Yes Miss Murphy Ch. 01

My name is David Thompson. I teach math at Trentstown Community College, and have for 18 years now. I am 48 years old and the father of three grown children who are all married now and beginning families of their own. My wife Becky and I are now what you call "empty-nesters", and without our children around to keep us occupied, our life together had become pretty hum-drum. That is, until recently...

I must confess Becky and I haven't had sex in many, many years. We do love each other, and Becky is a wonderful partner otherwise. And of course we love our children and grandchildren, who continue to strengthen our emotional bond with one another. But there is no passion at all in our life. We don't even share common interests apart from family concerns. Becky comes home from her office job and makes us dinner. Then she watches TV all evening, and I read, or grade papers. We hardly speak. Then we go to bed. That's our life.

But my sex drive is still strong, and I do have an office at home where I sometimes watch pornography and masturbate after Becky is in bed. I suppose if I had to guess, Becky knows what's going on in there but would rather have me doing that than bothering her for sex. And at least I'm home.

About a year ago, though, I made a terrible mistake. I started an affair with one of my co-workers, Katherine Mullens. She also teaches math at TCC. As if it weren't bad enough to get involved with someone I work with, wait, you haven't heard the worst of it: Her husband is Randall Mullens. That's right, the academic dean at TCC. My boss.

Talk about stupid. But believe me, the affair wasn't my idea. Katherine is quite a hot-blooded woman, and she came on to me. I resisted as much as I could, but my sex-starved self was no match for her seduction skills. I guessed I rationalized what we were doing in every way possible: I certainly hadn't set out to find someone to replace Becky. Indeed, I would never leave Becky. Katherine was actually a GOOD choice for illicit liaisons since I knew she had no intention of leaving Randall, and she knew I would never leave Becky. Plus, if anyone found out about us, she had as much to lose as I did. So (I told myself) it was perfect.

I guess all Katherine wanted out of our dalliances was to feel the rush of doing something naughty behind her husband's back. We didn't have any "pillow talk" or any kind of emotional relationship. It was pure raunchy sex. She always initiated it, and we always did it in either her office or mine, at work. She would come find me, steal me away, and we'd lock the door to an office and quietly ravish each other, while people walked by in the hallway outside. If anyone knocked, we'd just freeze and be totally silent until they went away.

Katherine was so aggressive that I always just went along with whatever she wanted to do. Sometimes she would whisk me away just to suck me off, and we didn't even remove any clothing. She would just open my pants, blow me vigorously, and swallow every drop of my cum. Then we'd compose ourselves and go back to work. I must say, nothing brightens a teacher's mood than a blow job right before class.

Other times she yanked her panties to her ankles and had me get my head under her skirt to go down on her. She'd caress her breasts through her blouse, or thrust a hand under her bra, and pant as I licked for all I was worth. Then she'd send me away pitching a tent in my pants. Those times, I usually stole away to a restroom stall afterward, to jerk off into the toilet.

Now and then we fucked, but I could never last very long because I hadn't had intercourse in years and just wasn't used to that much stimulation. She didn't seem to mind, though; she liked it hard and fast, and she seemed to enjoy her power to make me lose control.

One morning it was just past 9:00 and I was in my office getting ready for my 10:00 class. Katherine slipped in without a word, closed and locked my door, and pushed my chair back a bit as she came between me and my desk. She smirked as she sat on the desk directly in front of me, pulled the front of her skirt up, slid her panties out to her knees, and then pulled my head forward. She obviously wanted me to lick her pussy, so I rolled my chair forward a bit, and dove in. She threw her head back and caressed her breasts as I ate her pussy, which smelled and tasted very strong that morning. "Oh yes," she whispered. "Keep licking. Ohhhh yeah. Mmmm, that's right. Get your tongue deeeep inside. Mmmmm." She pressed firmly on the back of my head, pulling me in tightly, as she kept telling me to get my tongue in deeper, deeper. Deeper.

"Mmmm, yes, lick and SUCK my pussy. Suck it, mmmm. Mmmmm, taste my pussy. Devour it. Suck it, David! Suck it. Lick it, get your tongue in deeper. Deeper!"

