Her Open Invitation

There was never any confusion about their relationship.

They would most often meet at his house, the two of them: Dillon, his protege, finishing his masters course, and Dillon's young protege, Aubrey, still in her undergraduate but with a fine head for figures. Aubrey was very beautiful and very talkative and she would argue with Dillon endlessly about the finer points of practical implementation over theory. She would never, however, argue with him. Dillon and Aubrey were seeing each other, and had since she had started taking Dillon's course in applied mechanics early that September. It had been over a year, Aubrey was a senior now, and Dillon was close to completing his graduate program.

Aubrey had taken two of his courses before, one in the second trimester of last year and then another in the spring. This year she sat in the front row of the auditorium while he lectured about the differences between theory and implementation. He nodded to her politely when he discussed examples drawn from Aubrey and Dillon's own arguments.

Aubrey sat attentive in the front row, flanked by twenty students on either side, and around one hundred in the stadium seats behind her. He saw her so often in Dillon's presence that to see her quiet, eyes wide, listening, was notable. Also notable was the fact that she was not wearing panties.

It was not the first time. Last year during his spring class she had taken a seat in the front row, near the end, and worn short skirts to his lectures. It was hot and humid on the midwestern campus and she was far from the only young woman to dress for the weather. She was a tall girl, with long tan legs and firm ripe breasts that sat high on her chest when she wore a bra. When she didn't, which seemed to be every other week in the spring, her endowments sloped low in her light clothing. With the bra her cleavage was deep. Without it, her breasts were freer, loose, and her nipples raised two prominent nibs in the material. They pointed upward, he had noticed, towards the whiteboard. Last year she would slide her hands over her knees before she crossed her legs, a gestured forewarning. She laid her pen in the crease of her notebook where she kept meticulous notes (she paid fierce attention to his speeches, in the auditorium and in his home), and slid her palms over her toned thighs.

When he was looking in that direction (and it would not be wrong to assume she did it only when he was looking in that direction), she would slowly open and then cross her legs, flashing him the pale and obvious view of her vagina. She shaved, and the skin of her inner thighs as well as her pubic mound was as smooth as silk. Then she took her time rolling the skirt back down and returned to her notes. She did this every so often.

In the fall, sitting in the center of his front row, she did it once. She did not, however, cross her legs. She opened them, and below the soft dip of her white, linen skirt, he saw the unmistakable glisten of her wet pussy. As before, he did not stop his lecture. It entered his vision the same way the faces of his students did, temporarily and without concern.

He finished his major notes on the whiteboard and returned to a semi-open discussion about the finer points of the free market and where their studies would take them, depending on their chosen sector. At the end of the class he let them take their midterms from the stack on his desk. Most of them had done average to poorly. Aubrey had done much better. He knew her notes were meticulous because he had asked once while she and Dillon were in the midst of a conversation to look through them. Aubrey was better than Dillon in almost every way, his superior, and he had no doubt that she would go far if Dillon did not persuade her to keep house instead of going to Washington once they were married.

The dean of the school stepped in just as class was ending and he spoke with the man about the upcoming seminar on international trade while the students nervously swarmed his desk for their papers. When Aubrey took hers there would be a "See Me" note on her exam. His office hours were after class on Tuesdays.

After he'd spoken with the dean he packed his briefcase and turned off the projector, then collected the exams from those that had been sick or not taken them, and left the building for his office.

* * *

He was in the midst of a sea of papers on macroeconomics spanning dozens of decades when she knocked on his open door. He told her to come in and shut the door behind her.

She didn't smile. She hardly ever smiled at him. She smiled at Dillon, and kidded him, and rolled her eyes and grit her teeth at his joking asides. When she looked at him her eyes were bright, attentive, anxious. It was disconcerting to see a look of such intensity on her beautiful face. He sat in his chair for a moment in silence, regarding it, regarding her lithe body. She carried only her portfolio with her, and two thin books, and her purse. These were tucked into her hands and held in front of her, in front of the skirt. She wore sneakers, not flats, and athletic socks.

