Teachers’ Pet

An MFMM Romance

PART 1

 

I don’t want to be some guy’s wife. I don’t want to be some guy’s girlfriend. Hell, I don’t even want to be some guy’s friend.

I want to be one thing and one thing only.

I want to be Teacher’s Pet. And I know exactly how to do that because I have done it every year since high school.

This year, Holden Moss is the teacher I’ve chosen to share my bed and my body with.

He’s a professor actually, a grad school psyche professor that’s as much muscle as brains, just the way I like them.

And if his reputation is any indication, the good Professor won’t think twice about taking me up on my offer.

Who better than the faculty stud to teach this pet everything he knows about sex. It’s going to be a fantastic freakin’ year.

 

 

CHAPTER ONE: Judith “Jude” Allen

I was always super smart in school. I breezed through junior high and high school with straight A’s without ever cracking a book, and I had major universities across the country lining up to offer me academic scholarships.

I opted to go to Midwestern, which I chose because it was clear across the country and thousands of miles away from anyone who had a clue who I was. I loved the idea of moving to a new town and starting over. It would be like being reborn, being washed of my sins, leaving all the heavy baggage of my old life behind.

They say that when you go away to college, it’s a chance to reinvent yourself, start new with a clean slate, shuck off your past dirty deeds and start anew, and that’s exactly what I wanted to do. I had established a somewhat dicey reputation for myself in high school that I knew would weigh like a heavy chain around my neck if I chose to stay in Clarksford. The slut in high school becomes the slut in real life. That was not the life I would choose to lead. I was not ashamed of the things I’d done, but I didn’t want them following me around like a ball and chain the rest of my life, which would happen if I didn’t move away.

Going to Midwestern would give me a fresh start without a reputation, even if that reputation was well-deserved. Plus, Midwestern had one of the country’s best psychology programs. I wanted to be a psychologist, which required a Bachelor’s degree with a psychology major, then a Master’s degree. Maybe I’d even go all the way and get my Ph.D. and become a psychiatrist or a doctor of some kind.

Getting my Bachelor’s seemed like a million miles away when I first started, and even now, nearly four years later, there’s still so much more work to be done. So, for now, my sights were set on getting my Master’s degree within the next two years, which meant I would start the Master’s program in the fall, but could take classes over the summer if I chose to, and that would speed up the process. I hadn’t made the decision to take summer classes yet. I’d look at the curriculum when the time came to see if anything struck my fancy.

If I didn’t go to school over the summer I could pick up more hours working nights as a waitress at the Pink Pony, the off-campus dive bar popular with students and the “cooler” faculty members (yes, professors and students do fuck, shocking huh). That would let me stock away a little cash and blow off some steam at the same time. Plus, I got to drink and eat for free at the Pony because Duke, the fifty-something owner/manager, wanted to fuck me.

Hell, Duke wanted to fuck every girl who walked in the door, whether they worked for him or not. But he wanted me most of all because I made him want me. I knew how to manipulate a guy like Duke. I’d been doing it my entire life. I could make his pudgy dick hard with just one dreamy look or by running my tongue around my lips. A little shake of the ass, a little bending over in front of him, a little leaning down so he could see my tits down the collar of my Pony t-shirt. Duke was putty in my hands. Which was why he wanted my pussy on his cock.

Duke figured the way into a girl’s pants was through her stomach, not her heart. Even though his hair was shaggy and gray, and he was kind of greasy-looking, he was also kind of sexy in a “Sons of Anarchy” sort of way. And he made a mean bacon cheeseburger, so we’d just have to see how things progressed.

Anyway, within six years of leaving home I could acquire both my Bachelor’s and Master’s at the same school and graduate with honors. I could probably do it in five years if I really pushed myself. Then again, that would leave me little time for the fun things in life; those things that had driven me away from home in the first place, but all work and no play makes Judith a very sad girl.

Like me, lots of people who choose to study psychology do so just to try and figure out what was wrong with themselves. Yes, supposedly broken people study psychology hoping to fix themselves. I wasn’t entirely convinced that I was broken, far from it, but I wanted to know why I thought the thoughts I thought. Why did I do the things I did? Why did I say the things I said?

Broken people have broken thoughts and do broken things, some experts say, even when those things might be self-destructive to themselves or hurtful to others. It’s all about momentary pleasure, at least for me. I was not psychotic or psychopathic or sociopathic or misanthropic, but sometimes my brain commanded me to do things that I knew were not good for me, things that I knew would have negative effects on me and those around me, yet I did them anyway because they felt so fucking good. In modern terms, I was addicted to sex. In a single word, I was a nympho.

It was in asking myself why I did the things I did and why I thought the thoughts I thought and why I got extreme pleasure in things that a “normal” person might consider abnormal that got me interested in psychology and how the human brain works, more specifically, my brain.

I figured studying psychology would help me explain myself to me. To quote the therapist I had been seeing since I was fourteen-years-old, I had certain “personality quirks” that greatly affected my actions regardless of the consequences.

Why did I do those things? What the heck was I thinking? And the biggest question in my mind: who the fuck was I hurting? I mean, if it felt good and everyone involved got off on it, where was the harm?

Anyway, sorry, my mind tends to wonder when the subject of sex comes up, which, I my mind, happens often.

So, the original plan was that I’d be in school at least six years, or until the scholarships, money, and interest ran out. I tended to get bored easily, which was a symptom not of any disease. It was a tendency of someone with a high IQ, at least according to the tests I had taken in high school. I had a near-genius IQ. I could be anything I wanted, according to my guidance counselor. A doctor, lawyer, dentist, economist, scientist, president, whatever.

“You can be anything you want to be, Judith,” Mr. Curtis, the guidance counselor said as we met in his office after school toward the end of my senior year. Mr. Curtis was probably my dad’s age, though he was aging better than my dad. He had a thick head of black hair and more muscle than fat on his tall frame.

He was an assistant football coach, newly divorced, probably broke, sleeping on someone’s couch, spending money he didn’t have in bars trying to get laid. Poor Mr. Curtis needed a little light in his life. And I wanted that light to be me.

Mr. Curtis arched his dark eyebrows and gave me an expectant smile. “So, what do you want to be, Judith?”

“Jude,” I said quietly, my heartbeat starting to pound in my chest. I could feel my breasts swelling, juices pooling in my cotton panties. I slid out of the denim jacket I was wearing and let it hang on the back of the chair. I gave him a slow blink and smiled. “Call me Jude.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. I wasn’t wearing a bra. My dark nipples were pushing against the thin white t-shirt like dark gumdrops. I caught him looking at them. He swallowed hard again.

“Um… okay, Jude… um… what would you like to be?”

Without skipping a beat, I stood up, closed and locked the door, then peeled the t-shirt over my head. Cupping my big tits in my hands, thumbs rolling over my stiff nipples, I licked my lips and said, “I want be teacher’s pet.”

* * *

I think my fascination—and lust for— teachers started in the eighth grade, specifically in Mr. Wheaton’s basic algebra class. I was thirteen or fourteen at the time and puberty was having a ball ravaging my body. I had always been a skinny kid, but over that previous summer my boobs had grown several sizes and red curls had started sprouting between my legs.

That was also about the time I started exploring myself with my fingers and anything else that was long and smooth and felt good going in and out, in and out, in and out, like my mom’s “neck massager”, which was really just a vibrator in the shape of a smooth tube.

It sounded like a diesel engine when switched on and had to be plugged into the wall, so I only used it when I was left alone. As soon as mom and dad would leave the house I’d grab that baby and head for my bedroom. I’d lock the door, plug it in, crank up the music, and go to work, driving myself over the moon and back again with wonderful electrical sex.

I was always horny back then (kind of like now, duh) and would just start gushing in my panties for no reason at all. I’d rub myself against the cross bar of my bike, I’d lean against the washing machine, I’d get my dad’s electric razor and… well, you know.

But I found that I was most horny when I was at school, not because of all the boys and the attention they offered a horny girl whose tits had come in full bloom, but because of the teachers.

The teachers… sigh…

More specifically, the male teachers.

Older men.

I loved older men.

And when you’re fourteen, anyone over twenty-one fell into the category of older man.

Mr. Wheaton—Andy was his first name— was my first true love, and my biggest regret in life is that I never fucked him or had his cock in my mouth. I mean, I was like fourteen and he was twenty-three so there would have been severe consequences for him if we’d been caught. And I was not the full-blown sex maniac with a body to match back then. I had big tits, but I also had a layer of baby fat and pimples on my chin. The boys were always trying to feel me up and talk me into giving them hand jobs or blowjobs under the bleachers, or letting them finger me on the back of the bus, but to Mr. Wheaton I was just another pudgy girl too young to be noticed.

So, I settled for having amazing sex with him in my mind, which I did every night in the ninth grade, so much so that I started calling my right-hand Andy.

We’d have little conversations.

“Hi, Andy, would you like to feel my tittie? You would? How about sliding your finger in here… yes… just like that… oh Andy… in and out… in and out… oh… Andy… you dirty boy…”

Since I couldn’t legally have sex with Andy Wheaton, I decided to have sex with a tenth-grader named Toby Osgood, not because he was the best looking or the most popular boy in school, but because he was convenient and hopefully as horny as me.

Toby was my next-door neighbor and we had been best pals since birth. Like me, he was a nerdy teenager with bad skin and Coke bottle glasses and a mouth full of braces. He was short, probably five-foot-nine, and didn’t weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. We had been classmates since kindergarten and our moms were best friends, so it seemed that we were always together. My mom even had pictures of us in the tub naked when we were toddlers after she’d caught us making mud pies in the backyard after a rain storm. That picture always embarrassed the crap out of Toby, but I thought it was cute. I even gave him a framed copy as a joke one Christmas. He did not see the humor. Nor did he display that photo anywhere that I ever saw.

I didn’t bother asking Toby if he’d like to have sex because I didn’t want to risk being turned down. So, I had it all planned out. I asked him to go to the movies one Friday night to see Juno, a comedy about a cool teenage girl who gets knocked up by her dorky boyfriend.

In retrospect, that probably wasn’t the best movie for us to go see because later, in the basement at his mom’s house when I was trying to talk him into putting his hand down my pants, Toby got a look of horror in his eyes that told me things might not go as planned.

“What’s wrong, Toby?” I asked in a warped attempt at seduction. I rubbed my hand up and down his thigh, gazed up at him and batted my eyelashes. “Don’t you want to fuck me?”

“Gee, I dunno, Jude,” he said, his voice cracking as my palm slid over the boner hidden in his jeans. I was a little surprised at how big and hard Toby was, given that he was just fifteen and had yet to sprout a single hair on his chin or chest. I know because we went to the public pool every day in the summer. The best words to describe Toby were “skinny” and “white”.

He swallowed hard and gasped when my fingernails dragged across his balls. “I mean, what if I knock you up? Like that movie. We’re too young to be parents. Jesus, the thought of baby shit makes me wanna puke.”

“I got that covered,” I said with a devilish grin. I slid two fingers into the back pocket of my jeans and came out with a condom I’d stolen from my mom’s nightstand. It was wrapped in a purple plastic package with the words “BARE BACK RIDER” printed in neon orange on the front. I wiggled it at him. “Or more appropriately, I got you covered.”

He licked his lips and swallowed hard again. “Okay, I mean, if you’re sure you want to, I guess we can give it a try…”

“Oh, I’m sure,” I said, tearing open the condom wrapper with my teeth like I’d seen them do in the movies. I made a sour face and smacked my lips. It tasted yucky, like oily rubber. Gross!

I had done my research online in preparation of our big night. I had watched this porn star put the rubber in her mouth, hold it between her lips and teeth, and slide it over the guy’s cock with her mouth. It was a hell of a magic trick that I could not perfect. I had practiced on another rubber and practically swallowed the damn thing. Plus, it tasted like shit! I nearly choked to death! Can you imagine, having to run into the living room where your mom and dad sat watching Friends and turning blue because you were choking on a rubber? Nope, no showing off for me. I took the rubber out of the package, shook it out fully and held it out to Toby. It dangled from my fingers like a wet noodle.

“Okay, put this on your dick,” I said, trying not to frown.

“Aren’t you supposed to do that?” he asked, trying to be cool. I guess Toby had been watching the same porn.

“Jeez, Toby, I’m not gonna do everything,” I snapped. “Do you wanna have sex with me or not?”

“Well…”

“Oh, for petesake!” I held the lip of the rubber between my teeth because I didn’t want to lose it in the couch cushions and told him to lean back while I undid his belt and jeans. What popped out of his pants shocked me a little. In fact, the look on his face told me that it shocked us both. He blinked at himself, then looked at me with a “Wow, would you look at that sucker!” gleam in his eye. It made me smile. And made me think I’d made the right choice. I was glad I’d chosen Toby to be my first.

The rest, well, you’ll have to imagine that for yourself. Let’s just say things were going fine until Toby popped his cork way before I was ready to pop mine, I mean, literally within three seconds of entry, as the rocket geeks would say. He was so embarrassed he jumped off the couch and ran out up the basement stairs, leaving me sitting on the couch with a condom hanging from my peach-fuzzy cooch and a bewildered smile on my face.

I mean, I had to smile, right?

It was funny in a Hollywood teen movie sort of way.

But it was also sad because this wasn’t a Hollywood teen movie.

This was my life.

I guess it was sad and funny.

I felt really bad for Toby, but at least I was no longer a virgin (that happened quickly because I think I’d loosened that sucker up with mom’s neck massager, thank goodness). The sad thing was that I had yet to have my first orgasm with a man. To be fair, Toby wasn’t a man at that moment (he would be gorgeously hot in a year, but too preoccupied with other girls to pay any attention to me).

At that moment, he was just a boy and I was just a girl, more curious than anything. Okay, horny and curious, but what we’d done—or attempted to do—was being done by teenagers at that moment all over the world. Why shouldn’t we have a little fun, too? I just hoped things went a little better for them. Maybe my first should have been a twelfth grader…

Things between me and Toby were never the same after that night. We never talked about it or attempted to do anything like that again. We remained friends throughout high school, though I could feel Toby pulling away soon after that night. We barely spoke his senior year, but our little romp in the basement was always there at the back of my mind, like a nice childhood memory that made me smile. And a little sad.

As luck would have it (luck can be such a bitch), Toby sprouted the next summer. He gave up his Coke bottle glasses for contact lenses, his skin cleared up, and he grew three inches taller, to just over six feet. He started lifting weights, got all lumpy, and made the varsity football team. He hooked up with a cheerleader named Candy Olson his senior year and they fucked like rabbits, I’m sure. The last time I saw Toby was at his graduation. He had Candy hanging off him like a cheap suit, so we just waved at each other and silently said our goodbyes.

That was four years ago. I had not talked to Toby at all over the years, but I was pretty sure he’d spent that time playing football for Mizzou and screwing cheerleaders. He had graduated last spring, but I had no idea where he was or what he was doing.

And I was still chasing teachers.

I mean, professors.

The only difference between then and now was that I had slept with every man I’d crushed on. I had all the right equipment and knew how to use it. That “rubber between the teeth” trick? I mastered that fucker years ago. I learned that the trick was using flavored rubbers that didn’t taste like crap. I could even hold a condom between my pussy lips and let the guy slide inside me without ever knowing he had a condom on. I know… amazing, right?

I no longer hesitated when I saw a teacher I wanted to fuck because in my mind, life was too short and the nights were too long. When a teacher cranked my tractor, I made sure he was available (I’m not a home wrecker, for petesake), and went after him all out, no holds barred, nothing held back.

Innuendo and subtle hints were for people with far more tact and self-control than I had. If I wanted a man, I went for it. What’s the worst he could do? Say no?

You wanna know how many men have turned me down?

Zero. Thank you very much.

The only question in my mind was, which teacher would I be fucking next.

CHAPTER TWO: Professor Holden Moss

I know, I know… I shouldn’t sleep—or have sex with—my students.

I know, I know… it could get me fired and possibly arrested.

I know, yes… I’m old enough to be her…

Older brother, maybe, but come on, have you seen this girl?

Holy hot babes, Batman.

Who could resist this girl?

Haley… Haley… something or other…

She sits down front in my Advanced Psychology class every Friday at three.

Always wears a short skirt that she doesn’t bother tugging down over her crotch when she sits.

Tan, toned legs.

High heels.

Bright red toenails.

Sits with her legs spread.

Doesn’t wear panties.

Keeps her pussy shaved clean.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

If you could resist that, my friend, you’re a better man than me.

Haley... what the hell is her name... ROGERS! That’s it. Haley Rogers is a twenty-two-year old, walking, talking wet dream. With her long blonde hair, luscious lips, all cheerleader toned and muscled with what appear to be perfect, natural tits, and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. The girl is Victoria’s Secret level gorgeous, a freakin’ knockout, a fifteen on a scale of one to ten, a cheerleader with a daddy complex, which means she’s energetic and eager to please.

Very eager to please.

And at that moment, the guy she wanted to please just happened to be me. Go figure.

The first time we had sex it was with me standing behind the lectern at the front of the classroom and her on her knees in front of me. She hummed as she unzipped my Chinos and brought out my ten-inch cock, already rock hard and ready to pop. I had had sex with Haley in my dreams since the first day she sauntered into my classroom at the start of the semester. That day, she waited until everyone else left the classroom, then locked the door and walked toward me with her tongue circling her lips. When she bent over my desk to show me that she wasn’t wearing a bra, my cock popped to attention like a good soldier. Yes sir! Ready to serve sir!

“Professor Moss,” she said, drawing out the words, cooing at me. “I was just wondering…”

“Yes, Haley,” I said, swallowing the giant lump that lodged in my throat the moment she locked the door.

“I was just wondering, could I get extra credit if I gave you the best blowjob of your life?”

She batted her eyelashes and let her tongue go slowly around her lips again. She pooched her lips and narrowed her eyes. She was seductive in a clumsy, slutty, college girl, Judd Apatow movie, sort of way. I was sure her tactics worked well on football players and other boys who would have climbed a mountain of dead bodies just to sniff her panties. Hell, who am I kidding? It worked on me. My cock plumped against my leg in an instant, throbbing for release.

I smiled up at her, not because she’d offered me the best blowjob of my life (that bar was set pretty high), but because Haley probably thought she was the first student to ever make me such an offer. And she probably thought that I’d be falling all over myself to let her wrap her wonderful lips around my cock and have her tongue playfully tease the head while I filled her mouth full of milky goo.

Sadly, Haley had not learned the key to seducing a guy like me. You didn’t have to impress me with your slutty words or your seductive powers. You didn’t have to say outrageous things or flash me your tits. Those things were cool and the effort greatly appreciated, but if you wanted a guy like me to fuck you, all you had to say was, “Hey, Holden, let’s fuck!”

The thing that Haley didn’t realize was that I was a good-looking guy surrounded by hot, horny girls on a daily basis, most of whom would fuck me silly just to be able to say that they had fucked a college professor once they were older and married and bored and looking for something to brag to their girlfriends about.

“Oh sure, I fucked one of my college professors when I was twenty-two. Why? Didn’t you?”

I had been teaching for ten years and having sex with students for most of that time. And back when I was a college student myself, I was having sex with hot female professors. When it came to my students, I never approached them about sex. That was my rule. I would not allow myself to ask for sex or suggest we “get together for a drink after class” or any of that bullshit, but if a hot twenty-something came on to me with no agenda other than having great sex for great sex sake, why would I decline?

I had my morals and standards. I’d never exchange sex for grades no matter how hot the girl was, but if she was just horny and playing out some older man fantasy, why would I insult her by saying no?

I wanted to tell Haley Roger that I had probably gotten more blowjobs than the average porn star. And I had certainly fucked more hot, young coeds than the average college football star. And now, since she had so kindly offered, I was going to get what Haley promised to be “the best blowjob of my life”. I doubted it would reach such lofty heights, but it would be a great way to cap off a Friday afternoon.

“What did you have in mind?” I asked, watching as she straightened her back and stretched her arms toward the ceiling. When she did, the short skirt rode up enough to give me a nice glance of her shaved pussy and pink clit.

“Well,” she said, moving toward the podium. “Why don’t you stand here and pretend like you’re giving a lecture to the class.” She glanced at the open space beneath the podium and smiled. “While I get in there and suck your cock until you cream on my face?”

I had to smile. And I had to give it to her. She certainly was creative. I almost said, “If you really want a thrill you can suck my cock during a real class like your friend Ashley Ayers did last semester.”

I almost said it, but I didn’t. What happened between me and my students was my secret. I knew that Ashley had probably said something to Haley because I saw them together on campus all the time. They belonged to a sorority that only admitted hot, bitchy girls like Haley and Ashley.

The rumor was, the sorority sisters even held competitions to see who could fuck or suck the most football players at the start of every football season. Supposedly there was even a points system. Let’s see, it was… Hand job: 1 point... Blowjob: 5 points... Vaginal sex: 10 points... Anal sex: 15 points... Three-way: 20 points... Double penetration: 25 points.

I wondered if there was a tally board with the names of professors like me that the sorority sisters had fucked or sucked. Then I wondered if my name was anywhere near the top.

Girls talk. Especially those girls. Hell, that could be why Haley was coming onto me with the offer to blow me while I was standing at the podium. Girls talk amongst themselves, compare notes, share tips and tricks.

Thankfully, none of the girls I had had sex with had ever ratted me out to the dean. They would never do that. Not the way I took care of their needs. That’s what made me different than the jocks and other professors these girls had sex with. I actually cared about their needs, more so than my own.

That’s one thing about me that women have always loved. I’m a fucking alpha male with a big cock and an insatiable appetite when it comes to sex, but I also give more than I receive. It’s a personal satisfaction thing with me. I want to get my rocks off, but I got greater pleasure out of making the girl cum, over and over and over again.

I wanted every woman I had sex with to walk away on wobbly legs going, “HOLY SHIT, THAT WAS FREAKIN’ AMAZING! I WANT TO DO THAT AGAIN!!”

There is no greater complement in my mind than looking up with a girl’s juices covering my mouth and cheeks and seeing that “the dam just broke” glow on her face. Dreamy eyed, red cheeks, quivering lips, breasts heaving, trying to breathe. I loved watching a girl’s face as I hammered into her tight pussy while she exploded and writhed around like she was having a sexual seizure.

There was nothing better in my book. NOTHING!

Me and my best friend Wynn—Dr. Wynn Driver, pardon me— talked about that all the time, how we got more pleasure out of making a woman cum than cumming ourselves. In fact, sometimes we double-teamed a girl who was willing and able to take on two big cocks at once, just to double her pleasure, double her fun. And our fun, too, of course. I can’t tell you how many times me and Wynn had stood grinning at each other with our cocks stuck in opposite ends of the same woman, her cumming like a freight train while we just hung on like happy passengers.

Wynn called us “pleasure givers” and the women we fucked “pleasure receivers”. Wynn was clinical like that, giving everything a name so he could psychoanalyze the shit out of it later. That’s what he did for a living. Wynn was a nationally-renowned clinical psychologist who guest lectured for me sometimes when he was in town. He was the proverbial “tall, dark, and handsome” motherfucker and women crawled all over each other to sleep with him. We’d shared a lot of girls over the years. And had never gotten a single complaint. To the contrary, as Wynn liked to say, “If we don’t make your toes curl over and over again, then our job ain’t done!”

That was Wynn. What a character. He’d have a field day on Haley what was her name…

“Professor Moss? Professor? Would you like that? Me on my knees and you standing here with your cock out?” She was gesturing with her hands at the space under the podium, smiling like a Price Is Right spokes model, who had probably asked Drew Carey something similar over the years.

I shook thoughts of Wynn from my brain and gave Haley a smile. “That sounds like fun.”

The podium was open in the side that faced my desk, with enough room for Haley to get to her knees and tuck herself in. I stood at the podium with my hands on the top and sighed as Haley unzipped my pants and tugged out my cock, helping herself to everything I had to offer. I just closed my eyes and sighed. I truly was a blessed man.

“Ooh, Professor Moss, your cock is soooo long,” she sighed with her fingers flexing around the shaft. She started to slowly slide her fingers back and forth over my big ten-incher, squeezing as she neared the head, forcing little drops of precum out the slit. She hummed and licked away my juices, then pressed her lips to the head and slathered it around her wet mouth. She held my cock up and slowly trailed her tongue from the base of the shaft to the tip. She loosened my pants and pushed them and my boxers down my legs so she could get to my balls. She gently kneaded the sack between her fingers.

“Does that feel good, professor?” she asked, gazing up at me with her beautiful blue eyes gleaming and the head of my cock resting on her lips. She spread her lips and pulled me toward her, taking my cock head fully into her mouth with her lips suctioned tightly around the shaft. She started milking the base of the shaft while deep throating the rest.

“Yes… Haley… that feels… oh… wow… pretty… fucking amazing…” I sighed as my fingers gripped the edges of the podium. I locked my knees to keep from wobbling. Wow, okay, this girl was not kidding. This might not be the best blowjob of my life, but it was going to be pretty fucking close. Certainly, in the top ten. Maybe even the top five.

I heard someone rattling the doorknob, but I chose to ignore it. I knew that the door was locked and I had the only key on a ring in my desk. I was the only professor who used this particular classroom, so I had changed the locks without the dean or the facilities manager knowing it for this very reason. A lot of girls not only wanted to fuck a professor, they wanted to do so in his classroom, during the day, when the halls were buzzing with activity and the chances of getting caught were greater. My training told me it was simply because some women found danger—the chance of getting caught with your mouth full and your pussy out—was an aphrodisiac. Senses were heightened. Nerves stood on end. You wanted to cum quickly, but not too quickly. All of that made the sex even better for them, which was just fine with me.

Besides, the dean never came to the psyche building. The psychology department was not much of a money maker for Midwestern, so we were relegated to the older buildings on the shittier side of campus. Dean Wormer always held court in his plush, corner office in the admin building clear on the other side of the campus. If he wanted to talk to you, you were paged by his secretary, a sour-faced woman named Greta, and expected to come to him.

It was probably just a student who had forgotten something or a janitor wanting to empty the trash or rifle my desk. They’d have to wait. Haley was pumping my cock with the force of an oil derrick now, taking me in until I hit the back of her throat and out again. I could feel the orgasm building in my balls. They were getting tight between her fingers as the pressure started to build from deep inside.

I opened my eyes to glance down so I could watch Haley work her magic. I guess being highly-coordinated was what made her such a great cocksucker, I mean, cheerleader. She had one hand working my balls and taint, the other working the shaft, and her mouth working the tip. Just the sight of my cock ramrodding between her gorgeous lips was enough to push me over the edge.

“Fuck… Haley… shit…” I moaned, my body tensing, fingers holding onto the podium to keep from falling. “You’re… going to... make me… cum…”

“Yes… oh god… yes… yes... baby… cum for Haley,” she said, her breath coming in spurts that matched the motion of her hand, as if she was having an orgasm just from getting me off. This girl was amazing. I couldn’t wait to get her in bed and really give her the star treatment. Wynn would love this girl.

“I’m… cumming…”

“Cum on my face…” She pulled her lips back and jackhammered her hand up and down the shaft as she held my balls steady, keeping them from slapping against my legs. I held my breath and grunted like a wild animal as my cock exploded, shooting thick ropes of milky white goo all over her pretty face. She smiled and opened her mouth and let me shoot cream all over her tongue and lips. As my seizures slowed, she took my cock into her mouth and sucked out every drop of cum that was left, then like a mommy cat cleaning a kitten, held up my cock and licked it clean.

“Holy shit,” I said, struggling to catch my breath. I fell back against the desk and tucked my withering cock back into my pants, then reached down to help Haley get to her feet. She came up into my arms and laced her fingers behind my neck.

Leaning back, giving me a sly look, she licked her lips and smiled. “Well, professor, how was that?”

“That,” I said, making a goofy face, blowing out my cheeks, “was probably the best blowjob of my life.” I lied, it was more like number five or six, but why let the poor girl down. I put my hands on her arms and gave her a smile. I made a show of glancing at my watch. “I’m late for a meeting with the dean. Can I pay you back later?”

“Yes, you most certainly can,” she said, bringing her hands down to fasten my belt. She leaned against me and stared up into my eyes. “If you think that was amazing just wait until you see what I can do with my pussy and ass.”

She got onto her tiptoes to kiss my cheek, then picked up her book bag and sauntered out the door as if nothing had happened. I sat back against the edge of my desk and sighed.

I couldn’t wait to tell Wynn about Haley what’s her name.

He was gonna love this girl.

And she was gonna love him.

 

CHAPTER THREE: Jude

I stood at the podium at the front of Professor Markle’s Psychology of Sexuality 401 class and quietly cleared my throat. My term paper was laid out on the podium in front of me, all neatly typed and printed out to make it easier to read out loud. Some students just read off their iPad or phone, but I was old fashioned. I liked the feel of paper in my hands. I liked to be able to finish one page, then move on to the next. And paper didn’t rely on the school’s shitty Wifi.

More than one idiot had said, “Sorry, Professor Markle, but the Wifi’s not working so I can’t read my paper to the class. Can I get a do-over later?”

Markle was old school.

He didn’t give do-overs.

He gave F’s.

Idiots.

I did think Professor Markle, who was closer to seventy than sixty, pushed the old school stuff too far sometimes. Like the way he had his seniors write a paper then read it aloud to the class like third graders while he dozed at his desk, not even pretending to listen. I probably could have read the transcript of a comic book and he would not have noticed. Maybe that’s what prompted me to write the paper I did. It was full of wit, wisdom, keen observations, scientific hypotheses, and good old-fashioned smut. Not to mention the shock value. I wanted to see if the old fart was even paying attention. I knew my classmates certainly would be after hearing the opening line.

I gave a curt smile to the twenty other seniors who were watching me from their seats with a mixture of boredom and disinterest. Some were playing on their phones, some struggling to keep their eyes open, most were not even paying attention. These were the morons who thought getting a psyche degree was going to be an easy road to hoe. In the fall, most of them would have a degree but be working as cashiers and waiters while I was working on my Master’s. Again, idiots.

They were disinterested and bored now, but I knew that would change the moment I read the opening line of my paper. So far, the papers that had been read were horrible, clinical diatribes that sounded like something you’d read in a boring medical journal, most copied word for word from Google or Wikipedia. I could tell by the way they were looking at me that they expected more of the same from me. Boy, were they going to be surprised.

I smiled and said, “Hi, my name is Judith, and I’m a nymphomaniac.”

I paused to let that tidbit of information sink in for a moment. Every eye in the room came up to look at me, surprise and bewilderment on every face. Even old Professor Markle looked up from his desk and cupped a hand to his ear.

“I’m sorry, Miss Allen, what did you just say?” he asked.

“I said, ‘Hi, my name is Judith, and I’m a nymphomaniac’.”

His forehead wrinkled over his bushy white eyebrows. “Oh, that’s what I thought you said.” He waved a hand in the air and gave me a nervous smile. “Very well. Please. Proceed.”

I cleared my throat again and started from the beginning without looking down at my notes. “Hi, my name is Judith, and I’m a nymphomania.” I gave them an expectant look. “This is the part where you say, hi, Judith!”

Everyone in the room said it at the same time.

“HI, JUDITH!”

Giggles all around, like a bunch of teenagers telling fart jokes. Now that I had their attention, I started reading with a big grin on my face.

“Has anyone else ever called Sex Addicts Anonymous hoping to hook up with someone to fuck?” I asked, forcing away the grin and replacing it with a serious face. “I have. And they were not amused.”

More giggles, but this time the laughter ended quickly because they wanted me to keep going. Everyone was eager to hear what I’d say next. I had to admit, I was a little eager myself. I squeezed my thighs together and focused on reading the words I’d written the night before.

“Seriously, what is a nymphomaniac? More to the point, what is nymphomania? The famous sex researcher, Dr. Alfred Kinsey, described a nymphomaniac as, ‘Someone who has more sex than you.’”

Giggles. Heads bobbing. High fives among the guys.

I looked up at my fellow students and smiled again. “I love that definition. Of course, in high school the word nymphomaniac did not exist in the vocabulary of my peers. I was just called ‘the slut’ or ‘the horny girl’ or, to quote one football player who never got in my pants but liked to say he had, ‘the fuck machine’.”

“The fuck machine? Seriously?” The comment came from one of the senior football players sitting at the back of the class, a guy with more brawn than brains. “Baby, we need to talk after class. I got some oil for your machine.”

“That’s enough, Mr. Pinson,” Markle snapped, his voice showing a strength not displayed in class before. He shook a crooked finger at the football asshole and growled like an angry dog. “Another comment from you and you’re gone. I don’t care how much pressure your coach puts on me to pass you. Understood?” He looked at me and gave me a slow nod. “Please. Continue, Miss Allen.”

“According to Webster’s Dictionary, a nymphomaniac is a woman who exhibits abnormally-excessive and uncontrollable sexual desire. Webster does not offer a definition for the term ‘abnormally excessive’, but I’m going to assume that means even more than what would be considered normal. I guess there is ‘excessive sex’ and ‘abnormally-excessive sex’, which again, I’m assuming, is not even enough for a woman like me, a clinically-diagnosed nymphomaniac.

