by Amy Brent
“Oh, um, I actually thought you did a very good job of addressing the subject.” I cleared my throat and laced my fingers together on the desk, then tried my best to put on a serious face. “Nymphomania, or hypersexuality as it’s now commonly called, is a serious—”
“Professor, I was just fucking with you,” she said slyly, sliding her ass toward the front of the seat and spreading her legs. She pulled the crotch of the loose running shorts to the side to show me her bare cunt. She slowly rubbed two fingers up and down her glistening pussy lips as she stared at me and smiled. She got out of the chair and leaned over my desk, bringing the two fingers wet with her pussy juices to my mouth. I let her slide the fingers between my lips. I closed my lips around her fingers and sucked them dry.
“The bigger question is, what do you think about that?” she asked, pulling her fingers from my mouth and sliding back into her seat. She crossed her legs and gave me an amused look. She obviously loved making men sweat.
The lump slid down my throat, lubricated by the taste of her tangy juices. I licked my lips and thanked the gods above for Markle’s decision to travel this semester.
“I think we should discuss this in private,” I said as my cock grew harder in my pants. It throbbed against my leg, growing so hard it was almost painful. A tiny wet spot formed on my khaki pants.
“When and where?” she asked, the innocent smile returning.
I tugged at my collar and shifted in the seat. “Tonight, perhaps? Over dinner and drinks at my place?”
“I think that’s a fantastic idea,” she said as other students started coming in from the back of the room. She scribbled her phone number on a scrap of paper and got up long enough to put it on the desk. “Just text me the details. Say around eight? It’ll be fun.”
“I think eight o’clock will do nicely,” I said, picking up the paper and sliding it into my pocket for safe keeping. “I’ll text you my address. Maybe you can text me something fun back in return.”
“Maybe I can,” she said. She slid her hand between her legs again, then brought up a single finger and licked her own juices from it.
“Wow,” I said without meaning to.
She licked her lips and smiled. “Thank goodness I was able to get into your class, Professor Moss. I think this is going to be a fun semester.”
“Yes, I think so, too,” I said, studying her with my eyes, wondering if I was simply the luckiest man on campus or the target of a horny girl’s fantasy.
Either way, I knew Jude Allen and I were going to be great friends. And we were going to have great fun.
CHAPTER SIX: Jude
My plan to become a grad school Teacher’s Pet—more to the point, Professor Holden Moss’ Pet—had worked better than I could have ever hoped it would. It was a smart move, putting a copy of my now infamous nymphomaniac term paper in Professor Markle’s desk ahead of time so that Professor Moss would find it before class.
And letting him see my pussy and taste my juices just sealed the deal. The whole thing was like something out of a porno movie. I could barely believe it was happening, even as Holden was looking me in the eye and sucking the juices from my pussy off my fingers. If it was any indication of how incredibly hot our affair was going to be, it was going to be off the fucking charts!
Scalding hot!
Nuclear freakin’ hot!
Like sun scorching hot!
First off, he knew I was an admitted nymphomaniac and knew what that meant when it came to unbridled sex. He knew I was ready, willing, and able to fuck his brains out, and do pretty much anything else he wanted me to. And my research about Professor Holden Moss told me that he was ready, willing, and able to play along no matter what game I came up with. To quote my own paper, Holden Moss was a fuck machine!
I had done my homework even before meeting Holden for the first time. It was not hard to find lots of girls who had fucked the hunky psyche professor with the brooding good looks. He was known around campus for being a creative lover with a big cock who seemed to care as much about his lover’s sexual satisfaction than his own, which was an odd thing given that most men in his position would use their power over their female students just to get their own rocks off.
To the contrary, every girl I talked to said Holden Moss was the most caring lover they had ever had. And a guy who was not afraid to try anything, anywhere, anytime. He was the perfect guy for a girl like me.
Holden texted his address to me, along with the words, “See you at 8. Now send me something fun to tide me over.”
I grinned because I got the text while I was sitting in a Starbucks waiting on Izzy to arrive. I was at a corner table with my back to the crowd. I took my phone’s camera and held it out to take a selfie. Before pressing the button, I pulled my tee-shirt up to expose my big titties to the camera. My boobs were large and milky white, with pink areolas the size of golf balls and nipples like hard, pink gumdrops. I let the tee-shirt drop and looked at the picture. There I was, smiling with my tits hanging out. Behind me a couple dozen students were chatting and drinking coffee, completely oblivious to the fun I was having just a few feet away.
“Chew on that for a while, Professor Moss,” I said as I sent the image to Holden, along with the message, I wish you were here.
Even as my phone dinged to let me know the message was sent, I could feel the hot juices pooling between my thighs, soaking the legs of the loose running shorts and seat beneath me. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one was looking, then slid a finger between my legs. I pulled the shorts aside and rubbed my clit, which was swollen and tender to the touch. I dipped my finger into my pussy to lube up the tip, then started rubbing my clit nub, each touch sending shockwaves through my body, making me tremble with desire as I brought myself to orgasm right there in the Starbucks with all those people around.
