Quenched

Claimed by my professor

“Lydia? I’ll need you to stay, please,” Professor Truitt called out. I was just exiting the middle row of desks in the huge lecture hall, hoping to escape without notice. “It’s about your paper.”

Our notoriously moody professor had a pointed look on his face — grumpy, yet arrogant. I froze and scowled at him, nearly trampled by the flow of students rushing off to their weekends. They were all so young and carefree. Full of optimism and ambition. They better enjoy it while it lasted.

I shrugged at my friend Sadie, who stood close by my side.

“Be brave,” she whispered dramatically, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Don’t let that pretty professor get to you, girl. Or, if he does get to you…at least make sure you enjoy the ride and give me all the details after.”

“Sadie.” I rolled my eyes. “Shut up. I’m not that desperate.”

I wasn’t, was I?

Sadie suddenly surprised me with an encouraging slap on the ass, as if I were about to carry out the next big play in the game that was my disorganized life. She let her hand linger a bit longer than necessary, her fingertips sliding over the smooth fabric of my dress and squeezing before turning away and dashing out of the room, giggling.

I grimaced, hoping the professor hadn’t witnessed my friend’s playful streak. Sadie could get flirtatious at the worst possible moments.

Professor Truitt leaned against his desk in his stylish gray vest and plaid shirt, his long, lean legs crossed at the ankle while his arms were crossed over his chest. He looked bookish and stern and far too attractive for my liking as he pushed his glasses farther up his nose. His dark, tired-looking eyes made it obvious that he wanted to be anywhere but there, staying late after class to deal with the shortcomings of a struggling student who was having a hard time getting back into the academic swing of things.

“Miss Beckett.” He held my crinkled essay and said nothing further. I took the pages from his hands, flipped through them to find a thousand red markings. I flinched — it looked like a murder victim from a gory slasher flick. “Is this a joke?” he asked. “Or will you be wasting my time on every assignment?”

I opened my mouth in a silent gasp. Then I stuttered like an idiot and tried to fumble for an excuse, but he held his hand up. “I want you to stop by my office. I know it’s Friday, and you probably have an appointment with a tequila bottle and a group of kids at some frat house later, but I think it’s necessary.”

The nerve of this prick. He may have been incredibly smart and attractive, but prick didn’t look good on anyone. Okay. He still looked good, even when acting like a major prick, but I forced myself to ignore that fact for the moment.

“Excuse me, Professor. But I think it’s unfair and…and rude of you to just assume — ”

“And it’s unfair of you to waste my time and good ink with a paper like this, Miss Beckett. But there it stands. It’s a fifth of your grade. I have another class in ten minutes. Come by my office after that and we’ll discuss it. Or you can consider the likelihood of failing my course if things like this keep happening.”

He busied himself with his paperwork and briefcase. I had little else to do but walk away like a scolded child as I shoved my paper in my bag.

What a pretentious bastard. All right, a beautiful, brilliant pretentious bastard, but still. Professor Eric Truitt seemed nice enough the first few weeks of class. Genuinely interested in what I had to say whenever he gave his students the floor and I joined in on the discussions — which I did pretty much every class.

Something about his passion for the subject matter got me fired up, and as far as poetry was concerned, I had a lot to say. A lot of opinions, and even more questions. And I liked the feeling of having a man listen to me speak without interrupting, without his eyes glazing over as they traveled down to my breasts. That had been my ex’s classic behavior, and the change of pace was refreshing.

I didn’t have any more classes that afternoon, so I walked around campus aimlessly while trying to calm myself. I took the long way down paved paths, observing students sipping coffee and studying at stone tables under willow trees, or just socializing and not getting much work done as groups of friends laughed together.

I couldn’t figure out why I was so incredibly nervous. If I were to be painfully honest, I’d have to admit that the rubber-band feeling twisting my stomach wasn’t entirely related to academics. I felt something for this man, my teacher, that I hadn’t felt in a long time. (And it had been a very long time.)

During his lectures, my imagination sometimes drifted to things that had no place in a British poetry course, but seemed more fitting for an X-rated website. His deep, smooth timbre eloquently describing the works of Byron and Shelley made me imagine what it would sound like if he whispered in my ear. But not just any sweet romantic nothings. Oh no. In my fantasies, he was sure of himself, aggressive, and extremely dirty.

Come for me, you fucking dirty sex-crazed slut, I’d imagine him saying as I pictured him all over me, his fingers of one hand pumping deeply in and out of my sex, his other hand twisting around my hair and pulling. You’ll come, and you’ll be wet and ready to take my cock, won’t you?

In another fantasy, he’d shove his head between my thighs as I lay naked and sprawled on his messy desk, his hands forcing my legs as far apart as they could go while my exposed cunt rose to meet his dexterous tongue and lips.