“That’s right, I was diagnosed with nymphomania when I was nineteen-years-old and a freshman at this very university. Of course, that diagnosis came from a forty-something-year old clinical psychologist who ended up bending me over his desk during our third session and fucking me from behind while he told me to call him daddy.”

No giggles at that one, but several gasps from females. Markle shifted uneasily in his chair, no doubt wondering who the clinical psychologist might be, but didn’t attempt to stop my reading.

“Don’t worry, girls. I probably enjoyed it more than he did,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows at them. The smiles returned to their faces. “Honestly, I’m not even one hundred percent sure that nymphomania is even a thing. I mean, who’s to say that I’m not the normal one and everyone else suffers from a lack of sexual desire? What is normal, really? Maybe it’s not me, it’s everyone else. Show of hands, is there anyone here who doesn’t like a good hot fucking now and then?”

No hands went up, though several of the boys put their hands in their laps and squirmed a bit when their eyes met mine. Markle’s hands were in his lap behind the desk. I could have sworn that he was diddling himself as he looked at me with dreamy eyes. The thought of giving every male in the room a boner—even old Mr. Markle—made me smile, and pushed me to continue on.

“Did you know the term nymphomania only applies to females, ladies? The male counterpart is called ‘satyriasis’, a word no one outside of clinical phycology has ever even heard of and can barely pronounce. Both words come from Greek mythology. Nymphs were minor deities represented as beautiful maidens, usually depicted as naked and gorgeous, with big melon boobs and milky skin. Satyrs were woodland creatures that were half man and half goat, usually depicted as having pointy ears, the legs and horns of a goat, and a fondness for—” I made air quotes with my fingers—“’unrestrained revelry’. That’s where the word horny comes from. The satyrs had horns and liked to fuck. They were considered horny. Get it?”

I heard Professor Markle clear his throat, but he did not interrupt.

“I’m sure most satyrs were also blessed with long, thick, horse-like cocks with which to satisfy all those horny nymphs who came their way, no pun intended.”

I slowly turned to the next page, giving my words time to sink in. I glanced up at my audience. They were literally sitting on the edges of their seats waiting for me to continue.

“So, why is the word nymphomaniac tossed around like a hot potato but you never hear the word satyr? Sexism, ladies, pure and simple. Nobody gives a horny hoot about a guy who can’t keep his cock in his pants—show me a guy who can and I’ll show you a guy who’s given up on living life to the fullest—but bring a horny woman in the room, especially one that looks and acts like me, and it’s showtime folks! Just look around this classroom. You’re all looking at me like I’m some sort of freak of nature, as if you’re waiting for me to strip naked and offer myself up on Professor Markle’s desk like a pussy buffet!”

They looked at each other for a moment, then looked toward Markle’s desk as if imagining me sprawled out naked there with my legs in the air. Markle shifted uncomfortably in the chair and stared back at them in stunned silence. His mouth moved for a few seconds, but nothing came out.

I continued. “Men who get caught cheating claim they are sex addicts, that they have no control over their own actions because they are addicted to sex, like being addicted to drugs or nicotine. In my humble opinion, that’s a total crock of bullshit. Men come out of the womb addicted to sex. It’s their base programming. It is in their DNA. Their instincts tell them to find a female, fuck her brains out, impregnate her with their seed, and move onto the next woman and do it again, thereby propagating the species like good human boys and girls. And if they’re not addicted to sex, something must be clinically wrong with them. They are labeled erectile dysfunctional or medically impotent or simply asexual, not interested in sex. I just think they haven’t had the right piece of pussy yet. Or the right asshole or mouth or whatever.”

“Holy fucking shit,” the football player snorted, grinning wildly, licking his lips, his mouth watering with spit. He held up his hands to Markle, who was giving him the eye. “Sorry, dude, but this shit is awesome! The is the best class ever! That’s a fucking A paper, right there!”

Markle cleared his throat and gave him a nod as if he’d been complemented for having such great students. He held out his hands and smiled at me again, proudly, as if I was the product of his teachings. I swear, I’d been in his class for months and had never seen the man smile. I took that as a sign that I was going to get an A on this paper.

I turned to the next page. “In Victorian times, doctors believed that eating rich food, consuming too much chocolate, drinking too much coffee or tea, thinking about sex too much, reading dirty novels, and masturbation were the root cause of nymphomania. They believed it all centered on the nerve fibers in the vagina, that if a woman overstimulated her sexual organs, it would make her want to have more sex. First of all, I don’t think it’s possible to overstimulate a pussy. And second of all: duh! Good to know that they weren’t total idiots.”

Giggles. Squirming. Hands in laps. A groan from the football player.

“They believed women with excessive sexual appetites were sick because surely a strong appetite for sex must be a symptom of some horrible disease. God forbid a woman just like to fuck, right ladies? So, what did they do? These medical morons recommended self-control and moderation, which meant that if you could not control yourself and your desire for sex, you should just try not to do it so much. All things in moderation… hmmm…

“Other psychological and medical professionals of the time believed that nymphomania was a type of mental disease, not unlike schizophrenia or paranoia. The term ‘sexual madness’ became popular for a period and there are documented cases of women in the Victorian era being locked away in institutions until they could get their libidos in check. Or at least pretend to. That’s like saying to a woman, we’re going to lock you up until you stop liking sex. How fucking insane is that?”

“Totally fucking insane,” a girl in the front row said angrily, as if she herself had been the victim of such antiquated thinking. Perhaps she was, to some degree, at some time in her past. If my mom had had her way I would have been locked in my room wearing a steel chastity belt until I was old enough to get married and move out.

“Today, the term nymphomaniac is no longer recognized by the medical world. It’s passé. Not cool. Old fashioned. According to Modern Psychology Journal Monthly, the term is not scientifically meaningful because there are no specific criteria that would clearly define a nymphomaniac. In other words, there is no way to determine how much sex is too much. Instead, someone with a high sex drive is now labeled as ‘hypersexual’, with labels like ‘sex addict’ and ‘sexual compulsive’ bandied about by TMZ to describe celebrities like David Duchovny and Ben Affleck who can’t keep their big famous wankers in their pants. I think words like hypersexual are just way cooler, more millennial, more high-tech sounding. Nymphomaniac is old school, Hypersexual and Sex Addict are much more 2017.”

“I’d fuck Ben Affleck,” the girl in the front row said to her friend.

“Hell yes, me, too,” her friend replied.

They both smiled when I said, “Same here. And Matt Damon, too.”

“Please continue, Miss Allen,” Professor Markle said, frustrated at the banter. He tapped a skinny finger to his watch. “Class time is running out.”

“Yes, sir, sorry, professor.” I flipped to the next page. “I won’t even address the religious aspects of nymphomania or hypersexuality, other than to say that every religion on earth considers any sexual activity by a woman outside of marriage for the sake of sexual pleasure to be a sin. It’s okay to have excessive sex with your fat, abusive husband if the intent is just to push out more fat, little Christian babies. Otherwise, ladies, keep your legs tightly crossed and your twats locked away!

“Of course, show me a religion that doesn’t have women getting fucked every which way but loose all through the ages and I’ll show you one boring fucking religion. There is even a website called Christian Nymphos that claims to ‘teach married women to walk in sexual freedom with their husbands’. Of course, they also preach that women should be submissive to their husbands and have sex with them whether they want to or not, so take that shit with a grain of salt. They probably sell Virgin Mary cock rings and Mary Magdalene dildos at the church socials on Sunday night, after doing a bit of wife swapping on Saturday. Their website even says this, ladies: What’s the best cure for nymphomania? MARRIAGE! Can’t argue there. Marriage has killed the sex drive of millions of people, including my parents and probably yours. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Fucking A it has,” the footballer said. “My old man ain’t nailed my mom in decades. He lays it to his secretary though.”

“Amen,” said the ladies in the front row. The blonde rolled her eyes. “Fuck marriage and fuck being subservient to some man.”

“To quote Dr. Alfred Kinsey, ‘The only unnatural sex act is that which you cannot perform’. Well, I have yet to find a sex act I could not perfect, so take that for what it’s worth.”

Giggles. Whispers. Smiles.

“So, in summation, it’s considered perfectly normal for a man to want to fuck every woman in the room, but when you’re a woman who can’t get enough sex, like me, you’re considered a slut or a whore or a fuck machine, and men think you’re easy. They think that they can treat you like shit because you can’t live without their cocks. Let me tell you, nothing could be further from the truth.”

I locked eyes with the football player and spoke directly to him to everyone’s delight. “The fact that I want your big, fat cock inside me does not mean I’m dying for it, or willing to let you use and abuse me in exchange for it. To the contrary, my pussy is much more powerful than your cock. Wars have been fought over pussy. Throughout history, millions of men have died over pussy. Samson and Delilah. Paris and Helen of Troy. Adam and Eve. No man in history, at least that I can recall, has ever died fighting over cock. Okay, maybe in a gay biker bar somewhere, but you know what I mean.”

The football player swallowed hard and glanced down at his crotch. I was pretty sure the boner he’d had in his pants had shrunk to the size of a little sausage.

I closed the hot pink binder that held my report that I had titled, “Nymphos Aren’t Easy” and looked up from the podium. My fellow students were all staring at me with their mouths hanging open and a glazed look in their eyes. A few were sighing as if they were exhausted. A couple of the guys were giving me salacious looks and licking their lips like they were first in line at a Chinese buffet. One of the girls, a lesbian named Colby, was looking me up and down with a smile on her lips. Interesting. Maybe we’d chat later.

I held the report between my hands, tapped it on the podium, and said, “The end. Thank you.”

The room erupted in applause and laughter. I held the report to my breasts and gave a little bow.

“Um, that was… most interesting, Miss Allen,” Professor Markle said without getting up from the desk. He was still sitting with his hands in his lap, squirming like the chair beneath his boney ass had grown hot. He looked at the class without getting up and gave a nod.

“That’s all for today,” he said, clearing his throat and waving a hand toward the door. “We’ll continue reviewing your papers tomorrow, though I doubt any of you will be as entertaining as Miss Allen has been here today. You’re dismissed.” He looked at me with a glint in his watery eyes. “Miss Allen, could you remain behind please. I’d like to talk to you about your… paper.”

“Sure, Professor Markle,” I said with a smile, knowing what was about to happen because such things happened to me all the time. I’d have to let the old guy down easily so he wouldn’t torpedo my grade. That was the only drawback to publicly announcing that you were a nymphomaniac; everybody thought it meant that you were easy, even old birds like Markle.

Don’t get me wrong. I had no problem fucking much older guys and was always open to new adventures and opportunities, but I had very high standards. I’d slept with guys Markle’s age thanks to the miracle of Viagra and an abundance of determination, but they were in much better condition than he was. And they challenged me intellectually. Poor old Mr. Markle always looked like he had one foot in the grave, and the biggest challenge he faced every day was deciding what to have for lunch.

Sorry, Professor M, but you will not be dipping your wrinkled little pecker in my honey pot today, but I’ll certainly give you an A for trying.

CHAPTER FOUR: Jude

Isabelle “Izzy” Parks had been my best friend since day one at Midwestern, and had been my roommate since we’d moved off campus into a small apartment together in Springfield our junior year.

Izzy was a gorgeous black girl from Atlanta who was at Midwestern studying clinical psychology. She had a semi-steady boyfriend named Earl Winston, the extremely cocky and large captain of the MU Buccaneers.

Earl had offered to fix me up with his equally-cocky and large team mates more than once, but I had always declined. It wasn’t that I wasn’t willing to screw a hunky jock now and then to break up the monotony of a dry spell. It was simply that I was into educated men. Smart men. Brilliant men. Teachers. Professors. Doctors. Scientists. No lawyers. For some reason, the thought of sleeping with a lawyer just made my skin crawl.

Anyway, I had made it perfectly clear to Earl that unless his Head Coach—who also happened to be a brilliant history professor—was interested in screwing me, I wasn’t interested in letting him fix me up, period.

I met Izzy for a late lunch in the cafeteria across campus after class. She nearly sprayed Pepsi all over the table when I told her about my lecture and my private consultation with Professor Markle afterward.

“Holy shit, girl, are you serious?” she asked, wiping her mouth on a napkin. “Are you telling me that that old man was sitting behind his desk with his old dick in his hand the whole time?”

“I don’t know about the whole time,” I said with a grin as I doused the plate of French fries with ketchup and grinned at her. “All I know is he called me over to his desk, asked me to come around behind, and there is was. It was so sad, like a white little worm that had seen better days.”

“Lordy, there is nothing nastier than an old man’s cock!” she said, chuckling as she swirled a fry through the ketchup.

“And how would you know that?” I asked.

“My grandpa lived with us until he died of old age and meanness,” she said, rolling her brown eyes. “That old bastard used to walk through the house naked as the day he was born tugging on his wrinkled old dick like a little kid. Mom said he had dementia. I think he was just a pervert.”

I giggled at the thought of the old man shuffling through the house and Izzy screaming for her mom. She munched another fry and pushed her eyebrows up. “So, what did you do when you came around the desk and saw him hanging out and all?”

“Well, I sort of knew what was coming, no pun intended, so I had my phone in my hand and took this picture,” I said with a smile. I held up the phone and Izzy grimaced at the photo of Professor Markle, sitting with a surprised look on his face and his withering cock between two fingers. It looked like he was holding a spent condom. Poor old guy.

“Oh my god, that is disgusting!’ Izzy said. “At least my grandpa’s old pecker had some color to it. That looks like a grub worm!”

“Oh, stop,” I said. “Give the old guy a break.”

“I’ll give the old guy what’s-for if he pulled that shit with me,” Izzy said, holding up a fist and shaking it in the air between us. “So, what did he expect you to do with that thing? Put it in a box and bury it in the backyard?”

I grinned and pulled back the phone because a bunch of guys at the next table were glancing our way. Guys always glanced our way. More than one of them had suggested a three-way with me and Izzy, probably because we could not have been anymore different. I was the redhaired Irish girl with the fair skin and big tits, and Izzy was the beautiful black girl with an ass to die for (because if you touched her ass, Earl would fucking kill you). They could suggest all they wanted. That was never going to happen. I would have been willing to experiment, but Izzy was staunchly heterosexual and faithful to Earl. Sigh. Too bad.

I glanced at the photo one last time and shrugged. “I’m not quite sure what he expected me to do with it. I mean, I’m good, but I’m not sure even I could get that thing hard. It would have been like stretching a rubber band, I think. Maybe he expected me to wait until his Viagra kicked in.”

“Shit, Viagra ain’t no miracle drug,” Izzy said, rolling her eyes. “It would have taken a miracle for God to get that poor thing hard.”

“Izzy, you’re terrible,” I said, giggling with a fry between my teeth.

“No, that old fool is terrible,” she said, hugging. “So, what are you gonna do with the picture?”

“I won’t do anything with it if he doesn’t screw with my grade because I wouldn’t service him,” I said, putting the phone away and picking up the double cheeseburger that was waiting for me to destroy it. I held it between my hands and bit off a huge bite. Chewing, I said. “It is too bad he wasn’t younger and hotter. I mean, if he had only been fifty or sixty without the bushy nose hair, maybe I would have taken him up on his offer. He is a brilliant teacher.”

“And you’re such a slut,” Izzy said with a grin. She picked up the chili dog from her tray and bit off one end. Chewing as she looked around, she nodded at someone sitting across the crowded cafeteria. “You’d fuck him, I bet.”

I turned to follow the direction of her eyes to see a tall, dark, gorgeous man wearing a wrinkled white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, faded jeans and scuffed boots, sitting alone at a table across the way. His shirt collar was open and a black necktie hung over his thick chest.

“Oh my, who is that?” I asked, licking my lips because my mouth had suddenly gone dry, probably because all the juices in my body were gushing toward my crotch.

“That is Professor Holden Moss,” Izzy said with a sigh. “He’s the new psyche professor that took over Professor Driver’s classes when he hit it big.”

I frowned without taking my eyes off Holden Moss. “Professor Driver’s not teaching this semester? Dammit. He was on my grad school list.”

“Your grad school list?”

“Yes, the list of professors I planned to fuck while I was in grad school.”

She snorted a laugh. “Well, you should have fucked Professor Driver sooner because he moved to Los Angeles to teach at UCLAS I think, and to plug his new book. Although, the rumor is he will be back to guest lecture at some symposium in a few weeks. Maybe you can fuck him then if you’re quick.”

“Damn…” I sighed, picking up my Pepsi to wet my mouth. I wrapped my lips around the straw and slowly sucked as my eyes stayed on Moss.

“What are you thinking?” Izzy asked, already knowing the answer.

I licked my lips and shrugged. “Guess I’ll just have to take Professor Driver off my list and add Professor Moss.”

Izzy smiled. “You better work fast, girlfriend. I’m pretty sure there are lots of girls here adding him to their fuck lists as we speak.” She nodded at a table of female professors who were also watching Moss. “And they’re gonna wanna fuck him, too, the old whores.”

“I’m not worried,” I said absently as I watched him work his way through the cafeteria toward a table with other professors. Izzy was right. I wasn’t the only one watching him. Every female eye in the room was tracking Holden Moss, like wolves tracking prey, though something told me that this one had a bit of wolf inside himself. He casually avoided the obvious stares, even mine, and sat at a table alone with his back to the room. You could hear a collective sigh go up from every pussy in the place.

“Wow, he is really gorgeous,” I said with a long sigh. I turned back to Izzy and picked up my burger. I took a bite and chewed as I spoke. “I may have to get me some of that. Too bad Professor Markle didn’t look like Professor Moss.”

She licked ketchup from her lips and smiled. “You sound like one of Earl’s friends. Damn, woman, I’m gonna get me some of that big cock! You’re terrible.”

“I’m not terrible,” I said, wiggling a fry at her. “I’m just a slut, remember.”

“A slut who is getting her Masters in Clinical Psychology,” Izzy said. “Lord help your patients.”

I smiled as I chewed. “I’m not in this to meet guys.”

“Sure, you ain’t,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Just like I’m not doing sports medicine to meet jocks!”

“Seriously, Iz, you know I majored in psychology to help figure out my own fucked up problems.” I glanced over my shoulder at Holden Moss. “Maybe he can help me figure a few things out.”

“Good luck, my sister,” Izzy said. She reached across the table and put a hand on my arm. “Just be careful. You know how you get.”

I frowned at her. “How do I get?”

“You get obsessed,” she said, squeezing my arm. “And usually, you get hurt.”

I gave her a reassuring smile. “No worries, Iz, I promise. I’ve learned my lessons. I’ll never let a man take advantage of me again. Promise.”

“I hope not,” she said, pulling her hand away. “You’re too good to get treated like that.”

“I know, Iz,” I sighed. “I know.”

Izzy was talking about something that happened a year before at the beginning of the fall term. I had become enamored of (and horny for) an English Lit professor named Keith Calloway. He was gorgeous, mid-forties, with chiseled features and surfer blond hair, and a very big you know what. He told me that he was single and unattached (I always emphasize the fact that I’m not a home wrecker, and I don’t wanna be one), so the fun began after a few weeks of flirting and innuendo.

We had sex the first time on his desk in his office during a long lunch break, then over the course of the next few weeks, we had sex everywhere we could as often as we could.

It was a mad, tumultuous affair that was exciting and dangerous because Keith was a bit of a freak. He loved having sex in public, where we might be seen by others.

We had sex in his car in the faculty parking lot in the middle of the day. He fucked me from behind while I leaned out the window of his third-floor office with my tits flopping in the wind during the afternoon break.

He crawled under the table at a fancy restaurant to lick my pussy during dessert and I blew him under the same table a few nights later while waiting for our entrees.

It was an exciting affair and I loved it, until the night we were having sex in the natatorium pool on campus and three security guards showed up. Along with Keith’s very pissed off wife and three kids. She had seen his car outside the natatorium and called the police to report a drowning.

Turned out that Keith was attached and it was not his first time screwing a student, so when his wife spotted us sneaking into the natatorium, she decided to make a spectacle of us both.

Fortunately for me, one of the security guards was Earl, who moonlighted as a campus cop between seasons for extra cash.

He managed to get me out the back door while Keith’s wife was losing her fucking mind on him. Keith went on sabbatical the next day and I had not seen him since. If Earl had not been there, I probably would have been kicked out of school, too.

“So,” Izzy said, drawing out the word. “What’s your plan?”

I dabbed my lips with a napkin and gave her a sideways grin. “Well, I guess I need to find out which classes Professor Holden Moss is teaching next term and sign up.” I stared at his back and wished that I could see his front. “I mean, I’m sure I can learn a lot from a man like that.”

* * *

After lunch I paid a visit to the registrar’s office to see which classes Professor Holden Moss was teaching in the upcoming semester, which started in three weeks.

The lady behind the counter looked like my mom, which her short perm and pudgy cheeks. When I asked about Professor Moss’s upcoming schedule, she tapped on the keyword and leaned in to read from the screen.

“Let’s see, yes, Professor Moss is teaching a graduate level course on… um… The Sexual Psychology of Modern Fetishes… starting in three weeks.” She put a hand to her chest and leaned away from the screen, as if it had done something to offend her. “Um, it’s not a required course, so…”

“Can I sign up for that class?” I asked, giving her a smile that didn’t stop her from giving me a condescending look in return.

“You want to take that class?” she asked, her voice full of suspicion. Jesus, did this broad need to get laid. “Did you hear me? It’s not a required course, so your financial aid would not cover it.”

“Actually, I’m a grad school level psyche major and I believe that fits in as an elective, so…”

She blinked at me, like I was asking her to show me her boobs. “So…”

“Sooo….” I kept on smiling. “Please sign me up.”

CHAPTER FIVE: Holden

I was getting ready for the first class of the summer term when my cellphone rang. I glanced at the clock above the door. I had twenty minutes before students would start filing in, so I picked the phone up off the desk and glanced at the screen. I smiled. It was my best pal, Wynn Driver, Facetiming from California.

“Hey, dude, what’s up?” I asked with a big grin. I sat down at the desk and propped the phone on a stack of books so I could drink my coffee while we chatted. “How’s the weather in Cal-ee-for-nee? How’s the surfing?”

“The surfing is bitchin’ out here, dude,” he said, giving me a toothy grin and a wiggly thumbs-up. Wynn was a happy guy with a contagious smile. In all the years I had known him I’d only seen him angry or unhappy a handful of times, usually over the stresses of his job or the stresses of a woman who wanted things he could not or was not willing to give. Wynn said he was allergic to commitment. Just the thought of settling down with one woman gave him hives. He and I were a lot alike, thought my aversion to commitment did not go to the same depths as his.

Wynn Driver had left Midwestern to teach at UCLA at the start of the last semester. He was a bestselling author now and there were many more opportunities and contacts to be made in Los Angeles than in Springfield. Never the less, we had been buddies since college and were inseparable until he moved away. I missed the hell out of him and told him so.

“Hey, I miss you, too, old buddy,” he said, poking out his bottom lip like a pouty child. “You really need to move out here and teach. You would not believe the caliber and amount of pussy here in Lala Land.”

“I like the midwestern pussy,” I said with a grin. I pried the lid off my coffee and blew into the cup. “Besides, I think it’s the law that every girl in Los Angeles has to have fake tits. I like my tits real.”

“Hey, don’t knock fake knockers,” he said, chuckling. “The really good ones all taste the same.”

I giggled into the coffee cup. Wiping my lips with the back of my hand, I said, “That’s probably true. So, what’s up with you? I’m about to teach a class so I only have a few minutes.”

“Oh yeah? What are you teaching this semester?”

“I have my usual psyche summer courses on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.”

He frowned at the screen. “So? It’s Monday morning. What is it, ten or eleven there? What are you doing in class?”

“If you must know,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’m also teaching the Sexual Psychology of Modern Fetishes class this semester.”

“Holy shit, man, really?” He leaned in toward the screen and scrunched up his nose. “Why are you teaching that shit? Isn’t that old man Markle’s specialty?”

“Seems Professor Markle is taking the summer off to travel to the Holy Land and they asked me to fill in,” I said. “At least that’s the story the dean gave me when he asked me to fill in. Did you know Markle was a Jewish name?”

“Jewish my ass,” he growled. “The only holy land Markle is interested in is the Bunny Ranch in Vegas.”

“That may be,” I said with a sigh and a smile. “But it seems this class is part of the standard summer curriculum and God forbid we skip it one semester. The fetishists would undoubtedly protest in the streets. Anyway, it’s easy money and the fetish classes usually attract an interesting crowd. So, what the hell.”

“Ah, I get it now,” he said, closing one eye to stare at me through the screen. “You’re doing it to meet chicks. You sly son of a bitch.”

“Guilty as charged,” I said, not bothering to lie because Wynn knew me better than anyone. I glanced up at the clock. “Speaking of, I’ll have students coming in shortly, so, what’s up?”

“What’s up is I got an invitation to come back to Midwestern and do a seminar for a group of clinical psychologists in a couple of weeks and I was wondering if you had anything to do with that?”

I feigned ignorance for a moment, then gave him a smile. He knew I had everything to do with that because I was the president of the local psychology association, which included academics, therapists, psychiatrists, psychoanalysts, nurses, administrators, and other industry practitioners. I’d been pushing the meeting committee to add a lecture by Wynn for weeks and they finally agreed.

“I might have had something to do with it,” I said. “I assume the fee was to your liking?”

“Hey, dude, if you guys want to pay me ten-grand to come and talk about the psychology of pussy, who am I to argue?”

“Who better to talk about the psychology of pussy than the guy who literally wrote the book?”

He puffed out his chest proudly. “Well, there is that.”

Wynn’s book, What’s Your Vagina Thinking, which he published just a short year ago, had become a runaway bestseller and the reason he got the big job offer to teach in California. And offers to appear on every TV show from Good Morning America to Ellen to 60 Minutes. Howard Stern loved him, as did every other radio host who found saying the word vagina over public airwaves hysterical.

I would never understand why the very idea that a vagina might actually have thoughts (the intellectual version of the Vagina Monologs, I supposed) was cutting edge stuff because we men had been thinking with our dicks since the dawn of man. It was about time the pussy got a brain.

Wynn had managed to write a book many found groundbreaking, though quite honestly, I was not sure why. Maybe it was because I didn’t have a vagina. Or cared what one might think. Regardless, Wynn was riding the book to fame and fortune. He was considered the world’s foremost expert on vaginal thinking. Seriously. Stop laughing. It’s a real thing. I know because it had bought Wynn a Porsche Carrera and a house in Malibu. And a high-paying gig at UCLA. Just a year before he was driving a twenty-year-old Honda and sleeping on my couch while begging the dean for class time. My, how quickly things change, thanks to concept of a smart vagina.

“I’m thinking about calling my sessions ‘The Psychology of Pussy,” he said, talking with his hands. “Or even better, ‘What Does Your Pussy Think?’” He gave me a salacious grin. “What do you think?”

“First of all, I think you’ve fallen off your surfboard one too many times and smacked your head,” I said, cutting him a look. “And second of all, I’m not sure the marketing guys will go for putting ‘The Psychology of Pussy’ on the brochure, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Hey, I’m not married to the name,” he said with a grin. “So, I’ll be flying in that Friday evening late and flying out on Sunday morning. I assume I’ll be staying with you since there was no mention of a hotel in the deal?”

“You assume correctly,” I said. “Just take a cab to my place. You still have your key, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Cool, then use it when you get here,” I said. “I will restock the large condoms, buy a new vat of KY Jelly, and change the rubber sheets in anticipation of your visit.”

“You are too good to me, my friend,” he said. “Any prospects you thinking about lining up for my visit? Maybe you will have a nice three-way fetishist in this class we can share.”

Before I could answer, the door at the back of the classroom opened and a beautiful girl I’d never seen before strolled in. She was tall and curvy, with long red hair pulled back into a ponytail at the crown of her head and a face to die for. She sported big tits with no bra, tucked into a tight, black t-shirt that was knotted just below her boobs. Her nipples pushed against the material like thimbles. Her hips were round and her ass was firm in a pair of hot pink running shorts that barely covered her crotch. She was wearing running shoes and white ankle socks. Her legs were perfect, tanned and toned, and I couldn’t help but imagine how they would feel wrapped around my waist. Or wrapped around my head.

She gave me a smile and took a seat down front, just ten feet from my desk. I felt a lump in my throat and a twinge in my cock when our eyes met. I returned the smile, then picked up the phone and took Wynn off speaker.

Turning my back to the girl, I lowered my voice to say, “I gotta go, Wynn. The girl of my dreams just walked in the door.”

“You mean the girl of our dreams, buddy boy,” Wynn growled in my ear. “See you soon.”

* * *

I hung up the phone and turned back to find her smiling at me. Jesus, she was beautiful. Bright eyes, bright smile, fair skin, perfect smile. There was something about her that made me want to drop to my knees and serve her every command, like being in the presence of royalty or something. I felt a twinge deep inside my chest that sent little shockwaves to my cock.

“Well, hi there,” I said as I set the phone on the desk.

“Well, hi there yourself,” she said, still smiling. Her eyes narrowed a little as the corners of her lips curled up.

“I’m Professor Moss,” I said, licking my lips because I found them suddenly dry. I tried to swallow again, but ended up nervously clearing my throat. I didn’t know why this girl was having this effect on me, but I forced the smile to hold and gave her a little nod. “I mean, Holden Moss. Professor Holden Moss. My friends call me Holden.”

“I’m Judith Allen,” she said, her top teeth on her bottom lip. “Grad student. My friends call me Jude.”

“As in, Hey Jude?” I giggled, then groaned on the inside. It was a stupid thing to say, something she had undoubtedly heard a million times before from schmucks like me. Guys she made nervous with just a glance. Guys who couldn’t help but imagine her naked. Guys who would crawl up a mountain of glass just to sniff her…

Jesus, you fucking idiot, what are you doing? I could hear Wynn’s voice in my head as clear as day. What’s up with you, Holden, you dumb fuck. You are acting like a nervous teenager. Be careful you don’t cum in your pants…

She didn’t skip a beat or look at me like I was a total moron. She just gave me a dreamy look and sang a line from the song. “Yes, exactly as in Hey Jude, don’t make me bad...”

“Wait a second…” Something clicked in my brain as I struggled to retrieve my manhood from the toilet I’d just flushed it down. I narrowed my eyes and pointed a finger at her. “Judith Allen… You’re her… You’re the Judith Allen that wrote the paper on nympho—I mean hypersexuality—in Professor Markle’s class?”

The smile quickly dropped from her face. She cut her eyes sideways at me and frowned defensively. “Yes, how did you know about that? Oh… let me guess, old Professor Markle not only can’t keep his withered old pecker in his pants, but he can’t keep his mouth shut in the faculty lounge.”

“What? No… I mean… That’s not how I heard about you… I mean, how I heard about your paper…” I stumbled over the words because I could almost feel the heat coming from her eyes, burning into mine like two beautiful blue lasers. The truth was, I knew about her paper on nymphomania because old Professor Markle with the withered cock had left a copy in the desk where I was now sitting. When I had found it the week before I thought the author, a senior named Judith Allen, had probably already graduated and moved on to spread her good cheer—and her legs— beyond Midwestern. That wasn’t the case. Here she sat, just ten feet away, and holy shit was I glad to meet her. A true nymphomaniac. It was a little like finding Big Foot, if Big Foot had been a gorgeous red head with a killer body and a psychological condition that drove her to fuck guys like me. Or at least I hoped guys like me.

She folded her arms under her breasts and cocked an eyebrow at me. “Well? Am I the gossip of the faculty lounge now?”

“Um… what? No. I mean…well…to be honest… Hey Jude…” I tripped over the words like a blind man in a room full of cats. I tugged the lopsided tie loose from my collar and opened the top button. I felt like I was overheating. Tiny beads of sweat popped out on my upper lip. “I found a copy of your paper here in Professor Markle’s desk last week when I was snooping around… I mean… settling in… and…”

Both of her perfectly-manicured eyebrows went up. She pooched her lips and sucked in her cheeks. Her folded arms lifted her breasts. Her nipples looked like they were struggling to push through the thin tee-shirt. “And what, Professor Holden Moss?”

“And, it was probably the best fucking term paper I’ve ever read,” I said, crossing my arms to match her posture. I smiled at the memory of reading her words the first time. At first, I thought it was a joke, a mock paper handed in by some make believe student just to rattle old Markle’s cage. But the more I read it, the more I knew it was the real thing. Whoever wrote the paper truly was a nymphomaniac; a hypersexual. And she was damned proud of the fact and made no bones about it. The part where the football player called her a fuck machine was priceless. I somehow knew the paper was real, but I never expected to meet the author. I had tucked the paper away for safe keeping. It was now in my bedside table at home. I’d read it a dozen times, usually with my cock in my hand.

She blinked away the anger and the pretty smile returned, a little warmer now. “Oh… well… you really liked it?”

“If you had turned that paper into me I’d have given you an A-plus. Maybe an A-plus-plus.” I leaned in and lowered my voice. “I only wish that I could have heard you read it out loud. I’m sure it was quite a show.”

She frowned again. “How did you know I read it out loud?”