She pulled a stray strand of hair behind her ear. As long as she had worked with Dillon, and him, she had never been in his office before. She waited for him to speak.

"Dillon will be heading up the department's presentation on Central American trafficking abuses," he said. "You will be assisting him. The committee wants to see a thorough white paper before either of you go ahead, so that will need to be finished by the end of next month. Can you do that?"

"Yes," she said. "Thank you."

He waved his hand. "I would like to not recommend you," he said. "Your closeness to Dillon isn't against the rules but it's difficult for the committee to see that it isn't favoritism but merit. In fact I grade you harder than the others."

"Yes," she said. "I know. You marked me down for the same answer as Jacob. We compared tests."

"Jacob is as good as he will ever be," he said. "You shouldn't be casual with the sections you don't have as much interest in."

"The time was running out," she said. "I am better than him."

"Yes," he said. She remained rigid as a fencepost. "But I don't grade on potential."

"You lowered my GPA last year," she said. "I should have had an A-."

"Work harder," he said.

"I work harder than anyone. I work harder than Dillon."

"Yes," he said. The sounds of the hall outside, the school, seemed to fade, muffled by the pregnancy of their mutual silence. "You and Dillon are still together."

"Yes," she said. His eyes stayed on her eyes. They did not move down to watch the effect the steady increase of her breath was having on her chest. Her breasts rose in her sheer blouse with every pounded pulse beat.

"Put your things on that cabinet," he said. He pointed to the filing cabinet beside the door.

She looked at it as if it were a stranger just come into the room. She chanced a look at him, just briefly, and softly slid her books and portfolio on the cabinet top. She set her purse on top of it.

He stood up and strode to the office wall beside her and nodded at his desk. "Put your hands on it."

She licked her dry lips. Never had they been alone together, nor spoken quite so formally, but she obeyed as if this command was as familiar as her own breath. She walked past him to the desk, her skirt swaying, and leaned down, and slid her palms over the wood and the papers.

He locked the door.

He stepped behind her. And without a tremor, without pause, he took the hem of her skirt and lifted it over her bare ass. Its naked cheeks were pale. Between her legs he could see the clear trail of wetness on her inner thigh.

"Bend over," he said.

She slid her hands in the papers and bent. With one hand he slid the loose skirt up over her hips.

The other reeled back and swatted her buttock. She didn't make a sound.

He spanked her again. This time he heard the breath puff out of her. He spanked her again, and when she realized she would be spanked again, and again, she leaned further down to the desk and offered up her reddening buttocks.

His rhythm was slow, giving her strong, firm slaps that rocked her body. Her legs shivered between each spank, and her skin quivered at each impact.

After two minutes of slow spanking, he gripped her buttocks and kneaded the cheeks. She let out a breathy grunt and steadied her knees against the desk.

He knew that she did not make love to Dillon this way. He was fairly certain she dictated how, when and where they copulated. She had never been anything close to intimate with him, but she would not stop him, would not deny him. She had opened her legs and wet herself in front of him for two trimesters and she was now at his mercy. As she craved.

Her skin was soft, yielding to his touch and swift to spring back when he let go. He took her buttocks in thick handfuls and hardened in his pants. She bounced slowly on her heels and toes as he fondled her, her elbows on the desk, head forward, never looking back.

He slid his finger down her wet butt crack and entered her vagina with it. She grunted again, tried to stay silent, as he stroked the inside of her pussy, fingering her mucousy uterus and extending his other fingers to massage her clitoris.

With his one hand he continued to fondle her ass. With the other he fingered her. She lowered her head and let her sounds escape like steam. Breaths. Teeth biting her lip, in breaths only. Grunts.

