THE RED PANTIES -- A Connie Dobbs Tale by Sister Tarla Star

San Francisco :1978

The fog was thicker than English Farm Cheddar that night. My vinyl raincoat was dripping even though there was no real rain. I was working as a teacher in a small college to the south and these weekly forays into le vie derangement were my self-given treat for having to live alone and behave as an "example" to my students.

I thrust my hands deeper into the coat's pockets. It was cold in a way that only July in San Francisco can be. I felt goosefleshy all over as a chill took me. My destination became even more desirable.

I was a teacher. I loved to teach. Young minds working their way around an idea, then suddenly grasping it; with the acompanying moment of illumination literally lighting their faces. It was almost as good as an orgasm to me...but not quite. I wanted the real thing as well. I wanted it quite a bit. Yet I was supposed to be the example, the good person, the nice single lady teacher. It was a small town and word would have gotten around if a string of fabulously sexy young men had paraded through my door. I had to be...discrete. So I went to San Francisco. I cruised the bathhouses for casual, anonymous sex.

First I'd stop in at my favorite yuppie orgy. I'd have a cocktail and watch the group grope, perhaps slipping between a couple of people and allowing myself to be felt up or vice versa, but usually, I would just watch, getting warmed up for the rest of the night. I liked to watch. It's not as smooth and pretty as porno movies make it. There's not as much fancy thrusting and a lot more sweat and body hair.

You could find anything you wanted back then. You could watch or be watched, be anonymous, in groups, with any combo; a sexual smorgasbord and I was famished.

After the group room, I'd move on to the private rooms. Sometimes, I'd watch a gay couple doing it, arousing myself by imagining myself in one of their positions. I had no difficulty putting myself in a man's shoes...or any other article of his clothing. They usually only took a few minutes with each other. Neither would speak. I would get permission from one to sit in his room with him. He would leave the door open, his towel draped seductively across his lap, just leaving the barest snail of his member peeking out from under the terrycloth.

Within minutes, another man would happen along, also towel-wrapped. He would look in the room. If the host smiled, he would enter. If not, he would move on. If he entered, they would silently but swiftly determine who was giving and who was receiving. Cocks would be oiled and hips grabbed. The host liked to grab the hair of his partner when he was giving. He always patted their heads when he was finished. It was an affectionate gesture for such an anonymous encounter. The host kept a pile of spare towels for cleanup. I would watch for a few encounters and then move on.

Eventually I would see someone I liked, male or female and with a tilt of my head, indicate interest. If it was mutual, we would get together. No one thought about disease. It was 1978. The worst that could happen was The Bee Gees.

On this particular night, I noticed her right away. She was in the group grope. Right in the center of things. She had a dick in every orafice and some girl grinding up against her belly. I was impressed. Her hair still looked good. She was a redhead at that point, I believe. There was a tattoo of a guy with a pipe on her right thigh. The tattered waistband of a pair of red panties still clung to her middle where the girl who had been grinding against her so steadily, suddenly leaned back and squealed, shuddering, slapped her own breasts repeatedly and fell over into the heaving mass of flesh surrounding the red haired sexual acrobat.

The guy who was fucking her in the ass suddenly jumped up, pulling his still dripping cock out of her. "My hair is ON FIRE!" Sure enough, it was. Someone grabbed an icebucket and doused his head. She looked at him, laughed, then looked me straight in the eye and winked. The gooseflesh suddenly returned. I swallowed the rest of my drink and moved out of the room.

As I stepped throught the doorway, time did the Bossa Nova and I was disoriented for a few seconds, forced to lean against the wall until I regained my balance. I shook my head and wobbled down the hallway, cursing my stupidity for downing that last drink. The hall was surprisingly empty. Usually you passed at least three or four people on your way to a room.

I saw an open doorway to my left. I made my way toward it, hoping the occupant would allow me to simply rest for a few minutes. It was my lucky night. He was a gentleman. He told me to lean back and rest my eyes, no problem.

I closed my eyes for what seemed like a second, then I heard a female voice's low purr, " You got room on that thing for me?" she asked. I opened my eyes a slit. The open door was blocking my view but I caught a glimpse of blue-black hair. He looked over at me. I feigned unconsciousness. He grinned back at her. "If you don't mind a little company," he pointed at me and she tipped her head around the door to see where his finger directed. "Oh she won't mind if I take a short ride," she assured him with utter confidence.

She dropped her towel and I heard his breath whistle on the intake. "Damn, those are nice headlights lady!"

She brushed her breasts across his face, "Yeah, but what I could really USE is a drive shaft." I opened my eyes a bit.

"I think I can help you with that..." he began and wrapped his large hands around her tiny waist. She hovered above his member for a moment concentrating, then suddenly the small room was filled with a scent that had elements of musk, chocolate, hot butterscotch, Gonesh #8, and just a faint hint of wet dog. Her thighs were slick. She slipped on top of him and began to ride him like Jesus' Palamino. He let go of her waist and moved his hands down to her hips, trying to regain some control, but it was no use. I noticed the shredded remains of a pair of red panties still clinging to her waist.

She whirled like a dervish on that boy. She did sixteen positions of the Kama Sutra, two of the Ananga Ranga and three more from The Perfumed Garden. I was awed by her mastery as well as her endurance. His endurance was pretty much under her control. After the eighth position of the Kama Sutra, he was worn down and fading fast. She took a little shred of red from her waistband and popped it into his mouth. Soon he was harder than Differential Calculus and hornier than a four-peckered goat. At about position 18, he flagged again, and she repeated the process, but his eyes were becoming glazed and I could tell that even though his dick was in it...his heart wasn't. I could smell his fear even above the odiferous blend of her funk.

