Short sex stories

Erotic fiction and short sex stories




Faculty-in-Residence Ch. 02

Part 1

My husband Matthew and I overslept the morning after our little "date," which had been steamier than usual, I have to say. On the surface it was nothing special. Just the normal routine. I put on a push-up bra, and a low-cut top, and then I cooked Matthew a casserole. When he got home we ate it. I was so worked up from my fantasy session in the shower that morning about Travis (my frat boy student), and by how hot my husband looked in his professor outfit with the chunky glasses, beard, and skinny tie, that I could barely keep my knees together during supper. I didn't eat much. I just watched hubby chew his food, and swallow his wine, waiting for the moment. Then I led him into the bedroom, and stripped him, and pushed him onto the bed. Then I stripped for him, real sexy, and then I . . . what's the term? Oh yeah. Fucked. His. Brains. Out. For like over an hour.

Again, it was nothing special on the surface. Just the usual sequence of "poses." Cowgirl with me on top to get the engines revving, then doggie when Matthew couldn't take it any more and flipped me over for some of that sweet tail, then missionary when he wanted to look at me while he finished. He pinned me to the mattress with his big belly and fucked me slow and deep, staring down at me and leering hungrily, and then I wrapped my legs around him, and he came hard inside me. What can I say? We got "carried away" again. My mother in law would probably wet herself with excitement if she knew.

Afterward, Matthew wanted to give me some special time with my vibrator, but I brushed him off. I'd come plenty hard that day already, thank you very much, and I was nice and relaxed from the serious boning my husband had just given me. Sometimes he really knows how to scratch that itch. I felt free and open, and, even though I wasn't planning to, we ended up having a long talk about my fantasy in the shower, when Travis fucked me. I don't know what came over me, but I just dove right in.

Matthew and I are both academics with a strong interest in psychology, and both of us went through long, messy divorces between our parents when we are in our formative years. And both of us conduct research on sexuality and relationships. So we know all about the grim statistical likelihood of ending up in a sexless marriage. Sometimes when you look at in cold, hard numbers (just charts and graphs) it seems like the "sexless marriage" should just be renamed "marriage" to simplify things. Sometimes it seems like it's inevitable. Like if you actually STAY in your marriage (a full 50% end in divorce) and stay faithful too (some studies have found that as many as 60% of married people cheat) then you are practically destined to end up in a sexless marriage, eventually, at least according to the clinical definition, which is having sex no more than 10 times a year. Matthew and I are DETERMINED to avoid that fate using the only weapons that a couple has: communication and trust and a sense of adventure.

Both of us were starting to get a little bit anxious about the recent drop off in our sex life now that we'd been married for a year and a half. We've been together for seven years total (we met at graduate school when I was 24), and we've always had an active and fulfilling physical relationship. But it's true that we settled into a predictable rhythm a few years ago (maybe one or two times a week, depending) until the excitement of graduation and the wedding sent our libidos through the roof. What had a VERY nice honeymoon in Costa Rica and then we fucked liked rabbits for the first few months we lived in the dorm. But for a while now we've been back to the standard rate of 1.5 times a week, and though the sex is still good, it isn't always fantastic anymore, like it was that night.

I was feeling close to Matthew, and drawn to him, and I wanted more nights like the one we'd just had. So I told him about Travis, even though the shame nearly killed me. I told him about my feelings during class when Travis said what he said, and did what he did, and my feelings during yoga, and then talking with him after, and then Matthew teasing me about talking with him and showing me how Travis had looked at me, up and down knowingly, and how it felt to find Travis suddenly between my legs (so to speak) while I was remembering our honeymoon session in the hot spring and pleasuring myself on the shower floor.

Matthew was VERY understanding, to say the least, probably because he wanted to hear ALL the details about my fantasy very badly. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that this is going to be some kind of cuckold story. But it's not. There's nothing wrong with that kind of story, of course, if that's what you're into. But Matthew and I aren't. That's not the guy I married. And that's not the woman he married. You're just going to have to trust me on that.

Matthew is the kind of guy who loves me for the no-nonsense, straight-ahead, confident, creative woman that I am, and he's smart enough to realize that part of what feeds all that energy is the sheer physical and emotional pleasure that I derive from good sex: vigorous, athletic, passionate sex with a guy who pushes my buttons. Matthew LOVES it when that part of me comes out, and I love the way he MAKES it come out. I was feeling so satisfied by him, and bonded with him, and I wanted more. So when Matthew seemed into the story (and boy did he ever) I gave him some juicy detail. I told him how Travis flipped me on my back and fucked me in this teasing, kind of rhythmical way that made my breasts bounce wildly, and that he laughed down at me when he saw how much I was enjoying it, and how badly I needed it, and how hot my tits looked jiggling around on my tiny body. I told him how I wrapped my legs tight around Travis's hips and came hard on his cock.

"Wow," said Matthew, making big eyes. "That's sounds really hot."

"It was!" I replied, "But don't you think it's weird and gross. Fantasizing about a student like that? A frat boy!"

"No," Matthew said, shaking his head emphatically.

It was an interesting reply. I wanted to ask him whether he ever fantasized about HIS students, of course, but I also didn't want to be distracted from what really mattered at the moment: me. I had something to work out here, clearly, and I needed help.

"I don't think it's weird at all," Matthew said. "It makes sense, actually."

"How?"

"It's neurochemistry!"

"How so?"

"Look," he explained, "we all know that teaching is a sexy business. I mean, the whole thing is just very libidinal. Why else would there be such a strong connection between how highly students rate the effectiveness of a teacher, and whether they rate her (or him) as 'hot'! If the teacher is a little bit 'sexy' in some indefinable way, then she (or he) will be a better teacher. And here's the best part: if they are a better, more effective teacher on any given day then they will feel more sexy afterward. Because it's been shown, in study after study, that effective teaching releases a small dose of dopamine, the pleasure hormone, the same hormone that gets released during orgasms, but in mega-doses. Some new research into the science of student/teacher "crushes" shows that, sometimes, this little rush of dopamine can become "focused" on a student who has made an active contribution to a good class. When our brain releases dopamine, we feel attracted to the object of our attention. It's that simple. That's what happened with you and Travis. It was a little bit forward of him, I suppose, to disrespect your personal boundaries and tell the other students about your yoga sessions. But at the same time it helped to break the ice. Then he confessed something embarrassing about him in front of the other students (his love of cheesy romance novels) and that made THEM feel relaxed, and then they opened up too. Get it?"

It made sense, up to a point. Travis HAD been very helpful that first day of class, and maybe I HAD felt a flutter of attraction toward him (khaki shorts!) at the end of the session when I realized what a good class I'd taught and received my little dopamine reward. But still, I asked Matthew, how did I get from a flutter of attraction in the classroom to coming my brains out on the floor of the shower with Travis's smug smile in my head and his big cock inside me?

"That's simple too," Matthew replied, laughing, and tickling me in the ribs. He loves it when I get all dirty like that. And then he explained. You see, the initial dopamine dose was "reinforced" after yoga class, when I talked with Travis, and realized that he'd really learned something in the session because I'm a good yoga teacher too. I got another dopamine reward, just a little bit bigger, and this created a link between my first arousing "image" of Travis (khaki shorts!) and this new arousing image (sweaty t-shirt!) thereby compelling me to draw closer to the object of my attention, to fully experience it. So: when I was looking for a little escape and inspiration at the end of my shower, a little orgasm and dopamine hit to get the day started right, it made sense that my brain would "focus" on Travis, because he'd shown himself to be a good source of the hormone I was craving. Ergo, humping the showerhead like a mad woman while I pictured being Travis's fuck toy and coming on his cock!

