Dr. Carolyn at The Moo Pt. 01

Winter in upstate New York can be cold, snowy, with icy sidewalks and bitter winds blowing across the barren hills. This Saturday was no different, and Carolyn Johnson, wrapped in her long wooden coat, hat, boots, scarf, and gloves cursed it. She trudged across the campus of Frelling University, intent on getting to Bernir library as quickly as the treacherous paths would allow.

She was a senior at Frelling, a prestigious university upstate, in the winter of 2005. Her goal this cold afternoon was the retreat of the top floor of Bernir, in particular, the George Moolic Norse Studies collection. She had come there to do research, or so she would tell anyone who asked, though she sincerely doubted there would be anyone to ask. But she knew her real reason was to distract herself from her thoughts which ran, as so often recently, to carnal thoughts.

A break-up with her hockey-playing boyfriend at Christmas has left her celibate and frustrated. Her body was aching for release - she could feel the painful rubbing of her cold nipples against her "FRELLING - DO IT!" t-shirt and the teasing little throb of her clitoris as the seam of her boy-short panties touched it. She needed some "playtime" and since her roommate's current fuck-toy was in town for the weekend, "The Moo" was her only option. If it was its usual empty self on a Saturday then it would be the perfect place for playing.

The ancient elevator took its time getting to the tenth floor, a square floor, window to the west and north, filled with bookcases and occasional tables and study chairs. In the middle were two largish conference rooms. Carolyn ignored them and headed for the northwest corner where a large, well-upholstered easy chair awaited her. It didn't have name on it, but Carolyn thought of it as hers. It was perfect for curling up in and day-dreaming.

"The Moo" was empty, silent, and Carolyn knew she wouldn't be caught. Half the campus was drinking, the other half was hung-over, and many were at the hockey rink, watching the Friars play. Carolyn would have been there, but seeing Arne play would only have gotten her hornier. God, he was a great player and a better fuck, but he'd grown tired of her conventional views on sex. After three years, he decided to try a new girl, and Carolyn was out his life. She sighed and settled into her comfortable chair, looking out over the barren, snow-blanketed hills. Closing her eyes, she settled into an equally comfortable fantasy of a man, definitely older, tall, gruff, strong, who was making her suck his cock, one hand in her hair while the fingers of his other hand teased her pussy through her panties. She slipped her hand down past the waistband of her pajama pants, sliding them down her boy shorts. Her other hand went to her t-shirt-covered nipples, beginning to circle them. Carolyn shifted again, sighing, drifting into her vision - the older man commanding her, forcing her to fellate him until he is erect, and then making her bend over his desk, jeans and panties on the floor. She could feel the force of his hand on her back, pressing her breasts into the warm oak of the desk, as he began fucking her, driving his hardness into her wet ...

What the hell! She heard a noise, almost human, a growl and then a soft moan. Carolyn, startled, rose and looked around. She hadn't seen anybody, so where did it come from? She moved silently, senses alert, and checked the stacks - no one there. She checked the conference rooms, and then the noise came again. A bit louder, clearly a female moaning. Carolyn edged around the corner and saw it.

A light shone from Conference Room Two. The window walls were usually hidden behind closed Venetian blinds, but today, the blinds were louvered open, open enough to see and be seen. Carolyn saw a woman, older than her 23 years, maybe 30-35, with short blond hair, The woman was looking out window, bent over at the waist. Her blouse was open and her breasts were hanging, pendulous, the nipples hard. Her skirt was rucked up around her waist, her legs spread. Behind her stood a man. Their pose reminded Carolyn of one the obscene carvings of men fucking that she'd read about in Icelandic sagas. But this carving was not still.

The man had the woman's ass-cheeks in his grip, spreading them, and he was obviously sodomizing her. The noise Carolyn had heard was from the woman. As Carolyn crept closer, she could hear her moans, driving the man on to fuck her ass, fuck it hard. Carolyn was stunned, dumb-struck, unaware of anything other than the scene playing out in front of her. Then there was a chair, and Carolyn was sitting in it, though she wasn't aware of having done so. Her pajama pants and boy shorts were around her ankles, kicked away, her legs spread wide, her own pussy exposed, the fur damp. The woman saw her and, looking straight at her, mouthed, "fuck it ... hard!"

Carolyn obliged without thinking, plunging her fingers, two, then three, into her vagina. The woman's moans got louder, "Fuck my ass, dammit! Make me cum!" And she came, while Carolyn strained to join her. Carolyn's eyes moved up and she saw the man - or rather his eyes. He stared into hers and he smiled, then commanded her, silently — CUM FOR ME! WATCH ME CUM! He pulled his cock out - his long hard cock. He stroked it obscenely, still looking at Carolyn - and orgasmed, his semen exploding all over the woman's ass - and Carolyn came too, biting her lips to keep from screaming. She closed her eyes, the release stunned her so, and then heard a door open and close.

The spell broken, Carolyn recovered her senses. She needed to get out, escape. She pulled on her pajama pants, grabbed her books, coat, boots, and purse, and fled the Moo, leaving her boy-shorts behind. That night, back in her now empty dorm room - her roommate gone to Syracuse with her lover - she relived the scene, this time with her favorite ass-plug taking the place of the lovely cock. It took her two or three hours of feverous masturbation to fall into an uneasy sleep and in the middle of the night, she saw his face, the piercing green eyes, the sensuous full mouth, the neatly trimmed beard, and she sat bolt upright.

The man, who now filled her dreams, was Dr. Rudy Cole, who she had for Saga Studies the semester before! And the woman was Dr. Birgitta Friberg, one of the Philology professors she saw every day. She knew that their fucking, their rutting, would fire her fantasies for the rest of the winter. She got through it, wondering every day what Rudy's cock would taste like, feel like ripping her virginal asshole open, as Birgitta whispered in her ear to fuck him hard, while she teased and taunted, pinching and pulling her cherry-pit nipples and bit her ears and her neck, marking her. She regularly came, calling their names, having the strongest orgasms she could recall.

But Carolyn was a pro and she worked with them both the rest of the term, fighting the urge to go to them and submit. But never did she think of them in the same way again. They filled her fantasies, right through graduation ... and beyond.