The Phone Call

NOTE: This is part 4 in a series and it presupposes some knowledge of past events, I encourage you to read the first 3 parts in order to understand how we got here. As always, I love feedback. The more you tell me, the better writer I become. Thank you

*****

Later that night, my phone rang. "Hello Molly," I said somewhat distantly.

On the other end of the phone, Molly, my blonde curled student who I'd fucked in my office earlier that day, mocked my tone. "Awww, professor, you sound upset. It wouldn't be because of a moral dilemma, would it?" She giggled just like she had after she came on the phone for me the first time when I still didn't know who she was.

Having not only fucked her, but also possibly impregnated my student, I was more than tied in moral knots. "Jesus, Molly," I began, "Can you be serious for a second? What the hell are we going to do?"

"I know what I want to do," she cooed through the phone. "How is it that the sound of your voice just makes my pussy flood?" I heard the sound of her sucking on something. "Mmmm," she continued, "I taste different, or maybe I can still taste you."

My cock was growing hard despite my concerns. This was not good. "Look Molly, what happened today... it just can't happen again."

"So what you're saying is," Molly responded, her voice husky over the phone, "you don't want to fuck this tight... wet... young... aching... pussy anymore?" She was moaning as she finished, and my mouth was hanging stupidly open as I listened.

"But I'm married," I all but whispered in a weak attempt to win the argument.

She moaned into the phone, "I know... and I have thoughts about that too."

"What kind of thoughts?" my interest piqued, but also a growing unsettled feeling within.

"Are you stroking that lovely cock of yours?" she asked playfully, like a petulant child. "I won't tell you my thoughts if you're not."

I was, god help me. Despite my conscious struggle against this cute blonde with ravenous appetite I found that I had taken my cock out and was slowly teasing myself as she whimpered and moaned and pouted into the phone.

"Just tell me," I grumbled. At that moment it was difficult to keep my mind from flooding with images of our tryst in my office earlier that day. Molly made it impossible for me to keep focused.

She giggled into the phone, satisfied that I was in fact stroking myself, even if I hadn't admitted it. "Well," she purred, "I was thinking that, given how easy it was to have you fuck me, it might be fun to see if I could seduce your wife too. I bet she'd give me more of a challenge."

"Jesus, Molly," I about choked, my cock softening in my hand, "Stay the fuck away from wife. Are you trying to ruin me?"

"You mean the way you ruined my tight, young, virgin pussy with that nice big cock of yours?" She exaggerated a gasp at her own words. Then, slipping into some imitation of a pornographic Scarlett O'Hara she added, "I do declare I'm no longer fit for any man but you, the way you ravished my poor young body." Then she dissolved into a luxuriously languid laugh that spoke of newfound sexual confidence and desire.

If we had been talking in person, I would have slapped her. Or maybe I would have fucked her. Possibly I would have slapped her and then fucked her. This girl had me all turned around. Since we were on the phone and I was overcome with a mix of fear and anger, I simply said, "Please, Molly."

"Mmmm," She mewled, "I like that. But please what, huh? 'Please let me fuck you again?' Or did you mean, 'Please seduce my wife?' What is it you say in class? 'Be poetic if you must, but above all be clear!'" And then she laughed.

"God dammit, Molly," I said in frustration. I wanted to threaten her, to scare her into compliance, but over the phone it seemed so impotent, so I just stopped there.

"Oh," she said her tone revealing a self-satisfied bratiness , "I like that. I like you angry with me. I want you to put all that anger into throwing me down and fucking me as hard as you can. I want you to punish me with that cock of yours. Will you do that for me, professor? Will you fuck me so hard I can still feel it the next day in your class?"

Torn between whispering a begrudging "yes" and losing all control and screaming into the phone for her to leave me alone, I did the only thing I could think of to do: I hung up. I half expected her to call back but she didn't. Instead she texted me a close up pic of her mouth, lips painted with a shade of pink lipsticks only younger girls wear, two fingers in her mouth. The caption read, "Thinking of you."

I ignored it. Or tried to. Being completely honest I almost immediately went to my home office and jacked off, alternating between the new pic and the older one of her nude in nothing but heels. She clearly had me and was merely toying with me, the way cats toy with mice before they devour them.

