Mature Student

It seems life has always been a struggle. Coming from a poor family, I tried hard to be a good daughter. Married at 18, I tried hard to be a good wife. Pregnant for the first time a year later, and again two years after that, I tried hard to be a good mother. Now I’m trying hard to get a higher education.

It hasn’t been easy. When I married my husband, he was a football star. We dreamed his talent would take us to bigger and better things. When he tore apart his knee a year later, our dreams were shattered. Instead of going to college on a football scholarship, he became an apprentice at a local factory.

My husband never approved of my efforts to resume my education, so it was hard to earn my General Equivalency Certificate but I finally did last spring at the age of 26. This led me to apply to the local college where I began taking courses two nights a week this fall. No one from my family had ever been to college before.

I was really nervous the night of my first class. Everyone else seemed younger, better dressed, more affluent, and more confident than me. I had tried to dress ‘young’, but I guess I came off looking like ‘trailer trash’. I was so relieved when one of the students – Roger – came over to talk with me during the first break.

Over the next few weeks I began to look forward to seeing Roger as much as I did going to class. He was mature for his age – 19 – and was living in the college dormitory. I found him very handsome and was flattered that, with so many other attractive young women in the class, he seemed so interested in a mother of two.

My husband begrudged every moment I spent at college. He wanted me at home, serving his needs. Married life had become like a prison whereas my time on campus, especially my moments with Roger, were a release. I had even begun to have escapist fantasies about us, which was just foolish.

One night after class Roger asked if I would join him for a drink at an on-campus pub. Oh, how I wanted to say yes, but I knew my husband would be furious if I arrived home late and smelling of alcohol. I declined and said I had to hurry home.

Later that week, at the Thursday night class, I felt that Roger was acting a little distant. I feared that my rejection the other night had upset him. I didn’t want that so after class, when he offered to walk me to my car, I gratefully accepted.

It was cold outside as we walked along, and I suppose I complained a little. Roger then put his arm around me to keep me warm. Not wanting to discourage him, I did not object. In fact, I responded by putting my arm around his waist as we walked silently through the shadows like teenage lovers. I knew I was courting trouble.

Sure enough, when we got to my car, Roger tried to kiss me. I knew it was wrong, but for just a moment I let him. In a rush of naughty pleasure, I even put my arms around him and ran my fingers through his hair. When I felt his tongue on my lips, though, I pushed him away, got in the car and left. Of course, I fretted endlessly over the weekend. Why did I let Roger kiss me … and why did I stop him?

Next week at class I wasn’t sure what to expect of Roger, but I found him to be as cheerful and gracious as ever. When class was over, I again let him walk me to my car and again we ended up kissing. I was prepared to push him away if things went too far but instead of rushing, he took his time, giving us both a chance to savor every delicious sensation. As my body pressed against his, I felt him become hard.

This time I confess it was my tongue that brushed his lips. Our kissing became hot and wet … and I knew it would soon have to stop. When he moved his hand near my breast, I whispered “Please don’t.” He stopped. Not sure what to do next, I said “I’d love to, Roger, but I can’t.” Then I kissed him deeply, broke our embrace and left.

I couldn’t wait for class two nights later. I hadn’t felt like this in years. I loved the way I felt in Roger’s arms. After class he asked if, on the way to the car, I wanted to stop by and see the dormitory where he lived. I’d never been inside a dormitory before. I was worried about where this might lead, but since it was cold outside and I knew we would make out, I gladly accepted.

It felt strange: the kids all seemed so young compared to me. Roger shared with his room with another 19 year old named Hank. Theirs was one of six rooms attached to a common area with lounge chairs. This was where Roger introduced me to his friends. By their comments, it was clear they knew all about Roger and his married ‘girlfriend’. As we sat and talked, Roger put his arm around me and began nibbling on my ear in full view of his friends. I felt uncomfortable and whispered that we should go somewhere more private. Without another word, he led me to his room.

As soon as we were inside we fell into a passionate embrace. In no time at all I felt one of Roger’s hands slip under my sweater and move to my bra-encased breast. I should have said something but I didn’t. Instead, I poured gasoline on the fire by rubbing my leg against his. Encouraged, he picked me up, carried me to his bed and laid me down. We kissed madly. I let my legs part. He began feeling me up through my jeans. My hips responded as if they had a mind of their own.

