Lola and the Professor's Wife

Then, as the beat of the music continued to pound in the background, Grant reached his left arm across Marisol's body, pinning her left arm against her side. She was small enough that he could easily wrap himself around her, and he seemed to engulf her as his left hand found its place on top of Marisol's right hand, enveloping it entirely. This was followed by a moment of exquisite stillness. She, with her skirt hiked halfway up her thigh, gripping his wrist with her tiny hand as she looked up at him. He, looking back at her, holding a wad of her skirt in one fist and covering both her hand and her wedding ring with the other.

And then, in a moment now seared into my brain, I watched as her eyes began to soften. For one fragile heartbeat, I saw a pleading look flash across her face, the way a prisoner might beg the executioner with her eyes as he fastens the noose around her neck.

"Do it," I whisper aloud. "Let him do it."

Slowly, carefully, Grant began to lift her hand. Her fingers, which had been wrapped tightly around his wrist, uncurled and lingered there, blanketed by his other hand. Ever so gently, he removed her hand from his wrist, where his fist still held her skirt bunched against her upper thigh. Then, with her hand in his, he raised them both to his face, placing Marisol's palm against the side of his strong, square, clean-shaven jaw.

As this happened, I saw Marisol's mouth open ever so slightly, the tiniest gasp stealing its way out from deep inside her chest. She hadn't been expecting such an intimate gesture from this huge, aggressive young man, and frankly, neither was I. In that instant, a felt an unfamiliar pang of jealousy. In all the times I'd let Grant feast on my body to fill his insatiable appetite, he had never shown me that kind of tenderness.

But in retrospect, what I came to understand was that Grant had a kind of sixth sense when it came to submissive women. He seemed to know instinctively what each of us needed in that most vulnerable moment to break our resolve once and for all. With me, Grant had broken through by taking me in after my then-boyfriend had betrayed my trust. With Marisol, Grant had disarmed her with an intimate touch, a moment of shared understanding between two perfect strangers.

As Grant released her hand and return his left hand to her hips, Marisol's delicate fingers caressed the smooth, angular contours of his face. Then, suddenly, the tension stored in Marisol's body began to release. The taut, toned muscles of her bare legs relaxed, and her eyelids, heavy with makeup, began to descend.

A sense of blissful, blessed relief seemed to wash over her, and I knew. Resisting the dominance of an alpha male is like swimming upstream, and there is a lightness in letting go, of being swept out to sea by the relentless current that demands your submission. She was his now, and they both knew it.

Released from her grip, Grant's fingers leapt back into action, greedily gathering more and more of Marisol's skirt. As the loose skirt began to tighten around her upper thighs, Grant started to lift it from behind, raising the wad of fabric over the soft, sculpted curve of Marisol's ass. The brazenness of this act was enhanced by fact that Marisol did nothing to resist it. Her right hand continued to caress Grant's face, and her left moved to find Grant's own hand at her hip, lacing her fingers between his.

With Marisol's surrender no longer in doubt, Grant lifted the wad of her skirt above the waistline, clutching it against the small of her back. Though her eyes were closed, Marisol must have sensed the shameful lewdness of her position. In back, the full swell of her bare ass was now completely exposed, and in front, her once-loose skirt had been pulled completely taut, its shiny fabric bunched against the mound of her pussy. Behind her, Grant's tattooed body loomed, huge and threatening, his thick cock throbbing angrily against the fly of his jeans.

But Marisol was immune to shame or embarrassment now. Between the ecstasy coursing through her body and the insistent, unflinching siege of Grant's pursuit, she had lost the will to fight and begun to embrace her own forbidden, unspeakable urges. As Grant stood over her, taking in the view and exulting in his impending triumph, Marisol arched her back, pushing her bare ass back against the hardness in Grant's pants. An evil, knowing smirk spread across Grant's face as he realized he had driven her beyond mere submission. Now, she was ready to give him her body as an offering, to sacrifice her sacred vows in the worship of his huge, alpha cock.

Without hesitation, Grant began to rut against her, his hips bucking obscenely against her bare ass in a blatant simulation of sex. A new kind of tension shot through Marisols's legs, as her calves and thighs flexed to keep her standing as she absorbed the pounding force of Grant's hips. She bit her lower lip and furrowed her brow, her pretty face transforming into a mask of deep concentration as she focused herself, trying not to moan as long-absent sensations rippled through her body. She bent forward, arching her back more deeply, straining to lift her ass even higher and offer Grant deeper access to gap between her legs.