Finally, after her 25th orgasm, she let him go. He slumped over on the bench inert with a raging hardon. She turned her back to me as she picked up her towel from the floor. I saw the tattoo of the smoking man again.

I began to wonder if this wasn't some sort of sexual cult. First there was that amazing redhead, now this insatiable raven-haired beauty, both with red panties and a strange tattoo. I wanted to know more.

She wrapped the towel above her breasts and turned back to face me. I feigned sleep, but she grinned and winked at me just as the redhead had done earlier. I waited until she left the room, then I followed her.

Once again, as I walked through the doorway, Time danced. I think it was a Foxtrot. I stumbled against the wall, and my vision was wavering. I saw the white towel expanding and contracting, floating down the hallway at what seemed like inches from my nose, then suddenly my vision would shift and the towel would be a mile away, impossibly far off. I heard her laughter teasing me, but as though through water, warped and unclear.

I staggered through an open door following her by scent now, my scuffling gait, resembling some primitive simian ancestor. The room was hot, moist, filled with steam. I stood still as the thick dense air engulfed and entered me like some osmotic lover. The scent was everywhere, but where was she?

Over my shoulder I heard her voice."Can I help you?" I turned slowly, not trusting my balance. This time she was blonde. It was the same body though, I was sure of it. The same tattoo, the same wicked wink, the same fabulous headlights. This time, however, her panties were intact.

They were lovely, a fine herringbone texture ran through the silk that caressed her mounded purse. They were cut high on the hip, with a thin lace edging that began at the center of the crotch and widened into a ruffle at the waistband. It was a complex French lace with pattern of tiny roses entertwined with...a smoking pipe?

She turned and picked up a towel from a bench hidden from my view by the clouds of steam. She offered it to me, stepping closer. "Here, you lost yours in the hall it seems." I looked down and noticed I was nude. "I'm so confused, " I cried. She took another step and came right next to me, her breath was hotter than the steam and the source of the chocolate scent in the mix. "Here, let me help you," she said, and wrapped the towel around me, leaning in to kiss me at the same time.

I normally didn't kiss the women I fucked. Kissing was too much like affection, and I wasn't there for affection, I was there for variety, and excitement and experimentation. This was totally different. I felt a shudder run through my entire body. The entire focus of my being was in the one square inch of my body that was attached to hers.

I pulled the towel out of her hands and pressed myself closer to her. I could feel the heat captured in that envelope of red silk. She wrapped her arms around me and leaned back, falling straight like a tree in the forest. Part of me wanted to pull away, fearing to crush her. Another part had some sort of idiot trust and sense of sexual abandonment.

We landed in water...very warm water.

And still we did not break the kiss. She wrapped her legs around me and I pulled myself upright in the pool. I felt her grinding against me in the water and I sought a purchase for my hands so that I could join in the gyrations.

My hands found the sides of the pool, while my leg slipped over hers and our bodies locked together. I couldn't feel the red panties anymore and vaguely wondered where they'd gotten to. It'd be a shame to lose such nice lingerie, but she looked like the kind of woman who could afford to replace them with no difficulty.

We were locked in our water supported embrace for what seemed like an eternity. Finally the puckering of my skin became too much, even for me and we broke apart smiling at each other. "Can I do anything else for you?" she asked?

"I'd like to be able to fuck like you do, that's all," I replied.

Her smile grew larger, "That's easy, all you need is an IQ of 140 and my red panties and your dream will come true."

I reached under the water and sure enough they were there. I peeled them off her and slipped them on. All at once I knew that I'd done something very very wrong. My body felt compelled to fuck, I grabbed her and began moving against her once more.

She pushed me away. "Look, I only have an hour or so after I give the panties away before they grow back, could you give me a little peace?"

My body was on fire but I obeyed. She had this look in her eye that would brook no insubordinance. "Look Honey, you're gonna, compelled for a while," she started.

"Compelled? For how long?" I asked, desperately seeking any suitable insertable object in the steam. I pressed myself against the bubble jet stream, orgasming almost immediately.

"Until you get someone to take the panties, I'm afraid."

"WHAT? I have to teach school on Monday!" I yelled. "Yours keep growing BACK...won't these just do the same?"

"No, those are second generation, after they're gone, you're free. Only the originals keep growing back," she explained. " I'm afraid you're fucked, literally, but you've got the rest of the weekend to get rid of them." she replied, biting off a ragged fingernail. "At least you're not married... are you?"

"Well, no. I wouldn't be here if I were...are you?"

She nodded at me and pulled out a waterproof dildo from god-knows-where. I accepted it gratefully and jammed it home.

She grinned at me, "Married? Yes I just about the best salesman in the whole U.S.A."

"Doesn't he mind you spending your nights in the bathhouses and orgy dens?" I asked as the plastic penile substitute did its business.

She shook her blond curls and wrinkled her nose slightly, "Not really. It keeps me out of his way. He hates it when I interfere in his business deals."

I sighed as the itch was scratched, and tilted my head for her to continue.

"He likes to think he's in charge of things but when the Big Honchos deal with me instead of him, hurts his ego, you know? Also, the poor man has no head for investments, so Mother and I have to handle all the Swiss accounts and the Wall Street stuff. He welcomes the fact that these panties keep me busy most of the time, 'cause it lets him look like he's the boss. And we all know that it's appearances that really count." She winked at me once more.

"Well if the Honchos deal with you instead of him then what makes you say he's the world's greatest salesman?" I asked?

"Well Honey," she replied and began rubbing her nipples, " he sold me these panties."


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