Adventures of Rhia Jones Ch. 04

This is for bridgetkeeney, whose “Itchy Nipples Challenge” thread in the Author’s Hangout Forum provided the inspiration. And a good thing, too, as Rhia and Dorothy had languished too long.

I

Dorothy Warner inscribed a large “C-” on the first page of the essay. She held her pen poised, ready to scribble a caustic comment about using a spell-check. Her hand stayed hovering five seconds, ten seconds. Then it came down and changed the minus to a plus. The essay wasn’t that bad, after all, she was just in a bad mood. She added a note about being careful with one’s spelling, much kinder than the one she’d originally thought of. She put the essay with the already graded others and took the next from the ungraded pile. She cursed Professor Sanderson again for making her grade these before leaving for winter break. The man was plain mean. He delighted in piling work on his teaching assistants, as if trying to see how much they could take before collapsing under the weight. Last year hadn’t been so bad when there were two of them to divide the chores, but Bert Fields had taken his degree in the spring and Sanderson hadn’t replaced him. He hadn’t reduced the work load, either.

Five minutes later another “C” joined the graded pile. Dorothy realized she’d just handed out three in a row and had no idea what the last essay had said. Her back ached from sitting at her desk for the last two hours, her eyes were hot and grainy. Worse, her nipples itched something fierce. Itchy palms meant money coming to you, itchy feet a journey or you needed to be wear flip-flops in the health club shower, itchy ears and someone was talking about you. Dorothy was sure there was something about an itchy nose, too. But itchy nipples?

Achy? Sure.

Tingly? Of course.

But itchy? And not just the “rub it once and it’s gone” sort of itch. This was a constant, low level itch that refused to be satisfied with a rub or a scratch. It didn’t have an erogenous component, either. Aches and tingles were usually taken care of with a little play, if you were alone. If you weren’t, you didn’t mind them at all, they were probably caused by someone else’s attentions, anyway.

Dorothy turned from her desk. She looked at Rhia’s desk on the other side of the room and smiled, pouting a little at the same time. She and Rhia Jones hadn’t been apart since they’d become lovers three months ago. They’d planned to fly together to Rhia’s home on the East Coast for the holidays but then Sanderson had dumped this last bunch of essays in Dorothy’s lap with a command to have them graded and in his mailbox, along with everyone’s mid-year grades before she left. Rhia offered to change her flight and stay, but Dorothy’d insisted she go. “I’ll be along Friday, baby, you go have some quality time with your folks.” Rhia had grumped but agreed, ending by insisting she pay Dorothy for the extra cost her change in plans would incur. “Fine, buy me a nice present,” Dorothy laughed.

That had been Monday. It was now late Thursday night, around midnight. In less than twenty-four hours she’d be back in her lover’s arms, all thoughts of mediocre essays and vindictive professors banished from her mind. Rubbing at her itchy nipples, Dorothy thought, You guys wait until Rhia gets a hold of you, she’ll teach you not to bug me so!

She went out to the kitchen and drank two large glasses of water. There were three beers left in the refrigerator and not much else. Dorothy toyed with having a beer but decided she was already too tired and alcohol would not help her get through the last half-dozen essays. As she returned to her desk her nipples itched fiercely again.

God damn! Gritting her teeth, she plunged into the next essay. All kindness was gone from her and the students who had written up their thoughts on Persian influence in post-Peloponnesian War Greece were treated to comments that outdid even Professor Sanderson at his acerbic best.

II

The itchies were gone the next day. A bleary-eyed Dorothy dropped off the five-pound bundle of graded essays and paperwork at Professor Sanderson’s office - he was long gone for the holidays, of course - and suitcase in hand headed for the airport. The security checks were mercifully quick and the flight was surprisingly uncrowded. No one sat next to her for the four hour flight and even the flight attendants seemed to recognize weariness and let her sleep during the snack-and-beverage service.

Rhia was at the gate, flowers in hand, resplendent in a full-length faux-fur coat. She gave Dorothy’s luggage claim ticket to the limousine driver and whisked Dorothy off to the waiting car.

“Rhia, what the hell did this cost you?” Dorothy laughed.

“Not much.” Rhia settled herself across from Dorothy in the big passenger compartment. “Daddy has an account with the limo service and anyway, it’s remarkably affordable.” The younger woman blushed. “I never really told you, love, but my parents are more than a little well-to-do.”

“Oh, really?”

“Uh huh. You want something to drink? There’s champagne and beer and I don’t know what all else.”

“I’m fine, baby, really. I’m just so glad to see you.”

“Me, too, Dot.” Rhia’s blush deepened. “I, uhm, I brought you something else besides the flowers and a swanky ride,” she said.

“Yeah, what?”

Rhia undid the belt of her coat and spread it wide open. Under it she was naked. “Me,” she whispered.

It was forty-five minutes before the driver returned with Dorothy’s suitcase, and another hour and a half before they arrived at Rhia’s home. In that time, Dorothy realized what itchy nipples meant: itchy nipples today, glorious orgasms tomorrow.