Office Hours Ch. 10

All characters are at least 18 years old.

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Hank

"Well, that was an interesting first date," I remarked as I drove. "I don't think I even finished my coffee."

Jean glanced at me before looking down at her lap, remaining quiet for a moment. "Sorry," she finally murmured.

"For what? Wasn't your fault. Besides, an awkward first date is part of the authentic dating experience," I chuckled.

That got a little laugh from her. "But... I don't want the date to end there. Do you think we could do something else?"

I smiled, glad she felt the same way I did. "Then... Hm, have you ever been bowling?"

"I only ever got to watch."

"Then this will be your first time." When she didn't say anything, I looked over to see her beet red and trying to use her hair to hide her face. Something stirred inside me, primal and hungry. We stopped at a red light, and I reached over and turned her head by the chin. "Did you hear me, girl?" I asked, voice low.

She was taken aback at first, then bit her lip. "Yes, sir," she mewled. Oh, that was the winning combination, friends. I grunted in approval before turning back to the road, somewhat regretting getting myself aroused without any plans to follow through.

The sexual tension hung between us all the way to the bowling alley. Once we walked through the door, though, it was broken by her poorly-contained excitement for the game. We rented our shoes and a lane, and I was already prepared to choose our balls when I saw Jean struggling.

"Goddamn shoes don't fit," she was growling to herself, or perhaps to the shoes.

"Well, they're the right size," I reasoned, crouching down in front of her. "Just gotta know how to finesse 'em."

"Prof, it's a fucking shoe. I can do it myse--"

"Don't fuss," I instructed. To my surprise, she didn't say anything as I took her by the ankle and slipped her shoe on for her. I tugged the collar over her heel, then tied the laces in a simple knot.

"I know how to tie laces," she mumbled, but I ignored her as I put on her other shoe as well. When I was done, I stood and smiled, checking out our red-and-white footwear. She got to her feet as well and admired them for a bit before I jerked my head over toward the balls. "So, how do we pick? Pick the prettiest pattern?" she quipped.

"You want a ball that's not too heavy or you'll have no control over it, but also not too light so that it transfers your power well." I picked up a striped green-and-brown ball marked 14 and nodded approvingly.

"Hm..." Jean looked over her options, testing a few out before finally settling on a mottled white-and-grey 11. "Guess I'll give this a try."

We headed back to our lane, and I gestured for her to step up as I placed my ball on the return rails. "Let's see what you got," I said with a grin. She blew out a breath before sticking her thumb, index, and middle fingers into the holes. "Wait, no. Use your middle and ring fingers."

"Why?" She looked at the ball quizzically. "Does it even matter?"

"I think it's to have the ball centered in your hand," I explained as she switched to the correct fingers. "And you can use the other two fingers to keep it balanced, give you a better idea on how you're aiming. Just a guess. Just remember it's these three fingers that go into the holes."

"So like masturbating. Got it," she noted before grinning widely.

I laughed, then replied in a low voice, "Yes, like masturbating."

"Okay, jeez. You don't gotta make it weird," she muttered, shying away from me.

"You made it weird," I retorted, taking her by the shoulders and walking her up to the lane. "Alright, see these dots here? This is where you start. You take your walk up and then you roll the ball, but don't cross this line here. These arrows are to help you align yourself properly so that--"

"Jesus Christ, I can't. Maybe you go first so I can see." She was a bit flustered, clearly out of her element, but more embarrassed than annoyed.

I chuckled. "Sure. Probably easier to demonstrate, huh? Meanwhile, you can enter our names into the system."

We traded places, and I lined up for my first shot. Probably best I held back, so as not to intimidate her. She watched me carefully from the side as I proceeded to hit six pins. My brothers would've laughed me out of the building at that pitiful performance, but we were in teaching mode right now.

"Okay, I think I've got it. Is it my turn?"

"You get two tries before your turn's over. If you get all the pins on the first try, it's a strike. If you only get a few but manage to get them all on the second try, it's a spare," I explained. My second shot cleared the pins. "Like so." I pointed up to the monitor at the six and slash in my first frame, and she nodded before grabbing her ball and taking a deep breath as she lined up.

