Holly Woode

"You cumming?" she asked. She obviously felt my first squirt.

"Yes," I panted.

She pushed me back from her ass. I popped out. She turned quickly, squatted, and swallowed my dick. She made sure to suck every drop of cum from me as I finished and then went soft. She loved the taste of cum, and asshole.

"Thanks babe," Holly said as she slid her tongue along her lip catching every last drop of my sperm. Her almost black eyes glowed. She sucked and licked me clean then ran her mouth over my balls to my ass.

"Thank you," I replied. I smiled.

She found panties from somewhere in her backpack and pulled them on to catch the ooze coming from her asshole. Obviously she would clean that mess up somewhere else. Her licking on my dick had done a nice job of cleaning me up. Holly was quite good about keeping things tidy.

She turned and kissed me. I could taste the flavored oil on her lips. Strawberry. I think the flavored lube was more for my benefit in case she hadn't gotten herself totally clean before bopping into the office.

"Gotta run," she said. "Bad form if I only passed your class this term."

I smiled and she slid quietly from my office, the door making a gentle click as she pulled it closed behind her.

Not two minutes later another knock.

"Hello? Wheatfield?" a shrill voice.

It was the voice of Hortense Rhubarb, assistant professor of Womyn's Herstory. Rhubarb was thirty-eight, about 5'6", sported a perfect 34" 39" 42" inch female scholar's body. Her graying hair hadn't seen a bottle of conditioner in at least ten years. She wore one of those sensible fruitbowl Prince Valiant haircuts. Her dress looked like a purple formless sack and it offered a glimpse of her hairy ankles.

"Um, I'm here?" I replied.

"Can I come in?" finger nails grating across a chalkboard.

I would have felt better about saying yes if my office didn't at that moment smell so much like Holly and sex-of course I was not sure that Rhubarb actually would know what sex smelled like.

"Sure come on in," I replied. I knew that it was imperative that I prove on demand to the inspector from the feminist inquisition that my office was empty of undergraduate women-and I realized that my office smelled like anal sex, which I hoped might sew a bit of confusion. If the radical feminist lesbian studies department had its way, the office doors of all the male faculty members would be made of clear glass so that any passer by could make sure that the male faculty were not fucking the undergraduate girls. Heck, maybe better to remove the doors entirely. It was only the fact that the chair of the queer studies program liked to bugger first year boys that kept the thick nearly soundproof doors with their deadbolts shielding male faculty offices from the inquisition's eyes. Ah the angst of the politically correct. We spent over three hours in a turgid faculty meeting one November while the high priestess of radical feminist lesbian studies fought with the chairman of queer studies about office doors.

"Wheatfield."

"Rhubarb." We exchanged pleasantries.

"Wheatfield, what keeps you here so late?"

The answer was that I had been buttfucking Holly.

"Writing," I said. Actually, that was a perfectly acceptable academic answer. Tenure is all about publish or perish. As a single white heterosexual male, I would not see tenure at any respectable institution unless I pumped out a book a year (and kept my sperm to myself).

Rhubarb sniffed the air. I stayed quiet.

"Wheatfield, was that Ms. Woode I saw leaving your office?"

Rhubarb must have drawn the feminist inquisition's night watch.

"Of course it was?"

"And what was she doing here so late?" I expected a klieg light to flash on and a rubber hose to appear in Rhubarb's hand.

"Rhubarb, 5:30 is not late in the real world. And while I usually think what goes on between professor and student is confidential, I will say Ms. Woode wanted to talk about her seminar paper." Ok, that was the lie, but with all honesty I added. "I've learned this semester that Ms. Woode is quite the perfectionist. She is demanding. She works very hard until she gets exactly the result she wants. How can you not encourage that in a student even if it means working in the office past five o'clock?" As a sop to the inquisition I added, "And I welcome the chance to encourage budding young woman scholars."

Rhubarb sniffed the air and I don't think she believed a word I had said. Most of the queer studies department smelled like anal sex, but I taught in aesthetics, and my office usually smelled like coffee and a bagel. Good coffee and a cinnamon raisin bagel in the morning. Rhubarb's nostrils flared. Her too close-set eyes darted back and forth on a mission to find dirt.

"Wheatfield, Drusilla Chard and I were going to try the new Canadian organic vegan restaurant for dinner tonight. Care to join us?"