It was my turn to smile at her discomfort. “Old man Markle is famous for making his students write long term papers and read them out loud while he dozes at his desk. I assume he did not doze while you were speaking. And I would guess that he probably asked you to stay after class to ‘discuss your paper’.”

“How do you think I knew about his withered old cock?” she asked. She gave me a smile that sent the blood rushing from my cheeks to my groin. “I hope the pages weren’t stuck together. I can send you a clean copy if need be.”

I felt myself relax as I released the breath I’d been holding. “No, actually, it was quite pristine. My guess is Markle wasn’t able to do much with it, poor old guy.”

“And what did you think about the paper, seriously?” she asked, eyebrows arching.

“What did I think?”

“Yes, my position on nymphomania versus satyrism? The sexism? The double standard? Why can men fuck anyone they want but when a woman does it she’s considered a slut or a mental defect. It’s terribly unfair and utterly infuriating, don’t you think?”

“Oh, um, I actually thought you did a very good job of addressing the subject.” I cleared my throat and laced my fingers together on the desk, then tried my best to put on a serious face. “Nymphomania, or hypersexuality as it’s now commonly called, is a serious—”

“Professor, I was just fucking with you,” she said slyly, sliding her ass toward the front of the seat and spreading her legs. She pulled the crotch of the loose running shorts to the side to show me her bare cunt. She slowly rubbed two fingers up and down her glistening pussy lips as she stared at me and smiled. She got out of the chair and leaned over my desk, bringing the two fingers wet with her pussy juices to my mouth. I let her slide the fingers between my lips. I closed my lips around her fingers and sucked them dry.

“The bigger question is, what do you think about that?” she asked, pulling her fingers from my mouth and sliding back into her seat. She crossed her legs and gave me an amused look. She obviously loved making men sweat.

The lump slid down my throat, lubricated by the taste of her tangy juices. I licked my lips and thanked the gods above for Markle’s decision to travel this semester.

“I think we should discuss this in private,” I said as my cock grew harder in my pants. It throbbed against my leg, growing so hard it was almost painful. A tiny wet spot formed on my khaki pants.

“When and where?” she asked, the innocent smile returning.

I tugged at my collar and shifted in the seat. “Tonight, perhaps? Over dinner and drinks at my place?”

“I think that’s a fantastic idea,” she said as other students started coming in from the back of the room. She scribbled her phone number on a scrap of paper and got up long enough to put it on the desk. “Just text me the details. Say around eight? It’ll be fun.”

“I think eight o’clock will do nicely,” I said, picking up the paper and sliding it into my pocket for safe keeping. “I’ll text you my address. Maybe you can text me something fun back in return.”

“Maybe I can,” she said. She slid her hand between her legs again, then brought up a single finger and licked her own juices from it.

“Wow,” I said without meaning to.

She licked her lips and smiled. “Thank goodness I was able to get into your class, Professor Moss. I think this is going to be a fun semester.”

“Yes, I think so, too,” I said, studying her with my eyes, wondering if I was simply the luckiest man on campus or the target of a horny girl’s fantasy.

Either way, I knew Jude Allen and I were going to be great friends. And we were going to have great fun.

CHAPTER SIX: Jude

My plan to become a grad school Teacher’s Pet—more to the point, Professor Holden Moss’ Pet—had worked better than I could have ever hoped it would. It was a smart move, putting a copy of my now infamous nymphomaniac term paper in Professor Markle’s desk ahead of time so that Professor Moss would find it before class.

And letting him see my pussy and taste my juices just sealed the deal. The whole thing was like something out of a porno movie. I could barely believe it was happening, even as Holden was looking me in the eye and sucking the juices from my pussy off my fingers. If it was any indication of how incredibly hot our affair was going to be, it was going to be off the fucking charts!

Scalding hot!

Nuclear freakin’ hot!

Like sun scorching hot!

First off, he knew I was an admitted nymphomaniac and knew what that meant when it came to unbridled sex. He knew I was ready, willing, and able to fuck his brains out, and do pretty much anything else he wanted me to. And my research about Professor Holden Moss told me that he was ready, willing, and able to play along no matter what game I came up with. To quote my own paper, Holden Moss was a fuck machine!

I had done my homework even before meeting Holden for the first time. It was not hard to find lots of girls who had fucked the hunky psyche professor with the brooding good looks. He was known around campus for being a creative lover with a big cock who seemed to care as much about his lover’s sexual satisfaction than his own, which was an odd thing given that most men in his position would use their power over their female students just to get their own rocks off.

To the contrary, every girl I talked to said Holden Moss was the most caring lover they had ever had. And a guy who was not afraid to try anything, anywhere, anytime. He was the perfect guy for a girl like me.

Holden texted his address to me, along with the words, “See you at 8. Now send me something fun to tide me over.”

I grinned because I got the text while I was sitting in a Starbucks waiting on Izzy to arrive. I was at a corner table with my back to the crowd. I took my phone’s camera and held it out to take a selfie. Before pressing the button, I pulled my tee-shirt up to expose my big titties to the camera. My boobs were large and milky white, with pink areolas the size of golf balls and nipples like hard, pink gumdrops. I let the tee-shirt drop and looked at the picture. There I was, smiling with my tits hanging out. Behind me a couple dozen students were chatting and drinking coffee, completely oblivious to the fun I was having just a few feet away.

“Chew on that for a while, Professor Moss,” I said as I sent the image to Holden, along with the message, I wish you were here.

Even as my phone dinged to let me know the message was sent, I could feel the hot juices pooling between my thighs, soaking the legs of the loose running shorts and seat beneath me. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one was looking, then slid a finger between my legs. I pulled the shorts aside and rubbed my clit, which was swollen and tender to the touch. I dipped my finger into my pussy to lube up the tip, then started rubbing my clit nub, each touch sending shockwaves through my body, making me tremble with desire as I brought myself to orgasm right there in the Starbucks with all those people around.

I slid my finger into my hole and let my thumb take over clit duties. I worked my finger in and out, in and out, as my thumb rolled my clit back and forth, back and forth. I closed my eyes and thought of Holden Moss. I imagined that it was his tongue on my clit and his fingers slowly plunging inside me. I could feel him there, his breath hot on my cheek, his hand working me toward climax.

The orgasm came quickly, shuddering through me like a rumbling earthquake. I gushed hot juices over my hand and onto the chair, making a mess that I would worry about cleaning up later. That was one of the things about being a nympho. I lived for the moment of orgasm, without worrying about repercussions or consequences.

I would make myself cum sitting in a coffee shop full of people without caring about who might see. If anyone was watching, good for them.

If they were close enough to smell the juices of my pussy over the smell of their coffee, I hoped they enjoyed the aroma.

If they watched as I brought myself to full orgasm with my own hand in a public place, that was just cream in the coffee, so to speak.

If I created a pool of pussy juices in the chair where I sat, oh well, that’s what they made Clorox Cleanup for. Well, maybe not specifically, but I’d clean up my mess when I was done, so no worries there.

I felt the orgasm ripple through me like waves across a pond. My thighs closed around my hand as every muscle in my body went tight. I leaned forward and bit the shit out of my tongue to keep from screaming in ecstasy. After a moment, I opened my eyes to find Izzy sitting across from me with a wicked smile on her face.

“Was it good for you, too?” she asked, plucking a wad of napkins from the dispenser and holding them out for me. I made a goofy face with my tongue hanging out as I took the napkins and tucked them between my legs.

“It was very good for me,” I sighed, totally unashamed, not embarrassed in the least. Me and Iz had been besties for a long time. She knew how I was wired and vice versa. I’d seen her do some off the wall shit with guys, so me diddling myself in a Starbucks was no shock to her.

“So, I take it your plan to use and abuse Professor Holden Moss is on schedule?” she asked as she pried the lid off her steaming cup of black coffee. Izzy was a coffee snob. If you drank anything other than black coffee with no fixings, you were a pussy, unworthy of calling yourself a true coffee-holic.

“We’re having dinner and drinks at his house at 8 o’clock,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows.

She picked up her cup and blew cool air into it. The steam rose and settled beneath her dark eyes. “So, you’ll be fucking his brains out by what, 8:05?”

“Oh, I’m in no rush,” I said, lifting my venti caramel macchiato to my lips and taking a sip. I smacked my lips and sighed. “Heck, we might even make it to 8:10 or 8:15.”

Izzy grinned at me. “Damn girl, your self-control never ceases to amaze me.”

“I know right!” I said as I tucked the napkins between my legs to soak up the juices that were still flowing out of me. “Sometimes I amaze myself.”

“You gonna need more napkins?” Izzy asked.

“No, I think I’m fine,” I said, scolding her with my eyes. “I may need some fresh shorts, though.”

“So, you talked to him before class, I assume?” She leaned in and gave me the eye. “Are you sure this is smart? You know what happened last time.”

“Last time it was different,” I said, hitching my chin at her. “I’ve done my homework this time. Holden Moss is not married, is not engaged, and by all accounts, not a total asshole like Keith Calloway.”

“Still, you need to be careful,” she said, shaking her head. “I have never liked this teacher’s pet thing you do. It’s just too risky. It could get you kicked out of school and the teacher fired.”

“Iz, I’m not going to get anyone fired,” I said, rolling my eyes at the notion. “We’re two consenting adults who want to fuck each other’s brains out. The school has no business in our business.”

“Tell that to the dean,” Izzy said. “Don’t fool yourself, girl. You are playing with fire and you know it.”

“I know,” I sighed. “But that’s what makes it so freakin’ hot.”

CHAPTER SEVEN: Jude

I spent the better part of the afternoon preparing for my rendezvous with Professor Holden Moss. There was no pretense, no need to play around, no beating around the bush. I was going there for one thing and one thing only—to get laid—and we both knew it. We might have dinner and drinks. We might make a little small talk. We might take the time to get to know each other better. Along with all those mights we would definitely be having sex. Of that, there was no doubt in my mind.

I thought about showing up at Holden’s apartment wearing nothing but a pair of six-inch stilettos and a trench coat, but I thought that might be a little too old school. Besides, there was no mystery or seduction in showing up naked. We were going to fuck, no question there, but I loved keeping things mysterious, even though I’d already flashed him my pussy and my tits, he had yet to see the whole package close enough to touch and taste.

So, I slipped into a little black dress, strapless and short enough to show my ass if I bent over, and a red thong. I wore the six-inch stilettos because they made my legs look killer. I left my long red hair down around my shoulders and wore just enough makeup to highlight what the good lord gave me. I checked myself in the mirror one last time, then drove across town to Holden’s place in Willow Hills, arriving precisely at 8 o’clock as planned.

Holden met me at the door with a glass of champagne in each hand, looking very handsome in a pair of beige linen pants and a short-sleeved black silk shirt open at the neck. I could see the tanned muscles of his chest, his arms roped with sinew and veins. My homework told me that he played on an intramural rugby team and kept himself in killer shape. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on him, to feel those muscles for myself.

“Hi, there,” he said, holding out a glass of champagne as I walked in the door. “Can I take your coat?”

I took the glass and grinned at him. “I’m not wearing a coat.”

“Then, may I take your dress?” He gave me a Cheshire Cat grin and wiggled his dark eyebrows. Nodding toward the living room, he said, “Sorry, couldn’t resist. Come on in and make yourself at home. Dinner is almost ready.”

“Wow, you actually cooked dinner?” I asked as I followed him into the kitchen. Holden’s place was nice, much nicer than mine, and large enough for more than a single person. My guess was he had at least two bedrooms, maybe three. “I love your place. It’s huge. Do you live here alone?”

“I do live here alone,” he said, showing me to a stool at the island that separated the kitchen from the living room. “I have the occasional roommate and out of town guests, plus the university stipends part of the rent, so I figured what the hell, get the nicest place I could find. And this is it.”

“It’s a lovely place,” I said, noticing the décor was manly, but not overly so. The sofa and matching chairs were dark leather and a ginormous flat panel TV hung on the wall, but the walls were painted a light tan and the wood finishings were a blond pine. There were no animal heads on the walls, but that was not surprising. Those weren’t the kinds of trophies a hunter like Holden Moss collected.

“Hope you’re hungry,” he said.

I turned back toward the kitchen and took a deep breath. “Now that you mention it, I am. And something smells amazing.”

He went to the kitchen side of the island and took the lid off a large pot that was simmering on the island’s cooktop. He waved the lid to spread the scent of tomato sauce my way. The wonderful aroma of garlic and basil filled the air and teased my nose. “I hope you like spaghetti.”

“I love spaghetti,” I said, inhaling deeply. I lifted the champagne glass to my lips and gave him a coy look. “Why Professor Moss, I thought you had just lured me here to fuck. I had no idea we were actually going to have dinner.”

He smiled as he stirred the sauce. “I would never ask a lady to fuck without feeding her first,” he said. He had a boyish grin, wide mouth, lots of teeth. It made his eyes sparkle and lit up his entire face. “Besides, there’s nothing more embarrassing than to be in the middle of having great sex and hear your stomach growl.”

“So, you speak from experience?” I asked, watching him from over the top of the champagne glass.

“I’m afraid I do,” he said. He stirred the sauce, then brought the spoon up for a taste. He blew over the spoon for a second, then carefully tasted the sauce. Smacking his lips, he held the spoon out to me with his other hand cupped underneath ready to catch anything that might drop. “Mmmm, that’s pretty good if I do say so myself. Taste?”

I leaned in and blew on the sauce, then sucked it from the spoon. I had no idea how hungry I was. I had been so caught up in getting ready for my night with Holden that I had forgotten to eat. My stomach growled at the taste. “Oh my, that is good,” I said, licking my lips. “I would say that’s better than sex, but it’s too early to tell.”

“Then the bar is set high,” he said, smiling again as he went back to stirring the sauce. He glanced up at me. “Can I ask you something?”

I turned sideways on the stool, crossing my long legs and resting the champagne glass on my knee. I had a pretty good idea what the question was going to be. It was the old, “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this with your panties down around your ankles?” routine.

I held up the champagne glass and gave him a nod to proceed. “Of course, Professor. Ask away.”

“No offense, but do you do this sort of thing often?” he asked without looking me in the eye. “I mean—again, no offense—and I’m certainly not knocking your tactics. To the contrary, I have spent most of the day wondering what I did to deserve this. But—”

I interrupted him so he didn’t have to say the words he was thinking. “But do I always show my pussy to strange men in public and invite them to fuck me in private?”

“Do you think I’m a strange man?” he asked, smiling at me as he stirred the sauce.

“I think you certainly have the potential to be strange,” I said, teasing him with my eyes. “Or at the very least, a little kinky.”

He chuckled and gave me a single nod. “I will admit to a certain fondness for kink, Miss Allen. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Which was?”

“Do you do this sort of thing often?”

I took another sip of the champagne, then dabbed the corners of my lips with my fingertips. “You read my paper, right? This is sort of my kind of thing.”

He tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot, put the lid on the sauce, and picked up his glass. He leaned back against the sink, nodding as he stared into my eyes. “I did read your paper, and of course I understand the concept of nymphomania or hypersexuality or whatever you want to call it. However—and you might find this hard to believe given the degrees hanging on my office wall—but I don’t think nymphomania actually exists.”

That caught me by surprise, given that he had spent most of his life studying psychology and dissecting how the human brain did or did not work. For him to reveal that he didn’t believe in the existence of something as ancient and established as nymphomania was a little surprising to hear.

“You don’t think nymphomania is a real thing?” I asked, giving him a little frown that pushed away the smile. I feigned a southern belle accent. “Why, Professor Moss, what makes you say such horrible things, especially seeing as how you are in the presence of a lady who has been clinically diagnosed as such?”

He cocked one eyebrow in classic Rhett Butler fashion and pooched out his lips. “Actually, my dear, your paper supports my theory.”

“Really?” I dropped the playful accent because he had peaked my interest in more ways than one. “How so?”

He frowned thoughtfully as he sipped the champagne. “You observed quite correctly that in our chauvinistic society it is expected for a man to have unbridled sexual urges because that’s programmed into his base DNA. Call it the instinct of procreation, the desire to prolong the survival of the species, to continue the lineage of generations to come. Correct?”

“You say it much better and more formally than I did, but basically, that’s correct. Please, proceed.”

He extended a long finger from the hand holding the champagne glass. “But if a woman has that same primal instinct—or rather acts on the urges generated by that instinct—there must be something clinically, medically, or psychologically wrong with her.

“Her sex drive must be stuck on high,” I offered, recalling the words my therapist had once used to describe me, right before he leaned me over his desk and fucked me in the ass.

“Yes,” Holden said, seriously. “She must be a slut or have a mental defect of some kind because for a woman to want to have sex just for the sake of having sex, well, that’s not considered normal in our overly-judgmental, post-Victorian, chauvinistic society.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and said with a hard tone, “Yes, exactly! If a guy loves to fuck—and fucks every willing woman he can—he is just being a guy because that’s what guys do. Even men who are monogamous want to fuck other women.”

“Yes, precisely,” Holden said, finger wagging in the air. “Humans are the only monogamous species on the planet because the very concept of monogamy goes against the primal urge to procreate and prolong the species. Women have the same urges as men. We just come at procreation from different angles.”

I shook my finger to match his. “But if a woman fucks as freely as a man—whether she is in a monogamous relationship or not—she is considered a slut or a whore or a nympho, all conditions of the mind which have been blamed on mental illness in some capacity over time. Forget the moral judgment part of the equation. If a woman is doing those things, the bitch must be crazy! That’s the double standard.”

“Exactly,” he said, tapping the butt of his fist on the counter, making the lid on the pot dance. “A double standard established somewhere in times past by a man who had no other explanation as to why some women acted like men when it came to sex.”

“Maybe he was trying to explain why his own wife fucked around on him,” I said, eyebrows flexing. “What? She cheated on me? The bitch must be crazy!”

Holden covered his mouth to keep from spraying champagne across the island. “Yes! Or perhaps, in his closed Victorian mind, there was no other reasonable explanation because ladies simply did not act that way. Unless they were ladies of the night who were paid to do so.”

“You mean prostitutes. Women with no moral turpitude.”

“Yes, exactly,” he said again, hands cutting the air as if he were conjuring his point from thin air. “Or witches or vixens or sirens who used their sexuality as a dark power over men.”

“You’re really going deep here, Professor Moss,” I said with a smile. I drained the champagne glass and fanned myself with my free hand. “It’s a little unexpected, but it’s sort of getting me hot.”

He smiled and tried to ignore the comment because he was still in professor mode, which I found adorable.

He went on, “So, why should there be a double standard for men versus women? Why are men just doing what comes natural to the male of the species, but when a woman does it there must be another reason why? She must be ill to do those things. When in truth, aren’t we all just answering the same inherent call of the wild, so to speak?”

I blinked at him because he had taken the thoughts right out of my own brain, though I had branded myself a nymphomaniac years ago and had come to wear that brand as a symbol of pride. Whether I liked it or not, I had allowed myself to be defined by my sexual desires. They drove every decision I made, affected every relationship I forged, even made me do things I might not have done if I wasn’t out to prove the point that I was proud of who I was.

But what if I wasn’t a nymphomaniac at all. What if, as Holden suggested, there was no such thing as nymphomania? What if I was just a woman who answered the call of her own primal instincts rather than suppressing them? If that was the case, I had answered that call over and over and over again.

“So, you’re saying that nymphomania is not a real thing?” I asked the question and let it hang in the air for a moment. “You’re saying that I really just like to fuck and it’s biological, not psychological? I’m just a horny girl?”

He let his big shoulders rise and fall slowly, eyeing me with a slight smile. “Would that be so horrible? To know that your brain is fine and you’re just fulfilling the sexual needs of your incredibly, sexy body?”

“No, that wouldn’t be horrible at all,” I said. “Except that I’ve spent the last five years trying to sort things out in my head. Maybe I should have been focusing more on my womb than my brain.”

He let his head bob. “So, you’re one of those people who went into psychology to help explain your own issues. Or those things you thought were your issues, like your ‘hyperactive’ sex drive—and I’m not saying your sex drive is any more active than most women your age. Maybe you just act upon those urges where other women suppress them. Ever think about that?”

“So, it’s not a sexual issue,” I said, flexing my eyebrows at him. “It’s a self-control issue.”

“It might not be an issue at all,” he said. “Just because you act on those urges does not mean you have a lack of self-control. It just means you act. You follow your heart, your head, and your womb. You let your urges lead you. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that.”

I thought about his words for a moment. I felt a tear stinging my left eye. I casually wiped it away with my knuckle. “What if those urges lead me to do things I regret doing?”

“Do you have lots of regrets?” he asked, staring into my eyes with a concerned look on his handsome face. He spread out his hands, palms up. “Are you going to regret coming here?”

I frowned at the thought of regret, which had never concerned me before. “Honestly, I have regretted some of the decisions I’ve made, regretted sleeping with some of the men I’ve been with, but regret is not something I spend much time thinking about.”

“What about the repercussions of your actions?” he asked. He was in full psychoanalysis mode now and I found it captivating. I had not heard him lecture in class yet, but I knew he was a wonderful teacher, which just made me want him more. I squirmed uneasily on the stool, starting to feel a little like I was being interrogated. I wondered if he had any handcuffs… perhaps a blindfold and gag…

When I didn’t answer quickly enough, he asked the question in a different way, “Have you done things that affected others?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why are you asking me these things, Professor Moss? Why do I feel like I’m being psychoanalyzed?”

He blinked at me, then shook his head and smiled. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he said, holding up his hands. “I guess I miss practicing.”

“You practiced?” I asked. “As in psychoanalysis?”

“Yes, for a short time, after I got my Ph.D.”

“Why did you stop?”

He frowned and let his head swivel slowly from side to side. “It just wasn’t for me. Sitting in a small room listening to broken people’s problems all day long, wishing you could fix them even though you know you can’t.” He picked up the spoon and stared at it. “I started taking my work home, drinking too much, getting depressed because I didn’t think I was making much of a difference. Then I got an offer to teach and jumped at it. I’ve never looked back. You know the old saying, ‘Those who can do, those who can’t teach’? It applies to psychology more than you know.”

“So, you prefer teaching,” I said with a slow nod. Now I was the one analyzing him. He was much better at it than I was. “Do you think you’ll ever go back to practicing?”

“No, teaching has become my passion,” he said with a happy sigh. “When you teach, you don’t really have the chance to dig into a subject’s head, which is a good thing because trust me, you never know what you’re going to find there. That’s one reason your paper got my brain pumping, among other things. I’ve never really given much thought to the concept of nymphomania or satyrism, but I now find the subjects fascinating. And I have you to thank.”

I held out my empty champagne class and wiggled it at him. “Maybe you should write a book. After you refill my glass and fuck my brains out, of course.”

“A book… hmmm… that could be interesting…”

“And maybe I could be your own private guinea pig. We could team up and experiment on each other, like Masters and Johnson. Oh my god, think of the fun we could have, all in the name of science!”

“That’s an interesting idea,” he said, refilling my glass from the champagne bottle he had on ice in a bucket on the counter between us. “My best pal, Wynn Driver, wrote a book and is making a fortune from it.”

“Is that the ‘what’s your vagina thinking’ book?” I asked as he handed back the glass, now full to the rim with champagne bubbles. I knew the name Wynn Driver well. While doing my homework on Holden Moss, Driver’s name kept coming up with the women Holden had slept with. It seemed the two hunky psyche professors were not only best friends and colleagues, but had spent a considerable amount of time fucking the same women, often at the same time. I wondered if I would ever be so lucky as to be scotched between them with their cocks inside me at the same time. Sigh… a girl could dream…

I held up a hand to slow down the conversation. “Okay, so let’s say my nymphomania is not real, that I’m really just a horny young woman who acts on her sexual urges. What about my other issue?”

His eyebrows knitted above his blue eyes. “What other issue is that?”

“My desire to be teacher’s pet,” I said coyly, my eyes going dreamy, staring into his.

He blinked at me with the glass at his lips. “Teacher’s pet?”

“I have always had a very strong attraction—an overwhelming attraction, even—to teachers.”

“You have?”

“Yes, I have,” I said seriously, though my insides were merrily churning from the look on his face. “I seduced and slept with several teachers in high school, and have slept with at least one professor per year since I’ve been at college. Some of the sex has just been once or twice, but one was a long-term relationship that lasted almost an entire year.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “You’ve slept with professors all through college? You mean, professors at this college?”

“Yes, of course.”

He set the glass on the counter and leaned back against the sink again with his arms folded over his chest. “You’ve had sex, or affairs, with other professors here at Midwestern University?”

“Of course, I have,” I huffed. “I’ve been here four years, you know.”

“Please tell me Professor Markle was not one of them,” Holden said with a careful smile. “That’s an image I could never get out of my head.”

“No, as fucked up as I am, I have never had the desire to sleep with Professor Markle.” I smiled at him again from over the champagne glass. “And no, I will not name names, so don’t ask.”

“Wait a second… are you the one… did you… did you fuck Keith Calloway in the pool at the natatorium?”

He asked the question and let his mouth hang open waiting for an answer that did not come. He had undoubtedly heard that Professor Calloway had taken an extended sabbatical after being caught screwing a student by his wife and campus security. That student had managed to remain anonymous. I was not about to change that now.

I gave him a hard look. “Are we gonna talk all night or are we gonna fuck?” I asked, holding up my wrist and tapping a nail to my watch crystal. “Because I have to tell you, the evening is really starting to drag on and I’d hate to have to go home and satisfy myself.”

He frowned for a moment, then smiled when I smiled.

“Wow, how have we never hooked up before this?” he asked. He lifted the lid off the pot and tasted the sauce again. He switched off the heat and stirred the sauce as he stared at me. “You’ve been here four years, I’ve been here that entire time. Why have we never hooked up before?”

There were two plates on the counter. I set them out and reached for the pot of pasta that had been warming on the stove eye next to the sauce. I shrugged as I helped each plate.

“Simple. It wasn’t your turn.”

The look on his face was priceless. Holden’s mouth dropped open and his eyebrows arched. He shook his head like he was coming out of a dream. “I’m sorry, did you say it wasn’t my turn?”

“It wasn’t your turn,” I said firmly. “Because I had never taken one of your classes. You teach grad level classes. Now, I’m at grad level, I’m in your class, so it’s your turn.”

“Ah…” he sighed, nodding slowly. “So, I’m your grad school crush?”

“You’re my grad school crush,” I said with a smile. “My freshman year, I slept with freshman professors. Sophomore year, sophomore professors. And so on. Now that I’m in grad school, well, Professor Moss, whether you like it or not, you are next on my list.”

“Wow, I’ve never been on a nympho’s list before,” Holden said, his face playfully conflicted. “I’m not sure if I should be honored or insulted.”

“Either way, you get to fuck me for the entire semester if you’re a good boy,” I said. “You are the teacher and I am your pet. You teach, I obey. And maybe you learn something along the way. Simple as that.”

“Simple as that, my dear pet?” he repeated, his voice low, husky, full of steam.

“Yes, my dear teacher. Simple as that.”

CHAPTER EIGHT: Holden

I took one look at the gorgeous woman sitting across the kitchen island and decided that dinner could wait. I lifted off the lid long enough to dip a finger in the sauce and came around the island with the finger held up between us. Jude smiled because she immediately knew what I was doing. There would be plenty of time for food later. But first, a little fun.

“Care for a taste?” I asked again, stepping toward her with a devious grin on my face and a raging hard on in my pants. I had never met a woman who could get me hard as a freakin’ rock just from a conversation about clinical psychology, but Jude had managed to do exactly that.

Sparring words with her, seeing her eyes light up, hearing the passion in her voice, all told me one thing: this was not a woman I would fuck and forget. This was a woman I would fuck time and time again and remember the rest of my life. I somehow knew that a bond was being forged this night, though neither of us probably had a clue just how deep that bond would eventually go.

Jude swiveled the barstool toward me and spread her legs so I could move in close. The mini dress rode up her thighs until I could see the red panties she wore. Her hands went first to the buttons of my shirt. She took her time with the buttons, teasing me with her eyes. She slid her hands inside my shirt, going first to my chest and hard nipples, then sliding around my waist to pull me close. She tucked her hands inside the back of my pants and gave my bare ass a squeeze. She glanced down at the huge bulge in the front of my linen pants and hummed.

“I’d prefer to taste your cock,” she said, licking her lips, her eyes staring at me with a hunger we shared.

“That can be arranged, but first, this,” I said, holding up the sauce-covered finger to her lips. She wrapped her lips around the finger and sucked away the sauce, then sucked the finger all the way in up to the knuckle, her lips milking the finger as if she was sucking on my cock. I felt myself swelling in my pants, my cock growing so hard it was aching to be set free. She dug her sharp nails into the muscles of my ass.

“Mmmm… that is good,” she said, licking her lips, staring deeply into my eyes. She tilted her head back and stuck out her tongue. “Want a taste?”

“I would love a taste,” I said, leaning down to press my lips gently to hers. Her tongue came out to play, swirling around my lips, darting in and out of my mouth, searching for my tongue. When our tongues met, sparks of electricity shot through my body as if I’d stuck my cock into a light socket, lightning coursing through every muscle, racing through my body from head to toe. Jude’s fingers dug harder into my ass. She slid her ass to the front of the chair as my fingers worked their way up her thighs, hiking up the short dress to her waist, my fingertips like heat-seeking missiles searching for a hot, wet target in which to land.

My thumbs came together at her pussy, which was covered by what turned out to be a lacey thong. I slid my fingers down the crotch and could feel her moist pussy lips hugging the thong between them. She was gushing like a stream from a hot spring. The crotch of the thong was soaked. I pulled it to one side so my fingers could rub between her pussy lips without the thong getting in the way.

“Oh… that… feels… really… good,” she sighed into my mouth as my fingers slid inside her juicy pussy. She slid closer to the edge of the barstool until her pussy was hanging off the edge, giving me perfect access in which to slide my stiff fingers in and out as she playfully bit my bottom lip.

“Your pussy… is so… fucking hot… so… fucking wet…” I moaned, sliding two fingers inside her all the way to the knuckle as my thumb rolled over her round clit. “I want to taste your pussy… I want to suck your juices down my throat… I want to taste you on my tongue… now…”

Jude pulled her head back and smiled. She let go of my ass long enough to reach around to the back of the dress and slide the zipper down. When she did, her big tits popped free. I heard myself sigh heavily when I saw them. The selfie she had sent flashing her tits did not do them justice. Jude’s tits were large but firm, milky white with pink freckles across the top. Her areolas were pink and round, her nipples long, plump, like two watermelon gumdrops waiting to be sucked.

“Let me get this off,” she said, putting her hands on my chest to push me back for a moment. I reluctantly let my fingers slide from her pussy and stood sucking her juices off them as she got to her feet to let the dress slide to the floor.

“God, you’re beautiful,” I said, my eyes literally popping at the perfection of her body. Big tits, narrow waist, round hips, long legs that tapered into a perfect pair of ankles. When she slid the thong down her legs, showing off her clean-shaven pussy, and kicked the stilettos off. Just watching her caused a little juice to ooze from the tip of my cock.

Jude climbed back onto the stool, folded her hands over her breasts, and cocked an eyebrow at me. “Now you, my teacher. Get those fucking clothes off. Let me see that huge monster that’s trying to burst out of your pants.”

I smiled as I slowly let the silk shirt slide down my arms and tossed it way. Jude’s eyes swept over my muscled torso. I worked my ass off to stay in shape and probably packed more muscle than most of the younger college boys. It paid off because so far, I thought she liked what she saw.

She leaned back and spread her legs again. Her pink pussy glistened with the juices still flowing freely from deep inside her. I could smell her scent in the air; salty, pungent, wonderful. With her eyes glued to the bulge in the front of my pants, Jude started rubbing her pussy with her fingers, sliding them up and down between the lips, getting them wet, then rolling them across her clit.

“You’d better hurry,” she said, her breath husky. “I might cum without you.”

“Cum all you want,” I said as I tugged my belt loose and undid my pants. “I’ll catch up, no worries.”

Jude’s left hand came up to her breast as her right hand continued rubbing her pussy. She took the nipple between her thumb and forefinger and squeezed until it turned dark, then she playfully tugged the nipple an inch from her breast.

“Ohh…” she moaned, tugging, squeezing, fingers of the other hand sliding up and down, from side to side. “Hurry, Holden… let me see your cock… please… hurry…”

I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of the pants and the boxers I wore underneath. I had to tug the pants out in the front to get them over my stiff cock. When my pants slid down my legs my cock sprang out like a stiff arm, ten-inches long, girthy and veiny and ready to party. The head looked like a crimson balloon so full it was ready to pop.

“Oh… my…” Jude sighed, eyes going dreamy at the sight of my cock. She licked her lips and spread her legs even more. She started sliding four fingers inside herself while her thumb remained working on her clit, which was swollen like a hot pink pencil eraser.

I wrapped my fingers around my cock and started stroking back and forth, slowly, working the blood through the shaft to the head. I squeezed when my fingers neared the head. Drops of precum juices oozed from the slit.

“Yes…” she said, her mouth hanging open. “Play with yourself for a minute… pump that big cock, Holden… don’t make yourself cum… just watch me… and stroke… stroke…”

I smiled and did as commanded. Normally, I was the one in charge, the alpha male, the man with the plan. But watching Jude fingerfuck herself with one hand while she squeezed her nipple with the other was simply too good to pass up. I steadied my breathing and let me hand work my cock. I used my left hand to tweak my balls as my right hand pumped the shaft.

