Thursdays 9/22

Last week:

When I arrived at home that first Thursday night, it was only when I greeted my wife as she reclined reading in bed that I realized the magnitude of what I had done. In fourteen years of marriage, despite an occasional temptation and a half-drunk making out featuring an unfinished handjob at a Christmas party, I had not actively considered cheating on her. But as I kissed her hello, hoping that no vestige of my earlier encounter remained for her to sense, it all came home to me. To my surprise, instead of feeling guilty, I felt liberated. There seemed no need at that moment for one to impinge upon the other. I saw at that moment no reason why I could not savor the memory of my encounter and still love my wife.

During the week, I resisted the urge to contact my classmate, to follow up and see if she would do what I had asked... demanded... of her. I was determined not to let the facade of cool I had erected crumble. So, on the day before class, I sent her an email with a two-word message, no signature:

Conference room.

* * *

I come to class early, so I can be waiting for her, watching her enter, seeing how things might go. While I wait, I engage in idle chitchat with my classmates and, when she arrives, it is all I can do to tell my interlocutor to shut the hell up so I can stare. She walks in like she owns the place which, as far as I'm concerned, she does.

My request has been granted; she wears a black skirt that hugs her hips and is tight enough that the apparent absence of panty lines sends blood rushing to my crotch. Her calves are muscular without being bulky, hallmarks of a runner born, a runner who might have trouble with the two-inch black heels she's wearing. Beneath the blue cotton top, her breasts bounce freely as she walks and I am struck by the notion that a thin layer of clothing is all that stands between me and her naked skin, skin I badly want to experience with my eyes, my hands, my mouth. Her hair hangs free, a wreath for her face, and I imagine it spread out across a pillow.

At no point as she crosses the room does she acknowledge me and, to my credit, my jaw does not drop. If I were to stand up and applaud, as I feel I should, I'm sure the rest of the room would notice my arousal. Thankfully, the situation does not call for that. When she sits, she finally turns her gaze in my direction, and the force with which it falls upon me is almost palpable. She does not smile, nor does she frown, she merely meets my eyes, holds them for a second, and then is gone.

The minutes until the break crawl by. Though I am engaged in the discussion, I am also painfully aware of her presence, of her compliance (as it seems) with my wishes, of the way she moves her arms and tilts her head as she speaks. As her lips move, it is difficult not to remember them pressed against my own and wrapped around my cock as she knelt before me in the darkness of the classroom. I find myself wondering how she remembers the experience, wondering if she is getting wet thinking about it as I struggle against a conspicuous erection.

When the break arrives, she is first to go and I feel the exhilaration and the despair of anticipation. I, too, leave and, oblivious to whether anyone is watching, I turn away from the body of my classmates, walk down the hall and around the corner to the conference room. The door is cracked open and, as I open it, she is slowly illuminated in the light of the hall. I step in and close it, so that her face is bisected by the sliver of light from the doorway.

There is no signal, no greeting. My mouth is upon hers, lips and tongue greedily seeking. She returns my kiss with equal ardor, insinuates herself against me. I raise my left hand to a breast, cupping it, weighing it, thrilling to the hardness of her braless nipple, which stands erect, as though straining for my touch. As I rub my thumb across it, she moans into my mouth and rubs my hardness. The breast becomes the center of my awareness, as I wonder whether I can make her come just by my attentions to it. Whatever I'm doing, it seems to be working as she desperately grinds against me; I'm in danger of coming myself.

Pulling away slightly, but continuing with the breast, I stick my right hand up her skirt. Her thighs are silky smooth and, as I trace one finger lightly up the inside, she moans ever so slightly. Goosebumps erupt in the wake of my touch which tracks higher until it reaches not the fabric of panties, but the wisps of her pubic hair. My finger seeks out her wetness, and she is sopping, finds her slit, and traces up and down, finding first her clitoris, and then the opening of her sex.

