tagNonConsent/ReluctanceA Little Yearning Ch. 06

A Little Yearning Ch. 06

byavonasac©

Professor Donne was stuffing papers in his briefcase, getting ready to leave, when someone rapped on the jamb of the open office door.

"Got a moment?"

He latched the briefcase and looked up. She was an attractive coed of medium height, but her height was the only "medium" thing about her. She was wearing a pair of white Daisy Duke cut-offs and a pink tank-top with spaghetti straps that clung to her well-toned mid-section and firm breasts like saran wrap. From the front, her broad shoulders and narrow hips gave her an athletic, almost boyish appearance that was belied when she turned by the jut of her full breasts and round bottom. Her blond hair hung straight to her shoulders and was cut in bangs across her forehead over wide-set green eyes that regarded him coolly while a hint of a smile played over her generous mouth. She didn't wear much makeup, just a hint of eyeliner and some lip gloss, but she didn't need it. She looked vaguely familiar to him, but he was fairly certain she wasn't in any of his classes. He would have remembered.

"I'm sorry, are you one of mine?" he asked, settling back into his chair.

"One of yours?"

"My students. I'm Jim Donne. My office mate, Professor Owens, has already gone for the day."

"No, I'm not, but I did come to see you, Professor Donne. I hope I'm not too late." She came over to stand beside his desk. Jim tried not to stare at the outline of a nipple ring in her left breast.

"Not at all," he shook her hand. Her grip was warm and dry and lingered maybe a second longer than normal.

"I'm Kathy Bonney. It's about this paper." She set her backpack on his desk and took out the essay.

"The Ambilivance of Othello. Yes, I remember this, but it's not yours."

"Dwayne's my boyfriend," she explained. "Don't you think that grade is a bit harsh? It's a well-researched paper. I can't see there's anything wrong with the writing. I just don't understand."

"Kathy, I'm sorry, but don't you think it would be more appropriate for me to discuss this with Dwayne?"

"He had football practice. Anyway, we, ah, worked on it together. Please."

Jim sighed. "Make yourself comfortable," he said, gesturing to the chair in front of the desk. It was a straight-backed chair with a hard wooden seat so as not to encourage students to linger during office hours. She perched erect on the edge of the seat, her brow furrowed, and crossed her arms which threw flawless breasts into prominence.

"When I said that paper was not yours, I meant it was neither yours nor Dwayne Studemeyer's. That paper was written in 1998 by a graduate student named Michael Eiger. The original title was "Othello's Indecision," and it's been floating around on the web since then as a popular download. Since your boyfriend submitted it as own work, he could be brought before the Dean and expelled for plagiarism. And you acknowledged being involved as well. I'm really doing you both a favor by just giving him an F."

Jim spoke matter-of-factly, but he wasn't beyond taking some pleasure in making her squirm a little and--who knew--more than once this sort of thing had led to a mutually beneficial exchange of favors. If a beautiful girl walks into your office dressed--or rather half-undressed--like that, that would be the obvious implication.

She pushed out her lower lip in a pout that he would have loved to sink his teeth into. "You don't understand. With an F, Dwayne won't be eligible to play. He may as well be expelled." She stifled a sob and a couple tears traced down her cheeks. It was, to give her credit, better than average acting.

Jim came around to perch on the front of the desk. He offered her a tissue. "Perhaps we could work something out. A makeup."

"It's really all my fault, Professor Donne, please don't make him suffer for it." She fixed those big moist green eyes on him. It was like an galvanic shock being delivered directly to his scrotum. "Dwayne's never going to learn Shakespeare. I told him I'd help him out, and I intended to, but I just ran out of time."

"What a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive."

"Lady MacBeth had it easy," she snorted.

"So you do know some Shakespeare?"

She shrugged. "A little bit. I had drama in high school. We never staged the Scottish play, but I read it on my own. I was a bit of a Goth back then. Witches, you know." She waved her hands in the air over an imaginary cauldron. "Fair is foul, and foul is fair. Hover through fog and filthy air."

"You surprise me."

"Don't judge me on my looks, Professor."

"It's rather hard not to. Please call me Jim."

"You know, I've been at this school for four years." There was an edge to her voice. "Teachers that don't know me, they think I'm not too bright, or I just don't care. Really, they don't get it. People spend their teens and twenties trying so hard to grow up, and then, when they hit thirty, they suddenly realize that the happiest years of their lives are already behind them. And what was the hurry? Then they spend the rest of their lives trying to recapture something they just carelessly threw away."