“Yes… that’s… oh… yes…” Jude’s eyes were focused on my cock, following the movement of my hand back and forth, back and forth. Her fingers kept working her pussy, faster now, deeper, four fingers, in and out, faster, faster. Her mouth hung open. Her tongue came out to slide across her bottom lip and hang there. She was going to make herself cum. I could see it in her eyes.

“Make yourself cum, my pet,” I said, licking my lips, breathing in and out slowly to keep my own orgasm at bay. I had no desire to shoot my load all over my hand. I might enjoy that later when I was alone, recalling our night together, but not at that moment. No, I wanted to cum inside Jude’s pussy. And in her mouth. And in her ass. And on her tits. And on her face. I would not waste a drop of my seed this night. Not with this amazing woman so ready to take every ounce for herself.

“Oh… fuck…” Jude squealed, her eyes fluttering shut as her hand increased its intensity on her pussy. I glanced down and nearly blew my load when I saw that her hand was covered in oily juices and she was literally gushing in the chair. For a moment, I thought she was peeing, but then I realized that Jude was a gusher, and quite possible could be a squirter with the right hand to guide her. God, I loved it when a woman squirted on me. Most men do. Maybe that was a fetish we’d talk about in class. I made a mental note that we would pursue that topic later on.

“Cum for me, Jude,” I ordered, resisting the urge to move closer to shove my cock inside her steaming pussy. Her hands worked in unison on her breasts and her cunt. She closed her eyes and leaned back and moaned toward the ceiling.

“Fuck… yes… yes… yes… yes…”

The orgasm rocked her body and nearly knocked her off the stool.

She shuddered from head to toe.

She brought her knees up and clenched them together and curled her toes.

She squealed as she came, her right hand still buried deep inside her.

I nearly came, as well but caught myself at the last moment and loosened my grip on my cock. I waited until the spasms stopped rocking through her body, then stepped in and put my arms around her. She rested her forehead on my chest and blew out a long, satisfied sigh.

“That was just the entrée,” I said, my lips at her ear. “Let’s go into the bedroom for the main course.”

CHAPTER NINE: Jude

I had made myself cum thousands of times, but never while watching a man like Holden Moss stroke his own cock. Holden’s cock was long, thick, the head purple and swollen. Little drops of joy-juice oozed from the slit each time his hand squeezed toward the head. His muscled chest and washboard abs rippled as he moved, the muscles in his arms flexing as the blood pumped through them with every stroke.

I was ramming four fingers in and out of my wet box, and my thumb was working my clit like a vibrator. When I popped my cork, I came so hard I nearly fell off the stool. Holden caught me and pulled me close as I struggled to catch my breath. Then he suggested we continue our fun in the bedroom, which I thought was a splendid idea.

Holden scooped me up with the ease of picking up a rag doll. I looped my arms around his neck and bit at his jawline as he carried me down the hall and into the bedroom.

Holden kicked open the door and toted me inside without breaking a sweat. He set me on the edge of the bed long enough to switch on the bedside lamp.

“Nice,” I said, lying back propped on my elbows, glancing around the bedroom. It was large, neat, and the bed was king-sized, big enough for several people. There was a door to a closet and another to the master bath. I spread out on the bed and rubbed my hands against the comforter. “Such a big bed, Professor Moss. Do you sleep here all alone?”

“Sometimes,” he said with a smile as he lay down beside me with his cock standing in the air like the mast of a great ship. “Sometimes I have friends sleep over.”

He held out his arm and I rolled into him with my lips finding his hard nipple and my hand finding his hard cock. He sighed as my tongue teased his nipple and my fingers slid up and down over the rigid shaft. “My, Professor Moss, what a big dick you have.”

“The better to fuck you with, my pet,” he said with a heavy sigh.

“Mmmm… that sounds delightful,” I said, my lips biting their way up his neck. “But first…”

I let go of Holden’s cock and climbed on top of him in the sixty-nine position with my dripping pussy hovering over his mouth and my lips hovering over the head of his cock. I held the shaft and licked away the juices that were oozing from his slit.

“I love the way you think,” he said, bringing his hands up to my ass to pull my pussy down to his lips. The moment his hot tongue touched my clit, my body shuddered and I gushed all over his face. Holden hummed happily and lapped up the warm juices like a starving kitten.

“I have to warn you,” I said, his cock in one hand and his balls in the other. I glanced down between my tits to grin at him. He was licking my juices from his lips. “I’m a bit of a squirter. Hope you have plenty of towels.”

“Don’t you worry,” Holden said, smiling with my juices glistening on his cheeks. He flexed his lower ab muscles and his cock bounced in my hand. “I’m a bit of a squirter myself.”

“Oh, I bet you are,” I said, my hands moving up and down the shaft again. “I just bet you are.”

I swirled my tongue around the head of Holden’s cock, then held the shaft steady and let my lips suction over the head and down onto the shaft. I lowered my head until his cock was touching the back of my throat. My tongue played with underside of his shaft as I slowly pulled my lips back. I heard Holden moan with his lips on my pussy. The vibration almost made me cum again.

I lowered my head and Holden’s cock filled my mouth. I pulled my lips back to the head and sucked on it like a Tootsie Pop, swirling my tongue around the underside where all the little nerves met, teasing the slit, sucking the salty juices that were the reward for my efforts.

It was hard as fuck to concentrate with Holden’s mouth on my pussy. He was using his fingers to spread my pussy lips and teasing my pussy hole with his tongue. Each time his tongue slid inside my hole, a new wave of hot juices washed out over his tongue and into his mouth. Holden didn’t stop. He tongue fucked me until I was at the brink of orgasm and lapped it all up, not wasting a drop.

“You’re going to make me cum again,” I moaned, my fingers tight around his cock, which felt like a lead pipe in my hand. I felt his tongue slide deep inside my cunt as the tip of one finger slid into my lubed-up asshole. “Oh… yes… yes… fuck… yes… that’s… oh… ohhh…”

Holden’s hands went to my ass cheeks and his fingers dug in to my soft flesh, pulling my pussy down onto his mouth as his tongue rammed in and out of my hole. I felt his cock harden in my hand, but I was not coordinated enough to pump him while cumming in his mouth. I pushed myself up with my hands on his knees and practically sat on Holden’s face and just let my juices fly. He moaned with his tongue deep in my pussy, his fingers flexing against my ass. I started sliding my pussy across his lips and tongue. I could feel his chin on my clit, his nose at my ass. I pounded my pussy to his face. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t control myself. My entire body went tense and I came and came and came, gushing juices into Holden’s mouth, drenching his cheeks and chin, moaning like an animal in the wild.

“Oh… fuck… I’m… whooo… fuck…”

It was all I could say because I could barely breathe, much less form words. Without a word of his own, Holden put his hands on my hips and squeezed to get my attention.

“Fuck me now, Jude,” he ordered. “Slide down and slide onto my cock. I want you to fuck me till I fill you with my hot cum.”

I gave him a coy look over my shoulder and did as I was told. I kept my hands on his knees and slid my pussy over his cock, facing away from him so her could grab onto my ass while we rock and rolled.

He held his cock steady as I slowly impaled myself on it. I lowered my hips until I felt the bulbous head pressing against my hole. The breath caught in my throat as my pussy stretched to accommodate him. I was so wet, the head of his cock easily slid inside my tight box.

“Yes… that’s what… teacher likes…” Holden sighed playfully. He dug his fingers into my hips to steady me. “Now, my pet, take my cock inside you as far as you can.”

“Yes, sir…” I said, the words coming from my lips on gusts of breath. I lowered myself onto his rigid shaft, one inch, then another, then another, only stopping when I felt the head of Holden’s cock hit my innermost wall. With my hands still on his knees and his fingers on my sides, I started slowly sliding my pussy up and down the length of his shaft. It felt amazing. I could feel him in every part of my body.

“That’s… it…” Holden moaned, the muscles in his legs flexing beneath my fingers. “Slowly… yes… oh… fuck… Jude… your pussy is… so… so… fucking… tight…”

“And your… cock is… so fucking… big,” I said, feeling the tension building in my body again as another orgasm began to build. With every stroke, I got closer and closer to cumming again. I sped up the pace, faster, faster, until I was literally slamming my pussy up and down on Holden’s stiff cock, stopping only when the tip of his cock hit my cervix. The orgasm was coming faster now. My body was getting hotter by the minute, heating up from the inside out. I could feel sweat dotting my upper lip, streaming down my neck, sluicing between my breasts.

“Fuck… Jude… I’m… I’m… cumming…” Holden growled like a caged animal longing to be set free. “Cum with me… Jude… Cum with me… now…”

Holden’s body went rigid beneath me as his muscles tensed from the orgasm that was pounding through his body. I watched his toes curl and heard him grunt several times and call my name.

His fingers dug in deeper as he started lifting me up and down on his cock, ramming into me hard enough to hurt in a good way.

I turned all self-control over to my teacher and felt myself cumming again and again and again. As Holden filled my pussy with what felt like gallons of his hot milky goo, I gushed pussy juices back over him, coating his cock and balls and thighs and stomach.

When it was over, we had made one hell of a mess, but it didn’t matter.

We looked at each other and smiled, both knowing that our first night of fun had just begun.

CHAPTER TEN: Holden

“I’ve never had spaghetti for breakfast,” Jude said, smiling as she swirled the tip of one finger across her now-empty plate. She brought the finger up and sucked off the spaghetti sauce, then picked up the large mug of steaming black coffee and cradled it between her hands. “And I’ve certainly never had spaghetti with coffee before. Italian food… French roast coffee… It’s just so… continental.”

“I can get you a glass of warm champagne if you prefer,” I said, jabbing a thumb at the champagne bottle that was now soaking in a bucket of room temperature water that had been ice the night before.

“No, no, this is fine,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows over the top of the cup as the steam rose in the air. “I think I might have discovered my new favorite combination. Spaghetti and coffee. Mmmm…”

She made me smile, sitting at the kitchen island wearing nothing but one of my blue button-down shirts and a sly look on her pretty face. She had the shirt sleeves rolled up past her elbows and the front unbuttoned midway down her breasts, giving me a perfect view of her freckled cleavage.

“What is it about a woman wearing a man’s shirt that is so freakin’ sexy?” I asked, leaning back against the sink with my own cup of black coffee in one hand. I was wearing a pair of black boxer shorts and no shirt. My cock, still exhausted from the night spent with Jude, slept peacefully in my shorts.

“What is it about a man with a big cock wearing boxer shorts that is so freakin’ sexy?” she asked in return, narrowing her eyes at my crotch. “Not every man, of course. I can’t imagine that Professor Markle would be very sexy wearing just a pair of silk boxers.”

“Hey, don’t sell the old guy short,” I said, scolding her with my eyes. “The rumor is that back in the day Markle was quite the heartbreaker, or so I understand.” I set the cup on the counter and scratched my whiskered chin. “Believe it or not, he was captain of the swim team and the track team.”

She giggled and rolled her eyes. “When? Like 1917?”

“More like 1947,” I said, tapping the finger to my chin. “Be nice to the old man. If it wasn’t for him going on sabbatical, we might never have met. I was planning on taking the semester off to visit my friend Wynn in Los Angeles. I only canceled that trip to teach Markle’s silly fetish class.”

“That would have been terrible,” she said, pouting. “Who would be my grad school crush if you weren’t here?”

I shrugged as I started gathering the dirty dishes off the counter and placing them in the sink. “Well, you could have snared Mr. Pennyworth, perhaps. He’s not terribly old and worn-out. Or perhaps you could have switched teams and planted your nympho treatise in Mrs. Burgan’s desk. I do believe she swings both ways.”

She feigned an innocent look. “What are you talking about? Planted my nympho treatise? Why, Professor Moss, whatever do you mean.”

“I’m not entirely stupid,” I said with a smile. “Markle didn’t leave that paper in the desk. Trust me, even though he’s old as the hills and probably hasn’t had an erection since the sixties, he’s still a guy. He would never leave that behind.”

“Are you accusing me of planting that paper in the desk to seduce you?” she asked, putting a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. “Professor Moss, you’re giving me far too much credit.”

I picked up a dish rag and wiped my hands with it as I came around the island. I looped the towel around her neck and pulled her face toward mine. “I think you deserve far more credit than that,” I said, pressing my lips to hers. She tasted like tomato sauce and strong coffee. “In fact, what you don’t know is that when I discovered that you had signed up for the class, I kidnapped old Markle and locked him away. In fact, he’s tied up right now in a closet in the spare room.”

“You’re a wonderful teacher,” Jude said, nipping at my chin. “But you’re a lousy liar.”

“I may be a lousy liar,” I said playfully. My fingers started undoing the buttons down the front of the shirt, exposing her gorgeous breasts and stiff nipples. “But I am a great fuck in the shower.”

“Ooh… I love to fuck in the shower.” She cooed the words as her hand slid inside the boxers to free my rigid cock. Her fingers wrapped around the shaft and started moving slowly back and forth.

I sighed in her ear. “Spaghetti… Coffee… A gorgeous man with a big cock… What a perfect way to start the day.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Jude

To say that the time I spent with Holden over the following few weeks was an adventure would have been a gross understatement of fact. He was an incredibly smart, incredibly creative, incredibly energetic teacher, and I was the willing, hungry, passionate student. He was an amazing master and I was totally and completely, the teacher’s pet.

We did everything two consenting adults could possibly do to pleasure one another. We tried every position, performed every act, acted out every fetish, every little quirk, nothing was off limits between us. I thought I’d done it all sexually until I met Holden Moss. No holds barred, nothing was too outrageous, that was the deal we made that first night. Don’t be afraid to ask, whatever you want. If it brought intense pleasure—and didn’t break a number of state and local laws—we were both willing to give it a try.

We had fucked in every position you can imagine, some I was sure had never been tried before by other less-adventurous couples. We were writing our own Kama Sutra: him on top, me on top, me on top facing the other way, him behind me, standing up, sitting down, lying down, legs around his waist, legs around his ears, sixty-nine, upside down, downside up, and on and on. And we had sex everywhere we happened to be when the mood struck, and the mood struck a lot.

Blowjobs and fucking in cars. Hand jobs in crowded movie theaters. Blowjobs and pussy licking under tables at restaurants and bars, in his classroom, in public restrooms. His place. My place. Motels. Closets. Restrooms. The gym. The football field. It was like we were taking a tour of campus and fucking our way around instead of walking.

Not only was Holden an adventurous and creative lover, he was also tender and caring. Don’t get me wrong, he could be physical and a little rough, but he could be gentle and loving, always putting my needs and satisfaction before his. He was an alpha male with a heart, at least when it came to his little teacher’s pet.

Things were going great until the day I was leaving Holden’s class on a bright fall day, rushing to my car because I had to be at work in an hour. I wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings so I didn’t see the man standing next to my car until I was almost on top of him. When I saw him, I froze in my tracks. It was Professor Keith Calloway, my former lover, whom I thought had been fired and moved on.

“Hey Jude,” he said, singing the words. He was leaning against my car with his arms folded over his chest. When he saw me, he pushed himself off the car and held out his arms for a hug that I didn’t accept. “Oh, don’t be like that.”

“What are you doing here, Keith?” I asked, clutching my books to my breasts, looking frantically around the lot, paranoid that his wife might be near. “You know you’re not supposed to bother me.”

The one thing I had not told anyone about Keith—not even Izzy or Holden— was that even after his wife caught us having sex in the natatorium pool and the shit hit the fan, he would not leave me alone. Even after I had made it crystal clear that I wanted nothing more to do with him, he still called all hours of the night and showed up at my place unannounced. He followed me around town and sat in his car outside my work. It was like he was stalking me. And every time we spoke he seemed to just get angrier and angrier. He had never outwardly threatened me, but I had sworn out an order of protection that was supposed to keep him at least fifty yards from wherever I happened to be. I had not seen him in months. Now, here he was, leaning against my car with a devious look on his face. Looking into his eyes, those eyes that used to look at me with love and compassion, was like looking into the eyes of a shark.

He pooched out his bottom lip and made a sad face. “Oh, Jude, I’m not bothering you. Aren’t you happy to see me? Haven’t you missed me? I’ve certainly missed you.”

“Keith, you need to leave me alone,” I said, holding up a hand to keep him at bay. “I don’t want any trouble and your wife made it very clear what she’d do to me if she ever saw me again.”

“But that’s just it, my pet,” he said, smiling broadly as he hooked his thumbs in his belt buckle and tapped it with his fingers. “I’m divorced! The bitch kicked me out. She took the house, the kids, everything. But it was worth it. That was the price I was willing to pay to be with you! Now come on, give your old teacher a hug and a kiss.”

He held out his arms again and smiled, giving me the look of an old lover returning for more. I clutched my books tighter to my chest and took a step back. “Keith, I’m sorry about your marriage, but there is no me and you. Not anymore. I never would have gotten involved with you if I had known that you were married and had a family. You lied to me. I would never do that.”

He gave me a sideways look, scolding me with his eyes. “Oh, come on, Jude, you can drop the ‘I’m no home wrecker’ routine.” He took a step toward me and lowered his voice. “You knew exactly what you were doing when you approached me the first time in my classroom. Sitting there on the front row with your nipples poking through your tee-shirt and your short-shorts, pulling the leg aside to show me your beautiful pussy. All those wonderful selfies you sent...” His eyes went to up and down my body. He licked his lips like a hungry wolf. “That beautiful body. Those fucking tits.” He narrowed his eyes to stare at my crotch. He stuck out his tongue and licked the air like a snake searching for prey. “Still shaving your pussy? You know, I can close my eyes and taste your pussy juices on my tongue.”

“Stop it, Keith,” I said, gritting my teeth. I was doing my best to be brave, but he was scaring me. My voice quivered a little. “It was all a mistake. I should not have done that and I’m sorry. I don’t want anything to do with you now. I want you to leave me alone. Please, you have to leave me alone.”

He narrowed his dark eyes at me. Keith was good looking, in a brooding, dangerous sort of way. That was one of the things that had drawn me to him. He had never hit me or did anything violent, but I always thought he had the potential. He was quick to anger and yelled a lot. I watched his fingers flexing into fists at his sides.

“I can’t leave you alone, Jude,” he said, taking another step closer. He was just a few feet away now. We were at the back edge of the parking lot. I was usually late to class and had to find a parking space where I could. I glanced around. There was no one nearby. The closest people were milling around the grass in front of the psyche building fifty yards away.

“Keith, listen to me, what we had, it was fun and —”

“It was more than fun, Jude,” he said, his voice gravelly, almost a growl. “It was everything. What we had, I mean, it wasn’t just the sex, which was fucking amazing, but the connection, the feelings…” He was rambling, almost talking out of his head. I noticed for the first time that his eyes were red. He was sweating. His hands were trembling. I could smell the alcohol on his hot breath. He was high as a kite. Knowing that frightened me even more. A sober, coherent Keith would listen to reason. But I knew from experience that a Keith who had been drinking and smoking dope only listened to his own urges regardless of the consequences.

I forced myself to stand a little straighter. I raised my voice and held out my hand again. “Keith, stop it! It’s over. We are over. I still care about you and I want you to be happy but there’s nothing here now, nothing sexual. I will not sleep with you again. Period.”

He shocked me when he fell to his knees in front of me and reached out his hands. Tears filled his eyes. “Fine, I can accept that, but Jude, please, I have to have you just one more time. Just one more fuck for old time’s sake. Please. I’m begging you. I’ll die if I don’t fuck you one more time.”

Before I could respond he suddenly reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me down onto the pavement with him, sending my books flying. I tried to scream, but a strong hand over my mouth forced the words back down.

“You fucking bitch,” he growled in my ear. “You think you can just come along and flash that pretty pussy and get whatever you want without worrying about who gets hurt.” He roughly turned me around and put his arm around my neck and squeezed hard. I felt myself starting to black out as his arm cut off my oxygen. I scratched at his arm, fighting to stay awake.

“Fucking whore,” he growled, somehow getting to his feet and pulling me up with him. There was a grassy area next to where I was parked. Twenty yards across the grass was a patch of thick woods. Keith started dragging me toward the trees. I knew what was going to happen if he got me into the woods. He would beat me, rape me, probably hurt me bad. I struggled to break free, but his arm around my neck was like a vice. His right hand had grabbed my right wrist and twisted it behind me. It felt as if my arm was about to break. He ground his crotch into my ass as he pushed me along. I could feel him getting hard already at the anticipation of forcing himself on me. And I was helpless to do anything but allow myself to be forced into the woods until I could get into a better position to fight. Once he turned me around my knee would go for his balls and my fingernails for his eyes. There was no way I was going to make this easy for him.

“Fucking cunt,” Keith growled in my ear. “I’m gonna fuck your ass until you can’t fucking move, you fucking cunt bitch. Come into my classroom and flash your pussy and your tits and ruin my marriage. Hell, you ruined my entire life, you fucking cunt. And I know I’m not the first. And probably won’t be the last. It’s time somebody made you pay. Let’s see how many men will want you when I’m done with you. I’m gonna fucking —”

I suddenly felt myself being jerked backward as the words cut off in Keith’s throat. I was thrown roughly to the side and rolled several times, landing hard on the grass. I heard male voices, angry, threatening. When I finally stopped rolling and was able to look up I saw Holden gripping the front of Keith’s shirt, shaking him like a rag doll. Keith’s nose was bloody. There was blood smeared across the knuckles of Holden’s right hand.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Holden growled, shaking Keith hard enough to rattle his teeth. Keith grabbed onto Holden’s wrists to try and balance himself. He spat blood over the front of Holden’s shirt. Holden hit him again, then looked my way. “Jude? You okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay,” I said, pushing myself up onto my knees. “Please… don’t hurt him…” I put a hand to my throat and tried to swallow. My voice was hoarse. My head was spinning. My knees and elbows were skinned. Otherwise, I thought I was okay.

“Call the police,” Holden said, clamping back on to the front of Keith’s shirt.

“Holden, old pal, come on,” Keith said, forcing a drunken smile as the blood ran from his nose to his chin. “Don’t call the fucking cops. Help me get that bitch into the woods and we’ll both fuck her ass up. Trust me, what she did to me, she’ll do to you! You’re just the fucking flavor of the month.”

“Shut up, you asshole,” Holden growled.

“Oh, come on, man, don’t pretend you’re not tempted. You love that shit, double teaming the girls, gangbanging their fucking brains out… I know you fucking do.”

“Shut the fuck up, Keith,” Holden said, shaking Keith hard again with his teeth gritted and eyes narrowed. “You don’t know shit about me so just shut the fuck up.”

Keith chuckled and tried to keep his wobbly knees from buckling. “I know you well enough, you hypocritical motherfucker. You and that fucking faggot asshole friend of yours, goddamn Wynn Driver. You perverted motherfuckers have used and abused more girls on this campus than anyone. Don’t you act so high and mighty with me, you cocksucking piece of shit.”

“I’m not going to tell you again, Keith, shut the fuck up!” Holden said, shaking Keith hard enough now to buckle his knees. Keith went down hard on his knees and Holden pushed him away, sending him careening backward.

“Motherfucker…” Keith rolled over to his side for a moment, swearing at Holden, then got onto his hands and knees and started puking his guts out. He spat toward the ground and glared sideways at me. “Fucking cunt… this is all your fucking fault...”

Holden told him to shut his mouth, then glanced over at me with his hands in the air. “Jude? Jude? 911? Call them. Now.”

“What? Yes…” I found my purse next to my car and dug out my cell phone and called 911. Within minutes, campus police arrived, then the city cops. Thirty minutes later, Keith was handcuffed in the back of a patrol car with his head resting against the window. His eyes were closed and his mouth was hanging open. The son of a bitch was sleeping like a baby.

“Okay, here’s my card,” the city cop said, holding out his business card between two fingers. “You’ll need to come in and make a formal statement if you want to press charges. Just call me to make an appointment. Otherwise, we’ll just charge him with public intoxication and violating the restraining order and that’ll be it.”

“I… I’m not sure what I should do…” I muttered.

I took the card and slid it into my purse, even though I wasn’t sure I’d be pressing charges against Keith. It was crazy, I know, but I felt responsible for everything that happened.

If I had not targeted Professor Keith Calloway one summer ago, if I had not signed up for his class with the specific intent of seducing my teacher, becoming his pet, maybe Keith would still be married and I wouldn’t be standing here today shaking like a leaf and blaming myself for everything that happened.

Maybe Keith and his wife would still be together.

Maybe he would be going home to his kids every night rather than to some shitty apartment to be alone and drink his problems away.

I should have never set foot in his classroom.

This was all my fault.

Every single bit of it.

“Jude, you okay?” Holden asked, putting a hand on my arm.

“What? Yes, I’m fine…”

“So, you’ll come down and give your statement later?” the cop asked again, giving me a look that only served to make me feel even more guilty.

“I’ll make sure she gets down there later today,” Holden said.

The cop stared at me for a moment, then shook Holden’s hand and headed toward his car. I stood watching with tears in my eyes as the police car pulled away with Keith slumped in the back. Keith didn’t woke up and I was glad. I didn’t want to look into his eyes again. I felt bad enough for everything I’d done to him.

“Jude, it’s okay, he’s not going to bother you again,” Holden said, putting his arms around me and pulling me close. I did not put my arms around him. I just stood there like a limp noodle with my arms dangling at my sides, wondering how many other men I’d hurt in my silly quest to be teacher’s pet.

There was one thing I knew for sure.

Professor Holden Moss would be the last.

CHAPTER TWELVE: Holden

It had been nearly a week since I had seen or talked to Jude, not since the day Keith Calloway attacked her in the parking lot after my class. If I had not been coming out of the psyche building at the same time Keith was dragging her toward the woods—and had not spotted them across the way— things might have turned out very differently. And very badly for Jude and for Keith, who I recalled as being a fairly decent guy before becoming obsessed with Jude.

Like a lot of professors—me and Wynn included—Keith had a reputation of being a major pussy hound. It was hard not to be a swinging dick when you were surrounded by hot, willing coeds all day long.

Jude was not the first student he’d had sex with and probably wouldn’t be the last. Keith was a good-looking guy with a great personality when he was sober. I just hoped his next employer was made aware of his psychological issues and legal problems before exposing him to another field of female students.

I sort of felt sorry for the guy, but his problems could not be entirely blamed on Jude. From a psychological point of view, Keith was an obsessive compulsive with narcissistic tendencies. He zeroed in on Jude and let his own obsession for her devour him. It wasn’t her fault Keith had flipped his lip over her, no more so than any other innocent girl or former girlfriend who was now the victim of a deranged stalker, which, at the end of the day, is what Keith had become.

Honestly, I couldn’t fault him entirely because I had become obsessed with Jude, as well. What started out as just another casual affair with a student had moved on to a higher level, at least for me. I wasn’t in love with Jude—at least not yet—but I certainly had strong feelings for her. Stronger feelings than I had ever had for any girl before. I thought about her constantly, not just about having sex with her, but about just hanging out and spending time. We had fun just watching TV or making dinner or walking through the park or sharing a big plate of French fries in the cafeteria. Jude smothered her fries in ketchup and talked with her mouth full. It was an annoying habit that I had come to love about her.

Jude insisted on driving herself home after the incident, even though I tried to talk her into letting me take her, and that was the last time I’d seen or heard from her. She had stopped coming to class and stopped answering my calls and texts, and when I stopped by her apartment she refused to come to the door.

I talked to the city cop who had answered the 911 call and he said Jude never came down to the station to give a statement or press charges, so Keith was released on his own recognizance and warned to stay away from Jude and keep off the Midwestern campus.

The next time he violated the restraining order it would be a mandatory thirty days in jail with no chance for bail. Same if he ever set foot on the MU campus again. Keith was a fucking asshole, but I didn’t think he wanted revenge badly enough to risk jail time over it, at least not while he was sober.

I stopped by Jude’s apartment several times over the course of the next week, but her roommate Izzy said that Jude had gone home to visit her parents. When I pointed out that Jude’s car was still parked out front, Izzy stumbled over the lie and said that she had dropped her at the airport and drove her car back to the apartment.

“Izzy, please, just tell me what’s going on,” I said, propping a hand on the door frame and leaning in to lower my voice. I glanced past her at inside of the apartment, which was dark and quiet. “I know she’s in there. Why won’t she see me? Why won’t she talk to me? What did I do?”

Izzy gave a nervous glance over her shoulder for a moment, then brought her dark eyes back to mine, as if she were considering letting me in but then thought better of it. She closed the door a little more and leaned her cheek against it.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Professor Moss,” she said with a heavy sigh. “She’s sort of having a meltdown.”

I swallowed hard and glanced past her again. I was an academic by calling, but a medical professional by trade. In my practice I’d worked with dozens of patients experiencing overwhelming feelings of guilt and debilitating depression. I prayed that wasn’t the case with Jude.

I narrowed my eyes at Izzy. “What kind of a meltdown are you talking about?”

“Professor Moss, come on man…” Izzy took another deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, look, she’s blaming herself for a lot of things that have happened over the years. Not just the shit with Keith Calloway, but other stuff that she’s done and people she got herself involved with. Jude is the sweetest girl on earth, Professor, but sometimes the choices she makes are not the best for her. Or the best for others. She realizes that now. And I think she just needs time to sort things out.”

I gave Izzy a look that told her I was not leaving until I knew Jude was all right. I asked, “Blaming herself for what kind of things?”

She glanced back over her shoulder again, then shook her head. “I shouldn’t say anymore. Please, just leave her alone, Professor Moss. She has to work things out on her own. She’ll be okay. You just have to give her time.”

Shaking my head, I said, “It’s the Keith Calloway thing most of all, isn’t it? She blames herself for what happened with that piece of shit.”

“He wasn’t always a piece of shit,” Izzy said sadly. “At least not in Jude’s mind.” Regardless of her words, her eyes told me she agreed with me, but she shrugged and told me she had to go. I put my hand on the door before she could close it.

“Izzy, please, tell her to call me. Nothing that happened is her fault. I’m trained… I mean… I can help her work through this. I know how these things work. Jude is amazing. None of this is her fault. I want to help her. I care for her. Very deeply…”

“That’s nice of you to say, Professor Moss,” Izzy said as she eased the door closed another inch. “But she is not feeling very good about herself right now, but she will soon. Please, just give her time. Go home. And have a good night.”

“Izzy, I really do care for her.”

“I know you do, Professor,” Izzy said quietly. “I’ll make sure she knows that. Don’t worry.”

She closed the door and clicked the deadbolt, leaving me standing on the stoop with a hole in my chest that only one person could fill.

And at that moment I wasn’t sure I’d ever see that person again.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Jude

In my dream, I was being judged. I mean literally and figuratively being judged, as in on trial for my alleged crimes with my fate left up to the mercy of the court, a group of people who didn’t know me from Eve.

My alleged crimes…

What a bullshit word my brain had conjured up in a half-hearted attempt to defend my own actions to myself.

Alleged, a word plucked straight from my sophomore criminal law class, no doubt.

Alleged.

There was no more greater bullshit word in the English language, at least when it came to helping criminals like me hide behind the good old Constitution and avoid the law.

Even when they saw you commit a crime—had you on video tape, even—and had you dead to rights, they had to use the word “alleged” so as not to violate the old “innocent until proven guilty” routine.

What a crock of shit.

Alleged.

There was nothing alleged about my crimes.

I’d committed them blatantly and willingly, without ever giving a shit who might get hurt in the process. As long as my rocks got off, that’s all I cared about. I got mine. Fuck yours.

I’d committed every crime of passion with a smile on my face, knowing full well what I was doing, without regard to who would have fun and who would get hurt.

In the dream, I was in a courtroom with a judge, a jury, a gallery filled with spectators, and tables for the lawyers. I was sitting at the defendant’s table with shackles around my wrists and ankles, and a thick, leather, spikey dog collar around my neck. There was a leash made of heavy chain running from a loop at the front of the collar to another loop bolted to the floor. I couldn’t have moved from the chair if I’d tried.

I looked down at myself in horror. I was wearing an ill-fitting orange jumpsuit and pink fuzzy slippers. I started thinking, who dressed me in this getup? Don’t they know I look terrible in orange??

I glanced around the room. Izzy sat sitting quietly beside me, wearing what looked like a black choir robe and a white wig like the ones I’d seen on some movie the one time I tried watching PBS. I tried to ask her what was going on but she shushed me with her hand without looking at me.

I looked past Izzy toward the prosecution table. There sat old Professor Markle, dressed in a similar black choir robe and white wig, though his robe was too big for his skinny frame and his wig was askew to one side. He kept fiddling with the wig, but it kept sliding to the side.

Sitting next to him was Keith Calloway.

Suddenly, I knew why I was on trial. Though I wasn’t quite sure of the specific charges yet, I knew they would be numerable and impossible to argue. I was fucked, but not in the good way.

There was a tall bench at the front of the room where the judge would sit. I swallowed hard as a door behind the bench opened and the judge appeared.