As it was I had other things to worry about. First and foremost, that night was an event for big money donors to the University and faculty attendance was mandatory. I encouraged my wife to skip it as it was bound to be dreadful, but she looked forward to such things, being naturally ore outgoing than I. For her it was an excuse to buy a new dress and a pair of heels and drink just ever so slightly more than she should.

My wife, Monica, was a professional in her own right working in the world of finance. Secretly she loved going to academic affairs because her social skills, when compared to the crippling anxiety and awkwardness of most intellectuals, made Monica the belle of the ball.

It helped too that she was absolutely stunning. Standing slightly taller than average for a woman, her legs were long and lean and led up to a body that had rounded ever so slightly as she passed into her early 30s. Her hair was raven black cast against a fair, almost porcelain complexion and deep blue eyes.

Of course, marriages aren't just about how sexy your spouse is. Or, sexiness isn't just a factor of looks. Monica was gorgeous, but she had grown cold or distant. Maybe I had. I don't know really. I decided I lacked impulse control. Fucking Molly was one thing, but fucking my secretary the day before just because she walked in when I was hard, that showed a character flaw. Suddenly I felt guilty. Not just scared of being caught, but actual remorse.

I considered these things when I went into our bedroom and saw Monica sitting on the edge of the bed getting ready for the evening. She was wearing a black slip and sliding a black stocking up her legs. Damn she looked good.

The thought must have expressed itself on my face, but she looked up at me and immediately rolled her eyes, "Really?" she asked sarcastically.

I shrugged as I leaned against the door jam, watching her ignore me and continue to get ready. "The heart wants what it wants, I guess."

"It's not your heart that's doing the wanting," she replied coolly.

I walked behind her and rubbed her soft shoulder covered only by the thin straps of her slip. "Sorry," I apologized, "I was just thinking how good you look."

"Jesus, John," she stood up and turned towards me, clearly annoyed. "You barely talk to me for months, let alone touch me, and then, when we have somewhere to be in half an hour, you wanna fuck?"

"Calm down," I said, "that wasn't what I wanted."

"Oh I suppose you just wanted a quick blow job before the taxi comes." She walked to the mirror and fixed her earrings, looking at me in the reflection. "I don't even know what to think anymore."

"Mon," I tried to say softly, again walking up behind her, placing my hands on her upper arms, "That wasn't what I meant. I'm sorry. I'm lucky to have you."

"Look," she said, turning toward me, "I know things have been rough, maybe we should see somebody." I gave a half smile and slightly nodded. Before I could respond, her mood and face lightened, "But tonight, let's just try to have a little fun." She turned back toward the mirror, admiring herself.

"Besides," she added, "I do look good tonight. It's no wonder you want to fuck me." Just then the taxi honked its horn and she pecked me playfully on the cheek. "Let's go."

The reception was nice as these things go. It's always a good show when the college is trying to impress donors. There was a large buffet with prime rib, a jazz band playing background music, and about 300 academics and alumni milling about in their best ass kissing clothes.

I made my way for the bar to get Monica a glass of Merlot and myself a nice Scotch. It was an open bar, I might as well take advantage. As I waited on the bartender, across the room, from the corner of my eye I saw a blur of blonde curls. Could it be?

What was she doing here? Students didn't usually attend faculty events unless they were working as servers, but she wasn't dressed as a server. No, she was dressed to kill in a strapless red dress with flowing skirt, black stockings and heels.

She was chatting with an elderly couple I knew to be an emeritus professor from the anthropology department and her husband. Her eye caught mine and she smiled devilishly at me and winked. I nodded back, but gathered my drinks, tipped the bartender and returned to my wife.

For a while I tried to keep tabs on Molly, expecting her to come say hello and god knows what else. In such a large room it was difficult to keep track of her, especially since my own colleagues kept seeking my attention, trying to introduce me to various alumni donors. I couldn't say if I was keeping tabs on her for fear or desire or maybe both.

It became apparent that whatever had brought her here was keeping her busy and that she wasn't making any clear attempt to come to talk to me. If I were honest I'd say I was more disappointed than relieved, but I figured it was for the best. I eventually settled into the fake interactions that typify such events.

