by Sylvia Fox
“Oh my, Josephine.” I squirmed, opening myself to him.
He sank to his knees, and when his intentions became clear, I tried to warn him away. “I’m sorry, I should clean up first, I haven’t had a chance to get to the bathroom yet, it’s very- “
He cut me off. “Exactly.”
And he buried his face in my pussy. The pussy he’d stretched and battered with his cock, and flooded with his load just hours before.
I leaned back against the sofa and he forced my legs wider apart. He knelt there, lapping at the leaking mess he’d created, and it was divine.
Everything was extra sensitive, but his tongue seemed to know when the pressure was too much, and he’d change position or pace. My hands were in his hair until he took my wrists and guided them up to my breasts. I rolled and tugged at my nipples, squealing as I began to grind against his face, my body seeking release.
I was rutting, obscenely mashing myself all over his mouth, and he proved more than equal to the desire in me, which had spun completely out of control. He placed his hands on my ass, holding me in place as his oral assault began to center on my clit. He sucked at it, flicking his tongue up and down as he held it between his lips.
The orgasm hit me quickly, boiling over unexpectedly, and I reflexively tried to push him away as the electricity coursing through my body made my clit too sensitive for further stimulation.
He was having none of it. He ignored my attempts to make him stop, and there was nowhere I could escape with his powerful arms holding me in place.
My frantic, pleading eyes found his, but I found no mercy there. Only raw, animal lust. He meant to slake his thirst at the altar of my womanhood, and my pleasure was secondary to his desire. He was, as usual, firmly in control of my body.
I was writhing, my feet lifted and pressed on his thighs, trying to push him away, and my voice begging him to relent, when a curious thing occurred.
The painful ultra-sensitivity of my pussy waned, and I caught some sort of a sexual second wind. The initial orgasm, which ended too soon as he overwhelmed all the nerve endings in my clit with his tongue, came roaring back tenfold, burning away the pain and tenderness. I screamed and clutched at his head. He took hold of my wrists to keep me from tumbling backwards over the couch, never ceasing his oral worship of my pussy.
When my trembling ended, I slumped into his arms, my body a sexual void, completely tapped of energy, desire, and need. He lifted my face to his, smiling warmly at me.
“Taste yourself, Josephine. Taste your orgasm,” he kissed me powerfully, claiming any last shred of my being that had eluded him, his conquest of me now complete.
He led me into the bathroom and turned on a hot shower. He kicked away his pants, revealing a thick, semi-erect cock. I regarded it with wonder, tracing its length with my finger as we stood under a pair of nozzles bathing us with scalding water.
He had me turn my back so he could shampoo my hair and wash my body. His hands were rough and strong, and they felt especially good on my scalp as he rinsed away hair products he supplied, more expensive than anything I owned or used.
I held his cock in my hand as he stood behind me, just rolling it across my palm, feeling its weight, giving it causal tugs.
Once I was clean, he spun me back around and we kissed deeply, letting the water soothe our muscles and wash away all the stress that the first few months of the school year may have caused us.
“Let me have you again,” he whispered. “Under this water. Your body is heaven, Josephine. Let me make love to you, my princess. I want you to feel so good.”
He lifted me up against the slippery wall of the shower, his hands under my ass as I wrapped my legs around him, allowing his cock to enter me easily. He slowly thrusted in and out of me as I wrapped my arms around his neck, whimpering from the pleasure and pain of being fucked again.
“I like being your Daddy,” he growled against my ear. “Is that so wrong? It makes me come so hard to fuck such a young little pussy, baby. It’s the tightest I’ve ever had. I’m ruined for any other. I want to fuck you for the rest of my life.”
I cried out, my orgasm one of my most intense.
“I love you,” I said. “I love being yours. Your princess. I don’t want anyone else to touch me. Ever.”
His thrusting sped up as he pressed me against the wall. I knew he was going to come.
And that made me happier than anything else in the world.