I slid my finger into my hole and let my thumb take over clit duties. I worked my finger in and out, in and out, as my thumb rolled my clit back and forth, back and forth. I closed my eyes and thought of Holden Moss. I imagined that it was his tongue on my clit and his fingers slowly plunging inside me. I could feel him there, his breath hot on my cheek, his hand working me toward climax.
The orgasm came quickly, shuddering through me like a rumbling earthquake. I gushed hot juices over my hand and onto the chair, making a mess that I would worry about cleaning up later. That was one of the things about being a nympho. I lived for the moment of orgasm, without worrying about repercussions or consequences.
I would make myself cum sitting in a coffee shop full of people without caring about who might see. If anyone was watching, good for them.
If they were close enough to smell the juices of my pussy over the smell of their coffee, I hoped they enjoyed the aroma.
If they watched as I brought myself to full orgasm with my own hand in a public place, that was just cream in the coffee, so to speak.
If I created a pool of pussy juices in the chair where I sat, oh well, that’s what they made Clorox Cleanup for. Well, maybe not specifically, but I’d clean up my mess when I was done, so no worries there.
I felt the orgasm ripple through me like waves across a pond. My thighs closed around my hand as every muscle in my body went tight. I leaned forward and bit the shit out of my tongue to keep from screaming in ecstasy. After a moment, I opened my eyes to find Izzy sitting across from me with a wicked smile on her face.
“Was it good for you, too?” she asked, plucking a wad of napkins from the dispenser and holding them out for me. I made a goofy face with my tongue hanging out as I took the napkins and tucked them between my legs.
“It was very good for me,” I sighed, totally unashamed, not embarrassed in the least. Me and Iz had been besties for a long time. She knew how I was wired and vice versa. I’d seen her do some off the wall shit with guys, so me diddling myself in a Starbucks was no shock to her.
“So, I take it your plan to use and abuse Professor Holden Moss is on schedule?” she asked a
s she pried the lid off her steaming cup of black coffee. Izzy was a coffee snob. If you drank anything other than black coffee with no fixings, you were a pussy, unworthy of calling yourself a true coffee-holic.
“We’re having dinner and drinks at his house at 8 o’clock,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows.
She picked up her cup and blew cool air into it. The steam rose and settled beneath her dark eyes. “So, you’ll be fucking his brains out by what, 8:05?”
“Oh, I’m in no rush,” I said, lifting my venti caramel macchiato to my lips and taking a sip. I smacked my lips and sighed. “Heck, we might even make it to 8:10 or 8:15.”
Izzy grinned at me. “Damn girl, your self-control never ceases to amaze me.”
“I know right!” I said as I tucked the napkins between my legs to soak up the juices that were still flowing out of me. “Sometimes I amaze myself.”
“You gonna need more napkins?” Izzy asked.
“No, I think I’m fine,” I said, scolding her with my eyes. “I may need some fresh shorts, though.”
“So, you talked to him before class, I assume?” She leaned in and gave me the eye. “Are you sure this is smart? You know what happened last time.”
“Last time it was different,” I said, hitching my chin at her. “I’ve done my homework this time. Holden Moss is not married, is not engaged, and by all accounts, not a total asshole like Keith Calloway.”
“Still, you need to be careful,” she said, shaking her head. “I have never liked this teacher’s pet thing you do. It’s just too risky. It could get you kicked out of school and the teacher fired.”
“Iz, I’m not going to get anyone fired,” I said, rolling my eyes at the notion. “We’re two consenting adults who want to fuck each other’s brains out. The school has no business in our business.”
“Tell that to the dean,” Izzy said. “Don’t fool yourself, girl. You are playing with fire and you know it.”
“I know,” I sighed. “But that’s what makes it so freakin’ hot.”
CHAPTER SEVEN: Jude
I spent the better part of the afternoon preparing for my rendezvous with Professor Holden Moss. There was no pretense, no need to play around, no beating around the bush. I was going there for one thing and one thing only—to get laid—and we both knew it. We might have dinner and drinks. We might make a little small talk. We might take the time to get to know each other better. Along with all those mights we would definitely be having sex. Of that, there was no doubt in my mind.
I thought about showing up at Holden’s apartment wearing nothing but a pair of six-inch stilettos and a trench coat, but I thought that might be a little too old school. Besides, there was no mystery or seduction in showing up naked. We were going to fuck, no question there, but I loved keeping things mysterious, even though I’d already flashed him my pussy and my tits, he had yet to see the whole package close enough to touch and taste.
So, I slipped into a little black dress, strapless and short enough to show my ass if I bent over, and a red thong. I wore the six-inch stilettos because they made my legs look killer. I left my long red hair down around my shoulders and wore just enough makeup to highlight what the good lord gave me. I checked myself in the mirror one last time, then drove across town to Holden’s place in Willow Hills, arriving precisely at 8 o’clock as planned.
Holden met me at the door with a glass of champagne in each hand, looking very handsome in a pair of beige linen pants and a short-sleeved black silk shirt open at the neck. I could see the tanned muscles of his chest, his arms roped with sinew and veins. My homework told me that he played on an intramural rugby team and kept himself in killer shape. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on him, to feel those muscles for myself.
