by Amy Brent
“I’m thinking about calling my sessions ‘The Psychology of Pussy,” he said, talking with his hands. “Or even better, ‘What Does Your Pussy Think?’” He gave me a salacious grin. “What do you think?”
“First of all, I think you’ve fallen off your surfboard one too many times and smacked your head,” I said, cutting him a look. “And second of all, I’m not sure the marketing guys will go for putting ‘The Psychology of Pussy’ on the brochure, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Hey, I’m not married to the name,” he said with a grin. “So, I’ll be flying in that Friday evening late and flying out on Sunday morning. I assume I’ll be staying with you since there was no mention of a hotel in the deal?”
“You assume correctly,” I said. “Just take a cab to my place. You still have your key, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“Cool, then use it when you get here,” I said. “I will restock the large condoms, buy a new vat of KY Jelly, and change the rubber sheets in anticipation of your visit.”
“You are too good to me, my friend,” he said. “Any prospects you thinking about lining up for my visit? Maybe you will have a nice three-way fetishist in this class we can share.”
Before I could answer, the door at the back of the classroom opened and a beautiful girl I’d never seen before strolled in. She was tall and curvy, with long red hair pulled back into a ponytail at the crown of her head and a face to die for. She sported big tits with no bra, tucked into a tight, black t-shirt that was knotted just below her boobs. Her nipples pushed against the material like thimbles. Her hips were round and her ass was firm in a pair of hot pink running shorts that barely covered her crotch. She was wearing running shoes and white ankle socks. Her legs were perfect, tanned and toned, and I couldn’t help but imagine how they would feel wrapped around my waist. Or wrapped around my head.
She gave me a smile and took a seat down front, just ten feet from my desk. I felt a lump in my throat and a twinge in my cock when our eyes met. I returned the smile, then picked up the phone and took Wynn off speaker.
Turning my back to the girl, I lowered my voice to say, “I gotta go, Wynn. The girl of my dreams just walked in the door.”
“You mean the girl of our dreams, buddy boy,” Wynn growled in my ear. “See you soon.”
* * *
I hung up the phone and turned back to find her smiling at me. Jesus, she was beautiful. Bright eyes, bright smile, fair skin, perfect smile. There was something about her that made me want to drop to my knees and serve her every command, like being in the presence of royalty or something. I felt a twinge deep inside my chest that sent little shockwaves to my cock.
“Well, hi there,” I said as I set the phone on the desk.
“Well, hi there yourself,” she said, still smiling. Her eyes narrowed a little as the corners of her lips curled up.
“I’m Professor Moss,” I said, licking my lips because I found them suddenly dry. I tried to swallow again, but ended up nervously clearing my throat. I didn’t know why this girl was having this effect on me, but I forced the smile to hold and gave her a little nod. “I mean, Holden Moss. Professor Holden Moss. My friends call me Holden.”
“I’m Judith Allen,” she said, her top teeth on her bottom lip. “Grad student. My friends call me Jude.”
“As in, Hey Jude?” I giggled, then groaned on the inside. It was a stupid thing to say, something she had undoubtedly heard a million times before from schmucks like me. Guys she made nervous with just a glance. Guys who couldn’t help but imagine her naked. Guys who would crawl up a mountain of glass just to sniff her…
Jesus, you fucking idiot, what are you doing? I could hear Wynn’s voice in my head as clear as day. What’s up with you, Holden, you dumb fuck. You are acting like a nervous teenager. Be careful you don’t cum in your pants…
She didn’t skip a beat or look at me like I was a total moron. She just gave me a dreamy look and sang a line from the song. “Yes, exactly as in Hey Jude, don’t make me bad...”
“Wait a second…” Something clicked in my brain as I struggled to retrieve my manhood from the toilet I’d just flushed it down. I narrowed my eyes and pointed a finger at her. “Judith Allen… You’re her… You’re the Judith Allen that wrote the paper on nympho—I mean hypersexuality—in Professor Markle’s class?”