The amazing thing about Matthew isn't simply that his research is about questions that truly interest me: Why are fantasies so powerful? Why do our brains love dopamine so much? Why do some images arouse, while others turn us off? It's also that whenever I REALLY trust him with some deep, heavy shit, he NEVER judges me or makes me feel ashamed or guilty. To the contrary, he was happy for me that writing had gone so well that day.

"It doesn't bother you if I fantasize about another guy?" I asked him, slipping my hand under the sheets and taking hold of him. I stroked him slowly, smiling mischievously. "If I fantasize about a hot student . . . a frat boy?"

"No," Matthew groaned, shaking his head, and exhaling hard. "Especially not if it turns you into such a sex fiend afterward."

I was so grateful for his understanding that I slid my hot, little naked body right down the length of his and gave him some amazing head.

But then, afterward, as Matthew was drifting off to sleep, I told him that I wasn't completely satisfied with his explanation of why I got so turned on by my fantasy of Travis. Because the really striking part of the whole experience was how I was the MOST turned on by precisely the aspects of Travis's appearance and personality, and really of frat guys in general, that I find the MOST infuriating and offensive. That knowing smile that seemed to cut right through me and tell me that Travis knew exactly what I was, and exactly what I wanted, even if I didn't.

"What's that?" Matthew asked, sleepily, his ears pricking up just slightly.

"You know," I answered, blushing. "All that stuff you call me: shorty booty, short stack, whatever. Basically, what got me off the most was when he looked down at me like we could dispense with all the play-acting because we both knew that from the moment he slipped his cock inside me, for as long as he wanted, I was nothing but his fuck doll. Plain and simple. That blew my mind."

"Hmmmm," Matthew responded, waking up for just an instant, and looking at me seriously. Then he crashed.

Anyway, when I woke up (late) the next morning and went to find an outfit for yoga I realized that I'd forgotten to do laundry and I didn't have a thing to wear. One of the annoying things about living in the dorm is that we have to use the communal washing machines in the basement with the undergrads. It's a real pain. I was flustered because if I didn't put on something RIGHT AWAY then I wasn't going to have time to for breakfast before yoga, and then I would feel like crap all day. It was Friday (another "off" day) and I wanted to keep the momentum going with the new piece I was writing.

I dug through the hamper, frantically, pulling out a seemingly endless succession of dirty yoga pants. They were all way too smelly to wear. So I pulled open the drawer in my bureau where I keep my hot weather yoga clothes (for those Texas summers) and pulled out the only bottom I could find: a pair of gray "sihouette yoga shorts" with a wide black waistband. I found a matching black sports bra, and slipped it on, and contemplated the results in the full-length mirror. I looked hot! I thought about throwing caution to the wind and teaching just like that. The girls would probably get a kick out of it. But then I remembered that guys show up at the class sometimes too (sometimes Travis!) and I reconsidered. I noticed a cute little burnt orange hoodie on a hanger in my closet. It has a zipper down the front and the word "TEXAS" emblazoned across the chest in big letters. Matthew bought it for me a couple of years ago during his campus interview at UT and he gave it to me as a surprise gift when he told me he'd been offered the job. I never wear it. I slipped it on my shoulders, and zipped it up, and inspected it in the mirror. Cute! I looked 10 years younger, somehow, like one of my students. It might be a little uncomfortable for the really challenging poses, but if it turned out to be just the girls then I could just slip it off and teach class in the jog bra. I turned around and stuck my butt out, trying to decide if the shorts were too racy. I knew they probably were. Matthew refers to them jokingly as my "booty shorts." They're not obscene or anything, but I guess he has a point. Screw it, I thought to myself. I was late. So I dashed into the kitchen.

Matthew was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the newspaper on his tablet when I breezed past him. As soon as I turned my back on him, standing on my tiptoes and leaning over the counter so I could reach the nutrition bars in the cabinet, he was on me in a flash.

"Wow!" he gushed, his hands all over me. "What brought this on?"

"No laundry," I told him at first. But then I decided to play with him.

I smiled at him over my shoulder, bending over the counter a little further. He pressed up against me, right on cue. I wiggled my ass.

"Maybe I just appreciate the good, hard, boning you gave me last night, and maybe I want to show YOU a little appreciation."

"I appreciate it!" Matthew gushed, grinning like a madman as he stared down at me in the tight shorts.

"I KNOW you do!" I teased, grinding against his boner.

Then I dashed off to yoga.

As soon as I walked into the lounge one of the usual girls, Rhonda, noticed the shorts right away.

"Damn, Peggy, your booty is poppin' in those shorts! If I keep coming to yoga, can I have a butt like that? "

"Good morning, Rhonda," I smiled, brushing off the compliment (which I LOVED!). Rhonda is a beautiful, dark-skinned girl from Houston, and a real southern charmer. I like her because she's kind of short (like me) and curvy (like I used to be, before yoga) and because she's a scholarship kid who is outgoing and a hard worker and you can tell she's going places in life. What can I say? Everyone likes a happy story.

Other than that it was just the usual girls. We smiled at each other, and muttered a few sleepy good mornings as we arranged out mats. Then I noticed a new girl. Someone who surprised me.

It was Lacey Evans, from composition class. I made a point of learning her name after the first day because she struck me as an interesting character. She's the attractive girl in the front row with the tattoos and piercings, the one who flirted with Travis, maybe, even though he didn't seem like her type. She had her dyed hair pulled back in a short ponytail, and she was wearing this cool grey tracksuit thing with neon stripes down the side that really showed off her skinny body. She was standing awkwardly near the front of the room because she didn't have a mat.

"Here, borrow this one," I offered, pointing to my spare mat in the corner. I always bring an extra for occasions like these.

"Thanks," Lacey replied. She looked self-conscious.

"I didn't realize you live in Littlefield Hall!" I said. "Welcome to the class!"

"Uhhh . . . thanks, but . . . I don't live here actually."

I smiled and nodded, realizing my mistake.

"I slept over at a friend's," she explained, recovering her poise. "And I've heard good things about this mind-body yoga class. So I figured I'd give it a try."

"Great," I smiled, wondering what kind of "friend" she meant, and who it might be. I had a pretty good hunch.

It was time for class to begin, so I gave the room a quick scan to see if any guys had shown up. None so far. Good, I thought to myself, standing in the front of the room, facing the girls, and unzipping my TEXAS hoodie. I was just pulling it off my shoulders and saying "Namaste" to the ladies when who should walk in—Travis and sidekick. Sidekick's reaction was kind of hilarious, actually, when he saw me sticking my chest out in the jog bra to slide off the hoodie. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes bulging. His jaw literally dropped. Travis got a pretty good view himself, I suspect, but he recovered himself quickly, elbowing sidekick in the ribs and scowling at him. I thought about putting the hoodie back on, now that there were guys in the room, but I felt too embarrassed, somehow, to let them know that it bothered me to be seen that way. So I tossed the hoodie to the corner and started class.

It was an interesting session. I tend to work intuitively when I lead a class, letting the mood and energy of the room dictate the sequence of poses, flowing from one to the next. We started out in downward dog, pushing our hands into the floor, and letting our hips swing backward, enjoying that delicious sense of relaxation in our back and butt. I held the pose for a long time, closing my eyes and breathing smoothly. I pictured Matthew behind me on the mattress last night, filling me with cock. When I opened my eyes I noticed that some of the kids were having trouble holding the pose. Rhonda and Lacey were in the front row and neither of them had very much upper-body strength, at that point. Their arms were shaking. But Travis was holding it like a pro. I did a quick scan of his new yoga outfit. He must have just ordered it or something, to look good for his new hobby. And he did look good, I admit. On the bottom he was wearing a pair of grey knee-length yoga shorts with a drawstring that fit him VERY snugly through the hips and pelvis and quads. And on top he was wearing a navy blue tank top that fit him snugly through the chest. "He has beautiful arms," I observed on the inhale, watching his shoulders flex. "And a nice bulge," I noted on the exhale.