I wanted him with an urgency I had never felt before. I reached for him and felt his hardness. In no time it was out. Here I was, a mother of two, in a college dormitory with a teenager’s cock in my hand. While I played with him, he removed my clothes. When he touched me, he discovered what I already knew: that I was wet with desire.

Without waiting any longer, he rolled me onto my back and climbed between my legs. Then he brought the head of his cock to my pussy lips and, after teasing my clit for a few minutes, he slid its full length inside me. He was the first person beside my husband ever to be inside me like this. As his rhythm increased, I began to moan.

To encourage him, I reached around with my hands and cupped his buttocks, trying to pull him close. God I loved the feeling of him inside me. As I approached orgasm I heard myself call out “Yes. Yes. Yes.” He came right after that, leaving me on the brink of my own orgasm. I didn’t care. I felt great. I felt more alive than I had in years.

Aware that it was getting late, I cleaned myself up and went to leave. Roger offered to walk me to my car, but I declined. If we began making out again, I might arrive home so late that my husband would become suspicious. As I left the room I realized that Roger’s door had been ajar and that his buddies had listened to our show. At least I think they just listened. Embarrassed, I pushed past them and made my way home.

It soon became our habit to slip away from class early and go back to Roger’s room, where I experienced sensations I had never thought possible. I hit the books hard to make up for lost class time but, in truth, making love with Roger was really all I thought about: I found myself sleepwalking through the rest of my life.

One night in late October I decided to surprise Roger by coming to class bra-less, wearing a loose sweater. I also wore no panties underneath a mid-calf skirt. I changed into the outfit after I left home so as not to arouse my husband’s suspicion.

At the break, I led Roger down the hall to the fire escape stairway. We sat down at the top of a flight of stair and were soon locked in a passionate embrace. His hands quickly made their way inside my sweater. “You naughty girl,” he said when he felt my bare breasts. I lay back, letting my legs fall apart. His hands were soon roaming up the inside of my thighs. I could sense his surprise and excitement when he first touched my snatch: bare, wet and ready for pleasure.

I loved the way he was playing with me there, in the fire escape. I loved the way even my softest moans echoed through the staircase, but I was determined not to let things go too much further in so public a place. I asked him to stop. He did so reluctantly, saying I owed him one.

We left class early and, on the way back to his dorm, passion overcame us both. He took me standing against the wall of the chemistry building, in the shadows near the pathway. Passersby must have heard us, but I didn’t mind. In fact, the possibility of being discovered seemed to add to our excitement. It felt deliciously wicked to let him play with me in public. When we got back to his dorm, we had the hottest, wettest, wildest sex yet. I arrived home quite late that night. Luckily my husband was already asleep.

Over the next few weeks, I developed the naughty habit of regularly going to class wearing neither bra nor panties, and it seemed that my husband was almost always asleep before I got home. Once he asked why I was getting home so late. I told him that, after class, I did research in the library until it closed, then went to an late-night coffee shop to complete my homework assignment for the upcoming class. That way, I told him, I could be there at other times for him. He bought it hook, line and sinker.

One Thursday night in mid-November I arrived at class to find that Roger wasn’t there. At the break I made way back to his dorm, where I found him helping his buddies prepare for an impromptu party. He seemed really glad to see me. Arm around me, he introduced me to a few new friends. Most were OK, but right from the start I didn’t like Marty Shapiro or the way he leered at me. I could tell all he wanted to do was fuck me. Once the party started, all the guys wanted to dance with me. At first I was the only woman there. I enjoyed being the center of attention.

The one guy I didn’t like to dance with was Marty. During a slow dance, he took liberties, putting his hand on my breast and refusing to remove it, and then forcing his leg in between mine while he played with my ass. I later heard him refer to me as ‘trailer trash’. I spoke with Roger about this. He said not to worry: Marty was a spoiled rich prick. Nobody liked him.

Mainly though I danced with Roger. Sometimes, when we got tired, we would sit down on one of the sofas in the corner of the lounge and, like teenage lovers, make out. With me wearing no panties and with the lights down low, Roger couldn’t resist feeling me up discretely, nor did I attempt to stop him.

