Geek Lust: Erotic Stories about Hot Nerds

by F. Leonora Solomon

  She glanced up from typing through her quarterly funding expenditures report to find him in the doorway to her office. He looked perplexed but yummy.

  “Yes, Dr. Kupfer?” University of Texas’s physics department was informal; everyone knew everyone on a first-name basis. Only Richard Kupfer kept up the veneer of title and last-name formality.

  “I think there’s been a mix-up. Maybe on my end, but I was wondering if we could have a little quid pro quo.”

  “Come in,” she said, “and tell me the situation.”

  He glanced around her office, noticing the barely controlled chaos with a disapproving frown. Sara’s office was still being moved into. She had seen his office, and though it was not much better at a cursory glance, she knew he had a method he adhered to. Everything in Richard Kupfer’s office was in its proper place. He was a theoretician, after all, and had no lab space of his own to let his materials spill into.

  As with most experimental physicists, Sara’s lab space was her primary interest point: the office was a place to do paperwork, and could wait. Thus, the books were not yet arranged on the shelves as she might want. The boxes around her desk were not yet unpacked. The three grant applications she was working on concurrently dominated her desk, while a separate station served her computer. Moving into a new workspace was a slow, slow process.

  “Thank you.” He entered and closed the door, and pulled an empty chair to her station and sat down.

  Breathing in, she caught his scent, and her heart started racing.

  “Paolo,” he said, “That’s my postdoc?”

  “I’ve met Paolo,” she said, recalling the slump-shouldered postdoctoral fellow working away at the journeyman level of his career with an eye to escaping it in, oh, seven or eight years instead of the recommended three or four. Everything about Paolo, from his slovenly attire to his shuffling walk, contributed to an aura of diligent laziness.

  “Paolo signed me up for the department’s server time.”

  UT’s physics department had exclusive access to one of the campus’s two Cray supercomputers. The devices were incredible workers, nothing short of miracle machines capable of chugging through even the most complex computations if given enough time. The devices were in high demand, their valuable time needed to be doled out to the many, many interested researchers.

  Though the rest of the campus had moved on to automation and paperless e-file systems, the Crays still had a physical sign-up sheet. Pieces of paper attached to a clipboard with time allotment spaces for researchers to fill out. Or, more realistically, for researchers to have their grad students or postdoctoral fellows fill out. Slavery was alive and well in academia.

  “He told me,” Richard continued, “I was next on the list. Turns out, I’m not. You are.”

  “Oh?” That would teach Paolo to use pencil on a form everyone else signed in ink.

  “Yes,” he said, “and I was structuring my week on the basis of having server time.”

  “Oh?” she repeated, liking the way this was going.

  “And I thought I might come over and talk to you about your project,” he said, before adding, “Not that I want to scoop you or skunk you or perform any other intellectual property impropriety.”

  “Of course not,” she said. You want to know if my little insignificant project can be put on hold while you continue working on your grand design.

  “I was hoping to find out if your project was in a crunch phase, or if it could perhaps enter a non-excited state so I could take advantage of your slot.”

  “Oh my . . .” She forced herself to adopt a serious face. “Dr. Kupfer, are you insinuating something?”

  Richard’s eyes widened with sudden surprise at his choice of words.

  “Time slot. On the Cray. Take advantage of your time slot.”

  Was he flustered? This was new. And rather adorable. He had this whole Jeff Goldblum thing going for him. Young Goldblum, that was. Circa The Fly. Early in the movie, before he got goopy-nasty looking. This of course, brought up images of Jeff Goldblum in icky makeup.

  Okay, Sara thought, so maybe Richard Kupfer was nothing like Jeff Goldblum in The Fly. What about Jurassic Park? That was better. In the Park, part one, of course, Goldblum was ambitious and self-assured and rather yummy.

  “Any thoughts?” he asked, performing the verbal trick of attempting to unbury himself by tossing her the proverbial ball.

  “I’ve a couple,” she said. “But I want to hear your proposal.”