I did another quick scan of the room to see how the other kids were holding up and when I came back to Travis's spot I noticed that his eyes were open now and pointed straight ahead, fastened on the girl in front of him: Lacey. She had her backside held high and enticingly in her tracksuit and Travis was really enjoying the view, judging by his satisfied expression. "He's staring at her ass," I observed on the inhale, watching Lacey shift her hips, subtly, like she knew he was watching. "I feel jealous," I observed on the exhale, flowing from downward dog into cobra pose and instructing the class to follow.

Cobra is one of my strongest poses. It's the one where you lie on your stomach, and place your hands on the floor near your shoulders, and then extend your arms beneath you as far as you can: raising your shoulders, and arching your back, and sticking your chest out proudly. I was facing the class and I knew that I was probably a sight to behold wearing just the jog bra up top. I could feel my stomach muscles tensing. I surveyed the room to check on the kids. Most of them were doing okay but when I got to Travis I was surprised to see how flexible his back was, for a beginner, and how far he could extend his lean, strong arms. "He has a gorgeous body," I observed on the inhale, watching Travis's eyes range over the assortment of female booties on display in the row in front of him. I watched his gaze come to rest on Rhonda's backside and I could swear he gave it a little nod of approval. "He's a dog," I observed on the exhale, feeling the resentment wash over me. We held that pose for a long time too and my eyes kept finding their way back to Travis. I could tell from the way he kept watching Lacey, somehow, that they were already lovers. And from the way she kept wiggling her ass for him, not so subtle anymore.
"Travis fucked Lacey," I observed on the inhale, imagining the two of them flirting and fooling around in his dorm room the night before. "I feel jealous," I observed on the exhale. I could also tell by the way that Travis's eyes kept wandering to Rhonda's butt that he wanted to fuck her next. He'd probably succeed. "Travis will fuck Rhonda," I observed on the inhale. "I feel jealous," I observed on the exhale.

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through all the complicated, difficult emotions that were coming up that morning. I closed them for a long time, concentrating on the pose and feeling my chest push out further and further as my muscles loosened. When I finally opened my eyes I got a big shock! Travis's eyes were wide open and they were glued to my body. He seemed a little blissed out (that can happen in yoga) and he didn't notice that I was watching him. I could practically feel his eyes on my body, sliding over me. I could feel them on my throat, and my collarbone, and on my breasts in the black jog bra that made them sit high and full on my chest. And I could feel them on my ribs and on the tight, hard stomach that I've worked so hard to develop and that makes me feel so proud. "He's staring at my body," I observed on the inhale, feeling a wave of excitement and happiness surge through my body. "My crotch is tingling," I noted, exhaling audibly, almost sighing.

The rest of the class followed the same rhythm. I pushed the kids really hard, letting my competitive streak get the better of me. I would assume some challenging pose and hold it for as long as I could until pretty much the whole class had fallen out of it and everyone was just watching me, admiringly, Travis included. It didn't exactly go along with yoga philosophy (focusing within and all that) but it made me feel fantastic. It was just so satisfying, somehow, to watch Travis's attention begin to drift away from the younger ladies like Lacey and Rhonda when their strength gave out and they collapsed to the floor, and toward me at the front of the room, until it was just the two of us holding the pose, standing and facing each other, keeping our expressions neutral, but struggling hard to see who could last longer. Every time it happened I felt that little wave of excitement and pleasure again. It was just like Matthew said. I was teaching a good class, and getting those little dopamine rewards, and it was making feel more and more attracted to the object of my attention.

You should have seen us in goddess pose. Travis looked particularly tasty, I have to admit, in his new yoga outfit in that one. It's the one where you spread your feet wide, and turn them outward, and then squat down as low as you can, until your legs and butt and everything starts burning, and then you raise your arms above you, holding your back nice and straight and pushing your chest forward slightly. We held that one for maybe thirty seconds after the rest of the kids had given up, just facing each other, and breathing through it, and straining until our whole bodies were shaking. I could tell from the way the girls were watching me that my body looked amazing in that pose, and in the skimpy outfit. And I could tell from the way that Travis was looking at me (not leeringly any more, but more in disbelief at how strong I was) that he was seriously impressed. I won't deny it. It felt good and powerful to impress a strong, young guy like that. The pose was particularly well suited for showing off Travis's powerful leg muscles, not to mention the prominent bulge in the front of his tight, new shorts. I felt that wave of dopamine wash over me again when Travis's legs wobbled badly and he fell out of the pose, kneeling on his mat and shaking his head. "I beat him," I exulted on the inhale, savoring the sense of achievement. "I'm a terrible teacher," I thought on the exhale, laughing inwardly. Then we did some deep relaxation poses.

I was standing at the front of the room after class, lost in my thoughts again, when Travis walked up to me.

"You kicked our ass today, Professor. I've got to hand it to you. It was really inspiring. I'm definitely coming back next class to see whether I can keep up better."

"See you then!" I smiled, laughing at the compliment.

Travis turned away and jogged a few steps to catch up with Lacey, who was already exiting the room. I watched him walk up behind her, and grab her loosely by the arm, and whisper something funny and maybe a little bit dirty in her ear judging by the way she threw head and back and laughed, delightedly. Then he pulled her arm, firmly, and led her down the hall, toward his room, I suppose. Both of them were walking fast, and looking down, and trying not to laugh. It must have been something about their body language because I knew that Travis had just asked her if she wanted to fuck, and I knew that's where they were going. Back to his place to fuck. I could understand why. Some of the poses we practiced that day (like goddess) are specifically designed for opening the sacral chakra and enhancing libido.

Before I knew it I was walking with MY head down, hurrying to get back to the faculty apartment and into the shower. Jesus I was turned on. I was picturing what Lacey and Travis were probably doing at that very moment (Travis peeling her out of the sexy tracksuit, and feeling her up, while Lacey caressed the bulge in the front of his yoga shorts before Travis untied them and they dropped to the floor). I felt a little embarrassed at myself, maybe, practically jogging through the hallway (busy with students) in my rush to get home and screw myself silly with the massage showerhead. But the best part was that I didn't feel guilty at all. Matthew was fine with it! He understood my fantasy, and he encouraged it, so I could just relax and give in and enjoy myself.

As soon as I got to the bathroom I turned the shower to hot and stood in front of the mirror and peeled off my yoga outfit. I admired my naked body in the mirror for a minute or two while the room got nice and steamy. My legs were practically shaking with excitement and anticipation, picturing what the water would feel like it when it finally hit me. Then I saw it. There was a yellow post-it note stuck to the mirror with the words "Open Me" printed in Matthew's adorable child-like scrawl and an arrow pointing down to the drawer next to the sink. I opened it. Even though there was no one around I blushed deep red, from head to toe, when I saw what was inside. It was one of those waterproof vibrators! It was long and pink and shaped like a wand. There was a piece of paper next to it, folded. I opened it. "I was saving this for your birthday next month, but after last night I thought you might need it now! Love, Matthew."