A test no doubt. Canadian food? And Drusilla Chard? Drusilla Chard was associate professor of homoerotic images in the department of semiotics. People frequently confused her with Chuckie Tylor, the chair of queer studies, because both wore a buzz cut and sported a wispy moustache. I learned you could tell them apart because queer studies' breasts were larger than Drusilla's. Someone had told me that Drusilla had a crush on me. She was at least ten years older than me, and God, I hoped for mankind's sake, infertile. If you had a hair fetish, Drusilla had great forearms.

"I was trying to write," I replied.

"I thought you just said that you had been meeting with Holly Woode about a paper. I saw her leave your office, remember, as I was coming to ask you to dinner." Rhubarb was trying to set, or bait, or do something with a trap.

"Yes, I was doing that too. They aren't mutually exclusive." It was so frustrating to talk with the plodders from the inquisition. I did not plan my day as a linear sequence of discrete events. I usually worked in the office writing and enjoyed the interruptions when students dropped by. Holly was the most pleasant interruption.

Rhubarb sniffed some more. I straightened the tissue box on my desk as a sort of countersign to let her know I saw the sniffing. She harrumphed and left.

On her way out the door she said, "...well some other time. I will keep an open eye on your office door to see when you seem free."

I got the message. I would be sure to keep an eye on my six.

***

Thankfully the semester ended with Friday's exams. Holly's parents were old-her mother 60 and her father 75. Holly was a "surprise" for her parents when her mom was 42. Her parents usually summered on the coast in France at her mother's family's place. Holly usually joined them in France, but this summer had begged off. She told her folks all about me. Her parents approved. Her mother had met me at a college open house and I had the distinct impression that mom had encouraged Holly to chase after me. I was only twelve years older than Holly. Holly's dad was fifteen years older than her mother. The French attitude toward a liaison such as ours is far different than the American attitude-and radically different than the attitude of such folks as those who populated the radical feminist lesbian studies department at Holier Than Thou College.

***

Holly and I summered in Wyoming about as far away from Holier Than Thou as you could get. A friend of a friend of my dad's had a small primitive cabin about five miles outside of a small but popular town and was more than willing to lend it to me for the summer. The cabin sat fairly isolated on about 1000 acres of very private land. Holly and I played "little house on the prairie" for the summer. I also wrote. Writing was a challenge as the cabin lacked electricity. I invested in about ten batteries for my laptop computer and in a couple of battery chargers. The woman who ran "The Cowboy Store" (that was its name) agreed to charge batteries for me. Holly or I would drive to town and swap batteries and pick up a newspaper and a few supplies usually every other day. Propane gas fueled the stove and powered the refrigerator. Holly proved to be an adventurous cook and quite domestic in a primitive cabin. Wyoming can be very hot or very cold during the summer. On hot days Holly didn't wear much, and I didn't get much work done. On cold days she said she needed me to keep her warm. How can you keep your hands off the body of a slinky and svelte naked eighteen year old?

With time and the privacy of a cabin we explored every bit of each other's bodies. Holly has the most incredibly sensitive nipples-I think I already said that. While she may love to snake her tongue up my ass, I love to feed on her nipples. If I woke before Holly in the morning, and usually I did, I would "wake" her and signal that I wanted wild sex by gently sucking a nipple. Before long her eyes would open. She would moan. In an instant she would be sopping wet. Holly is like Niagara Falls when aroused. Wet would then lead to a leisurely fuck. Then breakfast, then on with the day. After a few hours of writing Holly would find some reason to drag me to a meadow and tongue my ass. Holly had this incredible attraction to analingus. I would find a reason to lick her clit while sitting next to some stream. I guess we are both very oral and drawn to natural images. Of course we would fuck like bunnies. I had to work very hard to stay hydrated.

***

The summer ended too quickly and without being quite ready, we returned to Holier Than Thou. I would have been instant burnt toast had Holly moved into my house as she wanted. She had to maintain the pretense of living in the dorm and keeping the proper distance of a student. The night we rolled back into town she exulted because I relented just a bit and said that she could spend the night. She relished the fact that she could soak in my giant claw foot bathtub. While "little house on the prairie" can be fun for three months, indoor plumbing and a giant tub offer pleasures of their own.

I think the exact moment Holly got naked in the tub Drusilla Chard knocked on my front door. My house is not my office and I was not amused when members of the feminist inquisition sent prying eyes into what was definitely not college space.

"Wheatfield are you home?" Chard shouted through my door as she insistently banged away knocking.

I resigned myself to a moment of ugliness.

I carefully warned Holly with a shout, "Doctor Chard, I am coming to the door. Hold on." Holly knew what that meant.

I was sure I still smelled like Wyoming as I pulled my grungy t-shirt back on and fastened the belt on my cargo shorts. I peaked in on Holly in the tub. I smiled. She smiled back and flashed me a delicious pair of boobs and naughty nipples from beneath a mountain of bubbles.

