Fall Semester

While his eyes watched the contour maps of the site taking shape on his screen, his mind's eye was filled with surprisingly accurate images of his lovely wife's body pulsing with orgasms beneath the powerful strokes of her older teacher.

In his mind's eye, he endowed Professor Fellows with a huge organ, much larger than it actually was. And his excitement, much like his wife's, was fueled at least in part by the thought of her purposefully betraying their marriage in order to sneak off and fuck the day away with another man.

He looked forward to seeing Carol tonight at home. Their love-making had tapered off in the last few years, and frankly had never been all that frequent or satisfying for either of them. But he perversely thought it would be fun to basically insist on screwing her tonight, knowing that she would probably be sore, tired, and wracked by guilt. He chuckled at the thought.

He didn't want to interfere with her affair, and he was almost certain that that was what was going on after what he saw last night as she was getting home after her "date" with her professor. He wanted her to have a good time, and he realized that a big part of that would be thinking that she was "cheating" on him, even though he knew what she was doing, or at least thought he did. Let her have her fun, it's what he would want if the roles were reversed, and if his sex drive wasn't so apparently weak.

Carol put herself together in Carl's office after their second time fucking. Carl found a roll of paper towels, and wet a few of them for them to use to clean up with, and had some aromatic lotion she could use to also help disguise the reek of sex on her body.

After they both got as clean as possible from this improvised sponge-bath, they got dressed and kissed rather chastely, and Carol slipped her coat on and left Carl's office to go to her car, her head awhirl with memories of her incredible day's adventure and the likelihood of more to come.

She was just starting to back her car out of the parking space when she was startled by a rapping on the driver's-side window. It was Carl, waving her forgotten wallet.

Carol wasn't expecting it. But Carl was.

In fact, he was counting on it. He had been down this road several times before, after all, and these things always took a certain course. It took a few weeks, but eventually they entered the next phase of their relationship, which to him seemed inevitable.

When Carol got home that Saturday evening after picking up John from his office, it became clear that John was unusually interested in having sex with her; she found herself still a little turned on from her earlier activities in the day with Carl, and was actually more than willing to enjoy John's unexpected advances. It was good with John, she felt, but it wasn't filled with the passion and the bitter-sweet taste of naughtiness that her experience with Carl had had.

But as usual, John was a gentle and considerate lover, and she was wracked with guilt and shame while they making love, her mind more on her earlier transgressions than on John's plunging penis. Still, she surprised herself by having an orgasm in the process. Carol was surprised, but John wasn't. He knew what was on her mind, and vicariously enjoyed the thought of her being used several times that day by himself and her college professor.

Carol felt flattered, actually, that she seemed sexy enough to two different men on that day to have them each swollen with desire for her body. And, although she didn't tell either of them, she was also quite relieved since she hadn't taken any precautions against pregnancy with Carl, and was careful not to take any with John, either. Now, should she actually become pregnant, it was perfectly plausible that the baby might just as easily be John's as Carls' Well, maybe not just as easily, but plausible all the same.

Carol was an English teacher, and words were her profession. She had always kept a journal, in which she recorded her thoughts and feelings. The events of her life didn't seem completely real to her until she wrote them down in her journals, and although she knew there was a little risk in doing so, when she got home, she dutifully wrote down what had happened to her last night and today in quite a bit of detail, including the unique experience of fucking three times in one day, and with two different men.

On the Tuesday following their weekend encounter on campus, Carol was extremely nervous. She had had a real soul-searching in the wee hours of Sunday morning, as she tried to get to sleep after making love to her husband. She realized that what she had done might be very damaging to her marriage, and could hurt badly many people she loved -- not only her husband and daughter, but her mother, and John's mother and father. The thought of the shame she would feel if what she had done was revealed was overwhelming, and she couldn't believe what she had let herself do. It was so out of character for her.

All during class, Carol couldn't meet Professor Fellows' eyes. Uncharacteristically, she didn't participate in the classroom discussion, and just quietly stared at her notebook, making copious notes. As the end of class neared, she began to gather up her jackets, purse, and books, eager to be among the first students to leave the room and not have to confront her professor afterward.

