tagErotic CouplingsUnder His Desk Ch. 03

Under His Desk Ch. 03


"This is pretty good, Kim," Mr. Johnson commented as he finished perusing my short story, lying naked in his bed, propped up on pillows, peering through his owlish glasses at the printed pages he held in his hands.

"Yeah?" I questioned incredulously, looking for approval. "Do you really think so? Or are you just saying that?"

"Yes, I'm just saying that," he replied sarcastically, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye and then smiling, rapping me on the shoulder with the pages. I pouted, rubbing the spot that he hit as if it had hurt. "No, it is good. If it weren't any good I wouldn't say so. Aside from the ending, which could use work... if you fixed that I could have said very good. But instead you just get a pretty. Which you are."

I blushed. "Oh, it's good to know how to decode your euphemisms, that'll prove useful I hope..."

Then I laughed, swinging my legs up into the air and then bouncing them back down on the bed repeatedly as I lay on my stomach on top of the blankets, naked. We had finished having sex over a half hour ago, but had gotten to talking afterwards, as we'd been doing the past few times we've done it. I've been developing interesting feelings for Mr. Johnson. I know nothing can ever really come of this, it's not love or anything, but to me, he's not solely a sexual object. The fact that he, specifically, wants me, and wants to spend non-sexual time with me, a nineteen year old know-nothing, gives me a kind of gratification that the hardest fucking could never approach (though a hard fucking is a pretty gratifying thing, don't get me wrong). If I were completely interchangeable, I don't think I'd feel the same way. He makes me, as a package, as Kim, feel wanted. Maybe this is just an illusion, but it's a nice one nonetheless.

"Listen," he said suddenly, "all kidding aside, it's just now occurring to me that you should come with me on my book tour."

I sat up in surprise. "What? Really? Are you serious?"

"Yes, really, I'm serious. It's just for a week, the West Coast... you can be an assistant. I think it'd be good for you to get some experience, exposure, if you really want to pursue writing. I'm headed out next week."

I clasped my hands together, hardly able to contain myself. "That's perfect! I'll be done with my math class, thank God... Thank you so much!" I threw my arms around him, purely out of gratitude at first, though the feeling of his warm naked skin against my own soon reminded me that there was more between us. He grinned at me and then kisses me on the nose.

"Frankly I'm not going to say I'm doing this out of pure altruism... It'd be hard to be away from you for even a week. But if you weren't talented, I wouldn't take you, no matter how great you are at sucking my cock." Squeezing my breast affectionately, the gleam in his bright blue eyes reinforced the message that we would be able to be together for one whole week, and could do anything we wanted, without hiding.

A thought occurred to me. "But what about..."

"You know how she works, and you also know... I'm not sure she's all that bothered that I'll be gone." He ran his fingers through his hair and sighs. "Kyle's grandparents will come down while I'm traveling. So we'll be all set."

"This is amazing," I marveled, and jumped up from the bed to get dressed, crawling around the floor looking for my various articles of clothing strewn about the room. "I definitely want to go with you. I've never even been across the country before. I can hardly believe it."

"You'll love the West Coast, Kim, Seattle, Portland, San Francisco." He seemed to feed off of my giddy excitement, watching me amusedly as I lay on my back on the floor, sliding on my tight jeans, but then still wandered around, topless, looking haphazardly for my bra and my shirt.

"I can't wait," my reply muffled by the fabric of my shirt, which I found and then hurriedly pulled over my head. When the shirt collar popped over my head, I saw Mr. Johnson standing over me, only an inch away. I jumped a little and he laughed, and bent down and kissed me possessively on the lips.

"Me neither," he whispered intensely, thrilling me to my core. "I don't think we can see each other until then, though, there won't be time or opportunity."

"Oh no..." I whined, giving in to my immature impulses for a second.

"A cliché, but true, as they always are. Good things are worth waiting for." He kissed my forehead.

I grinned at him slyly. "If clichés are so great, why don't you use that as the title of your next book?" His current title was much more obscure and literary, two things he was well-known for being.

Laughing, he turned me around and slapped my ass. "Get out of here, brat."

Whipping around, I stuck my tongue out at him cheekily, and then headed back home, my pulse racing.

