by Amy Brent
I reached down with my left hand to dip my fingers into my pussy, coating them with my own juicy lube. I rolled the fingers over my clit and moaned at the sensation. My nipples plumped like thimbles on my breasts. My mouth was suddenly dry. I licked my lips and closed my eyes.
Logan Clark magically appeared in my mind’s eye.
He was on top of me, all blond hair and thick muscles, his long cock buried deep inside me.
He leaned down to gently kiss my lips.
Now, here is where it pays to be dexterous, like being able to pat your head and rub your belly at the same time.
As the Vibrating Egg sent quaking shivers through my pussy walls and into my body, I fucked myself hard with the dildo while rubbing my clit. Someday I’ll have to video the scene because I probably looked like a circus act, but I didn’t care. If I’d had nipple clamps, all of my bases would have been covered.
Note to self: buy nipple clamps…
I could feel the orgasm coming on. My muscles tensed. I could feel the vibrations from the Egg in my throat. My pussy lips clung to the slick dildo as it pummeled into me. My clit was swollen and raw. I curled my toes and bit my lip.
When the orgasm erupted, I shoved the dildo in as far as it would go and clenched my pussy muscles around it. In my imagination, it was Logan Clark’ cock deep inside me. It was his fingers on my clit. His tongue on my nipples and in my mouth.
I came so hard my body literally spasmed for a full minute afterward, as if it was having to throw itself back into sync after being vibrated to another dimension.
I blew out a long breath and let the dildo and Egg slide out of my cunt on their own.
I switched off the Egg and put it back into my Magic Toy Box along with the dildo. I’d clean them both off tomorrow.
My pussy and ass were drenched. The aroma of my tangy juices hung in the air. There was a huge wet spot on the sheet beneath me. I picked up the nightshirt to dry myself off, then rolled over with Logan Clark still on my mind.
Tomorrow was a new day.
I was not giving up on him yet.
I had two weeks before the end of the semester.
That was plenty of time to make my fantasies come true.
Logan
Monday morning; I was standing at the blackboard, writing out the formula for determining the deductibility of a business expense for my next class, when Tom Brooks stuck his head in the door.
He looked like shit. His eyes were bloodshot, his clothes disheveled, his hair a mess. The only good thing about him was that he was carrying two tall cups of Starbucks coffee.
“Wow, Tom, you look like shit,” I said, dusting chalk off my hands to accept the cup of coffee. “Are you okay?” I pried off the lid and took the coffee to my desk. I sat down and motioned him to a seat.
“Thanks, buddy,” he said, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. “I went back to Goldie’s last night to watch the football game. Got a little drunk.”
“Man, you have got to ease off on the booze,” I said seriously. I swept my eyes around his face for a moment. His bloodshot eyes and slack jaw reminded me of a bloodhound. I could see tiny blood vessels mapping the skin beneath his eyes and across his nose. Tom was getting the marks of a drunk, all because his fucking wife cheated on him and left him.
“I’m fine,” he said, prying the lid off his cup and blowing into the steaming coffee before taking a careful sip. “I thought I’d see you there last night. Where were you?”
I shook my head. “I needed a weekend getaway,” I said. “I rode my motorcycle into the mountains for the day. Didn’t get back until late last night.”
“Wow, that sounds nice,” he said with a wistful sigh. “Wendy never would let me have a motorcycle.”
“Wendy’s fucking gone, Tom,” I said, huffing at him. “Go buy yourself a bike. Next time I go on a day trek, you can come with me.”
He made a sour face and let his round shoulders go up and down. “Nah, I’d just kill myself.”
“Like you’re killing yourself with the booze?” I asked.
He scoffed and shook his head. “What? I’m not killing myself with the booze. Where is this coming from? I thought you understood.”
“Understood what?” I arched my eyebrows over the cup, waiting for him to answer.
“That I’m in pain,” he snapped, blinking back tears. He wiggled a finger at me. “You don’t understand, Logan. You don’t know what it’s like to have your heart ripped out and stomped into the ground by someone you love.”
“Don’t I?” I took a deep breath and shook my head slowly. “Tom, I’ve been married and divorced twice. Do you think I wanted to get divorced either of those times?”
“Well, I just assumed… I mean… You’re so good with women…”
“My first wife was named Darby,” I said. “Beautiful girl, blonde hair, blue eyes, killer body, great sense of humor. We dated three years and got married right out of college. It took her less six months to find a guy she loved more than me. I came home one day to our ratty little apartment and she was just gone. She left me a note that said that I didn’t make her happy, so she was moving on. I didn’t make her happy, like that was my job or something.”
“At least you didn’t walk in on her having anal sex with a three-hundred-pound black kid,” he said.
“There is that,” I said, nodding.
“What about wife number two?”
“That would be Tracy, who came along a few years later. She was a knockout brunette, younger than me, big tits, nice ass, could suck the fuzz off a tennis ball. She was my teaching assistant at NYU. We got married in June and she kicked me to the curb in September. Seems she just woke up one day and realized that I wasn’t the guy she wanted me to be. When I came home that day, she’d packed all my shit in boxes and left it on the front lawn.”
