The Swinging Professor

Here's a

TWO-PART

story dealing with rich, affluential New Yorkers who delve into the decadent work of swinging.

Can't say I had fun writing this, and I can't tell you why cause the Literotica moderators kind of lose their minds. I'm not allowed to promote myself through my stories, is all. I can with my profile, but not in the stories. I get it. But let's just say I was handcuffed away from my normal creative process. I'll never let that happen again. I was in a bad place mentally and only just recently escaped. The next (and last) part of this story is much more in line with my other stories and style.

You know that feeling when you KNOW something is in the basement waiting to kill you and you run up the stairs and back into the bright lights of the kitchen and your mom is standing there wondering why you screamed so bloody loudly running up the stairs like a herd of elephants? But all you can feel is the RELIEF of having escaped something horrible? That's me right now.

Oh, I'm pretty sure this is published story/part/novella number fifty (50) on Literotica for me. Yay for me.

Love,

Lana Ocean

Canada

Chapter One - Home is Where the Heart Is

CLARA MACQUARRIE BRAKED at the stop sign and glanced at the other stops. She was alone at the four-way in her residential area and no cars were nearby. She lowered her visor, removed her sunglasses, and revealed her mirror. She brushed her shoulder-length, blonde hair back over her ears and twisted her face from side-to-side to check her crow feet by her eyes. She had started a regimen of applying Pro Retinol and she was beginning to see the effects. She checked her lipstick and, satisfied, closed the visor, replaced her sunglasses on her face, checked for traffic, and turned right. She smiled to herself, knowing she still kept her fine looks. Certainly not the look she had in her twenties, but pushing forty-nine, she knew she still turned heads. Her husband, Chester MacQuarrie, still appreciated her looks and, this morning, he had woken her from a deep sleep, by mounting her in the prone positions, and filled her pussy with his seed, and then had left her wanting for her own release. She hated when he left her without release. Their sex life was sporadic and rarely aligned with her desires.

Despite her sexual appetite, Clara was exhausted. Her day at Bensenville University in Upstate New York had been a long one. University finals were fast approaching and the demands from students for her time were becoming longer than the hours in a day. Her shoes lay on the passenger seat beside her, and she wiggled her stocking feet on the gas pedal and enjoyed the feeling of her bare feet on the controls of her powerful car. She was definitely a fan of fewer clothes, being more.

Her husband had paid for all her enhancements four years ago. She had survived puberty only to emerge with small breasts, but now she boasted a wonderful double-D-cup. She had already been blessed with large protruding nipples, sensitive to the slightest touch, and even a cool breeze could harden them. She adored her new breasts. She had always felt less than a woman with smallish breasts. Her new tits balanced her gorgeous, well-rounded ass, and accented her slim waist. She felt more confident. More sexual. Her clothes fit better, and she loved to display her cleavage and watch the eyes of men and women drift and linger on her chest. She looked for their lust and the hint of envy in women's eyes. It empowered her, and she was certain her life was better for it.

She drove by several houses she no longer paid any attention to. The road led to her gated community, and she smirked as the houses grew larger and more expensive. Cars went from typical sedans to more expensive cars. Houses grew bigger and more elaborate. The farther she drove, the more expensive the homes. And she knew she lived at the furthest end. She loved driving past the houses, knowing she was in the upper niche. She loved being at the top of the elites.

She now drove a brand new 2019 Mercedes-Benz E-Class Mercedes-AMG E 63, but she could never remember all that. Her husband, Chester, sure remembered. He always bragged to his friends at his law firm, MacQuarrie and McGrath, that his wife drove the finest Mercedes in Poughkeepsie, Dutchess County, New York. She loved the car. Mostly she loved the quiet sitting in it, with the rich smell of leather, and how the seat held her so perfectly. It was so responsive and a light touch on the gas would have her speeding down the highways, the car barely straining, and she felt like she could float. The throaty soft roar of the engine was spectacular, but with the sound dampening in the cabin, she could hear fingers sliding on guitar strings of her music even while driving sixty-five miles an hour down the road.