We spent the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen, John talking me through the final steps toward preparing and plating his version of Thanksgiving dinner. Mercifully, we were clothed for the cooking and the eating, and all that had happened between us, the countless climaxes, kissing, fucking, and sucking, were put to bed for the time being.
We talked school and politics, my family and favorite authors, travel; both places we’d been (him, seemingly everywhere, me, virtually nowhere) and where we’d like to go. Conversation was easy with him, and as we cleared the dishes away from the most delicious turkey dinner I’d ever tasted, I said something I knew I might regret before the words ever even left my mouth. But I couldn’t help it. As weird as it was to think, or say, I was so far beyond smitten that I couldn’t help myself.
“John?”
Elbows deep in soapy water at the sink, he turned his head, fixing his impossible eyes on me.
“Yes?”
“I don’t know how to say this, or even if I should say it, but I feel like I’m going to burst if I don’t say something.”
“Are you sure you didn’t just eat too much turkey?” he joked. “Because you aren’t allowed to burst until you’ve tried my pecan pie. It’s an old family recipe.”
I smiled. “No, not that kind of bursting, although yes, I definitely ate too much,” I said, rubbing a palm in circles over my belly. “No, what’s going to burst isn’t my stomach, it’s my heart. I can barely stand here next to you without touching you, without wanting to kiss you. Make love to you. Everything these past two days…. It’s just… I don’t know how to explain it, but everything is different now. Like an entirely new world has been revealed to me. The things you say to me, the things you’ve done to my body. I feel like I’m in a fairy tale or something. I don’t know what it feels like to be in love, I’ve never been, and I know I can’t be in love with you, you couldn’t feel that way about me, but I just-”
He raised a hand and cut me off, mid-ramble.
“Josephine,” he dried his hands on a kitchen towel and tossed it onto the counter, walking over and placing his hands on my face. “I love you. I do. I said it last night, and I meant it. More than I have meant anything. Despite how wrong it might be, for a thousand reasons, I love you. Maybe it can never work, no matter how much I want it to, or how much you may want it to, but I feel it anyway.”
His words reached my mind, his eyes looked directly into my soul, and his big hands on my skin gave me familiar tingles. My nerves melted away. I nodded my head.
“You’re so much… I mean I’m so-” I mumbled, my words hanging in the air.
“What? I’m so much older than you? It’s true. I am. And you’re a student where I teach. And, likely one of my students soon. Not to mention the fact that I’m best friends with your father and that I’ve known your mother just as long. It’s downright scandalous. But what if we ignore all those things and focus on what we’re feeling in here?” He lowered his right hand to my chest, patting it over my heart. “What if we did that?”
I took the hand he’d placed on my heart into my own and I squeezed it.
“John, if I never had to leave this cabin or come down off this mountain, I’d throw every stitch of clothing I brought with me into the fire and just let you keep feeding me delicious food and teaching me everything you know about politics and having your way with me. And many years from now, I’d die a very happy, fulfilled old lady. But, unfortunately, the real world is down there somewhere, through the snow. So, what do we do?” I asked.
&
nbsp; “I think,” he considered his words, pausing between them, “that we have two and a half more days up here to get to know each other as lovers and adults. With the way the snow is falling, it may be longer than that. I say we take advantage of this extended vacation from the ‘real world’ and that between the two of us we can figure out a way out of this mess that this,” he put a hand on the small of my back, pulling me close, and then he reached down and landed an open hand onto my ass, collecting a handful of it, “has gotten us into.”
I yelped at the way he took me so roughly, writhing against him, my body responding on autopilot to him being, again, so near to my sex.
“Josephine, I’ve known you your whole life. From the time you were very young, it was clear that you’d grow to be a breathtaking beauty. And you didn’t know this, but your father and I talked about you, your academic pursuits and interests. He’s shared some of your work with me, essays and such. I was blown away. I’ve taught grad students who lacked the keen understanding of fundamental political theory and history that you displayed in papers I read that you wrote in your early days of high school. You fascinated me. And then the charm and elegance with which you carry yourself; I always wished I’d somehow been born twenty years later, so that I could have joined the fray, the scrum to date you, to court you, to claim you.