“Hi, there,” he said, holding out a glass of champagne as I walked in the door. “Can I take your coat?”
I took the glass and grinned at him. “I’m not wearing a coat.”
“Then, may I take your dress?” He gave me a Cheshire Cat grin and wiggled his dark eyebrows. Nodding toward the living room, he said, “Sorry, couldn’t resist. Come on in and make yourself at home. Dinner is almost ready.”
“Wow, you actually cooked dinner?” I asked as I followed him into the kitchen. Holden’s place was nice, much nicer than mine, and large enough for more than a single person. My guess was he had at least two bedrooms, maybe three. “I love your place. It’s huge. Do you live here alone?”
“I do live here alone,” he said, showing me to a stool at the island that separated the kitchen from the living room. “I have the occasional roommate and out of town guests, plus the university stipends part of the rent, so I figured what the hell, get the nicest place I could find. And this is it.”
“It’s a lovely place,” I said, noticing the décor was manly, but not overly so. The sofa and matching chairs were dark leather and a ginormous flat panel TV hung on the wall, but the walls were painted a light tan and the wood finishings were a blond pine. There were no animal heads on the walls, but that was not surprising. Those weren’t the kinds of trophies a hunter like Holden Moss collected.
“Hope you’re hungry,” he said.
I turned back toward the kitchen and took a deep breath. “Now that you mention it, I am. And something smells amazing.”
He went to the kitchen side of the island and took the lid off a large pot that was simmering on the island’s cooktop. He waved the lid to spread the scent of tomato sauce my way. The wonderful aroma of garlic and basil filled the air and teased my nose. “I hope you like spaghetti.”
“I love spaghetti,” I said, inhaling deeply. I lifted the champagne glass to my lips and gave him a coy look. “Why Professor Moss, I thought you had just lured me here to fuck. I had no idea we were actually going to have dinner.”
He smiled as he stirred the sauce. “I would never ask a lady to fuck without feeding her first,” he said. He had a boyish grin, wide mouth, lots of teeth. It made his eyes sparkle and lit up his entire face. “Besides, there’s nothing more embarrassing than to be in the middle of having great sex and hear your stomach growl.”
“So, you speak from experience?” I asked, watching him from over the top of the champagne glass.
“I’m afraid I do,” he said. He stirred the sauce, then brought the spoon up for a taste. He blew over the spoon for a second, then carefully tasted the sauce. Smacking his lips, he held the spoon out to me with his other hand cupped underneath ready to catch anything that might drop. “Mmmm, that’s pretty good if I do say so myself. Taste?”
I leaned in and blew on the sauce, then sucked it from the spoon. I had no idea how hungry I was. I had been so caught up in getting ready for my night with Holden that I had forgotten to eat. My stomach growled at the taste. “Oh my, that is good,” I said, licking my lips. “I would say that’s better than sex, but it’s too early to tell.”
“Then the bar is set high,” he said, smiling again as he went back to stirring the sauce. He glanced up at me. “Can I ask you something?”
I turned sideways on the stool, crossing my long legs and resting the champagne glass on my knee. I had a pretty good idea what the question was going to be. It was the old, “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this with your panties down around your ankles?” routine.
I held up the champagne glass and gave him a nod to proceed. “Of course, Professor. Ask away.”
“No offense, but do you do this sort of thing often?” he asked without looking me in the eye. “I mean—again, no offense—and I’m certainly not knocking your tactics. To the contrary, I have spent most of the day wondering what I did to deserve this. But—”
I interrupted him so he didn’t have to say the words he was thinking. “But do I always show my pussy to strange men in public and invite them to fuck me in private?”
“Do you think I’m a strange man?” he asked, smiling at me as he stirred the sauce.
“I think you certainly have the potential to be strange,” I sa
id, teasing him with my eyes. “Or at the very least, a little kinky.”
He chuckled and gave me a single nod. “I will admit to a certain fondness for kink, Miss Allen. But you still haven’t answered my question.”
“Which was?”
“Do you do this sort of thing often?”
I took another sip of the champagne, then dabbed the corners of my lips with my fingertips. “You read my paper, right? This is sort of my kind of thing.”
He tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot, put the lid on the sauce, and picked up his glass. He leaned back against the sink, nodding as he stared into my eyes. “I did read your paper, and of course I understand the concept of nymphomania or hypersexuality or whatever you want to call it. However—and you might find this hard to believe given the degrees hanging on my office wall—but I don’t think nymphomania actually exists.”
That caught me by surprise, given that he had spent most of his life studying psychology and dissecting how the human brain did or did not work. For him to reveal that he didn’t believe in the existence of something as ancient and established as nymphomania was a little surprising to hear.
“You don’t think nymphomania is a real thing?” I asked, giving him a little frown that pushed away the smile. I feigned a southern belle accent. “Why, Professor Moss, what makes you say such horrible things, especially seeing as how you are in the presence of a lady who has been clinically diagnosed as such?”
