Lola And The Professors Wife

Author's note: This story follows the events of several other stories I've written. It can be read as a standalone installment but makes a lot of references to some of my earlier stories. If you want know more about my falling out with my father or how I lost my virginity to my friend's older brother (Cam), check out "Like Father, Like Daughter." If you want to know more about how my boss (Magnus) subsequently took advantage of me, read "Lola's Summer at the Club." If you want to know how my first boyfriend lost me to an older ex-marine (Grant), read "Lola's First Boyfriend." If you want to know why my college professor (Professor Daniels) decided he had to have me at any cost, read "Lola the College Cocktease."

If you don't want to read any of my previous stories (boo), then here's what you need to know in order to enjoy this one:

My name is Lola, and I'm a half-Asian girl with big tits and serious daddy issues. My dad is white, and we've been estranged since I was 18, so I mostly fuck older white guys as a way to fill the void he left in my life (or so my therapist says). I have major submissive tendencies that are triggered by aggressive, big-dick alpha males who act like they own me. I have a bad habit of putting myself in situations where these guys have the upper hand, and when that happens, I almost always end up with a huge cock (or two) buried inside me. At the same time, I also get off on being withholding, so I love to tempt and torment small-cock beta males who don't deserve me. When I was a freshman at USC (go Trojans), I fell prey to an ex-marine named Grant, who lured me into becoming a share-slut for him and his friends. That summer, I inadvertently seduced my college professor, who eventually betrayed my trust and forced himself on me. Afterwards, I threatened to expose what he had done to me, forcing the professor to accept his beta status and become my sub.

I'm in my late-20s now, but this story takes place during my sophomore year of college. (It switches between two different perspectives, which is a new wrinkle for me. I hope you enjoy it.)

Hugs,

Lola

*****

LOLA:

After my first visit to Professor Daniels' office hours ended with his cum spilled all over the carpet beneath his desk, I knew that I had him wrapped around my finger. Although I couldn't prove that he had taken advantage of me, we both knew I didn't have prove it to ruin his life. The allegation alone would destroy his career and probably his marriage.

But while the threat of destruction may have brought Professor Daniels to heel, it was the lure of my body that made him submit. His fixation with my busty, tennis-toned, 19-year-old body had already driven him to take matters into his own hands, and having taken me once by force, his obsession had become an addiction. Like the heroin junkie who becomes an addict after a single hit, one taste of my big-breasted, half-Asian body had been enough to hook Professor Daniels. And like a heroin junkie, Professor Daniels would be forever chasing that first incredible high, because I had vowed that he would never get to fuck me again. In fact, under our current arrangement, he wasn't even allowed to touch me. All he could hope for now was to watch as I squeezed my tits and played with my pussy, stroking himself as I described the slutty acts I'd performed for other, more deserving men. All that was left for him was spill his cum on the carpet as I reminded him that he was a pathetic and worthless excuse for a man. Though this was a far cry from getting to fuck me, Professor Daniels readily agreed to this arrangement, so hungry was he for even a glimpse of my naked body.

As the fall semester began, I got into the habit of visiting Professor Daniels' office hours late on Friday afternoons. These visits became an unofficial kickoff to the weekend, a much more satisfying way to release tension than going home to my vibrator. I would often tease Professor Daniels by telling him about the frat party I would be going to later and the slutty outfit I was planning to wear. Just as often, however, my taunts were focused on Professor Daniels' own inadequacies.

It was in one such visit in late September that I learned some new details about the Professor's relationship with his wife. I'd worn a light, summery blouse that hugged the generous swell of my breasts, and my black push-up bra was clearly visible through the sheer fabric.

"I want to hear you beg, Professor," I said, fingering the button above my cleavage.

"Please, oh... oh please, Lola," he said, practically panting already. He was already stroking himself beneath the desk. "Please show me."

"Show you... what?"

"Your tits... your... huge, perfect tits..."

I threaded the button through its hole and the shirt opened a bit more, exposing my cleavage and the cups of my bra.

"Why do you love my tits so much, Professor? Doesn't your wife have tits for you at home?"

"No... fuck, no... not like yours..."

