I saw her in my mind trying hard to sit still and focus on her reading while her body was being bombarded with cold, sensuous, ticklish feelings. The more I thought about it, the more I felt it. It was almost as if she had a sensory transmitter attached to her brain, and I had the receiver. My whole body started to tense and shiver as I felt like I was crawling into her skin. I could feel the weight of her breasts hanging from my chest, the alien smoothness between my legs, the delicate tickling of her long, dangling earrings brushing against my jaw, the weight of her hair on my neck. But above all this, engulfing all of these sharply pointed sensations, was a feeling like the roar of the surf against a distant reef. Every nerve on her skin, from her neck to her ankles, was exposed to a constant titillation from clothes that felt so good that she almost couldn't stand it.
I sensed that she had dressed this way on a lark, to challenge herself, to sit and dream about the graduate student who taught the class. She found him irresistibly masculine. Now, sitting there on the bench, she wasn't sure at all she could get through it. The only reason she didn't bolt for home and change was that her mother would be there, and she didn't want to explain what was going on. She was resigned to having to play out her hand, but it was much more than she had bargained for. She wondered if it would literally drive her out of her mind before she could go home late that afternoon.
It seemed as if she had been popular in high school, but very conservative. She had earned a reputation for being lots of fun, but very much a prude. In her senior year it became commonplace for her to be home on Saturday nights. The boys had abandoned her.
The way she looked today was the product of a semester bent on reversing that image. She had spent a lot on clothes, and everything she bought she chose for its sex appeal. Her mother had even blown up one day, accusing her of dressing like a hooker.
If the charge fit she didn't care, because her new look was starting to pay off. Several times a day a guy came up to her to ask her out. She got so many calls that her father had a separate line put in. But what she liked best was the way guys stared at her.
Being stared at was nothing new. No girl can go out without spotting guys staring at her. Even men old enough to be their father. It was one of those mysterious contractions life is so full of that when it happened you felt uncomfortable, but when it didn't you felt much worse.
Her first sexy outfit had been a pair of very tight red satin shorts, the kind they called hot pants. The waist was high, and the legs so short that the cheeks of her ass peeked out underneath. The top she wore with it was black knitted cotton, so tight it just molded itself to her body. She wore it without a bra, and her nipples showed clearly.
She had been just as nervous the first time she wore it to school as she had been today. Within minutes of arriving on campus she knew she had succeeded, because every guy she passed turned to stare at her, and many made grunts or sighed heavily. The outfit she wore now had the exact same effect. Wherever she went she was the center of attention.
Once she got used to the long, hungry stares, she found herself enjoying a strange new idea. From bits of girl talk she had learned that guys often got erections just from looking at attractive women. Six months ago the idea that a guy staring at her might have a boner sounded disgusting, but now she found it thrilling. She had remembered seeing old movies, with a stage filled with men dressed in tuxedoes feigning over a beautiful woman dressed in a long, slinky satin gown. As the actress strolled by, icy cold and utterly indifferent, the men fell like toppled trees. That was how she saw herself, only much more graphic in the way the men reacted. She loved to think of the guys she passed by and who stared so hungrily at her as forming a spreading wake like that of a boat, and that each of them was left with an erection. The poor, helpless males were powerless to resist her, and had no choice but to suffer the torment of their swollen member chafing against the inside of their pants.
When she saw these slinky nylon jersey pants in the store she knew she had to have them. They were as close as she could get to looking like those old Hollywood vamps and still be fashionable. Even before she got to the dressing room to try on a pair she knew exactly what she wanted them for. She wanted her oceanography prof to see her walk in, and to watch him struggling to get through his lesson with a big lump in his pants. She would sit near the front, right in the center, where he couldn't keep his eyes off of her. She wanted to see him sweat, and stammer, and forget what he had been saying. She wanted him to want her more than he had ever wanted a woman before. She wanted him to think about her all day, day after day, recalling how sexy she looked, and every time he did his cock would swell in response. It gave her an incredible feeling of power.
She wasn't prepared for what happened when she put on the pants in the dressing room. The thought of what she would do to her teacher had made her very horny. Her cunt felt warm and tingly, and every nerve ending on her body was eager to be touched. When the cold, incredibly smooth fabric slid up her legs the rush of pleasure had made her giddy.
In all her life she had never felt anything like it. But, she conceded, she had never worn anything like it. Her mother had raised her on cotton, not silk. The sexy clothes she had bought thus far had emphasized tightness, not sensuousness. She loved the way the pants felt, just as sexy as they looked, and was determined to find a blouse that felt just as good.
When she had tried on the blouse she had been wearing a bra. Only that morning, as she reached to put it on, did the idea come to her to go braless. It was all the rage, and she often went without one herself. It just hadn't occurred to her because of how loose this blouse fit. It wasn't until she picked it up that the delicious feel of it in her hands made her think about how nice it would feel against her naked breasts.
