by Penny Wylder
“Yes,” the dean says, “you should, but I’m out with my wife for our thirtieth anniversary, so we’ll talk about this tomorrow in my office, first thing in the morning.”
“Right, of course,” I say.
He turns and walks away without another word.
I glance at Georgia. She’s looking up at me with big, frightened eyes. My thoughts are spinning. I can only imagine what’s going on in her head. It’s not just my career that’s ruined over this. She could very well lose her scholarship too. I won’t let that happen.
Georgia sits in the passenger seat with her bare feet propped on the dashboard. “I can’t believe we were caught by Dean Meyer of all people,” she says.
I’m still sorting everything out in my head, thinking of a way to fix this, but I’m coming up with nothing.
“You’re quiet,” she says. I can feel her eyes on me. I’m trying not to freak out, punch the steering wheel and cuss like I want to. I don’t want to frighten her.
“I’m just thinking,” I say.
“Maybe you should just drop me off back at the dorm instead of both of us going back to your place,” Georgia says, resigned.
I know I’m not the greatest company at the moment; I’m not the most communicative person when I’m upset, but the last thing I want is for her to leave. I won’t stop her if she doesn’t want to be around me, though. I wouldn’t blame her.
“Is that what you want?” I ask, hoping she’ll say no.
“Of course not. But if someone sees me at your house it’ll be worse for you.”
I look off into the distance, the muted glow of my headlights leading the way, bugs darting in and out of their beams. “I don’t care about that. I just want to be with you tonight.”
She’s quiet. When I glance over at her, she’s staring out the window. “Okay.”
Georgia hasn’t said a word in twenty minutes. I start to think maybe it would be better if I took her home. Tonight was a lot to take in and perhaps it would be best if we both took some time to process it. But as soon as we walk into the house, she starts to take off her clothes. Shoes first, dress second, then others items follow.
I just stand in the doorway, waiting to see what happens next. “Do you want me or not?” she says.
I don’t hesitate. Kicking the door shut with my foot, I immediately begin taking off my clothes too. She waits for me by the couch. I kiss her, tasting the wine still on her tongue. She makes fists in my hair, keeping our lips sealed together, pulling our naked bodies closer together. She kisses me like her life depends on it. Suddenly Dean Meyer and my imminent ruin have left my thoughts, and all there is room for in my head is her. Her touch, her scent, her kiss. Her body.
She twists in my arms, exposing her backside to me. That round, pale, beautiful butt. I bend her over the arm of my couch and kneel to worship her. I kiss the fat fleshy mounds from top to bottom, then spread her open and bury my face in her delicious pussy.
Each time I take a break to catch my breath, it’s stolen away again by the view. Young and pink and vivid. The sweet scent of her arousal makes my cock twitch with desperation. I want to be inside her where it’s warm and wet and safe from the stresses of the outside world.
Once my lungs are no longer heaving, I go in for more, my tongue painting her folds and the tiny split of her entrance. She moans and rolls her hips, pushing back on me to drive my tongue deeper into her.
“Please fuck me,” she begs.
I pull back to give myself room to talk. “We’ll get to that, but right now I’m going to eat your hot cunt until you cum on my face.”
Back in the fray, all it takes is a little dirty talk and a skilled tongue to send her over the edge. She lets out a loud, desperate moan that turns into a cry. Reaching behind her, she grabs the back of my head and pushes my face into her creamy mound, smearing my face with her juices. I lick them up like a starving man.
When she finally lets go, I fill my empty lungs with air and catch my breath again. Being on the verge of suffocation so many times has made me lightheaded, euphoric. I never understood auto-erotic asphyxiation before, but I’m starting to get it now.
Strings of her cum drip onto the floor. Normally I’d lick her clean, but we’ll need that lubrication for what I have in store for her.
I sit on the couch. “Ride me,” I tell her. “I want to see your tits bounce and watch your face the next time I make you cum.