"How big are they?" I slipped another button through its hole. "Your wife's tits."

"Small," he gulped. "32B."

"That's not that small, Professor..."

"But yours are... so fucking huge..."

"Do you know what my bra size is?" I unbuttoned the last button and slipped the blouse off my shoulders. I ran my fingers along the top of the cups.

He shook his head. He began to pump his hand faster.

"Would you like to know?"

He gulped and nodded his head mutely.

I removed my blouse and reached behind my back for the clasp. I unhooked my bra and slipped the straps from my arms. With one hand, I held the bra in place, keeping my breasts covered from view. The other hand moved between my legs and found my clit.

"How are you going to earn that information, Professor?"

"I'll... I'll do whatever you want..."

"Most of the men who earn that information have huge cocks. Do you have a huge cock?"

"No," he whispered.

"That's right," I said huskily. "What do you have?"

"A small... a sad, little Dad-cock..."

"And what does your wife think of your little Dad-cock?"

"She—she doesn't want it... she's so tired of it..."

"I bet she laughs... when you try to fuck her."

"We don't—we barely even fuck anymore..."

"When—when was the last time?"

"Six... maybe seven months..."

This information piqued my interest.

"You mean... you mean you haven't fucked her since the night you forced me?"

He shook his head. I could tell we were both getting close.

"You mean... the last person you fucked was... me?"

"Yesssss..." he moaned.

"You—you can't fuck her anymore, can you? Not after having me..."

"I can't," he moaned. "I—I fucking can't."

"You'd rather... jack off for me... and spill your cum... than fuck your wife?"

"Yes—yes!"

"Oh my god," I moaned, an orgasm starting to shudder through me. "You... fucking... LOSER!"

As I began to cum, I let my bra fall to the floor, my naked tits spilling gloriously into view.

"Ohhhhh fuuuuuuuuck," the Professor moaned, closing his eyes as he dumped his cum onto the carpet below.

We sat there for a few stunned seconds, each basking in the afterglow of our own orgasms. Then, I picked my bra up and put it back on.

As I was buttoning up my blouse, Professor Daniels reopened his eyes.

"Will you... tell me your bra size?" he asked sheepishly. I glared at him.

"You shouldn't even try to fuck your wife," I said. "Your spoiled cum doesn't belong inside a pussy."

...

PROFESSOR DANIELS:

I was 34 when my wife and I stopped having sex.

It didn't happen all at once. My wife, Marisol, had pretty severe postpartum depression after her first pregnancy and the birth of our daughter. She was 26 at the time, and although she had always wanted to be a young mom, I don't know that she had really thought about what motherhood would be like. She was the first of her friends to get married and the first to have a kid, so I think becoming a mom was more lonely and isolating than she had expected, even though it was what she had always wanted.

I tried my best to support her. I would drive across Los Angeles and back just to pick up a home-cooked Filipino meal from her mom's house. We tried the therapy and the medications, everything the doctors recommended, but it turned out she just needed time. By the time our daughter was 6 months old, the Mari I remembered finally started to come back.

She was an absolute firecracker when I first met her. We were both students at UCLA—I was a grad student on an academic track and she was a senior studying to be a nurse. You should've seen her at 22—she had so much energy, full of joy and promise and a zest for living. She had the biggest, brightest smile I'd ever seen, this dimpled, megawatt smirk that was incredibly cute and completely contagious.

And she was insanely sexy. On top of her bubbly, infectious personality, she had long, satiny dark brown hair and a tight little body that she loved to show off. She was an LA girl born and raised, so putting her body on display was just part of her sense of style. She had these small, perky tits that never needed a bra, but her nipples were so sensitive that they were almost always poking through her top.

She had to hide this side of her personality growing up. Her mom and dad were devout Filipino Catholics, and they'd worked hard to send both Mari and her sister to an all-girls Catholic high school. Up until college, every aspect of her upbringing had been conservative by nature, including her dress code and her nonexistent dating life. But Mari has an irrepressible spirit, and as soon as she got to UCLA, she started making up for lost time. And once she swapped her blazer-and-tartans for a crop top and some cutoffs, the Westwood boys started taking notice.