“Jesus, Logan, I had no idea…” He gave me a pitiful look. “Did you love them? Were you devastated?”
I shrugged. “I thought I did and I probably was. I started drinking, feeling sorry for myself, staying out all night, missing work, fucking any woman who would let me between her legs. I became a sad drunk, Tom, just like you.”
He blinked at the insult, but didn’t say a word.
“I drank at night, I drank at lunch, I drank in class, I drank before class... One day my students found me passed out at my desk at ten in the morning. They called the dean and she called 911. I had almost killed myself. Alcohol poisoning. I’d been drinking for three days straight. They took me to a detox center and dried me out for thirty days.”
“Damn,” he said, staring down into his coffee cup. I hoped he understood that he was headed down the same dark path I had been on. I hated it for him. He was too good a guy to ruin his life because his wife was a cunt. He was a much better guy than I was. I could only hope that he realized that before it was too late.
“Anyway, I decided that I had to get out of New York City, so I managed to land this job four years ago. And if I don’t fuck things up, I’ll be eligible for tenure in the three months.”
He nodded as he listened. Quietly, he said, “So, when your wives left you, did you think it was your fault?”
“For a long time, I did,” I said with a long sigh. “They both blamed me, said I wasn’t the man they thought I was. I thought about that long and hard while I was in detox.”
“And what conclusion did you reach?” he asked.
“That I was just me,” I said, smiling through a long sigh. “I had always been just me, but they wanted me to be someone else, someone that they could change and mold to fit their needs.”
“So it wasn’t your fault that they left?” he asked hopefully, as if looking for validation for the demise of his own shitty marriage.
“Oh, I’m sure it was my fault to some degree,” I said with a shrug. “I was no saint, but I think they left because they couldn’t change me into the man they wanted me to be. Once I understood that, I also understood that it was their fault as
much as mine because they had both married a guy they thought they could change to fit their idea of what the perfect man was. Leaving me was them accepting the fact that they had fucked up, not me.” I cut him a grin. “At least that’s what a psyche professor I slept with told me.”
“Wendy said she fucked that football player because I no longer satisfied her,” he said, a faraway look in his eye. “She said it was all my fault.”
“Tom, Wendy was a selfish cunt who fucked a football player because she wanted to, not because you drove her to it,” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder and giving him a little shake. “Rather than wallow in pity and booze, you should thank the good lord that she’s gone. Now you can find a woman who will appreciate you for you.”
“You really think so,” he said, rubbing a knuckle under his eyes. “I mean, find a good woman who will appreciate me for me?”
“I really do,” I said with a nod. “But you have to dry out, man, because your body is going to start craving the booze, and when that happens, it’s a lot harder to move on. You’re heading down a very dark road that is a bitch to come back from. Trust me, I know.”
“But you still drink,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me. “Aren’t you afraid that you’ll fall off the wagon and head down that dark road again yourself?”
It was a good question without an easy answer. I didn’t have time to explain the fucked-up, inner workings of my mind, so I just said, “It’s all about moderation for me. When’s the last time you saw me really drunk?”
His forehead furrowed in thought. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you really drunk.”
“And you never will,” I said. “I have a strict three drink rule. I take it as a personal challenge never to break my rule.”
I was lying through my teeth to him, but it was a white lie told for his own good. I had fallen off the wagon so many times I couldn’t count. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’d gotten shitfaced and woke up in my car in a parking lot or in some stranger’s bed. Or in my own bed with no idea how I made it home. Those were my demons to fight, not Tom’s. He didn’t need to hear the sordid details of my reality. He needed to deal with his own.
“So, you test yourself? You drink three drinks, then cut yourself off. You do it to prove to yourself that you can do it. That you’re in control.”
“Something like that,” I said.
“Kind of like your rule about not fucking coeds,” he said with a smile.
“Something like that.”
“You have lots of rules, Logan.”
I smiled. “I know. I’ve been told.”
He shook his head and blew out his cheeks. “I’m not sure I have your willpower.”
“Of course, you do,” I said. “And you have me to help you.”
“What does that mean?” He had a hopeful look in his eye.
“I want you to dry out for a week,” I said. “No booze of any kind. And get back into the gym, start running again, concentrate on you and not Wendy.”
“Okay, I can do that,” he said, trying to smile. He gazed up from beneath his eyebrows. “And maybe I’ll start dating again.”
I chuckled and gave him a nod. “My friend, you go a week without booze and get some color back in your cheeks, and we will get you laid.”
He smiled. “You promise.”
“Scouts honor,” I said, holding up three fingers. “Now get out of here. I have young minds to corrupt.”
As he left the room, I glanced up at the clock. Students for my next class would be filtering in soon. Including Courtney Shaw, who had not left my thoughts since our restroom encounter two nights before.
I’d just bragged about my ability to resist temptation to Tom. I doubt he would have taken me seriously had he known that Courtney had given me a blowjob in Goldie’s restroom.
I thought about that dark road again, the one I had stumbled down so many times before.
I closed my eyes, imagining it in my mind.