Before I could even think the words "Thank you!" I picked up the vibrator, and spread my feet a little wider, and started experimenting with my new toy. I brought it slowly between my legs, still shaking with excitement, and let it massage me gently all through my dark curls, and then down a little lower. I reached my other hand between my legs from behind to make sure I was wet. I was soaking! I just stood there for a minute or two, watching myself in the mirror while the vibrator relaxed me. I wished Matthew could see me. My phone was lying on the counter and I had a crazy idea to pick it up, and snap a couple pictures, and text the best one to my husband. But then I remembered that he was teaching that morning. Better not, I decided. But I picked up my phone anyway and started striking sexy poses in the mirror, trying to decide which one would make the best thank you present for Matthew. I spread my feet wide and arched my back until my breasts were really sticking out (like they had been in cobra). I made a sultry "orgasm" face into the mirror and snapped off a picture. Nice, I thought, inspecting the results on the screen. I'd give it to him later, when he got home.

Placing the phone down carefully, I stepped into the shower, my knees wobbling. I wrapped my hand delicately around the shaft of the showerhead and pulled it slowly from the wall. I was so unsteady on my feet from the surprise and anticipation that I was afraid I'd fall over and hurt myself if I tried to stay standing. So I lay down in the tub, keeping the glass door open so I could throw my leg over the side. I switched the showerhead to pulse and held it maybe six inches from myself. I was so revved up and sensitive that I needed to start slowly. I closed my eyes and let my shoulders and head fall back until they were resting against the cool tiles. I held the vibrator in my other hand and brought it right to the edge of my wet folds. I switched it to the lowest setting and started probing myself with it, holding the pink tip inside my swollen flesh while the hot water soaked me, pulsing me all over.

It felt indescribable! I was so turned on by my husband, and so grateful to him for his thoughtfulness, that before long I was fantasizing about the best sex we ever had: in the hot spring in Costa Rica on our honeymoon. It's my favorite memory to fantasize about because it's one of the only times that I've had sex in anything you could describe as a public setting, which is something I've always been curious about, but that Matthew has been reluctant to try. I brought the showerhead a little closer to my pussy, maybe 3 inches away, and probed myself a little deeper with the vibrator, relaxing my stomach muscles as I eased it inside.

I remembered how it made me jumpy with excitement to sit in Matthew's lap facing him in a dark corner of the spring. We were close enough to the other couples that I could hear the tone and rhythm of their conversations and sometimes I could make out a word or phrase. I could see them, too, through the steam, because they were in light and we were in shadow, mostly. One couple was just cuddling and chatting but the other couple kept alternating between long, passionate kisses and little private jokes that made both of them laugh archly. Through the steam it looked like their arms and hands were busy beneath the water.

I remembered sitting up a little higher so that my breasts were clearly visible above the waterline. They were wet and glistening in the little bikini top I was wearing. I liked how hungrily Matthew was eyeing them, and how nervous he seemed that someone else might steal a view. I pushed them together with my arms and Matthew groaned with pleasure. "Sssshhhhhh!" I teased him, bringing my hands to his chest and leaning in for a hot, wet kiss, "We don't want the other couples to hear." Matthew laughed, his eyes darting nervously from side to side. I spread my hands flat on his chest and massaged his pectorals a little, savoring their firmness. I started moving my hips. Matthew was rock hard and I could feel his heart thumping against my palm. I moved my hips a little faster, pressing tighter against him. "Mmmmmmmmm," I purred, "I am so horny." "Yeah?" Matthew asked. I nodded. "I wish you could fuck me," I told him, pouting at him a little, and blushing, and pushing my breasts together harder. "Yeah?" he asked. I nodded again. I remembered the thrill of electricity straight to my crotch when Matthew smiled at me in that leering, self-satisfied way he does and reached his hand beneath the water and slid his swim trunks right down to his knees. I remembered staring down at his cock through the water, hungrily, and pulling my bikini bottom to the side.

I set the showerhead to stream and turned the vibrator a click higher and probed myself a little further, holding the tip maybe two inches inside me. I closed my eyes and remembered holding Matthew's cock in my hand while I sat down on him slowly, still facing him in his lap. I groaned a little harder than I meant to when I finally had all of him inside me. "Shhh," Matthew scolded me, looking scared almost. My heart was hammering against my ribs. We were finally doing it. We were finally fucking where someone could see us. I remembered Matthew wrapping his arms around me and holding me close as I started grinding my hips, and then working my pelvis, just a little, my breath coming in ragged bursts. "Shhhh," Matthew scolded me again, seeming annoyed this time. His face was bright red. He tried to pull me back toward him. I'd leaned away from him a little for a better angle and my breasts were bouncing now in the bikini top. He grabbed me by the hips and thrust his cock inside me, roughly, his irritation bubbling over. "Ohhhh," I groaned, too loud for sure that time. We both laughed. I hunched my shoulders toward him and leaned into his heat so we could have the privacy he was craving while I fucked him nice and smooth. It was the hottest thing I'd ever felt and I didn't want him to stop.

When I opened my eyes in the shower I laughed for real this time. I was fucking myself with the vibrator, long and slow, my butt rising high off the floor on the in strokes and my pubic hair pressed tight against the nozzle of the showerhead so that the stream was massaging my clitoris. I remembered how exhilarating it felt to finally cross the boundary between fantasy and reality. We were fucking for real. The hot spring was real, and the cock was real, and my husband was really fucking me, right out in the open, where anyone might see or hear. I kept pushing him right to the edge of his comfort zone and then backing off when I sensed his annoyance. I rode him a little bit harder, and pulled away just a little, and let my breasts bounce a little more wildly, in plain view. I loved the way he punished me, every time I crossed the line, with a quick, hard thrust of his cock straight to my center, knocking the breath right out of me.

And then it happened again, just like the day before. In my fantasy I was holding my husband in my arms, with my legs wrapped around him, and his cock filling me. I felt my orgasm build. But when I closed my eyes again it wasn't Matthew at all. It was Travis. He was looking right through me with those rich brown eyes, set deep beneath his heavy brow.

"Ooohhhhh fuck" I gasped, in surprise and pleasure, holding the vibrator all the way inside me and the showerhead tight against my curls. I closed my eyes again. Travis was smiling. He could tell how badly I needed it and how ashamed it made me feel. To need his cock like that. To need it so badly that I was letting him fuck me with it right out in the open where anyone could see. He thrust up into me, forcefully, my tits bouncing hard and then settling into place. I leaned toward him, trying to conceal myself. He laughed. He just sat back and relaxed and watched me ride him and ride him, almost like my hips and pussy had a mind of their own and I had no conscious control anymore over how fast or energetically I fucked him. I was running my fingers through his short cropped hair and holding my breasts to his face and closing my eyes so I could savor the sensation of his cock plunging into me and out of me and my pleasure rising. And then he did it! What I wanted him to do, without ever saying it. He reached his hand behind my neck and pulled the string and my bikini top fell off of me and my breasts spilled right into the open. I felt the night air on my nipples. I tried to lean toward him to hide but he wouldn't let me. He placed his big hand right in the center of my chest and kind of pushed me away from him, using his other hand to support my lower back so I wouldn't lose my balance. He gave me a hard, deep stroke or two to show me what he wanted, raising his eyebrows to encourage me. I was so revved up from the thrill of finding myself suddenly exposed, and from the way the new angle pressed my clitoris against the base of his cock when I thrust down on him, like a match striking a hard piece of flint. Before long I was doing it. Travis leaned back, and smiled smugly, and watched my tits bounce wildly while I fucked him just like he wanted, almost frantically, right in front of everyone.