I knew I needed to initiate the final phase of my plan, that every second mattered now, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. Professor Daniels' wife—his sweet, beautiful Asian wife—had met Grant barely an hour ago. Yet now she was essentially riding him in the middle of a crowded club, her tiny body totally at his mercy as he threatened to lift her off the floor with each thrust of his powerful hips.

She isn't going to last much longer, I thought. This is now or never.

Reluctantly, I tore my eyes away from the two of them, stepping out from behind the hostess stand to flag down one of the bottle-service girls.

"Can you cover for me?" I asked. "I need like 20 minutes."

"Why?" she asked.

"I don't really have time to explain," I said, grabbing my phone. "I need to make a phone call."

"I can watch the stand for 10 minutes," she replied. "More than that and Mike is gonna fire both our asses."

"It's fine," I said. "I'll deal with Mike."

"Okay," she said, annoyed but obliging. "Clock's ticking."

"Thank you," I mouthed, making my way towards the back of the club.

...

PROFESSOR DANIELS:

I had started to lose hope when my phone began vibrate against the bar's wooden countertop.

I'd been sitting on the same barstool for more than 2 hours, nursing one beer and then a second, waiting for Lola's text, wondering how I ended up by myself in a strange bar in downtown LA instead of at home with my kids.

But there wasn't really much to wonder at, because I knew exactly why I was there. I was there for Lola. I was there because I would do whatever she said, whatever it took, to get another taste of her body.

I knew I had gotten myself in too deep, that a monster inside me had stirred awake after years in hibernation and seized control of my mind. But self-awareness alone could not save me from these demonic urges, and Lola had shattered my self-discipline beyond repair.

I was completely, irrevocably, shamefully hooked on this 20-year-old girl and her incredible body. But her body, which seemed ripped from the pages of my deepest desires, was only a part of her addictive appeal. It was also the way that she flaunted herself, which displayed more than just her heart-stopping curves. The way she dressed and moved and spoke revealed an almost primal understanding of the male psyche. To describe her as "sexy" would be an affront to the wondrous creativity of natural selection. The only way I could fathom her powers of attraction was to think of them in evolutionary terms, the result of countless sexual adaptations that spanned across untold generations.

So there I sat, beer in hand, waiting for her to text me, wondering what I was doing but knowing that I would wait all night if I had to.

As I waited, I had plenty of time to think about her, to turn things over in my mind. It was an exciting development that she had asked me to meet her at the club. Risky, certainly, to be seen with her out in the world, but there were risks in what we'd been doing alone in my office. But if the risk was great, then greater still was the potential reward.

Could it be that she had come around to the idea of letting me do more than just watch? She certainly seemed to enjoy coming to the office and putting on a show each week. Perhaps her outrage over the coercive nature of my initial pursuit had mellowed into a different kind of allure.

I couldn't help holding onto the possibility that my original thesis had been right after all. I was sure she had daddy issues. I knew she had flaunted herself relentlessly in front of me. I knew she had shown up at my house dressed like a slut and walked herself into my study on her own accord. Perhaps she had simply gotten cold feet when her fantasy of seducing a professor became a reality. Maybe she hadn't been prepared for it to happen so suddenly.

But maybe, just maybe, she had wanted it all the same. Sometimes, the thrill is in the wanting, and the getting leaves something to be desired. But now that it had happened, and enough time had passed, maybe the fantasy had returned. She was in control now—perhaps that was all she ever needed.

I was lost in these thoughts when the buzz of my phone stirred me from my reverie.

"Alley behind the club. Now. We have 10 mins"

A jolt of adrenaline shot through me.

"Okay," I texted back.

As I put a $20 bill down on the bar, my phone buzzed again.

"Run"

I shot out of the bar as fast as my 43-year-old legs would carry me. Ten minutes, I thought. A lot can happen in 10 minutes.

Sprinting faster than I had in years, I flashed past the entrance to the club and rounded the corner into the alley. But when I got there, I saw nothing but trash cans and a stack of old wooden pallets.