  “My proposal?”

  “Yes. I’m a new investigator, as you’ve pointed out at several meetings.” The term principal investigator was applied to any research scientist at the university. She was still on her start-up funds, which the university itself offered, but the pressure to get her own grant funding weighed upon her. It was the start to a cycle which would end with retirement.

  “Yes, you are, and welcome,” he said. “I believe I welcomed you before, yes? In public, even.”

  “Yes, you did. At the departmental mixer.”

  “Coffee klatch,” he corrected.

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Mixers are dinner parties conducted for the purpose of displaying gee-gaws and orchestrating forced social situations for otherwise unacquainted neighbors. Whereas a coffee klatch is a time-honored business arrangement, wherein colleagues can step away from their daily activities and partake of social interaction opportunities, which might otherwise be lacking due not to their own decisions to remain indoors but to the demands of their particular working environment.”

  “I see,” she said, wanting to see him squirm all the more.

  “I’m a repository for unusual facts,” he said. “But you were saying?”

  “As a new investigator,” she said, “My research time is vital. I’m applying for funding opportunities through the NSF, the NIH and NASA.”

  “Ambition is the way to succeed.”

  “And publication is part of that process. If I don’t get computer time this week, I’ll be delaying my major publication opportunity, which gums up the proverbial works.”

  “Ah,” he said. “This is a conundrum.” One he considered for almost thirteen seconds before he said, “I have an idea.”

  “Oh?”

  “’Oh,’ indeed. I have a grand design,” he said. “You might have heard of my work on string theory?”

  Of course she had. No one came to the university without knowing about Richard Kupfer’s work on the grand unified theory of physics, also known as string theory. Also known as the grand design. No matter what you called it, Kupfer was a leading developmental mind on the scientific theory trying to assemble everything in the known universe under a single umbrella. How dare he treat her like she might not be aware of his work?

  Forget about seeing him squirm. Now, she wanted nothing less than to break him like a horse.

  “I might have heard something,” she said. “One or two little bits.”

  “Well, I have a spot open,” he said. “In my latest journal article. A piece slated for Science. It could use a little extra oomph from someone specialized in particle physics and statistical analysis. I’m suggesting a simple data modeling data exercise, nothing too taxing.” He chuckled. “Shouldn’t take you more than a day or two with your top-of-the-line desktop machine, right there.” He indicated the Dell sitting on her desk with a nod, but never once broke eye contact with her. His gaze was fierce, aggressive, intoxicating, despite the purely cerebral things he was talking about. “Don’t believe I’m offering to trade a publication credit for your Cray time. Instead, consider this as compensatory incentive for your consideration. One colleague to another.”

  She stood up and walked toward him.

  “You want my slot,” she said. “And you’re offering me a spot on your grand design?”

  “Yes,” he said, offering her a grin he might have thought reassuring but which came across as all too smug. “That’s what I’m offering.”

&n
bsp; It meant quite a bit. A whole new avenue of research funding had just opened up.

  “Talk nerdy to me,” she said, and leaned in to brush her lips across his. Shock froze him, preventing his immediate ability to respond to her kiss, but when her tongue slipped between his lips, he got with the program.

  His kiss was intense, passionate, his mouth moving with hers, leading and being led in turn. He caught her by the shoulders, moved around behind her, strong hands squeezing her back through her blouse.

  The kiss broke, and he met her eyes.

  “Why, Dr. Goodkind, are you seducing me?”

  “I’m trying to get involved with your real grand design.” She smiled and he kissed her again, and he surprised her by squeezing her ass.

  “I want you, Dr. Goodkind,” he whispered between kisses.

  “Sara,” she said, lacing her fingers behind his neck. “Richard, do you know how hard it is to get you alone?”

  “I’m a busy, busy man,” he said. “But then, you’re a busy, busy woman.”

  “Sometimes we just have to say to hell with work.”

  “Never,” he said with a grin. She swatted him across the cheek before he got too smug again.