All of this poetry talk from an attractive older man was getting to be too much for me. It wasn’t fair that he was so distracting. I could daydream about him all day if I had the time. Which I didn’t. And there were reasons for that. Reasons I fully intended to explain. I had always looked young for my age — Truitt might not even know how much older I was than all the other rug-rats crawling around campus.

I walked to the coffee shop and tried to do a bit of work for my other classes, but fuck if I could concentrate with my nerves so on edge. I turned the pages of Media and Publishing in the Digital Age but didn’t absorb any of the words I read.

When I checked my phone, I saw that the hour for Truitt’s next course was nearly up. I backtracked to the towering English building, going around the side to the entrance leading to the department offices. I reached Truitt’s office and knocked, standing there a full minute before reaching out to knock again. It opened so suddenly, I nearly pummeled his face with my fist.

“You’re early,” he said.

“Well, you’re here early too.”

He stared at me with annoyed chocolate eyes and said nothing. Just lifted one corner of his full lips in a cocky half-smile.

“Shall I go back outside and wait five minutes?” I asked. “I know you’re busy,” I added, hoping to ease my snarky response. I realized it probably didn’t behoove me to act like a brat when he was the one in control of whether I passed or failed.

“Actually, now that you mention it, outside might be a good idea. We’ve both been cooped up in classrooms all day.” He shut the door in my face. It opened a few short seconds later.

Professor Truitt had put on his suit jacket, which hugged his frame in just the right way. He carried a travel mug too. “Do you mind talking outside? It’s gorgeous out there.”

“Oh. That, um…sounds good.”

He led the way down the hall and we exited out the back of the building. He took a deep breath as he looked up at the changing leaves and drank from his travel mug. He smiled at me kindly, and the smile even reached his eyes. Holy shit. A genuine smile. I found myself wondering who this man was. Where had he hidden my cranky, hard-ass of a teacher? It was obvious he had a love of nature.

I retrieved my marked-up paper from my bag, folding it nervously. Then unfolding it. We reached the edge of a path that went into the woods, and he suddenly reached out to take the crumpled paper from my jittery hands.

“I hope you don’t mind a bit of exercise while we chat about this so-called final draft,” he said.

Oh, there’s Hard-Ass. “No. I love to walk.”

“Hold this, please?” He handed me the mug as we started down the hiking path in the woods.

We walked side by side as he glanced over his blood-red corrections. He was so intently focused on my shitty paper that he seemed to have forgotten my presence. I found myself studying our surroundings, trying to distract myself as I waited for his merciless critique.

I hadn’t realized how scenic it was in this little hidden part of campus. I never took the time to explore the wooded trails leading away from the main paths. The trees had splashed autumn all over the place. The air was crisp, the sun low in the early-evening sky. Being so alone with Truitt in a secluded area was far from what I had been anticipating. I shivered and held the hot mug close.

He stopped suddenly, observing my attempt to warm myself.

“Mind if I smoke?” I asked.

“Of course I do,” he answered. “It’s terrible for you. So, yes. Yes, I mind.”

I blinked at him unhappily, trying to keep my eyes from rolling. I’d been working on quitting and had dropped down to maybe a few smokes a week and during the rare occasions I went out for drinks with Sadie. But I wasn’t about to admit that. I didn’t know whether to be flattered by his concern for my health or pissed by his bossiness.

I met his critical gaze head-on and noticed the bits of gold speckled through his brown eyes. His hair was sandy blond and longish, his height not much greater than my own. His face always had a bit of stubble, and he was prettier than any man I knew. It was strange seeing him so up-close and personal. Quite a different view from the middle of the giant lecture hall.

“You have to re-do this,” he said, walking again. “You have mindless typos, useless tangents that go on and on just to fill up space, inaccurate quotes…I know you lifted this part straight from Wikipedia.” He pointed at the part that I indeed copied and pasted. “At least try to re-word your plagiarism and make it less obvious, Miss Beckett.”

I sighed, wondering whether or not he’d listen to any attempts at defending myself. Dirty laundry, dinner, getting my son adjusted to his new preschool schedule — there was just too much on my plate that week. I had also come down with some virus at the time that my son picked up from school. I was sick, and he was sick, and I procrastinated on the paper till the last minute. I had hoped that a pitiful attempt at the assignment would look better than nothing at all.

Staring into the unwavering eyes of Truitt, however, I wasn’t so sure. And God, his lashes were long. I shook my head, pushing away thoughts of his eyelashes brushing against my cheek as he kissed my neck — bit my neck.

“You’re right, it’s not my best. Not by far. Things are…difficult right now.”