I was used to her being aggressive, but she was really in top form on this day. It was unusual for her to speak so much, and she seemed especially insistent on getting my tongue DEEP. Plus she was saying things like "Clean my pussy", which seemed to me an odd choice of words.

Her pussy juices seemed to be flowing much more than usual, as she was already quite wet from the moment we started, and even though she didn't seem to be spasming from orgasm, she was gushing into my mouth. She usually didn't have a very strong taste, but on this day she was very strong and salty.

When she was finally satisfied, she held my face in her hands and looked down at me, glowing. She was smirking, too, looking at my sloppy face, which was going to need washing before class. That's when she dropped a bomb on me. She said, "So David... how did you like being my little cum cleaner this morning?" I really didn't know what she meant by "cum cleaner", and I guess I just assumed she was referring to her own cum. So I said, "Mmm, you know I always love doing that for you, Katherine."

"Always? Why, what do you mean, David? That's the first time you've ever done it. But if you like it so much, you can always be my little cum cleaner."

I looked at her quizzically. What did she mean, it was the first time? I had licked her pussy dozens of times by then.

"David... Randall and I had sex this morning."

"Oh kayyy..." I still didn't get it.

"We fucked this morning, and then I got dressed ... without a shower. And came here. Do you get it?"

My face turned white. "You mean ... his ... um ... his semen was ... still inside you?"

"Yes."

"Augh! Are you serious? Ugh. Oh my god. Katherine. You had me go down on you with your husband's semen still inside you? Oh god, Katherine, that's disgusting!"

Katherine laughed. "Oh come on, David. There's nothing wrong with Randall's cum. He doesn't have a disease or anything. It's perfectly safe."

"That's not the issue. It's a man's ... um, it's ... eww! Augh. You had me ... um ... swallowing semen without me knowing. That's just wrong."

"I don't know, David, your dick seemed to be just fine with it until about 5 seconds ago. Well... we can talk about this later. You'd better wash your face before class. Wouldn't want your students to know you just came from cleaning up cum, hahaha." Then she sauntered out and closed my office door behind her.

I was pissed! I had great difficulty concentrating on my 10:00 class that day, because I was so preoccupied with the thought of having swallowed my boss's jizz. Yuck! I mean, being playful is one thing, and I appreciated that about Katherine, but this was like some cruel prank. So disgusting!

I avoided Katherine for the rest of that week, as I really felt quite humiliated by what she had done. I thought it best to allow myself to cool down before discussing the matter with her, because I didn't want her to get angry with me. I suppose this was when it first began to hit me just how reckless and stupid this affair was: I'd put myself in a position that if I ever displeased Katherine, and fell out of favor with her, she could make things very difficult for me at work. All it would take would be for her to put an idea in her husband's head that I was underperforming somehow. Then if Dean Randall Mullens started to give me a hard time, what could I do? Point the finger at his wife?

Well, for the next couple of weeks, every time I crossed paths with Katherine, she smirked at me without saying anything, and I awkwardly tried to avoid her gaze. We didn't speak, and she didn't try to pull me away for a quick tryst. At first I was very relieved that she was leaving me alone. But after a third week went by, and then a fourth, I began to feel a sense of dread that I had offended her. Plus I was beginning to miss our little escapades. The longer she avoided me, the more I fantasized about her. The fear and dread I was experiencing, over whether she was upset with me, and what she might do next, made me realize how powerless I was in this situation. Then I would think about her powerful sexuality, and her aggressive way with me, and my fear would morph into an obsessive horniness, and desire for her. I even started to fantasize about our last encounter, hearing her voice demanding me to get my tongue deeper, DEEPER inside her ... and "CLEAN MY PUSSY".

I found myself WANTING her to invade my office, TAKE my head between her thighs, and MAKE me clean her pussy again. Being suddenly cut off from Katherine made me realize how much I NEEDED her... I needed her to be part of my life, and if it meant cleaning her pussy of her husband's cum, then I would do it. Happily. Without complaining. Anything she wanted. Just so she would still be in my life.