"Ohhhhhh fuck," I gasped again. There was no way that anyone in the hot spring could have failed to see or hear but I was way past caring. My whole body and brain were focused on the single problem of how to get my clitoris to hit the base of Travis's long, hard frat boy cock at just the right speed and angle to send those hot sparks all through me, over and over, and how to make my breasts sway and heave for him in just the right way that he'd get longer and fatter so he could fuck me deeper and wider. Nothing else mattered. Not my job or my husband or my reputation or the fact that I'd never be able to look anyone at the resort in the eye again without wondering whether they'd seen me get fucked and used like that by a guy ten years younger than me, my frat boy student. I didn't like him one bit, and I didn't know how I ended up in the hot spring with my legs wrapped around him. But he looked gorgeous, and his cock was pumped full with blood and desire, and he knew just what I wanted. What I'd always wanted.

I opened my eyes in the shower and watched the spasms run all through my body in big, hard waves. My thighs were shaking, and my pussy was throbbing, and my stomach was clenched, and my tits were jiggling and then I just let it all go. I let my breath out in a big rush, and relaxed my stomach and my pussy and my legs and everything and when I closed my eyes Travis was smiling at me and laughing and I was coming on his cock and it was all the way inside me, filling me completely. My hips bucked uncontrollably and Travis held me tighter around the waist so that I wouldn't fall off him and I could ride out my pleasure. "Mmmmph, mmmmppph," I grunted, sharp and loud, as my hips quaked violently and Travis filled me to the root. I could tell he was close, somehow, though his expression never changed. He looked smug and satisfied. Like he didn't need to finish. But I knew he wanted to. I nodded at him, pleadingly. I bucked my hips, and pouted for him, and begged him with my eyes. And then he closed his eyes and I felt it. I felt him pulse inside me and pulse inside me and I felt my pussy spasm and pulse in return, inviting him deeper, coaxing his seed. Travis pulled me to him roughly and sucked my nipples, loud and hard, and I felt one last throb of pleasure as his last burst filled me.

It was one of the hottest fantasies I've ever had, and one of the biggest orgasms, and at first I felt kind of guilty about it. Why did it thrill me so much? The idea of being used and fucked by a younger guy like that, on my honeymoon, where the whole world could see? And by a guy who was obviously a total cad and liked to play power games with women, games he usually won. Just the type I've always hated. "Don't judge it," I told myself, holding the showerhead to my scalp and letting the hot streams course through my hair. I focused on my breathing. I remembered Matthew explaining to me the night before about the neurochemistry of student crushes and how it was completely normal. I relaxed and savored the moment, my whole body glowing. There was no need to feel guilty because Matthew had told me that he was fine with it, and because I'd tell him about it tonight. He was definitely in line for a big reward.

When I finally recovered I threw on my bathrobe and marched straight to my study. I wrote for three straight hours. It was the same piece I'd started yesterday. I called it, "A New Breed of Bad Boy."

Part 2

After a hard morning of writing I felt elated and I decided to treat myself to a salad and an iced coffee at the café on the veranda outside the dorm. I threw on a bra, t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of sandals and grabbed my purse from the little table near the door.

When I got to the veranda, and ordered my salad and coffee, it was so crowded with students that there wasn't a single empty table. I looked around, flustered, trying to decide what to do. Then I noticed my student Lacey sitting alone at a table in a dark, shady corner, her nose buried in a paperback. I took a deep breath and walked over to her.
"Mind if I share your table?" I asked.

"Suit yourself," she answered, smiling when she realized who I was. She went back to her book.

I sat down and started on my lunch, scrolling through emails on my phone to gloss over the awkwardness of sharing a table with my student. I didn't want to seem desperate for conversation or anything. I kept stealing glances at the cover of Lacey's book. I was pretty sure that I recognized the author's name, and I was pretty sure that I remembered her as one of the darker, edgier new stars of the erotica scene. I'd read some blurbs and reviews of her books (I'd almost bought one or two) and they usually featured a little rough stuff, if memory served, some light bondage and BDSM themes, maybe a little anal and group sex, though they were mostly about good girl types who stopped just short of genuine nastiness or humiliation. Lacey was still wearing the same tracksuit she wore to yoga but her face was made up with heavy eyeliner and mascara. I surveyed her profile, a little enviously. She was a very pretty girl, with delicate features—the kind of girl who still looked pretty (prettier even) with a ring through her nose and a stud through her eyebrow and her hair dyed so many shades of mauve and pink that I had no idea what her natural color might be. And she had the kind of long-limbed, naturally thin body that still looked sexy and appealing even though she wasn't nearly as toned as I was.

Lacey must have sensed me appraising her because pretty soon she looked up at me, eyeing me curiously.

"So what do you do, anyway, on the days you're not teaching?"

"I write."

"Oh yeah? What kind of stuff?"

"My research mostly."

"What's your research about?"

"It wouldn't interest you," I replied, scrolling through my messages on my phone and trying to brush her off.

"It would, actually," Lacey assured me. "I'm used to hearing people talk about research. My dad is a Professor in the biology department. That's how come I live at home."

"A faculty brat, huh?"

Lacey nodded, smiling. The fact that her dad was a professor made me feel comfortable with her. Like we were part of the same tribe. So I told her about my research.

"My research is about 'hook up' culture and casual sex among adolescents and new adults."

"Oh yeah," Lacey responded, surprised that I worked on something that seemed genuinely interesting to her. "What about it?"

"Well, basically I'm trying to see whether 'hook up' culture is degrading and dangerous for young women, in the way that the media and many feminists portray it—you know, because it supposedly turns women into 'targets' for predatory males—or whether it promotes psychological well-being and professional success."

"How so?"

"Well, by allowing young women to postpone serious relationships while they do all kinds of positive things through casual sexual encounters—experiment with new desires, build a social network, build confidence and self-esteem."

"That's so cool!" Lacey replied, enthusiastically. "Does it?"

"That's what my research shows, so far," I replied. "I've interviewed hundreds of young women about their sexual histories and I've found a strong correlation between being sexually adventurous by embracing casual 'hook ups' and good stuff like feeling happier and being more motivated academically. But it's tough to get work like mine published. There's still a big knee-jerk reaction against the idea that female 'promiscuity' might have any positive effects at all. And it's not just from people like the stupid, moralizing trolls on sites like Literotica! There's plenty of 'slut-shaming' from male scientists as well, even though they should know better."

"Well, I hope you don't get discouraged," said Lacey, warmly, "because I think you're onto something very interesting!"

"Thanks," I smiled.

I sat back in my chair for a minute or so and appraised Lacey carefully. I genuinely liked her. And I liked talking with her. And I had a pretty good hunch why she was so interested in my research. She definitely looked like the adventurous type herself, the kind who'd probably taken lots of grief already, in her young life, for being too 'loose' and 'easy.' I knew that she would make a very interesting subject for one of my interviews and I was dying to ask her. But the more I thought about it the more I had to admit that my interest in her sexual history was more than purely academic. Because what I wanted to hear most of all was the story of how she ended up sleeping at Littlefield Hall last night. I knew it was wrong to probe into the private life of a student like that. But I was dying of curiosity, and before I knew it, without much conscious thought at all, I slipped into my anthropologist mode. I knew from long experience that the best way to get a young woman to open up about casual sex (to overcome their fear of being judged) was to work up to it gradually through casual chit-chat. She never knew what hit her.

"So, did you enjoy the yoga class this morning?" I asked her, cheerfully.

"It was cool, yeah!"

"How did you hear about it?"

"From Travis," replied Lacey, flushing bright red.

"Travis from composition class?" I asked, trying to play dumb. "What did he say about it?"

