Helping Hand

"Oh."

"He says I hurt his feelings."

"I see."

"It's like he hears my request as an attack on his manhood or something."

I nodded. "Yeah."

"And with him, the only position is him on top of me."

"Missionary."

"Yeah. If I say I want to be on top for a change, or have him fuck me from behind, he accuses me of being some kind of pervert or something."

"Hmmm."

She laughed. "I'm sorry. You're my creative writing professor, not my therapist."

"That's okay. It's good you're aware of your needs--what you like and don't like. I think that sensibility comes through in the two stories I read."

"Thank you. I can't tell you how much I appreciate you. I love your class, Larry. I'm really learning a lot."

"Glad to hear."

"So...not to pry but, it sounds like you're not in a good situation with your wife?"

I thought for a moment. "She's having an affair with someone at her work."

"Shit!"

"Exactly."

"What are you going to do?"

"We've been drifting apart for several years. We actually haven't, you know, we haven't--"

"--fucked?"

I chuckled. "I don't know why I suddenly feel a little awkward."

She uncrossed her legs and moved her chair closer to mine. She put both of her hands on my knee. "I think we're both after the same thing, Larry."

I suddenly felt foolish. And extremely aroused. Unless I was grossly misreading this exchange, Bethany was offering herself to me. In my years at the University, I'd had a few liaisons with students, but they'd occurred ages ago and I'd been the pursuer. Now the tables were turned, and I wasn't sure how to behave.

Perhaps sensing my discomfort, Bethany removed her hands from my knee. "So what did you think of the other story?"

I pulled her manuscript out of my briefcase. "I enjoyed it, lots of nice detail and wickedly good sex."

She giggled, crossed her legs and pressed them together.

"I've marked three passages I'd like you to read out loud if you would."

She leafed through the manuscript until she found the first checkmark. "Okay. Here goes."

'No,' she said, her heart pounding in her ears. 'I want to do it.' He took off his hands from his belt and raised them over his head. 'Okay.' Excitedly she unbuckled the buckle and then unzipped his zipper and then slid his trousers down past his knees. Then she reached into his underpants and took out his huge cock, carefully stroking it. 'Do you want me to suck on it?' she said.

She made an exaggerated pout when she finished. "You had me read the paragraph right before the good part."

"Oh?"

"Where she lets him come in her mouth."

I forced myself to maintain a professorial demeanor, but couldn't help cracking a small grin.

She leaned closer to me. "Did you like that scene? Where she sucks him off?"

"I did. I liked the detail you used, and the dialogue."

She put her hand on my thigh. "I don't know if I should tell you this or not, but that scene is based on me and a previous boyfriend. It's pretty much what happened between the two of us. Him finger-fucking me while he came in my mouth."

"I guess that explains why it seems so realistic."

"I don't know what happened to my current boyfriend. I swear I really don't. We used to have fantastic sex, no holds barred. Then he got religion and all of a sudden almost everything we used to do he now considers sinful."

I nodded.

"I mean he won't even let me suck his cock anymore. Can you believe that?"

I tried my best not to think about Bethany sucking my cock. But it was difficult not thinking about it with the erection I had at the moment which, by the way, Bethany had gleefully noticed. She gave me a wicked grin and I half expected her to ask me if I was a 'hard' or 'soft' man when it came to having my cock sucked.

It was my turn to say something in response. All I could manage was a feeble nod of the head.

She unfolded her legs and spread them apart. "Did you and your wife ever have good sex? Like when you first started dating or something?"

Fucking my wife was the last thing I wanted to discuss with Bethany. I wanted to talk about getting her into bed with me. That said, if describing how Lynn and I used to fuck would get Bethany to take off her panties, I'd talk until the cows came home.

"We were never passionately in love. I mean it was more a comparison contrast thing. 'She's better than this other woman I used to date, and I'm probably not likely to attract anyone better' kind of thing."

"That sounds so cold!"

"I guess, but that's how we were. We each had certain needs that the other could satisfy."

"Wow! I think that's more like what you'd do if you were shopping for a refrigerator or something."

"Yeah. You're probably right."

"I want to passionately fall in love with someone. And I want him to passionately fuck me and suck me and lick me. And I want to passionately make love back to him, suck his cock, jerk him off, have him come on my tits or in my mouth or ass or wherever and--what's wrong?"