Before she climbs on my lap, she puts on a little show, bending over, spreading her ass cheeks, looking over her shoulder to watch my reaction. I immediately reach for my dick and start to stroke it. She turns around to face me, climbs onto the couch, standing over me with one foot on either side of my hips. Again she spreads herself, her pussy this time, making it gape. It’s a small gape, but enough for me to take a glimpse inside. I have to stop touching myself before I cum.
She squats over me, her ass hovering in the air a moment before she sits, spearing herself on my prick. She holds onto my shoulders for leverage and slowly begins her ride.
I feel the surface of her vaginal wall with the tip of my dick. She can’t go any further. She’s taken as much as she can, and yet there’s still roughly three inches of cock still exposed. She tries to push herself further, and somehow there’s a little more give, and I’m starting to wonder if I’m about to fuck her cervix. There’s a definite tightness there, but it feels amazing, and so I let her do what she wants to do. She knows her body. She can make these calls.
Her mouth opens and whimpers spill out.
“It hurts,” she says, and yet doesn’t try to release the pressure by easing up. Her legs start to shake. “But it feels so good at the same time.”
Just when I start to fear that I’m about to stab through her womb, she sits up until only the head of my dick is still inside of her, then impales herself again. She does this over and over until I can’t take anymore.
I grab her hips one last time and thrust hard and deep inside of her until I explode.
She screams, her body writhing and twisting. Her pussy strangles my cock as her orgasm rips through her with brutal force. Until she finally collapses against my chest.
We sit like this a while, spent and useless. Me, running my fingers through her sweaty hair, while she trails delicate kisses along my jawline. Not talking, just being here together in silence. It’s not uncomfortable one bit. Just the opposite. I’ve never been this comfortable with anyone in my life.
A half hour passes when suddenly I get my second wind. I’m still inside of her, growing hard again as I lift both of us off the couch. Her legs wrap around me and she giggles, trying to hold on. I carry her upstairs for round two.
Chapter 9
Georgia
In the morning, Loche and I are awake before either of our alarms go off. Even after several rounds, we’re not exhausted enough to sleep through the anxiety we both face. I’m wrapped up in his arms. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay like this, in the comfort and safety of him forever. But I have to figure out a way to get Dean Meyer not to can Loche and take away my scholarship.
When I try to leave, Loche holds tighter. “I have to go,” I say, smiling as he grumbles.
“Let’s just forget about everything and stay here. We can watch movies and eat junk food and pretend we’re not adults.”
“As amazing as that sounds, you know we can’t. I’m gonna call a cab.”
“Let me take you back to the dorm,” he says.
“It’s too risky. I don’t want anyone to see us.” His midnight-black Camaro with black rims and a V8 that can wake the dead isn’t exactly subtle.
“Fine,” he says, and finally releases me from his grip. “But find me later.”
“I’ll see you in class this afternoon.”
The thin smile on his face makes me think there might not be a class this afternoon.
Before my first class starts, I make an appointment to see Dean Meyer. I’m sitting in the waiting area with his secret
ary, going over a rough argument I prepared. It’s difficult to focus with the clack, clack, clack of acrylic nails on the keyboard as the secretary speed-types.
Every time I look up at the clock, five minutes have passed. I’ve been sitting here twenty minutes so far. I just want to get this over with. Another five and I’ll be late for English. I might even have to miss it. I’ve never missed a class before. Not for illness or any other reason.
The phone rings. His secretary answers it and continues to type at the same time. Finally, she puts down the phone, looks at me, and says, “He’ll see you now.”
I go into the dean’s office. No one else comes out. Twenty minutes. What the hell was he doing in his room alone for twenty minutes? Maybe he heard it was me here to see him and he just wanted to make me squirm. Well, it worked. Blood rushes in my ears and my heart is like a caged animal thrashing in my chest.
This is too much. It’s more grownup than anything I’ve had to deal with since graduating high school. I want to walk away and forget everything. The only thing keeping me grounded is knowing I’m doing this for Loche. I’d do anything for him.
