by Jaz Monday
"Yeah?"
"Uh-huh." She was still leaning in to me. Her breasts pushed up in her bra as she pressed against the table. "I got so horny, I had to get myself off. My kitty was so sore, it stung, but with you in my mind I had to get myself off."
"With your fingers?"
She nodded.
I wanted specifics, and my cock raged in my pants at the thought, and at the thought of her telling me about it right here. "How?"
She licked her lips and tilted her head coyly to the side. "I rubbed my clit." She said this with an amazingly sexy, throaty exhalation of breath. Her voice was almost a sigh as it rained down around me. "And I pinched and squeezed and pulled on my pussy lips. And then I rubbed my clit some more. A couple of times, I pushed a few fingers inside me. Mostly, I teased and rubbed my clit, though. I didn't want to wait for it. I just needed to come."
I breathed in deeply and smiled, shaking my head. "Sonia, we have got to stop. I mean, talking about this now. I'm getting a furious hard-on. I won't be able to get up from the table. I'll be knocking people over left and right trying to get back to my office. I've got tenure, yes, but that'll probably be frowned upon."
She giggled playfully.
"Can we meet later?" I asked.
"Yes. Definitely." But then a gloomy cast fell across her face. "But, fuck, I can't, tonight, Daddy. I've got class at six and then I've got a study session at the library with some friends. I can't really get out of it. How about tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow isn't tonight," I said, but then immediately felt guilty for trying to manipulate her. She was in college, after all, and she was here to learn, not to fuck her professor. I took her hand and squeezed it gently in my own. I didn't even look around to see if anyone was watching us. I didn't care anymore. "But, tomorrow is perfect. You wanna do dinner?"
"Sure," she said immediately. "But I wanna fuck, too. A lot."
I laughed and she laughed. "I think the chances are better than not that you'll get that chance," I said.
"And you're gonna eat my asshole again?"
"There is absolutely no doubt about that."
"Good." She leaned back in her chair and looked me over. After grinning like idiots at each other for a few minutes, she said, "I like you, Cooper Corbis."
"You know, I have to say that I'm pretty fond of you, too, Sonia Simmons. Oh, hey, I almost forgot." Reaching into my leather messenger bag, I pulled out two thick, soft cover books. "I brought these for you. They're GRE prep books. I know it's getting to be that time, and I wanted to do something to help you--something to show my support."
"Oh, that's so sweet. Thank you, Daddy." She took the books and leafed through them. "This is going to be great."
"To be honest, I've had my head in work--and, well, now you--so I don't even know when the next exam is. I don't know if we've missed a deadline or what."
"Not a problem, Coop. It's adaptive now. I can sign up and take it any time. As long as I take the computer-based version, I don't have to wait for a test date."
I shook my head, embarrassed. "Damn, I need to get out of the lab more."
She laughed. "I'm gonna do that, but I don't think it'll help you much. You're getting out of the lab, but into my bed."
"Yeah?" I blew her a kiss. "You little slut."
"You're a trip, Coop," she said. "That's why I like you so much. And that's your little slut. Don't you forget it."
"As much as I like my little slut, as your professor, I must tell you that we do have to set aside a bit of time to study." And where was this coming from? I suddenly wondered. I'd never felt quite so conflicted by a woman. Not that I found my feelings conflicted--I knew what she meant to me, and what I wanted from her--but conflicted in terms of my senses of priority and right and wrong. Nothing felt better than the thought of whiling away endless hours in each other's sex, but some previously suppressed aspect of me suddenly spoke out and reminded me that, again, Sonia was here for an education, not a fucking.
"I know, Coop. I am studying tonight. Don't worry. It's all under control." She looked at her watch and sighed. "Damn, I gotta go. Class."
I smiled and nodded. "Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow. All kinds of tomorrow, K?" She eased her chair out and stood up, bending to gather her things. Her round, wide ass-cheeks strained against the fabric of her pants. As images of that ass, naked and sweating, coursed through my mind, my cock hardened uncomfortably against my pants.