"Gonna crush you, old man," she boasted, and I only smiled from my seat. She imitated my form pretty well, and fortunately she released the ball properly.

And it went straight in the gutter.

"Fuck," she muttered. "It's okay, I have another chance, right?" She grit her teeth, taking her walk up and sending her ball careening off to the side and into the gutter again. "Alright, this is bullshit. What the fuck."

I chuckled and stood up. "It's okay. It takes practice. Here, why don't you just use my turns to keep practicing? Once you get the hang of it, we'll start another game and play for real, alright?" I handed her ball back to her from the return, and she went again.

She went on to bowl another two frames of gutter balls and was getting frustrated. "God damn it. What am I doing wrong? I did what you did, right?"

"Hm." I stood behind her, lining her up properly for a straight shot. "I think it's your aim. Let me see your swing, but don't follow through and let go of the ball." It turned out she was tossing the ball sideways. I should have known. "You gotta keep it straight. Always have these two fingers behind your thumb in the direction you want it to go. Make sure they're aligned with your swing." She nodded with a frown. "Try again."

She blew out a breath again, face scrunched up in determination, then did her run up. Her ball sailed safely down the lane, curving to the left and knocking into the three leftmost pins.

"I did it!" she cheered, turning to me with joy all over her face.

"Great job," I said, giving her a high five. "Now go again, you gotta get the other seven."

Her second shot curved to the left again, only netting her another two pins. "Alright, well... That's half, at least, right?"

"Oh, definitely. Much better than the big fat goose eggs you were getting earlier," I said with a grin, nudging her with my elbow.

"Fuck off, prof," she replied, smirking. "C'mon, take some of your turns. I wanna see what you're doing again."

We continued for another three frames, with me bowling spares and her struggling to get more than five pins consistently. After sending another shot hooking to the left, she folded her arms.

"Damn, why is it doing that?"

"'Cause you're spinning it." I picked up my ball to demonstrate her hand movements. "You're keeping your shot straighter than before, but at some point during your release you're twisting ever so slightly."

"Damnit," she cursed.

"Don't worry. You have a few options. First, you could work on your release so you're bowling straight. Second, you could stand a few dots to the right to compensate." Taking her by the shoulders again, I shifted her in position.

"Wait, you don't have to stand in the middle?"

"Not at all. You don't even have to bowl straight, which leads us to: Third, you can also aim slightly slanted to compensate for the spin as well."

"What does that mean though? How?"

"Just watch." I took my ball and stood all the way to the right. I took the shot, aiming toward the left and putting a major spin on it. It rolled to the left and arced all the way back right, slamming into the pins in a clean strike. "Like that."

I turned back to Jean, who was glaring at me. Before I could ask her what was wrong, she muttered, "You bitch. You've been going easy on me."

My eyes went wide, and I could only manage a sheepish "I..."

"Don't hold back with me, prof," she demanded. "Let's fucking do this."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna get a fucking strike. Just watch."

I nodded with a smile, and we played. I loved how competitive she was, how ready she was to prove her worth. Some might have said she had a chip on her shoulder, but I understood.

You can treat me like trash if you want. Because I am trash.

She was steadily improving, even occasionally getting spares on some of the frames. Jean was now compensating for her spin and landing solid hits on the formation of pins. By now, she had already learned how to break the formation efficiently. It wasn't long now before she'd get her first strike.

She was incredibly smart. Given a bit of instruction, I believed she could do almost anything. That was probably bias talking, but whatever. Not like I was doing a study here or something.

Suddenly a big red X flashed on the screen, and Jean was cheering. She'd bowled a strike. I jumped to my feet and cheered with her, and she jumped into my arms and hugged me. By the time I'd wrapped my arms around her, she'd already pulled back, looking at me and then away awkwardly. Her gaze swung back to me before softening and dropping to my lips.

She kissed me, right there in the bowling alley. Before, we could pass this off as a professor and student with a very good relationship spending time together outside the classroom. But now... now we were undeniably in other territory.