I reached the door.

"Chard," I worked my best disappointed low monotone.

"Wheatfield," she sounded too perky for being an ugly woman. "I noticed you just got back in town. I am on my way to the semiotics department's new faculty picnic. We are doing a little organic fragrance free vegan cookout to welcome Herbertia Bokchoi, the new assistant professor of distopic feminist poetry. Everyone loves her award-winning poem about her first tampon. And that play she did about the maxipad...And I thought you, in aesthetics and all, might like to join us. It should be a delightful feast!"

"You know, I would be right there chowing down with you, but I need to wash a bit of Wyoming off of me...and write a fall course syllabus. Gosh. Maybe next time."

All true. I hadn't yet lied too much. I think Drusilla's moustache had filled in a bit over the summer.

"Whatever," Chard said. "I have these moments when I wonder about your collegiality. And did I see someone helping you unload your car?"

Were she not tenured, I couldn't have cared less about that remark. But it was code. I know the secret handshake. Collegiality, when uttered by a tenured female meant, "you are not fucking the single faculty women...but we think you are doing someone." In literal terms, it was a fucking ultimatum. The fall would be dicey. I wondered if the inquisition had spies in Wyoming. Holly and I would have to be careful about the front door.

"Have fun Drusilla. Be sure to make Bokchoi feel as welcome as you all have made me feel." I oozed smarmy and closed the door.

I returned to the bath and of course Holly pulled me in. Actually she was kind enough to kneel, seduce my eyes with her breasts, encourage me to lift off my t-shirt, drop my shorts, and then pull me into the tub. The tub, purely by accident, may have been about the only place that Holly and I had not made love in that house during our spring sexual marathon. She sat me between her legs, facing away from her, and did my back. I am not a big "loofa" kinda guy, but whatever sponge she used felt delightful as she worked from my neck on down my back and eased away some of the tension that Professor Chard and knotted into my neck.

"Push yourself up out of the tub dear," Holly urged.

Holly wanted me kneeling in the tub, hands on the edge, butt in the air aimed at her face. I of course complied.

He impossibly long tongue instantly found my asshole. She licked the edges and then plunged in. I pushed out to open for her tongue as I loved the feeling when she could poke deep inside. He tongue licked in a circle around the hole and plunged in. She pistoned away then licked down to my balls. She licked her way back to my puckered poop hole. She licked me clean and invited me to flip myself and sit on the edge of the tub. I obliged. I was rock hard.

Holly took the head of my penis in her mouth. She was all about performance so she sucked only the head and let her too long tongue, for too brief a moment, snake down the shaft. I was in agony. Holly encouraged the pain. She stroked my shaft with her left hand and poked the handle of her loofa towards my ass. She swathed the not too thick plastic handle with soap and used the tool to assault my prostate. Her mouth kept working my dick and after what seemed like a day or maybe a month, her mouth moved up and down the length of my shaft. It was not too long before my sperm coated her tonsils and she pulled the loofa handle out of my butt. Holly licked the loofa clean to make a delicious point...for future reference...then sucked my balls. She stood and kissed me full on the lips her tongue sharing a little taste from the loofa with my tongue.

It was Holly's turn and I lifted her to sit on the edge of the tub. My little vixen had shaved away her pubic jungle while I had been jousting with Chard. Usually I am a guy who prefers unshorn pubic locks. A woman looks more like a woman with all of her hair. Holly had lots of thick dark pubic hair. I loved the way the hair held her scent and I was always eager to stick my face and tongue deep into Holly's bushy jungle. Shaved turned out to be a delight of a different form. Holly has long thick labia and an aggressive clit. Lips and clit looked all the more pronounced when not tucked under a forest of hair. I eagerly sucked in a lip, then another, then went to work on her clit. Niagara was flowing full stream as Holly moaned. Before long she quivered with orgasm. I kept licking, as I knew Holly could cum like a river. The ever-naughty Holly added another surprise to my night as she gently let go with a stream of pee. The tub was a great place for her golden surprise. I let the warm liquid wash over my face and licked a little harder and faster. Holly came again and then again and then again then a few more agains before I stopped licking. We rested for a few minutes after our bath, and spent most of the night fucking, mostly from regret, as Holly would have to move back into the dorm the next night.