The houses grew further apart and the land surrounding them grew more expansive. She braked at another stop and turned left to climb the winding road that led to her hilltop community. A large wrought-iron fence rose high to her right and her car sped up the access road, with absolutely no strain. She was eager to get home. Her husband had promised to relieve her of her need for an orgasm. Her pussy was already warm and wet. She pulled the hem of her skirt higher and reached between her legs and ran a finger through her soft folds. Her pussy still held a full bush, her pubic hairs trimmed down to two inches. Her husband loved her hairy pussy, and she smiled, remembering the last time he ate her out with abandon. She loved his hunger. His tongue probing, digging deep, seeking her moisture, and he loved lapping at her hairs down there.

The last time he had eaten her out was two nights ago. She slipped a finger into her vagina and remembered what he had said.

* * *

"Jesus, Clara, you're so fucking wet!" he had moaned into her sopping pussy. She lay back on the bed with her upper back up against the headboard of their bed. She had her knees drawn up and held by her hands. Her legs were spread wide, exposing her hairy pussy and beautifully smooth asshole to her husband's attention. She loved watching him staring at her sex. She loved the exposure and vulnerability of it. It was lewd. It was perfect.

"Oh honey! It's been so long! Don't stop!" she growled with lust and need. "Just eat me! I need your fingers in there! Deep!"

Chester rammed two fingers deep into her pussy. He was a tall man, standing a half foot above her five feet seven inches. He had large hands with lovely, long, thick fingers. She clamped down hard and then relaxed as he twisted his fingers and then leaned in to suck on her hard and exposed clit.

She would cum any moment, she knew. If only he would bite her clit and...

She bucked as he bit her clit gently. Her orgasm blind-sided her, and rocked through her body, lifting the little blonde hairs all over her body like electricity. It was too much to contain and her voice screamed loud into the bedroom. "Oh my God! JESUS! Eat me! Drink me! Get your face in there!"

Chester pressed his face hard against her pussy, aided by her hands now gripping his hair painfully and pulling him in. She ground her pelvis against his mouth and tongue. Her vagina squeezed hard on his fingers and then fluttered, milking his fingers, and she wished it was his cock. Suddenly, she wanted more cock. Cock everywhere. Hers to use. To swallow. To take deep inside her mouth and throat. In her pussy. In her ass, burning and thrusting. Her orgasm peaked, and she thrashed on the bed. She pulled hard on his head and felt strands of his hair snap. She didn't care. She wanted multiple men to fuck her senseless. And women. Their gentle touch mixed with the hard driven need of men to penetrate her. To push themselves into her holes.

The imagery was complete, and another powerful orgasm overtook the last one, and she felt her whole-body dissolve into it. She lost control and squirted directly into Chester's mouth. She could feel him swallowing and groaned. She wanted those fluids. Pussy juice. Cum. She wanted to be covered in it...

* * *

Reality returned and Clara gasped in her car and pulled her fingers free of her pussy. She glanced at her speed and took her foot off the gas. She had been doing fifty in a residential area. She grinned and sucked on her fingers. She could taste her pussy and a slight salty taste. She had almost cum on her leather seats.

I am so damn horny!

she thought.

What's wrong with me?

Since she had turned forty-five, she had recognised her own mortality. She remembered her crisis well. Nothing seemed enough in her life. She believed she had wasted her life. That she had missed out on something important. She had bounced from distraction to distraction. She had tried charity work. Soup kitchens. Writing. Health and fitness. She had even tried cheating on her husband. She had gone back to her student days and seduced a woman from the admin building. She had thrown herself into the woman and did everything of which she could think.

It hadn't been enough. Something had been missing. She had a one-night stand with a man she found on Tinder. Afterward, she had imagined all kinds of STIs, had herself tested, and swore to never do that again. Random sex was not the answer for her. In time, she failed to discover what was missing, and she simply stopped trying and dived into her work.

Clara was a tenured professor and bore the distinguished title of University Professor. She had risen within Bensenville University from Instructor to Associate Professor to a tenured Professor in only ten short years. Clara had even been the Dean for two years, before returning to English. The strain of being Dean had been too much. The university had pleaded with her to remain. She had raised significant funding for the university over those two years, but it had been far too much for her to continue. She preferred running the English department. She had met Chester during that time. He had understood her need to return to her passion and had been fully supportive. They had married that same year.