He was tall, with serious blue eyes and a gorgeous face. The judge was not wearing a robe. He was completely naked, all muscles and attitude, with a long cock that swayed from side to side as he moved to sit behind the bench. He took his seat and cast his beautiful eyes toward the courtroom, but avoiding looking directly at me. Holden was the judge. And he did not look amused or happy to see me. He picked up the heavy gavel from the top of the bench and pounded the sound block with it three times.

“This court will come to order,” Holden announced, his voice rich and deep. His voice echoed off the walls in my mind, like he was speaking from deep inside a cave. He turned toward Izzy’s boyfriend, Earl, who was standing at parade rest next to the bench wearing his campus police uniform. “Bailiff, read the charges that have been lodged against this defendant.”

Earl glared at me as if he was already pronouncing me to be guilty. He pointed a stiff finger directly at my face and listed the charges from memory.

“The defendant is charged with severe moral turpitude. Immoral conduct. Sexual promiscuity. A blatant lack of regard for the feelings of others. A total disregard for the repercussions of her actions. For being extremely narcissistic and totally self-centered. For not giving one red fuck about who she hurts by being a horny, skanky bitch. And for displaying a long history of lying to herself and to everyone around her.”

He swung his arm around to direct his finger toward Keith, who was sitting next to Markle with his forehead resting on his arms, softly crying. His wife and two kids sat in the gallery behind him, also crying. I turned around to look behind me. The room was filled with men, women, and children that I didn’t recognize, but somehow knew I had hurt over the years. Even my old therapist was there, the one who fucked me every time I came in for help. Jesus, I hoped they didn’t let that bastard testify…

Earl stiffened his finger in Keith’s direction and bellowed on. “And most of all, your honor, for destroying this good man’s life. A man who had a wife and children and a home and a career of his own before the defendant so viciously and willfully seduced him with the promise of amazing fucking sex. She literally fucked this dude’s ass up, your honor. The motherfucker can’t even hold a job because of what this bitch done to him.”

So, there is was. I was on trial because I had chosen not to control my sexual urges and had thereby destroyed the lives of others without hesitation, regret, or shame. Only Keith sat at the plaintiff’s desk, but I was pretty sure this could turn into a class action case pretty quickly if Holden asked anyone in the gallery I’d hurt to raise their hand.

Earl folded his massive arms over his chest, turned toward Holden, and shook his head. “I’m sure there’s more shit she’s done, your honor, but I can’t remember it all. Do you want me to just take her out back and shoot her now? Maybe the football team could fuck her first? It is homecoming, you know.”

“Not just yet,” Holden said calmly, quietly, looking at me for the first time. “Let’s hear what the cunt has to say before this court passes judgment.”

Earl looked disappointed as he took a step back to stand beside the bench. His big shoulders went up and down. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll just tell the boys to be ready, your honor.”

“Good plan,” Holden said, the gavel bouncing in the palm of his left hand. He stared directly at me with a look of utter disdain on his face. “Well, skanky whore? How do you plead?”

“Can he call me that?” I asked, leaning over to whisper in Izzy’s ear.

“He can if it’s the truth,” Izzy said nonchalantly, still not looking at me. She was leaning back in the chair painting her fingernails blood red.

“How do you plead, you crazy nympho bitch?” Holden asked again. He aimed the gavel my way, closing one eye like he was sighting a pistol. For a moment I thought he was going to throw it at me.

“Um… I plead… not guilty!” I announced, even though I felt guilty as hell and somehow knew there was no point in putting up a defense. There couldn’t be a point. I was drop dead guilty of every charge and everyone in the courtroom knew it. But I lied anyway. I pleaded not guilty. The words tasted like sulfur on my tongue.

Izzy stopped painting her nails and gave me a sideways look “Seriously? Not guilty? You are the guiltiest bitch I know. You’re seriously gonna plead not guilty?”

I frowned at her. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?”

She rolled her eyes. “Bitch, are you guilty or not?”

I thought about the question for a moment as I glanced around the courtroom. Keith’s head was sandwiched between his arms on the plaintiff’s desk. His shoulders bounced up and down as the sobs shuddered through him. Old man Markle had taken off the robe and was sitting naked now, giving me the stink eye as he adjusted his wig with one hand and tugged on his cock with the other. His cock was no longer small and withered. It was huge and dark and veiny, like a foot-long sausage about to pop from its casing. For a moment, I thought I saw it smile at me. Markle grinned and licked his lips as he stared back at me.

It wasn’t just Markle staring at me. I could feel the heat of every eye on me now, burning my skin, making me sweat. I gave Izzy a pleading look, but it was no use. Even my best friend had already judged me guilty. She blew on her wet nails and called me a skanky bitch. I slumped back in the chair and let my body go limp.

Holden rolled his eyes at me for a moment, then waved the gavel at Earl, who was now seated in front of the bench and typing on a court reporter machine. Holden said, “Fine, whatever, let the record show that the defendant is also a fucking liar and has pled not guilty to all charges.” He waved a hand toward Izzy. “Counselor? You may call your first witness.”

Izzy got to her feet and spread out her hands. “I got nothing, your honor. Like you said, the defendant is a fucking liar who refuses to accept responsibility for her actions.” She pointed a red nail toward the plaintiff’s table. “In fact, I’d like to sit over there for the rest of the trial. I don’t want to get none of her skank on my clean robe.”

“Motion granted,” Holden said, gaveling striking the sound block loud enough to make me jump. “You may move away from the guilty bitch.”

“You’re on your own, skank,” Izzy growled. She moved to sit on the other side of Keith at the plaintiff’s table. She put a hand on Keith’s back and started rubbing circles in an attempt to soothe him.

“Iz? Izzy? Don’t you fucking abandon me, too!” I was screaming but she ignored me. I could barely see because my eyes were overflowing with tears. I turned to face Holden. “Holden, please, you know me. You know deep down I’m a good person. You know that. You’ve told me that.”

“I told you what you wanted to hear so you’d let me fuck you in the ass,” Holden said with a bored sigh. He turned toward Markle, who was still staring at me, beating his meat beneath the table. “Mr. Markle, first of all, let me apologize for the suffering this defendant has personally caused you.”

“No… problem… your honor…” Markle said, the words coming out on gusts of air. “I’ll… be fine… in a… minute…”

“Uh, Mr. Markle, could you could stop doing that for a moment.” Markle’s hand did not slow or stop. He grunted a few times, but no words came out. Holden shook his head and blew out his cheeks. “Fine. Okay. Just try not to make too big of a mess. You may call your first witness.”

Markle’s hand didn’t stop when he stood up to address the court. In fact, his cock had grown even larger, to comic proportions, like some weird porno special effect. Using two hands to pump himself now, he said, “Your honor… there’s no need to… prolong the inevitable... Miss Allen is guilty as fuck… and we all know it.” He turned toward the jury and arched his bushy eyebrows. “Right, peeps?” Every head nodded as Markle turned back to face Holden. His cock had grown so big that he had rested it on the table and stood flexing his crooked, old fingers. “So, let’s cut the shit, your honor and put this bitch away. And I’m going to need a little help getting this home. Unless you would allow me to shove it up this guilty bitch’s twat before you pass sentence.”

“Just hold your horses for a moment, Mr. Markle,” Holden said, hands patting the air. He directed the gavel at me again and told me to stand the fuck up. I slowly pushed myself up from the table. I realized that the orange jumpsuit and pink fuzzy slippers were gone.

I was still in chains, but totally naked now. I was smeared in what looked and smelled like… shit. I held up my hands. They were covered in… I took a whiff… fuck… it was shit… I was covered in shit from head to toe…

My head suddenly felt cold. I brought up my fingertips up to find that my long hair had been shaved down to stubble. I rubbed my shitty hands over my scalp and started to cry.

Holden glared at me with hatred in his eyes. “Judith Rebecca Allen, also known as ‘Jude’, also known as ‘skanky bitch’, also known as ‘fucking slut’, also known as ‘class whore’, also known as ‘the fuck machine’, you are hereby found guilty of being a self-centered cunt who does whatever feels good without worrying about who you might be hurt along the way.”

“That’s not true,” I said. “Holden, please…”

“You are also found guilty of trying to blame your uncontrolled urges on an outdated psychological concept as a way of reconciling your actions.” He shook his head and scoffed. “Nymphomania, what a load of shit.”

“But, I have been diagnosed.” I turned to the therapist who first diagnosed and fucked me when I was just a teenager. He was sitting in the first row with his arm around Keith’s wife. Her hand was rubbing his knee. She had stopped crying and was grinning at me.

I pointed at him and raised my voice. “Ask him! He is the one who said I was a nymphomaniac! Ask him!”

The therapist held up his hands and shook his head. “I totally agree with the court, your honor. She fucked up my life, too.”

“Let the record show that another victim has come forward,” Holden said, nodding at Earl, who grunted and kept on typing. Holden directed his judgmental gaze back to me. It broke my heart to see such anger in his eyes.

He asked, “Do you have any last words before this court passes judgment?”

I looked all around the room. Everyone in the gallery was staring at me. Keith’s wife and children were looking at me with such hatred that I felt the heat of their eyes on my cheeks. Markle’s hands had fallen still, though his cock remained laid out on the table like a beached walrus.

Keith had lifted his head from the table and was starting at me through tearful eyes. Izzy had moved to sit on Earl’s lap at the reporter’s station. Her robe was off now. Earl was massaging her brown tits as he glared at me with the eyes of an angry pit bull looking for something to attack.

I looked toward Holden, hoping to find a friendly face, or at least a sympathetic one. There was no was sympathy to be had. He was leaning back with his arms crossed over his thick chest, slowly shaking his head.

I said, “I guess all I can say is… I’m sorry…”

“That’s it?” Holden asked, snorting a laugh. “You’re sorry.”

“The bitch is sorry,” Izzy said, huffing. “Amazing.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, your honor!” Markle said, his voice cracking. He gestured at the giant cock on the table, comically attached to his skinny body. “Look what you did to me. Look what you left me with. Sorry… fuck your apology… and fuck you!”

“She’s sorry…” Keith muttered, glancing back at his wife and kids. “After everything she did… after destroying our lives… all she can say is she’s fucking sorry. Can you believe that, kids? The cunt who fucked up all our lives is sorry.”

Keith’s son, who looked to be about five or six, slid off his mom’s lap and toddled toward me. He held up his stubby middle fingers and growled at me. “Fuck you’re sorry,” he said in an adorable little voice. “And fuck you for fucking my daddy!” He turned and ran back to his mother and buried his adorable little face between her breasts.

“What shall be sufficient punishment for this guilty bitch?” Holden asked, getting to his feet and spreading out his hands. He looked toward Keith’s wife. “What say you, Mrs. Calloway?”

Keith’s wife and kids stood up and faced me. With the kids clutched to her sides, she calmly said, “Death, your honor. Death to the skanky bitch!”

I snorted. “You can’t be serious.”

The gallery got to its feet and started to chant in unison. “Death! Death! Death! Death!”

Izzy and Earl started clapping like they were in church and singing together. “Death! Death! Death!”

I was horrified. I wrapped my arms around myself and looked back to Holden. “Please, Holden… please…”

He just shrugged with his eyes and held up his hands. “Hey, the people have spoken. Death to the bitch. My hands are tied.”

“But, Holden, I…”

“Oh, one other thing,” Holden said, leaning over the bench to finally offer me a smile. “You know that song, Hey Jude?”

I swallowed hard, blinked at him. “Yes.”

“I hate that fucking song.” With that he slammed the gavel down hard on the sound block, making the floor beneath my feet open up. I fell into a fiery hole to forever burn in my own sins.

Wow. What a lousy fucking dream.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Jude

Izzy knocked quietly on my bedroom door then stuck her head in before I could tell her to go away. I knew I should have locked the door, not that that would have stopped Izzy. If Izzy wanted in, she would get in. And if she couldn’t somehow unlock the door, she’d just get Earl to smash it in.

She called out to me in that sing-song voice of hers. “Hey, Jude, that was Professor Moss at the door. Again.”

“I don’t want to see him,” I said, my head buried beneath the covers. “I don’t want to see anyone.” I suddenly remembered how she had treated me in the dream. I growled at her under my breath. “And I’m pretty pissed at you right now!”

The room was dark even though it was after three in the afternoon. I had the blackout shades down and the curtains pulled tight. The only light in the room was the red glow of the numbers on the digital alarm clock on the nightstand: 3:12 PM.

I heard Izzy take a deep breath and walk into the room, leaving the bedroom door open wide enough to let the light shine in from the hallway. I felt the bed bounce as she climbed in next to me. She lay behind me and looped her arm around my shoulders to spoon with me.

“You can’t stay in this cave for the rest of your life, little bear,” she said softly in my ear, giving me a good squeeze. “And this whole ‘I’m so depressed’ thing is getting pretty old. So how about you crawl out of your hole and go take a shower while I heat you up a nice can of soup.”

“I don’t want soup and I don’t need a shower,” I said angrily, sticking my head out from under the covers to glare at her. My hair was greasy and matted to my head. Izzy was right. I reeked of sweat and self-pity.

“Uh, you might not need soup but you could sure use a shower,” she said, playfully shoving her nose against my hair and taking a deep whiff. “Lordy girl, you’re starting to smell like an old sock. My nose is pretty pissed off at you right now.”

“Then get the fuck off me!” I snapped, trying to push her away. “Just get out of my room and leave me the fuck alone!”

I heard her take a deep breath as she pulled her arm from around me. “You’re going to force me to do something I don’t really want to do,” she said.

“Go. Away.”

“You’re making me take drastic measures, missy. This ain’t gonna be pretty.”

I pulled the comforter down a little more and glanced over my shoulder at her. In the darkened room, I could just make out the outline of her dark face. She was not smiling. Fearing the answer, I asked, “What are you going to do?”

Without another word, Izzy jumped to her feet on the bed and started bouncing up and down as if she was on a trampoline. She grabbed the comforter and jerked it off my naked body, wadding it up and throwing it to the floor. As she bounced up and down she started to sing with her hands swaying in the air.

“YMCA! IT’S FUN TO STAY AT THE Y-M-C-A-A!!”

“GODDAMMIT, IZZY!” I screamed at her as my body bounced up and down on the bed, my big tits flouncing on my chest. “Fucking stop it you crazy bitch! Get off my fucking bed!”

“You fucking stop it!” she roared, still bouncing. “IT’S FUN TO STAY AT THE—"

“Stop what? I’m not doing anything!”

“Y-M-C-A! Y-M-C-A-A!!”

“Izzy!! Stop what??”

“Stop blaming yourself for everybody else’s problems, you crazy bitch!” she said, bouncing, panting. “It’s not your fault Keith Calloway is a fucking psycho asshole piece of shit! Stop feeling sorry for him and stop feeling sorry for yourself!”

“I’m not!”

“Bullshit! And stop avoiding Holden Moss, you moron! The guy really cares for you!”

“How the fuck do you know that?” I asked.

“Because he just told me he does!” She stopped bouncing and started breathing hard. She put her hands on her knees with her feet straddling my hips, huffing and puffing as she looked down at me. “Fuck, I might need a doctor. And why are you naked?”

“You just don’t understand, Iz,” I said, ignoring her question and glaring up at her with tears in my eyes. “Keith was a good guy. He had a wife and kids. A home. A good job. A good life. I fucked all that up. I fucked him up! I’ll never forgive myself for that!”

“That’s bullshit,” Izzy said, lowering herself to sit on my belly. “Keith was always fucked up, even before you got involved with him. You just gave the psycho son of a bitch something to focus on! You did his wife and kids a favor!”

“No, no I didn’t,” I said quietly. “If I’d never zeroed in on him… If I had never gone into that classroom intent on seducing him…”

“Jude, for pete’s fucking sake, nobody knew the guy was married,” Izzy said, reaching down to brush strands of red hair from my face. “Do you think you were the first student he ever fucked?”

I blinked at her. “No, he told me he had sex with other students.”

“So that’s on him,” Izzy said. “He hid the fact that he was married. He screwed more girls than just you. You just happened to be with him when he got caught by his wife! The guy is a lying, cheating, fucking asshole, Jude. Stop beating yourself up over this cocksucker! He’s not worth it.”

“I’m not so sure,” I said, sniffing back tears.

“What I know is that you have a wonderful man who is worrying himself sick over you,” Izzy said, putting her hands on my boobs and giving them a playful squeeze. “And you’re letting these perfect titties go to waste when that man could be squeezing and kissing them for you.”

I grinned and pushed her hands away, covering my tits with my arms. “Are you sure you’re not a lesbian, Iz?”

“Fuck no, girl, I ain’t munching on your red rug so don’t bother asking,” Izzy said, moving her hands to my cheeks. She squeezed her hands together, pooching out my lips. “I just love the fuck out of you, that’s all.”

I smiled with tears in my eyes. “I love you, too, Iz.”

“Good. Now, get your ass out of this bed and into that shower. Then get your ass over to Holden Moss’ place before he worries himself sick over you.”

She crawled off the top of me, then grabbed my bare feet to pull me off the foot of the bed. She took my hands and pulled me up, then directed me toward the bathroom and gave my bare ass a slap.

“I gotta say, though,” she said lustfully as I walked toward the shower. “If I was a lez-bee-on-it I would be all up in your shit.”

“That’s good to know,” I said, turning around and putting my hands on my boobs to shake them at her. “Hold that thought. If things don’t go well with Holden I might come back here looking to switch teams!”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Holden

“So, your flight arrives at nine-fifteen tonight,” I said, staring at Wynn’s smiling face on my laptop screen. I had just made it home from Jude’s apartment when the Skype call dinged on my laptop. Wynn was in Denver, getting ready to catch a connecting flight to Springfield. I was in a foul fucking mood after my conversation with Jude’s roommate, Izzy, but I mustered a smile for my old pal’s benefit.

“Yep, I’ve got an hour layover here in Denver, then I should hit the ground there around nine-fifteen to nine-thirty tonight.” He chuckled. “I probably shouldn’t use the phrase ‘hit the ground’ when it comes to air travel. I should land safely and gently there around nine-fifteen or nine-thirty.”

Wynn always made me smile, even when I didn’t feel like doing so. “Cool. I’m looking forward to hanging out with you this weekend. You need me to pick you up at the airport?”

“Nope, the association was kind enough to rent me a car for the weekend,” he said. His smile faded into a frown. “So, you’re looking forward to hanging out with me this weekend? What about your new girlfriend? Jude? Surely you didn’t clear your calendar with that gorgeous piece of ass just to spend the fucking weekend with me?”

I forced the smile again. “Ah, yeah, actually… we’re… taking a break…”

“Taking a break? Jesus, what are you guys, fifteen?” He scrunched up his nose. “Ah, fuck, Holden. What did you do?”

I frowned at the screen. “What? I didn’t do anything.”

“Then why are you taking a break?”

“Because… well fuck… I don’t know,” I said, getting angry at myself. “We just are.”

He nodded and rubbed his chin knowingly. “I gotta tell you, buddy, I’m a little surprised. I mean, the way you talked about this girl, well, honestly, I thought maybe she was more than a one-night stand.”

“Yeah, well…”

He sighed. “Honestly, from what you’ve been telling me about her I was hoping to sample those delights myself this weekend to see if she made me walk on Cloud 9 like she does you. I mean, if you wanted to share her, of course.”

“Of course,” I said without hesitation. “I think Jude would love you and vice versa.”

“Oh well. Now it sounds like you’ve fallen off that cloud. At least for now.”

I pushed Jude to the back of my mind and played my man card. “Yeah… well… whatever. I’m sure we can find another girl or two to play with us this weekend.”

“No worries,” Wynn said, wiggling his cellphone at the screen. “I still have my little black book of horny bitches in the Springfield area. We’ll be neck-deep in pussy before the weekend is out.”

“Sounds like a perfect plan,” I said, glancing at my watch. It was nearly five o’clock on a Friday night. Sadly, I had no plans and nowhere I needed to go. I could have gone to one of the campus bars and picked up a girl for the night, but my heart—and my cock— just wasn’t in the mood for a little strange. There was a case of Corona in the fridge. Maybe I’d just order a pizza and see how many of those I could drink before passing out in my own puke.

“Hey, you okay?” Wynn asked, tapping a fingertip to the screen.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m good,” I said, nodding. “I was just making a grocery list in my head. You know; beer, chips, rubbers, porn—the essentials. I’ll see you when you get here later tonight.”

“Okay, pal,” Wynn said. “Rest up the old cock tonight because this weekend is going to be fucking epic, no pun intended. You have my word.”

“Sounds good. Chat with you soon.”

The smile dropped from my lips the moment I clicked off the Skype call. I hung up quickly before I could tell Wynn what I was really thinking, that none of us were in our right minds; me, him, Jude, all the other women we had fucked together and separately over the years. We were all a bunch of sex maniacs that didn’t give a flying shit what happened to anyone so long as we got our rocks off. And this weekend would be the same.

I closed the laptop and was picking up the phone to order that pizza when the doorbell rang. I ignored it, figuring it was my pain in the ass neighbor Larry wanting to borrow my lawn mower or some other tool he’d never bother to return. I was looking up the number of Domino’s on my phone when the doorbell rang three more times in the next ten seconds, I set the phone aside and went to answer the door, ready to tell Larry to get off my motherfucking porch.

I jerked open the door.

Jude was standing on my front porch.

I felt my heart start beating again.

“What are you doing here?” I asked because I could think of nothing else to say. “I thought you were, well, I don’t know what.”

“I was being stupid,” she said quietly. She lifted her chin and tried to smile. “And I’m here hoping you will forgive me.”

I leaned against door and smiled. I sighed heavily, as if a week’s worth of tension was leaving my body via my breath. I said, “There’s nothing to forgive.” I pulled open the door and stepped aside. “Want to come inside so we can… talk?”

“Actually, I’m afraid if I come in there at this moment we’ll just rip each other’s clothes off and I’ll forget to say everything I’ve come here to say.”

I frowned at her words for a moment, then shrugged and stepped out onto the porch. I glanced across the street. Larry was in his front yard using my hedge clippers to trim the bushes in front of his house. He held up a hand and I gave him a nod, then took Jude’s arm to direct her to the porch swing.

“Okay, we can talk out here if you don’t mind nosey neighbors.”

“I love this neighborhood,” she said as we sat down and I started swinging us gently with my feet planted on the plank porch. She glanced Larry’s way. He was trying to trim the hedge and spy on us at the same time. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to slice off a hand. “I assume that’s the neighborhood gossip.”

“The neighborhood is filled with gossipers,” I said. I bumped her with my elbow. “But forget him. Talk to me, Jude. What’s going on with you?”

“Am I talking to my lover or to my therapist?” she asked. She folded her hands in her lap and pressed her thumbs together. “I mean, if you don’t mind being both.”

“Which one do you want to talk to first?” I asked. “I just need to flip the switch in my brain and we’ll be good to go.”

“I think I need therapy more than I need to fuck,” she said with a sad smile. She glanced at me from the corner of her eyes. “Which is something I never thought I’d be saying.”

“Okay then, Dr. Holden Moss at your service.” Switching into psychotherapy mode was easy for me because, like it or not, I was always psychoanalyzing people in the back of my brain. I wasn’t judgmental, at least I tried hard not to be. I was just fascinated by how the human brain worked—or sometimes—didn’t work. I folded my hands in my lap to match hers and gave her a nod. “Please, Miss Allen, tell me what’s bothering you.”

Jude took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Quietly, with her eyes closed, she said, “I hate what I did to Keith Calloway and his family. I really hurt them all and I feel terrible about it. Like it’s all my fault. Every bit of it.”

“You did not hurt Keith Calloway or his family,” I said, keeping my voice steady and void of emotion. “To the contrary, I’m sure you brought Keith immense happiness and pleasure during your time together. It was Keith who hurt Keith’s family by making the choices he made. By cheating on his wife. By neglecting his job. By violating the court order to stay away from you. He took advantage of you, Jude, and the situation. He used you, not the other way around. You have no reason to feel badly over the choices Keith Calloway made.”

“But he might not have made those choices if I had not zeroed in on him,” she said, staring down at her hands. “Just like I zeroed in on you. I decided to seduce him—and you— as part of my stupid nymphomania games, without worrying about who would be hurt by my actions.”

“Jude, did you know Keith was married when you got involved with him? Did you know he had a wife and kids at home?”

She shook her head slowly. “No, I asked around to make sure. Everyone said he as single.”

“Did you think you were the first student he had slept with?”

She shook her head. “No. Again, I asked around. He had a bit of a reputation.” She bumped me with her shoulder. “Kind of like you.”

“Let’s leave my reputation out of this,” I said, smiling even though I was trying hard not to. “The point is, you did not know he was married. Correct?”

“Yes, correct. I would never get involved with a married man. I would never intentionally break up someone’s home. I would never do that.”

“So, if Keith lied to you about being married, you had no idea he had a family who might be hurt by your involvement with him. So, your intentions toward him were honorable, or at least as honorable as they could be when sex comes into play,” I said. “You never meant to hurt Keith or anyone else. So why are you blaming yourself now for an outcome that you could not possibly predict? There was no malice of forethought. You were ignorant of the truth. That is on Keith, not on you.”

I was a little surprised at how quickly my psyche training was coming back to me. I remembered that there were things about being a therapist that I truly loved, but more things that I hated, like taking every patient’s sadness home with me at the end of every day. But Jude was different. I wanted to take away her sadness. I wanted to absorb it from her body and absolve her from guilt. I wanted to make her feel better. I wanted to make her happy. At that moment, her happiness was all that mattered to me. I resisted the urge to put my hand on her leg and tell her it was all going to be okay.

“I should have known something was up,” she said. “All the sneaking around. The dark places. The late nights. Him telling me not to say anything to anyone about our affair. Fuck, I should have known something was up. I was just so… blind.”

“Maybe so,” I said. “But that does not mean you’re to blame for Keith’s troubles. Keith was cheating on his wife. He had cheated on her numerous time. You just happened to be with Keith when he got caught and dragged you into the middle of his troubles. He blamed you because he would not take responsibility for his own actions.”

“I dunno…”

“Keith decided to leave his family, Jude. You didn’t ask him to. You refused to have anything else to do with him. That’s when Keith decided to stalk and then attack you. I know you feel like you’re partially to blame for Keith’s problems, Jude, but that simply is not the case. If anything, you’re another victim of Keith’s deceit and lies. Rather than feeling sorry for the son of a bitch, you should be pissed off at him. Be mad at Keith, not at yourself, because you are amazing…”

She blinked at me. “I am?”

“You are,” I said with an affirming nod. “You are the most amazing woman I have ever met, but you’re caught up in your own head. You over analyze everything you do, thinking there must be a psychological reason for doing those things. You just need to spend some time outside of your head, Jude. Stop thinking so goddamn much. Sometimes it’s okay to do things just because those things feel good.”

She smiled sideways at me. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re the one fucking me now and that feels amazingly good.”

I shook my head adamantly. “I’m still your therapist at this moment,” I said seriously. “As your lover, I’d just tell you to let Keith deal with being Keith and move on. None of this was your fault. You have not directly or intentionally hurt anyone. So, stop beating yourself up.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She closed her eyes and seemed to relax as the swing moved slowly back and forth. A gentle breeze blew the hair back from her cheeks, making her sigh.

“You should have never stopped practicing,” she said, resting her head on my shoulder. “You’re very good.”

“Ah, I’m just okay,” I said, leaning my cheek against the top of her head. “Are you okay now?”

Her hand moved over to my thigh and she gave it a squeeze. I felt my cock twitch in my pants, so happy to be back in play.

“I will be more than okay in about thirty seconds,” she said, leaning in to stick her tongue in my ear. Little sparks shot through my body.

“What happens in thirty seconds?” I asked, putting my arm around her shoulders to pull her close. Her hand crept further up my thigh.

“That’s about how long you have to get me inside before I start tearing your clothes off,” she said. She nodded at Larry, who had given up pretending to trim the hedges and was staring directly at us with his mouth hanging open. “Unless, of course, you’d like to put on a little show for your neighbor.”

“Fuck my neighbor,” I said, getting quickly to my feet and holding my hand out for her to take.

“I’d rather fuck you,” she said coyly, taking my hand to follow me inside. She pretended to look at an imaginary watch on her wrist. “And now you have ten… nine… eight… seven…”

She never made it to six.

EPILOGUE: Jude

There is no better sex than make up sex. Okay, that may not be true, but when you’re having make up sex that’s exactly what you think. Holy shit, this sex is freakin’ amazing! We should break up more often!

Maybe Holden and I weren’t exactly making up because technically we’d never been a couple or apart, but fuck it. I dubbed it make up sex because calling it “we’d been on a break because I had been a crazy bitch” sex just didn’t sound nearly as fun.

You could call it whatever you wanted, the sex began the moment we stepped into Holden’s house and closed the door. We wasted no time going at each other, like two wild animals that had been kept apart during mating season.

Holden practically ripped my tee-shirt over my head and I literally popped a couple of buttons getting him out of his shirt. Then he tore off my shorts and panties, then somehow got out of his slacks and boxers without skipping a beat. In less than a minute we had gone from two fully dressed adults sitting on a porch swing to being completely naked and ravaging each other just inside the door.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Holden said, pulling me into him and covering my mouth with his. He shoved his tongue between my lips and growled. “Don’t ever make me wait like that again. It’s just cruel.”

“I can tell that some parts of you missed me more than others,” I said as I felt his hard cock pushing into my stomach, sliding up and down. I reached between us and took his cock in my right hand and his balls in my left and started working them both. I began tugging his cock into me as my fingers rolled his ball sack. I could feel little drops of hot juices coming from the slit as I rubbed the tip around my stomach.

I sighed in his ear. “God, you’re so fucking hard… I’ve missed the feel of your hard cock in my hands…”

“Have you missed it in your pussy?” he asked, a sly grin on his face. Without warning, Holden reached down to clutch my ass in his hands and picked me up and lifted me onto him. I put my hands around his neck and my legs around his waist. He pressed my back against the wall, and holding onto my ass, brought my pussy to meet the tip of his rigid cock. I was already gushing like a hot spring, so when he brought my pussy hole to the cock head it slid in easily, making the breath catch in my throat.

“Oh… fuck… yes… that’s it… that’s… fuck…” Holden mumbled, easing my pussy past the head and onto the shaft. As inch after inch of him impaled me, the breath rushed from my lungs. I laced my fingers behind his head and moaned.

“Yes… fuck me… Holden… shove that hard cock… into my… oh… fuck... yes… my…”

“Tight hot pussy,” he growled in my ear. Holden impaled me as fully as he could, stopping only when the head of his cock hit my inner wall and could go no more. He was so strong. The muscles in his arms pulsed as he held onto my ass and swung me back and forth onto his cock like a human swing. It was like being on the sexiest ride on earth.

“Does that feel good, baby?’ Holden asked, pressing his forehead to mine as the motion of his arms brought me back and forth.

“Fuck… that’s… better than… good…” I moaned. “Fuck me harder… Holden… fuck me… faster… deeper… fuck me… oh… god… fuck… me…”

Holden pressed my back to the wall and tightened his grip on my ass cheeks. He started slamming his cock into me with such force that the pictures on the wall bounced from their nails. I grunted with every thrust as he pushed the breath from my lungs. My big tits flounced on my chest, slapping back and forth, back and forth.

“Oh… fuck… baby… I’m… fuck… I’m… going to… fuck… fuck…” The orgasm ignited inside me like a stick of dynamite going off deep inside a mine. I shuddered at first then felt an overwhelming ball of heat deep inside my cunt burning its way to get out. It sent shockwaves throughout my entire body. I began to twitch and shudder. My eyes squeezed tightly shut and my toes curled without my brain ordering them to do so.

“Yes… fuck… I’m gonna... cum…” Holden said, biting at my ear. He started fucking me harder, harder, harder, slamming me against the wall, the head of his cock battering against my cervix, making me grunt with every thrust.

“Cum with me… baby… cum… with me…” I held my breath and tightened my grip around his neck as my entire body tensed. I could feel his cock everywhere inside me, filling me up and making me hot and making me cum and cum again. I tensed my pussy muscles around his cock and milked the thick shaft for all it was worth. I screamed loud enough that the nosy neighbor across the street probably heard me.

“Cum… Holden… cum… with me… cum… nowwwwwww…”

I felt Holden’s body get hard as a rock. His cock jackhammered in and out of me, slamming me back and forth into the wall. Pictures fell off the wall. I bumped my head but didn’t care. Holden shoved his cock inside me as far as it would go and howled like a wolf baying at the moon as he filled me with his white-hot seed.

“Yes… fuck… yessss….”

Our bodies shuddered into one another like two shifting plates beneath the surface of the earth. He grunted. I moaned. He growled. I screamed. He jerked. I shook. And a moment later, we were covered in sweat, cum, and juices, laughing as we tried to catch our breath and keep from toppling over.

“I’m glad you came back,” he said, pressing his forehead to mine.

“I’m glad you waited,” I said. “And thanks for the therapy session. It really helped.”

“Dr. Moss is here anytime you need to unload or load up,” he said with a smile. “You doing okay now?”