I felt a twinge of disappointment as I slowed up to catch my breath. Was this all some kind of joke? It didn't seem at all like Lola's style to waste my time with such an elaborate ruse, but perhaps I'd gotten so carried away with my own fantasies that I'd overlooked the most obvious outcome.

And then, out of nowhere, a door opened into the alley, and I thanked the universe for putting me in this place at this moment in time.

Lola stood in the open doorway, the curves of her incredible body hugged by a clingy black dress. It had no straps, so her well-toned arms, her athletic shoulders, and her delicate collarbones were on display, a delicious expanse of skin that swelled with the rise of her huge, firm breasts. Her beautiful young face was elegantly framed by her long, bleach blonde hair, and her full, pouty lips had been teased with red lipstick. Her sultry eyes were accentuated with just enough mascara and eyeshadow to enhance her natural Asian features.

"Come on," she said, an unfamiliar note of urgency in her tone. She extended her arm to me, the shiny pink polish of her manicured nails gleaming in the moonlight.

An electricity passed through me as I took her hand and she led me inside. We had never, ever held hands before. In fact, I hadn't touched her at all since the night I'd taken her by force. Her rules dictated that this was strictly off-limits, yet here she was, leading me through a darkened corridor in the rear of the club.

The rules are different tonight, I thought, the blood pumping hot in my veins. I'd fantasized that she had asked me here tonight so that we could dance together, our bodies pressed against each other in the anonymous crush of a crowded room. Yet as I followed her, the distant beat of the music seemed to be growing fainter rather than louder.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked. She said nothing, continuing to lead me by the hand as she began to ascend a dimly-lit staircase. Finally, at the top of the staircase, she pushed open a heavy door, and the cool outside air wafted against my face.

The roof. We were on the roof of the club.

I didn't know why we were here, and honestly, I didn't care. I could feel Lola's hand in mine, and we were suddenly alone, an oasis of solitude in the middle of LA.

"Give me your jacket," she said, releasing my hand.

"You're the boss," I said, slipping it off and handing it to her.

She folded it over and wedged it between the heavy door and its frame to keep it from closing behind us.

"You think of everything, don't you?" I said.

"You have no idea," she smiled.

Satisfied that the door would stay ajar, Lola turned and began walking towards the edge of the roof, her heels clicking daintily with each step. I was so desperately addicted to her huge, perfect tits that I rarely got to appreciate the beautifully rounded curves of her ass, which jiggled lightly as her hips swayed from side to side.

Reaching the lip of the rooftop, she turned to face me.

"Are you coming?" she asked.

Yes, I thought to myself. To the end's of the Earth.

Finally, we were face to face, the lights of LA shining all around us.

"You know," she said, her voice an octave lower than before, her former urgency replaced by a conspiratorial tone. "You've been very good at following the rules these last few months."

I nodded in agreement.

"And I... appreciate that." She took a step towards me. "I know it isn't always easy to follow the rules, is it, Professor?"

"No," I whispered.

"When I came over to your house... you broke the rules that night, didn't you?"

"Yes—I did."

She took another step towards me.

"But maybe... maybe it wasn't fair. Maybe you didn't know the rules yet."

"I didn't," I whispered, hoping desperately that I knew where this was going. "I swear I didn't."

"But you know them now, don't you?"

"Yes," I nodded.

She took another step, and now, she was only an arm's length away, so close I could smell her perfume. My cock began to harden inside my slacks.

"What is the most important rule, Professor?" She cocked her head to the side, as if to regard me with curiosity.

"You're in control," I said as our eyes locked. "You make the rules."

"Hmm," she nodded, contemplating my answer. "I'm in control. I make the rules. And you follow them."

"Yes," I said. "I follow them."

She nodded again, seemingly satisfied.

"I know my rules are usually a bit harsh." She stepped forward and put her hand squarely on the center of my chest. The warmth and softness of her fingers seemed to steal the breath from inside my lungs. "Sometimes, they're too harsh even for me."

I gulped. My cock was throbbing now.

"Sometimes I like to break my own rules." She began to finger one of the buttons on my shirt. "Would you like me to see me break one?"

"God yes," I whispered, barely breathing.

Her hand trailed down the front of my shirt and her pink-tipped fingers lighted ever so gently on the tent in my pants.