I looked around quickly and then, surreptitiously, reached a hand over and placed it firmly on the twin globes of her ass.
She sighed, and I felt her ass get heavy in my hand as she leaned back against my touch. "So it's definite for tomorrow," she said. "I like that."
"I like this," I said, squeezing her.
"Well, you think really hard, and get all creative and stuff, and decide just what you wanna do to it tomorrow." She pushed back harder against my hand, wiggled herself into me, and I desperately kneaded the flesh with my fingers.
"I know what I want to do right now," I whispered. I drew my fingers along the soft arc of her cheeks, down the steep curves, and then rubbed the moist heat between her legs. "If we were in my office right now... "
"Yeah?" she giggled.
"Bye, angel." I said.
She turned her head and blew me a kiss. "See ya tomorrow."
And she was gone.
My office, situated on the third floor of the Biosciences Building on the west side of campus, featured a single large window overlooking most of the campus. As I leaned back in my chair and turned away from my desk, I could see students milling around outside. The sky was an intense cerulean blue, mottled slightly, with fluffy white clouds that seemed to hang motionless in the air. The bright sun angled wide, white rays that flitted through the window and fell around me like a bright halo. It was surely a beautiful, beautiful day.
Sighing, I felt both incredibly good, euphoric even, and incredibly lonely at the same time. Good, for the way things were developing; lonely, because Sonia wasn't here and I seemed to have grown to require her constant attention. The more we did together, the more time we shared together, the more time I needed from her. Not very healthy, I had to admit to myself, but that realization didn't change the facts. I was getting completely obsessed with this girl.
Outside, beyond the students moving en masse like little armies of colorful ants, I could see the water tower and the upper ramparts of our football stadium, with large green and yellow banners and flags waving in the breeze. Apparently there was a conference game this Saturday. Beyond the stadium, my eyes followed the gentle curve of the basketball dome. Round. Smooth. Bulbous in a vaguely sexual way. And I could think of nothing but Sonia's ass again. Again I sighed.
"Fuck," I said aloud, and then self-consciously looked behind me to see if anyone in the department had heard. They hadn't; my door was closed. Another hard-on pressed painfully into my pants. I laughed, and then looked at my watch impatiently. I felt strangely like a teenager again. Past my sexual prime, apparently, according to the health magazines, yet somehow still virile as a Brahma bull. It was as if I'd saved up all this potency--all my years locked up in the lab and not out there, in the world--doing things, doing people. I'd been saving it all up for release. Now. With Sonia.
But she was off studying.
Swiveling around in my chair, I finally decided that I had to get to work. I had no classes today, but I was due in the lab in a couple of hours. There were things that needed tending to first.
My desk was a mess of crushed and bent papers strewn in every direction. Everything was scattered and out of sorts. A wide grin formed across my face as I looked at the mess and thought of last night. Sonia borne open on my tongue. The cheeks of her ass grinding into these very papers. Her hands, arms, elbows flailing uncontrollably at mid-orgasm. Yeah, I decided, working today is going to be a bit of a challenge.
Prior to meeting Sonia, this office had been my sanctuary: my sometimes-literal home away from home, where
I spent a large portion of my waking hours. The rest of my time had been split between my lab and the classroom, with a little bit of time left over for travel in between. I'd spent even less time at home. Cliched, yes, but that was my life. Now, strangely, I felt anxious and impatient, keenly aware that I was waiting for something, wanting for something. This room that had been such a familiar comfort to me for so long now felt stifling and oppressive. I imagined myself a caged animal of some kind, pacing frantically in this office/cage. My heart pounded in my chest and I began to wonder if I'd actually be able to get any work done.
All I could think of was Sonia.
There was nothing to do but to start, I decided finally. I pulled my laptop in front of me. Having opened the screen, I waited while the machine woke up. Out in the hallway in front of my office, in a long bullpen of low cubicles, I could hear students laughing. Their sounds made me feel better.
