Office Hours Ch 13

All characters are at least 18 years old.

------

Hank

Thank God and the janitors that the classroom didn't smell like sex in the morning. My Tuesday-Thursday classes with Psychology 1302 felt so surreal, standing in front of everybody in the exact place I engaged in sexual acts in. The entire time, my mind was on Jean, lusting after her while she was sitting in somebody else's class. An uncomfortable knot formed in my stomach every time I thought about it. Was I turning into a jealous nutjob? Or had I finally lost my mind from holding back from her? The psych professor needed a shrink here.

After an eternity and a half, I was finally done with classes for the day. I was packing my things, getting ready to head back to my office when I decided... I didn't want to sit in there all day. I craved spending time with Jean. I was going into withdrawal.

I needed some air.

Briefcase in hand, I stepped outside for a walk, watching the students mingling or moving between classes. Young adults looking at the beginning of the rest of their lives.

Would I miss it?

Whoa, where'd that come from, brain?

In case Jean and I get caught and I lose my job, of course. Would I miss being an educator?

The answer, which took me by surprise, was: Not really. I'd been helping people for so long, and a break wouldn't be amiss. I was kind of good at it, but helping people always seemed like a duty. Even when it came to my brothers, it was because I was the older brother and I loved them. I wasn't

thrilled

about paying for their room, board, and tuition, but I had to protect them. And that was where Jean was different. She needed protection too, but... I enjoyed it. I took pride, and even pleasure, in helping her. And in return, she breathed

life

into my life. She was fun, but not in a hot fling sort of way. I... was developing genuine feelings for--

"Hey, stranger."

And there was the girl herself, cutting into my thoughts with a smug smirk, trying to play things cool when I knew what she was really like. I broke into a smile and she bit her lip, her posture ever so slightly losing some of her trademark bravado.

"Hey, you," I replied. "What's up? You done with classes yet?"

She nodded. "Ms. Winstead assigned an in-class essay, but since it's next week, I don't have to worry about it for a bit. Which means I'm free for the rest of the afternoon." Her mouth quirked shyly. "You're free too, right?"

"Technically speaking," I confirmed, giving her a teasing smile. "Were you considering utilizing my office hours?"

"Well, I have work tonight, so we can save the fun stuff for later," she suggested. "But in the meantime... I believe I was promised a movie?"

"You're right! Dang, we've put it off for a while now, huh? Hmph, so you're suggesting I just take the afternoon off? I suppose I could do that. Leave a note on my door that I won't be holding hours today."

"That sounds like a great fucking idea," she agreed, giving tiny emphatic nods.

"Then if you'll give me a moment, I'll write the note. Meet me at the car?"

--

"So does this movie have color or no?"

I snorted. "It's not even an old movie, Jean." She raised her brow skeptically, a wry smirk on her lips. "It's one of Draco's movies, maybe you've heard of it. Lighting the Stars."

Jean frowned. "I have heard of it. Isn't it about a funeral parlor though? Depressing ass shit."

"Give it a chance," I chided, putting the movie on. We were on my couch, and she snuggled up to me as if we'd done this a thousand times. I kissed the top of her head as the movie started, and she purred happily.

Lighting the Stars was indeed about a funeral house worker, a rough-around-the-edges man named Sammy. His whole life was quickly falling apart. After being released from prison for assault against a man hitting on his girlfriend, he found out his girlfriend had cuckolded him with the very same man. His father was refusing to pass the family business down to him because Sammy still didn't measure up to his dead older brother in his father's eyes, and now suddenly his most recent job had landed the deceased's young granddaughter in his lap. Little Wendy was too young to understand death, and wreaked havoc on Sammy's life trying to get her grandmother back.

Except Wendy's only next of kin refused to take her in, leaving her in Sammy's hands. And slowly, inadvertently, she began to turn his life around. Suddenly he had somebody to care for, to fight for. Everybody in Sammy's life had chosen somebody else. His ex had chosen another man. His dad had chosen his older brother. But at every turn, Wendy chose him. Eventually adopting her, he really started to grow into a dad, even drilling her on what to do if she got lost.

"What's your dad's name?" Sammy asked as he tied her hair up before school.

"My dad's name is Sammy Morgan," Wendy recited.

