Teachers' Pet: An MFMM Romance

by Amy Brent

  I blew out a long breath and with my hand still on my cock, and my stomach covered in jizz, paddled off the bathroom to take a hot shower to start my day.

  CHAPTER EIGHT: Wynn

  I was sitting at the table in Holden’s kitchen nursing a cup of black coffee when Jude appeared at the doorway. I was wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting black silk boxers. Jude was wearing a long white t-shirt and nothing else. Her thimble-like nipples poked through the thin cotton material and there were no panty lines that I could see. She had obviously just woken up and put the t-shirt on. Or maybe she wore it to bed. Either way, I couldn’t help imagining what she would look like with it off. Her hair was messy, and her eyes were puffy. She rubbed them like a little kid and gave me a smile.

  “Good morning,” I said, getting up from the table to hold out a chair for her. “Did you sleep well?”

  “I did, thanks,” she said, sitting down with a heavy sigh. She stretched out her long limps and groaned, then narrowed her eyes at the coffee maker sitting on the counter. “Is there coffee?”

  “There is,” I said, already moving toward the pot. “Would you like a cup?”

  She gave me a sleepy smile. “Oh my god, yes, please.” She rubbed her cheeks between her hands and glanced around the kitchen. Holden’s empty cup was still on the table. “Has Holden left already?”

  “He had to get to the seminar early to help set up,” I said as I took down another cup and filled it with black coffee. I set the cup in front of her and took the chair across the table. “I make it pretty strong. Strong enough to jumpstart my system. Do you take sugar and cream?”

  “No, black is fine,” she said, pushing hair from her eyes and reaching for the cup. “I learned to drink it black my freshman year. I had to pull a lot of all-nighters to keep up back then.”

  “That’s the way it is with a lot of us,” I said, nodding, remembering my own freshman year that seemed a lifetime ago. “I just hooked up an IV bag and had Holden pour in gallons of black coffee to keep me awake.”

  “I can just picture him doing that,” she said with a sweet smile that told me she truly liked my boy Holden, and was not just using him for sex (okay, that was hard to say with a straight face).

  I smiled at her and she smiled back. Even with the puffy eyes and a crease from the pillow down the side of her face, Jude was strikingly beautiful. The photos that Holden had sent me did not do her justice. Selfies during sex rarely do. I couldn’t wait to see her naked body for myself.

  She had a sleepy, hungover look about her that made me ask, “Too much vino last night?”

  “Yeah, I think I drank a little too much last night,” she said, picking up the cup and holding it to her lips so she could blow cool air across it. “Holden and I had been at it quite a while before you arrived… I mean… well… you know what I mean.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t,” I said, giving her a playful look with the cup to my lips. “Define ‘at it’ for me.”

  When she smiled her entire face lit up. “Well, let’s just say that we had not seen each other in a few days and we were trying to make up for lost time.” She took a sip of the hot coffee and smacked her lips. “I guess Holden told you about what happened with Keith Calloway.”

  My head slowly nodded on its own. I had known Professor Keith Calloway from my time at Midwestern before moving away. He was a world class prick that preyed on female students. He and I had almost come to blows several times over his harassment of students I happened to be sleeping with. I was shocked to learn that he was still teaching at Midwestern when Holden told me about Jude’s involvement with him, but I feigned ignorance to see what she would tell me.

  “Holden mentioned something about Calloway, but nothing specific,” I said, sipping the coffee as if making casual conversation. “Care to tell me what happened?”

  Her shoulders went up and down as she sighed. It made her melon tits bounce in the shirt. “Well, sad to say, I got involved with Keith a while back, not knowing that he was married. His wife found out about us and all hell broke loose. I ended things, but he kept after me. I told him to leave me alone, and even swore out a restraining order, but it didn’t do much good. He tried to attack me a while back and Holden saved me. If he hadn’t come along when he did, well… who knows.”

  “And that caused you to reevaluate your life and relationships,” I said knowingly, sounding very much like the head shrinker that I was trained to be.

