tagErotic CouplingsFaculty-in-Residence Ch. 07

Faculty-in-Residence Ch. 07

byroberticus©

Part one

Waking up in Travis's room the next morning was beyond strange, though things grew far stranger between he and I in the days that followed. I'm not even sure why I want to tell you this part. I suppose it's because waking up in his bed was the moment when I crossed a different kind of threshold, not physical like the one I'd crossed with him the night before, but more . . . emotional, I guess you could say. I guess I just want you to understand the whole story, the whole . . . connection that developed between us, if that's the right word.

By the time I roused myself sunlight was already streaming around the floor-length curtains. "What time is it?" I wondered, blinking the sleep from my eyes. "And where am I?" I asked, silently, surveying my surroundings, still motionless on my side in the plush king-sized bed. I felt my stomach tighten. In my dream state I only knew three things with any certainty: that I was in a strange room, that I was practically naked, and that I wasn't alone. I examined the room slowly, my eyes adjusting. I saw the thick blue carpet, the dark wood dresser, the king sized bed with the paneled headboard, black and leather.

"Expensive," I thought to myself, "and . . . masculine. Definitely masculine." I thought I might be in some upscale, boutique hotel, the kind that caters to businessmen with a sense of style, ad executives or movie producers or that sort of thing. I couldn't be sure. But right away, even in my grogginess and confusion, my first reaction was that I . . . liked the room. It felt . . . right somehow. Luxurious.

I suppose it was partly because Travis's room looked like the nice hotels that Matthew and I splurge for, from time to time, when we travel for academic conferences. I think that was my first idea: that I was on a quick, romantic getaway with my man. Looking back on it I realize that's why Travis made such an effort to furnish his room so tastefully ("you'd swear a gay guy lived there," said Lacey, the first time she described it). He wanted the ladies to feel comfortable staying the night, and staying a while in the morning too, like they were treating themselves to a vacation.

From my yoga practice I've gotten in the habit of beginning every morning in the same way by scanning my body when I first awaken. So that's what I did, by reflex really. I stretched my arms above my head, long and slow, and breathed in deeply, savoring the feeling of the silk sheets on my naked flesh, against my breasts and bottom as I arched my back. I started at the crown of my head, like always, and scanned downward slowly, noting the sensations. By the time I reached the soles of my feet I knew two more things for certain. I knew that I had slept deeply and soundly, and I knew that the night before I had been fucked VERY hard. I could tell by my sore nipples and by the dull ache between my legs, not unpleasant at all.

It wasn't until then that I saw it. The thick forearm, tan and muscled, encircling my slim waist, my black party dress still bunched around it.

I suppose it must have registered, in some dim, half-conscious way, that it wasn't my husband's arm. That it was Travis's arm. But one of the really weird things about that morning was how, well, . . . NORMAL it felt, at least at first. How it STILL felt right, even as the realization dawned, however vaguely.

It's true that I was still half sleeping, sure, but it was more than that, if I'm honest. I suppose it was something about how, well, accustomed to it I was by then, in a certain sense. After all, my husband Matthew and I had been role-playing the situation for months. Maybe three times a week, sometimes more, I'd been waking up naked in "Travis's" arms, well rested and well fucked. It felt like I'd crossed over some invisible boundary and found myself inhabiting the fantasy that my husband and I had concocted together, the one that gave us such pleasure for a time. I felt . . . happy.

It seemed perfectly natural, in a way, to nestle against "my man," smiling inwardly as I pressed him with my bottom. I felt his cock swell a little between my warm cheeks, still glazed with his sperm. I could smell it strongly, wafting up from the cocoon our bodies made beneath the white, silk sheets.

What happened next was practically automatic. You have to understand. Morning sex had become part of the game between my husband and I. Part of how Matthew played his part as the insatiable frat boy who could go all night and still be ready for action at first light, mad for the hot, toned, curvy little body of his 30 year old professor who seemed kind of square on the outside but inside was a fiend for sex.

