by Amy Brent
She said, “This would be so much more fun if we were just honest with one another, don’t you think?”
My eyes slowly drifted up to meet hers. I leaned into the desk and lowered my voice. I said, “Fine, I’ll be honest with you, Miss Shaw. It’s none of your business who I’m fucking because I’m not breaking any rules. I can’t afford to lose this job. I’m not willing to risk it, no matter how sweet, young, tight or soaked your pussy might be.”
That made her smile, as if she’d just won a hand of cards.
“I understand, Professor Clark,” she said with a sigh. She had her bag hanging over her shoulder. She reached inside it and brought out a plastic sandwich baggie. Inside the baggie, was a red thong. She tossed the bag on the desk and nodded at it.
“I was wearing those while I sucked your cock,” she said, getting to her feet. “I soaked them through and through while I was sucking you. I thought you might enjoy them as much as I enjoyed you.”
With that, she turned and sauntered out of the classroom. I watched the door for a moment, waiting to see if she was going to return. When she didn’t, I picked up the baggie and tugged it open. Immediately, the smell of her tangy juices wafted from the baggie. I held the baggie to my nose and closed my eyes to inhale deeply.
The smell of her pussy ignited my senses.
My cock twitched in my pants.
I could taste her on my tongue
I zipped the baggie shut, then put it in my briefcase.
I glanced at the clock. I had an hour before my next class.
Time enough to run home for a drink or two.
Time enough to lie on my bed with Courtney’s panties over my nose and mouth and my cock in my hand.
Time enough to do to myself what I was now longing to do to her.
Logan
I had forgotten that I had walked to work. My place was only a few minutes away, but I would have to hurry if I was going to have time to have a drink and jack-off to Courtney’s thong.
Wow, what an odd thought to go through your head…
Hmm, what’s this entry on my calendar? Why look, at two o’clock I’m slated to have a drink and jack-off to Courtney’s thong… I can’t miss that again…
Horny idiot.
I had made it just down the street from the accounting building when I saw a familiar blue Honda Accord pass by. The driver hit the brakes and whipped the car into the curb. The passenger window slid down as I approached.
“Hey you,” Sheila Denning said, leaning across the seat to call me over. Fuck… not now… I put on a happy face and leaned into the window.
Sheila was in her mid-thirties but looked much younger. She had a full mane of naturally blond hair and big blue eyes. She had a turned-up nose and a set of lips most Hollywood actresses would have killed for.
She was a cheerleader at UCLA and Chuck was on the football team when they got married. She held her looks well, but Chuck was now balding and had a gut like a beach ball. I thought that was one of the reasons Sheila was attracted to me. I was one of the few single, forty-something-year-old guys on staff that didn’t look like a walking advertisement for heart failure.
Sheila was wearing a pair of black slacks and a willowy blouse that hid one of the most rocking bodies on campus, regardless of her age. I knew every inch of her body well. I’d gone over it in fine detail with my fingers and my tongue. I was glad that she was happily married to Charlie and just having fun with me. If she had been available, we probably would have hooked up and I knew where that would end.
“Hey yourself,” I said, giving her a smile. “Where are you headed?”
“I have a meeting with Dean Warner,” she said. “Where are you going?
“Oh, just thought I’d run home for a sandwich.” I made a big show of checking my watch. “My next class is in hour, so…”
“Well get in and I’ll drop you by your house,” she said, giving her head a little jerk.
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way.”
“Nonsense,” she said, patting the passenger seat. “It’ll take two minutes.”
I thought about turning her down, but that would have set off a red flag for her. Sheila was a knockout and a tiger in the sack, but she could also be a jealous bitch and I’d felt her wrath several times in recent months.
Even though she was married, she didn’t like me having anything to do with other women. Once, she saw me out with a waitress that I occasionally banged and she went ballistic, leaving threatening messages on my phone and showing up drunk at my house in the middle of the night. She told me that I belonged to her and I’d better not be seeing anyone else.
She’d shit a brick if she knew that I was fucking Dean Warner and a half dozen other women in her faculty group.
I’m not dumb.
I know that the shit will hit the fan someday.
Until then, I’ll just keep on lying and fucking her.
And hiding all the sharp objects when she comes to call.
I climbed into the passenger seat and set the briefcase on the floor between my feet. Sheila waited until I buckled up, then pulled away from the curb and headed off campus.
“So, how was your weekend?” she asked.
“Fine. I took the bike up into the mountains,” I said. “How was yours?”
“Oh, same old same old,” she said with a sigh. She put her hand on my thigh and scratched her nails into my leg. She gave me a sideways glance and smiled. “I missed you.”
“You did?”
“Of course,” she said, her hand sliding up my thigh toward my crotch. “Didn’t you miss me?”
“Of course,” I said with a nervous chuckle. Her hand kept inching upward. By the time she pulled to the curb in front of my bungalow, she was rubbing my cock through my pants.
She put the car into gear and turned towards me, leaning her right elbow on the console and putting her left hand on my erection.