  “It’s not easy for stable electrons to jump rings, after all,” he said. “They need an outside stimulus.”

  “But electrons are at their most interesting,” she said, reaching down, “when they’re in an excited state.” Oh, he was excited all right. His cock tented his dark slacks. When her questing hand found that bulge, the shaft bobbed at her touch. He squirmed, and she said,

  “I like making you do that.”

  “I enjoy your eliciting the response.”

  “You have quite a vocab,” she said and stopped his mouth with a kiss, the nicest way yet devised to say shut up.

  His mouth found hers again but did not stay long before following her jawline and moving down her throat. He whispered her name like a prayer when she licked the circumference of his ear and caught his lobe between her teeth.

  His hands drew hot trails up her back before they caught hold of her shoulders. His mouth busied itself in the sweet place where neck and shoulders met. The application of his teeth and tongue and lips made her squirm.

  When she could think straight, she thought, No way. He needs to be the one squirming.

  She guided him back to the desk, and turned so he was against the edge. Her hand did a zipper trick she had picked up in undergrad, then it was inside, tickling his fancy through his silk boxers. A nice size. She massaged it, milking it for every sensation. As her fist squeezed, softened, squeezed around it, she blew him kisses to turn his mind toward blow jobs.

  He shivered in a delightful way, and she smiled at mission accomplished. She had regained control of the situation.

  She hadn’t realized the idea of blowing him would be quite so attractive. Maybe she really should give it “the old college try”?

  She opened his boxers, his cock thrust out, and she caught sight of the shaft. A nice surprise curved up as though pointing the way to his chin. The head was slick with pre-come, and she realized just how wet she was. Her own musk was quite a giveaway. Could he smell her? He must be able to.

  Kneeling, she took his shaft in her hand, stroking it and pointing it toward her mouth. She tasted him, and his sweet lubrication was as intoxicating as his gaze. Her hand dragged along his cock, strong strokes, while she sucked on his head. When her teeth brushed across his sensitive skin, he writhed. Controlling Dr. Kupfer, she discovered, was an incredible addiction.

  His cock tasted glorious, but his responses were far better; his flailing hand slapped her desktop or the wall. When his hands moved to her, they were light, delicate, as though touching her too long or too firmly might unweave the moment.

  When she took his full shaft into her mouth, he was not the only one responding in delicious new ways. The sensation of his cock moving across her tongue sent shivers down her spine. When his cock head tickled her uvula, she giggled.

  Soon, he urged her off him. He eased her around and dragged down her pants and panties. He knelt between her legs and showed her the many splendored things his mouth could accomplish with her pussy. His fingers eased inside her while he teased the edges of her hood. He curled his fingers inside her, finding and stimulating her g-spot while his tongue worked her clit. She gasped and turned orgasmic in short order. She caught him by the hair but he kept at it, working her through a second climax.

  Sara dragged him to his feet by pulling on his ears. His face said ow, but his cock stiffened a little more, saying yes yes yes—was he into a little rough play? She would not be surprised.

  “I want you in me,” she pulled him close. “But first . . .” She had a condom in her top drawer, and rolled it onto him. Ribbed for his pleasure, spermicidal lubricated for hers.

  His cock entered her without guidance. She gasped as he filled her.

  Newton’s laws revealed the direct relationship between mass, acceleration, and their resulting force.

  “More acceleration,” Sara pleaded. His increased force sped her toward a third gushing climax, and the subsequent pleasure flood erased any lingering frictional forces.

  Richard was sweating, but his gaze remained intense as he pounded inside her. She yanked his shirt open and reached inside to draw fiery lines across his chest.

  “Fuck me, Richard,” she whispered. “Show me your grand design.”

  Her nails scratched lightly across his nipples, and he seized up with his own climax.

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes!” A choked sound emerged from his throat, half a second before his pulsing cock filled the condom with his seed.

  After a pure nine seconds, the relaxation flowed over them. His head bobbed as he leaned in for a kiss. His scent was strong in her nostrils, and his hair was mussed up in a sexy way. God, he was hot when he gave himself permission to release.