“Oh, I am better than okay,” I said as I wrapped my arms around his neck and rested my cheek on his chest. “I am just fine.”

* * *

We spent the evening fucking our way around Holden’s house.

The living room on the sofa.

The kitchen table.

The bed.

The floor next to the bed.

The shower.

Back to the kitchen for pizza and more sex.

The time passed quickly and before we knew it we were both a sweaty, stinky mess. Even with the quick shower thrown in, we looked and smelled like we had run a marathon. So, when Holden suggested we take a nice hot bath and relax, I thought it was a perfect idea.

Holden lit some candles, then went to find us something to drink while I filled the tub with steaming hot water and some lavender bubble bath I had found in the bathroom closet.

I knew Holden had never purchased bubble bath in his life. Guys don’t take bubble baths. It was obviously left behind by one of the many women who had been lucky enough to spend time with Holden over the years.

Most women probably would have been jealous, but I totally wasn’t. I was not the jealous type. You couldn’t be promiscuous like me and expect things you would not give in return, like commitment and monogamy, the two things that led to jealousy.

I was not a one-man-woman and I knew Holden was not a one-woman-man. We’d had that discussion already. Neither of us was looking for anything more than what we had at that particular moment. There might be love in our future. There might be “in love”, who the fuck knows, but for now, we were both content having a great time enjoying each other’s company.

Likewise, neither of us was the possessive type. If Holden wanted to keep seeing and fucking other women that was perfectly fine with me. I cared deeply for Holden and knew he cared deeply for me, but we weren’t wired like so-called “normal” folks. There was no pretense between us. No commitment. No need for monogamy. I was not looking for Mr. Right and Holden certainly wasn’t done playing the field. We’d spend time together, have a fucking blast (or a blast fucking), and if it led somewhere waaaay down the road, great. If not, there would be no regrets.

I was soaking in the tub when Holden came in wearing nothing but a smile, dangling two empty wine glasses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. I soaped up my tits and neck with bubbles as I watched him pour us each a glass of wine from the fresh bottle. I grinned as his long cock swung back and forth as he stepped into the tub and handed me a glass before settling into the bubbles at the other end of the soaker tub.

“Mmmm, this is good,” I said after taking a sip. “I don’t think I’ve had it before. What is it?”

“It is a Cabernet Sauvignon from Napa Valley, California,” Holden said officially, taking a sip and smacking his lips. “My friend Wynn just brought it to me.”

“Your friend…”

“Is there room in that tub for one more?”

The sound of another man’s deep voice echoed off the bathroom walls, nearly startling the shit out of me. I looked toward the open door and there stood one of the most handsome men I’d ever seen.

Tall, tanned, blond surfer good looks, a smile that would charm the habit off a nun. He held a glass of wine in his right hand. The thumb of his left hand was hitched atop his belt buckle.

He was wearing an expensive suit, and a white button-down shirt open at the collar. I recognized him right away from the photo I’d seen on the back of his book and various photos Holden had sitting around the apartment.

Beneath the warm bath water, I felt my own hot juices begin to flow.

“Jude, I’d like you to meet my best friend,” Holden said proudly, holding up his glass of wine. “This is Wynn Driver. And we share everything.”

PART 2

Description

I was diagnosed as a nymphomaniac by a therapist who ended up being my lover, but I’ve never been with two men at once before.

Two men in one day, sure, lots of times, but never with two men at the same time.

Then I became Professor Holden Moss’ lover— Teacher’s Pet—so to speak, and an entirely new world of sexual adventure opened up to me.

Holden makes me think things and feel things and do things that I have never before even imagined. Things that make me yearn to go even deeper into his world…

Enter Dr. Wynn Driver, world-famous author, sex expert, and Holden’s best friend. They share everything, I’m told, even the women in their beds.

At first, I’m terrified at the thought of having them both at once.

Then I’m intrigued. And finally, I’m excited to become the pet of two of the sexiest teachers on the planet.

The anticipation alone is making me so hot I can barely breath.

Can I separate sex from emotion like the guys do and just enjoy the ride, or will my deep feelings for Holden and now Wynn, get in the way?

CHAPTER ONE: Professor Wynn Driver

I never set out to write a book called, What’s Your Vagina Thinking. Hell, until that pivotal moment when it occurred to me that a vagina might actually affect a woman’s thought processes (not to mention a man’s), and the resulting actions she takes, I would have laughed my ass off at the thought of a book that delved into the psychology of the vagina and its effects on the human brain and society as we know it.

Honestly, I still chuckle at the silliness of the title sometimes, especially when I’m sitting at a book signing with a few hundred women with vaginas of their own, clutching my book to their breasts like found treasure, lining up to get their copy signed. They want hugs. They want selfies. Of course, they want sex, but I have to draw that line in the sand. I mean, I can’t screw every woman that wants to screw me. There just aren’t enough hours in the day.

So, yeah, the title makes me laugh.

Only now, I’m laughing all the way to the bank.

The whole thing still seems a bit like a dream. Me, Professor Wynn Driver, a midlevel psychology professor at a small midwestern university, getting filthy rich and filthy famous off a book about pussy, of all things. Well, not pussy, per se, but the psychology of the most unique organ of the female anatomy. It’s hard to explain. Just buy the book. Find me when I’m in your town and I’ll sign it for you. And if you’re in the mood and I have time, maybe we can get to know each other a little better. Maybe.

Why does it all seem like a dream? Because less than two years ago I was a nobody professor teaching clinical psychology at a middle American university and bouncing around from this one-night-stand to the next. I had a shitty car, no money, and lived off the good humor and generosity of my friends. Now I live in a beach house in Malibu and hobnob with Hollywood elite and make more in one week than I used to make in a month teaching. And it’s all because of a book I wrote with a very silly name.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not all about the money. I’m proud of the book. What’s between the front and back covers the damn thing is crammed full of rock solid information and observations, one-hundred-percent backed up by reputable clinical studies and interviews with dozens of women. It’s a damn fine book. The title is just the hook for marketing. Keep reading and you’ll understand.

Let’s go back in time a bit so you get the full picture.

First off, I was totally shocked when I sent the finished manuscript—which came in at a thousand pages and took almost two years to write—off to literary super agent, Doreen McCallum, and was immediately contacted by her assistant. A week later, I was sitting in her New York City office signing with her to be my agent.

Second of all, I was again totally shocked when five or six of the big New York City publishing houses started battling over the rights to the damn thing. I mean, who would have ever thought such a thing? It’s not like I was Dr. Phil or Oprah, for petesake.

I was shocked again (I know, I shock easily I guess) when Doreen ended up selling the manuscript at auction for nearly half a million bucks. That’s right, I said: A HALF A MILLION BUCKS! Hell, I had never made that much money over the course of my entire life, much less in one chunk. It was just freakin’ surreal.

And third of all, I was shocked (yet again) when I was called into a meeting with the publisher that had bought the rights to the book, Hadley Press, to find that the team assigned to get my book into print were all smoking hot women. I couldn’t believe my eyes (or good fortune) when I walked into the room. It was like a fucking hot babe smorgasbord. All shapes and sizes and colors and variety of hotness.

There was a shapely blonde with big tits, a tall brunette with big blue eyes, a skinny redhead with cute freckles across her nose, a goth girl with jet black hair and a pierced tongue, and a gorgeous African-American with lips that I couldn’t keep my eyes off of.

All smoking hot.

All looking at me. Checking me out, up and down. Licking their lips. Locking eyes with me. For a moment, I felt a little like a lamb being led to slaughter. A week later, after I had fucked every chick in the room except Doreen (she’s sixty-five and a lesbian) I was the one who felt like I had just worked my way through a pussy buffet.

But I digress…

When I suggested the title during the first meeting with the group, it was done so as a joke. The working title had been Psychological Effects of the Vagina on Modern Society. I know. Yawwwwn. When Monica Biggs, the aforementioned tall brunette and editor in charge of the project—and giver of one of the best blowjobs I would ever experience—suggested we take a more creative approach that would help market the book, I blurted out, “How about, What’s Your Pussy Thinking?”

The title hung in the air for a moment like a bad fart as they all looked at me with a mixture of humor and disbelief, like they thought it was privately funny, but couldn’t believe I said the word pussy in mixed company.

Doreen gave me a look that made me cringe, but slowly a big smile came to Monica’s face. She held up a skinny finger to indicate that a thought was forming. The other women leaned forward in anticipation. I would go on to learn that when Monica smiled, everybody smiled. And when Monica had a thought, everyone agreed.

“I like the way you’re thinking, Wynn,” she said, eyeing me as she brought the finger to her bottom lip. “But… how about… What’s Your Vagina Thinking?” She held out her hands and glanced around the table. “Just a tad more… politically correct. Wouldn’t you say?”

Candy, the blonde with the big tits, clapped her hands and bounced excitedly in her chair like a kid about to have birthday cake. She oozed praise with her nose firmly up her boss’ tight butt hole. “Oh, Monica, that’s awesome! Yes! Perfect!”

“I love it!” Rhonda, the red-haired marketing exec whose carpet indeed matched the drapes, said exuberantly.

“So, do I!” That was Allison chiming in, the girl with the blue hair and silver rings in here clit and nipples.

“That’s… awesome,” Doreen echoed, giving me a look of relief. She would tell me later that she thought I’d screwed the pooch by tossing out that title. But as it turned out, she got a great story to tell at publishing conferences and cocktail parties. The day her cocky client suggested What’s Your Pussy Thinking for a book that turned out to be a runaway bestseller and made all of us bloody fucking rich.

But it does make sense when you stop and think about it. A vagina thinking is no more farfetched than what we men have done since the day we first evolved to the point of having this thing dangling from between our legs. We have a brain, but more often than not, we think with our cocks.

Think about it. It’s common knowledge that we men think with our cocks—or rather let our cocks block our brainwaves and thereby seem to be thinking for us.

Since the dawn of man and his discovery of pussy, wars have been fought because men could not control their cocks. Empires toppled. Civilizations wiped off the map. Millions have died over pussy. All because some man with a little bit of power and an out of control sex drive could not keep his cock from taking over his brain.

Personally, from a psychological point of view, I think men focus on pussy so much because it is the one thing they do not naturally have, the one thing they cannot buy (although surgeons keep trying), and the one thing that moment lord over them to keep them in line. Don’t believe me? Have you ever withheld pussy from a guy? Remember how fucking crazy it made him? There you go. Game, set, match.

So, that’s how my book became a publishing phenomenon. Slap the word vagina on a book cover, a picture of a good-looking guy on the back, and get ready for the cash registers to ring.

Monica didn’t have to, but she asked for a vote and every hand went up. “Then it’s decided,” she said, giving me the same look she’d give me later that night with my cock between her lips. “What’s Your Vagina Thinking is the title. Next, let’s move on to your thoughts on cover design.” She smiled at me with her eyes. “And before you can suggest it, we cannot put a picture of a vagina on the cover.”

Everyone laughed.

Monica stared at me and slid her tongue across her lips.

My cock twitched with delight.

I was going to enjoy this ride immensely.

And that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

That’s how I became the bestselling author of a book—and authority on— the psychology of female reproductive anatomy and its effect on the human brain.

The book was published four months later, landing at number one on the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists.

I was profiled in Psychology Today Magazine and interviewed by the Journal of Psychiatry.

I made the rounds of every TV show from Good Morning America to Ellen to 60 Minutes and become a national celebrity.

Women lined up to hear me speak at conferences, and I got a couple dozen marriage proposals a day.

All because I wrote a book on how pussy affects the brain.

What do I have in common with Hugh Hefner, Larry Flynt, and the dude who owns The Bunny Ranch Whorehouse in Vegas? We all have big houses and fancy cars that were bought and paid for by pussy.

Again, is this a great country or what?

 

CHAPTER TWO: Wynn

“Tell us, Wynn,” Monica said, smiling at me from over the top of her tea cup as our meeting came to a close. “How ever did you come up with the idea for this book?”

“That’s a great question, Monica,” I said with a smile. “I was teaching a class on psychology at Midwestern University and…”

I let my eyes go around the table as I told them the lie. They were all watching me, animated, leaning in. Like fish in a barrel. I wondered which one I should fuck first. Monica. Sure. Start at the top and work my way down.

The truth was, I was a professor at Midwestern University when the idea for the book came to me, but it was not during a class. It was around nine o’clock on a Saturday night, while I was in a guest bathroom fucking the shit out of the wife of my boss, Jefferson Milton, the head of the psychology department.

Jefferson’s wife Jean was a buxom forty-something with strawberry blonde hair and milky white skin who had a thing for younger men with large cocks who were willing to fuck her on command. Like within the first thirty minutes of meeting her while her husband and other guests were having drinks and hors’deuvres downstairs.

Jean and I met the night Jefferson invited all the psyche professors over for a new semester meet and greet at his home. At the time, I was sleeping on my best pal Professor Holden Moss’ couch and screwing my way through the various sororities on campus. We professors were not supposed to screw our students, but we all did it. Even old Jefferson Milton himself was known to tap a piece of hot young ass every now and then, though I never ratted him out to his wife. There is a Bro Code we men must abide by or we have to turn in our testicles and our Man Card.

Holden was also a psyche professor at Midwestern U and had been my best friend for years. We shared everything. A house. Car. Food. Booze. Pussy. Holden and I weren’t shy around each other. If one of us had a woman who we thought would enjoy a good threesome, we’d go all in. And we went all in a lot in those days. We ended up double-teaming Jean several times while Jefferson was out of town at various conferences and speaking events. I had never personally met a woman who could take two very large dicks inside her cunt at once. Talk about talent. Jean was dripping with it. And Holden kept cracking me up, telling me to give him ball room. That asshole.

Jefferson had just welcomed everyone to his home, a beautiful old Victorian on the edge of campus, and introduced us to his wife, Jean, who was stunning in a black cocktail dress that showed off her big tits and curves. She caught me looking at her tits a few times, but she just smiled and kept talking to whomever she was talking to at that moment. That’s when we really started eyeing one another from across the room.

While the other guests ate and mingled, I went upstairs in search of the bathroom. I was just zipping up and about to wash my hands when I heard the tap at the door.

“It’s occupied!” I said, turning on the water and looking at myself in the mirror. I was holding up pretty well for an old surfer slash academic. That was one of the reasons I went into teaching in the first place, so I would have time to surf. I was raised in California and was surfing before I could even walk. Then I moved from California to the freakin’ Midwest, where surfing didn’t exist. The only reason I even had a tan was because Holden had a pal who owned a boat and we spent weekends on it. Now, I’m back living on the beach in Malibu. I guess what goes around does come around if you just give it enough time.

I was just thirty-nine, tall, shaggy blond hair, kept in good shape playing on a campus rugby team and swimming at the natatorium every day. I was wearing one of Holden’s sport coats over a black Polo and ratty jeans. I knew I’d never get rich being a psyche professor, but I made enough to keep myself in fast food, booze and pussy, the three staples of most professors’ lives. And at that moment, pussy was knocking at the door.

“It’s Jean,” she said quietly. “Open the door.’

I smiled at myself in the mirror, wondering what took her so long, and dried my hands on the fluffy towel hanging on the rack. I opened the door to see her standing there with a wine glass in each hand and a devious grin on her face.

“Can I come in?” she asked, coming through the door without waiting for permission, then bumping her ass into the door to close it. She held out one of the wine glasses and nodded at me. “Take it while I lock the door.”

“Uh… okay…” I said, acting all innocent, taking the wine glass and a step back. I gave her a blank look as my eyebrows went up. “Did you need to use the bathroom or…”

“Or what?” she asked. She brought the wine glass to her red lips and smiled at me from over the top of it. She had beautiful, dangerous eyes. My granny would have said she had the devil dancing in her eyes as she took a step closer, forcing me back against the sink.

“Or…” I held out my hands and let her step into me. She mashed her body to mine and my cock immediately sprang to life. “Uh… Mrs. Milton, I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”

“You can call me Jean,” she said, straddling my legs, grinding her pussy into my cock. She mashed her big melon tits against my chest. Her tits spilled out of the top of the black cocktail dress. I had to resist rubbing my nose in her cleavage. “And I’ll call you Wynn.”

“Okay… Jean…” I said, swallowing the big lump that had formed in my throat. My cock kept growing in response to her cunt rubbing against it. Her tits mashed against my chest. I licked my lips and stared into her eyes. “What can I do for you, Jean?”

“You can show me your big, hard cock,” she said, rubbing the tip of her nose to mine. She pressed her cheek to mine, then trailed her tongue around the rim of my ear. “Better still, you can just take it out and fuck me with it.”

I took a nervous glance toward the door. “What about your husband? The others?”

“My husband is a pompous windbag who now has a captive audience,” she said, reaching around to set her drink on the sink behind me. Her hands came back around to the front of my jeans. She rubbed her palm against my erection and cooed into my mouth. “And now, apparently, I have a captive audience of my own.”

“Apparently, you do,” I said with a smile.

She stepped back, got to her knees on the shaggy rug in front of me, and quickly ripped open my belt and pants. She hooked her fingers in the waistband and shoved my jeans and boxers down my legs. My twelve-inch cock sprang up and bounced in the air for a moment. When she saw it, her eyes grew wide and she licked her lips.

“Oh my, Wynn, what a lovely cock you have,” she said as the fingers of her right hand went around the veiny shaft and the fingers of her left hand went for my balls. Her hand started moving back and forth, back and forth. I sucked in a quick breath and braced my palms against the counter to keep my knees from buckling.

“The better to fuck you with, my dear,” I said, arching my back so my cock stuck out even more. She hummed as her hand started sliding slowly up and down the shaft, then pressed her lips to the head, which looked like a crimson balloon about to pop. When little drops of precum oozed from the slit, she hummed again and licked them away.

“God, your cock is so fucking big,” she said, hands working in tandem, her lips leaving lipstick on the head, tongue teasing the slit. “Jefferson has a cock like… an old man… not you… mmm… yours is… this is… fucking…mmm… magnificent...”

“Uh… thanks…” I said, closing my eyes and trying to keep my breathing steady. The last thing I needed was to prematurely shoot my load all over her face and tits, though that would be something I did many times in the coming months. “Fuck… Mrs. Milton… I mean… Jean… that’s… wow… amazing…”

She held the shaft steady as her lips closed around the head. She pumped the shaft and sucked the head like a piece of hard candy, slurping it noisily. I just watched in awe as she opened her mouth and took my cock in until the tip hit the back of her throat. The six inches of shaft left outside her mouth was being serviced by her hand milking slowly back and forth. I watched her slowly draw her lips back over the shaft, then use her spit to lube the entire thing. After a minute of this, I knew that I was getting damn near close to exploding in her mouth.

“Let me… fuck you... Jean,” I said, reaching for her. She smiled up at me with my cock resting between her lips, then let me help her to her feet. She reached around behind and unzipped the cocktail dress. When it fell to the floor, I felt the breath catch in my throat. She was totally naked, with a freakin’ rockin’ body right out of Penthouse magazine. How the hell did old professor Milton get this gorgeous woman to even notice him was behind me. She was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen.

She took a step back so I could take in her body. She was full figured, shapely, not a flaw that I could see, sexy as hell. She cupped her bulbous breasts in her palms and rolled her thick nipples under her thumbs. She had a dark bush, neatly trimmed. I could see her plump clit hood and pussy lips glistening already with her juices.

“Fuck me from behind,” she said. “So, I can watch you in the mirror.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, sidestepping her with my jeans and boxers still around my ankles and my cock sticking out like a tree limb. She pressed her palms on the counter, got onto her tiptoes, and stuck out her gorgeous ass. I looked toward the ceiling and gave a silent thank you. I took my cock in my hand and stroked it as I guided the head to her pussy hole, which was pink and dripping with anticipation.

“Fuck me hard, Wynn,” she said, smiling at me in the mirror. Her big tits swung beneath her. “Fuck me really hard.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said again. I took a step closer as the head of my cock pressed to her hole, then easily slid inside her. I dug my fingers into her hips and watched her in the mirror as my cock impaled her an inch at a time. Her eyes were closed. Her mouth was open. I could hear her exhale with every inch invading her from behind. When I felt the tip of my cock hit her innermost wall, I slowly pulled out until the head appeared, then slid back in again.

“Oh… fuck…” she moaned, eyes closed, head hanging. “You are… so… fucking… huge… my pussy… stretching… oh… fuck... yes… yes…”

God, she was tight. Tight as any twenty-year old I’d ever fucked, and I’d fucked a lot of them. Her pussy suctioned around my cock, gripping it tight. I could feel her cunt muscles squeezing my shaft as it slid in and out, in and out. It didn’t take long before I could feel the orgasm building deep inside my balls like a volcano about to blow.

“Faster… Wynn… faster... fuck me… faster…”

I dug my fingers into her sides and started slamming it to her, ramming her wet pussy with my hard cock as fast and hard as I could without hurting either of us. Her big tits swung like pendulums from her chest. She opened her eyes to look at me in the mirror. Her mouth was open, her tongue draped across her bottom lip like a panting dog.

“Fuck… Jean… I’m going… to… fuck…cum…”

“Cum with me… baby…” she moaned, pushing her ass back toward me until my cock rammed against her cervix. “Cum in me… cum… harder… fuck… yes… yes… yes…”

For the life of me, I had no idea how the other twenty people at the party didn’t hear us going at it like wild animals. I totally forgot that I was in Professor Milton’s upstairs guest bathroom fucking his hot wife. And Jean didn’t seem to care. She was practically wailing as she came all over my cock, squirting, drenching me, milking me with her magic pussy.

When it was over, I fell against her and reached around to get a handful of her big tits. She wiggled her ass against me and smiled in the mirror.

“What were you thinking?” I asked playfully as I nipped at her shoulder. That’s when she said the words that changed my life forever. She smiled at me in the mirror again and gave her ass a little wiggle.

“I wasn’t thinking,” she said. “My pussy was.”

I blinked at her for a moment as a tiny spark of an idea went off in my brain. “Your pussy was thinking?”

She pushed herself up and leaned back against me. My hands cradled her tits. I rested my chin on her shoulder to stare at her. She said, “You know how men think with their cocks?”

I gave her a nod. “Yes.”

“Well, women think with their pussies. And my pussy thought it would be a great idea to meet your big cock.” She turned to face me and reached down to take my damp, softening cock in her hand. She rubbed the head of my cock against her clit and sighed. “So, Professor Wynn Driver’s cock, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” I said as she moved to sit on the toilet to clean herself off.

As I pulled up my pants and stuffed my cock back into my boxers, her words stuck in my brain.

What’s your pussy thinking?

What’s Your Vagina Thinking?

A year later it would be a question I’d be asking the world.

And the world—or at least many of those in the world with pussies—would be more than happy to answer.

CHAPTER THREE: Judith “Jude” Allen

“I can’t believe you’re reading this book,” Izzy said after plopping down on the sofa next to me and picking up my dog-eared copy of What’s Your Vagina Thinking? from the coffee table. I had been sitting peacefully on the couch in our little off-campus apartment working on the dissertation for my Master’s psychology class when she blew into the room like a hurricane and started giving me crap.

Izzy—Isabelle Miranda Parks, to be exact—was a beautiful black girl from Atlanta who was mastering in clinical psychology at Midwestern. She was tops in her class and had a brilliant mind for psychology, though her boisterous personality and foul mouth would probably belie that fact to anyone who didn’t know her.

Izzy had been my roommate and best friend since freshman year. Now, four years later, we were both in grad school at Midwestern and were just a few semesters away from starting our professional lives.

Izzy as a clinical psychologist and me, well, I wasn’t sure what I would do with my life yet. I would graduate with a Master’s in Psychology, but I was now thinking about getting my Doctorate, so I could practice as a psychiatrist.

Honestly, like so many people do, I got into psychology to address my own mental health issues, to figure out my own warped shit, primarily because I thought I was a nymphomaniac with an older man complex.

Now, with the help of my lover, Professor Holden Moss, I had figured out that I wasn’t really a nympho, just a horny bitch who liked to fuck older guys. Just coming to that revelation cleared the way for me to devote my time to helping others do the same.

“Why aren’t there any pictures of actual pussies in this book?” Izzy asked, clicking her tongue as she flipped through the book written by Holden’s best pal, Dr. Wynn Driver. “Girl, there ain’t a single pussy in this book, thinking or otherwise. That title is false advertising!”

“The title is a metaphor,” I said, doing my best to sound serious despite the smile that was itching at my lips. “It’s about the female anatomy’s effect on the brain.”

“Like a man thinking with his dick,” she said, shaking her head as she scanned the chapters.

“Yes, pretty much.”

“What the fuck ever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Still, if the title says it’s about a thinking pussy, I wanna see pictures of thinking pussies!”

“Maybe your pussy thinks too much,” I said, giving her a sideways grin.

“Girl, the problem with my pussy is Earl don’t give it time to breathe, much less think!” She cackled at herself and slapped the book on her thighs. Izzy had been dating Earl Winston, the extremely cocky and arrogant captain of the Midwestern University Buccaneers, for nearly three years. Earl had offered to fix me up with his football buddies, but I had always declined. I was never into jocks that much, and now that I was involved with Professor Holden Moss, Earl had stopped trying.

It wasn’t that I averse to screwing a hunky football player every now and then, but I preferred sex with educated men. Okay, the truth was, I loved the idea of being The Teacher’s Pet—and no I did not consider that to be a psychology issue I had to deal with.

I loved being dominated, commanded, directed, coddled, being taken care of. And I loved giving as good as I got. I had always been attracted to smart men… brilliant men… teachers… professors... doctors… scientists… sorry, no lawyers (a girl has to have her standards). For some reason, the thought of sleeping with a lawyer just made my skin crawl.

Izzy turned the book over and grunted at the photo of the author on the back. “Mmmm mmm mmm… Now there’s a man I could do some damage to. Wynn Driver… wonder if he likes hot chocolate?”

“I’m sure he does,” I said with a smile. “From what Holden tells me, Wynn Driver loves women of all shapes, sizes, colors, ethnicities…”

She held up the book so I could see the photo of Wynn and tapped a long fingernail to the book. “Wait a sec, this is your man’s best friend? The one you told me about? Rich dude, lives on the beach in California? Used to teach psychology here at Midwestern?”

“Yes, that is the Wynn Driver that Holden is always talking about,” I said with a nod. “They’ve been best friends since their freshman year at college. I think Wynn was sleeping on Holden’s couch when he landed that book deal and got stinking rich.”

“I think I saw him on Ellen,” Izzy said, narrowing her eyes at the handsome face in the tiny photo. “So, this is the man who will fuck anything with a pulse,” she said, pressing two fingers to her wrist. “Well… lookee here… I just happen to have a pulse… And a thinking vagina…”

“I never said that he would fuck anything with a pulse.” Izzy was wearing a pair of black lace panties and a tee-shirt with no bra. It was her usual attire when we were home alone. I glanced at her long legs stretched out in front of her, feet on the coffee table, ankles crossed, and poked her with an elbow. “But I’m pretty sure he’d be all up in your hot chocolate bidness.”

“Well, my hot chocolate bidness might just have to let him come all up in here if he ever comes to town.”

“He’s coming into town later tonight,” I said. I could hear the anticipation in my voice. If Wynn was half the man Holden proclaimed him to be, it might prove to be quite an interesting weekend.

“That man right there is coming here? What for? Why would anyone escape this shitty little town and come back?”

“He’s speaking at the psyche conference this weekend. He’s staying at Holden’s for a few days.” I nodded at the book. “That’s why I’m reading that book, to get an idea of who he is and what he’s all about.”

“Well, my vagina is thinking that maybe he can check your vagina’s pulse while he’s here,” Izzy said. “Or check your internal temperature with his big, thick thermometer cock.”

“How do you know he has a big, thick thermometer cock?” I giggled at the concept of Wynn Driver taking my internal temperature with his cock, which Holden swore was nearly a foot long. The thought made the juices between my legs start to flow.

“Look at those eyes,” Izzy said, holding up the book. “Man looks at you like that, it means he has a big cock to back that shit up.”

“You’re nuts.”

“Hey, you said him and Holden were gangbangers.”

“I said they had done three-ways before. I never called them gangbangers.”

“You say three-way, I say gangbang,” she said, her dark eyes dancing with delight. “I’ve never been gangbanged myself. Wonder what it would be like. Having two cocks going at you at once. How does that even work? One in your mouth and one in your pussy, like book ends? Or one in your pussy and one in your ass… Lordy… talk about a tight fit…”

“You’re asking the wrong person,” I said with a sigh, even though I had wondered—and dreamt of—the same thing myself several times since learning that Wynn was coming to visit.

“Am I asking the wrong person, really?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “What does that mean?”

She shrugged one shoulder and flipped more pages. She wasn’t reading. She was just avoiding looking at me. “Well, it’s just that, you know, out of everyone I know you are the most… shall we say… experimental and open when it comes to sex?”

“So?”

“So, if the opportunity to do the nasty with your boyfriend and his best friend came up, would you say yes, or would you say no?”

“Holden is not my boyfriend.”

“You’re avoiding the question.” She turned sideways on the sofa and tucked her long legs beneath her. She poked me in the arm with a stiff finger. “Come on, Jude, fess up. If Holden Moss and Wynn Driver wanted to do double duty on that cute, tight ass of yours, would you say yes, or would you say no?”

“I’d say that was none of your business,” I said with a smile.

She gave me a “point proven” smile in return. “See. I thought so. Whoo, girl, I see some gangbangin’ in your future. Just don’t let them two big cocks stretch you out at once. That pussy might never be the same.”

“Whatever,” I said, forcing a smile. Izzy was right. It was true that Holden and Wynn had double-teamed lots of girls. Holden had told me stories about their adventures that got me so worked up I literally raped him on the spot. And I’d be lying if I said the thought of having sex with both of them at once had not entered my mind on more than one occasion. I loved having mad sex with Holden, but we were two consenting adults who were not caught up in petty jealousy or commitment. We fucked each other like breeder rabbits, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t fuck others, as well.

“You’re awful,” I said, trying to tug the book from her hands. She pulled the book away and clutched it between her mounding breasts. “And you’re also full of shit.”

“How am I full of shit?” I asked.

“What’s your vagina really thinking, Jude?” she asked with a sly grin. “Lord knows the poor thing has been working overtime since you took up with Professor Holden Moss. Is there room in there for this Dr. Wynn Driver dude?” She leaned over and lowered her voice. “One big cock in your pussy and another in your ass? Mmmm mmm good…”

I rolled my eyes at her. “Jeez, Izzy, stop!”

“Who knows,” she said, head bobbing, eyebrows arched. “Maybe they have a third buddy who could shove his cock in your mouth while they’re going at you from the other end. What would you call that? A four way? A quadruple fuck? What?”

“Izzy! You’re awful. Stop it!”

“You stop it,” she said, holding out the book with Wynn’s picture showing. “Hell, if you won’t fuck them both maybe I will.”

I snorted a laugh and snatched the book from her hands. “Oh yeah, and then Earl will kill both of them.”

“Might be worth it,” she said, smacking her lips. “Two big cocks at once. My, my, my what a lovely way to go!”

Yes indeed, I thought as I stared at the photo of Wynn Driver, with the image of Holden Moss clearly in my mind.

What a way to go.

 

CHAPTER FOUR: Professor Holden Moss

I’d been sleeping with (I suppose that is the politically-correct term these days) Jude Allen for a few weeks when I found out for sure that my best friend in the world, Wynn Driver, was coming back to town. Actually, I was the one largely responsible for bringing him back to Midwestern. The real surprise was that he was willing to take time out of his Hollywood lifestyle to come back and visit those poor souls he left behind at Midwestern.

Our local Midwestern Psychology Association, which consisted mostly of psyche department academics, psychotherapists, psychiatrists, psychoanalysts, mental health professionals, and the like, was having its annual meeting, and who better to address the theme of this year’s gathering—Psychology & Sexuality in The Modern Age— than my old pal Wynn, who had literally written a bestselling book on that very topic.

It did not take much convincing from me for the association board, which was made up mostly of women who had had sex with Wynn when he was a professor of psychology at Midwestern, and women who missed their chance but still wanted to fuck his brains out, to unanimously vote to have Wynn as the keynote speaker on Sunday night. There would be a dinner on Saturday night in his honor, followed by a book signing, and a cocktail party slash meet-and-greet. I found it funny that a group that had frowned upon Wynn’s teachings for years now saw him as their golden child celebrity. I guess getting on the cover of Psychology Today Magazine didn’t hurt. And I knew that there would be a number of female association members lining up to go home with him on Saturday night.

Wynn would call it “like shootin’ fish in a barrel”.

I called it just another night in the charmed life of Dr. Wynn Driver.

Wynn was due in Friday on a late flight, would be crashing at my place for the weekend, and probably expecting to get laid several times while he was in town.

Given the amount of talking I’d done to him on Facetime about the hot new grad student that was sharing my bed, I knew that Wynn’s curiosity had been peaked. Especially when I told him I’d mentioned our threesome adventures to Jude and she seemed interested in perhaps learning more.

And to Wynn that meant he would expect a little taste for himself while he was in town, Jude willing.