“But I knew it could never be, that I’d be cursed to admire you from afar. I’ve had lovers, there have been women in my travels, but none who’ve had what you have. That undefinable it. And if a woman had the intellectual necessities to hold my interest, she inevitably lacked the physical beauty to arouse my admittedly insatiable libido.
“Then, you came along.
“I knew so much about you prior to yesterday, but just the conversation we had on the drive and the dinner we shared in town, after that, I knew I had a problem. And like I said, when I saw this ass of yours,” he punctuated the word ass by smacking mine again and letting his grasping hand linger there. The burn from the spank went directly to my core, causing familiar tremors, “I was undone. I knew it was hopeless. The sight of you in those yoga pants… I had to kiss you. Nothing in the universe could have stopped me. But if you’d resisted in anyway, or given me reason to pause, as crushing as it would have been, I’d have stopped. I love your father like a brother and I could never intentionally do anything to hurt him. But Josephine, I am in ruins around you. Your every move, simple things like watching you sip wine, the way you let the sleeves of your sweatshirt stretch down over your hands and then ball them up, those two little moles on your right shoulder, every fucking thing about you, drives me wild. I make no apologies, and I can’t pretend I don’t feel the things I do.”
He kissed me, and I melted into him. We slowly discarded our clothing and made love again on the sectional, slow, face to face, passionate love. Hands exploring, mouths kissing, tasting, and biting. The thrusts were slow and deliberate, deep and powerful, unhurried. He told me he loved me and I wept through the subsequent orgasm, clutching at his back, never wanting it to end.
We limped down the stairs to the hot tub, pausing only long enough to grab two spoons, the pecan pie, and a gallon of vanilla ice cream.
The snow had stopped falling, but it hung in the branches as we soaked in his tub and shared our dessert right from the tin. He was right, I’d never tasted anything like it.
When we dared not spend another moment in the tub, lest we shrivel into prunes, we braved the cold to go back inside and retire to the master bedroom.
Our cuddling turned into kissing, and I felt his cock throb against my leg.
“John! I thought men your age had certain limitations. How do you do it?” I asked, taking him into my hands and feeling the muscular throbs I loved so much.
“You’re all the Viagra any man could ever need, Josephine. Your body is what does this to me. Turn around, I need to be inside you again.”
I rolled over, letting him spoon me, his cock slipping inside me from behind as we lay on our sides. His hands explored my back and around to my nipples.
“I’m so, so sore. I don’t know how much I can take,” I pled softly with him.
“What’s sore, Josephine? Tell me exactly.” He held my hips, driving up and into me, making me mew, pitifully.
“My pussy. My pussy, Daddy. You’ve made it so sore. It’s so tender.”
He thrust into me powerfully, three times, then remained lodged into me as he spoke directly into my ear. “This pussy, the one I’m fucking, belongs to me. Doesn’t it?”
I winced at his thrusts, but his words were a balm. If it was his, what difference did it make if it was sore, if it hurt? What mattered was his big, beautiful cock. Pleasing it. Making it come.
“Yes. Yes!” I shrieked as he suddenly increased his pace, an arm wrapped around my throat and the other across my hip, the heel of his hand rubbing that special, secret spot right above my mound. He pulled me against him tightly, our bodies melting into each other.
He wasn’t long in finishing, and we fell asleep just like that, my head on his bicep, his knee pushed up into the back of mine, and his cock inside me.
The best thirty-six hours of my life had come to an end.
Chapter Eight
We didn’t fuck at all that Friday. Exhaustion claimed us, and we stayed in bed until nearly noon. That afternoon, we hiked a bit along snowy trails, laughing and flirting. He made spaghetti for dinner and we watched a Clark Gable movie together, laying in each other’s arms on his plush sectional.
The storm was completely gone, and by Saturday all roads were clear. We did some antiquing in the afternoon and Saturday evening he gave me an exquisite massage that ended with me astride his pulsing cock, filling me with what my body had come to crave so desperately – his seed.