  She blinked at me. “Yes, how did you know? Did Holden say something?”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s what I’m trained to do, remember?” I gave her my best professional look and held out my hands. “When someone experiences a traumatic event, such as getting attacked or injured, it is normal for that person to reevaluate their life, their priorities, and their relationships, especially when it was a relationship that led to the event.”

  She gave me a sideways grin. “Wow, so you really are a doctor of psychiatry? Good looking and educated.”

  That made me chuckle. “Yes, believe it or not, I am not just a pretty face,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Anyway, what you experienced was perfectly normal. You needed the time to work through, and apparently now you have. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you,” she said, giving me a little nod.

  I took another sip of coffee and arched my eyebrows. “What’s the deal with Keith now?”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The restraining order is still in place, and he’s locked up for at least thirty days for violating it. Beyond that, he will probably get out on bail pending charges for assault. I really hate that he’s going through this. I don’t want him locked up. But I hope he has finally learned his lesson and will leave me alone.”

  “Keith is where he is because of Keith,” I said seriously. “Do not feel bad for the guy.”

  “I know, that’s what Holden says,” she said with a quiet sigh. “Still, I can’t help but feel partially to blame. I mean, he had a wife and kids. And now…”

  “I remember Keith Calloway from before I left,” I said, shaking my head. “Keith was always a bit of a prick, but I can’t imagine him wanting to spend much time in jail. I’m sure he got the message.”

  “I hope so,” she said, staring down into her cup. “I sure hope so.”

  That fucking prick… I was suddenly filled with rage toward Keith Calloway. I wanted to drive to the jail, bail him out, then beat the living shit out of him and make sure he never bothered Jude again.

  It was odd, having such feelings of protection for a woman I didn’t really know. But Holden had confided in me that there was something special about Jude, something that made him want to take her in his arms and protect her from the world.

  Watching her eyes tear up across the table I understood exactly what he meant. There were women so precious you just wanted to protect them. And slaughter anyone who threatened them in any way. I wanted to put my arms around her and tell her everything was going to be okay. Then make gentle love to her, just me and her. No theatrics. No weirdness. No swinging from the rafters. Just simple, sweet love.

  “You look a little pissed,” she said, smiling at me.

  “Do I?” I asked, rubbing the tension from my forehead with my fingertips.

  “You do.”

  I shrugged. “Well, guys like Keith piss me off.”

  That made her smile. “I know. They piss me off, too.”

  “So, tell me something good about your life,” I said, attempting to redirect the energy of our conversation because I had truly managed to bum her out.

  She gave me an inquisitive look. A strand of hair fell across her forehead. I resisted the urge to brush it behind her ear. “Something good about my life?”

  I tried to match the warmth of her smile and held out my hands. “Yes, tell me something good. Holden tells me you have an incredibly bright future and might even become a psychiatrist.”

  Thankfully, the light returned to her eyes. “
Oh, yes, that’s what I’m thinking now,” she said, nodding. “I have a few months of grad school left, then I’m thinking about getting my doctorate and opening a practice here at Midwestern.”

  “That’s awesome,” I said. “Do you have a focus for the practice or will you do general psychiatry?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” she said, frowning in thought. I watched her tongue go around her lips. I felt my cock twitch in my boxers. “I’m thinking that sex therapy might be interesting.” She picked up her cup and took a sip, then looked me dead in the eye as she licked coffee from her lips. “What do you think? Is sex therapy a good field to go into these days? For individuals and couples? Or maybe… more?”

  I smiled because we were back on track and I could tell she had brought up the topic to tease me a little. I said, “Well, as you might know, I’m a big fan of therapy and a bigger fan of sex. And considering that most of the world’s problems stem from sex, I think that’s a great path to follow.”

  “Do you really believe that?” she asked.

  “Do I really believe what?”

  “That most of the world’s problems stem from sex?”

  I shrugged at the question. “Well, think about. Wars have been fought over sex. Men kill for sex. Many crimes pertain to sex. Most betrayal stems from sex.”

