NB: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT
“Don’t come inside me,” she says. “Jeffery will know I was with someone else.”
No more liberating words have ever been breathlessly uttered by a woman bent over her husband’s desk with the penis of a much younger man thrusting in and out of her.
Let me explain.
First, these words signal to the younger man — that’s me — that the older woman wants nothing more than an affair or, perhaps, even only this fuck.
Second, these words also signal that she doesn’t expect or want me to rush. After all, to fulfil her request, I will need to be cautious and conscientious, as I approach orgasm.
Third, her request is reasonable, rational, and achievable. She’s not asking me to make her come, blow her mind, or make the angels sing. I can fulfil her request and, otherwise, do as I please.
Freedom, as I understand it, is a life lived in accordance with reasonable and rational constraints. The situation in which I currently find myself is the very best kind of freedom I can imagine.
With that point made, I should pay more attention to the matter at hand.
I’m fucking the wife of the Dean of Graduate Studies of a major East coast university in the Dean’s office. I’m fucking her over his desk, over his papers, over his books, and I’m not sure that the blinds are properly closed or the door locked.
Freedom, indeed. If someone were to walk in, I could probably sue the university.
I am a journeyman contract university lecturer, with no hope of a career in my chosen field. I bounce from contract to contract, teaching professional ethics, and I make less money than the average unskilled labourer. The only perk of my chosen path is that it exposes me to very many young and eager-to-please-A-type alpha females.
Madelyn, for the record, is gorgeous, despite her age.
I was surprised today when our conversation turned into a seduction. I suppose it was naive of me to think that she really did want to follow-up on our conversation from the faculty “Meet and Greet”.
I’m at the precipice again. I leave only the tip of my cock inside her, in case I need to pull out quickly, and I concentrate. She’s sensible enough to hold still, too.
When the head of my penis gets like this, the pressure is intense and the pleasure a kind of pain. My mammalian being aches against the restraint of my human cognition.
I wonder what it’s like for Madelyn to have that hard uncompromising desire expanding into her.
She groans unexpectedly and, with that groan, she communicates enough of her experience to me that I know I won’t be able to hold it any longer.
This normally straightforward act presents itself as a problem, given our location and the time of day. I don’t want to drop — what I’m sure will be — a massive load on her dress. The floor, although carpeted, is the most sensible choice, but I also have the strong sense that she wants to feel my cum on her skin.
Despite my best effort, the decision is made for me. Fortunately, her dress is hiked up far enough over her hips that I only end up spraying her thong, which I had pulled to one side.
“Thank you, Gregor,” Madelyn sighs.
I get down on my knees, grab her ass, and push my nose into her crotch, letting her know I want to finish her off.
“No, thank you, Gregor.” She doesn’t exactly pull away and makes a show of her restraint, sighing hungrily. “That is not to say, I don’t want you to do what you are suggesting to do, but we really have pushed ourselves to the outer limits of good sense. If I remember correctly, Jeffery has an appointment here in fifteen minutes. There will be plenty of time for that some other day.”
She says it with such unwavering certainty that I am delighted. Clearly, there’s no question in her mind that we will fuck again.
“Pass me that box of tissue, will you,” she asks politely. “We’ve made a bit of a mess.”
I notice that some some of my come has found its way onto — what looks to be — a fairly complicated and important grant application.
The affair lasts for several months and it is I — not her — who becomes as enamored and fawning as an undergraduate. It surprises me more than her. I soon learn that I’m not her first and nor will I be her last journeyman contract university lecturer. I suppose it was naive of me to think it would be any other way.
“Gregor, I love you. You are special to me. I want you to be happy,” she say, brushing my cheek with the tips of her fingers, “but I will never leave my husband for you.”
No more liberating words have ever been whispered by a woman, with her hand wrapped around my twitching cock, late one night, in a darkened stairwell with the faculty “Holiday” party well underway one flight below.
Free, at last. Free, at last. Thank God, almighty, I am free at last.
October 29th, 2012 → 7:10 pm
[...] Read The Ethicist, Ep. 1. [...]
April 22nd, 2013 → 9:01 pm
[...] also often replay perfect moments I had with Madelyn, but they are never from the stories I tell about her. Instead, I sample from our much more [...]