“They are for everyone, Miss Beckett. It’s no easy task, my course.”

I laughed so hard that I snorted. His eyes widened, and I thought they shone with the slightest glimmer of amusement.

“Sorry,” I said. “That’s just a huge understatement. Your tests are excruciating.”

I inhaled the scent of the coffee coming through the lip of the mug and was certain I caught a whiff of whiskey.

“Well. It’s no wonder you don’t smoke,” I said. “Not when you have this to keep you warm. What is it?” I raised a single eyebrow at him. He didn’t blink as I pointed out his hypocrisy.

“Try it,” he said. “You must be cold in that dress.”

For the first time since I’d entered his classroom, Truitt’s eyes left my face. They roamed the dark blue fabric that clung tightly to my breasts, then flowed loosely to just above my knees. My thin green corduroy jacket barely suppressed a chill, though I couldn’t be certain it was from the cool air. There was a glimpse of kindness in his expression. The man had a compassionate side after all. And he liked good, strong coffee. Couldn’t go wrong there.

“I wasn’t expecting a hike this evening,” I said. “At least I happen to be wearing the right shoes.” I lifted my foot and pointed the toe of my long black combat boot. I watched as his eyes cut down to my footwear, then slowly crawled up the length of my leg.

I quickly brought my leg down, my face heating up. I decided now would be a good time for a drink. I tasted a bold roast and Irish cream mixed with whiskey. I had another drink, then another. “I like it.”

“I see that.”

He reached for the coffee, his hand lingering on mine. Then he took a long swig. “It’s my solution to a full week of dealing with the intellectual brats.” He offered the coffee for me to take, and we continued to walk. All was silent. I took sips as he studied my work.

We reached a high stone walking bridge built high over a stream. Truitt leaned back against the tall stone wall and I did the same beside him. I guessed we’d walked about half a mile.

We were deep in the woods, alone. This was far from the typical teacher/student meeting, wasn’t it? Had he ever met with other students outside the office? Other female students? I wondered how many he had plied with whiskey and delicious coffee as he ripped their work apart.

“You have one week,” he said. “I have to lower your grade ten percent for missing the deadline, but it’s obvious from previous assignments and your contributions to discussions that you’re capable of delivering a near-perfect paper and walking away with a high B. I’m not usually so generous, Miss Beckett.”

“Sounds fair,” I stated. “It would also be fair to ask why you’ve taken me all the way out here to tell me something you could have said right after class.”

He didn’t answer, so I took the mug and drank.

“Easy there,” he chuckled.

I didn’t know what was more confusing. The fact that I was completely alone with Truitt, drinking and discussing my academic potential, or the idea that my own teacher was possibly seducing me. They both seemed so far-fetched. Something a more sophisticated and worldly woman might experience. Not me.

“Is this some sort of routine you use? Some…coercion for your female students who desperately need that coveted high B to pass?”

The accusation stopped him cold. He looked away, all traces of humor gone.

“Damn it, Lydia. I said a perfect essay, and I’m expecting no less,” he said, finally finding the words to speak. “And no, I’ve never been involved with a student. I got divorced last year. And not because of any affairs with my students.”

“Why then?”

He scrunched his eyebrows, and though he looked deeply annoyed, I couldn’t remember ever feeling more attracted to him than in that moment. He chewed his bottom lip in thought, and I could see him struggling to decide whether or not to divulge intimate information.

“If it wasn’t because of you sleeping with students, then tell me why,” I said, daring him. “Or else I won’t trust that that’s what you aren’t trying to do with me here, right now.”

At my words he sighed and looked away. “Are you involved with that girl?” he asked out of nowhere. “Sadie, I think her name is.”

I blinked at him. I couldn’t help the half grin that crept into my lips. He raised his eyebrows at me. A shadow passed through his eyes. He seemed…worried maybe? Worried I swung the other way?

“Sadie’s a trip,” I said, purposely deflecting.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” I looked away, thinking of my gorgeous best friend with her pixie-short blonde hair and her diamond nose stud. Truitt hadn’t been the first one to assume things about me and Sadie. Whenever we went out together, we got a lot of stares from men. We’d often take full advantage of the attention, dancing close with our hands all over each other. It was our way of avoiding the sexually aggressive frat boys. Sometimes a girl just wanted to go out and dance and drink without being propositioned for meaningless drunken sex on a twin bed in a smelly dorm. Sadie easily fended off the assholes for me with her fearless go-fuck-yourself attitude.

Truitt rubbed the back of his neck. His expression was vulnerable, like nothing I’d ever seen in class. It made me want to explain myself to him for some reason. “She’s the first friend I made when I started here. We clicked. She happens to be a lesbian,” I said, shrugging. “I’m not.”