  Who, she wondered, was in charge now?

  She was, of course.

  “You,” he said, “are one hell of a woman.” And his smug grin returned.

  Oh, this cannot stand.

  “You bring these shenanigans into my office?”

  “Shenanigans?” His smug grin vanished.

  “Are we colleagues?”

  “Yes. We certainly are.”

  “That means I’m one hell of a scientist.” She grabbed his tie and pulled him down to her level. This surprised the hell out of him. “Don’t you ever forget it.”

  “Will you remind me if I do?”

  This game was still anyone’s. Both of theirs, maybe.

  “Why, Dr. Kupfer—”

  “Richard,” he said.

  “Why, Richard, are you seducing me?”

  “I believe,” he said, “we’re seducing each other.”

  Instead of replying, she kissed him. Not the hot and hungry meeting of passions it was before, this was intense but sweet.

  “Want to hear about my research?” she asked.

  “Talk nerdy to me,” he said with a smirk.

  Geeky Bowtie

  by Del Carmen

  It was the bowtie.

  He looked like a geeky old college professor with his maroon bowtie. A beige suit, sky-blue shirt, and brown leather shoes covered Steve’s lanky body. That suit hid a lot. A slim body, a soft hairy chest, and an iron dick.

  Anne remembered it well. She knew him, having cooled it off with Steve after a few sessions of the same old, same old. He just wasn’t as inventive in bed as he could have been. Additionally, he abhorred public displays of affection—not that Anne was into PDAs herself, but a spontaneous kiss was no reason for a public meltdown. So she cooled it with him for the past couple of months.

  But that bowtie made him look sexy. When he ran his hands through his hair, leaving it rumpled, Anne could see it against her pillow after a hot ride on his cock.

  Mmm, just thinking about it made her wet, made the lips of her vagina plump, desire snaking up her spine. She wanted him now.


  But where? They worked for a hedge fund but neither had offices. Theirs was an open seating plan. What she wouldn’t give for a soft couch and a locked door right now!

  Anne’s face lit up as she pushed back from her desk. She put an extra wiggle in her step as she passed Steve, who sat two cubicles away in front of her.

  His eyes met hers, desire heating his gaze. A gaze that quickly ran over her form, lingered on her breasts, down her stomach, and right down to her strong thighs, courtesy of weekly Zumba classes.

  As she passed him, she couldn’t help but bump his shoulder with her hip. It had been their secret signal.

  Anne felt him looking at her ass so she sent him an extra wiggle. Anne continued to the office manager’s desk as Steve left the floor.

  She had just twisted the key in the lock when Steve appeared behind her. No sooner did she walk into the supply closet that he had her up against the wall, his cock against her crotch.

  Their tongues warred for possession. He won. He sucked her tongue into his mouth, biting her lips. He devoured her as he pressed heavily against her, squeezing her breasts together, running his nail across her nipples and rocking against her core.

  Her panties were soaked. Her heart thundered in her ears as she grabbed his skinny ass and did some squeezing of her own before snaking a hand between them. His zipper was down and his cock was in her hands in seconds, hot and hard with a hot bead of desire at its tip.

  His mouth left hers. She reached out to entice him back but he wouldn’t be seduced. Instead he made quick work of opening her blouse and her bra—front closures were a girl’s best friend!—and suckled at her breasts. Pulling, biting, trying to put all of her into his mouth.

  She ran her hand up and down his shaft, remembering how he liked that. A hard squeeze and he was on his knees before her. Her skirt went up, her now-drenched panties down. He pulled her left leg over his shoulder as he ate her pussy.

  He knew just what to do with his tongue, running his teeth against her clitoris, sucking on her lower lips, lapping up her juices of desire before inserting his tongue into her core. Anne ran her fingers through his hair, holding his head in place. She closed her eyes as her head dropped back onto the wall, and she breathed in the scent of their desire.