The smile quickly dropped from her face. She cut her eyes sideways at me and frowned defensively. “Yes, how did you know about that? Oh… let me guess, old Professor Markle not only can’t keep his withered old pecker in his pants, but he can’t keep his mouth shut in the faculty lounge.”
“What? No… I mean… That’s not how I heard about you… I mean, how I heard about your paper…” I stumbled over the words because I could almost feel the heat coming from her eyes, burning into mine like two beautiful blue lasers. The truth was, I knew about her paper on nymphomania because old Professor Markle with the withered cock had left a copy in the desk where I was now sitting. When I had found it the week before I thought the author, a senior named Judith Allen, had probably already graduated and moved on to spread her good cheer—and her legs— beyond Midwestern. That wasn’t the case. Here she sat, just ten feet away, and holy shit was I glad to meet her. A true nymphomaniac. It was a little like finding Big Foot, if Big Foot had been a gorgeous red head with a killer body and a psychological condition that drove her to fuck guys like me. Or at least I hoped guys like me.
She folded her arms under her breasts and cocked an eyebrow at me. “Well? Am I the gossip of the faculty lounge now?”
“Um… what? No. I mean…well…to be honest… Hey Jude…” I tripped over the words like a blind man in a room full of cats. I tugged the lopsided tie loose from my collar and opened the top button. I felt like I was overheating. Tiny beads of sweat popped out on my upper lip. “I found a copy of your paper here in Professor Markle’s desk last week when I was snooping around… I mean… settling in… and…”
Both of her perfectly-manicured eyebrows went up. She pooched her lips and sucked in her cheeks. Her folded arms lifted her breasts. Her nipples looked like they were struggling to push through the thin tee-shirt. “And what, Professor Holden Moss?”
“And, it was probably the best fucking term paper I’ve ever read,” I said, crossing my arms to match her posture. I smiled at the memory of reading her words the first time. At first, I thought it was a joke, a mock paper handed in by some make believe student just to rattle old Markle’s cage. But the more I read it, the more I knew it was the real thing. Whoever wrote the paper truly was a nymphomaniac; a hypersexual. And she was damned proud of the fact and made no bones about it. The part where the football player called her a fuck machine was priceless. I somehow knew the paper was real, but I never expected to meet the author. I had tucked the paper away for safe keeping. It was now in my bedside table at home. I’d read it a dozen times, usually with my cock in my hand.
She blinked away the anger and the pretty smile returned, a little warmer now. “Oh… well… you really liked it?”
“If you had turned that paper into me I’d have given you an A-plus. Maybe an A-plus-plus.” I leaned in and lowered my voice. “I only wish that I could have heard you read it out loud. I’m sure it was quite a show.”
She frowned again. “How did you know I read it out loud?”
It was my turn to smile at her discomfort. “Old man Markle is famous for making his students write long term papers and read them out loud while he dozes at his desk. I assume he did not doze while you were speaking. And I would guess that he probably asked you to stay after class to ‘discuss your paper’.”
“How do you think I knew about his withered old cock?” she asked. She gave me a smile that sent the blood rushing from my cheeks to my groin. “I hope the pages weren’t stuck together. I can send you a clean copy if need be.”
I felt myself relax as I released the breath I’d been holding. “No, actually, it was quite pristine. My guess is
Markle wasn’t able to do much with it, poor old guy.”
“And what did you think about the paper, seriously?” she asked, eyebrows arching.
“What did I think?”
“Yes, my position on nymphomania versus satyrism? The sexism? The double standard? Why can men fuck anyone they want but when a woman does it she’s considered a slut or a mental defect. It’s terribly unfair and utterly infuriating, don’t you think?”
“Oh, um, I actually thought you did a very good job of addressing the subject.” I cleared my throat and laced my fingers together on the desk, then tried my best to put on a serious face. “Nymphomania, or hypersexuality as it’s now commonly called, is a serious—”
“Professor, I was just fucking with you,” she said slyly, sliding her ass toward the front of the seat and spreading her legs. She pulled the crotch of the loose running shorts to the side to show me her bare cunt. She slowly rubbed two fingers up and down her glistening pussy lips as she stared at me and smiled. She got out of the chair and leaned over my desk, bringing the two fingers wet with her pussy juices to my mouth. I let her slide the fingers between my lips. I closed my lips around her fingers and sucked them dry.