“All right,” he said. I caught a glimpse of relief on his face.

“But I do think she’s incredibly attractive. And she’s made it clear to me that she would be up for helping me explore my sexuality, should I want to.”

“Oh, well how kind of her to take that on,” he said, amused.

“She makes me feel…desired. But without the pressure.” I looked to Truitt’s face for judgment, but found none. “One night we were just hanging out in her apartment and drinking, and suddenly she kissed me. We made out for a while, and then we moved to the bed. It became clear that she wanted to do more. She…um…” I trailed off, wondering why the hell I was revealing so much of my personal shit to him. He was listening intently though, a serious expression on his face. “She put her hands up my shirt for a while and played with my breasts. Then her hand made its way down my pants. I was confused about what was happening…but I was also completely turned on that she’d taken control. And she knew it.”

“Did she make you come, Lydia?”

My mouth dropped. Hearing him ask if I came sent a spark of pleasure straight to my core. Words had always had an effect on me. Whether I was reading or listening. They had the power to make me smile. Or cry. Or become aroused.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I said, my voice nearly a whisper.

He looked at me sternly, his eyelids lowering slightly behind his glasses. I shifted my weight. “I stopped her. The girl is beautiful, and I feel so connected to her emotionally. But…I didn’t think I was ready at the time.”

“At the time?”

“It scared me, the way I felt and how different it was. Not to mention what it might do to our friendship. I’m not saying I’m completely closed to the idea of exploring, but I know it would get complicated with her. I would never want to lead her on. Because I know what my preference is.” I looked down at the ground, feeling my face flush again. “I just bared my soul to you, Professor. I think a bit of a return would be polite.”

I caught a glimpse of a smirk on his face. “I asked for a divorce when my wife made it abundantly clear that she wanted to fuck one of my friends.”

Well shit. I looked up at him, my eyes wide. “Seriously?”

“I found her in bed with him. He was making full use of her mouth while he sat up against the headboard. He looked so relaxed, drinking my whiskey from my bar, my wife’s face attached to his cock and her ass in the air.”

“I’m sorry,” I offered. “That’s pretty fucked up.”

“What I did was fucked up,” he said, his voice low, his tone dark.

I gulped. A shadow passed over his face. “What do you mean?”

“They invited me to join them. She told me they had planned it like that, that they were waiting on me. They set it up so I would walk in on it. I guess in the hopes that I would be turned on by it. I was so pissed. But when I saw her there, ramming his cock all the way down her throat…I was furious and hurt and, somehow, I…”

“What?” I whispered, gripping the mug. I stepped away from my spot on the wall, moving closer to him. “You what?” I couldn’t help it. His tale was strange and messed up and…totally riveting.

“I was hard, Lydia.” He said it with disgust. He seemed to hate himself for the reaction he had, the way his body betrayed him. “I was turned on by the fact that she had gone behind me back and set me up. She and I had been having problems for so long, and I was so pissed at her for getting the reaction out of me that she wanted. I was somehow aroused by her cheating on me.”

He shrugged. “Some men are into that,” he continued. “But I wasn’t ready to accept that I was. It was too new…and it scared me too. Kind of like with your friend?”

I nodded, but didn’t dare interrupt.

“But then something took over me, possessed me,” he said. “I fucked her from behind while she blew him. She and I actually came at the same time. The bastard followed suit, and she swallowed and licked him clean, like I’d been starving her for years. But she’d been the one denying me, and I realized that day it was because she’d been getting her fill with my colleague.”

“Wait…he teaches here?”

“He does. I’ll spare you his name. You never know if you’ll end up having a class with him at some point. I couldn’t ever remember my ex being so — so ravenous for me.”

There was a long stretch of silence as I digested everything. During that quiet, my imagination ran away with me, and I wondered what his ex-wife must have felt like during that moment — to be taken, to be so desired by two people at once, at least physically.

Truitt had made it clear his feelings for her were less than loving at that point. She sounded self-obsessed and careless, someone who treated the person who loved her like little more than a sexual possession. But still…somehow the image in my head was an incredible turn-on.

“I’m divorced too,” I admitted. I slouched back against the wall again, drinking more of Truitt’s coffee. I hated talking about that part of my life, but booze always made me extra chatty.

“How old are you, Lydia?”

“I’m a thirty-two-year-old single mother. With all the inexperience of a girl who married her high school sweetheart at eighteen. All we did was fight for years. Now we’re divorced and co-parenting, and I’d rather play video games with my son than go on another painfully awkward first date. How’s that for curb appeal?”

“I can relate. About the bad dates, I mean.” He looked me up and down slowly.