I don't know Mari's full sexual history, but she once said that she was in "slut rehab" when I met her during her senior year. I later learned from one of her more gossipy girlfriends that when Mari first got to college, the guys in her dorm nicknamed her "The Swallowing Virgin" because she loved to suck dick but was saving herself for marriage like the good Catholic girl she'd been raised to be. That didn't last long, however, because eventually one of them convinced her that if Christ could forgive her sins then surely her future husband could do the same. After that, the floodgates (and Mari's legs) were wide open.

So by the time we met, Mari had a sexpot body and the skills to match. Although I was 27 and she was just 22, it was clear early on that she had more experience and more confidence than me when it came to sex. What I had going for me, however, was timing. By her senior year, Mari had started thinking about her life after college, and how that was supposed to include a husband and a family. She knew she wasn't going to find a husband among the 22-year-old frat boys who wanted her for a quick fuck, so when we met at a party held by a mutual friend, she sized me up instantly as mature, stable, and focused on a future that extended beyond getting her into bed.

Maybe it's nostalgia, but those early years with her were truly amazing. I'm not particularly sunny or optimistic by nature, but Mari's relentless enthusiasm just lit up my life. It was impossible to be in a bad mood when she was around. No matter how dour or brooding I was, just being with her was always enough to cheer me up.

Of course, it helped that we were having sex almost all the time. Mari may have a small frame, but she has large appetites, and in those days it wasn't uncommon for me to wake up with that cute smile of hers looking up at from between my legs and her soft, warm lips wrapped around my cock. I'd never been with a girl as free and uninhibited as Mari, and her sex positive attitude opened my eyes to a world of exciting possibilities.

For one thing, although she was sexually confident and self-assured, she wasn't controlling or domineering in bed. When it came to sex, Mari's bubbly, people-pleaser personality manifested as a submissive streak and a strong desire to satisfy her partner's needs. She liked when I was demanding of her, when I told her what I wanted or simply took it myself. I didn't have the natural confidence to initiate rough sex, but Mari would bait me into it by getting me turned on and then pretending to refuse me. She loved to play the Catholic schoolgirl, working me up with her hands or her mouth, then acting reluctant or uneasy about having sex. If I wanted to fuck her, I would have to force the issue, which was exactly what she wanted in the first place.

But things started to change after she got pregnant with our daughter. She had frequent nausea and morning sickness early in her pregnancy, which quickly put a damper on our sex life. By the time the morning sickness had subsided, her stomach had swollen up like a balloon, and she began to experience constant back pain and leg cramps that made it hard to have the kind of sex she liked.

But the slowdown of our sex life wasn't just about her. As her belly swelled, I began to see her more and more as the mother of our child, which felt sort of at odds with the sexy little minx I had married. Although my love for Mari was growing along with the child inside her, I found it harder to see her in a sexual light, despite the fact that she was still as beautiful as ever.

After the baby finally came and we worked our way through her postpartum depression, our sex life started to come back, albeit a bit tamer than before. We were each preoccupied with our careers and our daughter, so even when we did find time for sex, it sometimes felt like we were going through the motions, especially compared to the wild nights we'd once had.

Still, for the next two years, our sex life remained fairly satisfying. And then, when I was 33 and Mari was 28, she got pregnant again, this time with our son.

Her second pregnancy was much like the first, but in some ways it was even harder because we knew what was coming. Although we were overjoyed by the expansion of our family, there was a looming sense of dread as we awaited the inevitable arrival of the morning sickness, the back pain, and eventually, her postpartum depression. All of this, combined with caring for our now-3-year-old daughter, made thoughts of sex feel laughably out of step with reality.

After our son was born, we both knew it would take some time for our sex life to bounce back, but I think we both assumed it would happen eventually. I was only 34 and Mari was just 29. We weren't so far removed from a vibrant and adventurous sex life. We just needed to be patient, right?

Sometimes I wonder now what would have happened if we had been more proactive. What if we had gone to see a sex therapist or taken some kind of class? Maybe we would have worked through our issues and come out the other side with a thriving sex life.