It's a little odd to feel so infatuated with him at this juncture, because while our non-sexual relationship has deepened, our sexual relationship has gotten more objectified. What do I mean by that? Well, he noticed that my pussy got the wettest when he talked filthily to me, and it was surprising to both of us to what level. I don't know why, but it made me so fucking hot when he did things like grab my hair and grunt, "Take it you slutty little Asian twat, take my big white cock." Things I never imagined I would like, but that made me copiously wet and he steel hard in return. I could try to psychoanalyze myself, or him, but that wouldn't negate those powerful feelings of arousal that those nasty phrases elicited in the fire of the moment. I pushed those questioning thoughts aside for later. I wasn't in the mood to deal with them; I didn't really have the patience for it.

I went home and talked it over with my parents, who were actually thrilled at the opportunity for me to go, as they saw it as a chance to learn more about a hoped for career. Mr. Johnson was getting some attention from his book, and they didn't suspect anything untoward was going on. Though I had tried hard to be like my older brother, engineering genius (of course, another cliché), after this summer, I managed to convince my parents that I'd never be anything but a B math student, which wasn't good enough for an Asian family. Slaving over those problem sets got me nowhere, though I had to admit I had been distracted a little by my relationship with Mr. Johnson. Maybe I could have gotten that B+ if I concentrated more. Whatever. I shrugged.

I felt a little guilty, if they knew what their daughter was doing they'd be horrified. But I was nineteen, almost twenty and well within my rights to make my own decisions, questionable though they were. The guilt was a nice feeder actually, into the delicious feeling that what I was doing was a little sordid, definitely forbidden, and excruciatingly hot.

I did wonder if what Mr. Johnson said was totally true, that he wouldn't bring me along unless I had a modicum of talent. Even if he was lying, I was still pleased to go. True, being wanted as a sex object and on my merit simultaneously was a concoction that drove me absolutely crazy with lust, physically and mentally. Still, a little bit of self-doubt and anxiety camped out in the pit of my stomach. Was he just using me for sex? How did I feel about that?

I ran upstairs to my room. I had a weird impulse, suddenly. I stripped off my jeans, my shirt, my underwear and bra. I stood in front of a mirror in my room, naked. Mr. Johnson had called me pretty, beautiful even. Was I, though?

Years of running track in high school kept me fairly tight, though because I was short, my calves were hard and stocky. I tended to wear very short shorts, not in an explicit attempt to show my legs off, but it was precisely because they weren't very long that I wanted to show my skin, to give off the illusion that they were longer than they were. My body was a little squarish, which had made me a great sprinter, but also made me very self-conscious, amplified now by the fact that I'd gained a little weight my first year in college, since I didn't run competitively anymore. I always felt inadequate in contrast to the tall sorority-type girls with their blond hair, large breasts, and tanned skin; my boobs were okay, somewhere between a B and C cup, but I could never fill out a shirt impressively in comparison. My skin could never tan that perfectly, it always burned first and intensified some freckles on my cheeks and nose, which I thought looked weird and hideous on me. Why did I have freckles as an Asian girl? That was weird. I was however, a little vain about my hair, long and deep black and grown almost to my waist, though sometimes I hated how stick straight it always was, and no matter how hard I tried to curl it, no curl would hold.

These underlying inadequate feelings about myself were a big part of why I got so turned on by Mr. Johnson's words, that he thought I was beautiful, that he liked fucking my tight Asian cunt. I liked being specifically wanted. I looked at the triangle of black hair between my legs, a shock of straight black hair against my skin. I noticed that I did have a little bit of a tan from this summer, probably those few days I spent at the local pool, so there was a slight tan line marking my bikini region. I always trimmed my pubic hair in the summer, to keep it well-hidden underneath my swimsuit. The thought suddenly occurred to me though, that I might want to shave it completely off, as a surprise for Mr. Johnson. I wondered if he would like it.

