In A Class Of Her Own

Part 1

He enjoyed Thursday afternoons. He didn't have classes, department meetings, office hours or bureaucracy to deal with. It was a chance for him to work on his research without the crush of teaching.

Not that he didn't enjoy teaching his classes. They were enjoyable, he always learned something from his interactions with students, and the hours were not bad. Also, they were good for his ego. At 42 and a widower, he was still a vigorous and attractive guy, more handsome than pretty. He knew he was attractive to women near his own age, as the repeated come-ons at faculty parties (from both female faculty and the wives of some of his colleagues) confirmed. He biked and ran regularly and he was in good shape, but clearly not a narcissistic jerk.

What surprised him was how attractive he seemed to be to his students. It honestly never occurred to him that a woman in her late teens or early 20s would be interested in him. And yet, every semester, there were two or three students who made it clear to him—often in their own shy way—that they were available to him. Some spent inordinate amounts of time at his office hours, coyly laughing at not-very-funny comments. Others just batted their eyes and wore suggestive clothing to class. A few outright propositioned him, which he appreciated for its efficiency but not for its judgment. He had never slept with a student, no matter how available she was. He valued his job too much.

In his three years of teaching creative writing at PSU, he had seen a great many beautiful young women, a few really talented ones, and one who was both. She was a current student, M. She was different from the other girls in the class. Instead of the anorexic waifs most girls seemed to aspire to be, M was sexy in a classic, Marilyn Monroe way. She was physically most reminiscent of the voluptuous redhead on Mad Men, but she had the same innocence-mixed-with-sexuality that Marilyn had. She stood 5'8" and had curves that made men (if not all boys) stand and gape. She dressed the way other girls in class dressed, but the way she wore a T shirt and jeans didn't look like any of the others. She was in a class by herself, physically.

Academically, she was also different. In his class, she was brilliant. Her writing was a cross between Flannery O'Connor and Virginia Woolf. It was both dense and accessible, innovative and classic. She had real talent and he had tried to encourage it. She had showed him her non-school projects, including a short story about a student's illicit romance with her writing professor, and he had given her detailed and constructive help. He genuinely enjoyed working with her. Even if he did often have to go home and jerk off after one of their sessions.

The problem, as he understood it from one of his gossipy colleagues in the English department, was that as good as she was in his class, that's how bad she was in all her other classes. She was clearly smart, but her lack of interest made her anywhere from an indifferent to an outright failing student. Her attention span, so good and focused when she was writing, was pathetically short everywhere else. She was texting in classes she was failing, and the word in the department was that she might not survive the current semester's academic probation.

None of that was on his mind that Thursday afternoon as he dug into recently unclassified documents he needed for the book he was writing. In addition to his own creative writing, he occasionally wrote critical analyses of favorite books. He was working on a book now about the early Soviet classic, Master and Margarita, about a writer whose lover sells her soul to the devil to have his work published. The fall of the Soviet Union had unearthed thousands of documents that could shed light on the author's trials at the hands of Soviet censors.

He had been working for only a little while when there was a knock on the door. He considered not answering, but the knock came again. Exasperated, he put down the documents and walked the five feet to the door of his cramped office.

When he opened the door, he was surprised to find M standing there. Her eyes were red from crying, though she had clearly dried her tears before knocking.

"Professor, I'm sorry to bother you."

"M, that's OK. What's wrong?"

"Can I come in?"

"I'm sorry. Of course."

He stood aside and she came into the office, her shapely ass brushing against him as she tried to avoid the stacks of papers and boxes of books. She went to the only chair beside his desk chair that wasn't piled with junk, an old red leather arm chair.

She sat somewhat primly on the edge of the seat, looking down at her hands. He tried to look at her face, but it was challenging. Her cleavage, so prominent and so beautiful, was exerting a magnetic pull on his eyes. It took a major effort to not look at it. All the same, he was very glad he had excellent peripheral vision.

"M, are you OK?"

"Not really. It appears that I am no longer your student."