The former head of the English Literature and Composition department had died suddenly while Clara was awaiting tenure, and they had immediately nominated her into the position at only age thirty-five. She used to think it was all about being at the right place at the right time, but she knew her friend, the Professor Audra Dourstradmes, had played a large part. Although Audra had denied it.

She recalled the conversation in detail even though it was now ten years ago. They had been such good friends back then. Now, even as neighbours, they were distant. Clara always felt she had disappointed Audra in a way she failed to understand.

* * *

Audra frowned across the table in the back corner of the university coffee shop. "Would you stop?"

Clara glared at her friend. Clara knew she was complaining yet again about being "leap-frogged"—as she put it—into her current position at the university. She had known Audra for years, meeting her at a faculty meeting shortly after she had started at Bensenville University. Audra was then a professor of mathematics waiting for tenure. Audra had admitted she had seen her wild-eyed looks and had joined her to make her feel welcomed. Now they were fast friends and even enjoyed being a little flirty with one another. It was easy with Audra. She was stunning in ways Clara envied.

Audra stood a little taller than Clara, but not by much. She was a brunette, with the length just falling past her shoulders. Because of Audra, Clara had a thing for brunettes. She shared the same looking ass. Round and substantial, but perfect for being taken from behind. That beautiful ass flesh absorbing the pounding of a fit man, the skin rippling in waves. Clara had often masturbated, imagining herself with a strap-on pounding Audra's trimmed pussy. She was gorgeous and Clara had seen all of her over the years working out at the gym and going for long runs around the gated community Audra lived in. Audra also had massive natural breasts. Clara had hers augmented years later because of Audra's. The best part was Audra was only a year older than her, and they shared the same social references and socialised. They were best friends.

Audra wasn't finished. "Sheila died. She was wonderful. And she will be missed. But she had already recommended you replace her with the dean and faculty. They didn't even deliberate. You were a natural choice. My God, Clara, you're known across academia all over the world."

"I haven't even published that much!"

"That's bullshit and you know it! You've published six works with the university already! They're required reading at other universities, for God's sake. Do you know how many papers I've published? Two. And try to find them. Sure, it's about variational methods for the solution of problems of equilibrium and vibrations..."

"I hate it when you talk math."

Audra glared at her this time. "Really?"

Clara looked away, ashamed. She hadn't meant it. "No. Sorry."

"Dammit, girlfriend, sometimes you need a spanking."

Clara suppressed a shiver. She had imagined Audra spanking her ass hard with a slut paddle she had seen online. Sometimes Clara wanted to just throw herself at Audra. She had stolen so many glances at her trimmed pussy over the years in the gym change room. Once she had sniffed the crotch of her running shorts. Her mouth watered at the memory. "I'm sorry. I just feel like a fake. I've put out queries for my fiction. No one is interested."

Audra had read all her efforts to become publish in mainstream publishing houses. "I keep telling you, it's the wrong genre for you. Switch to romance."

"Ugh."

"Romance is hot! A top seller across the globe. Women read romance. It's their porn and with your writing skills, you could dominate the market. Become the next Gabaldon, Nora Roberts, or Lana Ocean."

Clara didn't believe any of that for a second. "But to be placed as the head of English Literature! It's unthinkable! Look at Professor Aldridge! He should have been the one promoted."

Audra snorted. "Aldridge? He reads Chaucer in class exactly how it was pronounced all those years ago..."

"1392."

"...and he's known to masturbate at his window watching the young female students wandering around campus."

"Ugh. Well, maybe I do that too!"

"Masturbate at your window? What would you masturbate about?"

"Hmm. Your tits?"

Audra laughed. Clara always mentioned her tits. Audra enjoyed it. She loved their flirty relationship. Always teasing for more. But every time Audra tried to open a door, Clara shot her down. "I keep telling you, you want them, just take them."

