In my defence, it’s worth pointing out that she had the most adorable derriere. And that the minx had encased said bum in a very short pleated skirt that swirled enticingly.

Yeah, yeah, I so know what you are thinking: ‘Annie, Annie, you knew you only had a week.’

But you know what it’s like, Saturday night at the sorority party. For God’s sake, Friday was so next week. And that tartan skirt so accentuated her to-die-for legs, Ms Schrödinger was eye-catching beyond distraction. No reasonable person could be expected to have kept Friday’s deadline for the physics assignment in mind.

Feeling both dead and alive, I slipped out of Ms Schrödinger's bed. A tad disorientated until I glanced in her bathroom mirror and was able to directly observe that I was alive. My watch told me it was Thursday, which shouldn’t have surprised me as much as it did. Fair’s fair, it does take some time for Schrödinger’s pussy to take you through the Karma Sutra, lesbian edition.

And Jessica Schrödinger had patience; not just any old patience, rather a quantum-slut’s familiarity with the elasticity of time coupled with a complete understanding of Newton’s laws of sexual motion.

Oh, I see, you’re looking confused, wondering what this Newton shit has to do with bonking. And here I was thinking you were well-read. You really don’t know; you seriously must only read fodder for the naughty bits and not fodder for your mind. No desire to be intellectually challenged when there’s cumming to be done, I suppose.

Maybe this story’s too highbrow for you, then. And no, this is not a similar tale to that other highbrow cat story. That’s a different tail, and yes, bad jokes are my speciality.

Schrödinger’s pussy wasn’t named Sarka and didn’t end up splattered on a Prague pavement or in bed with Ivana depending on your perception of reality. Ms Schrödinger so isn’t Kafka, though she’s exactly what you would expect of a wet dream of a physics thought experiment; the alley cat version, meow.

Back to matters in hand, and no I don’t mean your knuckles stretching your overused twat. I mean the three laws of Newtonian physics. Well, let me spell out the first law for you liberal arts graduates: an object at rest remains at rest, and an object in motion remains in motion at constant speed and in a straight line unless acted on by an unbalanced force.

Mind you, there wasn’t much rest happening once Jessica Schrödinger had kitten licked my ear, and purred enticingly, “Pussies need playdates. Wanna come back to my apartment, meow?”

I did rest my back on Ms Schrödinger's door and watch the minx strip. But I didn’t remain at rest for long as she then kissed me while slowly undressing me button by seductive button. Each touch a delicious unbalanced force that put an object, namely my cunny, into motion, namely leaking honey.

Pushing me onto the bed, I momentarily rested for a second time, my honey flowing at a constant speed while I watched her sashay over to her drawers, where she extracted some things that looked suspiciously like kitten-tail butt plugs. The slutty way she then turned, bent over displaying her dark hole and dripping honeypot, totally unbalanced my cunny which then flowed at a continually increasing rate.

That honey flow became a veritable flood when she screwed what indeed was a kitten-tail butt plug into her arse hole, and whimpered, “Fuck, that gorgeous, gorgeous burn; meow.”

She minced over to me, spread my legs, unfurling my sticky petals. And whispered so seductively, that my twat leaked more than the secret service, “Wannabe Schrödinger's Cat, babe.”

I licked my lips. “Then there must be two states, Ms Schrödinger. An equal probability; I’m a cum-slut or I’m not cum-slut?”

“There is no uncertainty when you’re in a quantum entanglement with me, babe. There is no state, known or unknown in which Schrödinger’s cat isn’t a cum-slut,” Jessica said, twisting the plug into my arse, the burn setting in motion an irresistible force. Namely my desire to bonk Ms fucking Schrödinger till dawn.

Now, turning to Newton’s second law for those who haven’t fallen into a self-induced orgasmic trance. Simple really: the acceleration of an object depends on the mass of the object and the amount of force applied.