"He said that you're a really good teacher and that class makes him feel really energized at the beginning of the day," Lacey replied, blushing again. "Actually, if you want to know the truth, he said it makes him feel really horny, and that I should try it too. He wasn't kidding." She paused, considering how far she could go. "We had quite the session back at his place after yoga, if you know what I mean."

"I think so," I nodded, smiling and flashing my eyes.

We both laughed.

"Is Travis your boyfriend?" I asked.

"Not exactly . . ."

"Oh?" I replied, careful to keep my tone neutral. "How long have you known him?"

"Since the first day of your class."

"I see."

From there it was like taking candy from a baby.

"Tell me about it." I prompted her. "Who initiated the 'hook up'?"

"Am I one of your subjects now?" Lacey asked, dropping her head to the side, almost flirtatiously.

"Do you want to be?"

Lacey nodded. Then she told me everything. She told me how Travis had caught up with her on the quad outside class the first day and asked her if she wanted to have coffee. She was planning on going to the cafe anyway to kill time before her next class, so she agreed. They found a table. She told me that she knows Travis can come off like an arrogant prick sometimes—and in many ways he is—but that in a weird way his surplus of confidence makes him easy to talk to. There's absolutely NO awkwardness or nervousness at all. And there's NO question about what he's after: sex. She told me how she knew that the whole purpose of their little chat over coffee was to establish enough of a casual acquaintance with her that he could ask for her number and maybe call her one night for a hook up. He'd done the same thing with a couple of her friends, and neither of them regretted it in the least, so Lacey was excited by the prospect.

"I know he's a frat boy and all," Lacey told me, blushing, "and normally I wouldn't go within a mile of one of those losers. But come on, he's HOT!"

Besides, she continued, they had enough in common that they could even be friends, maybe. They were both upper classmen retaking a class they'd failed back in freshman year, before they got serious about school. And they both liked to write. Lacey writes erotic fiction (she told me) and Travis writes this VERY juvenile column for an online journal about fraternity culture called "The Player." She told me that it was extremely sexist and predictable, on one level, but on another it was kind of refreshing in its candor about how and why young people end up sleeping with each other. And Travis is actually a pretty talented writer. He's funny and clever. She was glad when Travis asked for her number, and she was glad he used it.

"He called you last night?" I asked, keeping my voice level.

"No, he texted me."

"Tell me."

"Well," said Lacey, lowering her voice and leaning toward me a little across the café table, "I was all curled up in bed reading a nice, steamy story on my phone when the first text arrived. It said 'Are you up?' I laughed. It seemed like an innocuous question but I knew what it meant. Are you up for sex? I sure was! My friend Jeanie was his regular booty call for like two months last year and she told me that he's the hottest fuck she's ever had, and that he always made sure she had a very good time. My heart was racing. I reached my hand down into my shorts and I was wet already! I thought about taking the direct approach and just texting him back: 'You bet I am! ;).' Basically, anytime you put ;) in a text to a guy like that he knows damn well that it's on. But then I decided I wanted to flirt a little first. I didn't want to seem desperate, not that he would have cared. 'I'm awake. Obviously,' I texted back. 'What are you doing?' he asked. 'Just reading,' I replied. 'Something naughty?' he asked. I smiled. I liked the direction. 'Naughty enough,' I replied, "what are you doing?' 'Can't sleep,' he typed. 'Awwwwwwww,' I replied. I thought about just leaving it at that, but then I added, 'Anything I can do?' My heart was hammering now. It always really gets me going to be forward like that. And Travis had made his intentions perfectly clear, which I appreciated, so there was no shame in letting him know that I was ready and willing. 'Do you want to come over?' he asked. I sure did! But I played it cool for the moment. 'What for?' I countered.

"It was a minute or two before he responded. I knew he was planning his next move. Trying to make sure that he'd seduce me. I appreciated it. It meant that he really wanted me. That he'd be disappointed if I turned him down and he had to go to the next girl on his list. 'Do you want to watch a movie?' he asked, finally. I laughed out loud this time. When a frat boy like Travis asks you over to watch a movie it only means one thing, and both of us knew it: do you want to come over and watch the credits to some shitty Netflix movie before we bang in my bedroom. 'What kind?' I asked, enjoying the buildup. There was another pause before he replied. 'How bout we make a movie first then watch it after?' I laughed again. It was a hot idea, I admit. But I wasn't giving him that! Not on a first booty call. 'Haha,' I typed, 'You are bad.' I didn't hear anything from him like two or three minutes and I started to worry that maybe he felt shut down. I shouldn't have. I should have know that Travis would be confident enough to take it in stride and try again and I was glad when he did. 'How about Magic Mike?' he asked. I smiled, delightedly. I mean, it's standard frat boy procedure, of course. There's no movie in history that can get a sorority girl to drop her panties quicker than that one. But what can I say? I like the stripping scenes too. And it was the perfect come on. It was direct enough to make his intentions clear. This was for straight up sex. Nothing more. Well, maybe a little light conversation before and afterward. I enjoyed spending time with him at the café that afternoon so the prospect of talking with him again was enticing. And the movie he 'picked' (not that we'd ever watch much of it) sent a clear message that he wanted it to be fun for both of us. Maybe he'd even give me a show, like the guys in the movie! 'Where do u live?' I typed. He gave me his address. I threw on my tracksuit, grabbed my overnight bag (just in case), and headed straight over.

"How did you know you could trust him?" I asked. It was one of my standard interview questions.

"It's like I told you," Lacey answered. "He always treated my friend Jeanie very well. They were fuck buddies, maybe even friends with benefits for a while and he was always very discreet and respectful about the whole thing. Plus, he let her be 'his girl' a couple times."

"His girl?" I asked.

"O come on, you're not that old, are you?" Lacey teased, rolling her eyes. "It's when a frat guy takes you to a party at his house and tells all the other brothers that you're 'his girl.' It means that none of them can hit on you, or bother you, and they all have to be on their best behavior. It's cool because Travis's house actually throws some pretty good parties. My friend Jeanie met some really cool people there, artsy types like her, and now she goes to clubs with them downtown sometimes. It's annoying and frustrating that you have to go to frat parties to meet new and interesting people who AREN'T in frats, true. But what can I do? I didn't make the world. I'm just trying to live in it. Anyway, it's way more fun to go to a frat party if you're someone's girl for the night. That way you can just relax and let go and not have to worry about getting hit on my drunk losers all night."

"What does the frat guy get out of it?" I asked, genuinely intrigued.

"He gets sex afterward," Lacey answered, holding my gaze steadily. "But not at the house, necessarily. Most likely he brings you home after the party, and if he's up for it, you fuck him."

"So it's like an exchange?" I probed, "Protection at the party for sex afterward?"

Lacey nodded.

"And you don't find that degrading?" I asked, careful to keep any trace of judgment from my tone.

"No," Lacey shook her head, making big eyes. "I find it kind of hot, actually. I mean, every girl likes a good prostitute fantasy every now and then, right?"

I laughed. I knew what she meant. I found the whole scenario weirdly enticing myself.

"Were you hoping to be his girl," I asked, "when Travis texted you?"

"Maybe," answered Lacey. "But I didn't get my hopes up or anything. I knew it would be fun regardless. I was satisfied with just a booty call, if that's all it turned out to be. If it was just the first dance scene of Magic Mike and then some good sex afterward . . . I was cool with that."

"WAS it good sex?" I asked, trying to keep my voice calm, even though my heart was racing for some reason.

"Hell yeah!" she replied.