I had never shaved my pubic hair completely off before, and the thought excited me. I went to my bathroom, found some small hair trimming scissors, and proceeded to trim my pubic hairs as short as I could. Then, I grabbed the razor and shaving cream that I normally use for my legs, and turned on the shower. Stepping in to the warm stream of water, I let myself luxuriate in the increasing steam for a few minutes, softening my skin. When I felt ready, I held my breath, and rubbed shaving cream on the remaining hair, including on the lower lips of my labia. Dragging the razor over my skin, I took pleasure in seeing the smooth strips of skin emerge, displacing the hair, until the whole area was bald and on display. I could see the whole shape, the divot of the lips, so ostentatiously screaming sex. While I was shaving my pussy, I started to get aroused, and when I finished with the razor, I set it down, detached my shower head, and leaned against the shower wall. I brought the shower head down to my now bald, aching pussy, and treated myself to a water-induced orgasm, thinking about how eagerly Mr. Johnson would feast on my bald pussy when he saw me.

After my shower I threw on a robe and flopped onto my bed onto my stomach with my math textbook. However, I soon found it difficult to concentrate because I felt persistently aware of my pussy, as if the attention from shaving it had made it extra sensitive, craving even more attention. Ever since I started having sex with Mr. Johnson, I had gone from occasionally horny to persistently aroused, and even a few moments after sex, would crave it again. Similarly with masturbation. Even after satisfying myself in the shower, I needed more.

I pushed my math book away and buried my face into my comforter, biting the fabric with my teeth, clutching the smooth cotton with one hand, and sliding my hand down my midsection with the other, underneath my robe. When I reached my shaved opening, I rubbed my clit lightly with two fingers, feeling how hard it already was, and how my sticky juices so easily flowed without the barrier of hair to stop it. Every time I felt a spark of excitation, I bit into the blanket harder, so that I wouldn't make a sound and disturb my parents. Arching my fingers up, I began to hump my bed, riding my own fingers, not penetrating myself deeply, but enough that my fingers would rub against the length of my clit to just below, hitting that rough patch of skin that felt like fire every time I touched it. The smoothness of my freshly shaven skin made this one of the more exciting times I've fucked myself in this position, and as I neared my orgasm I plunged both of my fingers deeper into my pussy, rubbing my G-spot until I felt those satisfying electric waves that made my walls spasm so enjoyably. I bit the comforter, hard, trying not to scream.

The next few days passed slowly, and every day I felt more and more horny. Shaving my pussy had made me hyper-aware of it at all times, and the fact that I wasn't seeing Mr. Johnson at all was driving me crazy. Whenever I walked around, whether it was in my house, around campus, wherever, I could feel my lips sliding together, already predisposed to wetness in the heat of the summer.

The day finally came for the trip. I'd finished my math class, taken my final, and packed. My parents dropped me off at the airport, and I made my way through the ticket counter, security, and finally, to the gate. Mr. Johnson was there already, sitting in a seat in front of large windows, reading the New Yorker. Upon seeing him, my heart started racing. He was so engrossed in the magazine that he didn't see me approaching. Or so I thought. I slid in the seat next to him, and watching him reading for a second. He didn't look up, but I saw a smile creeping on his face.

"Hi," he said, his lips hidden behind his hand as he scratched his chin.

"Hi," I replied, pulling Marie Claire out of my bag and pretending to ignore him.

"You look great," he whispered, still studiously reading the pages in his lap, though I now notice that he had the magazine strategically placed over his crotch.

"So you do," I whispered back, crossing my legs and squeezing them together, feeling an electric pulse between them as I placed my arm on the armrest between our seats, lightly brushing his bare arm with my own. The sleeves of his white and grey button down shirt were rolled up casually, reveling his forearm with its covering of some dark brown hair, accentuated by a large watch. I accidentally touched the face of the metal watch, and it scraped my skin slightly, which felt kind of good, reminding me of the way his fingernails felt when he clutched my breasts or legs when we were fucking.

"Ready for the trip? My publicist will meet us before the first reading, and brief you. You'll basically be helping her out." He cleared his throat, and turned a page.

"Yes, I've been ready since you asked me to go." I turned a page as well. "More than ready." I added in a casual tone that belied my practically frantic state, as seeing Mr. Johnson again after a few days without contact was almost too much for me to handle.