Then I immediately thought of what it was that they did at night--of what their lives were like. They were college kids. In my mind that meant they'd be partying, getting stoned, getting drunk, dropping E's, fucking like rabid badgers. Of course, my own college experience was the antithesis of this. But meeting Sonia had changed me. I realized that it wasn't just the years that had changed the Cooper Corbis of my college days, the guy who had spent all day and all night studying and working. I chuckled to myself, thinking If I knew then what I know now, things surely would have been different.
When the laptop finished cycling up from its hibernation, I launched my mail client. I also opened my word processor and brought up a draft abstract for a paper that my graduate assistant, Julie, and I were submitting.
Shit, I thought. Julie! I hadn't read her e-mail last night.
When the client finally loaded, a long string of unread e-mails cascaded down the screen. Spam--penis enlarging drugs, college coeds with brand new webcams, Mexican pharmaceuticals sold real cheap, hot Deal of the Century stock tips--as well as messages from students, administration, and colleagues. I scanned down through the list and found Julie Merryweather's e-mail. The subject line was ominous: Important. There was a fat, red exclamation point to the left of it as well. No other text in the subject line. I clicked on the e-mail to open it.
"Dear Dr. Corbis... " it began. This isn't good. I looked up to the CC: field before reading any further and there was the name of our department head. "Fuck," I said aloud. This was not good. Quickly, I finished reading the e-mail and pushed back hard from the desk. I let out an uneasy breath and rubbed my suddenly exhausted eyes.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The short version was that Julie Merryweather's grandparents had been in a tragic car accident out in Ohio, where Julie had been born and where all of her family still lived. Her grandmother had died and her grandfather was in the hospital. He would survive, the doctors predicted, but would need intensive care now and prolonged rehabilitation and physical therapy once he left the hospital. Julie's parents were there, in Ohio, but Julie felt that she was needed at home. The oldest grandchild, she had been especially close to her grandparents.
She was devastated, the e-mail read, but her family had to come before her own life. She couldn't think about school, or our research, right now. When things clarified--settled down--she would either come back to school, or transfer to a school out west. She was sorry. She was crushed. She couldn't believe this was happening. But she had to go. She had to go home.
I needed to replace her.
"Fuck," I said again. And repeated the expletive several more times under my breath. My heart ached, mostly for Julie and her grandparents, but for myself as well. Then I felt like a complete shit for having that thought. But, goddamn it, this is not good. This would have an enormous impact on my research, the project and all of the grants, the paper we were writing. I needed options, but couldn't think of any. The project was too far along to backburner at this point. The grant money was in place, but wouldn't wait forever. The University expected a publication. Stopping now wasn't an option.
I leaned forward to the computer again and clicked the New message button to launch an empty e-mail draft. I typed the name of the department head in the To: field and sat staring at the screen with its blinking cursor.
Maybe I can poach a colleague's assistant, I thought, or grab a post-doc fellow. But the former was a shitty plan, and probably wouldn't work. Budgets were tight. We didn't have enough assistants as it was now. There were none to spare, and I knew that. The latter was doable, but what were the chances, given the timeframe?
And then the thought hit me. It was completely irrational. She was unqualified and unprepared. She wasn't even a grad student--not yet, anyway. But I needed an assistant, I needed to see her more, and she needed money. It was perfect. Unlikely, improbable, but perfect.
Sonia.
I would see her every day. We'd be together constantly, working alone, at night, during the day. My mind suddenly left my research issues far behind and concentrated on all manner of elaborate sexual scenarios. Stop, I told myself. Settle down. It might not even fly. She might not even agree to it.
I fished my cell phone out of my messenger bag. Quickly, I dialed Sonia's number. My hands shook. Why are my hands shaking? I felt a strange heaviness in my chest. Also butterflies.
"Jesus, calm down," I told myself. The phone clicked over and connected the circuit. I heard a ring. And then voicemail.
Fuck. Why is her phone off? My mind raced. My heart pounded in my chest. I was excited, anxious, impatient, and now suddenly a bit pissed off that she hadn't answered. But I told myself to calm down. I was being ridiculous. First thing first. I needed to get approval. I'd just inform Sonia after the fact. Why wouldn't she want the job? It would be perfect. But, damn, it would've been nice to talk to her.
