This story is the sequel to "Not Good Enough," which is the story of the start of Carol's affair with her professor, Carl Fellows. A related, but very different, series of stories is "Before the Fall," "The Fall," "Fall Semester," and "Spring Semester." There are elements of the true story of my life in every story.
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Good Enough
Carl
Of all the things in my life that have given me pleasure, by far the one that has pleased me most is plunging my cock into the wet and willing cunt of one my young married students, and fucking her gorgeous, sexy body until I ejaculate my sperm-laden semen into this woman who is another man's wife. There is nothing better in this world than that feeling of evil power, corruption, and sexual ecstasy.
But a close second is when the stupid bitch comes back for more.
In class the first Tuesday after the weekend Carol came to my office looking for her "lost" wallet, the weekend I gave her that first, glorious fucking, I sat there, lecturing and discussing the material with the students, basically on professorial autopilot. My attention was on Carol's attitude and demeanor.
Was she remorseful? Had she confessed to her husband and thrown herself on his mercy, as well as onto his vengeful prick? Did she show signs of abuse from an enraged husband -- bruises, welts, angry scars? Was she overcome with shame and guilt, burdened now with a secret but cherished memory that she would have to bear in suffering silence in the dark recesses of her heart for the rest of her life? Had she left my office that Saturday and gone church the next day overcome with grief at the loss of her virtue, and confessed her sin to her God, and prayed for forgiveness and deliverance from such temptations in the future?
Or, as I had, did she relish the tangy taste of the illicit sex that we had experienced, did she embrace and relive, over and over, that delicious moment when she succumbed to me, and allowed, no, encouraged, begged, for me, her professor, to ravage her sexually, to fulfill her betrayal of her marriage vows? Did she wallow in the memory of her sensory pleasure in being fucked hard and brought to a wrenching orgasm on the cock of another man? Had it been good enough to make her come back?
In short, would Carol ask for more?
It was my policy to say nothing to one of my new lovers after our first trysting, nothing to suggest that it had even ever happened. I would be affable and friendly, even, but completely professional and even-handed, as if our entire relationship was there in the classroom as it should always have been.
Because I want my lovers, my victims, to come to ME, to be the ones who ask ME for more, who tried to persuade ME to please, "fuck me again."
I know that I'm no great bargain, not the best example of robust, virile manhood. I know I'm far from the ideal mate. So, I have always felt an acute pleasure in seducing these beautiful, vulnerable married women in my classes, women who had supposedly married the man of their dreams, my competition, and I have succeeded at that many times. I have taken an even greater pleasure when I have been so successful that they have wanted me, have ASKED me, to continue, to further deflower them, to further assist them in their sexual betrayal of their husbands. That has always been a delectable and satisfying moment.
Carol showed no sign, one way or the other. She didn't look nervous, she wasn't obviously avoiding my eyes, nor was she gazing at me in a doe-eyed romantic haze. Carol conducted herself just as I was conducting myself, as if it had never happened. She was prepared for class; she had done her reading and completed the writing assignment given in the last class meeting. She participated in the class discussion, and her voice betrayed no reluctance or nervousness.
This Carol was a very cool cookie. She would not be easy to manipulate, although I HAD manipulated her (here the double-entendre of the phrase in his thoughts amused Carl, and he was momentarily distracted from his lecture, laughing quietly at an inappropriate moment, then stumbling briefly to get himself back on track) into doing with me that most intimate thing.
As class ended, Carol hung back, waiting for the other students to clear out, waiting for a chance to speak to me alone. I knew what the reason was for her desire for privacy ... I knew the topic of the upcoming conversation. What I didn't know and what I was truly excited, even aroused to discover was: which way would this go?
Finally, the last of the other students left, and the automatic closer on the hallway door shut it, ensuring us a degree of privacy. The sudden hush in the classroom was startling, and Carol looked up reflexively, as I did, to be totally certain there was no one at the door or still in the room.
She stepped forward, and prepared to speak. I was ready, eager, and curious to see if I had guessed right about her. My penis was now fully erect as I sat behind my desk, and Carol stood next to it, holding her books in front of her as all girls and women do, and no self-respecting boy or man would ever do, and I could see the glint of her wedding ring. The sight gave me another little thrill, reminding me of the depth of the betrayal I had guided her into on Saturday.