When her calves popped and she went up on her toes, just on the verge of silent orgasm, he withdrew his fingers. He held her hips firmly to the table as she breathed out, loudly. She panted, her legs quivering. She wouldn't question him. She wouldn't tell him to please keep going. She was on the cusp and he would wait for her to dredge back from it.

He grabbed her shoulder and spanked her.

The spanking was so hard it knocked her waist against the desk. She grunted loudly and pushed back with her elbows. He spanked her, with the same force, and she panted again. He spanked her, and she made a wincing sound. He spanked her, and her ass, beet red, trembled.

He waited again for her breathing to resume. Her ass cheeks were fiery to the touch.

When he'd waited another minute he took her and turned her. Her forehead had a bright sheen of perspiration and her cheeks were flushed. She breathed sharply from her nostrils and looked up at him, with the same attentive look but with another element added, one of a wildness not seen in the classroom, not seen in her arguments with Dillon. Not seen on campus. He pressed down on her shoulder until she was on her knees in front of him. She gripped his thighs and waited for him.

He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. He did not wear underwear. He preferred to feel the silk of his slacks caress his scrotum and shaft all day, and it made it easier than having to untangle himself from boxer shorts whenever she forgot her bra or flashed him. She helped pull the pants down to his ankles and then straightened her neck as he put his hand on her head and slid his thick cock into her mouth.

He stroked into her lips, slow and steady, in his rhythm, holding her hair in his hands as he pushed his pelvis into her face. She reached up and caressed his balls, held them in both palms, as he brought her in closer. His cock slid deeper.

It went down her throat and she loosened the back of her tongue to let him in. A thick slurping arose in the quiet office as she worked to swallow around his penis. It was impossible and much of her saliva dripped out, pooling in her hands where she cupped his balls. She wiped the spit into his hairy scrotum as he pushed, still, sliding his cock over her tongue. He pulled her in until she choked, finally. He held it there as she gagged more of her saliva into her hands, and then he released her.

He pulled out of her throat and his cock came wet, precum leaving her teeth and lips in sticky trails. She grabbed it suddenly, perhaps afraid he'd try to force it back in, and the squeeze of her fingers made it jump. She took ragged breaths. The rim of her mouth was wet, shiny, and her eyes were rimmed, shiny as well. She looked up at him, with the wildness now complete, the inquisitiveness overtaken. She held him while she coughed, and swallowed.

He lifted her up by her arms. He took her blouse and pulled up. She lifted her arms to let it slide off and when the shirt left her chest her heavy breasts jumped free. They jiggled as they fell back on her chest. He threw the blouse into his chair and took her breasts and kneaded them. She kept her hands in the air, not touching him, as he bounced their flabby weight in his palms.

As he bent to lick her he heard her breaths increase, felt her heart hammering her from the inside as he sucked delicately at her nipples.

He twisted her around and leaned her over the desk once more. This time when he spanked her she let out a loud grunt. He squeezed her ass cheeks and kneeled down. He licked the red splashes on her ass. He licked the fertile swell of her buttocks. He licked down, down into the sweat of her crack.

He licked deeper into her crack, deeper, pulling her open with his fingers until he found her fetid asshole. He licked it, and tongued it, and Aubrey's legs squeezed together and she hopped up on her toes. On the desk she threw her head back and moaned. He licked down, down over her thick labial lips, down until his nose was buried between her legs and his tongue lapped at her like a thirsty dog.

Aubrey laid her naked belly flat on his desk and spread her hands into the mass of loose papers. She shoved her ass back into his face.

Her cum dripped into his mouth.

He rose behind her and spanked her. He slapped her ass. He slapped it hard, and harder. She breathed hard, fighting to stay silent, fighting not to cry out from the pain she had come here for.

He twisted her body so that the small of her back was on the desk's edge. Her elbows behind her, her eyes burned up at him. They flicked down, to his crimson erection, and up at him. Her nipples shined with his saliva.