"And where do you live?"

"73 La Honda Road, Portola."

"And your dad's phone number?"

Wendy turned to Sammy, bored. "Why do we have to do this in the morning?"

Sammy just smiled and sent her off to school. Minutes later he was intercepted by her real mother, who had been in prison but was back to be a proper mother. Sammy reluctantly handed Wendy over, despite the young girl's protests, but it wasn't long before she ran away from home. Desperate to find her, Sammy and her mom searched everywhere, only for Wendy to return to Sammy on her own."

"Where the hell were you?! What if somebody took you, or you got lost?" Sammy yelled.

Amidst tears, Wendy replied, "My dad's name is Sammy Morgan. I live at 73 La Honda Road, Portola. I wouldn't get lost..."

I heard a sniff and looked down at Jean, who was gulping back a sob. Probably relating too much to Wendy, being abandoned by her family. "Hey, you okay?" I murmured.

"I'm fine," she mumbled. "Just... Fucking emotional roller coaster, y'know?"

"Yeah. But you like the movie?"

She nodded. "It's a great movie. Goddamn, I can't even tell it's Draco." She turned to me. "Hey, prof. Do you... see me as, like, a... daughter?" I blinked. Wow, that was quite the question. Before I could answer, she continued, "I mean-- It hasn't been that long, and-- I'm not talking, like, presuming we're that close already or anything, but--"

"You are... very important to me," I interrupted, and her eyes grew wide. "But strictly speaking, no, I don't see you as my daughter."

Nodding slowly, she thought for a minute, as if the answer was of great importance. "Good," she finally concluded, somewhat cautiously.

"Then do you see me as a father?" I countered.

"No." A fast response. "Because otherwise, I couldn't do this."

She straightened up and kissed me, entwining my tongue with hers. She was right, of course. Much like Wendy, she had been dropped into my life, and we were both happier for it. But then again, Wendy was a child, and Jean was... definitely not. My arms wrapped around her as we made out, and she pressed her body to mine as if to remind me of the assets she had.

"Oh shit, I have work tonight!" In a frenzy, she leaped off me to get ready. "I'm sorry, can you drive me?"

"Uh, sure. We can get sandwiches on the way or something," I suggested.

We picked up some sandwiches on the drive over, eating quickly as we looked forward to spending time in the club again. Every now and then, we would exchange eager glances, biting back grins. Like two teenagers itching to get their hands on one another. Well, she was a teenager, but still.

Before she headed in, I stopped her. "Hey, uh... Maybe tonight you don't do the pigtails," I slowly suggested.

She looked at me for a moment before smirking. "So how do you want me, sir?"

I wet my lips. "Your ponytail is fine. It's more you." Her smirk grew more teasing. "And keep your glasses on. They're... They're sexy."

She blushed a bit. "More me, huh? I'm supposed to be Minerva in there, prof. Don't tell me you're catching feelings for Jean." I couldn't answer, and her eyes widened as she lost her smirk, her blush deepening. "Well, uh... I should get going."

We both ran off to our respective entrances, embarrassed with that exchange. There was a different pair of bouncers tonight, but they waved me through as if I were already cleared. I frowned, backing up to look at one of them. I'd never seen this pair manning the doors before, but this one was familiar.

"Wait. You're that guy that always sits in the next booth over," I said. "You work here now?"

He gave me a flat stare. "Don't know what you're talking about, sir."

I was sure I wasn't mistaken. This was the guy who called for Jean to sit on his lap. And that French manager had only ever spoken to me, not him... "Or have you always worked here?"

"Don't know what you're talking about, sir."

A chill ran up my spine. I was just being paranoid. Overthinking yet again. But as I descended the stairs into the club proper, I couldn't help but feel like I'd been had. From everything I'd seen -- TV, movies, novels, real life -- if something confused somebody, they asked for explanation or clarification. But when somebody declared they didn't know what you were talking about... they knew

exactly

what you were talking about. This club definitely had a certain evil about it. Not a surprise for a place called Taboo, I supposed. Perhaps it was best to just ignore it.

My usual booth was unoccupied, and I took a seat. The sexy nun waitress waved at me as she walked past. I guess she knew by now that I'd request Jean anyway, so she didn't even bother asking for my order. Knowing Jean, she'd probably threaten sexy nun for even trying, I mused with a chuckle.