Carl could see that Carol was avoiding his gaze. He knew what she was going through ... he'd had a few uncomfortable "morning after" confrontations with female students before. But he guessed Carol was more ashamed and feeling guilty about herself than angry at him -- she was the kind of person that he knew would take responsibility for her own actions.

The professor could see that she was prepared to bolt out of the classroom as soon as he dismissed the class, and he certainly didn't want that. She was at a very vulnerable place right now, and he knew, if he was careful, he could exploit that in order to keep her coming back for more.

A couple of minutes before the scheduled end of the class, he summed up the topic at hand. "So, for Thursday, finish "Great Expectations," and read Chapter Seven in your texts, I think it's 'The Birth and Forms of The Modern Novel. I'd like to see Art Jester and Carol Kelly before you leave; the rest of you, we'll see you Thursday evening!"

Carol and Art Jester waited by the professor's desk while the other students noisily filed out. Carol was very anxious not to talk with her professor, but she didn't see how she could avoid it with the other student standing right there. That is what Carl had counted on.

Once the other students were gone, Carl said "Mr. Jester, I didn't receive the assigned paper from you last Thursday, and I see you haven't turned it in this evening, either. This isn't high school, Mr. Jester, so I'll not cajole you into doing your work for my class. If you don't want to be here, I'll simply drop you from enrollment. Is that what you'd like?"

"Oh, no, sir! I have just had a lot going on. I'll get the paper in to you by next time, for sure!"

"See that you do, Mr. Jester. I know you're taking this class pass/fail, but three missed assignments will make your failure a certainty!"

"Okay, Professor Fellows! I'll give it to you Thursday!" All the students in the class were young, but all were adults, generally in their twenties. Carol didn't know Art Jester, but right then, his body language looked more like one of her wayward junior high-school students. Jester made a quick exit, eager to get away from the embarrassment of being chastised in front of another student, especially, a cute young woman.

Carol still wasn't meeting Carl's eyes. "Carol, we need to talk, don't you think?"

"I don't know, Professor Fellows," Carol replied. It wasn't lost on Carl that she was using his title and last name now, trying to put their relationship back onto a more "professional" footing.

"Carol, we can't pretend that Saturday didn't happen. It did happen, and I for one found it delightful. I know you're probably having recriminating thoughts now, but we can't finish this class without resolving our feelings toward each other. Come with me over to the Student Union, and we'll get some coffee and talk this through. Believe me, we'll both feel better about everything, and I think I can set your mind at ease about what happened."

He used that phrase very carefully .. 'what happened' ... as if their steamy sex session was just an accident, a moment's bad judgment. It wasn't something 'we have done,' it 'just happened,' as if the event had a will of it's own, or it was an act of fate or even God's will. Carl knew Carol might be persuaded to think so. After all, losing her wallet in his car on Friday was the accident that had set in motion the occasion of the two of them meeting in his office when no one else was around, and then, one thing had just led to another. Carl would never tell her, of course, that he had slipped the wallet out of her purse on Friday evening for that very purpose. Everything was unfolding according to his plan.

They skirted around the issue on both their minds while they walked across the campus from the classroom building to the Student Union. They got their coffee; it was always served in paper cups, and Carl quickly grabbed lids, and said, "There's no privacy here, Carol. Let's take our coffees somewhere where we can discuss this confidentially."

Carol could see where this was going. She wasn't experienced in this sort of thing, but she was far from stupid, and could see that Carl was trying to get her alone again. She knew she shouldn't agree, but Carl was already on his way out the door with his coffee, and she followed along, wondering what she was doing and why. Her mind wandered to the exciting feelings she had experienced Friday night and Saturday, and she decided maybe she would defer a decision to walk away until she found out what her professor had in mind.