“You certainly look young for your age. But it makes sense now.”

“What does?”

“Why I’ve been drawn to you. You aren’t afraid to speak out in class. The very first day, you were so into it. You were so fresh. So…ready to learn. You knew what the fuck you were talking about. More than any other student I’ve had. That’s why I was so frustrated by your paper.”

“I’ve taken some college courses before. I tried to keep it going until pregnancy and stress got the best of my overwhelmed ass.”

“But you have a passion for it,” he said, his intense gaze locking on my eyes. “While everyone doodles and plays with their phone, you’re attentive. You carry this maturity that…well, it made me think of you in ways I never think of my students.”

He threaded his hands through his hair and dropped them down at his sides. His fingers just grazed the side of my thigh. It was accidental, but we both looked down at the spot like some chemical reaction had taken place. Something that burned. He placed the mug on the ground, sliding my paper underneath it to secure it from the breeze. It caused the dry orange leaves to crackle. “I’m sorry about this, Lydia.”

“Sorry? About what? I’m the one with the faulty essay.”

“For the way I’m going about this. For being rude with my remarks. I’m a little rough around the edges — because I’m so nervous, I think.”

He was facing me now, stepping forward so that he was close to me. His mouth was mere inches from mine. His coffee-and-whiskey-laced breath was delicious. My heart dropped into my stomach. God, he smelled so good. His sweet masculine scent intermingling with the fresh pine and dried leaves nearly did me in. His eyes bore into mine, and I got lost in them. The fluttering feeling in my chest dipped down low. Very low.

“Nervous about what? What are you talking about, Professor? You think you’re the one who’s nervous?” I choked out. “You have no idea what — ” I stopped myself.

“No idea of what?” he asked. He tilted his head, pushed his glasses up his nose, looked at me like I was the most interesting thing in the world to him at that moment. When he pushed back a strand of my unruly hair that had fallen across my cheek, I closed my eyes, enjoying his touch.

You have no idea what I crave, what I’ve been so fucking thirsty for…

The words lingered on the tip of my tongue. But before I could get them out, he placed his hands on either side of my face and crushed his mouth to mine.

I was still at first, making a noise of surprise against his lips — a noise that sounded more like an encouraging whimper than a protest. A large part of me felt immediately intimidated. I didn’t do things like this…in the woods…with teachers.

Truitt’s tongue glided slowly between lips, coaxing me to open for him. I did, and his taste was lovely. Bitter from whiskey and sweet from the cream. As his tongue dipped into my mouth and explored every inch of it, I thought about all the hours I’d imagined this very thing, and how the fantasy paled in comparison to reality.

I didn’t stop him as his kiss deepened and became more aggressive. I let out a small moan of pleasure, the sound muffled by his lips, and let my book bag slip over my shoulder and drop to the ground.

I didn’t stop him when he grasped my shoulders and pushed my body against the hard stone wall. Truitt groaned as he pressed the entire length of his body into mine. That was the moment I think we both knew this wasn’t going to stop at a stolen kiss in the woods.

He slipped both his hands under my skirt, rubbing his palms along the bottoms of my bare thighs. I clamped my arms around his neck as he moved his hands to cup my ass, squeezing and massaging it as he pulled me to him and pushed himself against me.

I felt his cock through his pants, causing glorious friction and heat between my legs. My hips thrust into his erection of their own accord, and a long-lost tensing sensation began well below my belly-button, building as I dry-humped Truitt with a heated passion I couldn’t contain. He continued kissing me as he hurriedly lifted my skirt and bunched it up in his hand so that he could press his erection roughly against my pubic bone with nothing but the barrier of his pants and my black panties between us. I moaned at the more intense sensation, his hardening cock doing wonders for my clit even from behind a zipper.

His lips never left mine as he grabbed a handful of my tangled brown hair with his other hand. He pulled, tilting my head back and deepening the kiss as his mouth widened over mine. He moved his waist back a bit, only to replace the pressure of his erection against my groin with that of his hand. He slipped his fingers into the waistband of my underwear and pressed them firmly against my cunt, shaved smooth that morning in the shower. “Fuck…Lydia,” he growled.

Then his hand dipped lower. I could feel his fingers spreading the lips of my sex, and I gasped in pleasure as he penetrated me deeply with his finger. He quickly added a second finger, and I broke the kiss and leaned my head back against the stone, moaning as he pumped in and out of me. He stared at me with heavy eyes and watched my face twist in pleasure. Then he removed his slick fingers and began slowly massaging my clit with them.

“Oh fuck!” He kissed me again, his lips muffling my cries of pleasure as he worked my wet, swollen clit.