I loved being wanted like that by my husband, and I suppose my body was just going through its habitual motions. I suppose I was just playing my role too. I felt that familiar sense of moisture and heat between my legs, and that tingle in my stomach and chest, and before I could think I parted my legs, and reached my hand back between them, groping for his shaft. I'd done it just that way on dozens of mornings in the last few months, pretending with Matthew: closing my fingers around "Travis's" cock and stroking him slowly as he stirred from sleep.

I guess I must have realized, in some dim way, when I felt him in my hand. But as crazy as it seems it STILL felt normal. He was only half erect, you see, and I wasn't REALLY awake yet. So what happened next was automatic too. I explored him for a while, his ridge and crown, and then I held him by the base and positioned him just how I wanted. Then I closed my thighs around him, wet and glistening.

It felt delicious, at first, just sliding against him and sliding against him, his arm wrapped tight around me as I drifted in and out sleep. I was looking forward to one of those long, slow marathon sessions that Matthew and I would have some mornings, just laying on our sides. I love spoon position, don't you? I know there's no eye contact or anything, but still, I find it very . . . intimate. How your man cradles you with his whole body, stroking and kissing and caressing you all over as he fills you from behind. How it takes him FOREVER to finish and he gets kind of frustrated, sometimes, because he wants to fuck me harder but the tension just makes him more and more ardent, and makes me hotter and hotter. If he plays it just right (with his finger on my nub) I can have a long series of orgasms, deep in my core, cresting from one to the next.

I kept picturing it in my mind as I "stroked" him with my sex, dripping with anticipation. And then before I knew it I raised my upper leg just a little bit higher, and wrapped it behind him. Then I reached for him with my hand, and gripped him by the base, and guided him to my "lips," slowly, so as not to wake him.

I don't know how long I lay there that way . . . letting "Travis" spoon me . . . exploring my labia with his rubbery crown . . . probing myself softly . . . shallow at first . . . but then a liiiiiitle deeper . . . teasing myself . . . delaying the moment that I always love best . . . that first full plunge that makes my stomach drop.

I remember thinking to myself, still foggy with sleep, that Matthew and I needed to have a serious talk about birth control because I'd been off the pill for months and we still hadn't settled on a new method. Plus, we were getting seriously addicted to "doing it" raw. I remember thinking that we'd do it one last time and make sure to really enjoy it. After all, we were on vacation.

But after a while things started to feel very wrong. "Travis" was maybe an inch inside me, maybe more, when I realized. What finally made it click was that the longer I kept teasing him the longer and fatter and harder he grew, until he was longer and fatter than my husband had ever felt before. At first I told myself that he was just VERY excited, smiling wickedly as I circled my pelvis, slathering him with juices. It made him harder and thicker and longer still and then I looked down between my legs and the truth hit me square in the face.

It all came back to me in a terrifying rush: where I was, and how I got there, and the fact that my marriage was practically in ruins. I lay stock still, paralyzed with confusion, as all these intense thoughts and emotions started welling up, vague and indefinite, from deep down where I'd buried them the night before. The jealousy and hurt and terror when I remembered that Matthew was probably in bed at precisely that moment with the amazing Claire Diamond, naked and spooning in the swank hotel in Los Angeles. My resentment at Lacey for the way she'd conspired to seduce me. And my disbelief that the night before, in my pain and vulnerability, I'd finally broken down and given to Travis what he'd been "working" me for since the beginning of the semester. That I'd stripped for him, and spread my legs, and let him slide his big, stupid, beautiful cock inside me and screw me with it until I bubbled over, twice, the first time on my back with my breasts bouncing wildly, and the second time on my knees while I worked my tail for him, my skin burning with shame.

But the strangest thing of all about that morning was that all the while, as I rode that weird, nightmarish roller coaster of poisonous emotion, I was still holding Travis inside me. The REAL Travis. And at some point, probably when I remembered the details of the sex, I'd started moving my pelvis again, unconsciously, in tight circles.

I know you're probably judging me now. But you have to understand. It was the worst moment of my life: the guilt and the fear and most of all the anger at my husband. I felt like dying. I would have done anything to make the roller coaster stop, for even a moment or two of pure, sweet oblivion.