During her speech, my cock had leaked pre-ejaculatory fluid. I could feel it. If I allowed Bethany to continue talking like this I'd probably have my first hands-free orgasm. "I think we're veering a little bit from the task at hand. Did you want to discuss your story?"

She blushed, swept a strand of hair from her face. "Of course. I'm sorry. Where were we?"

"The first paragraph that I marked?"

"Right. Do you want me to read it again?"

"That sounds like a good idea."

"Okay." She picked up her manuscript.

'No,' she said, her heart pounding in her ears. 'I want to do it.'

She stopped. "That doesn't sound right. Does your heart pound in your ears?"

"I think the common expression is pounding in your throat or chest."

"Yeah. That makes sense."

She went back to her story. 'He took off his hands from his belt and raised them over his head.'

Again she stopped. "That doesn't sound good either, 'taking off his hands?'"

"What would you say instead?"

***

The next day, Friday, was a day off for me. I usually spent it at home working on my novel.

In the middle of breakfast, I received a text from Bethany: r u free later?

For the record, I put my cell number on the syllabus I gave to my students.

I suddenly became aware of my heart pounding.

Hands shaking, I typed my reply: Sure. When?

A few seconds later she replied: PM 4ish? your office.

A little strange, I thought, to want to meet so late. My mind began to race with thoughts concerning what she wanted to discuss. Another story, perhaps? A rewrite? On Fridays the office secretaries left at two. Nobody in our department taught on Friday afternoons.

I replied: OK.

She was sitting on the floor, leaning against my office door, when I arrived a few minutes before four. She had on a long trench coat.

"There you are," she said, rising and picking up her backpack.

"Have you been waiting long?"

She shook her head.

I unlocked my office door and stepped back to let her in, catching a whiff of lemon in her hair. I was ready to sit at my desk when I noticed her still standing by the door.

She returned my puzzled look with a mischievous grin. Slowly closing the door, she said, "Is this okay?"

It was my practice to keep the door open when I conferred with students, especially female students. But at four o'clock on Friday afternoon with nobody around, the issue was moot.

"Sure."

After closing the door, she locked it.

Bethany returned my surprised look with that same mischievous grin then headed for the work table. Placing the backpack under her seat, she slipped out of her coat and gave me an amused smile as I ogled her outfit: a long-sleeved notched neck knit sweater and high waist corduroy shorts.

The sweater exposed the top third of her breasts, the clingy fabric stretched over her nipples in a way that advertised she wasn't wearing a bra.

As I took the chair next to her, I couldn't help myself. "Wow! You are a sight!"

After giving me a self-satisfied smile, she scooted her chair towards me until her knees brushed against mine. Looking into my eyes, she rounded her shoulders, leaning forward to present more of her breasts.

Then, before I knew it, she kissed me on the lips. It lasted barely a second, just enough for me to register her lips' softness--and to detect alcohol on her breath.

"Have you been drinking?"

She opened her backpack and took out a bottle of Baileys Irish Cream, coincidentally my favorite bedtime drink when I want a nightcap.

At the moment, however, the cravings of my mammalian brain were superseded by concerns generated in the more advanced areas of my cerebral cortex. Turning off thoughts about boobs, I considered my present situation vis-à-vis Bethany and the potential catastrophes that could cascade down on me. Let's see: the bottle of Baileys, presently resting on my office floor, was in violation of a campus-wide ban on alcohol.

Additionally, I had a female student locked in my office--strictly speaking not in violation of anything, but still a situation that could come back to, if I may be permitted a technical term, bite me in the ass.

And as if that were not enough, I was nursing a California-sized erection as the female student, with a bottle of thirty-four proof Baileys, and I did a seductive dance together, both of us signaling our desire for some sexual hanky-panky.

So far as I know, nursing a California-size erection did not violate any University rule or policy. But I had to consider the proximity of the Baileys to the female student and the erection. I came to the following realization: assembled within two feet of where I sat were all the ingredients necessary for one helluva firestorm.

Bethany undid the cap on the Baileys and handed me the bottle. I judged it to be two-thirds full. I handed it back without taking any. She took a swallow, recapped the bottle and set it on the floor.