He nodded. "We spend the first part of our lives regretting the things we've done wrong. We spend the last half regretting the things we never took the chance to do. We always seem to be looking back or looking forward. It's not easy to live in the moment."

"Yeah," she said. "Well, I enjoy being me."

"Kathy, I don't make the curriculum, and I'm not unaware of the folly and futility of trying to teach Shakespeare to football players. But if I can manage to interest at least one student, I'll take what I can get. If you will write me a paper, I'll pass Dwayne."

"Really? Thank you so much." She smiled at him and it was like someone had turned on the light in the room. "I won't disappoint you." She stood up to go.

"And Kathy?"

She turned in the doorway.

"I'm not doing this because you're a remarkably attractive girl, though you certainly are. I really would like to encourage your love of literature."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Oh, my shoe lace is coming undone," she said, and turning her back, she bent down--way down--to tie it. Her shorts hiked up over that sculpted ass and the crotch pulled tight to reveal the line of a pair of pink panties underneath.

She took her time retying her shoes, then she turned to face him again. "Don't pretend you don't want it, Professor. If I'd really wanted to seduce you, your pants would be down around your ankles by now." She pinned him to his seat with a look. A smile played on her lips, but those big unblinking eyes weren't smiling. There was a glint of something like anger there. "But like I said, what's the hurry?"

On Friday evening, Jim was out running at dusk when a low-slung red hatchback with IROC lettered on the side purred up alongside, pacing him along the dusty road on the edge of town. The passenger window rolled down and he saw her sitting at the wheel.

"Hey, Professor, I thought I recognized you. Can I give you a lift?"

"I'm running."

"Well, I can see that. Come on, I won't bite."

He slowed a walk, reluctantly. "I read your paper, Kathy, and I found it to be quite adequate. In fact, it was surprisingly good. I've given Dwayne credit for a 'B' in the course. If you'd like to stop by my office some time, I'd be glad to go over it with you."

"Thanks, but it wasn't that. I just thought you might like to go for a spin, that's all." She favored him with another one of those five hundred watt grins. "Living in the moment?"

He couldn't help but grin back, even though he didn't like having his run interrupted. But Carmen was out of town and Katie was spending the night at a friend's so he didn't have any pressing need to get home. "I'm all sweaty."

"O.K. by me." She reached across and unlatched the passenger door. As he settled into the seat she accelerated smoothly down the road, the throaty rumble of the exhaust swirling with the dust in their wake.

"You know, sometimes it's just nice to talk with an older guy. Boys my age only have one thing on their mind."

"And what makes you think older guys like me don't?"

She laughed. "Oh, I know you do. I'm just saying that's not the only thing on your mind."

Jim trailed his arm out the window enjoying the cool evening breeze. While she concentrated on the road, he let his eyes roam over her. In contrast to the other day, she was dressed in conservatively in a loose embroidered cotton blouse and matching skirt that ended at mid calf, open-toe sandals. Her hair was pulled back in a pony tail, accentuating the angles of her face. She wore some blush, mascara and coral lipstick. The makeup put a few years on her and gave her an air of maturity. Before, she could have passed for eighteen. Now she looked more like thirty.

"Nice car."

"It's my brother's, actually. I've got it on a sort of permanent loan."

"So, what did you want to talk about?"

She laughed. "Well, we could talk about cheerleading, or lit-ter-a-chur. . . You're not really into small talk, are you?""

"I'm not particularly good at it."

She shot him an appraisingly glance. "You keep in good shape, don't you?"

"For an old guy, you mean?"

"You don't think we have a lot in common, do you?" she asked, reading his mind. "I don't think we're all that different." Downshifting, she turned off on a county road that led out to the west where some light still lingered in the limpid pastel sky though the ground was cloaked in darkness. "Do you think it's possible for a guy and girl to be completely honest with each other?"

"I may be a little too cynical, I suppose."

"But you've never really tried it, have you?"

"On the contrary. I've tried it several times with uniformly disastrous consequences."

"What I mean is, we talk at each other, but most of the real conversation never gets said, does it? It's under the surface, or it's assumed. Or people are afraid to say what they really mean," she said with the endearing enthusiasm of one who has just discovered a truism.

