“Ohh,” Paige sighed as she pressed back into me, trapping my partially erect cock between us. “You could do that all night.” She was sitting in my lap on my bed—naked, of course—legs wide and hooked over mine. She was softly stroking the inside of my left thigh, while I had just moved my own hand from her breast to the folds of her pussy, running my fingers lightly over her inner lips before dipping down and using some of her arousal to lubricate my path back up to her clit. We were both engaged in watching the video I had been putting together of our most intimate moments, edited to show not just the sex acts themselves but the pleasure Paige obviously derived from them. For every shot of the “action,” I had included a close-up of her face, smiling . . . aroused . . . orgasming. Unlike the video her husband, Mark, had created, it was clear that Paige was an active and very willing participant in our fucking. I had recently transferred the footage to my laptop to lessen the chance that Mark would find out I had hacked his own computer. The added bonus was that we could now view ourselves whenever we wanted.
When she found out what I had been up to, Paige insisted on coming over to my apartment to watch, and that’s how we found ourselves a week before Christmas, ensconced in my modest bed, nibbling at Thai takeout, and fondling each other while watching our previous sexual encounters. I had to admit I was strangely proud of my skill as an amateur pornographer. I mean, I would pay to see us doing it, but then again, that was likely due to how incredibly hot Paige was rather than my editorial prowess.
Paige seemed to share my assessment of the video’s quality, though, or at least its content. “Mmm,” she whispered. “I remember that.” She sat up, turned around to face me, and drew me into a deep kiss. “Let’s do that again.”
“That” was a variant on the classic sixty-nine, where I had surprised a blindfolded Paige by dropping my prick in her mouth, but then also sliding down her body to both eat her out and stimulate her g-spot with one of her many vibes.
“Paige, I don’t have any toys here.”
“You have your fingers.”
“True, but I have another idea.” I set the laptop on my bedside table, hopefully out of the way of what was to ensue. I pulled down my shorts, freeing my burgeoning erection, which Paige bent to kiss. Her attentions had the desired effect, as my dick sprang more fully to life with just the brief touch of her lips. “Straddle me.”
Following instructions, Paige placed a knee on either side of me, her slick and swollen pussy pressed between the base of my cock and my balls. “Sorry,” I said, lifting her up, and guiding myself into her. I breathed deeply. Penetrating her would never get old. “I should have been more specific.”
“Now lean back.” She reclined on her elbows, clenching her muscles to keep me from sliding out of her, and looked at me expectantly. I reached for her legs, bringing them up to rest on my shoulders, then put my hands around her back and gently pulled her toward me before lowering her carefully toward the bed. I thanked my lucky stars for sending me a woman as flexible as Paige as I repeated the process, rocking her back and forth, enjoying how this new position enabled us to gaze into each other’s eyes as we slowly built to our respective climaxes. She smiled and kissed me—sometimes on the lips, sometimes on that sensitive spot on my neck—each time I drew her near.
The easy pace was in contrast to our usual frenetic style, but after a while, I knew Paige was getting close by the way she tightened around my shaft and began to moan. I loved watching her face as she came. Her expression always changed from intense concentration to utter bliss as an orgasm washed over her.
“Jim,” she breathed.
“Yeah, babe. What is it?” Watching her, knowing I was the source of her pleasure, was bringing me close as well.
“I love . . . “ she started, then caught herself. “I love the way you fill me. I can never wait until you’re inside me again.”
Hearing her words and feeling her cum around me brought forth my own pulsing climax as my balls tensed and emptied into her. Paige tightened around me again and sighed, and I knew she was catching another orgasm on the strength of mine. We remained coupled as long as we could, then we rearranged ourselves so that I could lie on my back, arm around her, while she snuggled under the covers and into my side.
Part of me, the rational part, was worried by her near slip. We both knew this couldn’t be love—Paige was flying out tomorrow to meet Mark, her husband, for a holiday rendezvous in the Maldives, after all—but the rest of me desperately wanted to hear her finish “I love . . . " with “you.” Hell, I didn’t just want to hear it, I wanted to say it back.
Our feelings should have been a foreseeable complication to our unusual relationship. Mark had given us carte blanche to screw, provided he could watch remotely, while he was away for a year-long sabbatical. But, being a bit of a thick-headed male, I had never considered that the raw, often kinky sex Paige and I engaged in could ever give way to actual lovemaking and then even to love itself.
Lying there, cradling Paige, I knew it was likely the last time we would be together that year. “Paige,” I said, reaching into the drawer of my nightstand, “there’s something I want to give you.”
To avoid any illusion that we were in a real relationship, we had agreed to not give each other presents, but I hadn’t been able to resist when I found a first-edition of The Elements of Style in a used bookstore near campus. For the woman who had attempted to teach my geeky self English composition back when I was an undergrad, I couldn’t think of a more appropriate gift.
I handed Paige the book, which I had wisely paid the woman behind the counter at the bookstore to wrap. “Jim, we agreed we wouldn’t,” she protested.