Monica, for her part was in her element, making her way around the room, leaving me to my own devices. I tried to keep track of her too, but it was likewise difficult. At first she ran off with the wife of a departmental colleague, both of them chatting up the Dean of the college. The dean then introduced her to someone I didn't recognize, a donor I'd figure. Deans are good at finding people who know how to charm money out of others, and Monica, in her various capacities and knowledge sets was one of the best.

Somewhere into my third scotch I decided I needed some air, but rather than head out the front door where all of the smokers tended to congregate, I made my way to the rear exit. I just needed a moment to myself. For a classic introvert, such events are taxing.

I stepped out, ran my hands over my face, flush with the rising level of alcohol and the warmth of a packed room. In the distance a couple of students were making their way through the quad, no doubt on their way to a party of their own. But otherwise, the university was quiet. I took a deep breath.

"Why hello, professor." I turned to see Molly, leaning against the wall next to the door. Her hands were behind her back, one leg bent at the knee, foot against the wall as well.

"Molly," I tried to be calm, but I moved toward her so I could whisper. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you I'd guess," she smiled, "I needed some air." She smiled coyly, tipping her chin down and tilting her head, "Unless you followed me out here."

"No," I said, "That's not what I meant." And then I reconsidered, "And no, I didn't know you were out here."

"But you hoped," she interrupted.

For a moment I thought about pursuing the argument, but instead I just stepped to her and took her face in my hands and kissed her full on the mouth. In retrospect it was stupid, anyone could have come out, but I lingered, drinking in the sweet bubblegum taste of her lip gloss as our tongues explored the caverns of each other's mouths. She wrapped her hands around my shoulders as I pressed her body into the wall. I broke the kiss and stepped away. My hand that had held her cheek trailed down her neck to her shoulder, and then down her arm, until, like a love struck teen I stood there in the moonlight, holding her hand.

Of course, like "love struck" teens, love isn't really at issue, just hormones. I imagine I stood there looking at her with a hungry look on my face.

"Oh my, professor," she gasped when the kiss was broken. Then, walking away, but still holding my hand, she pulled me away from the building. "Come with me," she said, and I did.

She dragged me across the walk to the next building explaining, "These doors are almost always open at night because you professors are a workaholic bunch. Sure enough, she was right, and I glanced around hoping no one was watching as I followed her into the empty building.

The first floor was made up of classroom space, and after checking a few doors, we found one that was open. I followed her in and closed the door. As I turned toward her she was all over me. Using her slight frame to press me back against the door as used every inch of her heels to reach up to my mouth with her own.

I drank in the taste of her lips as her hands immediately began fumbling with my belt. When she had it undone, she lowered my zipper and immediately sank to her knees in front of me.

As she fished my cock out of my pants, she looked up at me, her expression changed from coy tease to abject desire. "When you saw the picture of my mouth, is this what you thought about?"

She didn't wait for an answer; as soon as my hardening cock was exposed she swallowed it into the warm wetness of her mouth, moaning as she did. I could feel my cock growing against the soft flesh of her tongue as she pressed it against me.

I watched as her head began to bob back and forth, longer strokes as my cock quickly came to full attention. She looked up at me, her mouth stretched to accommodate my size and our eyes locked. She worked back and forth, one hand firmly wrapped around the base of my erection, her eyes never leaving mine, mine never leaving hers. It was heaven.

I wrapped a hand in her blonde curls, and held tight as my own hips began to meet the movement of her head. Her eyes went wide at the sensation of the slight tug on her hair and then returned to half lidded expression of ecstasy as she continued her best to swallow as much of my cock as her petite mouth would allow.

The sensation was too much and I wanted, or perhaps needed, to fuck her. I pulled my hips back to free my cock from her mouth, but she merely followed, locked on to me, refusing to give up that which was filling her mouth. I resorted to roughly pulling her by the hair until my cock released from her mouth with an obscene popping sound.

"No," she whimpered, her mouth suddenly emptied, "I wanted you to cum in my mouth this time." She was panting, as I pulled her to her feet. "I wanted to show you that you could use me however you wanted, that I was here for what you need."