“The bigger question is, what do you think about that?” she asked, pulling her fingers from my mouth and sliding back into her seat. She crossed her legs and gave me an amused look. She obviously loved making men sweat.
The lump slid down my throat, lubricated by the taste of her tangy juices. I licked my lips and thanked the gods above for Markle’s decision to travel this semester.
“I think we should discuss this in private,” I said as my cock grew harder in my pants. It throbbed against my leg, growing so hard it was almost painful. A tiny wet spot formed on my khaki pants.
“When and where?” she asked, the innocent smile returning.
I tugged at my collar and shifted in the seat. “Tonight, perhaps? Over dinner and drinks at my place?”
“I think that’s a fantastic idea,” she said as other students started coming in from the back of the room. She scribbled her phone number on a scrap of paper and got up long enough to put it on the desk. “Just text me the details. Say around eight? It’ll be fun.”
“I think eight o’clock will do nicely,” I said, picking up the paper and sliding it into my pocket for safe keeping. “I’ll text you my address. Maybe you can text me something fun back in return.”
“Maybe I can,” she said. She slid her hand between her legs again, then brought up a single finger and licked her own juices from it.
“Wow,” I said without meaning to.
She licked her lips and smiled. “Thank goodness I was able to get into your class, Professor Moss. I think this is going to be a fun semester.”
“Yes, I think so, too,” I said, studying her with my eyes, wondering if I was simply the luckiest man on campus or the target of a horny girl’s fantasy.
Either way, I knew Jude Allen and I were going to be great friends. And we were going to have great fun.
CHAPTER SIX: Jude
My plan to become a grad school Teacher’s Pet—more to the point, Professor Holden Moss’ Pet—had worked better than I could have ever hoped it would. It was a smart move, putting a copy of my now infamous nymphomaniac term paper in Professor Markle’s desk ahead of time so that Professor Moss would find it before class.
And letting him see my pussy and taste my juices just sealed the deal. The whole thing was like something out of a porno movie. I could barely believe it was happening, even as Holden was looking me in the eye and sucking the juices from my pussy off my fingers. If it was any indication of how incredibly hot our affair was going to be, it was going to be off the fucking charts!
Scalding hot!
Nuclear freakin’ hot!
Like sun scorching hot!
First off, he knew I was an admitted nymphomaniac and knew what that meant when it came to unbridled sex. He knew I was ready, willing, and able to fuck his brains out, and do pretty much anything else he wanted me to. And my research about Professor Holden Moss told me that he was ready, willing, and able to play along no matter what game I came up with. To quote my own paper, Holden Moss was a fuck machine!
I had done my homework even before meeting Holden for the first time. It was not hard to find lots of girls who had fucked the hunky psyche professor with the brooding good looks. He was known around campus for being a creative lover with a big cock who seemed to care as much about his lover’s sexual satisfaction than his own, which was an odd thing given that most men in his position would use their power over their female students just to get their own rocks off.
To the contrary, every girl I talked to said Holden Moss was the most caring lover they had ever had. And a guy who was not afraid to try anything, anywhere, anytime. He was the perfect guy for a girl like me.
Holden texted his address to me, along with the words, “See you at 8. Now send me something fun to tide me over.”
I grinned because I got the text while I was sitting in a Starbucks waiting on Izzy to arrive. I was at a corner table with my back to the crowd. I took my phone’s camera and held it out to take a selfie. Before pressing the button, I pulled my tee-shirt up to expose my big titties to the camera. My boobs were large and milky white, with pink areolas the size of golf balls and nipples like hard, pink gumdrops. I let the tee-shirt drop and looked at the picture. There I was, smiling with my tits hanging out. Behind me a couple dozen students were chatting and drinking coffee, completely oblivious to the fun I was having just a few feet away.