“I know, but it’s just a little something.” I urged her on, “Open it.”
“Okay, but you might as well know I got you a little something, too.” She scrambled out of bed and into my sweats and T-shirt, which engulfed her small frame. She went out to my living room where she had dropped her purse when she first came in.
“What are you doing?” I called.
“Looking for my keys. I left your gift in the car.”
From the jangling, I knew that she had located them. Then I heard her leave the apartment and run down the back stairs to her car. Within a few minutes, she was back, carrying a large wrapped package. “Merry Christmas,” she said, handing it to me and stripping off my clothes, so she was once again naked. She crawled back under the covers, and gave me a kiss.
“You go first,” we said in near unison.
“Let’s open them at the same time,” I suggested, smiling.
We both tore open our respective packages. “Oh,” she said when she saw the book. Her voice was soft. “It’s perfect.”
“Paige, you shouldn’t have,” was all I could manage. In my hands, I held a beautiful, obviously expensive, leather messenger bag. It was clearly meant to replace my old canvas satchel, currently held together—just barely—with duct tape. It was probably worth a month’s rent on my overpriced yet crappy apartment. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
She took the bag from me, placed her book inside it, and lowered it to the floor beside the bed. Then she reached up and pulled me down, spreading her thighs so I could lie between them. “I’m sure you can think of a way.”
The next morning, I found it hard to let her go. “Don’t be jealous,” she said, as I pulled her back from my doorway for yet another kiss. “We’ll be back together soon enough.”
I knew she probably was right. The break would fly by—it always did. I spent the rest of the morning packing up my stuff to take home when I left the next day, then dropped by the Help Desk to make sure everything was in order for the reduced amount of coverage we would provide over the holiday.
It was while at the Help Desk that I received the text. <<Can u swing by the house plz>>
Figuring Paige had left something in my apartment, I texted back, <<Be right there. Did you forget something at my place?>>
<<No. just want 2 c u>>
I couldn’t get to her house fast enough. I was thinking of all the ways I could give her a proper farewell as I let myself in.
“Paige? Where are you?” I called.
“Is that you, babe?” came a sarcastic falsetto. Mark appeared from the kitchen.
“What are you doing here?” I stammered.
“I came home to surprise my wife so we could travel together. Why the hell do you have a key to my house?”
“What are you really doing here?” I asked.
“I’ll ask the questions. Do you think I relish flying this far out of my way just to deal with you?” he snarled. “Did you really think you could fool me?”
I should have known the moment I got those messages that something was very wrong. The English professor in Paige was a stickler for grammar, even in informal communications. I realized too late that there was no way those texts had come from her.
“I got suspicious when the texts that you were about to go at it and videos slowed down. There was no way you weren’t taking advantage of the opportunity to bone Paige every chance you got.” Mark said. “And I know my wife. She’d fuck all the phallic vegetables right in the produce department if she was deprived of cock for too long.”
He continued, “Then there was the tampering you engaged in one night. Well, day for me in Switzerland.” My jaw dropped.
“Yes, I knew. You’re good, Jim, but I’m better. I figured you’d eventually want to see what I was collecting. Thought you’d be satisfied when you saw that I obscured your face, but then you started making your own videos, without telling me. I know you thought you were wiping them from my laptop before I found out, but you’re no match for me, hot-shot.”
“You’re sick,” I shouted, “and you don’t love her. No one who loves her would make the kind of video you made. She’s just a vessel to you. A vessel for you and other men to cum in.”
“I never try to hurt her. That’s why we chose you for this little fuck-fest. You were safe, but attractive enough for Paige to get excited about ‘doing.’ But don’t kid yourself about the kind of woman she is. Did you ever wonder why she screws like a pro? It’s because she is one.”
“No. Paige has a PhD in English. She’s not a prostitute.”
“Not now, but how do you think I met her? I was in Boston at a conference. You know what the pickings are like in the Computer Science field, but I really needed some companionship, so I hired an escort. The agency sent Paige. She was putting herself through grad school with a combination of loans, fellowships, and fucking. After that first night, it was clear that her particular kinks meshed nicely with mine. She liked to be used, and I liked to use her, so I brought her back here, got her set up in the English department, and put a ring on it so she would remember which side her bread was buttered on.”
I didn’t want to hear any of this. “Where is she? She has to be here.”
“Her phone is here, but she’s not. I slipped it out of her purse before I sent her on an errand for our trip.”
“I’ll wait until she gets back.”
“What are you going to do? Take her back to the hovel you probably live in? You can’t support her in the manner to which she’s definitely become accustomed, lover boy. A woman like Paige is never going to go back to where she came from.”
Mark grinned cruelly. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to leave here now, and you’re not going to see her, talk to her, or especially put your dick in her ever again. I should get you kicked out of the PhD program and ruin you, but I can’t be sure you haven’t made copies the videos I already had of the things I like to do with Paige. I don’t think you’re that smart, but in today’s world, I can’t see either of our careers lasting around here, or anywhere, if that ever gets out. So I can’t take that chance.”