Instead, we both just... waited for the spark to reignite. And while we were waiting, we threw ourselves into every other aspect of our lives: kids, careers, hobbies, you name it. Mari found a yoga class for young moms, and it soon became an essential outlet for her to release the stress of being a full-time nurse and the mother of two small kids. She began studying to become a yoga instructor, and after she got her teaching certificate, she spent most of her limited free time at the studio.

The yoga did amazing things for her body, which bounced back tighter than it had ever been. By her early-30s, years of daily practice had sculpted the girlish softness of her youth into the toned, lean frame of a woman at the peak of her powers. Combined with her age-defying Filipino features, she was arguably hotter at 32 than she'd been at 22, even after carrying two kids into the world.

And yet... the spark we were waiting for never quite came. It made no sense. We were still young, still fit, still in love... and yet we didn't want to fuck each other. I sometimes wondered whether yoga had replaced sex as Mari's preferred form of stress relief, but that didn't explain why I wasn't craving her the same way I once did.

I've thought about this a lot over the years, but I still can't say for sure that I know the answer. Part of it was the shift in how I saw her, less as a woman and more as a mother. Part of it was the stress and baggage of parenthood and married life, which transformed us from primarily sex partners into primarily life partners. And part of it was probably just boredom, the tedium of having sex with the same person hundreds or thousands of times over so many years.

Whatever the reasons may be, our sex life slowed to a trickle after our son was born. First, it was once a month, but eventually it receded to just a few times per year. Even on the rare occasions when we did have sex, it was perfunctory and performative.

But when you go long enough without something—whether it's sex or cigarettes or red meat—you eventually learn to live without it. The cravings abate and you settle into a new life devoid of the thing you once believed you could never live without.

By my late-30s, I'd resigned myself to a more or less sexless existence, a mostly celibate life punctuated by an occasional, half-hearted roll in the hay. It wasn't necessarily the life I had dreamed for myself, but I'd grown to appreciate the many other joys I had, including parenting and the companionship of a loving partner. Mari and I still loved each other, and that was enough, even if we didn't really have sex anymore. I made my peace with this life of mine.

And then, nine years after my son was born, Lola Andrews walked into my classroom on a hot summer day and it all came tumbling down.

...

LOLA:

Soon after Professor Daniels disclosed to me that he and his wife rarely had sex anymore, something very serendipitous happened that would ultimately change both their lives.

Around the start of my sophomore year, I'd gotten a job at a trendy nightclub in the heart of LA. Since I had just turned 20, I wasn't old enough to be a bottle-service girl, but the manager liked my looks enough to bring me on as a hostess. It was a good gig: I'd work a couple of nights per week, mostly Fridays and Saturdays, and make some easy extra money. Plus, it seemed like a great way to people-watch.

One Saturday night in early September, I was at the hostess stand when four women walked in. They were all Asian, sleekly dressed and well-made up, a little older than your average club-goer. As I walked them into the club, I noticed that one of the women looked strangely familiar. It was clear that she hadn't recognized me, but I could've sworn that I knew her from somewhere. Had I seen her on campus somewhere? Maybe I'd run into her at the gym?

Then, it suddenly clicked, and I had to stop myself from gasping out loud. It was Professor Daniels' wife, Marisol.

Over the summer, the Professor had invited me and some other students over to his house for a party, and his wife had let me in. She had welcomed me in, fixed me a drink, and made me feel at home. Then, while she and the others were watching a movie on the patio, her husband had lured me into his study, overwhelmed my resistance, and plundered my body.

After I seated the Professor's wife and her friends, I returned to the hostess stand, but I kept stealing glances over at the four of them. They were a little older, sure, but they still looked damn good. Marisol, in particular, drew my attention. She'd struck me as very pretty for a wife and mother when we met at the Professor's cookout, but now, in full makeup, heels, and a form-fitting dress, she was downright hot. Under the dark lights of the club, she could easily pass for a party girl at the end of her 20s rather than a mother of two who had to be closing in on 40.

As I watched her with her friends, a number of feelings began to stir in me. At first, I felt a rush of guilt over the pleasure I'd taken in humiliating her husband and extracting his cum tributes week after week. But then, when I remembered that Professor Daniels had brought this on himself by taking advantage of me, my guilt was replaced by indignation.