"What? Why?"

She started sobbing a little and took a moment to compose herself.

"Because I was kicked out. Flunked out. Asked to leave. Whatever you want to call it."

He slumped back in his chair, genuinely—and surprisingly—distraught at the idea she wouldn't be his student any more. He rolled his chair a few feet in her direction and put his hand on hers. She quickly grabbed his hand in hers.

"I'm so sorry. I really am."

"It's my own damn fault, of course. It's not like I can't do the work."

"If you don't mind my asking, how could this happen? You're so bright and such a great student in my class."

She looked up at him, smiling through her tears.

"Well, I love writing. And I love your class." She looked like she was going to say something else, but stopped herself.

"And the other classes?"

"I guess I just didn't care. I thought I could skate by. All I ever wanted to do was write anyway."

They sat silently for a moment. He wanted to take his hand back and be professional, but he just couldn't.

"Well, looks like you'll have lots of time for writing now. Have you given any thought yet about what you'll do?"

"I'd love to spend more time writing. But it looks like I need a job. My scholarship went away as of an hour ago."

Again, they sat silently. His mind was racing. She wasn't his student any more, which was bad. Or was it? Now that she wasn't his student, he could see if there was anything between them, as he had hoped so often. He made a bold gamble.

"I could use a research assistant."

She looked like she had just won the lottery.

"For real?"

"Sure. I just got thousands of documents for my Master and Margarita book. I need someone to help me go through them, categorize and file, take notes. Nothing sexy, but I can pay you $10 an hour. My book advance isn't much, but I'm happy to spend it until it runs out." The truth was he would have paid anything to have this marvelous young woman in close quarters with him. And he didn't need the money at all.

She jumped up and he did too. She hugged him, and he could feel her firm breasts press against him. He hoped she couldn't feel his rapidly firming cock against her. She held the hug a second or two longer than gratitude required.

"When do I start?"

"Tomorrow? 9am?"

She hugged him again. And gave him a small kiss on the cheek. When she pulled back, she was blushing a deep red.

"See you then. And thanks."

Part 2

Over the next few weeks, he came to realize how indispensable she was to him. She was a fantastic research assistant, smart and capable and organized. She was also a breath of fresh air in his office and his life. One day, he came back from class to discover that the pile of books and documents he had complained about for days was organized and gone. All of a sudden, his office couch was clear and the office itself looked good. Part of it was the organization. A bigger part was the amazing redhead.

She worked unselfconsciously, kneeling or bending or stretching wherever the work took her. She seemed unaware of how beautiful she was, and how her low-cut tops and shorts affected him. Or maybe she did know and just didn't care.

Despite the fact the she was no longer his student, she refused to call him anything but Professor. He didn't mind. Though they became friendlier and friendlier, there was still a student-teacher dynamic between them. Even the night they went out for pizza and beer (which she was too young to order, but the server was too busy staring down her shirt to worry about her ID), they still kept a respectful distance. There were a few times when either he or she looked like they might let their guard down, but it came back up just as quickly.

That ended on a Friday morning, a month after she started working for him.

He came to work a little late. He was grouchy after yet another night of porn and his right hand. He was craving physical contact in the worst way, and the woman he wanted was at his office. That morning, the thought of seeing her filled him with more frustration than usual. He procrastinated and got to the office 15 minutes after she was showing up.

When he arrived, wearing his Friday outfit of jeans and a T shirt that showed off his well developed physique, M was sitting outside his office. She looked again, like she had been crying. She quickly wiped the tears and tried to smile when she saw him.

"Good morning, Professor."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm fine."

He unlocked the door to his office and they went in. He closed the door.

Immediately she threw her arms around his neck. He received her hug more openly than he would have if he had thought about it. After a few seconds, she pulled back.

"M, what is it?"

"I'm sorry. I went into the English Department office when you were late to see if they had heard from you. And I heard the secretaries talking and they were gossiping about a male professor who ran off with one of his students last night. They were talking about it like it was a big secret scandal and all I could think was that it was you. Since you're never late and you weren't here and I thought the worst and..."

