The Quality of Love

The headlights of another car lit up the rear window of Ted Maddock's Mustang just as Janice, straddled on his lap in the cramped backseat of the car, had impaled herself on his hard shaft.

"Ted—"

"Oh, god, oh, god, Janice, you are so—"

"Ted! There's another car."

Ted swung his hip and turned Janice to the side, trying to maintain the purchase he had finally won inside her after weeks of preparation and costly dates. He had one hand palming the tit he had played out of her sweater and the other one on her belly, and he managed to scrunch the two of them over to the side almost below the level of the top of the backseat.

Only almost, because after a sleek Mercedes sedan pulled into a spot at the back of the woodland parking lot, well away from the Mustang, and they had heard the solid click of two expensive metal doors shut, Ted discovered? that Janice could still see out of the side window.

"Look. Isn't that? Yes, I think so. It's Professor Safavi's wife . . . and . . . that new assistant professor in the department, Steve. Steve Foster."

"Oh god, Janice. You are so wet and deep . . . and I need you so—"

"They're taking the path into the woods, toward the picnic tables, Ted. I think we should go . . .oh, Ted! Oh, yes, like that!"

"Later. After," Ted muttered in a hoarse voice. "I can't . . . stop . . . now."

Ted had lowered his hip again and brought Janice back up into his lap, and he was leveraging off his heels and against the backs of the front seat with his knees and driving his cock as far up into Janice as he could. Janice was no longer showing interest in anything except that thick, hot poker throbbing and digging inside her. She had almost lost hope that Ted would stop playing the perfect gentleman and take her like this.

For the next twenty minutes, the Mustang's windows steamed up, and it became a rocking, moaning machine.

Janice hadn't lost her curiosity about the other couple, though. Both she and Ted were majoring in political science and were taking Jahan Safavi's Middle East 105 course. And it hadn't been more than a week since they'd been at a department party at the Safavi's old plantation house mansion out toward the mountains from the university town, where Janice had been both impressed and put off by Professor Safavi's wife. Taylor Safavi was a cool blond in her indeterminable forties who was considerably younger than her husband and decidedly sophisticated and self-assured. As soon as Janice had learned that she was a lobbyist up in Washington, D.C., and had once been the professor's star pupil, Janice had known this was a tenuous marriage. Mrs. Safavi floated around in her huge old house, with its mixture of Early American antiques and Iranian artifacts like a princess. Janice thought she had opportunistic gold digger written all over her, and at the same time Janice admired her and envied her. Professor Safavi was brilliant and handsome and a very well-preserved sixty something—and his wife acted like she stood on equal terms with him.

When Mrs. Safavi had moved gracefully through the entertainment rooms of her house, all of the men's eyes followed her, all too obviously undressing her, dreaming of making love to her. Janice even had to speak sharply to turn Ted's attention back to her. The woman exuded sensuality. Janice knew she was trouble—and that she probably could have any man in the room she wanted.

After Ted and Janice had peaked red hot in the rocking Mustang and then had cooled down again—if only temporarily—Janice pushed the front passenger seat back forward and reached for the door handle.

"Where are you going?" Ted asked.

"Silly question. To make sure, of course."

"Make sure of what?"

Janice was out of the car and brushing down her skirt at this point. Her panties were on the floor of the backseat, but they weren't going anywhere, and her curiosity had control of her.

"I want to make sure they've come out here to do what I think they're doing."

"Let's do it again ourselves first," Ted said hopefully.

"Don't you want to see Taylor Safavi getting fucked?" Janice asked.

Ted was out of the Mustang in nothing flat and was pulling Janice along toward where the Mercedes was parked and where the pitch black spot in a sea of dark gray marked the opening to the path back into the woods.

Janice looked down at the license plate of the Mercedes as they reached it and snorted. "TAYS," she muttered. "She even drove him out here to get it. Granted he's a real hunk. But he's probably nearly half her age."

Ted shushed Janice, and they moved more slowly, trying not to snap branches, as they took a woodland passage parallel to the pathway back to the picnic area.

The two were already well into their own coupling. Mrs. Safavi was naked except for a lush, satin-lined, full-length dark-fur coat that was open and was protecting her back from being riven with splinters, as she lay on the picnic table, one stiletto pump shod leg rising up Steve Foster's beefy chest and the other one being held out at the ankle by his fist as he hunched between her legs and fucked her in long, deep strokes that moved her arching body back and forth on the surface of the picnic table. She was smiling a dreamy smile, and he was groaning his total absorption in the fuck.