“Shut the door behind you,” Dean Meyer says. He sits behind an imposing desk. On top of it are pictures of his wife and grown children placed in matching gold frames.
He stacks a pile of loose papers in front of him. The task seems more important to him than giving me his full attention. Funny how I used to really admire this guy, but now that my scholarship and Loche’s job are on the line, I’m looking for the horns and pitchfork hiding beneath that very obvious rug on his head.
Folding my hands in my lap, I say, “I wanted to talk to you about what you saw at the restaurant last night.”
Not that what he saw could be misconstrued as anything but what it was. I’m going to tell the truth, for the most part. I think that’s best. But in the hours between when I got back to my dorm this morning and sitting here, I read the entire manual on student conduct. I will inform him that there are no definitive rules stating that a teacher cannot date an adult student. It’s only frowned upon when it comes to ethics and morals. Unfortunately, by me pointing this out, I’ll be saying Loche doesn’t have those qualities that this particular school finds important enough to make as their motto. But, not having those things is not grounds to terminate his job. Especially if that student will no longer be attending that school.
The thought of leaving fills me with such a deep sadness, my vision starts to turn gray. I shake my head and square my shoulders, pulling myself together. I need to stay strong or I will never get through this without breaking down, and I refuse to cry or appear weak in front of this man.
Before I can say another word on the matter, Dean Meyer stops me and says, “There’s no need. Mr. Johnson already came to speak with me this morning.”
“He did . . .” I say, hanging off the edge of my seat.
“He resigned from his position.”
“What?” I say, voice rising. “He can’t do that. This wasn’t his fault.”
The dean stops what he’s doing and looks at me with eyebrows raised. “He did it to save your scholarship. As I’m sure you’ve probably read in the manual of conduct, students on scholarship can be released for any reason that might jeopardize the moral or ethical reputation of this establishment. While it does have to go in front of a board for vote before that can happen, I’m fairly certain having an affair with a teacher will fall under that category. You’re welcome to roll the dice, Georgia, but Mr. Johnson fought to save your scholarship. I think he’d be highly disappointed if he threw himself under the bus for nothing.”
“But—” I start to say when Dean Meyer interrupts.
“I can tell by the look on your face that you’re willing to do whatever it takes to protect him, because he had that same look on his face when he came in here to protect you. I gave him the option to either end his relationship with you or leave his job. He chose to leave. Let it go.”
I close my mouth. It’s been hanging open this whole time.
“Good day,” the dean says. “Please close the door on your way out.”
Unable to get words out, I stand and walk out of his room and close the door. His secretary watches me leave, no doubt hearing everything.
I still can’t believe Loche would rather leave his job than end his relationship with me. That’s more than a fling. I know that I love him, but I’d had my doubts about his feelings toward me. Until now. I need to find him. Find out what happened. See how he’s doing. This can’t be easy for him. You don’t just fill out an application and hand it over to a manager to get a job as a professor as a prestigious university. That takes time, money, commitment. He must be devastated. I have to be there for him.
I go to his house, ditching my classes for the day. It’s probably the most rebellious thing I’ve ever done in my life—well, besides sleeping with my teacher. But I’m sure the world won’t stop and my grades won’t plummet for missing one day.
I take a cab to his house. When I get there, he’s sitting on the porch swing with his borrowed cat curled up on his lap. Loche smiles when he sees me.
“What did you do?” I say, trying to sound firm, but my voice withers away into a pathetically sad sound.
“Shouldn’t you be in school?” he says.
“I had to come see you.”
“I take it you talked to Dean Meyer.”
Tears start to fall without me realizing they were even there. Suddenly I’m imagining a life without Loche in it. No more seeing him every day in chemistry, my favorite teacher just a favorite memory. What if he starts to resent me after this? If he struggles to pay his bills or can’t get another teaching job, he’ll ultimately blame me. I don’t want to lose him.