Jude was a twenty-two-year, old grad student majoring in psychology, and one of the most amazing young women I had ever met at Midwestern University. She was not only drop-dead-gorgeous, with long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, tall, voluptuous, big tits, round hips, big ass, and best of all, she had an insatiable appetite for sex that nearly matched my own. She was also smart, witty, charming, driven, dedicated, and had a biting sense of humor and a fierce independence I rarely saw in young women her age.

Of course, Midwestern University had a policy that discouraged—but did not strictly prohibit—its professors from fraternizing (again, the politically-correct term) with students. But Jude was old enough to make her own decisions and she was the one who seduced me in my classroom at the start of the summer term, so how could I possibly say no when she sat in the front row and flashed her pussy and then casually invited me to “fuck her brains out” after class? She said she was a nymphomaniac with a Teacher’s Pet fetish, and I was lucky enough to be the teacher she had chosen to bestow her favors upon. It would have been down right rude of me to say no. Right?

It wasn’t as if the thought of having a threesome with Wynn and Jude had not been brought up in conversation, at least not directly. Jude and I had been together for a couple of weeks when the topic turned to crazy things we’d done, this after having spent the past hour fucking in the hot tub next to the pool at Jude’s apartment complex.

We were a little drunk and had already fucked a marathon, but Jude said she had never had sex in a public hot tub so that became our plan. That was another of Jude’s things. She liked having sex in public places—restaurants, bars, public restrooms, the changing room at Macy’s, cars, parks, pools, locker rooms, my class room—places where we might be caught at any minute. She loved the danger of it, the uncertainty. I must admit, I did, too. No place was immune to our call of the wild.

That night, we waited until midnight for the pool to close and for the other residents to go back inside before we snuck down to the pool, stripped naked, and went at it in the warm waters of the hot tub like two horny dolphins.

As Jude and I tended to do when we were in the throes of passion, I guess we made too much noise, and by the time we had cum together like wet banshees we looked up to find that we had an audience. The pool area was surrounded by apartment buildings on all sides that were three stories tall. Practically every light in every building had come on and people were standing out on their balconies watching us have sex. When we were done, we got a standing ovation and hoots and hollers from our audience. Jude didn’t seem to care. She just laughed it off, stood up naked to take a bow, grabbed me by my quickly shriveling dick, and told me to come inside so we could finish our fun in a hot shower.

An hour later, we were lying on her bed sipping wine, still damp from the hot shower, when she playfully gave my cock a tug and asked, “So, that was pretty wild. What’s the wildest thing you’ve ever done?”

“Wild as in?” I needed clarification of the word. To a guy like me, wild could mean a lot of things.

“You know. Wild. Spontaneous. Crazy. Unbridled, unexpected sex with someone you never thought you’d fuck.”

“Someone I never thought I’d fuck... hmmm…”

She rolled her eyes and started petting my cock and balls as if they were a hairless house cat. “Yes, duh, quit stalling and spill, Professor Tight Ass.”

“Well, let’s see…” I honestly had to think about it for a minute because I had done some pretty fucking wild things in my time.

I had lost my virginity to my best friend’s slutty mom, Lois Raintree, when I was just sixteen years old. Her husband Alvin was a chemical salesman who traveled all the time. So, Lois was lonely. A lot.

I still remembered it like it was yesterday. Me and her son, Jimmy, had just come in from varsity football practice, both of us hot and sweaty and smelling like dirt and grass. She told Jimmy to go take a shower because he was stinking up her kitchen. When we heard the shower turn on, she kissed me hard on the mouth, gathered her flowery sundress up and over her round ass, pushed her beige panties down to her ankles, bent over the kitchen table, and ordered me to “ram my young cock into her like a derrick drilling for oil”. She was from Texas, I guess.

So that was the start of my wild sex escapades, but that was probably too tame a story for Jude. I fucked Mrs. Raintree all through high school. She was a great teacher who taught me what to do, how to do it, and what not to do. Lots of women have thanked me profusely over the years for the skills I learned from her. My graduation present was a blowjob in the front seat of her husband’s Chrysler New Yorker in the school parking lot.

Sigh. I wonder where Mrs. Raintree is today.

She’d be… sixty-ish…

Okay, never mind.

I’d had every kind of sex imaginable, in every place imaginable, with every kind of woman imaginable. I was not a snob when it came to women. I loved them all. Younger. Older (well, not sixty). Tall. Short. Thin. Fat. Blonde. Brunette. Red Head. White. Black. Latino. Asian. And I’d had (mostly) incredibly hot sex with them all.

For some reason, the particular thing that came to mind in answer to Jude’s question was the first time Wynn and I double-teamed a Russian History professor by the name of Marsha Clarkson, who, by the way, still taught at Midwestern and was always good for a booty call any time, day or night, even if she was already in bed with someone else, usually one of her lesbian lovers.

“Well?” Jude prodded, tugging my cock like she was playing with a yoyo. “You gonna tell me or not?”

“I was just thinking about which of the ten thousand wild stories to regale you with,” I said, narrowing my eyes at Jude’s beautiful face and pretending to be deep in thought.

“So, hurry up and pick one before my hand gets tired.”

“Well, let’s see… do you know Marsha Clarkson from the history department?”

Jude blinked at me. “Professor Marsha Clarkson? Russian History? Short, a little pudgy. Dresses like a lumber jack? Haircut like a dude?”

I smiled at the description. “Uh huh. That’s the one.”

“Yes, I know her,” Jude said cautiously, giving me a suspicious eye. “Isn’t she a lesbian?”

I chuckled at the look on her face. “Well, let’s just say she plays for both teams.”

“Okay… go on…”

“So, one night me and my pal, Wynn, were having drinks at the Royal Crown Club on Fifth Avenue. Do you know it?”

She gave me a nod, followed by a roll of her eyes. “Yep, stuffy place where academic assholes like you go to drink and hobnob and brag about how important you think you are.”

I smiled again because she could not have been more wrong. “Actually, the RC, as we academic assholes who frequent the place call it, is an academic meat market of sorts. All the professors and administrators from Midwestern go there to drink and… well… meet people.”

Her eyes grew as wide and her lower lip dropped. “Wait a second, are you telling me that the Royal Crown Club is a swinger’s bar for professors?”

“You might call it that,” I said, though she had hit the nail directly on the head. “I prefer to call it a social club for well-educated, highly-intelligent individuals—”

“You man academic assholes,” she said, her hand moving again, now gently milking my cock with her fingers. I felt myself growing hard—again—in her hand.

“Fine,” I sighed. “Where academic assholes go looking to get their pipes cleaned by other academic assholes.”

“It’s a swinger’s club where professors go to fuck other professors,” she said accusingly. “I don’t believe it.”

“Why would I lie?”

Her fingers went tighter around my cock as it grew in her hand. She gave me a demure smile and said, “Okay, tell me more.”

“Well, one-night Wynn and I were there having drinks and Marsha Clarkson comes in with a group of women who, as you call them, appeared to be of the lesbian persuasion.”

“Let me guess; bad haircuts, lots of flannel, hiking boots.”

“That and the ‘I Hate Men tee-shirts, yes,” I said. “Anyway, the place was crowded so we invited Marsha and her party to sit with us.”

“Let me guess again,” she said with a thoughtful look. “You and Wynn were so devastatingly handsome you converted the entire table to heterosexuality and fucked them all right then and there.” My cock kept getting harder as her fingers slid faster over the veiny shaft. “You basically swiped all the drinks off the table, bent old Marsha over, and gave her the hard and fast fuck in her tight little arse hole.”

I smiled and tried to focus my thoughts as the blood began to flow from my brain to my cock. “Not quite. Actually, the other women looked at me and Wynn like we were from another planet they would rather die than ever visit. However, after a few drinks, things loosened up tremendously and Marsha started rubbing my thigh under the table. I looked over and Wynn, who was sitting on the other side of her. He had a devilish grin on his face because she was rubbing his thigh with her other hand.”

“Oh my god, she was coming on to both of you? Right there at the table? No fucking way.”

“She was.”

“Seriously?”

I held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“Wow, way to go Professor Clarkson.” Jude shook her head and imagined the scene in her mind. “I would have never thought Marsha Clarkson would be your type. I mean, no offense to a sister-in-arms, but she’s not exactly what I’d call attractive.”

“Actually, she is quite attractive,” I said, breathing in and out as Jude’s hand increased the pace. She pressed her thumb to the underside of my cock head and rubbed until little drops of juice oozed from the slit. I put my hands on her shoulders. “Why don’t you… get on top of me for… the rest of this story.”

She gave me a big grin and climbed on top of my rigid cock, which was ten-inches long with a head like a ripe plum. She didn’t slip me inside her just yet. She pushed my cock down and straddled the shaft with her pussy lips and started sliding up and down, lubricating me, teasing me. The heat of her juices washing over my cock and balls made me sigh.

“Okay, how’s that… mmm… go on… you were just about… to fuck Professor Clarkson…”

“Actually, she was just rubbing our thighs at that point,” I said, smiling at the feeling of her soft, hot pussy lips sliding up and down the shaft of my long cock from balls to tip. “Um… anyway… her hand moved up until she was rubbing both our cocks…”

“No way.”

“Way…”

“So, you and Wynn tag teamed her in the ladies’ room,” Jude said. She pressed her palms to my chest and dug in her finger nails till it made me wince. “Go on. Details. Give me… oohhh… details…”

“Well, the other ladies at the table had also gotten… pretty drunk and were… ah… making out like they were at a Roman orgy. That’s when Marsha took her hands from our cocks… and put an arm around each of our necks… and pulled us close so… she should whisper in our ears.”

“And what… pray tell… did she say?”

“She said… how bout you boys come into the ladies’ room… and fuck my brains out… To which we replied… ‘yes fucking ma’am’…!”

Jude closed her eyes as her pussy glided over the underside of my cock, drenching me with her hot oils, setting me on fire. She gasped each time her clit slid over the underside of the head. “And… oh… yes… right… there… tell me… more… what… happened… next…”

“We went into the ladies’ room… which happened to be vacant,” I said. I put my hands on Jude’s hips to help her keep the rhythm of her pussy sliding over my cock. “Marsha stripped off her clothes to reveal a pretty rocking little body… Turned out… she was a… into yoga… seems that flannel… hid it well…”

“She wasn’t… pudgy…”

“There was nothing pudgy about her, as you say,” I said, now finding it hard to steady my breath. “She needed fashion help… but her body was pretty fucking hot…”

“What… then… ohhh…”

“It took me and Wynn about ten seconds… to go from fully dressed to fully naked. We were both… drunk as shit… and hard as a rock. You think my cock is big? Wynn has me by at least a good two inches.”

“Why do I get the impression that you two perverts had a cock measuring session?” Jude asked, grinning down at me. “Be honest, you two are actually flaming gay, right?”

I chuckled because Wynn and I had talked about the fact that we were two of the most heterosexual guys on the planet, yet we were totally comfortable being naked around each other. Or having our cock and balls meet when we were fucking the same end of the woman.

“No, you have my word… we are as straight as… our cocks are long,” I said with a grin.

“Okay, I’m going to take your word for it,” Jude lifted herself up and held my cock steady with one hand. Slowly, she lowered her pussy on to my cock and sighed like it was pushing the air from her lungs. “There… that’s… better… now… more… tell me… more…”

“Marsha took a cock in each hand… and started milking us both…” I said, trying to focus on my story, which was hard given that Jude was sliding her tight pussy up and down the shaft, impaling herself on my rod until the tip hit her cervix, then back out and in again. She reached down with two fingers and started rolling her clit between them.

Her voice became a whisper. “Oh… more… go on… more…”

I did my best to continue. “Marsha milked us both… she was kissing me while… Wynn played with her tits… which were natural and quite… large… I might… oh… add… My hand went to her pussy… she had a thick bush… could have… used a trim… but her pussy was… oh… shit... Jude… fuck… her pussy was so wet it… dripped on my… fingers…”

“Which one of you… fucked… her first…” Jude’s eyes were closed now. Her fingernails were digging into my chest. It hurt like fire, but I didn’t care. Her hips were sliding back and forth, back and forth…”

“We… played with each other… for a few minutes… then Marsha told us she wanted to… suck my… oh… fuck... uh… she wanted to suck… my cock while Wynn… fucked her… from behind…”

“Did you… care which end… you got…”

I smiled. “Fuck no… I was happy to … fuck her… mouth… if that’s what… she wanted…”

“Mmmm… I love sucking… your cock… go on…”

“So, I leaned back against… the sink… and Marsha… bent forward and cupped my balls… in one hand… and started pumping… the shaft… while she sucked… on the head… Wynn got behind her… put his hands… on her hips… and… and… and… started to… shove his big cock… into her… hairy box…”

“Oh… fuck… Holden…” Jude moaned, her hips moving faster now. “Play… with my tits… play with… my fucking… tits…”

I reached up and filled my hands with Jude’s luscious melon tits, so milky white and perfect, with dark areolas and plump pink nipples that reminded me of gum drops. When I squeezed her nipples, she let go a long, low moan.

“Wynn started fucking her… from behind… hard… slamming into her as… deep as he… could go… rocking her… into me… as she sucked my cock… She reaches around me… and starts squeezing my… ass cheeks… digs her fingers in deep… starts teasing… my asshole…”

“Mmmm… I know you love that… my finger… in your… ass… while… I suck your… big cock..”

“Yes… I do…” I moaned. “So… Marsha is giving me… one hell of a blowjob… which was… surprising… since… she spent most of... her time eating… pussy…”

Jude giggled and quickened the pace. She was fucking me faster now, coming down harder on my cock, forcing me deeper inside her.

“Wynn said… he was gonna… cum… and I said… I was gonna… cum… so Marsha stands up… lets my cock fall out of her… mouth… and Wynn’s cock slides… out of her… pussy… She gets down on her knees between us… and jacks us both off… until we cum at the same time… all over her face and tits…”

“Oh… holy fuck…” Jude said, her hips pummeling faster on my cock. “Holy… fucking… hell… I’m going to… fuck… more… Holden… tell me… more… fuck… hurry… what else…”

I squeezed her tits as I felt my balls get hot and tight. I was a volcano about to erupt in the sweetest pussy I’d ever had the pleasure to cum in. I tried to finish the story before we both popped.

“So… we both shoot… ropes of milky cum… all over her tits… She keeps milking… milking us… hands going… crazy… then she screams… at the top of her… lungs … ‘I’M CUMMING, BOYS!!” We hear what we… thought was water running… we look… down and… Marsha is squirting… all over the floor… I mean… her pussy is gushing… like a broken pipe… all over… pooling beneath… her… and she’s still… pumping our cocks…”

“Oh… fuck… oh… I’m... cumming… Holden… oh… fuck… yes… yes… yes… YES!!!!!”

I grabbed onto Jude’s hips as she came in waves, hot juices washing over my cock and balls like the ocean tide coming in on a hot summer night. I came with her, shoving my thick cock inside her tight box as far as it would go and filling her with my hot milky goo. She bucked on top of me like a rodeo rider. I arched my back until she was lifted completely off the bed.

“Oh... fuck…” she finally sighed, falling onto the bed next to me. She rested her cheek on my sweaty chest and sighed. “Then what happened?”

I was trying to catch my breath. I, too, was covered in sweat and sticky stuff. I blinked at her. “What?”

“She jacked the two of you off onto her face and tits, then squirted all over the floor,” Jude said. “What happened next?”

I smiled. “She just said thanks guys and told us to fuck off.”

“She did not.”

“She did, too. She told us to put our clothes back on and get lost so she could clean up her mess”

“Why, that ungrateful bitch,” Jude said with a devious grin. “She just used and abused you two bozos then kicked you out. I guess she could have ordered you to get a mop and help clean up.”

I put my free arm behind my head and gave her a little nod. “Yes, it was just terrible. I had never felt so used in my life.”

“I bet,” she said with a grin. “Did she ever use and abuse you two bozos again.”

I had to grin at the look on her face. “A few times. It turned out that stuffy Professor Clarkson was quite the sex maniac.”

“Oh my god,” Jude said, rolling her eyes. “Guys are terrible. I swear, you’d fuck a goat if there were no women left on the planet.”

“Well, now, that would depend on the look and temperament of the goat,” I said. I put my left arm around her and pulled her close. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Would you ever want to do a three-way with me and Wynn? Is that something you’re open to? Being with two men at the same time?”

She was quiet for a few seconds, then quietly said, “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Never done a three-way? No history of raging orgies in your past?”

She put her chin on my chest so she could look me in the eye and shook her head. “No, I’ve always been a one fuck at a time kind of girl. I’ve never really thought about it. But you know my motto.”

“I didn’t know you had a motto,” I said, brushing a strand of hair from her damp forehead.

“Sure, I do.”

“Well? What is it?” I asked.

She leaned up to bite my bottom lip. “Never say never.”

 

CHAPTER FIVE: Holden

The biggest question was not whether Wynn would want to have sex with Jude. That, was a given. No, the biggest question was one only I could answer and that was: was I willing to share Jude with Wynn? And would Jude even be open to the idea?

I believed Jude would be open to the idea, given our past conversations and her free-wheeling sexuality and noncommittal attitude toward sex. I had always been totally open and honest with her when it came to my own sexuality.

I was as heterosexual as a man could be, but I enjoyed sharing women with my best friend, Wynn. We had double-tapped more women than I could remember, usually one of our older students or a faculty member or some woman we’d met at a restaurant or a bar somewhere.

I had no problem getting naked or fucking in front of Wynn and vice versa. We were there to give pleasure to the woman and get pleasure for ourselves. Period. And we enjoyed doing it together. Some people might have thought that we were weird and maybe a little gay, but that’s just the kind of friendship we had. We liked to bang the same girl. In our highly-trained, psychologically-enlightened minds, there was absolutely nothing wrong with that.

So, again, was I willing to share Jude with Wynn if that’s what both of them wanted? Wynn and I had not shared every woman in our lives because some women did not like the idea of having sex with two men at once. They think it was slutty, immoral, beyond their imagination, simply something they would never do. So, if I told Wynn that Jude was not a good fit for our little three-way play, he’d totally understand and not question me again.

On the other hand, how presumptuous of me would it be to deny Jude the incredible pleasure a guy like Wynn could offer a woman like her? Not sharing Jude would have been a totally selfish act on my part. I would have been thinking only of myself, not of her, and that would not be fair.

Besides, neither Jude nor I had branded ourselves monogamous. We were not a couple. We were not exclusive. We had no dibs on each other. To the contrary, we were both free to have sex with other people if that’s what we wanted. It wasn’t like we had that much extra time to fuck other people. Jude and I had been spending every waking minute together, which left neither us much time to explore sex with other people.

I was sitting in my classroom pondering that very point on Thursday afternoon when my phone buzzed on the desk. I looked at the screen at the smiling face of Wynn Driver calling from California.

“Sup man?” Wynn said with a big grin on his face. “You still at work?”

“Just finishing up,” I said, looking around the dark classroom. It was a stark comparison to the blue sky and ocean waves behind Wynn’s head. “You at your beach house?”

“I am,” Wynn said, glancing around as the ocean breeze blew his surfer boy hair in his eyes. “Wish you were here, my man. Another gorgeous day on the beach. Bitches in bikinis everywhere!”

“So, did you call to make me jealous that I’m here and you’re there, or was there a purpose to the call?” I asked, cocking one eyebrow.

“There is always a purpose to my calls,” he said. “I wanted to clarify something before I land there tomorrow night.”

“Clarify away,” I said.

“I assume that while not busy at the conference, we will be back to our old hard-partying ways while I’m there.”

“You assume correctly,” I said. “You think I’d let you come to town and not get your pipes cleaned?”

The he asked the question I’d been considering. “Sooo… does that mean that Jude is going to be partying with us?”

I had told Wynn all about Jude and had even sent him a few naked pics I’d snapped with her permission while she was sucking my cock. She had her pink lips suctioned to the crimson head of my cock and was taunting the camera with her bright blue eyes. I knew Wynn would want to meet her. After seeing the pics I’d sent, there was no way he couldn’t.

“I’ve broached the subject with Jude,” I said honestly.

“And?”

“And she is intrigued to say the least,” I said.

“Does she know about our little tag team act?”

I chuckled at the reference. There were many times when we had high-fived each other like wrestlers while changing ends of the woman we were fucking. I said, “I may have mentioned a few things to her about our act, yes.”

“And did she seem open to playing along?”

“Let’s just say that she did not shut me down,” I said. “In fact, now that I think about it, some of the hottest sex we’ve had was after I told her a story about you and me fucking the same girl.”

“Bam!” Wynn said with a big grin. “You got her on the line, my brother. All I gotta do is reel her in.”

“Maybe,” I said, nodding. “Just be aware that Jude is not like any woman I’ve ever been with before. Probably not like any woman you’ve been with.”

That piqued his interest. He gave me a thoughtful look through the video. “How so?”

“She is hypersexual, and considered herself a nymphomaniac with a teacher complex until I helped her see that she was just a healthy young woman who likes to fuck.”

“My favorite kind of healthy young woman,” Wynn said with a big toothy grin.

I smiled at him. “She is open, honest, and in your face. She is also fiercely independent and if you piss her off, well, just don’t piss her off.”

“Gotcha,” Wynn said, mocking a serious face. “I will not piss her off. And I’d never do anything that she didn’t to do. You know me, man, I’m a pussycat in the bedroom.”

“You’re a pussy hound,” I said, chuckling. “So, we’ll just play it by ear then. If Jude isn’t up for a little three-way action we can find someone who is, no problem. Maybe we can line up Marsha Clarkson and a couple of her bisexual friends who are not ardent man haters. Maybe we go to the RC and work ourselves into a little orgy. I know half the women on the association board would be willing to play.”

“I can always booty-call Jean Milton,” Wynn said, referring to the wife of Jefferson Milton, the head of the psyche department and my current boss. Jean was a hot forty-something piece of ass that Wynn screwed the entire time he was a professor at Midwestern. It was only by sheer luck that her husband never caught them fucking in every room of his house, sometimes while he was in another room entertaining guests.

“I’m not that big on tapping Jean Milton,” I said. “She’s hot, but I don’t think she would be up for a threesome. And I’m not sure I want the headache of fucking Jefferson Milton’s wife. Unlike you, my independently wealthy friend, I need this job.”

“Fine, I’ll fuck Jean by myself while I’m there,” Wynn said with a shrug. “You don’t know what you’re missing. Jean is a hot, hot fuck.”

“I’m sure she is,” I said. “I just don’t need the heat.”

“Then we’ll find another lucky girl to go three-way with us if Jude is not interested in playing along.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said with a firm nod. I glanced at my watch. It was nearly five o’clock. Jude was waiting on me to have dinner. “Okay, I’m going to have to run. What time’s your flight?”

“Fuck, I don’t remember the exact time,” Wynn said. “It’s an afternoon flight out of Los Angeles, arriving late Friday night there. I’ll email you the itinerary when I’m back at my computer.”

“Okay, I can pick you up, no problem.”

“Fuck that,” he said, shaking his head. “You guys rented me a car, so I can drive myself from the airport. You just concentrate on lining me up some nice ass for the weekend.”

“That, I can do,” I said with a smile. “Okay, partner, see you soon.”

“Later,” Wynn said, holding up a thumb. “And don’t forget to talk to Jude.”

“I will,” I said with a sigh. “I definitely will.”

 

CHAPTER FIVE: Wynn

My flight into Midwestern Regional Airport landed on time at 9:15 Friday night after a quick connection in Denver. The little airport was relatively deserted at that time of night, so it didn’t take long for me to find the Hertz counter and pick up the 2017 Nissan Maxima the psych association had rented for me for the weekend. I tossed my bag in the trunk, rolled down the windows, cranked up the music, and nodded at the lot attendant who was dozing in the little gate house as I passed. As I pulled out of the airport and onto Interstate 45 south to Madison, I felt like I was going back in time.

It had not been that long since I was a struggling professor of psychology at Midwestern University, one of the small regional universities dotted around the state. I had come to Midwestern just over four years ago when my old college roommate and best pal on the planet Holden called to say there was an opening in his department.

At first, I was hesitant to leave the sunny days and sandy beaches of California, where I was working as an assistant psyche professor at a small community college while working on a motivational book called The Psychology of You.

I know. The title was pretty fucking hokey, as was the whole concept behind the book, which was probably why I never got past writing the first chapter. Chapter One… uh…

Honestly, I was inspired by another buddy of mine named Lane Curtis—Dr. Lane Curtis, to be exact—who had written several books on psychology and now made a fortune doing seminars and on speaking tours. Lane was a former college linebacker who was much smarter than he looked. Still, I figured if Lane could do it, so could I. Granted, I’ve since written a mega-bestseller, but at the time I was in way over my head.

Then Holden called to tell me about the job at Midwestern and I realized that my affinity for surfing and fucking beach babes was only matched by my affinity for eating, and since I was barely making enough to keep my surfboard waxed and my belly full, the job at Midwestern could not have come at a better time.

Two weeks later, I flew in for a round of interviews, ended up fucking the woman in charge of the hiring committee, and the rest was history. I started a week later, and spent the next three years sleeping in Holden’s spare room and fucking my way through the student body and much of the faculty, often with Holden on the other end of the same woman.

I had not been in town three days when Holden and I resumed our little adventures in the land of group sex, which we had perfected back in college and grad school. We had been best buds since our freshman year at UCLA and had double-teamed our first girl that same year: a brunette undergrad named Beatrice Porter who had the biggest tits I’d ever seen in my life. I mean, honestly, the damn things were huge, with nipples as long as your thumb. Seriously. Like down to her waist huge. Like four handfuls huge. Like more than enough for two guys huge. It was amazing, what Beatrice could do with those giant tits, not to mention the rest of her body, which was proportionately small compared to her breasts.

Our most memorable time with Beatrice, at least for me, was the night she ordered us to take turns fucking her cleavage while the other fucked her pussy. Hell, me and Holden were up for anything, so we took turns. Holden straddled her belly and she held her tits together with his cock sliding between them. He fucked her cleavage while she leaned her head forward to lick his cock each time it came through.

At the same time, I had my cock buried as deep inside her as it would go, and I was jackhammering her like there was no tomorrow. She had her legs wrapped around my waist and kept nudging my ass with her heels as if she were riding a horse. We all three came at the same time and nearly broke her bed in the process.

Then we caught our breath, smoked a joint, drank tequila shots, and did it all over again, this time we me fucking her tits and Holden between her legs. I gotta tell you, that Beatrice was something else. Last I had heard she was living in Des Moines with an accountant named Irv, raising three kids, all of whom I’m sure had been breast fed.

I pushed thoughts of Beatrice Porter out of my head because I was getting a freakin’ boner just thinking about her. Hard not to think about those tits… simply amazing.

I turned off the highway and soon found myself driving along the main drag that snaked through the center of campus. It was a Friday night, but there wasn’t much going on at Midwestern. It was early fall and a lot of the kids had gone home for the fall break. I pointed my nose toward the window and took a deep breath. I always enjoyed Midwestern in the fall; the changing leaves… the cooler temperatures… the coeds with thick sweaters and no bras… fucking in front of a roaring fire…

Holden’s house was on the north side of campus, in a community of well-kept older homes where most faculty members lived. I arrived at his house around ten and parked on the street. The street was dark and quiet. Holden always said folks on his street went to bed at sundown. Apparently, he was right. The place was quiet as a tomb.

In the driveway sat Holden’s old Jeep Cherokee and a late model Hyundai with a student parking sticker on the back bumper. Jude’s car, I expected. I switched off my rental and stared at the house for a moment. There were lights still on, along with the porchlight. I was sure Holden and Jude were inside. I licked my lips, wondering if I was going to catch them in the act. And if so, might they be open to a third player for their little games?

Holden had suggested that Jude was open to the idea of a three-way, but you never knew how someone was going to react once things became real.

A lot of women cringed outwardly at the thought of having sex with multiple men at once, even if the thought was exciting on the inside.

I think most men would take part in a three-way if they weren’t horrified at the prospect of accidentally touching another guy’s cock with their own, or terrified of their wives finding out that they were unfaithful. I always found it funny that fear was what kept most men faithful. Fear of their wives and fear that they might immediately turn gay if their junk touched anther guy’s. Hell, my cock had crossed Holden’s numerous times during our sexcapades, but we were two of the most ardent heterosexuals around.

My psyche training told me that such resistance to group sex was more often than not borne from the values, morals, and opinions of society that were instilled in humans from birth, even though humans were not necessarily meant to be monogamous animals, at least not from a genetically-wired point of view.

The fact is only three to five percent of the roughly five-thousand species of mammals on planet earth ever form life-long, monogamous relationships, and that includes we humans, beavers, wolves, and some species of bats. That’s it. The other ninety-five percent of mammals have a hey-day fucking whatever they want to fuck without worrying about getting in the dog house when they come home. Male gorillas are not fearful of their wives. Lucky them.

Then there is what is called social monogamy, which is the term that refers to creatures that pair up to mate and raise their offspring, but still have flings no the side. They are not sexually monogamous, but socially so. It would be like your dad and mom were married and raising kids, but your dad was still banging his secretary on the side or your mom was banging your uncle Ralph. They were socially monogamous, but not sexually so.

Confusing? You bet, especially if you’re a guy like me and the call of the wild occasionally makes your balls tingle. Those who study the psychology of evolution (serious stuff compared to me studying the psychology of pussy) suggest that we men are more likely to fuck around than women, partially due to that little snag in our DNA that urges us to spread our seeds like dandelions spores in the wind.

Males are genetically predisposed to finding females who would make “good breeders” and planting their seeds to keep the species alive. That’s why men are often most-attracted to women with wide hips and big asses and big titties. A woman like that is, at least in our cave man minds, a good candidate to keep barefoot and pregnant. She is good breeding stock. It is our genetic duty to keep the species going, yet society tells us that’s not the acceptable thing to do.

I know, sounds like I’m making excuses for men to fuck around. Maybe a little, but the fact is that males are not genetically predisposed toward monogamy. Think about the bible; if Adam and his sons had been monogamous (and not attracted to their own sisters), and if all those other dudes like King David and Gideon had been monogamous, there would probably be a lot fewer humans on the planet right now. Then again, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

Would I ever commit to a monogamous relationship? Me, the guy who has never been faithful to one woman ever? The guy who breaks out in hives at the thought of commitment? The guy who cannot fathom the prospect of being with—and having sex with—only one woman for the rest of my life?

I never say never, but at this point in my life I can’t imagine committing to just one woman. Even if I met a woman and fell deeply in love I think there would always be that little cave man sitting on my shoulder yelling at me every time a beautiful woman walked by.

“Fuck her! Fuck her, Wynn! Go on! You know you want to! FUCK HER!!!”

I smiled and tugged the key out of the ignition, then got my bag out of the trunk and walked up to Holden’s front door. I still had my house key, so I opened the door and quietly let myself inside. I set my bag in the foyer, closed the front door, and stood listening for a moment. I could hear soft music coming from the bedroom. Then I heard glass tinkling from the kitchen.

I tiptoed across the hardwood floor and peeped in through the kitchen door. There was my man Holden, standing at the kitchen island fiddling with the seal on a box of cheap wine. There were two empty glasses on the counter. He was totally naked. His long schlong dangled like a meaty sausage between his legs.

“Still drinking that convenience store box wine?” I asked, leaning against the door frame with my arms folded over my chest.

Holden looked up at me, startled for a moment, and smiled. “I am unless you brought something better.” He picked up a towel to wipe his hands and came toward me with his cock swinging. He put me in a bear hug and grunted.

“Okay, get that thing away from me,” I said playfully, holding up my hands and taking a step back. “God only knows where that thing has been tonight.”

“That things, as you call it, has been to paradise tonight,” Holden said, grabbing his cock and wiggling it at me. “See? It’s smiling.”

I smiled back as he moved back around the island. He pulled a third wine glass from the cupboard. I held up a finger. “Hang on, I brought you something from Cali.” I went back into the foyer to retrieve my bag and brought it into the kitchen. I set the bag on the counter, unzipped it, and brought out the bottle of wine I’d brought along wrapped in a t-shirt.

“Let’s drink this,” I said, handing him the bottle with the label up. “It’s a Cabernet Sauvignon from Oprah’s vineyard in Napa Valley. It beats the hell out of that swill you call wine.”

“That swill I call wine costs $10 a gallon,” Holden said as he found the cork screw in a drawer and proceeded to open the bottle of wine I had brought. He popped the cork and poured us each a glass. He held his glass up to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Okay, that sure smells better than the 7-11 brand.”

“Wait till you taste it,” I said, taking a sip from my glass. “Go on. Try it.” Holden took a cautious sip, then titled the glass high to drain it dry.

“Mmmm… okay… that’s pretty fucking good,” Holden said, smacking his lips. He smiled at me with his eyes. “So, how was your trip?”

“My trip was good,” I said, nodding. I glanced around the kitchen. It looked exactly as it had the last time I was here. “Place looks the same. A real shit hole.”

“It’s not a Malibu beach house but it’s home,” Holden said with a smile. He pulled a third glass down from the cupboard and picked up the bottle of wine. “Want to meet Jude?”

“She’s here?” I asked innocently, though I knew she was.