Then she gave me the details. We were sitting far enough away from the other students at the café that she didn't have to worry too much about being overheard. She told me that his room is really interesting.

"I mean, you'd swear a gay guy lived there," she laughed. "It's a two room suite but he lives alone. He's worked out some scam where the guy he was supposed to share the suite with lives at the frat house so Travis can have his very own bachelor pad. The main room is pretty swank. A plush sofa and over-sized armchair. Stereo and flat-screen. Mood lighting. But the best thing about it is the rug. It's this THICK white shag rug and it covers the whole floor and its made out some expensive material because it feels really soft and not scratchy at all against your skin," Lacey paused, blushing. "That's where we did it. Right there on the rug. That's what it's there for, I guess."

"How did it happen?" I asked, swallowing hard. My mouth was strangely dry.

"I knocked on the door and he answered it right away," Lacey began, like she was savoring the memory. "He was wearing his new yoga outfit. You know. The one from this morning?"

I nodded.

"Well," continued Lacey, pleased that I'd noticed his outfit, "he held open the door and just looked at me for a second, up and down. 'Hey beautiful," he said, smiling. He held his hand out. I took it. He kind of pulled me inside, subtly, like a real gentleman almost, except I knew why he was doing it. He wanted to check out my ass in these cute sweatpants. I was glad. My ass looks GREAT in these pants. That's why I wore them. I let him look for a while and then I turned and faced him. I dropped my eyes to his crotch. He looked HOT in those shorts. And his shoulders in that tank top? Yum! Don't you think?" Lacey asked, appraising me carefully.

I nodded. I was used to this kind of thing when I interviewed young women. When they got to the really intimate parts, the parts about who did what to who, and where, and how it felt, they always wanted you to assure them that you understood what had been so irresistible about the scene. That it couldn't have played out any other way.

"He sat me down on the sofa and asked if I wanted a drink. I shook my head. He asked me if I wanted to smoke some weed? I shook my head again. 'You sure?' he asked, holding the pipe out toward me and taking a hit himself. 'I have to drive,' I explained. 'You can sleep here if you want,' he told me, exhaling the smoke. 'In your bed?' I asked, my stomach swirling for some reason. He nodded. 'Show me,' I told him. He took me by the hand to help me stand up and then he led me into the bedroom. It had big heavy curtains over the windows and a big wardrobe thing against one wall. But the best part was that against the other wall there was a real bed, king-sized, with carved wooden posts and a headboard and a comforter and everything. I don't know why, exactly, but it was the sexiest bed I've ever seen. It made me wet just looking at it. I turned to him. 'Give me the pipe,' I told him. He gave it to me. I took a long deep breath and held it, savoring the smoky richness, and then I breathed out in his face. The weed went straight to my crotch, just like always. I couldn't wait to get his clothes off him. 'I like your shorts,' I told him, stepping a little closer and reaching my hand to his crotch. He smiled, all cocky. I let him. I knew he was enjoying how badly I wanted him but I didn't care. Whatever made him hard was fine with me. 'Is this were we fuck?' I asked, massaging him a little. He shook his head. He reached his hand out toward me, real slow. He held the zipper of my hoodie between his finger and his thumb. Then he eased it down. I wasn't wearing a bra. 'Nice,' he told me, surveying the view. My tits aren't big or anything but they're shapely enough. Guys always like them. I expected him to reach out and touch them, maybe suck them a little. That's what usually happens. But Travis didn't. He was very appreciative. But he didn't touch me. Not yet. He led me into the living room and sat me down on the sofa. Well, he kind of pushed me, actually. Before I knew it I was sprawled on the sofa with my hoodie unzipped all the way and Travis standing over me, leering down at me in his tight shorts. I could see how hard he was. And then he . . . he gave me a little show. Magic Mike style. He moved his hips a little, and smiled down at me, and then he peeled off the tank top, real slow, and tossed it at me when he was done. I laughed. He has an amazing body. Don't you think?"

I nodded. Lacey smiled.

"The he untied the shorts," Lacey continued, "taking his sweet time with the strings, and then he slid them right off his hips and down to the carpet. Then he just stood there. Stark naked. Then he moved his hips some more."

"What happened next?" I asked. It was one of my standard questions but I realized right away that I'd asked with a little more curiosity than was strictly appropriate.

"Duh!" said Lucy. "I blew him, didn't I? I mean, no offence Professor Pierce, but you would have done the same thing in my position. He looked delicious. He let me suck his cock for a while, holding my hair back so he could watch me, and then he held me by the shoulders and stood me up facing him. I slid off my sweatpants, shimmying my hips. I thought about taking the hoodie off too but I just left it the way it was, open at the front. Travis nodded, approvingly. Then he motioned for me to turn around. I did it. I knew what he was thinking. I knew that he wanted to see my naked ass so he could decide which way he wanted to fuck me first. I had a pretty good idea what he'd choose. And I was right. Before I knew it he had one hand on my ass and the other on my belly and he was positioning me just how he wanted on the shag carpet. On my knees with him kneeling behind me. Then we fucked."
"Did you enjoy the sex?" I asked. It's important for my research that my subjects describe the mechanics of the encounter in some detail. At the very least I need to know what kinds of penetration occurred, and who initiated.

"Ummm, hhmmmmm!" Lacey nodded. "I'm not going to go into too much detail, but let's just say that before last night I thought that 'doggie style' was just one position. But it's not. It's like eight or nine different positions, with subtle variations. And they all feel amazing, if the guy has what it takes."

"What's that?" I asked, my breath quickening just slightly, enough that Lacey might have noticed.

"Why do you like doggie?" Lacey asked, smiling mischievously.

I was ready for something like this. Lots of times young women will want you to "confess" something about your own desires before they tell you about the really dirty bits of their casual encounters.

"Because it's good for deep penetration," I told her, not batting an eye. "And for . . . a little rough stuff."

"You bet it is!" Lacey nodded, laughing. "Well, let's just say Travis gave me a whole new definition of the words 'deep' and 'rough.'"

She just sat there, eyeing me, letting the words sink in.

"Do you think you'll get to be his girl?" I asked.

Lacey nodded, smiling.

"I do think so!" she said, looking suddenly thoughtful. "But it's not just because of how good the sex was. It's because he wants something from me too, in exchange. He wants me to take him somewhere."

"Where's that?" I asked.

"To a club I know, downtown." Lacey answered, shrugging me off. "Someplace Travis can't get into by himself."

"What kind of club?" I asked.

"The secret kind," Lacey answered. Then she said goodbye and left.

Part 3

Needless to say I didn't get much work done that afternoon. I went back to the study and tried to write but I couldn't concentrate. My hands were jittery. I ended up searching for information about Lacey all over the internet, trying to figure out what club she was talking about. I couldn't really imagine a club in Austin that a popular frat guy like Travis wouldn't be able to talk his way into without the right girl escorting him. I searched and searched. But I couldn't figure it out.

I tried to work again. But before long I was googling Travis. Obviously! I found him on Instagram and spent a good 30 minutes going through the photographs. It was kind of irritating because his whole profile was obviously VERY carefully arranged to provide some quality eye-candy to curious females. There were lots of pictures of him shirtless at the beach or the gym or whatever. And there were lots of pictures of him dressed up in a suit and tie. He looked good both ways. He was built like an Abercrombie and Fitch model. And he knew it! In many of the pictures he was smirking at the camera with that annoying self-satisfied expression he always made in my fantasies in the shower. All of the sudden I remembered what Lacey told me about Travis being kind of an interesting writer. I was definitely curious. I found his column on the online frat guy journal and started scrolling through the titles for one that looked juicy. His most recent submission was titled "How to be My Perfect Girlfriend." I clicked on it and started reading. It was a list of 50 suggestions for ladies who wanted to date him.