He was right. I should have made copies of some of the footage I had found of Mark and Paige, but I hadn’t. I thought I could stay one step ahead of him, but he had always been one step ahead of me.
“You stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours, and when you have your doctorate, you can be on your merry way.”
I wanted to stay and fight. No, I didn’t just want to fight, I wanted to kill him. But I knew he was right. He was Assistant Dean, and one of the most respected people in our discipline. I was just a piddling grad student. I turned to leave.
“I’ll take that key,” Mark said with his hand out.
I spent the next few years on eggshells before I defended my thesis and was granted my PhD. Nerds came and went from the Help Desk, but to my knowledge, no more oral sex was performed on my desk after my two randiest employees, Prashant and Jenny, graduated.
I knew Mark was watching me every step of the way, but true to his word, he stayed out of my life, and I stayed out of his. I saw Paige a few times around campus, but I never attempted to talk to her or even make eye contact.
I got a job teaching in San Diego, closer to my aging parents. I was still doing research with programming languages, but I found that I most enjoyed the time I spent teaching an undergraduate class similar to the proposal I had submitted so long ago—Coding for Humanities Majors. Several of my students were well on their way to developing apps and software to do everything from making museum collections more accessible to children to simplifying ticket sales for community theaters.
My course was incredibly popular, particularly with female students. Embarrassingly, I had developed a bit of a reputation around campus as “Professor Well-hung.” Not that any of the students had any personal knowledge to be able to verify that nickname, of course, but the number of tits I had seen through almost sheer tank tops and pussies I had glimpsed under barely-there skirts was astonishing, especially during office hours. I always, always kept the door to my office wide open when I had a student meeting, but I was never tempted by the parade of feminine flesh that traipsed through my door. They were all just silly girls who would eventually mature. I hoped my ignoring their antics would help move that process along.
So, my career was going well, but my personal life was another story. I had tried to date, but where I had calmed some of Paige’s wilder impulses, she had had the opposite effect on me, and my tastes were decidedly less vanilla than before. Inevitably, I would either scare a woman off with my desire to blindfold her or tie her up, or she would be way too into it for my liking, begging me to slap or whip her and inflect actual harm, something I would never be willing to do.
One evening after I had been teaching for a couple of years, I shooed yet another under-dressed undergrad from my office and closed my door. With a sigh, I began to address my overflowing inbox. In the stack was a heavy envelope with a Pittsburgh return address. When I opened it, I discovered it was an invitation to Prashant and Jenny’s wedding. “At least this life thing is working out for someone,” I thought, when I was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Office hours are over,” I called. “I know you can read the sign on the door even if you’ve never glanced at the syllabus.”
“I know.” I heard the handle turn. Somehow I had forgotten to lock it.
“Hi,” said a soft voice from the doorway.
I looked up, annoyed. Then I saw it was Paige.
“I left Mark.”
I nodded. “That’s probably for the best.”
I didn’t know what to do. What did she want from me? She was still beautiful and incredibly desirable, but the wound, though now several years old, was still painful. I went back to sorting my mail.
“Aren’t you happy to see me?”
“Paige, I think we should let the past stay in the past.”
She came through the doorway and closed the door behind her. This time I heard the distinctive click of the lock being engaged.
She sat down in the edge of the desk and spread her legs just enough so I would be sure to see she was sans panties. She leaned back slightly so her shirt strained across her breasts.
“Do you remember when you used to come to my office hours? What were you hoping might happen?”
“Paige . . . " I began, but my resolve was breaking.
She leaned into me, brushing her breasts against my arm as she did. Her nipples were firm and she smelled so, so good. She whispered in my ear as she ran her hand across my collarbone and down the open neck of my shirt, causing my cock to surge unbidden. “What would you suggest if I were failing your class?”
At that moment I abandoned all pretense that Paige and I could be in a room together and not tear each other’s clothes off. It had to be a sign from the universe or something that Paige had tracked me down and was attempting to act out the fantasy I had harbored since I was a sophomore. Only now, it would be in reverse, with Paige playing the innocent undergrad and me as the horny professor.
I put my hand on her ass. It was still incredible. “That depends on the grade you’d ultimately like. Do you just want to pass?” I reached into my desk drawer and fished out the UPE honor society cord I had received when I earned my bachelor’s degree. I loosely tied her hands with the maroon and white cord, then stood her up and backed her against the door.
She trembled with anticipation. “Will a ‘C’ suffice?” I raised her bound hands above her head, and placed the cord over the coat hook. I unbuttoned her blouse to reveal her full breasts and gave her nipples a gentle pinch.
“So, what kind of student are you?” I put my hand under her skirt and let it travel slowly up her thigh until I found her smooth, warm, and very wet pussy. I slipped a finger inside, and she gasped. “Is a ‘B’ good enough for you?”
“Oh no, Professor Wilson,” she breathed. “I want an ‘A.’”
Copyright GWinterbourne 2018.