Every time I tried to talk to her, she managed to deflect me. I couldn't call her on her cell phone because I didn't have the number. And I certainly couldn't call the Mullens home on the residential line, because what would I say if Randall answered? When I would call her office phone and she answered, she would act as though someone was there in her office and would respond inappropriately, as though she was fielding a business call of some kind. I would say, "Katherine, it's David. Can we talk?" And she'd say, "Oh, right, OK. I can e-mail that to you. Sure, no problem. OK, bye-bye now."

I didn't want to e-mail her because I wasn't sure how secure that might be. For all I knew, Randall might have access to her e-mail account. So I decided a good old-fashioned letter, in her department mailbox cubbyhole, was the best way.

If you thought the affair itself was stupid, wait 'til you hear what I did next. After writing Katherine a long letter apologizing for the way I had reacted, and assuring her that I would gladly satisfy any desires she had, including eating her husband's cum out of her pussy (yes, I actually put that in writing), I took a picture of my head from an angle above and to the side, with my tongue sticking out. Then I photo-shopped my head into an image of a woman with her legs spread, so it looked like I was going down on the woman. Then I made a print of the picture, and drew an arrow to my head with a black marker. Then I wrote, "Your little cum cleaner." I put the letter and the picture into a large manila envelope and sealed it with generous amounts of tape. I wrote "From DT to KM" in the corner. Then I used a red marker to write CONFIDENTIAL in large letters.

The next morning when I slipped into the math department lounge, two of my colleagues were there. One was making photocopies, and one was checking his mailbox. We made small talk, as I also checked my mailbox. There were a couple of flyers inside for textbook publishers. I pretended to look at them, as I waited for the room to be clear. I poured myself a cup of coffee, and plopped into a chair. I sipped my coffee and feigned great interest in the flyers. Once both of my colleauges left, I bolted out of the chair and rushed over to the mail cubbies. Quickly I unzipped the top of my briefcase and struggled to get the envelope out. If anyone walked in the door just then, they would see the envelope in my hand, and I didn't want anyone to witness that. I was paranoid. Nervously, I fumbled with the envelope, kept glancing at the door, and scanned the labels on the mailboxes until I found Katherine's. While still furtively glancing at the door, I reached with one hand to lift up the existing contents of the mailbox so I could hide the envelope underneath with the other hand. Then I covered up the envelope so it wouldn't be visible until Katherine took everything out of the box. Once the job was done, I stepped away from the boxes, took a deep breath, grabbed my coffee cup and exited the lounge.

Mission accomplished. Now all I could do was wait.

Probably all of us, at one time or another, have put our hearts on the line and completely bared our souls to a lover, only to get no response at all. A voicemail, a letter, even a heartfelt soliloquy delivered in person, answered with complete silence. Nothing is worse than having the injury of such implicit rejection coupled with the insult of being forced to IMAGINE the thoughts that surely must be going through the other's head, but being allowed no direct knowledge of them. As the hours passed that day, and I distractedly taught my classes and then worked in my office, listening for Katherine's footsteps, I wondered if this would be one of those excruciating snubs.

That night I couldn't sleep. I lay beside Becky and stared at the ceiling, filled with cold dread. Had Katherine found my parcel today? If so, why hadn't she come by to talk to me? Was it possible she never checked her box today? Maybe her habit is to check it first thing in the morning. Tomorrow is Friday, and I don't have my 10:00 class, so I was planning to work at home for a few hours in the morning, before going in for my 1:30 class. But maybe I'd better go ahead and go in early, so I'll be around if she looks for me.

The next morning, Becky was surprised that I was getting dressed to go to campus so early. I told her I had an early appointment with a student. "Oh. Well, that was nice of you to give up your Friday morning at home. I know how much you like to be able to work here when you can." If there was anything Becky appreciated, it was routines.

When I got to campus, I swung by the lounge to take a peek at Katherine's mailbox. It was empty. Now I knew for sure she had gotten the envelope, so it was only a matter of time before she responded. Rather than going directly back to my office, I decided to walk past Katherine's office so she would know I was on campus. The problem was, her office wasn't on the way to mine. So I went down one floor, walked the length of it, and then came back up to our floor so I could pass Katherine's office en route to mine. The door was open, and she was in, so as I passed I said, "Good morning, Katherine."

"Good morning, David."