"Slut," Janice muttered under her breath. And then "Oh, poor betrayed Professor Safavi."

Ted, standing close behind Janice, covered her mouth with the palm of one hand, and whispered, "Shush, they'll hear us," in a breathy voice.

His other hand snaked around her waist and bunched up the material of her skirt until he could feel skin. And then he was fingering her and searching between her folds for her clit. And he pulled her back and lifted her and settled her on his cock, and the young students, both intent on the highly experienced coupling of Mrs. Safavi and her young lover, duplicated the rhythm of the fuck they were watching on the picnic table.

Although he'd gotten two fucks off the best-looking girl in the department—the second more impassioned on her part than he could ever have dreamed of—Ted wasn't all that elated as he drove Janice back to her sorority house on campus. What had started out as a simple hot date had turned into a moral dilemma for them.

"How could she do this to Professor Safavi?" Janice was grousing as she hunched against the passenger door. This had tarnished her evening with Ted. She wanted him to continue dating him, but he'd fucked her like an animal there in the woods as they watched the other couple. This wasn't what bothered Janice. She'd gone over the moon under that circumstance. But now he'd think she was easy—or worse, perverted, because she'd shown so much passion while they were watching the sex play of others. And she was afraid Ted would tell others about this.

"We have to keep this to ourselves," she said after a long silence, trying to keep her voice from trembling. How well did she know Ted? This was explosive news, and he was on the university football team. Janice had visions of Mrs. Safavi's affair with the department's new assistant professor being blabbed in the locker room along with the circumstance of the sighting and Janice's role.

"I don't think so," Ted said. "I mean it's just not fair to Professor Safavi. Someone needs to tell him his wife is sleeping around."

"Most everyone probably knows it already, Ted," Janice ventured. "I could tell at the department party at their house that she was too flashy for the professor. He's probably the laughing stock of the university already. I don't think we . . ."

"Well, somebody should tell him," Ted said. They were drawing up to the door of the sorority house.

"I don't want to be connected with this," Janice said. "I mean I wouldn't want what we were doing to . . ."

"Janice, I wouldn't tell anyone about us. You're special. I want to see you again. Do you . . .?"

Janice turned to him and put a finger on his lips, and said. "Yes, I'd love to see you again . . . if we can be discrete." And then she replaced the finger with her lips and did everything she could to make Ted want to see her again and therefore not blab about what they'd done.

When he came up for air, Ted smiled a wicked smile and said, "Does that mean I can keep your panties?" He reached back to the floor of the backseat and came up with red bikini briefs.

"Naughty boy," she answered with a smile of her own as she snatched the briefs from him and wadded them up into a small ball in her fist and climbed out of the car.

"Just don't do anything about Professor Safavi before talking to me, OK?" she asked as she leaned her face back down to the open passenger door window.

"Anything you say, light of my life."

The following week, after Janice and Ted had begun meeting at his apartment and fucked nearly every evening, Janice had a paper that would be overdue for their Middle East 105 course if she waited for the next time there would be a class or that Professor Safavi, who was in Richmond for a conference, was scheduled to be in his office. She therefore prevailed on Ted to drive her out to his house so she could turn it in there.

"No, don't turn into the drive," Janice nearly screamed at Ted as they drove up to the drive, which was an oak-lined, winding track rising to the house sitting on top of a hillock.

Ted swerved away and kept driving slowly down the country road. "What . . . why not?"

"If we'd turned in, we'd be in the middle of it," Janice hissed. "I saw her at the door, in a robe, kissing that grad student, Jerry Platt."

"How did you know that was him?" Ted asked with a laugh.

"He drives that yellow Pontiac Solstice. I saw it parked beside the house." Janice answered. "I know it's him. Now she's robbing the cradle. The professor is in Richmond, so she can do it in his house."

"Doin' it with a grad student?" was all that Ted had to say to that.

"Let's go back to town," Janice said. "I guess I can turn the paper in to the teaching assistant and still get credit for being on time."