"You want the truth!? You can't handle the truth!" Jim quoted ruefully.

She looked at him quizzically. Either his Jack Nicholson impression really sucked, or she had never seen the movie.

"Is that like a dare, Jim?"

"I guess," he smiled. "So why don't you go first? Tell me why you picked me up."

"You don't think I just happened upon you back there?" She stuck out her bottom lip.

"You're not answering the question."

"Do you want to kiss me, Jim?"

"Since we're being perfectly frank here, I'd like to fuck you."

"Now you're just trying to shock me."

"Don't be coy."

"You just think you want to have sex with me. You're married, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Don't you love your wife?"

"I do."

"And you don't want to hurt her, do you? So you don't really want to have sex with me, you're just being macho."

Jim reflected on what incalculable damage a syllogism could do in the hands of a cheerleader.

She looked at him for a long moment--he was tempted to tell her to keep her eyes on the road, but those emerald eyes were mesmerizing, catching the lights of the instrument panel, red and yellow sparks. "See this silver ring? You know what it is?" She held up her hand.

He nodded. "I've seen them. You pledged your virginity to God, right?"

"My second virginity," she corrected him.

"What happened to the first one?"

She didn't reply for a moment, her eyes focused far in the distance. Then she slowed and pulled the car over onto the gravel shoulder. "You know, in three years I've never talked about that to anyone. But I think perhaps you would understand. Would you drive for while?"

She got out and came around the back while he scooted over the gearshift into the driver's seat.

"Just keep on straight."

"Aren't you going to put on your seat belt?"

She tucked her legs under her and shifted in her seat to face him. "I'll have to trust you to keep your eyes on the road." She paused a moment to recollect.

This is the story she told him:

I came out here one evening after a game to party. There were quite a few of us--football players, some girlfriends, the pep squad. We'd won a big game, we had few beers, everyone was excited. I caught my boyfriend making eyes at another girl. We had words and he left with her. I was hanging with two brothers who were on the defensive line. As it got later more people starting drifting off till before I knew it, there were just the three of us left.

It was already way past curfew, so I figured, what the hell. We had a few more beers. Then the two of them got in a pissing contest. I mean literally. Joe, the younger one, had the advantage when it came to height and distance, but big Ronny had more staying power. They were hollering and I was giggling, but once they had their dicks out, things started to get a little strange. They were passing each other these looks, you know, like I'd seen them do on the field when they were getting set to ambush a running back. Joe'd go low and Ronny would come in high and they'd have to carry the poor bastard off the field on a stretcher.

You know, I can handle boys. I mean, I could have defused the situation, but suddenly, I don't know, it was like I wanted to see how far they would go. It's sort of like driving a fast car. You just want to keep pushing it a little closer to the edge. But you don't really know you've reached it till you spin out of control, do you?

"O.K. Chiclet, now it's your turn," Ronny said to me.

"What do you mean?"

"You drank as much beer as we did, and you're not half our size. Don't tell me you don't have to go."

"Not in front of you, I'm not."

"Go around the tree. We won't watch."

Well, I did have to pee something awful, so I stepped around the tree and took off my panties, hiked up my cheerleader's skirt and squatted down. It was such a relief. I was feeling a little woozy, and I must have closed my eyes for a second. When I looked up they were both standing there leering at me. Ronny had my panties and was sniffing at them. He went to pass them to Joe and I made a grab for them. Joe lunged for them at the same time and got and handful of my top instead and when I jerked back he pulled it down. I ran for the car. I was going to lock myself in, but they caught me rounding the picnic table. Ronny was a big, blond farm boy and built like a barrel, but he was fast. He scooped me up like stray poodle and sat me down me on his lap.

I was kicking and yelling at them, telling them to stop or they'd be sorry. Standing in front of me, Joe was rubbing my nipples between his fingers. His hands were calloused but he was surprisingly gentle with them. His cock was jutting right in my face. I turned my head. "Make her lick it like that old collie bitch of yours, Joe," Ronny said. Ronny was rubbing his hard cock up and down the crack of my bare ass. I was angry and scared, but at the same time my butt has always been very sensitive, and my pussy was starting to get hot.