“Chew on that for a while, Professor Moss,” I said as I sent the image to Holden, along with the message, I wish you were here.
Even as my phone dinged to let me know the message was sent, I could feel the hot juices pooling between my thighs, soaking the legs of the loose running shorts and seat beneath me. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one was looking, then slid a finger between my legs. I pulled the shorts aside and rubbed my clit, which was swollen and tender to the touch. I dipped my finger into my pussy to lube up the tip, then started rubbing my clit nub, each touch sending shockwaves through my body, making me tremble with desire as I brought myself to orgasm right there in the Starbucks with all those people around.
I slid my finger into my hole and let my thumb take over clit duties. I worked my finger in and out, in and out, as my thumb rolled my clit back and forth, back and forth. I closed my eyes and thought of Holden Moss. I imagined that it was his tongue on my clit and his fingers slowly plunging inside me. I could feel him there, his breath hot on my cheek, his hand working me toward climax.
The orgasm came quickly, shuddering through me like a rumbling earthquake. I gushed hot juices over my hand and onto the chair, making a mess that I would worry about cleaning up later. That was one of the things about being a nympho. I lived for the moment of orgasm, without worrying about repercussions or consequences.
I would make myself cum sitting in a coffee shop full of people without caring about who might see. If anyone was watching, good for them.
If they were close enough to smell the juices of my pussy over the smell of their coffee, I hoped they enjoyed the aroma.
If they watched as I brought myself to full orgasm with my own hand in a public place, that was just cream in the coffee, so to speak.
If I created a pool of pussy juices in the chair where I sat, oh well, that’s what they made Clorox Cleanup for. Well, maybe not specifically, but I’d clean up my mess when I was done, so no worries there.
I felt the orgasm ripple through me like waves across a pond. My thighs closed around my hand as every muscle in my body went tight. I leaned forward and bit the shit out of my tongue to keep from screaming in ecstasy. After a moment, I opened my eyes to find Izzy sitting across from me with a wicked smile on her face.
“Was it good for you, too?” she asked, plucking a wad of napkins from the dispenser and holding them out for me. I made a goofy face with my tongue h
anging out as I took the napkins and tucked them between my legs.
“It was very good for me,” I sighed, totally unashamed, not embarrassed in the least. Me and Iz had been besties for a long time. She knew how I was wired and vice versa. I’d seen her do some off the wall shit with guys, so me diddling myself in a Starbucks was no shock to her.
“So, I take it your plan to use and abuse Professor Holden Moss is on schedule?” she asked as she pried the lid off her steaming cup of black coffee. Izzy was a coffee snob. If you drank anything other than black coffee with no fixings, you were a pussy, unworthy of calling yourself a true coffee-holic.
“We’re having dinner and drinks at his house at 8 o’clock,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows.
She picked up her cup and blew cool air into it. The steam rose and settled beneath her dark eyes. “So, you’ll be fucking his brains out by what, 8:05?”
“Oh, I’m in no rush,” I said, lifting my venti caramel macchiato to my lips and taking a sip. I smacked my lips and sighed. “Heck, we might even make it to 8:10 or 8:15.”
Izzy grinned at me. “Damn girl, your self-control never ceases to amaze me.”
“I know right!” I said as I tucked the napkins between my legs to soak up the juices that were still flowing out of me. “Sometimes I amaze myself.”
“You gonna need more napkins?” Izzy asked.
“No, I think I’m fine,” I said, scolding her with my eyes. “I may need some fresh shorts, though.”
“So, you talked to him before class, I assume?” She leaned in and gave me the eye. “Are you sure this is smart? You know what happened last time.”
“Last time it was different,” I said, hitching my chin at her. “I’ve done my homework this time. Holden Moss is not married, is not engaged, and by all accounts, not a total asshole like Keith Calloway.”
“Still, you need to be careful,” she said, shaking her head. “I have never liked this teacher’s pet thing you do. It’s just too risky. It could get you kicked out of school and the teacher fired.”