After one such make out session I was ready to go back to the dance floor but Roger was not, so he suggested I ask his roommate Hank to dance. Although he was handsome enough, Hank had never had any luck with girls: still a virgin it seemed.

We danced for three songs. The last one was a slow one. Hank held me close; close enough that I could feel his growing excitement. I felt his lips brush against the skin of my ear. Then he tried to kiss me. I liked Hank, so I kissed him back but politely, not passionately. After a moment, I told him to stop. Then the set ended.

I told Roger about what Hank had done. Roger said he had seen it all and, to my surprise, was disappointed that I hadn’t kissed Hank more. He said I should take pity on his roommate. “Ask him to dance again and this time give him a little thrill. When he tries to kiss you, really kiss him back.” He said. “But if I encourage him, he’ll want to go further,” I countered. “You’re in control of the situation, and I’ll be here to keep an eye on things too. You decide how far to let him go, but lift his spirits,” he said. “Won’t it bother you?” I asked. “Turn me on, more like it,” he replied.

I didn’t see any real harm in this: I’d kissed lots of boys and let a few of them paw me before I got married, so I agreed. I went over to ask Hank if he wanted to dance. He seemed surprised by my invitation but eagerly agreed. I guess Roger had spoken to the DJ because the next two songs were slow ones. Just moments into the dance I again felt Hank’s lips brush against mine. Now it was my turn to surprise Hank: I returned his kisses and when I felt his tongue brush my lips, our kissing became soft and wet.

Hands on my hips, Hank steered us to a shadowy corner of the dance floor, away from prying eyes. I raised my arms so that I could run my fingers through his hair: doing that always seems to turn men on. With arms raised, my breasts were easily accessible, inviting Hank to take liberties. His right hand soon found its way under my sweater. When I did not protest, he moved it to my bare breast. I enjoyed letting him fondle and massage me discretely like that in a public place.

Of course, I knew he was going to try and press his luck further, so it didn’t surprise me when I felt his other hand slide down my back to play with my bum. Nor did I object much when his hand dropped to the hem of my skirt and his fingers began dancing on the soft sensitive skin on the back of my thighs … but when he slid his hand up under my skirt far enough to touch my bare bum I told him he had to stop. He was there long enough, though, to discover that I was not wearing panties.

When the song ended, I returned to Roger, breathless and excited. Roger, of course, had watched all of this and was eager to hear the details. “In private,” I said, and so we went to Roger’s room. As I related every detail of how Hank had touched me, Roger became more and more excited. We ended up having the hottest sex imaginable, and then we must have fallen asleep in each others’ arms.

I awoke just after midnight. Gathering my things I left the room only to run into Hank sitting alone in the darkened lounge, nursing a beer. I didn’t know what else to do so I sat down on the coffee table opposite him. “I enjoyed our dance,” I said softly. “So did I,” he replied, leaning forward to kiss me. I kissed him back. Then he placed his hand on my knee and I felt it begin to wander up my skirt. I put my hand on his wrist so I could restrict his movement, but I confess I also opened my legs for him slightly.

It felt great the way he caressed the soft skin of my inner thighs, but I wouldn’t let him touch me more intimately than that. “Please,” he whispered “I’ve never felt a woman there before.” What harm could it do? It was dark and the lounge was deserted. “Wait,” I whispered. The inside of my cunt was still wet with Roger’s semen, but outside I knew my pubic hair was a tangled mess, stiff and encrusted with dried semen, not the way a man’s first snatch should feel.

So, holding him back with one hand, I reached down between my legs with my other hand and slide two fingers into my cunt, scooping out some of Roger’s sperm and smearing it all over my pussy until if was soft and wet to the touch. “Now,” I said.

“Tell me what to do,” said Hank. “Touch my clit,” I said, guiding his fingers to the magic button. The sensation was electric. After a few moments I added “Move your fingers back and forth slowly.” He heard me moan. “Am I doing it right?” he asked. “Just right, I whispered. After a few moments I decided to lay back on the coffee table, let my legs fall wide open, and instruct Hank in the art of pleasing a woman.