When they arrived in Carl's office that night, they spent no time at all discussing any of this, though. Carl took her coffee and set it with his on his big oaken desk. He placed his briefcase on the large conference table he had in the middle of the room, and took Carol's books to place there, also. Carol had just draped her jacket over her shoulders; Carl simply lifted it off her shoulders, and hooked it on his coat tree along with his own.

Consciously or subconsciously, Carol had dressed defensively that Tuesday night. She was wearing a pull-over cotton sweater and corduroy slacks, and of course, her practical flats. Under her sweater she had on a button-down chambray shirt and under that, her least-flattering wired-cup brassiere. Under her cords, she was wearing panty-hose and under them, large cotton "granny-pants." She was in a cocoon of clothing, her body isolated from the temptations of the world. But Carl Fellows was not so easily deterred. He simply started to peel away the layers.

Carl grabbed the bottom of Carol's sweater and tugged it upwards. This would tell him how the evening was going to go. When she lifted her arms to allow him to ease it off over her head, he had his answer.

Carl patiently unbuttoned the long row of buttons down the front of Carol's blouse. She looked down at his hands as if she were in a trance ... not helping, but not resisting, either. Carl carefully unbuttoned the cuff at each wrist. When he had the blouse entirely unbuttoned, he untucked the tail out of the waist of her cords and pulled it off. Here, perhaps unconscious of her action, Carol did help a little, shrugging a little to ease the blouse off of her arms and shoulders.

Carol expected now to feel the defenselessness of partial nudity, but Carl surprised her by bypassing her dowdy brassiere. He knelt down, and lifted her left foot, and gently slipped her foot out of its shoe. He repeated the process with her right foot.

From his knees, Carl unfastened Carol's stylish conch belt, unbuttoned the waist of her cords, and zipped down the zipper at the front. He gently tugged at the slacks, and they came down, at first binding around her knees, then, with his tugging insistence, all the way down to form a puddle of fabric at her ankles.

Carol looked down, and not really believing how far she was straying from her intention to tell Carl that there would be nothing more between them physically, she lifted first one foot, then the other so he could ease her slacks off of her legs. He threw them on the small pile of clothing accumulating on the floor in front of the desk.

Carol felt foolish standing there in her pantyhose and bra. Her hose had a small run on the upper thigh of her left leg ... that's why she reserved them for wear with slacks. She had hardly felt so ill-at-ease in her whole life as she did at that moment. And yet, paradoxically, she also felt excited and was beginning to feel that blossom of pressure and tingling in her breasts and between her legs that informed her that she was going from caution and reserve toward passion and abandon yet again here with her professor.

Carl surprised Carol again by standing and starting to remove his own clothes. He handed her her coffee, as if to say, "Relax and have a sip, while I get ready to ravish you again." Carol quickly drank her lukewarm coffee, wondering if she really needed the caffeine, considering how nervous she already was. While she drank it, Carl removed his shirt and tie, his shoes and socks, and his trousers. Now the two of them were standing there, facing one another in their underwear.

Carl reached over and tugged at the waist of Carol's torn panty-hose, pulling them down a couple of inches. "Take off your panty-hose, Carol," Carl directed her. He wanted her to participate in her own debauchery; he wanted her to signify not just that she would go along with what he wanted, but that she would act, too, to make it happen.

Carol rolled the panty-hose down to the crotch, then sat down on the old leather sofa and skinned the legs of her hose down her slender thighs and calves, and finally, off of her feet. She tossed them onto the pile of clothing, his and hers tangled together there on the floor of his office.

Carl just looked at her for a few seconds. Then Carol reached behind her back and unhooked her functional white brassiere. She knew that she wanted Carl to see her breasts again. She wanted his to touch them again. She wanted him to fuck her again, and she knew this wouldn't be their last time together here. She began to hope there would be many more.

When Carol tossed her bra onto the pile of clothes, he dropped his briefs down his legs and stepped out of them, leaving him completely naked, and with a protruding erect penis waving obscenely in front of him. He stepped toward the sofa and reached down to remove Carol's only remaining piece of clothing -- her dowdy white cotton panties. When he tugged at them, Carol lifted her hips up to allow them to slip down her slightly-parted legs. When they reached her ankles, she lightly kicked them off and across the room, where they landed n the table on top of their books.