Carol met my eyes with a steady, level gaze and said, "Can we go to your office, tonight?" I just about came in my pants with delight.
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Carol
I hadn't felt guilty or sorry after what happened Saturday. It was too damn good. I had felt truly sexy and attractive and deeply physically satisfied for the first time in years. I was reminded of the strong sexual appetite I had had as a newly-liberated woman when I was a teenager, and I realized that I missed it. I loved my husband, and I loved my little daughter so much that I would readily give my life for her, but John simply wasn't able any more to make me feel that deep, deep carnal pleasure that Carl had given me.
I knew it was to a large part the illicitness of what we did that made the act of cheating so satisfying. I knew it was an emotional reaction at least as much as a physical one. No one had to tell me that my sexuality was more in my brain than my genitals, because I knew that, I could FEEL that when I felt so luxurious and when my orgasm was so profound and satisfying. Carl hadn't done anything particularly special or exhibited any unique physical features or knowledge that made what we did so exciting and fulfilling. It was my body responding to the forbidden-ness and the sinfulness of it that had made my reaction so powerful.
And I knew by how I had felt ever since, by my level of energy, my excited sleeplessness, my pre-occupation thinking about that glorious encounter with Carl in his office, by the constant arousal I felt between my legs and in my nipples, that I wanted more, that the newness and nastiness of what we had done, what we WOULD DO would carry me back many more times to that high of sexual bliss that I love so much. I knew it wasn't Carl, particularly, although he was the one who had set this feeling free within me. It could have been any reasonably attractive man. Actually, it could yet be any other reasonably attractive man!
But Carl would do just fine.
John hadn't acted at all suspicious when I came home after a very long time on Saturday, without groceries and without an explanation. He seemed to just go about his business as usual, happy and unconcerned. Our daughter came home from playing next door, and we had a nice, normal family dinner together while she told us of her adventures that day playing Barbies.
As I sat there eating dinner with my little family, I felt a very strong sense of my destiny as a mother and my profound love for my child and for her father. I felt nothing but warm, cherishing sentiment for him, and I realized that I was frequently looking into his eyes and smiling, my love for him like a living thing within me.
And every time those thoughts and feelings filled me, simultaneously, directly under them, as close to the surface as if it were only covered with the thinnest gauze, I also felt my pride in my wantonness, my corruption, my betrayal of all of this. I couldn't shake the salacious images of looking down along my naked body, my breasts in the foreground, Carl's skinny, naked body at my hips, and him coaching me to look at his engorged cock as he slid it out of my cunt, where I could see it's length covered with the fluids of my excitement, and then feeling so filled and intense as he pushed it rapidly back in, and as I watched and felt simultaneously the entire length of him embedded again into me. The images overlaid themselves onto the scene of domestic bliss in front of me, and I believe I have never felt a deeper satisfaction than I did at that moment of basking in my daring and sinfulness.
In college psychology class, as a demonstration of the power of positive feedback, we had read about an experiment in which chimpanzees were allowed to dispense doses of heroin to themselves by pushing a lever. The little apes had kept pushing the lever again and again, more and more frequently, sending themselves over and over into that addictive ecstasy that drug users know all too well. In the two days since Carl and I had enjoyed one another's bodies in his office last weekend, I felt a strong empathy for those little guys. I reminded myself of what I had done, how I had felt, how I had risked everything I thought I had valued, everything I knew I DID value, and again and again, like those little monkeys, I got a satisfying thrill, a jolt of pleasure in my pussy, and a sense of joy by thinking about it. I couldn't stop doing that, reviewing my glorious shame, and I couldn't stop the growing anticipation of going to Tuesday's class and doing it again. I tried to screen out my memory the fact that the chimps had continued dosing themselves until they died.
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John
Carol had come home late Saturday. She had taken hours to retrieve her wallet, and hadn't bothered to buy even a few groceries to provide cover for her behavior. I knew what she had been doing; I had been envisioning it almost continuously while she was gone. Our daughter was out of the house while she was gone, and I couldn't resist taking the opportunity to masturbate myself while watching the realistic pornographic movie running in a continuous loop in my brain.
Twice.
