it too. My head was fuzzy, my eyelids heavy, I was sure my eyes must be badly bloodshot, and my tongue felt like Velcro. It is 'Emma' isn't it? You're dehydrated I wouldn't be surprised", Alena commented and enquired in the friendliest of "one-girl-to-another" tones.

It was only then that I realised I was standing in what must be this young woman's apartment, because it was definitely not my student dormitory, in a state of total, but total nudity. I had to undress you, you were in no fit state. You'd puked all down your top and jeans. I threw all your clothes, and the sheets you made a mess of when you were sick again later, in the washing machine.

If it wasn't for the reward of the look on your face just then, I'd give you my bill for room service! Moments later, in Alena's bathroom, I soon had the powerful flow of hot water pummelling fresh vigour into my gorgeous soft light-brown skin. I hoped Alena would not mind if I "borrowed" some of her shampoo, and I gave my body the head-to-foot recharge that only hot water in strong jets at high speed can bring.

The shower cured the worst of my hangover. It was now climbing toward eleven in the morning, and I was just beginning to arrive at the freshness claimed for daisies, or do I mean dew, in an earlier part of the day. Having read this far, you may express surprise that I would throw myself into the arms of another girl in the way I had on my first night at university. To be perfectly honest, on that next morning, so was I surprised. My drunkenness must have loosened more than inhibitions.

I certainly had no cause to believe that I was a girl for girls. I must have been so drunk that I had mistaken identity. I would have just as eagerly thrown my arms around and passionately kissed a boy wouldn't I? I patted myself dry with Alena's wonderfully huge soft bath towel, and then wrapped my lower half in another drier smaller towel Rather than walk back into Alena's bedroom, bare chested, I wished I could also find something to cover my naked breasts.

In the end, I resorted to putting her bath towel around my neck so that it hung over my more than ample bosom. I opened the bathroom door shyly. A voice called from the kitchen, "I've put your laundered clothes on the chair beside the bed. They may still be a bit damp. Sorry they're not pressed, I'm lousy at ironing. Even if you can't, I've lots of fresh orange juice here and that'll do you the world of good". As I dressed in panties, bra, my jeans and t-shirt and the cowboy boots I had worn the night before, smelling and hearing bacon on Alena's grill, I called out: I don't eat meat.

Might have been something you said in your sleep see. If it was, it was one of the few intelligible things you said. Better than all-night TV you were though. Better for a complete insomniac like me. Her voice, loving and pretty at the same time, became softer in the instant, as I soft-wiggle-glided into her kitchen. Useless at ironing", I gently echoed from her earlier calling out to me, and we both laughed. But I can't get used to the 'professor' bit.

Please call me Alena, or 'Prof' if you prefer. One of last year's failing students started calling me 'Prof' behind my back. I rather like it though. In fact I have a file on fifty of you and your fellow newcomers, because I'm your counsellor: You're one of only three Afro-Caribbean girls on my list. Sorry to mention that. Don't get me wrong. But that picture on that file obviously had to be you now I've seen you in the flesh, if you'll pardon the expression!

That's why I could be pretty sure you must be 'Bronwyn', or rather, 'Emma' see? Actually, did you know that your picture is even prettier than you are for real!? I loved the compliment, and felt a hot blush as I smiled at this delightful older girl. Even with the quick glance to find if there was truth in her eyes when she indirectly told me I was pretty, my eyes snapped an agreeable mental photograph of this lovely blonde girl with middle parted hair swept back over her shoulders, hair that looked lovely, but not as if she often saw a professional hairdresser.

Her ice-cool heart shaped intelligently pretty face, with blue-green eyes, petite nose, small chin, and pretty little mouth, were a delight to look at.

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Extreme lesbian corporeal punishment sex

At eighteen, Emma would be faced with choices, two apparent and another less obvious. The two apparent choices were college life followed by work in office or laboratory; or a career as a glamour model. The former was worthy but dull; the latter lucrative, but considered by Emma to be demeaning. Unknown to her however, there was a third "choice" for which Emma was being carefully rounded up: Emma, a mixed race Jamaican-Welsh girl, had found subconscious racism a keystone of her secondary education.

The only expectation from Afro-Caribbean girls at her original senior school was athleticism. In this Emma had not disappointed, being the inter-school long-distance running champion for several years in succession. But Emma also had brains and beauty, and was determined she would use them both to advance herself. Excelling in facial and physical charms, Emma could easily have become a model.

At eighteen, Emma would be faced with "choices", two apparent and another less obvious. The two apparent choices were college life followed by the constraining world of work in office or laboratory; or a career as a glamour model. Nonetheless, it was toward the second choice that Emma was leaning, when a third "choice" suddenly became Emma's destiny, and to turn out in fact to be no choice at all for her.

For a long time, at first innocently unrealised by her, it was this third future for which Emma was being carefully rounded up: Emma begins her story, with her first arrival at college, aged eighteen, and her first meeting with Alena, "Prof", the older woman who would change Emma's life in wholly unexpected ways.

And, yes, you can believe that my nipples as well as my tits are really and truly that big. Two-inch diameter brown-pink aureole, since you're asking. And, no, I have never had enhancement of any sort at any time. All you see is beautiful bountiful me: Nor would you run a mile from my mile-long legs, because my stupendous legs can run a mile faster than yours can. And, anyway, you would want me to catch you wouldn't you?! She wanted to spice the site up, she said.

What she wrote was no more and no less than the truth. Starting from my amateur website I was, in time, to be talent spotted and become the very highly paid glamour model I am now. But there was an intervening life-changing destiny I was to endure, and it is that that is my story. She was to be my tutor-counsellor from the day I started university aged eighteen, till my bachelor degree graduation, aged twenty-one.