She trailed off to a small laugh/sob.

"I know how stupid I must sound to you."

She didn't sound stupid. If he wasn't mistaken, she sounded jealous.

"No, I understand. You don't want to lose your job."

She laughed and playfully pushed him.

"You jerk. You know that isn't what I was worried about."

"What were you worried about?" He almost held his breath, waiting for the answer.

"You know..."

"What?"

"You want me to say it?"

"Yes."

She looked up at him and inched closer to him. Her breasts were just a few inches from him.

"I was worried you had run off with someone else because...I love you."

She barely said the last words out loud, but they hit him like a hurricane.

He reached his hand out and caressed her cheek.

"M..."

"You don't have to say anything." She looked down, embarrassed.

He put his other hand on her other cheek and lifted her face up to his. She was wearing sneakers and she was a good five inches shorter than him. When she lifted her face to him, her mouth parted slightly and he saw her pink tongue. He knew he had to taste it. He leaned down and gently kissed her. Her arms stayed at her sides for a good two seconds, and he worried that he had overstepped. Then her arms flew around his neck and she began to kiss him passionately. They stayed like that for a long minute, locked at the lip and crushed together in the contact they had both been skirting around for months.

After the minute, his big head reasserted some control and he pulled back, still holding her hands in his.

"M, we need to talk about this."

"What is there to talk about?"

"This isn't right."

"Why not? I'm not your student. You finally know

how I feel. And I know you enjoyed our kiss. That was obvious."

He shifted uncomfortably, embarrassed at the visible erection.

"But..."

"But nothing. I've wanted to be with you since the first class six months ago. And don't tell me you don't want me."

"I want you more than I've ever wanted anyone."

She walked back into his arms and put her arms around his neck.

"Then shut up, B. And kiss me."

He was lost then. Her eyes controlled him, her body compelled him. Emboldened, he reached up and cupped her breasts as they kissed. She moaned when his hands found her nipples. They were hard as erasers and he was desperate to see them. He wasn't sure about staying in the office. He wanted their first time to be special. He tried to break away and suggest they go somewhere else.

"No," she said huskily. "Right here. Where we've spent so much time teasing each other. This is why I cleared that couch. Because I hoped I would get to fuck you on it."

He wasn't sure when Flannery O'Connor became Madonna, but he liked it. She was asserting her sexuality and it was turning him on even more.

She stepped back and pulled her shirt off, exposing her tremendous breasts encased in a red, lacy bra. He reached back and locked the office door while she reached back and undid the clasp. When he finally saw her breasts come free, he nearly cried with released anticipation. He had seen them in so many shirts and in so many dreams, and they were even better in the flesh, so to speak. Their pink areolas surrounded hard nipples that begged to be licked and sucked. She involuntarily rubbed them while backing up to the couch and sitting down.

He advanced toward her, removing his T shirt as he did. When he was standing above her, she reached up and rubbed her hands over his chest and stomach. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her hands exploring his body. After a few seconds, her hands moved lower, over his stomach to the top of his jeans. They undid his belt and pulled the top button on his jeans. She saw that they were button fly and she knew to rip them apart. With his jeans open, she saw the outline of the bulge in his underwear. She reached in and rubbed it, cooing slightly at the size and feel of it.

He pushed his jeans to the floor and she sat there with his cock at eye level. She didn't make a move to remove the underwear right away, enjoying the sensation—and the tease—of rubbing it through his boxer briefs. When she leaned forward and rubbed her mouth against his covered cock, his knees got weak and nearly buckled. She wrapped her hands around him to cup his ass. Maybe to hold him up. Maybe to feel those firm ass cheeks.