  “As does most happiness,” she said with a grin. “You make the world sound like such a dark place.”

  “The world can be a dark place, and the most common denominator among people on the planet is sex,” I said, shifting into professor mode without even thinking about it. “Most people want to have sex, some more than others, some will do unspeakable things to get sex, and some focus so harshly on sex that they allow it to destroy their lives.”

  “You have a very cynical view of sex and the world,” she said, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Especially for a guy who makes a very good living writing and speaking about sex.”

  “Oh, I’m not cynical about sex,” I said with a smile. “I am cynical about human beings and how they use sex to get what they want or hurt one another or satisfy some dark need. Or those who use it as a tool or as a power to hold over others.”

  “So, you’re cynical about people, but not cynical about sex.”

  “Correct.”

  “So, sex is great, but people suck.” She said it and arched her eyebrows over the cup. “I can agree to that.”

  “Are you ever cynical about sex?” I asked, lobbing the ball back into her court.

  “Sometimes, I’m cynical about my own motives and sexuality,” she said, her eyes turning serious.

  “Can you elaborate?” I asked.

  She grinned at me. “Jeez, when did this become a therapy session?”

  “Humor me,” I said with a smile. “I need the practice for this weekend.”

  “Ah, I see.” She let her eyes drift slowly around my face. “Fine. What was the question again?”

  “I asked if you’d care to elaborate on being cynical about your own sexuality.”

  She took a deep breath and spoke softly as she let it out. “Well, for a long time I let my sexuality rule me. I let it define me. I thought I was a…”

  “Was a what?”

  “For a long time, I thought I was a nymphomaniac,” she said quietly.

  “And now?”

  “And now I think I’m just a healthy young woman with a very active sex drive.”

  I nodded thoughtfully and rubbed my chin. “And how did you come to that realization?”

  “Holden,” she said, whispering his name, smiling as it crossed her lips. “He made me see that what I thought was nymphomania was just me enjoying sex.”

  “You had labeled yourself a nymphomaniac?” I asked. I tried to focus on the serious topic, but my eyes kept dropping to her nipples that looked like they were about to burst through the thin cotton fabric. Despite my best efforts to concentrate, my cock grew hard beneath the table. It grew so hard it throbbed and pushed against my boxers, like an anaconda trying to wriggle out of a burlap sack.

  “I was actually labeled a nymphomaniac by a therapist I saw when I was a teenager,” she said. “Of course, he proceeded to bend me over his desk and fuck me in the ass… so… yeah… I guess I should have taken that diagnosis with a grain of salt.”

  “I’m sorry that happened to you,” I said, my teeth gnashing as the protective side of me came rushing back. I almost asked for the name of the therapist, so I could look him up and kick his ass, but I bit my tongue instead. “Did he force himself on you?”

  “What? Oh, no,” she said, holding up her hands. Her fingers were slim and perfect, like the rest of her. “I wanted him to do it. I seduced him. I might not have been a text book nymphomaniac as he suggested, but I had—and still do—an overactive sex drive that would have made a porn star blush. I totally came onto him. He just responded to my… offer… so I can’t blame it on him.”

  I leaned back with the coffee cup between my hands and watched her face as she talked.

  She was calm, smiling, being totally open and honest.

  She wasn’t lying or trying to hide some dark abuse.

  She really was a woman who loved to fuck, not a woman with a mental defect.

  Perfect.

  We had a lot in common.

  And we were going to get along just fine.

  CHAPTER NINE: Jude

  I could feel Wynn’s eyes on me as we talked, evaluating me, sizing me up. My nipples were doing their part, thick and plump, pushing against the white t-shirt that I wore on purpose because it was so old and thin. I also wasn’t wearing panties on purpose and as I felt the heat of Wynn’s eyes, I felt myself getting wet.

