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Note: Please read @SindianTadka‘s Letter 1, Letter 2 & Letter 3 to see where this comes from and to get into the right mood and right trouser or blouse tension.

Disclaimer: I am not the Penney he writes about. I’m just someone who fantasized a lot about being in Penney’s place after reading those letters.

Sin,

I had promised myself I wouldn’t reply to your letter again at least not with so many words, but damn you. I cannot allow you to paint me in such a light without putting in a word or two in my defence.

You are a sick, sick man and if your dreams are anything to go by, I would like to experience this perversity first hand. Hell, I would like to take you in my hands. You would like that wouldn’t you? To actually feel my fingers spidering down your body and my nails flicking your skin like meshed wire come undone? Yeah, I bet you would.

Let me tell you what I did when I received your first letter.

I slipped out of those constricting denims (yes they do encase my butt just right) and into the shower. And so, with one hand holding your letter and the other holding the warm shower head, I began reading. And moaning.

Nobody had penned me such a letter. To think I starred in such a vivid fantasy was a shot of intense satisfaction.

To think I had starred in your fantasy was wild.

You say I tested the pants of the dear, asinine men in our classes. But you_fucking_bastard, I would come commando to class just for you. And of course, for Mr. Chandra too. Because let’s face it, a girl has got to do what a girl with consistently good grades has to do.

I don’t suppose you noticed my ‘pert’ nipples through that netted-cotton blouse when I would hold a test-tube aloft for you to observe. No, your eyes were fixed on that damn test-tube as though it was some rock ‘n roll asshole’s crack-covered shtick.

I suppose you didn’t notice the lack of any panty lines on any of my overly tiny dresses and skirts either through out the school year. I haven’t the slightest idea how many male, female and faculty eyes had the pleasure of a beaver-flash thanks to my numerous failed attempts at catching your erection.

No. Creaming at the thought of you slipping under our adjacent desks for a dropped pen (god knows, you are a clumsy git) and having a go at staying for a longer look was of no use. Especially when I would have to depend on Mr. Chandra licking it all off after class got over. Man, that old fogie had a mean tongue in his gob.

So there I would be, trying to test your dumb angel-brand patience with every endowment I was blessed with. But Surit got to watch me go reverse-cowgirl on him, my breasts bouncing wildly in his glassy eyes. Ipshita got to feel me go down on her and I allowed her to take your place and return the pleasure and Paddy got to grope my arse beneath those stuffy choir-group uniforms and pinch me repeatedly till I came mezzo-soprano on a contralto.

Oh yes, cuss all you want at my fickle wants and your dense lack of initiative. But you swine slop, did you think I would let a small thing like your lack of attention to my intentions get in the way of my search of physical attention. I found pleasure too, as hard as it was for me to believe that it would match the one I’d someday manage to find in your bed. I found some sort of thrashing, screaming pleasure.

I must say, reading your letter not only made me cream like ice-cream sundae overflowing its brim, but to know that you suffered as much as I did … boy, that made me roar like a jungle kitty when I did cream.

Anyway. Fuck all this. Let’s meet. With clothes. Without anything underneath. In your bed.

And it’s Penny, you insufferably sexy man.

P.S: I don’t need my panties back.