Soon enough, my spunky sexy schoolgirl made her way over to me, her off-center ponytail and wire frame glasses riling me up like nobody's business. She had a martini ready for me, a cosmo for herself, and she slipped onto my lap.

"Good evening, Minerva," I murmured with a grin.

"Good evening, sir," she mewled. She really got into the sexy minx character in here, which I relished.

We drank and chatted about our lives as if we didn't know each other and I was just a regular of hers, as if we weren't dating, as if I weren't her professor. She'd forced three drinks down my throat by the time she asked me to dance with her, and I was already buzzed enough to agree. We joined all the couples on the dance floor, people who were dancing erotically with and openly fondling their God-knew-whom. Taboo really lived up to its name, and knowing Jean and I weren't the most forbidden relationship here was actually comforting.

Jean seemed to want to follow suit. It appeared we were both tired of being pent up in public all the time, and now we could finally cut loose. Jean was grinding against my crotch, and she took one of my hands and slipped it inside her tied-up shirt. I took her by the cheek and kissed her, tasting her drinks on her tongue. We made out while we grinded, and Jean's soft tit in my hand made me lose track of the songs. Eventually, she took my other hand and brought it down to her skirt, lifting the hem to allow me better access. Before I even touched her, nectar was dripping on my fingers. And this was because, I discovered, she wasn't wearing any underwear.

I dragged her back to our booth, and she yanked her wrist out of my grip. "Prof, what the hell!"

"You're not wearing any panties?" I growled.

"No. Don't you like it?" She looked both pissed off and confused, but I wasn't having any of it.

"So the whole time you're leaning over the bar getting us drinks, or while we were dancing, you're just giving everybody else an eyeful?!"

She glared at me in annoyance before settling into a teasing expression. Her voice was soft and coquettish. "Sir, if you're jealous, you can just say so--"

"I'm jealous."

That seemed to catch her by surprise, but she quickly recovered. Swallowing, eyes focused on my lips, she murmured, "Tell me you want to be alone with me."

"I want to be alone with you."

She bit her lip, letting out a quiet moan before taking my hand and leading me to a set of doors. It led to a hallway that looked very much like one from a sex hotel, lit with dim violet lights and lined with black doors. She pulled me into one of the rooms, which was also like a sex hotel in that it had a bed and was decorated with a romantic mood in mind. Jean threw me onto the bed and started ripping my clothes off, sending buttons popping off in every direction. Yanking my trousers and then my underwear off, she was gasping as she took a moment to admire my erection. She was swallowing a lot, and her excitement fed into mine.

Crawling onto bed with me, she knelt astride my legs, undoing the knot in her shirt and letting it hang open, exposing her perky B-cups. She set her glasses on the nightstand and pulled her hair out of the ponytail, tossing it out to let it fall messily around her shoulders. A trickle of precum began leaking out of me, but then she suddenly looked down at her own body.

"Would you like if I acted more girly, sir?" she asked. "Like, I can cut down on the swearing, y'know. Act more... soft or some shit."

"You're fine," I replied. "If you started acting really girly, I think it'd weird me out."

She twirled one of her locks contemplatively. "Do... Do you think I should dye my hair? I know shit-colored isn't very sexy."

"What are you talking about? I love your hair."

She tipped her head doubtfully before cupping her tits. "What about these? Would you like something bigger? I was thinking I could go one, maybe two cup sizes up--"

I seized her by the wrists and pulled her down so she was looking me in the eye. "Jean, stop. I know you have insecurities, but you questioning my tastes like this is frankly insulting. I like you and your body the way they are. If you make any drastic changes like that, I'll be very disappointed in you. Is that clear?"

She let out a tiny meep and nodded. "Yes, sir."

I released her wrists, and she gazed deeply into my eyes before leaning down and giving me a long chaste kiss. Straightening up, she lifted her skirt while taking hold of my member.

"Wait. Wait, Jean." Even as I spoke, she used her wrist to pin her skirt up while her fingers spread her pussy open for me. It was so fucking sexy that I almost just shut my trap and let her proceed. But it was written all over her face: she still wasn't ready for this. "I don't think I'm ready yet."

