Good Enough 1

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.

When she got home, I made myself busy doing some of the errands around the house that I had intended to do while Carol was gone, but hadn't because I was busy beating my meat. Carol exploited my busyness as I had intended, and simply avoided offering any explanation or excuse for where she had been all day. She made herself busy, too, doing miscellaneous household tasks until the time came for dinner. Our daughter came home about then, and the two of them fixed dinner, while I set the table and fixed us all beverages to have with our meal, the three of us chatting and laughing about nothing of consequence the whole time.

At dinner, Carol seemed to be acting in an especially loving manner toward both our daughter and myself, peering at each of us in turn with obvious affection. Yet, she also seemed somewhat distracted, and I can only imagine what kind of thoughts were running through her mind about what she had experienced earlier in the day. Probably the same sorts of images that were filling my imagination.

We retired early, and Carol showed no shame or reluctance as we exposed ourselves to one another while dressing for bed, and I saw no obvious evidence of her activities. Still, she seemed distracted. For myself, I couldn't hide my strong erection, my fevered imagination refusing to stop showing me the lewd, imaginary pictures of what had occurred, images far more pornographic than any film or photos I had ever seen, because they featured my own wife thrashing in pleasure while being endlessly pierced by a stranger.

She readily accepted my obvious excitement, and we fell into our familiar pattern of love-making. But I'm sure neither of us was really making love as usal. Without question, there was a third party there in bed with us, lending an amazing jolt of decadent energy and urgency to our sex. I could sense nothing unusual about her body,, but I knew I was plunging into another man's cum in my wife's pussy. I reached one of my strongest orgasms ever, and was surprised when, shortly after me, Carol seemed to reach one herself. I know women fake orgasms, but I saw her body respond in ways I don't believe can be faked. She was lost in sexual joy fucking me, but I am virtually certain that she was mentally reliving her earlier sex with her professor.

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Why didn't I confront her?

Because I know she is seeking something she needs but I can no longer give her.

Because I can clearly see that she has no intention to of leaving me or breaking up our happy, loving little family.

Because I have always known that love and sex were two distinct things, and because so many people I know have destroyed their lives by their foolish ego-driven, over-the-top, over-sensational reaction to their spouse's simple act of enjoying themselves with another person.

And I am completely unwilling to risk that. Anyway, I don't feel that way at all, myself. I don't feel jealousy or anger, just disappointment that Carol feels she can't trust me enough to tell me about this, to share it with me.

But I also know that, in part, her thrill in doing this thing involves the idea of the sinfulness that sex is associated with when we all first form our sexual identities. I know that is why passion fades between married people; because they become so familiar with one another, so comfortable, that there is no tension there any more. Nothing forbidden, nothing concealed, nothing illicit to fuel the fire.

Let her have her affair. I love her, and she apparently has no reservations about still giving me the physical release I need while she indulges herself. For a while, that will be good enough. Perhaps, in time, I will meet a woman or a girl who will inspire in me the animal passion that she is feeling, and I know that I want her to give me the same license that I am giving her now.

I know that eventually, I will have to talk with her about this. I will have to find a way to let her know I am not confronting her, not accusing her, not emotionally assaulting her. But she must eventually know, when her affair is over and the need for the thrill of secrecy had passed, she must know that I know, that I have known since the beginning, and that I am okay with it. That my love for her is a different thing, stronger and separate from our sex lives.

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Carl

Carol virtually dragged me to my office after class.

When we arrived, I paused briefly to close and lock the door, and when I turned, I saw that Carol had already started undressing herself. She was outrageously enthusiastic for more sex with me. I started getting undressed myself, but Carol easily beat me, and pushed some books and notes that were sitting on my sofa onto the floor before saying to me, "Lie down on your back, here! I want to be on top this time!"

I was appalled at her aggressiveness. I had never had a woman or girl take the lead like Carol was doing, and it gave me a little edge of doubt and concern. Carol was a ginning at me, watching me undress, clearly excited to see my erection emerge from my shorts.