His fingers moved up and down and around, working his way from gentle and teasing to hard and fast. I took his hand, guiding his fingertips to the hood of my clitoris, easing his motion downward and at a slight angle with my hand guiding on top.

“So that’s the way you like it, hmm?” he whispered in my ear.

“I don’t like too much,” I breathed. “Not right at first.”

“I see. So you’re a slow-burn type of girl? Fuck Lydia, your cunt feels good. I want so badly to be inside you.”

His voice and his words sent me a good step further toward climax, and I released my guiding hand, my fingertips wet from my own juices. He stopped to work his two fingers inside of me again. Then he added two more. I groaned as the fullness of all four of his fingers stretched and filled me. It was a tight squeeze, and he softly cupped a hand behind my knee and hitched my leg up and around his hip, enabling him to probe more deeply.

He let go of my kneecap, but I kept my leg wrapped around him, squeezing him tight with my thigh muscles. He used his free hand to tug my jacket down, and I helped him peel it off me. Then he yanked down the thin straps of my dress and my black bra. He shoved the cups of my bra down roughly to expose the flesh of my full breasts. The material bunched underneath them and pushed them up and out.

His mouth immediately covered the tip of my right nipple, flicking the pink bud with his tongue, sucking it and savoring it; all while his hand continued working my now-soaked pussy. I didn’t even have time to feel self-conscious of my exposed nakedness in front of my professor. It had been so long since I had been with a man, and I’d wanted this one since the first day I saw him. Since I’d listened to him. His intelligence was a turn-on, but fuck if he didn’t know how to work my body.

As if he read my mind and wanted to emphasize this point, he moved his other hand down, so as the fingers of one hand pumped in and out of me, the fingers of his other hand pinched and rolled my clit gently. I cried out and looked down, incredibly turned on at the sight of his skillful ministrations.

He looked me in the eyes as he played with me, watching my breath climb until I was gasping. “Do you want it harder now, Lydia?”

“Yes…” I breathed out. “Please.”

“Please what?”

I rolled my eyes back in my head.

“Tell me, Lydia. Tell me what you want, and address me when you speak to me.”

I looked at him, puzzled. He stopped all motion completely, his hands on me and in me, but frozen in place as he waited with all the patience in the world to get what he wanted. I nearly cried out at the sudden interruption. I wanted him to keep going so badly, it hurt.

“I want to hear your voice,” he explained. “I want to hear you tell me what to do and say my name.”

“Please,” I said with quiet desperation. “Rub my clit harder, Professor Truitt. Faster and harder.”

He licked his lips and grinned. “There we go.”

He increased the speed and pressure suddenly, and I cried out as the warm tingling at my core began to spread throughout my pelvis. As he worked me furiously, he leaned down and bit my nipple gently. It sent an electric jolt straight to the tightening muscles of my cunt.

I grabbed his hair, threw my head back, and tilted my hips up to spread myself even wider. My mind was no longer in control as I thrust myself against his hands and pressed the back of his head harder against my breast. The building waves of sensation suddenly broke free, and I cried out in an orgasm that came on incredibly hard, much quicker and deeper than I had expected. The clear liquid of my orgasm splashed against his hands as the muscles of my pussy pulsed and clenched in a rapid succession of glorious, repetitive spasms.

“Fuck, Lydia, you came all over me,” he said, taking in a ragged breath and looking at me with a desire I had never seen in the man I had been married to for years. “You are full of surprises.”

“Sorry about that…” I said breathlessly. I nearly fell over on him. My muscles, which had been so tense and rigid, had suddenly melted. He placed a kiss on my forehead.

“Sorry?” he said. “Are you kidding me? I wasn’t expecting you to be able to do that.” He brought a wet finger to his lips and sucked it, clearly enjoying my taste. “I’ve never been so hard in all my life.” I went rigid, suddenly nervous about what that meant.

He trailed kisses down my bare neck. “Keep quiet,” he murmured as he breathed almost as heavily as I did, sliding the palm of his wet hand up and down my erect nipple. The sensation continued sending mini pulses of my lingering orgasm shuddering through my sex. “We don’t want to tip anyone off with your cries of pleasure, do we?”

“Well you sound sure of yourself,” I whispered. “A romantic poet and an arrogant ass. How do you manage that, Professor?”

“I manage.”

I responded by unzipping him, and his mouth dropped along with his zipper. I worked his cock out of his boxer-briefs, which were an extremely tight fit on him under the circumstances, and clasped my hand around his intimidating length.

The second I started to slide my hand back and forth along his thick cock, he moaned, his eyes rolling up to the sky.

“Stop,” he whispered. “You’ll make me go off just by touching me, Lydia, I swear. Fuck.”