“I could come in for a minute,” she said, her fingers squeezing and massaging my cock beneath the thin khaki. “I could help you with that.”
“I appreciate that,” I said, putting my hand on hers to stop the movement. “If you don’t stop that, there’ll be no need to come inside.”
“I can make you come in your pants,” she said, trying to wiggle her hand from mine. She gave me a dreamy look and stuck her tongue between her lips.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said, pushing her hand away and picking up the briefcase to cover my crotch. “I have to get back to class and I don’t want to do it with a big wet spot on my pants.”
“You’re no fun,” she said, pouting her lips.
“Now you know that’s not true,” I said, giving her a sly smile. I reached for the door handle and gave it a tug. “Thanks for the ride.”
She grabbed my arm before I could open the door. “Hey, Charlie’s away this weekend. I was thinking I’d come over and spend the night on Friday. Maybe you could take me on a bike ride into the mountains on Saturday. Maybe we could take a blanket… have a little picnic… maybe fuck in the woods… like animals…”
“Oh, yeah, that sounds great,” I said, pushing open the door with my elbow to make my escape. I slammed the door and leaned back in through the window. “We’ll talk before then.”
She narrowed her dark eyes at me. “Logan, is anything wrong?”
“Wrong? No, of course not. I’m just in a rush is all.”
She stared at me for a moment, like she was trying to read my mind, then gave me a little smile. “Okay, I’m off to meet with Dean Warner. I’ll see you later.” She dipped her eyes and gave her chin a lift, as if she were looking down at my crotch through the closed door. “Be careful with that thing, Professor. Don’t hurt yourself.”
I stood with the briefcase covering my erection and waved as she drove away.
It was turning out to be a very interesting day.
The kind of day you look back on as the day before the shit hit the fan.
Courtney
“You actually gave him your thong?” Mindy grinned at me from the other side of the lunch table. “Oh my god, Courtney, that’s so freakin’ awesome. Why don’t I ever think to do stuff like that.”
“Because all the guys you wanna fuck just say bring it on,” I said, biting off the end of a French fry. I picked up a napkin and wiped ketchup from my lips. “Professor Clark is making me work for it, so I have to get creative.”
She leaned in with a devilish look in her eyes. “What do you think he’ll do with them?”
I picked up the soda cup and brought the straw to my lips. “I dunno. Maybe he’ll sleep with them under his pillow. Or jack-off with them stuffed in his mouth.”
Mindy chuckled and waved a hand at me. “God, Courtney, you’re awful.”
“I’m not awful,” I said with a playful frown. “I’m just horny.”
“If you were just horny, you’d just go get laid,” Mindy said matter-of-factly. She glanced around the crowded cafeteria. “There are a dozen guys in here right now who would gladly scratch that itch for you. This thing you have for Logan Clark, it goes much deeper than that. It’s not about just getting laid anymore, is it?”
“Oh god, please, not the psycho-babble bullshit again,” I said. Mindy was a psych major who hoped to someday have her own psychiatric practice where she could listen to crazy people bitch and moan about their crazy lives all day.
We had been roommates for the last three years and Mindy was constantly trying to psychoanalyze me, like I was her own private lab rat or case study or something. It thrilled her when I told her about my daddy complex, and she was constantly picking apart my various relationships and sexual misadventures, looking for deep, dark undertones that she could dissect and solve for me.
Sometimes it was fun to play along, but other times, when she actually struck a nerve, it was not such fun. I knew I was a mental and sexual basket case. I didn’t need my roommate constantly trying to figure out why.
I huffed at her and said, “Honestly, Mindy, I wish you were an art major or something that didn’t require you to psychoanalyze me all the time. I’m not your class project, you know.”
“Maybe not, but I think there’s more here than you just trying to screw an older professor,” Mindy said. She put on a thoughtful face as she picked up a French fry and swirled it around the ketchup on her plate. I recognized that face. It was her “I’m staring into your brain” face. I could practically hear the gears turning in her head. She munched on the fry and studied me with her eyes almost closed.
She asked, “Do you ever think about doing more than just having sex with him?”
“What does that even mean?”
“Do you ever think about having a relationship with him that goes beyond just sex? Do you ever think about having a long-term relationship with him?” Mindy picked up her cup and shook the ice, then suctioned out the last noisy sip and cocked her eyebrows at me.
“It’s hard to be seriously psychoanalyzed by someone sucking that loudly on a straw,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I told you, I just wanna have sex with Logan Clark before I leave for Chicago in a month. That’s all there is to it.”
“I’m not so sure,” she said, slowly nodding, giving me her ‘all knowing eye’ stare. “I’ve seen you chase guys before, Court. You’ve never gone to this much trouble just to get laid.”
“Maybe I just like a challenge,” I said. “It’s not like I’m falling in love with him, Mindy. I just want to have sex him. So please, cut the psychoanalysis before I punch you in the tits.”
“Okay, session over,” Mindy said, holding up her hands. She glanced at her watch and picked up her lunch tray. “I’ve got to get to class. Don’t do anything crazy without checking with me first. There are stalker laws in this state, you know.”