At first I couldn't figure out what the heck Lacey was talking about because it seemed like total frat guy horseshit. None of the suggestions had anything to do with the girl's personality or accomplishments! They were all about how to turn him on and please him sexually. There were suggestions like: "(8) blowjobs in the morning; (9) blowjobs in the afternoon; (10) blowjobs before dinner; (11) be spontaneous! (See 8-10 for ideas)." Wow, I thought to myself, rolling my eyes, frat guys like to get their cocks sucked, huh? That is SO informative. Still, the more I thought about it, the more I was kind of glad to be reminded that guys like my husband got turned on by spontaneous oral. And the more I thought about the column from Lacey's perspective, the more I started to think that it was "refreshing" how candid Travis was about the fact that it was in it purely for the sex, that being with him wouldn't entail dealing with any of his emotional baggage. Another suggestion read: "(20) have lots of guys in your friend zone to take you shopping or drive you to the airport or talk to you about your feelings after I screw you into ecstasy." And I had to admit that there were some helpful reminders about the kinds of outfits that guys like my husband like best: "(22) wear sundresses (If I ever say no to something you ask me, just ask me again wearing a sundress)".

I got kind of excited, too, when Travis described the physical traits of his ideal girlfriend. There were suggestions like: "(25) have short hair (so I can bite your neck more easily); (30) Be short and tiny! (so I can throw you around in bed); (35) Look like Nathalie Portman." I don't know why it turned me on so much the idea that I might be Travis's "type." The thing is, I'm short with short hair, and more than one guy has told me that I look a little like Nathalie Portman, Matthew included. In fact, one of the most demeaning comments a student ever left about me on ratemyprofessors.com read: "She reminds me of Natalie Portman. She's like 25 years old but looks about 15. She's tiny and dresses up everyday. She's funny all the time even when she tries not to be." The comment annoyed me so much I practically memorized it. I started wondering if maybe Travis thought that I looked like her too. Before I knew it my hands were in my pants and my middle finger was slick with my fluids. I was pretty ramped up by the time Matthew texted me.

"Did you get the present?" he typed.

"Yes!" I replied, adding a bunch of those Emoji female orgasm faces. One of the young ladies I interviewed told me about them one time and I think they're kind of funny.

"Glad you enjoyed it," Matthew replied.

Then I had a crazy idea.

"Can u come home? Now!" I asked.

"Why?"

I took a deep breath for courage.

"I am horny and I want to fuck."

"Wow!" he replied. "I can't though. I have a meeting in 15. Can you wait?"

"No!" I answered, jokingly, but I was a little irritated too. I texted him again. "Can I use my new toy again?"

For some reason it made me VERY excited to ask his "permission" like that; to confess to him that I needed to come so badly that I couldn't even wait for him to get home in two hours; that I needed it right now.

"What do I get in exchange?" Matthew answered. I laughed. I felt happy that he was taking time out of his busy day to flirt with me that way. I tried to think what would turn him on the most. I remembered Travis's column.

"A blow job?" I waited a minute while my husband considered.

"What kind?" he asked, teasing me.

I remembered Travis's advice.

"In a sundress?" I typed, my stomach fluttering.

"Deal!!" he replied. Right away.

I thought about leaving it at that. But the thing was I felt guilty. I KNEW that I was going to be looking at pictures of Travis while I used my new vibrator and even though I had Matthew's permission to fantasize about him if I wanted to I couldn't help thinking that looking at actual photographs of Travis's actual (very hot!) shirtless body while I had an actual (very big!) orgasm was crossing the line somehow. That it was cheating. I took a deep breath to steel myself.

"Can I ask you something else?" I typed, my heart hammering.

"OK"

"Can I look @Travis on Instagram some more? While I use my new toy?"

It was a minute or so before Matthew replied. I felt nauseous from anxiety. What if it hurt his feelings, or disgusted him? The idea that I was so horny to fuck because I'd been looking at pictures of my frat boy student online.

"What do I get in exchange?" he typed, finally. I laughed again. I have the BEST husband ever. I tried to think of something really special to give him. Then I remembered the photo from my morning session in the bathroom. I pulled it up on the screen and considered. This will kill him, I thought! Then I sent it to him. The reply was practically instantaneous.

"Wow!!"

"Deal?" I asked.

"Deal!" he answered.

I threw down the phone, picked up my laptop, and practically ran to the bathroom to find my new toy. I pulled it out of the drawer and walked fast to the bedroom. I wanted to make myself nice and comfortable on the bed. I was so excited from the amazing story Lacey had told me, and from flirting with my husband in that new way (sexting with him!), and from the rush of having that picture of me out in the ether like that, where anyone might see it, and from the idea of my husband giving me permission to pleasure myself silly for the second time that day to my fantasy of having sex with a hot frat boy from my class, and from the fact that I wanted to pleasure myself to pictures of Travis so badly that I traded my husband a blow job and a nude shot (full frontal with a vibrator in my hand!). Before I knew it I'd stripped out of my clothes and I was spread-eagled on the bed, stark naked, with a picture of Travis on my laptop, shirtless at the beach.

I was all ready to get started when I had an idea. I jumped up and went to the hamper and pulled out my Texas hoodie. I put it on. Then I stood in front of the full-length mirror and tried to imagine whether Travis would like it. I knew he would. I pictured knocking on his door. I pictured him opening it. I pictured him looking me up and down. I held the zipper between my fingers and eased it down slowly. I tried to imagine how it would look to him if I undressed for him like that, my breasts spilling into view as the zipper parted. I imaged how hard it would make a randy frat boy like Travis if he booty called his thirty-year-old professor, and she came to him, and she was wearing nothing under her hoodie. In my fantasy he was all over me. Before I knew it I was on the bed with my vibrator turned all the way up, deep inside me, and in my mind Travis was fucking me. He was fucking me with more urgency and passion and disbelief than any guy had fucked me in a long, long time. Since I first met Matthew. It was like the tip of his cock was the head of match and he was fucking me deeper and deeper until he finally touched the end of a long, thin fuse somewhere deep inside me, sparks flying, and the fuse kept burning and burning, deeper and deeper, straight to my core, and then it exploded in a flash and the whole room went white.

By the time I woke up, spread eagled on the bed, it was almost time for Matthew to come home. I knew just what to do. I walked straight over to my closet and picked out my shortest sundress and threw it over my head. The doorbell rang. I walked out to my husband in the kitchen, my hair still tousled.

"What's for dinner?" asked Matthew, leering at me in the sundress.

I shrugged and yawned, stretching my arms above my head until the hem of my sundress started to rise up slowly. He looked me up and down.

"Have you been masturbating that whole time?" he asked, shaking his head, and playing like he was angry.

I nodded.

"Naughty girl!" he scolded me.

"I'm starving," I told him. "You better order a pizza."

Matthew pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed the number. I watched him place the order. He looked delicious in his professor outfit: those pleated suit pants. I walked up to him until I could feel his heat. I reached my hand toward his lap and held the zipper of his slacks between my forefinger and thumb. I eased it down slowly.

"That's right," said Matthew into the phone, his voice catching a little as his eyes widened, "just one large regular pie."

I worked my fingers inside his boxers and pulled out his cock, feeling it stiffen at my touch.

"Twenty minutes?" he asked the pizza guy. "That should be plenty of time!"

He smiled at me hungrily. I smiled back. Then I dropped to my knees.

faculty-in-residence  

Jul 14, 2018 in blowjob

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