And like any sane man, I finished the kiss with no complaints.

The whole length of her body was pressed against mine, and her hands were roaming across my back. I almost started dry humping her in public. When we broke apart, she immediately let go of me, casually dropping herself into a chair. "You're up," she said airily, nibbling on her lip and not making eye contact. I sat next to her in her line of sight, and she turned to look elsewhere, her cheeks slightly coloring.

"Jean, the rules," I reminded her quietly.

"I know, that's why I stopped," she muttered. "Otherwise I'd have..."

Her trailing off made me smirk. "Hey. Let's get outta here, huh?"

"Yeah." She said it so quickly that it was painfully obvious what her intentions were.

We returned our shoes and headed out to the parking lot. It was a small lot, but fairly packed, with people going in and out of the bowling alley. I opened my car door and got in, and by the time I noticed Jean was still on my side, she was climbing into my seat with me.

"Jean, what..."

She pushed my seat all the way back, sitting on my lap with her back against the steering wheel. Closing the door, she threw her legs over to the passenger seat and began shrugging her jeans off.

"Jean!" I hissed. "Not here!"

"Can't wait," she muttered, finally getting her pants off and throwing them in the back seat. She pulled her right leg back so she was straddling me again, then leaned forward and began working at my trousers.

"We just talked about the rules. We're in public!"

"You gonna make me beg, sir?" she asked softly. By this point, she'd successfully maneuvered my manhood out of my pants, and it was stiff and resting against her panties, with her fingers splayed around it in a sort of cradle.

"You can beg all you want, we can't do this here." For all my protesting, I wasn't putting up much of a fight. I was fucking weak.

Her eyes turned pleading, coquettish. Shit, when did she learn how to seduce me like this? "Please, sir. I really can't wait. We're not going all the way, I just need to get off. Please..."

We were breathing heavily, and I gulped when she begged. I looked around at the cars around us. I could see people. And while I was distracted, Jean pressed my cock against her mound and began humping me. I groaned as I rubbed against the soft cotton of her panties, feeling how sticky they already were. Her voice was half an octave higher than normal as she moaned, panting in time with her strokes. I had to admit, the position we were in wasn't exactly comfortable; car sex rarely was the best environment. But none of that really mattered when I could feel Jean's pussy on my cock.

She was using the leverage of her back against the wheel to rub against me, and she reached down and pulled her panties to the side before continuing. Our naked parts were touching, and my legs trembled under her in restraint.

"Jean..." I warned, but she kept going. I grabbed her hips and increased the pace, and she started moaning louder. It was taking everything I had not to slip inside her and fuck her right here, but I didn't want our first time to be in this parking lot. But her wet pussy wasn't exactly making it easy for me. I pushed a hand up her hoodie to fondle her breasts, and found no resistance of a cup. She was wearing a bikini top or something, and I pushed it up easily to squeeze her firm tit.

Her lips were sandwiching my length, painting it in her nectar. I was slick with her arousal, and her clit was hitting my frenulum on every stroke. I ground out a feral sound before I lost control, spraying whiteness across her belly. As if reacting to the hot seed landing on her skin, she cried out and arched her back, part of her shoulder pressing against the horn. The car blared loudly as we came, masking our sounds of climax. We were both shuddering with bliss as we came back down, and I spotted some people around us looking through our windows, whispering to each other.

"Crap. Jean, we gotta go," I breathed urgently.

She climbed over into the passenger seat and collapsed in it, pulling her seatbelt on as she gasped for breath. I strapped in and put my seat back to its original position, starting the car and quickly pulling out of the lot, pedestrians watching as we went.

"Jean, what the hell." We were both still panting and sweaty, riding high on adrenaline. Her hair was still mussed up from the encounter, and it look fucking sexy.

"C'mon, that was fun," she prompted, a wicked look of exhilaration on her face.

I just shook my head, trying to hide a smile. Jean was scooping the trails of cum off her belly and sucking it off her fingers. "You're crazy." She giggled hysterically, and I couldn't help chuckling myself.

"Yes, sir, I'm a bad girl."