"I'm going to break a big rule, Professor," she whispered, her fingers dancing along the fly of my pants. "But that means you have to try extra hard to follow the rules. Can you do that?"

"Fuck yes," I spat, afraid to move but almost bursting with anxious desire.

Slowly, her other hand moved to my waist, and I felt her unbutton my pants.

"Here are tonight's special rules," she whispered, unzipping me. "I am going to suck your dick, Professor. And I'm going to let you cum in my mouth. But there are a few things I need you to do for me."

My mind went completely blank as she reached inside the band of my underwear and wrapped her soft, warm hand around my shaft. Fireworks exploded inside my brain. This was actually, finally, truly going to happen.

"Anything," I whispered. "I'll do anything."

"The first rule," she mewled, stroking me, "is that you do not get to cum until I tell you to cum. Do you agree?"

"Yes," I whispered, though I wondered whether I could really hold it together for that long.

"The second rule," she purred, dropping gently to her knees in front of me, "is that you have to watch the alley the entire time I'm sucking you. Do you agree?"

I didn't understand this rule, but she was on her knees and stroking my cock, so nothing else mattered.

"Yes."

"The third rule... is that you have to describe for me anything that happens in the alley." She pulled my pants down, finally freeing my throbbing cock. "This rule is really important, Professor. You need to tell me every detail of what happens in the alley, no matter what." She took my cock in her hand and aimed it at her beautiful face. "Do you agree?"

"Yes," I moaned, lightheaded with desire. "I'll tell you—I'll tell you everything."

"Don't break the rules, Professor," she said, her voice suddenly stern in contrast to the gentle movement of her hand along my shaft. "If you break my rules, this will all be over." She released my cock. "And it will never, ever happen again."

"I won't," I squealed, desperate for her to touch me again. "I promise I won't break the rules."

Lola smiled, the brilliance of her straight white teeth striking a beautiful contrast with her red lipstick. I couldn't believe that this gorgeous 20-year-old girl, the same girl I had spent months lusting after and ultimately taken by force, was about to willingly suck my cock.

She reached up and wrapped her manicured fingers around my modest shaft.

"Tell me what's in the alley, Professor."

"It's empty... there's a trash can, and some graffiti..."

As if these ordinary words contained some powerful incantation, Lola opened her full, gorgeous red lips and closed them around the head of my cock.

"Ohh... ohmygod, yessssssss..."

My knees practically buckled as I felt her tongue swirling around the tip of my cock. Keeping watch dutifully over the alley, my eyes flitted wildly back and forth between the alley and her beautiful face, which began to inch closer to my hips as she took me deeper inside her mouth.

"There's... oh, fuck, Lola... there's nothing down there except some empty crates, and... Jesus fuck, your mouth is amazing..."

I was practically babbling, but I was afraid to stop talking, as if somehow that would break the spell that had been cast over her. The significance of this alley, this rule of hers, meant nothing to me, but there was no need to understand. I would say whatever it took to keep her on her knees.

"I see—fuck, I see some... old newspapers..."

Taking my eyes off the alley for a moment, I looked down at Lola, drinking in the sight of her head as it slowly bobbed up and down. This wasn't some perfunctory blowjob—she was giving me the real deal. A feeling of elation cascaded through me, a sense of triumph I had rarely felt in more than 40 years of life.

She was so fucking young and so insanely beautiful. Any man in LA would have killed to trade places with me, to replace me inside the mouth of this 20-year-old Asian bombshell, but I wouldn't have given up this moment for anything. As her lips moved back and forth along my shaft, I vowed to take in every feeling and every detail, to burn this experience into my memory so deeply that I could relive it whenever I wanted.

As I focused, I felt my sense perception heighten, my brain working as hard as it could to take in all the sensory details. The swell of her huge tits in that tight black dress, rising and falling as her head moved back and forth. The smell of her delicate perfume, a hint of sweetness in the cool night air. The red of her lipstick as it glossed against my cock. The tattoo on her wrist, a Roman numeral II, that quivered as she stroked me. Her perfectly bleached hair, long and peroxide blonde, a color choice that seemed deliciously slutty on such a big-breasted Asian girl. The soft, wet sound of her sucking me in, her lips and tongue work in unison to maintain the tight seal around my cock.