Carl and Carol simply fell into each other's arms, kissing deeply and hungrily massaging one another's sensitive areas. Within moments of entering the office, they were both naked and sprawled on the couch in a sixty-nine position, making noisy oral love to one another, resulting in only a few minutes more in a satisfying climax for each of them.

Within a half an hour more, they were fucking furiously, with Carol kneeling on the couch cushion, leaning on the upholstered arm, her shapely ass raised up for her professor's use, while Carl, behind her, was pounding his swollen member into her sopping-wet cunt from behind (a position John never used) while he reached below her to grasp at her dangling tits and pinch her erect nipples. To be sure, Carl hadn't neglected to ask Carol, before they crossed over that threshold from petting to intercourse, to tell him again that she knew that what they were about to do was not love, but fucking, and she readily said the words. She added that this afternoon, before coming to campus she had inserted her diaphragm and spermicide, not knowing for sure whether she "would want to be fucked again by her professor."

Their fuck ended with Carl shooting his semen into Carol's juicy cunt, and he was excited enough to maintain his erection for the few more minutes it took for Carol to reach a thundering climax herself. Afterwards, they lay under the warmth of the afghan, cuddled together on the couch, their gooey crotches rubbing gently together in the afterglow and dripping cum onto the cracked old leather, while Carl absently toyed with Carol's lovely breasts.

Carol gathered up her clothes, and was startled when Carl produced a big thermos of warm water to bathe themselves with. She laughed at his impertinence, yet she was thrilled by the fact that he correctly assumed she would come to his office to have sex again this evening. She was so stimulated by the idea that he assumed he would be fucking her again tonight, and that he saw her as some insatiable sexual creature, that she attacked him, and they had a very vigorous and satisfying second fuck session, this time with Carol riding Carl's vertically erect cock while his hands, free from supporting himself, were busy mauling her breasts like he was kneading wads of dough.

Finally, they had had enough (for now), and Carol realized it was getting late ... maybe later than usual for her evenings at the college. They took a sponge-bath with the wash cloths and warm water from the thermos, and dried themselves on fresh towels Carl had brought from home for the purpose.

When Carol got home, she got out her private journal and wrote down everything she could remember about her exciting day.

For a while, Carol and Carl got on like gang-busters. Their relationship was almost like three separate relationships, each kept in its own compartment. This allowed them to keep up appearances and pretend (in Carol's case, even to herself) at least most of the time, that what they were doing was okay and just innocent fun.

In the classroom, Carl was every inch the wise older savant and counselor to his students, and gave Carol the attention she deserved in class, but no more. Carol was her usual academic self, which is to say, a terrific student and an enthusiastic, well-prepared, and intelligent classroom participant. She was earning a solid "A" in the class, and earning it entirely on her merits as a scholar, with no preference expected or given for outside influences.

In a social way, Carl and Carol became friends. They enjoyed each other's company, and spent many hours over the course of Carol's semester of recertification training batting about deep ideas and laughing over arcane trivia buried in old literature. They each wondered whether maybe they had stumbled into something more than just a casual affair. And it was here that Carl's proximity alarms started to sound in the back of his mind. It was time to put a little distance in between them, perhaps.

Physically, they were at first insatiable. Twice a week, the two of them would retire to Carl's office after class and pick up right where they had left off. Carol's journal entries were becoming extensive, and she enjoyed reading through them before hiding her little book away in her secret hiding place.

Whenever Carol was out of the house for a predictable hours or more, John would dig out her journal and read the latest installment of her wild affair with her professor. She was getting a major amount of sex two days a week (and of course, once on a Saturday!) Ironically, their married sex life had also improved; it was as if Carol's appetite for being fucked had been reawakened by her lewd sessions at the campus, and she couldn't seem to get through the days when she didn't go to school without some fucking. Even if it had to be with her husband. But John was glad she enjoying herself. He certainly was!