He put his hands on her head and urged her face toward his cock. She smiled as she peeled his shorts down and exposed his hard cock, which sprang out at her. She had been waiting for this, among so many other sensations, for so long. She immediately licked his cock from balls to tip and down again. She pulled it down from its upward angle to aim it into her mouth. She loved the taste of it, fresh from the shower but already starting to get that sex smell. She worked the first few inches in and got them wet with her saliva. Her hand was wrapped around the rest, jerking it in a circular motion. He was in heaven when he looked down and saw her thick, flowing red hair bounce as her head bobbed on his cock. He reached down and cupped her breasts. He playfully twisted her nipples, not knowing that this sent an electric jolt to her pussy. She loved it.

She had previously had a boyfriend who wanted her to deep throat him, but she hadn't wanted to. She thought she might be able to, but she hadn't really liked him enough to try and they broke up shortly after. Now, she wanted to give B an experience, something that was her first. She took his cock in her mouth and started working it deeper. He immediately knew what she was trying and, as much as he wanted to, he didn't push; it was up to her how fast to go. She worked past the first few inches she had already sucked. His cock hit the back of her throat and her hand told her there was still plenty to go. How could she do it?

"Just relax your throat," he said gently. "Try to breathe with it back there."

She did relax, and once she discovered she could breathe a little she relaxed even more. Soon inches of his cock were disappearing down her throat. Before she knew it, her face was all the way to his pubic hair and he was going crazy.

He wanted to keep his cock still but the sensations were so amazing it took all his will power not to start fucking her throat. After a few seconds, she had to come up for air and his cock was covered with saliva. She looked so proud of herself and he told her how incredible it felt. That spurred her on to try it again, for even longer. They were both getting the hang of it and she liked the feel of her mastery over him.

He knew he couldn't take much more and reluctantly pulled his cock away from her mouth. He unsnapped the button on her shorts and undid the zipper. She helped him pull the shorts and panties down, exposing her trimmed pussy. The sparse red hair looked sexy and delicious, and he was determined to spend a long time dining on it. He laid her back against the back of the couch and got down on his knees between her legs. He kissed slowly up her left thigh and then her right. He hovered over her pussy and blew lightly against her pussy lips and exposed clit. She arched her back and tried to push her pussy at him. That was all he needed and he dove right in, licking and flicking and sucking on her lips and clit. He brought her to the brink of orgasm several times and backed off each time, until she was practically growling for release. Finally, he granted her unstated wish and ate her pussy to her first shattering orgasm. Her thighs clamped around his head when she came and he kept licking until her sensitivity grew so great she had to push him away.

When he looked up at her, her eyes were shiny with the heady combination of lust and love. She wanted sex but she wanted him, and he wanted her back. He stood up and his rock hard cock was positioned at the entrance to her wet, tight pussy. Her breasts were falling down the sides of her chest and he reached up and grabbed them, squeezing them together to lick both nipples in succession. Her back arched again.

"I don't have a condom..."

"I'm on birth control. It's Ok."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm so sure. Please. Don't make me wait any more."

He rubbed his cock along her pussy lips to spread them wide, and to wet his cock for its passage into steaming depths. She hunched forward to take the head in her, and she smiled when she felt it enter. He didn't need further encouragement and he drove it home, ultimately nestling deep inside her as their pubic bones touched and chests melted together. Her arms were around his back and pulling him tight as he began to thrust into her, more and more urgently.

They stayed like this for a long while, alternately looking in each other's eyes and unable to do anything but close their eyes to the passion they were both feeling. By unspoken acknowledgement, he pulled slowly out and looked at her. She kissed him and turned around on the couch. She kneeled on the cushion and put her elbows on the back of the couch. She looked over her shoulder at him and he smiled back at her, finally able to watch that wondrous ass without the barrier of clothes.

He moved up behind her and rubbed his cock again on her pussy. She pushed back while he pushed forward and he was instantly deep inside.

"God, I love doggy," she said, just as he was thinking the same words.

They settled into a fast but manageable rhythm. He was enjoying it immensely and didn't even think about it when he took his hand off her hip and slapped that amazing ass. He saw a light red mark flare up on her ass cheek and he wondered if he had hit her too hard.

"That felt great," she moaned. "Do it again."