I saw Courtney Shaw standing in the middle of the dark road, holding out her hands, beckoning me to come along.
Courtney
Logan was sitting at his desk fiddling with his phone when I walked in and took my usual seat on the third row.
He glanced up for a moment as I strolled in, but quickly looked back down at his phone, as if I was just another student and not the girl who’d sucked his cock in the restroom of a dive bar two nights before.
I wasn’t terribly disappointed because I wasn’t sure what I thought was going to happen when we saw each other this morning.
I didn’t expect him to do a happy dance when he saw me.
But I didn’t expect to be ignored either.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure how to act myself.
Should I be all cold and aloof?
Should I be all cute and flirtatious?
Should we pretend not to know each other so the rest of the room doesn’t surmise what happened between us?
Obviously, Logan was going for the “let’s pretend like nothing happened” option, so I figured I’d do the same. Once everyone had drifted in and taken their seats, he moved to the chalkboard and started class like he had every other day.
Then, subtly, I noticed the change.
I caught him glancing my way, even when he was addressing the questions of other students.
It was like he knew I was there, watching him, longing for him, and he felt the need to steal a glance because he felt the same way.
He couldn’t resist the urge to look at me; to imagine himself fucking me, having me in his arms, his big cock buried deep inside me.
He was feeling the same needs and urges that I was, I was sure of it.
I was sitting in a pool of my own juices, imagining his muscular body beneath the baggy clothes, watching his lips move as he spoke, his nostrils flutter as he breathed.
I squeezed my thighs together and bit my lip.
There was no turning back now.
If I didn’t have Logan Clark inside me soon, I might just die.
Logan
I felt her watching me for the entire class. I did my best to ignore her, but it was no use. I knew she was there. I could feel her eyes on me. I imagined that I could hear breathing. I would have sworn that I noticed the tangy aroma of her juices wafting on the stale air in the room.
I did my best to hold it together for the hour, and was relieved when I finally looked at the clock and saw that it was time for class to end.
I dismissed the class, then sat down behind the desk and waited for the room to clear. I picked up my phone and pretended to fiddle with it. My mouth was dry. I licked my lips. I needed a drink. Maybe I’d run home between classes and grab one. Or two.
“Professor Clark?”
I glanced up to see her standing there, wearing a Golden State Bears t-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans cut low on her hips. The jeans were so tight I could see the outline of her twat. Thank God, she was holding her books in front of her boobs.
I swallowed the lump that had wedged in my throat and folded my hands together on the desk, doing my best to look as academic and uninterested as possible. I lifted my eyebrows at her.
“Yes, Miss Shaw?”
“I have a question about the finals,” she said, saying it loud enough so those still drifting from the room could hear. She turned and waited until we were alone, then gave me a smile and set the books on the desk. Her big boobs more than filled out the t-shirt. I could see the outline of her nipples. I subconsciously licked my lips.
“I really just wanted to thank you for the other night,” she said, giving me a warm smile, as if she was thanking me for a lovely dinner. “And to let you know that my offer to continue the fun still stands. Anytime. Anywhere.”
I rubbed my forehead to drive the thoughts of her lips around my cock out of my mind. I said, “Miss Shaw, look…”
“Call me Courtney,” she said. She lowered herself into a chair and crossed her arms on the desk. She rested her boobs on her a
rms. Her nipples were more apparent now.
“Courtney, look, as flattered as I am to even think that you might be interested in me, we can’t take this any farther. There are rules against fraternization between the staff and students.”
“So it’s okay that you’re fucking most of the female professors,” she said thoughtfully, “but you can’t fuck a female student. Even one who would willingly let you do so.”
I blinked at her for a minute. “Who said I was fucking anyone?”
She shrugged. “Come on, Logan. Everybody knows you’re fucking the old ladies on staff. It’s not a big deal. I certainly won’t hold that against you. Actually, that makes it even more exciting for me. I can’t wait to see your face when you shove your big cock into a sweet, young, tight, soaked pussy.” She batted her eyelashes at me. “You’ll never want to fuck old Martha Warner or Sheila Denning again.”
I was literally dumbfounded by her words and her knowledge of my extracurricular activities. I sat silent for a moment, waiting for my brain to come up with something to say that would convince her that she was wrong, but no snappy retorts came to mind. I cleared my throat and played innocent badly.
“Um, I’m not sure where you got that information from, but I can assure you that it is patently untrue. I am not involved with anyone on staff here at Golden State.” Christ, I sounded like a bad defense lawyer.
She cut her eyes at me. “So you didn’t fuck Dean Warner in the Ruby Tuesdays parking lot like everyone is saying? And you and Professor Denning don’t fuck at your house every time her husband Coach Denning is coaching away games?”
I stammered a bit. “What? No, I mean, of course, it’s not true. And you should tell anyone who is spreading those kinds of malicious rumors that they can get in serious trouble for doing so.”
“Relax, Logan, your little secrets are safe with me.”
I blinked at her. “Fine. Thank you.”
She clicked her tongue and shook her head, then leaned in and lowered her voice. I couldn’t help but steal a glance down the front of her shirt. I wanted to run my tongue down her round cleavage.