And then I realized, as crazy as it sounds. I had just what I needed, right where I needed it. In a sense I'd been using sex and orgasms that way for weeks, for distraction and selfish pleasure as Matthew and I grew farther apart. I guess that seemed normal too. Plus, by that point I was starting to fixate on Matthew and Claire and what they might be doing in California. I guess part of me was craving revenge.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes (the room felt like it was spinning) and prepared myself for the long, slow plunge of my hips that would take Travis inside me. I won't deny that it excited me: the difference from Matthew. I won't deny that I was curious to feel it again, stretching and filling.

It's ridiculous, of course, the way that people go on and on about the sizes of cocks and about how being penetrated by an especially big one is the be-all-end-all of a woman's existence. It's sheer stupidity how much meaning people give it. Guys especially, but lots of ladies too. But isn't it just as stupid, when you think about it, to pretend that it has NO meaning at all? That it doesn't make a difference, physically and mentally?

The fact that Travis was hung wasn't the only reason that he'd "scored" me at the party, and dominated me in his bed. It wasn't the only reason that I'd come on his cock. But it was PART of the reason, I reflected, still circling my hips, preparing for his entry. It's been said that the brain is the body's largest sex organ, and, as much as it burns me to admit it, the fact is that, for me, a cock like Travis's can be a mental turn on. Some of you ladies out there must know what I'm talking about: how the sight of a big penis can fill you with expectation, and a little fear too, maybe, before foreplay even begins. How once the sex starts there's something mind-blowing about the thrill of accommodating a big cock inside you. It's like . . . I don't know . . . it's like you come with your mind at the idea of it, even before you come with your body. That's part of why I fell in love with my husband, really. He's fairly well endowed himself, and fairly confident in bed.

I kept my eyes shut tight and focused on the sensation of my wet walls loosening around Travis's crown, my oils dripping down his veiny length. I tried to relax my stomach muscles, jittery with expectation.

And then suddenly my phone rang—Matthew's ring tone—from my handbag on the bedside table. I was so startled I practically fell out of bed, reaching for it frantically. As soon as I found it I turned it off and lay right back down on my side, my heart pounding. I wanted to stay as still as possible to make sure that Travis wouldn't wake up, if he hadn't already. I knew what I needed to do now. I needed to go home and talk to my husband.

I surveyed the room quickly and spotted my bra and panties on the carpet. I remembered that I'd dropped my wig and shades in the living room and that I'd need them as a disguise for my "walk of shame" back to the faculty apartment. I had just started to ease myself from bed when I felt Travis stirring.

"Hey there beautiful!" he crooned, his voice husky with sleep. His arm was still wrapped tightly around my waist.

"Hey there," I replied, too surprised and confused to say anything else. I wasn't sure how to play things, now that Travis was awake.

But Travis knew just how to play it. It wasn't two seconds before he made his move. I felt his lips on my neck, warm and full, as he pressed close against me, still rock hard from my ministrations. I felt his hand move to my stomach.

"Was I dreaming or we just about to have sex or something?" he asked, his cock between my cheeks now as his fingers trailed lightly down my abdomen.

"I think you were dreaming," I responded, still playing for time.

"It didn't feel like a dream," he countered, kissing me again, just behind my ear lobe, his fingertips weaving through my dark curls.

"It must have been," I shrugged, trying to squirm away from him.

All the touching and kissing was starting to get very distracting. I'd made up my mind to go straight home, but my body hadn't gotten the message. I was practically on fire.

"Then why is my cock all wet?" he asked, thrusting gently between my cheeks, still greased with my fluids.

I have to admit it felt wonderful. I felt his hand trailing upward now, toward the bottoms of my breasts. I felt his lips tight on my neck, and then his slippery tongue. I knew I had to act fast or I was in real danger of succumbing to what we both wanted.

I decided to be straight with him. I'd realized by then that we needed to part on good terms. Now that I was fully awake I was starting to panic a bit. I could get fired for sleeping with a student! Not to mention the humiliation if anyone found out. I needed Travis to understand that what happened between us needed to stay between us. I couldn't just blow him off and risk incurring his resentment. Eventually he and I would need to have a good long talk, preferably with our clothes on. We were going to have to stay . . . friends.

"I . . . I'm sorry Travis," I told him, as sweetly as I could, still cradled in his body. "I didn't mean to tease you. It's just, well, my husband called so I . . . changed my mind. I need to go home, okay?"