The papers scattered and his cup of pens rattled off the edge and smashed on the floor when he gripped her thighs fiercely and opened her. She reached down to peel open her soaked vagina and tried, tried with gritted teeth and an ugly grimace not to make a sound as he shoved his cock inside her body.

His fingers dug into the flesh of her legs as he plunged deep, and she fell back on the desk. His hands reached for her breasts but she took one and covered her mouth with it. She bit down on the webbing between his thumb and index finger as he thrust, thrust, thrust. He made her breasts bounce, he made her head rock back on the wood, and the sound of him inside her moist canal was thick and soupy. Every time he pulled out he pulled with him the copious drenchings of her sex and each time he pushed in his balls swatted her sore buttocks. She drew blood from his hand as she panted out her nostrils.

He pulled his hand out of her mouth and gripped her hair. He pulled it down on the hard desk. She cried out. "You don't cum until I say so," he said.

"No, sir."

He thrust, thrust, and she shut her eyes tight, her leg wobbling weakly and would fall if he did not grip it, hold it. Her sneakers thudded on the edge of the desk. He pulled his fingers out of her hair and clutched her jaw. His finger slid between her lips and she sucked on it, bit it. He let her leg fall and he groped for her breast. She moaned into his finger and frowned. Her delicate eyebrows creased the span over her nose.

"You don't cum."

"I-I can't..."

He ceased his penetration, all at once. He held himself inside her quivery pussy and dragged his hands down her neck, down her breasts, her stomach, and grabbed her thighs. To her halted whimpers, he opened her legs, wider, and held them by her knees. He pushed in, slowly, his balls dragging up her ass.

"You don't cum."

"Ah..."

"Not yet."

He opened her legs wider still, stretching her. He pulled his penis out slowly.

"Please..." she whispered.

"Try harder."

"Professor..." she moaned as her eyelids fluttered and her eyes rolled up into her head. His penis slid back in. Slowly. "Please," she whispered.

"No."

She bit her lip. It didn't help so she shoved her own hand against her teeth. She bit down and shook her head as he pulled out. Pushed in.

"Please," she gasped around her fingers, "please. Please." Her body shook like she was a spoonful of jello in his palm. Her beautiful skin, flushed by sex, desire, drenched in perspiration, moistening his papers, his desk, his waist where her body met his, shined under his office light, her nipples pointed straight at it.

He slid in harder. Her breath caught in her throat.

He slid in harder. "You cum when I tell you to."

"Y-yes, sir."

He slid in harder, and her buttocks rolled on the desk. She shut her eyes tighter.

"You cum when I tell you to."

"Y-yes, sir."

He slid in harder, and she cried out, and she opened her eyes and stared dead into him and grabbed her breasts to keep them from stretching too painfully. She grit her teeth at him in sightless mania.

"You cum when I tell you to."

"Y-yes, sir-r."

He pumped her. He pumped her deep, strong and rhythmically, entering her, opening her, drenching her. And soon he would inseminate her.

"You cum when I tell you."

"Yes," she panted. "Yes, s-sir." She fondled herself. She squeezed her breasts and frowned at him, wanting it, wanting him to say it, her entire lower body given over to a savage shaking. Suddenly she cried out. "I can't," she gasped. "I can't - I can't!"

"Cum," he said.

She came on his cock like a volcano. Her stomach muscles seized and she spasmed at his thrust. His next thrust shot his thick jism inside her, and she came harder as he came, oozing over his member, soaking him, her spread legs stiff in his hands, her breasts squeezed to the point of pain in her fingers. She didn't make an intelligible sound, and that sound kept coming, coming as she came, coming as he came, and he thrust, and finished, and remained in her while her orgasm reached its epic crest and fell crashing.

* * *

When they were dressed again, and she had helped him restack his papers on the desk, she took her things from the cabinet and opened his door.

"Aubrey?"

She turned, eyes attentive.

"From now on, if you have something to show me, please do it in my office."

She pulled her hair behind her ear and nodded. And smiled. "Yes, sir."