Before I could speak, she slipped to her knees, leaned against my thighs and gave me a teary look. "My boyfriend broke up with me this morning."

"I'm sorry," I said, reaching for her hands to help her stand. But she remained on her knees, clutching my legs.

I waited for her to say more.

"I moved into his apartment the middle of last semester. We were going to go to the landlord to get my name on the lease next week."

She looked at me, waiting for a response and when I remained silent, she continued.

"I showed him one of my stories. I knew he wouldn't like it, but I was curious what reasons he'd give."

"What did he say?"

Her shoulders shook as she issued a bitter laugh. "That I was a worthless slut for writing such filth. That I was a pervert and that he found the story quote unquote repulsive. And that I was no doubt going straight to hell for writing such crap."

Bethany remained on her knees. I patted her shoulder as a way of showing I was on her side. "Sounds like things he's said before about your writing."

"Yeah. But then came some new things. He said we were through. He's working eight hours today and when he gets home at six he wanted me gone, including all my stuff.

"So you moved out?"

"I've never seen him that angry. He was yelling and screaming. Right before he left for work he threw a coffee mug at me. It made me really scared."

I rubbed her shoulder for a few seconds. "So where are your things?"

"I texted you about a half hour after he left for work. I was a mess." She started crying, but spoke through her tears. "I spent the rest of the day packing my stuff. Everything's in my car."

"Where did you get the Baileys? You're not twenty-one, are you?"

"I'm twenty-four, Larry," she said with a flirtatious smile. "I'm a big girl!"

"Oh."

"It was in the apartment. Brad doesn't like it."

I tried not to cringe when I heard the name. "Your boyfriend's name is Brad?"

"Yeah."

I didn't tell her that was the name of my wife's lover.

I gestured for Bethany to continue.

"You don't need to worry, I'm not an alcoholic or anything but once in a while I like a sip. I like how I feel afterwards."

She rested her head on my lap, closed her eyes and cried softly. I found myself instinctively stroking her hair. My erection was literally causing my cock to ache.

I took a swig of the Baileys myself. It had been a while. The familiar taste of cream and chocolate followed by the burn and then a warm glow that permeated my body.

Bethany's crying morphed into sniffling and soon she let me help her to her feet, putting her arms around my waist, her head nuzzled against my sternum.

She started to cry again. "Would you please hold me?"

I gave her a firm hug.

She pointed to the small leather couch near where we stood. "Could we sit over there?"

***

Sharp neck pain woke me. I lay on the couch, on my back. Bethany lay on top of me, one leg between mine, head resting in the crook of my neck. My head at an awkward angle to the arm rest. The cause of the pain.

Without disturbing Bethany there was no way to right myself. For reasons unknown, I felt I shouldn't disturb her and then promptly, albeit absentmindedly, stroked her hair, savoring its scent which to my surprise began working as an aphrodisiac.

Bethany moved her head to kiss me. Our tongues lazily explored each other's mouths. She moved her thigh slowly across my crotch--back and forth, back and forth.

She yawned. "I like it when you play with my hair like that."

After several failed attempts, I wrestled my phone from my pant pocket.

"What time is it?" she said.

"Six fourteen."

"My boyfriend's home from work, I guess."

There were no new messages from Lynn. I scrolled through our last exchange which had been on Tuesday:

LYNN: out of town fri -mon.

LARRY: ok

"I need to pee," Bethany said.

I pointed to a door a few feet from the couch.

"Are you serious? Your own private bathroom?"

When she returned, I was sitting upright on the couch going through emails. Wanting to finish the conclusion of a memo from the instructional dean, I ignored Bethany as she climbed onto my lap, straddling me. Once finished, I put down my phone.

Her puzzled look confused me. I followed her eyes down to my lap as she pressed herself against my fading erection. Only then did I see her shorts folded next to me on the couch.

"What's this?" I said, as if I had no idea, as if I hadn't wanted something like this to happen.

She hopped off my lap and did a slow pirouette. Her bikini style panties clung to her like a second skin, covering a third of her ass cheeks, dwindling to a narrow elastic band at the sides, and then dropping to a small cloth triangle in front.

She moved her hips side-to-side and then thrust them towards me. Holding on to either side of the cloth triangle as she danced, she slowly lowered it to show me the top of her trimmed pubic hair.