Jesus Christ, you liberal arts students need a fucking parable to understand. Should have done STEM, shouldn’t you. Okay then, think of the object as a strap-on, specifically Ms Schrödinger's massive strappy jutting lewdly from her trimmed twat.

Right, I thought that would get your attention. Her kitten ears at a rakish angle, the strappy swaying with filthy intent she stalked across the room, her tail swishing cat-like, mating and Annie’s cunt-cream on her mind.

I’d been with a deviant with an alley cat’s morals, so I knew the form. I got on all fours, purring, as I offered my love holes a la carte. She flicked my kitten-tail butt plug to one side exposing my weeping slit to her lecherous gaze.

Claw-like, her fingernails scratched up my back and she wrapped her fingers in my blond hair. You wouldn’t think Jessica’s hips would generate that much force. But they so did; she tugged on my hair, snapping my head back, and thrust the massive girl-cock into my squishy cunt.

The acceleration of the strappy as she took me, fucked me, used me, was breathtaking. Mass and force generate acceleration, and acceleration leads to something Newton never understood. For you see, the most famous physicist of all time apparently died a virgin. Some physics was theoretical for him; no unbalanced forces had ever put his naughty bits in motion.

I bet you think you know what acceleration stretching my slick velvet cunt walls leads to? Of course you do dear readers, you think it means an orgasm for Annie; a big massive, thigh-drenching orgasm.

Well, no it doesn’t; Newton’s second law won’t give me a cummy, no matter how much acceleration Ms Schrödinger’s pussy generates while screwing her kitten.

As every undergraduate physics cum-slut knows, Annie’s orgasm, well orgasms, in this case, depend on Newton’s third law. Always remember the third law; even go get it tattooed above your mound: whenever one object exerts a force on another object, the second object exerts an equal and opposite on the first.

The acceleration and force of Jessica’s rabbit, for that is what Ms Schrödinger's had named her strappy, would according to Newton’s first law, have my cunny moving at the same speed. That kind of takes the fun out of sex, no fucking friction means no fucking orgasms.

I see that you dommes have gone pale. Yes, the penny dropped, hasn’t it? It’s your bitches who should be a little put out by your attitude, you know. For it is an immutable law of physics that your subby-slut is fucking you as much as you are fucking them, even when you have instructed them not to move at all.

A point that hadn’t escaped Ms Schrödinger as she plunged the strappy into my stationary cunny and fair screamed, “Fuck me, Annie, take me like the physics-whore I am.”

And fuck her I did, on all fours, keeping still as, thinking of England, well only that sexy bit of England where Newton sat under the apple tree. Totally embracing the rolling orgasms that rumbled through me, Ms Schrödinger's kitten, and rumbled through her, my quantum slut. Continuous cums were in perpetual motion for there was no force in Ms Schrödinger boudoir capable of unbalancing two physics-sluts with spasming cunts. Time meant nothing and never would again.

“But,” I said to Jessica, as she joined me in the bathroom on Thursday and wrapped her arms around me, pressing her breasts into my back, setting my cunny in motion again, “in this reality the assignment on Einstein is still due tomorrow. Perhaps an aegrotat. Maybe I should argue that ‘swirlingskirtitis’ is a medical condition.”

“You, kitten, are oozing again. You really are Annie the insatiable,” Jessica said, “Don’t worry. I have a cunning stunt involving your stunning cunt planned for our assignment.”

“But that isn’t logical. You can’t know that I’m insatiable.”

“We’ve just fucked for four and a half days non-stop, babe!”

“So! For all you know I may have a point of satiation that is a tad longer than that.”

“Once we get our assignment done, then I will spend next week scientifically establishing Annie’s satiation point doesn’t exist,” Jessica said, swatting my arse and smirking adorably.

So, turning to Ms Schrödinger's plan. The first unbalanced force designed to set Jessica and my A-grades in motion was my good self. Deliberately the second last to arrive, I strutted into the Introduction to Physics class wearing a micro ginger coloured skirt, a white semi-transparent blouse, red slut-heels and nothing else. Meow.