But, for the first time in my life, for some reason, I had lost my erection. I was reluctant to show it by removing my shorts., but intellectually, I wanted the pleasure of debasing this married woman again. But, was I debasing her when she was basically demanding it? And, at the moment, I was physically incapable of debasing anyone but myself.

"Oh, Carl! Don't be ashamed!" Carol said, smiling warmly, as she came over to me and caressed my shoulder while she reached down to verify that my penis was just a warm lump of flesh. "I'm sure this happens to everyone now and then! Let me see what I can do for you!"

Carol slid sensuously down my body, taking my shorts down with her, and soon was licking and sucking on my limp cock. Slowly, I was able to feel a little bit of stiffness returning, but even after several minutes of her servicing me, I never reached anything like my usual size or tension.

Carol reluctantly gave up. I was crestfallen. What the hell had happened?

Carol was still in a state of arousal -- I could see that her nipples were standing out on her breasts, and I could smell her strong odor of excitement. She went to the old leather sofa, spread her legs, and gestured to me to come to her.

"I can't, Carol." I said.

"I licked you. You can lick me, can't you?" she said. This wasn't some cringing co-ed; this was a strong woman who knew what she was doing, and what she wanted. And right now she wanted an orgasm, and she was basically ordering me to give it to her.

I had no experience of what to do in a situation like this. I knew she was right, that she had earnestly tried to please me with her mouth, and under normal conditions, I would be more than fine with reciprocating. But somehow, I felt diminished, taken advantage of, to be made to service her on my knees.

But I didn't know what else to do. I knew I would be okay next time. I was pretty sure, anyway. And I wanted her to come back for more. Didn't I? So, I knelt before her, and lowered my head, like a loyal subject kowtowing to a queen or praying before his sex goddess. I licked her, and went through the pattern of steps which I had performed so often with others ... outer lips, inner lips, clit, inner lips, back to the taint, push the tongue in a little, up to the clit again, tongue in, inner lips, then simply fuck her with my tongue while I manipulated her clitoris.

It apparently worked just great for her. Early on, she grabbed my by the hair over my ears, and pulled my face tightly to her groin as I licked her. I had a tough time keeping going; I had never been so disconnected from what I was doing before that I only felt my tongue and lips getting tired. I usually also reached up to massage, even lightly abuse, the woman's tits, but I didn't bother this time. If anything, my cock had shriveled even more.

Eventually, after what seemed to me like a long, long time, Carol arched her hips up, still holding my face to her there painfully, and I had to partially stand to avoid losing hanks of hair. Carol yelled out, much more loudly than she had on Saturday, with what seemed like a much more powerful orgasm. Her nipples were fantastically extended, and her chest down to her pussy was red with flush.

After a few seconds and more sharps cries from Carol and one from me when she yanked my hair especially hard, she dropped to the sofa, releasing me on the way down. I was not ready for the move and the sudden momentum, and I lost my balance, stumbled to the floor in a heap, and hit my head on the end table.

Carol was oblivious, lying back on the old leather, panting, relishing her amazing orgasm, which I felt had basically been the product of her own imagination. I pulled myself up and started to get dressed.

By the time Carol recovered, I had been dressed for a minute or so, and was sitting behind my desk, looking over it's intervening bulk at her luscious body. I could easily see how fantastically sexy she was, but I felt no reaction. I was slipping into a dark mood.

Carol opened her eyes at last, and finally found me with her glance. She could easily read my mood, as I was trying to show it plainly. She shuffled herself back to sitting, and reached for her clothes and began to get dressed herself. "There's no reason to be mad, Professor Fellows. It's not your fault ... and it's certainly not mine! You gave me a great orgasm; thanks!" She was just pulling on her shoes, then she got up, gathered up her coat, her purse, and her books. "We can try again on Thursday, okay?"