  I bunched up the tail of the t-shirt and pushed it between my legs to keep from flooding in the chair. I could smell the strong scent of my wet pussy. I wondered if Wynn could, too. I certainly hoped so. I had fucked him all night in my dreams. Now, sitting across from him with my pussy gushing like Old Faithful, I wondered if this morning Wynn Driver would make my dreams a reality.

  I decided that we had had enough of the serious sex talk. It was time for a little fun. I held up my cup and nodded at the coffee pot. I had seen Wynn squirming in the chair, his hand fiddling with his crotch. Unless I missed my guess, his cock was as hard a rock from staring at my nipples.

  I wiggled the cup at him. “Could I have a refill? Please?”

  Wynn looked at me as if I’d asked him to jump off a cliff. He looked at the cup, then looked at the coffee pot across the room. Then he looked down at his crotch and his cheeks got red. Oh my god. I had managed to embarrass the great Wynn Driver.

  He said, “Um… well… this is a little… embarrassing…”

  I smiled and lifted my chin to look across the table toward his crotch. He was wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of black silk boxers. From the look on his face, there was something in his boxers that wanted to come out and play.

  “Do you… I mean…” I licked my lips and wiggled my eyebrows at him. “Oh my… Dr. Driver… Is your legendary long cock hard?”

  “Uh… yeah…” he said with a “busted” smile. “I’m sorry, it’s just that, well, seeing you in that… and your nipples… and… well… no offense, but I can smell your pussy from here. So… yeah…”

  It was my turn to turn bright red. My seduction had worked perfectly, but I still felt my cheeks flush with heat. My nipples strained against the t-shirt. The juices between my legs flowed heavier, sluicing down to pool beneath my ass. I swallowed the lump that was in my throat and decided to throw caution to the wind.

  Looking him in the eye, I asked, “Do you like the way my pussy smells, Wynn?”

  He licked his lips. “I love the way your pussy smells.”

  I casually batted my eyelashes at him.

  “Would you like to see how my pussy tastes?”

  “I would love to taste your pussy, yes.”

  “Would you like to see my pussy?”

  “Yes.” He said the word an
d pressed his palms to the table, like a tiger about to pounce. He stared into my eyes. “Show me your pussy. Now.”

  I pushed the chair back so he could see all of me. I tugged up the damp t-shirt to my waist and spread my legs to show him my hairless cunt. His eyes widened when he saw the pink lips glistening with my juices. I used my fingers to pull back the lips so he could see my pussy hole, which was oozing juices that ran down my taint and puddling in the chair.

  I cooed at him. “And what else would you like to do to my pussy, Wynn?”

  “I want to touch your pussy,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “I want to lick it, taste it on my lips, fuck you with my tongue, feel you around my cock…”

  I began to roll my clit between my fingers. Little bolts of lightning shot through my body, making me tingle all over. I paused long enough to tug the t-shirt over my head. I threw it aside. I squeezed my nipples with my left hand as my right hand went back to work on my clit. I slid my fingers up and down between the folds, coating them with my juices. I leaned forward and stretched the hand across the table.

  “Taste my pussy,” I said. “Suck my pussy juices from my fingers.”

  Wynn didn’t hesitate. He pushed up on his palms and leaned over the table. He parted his lips and stuck out his tongue and took my fingers deep inside his mouth, sucking them like I’d soon be sucking his cock, licking them clean, humming as he did so.

  I looked down to see his cock resting on the table. At first, I wasn’t sure if it was his cock or a giant sausage he was serving me for breakfast. His cock had worked its way through the pee hole in the front of the boxers and was sticking out like a lead pipe, lying on the table, twelve-inches of meaty heaven, round as a golf ball, with a crimson head that looked like it might pop at any moment.

  As he sucked my fingers, Wynn got his cock free of the boxers and pushed them down his legs. When I pulled my hand back, he pulled off his t-shirt and stood across the table stroking the full length of his monster cock. Just the sight of it made me tingle all over.

  “How does my pussy taste?” I asked, bringing the hand back to finger fuck myself as I watched Wynn milk his cock.