He stands up, moving the cat to the side. The cat glares at him a moment for interrupting his comfortable spot before finding a different spot on the cushion.
Loche comes toward me. I should meet him half way but my legs won’t move. I’m afraid if I try, they’ll collapse.
He pulls me into a hug and I breathe in his familiar scent, his warmth. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I let the tears flow freely now. “I’m so sorry,” I tell him, trying not to be too loud even though my body is going through the motions of wracking sobs.
“It’s okay,” he says, kissing my forehead and rubbing comforting circles across my back.
“No, it’s not okay. I doubt Dean Meyer will give you a letter of recommendation after all of this.” I look up at his beautiful house. I can’t imagine living like this, then having to move into an apartment or something worse.
“I don’t need one,” he says.
I pull back to look at him. He wipes tears from my face with his thumbs. “What do you mean? How will you get another teaching job? Without a letter of recommendation, you’ll be asked why you left and you’ll have to tell them the truth. No one will hire you after you slept with a student—even if it’s perfectly legal.”
“I know,” he says.
I shake my head, confused. “I don’t get it.”
“I don’t need a teaching job. I don’t need a job at all. I was only teaching because it was something I worked so hard to do, but honestly, I don’t love it anymore. There are other things I’d rather do with my time.”
“What do you mean you don’t need a job? How will you survive?”
His cheeks flush and he looks at his hands that are now on my shoulders. “After I got paid for being in the movie, I used some of that money to patent a formula I came up with for a longer-lasting lubricant. It ended up changing the sex industry, actually. I made enough to where I don’t need to work anymore.”
I just stare at him, wide-eyed. “Are you serious?”
He smiles and shrugs.
“Let me guess, does it involve coconut oil?”
He laughs. “Maybe a little.” His gaze finds mine and he gets this serious look on his face. “I’m excited to see where this thing between us goes. I want to be with y
ou.” He bites his lip, looking more nervous than I’ve ever seen him.
“What?” I say.
“I’m in love with you.”
I hesitate, but only for a moment, my muscle memory still fearing someone will see us. But I guess that doesn’t matter anymore. I launch myself into his arm and kiss him. I don’t want to stop kissing him, but the words are fighting to get out of me. “I love you too,” I say, more tears spilling down my cheeks, but this time with laughter falling shortly behind.
We can be a couple. He actually wants that from me, and I want it too. More than anything.
He takes me by the hand and leads me into the house. We’re barely through the door when I start to take off his shirt, and I kiss his nipples, sliding my tongue across them. I’ve heard men’s are just as sensitive as women’s. The way he groans make me think they really are.
While my tongue is busy, I unbutton his jeans and pull them down, along with his boxers. He steps out of them. I don’t touch him right away, wanting to make this moment last, prolong the pleasure. Instead, I touch everything but his dick. Tickle his belly button, run my fingers along the trail of hair beneath it. Follow it down to his trimmed pubes and brush my fingers through it.
His breathing quickens and his cock twitches. But still I don’t touch it.
Crouching down, I kiss his stomach and make my way down. My lips hover over the head of his cock, breathing lightly, softly blowing on it. He shivers.
“You’re driving me crazy, you know that, don’t you?” he says.
My face stays at crotch level while I look up at him with only my eyes. “That’s the point.”
He moves my hair off my face so he can watch as I lip the silky skin of his balls and take one of them in my mouth, rolling it around softly with my tongue.
He tilts his head back. “Oh, God,” he says in a husky, breathy voice. He doesn’t stay that way long, eager to keep watching the action.
Snaking out my tongue, I take turns licking and kissing up the shaft of his prick until I reach the head. A few rings around the rim and I’m putting the entire thing in my mouth. I poke the hole with the tip of my tongue, tasting the salty goodness of his pre-cum. He massages my shoulder as I swallow him down, going slow while trying to breathe through my nose so I don’t have to come back up for air.