From his jacket pocket he produced a condom. I didn’t let his pre-meditated preparation bother me. I was simply grateful for his forward thinking. Whether or not he planned all this, I wanted it.

He unwrapped the condom and I helped him put it on. He leaned in close. “Turn around.”

I didn’t question his command. And I didn’t altogether mind his bossing me around either. As much as I liked to be in control of the everyday, it felt thrilling to give myself over to this strong, attractive, deeply intelligent male I’d been fantasizing about from afar since the first day I walked into his class.

His hands gripped my hips as I turned and pressed my palms against the stone wall.

“No,” he said. “This way.” He turned me away from the wall and began a slow trail of kisses down my neck from behind. He bit down and sucked the sensitive spot above my collarbone so hard I thought he might break the skin. I hoped that he would. He reached around my chest and rotated my nipples between his fingers with painfully slow precision. Then he placed one hand flat against my back.

He pushed my torso down with one hand, at the same time guiding my hips and ass up with another. “Touch the ground,” he told me. “And keep your legs straight.”

I bent at the waist, flexible enough for my hands to rest on the leaf-covered ground with my legs totally straight. I was folded in half, my ass sticking up in the air as he lifted my skirt up and over my rear-end. He slid my underwear down to my ankles. “Beautiful,” he murmured.

I felt the head of his cock teasing up and down my slit, torturing me when I wanted nothing more than to feel him fill me to the hilt. I moaned and pushed my sex against him, and then he finally entered me slowly, sliding himself to a depth that was pleasantly painful.

The professor moved torturously slowly as he slid out, then penetrated me again, this time with his full length. I cried out softly; being bent in half allowed for an angle that made his penetration incredibly deep. His rhythm stayed slow.

Out of nowhere, his smooth, slow, fluid movements suddenly became one hard, punishing thrust. It shocked me, but in a good way, and I cried out. Then he tore into my cunt, pounding me over and over and building a fathomless, unyielding rhythm as he pumped in and out. His hands dug into the flesh of my bare hips as I planted my hands on the ground to take the brunt of his unyielding fuck, my exposed tits bouncing as he pounded into me again and again. Suddenly, he pulled out.

In one swift motion, he pulled me upright, pressing my back roughly against the wall. I was face to face with Truitt, the stone biting into my shoulder blades. My back was taking some scrapes, but even that felt delicious in the moment. The pain only heightened the contrasting sensation of the kiss he planted on me, so gently, so full of feeling. I had no idea that the sensation of pleasure/pain could be so intoxicating.

“You don’t come like that, do you? Just from my fucking you?”

His tone was light, and somehow his honest question seemed sweet. “No. I never have just from that,” I said. “But it…it certainly feels nice. Maybe I could?”

“I’ll work on it,” he said, a sly grin on his face as he grabbed my wrists, fitting both tightly into one of his hands. “I want to see your face when I do this. Tell me if I go too far.” His eyes were still and deadly serious. I nodded without blinking. “I mean it, Lydia. You can trust that I will stop the second you say, if you feel too uncomfortable. Or scared.”

“Scared?”

“I don’t think it’s something you’ve had a lot of experience with.”

We hardly knew each other on a personal level. But I’d been sitting and observing him, listening to his knowledgeable words for weeks. Some instinct allowed me to trust him, and I went along with it.

Truitt raised my hands high over my head. His grip was surprisingly strong for an academic; my wrists felt as good as chained to the stone. Then he slowly pressed his other hand over my mouth. I was so taken by surprise, I automatically went rigid. I strained in his grasp, trying to pull my hands free, but I couldn’t budge them. Struggling against his strength felt incredibly erotic. I was captured by him, and I felt myself get wet all over again at the new sensation. He answered my question before I had the chance to figure out some way to ask.

“Just blink your eyes rapidly, and I let go. That’s the signal. If you get too uncomfortable, blink your eyes fast and continuously, understand?”

He lifted his hand from my lips. I nodded and breathed out a quick “Yes.”

He clamped his hand on my mouth again as I barely finished the word.

“Good. Now then…”

I was so wet that his hard cock slid easily up and into me. He took me so deeply and with such force that he lifted my weight off the ground. I stood on the very tips of my toes to accommodate his length with each grinding thrust.

He pinned me to the wall with his cock, and the pressure and depth of Truitt’s passionate movements felt past the point of amazing. I was free to wail and moan all I wanted with his hand smothering my sounds, and I took full advantage of that. I kept my eyes wide open, blinking only when I needed to. Truitt’s eyes stared into mine, his gaze was penetrating me as deeply as his cock.