Ronny lifted me up a little higher and stuck his cock between my legs. "Let's see if she knows how to drive a stick shift," he said. He put my hand on the head of his cock where it jutted up between my legs and he jiggled me up and down as effortlessly as an inflatable doll. I could feel the juice oozing out of my pussy and covering his cock as it rubbed between my lips. I guess the head of his cock was just normal size, but it seemed little to me because his cock was so fat. I could hardly get my hand around it. I covered my palm with the moisture leaking out of the tip and started to jerk him off. I wanted to make him come before he could stick it in me.

My legs were starting to shudder, and my pelvis began to twitch. I was trying desperately not to get excited, fighting it every step of the way. I didn't want to give them the satisfaction. But it seemed the harder I tried, the more excited I got. I'd never felt like that before. It was a different kind of intoxication, more insidious than alcohol. I looked up at Joe. He was rubbing his cock back and forth on my lips. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead and his mouth hung open and I could tell he was already close to coming himself.

"No, I don't want to," I said, but even as I mumbled the words I let him push inside. My tongue felt as sensitive as my pussy. The slick heat of his cock was overwhelming. It was like a live wire, and all the tension gathered in him seemed to surge into me. It tipped me over the edge. I started to come, gripping Ronny's big cock with my fist between my legs, riding him like a bull.

"There she goes!" Ronny yelled as I moaned. Joe immediately gave a grunt and started spurting his thick cum over my tongue. There was so much, it was running out the corners of my mouth. At the same time I could feel Ronny start to climax too. He was bouncing me on his lap like a small boat on a rough sea. He just kept coming and coming, flooding my stomach and legs and bush with wave after wave of sticky cum.

When Ronny relaxed his grip I jumped up and gave Joe a smack across the face and then I stomped on Ronny's instep and threw an elbow at him. I may as well have tried to punch a forklift. That really cracked him up. "You don't even have cleats on, girl," he chuckled.

Again, I tried to make a dash for the car, but Joe caught up with me and picked me up by the waist and threw me face down across the picnic table. He held me down while Ronny held his sticky cock to my face and made me lick it till he got hard again. Joe wedged himself between my legs. He was running his finger up and down my pussy. Just as Ronny pushed his fat cock into my mouth, Joe eased two fingers inside me. "She's all gooey," he said. I was humping his fingers uncontrollably. Being manhandled like that, by the both of them--I'd never been so excited before, not even after a couple hours of petting in the back seat. That first orgasm hadn't eased the pressure at all, it just made me more sensitive.

I knew what was coming next and I didn't want him to. Not like that. I often imagined how it would be when I lost my virginity: how I would condescend to bestow the ultimate gift on some fortunate boy after a suitable amount of begging, pleading and groveling. To be taken like this in a sweaty rush, spread-eagled across a sticky picnic table, it was so wrong. But when Joe put his cock to the lips of my pussy, I didn't even hesitate. I slammed back onto it as hard as I could. I was coming again before he was even fully inside of me. Later, I was sore, but right then, as he tore through my hymen, that wasn't even on the list of things I was feeling.

They both took their time, the second time around. I was up there, somewhere I'd never been before, sort of looking down at myself like it was someone else. Every time I'd start drifting down off the clouds, they'd pick up the pace and I'd be flying again. Eventually, they hit a kind of rhythm, bouncing me back and forth between them, and when Joe finally came down to the short strokes, puffing and yelling, Ronny pulled out and let go all over my face.

I lay there too exhausted to move. My bruised pussy was oozing and my belly stuck to the table. Joe threw himself down on the grass, covered in sweat like he'd just run a marathon. Ronny went over the car and got his sports bag out of the trunk. He took out a towel and wet it and wiped my face for me. Then he went around behind me. I felt this cool liquid spread across the cheeks of my ass, running down the crack. Then he starting massaging me, the oil warming as he kneaded it into my lower back and butt and thighs.

I raised up on my elbows. "No, I can't do any more," I said in a small voice.

He just made shushing, clucking noises at me, like you'd calm a horse. He was very good with his hands. He knew just how much pressure to use. I could feel my muscles go all soft and spongy and this warm lethargy washed over me. I almost drifted off to sleep. Tenderly, he was smoothing his hands softer and softer over me, running his fingers up the inside of my thighs, easing his thumbs down the crack of my butt, lightly over my anus to where the lips of my pussy gaped opened. Unconsciously, I started to rock back against him, wanting him to press harder. "No, I can't," I begged him. But he kept teasing me till I was bucking up off the table. When he finally parted the lips of my pussy with the head of his cock, I was desperate for it.

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