Saturday night, two weeks later, after Ted and Janice unknotted the sheets that had entwined their sweating bodies from having had wild sex in his bed, Janice was being introspective as she cuddled Ted's balls and he had his lips buried in the hollow of her neck and was thumbing her still-hard nipple. For some reason, Ted had been particularly horny for a week—and especially attentive to Janice's needs. Suddenly, without any warning, he was preparing her with an expertise he'd never displayed before, bringing her near to climax with his fingers and tongue at her clit before mounting her and sending her to paradise.

"I've been thinking, Ted," Janice whispered as Ted's lips went to her nipple and she began to sigh. "Maybe someone should tell Professor Safavi about his wife. I think it's almost as bad a sin to turn away from a sin as it is to commit one."

"Oh, you think so?" Ted said. But he said it in such a way that Janice couldn't be sure he was paying attention. But what he was paying attention to was her navel with his lips and her clit with a probing finger, and she was giving little gasps and arching her back and well on the way to another climax. How had he become such an attentive lover, she wondered. Or was it just because they had become so close, so near to declaring themselves for the long term—maybe even for life?

"Yes, the more I think about it, the more I think he should be told."

"Oh, I don't know," Ted said, lifting his head but continuing to explore in her folds with his fingers. "I think maybe it just isn't our business to be rocking the boat on this. Let's think about this more. Let's not do anything about it until we've discussed it more."

"Ummm, ummm," was all Janice could answer. Her hips were beginning to undulate on their own, and now all she could think about was how soon those fingers would be replaced by a young, virile, thrusting cock.

Two weeks later, Janice's guilt had gotten to her and she could not live with herself any more. She found herself sitting in Professor Safavi's office as the evening shadows were stealing across the oriental carpet on the floor under his desk and between the towering and jam-packed bookcases along the walls.

"Thank you, Janice," the professor was saying in perfectly formed words laced with a Persian accent he couldn't rid himself of although he'd been in the States since the fall of the shah in Iran. "I know it was difficult for you to tell me. But you needn't worry about it."

"But I hate to see you hurt," Janice said in a thick voice. She was on the verge of tears. "You are such a dear man, and I can't stand to see her hurting you like that. Taking advantage of you and taking your money and position and not giving fairly in return."

"Oh, my dear, dear, young woman," Professor Safavi said, giving a dry little laugh, although his face was contorted in a mix of dismay and concern. "I'm afraid you've misconstrued, my dear."

"Misconstrued?" Janice asked. How could he be taking this news so calmly, she wondered. His wife was cuckolding him. Surely in Iran—in the society the professor came from—that was intolerable.

"Yes, misconstrued," he continued. "You think I don't know that my wife has sexual affairs? Oh, my dear. I've been impotent for years. She married me as a kindness. I was going to be deported back to Iran, after the fall of the shah, and that would have meant sure death for me. Your immigration wasn't having anything to do with my claim for political asylum. Americans were so angry at all Iranians then that I had only one hope to live."

"One hope?" Janice asked in a small voice.

"Yes. I could only stay in America and out of Iran by marrying an American citizen. Taylor married me as a kindness—so that I could stay here and teach. And I wouldn't want you to think she married me for money, either. Taylor is the one who had the money; our house is her family house—not mine. The wealth is hers."

"But . . . but, all those other men," Janice said.

"Real life is not so simple, Janice," the professor answered. "I haven't been well for a long time. I take medicines that make sex impossible. Taylor is a sensuous woman. I cannot condemn her to a life of unfulfillment as a reward for being kind to me and saving my life."

"But . . . why?"

"Why do I just turn my head, you ask, and continue to live like this, even now? Because I love her, and I want her to be loved."

After Janice had left, Jahan Safavi sat for an hour in his office, admiring the courage and concern of the young woman who had told him what he already knew. And struggling with himself over his decision not to tell Janice what he knew.

Meanwhile, out in the countryside, in the plantation house Taylor had brought to her marriage, in the mahogany four-poster in a second-floor guestroom, Taylor Safavi had the naked student Ted Maddock flat on his back as she slowly rode his cock, holding his hand in hers and showing him what to do with it to make her melt to him, teaching him arts of love that he, in turn, would practice on his beloved Janice later that night.

As they fucked, they were deep in a philosophical conversation.

"But why?" Ted was murmuring. "Why do you stay?"

"Why do I stay with Jahan?" Taylor asked. "Why? Because I love him. The quality of love is so much more than mere sex, my dear young stud."