I slip my middle finger into her, sliding in and out, feeling her cunt pulse around it. Her breathing has become labored and I sense she is on the verge of an orgasm. Hoping to help her along, I seek out her clit with my thumb and, with a small amount of rubbing and the lightest of touches, I feel her tighten around my finger so much that I feel I will lose circulation. My mouth stifles her cries as her whole body tenses like a bowstring and then, the arrow flying, releases. Only then do I pause to look at her.

Her face, what I can see of it in the scant light is a mask of lust and, I daresay, of ecstasy. Her chest is heaving as she catches her breath. We stand there for a moment, wordless, looking. Then her hand is once again fumbling at my belt buckle, the button and zipper quickly undone and my engorged cock pulled free. I had no idea what to expect. My hope had been that perhaps I might get another magnificent blowjob. I was unprepared for her to hop up onto the conference table, hitch up her skirt, spread her legs and say "I want you to fuck me."

For a moment I am stunned. Then, "I don't have any protection."

"I don't care. Fuck me."

There was no thinking the matter over. I wanted her, had masturbated to the memory of her mouth on my cock and, yes, to the sweet dream of her silken cunt, for a week. I step forward to the edge of the table between her thighs and she takes me in her hand, guiding my tip to her entrance. Then she shifts her hips slightly and I am partially in. Her pussy is well-lubricated from our earlier activity, but it is still a tight fit.

As I push forward, leaning my weight into, I can tell she is slightly uncomfortable and I am again struck by the odd notion that I might somehow be larger than average. The discomfort is not an obstacle to her, however, and my efforts to alleviate it by entering slowly apparently not appreciated. She sits up as far as she can, grabs my ass, and pulls me all the way into her, snaking her muscular legs around me.

It takes all the reserve I have not to come immediately. She is snug and the warmth is incredible, and I can feel her squeezing along the complete length of my cock. Where our bodies meet, the point where the lips of her cunt gape wide for me and where my balls momentarily rest against her pubis, I can feel the line separating inside from outside; her grip on me feels tightest there. She shifts slightly.

"Sorry," she says," you're a bit bigger than I'm used to."

If anything, this sends more blood rushing and I feel my cock twitch inside her, bringing a smile to her face and another soft moan to her lips. I pull back, and feel her labia drag along my length, feel the walls of her pussy close on my tip. Then, as I am almost all the way out, I plunge forward, feeling her open to me, enjoying the gasp as I force myself--not harshly, not gently, but rather steadily--all the way into her. She seems to like this motion, the straight back-and-forth so I keep it up.

At first I hold her hips, but then I slide my hands up her slender torso, raising her top to reveal her breasts. The sliver of light cuts through one of her beautiful pink nipples, and I lean in to suck it, flicking it with my tongue, working the other nipple with my thumb, causing her to push even harder against me, holding on to my ass to keep from falling back to the table. Somehow I find the flexibility to keep pumping while I do this.

Without warning her orgasm is upon her. Her cunt squeezes my cock so hard that I worry about pulling out. But I stand straight up and continue thrusting into her through her orgasm as she lays back and lets me continue my assault. She seems oblivious to anything but my cock, and arches her back so high that it is a struggle to remain inside her. Then, as she subsides, my climax arrives. I grab her hips and literally shove myself fully into her and, in the little light, I see her eyes go wide and her mouth form a beautiful "O." I pour torrents into her and feel as though I might weep at the relief. A small cry that sounds in the silence of the room like a scream escapes her lips.

Afterward we relax there for a moment, my softening cock still inside her, in full awareness that we need to return to class and soon. We are both breathing heavily and will need a bit of work and a little coordination before we face our classmates. Then I withdraw, feeling her close behind me, hearing her sigh, dripping a small amount of semen on the table. Silently, we arrange ourselves so as not to give the appearance of two people who have just had sex.

As she begins to open the door I wrap on arm around her, drawing her to me, her back to my front, and I slide the other hand up her skirt, lightly rubbing once up the length of her slit. She leans her head back and moans as I plant a single kiss on her neck, her lovely neck that had so entranced me.

"Next week?" I ask.

"Of course."