“Now slip a finger into me,” I commanded. He did so slowly, and not one finger but two, running them down my slit, one on other side of my distended clit, then sliding along the slippery folds until they disappeared inside me. Each time he did this I moaned and asked him to do it again. The feeling was exquisite.

The next thing I knew he was kneeling at the foot of the coffee table, sucking gently on my clit and teasing it with the tip of his tongue. “Oh God yes,” I heard myself say. When I was sure I couldn’t stand it anymore, he pulled my hips up, legs wide apart, and began running his tongue from my asshole all the way to my swollen clit and back. It felt so sinful to have my most private parts licked in this way, and of course, I was still wet with Roger’s semen.

How could a mother of two let an inexperienced teenager like Hank do this to her? As I approached orgasm, I wrapped my legs around his head in an effort to bring his mouth tight against my bucking hips. I tried hard to contain myself, but when the orgasm at last washed over me, I fear I made quite a bit of noise.

As the waves of orgasm subsided, I lay there, fearful that others might been awakened: I thought I heard at least one door being opened. The thing I really wanted to do was leave: it must have been nearly two o’clock. Instead I saw Hank standing over me. He had removed his cock from his pants.

I had really let things go too far and now Hank was in desperate need of release. Thinking that maybe I could get away with just blowing him, I sat up. Cradling his balls in one hand and holding his shaft in the other, I began pumping him gently. Then I took the helmet of his cock into my mouth, sucking him deeper and deeper into me with each stroke. This just worked Hank up even more.

Hank was tired of living life as a virgin and he wanted me to bring him over to the other side. Part of me was flattered: I’d never been with a virgin before. Part of me was also deeply ashamed: I was about to let myself get fucked by the second of two men that night … and I was now certain that we had an audience. Being watched was bad enough but if I wasn’t careful, some of those other boys might want more, especially that Shapiro bastard.

I decided that if I was going to let Hank take me, it would be standing up. That way I could keep my clothes on and limit what our audience might see. His cock still in my hand, I stood up and placed one foot on the armrest of the sofa. I then brought his tool into contact with my cunt, sliding it up and down the slippery surface until I was sure it would slide in easily. While I did this, his hands danced all over me.

Then, slowly, I guided him inside me. As he felt his shaft inside a woman for the first time, I watched his eyes go wide with excitement. Of course he didn’t last long, nor did he bring me to orgasm, but I since I wasn’t going to let him fuck me properly, I felt I owed it to him to put on a bit of a show for his unseen friends. Loud enough for the others to hear, I said “Oh God you feel good inside me” and moaned as if he were causing me to have an overwhelming orgasm. I am sure that all of this pushed him over the edge but, when he came, what I really felt was a sense of relief. This was no longer fun. When those doors started opening, it became risky. I left as soon as I could. Arriving home after 3:00 that morning, I crept into bed beside my husband, the seed from my two lovers buried deep inside me, my mind crowded with doubts.

I was too ashamed to go to class on the following Tuesday. By Thursday, though, I decided I was ready to face the music. Of course Roger knew all about my fling with Hank. He didn’t seem to t mind one bit. He said he was much more worried about me, given my absence from class earlier in the week. He wanted me to leave class early that night, like we always did, and go make love back at his place.

“What about Hank?” I asked. “Oh, Hank is anxious to see you too.” he said, adding “All the boys are.” That instant I knew I was in trouble. I needed time to think. I pleaded illness and went home early.

At the Tuesday class the following week, I told Roger that my youngest daughter was sick and that I had to go straight home after class. I also said that I hoped Hank and Marty would be around on Thursday night because I was now itching to have a little fun and I said that maybe I’d even bring my video camera. His eyes lit up and he said he would make sure they were available.

When Thursday night came, it was easy to persuade Roger that we should skip the second half of the class and go back to his place. When we got there, Hank, Marty and a few of the other boys were waiting. Still holding Roger by the hand, I went up to Hank and gave him a wet kiss. The other guys hooted and whistled. I then led Hank and Roger into the bedroom, making love to Roger while Hank videotaped us. Then I let Hank fuck me while Roger taped us. I took them both lying on my back.