***

Holly declared an aesthetics major that fall and I hired her as my research assistant. Both moves gave Holly good reason to spend lots of time in my office should someone from the inquisition raise a question. It would otherwise have been unseemly for me to call Holly at the dorm everyday, and while she could call me once in a while, her roommate would of course wonder what "boy" was taking all of her time on the phone. That question and caller ID would do me in. I peppered the child with constant requests to find articles or to proofread book chapters. Oddly, our little ruse to escape the prying eyes of the radical feminist inquisition made us quite the productive academic team and my second book moved rapidly to completion. Holly was brilliant and soon became a great aesthetics scholar in her own right

.

***

On a Monday in late October we had a little scare. Holly had just come from the library with a few books on Moliere that I needed to review for my chapter on irony. I had flipped on the office stereo, that old WASP boy college dorm room trick to mask the sex noises, and Holly had begun to help herself to a taste of my rock hard penis. Her impossibly long tongue was tickling my ball sack each as she took in the full length of my penis. She was doing her best to dehydrate me and to finger herself at the same time. A knock at the door.

"Wheatfield? Are you in there?" Chalk on a blackboard. It was Rhubarb. "Oh Wheatfield?"

My pants were up and zipped in a second. I motioned to Holly to hide under my desk. She grabbed her backpack and pulled it under the desk as well. I reached the door and cracked it open. Rhubarb sniffed. Obsession was in the air. That's what Holly wore at the time. I love the scent. While Rhubarb may be unsure about the smell of sex, she seemed to know Obsession quite well.

"Rhubarb, can I help you?"

The nostrils flared and she sniffed some more as if to confirm her supposition.

"Can I come in and chat? Didn't I see Ms. Woode come in here?"

"I would love nothing better, but I was about to leave and grab dinner," I replied.

"Oh, that's even better. Herbertia Bokchoi, Drusilla and me were about to go to that new Cuban-Chinese organic vegan bistro-you can join us!"

Damn, I was trapped. But I would take one for the team.

"Sure," I said, "let me grab my briefcase."

I closed the door. Holly's head peeked out from the desk. She knew. She gave me the pouty face, then she smiled a wicked shit-eating grin. I had this feeling she would let herself out of my office and then mystically let herself into my house to nurse my wounds after my vegan dinner with the inquisition. I flipped off the stereo, grabbed the briefcase, made a show of turning off the light, then out the door.

As Rhubarb and I walked towards the radical feminist lesbian studies building to pick up Bokchoi, Rhubarb asked, "So have you taken up running? I noticed a pair of grey sweats on your couch?"

Shit.

The inquisition was at work. Holly and I might have to stop using my office for our sexual exploits. Something told me that Rhubarb's visit was not coincidence.

***

Over the next several days every time Holly appeared my office, Rhubarb knocked on the door within about three to five minutes-just enough time for someone to get naked and in trouble. We were being very careful. We left the door unlocked (though closed) and when Rhubarb opened the door she found me behind my desk and Holly fully clothed on the couch sitting next to a pair of my grey sweat pants. Holly had a mug of coffee in hand and always offered to make a cup for Rhubarb. Rhubarb only drinks decaf, so she turned us down. Holly and I decided that on Friday, we would play what we called the "scent of a feminist scorned scam." My seminar didn't meet on Friday's that term. That particular Friday was warm Indian summer day and I strolled into the office wearing baggy gym shorts and a grey sweatshirt. Baggy gym shorts meant easy access to my penis without having to mess with zippers or even without having to pull the shorts down. I made sure that Rhubarb was in her office and then got on my office computer. Holly was ready and waiting online in the chemistry building computer lab. I pulled my dick out and started to masturbate. I sent Holly an IM telling her that I could probably cum anytime with a few powerstrokes so she should hustle over. She headed to my office. As Holly strolled down the hall she popped her head into Rhubarb's office for a quick hello in order to make certain that Rhubarb knew that Holly smelled of nothing more than a little Obsession. Holly knocked on my door and announced herself. I said come in and stroked faster. She closed the door, quickly pulled a xerox from the backpack and laid it on my desk. She tossed her backpack next to the couch, then stepped behind my desk and lifted her sweatshirt exposing her very naked and hot breasts. I was ready to cum and the sight of those breasts sent me over the line. I shot about four or five heavy squirts of sperm on her chest. She rubbed it around her chest and lifted a big glob to her mouth. She took another glob dabbed a bit behind each ear and put the rest in her mouth. She pulled her sweatshirt down and sprawled on the couch. Entry, cumshot and Holly reclined on the couch were complete within less than a minute. She stuck her hand down her sweats and rubbed herself frantically until we heard the door knock. I imagine Niagara was in full flow and Holly dabbed her neck and behind her ears with her pussy perfumed fingers.