I groaned with pleasure as he quickened his rhythm. My back scraped roughly against the wall, and I breathed through my nose and let out a stifled cry as he increased the intensity, burying himself inside me. The buttons of his un-tucked shirt hit me between my legs, creating a rough but lovely sensation on my clitoris in just the right way. All the muscles in my belly and legs and everywhere in-between started to clench again. I bit into his hand as I groaned wildly.

“Play with yourself,” he said. Truitt removed his hand from my mouth and let go of my right wrist, guiding my fingers to between my legs.

I paused, aware of how much of myself I was revealing. Masturbation — this very intimate, private activity I’d only ever done alone — made me feel self-conscious with an audience. I suddenly had stage fright.

“I want you to masturbate, Lydia. Rub your gorgeous cunt. Go on.” He began to help me with the task, taking my hand with his own and rubbing it up and down. When he let go, I kept going.

He started to grind his hips into mine, impaling me with his cock and helping me build an excruciating tension. As my tense muscles coiled tighter and begged for sweet release, I was reminded of the way he read aloud in class, starting with a near whisper and increasing in volume and emotion as he neared a particularly dramatic point in a poem. Fuck, if poetry wasn’t made to be read aloud.

This time, instead of covering my mouth, he placed his free hand on my neck. He still held my wrist tightly above my head against the wall as he encircled my throat with his fingers. He kissed me, his tongue deep in my mouth.

“Remember what I said,” he breathed, his lips moving against mine as he spoke. “If I cross a line, tell me.”

But the feeling of his hand squeezing my throat was something new and incredible, a dark and wild sensation I couldn’t quite comprehend. I had no idea giving such vulnerability to Truitt would turn me on so much. I locked eyes with him again, challenging him.

“Squeeze harder, Professor Truitt,” I whispered. He gave me a hungry half-grin. Ever so slightly, he tightened his grip on my throat.

We moved together like that as he fucked me against the wall. It was almost too much; so many sensations as he squeezed my neck and sent my head reeling. And then I no longer needed to glide my wet fingers over my clit. I was going over the edge and he was right there with me. He released his hand on my neck and crushed my lips beneath his just as my second, more powerful orgasm ripped through my body like a million snapping cords. As my cunt gripped his cock in spasms of ecstasy, he buried himself in me and stayed buried, finishing inside me as we kissed.

I moaned so aggressively against his mouth that I bit into his lips.

We slowly released each other, doing the dance of unwinding tangled limbs. Truitt gently helped adjust my bra and dress so I was covered again. Then he zipped his slacks and buckled up.

Once our clothing was reassembled, we sat in the fall-scented leaves, leaning against the wall with our legs crossed. We both had sips of the still-warm Irish coffee. I avoided Truitt’s gaze and stared into the trees, dumbfounded.

What did I say now? Was it time for a little comedy relief?

I think I’ve earned that B now, Professor. Honestly, that was more like A+ material, don’t you think?

I frowned at the thought. I had no idea where all this put me with the professor. But I didn’t much care, so long as he was willing to fuck me again. And soon.

I finally looked at him. His eyes were shiny through the lenses of his smudged glasses, bright with what I hoped was enthusiasm. There didn’t seem to be a single trace of regret or avoidance. He wore a lazy, satisfied-looking smile, and it was contagious.

“You’re right,” I said. “I’ve never been fucked like that before.”

He pushed his glasses up in that endearing way that made him look like an incredibly sexy intellectual. Then he leaned in, brushed my hair off the side of my face and cupped my cheek. He kissed me, long and sweet.

Somewhere halfway through the kiss, his hand gripped the hair at the nape of my neck and pulled. I wanted nothing more than for him to be doing that as I wrapped my mouth around his cock and enjoyed him fucking my mouth. My heart dropped in my stomach, and I sighed into his mouth.

“I hope we can meet again soon…outside of class?” he said, genuine hope in his eyes.

I smiled wickedly. “I think I’d like that, Professor,” I said.

“Perhaps you could come for coffee at my place. Tomorrow? If you’re available, that is. I don’t want to intrude on your weekend with your son. Or your study time.” He raised an eyebrow in warning.

Very considerate of him to think of my precious mom-son time, which I didn’t get enough of. I smiled brightly. “He’s with his father tomorrow night, so I may have a little bit of time free.”

“It’s settled then. I want to see you again, Lydia. Fuck…I don’t know if I can wait till tomorrow.”

He bent down and kissed me on the neck, sucking my skin gently at first, and then harder, to the point of pleasure-pain. I gasped and wanted more. He released me, to my dismay, and I drank the last drops from his mug as I attempted to get my bearings.

“I do love a good cup of coffee,” I said and took the last drops from his mug. I giggled like a school girl. It had been far too long since a man had made me laugh. Or climax. Twice. “Boy, was I thirsty.”

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