I had the attention of the entire STEM class; mostly male sadly, but the male sex hormone Geiger counters started chirping loudly.

Professor Isabelle Baryon’s Nobel Prize-winning mouth opened and closed goldfish-like.

Having got her attention and when the appreciative noises from the nerds had settled, I said, “Professor, you know how the assignment is due Friday at three pm."

“Yes. That would be tomorrow, Annie.”

"But Professor, according to Einstein the distinction between past, present and future is only an illusion."

With that comment the class went totally silent, you could have heard a pin drop. The nerds, bright if socially inadequate boys that they were, had an inkling of where I was going with this.

"Well, if the future’s an illusion,” I continued, “then Friday three pm is an illusion and so, therefore, QED, the deadline must be illusory."

"An interesting interpretation, Annie. I also believe that Einstein said that for every action there will be an equal and opposite reaction. I think he had in mind, no assignment, no A-grade."

I smiled; the trap had been baited. And a second unbalanced force was about to be unleashed in Professor Baryon’s physics lecture.

The door swung open and Ms Schrödinger made her entrance, fashionably late and dressed like a tart. Not a common tart, of course, Jessica was way too delicious to be anything less than a French tart. But a furry French tart given she that had accessorized with kitten paraphernalia.

Her kitten tail swayed from under her micro black skirt as she strutted across the room. While her bra-free pokies pressing against her t-shirt had the boys’ attention, as expected, the good Professor was more focused, also as expected, on her kitten ears and the whiskers I had painted on her pretty face.

“Excuse me, Professor,” Jessica simpered, before turning to me.

“Annie, babe,” Jessica said, her voice so sultry that the first hair-triggered nerd creamed his jeans, “You forgot your kitten tail and ears.”

I minced to the front of the class, leant forward and flipped up my skirt, giving many of the boys their first in-flesh cunt experience. As you might expect from a group of physics nerds, recording devices were at hand and, as Jessica pressed the butt plug kitten-tail into my arse and I whimpered with the delicious burn, the scene was captured by those whose hands weren’t excessively shaking as they also creamed their jeans.

“What are you doing Ms Schrödinger?” the Professor demanded, as Jessica slipped my kitten ears onto my head and painted whiskers on my cheeks.

“Our assignment, Professor. Annie is Schrödinger’s cat. She exists in two states A-grade or not an A-grade.”

Jessica turned to the class, and took off her shirt, to whimpers of more premature ejaculation. “Boys,” she said, “Send your videos to the website Annie and I have set up.” She wrote physicsfurries@gmail.com on the board.

Turning back to the good professor, whose colour had drained from her face, she winked and whispered, “Annie and I also are furries; we’re kittens of course. And we know your secret, you really are such a cute bunny. When we submit our cat videos for our assignments, I think the uncertainty resolves itself and the state that Ms Schrödinger and her cat will exist in is an A-grade. I’m sure you agree.”

“But,” Professor Baryon stuttered, “be practical. Scientific integrity in marking means I can’t commit to awarding an A-grade before reading.”

“Remember that Richard P. Feynman quote, Professor,” I said, “Physics is like sex: sure, it may give some practical results, but that's not why we do it.”

So, that concluded the necessary work on our assignments on the physics of Einstein. The equal and opposite reaction to our cunning stunt that day was that Jessica and I got richly deserved A-grades. And a standing ovation from the stained-jeans nerds.

We did then return to Ms Schrödinger’s boudoir, where she spent the next week fucking me, totally determined to scientifically prove her hypothesis that I was an insatiable whore.

“But, Jessica, you can’t conclusively know I am insatiable unless I say ‘no more.’ Then all you’ll know is that I’m not actually insatiable,” I pointed out, logically, as we walked hand in hand to Thursday’s physics class.

“For a physics cum-slut, you are such an English pedant, babe.”