Clara looked wistfully at her friend's large tits, hidden behind a conservative blouse, but noticed the prominent bumps where her nipples were. Already firm, as they often did while they talked. Clara looked away and watched the male barista call out a drink for someone. "I feel so fake, Audra..."

Audra sighed audibly. "That's called

Imposter Syndrome

. You should know that Miss English-Smarty Pants."

"Sean told me the same thing."

"Hmm. How is Sean?"

"The same. He writes constantly. Still looking to write the next great American novel."

"He's using you; you know that."

"No. I don't think so. Besides, his daughter is a delight."

"That Sara?"

Clara nodded. "Yeah. She has her father all wrapped up around her fingers. Shameful really. But she's a delight. Thirteen and full of so much angst! I don't remember being that way. Sean says I calm her better than he can. I found a ring in his coat pocket the other day."

Audra blinked at the sudden change of topic. "A ring? As in an engagement ring?"

Clara nodded again. She was torn. She loved Sean, but something kept holding her back. Then there was Sara. When she was being non-hormonal, Sara really was a delight. Sara seemed to dote on her, and Clara assumed she was the mother figure she had never had. Sara's mom had left both her and Sean. Sara didn't know that truth. Her mother had hated being a mother and simply vanished one day. Sara never needed to know that.

"Are you going to say yes?"

Clara didn't know the answer to that and stared out the window. "How did you know Bernard was the one?"

Clara caught the wistful smile that crossed Audra's features. Bernard Dourstradmes, her husband, was a steal. He was the CEO of an influential financial company that catered to the rich and powerful and had been the CEO since the late nineties. Audra and Bernard lived in a gated community in Poughkeepsie. All the rich and powerful lived there. But mostly Bernard got Clara wet. There was something so powerfully masculine about him. The way he looked at her made her feel like something he wanted to possess, to own, to dominate. It melted her insides to mush.

Audra smiled. "I've told you before. Bernie has a 10-inch cock, and it's really thick. One taste of that between your legs and you'd be hooked, too. You should try it, honey."

Clara snorted and threw a hand over her mouth and glanced around the café, worried someone caught her very unladylike sound. Audra was always teasing Clara with suggestions of hooking up with her husband. It was all in good fun and Clara thrilled at the naughtiness of it. "He'd split me in half."

"Hmm, he'd rather split roast you..."

Clara was shocked and pretended disgust. "Audra! Be quiet!" she looked around the café quickly. "That's enough! You're embarrassing me!"

Audra looked surprised and then a little sad. "Sorry, Clara, it won't happen again." Audra looked down and then up, with a forced smile on her face. "So? Tenure and marriage. Moving plenty fast, aren't you?"

Clara nodded and then smiled; her fears had been forgotten momentarily.

Perhaps I should accept the position? Who better to modernise the faculty? There's so much I could do to get people taking English much more seriously. Bless Audra, she has a way of making me forget my problems. The flirty-stuff is fun, but sometimes she seems almost serious.

Clara knew it was impossible.

Nothing but a crazy dream

. Audra was clearly heterosexual, with that beefy husband of hers. She kept her smile. "I know, right? It's so exciting! Sean and Sara in my life is just what I need..."

* * *

Clara groaned internally, remembering that fateful year. She was promoted to the head of the English department, given full tenure, and then half the staff walked out in protest. All led by a disgruntled Professor Aldridge. He had sued, lost, and left for a European university. The university had stood beside Clara, and she had never forgotten that. She had found friends in strange places in the university. The most surprising one being Professor Eva Landry, a tenured professor who worked in the Physics department. Clara suspected Audra had a lot to do with it all. She had seen Audra and Eva being very friendly around that same time. They had done something in the background and Clara remained in place. It was around that time that Audra distanced herself from Clara. A slow steady decline of friendship.

After a time, Clara recovered the English department reputation and made it much better, more modern, and over time, recognised across the United States. Many accomplished writers boasted of graduating under her leadership and mentoring. It's what led to her being Dean for a time. As a result, she dressed for power, projecting confidence and knowledge. She dressed almost exclusively in Libertine, or Michael Kors, but dabbled in David Koma, Galvan, and some exclusive clothing straight from private racks in New York City.