She had the pants halfway on when she realized just how good the blouse did feel. Suddenly she was beset by a desire to be very naughty and go without panties too. The idea was so novel that she dismissed it as too weird, but once she had the pants on she saw that the idea had a practical side. Her panty, or rather the edges of her panty, were clearly visible as little lines, most noticeably in back. With this to justify her more wanton desire she eagerly started over without them.
As soon as she had pulled the pants up into place she knew this was going to be an interesting day. From just above her knees all the way up to her waist the slinky knit fabric molded itself to her body, and her crotch was no exception. It felt really strange there. Cold, but even more so she felt something where normally she felt very little. It made her acutely aware of her cunt.
She was running late, and had no more time to dwell on it. As she gathered her books and folders a pang of doubt shot through her, but she pushed it aside, determined now to see this thing through and looking forward to a long day of exciting new pleasures. Just the fact that it was so wicked made it terribly thrilling.
The long walk from the parking lot to Spalding Hall had been a huge success in how the guys reacted, but she began to have second thoughts about the wisdom of going without panties. By the time she got to Dole Street it had become quit apparent that her new pants had begun to sneak up in between her labia. She didn't dare look down to check, but she was sure that there was a clearly visible crevice where the crotch seam pulled up inside her. It made her uncomfortable to think how it must look, until she remembered seeing lots of women in tight jeans with the same little furrow there. If they had lived through it, she decided, so could she. Besides, it felt really good, and it would be one more thing to tease the guys with.
The traffic on Dole was unusually heavy, so she had to wait for the light to cross. For some reason the need to stand still and wait made her much more aware of her body. She loved the feeling of the cold silk and nylon against her bare skin. It was subtly erotic, and it made her feel very feminine. Guys, she realized, never got to feel this way, and while she felt kind of sorry for them mostly she smiled inwardly at how women had yet again bettered them. How nice that the red flag men were powerless to ignore could itself produce so much pleasure.
The driver in every car that swished past looked startled, leaning and turning to see more of her. At one point there was almost a collision. She knew it was her, for at that time there was nobody else there. This proof of her allure gave her a tremendous feeling of power.
After crossing Dole Street and setting off on the long, circuitous route to Spalding Hall she was beset upon buy yet another new experience. Her attention was focused entirely on the incredible sensations of cold, ticklish pleasure bombarding her from every part of her body. Fifty yards from the road it reached a level where she truly felt as though she could not continue walking. The only thing she could translate into direct action was a fear that at any moment she would burst out laughing because her outfit was tickling her so much, but there was a larger fear of her general state of arousal. The experience was at first nothing more than a vague, cloudy notion, but it rapidly grew to a very distinct sensation centered in a very hot feeling in her crotch.
Suddenly a sharp pang of pleasure sprang from her crotch, a sensation she was quite familiar with only she had never experienced it except when she masturbated. She was so startled to feel that sensation coming from her clit that she looked down and around to see who or what was rubbing her down there. In the same instant she realized what was happening. The crotch seam of her pants was rubbing her clit. With every step she took a spasm of blinding pleasure exploded in her brain. That and the full body tickling she was being subjected to went together like shoyu and hot rice. She loved what was happening, even though it was a bit scary.
By the time she reached the tree-lined grassy area of the quad she had slipped into a strange and exciting sexual fantasy totally unlike any she had experienced before. She was in a secluded cabin high on the slopes of Tantalus. The cabin was surrounded by a dense bamboo forest. One wall was glass, floor to ceiling, and this side faced a deep ravine. Far below the base of the ravine opened up to show a bit of Manoa Valley, and she could just make out a portion of the campus. She was dressed as she was now, standing, facing the picture window. Her wrists were bound with rope and pulled up over her head. More ropes were tied around her ankles, keeping her legs spread apart. Her prof was there, and was taking great delight in running his fingers over the incredibly ticklish fabric of her outfit. He was using almost no pressure, yet the tickling sensations were excruciatingly intense. She was howling with laughter and begging him to stop, yet she loved what he was doing and did not want it to stop at all. Her clit was rubbing the seam of her pants, blasting her with exquisite pleasure. From time to time his fingers teased her there, intensifying the pleasure to the point where she was certain she would die if he did not stop. Gradually he lingered there more, until each visitation resulted in a fantastic orgasm that shot right through her. Again and again this happened. She had no limit to the pleasure she could experience this way. Each orgasm was deeply satisfying, yet her feverish arousal never waned.
Without warning the auditorium doors burst open and a sea of students began pouring out. The sudden commotion snapped me out of my daydream. I was completely disoriented, as if I had just woken up from a profound dream, a nightmare only of the pleasing rather than frightening variety.