"You seemed pretty fucking ready to me this whole time," she commented. When she met my eyes, she suddenly frowned. "Are you... Are you holding back... for me?" When I didn't answer, she looked off to the right in shame or embarrassment. "You're... You're too good, you know that? You deserve..." She took a deep breath. "That's why... I'm a virgin, and I want to give you my first, prof. I just... I guess I need just a bit more time. But I promise--"

"Jean, it's okay--"

"--I'll be ready soon."

"Jean, really. You don't have to."

"I know." She looked down at my throbbing manhood and licked her lips. "Maybe just the tip. Not all the way in, y'know?"

"We don't have a condom."

"It's just the tip," she insisted.

"Jean, it's never just the tip."

"I

promise.

I swear on our relationship." Okay, well, she was serious. "We won't go any further, and we can pull out before you finish. Please, sir..."

I gulped. She was still spreading herself for me, and had been dripping on my cock this whole time, which was making it increasingly difficult to think rationally. Yeah, that was a good excuse. "Just the tip."

Her expression was so blissful, it was as if she'd cum just from hearing that. She lowered herself until her lips had just begun to kiss my glans. I could feel her purity at the very end, feeling like if I just came hard enough, I would rend it asunder.

"F-fuck, this is so hot," she mumbled, her body quivering a bit. She began to rock her hips back and forth, likewise tipping my cock like a metronome. "Sir... you feel amazing."

I reached up and began to fondle her tits, caressing her delicate skin. The threat of piercing her maidenhead at any point was in itself a thrill, and we were both trembling with the anticipation. She paused momentarily to lean forward and use her arms for support, then switched to gyrating, which made my mounting climax even harder to impede.

"Call me a whore," she panted.

"You're not," I answered, reminded of her insistence that she wasn't one.

"Please, call me your whore. It turns me on."

I swallowed. "You're my little whore, Jean."

She groaned in pleasure. "Yes. I'm your little whore, sir." Her movements sped up as she clenched her jaw. "I'm your little whore. God, I'll fuck whoever you want me to."

The beast within me reached out and grabbed her by the throat, and she gasped but kept moving. "You will

never

let anybody else touch you," I snarled.

She nodded, choking words past my fingers. "Nobody else. I belong only to you, sir."

Ohh, that's the stuff.

Cum squirted out of my tip at the sound of those words, blooming into a sticky white blossom from her sex. She screamed as if burned, eyes crossing as her arms buckled. By the time I'd realized in horror that I'd cum inside her, she'd thrown herself off to the side, collapsing next to me and rubbing herself to completion, massaging the cream into her pussy.

"Yes... Yes, professor," she was whispering to herself. "I lo-- love... Knock-- Knock me... Please make me pr..." She moaned as her legs curled up toward her torso, her mouth locked open in a silent scream of ecstasy. Despite the panic I felt at what I'd done, I watched her with sick satisfaction as she came, her fingers pushing my cum inside her. Her nethers were smeared with more ejaculate than I'd ever seen.

When her orgasm subsided, she licked the cum off her fingers, savoring the flavor like a veteran porn actress. She sighed with contentment, then finally rolled to face me. Her eyes widened as if she only just remembered I was right here, and she rolled away and curled up in a ball, hiding her face against the mattress.

"Jean. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have--"

"No, it's okay. It's my fault. It... It doesn't matter."

"But what if you get pregnant?" I asked, and she turned to look at me with wide eyes. She averted her gaze and covered her breasts with her arms, crossing her legs to provide more modesty.

"I mean... That wouldn't be the worst thing, would it? Like, if that happens, I'll take care of everything." She laughed hysterically, covering the right side of her face with her hand. "I'd get to prove to all those foster bitches that I'd be a better single mom than any of them, right?"

"Single mom?" I pulled her close to me, and her breathing hitched. "Not to sound like a toxic man or anything, but I'm not letting you go anywhere. You belong to me now, remember?"

She grew the biggest smile I'd ever seen, and I kissed her on the nose, making her giggle. "You're so fucking corny, prof," she mumbled.

"That's Professor Corn to you, young lady," I replied, and she giggled again before pressing her lips to mine.