I glanced at him, and could see the corners of his mouth turning up, but we both continued to read in silence, until our section was called to board. I walked down the hallway to board the plane, following Mr. Johnson, and admiring his lanky stride, the way his lean but broad shoulders easily supported his leather duffle bag, his slightly messy wavy brown hair curling a bit on his collar. I wanted to run my hand down his back as we walked, but I held myself back. I could feel myself getting excited, that same hyper-awareness of my bald pussy intensifying in that moment with every step I took. I had decided not to wear panties underneath my grey skirt today, and I was slightly regretting it now, as I could feel some wetness sliding down my inner thigh.

Not once did Mr. Johnson turn to look at me, and I wondered if his feverish whisper had actually even happened. We made our way down the narrow aisle, and it wasn't until we found our row, that he finally turned to me, but only to take my carry-on bag and pop it in the overhead compartment. I enjoyed watching his muscles flex while he did that, and again had to hold myself back from feeling his body.

"Do you want to take the window?" he asked. "You'll get a better view."

"Sure, thanks!" I replied, and slid myself into the window seat, while Mr. Johnson took the aisle.

Instead of that starting a conversation though, he grabbed his magazine again and kept reading. I was starting to get a little annoyed at the lack of attention, and grabbed my magazine in a huff. I didn't notice that Mr. Johnson was laughing at me while my head was down, and whenever I snuck a glance at him he was busy reading.

I flipped through the pages, seeing nothing. The plane took off and beverages were served, and not a word between us was exchanged. After awhile, I couldn't take it anymore. I had to do something. I grabbed my purse from under my seat and nodded at him.

"Excuse me," I said snippily, "I need to use the restroom."

"Sure," he replied, and started to undo his seatbelt.

"No need." I got up from my seat, and slid in front of him, being very careful to minimize our body contact, so that only our knees touched, but I whispered to as I passed, "Guess I forgot to wear my underwear today for nothing."

He looked up at me suddenly with narrowed, hungry eyes, as if something in him had suddenly snapped. I was a little scared and instantly turned on by that feral switch, that flash of animal intensity. He grabbed my wrist, and whispered back, "Don't be gone for too long."

Unfortunately, there was a slight line for the lavatory. I could see Mr. Johnson looking back at me waiting, and every time we met gazes, I saw that wolfish look again. I wanted to run back to him, but I liked making him wait for me, to make him feel a little hungry and frustrated. I didn't even have to use the bathroom.

When it was my turn, I locked the small room, and took my hairbrush out of my purse to fix my hair. I smiled at my reflection in the mirror, my long straight hair cascading down, standing out amidst my light pink ruffly blouse. Make me wait, will you, I thought to myself, smiling a little evilly.

I returned to my row, and tapped Mr. Johnson on the shoulder. He looked up at me, that feral look again, and I almost shuddered a little, but said calmly, "Would you mind getting up so that I can get through? It's a bit tight."

He smiled tightly. "I think you can manage." And he grabbed my wrist again, like before.

I was extremely excited by this, but I shook his wrist off, and quipped, "No, I think it's better if you just get up."

He narrowed his eyes at me even more, and wordlessly, he unbuckled his seat belt again and got into the aisle, letting me by. As he stood over me, I noticed again how tall he was, and the fact that he was glowering a little made him feel all the more imposing. I slid into the window seat, and looked out the window, my legs tightly pushed together and my hands holding my knees.

I felt him sit down again, and as I stared out the window, I felt a hot breath on my ear. Mr. Johnson held my arm and squeezed it possessively. "Open your legs, you little fucking tease." A whispered order is more powerful than a shout. But I was a little hesitant. We were on the plane, there were people around. I glanced around; across the aisle the couple near us happened to be napping. But still... plus I was still a little mad that he had ignored me for so long.

"No." I whispered back, taunting him.

"Kim..." he murmured urgently, and squeezed my arm tighter. Then, he put his hand on my face, holding my chin in his hands and turning my face to his. He glared at me, and his eyes were filled with fire. "Now, open them right now. Your cunt is mine."

The fire from his eyes ignited me, and I could resist no longer. I hadn't really wanted to anyway, but pushing him closer to anger had been worth it, he was fucking hot when he was like this. I'd seen flashes of it before but this was even more intense. I looked around again, and opened my legs. He leaned over closer to me, his face leaning on the side of mine, his mouth practically on my ear, and he slid his hand underneath my skirt.

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byyuna1981© 3 comments/ 48066 views/ 12 favorites

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