I pulled out a desk chair and sat in it, my cock achingly erect jutting up from my lap. I pulled her toward me, her face half pout, but still flush with desire.

"What I want," I said panting, "is to fuck you. Take off your panties and straddle me."

She giggled as she flipped up the skirt of her dress, moving toward me, revealing that her stocking were just that, stockings and saying. "I'm not wearing any, sir."

She straddled me lifting her red skirt, placing a knee on either side of my hips as I sat in the desk chair. She grinded her hips against my exposed cock, until I was running against her wet slit, sliding against her clit, teasing both of us. Her hands were placed on my shoulder, while I held onto her hips.

I watched her face, as she pulled up ever so slightly so my erect cock could find its way into her. Biting the edge of her lower lip, she slid down onto me, stretching and opening her tight cunt as each inch of me disappeared into her under her dress.

She moaned loudly into the room as she sank down. It was an easier fit than the first time. I smiled to myself as I thought that she must be getting broken in just for me. She closed her eyes and pressed herself hard down onto me, taking the last few inches of my cock with a slight squeal.

I held her there, reveling in the sensation of the grip of her pussy. I reached up behind her and pulled her forward so that I could kiss her and slide my tongue into the wetness of her mouth. I wanted to consume her, to inhabit every inch of space inside her that I could.

And then she started rocking. Slowly at first, but then more pronounced. Not so much an up and down motion as a grinding. I could feel her muscles contract around me as she slid forward and the release as she slid back. It felt like my cock swelled even more to be inside of her.

She wrapped her arms around my neck and threw her head back as her pace quickened. Her eyes closed and a slow whine turned into a high pitched squeal of delight as her body shivered and spasmed into an orgasm.

"Fuuuccck," she cried, her hips grinding against me, "So good... so good..."

She fell forward against me, my face full of her blonde curls as she nuzzled my neck, her hips still riding my cock, albeit more slowly now. She whispered in my ear, "I feel like such a slut, cumming so fast for you." She nibbled my ear gently, "But I've been wet all day thinking about this... about you."

My hands on her hips urged her to quicken her pace, which she did, gladly, but now having cum, she was back in a teasing mood. She sat upright in my lap, her forehead pressed to mine, her seemingly innocent eyes peered into me.

"Come on, sir," she urged, "take this pussy and own it. Fuck your slut student. Your slut. Fuck me like you never fuck your wife. Use me, hurt me. Pull me hard down onto your cock and make me feel it."

These last words were grunted as I reached behind her and pulled her hair, making her look straight up as I pulled her down. My mouth covered her neck and she moaned in delight. I felt my cock begin to swell and I remembered her words earlier. Quickly I stood, lifting her lithe body as I did so, my cock leaving her vacant as I pushed her once again to her knees.

She grabbed my cock and stroked it, smiling up at me. "Does my professor wish to cum in his student's mouth after all? Too bad you can't cum on my face and make me leave it so everyone at the party knows what I've been doing. But I don't want to ruin my pretty dress."

I grabbed her head and pulled her mouth onto my cock just in time to fill her mouth with the first eruption of my cum. She gave a muffled squeak of surprise before moaning as she nursed my cock and swallowed as spasm after spasm of my hot seed flooded her mouth.

I fell back in the chair, panting heavily, my legs weak. My softening cock already retreating back into the confines of my zipper. She kneeled before me, hair mussed, make up ruined, a small streak of cum running down the smooth white skin of her chin. This she wiped with a finger and cleaned with her mouth and then smiled mischievously.

Molly climbed back into my lap, this time not straddling me, but sideways, feet stretched out, arms around my neck. I put my hands on her petite waist and kissed her, tasting myself on her lips.

She got up and pulled a compact out of her purse and did her best to fix her makeup and hair. "So," she said with a smile, "Now I get to go talk to everyone you know with your cum on my breath." She leaned over me and kissed me lightly on the cheek so as not to muss herself again. "Do you think your wife would pick up your scent if I stopped and said hello."

I ran my hand through my hair, "Please Molly, leave my wife alone."

"Don't worry professor," she said as she made her way to the classroom door, "It will all work out just fine. Trust me." And with that she was gone.