1. Just A Tiny Spark


    Date: 8/12/2015, Categories: Fiction, Author: LushStories, Rating: 83.3, Source: sexstories.com

    her arm. “Please, Professor Morrigan. It’s a private book, not one from the library.” I felt her stiffen, and I hastily withdrew my hand. She didn’t appear anymore trusting. “And, pray tell, what book would Joanne have loaned you?” My heart thumped against my ribcage, and I hid my trembling hands behind my back. This was my one chance to get Joanne’s address, and I had to take a gamble. I prayed that Professor Morrigan knew about Joanne’s lifestyle. “Cupid’s a Girl. That’s the title. It’s…” I had to struggle to keep my breathing even. “...a lesbian novel.” Something in her eyes shifted, and I almost broke into relieved giggles. It became even harder to stay motionless when she pulled a small notepad and a pen from her purse, tore out a page and scribbled down an address. “Don’t make me rue this, Miss Miller,” she told me with a stern look before she handed over the sheet, but I thought I saw something soft in her eyes. “You won’t, I promise! Thank you so much, Professor Morrigan. Have a wonderful new year!” “You too, Miss Miller.” I thought I saw a small smile on her lips, but then she had already turned around, and all I could do was force myself to keep from skipping on my way to the dorms. * * * * You can’t get a taxi on New Year’s Eve. That was the one thing I learned. At first, I had believed the friendly voice telling me to try again in a half hour. But the hand of the clock spun and spun, and no taxi was available. I had put on the violet dress again, together with a ...
    dark grey cloak. It was snowing in spades, and my ankle boots were soon soggy from wading through the mud. Not only that you couldn’t get a taxi, nobody cared about clearing the snow from the sidewalks. My cloak wasn’t waterproof, but then, I had thought that I’d ride at least most of the way in a car. Joanne’s flat was on the remote side of the town, and I had been walking for hours. My feet hurt and my face was freezing by the time I got there. I prayed to god that she was home. I should have thought about it first, but in all my desperation, I had totally forgotten that she might have plans for New Year’s Eve and be out somewhere in the city. The door to her house was slightly ajar. Second floor, the note from Professor Morrigan read. It was one of these old, colonial style houses with deep, low stairs that creaked awfully, but I barely noticed them because my heartbeat drowned out everything else. Then I was there. The door to her flat was modern. I couldn’t tell if there was light behind it, and the small noises I heard could have come from every single one of the flats on the floor. A golden doorbell was mounted on the wall, next to plate where flowery letters spelled ‘J. Henderson.’ ‘God, let her be home,’ I prayed, and then I pushed the button and a muffled chime sounded. I hadn’t heard footsteps. Suddenly, the door swung open, and then she stood before me, clad in a dark red terry-cloth bathrobe, her hair as dripping wet as mine and plastered to her head, and her eyes ...
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