Why was I feeling so strange about this? Was I being possessive? Jealous? Of what? Why was I so affected by her failing to answer the phone? I felt ridiculous.
I typed out a quick e-mail to Dr. Shey Duncan, the Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences. I described Julie's conundrum and her decision to withdraw from our research and from school. I impressed on him the importance of our research, and I set up Sonia as the perfect replacement, at least for the short term. I hit the send button and leaned back in the chair to think. This was all incredibly bad, but incredibly good, too. And it was all happening so fast.
Am I doing the right thing?
I had to see Sonia.
But first, I had to get this signed off by my department head. I got up from my seat and walked down the hall to her office. I barely noticed the students I'd been so enthralled by earlier. I was on a mission.
The meeting with my department head had gone exactly as I'd hoped. She was understanding, compassionate, and conveniently inclined to bend the rules more than just a bit to clear the hiring of an undergraduate--Sonia--as my assistant. We'd spent several hours discussing options and strategies, placing a call to Dr. Duncan, and getting the contractual paperwork drafted and approved by University counsel. Everything was set. I vibrated with anticipation.
It was a quarter to nine, and the sun was just disappearing under the horizon as I piloted the Beemer through campus. It had been a long day, and I was finally heading home. The more I drove, though--the more students I saw milling around, walking back from class, back to their dorms, over to one of the many clubs around and just off campus--the more I thought of Sonia. And the more I thought of Sonia, the more desperately lonely I felt. This vicious cycle caused my mood to drop quickly.
I needed to see her. I needed to smell her hair, her skin, her body. I needed to look into her eyes again, to stroke my fingers through her hair. I needed to feel her heartbeat against mine. My cock twitched in my pants as I thought about this. I needed to feel the way the walls of her vagina contracted and massaged against the shaft of my cock as her orgasm washed over her.
As I eased the BMW to a stop at the traffic light marking the southern edge of campus, and waited to turn onto
the main drag back to my house, I picked up my cell phone and dialed. It connected and rang, and rang. And rang. I sighed. Sonia's voicemail picked up and I could almost see her sweet, metal tongue stud tapping the roof of her mouth as she spoke. Her sweet voice soothed me, but it was just a recording, not really her, and that made me feel worse. I didn't want to seem desperate, which was fairly ironic given the raw desperation I was feeling inside, so I elected not to leave a message. When the light turned green I sped off, dropping the cell phone into the passenger seat.
I couldn't go home. I knew I'd drive myself crazy, and probably make a fool of myself in Sonia's eyes by calling her over and over throughout the night. No, I had to get a grip--had to think about tomorrow. Twenty-four hours. Twenty-four short hours and we'd be together, my tongue firmly pressed into the beautiful sweet musk of her asshole, our bodies and souls collective, united.
"I can do that," I said to myself. I can do that.
I eased the car down Fowler Avenue, heading toward my house, but decided that I would stop for dinner someplace on the way. I was hungry--a little anyway--but more than that, dinner would absorb some time I greatly needed to rid myself of. And it would provide a welcome distraction. Maybe I could even get some work done while I was there.
There was a small mom and pop diner only about a mile up the road, across from the shopping mall. I'd been there many times, alone and with students and colleagues, and suddenly I found myself with a taste for it. This is good, I decided. Twenty-four hours to go, no problem. And a patty melt and some grading would ease me through a couple of those hours.
It would fit the bill perfectly.
But it didn't. Not really. If anything, it made me feel worse.
As I sat, absently stabbing French fries into ketchup, I tried to keep Sonia out of my mind. But the more I looked around and tried to clear my thoughts, the more the affection around me underscored my own sense of loneliness. In every booth, it seemed, couples were sharing quiet moments together. Young people, old people--it was as if I were stuck in some sort of bad skit. Everyone was paired off but me. Everyone appeared to be having gratuitous amounts of physical contact but me. I felt ridiculous and needy, but the more I tried to discount this, the more some long-dormant inner voice urged me on to just stop the bullshit once and for all and find Sonia. I needed her, my voice argued. And she needed me.