By the time I was twenty-one, I would therefore have been under Prof's care for three years. By the time I was twenty-one, I had also been under Prof for three years in another way. Alena and I had been lovers of a sort almost from the very outset of my college life.

For both Alena and I, it had been love at first sight. But what a first sight I must have been for Alena. It had been "freshers' week". The "getting-to-know-you" week when the new students assemble at English universities to settle into their accommodation, find their way around campus, meet their tutors for the first rime, and say hello to their fellow new students. No productive work was expected from the students during freshers' week, which was just as well.

Most of the students were away from the restraining control of their family homes for the first time in their young lives. Dedicated drinking was expected, and that expectation not disappointed. When Alena first came across me I had indulged in a lot of drink with my new found pals around the local town. It was three in the morning. I was staggering back alone to my room when I bumped into Alena. Alena, a professor at twenty-eight, was not so long from having been an undergraduate student herself as to have forgotten the joys of getting rolling drunk for the very first time.

For me this older tall slim ice-cool blonde English white girl, whom I was yet to meet formally and be introduced to as my personal tutor, looked knock-dead gorgeous, even in the sodium-yellow lights that dimmed the walkways of the college campus at three in the morning.

I took one look at her and I entirely purposely, entirely literally, fell entirely into her arms. Alena swears to this day that I greeted her with a very slurred, "Hello gorgeous", with breath that reeked of beer and whisky a plenty, and then kissed her, totally uninhibitedly, full on the mouth.

Both you and I will have to take Alena's word for that. I was so drunk that night I can recall as much about it now as I could the morning immediately after: What I do recall for certain though, was that the morning after, I awoke for the first time, around What part of Wales are you from? The first phrase I actually recall saying to Alena is: So ill did I feel, that any marching tambourine tapping temperance tempter would have recruited me for the rest of my natural life had one been passing through Alena's bed-sitting-room at the time.

The phrase "the evil of drink" did not, for me at that moment, need to be preceded by "beware". It was too late to warn me. I had succumbed and how. And how I regretted it too. My head was fuzzy, my eyelids heavy, I was sure my eyes must be badly bloodshot, and my tongue felt like Velcro. It is 'Emma' isn't it? You're dehydrated I wouldn't be surprised", Alena commented and enquired in the friendliest of "one-girl-to-another" tones. It was only then that I realised I was standing in what must be this young woman's apartment, because it was definitely not my student dormitory, in a state of total, but total nudity.

I had to undress you, you were in no fit state. You'd puked all down your top and jeans. I threw all your clothes, and the sheets you made a mess of when you were sick again later, in the washing machine. If it wasn't for the reward of the look on your face just then, I'd give you my bill for room service! Moments later, in Alena's bathroom, I soon had the powerful flow of hot water pummelling fresh vigour into my gorgeous soft light-brown skin.

I hoped Alena would not mind if I "borrowed" some of her shampoo, and I gave my body the head-to-foot recharge that only hot water in strong jets at high speed can bring. The shower cured the worst of my hangover. It was now climbing toward eleven in the morning, and I was just beginning to arrive at the freshness claimed for daisies, or do I mean dew, in an earlier part of the day. Having read this far, you may express surprise that I would throw myself into the arms of another girl in the way I had on my first night at university.

To be perfectly honest, on that next morning, so was I surprised. My drunkenness must have loosened more than inhibitions. I certainly had no cause to believe that I was a girl for girls. I must have been so drunk that I had mistaken identity. I would have just as eagerly thrown my arms around and passionately kissed a boy wouldn't I? I patted myself dry with Alena's wonderfully huge soft bath towel, and then wrapped my lower half in another drier smaller towel Rather than walk back into Alena's bedroom, bare chested, I wished I could also find something to cover my naked breasts.

In the end, I resorted to putting her bath towel around my neck so that it hung over my more than ample bosom. I opened the bathroom door shyly.

A voice called from the kitchen, "I've put your laundered clothes on the chair beside the bed. They may still be a bit damp. Sorry they're not pressed, I'm lousy at ironing. Even if you can't, I've lots of fresh orange juice here and that'll do you the world of good". As I dressed in panties, bra, my jeans and t-shirt and the cowboy boots I had worn the night before, smelling and hearing bacon on Alena's grill, I called out: I don't eat meat.

Might have been something you said in your sleep see. If it was, it was one of the few intelligible things you said. Better than all-night TV you were though. Better for a complete insomniac like me.

Her voice, loving and pretty at the same time, became softer in the instant, as I soft-wiggle-glided into her kitchen. Useless at ironing", I gently echoed from her earlier calling out to me, and we both laughed. But I can't get used to the 'professor' bit.

Please call me Alena, or 'Prof' if you prefer. One of last year's failing students started calling me 'Prof' behind my back. I rather like it though. In fact I have a file on fifty of you and your fellow newcomers, because I'm your counsellor: You're one of only three Afro-Caribbean girls on my list. Sorry to mention that. Don't get me wrong.

But that picture on that file obviously had to be you now I've seen you in the flesh, if you'll pardon the expression!

That's why I could be pretty sure you must be 'Bronwyn', or rather, 'Emma' see? Actually, did you know that your picture is even prettier than you are for real!? I loved the compliment, and felt a hot blush as I smiled at this delightful older girl. Even with the quick glance to find if there was truth in her eyes when she indirectly told me I was pretty, my eyes snapped an agreeable mental photograph of this lovely blonde girl with middle parted hair swept back over her shoulders, hair that looked lovely, but not as if she often saw a professional hairdresser.

Her ice-cool heart shaped intelligently pretty face, with blue-green eyes, petite nose, small chin, and pretty little mouth, were a delight to look at.

Extreme lesbian corporeal punishment sex

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