Ah, good. Contact has been made. Of course, exchanging good-mornings was never out of the ordinary among any of the colleagues in the department, and even over this last month, Katherine and I had kept up such perfunctory greetings when others were around. But surely this morning would be different, as any moment now, as I continued down the hallway, Katherine was sure to say, "Uhhh, David! Could I talk to you for a moment?"

But she didn't. I continued on to my office.

As I sat at my desk, grading papers, I wondered if it was possible she still hadn't opened the envelope. Perhaps she just grabbed the contents of her box and thrust the stack into a briefcase, for examination later.

Shortly after 10:00, a figure appeared in the doorway to my office. "David?" came a female voice.

"Yes? Oh. Hi Mandy."

"Haha. Expecting someone else?" asked Mandy Murphy.

"No. Um. What's up?"

"Well, I just gave a test to my Math 190 class, and I was wondering if you could look at it and give me an idea how to grade it."

Ugh. Mandy Murphy. The newest instructor in our department. Fresh from a masters program and in her first year of teaching. You would think they'd have taught her the basics of assessment, and how to prepare lessons, and how to set policies ... you know, the fundamentals of teaching. But she was always coming by to ask my advice on things like this: How many points should I take off for this kind of mistake? How many questions on the test should be about that kind of problem? How much time should she spend in class on this topic? A couple of times she brought a copy of a test she planned to give the next day, and asked me to look at it and tell her if it was a good test. When I suggested some revisions, she said, "Oh, OK. Well, I'll send you the word document. Do you think you could make those changes for me and send it back?" Since I couldn't think of any way to refuse without sounding rude, I did what she asked... grudgingly, of course, and thinking, "Why can't you revise your own test!?"

Another time, she caught me in the lounge while she was about to grade a stack of tests. She asked for my advice on scoring, and then managed to talk me into grading a few myself, in front of her, while I explained to her how I was scoring them. Once she understood, she said, "Oh, OK. That makes sense. Well, here, since you're kind of on a roll now, why don't you do these, and I'll do these, and we'll get them finished up." Whereupon she handed me half the remaining stack, and obviously expected me to sit there with her at the lounge table and do her work with her. Once again, being completely taken off guard by such audacity, and a complete loss as to how to respond otherwise, I did it.

I was really in no mood for Mandy Murphy today, but I couldn't very well tell her to please go away, because I was expecting my lover, the dean's wife, at any moment. As I started to look at the test Mandy had given, she walked to my office door and closed it. I looked up, a bit surprised, as she turned the lock underneath the door handle. As she walked back toward my desk, she said, "Actually, David... before you look at that test, there's something else I'd like you to take a look at it." She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a plain file folder. She put it down in front of me, on top of her stack of tests, then sat sideways on my desk, looking down at me. She raised her eyebrows as if to say, "Open it."

When I turned the top of the file folder over to reveal its contents, all the color drained from my face instantly. There in front of me, was a photocopy of my letter to Katherine. I could see that there were also two pages underneath. When I looked at the second page, I actually gasped and put my hand to my mouth. It was a photocopy of the obscene picture of my head in a woman's crotch, with the arrow pointing from the description "Your little cum cleaner".

The third page was a photocopy of the manila envelope that had contained these very personal contents.

My mouth was dry. "Oh my god... Where did you get this?"

"Found it in my mailbox yesterday. I must say, I got quite a shock once I got home and decided to take a look at my mail."

Oh my god oh my god oh my god! I had put it in the wrong box!

"Oh god. Mandy. I am so sorry. That was not intended for you."

"Haha, oh, I can see that. It was intended for a Katherine M. I can only assume it's the same Katherine M. whose mailbox is right above mine. Tsk, tsk, tsk. My, my, David. Fooling around with the dean's wife. Using department mail to send her naughty pictures of yourself."

"Mandy..."

"Yes, David?"

"Uhhh ... Look... um, I'm very sorry that happened. Um ... obviously this is very personal. Um... Well, wait... didn't you see that the envelope said, 'To KM' on it?"

"Honestly, no. I didn't notice that. You wrote it so small. All I really saw was the huge 'CONFIDENTIAL' written on it."

"Um, well... Mandy... where is the envelope now? And, um..."

"The letter and the picture?"

"Yes."

"I have them somewhere safe."