"Fuck," I moaned, surprised at hearing my own voice. A nickel-sized wet spot appeared in the crotch of my khakis.

Dancing closer to the couch, she grabbed the hem of her sweater with both hands, raising it until the bottoms of her swaying breasts came into view. She turned around and jiggled her ass cheeks then turned to face me again.

She raised her sweater again, and this time slipped it over her head. Then she danced up to me, jiggling her huge breasts, nipples erect, picked up the Baileys and straddled my lap. She took a long swig before handing the bottle to me. "I think someone may be a little overdressed?"

I took a swallow, capped the bottle and started to place it back on the floor, but she grabbed it and took another long sip. She threw her arms around me and when we began to kiss, she opened her mouth.

She slid off the couch, helped me out of my shirt and pants before carefully slipping off my boxers. She whistled when she saw my circumcised cock.

"Take off my panties?" she said, standing in front of me. "But you can only use your mouth."

Kneeling on the floor, I turned her around and buried my face between her butt cheeks. Then using my lips I obtained a grip on the waistband and pulled it down until most of her crack was uncovered.

I turned her around and pressed my mouth against her mound, then pulled on the front of the panties with my teeth, lowering them between her thighs.

"I had no idea," she said with a wide grin. "What else can you do with your mouth?"

I gently pushed her onto the couch and began with her ankles. While I kissed and licked them, I caressed her calves.

Her skin smelled of apple and cinnamon and lilac. When I finished licking and kissing her calves, I grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her legs up and toward her head to reach the backs of her knees and thighs. She moaned softly.

My tongue found her outer thighs. I covered every square inch of that flesh with my mouth. Then upward and onward to the tops of her thighs, from above her kneecap to her crotch. There was more moaning this time and not so softly.

Finally my mouth found her inner thighs. I moved slowly, smelling, kissing, licking, teasing with my tongue and teeth. Before I was even close to her mound, she arched her hips. "Fuck, have you got me wet!"

I'd been kneeling on the floor all this time and my back and knees were starting to ache. I took a moment to lay her across the couch cushions, on her back, and then crouched between her legs.

And then I dove into the slippery warmth of her labia, thick folds swollen and partially opened. I sucked her clitoral hood and surrounding flesh into my mouth. She shivered hard, pressed herself against my face and when that still didn't provide enough tension to accelerate herself toward release, she squeezed her thighs against my head. Able to hear only through bone conduction now, her moans and cries were muffled, reminding me of how I process sounds under water. What little air remained available had the funky aroma I associated with raw fish.

Finally, with my aching tongue darting between her folds, she began her release. The pressure her thighs exerted against my eardrums became nearly unbearable. I literally rode her orgasm with her, my head, tightly held between her thighs, rose and fell as her hips undulated in the air. Finally, just as I was beginning to panic, her thighs relaxed and I was released from her death grip. I gulped air.

I'm not sure what inspired me to finger-fuck her. She screamed almost as soon as I thrust my middle finger into her opening. Maybe it was the satisfaction I felt in pleasuring her while at the same time being able to breathe. I added two more fingers and then a fourth. She pulled at her nipples savagely, crying.

She oozed a coating of vaginal cream over my fingers that reminded me of a sort of thin white sauce. Then her entire body jerked, arms flailing like a deranged symphony orchestra conductor.

She grabbed my wrist with both hands, planted kisses all over my neck and then my lips. "Fuck, Larry!"

She let out a sob and then laughed. "I guess you answered my question!"

"What question?"

She took a moment to settle her breathing. "Remember, I asked what else you could do with your mouth?"

I gave her a self-satisfied smile.

"Jesus Christ! I don't think I can move!"

We were quiet for a minute. I played with a few strands of wet hair that lay on her shoulder.

She touched my face. "Next time, I want to feel your cock inside me."

Talk about handing me a perfect cue. "Speaking of which, are you on birth control?"

"Thank you for asking. I'm on the pill."

"And health wise, how are you, you know, regarding sexual--"

"--you don't need to worry about getting an STD from me."

"Okay."

"Brad's been the only one I've had sex with in the last...almost eighteen months. I haven't had any issues and I don't think he did either. But if you want, I'm willing to get--"

"--that's okay. I trust you.