The first time he’d finished inside me, a little voice in my mind screamed at me for being so irresponsible. The ecstasy of the moment, however, drowned out that voice with a cacophony of moans and screams.
I began to daydream about what he’d put inside me, of always having him in me, no matter where we were or what we were doing. Those thoughts, inevitably turned to the possibility, and the practical guarantee, of my impending pregnancy. Unless Dr. Hardwicke had had a vasectomy I didn’t know about, continuing down the dangerous path we traveled together was leading to something happening that would make hiding our relationship altogether impossible.
We’d decided that for the short-term, we’d have to keep things quiet. I wasn’t yet sure how to tell my parents, and the appearance of impropriety of a tenured professor fucking one of his students would shine an unwanted spotlight on us both.
Sunday morning, he woke me up with his tongue. I’d fallen asleep on my stomach, which he took as an invitation to go down on me. I’d never been a morning person, but this was an alarm clock I could grow very fond of. I writhed and clawed at the sheets through three orgasms that way before he yanked my hips up from the bed and pounded me from behind. I lost track of the climaxes as I held on for dear life. He slammed into me relentlessly, leaving bruises on the backs of my thighs. Well worth it.
He drove me back to campus that afternoon, and a few miles out of town we enjoyed a torrid make out session. He drove me past his condo, a place we planned to spend lots of time over the coming weeks before I went home for Christmas break.
Alexa was downstairs chatting with a friend when I got dropped off, and she spotted me before I saw her.
“Oh my God, Jo, how hard did he give it to you?” she asked, as she walked across the lobby toward me.
I must have turned bright red, as several of the girls in my dorm stopped and stared. Full of couth, Alexa was not.
“What?” I asked, feigning not having a clue what she was talking about.
“You’re walking like you either just rode in the Kentucky Derby or you just got fucked senseless. And I know where you spent Thanksgiving break. Spill it!”
“You. Are. Crazy,” I replied. “How did everything go with you and G
raham?”
“Ugh. He sucks. We hung out with Trevor and a bunch of my high school friends and he spent the night hitting on Jill fucking Sanders.”
“What’s a Jill Sanders?” I asked, as we trudged upstairs.
“Only the biggest slut in my hometown. So, it’s over between Graham and I. I hooked up with a high school boyfriend the next night anyway. But now I must live vicariously through you and Professor Hotness. Like I said downstairs, spill it!”
We arrived at our room, dragging bags inside and collapsing on our beds.
“Well, we had fun, that’s all I’ll say. I had a great weekend. Sorry about Graham.”
“Graham shmam,” Alexa replied, bouncing across the room and falling onto my bed, propped up on her elbows six inches from my face, wearing a silly grin. “Tell me everything.”
I gave up. “Okay, but this is all top, top, top secret. Like, you’re sworn to secrecy under penalty of gaining fifty pounds by Spring Break.”
“Deal. Cross my heart.”
I went on to tell Alexa, in graphic detail, about my weekend with John. By the time I finished, she was fanning herself.
“Okay, I need to change my panties now. Good lord, Jo. Does he have any colleagues who look like that and cook like that and fuck like that?”
“He has a TA I can introduce you to. Best I can offer at this point,” I joked, knowing she’d never in a million years be interested in Aaron Rooney.
“No, I think what I need is an older man. I’m thinking mid-forties sounds about right. Handsome, big dick, endless orgasms. Somebody like that,” she said, getting up and walking over to her suitcase to start unpacking.
“I’ll keep my eyes and ears open,” I said.
“Bullshit. You’ll be too busy getting knocked up by the good doctor to worry about the little people, like me,” Alexa joked.
Little did she know.
Dr. Hardwicke took a trip to London over the holidays, and Christmas went smoothly in the Faulkner house. My brother and his new girlfriend came home, and I actually liked her. As promised, Santa was very good to me, and we had a dusting of snow on Christmas morning.