"I don't think that's what you need," he countered, not missing a beat, pulling me back to him as I moved to slip from the bed. "I don't think that's what you need at all."

"What do you think I need?" I asked, letting him hold me close. I could see now that I was going to need to play along a little. It was only fair. He was just a college kid—a frat boy!—and he must have been feeling VERY aroused by the little "thigh and lip tease" I'd just been giving him. That's what Matthew calls it, and it always drives him wild with lust. He usually ends up practically "raping" me afterward, which I kind of love.

"I think you need to keep that hot, little body right here in my bed," he purred in my ear, the back of his hand brushing my nipple. "I think you need to keep it here all morning so I can treat you the way you deserve."

I can't pretend the idea wasn't tempting. Besides, I've already told you about my sensitive nipples. How Matthew calls them my "fuck buttons." I think Travis had my number by then. I shuddered all over as he kept brushing them, and brushing them, from left to right and then right to left, over and over, sucking and kissing and biting my neck.

"Besides," he purred again, his mouth covering my ear. "I think technically you're still my girl."

I felt that same weird thrill from the party the night before. I don't why know the fantasy had such a powerful effect. The idea that I "owed" Travis something, that he'd "earned" my company in his bed, with his protection at the party, and now the question of whether we had sex or not was beyond my control.

"How's that work?" I asked him, laughing and wriggling against him, forgetting myself for just an instant.

"Didn't Lacey tell you?" he asked, his cock snaking between my buttocks as his hips started into motion, subtly, sensing the moment. "When a brother takes you to the end of year party then you're his girl all weekend."

"All weekend, huh?" I replied, my skepticism plain, still squirming against him as he tickled my belly and sides.

"ALL weekend," he insisted. And then he made his big move.

I should have seen it coming. I guess I was rusty. It had been a LONG time since I'd woken up in bed with a player like Travis. Before I knew it his hand was cupping my chin and he was tilting my face back toward him and the next thing I knew he was kissing me full on the mouth.

I was too off guard to do anything but follow his lead.

Our mouths were wide open, and our eyes too, and our tongues were snaking languidly, twining and probing. And all the while his left hand was travelling, slowly and surely, up my tight belly, and across my ribcage, toward my ripe, full breasts that he could never get enough of: his left hand working upward from my waist while his right hand reached downward, my head resting on his bicep. He must have slipped his arm beneath my neck while I was distracted by the kissing, by the surprise and pleasure, and by . . . his beauty really. Our eyes were still wide open and locked together, drinking in each other's gazes. There's no shame in telling you. Travis was the most beautiful guy I've ever slept with and it felt good to be wanted by him. To be wanted badly.

"That's my girl," he breathed, huskily, into my open mouth, his big hands full on my breasts, kneading them, his fingertips pinching my nipples, rolling them softly. "That's my girl," he breathed again, his brown eyes playful.

"I don't think I'm your girl anymore," I gasped, our eyes still locked and our lips pressed tight to each other's in a big, round O. I don't know whether I was flirting with him by this point or trying to resist.

"How come?"

"Because of what happened last night," I answered, groaning as he flicked my nipple.

"What happened last night?" he asked, his left hand trailing downward, lazily, across my ribs and stomach muscles, tensed now as I pressed back against him, his cock sliding between my cheeks.

"You know," I told him, blushing.

"Tell me."

"Because . . . you already fucked me," I told him, turning fiery red. "You already fucked me last night, so I paid you back, so I'm not your girl."

"And did you like it . . . when I fucked you?" he asked, caressing my thighs as we kept kissing and kissing, our tongues picking up pace.

"Yes," I gasped in his mouth, not even thinking.

"Is that why you were playing with my cock this morning. Because you liked it so much?"

"Yes," I gasped again, nodding slowly.

"And is that why you're going to fuck me now?"

I hesitated, poised at the precipice.

"Yes."

"That's my girl."

That weird thrill again at the thought that he "owned" me, that he possessed me somehow, turning me to him. I stole a quick look downward and watched it happen. He pressed his left hand firmly to my thigh and then raised it slowly, guiding my calf behind his buttocks, spreading me wide open.

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