“Very funny, Dr. Ruth,” I said. “I’ll see you at home.”
I watched her make her way through the crowded cafeteria, the short girl with dark curls and a heavy backpack thrown over her shoulder.
Mindy was going to be a fine psychiatrist someday, though I would never admit to her that my fantasies about Logan Clark sometimes did include more than just sex.
I knew it was foolish.
I would be leaving in a month.
I wasn’t looking to start a relationship.
I just wanted to get laid.
At least that’s what I kept telling myself.
Logan
Two days went by and I couldn’t get Courtney Shaw off my mind. Even though I hadn’t seen or heard from her since she tossed the stained thong on my desk and sauntered out of my classroom, she was constantly there when I closed my eyes to sleep or just tried to turn off my brain at the end of a long day.
I found myself sitting on the couch at midnight with a beer in one hand and the TV remote in the other, blurry eyes directed at the TV but not watching it, my brain in the bedroom with her.
I knew it was pointless to be thinking about her in such a way, but I couldn’t help it. She refused to get out of my mind. The image of her smiling up at me with her fingers around my cock and my jizz on her lips played over and over in my head on a loop. Try as I might, I couldn’t turn it off.
I had spent my days wondering what it would be like to bury my cock deep inside her and my nights dreaming about doing it. I wanted to feel her warm, soft skin at the tips of my fingers. I wanted to roll her plump nipples between my fingers. I wanted to taste her lips and lick her pussy and feel my cock slowly slipping inside her.
Fuck!!!
Even the alcohol didn’t quell my desires or hamper my thoughts. If anything, it made things worse, because the more I drank, the more I thought about her. And the more like shit I felt the next day. Even Tom Brooks noticed the dark circles under my eyes and the puff redness of my cheeks. He had shot me a disapproving look in the hallway this morning, knowing that I was preaching the sins of alcohol to him while baptizing myself in it.
I knew why it was happening.
It was the age-old temptation of man that dated back two thousand years.
I was Adam and Courtney was Eve, holding out the delicious red apple, tempting me to take a bite even though we both knew such things were forbidden by our Lord Golden State University.
Or was she really Lucifer, just using Eve and the apple as tools through which to draw me into temptation, knowing that I would eventually give in and all hell would break loose.
It’s the curse of man: we want something we can’t have.
And knowing that we can’t have it just makes us want it even more.
For men of questionable faith and values, men like me, there comes a point where willpower and consequence are thrown to the wind.
There comes a point where my cock impales itself deep inside her womb and I fill her with my toxic seed.
There comes a point where pleasure is served and consequence begins.
I should have never gone into that restroom.
I should have never let her suck my cock.
I should have never accepted her stained thong, so pungent with her juices and tangy aroma.
I should have never laid naked on my bed with the thong pressed to my face and my hand squeezing the seed from my cock.
But I did.
I did it all.
And now it’s all I think about.
Her thong was in my briefcase at that very moment.
I tried, but I could not leave it at home.
I had to have it near me, within easy reach.
I took it into the men’s restroom when I got to work that morning and jacked-off into the toilet with the thong between my teeth and the crotch wrapped around my tongue.
Her thong was my new drug of choice.
I could not go very long without a fix.
God help me if her scent ever faded away.
I’m not sure what I would do.
Logan
Thursday night… I went straight home after work, resisting the urge t
o go to Goldie’s because I was afraid she might be there. I knew that the only way I could resist her was to keep my distance, to not go where she might be.
I was like an obese person trying to fight the urge to eat: I could only resist scarfing down a bag of Oreos if they weren’t in the house. I could only resist Courtney Shaw if she kept away.
I shucked off my work clothes and changed into a pair of running shorts and a t-shirt. I microwaved a burrito and pulled a beer from the fridge. I took my healthy dinner into the living room and slumped on the couch to watch the news. I wasn’t really paying attention. It was just noise, a hopeful distraction.
My cellphone was on the coffee table. Midway through the burrito it buzzed with a text message. I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand and picked up the phone.
The text message was from a number I didn’t recognize.
The text message read: Can I cum over?
I stared at the screen.
The cursor blinked at me.
I read the text again, then leaned forward to brace my elbows on my knees. My hands were shaking.
I typed in: Who is this?
She instantly typed back: You have my thong :o)
Fuck.
I licked my lips and stared at the screen.
I read the first message again: Can I cum over?
I quickly typed: Sorry busy goodbye.
I sent the message and tossed the phone on the coffee table, as if it had burned my fingers. I picked up the beer and took a sip. I held my breath and watched the screen, waiting for a reply.
Hoping for a reply.
The phone buzzed. I leaned forward to read the message.
RU 2 busy to open the door?
I blinked at the message, frowning at it with the beer bottle at my lips. What the hell did that mean…
Then the doorbell rang.
Lucifer had arrived.
It was now up to Adam to resist temptation.
Courtney
I was already parked at the curb in front of Logan’s house when I sent the first text. I typed in and deleted a dozen variations before settling on: Can I cum over?
It was cute and suggestive.
Hopefully, it would make him smile.