“She is,” Holden said proudly, like he was about to show me something magical. “She is in the tub.”

“Lead the way,” I said, sounding nonchalant. “I’d love to meet her.” The truth was, I couldn’t wait to meet her.

“One thing,” Holden said, hesitating before going through the door. “We haven’t really talked more about the three of us partying, so…”

I held up my wine glass and my free hand. “Hey, no worries. Honestly, I’ve been awake going on twenty-four hours. I’d rather get a good night’s sleep and talk about that tomorrow. If I tried to have sex now, I’d just embarrass myself. I’m sure you’ve created quite a legend for me to live up to”

Holden gave me a frown, though I saw relief on his face. “You sure?”

“Positive,” I said. “Why don’t you introduce us, then we’ll see where things go tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Holden said, hitching his head toward the door. “Come on. Let me introduce you to Jude.”

 

CHAPTER SIX: Jude

I closed my eyes and sank down in the bath, letting the smell of the lavender bubble bath sooth my soul. It had been a rough week emotionally, primarily because I had let a past relationship interfere with my relationship with Holden. In short, I had gotten involved with another professor who ended up being married (I swear I did not know) and more than a little nuts. He started stalking me. He lost his family, his job, and his freedom after he attacked me and tried to drag me off in the woods. If Holden had not have shown up, I might be lying in a shallow grave somewhere at this moment rather than soaking in his master bathroom tub.

I had tried to stay away from Holden, but it was hard, especially when he kept coming around being so sweet. Finally, with a swift kick in my ass from Izzy, I came to my senses, showed up on his door step, and we had spent the night having amazing makeup sex. Now, after hours and hours of very energetic and creative sex, I just wanted to soak in the tub and go to bed.

My nipples were peeking out of the bubbles. They were happy, but tired and a little sore. I was giving them a nice soapy massage when Holden came in wearing nothing but a smile, dangling two empty wine glasses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. I relaxed while he poured us each a glass of wine. I was already a little drunk. One more glass would send me off to lala land. I grinned as Holden’s long cock swung like a pendulum as he stepped into the tub, then handed me a glass before settling in at the other end of the soaker tub.

“Mmmm, this is good,” I said after taking a sip. I licked my lips and held up the glass and frowned at it. “I don’t think I’ve had this before. What is it?”

“It is a Cabernet Sauvignon from Napa Valley, California,” Holden said. He took a sip and smacked his lips. “My friend Wynn just brought it to me.”

“Your friend…” I’m sure my mouth hung open as my eyes went wide. I knew Wynn Driver was coming in tonight. I had no idea he had arrived. I felt a little tingle between my legs at the thought of meeting him. Then, he was there, standing at the door with a grin on his face.

“Is there room in that tub for one more?”

His deep voice startled me for a second. I looked toward the open bathroom door and there he stood; one of the most handsome men I’d ever seen. I looked back at Holden to find him smiling at me from over his wine glass.

“Jude, I’d like you to meet my best friend,” Holden said proudly, holding up his glass of wine to toast his friend. “This is Wynn Driver. And we share everything.”

“Hi, Jude,” he said, smiling at me. I saw his eyes dip down to my soapy tits. I forced a smile and covered my hard nipples with my arm.

“Uh, wow, this is a surprise,” I said. I’m sure the look on my face was one of shock and anticipation. As Wynn smiled down at me, I let my eyes wander over his body.

Wynn Driver was tall, tanned, blond surfer good looks, with a smile that would charm the habit off a nun. He held a glass of wine in his right hand. The thumb of his left hand was hitched atop his belt buckle.

He was wearing an expensive suit, and a white button-down shirt open at the collar. I recognized him right away from the photo I’d seen on the back of his book and various photos Holden had sitting around the apartment. Beneath the warm bath water, I felt my own hot juices begin to flow.

“Wynn just got in from Los Angeles and just wanted to say hello before crashing,” Holden said, staring at me reassuredly as he spoke. I got the message. Wynn was not going to just strip off his clothes and climb into the tub with us. I was at once glad and a little disappointed.

“Right, I’ve been up almost twenty-four hours,” Wynn said. “I just wanted to stick my head in and say hi before calling it a night.”

“Uh… well… hi,” I said, starting to giggle at my own awkwardness. “Nice to meet you. Holden has talked so much about you I feel like I already know you.”

“Don’t believe everything Holden says,” Wynn said. He had a dazzling smile and bright blue eyes. “Unless it’s flattering, of course.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. I watched him as I took a sip of wine. I couldn’t help but glance down at his crotch. Holden said Wynn’s cock was twelve inches long. I could tell by the bulge in his tight jeans that he was not off the mark. I felt my pussy start to warm beneath the water. I sighed and casually dipped my hand between my legs. I was wet with my own hot oils.

“So, I assume the guest room is still in the same place,” Wynn said, arching his perfectly-manicured eyebrows over the wine glass.

“It is,” Holden said. “I even put fresh sheets on the bed for you. The black rubber ones you like so well.”

“You’re too good to me, old pal,” Wynn said, flashing the smile again, causing my nipples to plump beneath the bubbles. He held up his wine glass and gave us a little nod. “Well, that’s it for me then. Jude, I look forward to seeing more of you this weekend.”

I briefly thought about standing up so he could see more of me at that moment, but the wine had worked its magic and he had made my knees wobbly, so I stayed put.

“Night, buddy,” Holden said. “Glad you’re home.”

“Me, too,” Wynn said, his eyes dancing as they bounced between us. “Me, too.”

 

CHAPTER SEVEN: Wynn

I was practically asleep before my head hit the pillow. It felt so natural, being back at Midwestern, sleeping in the old twin bed in Holden’s guest room. I felt a little like I did when I was a kid off at college and I’d come home for the holidays or breaks, back to my parent’s house in Midland, Texas.

It was a reassuring feeling as a kid away at college, knowing that I could always come back home to mom and dad, sleep in my own bed in my old room, with the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders posters on the wall, and Sports Illustrated Magazines strewn all over the desk, and the faint smell of pot in my underwear drawer, the smell of my mom’s homemade soaps in the only shower.

All of those things still reminded me of home, at least the concept of home as I defined in my mind, though I knew in my heart that version of home was a place I’d never visit again.

Two thousand years ago, the Roman philosopher known as Pliny the Elder (probably just Pliny to his friends) said, “Home is where the heart is.” I didn’t know if that was true or not, but I’d go with that philosophy for now. It sure felt like I was home back at Midwestern with Holden.

My parents had been dead for nearly a decade and I had no siblings. The bank took the house when they died, and I had never bothered to put down roots anywhere I’d lived since college.

The beach house in Malibu was the first house I had ever purchased outright, and I bought it more as an investment than with the thought of making it my home. Most of my time had been spent sleeping on Holden’s couch until he bought a bed for his spare room and dubbed it my space. I was glad he did. It felt like home. It was the best night’s sleep I had had in a very long time, even if it was filled with visions and dreams of Jude.

Seeing her in the bubble bath with her pink plump nipples peeking out at me was almost more than I could stand. It took every ounce of willpower not to tear off my clothes and jump in the tub with her and Holden. But I could tell by the look in her eye that she still was not sure that having sex with us both, either separately or at the same time, was such a good idea.

Some people found it difficult—if not downright impossible—to separate the emotional drive from the sexual drive, even though they were clearly two completely different parts of the brain.

Science would probably never concisely be able to separate the two, so why should we mere mortals even try?

There was no wrong and right.

It was not a matter of black and white.

It just came down to how people were wired.

People either related love to sex—and vice versa— or they didn’t. The in between was a gray area of many different shades. Sadly, most people, i.e. men, tried to use the divide between emotions and sex to defend their infidelity by saying things like, “She meant nothing to me. It was just sex.”

While the statement was probably true (guys like that usually lacked emotions on any level), that was usually just the guy trying to beg his way out of getting caught sticking his cock in a pussy that did not belong to his wife.

Yes, you can have sex without getting emotions involved.

Yes, you can have sex with someone without attaching feelings to it.

Feelings like love and jealousy and commitment and resentment and possessiveness.

It was possible to have sex just for the sake of doing so, to satisfy the most primal of urges in all of us. I fuck because I like to fuck. I fuck because that’s what my body tells me to do. I fuck because it fucking feels good.

That does not mean I must possess those I fuck or vice versa.

Hmmm…

I think I just came up with the topic for my next book…

As I knew I would, I dreamt of Jude all night long, her naked body covered in bubbles, her nipples peeking through, her eyes dreamy as they lingered on mine, her lips on the wine glass, smiling at me.

I explored every inch of her in my dreams, and when the sun shined through the window waking me at seven o’clock in the morning, I had a raging hardon. My cock was so hard it throbbed with my heartbeat. It literally felt like it was going to burst.

I raised my head off the pillow and listened for a minute. The house was still quiet. The only sound was my own frustrated breathing. I wondered if Jude was still in bed with Holden; naked, her long legs wrapped around his, her head on his shoulder, her hand resting casually on his sleeping cock.

I closed my eyes and pictured her lying in bed naked while Holden slept beside her. She was on her back with her eyes closed but smiling. Her left hand was on her left breast, kneading the flesh, pinching the nipple so hard it turned crimson between her fingers. Her right hand was at her shaved pussy (all pussies are shaved in my imagination). Her legs were spread wide. She was pointing her toes, biting her lower lip. She was rubbing her clit. Her pussy glistened as hot oil seeped from deep within her well.

I inhaled deeply and could smell the salty tang of her pussy. I licked my dry lips and imagined it was her tongue at work. I wrapped my hand around my cock and started to slowly milk myself, squeezing tight, rolling the thin skin over the hard muscle from sack to tip. I closed my eyes and watched Jude do the same.

She had both hands at her pussy now. She was holding open her pussy lips with two fingers on her left hand while the fingers of her right hand rubbed all around her hole, lubricating her hand with her juices.

She moaned as the two fingers pulled back the hood of her clit to expose the little pink man in the boat. She rolled her fingers over the nub and her body went rigid.

She sighed my name.

My right hand started milking my cock faster as my left hand kneaded my ball sack. Her fingers went back to her pussy. She spread her pussy lips again and slowly slid two fingers inside her wet, hot hole. I felt my balls twitch as I slid my finger down my taint and rubbed the tender spot between my asshole and balls. The orgasm was building inside me, threatening to erupt at any moment. It would be a marvelous release.

Jude started plunging the two fingers in and out, in and out. She licked her lips and slid in another finger, then another. I sped up my hand on my cock as I imagined Jude plunging the four fingers in and out of her beautiful pussy, ramming them in to the knuckle and back out again. Her hand quickly became drenched with her juices.

“Fuck… Fuckkkkk…”

I moaned as the hot load shot from my cock, sending milky ropes into the air and splashing back down on my stomach and chest. I imagined Jude coming at the same time, squirting, gushing, teeth gnashing, groaning my name.

I milked my cock until there was nothing left to give, then blew out a long breath and opened my eyes. I glanced toward the closed door, almost expecting Jude to be standing there. Sadly, she wasn’t. I closed my eyes to find her smiling at me in my mind.

I blew out a long breath and with my hand still on my cock, and my stomach covered in jizz, paddled off the bathroom to take a hot shower to start my day.

 

CHAPTER EIGHT: Wynn

I was sitting at the table in Holden’s kitchen nursing a cup of black coffee when Jude appeared at the doorway. I was wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting black silk boxers. Jude was wearing a long white t-shirt and nothing else. Her thimble-like nipples poked through the thin cotton material and there were no panty lines that I could see. She had obviously just woken up and put the t-shirt on. Or maybe she wore it to bed. Either way, I couldn’t help imagining what she would look like with it off. Her hair was messy, and her eyes were puffy. She rubbed them like a little kid and gave me a smile.

“Good morning,” I said, getting up from the table to hold out a chair for her. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did, thanks,” she said, sitting down with a heavy sigh. She stretched out her long limps and groaned, then narrowed her eyes at the coffee maker sitting on the counter. “Is there coffee?”

“There is,” I said, already moving toward the pot. “Would you like a cup?”

She gave me a sleepy smile. “Oh my god, yes, please.” She rubbed her cheeks between her hands and glanced around the kitchen. Holden’s empty cup was still on the table. “Has Holden left already?”

“He had to get to the seminar early to help set up,” I said as I took down another cup and filled it with black coffee. I set the cup in front of her and took the chair across the table. “I make it pretty strong. Strong enough to jumpstart my system. Do you take sugar and cream?”

“No, black is fine,” she said, pushing hair from her eyes and reaching for the cup. “I learned to drink it black my freshman year. I had to pull a lot of all-nighters to keep up back then.”

“That’s the way it is with a lot of us,” I said, nodding, remembering my own freshman year that seemed a lifetime ago. “I just hooked up an IV bag and had Holden pour in gallons of black coffee to keep me awake.”

“I can just picture him doing that,” she said with a sweet smile that told me she truly liked my boy Holden, and was not just using him for sex (okay, that was hard to say with a straight face).

I smiled at her and she smiled back. Even with the puffy eyes and a crease from the pillow down the side of her face, Jude was strikingly beautiful. The photos that Holden had sent me did not do her justice. Selfies during sex rarely do. I couldn’t wait to see her naked body for myself.

She had a sleepy, hungover look about her that made me ask, “Too much vino last night?”

“Yeah, I think I drank a little too much last night,” she said, picking up the cup and holding it to her lips so she could blow cool air across it. “Holden and I had been at it quite a while before you arrived… I mean… well… you know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” I said, giving her a playful look with the cup to my lips. “Define ‘at it’ for me.”

When she smiled her entire face lit up. “Well, let’s just say that we had not seen each other in a few days and we were trying to make up for lost time.” She took a sip of the hot coffee and smacked her lips. “I guess Holden told you about what happened with Keith Calloway.”

My head slowly nodded on its own. I had known Professor Keith Calloway from my time at Midwestern before moving away. He was a world class prick that preyed on female students. He and I had almost come to blows several times over his harassment of students I happened to be sleeping with. I was shocked to learn that he was still teaching at Midwestern when Holden told me about Jude’s involvement with him, but I feigned ignorance to see what she would tell me.

“Holden mentioned something about Calloway, but nothing specific,” I said, sipping the coffee as if making casual conversation. “Care to tell me what happened?”

Her shoulders went up and down as she sighed. It made her melon tits bounce in the shirt. “Well, sad to say, I got involved with Keith a while back, not knowing that he was married. His wife found out about us and all hell broke loose. I ended things, but he kept after me. I told him to leave me alone, and even swore out a restraining order, but it didn’t do much good. He tried to attack me a while back and Holden saved me. If he hadn’t come along when he did, well… who knows.”

“And that caused you to reevaluate your life and relationships,” I said knowingly, sounding very much like the head shrinker that I was trained to be.

She blinked at me. “Yes, how did you know? Did Holden say something?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s what I’m trained to do, remember?” I gave her my best professional look and held out my hands. “When someone experiences a traumatic event, such as getting attacked or injured, it is normal for that person to reevaluate their life, their priorities, and their relationships, especially when it was a relationship that led to the event.”

She gave me a sideways grin. “Wow, so you really are a doctor of psychiatry? Good looking and educated.”

That made me chuckle. “Yes, believe it or not, I am not just a pretty face,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Anyway, what you experienced was perfectly normal. You needed the time to work through, and apparently now you have. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” she said, giving me a little nod.

I took another sip of coffee and arched my eyebrows. “What’s the deal with Keith now?”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The restraining order is still in place, and he’s locked up for at least thirty days for violating it. Beyond that, he will probably get out on bail pending charges for assault. I really hate that he’s going through this. I don’t want him locked up. But I hope he has finally learned his lesson and will leave me alone.”

“Keith is where he is because of Keith,” I said seriously. “Do not feel bad for the guy.”

“I know, that’s what Holden says,” she said with a quiet sigh. “Still, I can’t help but feel partially to blame. I mean, he had a wife and kids. And now…”

“I remember Keith Calloway from before I left,” I said, shaking my head. “Keith was always a bit of a prick, but I can’t imagine him wanting to spend much time in jail. I’m sure he got the message.”

“I hope so,” she said, staring down into her cup. “I sure hope so.”

That fucking prick… I was suddenly filled with rage toward Keith Calloway. I wanted to drive to the jail, bail him out, then beat the living shit out of him and make sure he never bothered Jude again.

It was odd, having such feelings of protection for a woman I didn’t really know. But Holden had confided in me that there was something special about Jude, something that made him want to take her in his arms and protect her from the world.

Watching her eyes tear up across the table I understood exactly what he meant. There were women so precious you just wanted to protect them. And slaughter anyone who threatened them in any way. I wanted to put my arms around her and tell her everything was going to be okay. Then make gentle love to her, just me and her. No theatrics. No weirdness. No swinging from the rafters. Just simple, sweet love.

“You look a little pissed,” she said, smiling at me.

“Do I?” I asked, rubbing the tension from my forehead with my fingertips.

“You do.”

I shrugged. “Well, guys like Keith piss me off.”

That made her smile. “I know. They piss me off, too.”

“So, tell me something good about your life,” I said, attempting to redirect the energy of our conversation because I had truly managed to bum her out.

She gave me an inquisitive look. A strand of hair fell across her forehead. I resisted the urge to brush it behind her ear. “Something good about my life?”

I tried to match the warmth of her smile and held out my hands. “Yes, tell me something good. Holden tells me you have an incredibly bright future and might even become a psychiatrist.”

Thankfully, the light returned to her eyes. “Oh, yes, that’s what I’m thinking now,” she said, nodding. “I have a few months of grad school left, then I’m thinking about getting my doctorate and opening a practice here at Midwestern.”

“That’s awesome,” I said. “Do you have a focus for the practice or will you do general psychiatry?”

“I’m not sure yet,” she said, frowning in thought. I watched her tongue go around her lips. I felt my cock twitch in my boxers. “I’m thinking that sex therapy might be interesting.” She picked up her cup and took a sip, then looked me dead in the eye as she licked coffee from her lips. “What do you think? Is sex therapy a good field to go into these days? For individuals and couples? Or maybe… more?”

I smiled because we were back on track and I could tell she had brought up the topic to tease me a little. I said, “Well, as you might know, I’m a big fan of therapy and a bigger fan of sex. And considering that most of the world’s problems stem from sex, I think that’s a great path to follow.”

“Do you really believe that?” she asked.

“Do I really believe what?”

“That most of the world’s problems stem from sex?”

I shrugged at the question. “Well, think about. Wars have been fought over sex. Men kill for sex. Many crimes pertain to sex. Most betrayal stems from sex.”

“As does most happiness,” she said with a grin. “You make the world sound like such a dark place.”

“The world can be a dark place, and the most common denominator among people on the planet is sex,” I said, shifting into professor mode without even thinking about it. “Most people want to have sex, some more than others, some will do unspeakable things to get sex, and some focus so harshly on sex that they allow it to destroy their lives.”

“You have a very cynical view of sex and the world,” she said, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Especially for a guy who makes a very good living writing and speaking about sex.”

“Oh, I’m not cynical about sex,” I said with a smile. “I am cynical about human beings and how they use sex to get what they want or hurt one another or satisfy some dark need. Or those who use it as a tool or as a power to hold over others.”

“So, you’re cynical about people, but not cynical about sex.”

“Correct.”

“So, sex is great, but people suck.” She said it and arched her eyebrows over the cup. “I can agree to that.”

“Are you ever cynical about sex?” I asked, lobbing the ball back into her court.

“Sometimes, I’m cynical about my own motives and sexuality,” she said, her eyes turning serious.

“Can you elaborate?” I asked.

She grinned at me. “Jeez, when did this become a therapy session?”

“Humor me,” I said with a smile. “I need the practice for this weekend.”

“Ah, I see.” She let her eyes drift slowly around my face. “Fine. What was the question again?”

“I asked if you’d care to elaborate on being cynical about your own sexuality.”

She took a deep breath and spoke softly as she let it out. “Well, for a long time I let my sexuality rule me. I let it define me. I thought I was a…”

“Was a what?”

“For a long time, I thought I was a nymphomaniac,” she said quietly.

“And now?”

“And now I think I’m just a healthy young woman with a very active sex drive.”

I nodded thoughtfully and rubbed my chin. “And how did you come to that realization?”

“Holden,” she said, whispering his name, smiling as it crossed her lips. “He made me see that what I thought was nymphomania was just me enjoying sex.”

“You had labeled yourself a nymphomaniac?” I asked. I tried to focus on the serious topic, but my eyes kept dropping to her nipples that looked like they were about to burst through the thin cotton fabric. Despite my best efforts to concentrate, my cock grew hard beneath the table. It grew so hard it throbbed and pushed against my boxers, like an anaconda trying to wriggle out of a burlap sack.

“I was actually labeled a nymphomaniac by a therapist I saw when I was a teenager,” she said. “Of course, he proceeded to bend me over his desk and fuck me in the ass… so… yeah… I guess I should have taken that diagnosis with a grain of salt.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” I said, my teeth gnashing as the protective side of me came rushing back. I almost asked for the name of the therapist, so I could look him up and kick his ass, but I bit my tongue instead. “Did he force himself on you?”

“What? Oh, no,” she said, holding up her hands. Her fingers were slim and perfect, like the rest of her. “I wanted him to do it. I seduced him. I might not have been a text book nymphomaniac as he suggested, but I had—and still do—an overactive sex drive that would have made a porn star blush. I totally came onto him. He just responded to my… offer… so I can’t blame it on him.”

I leaned back with the coffee cup between my hands and watched her face as she talked.

She was calm, smiling, being totally open and honest.

She wasn’t lying or trying to hide some dark abuse.

She really was a woman who loved to fuck, not a woman with a mental defect.

Perfect.

We had a lot in common.

And we were going to get along just fine.

 

CHAPTER NINE: Jude

I could feel Wynn’s eyes on me as we talked, evaluating me, sizing me up. My nipples were doing their part, thick and plump, pushing against the white t-shirt that I wore on purpose because it was so old and thin. I also wasn’t wearing panties on purpose and as I felt the heat of Wynn’s eyes, I felt myself getting wet.

I bunched up the tail of the t-shirt and pushed it between my legs to keep from flooding in the chair. I could smell the strong scent of my wet pussy. I wondered if Wynn could, too. I certainly hoped so. I had fucked him all night in my dreams. Now, sitting across from him with my pussy gushing like Old Faithful, I wondered if this morning Wynn Driver would make my dreams a reality.

I decided that we had had enough of the serious sex talk. It was time for a little fun. I held up my cup and nodded at the coffee pot. I had seen Wynn squirming in the chair, his hand fiddling with his crotch. Unless I missed my guess, his cock was as hard a rock from staring at my nipples.

I wiggled the cup at him. “Could I have a refill? Please?”

Wynn looked at me as if I’d asked him to jump off a cliff. He looked at the cup, then looked at the coffee pot across the room. Then he looked down at his crotch and his cheeks got red. Oh my god. I had managed to embarrass the great Wynn Driver.

He said, “Um… well… this is a little… embarrassing…”

I smiled and lifted my chin to look across the table toward his crotch. He was wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of black silk boxers. From the look on his face, there was something in his boxers that wanted to come out and play.

“Do you… I mean…” I licked my lips and wiggled my eyebrows at him. “Oh my… Dr. Driver… Is your legendary long cock hard?”

“Uh… yeah…” he said with a “busted” smile. “I’m sorry, it’s just that, well, seeing you in that… and your nipples… and… well… no offense, but I can smell your pussy from here. So… yeah…”

It was my turn to turn bright red. My seduction had worked perfectly, but I still felt my cheeks flush with heat. My nipples strained against the t-shirt. The juices between my legs flowed heavier, sluicing down to pool beneath my ass. I swallowed the lump that was in my throat and decided to throw caution to the wind.

Looking him in the eye, I asked, “Do you like the way my pussy smells, Wynn?”

He licked his lips. “I love the way your pussy smells.”

I casually batted my eyelashes at him.

“Would you like to see how my pussy tastes?”

“I would love to taste your pussy, yes.”

“Would you like to see my pussy?”

“Yes.” He said the word and pressed his palms to the table, like a tiger about to pounce. He stared into my eyes. “Show me your pussy. Now.”

I pushed the chair back so he could see all of me. I tugged up the damp t-shirt to my waist and spread my legs to show him my hairless cunt. His eyes widened when he saw the pink lips glistening with my juices. I used my fingers to pull back the lips so he could see my pussy hole, which was oozing juices that ran down my taint and puddling in the chair.

I cooed at him. “And what else would you like to do to my pussy, Wynn?”

“I want to touch your pussy,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “I want to lick it, taste it on my lips, fuck you with my tongue, feel you around my cock…”

I began to roll my clit between my fingers. Little bolts of lightning shot through my body, making me tingle all over. I paused long enough to tug the t-shirt over my head. I threw it aside. I squeezed my nipples with my left hand as my right hand went back to work on my clit. I slid my fingers up and down between the folds, coating them with my juices. I leaned forward and stretched the hand across the table.

“Taste my pussy,” I said. “Suck my pussy juices from my fingers.”

Wynn didn’t hesitate. He pushed up on his palms and leaned over the table. He parted his lips and stuck out his tongue and took my fingers deep inside his mouth, sucking them like I’d soon be sucking his cock, licking them clean, humming as he did so.

I looked down to see his cock resting on the table. At first, I wasn’t sure if it was his cock or a giant sausage he was serving me for breakfast. His cock had worked its way through the pee hole in the front of the boxers and was sticking out like a lead pipe, lying on the table, twelve-inches of meaty heaven, round as a golf ball, with a crimson head that looked like it might pop at any moment.

As he sucked my fingers, Wynn got his cock free of the boxers and pushed them down his legs. When I pulled my hand back, he pulled off his t-shirt and stood across the table stroking the full length of his monster cock. Just the sight of it made me tingle all over.

“How does my pussy taste?” I asked, bringing the hand back to finger fuck myself as I watched Wynn milk his cock.

“Your pussy tastes amazing,” he said, licking his lips, his breath growing heavy. “I want to taste it for myself.”

“Will you let me suck your cock if I let you taste my pussy?” I asked.

“I’ll certainly think about it,” he said with a sly grin. He quickly cleared the cups from the table and held out his hand. I put my hand in his and he tugged me out of the chair and into a strong embrace. He grabbed my ass cheeks and pulled me into him, digging his fingers in hard. I stood on my tiptoes so his long cock could slide between my legs. My big tits mashed against his muscular chest. My lips quickly found his. Our tongues dueled and slithered. As his cock slid between my wet folds, I closed my eyes and moaned into his mouth.

“Lie down,” he said, directing me to lie back on the table with my ass at the edge. He pulled up a chair and rubbed his hands together playfully and smacked his lips. “Now this is my favorite kind of breakfast.”

I giggled and put my hands behind my head and spread my legs wide for him. “Well then, eat your fill, kind sir.”

Wynn did not have to be told twice. He started rubbing my dripping pussy with his right hand as his left hand reached up to knead my breast. My body reacted immediately to his touch, gushing hot juices from my hole as my nipples grew so plump they ached. I closed my eyes and briefly thought about Holden. There was no hesitation, no worry and no concern that I was doing something Holden didn’t want me to do. To the contrary, I had the sneaking suspicion that this whole morning-coffee-slash-morning-sex-session had been a setup to give me and Wynn time to get to know one another better. And so, we did.

Wynn lowered his mouth to my clit and the moment his lips made contact with my most super-sensitive spot, my entire body jerked as if I’d been hit with a live wire.

His lips were warm and soft and wet. I’m sure my pussy felt the same to him. I felt Wynn pulled back the hooded skin hiding my clit and his tongue began to circle my hard, little nub, sending shockwaves rippling through my body from head to toe. When his tongue slowly slid from my clit to my hole, I thought I was going to jump right off the table.

“Oh... fuck… yes… that’s… oh… yes…” I was moaning out of my head. The anticipation of having Wynn’s lips on my pussy had been killing me. I had had dirty dreams all night about fucking Wynn, but I must admit, none of them involved getting my pussy licked on the kitchen table. This was far better than any dream I could have ever have come up with on my own.

“Your pussy… mmm… it tastes like… mmm… is that… strawberries… no… wait… lavender…” Wynn said, humming the words.

“Both… yes… from… oh… yes… right there… right… ohhh… from… the bubble bath…” I stuttered out the words. “I washed… really good… just… oh… just… for you…”

“So… mmm… so… thoughtful,” he said, the words vibrating against my clit. He brought both hands down to cup my ass cheeks in his palms and used his thumbs to spread my pussy lips. He lifted my ass up to his mouth as if he were eating hot, juicy, dripping, watermelon… with no seeds, of course…

“Mmmm…” he said, his lips pressed to my pussy and his tongue circling my hole. “So… sweet… so… wet…”

Before I knew it, I felt my pussy grow hot as fire as the first orgasm crashed through me like a tsunami hitting the beach. It came on all at once, exploding from deep within me. I bucked my ass in Wynn’s hands and started squeezing my tits hard and moaning loudly.

“Fuck… oh… god… Wynn… I’m… I’m… cumming... Wynn… suck… my pussy… fuck my hole… with your…oh… fuck… your… tongue… Wynn… fuck me… with your… hard tongue…”

I came hard against Wynn’s mouth, but he didn’t stop what he was doing. I gushed hot juices over his cheeks and chin. The smell of my cum filled the warm kitchen air. I clutched my nipples between my fingers and squeezed them until the pleasure overtook the pain.

My body spasmed against Wynn’s tongue and fingers for a moment, then I pushed out a long sigh and fell still, aware for the first time of the cool wood of the table at my back. The realization that I was lying on Holden’s kitchen table being eaten out by his best friend made me smile. I opened my eyes and glanced down to see Wynn smiling at me as his tongue went about cleaning the juices from my pussy and inner thighs.

“You do that incredibly well, Dr. Driver,” I said with a dreamy smile. “I can only assume that you’ve had hours and hours of practice.”

“Hours and hours,” he said, licking my cum from his fingers. “In fact, I think I have a framed certificate somewhere.”

I giggled at his words and the goofy look on his handsome face. “I’m sure you do. A well-earned certificate, I’m sure.”

“I do other things incredibly well,” he said, pushing himself out of the chair to stand between my legs. His cock loomed large before my eyes, a foot long, crimson red, veiny, the tip wet with his ooze. He took his cock in his right hand and squeezed. Clear precum oozed from the tip as if he was squeezing the world’s sexiest toothpaste tube. He rubbed the juicy tip of his cock to my clit.

“Oh…” I gasped as another shockwave rumbled through me. I reached for his cock and wiggled my fingers. “Let me do it. Let me touch your monster cock…”

He stepped forward to lay his cock in both of my hands. It was like holding a warm, fleshy lead pipe. It was hard, straight, and girthy, with thick veins roping the shaft from the blonde curls of his crotch to the bulbous head. I closed both hands around it and pulled him toward me as if I were reeling in a hose. He hooked the crooks of his arms under my knees and lifted my legs up as I tugged him closer.

“Oh… god… you… you are so… so… so… fucking… big,” I said, licking my lips at the size and feel of him. I couldn’t wait to see how much of his cock I could take into my mouth. But for now, I wanted to see how much I could take inside my pussy. I pulled on his cock and beckoned him with my eyes.

I said, “Come closer… closer…”

Wynn held my legs and moved closer until the bulbous head of his cock pushed against my hot, wet hole. He gave me a concerned look.

“Don’t let me hurt you,” he said. “I’ll go slow, but you tell me when to stop.”

“Don’t you worry about me,” I said, swirling the tip of his cock around my hole to get it really wet. “I’m much tougher than I look.”

He blinked at me, seriously. “I know, I meant, well, I’m pretty long.”

“No shit,” I said, giving his cock a playful squeeze with both hands, giggling again at the look on his face. He looked like a little kid telling me not to hurt myself while playing with his favorite toy. “Just go slowly… And stop pushing when you hit something.”

He grinned and held up his hands with his arms still hooked under my knees. “Sorry. I know. It’s not your first rodeo.”

“And you are not my first prize bull,” I said. “Now… shut up and fuck me…”

My hole opened up to him as he slid the head of his cock inside me, then my pussy suctioned to the shaft. His cock was huge, the biggest I’d ever had the pleasure of taking inside me. I could feel my pussy stretching to accommodate his girth. It hurt just enough to make me wince, then the pleasure took over and the pain magically disappeared.

I could instantly feel him in every part of my body. I felt like I had just had a three-course meal. My belly felt full, only it was not my belly. It was my cunt. Fortunately, Holden’s cock was nearly as big, and we’d been going at it like horny bunnies for weeks, so I knew we’d have no problem getting down to business with Wynn. Or should I say, I’d have no problem getting Wynn’s business inside me?

“God… you’re so fucking… ah… shit… so… tight…” he said, moving closer and inch at a time. I could feel my pussy literally opening up for him, molding around the thick shaft, squeezing him tight. I could feel the bulbous head snaking its way up my tight tunnel. When his cock was partially in, about five inches or so, I felt the tip hit my cervix and we both knew that was as far as he was gonna go.

“Is that… in… far… enough…” I asked, swallowing hard between the words. The size of him was setting off nerves in my cunt like sparklers on a dark night. My entire body was tingling, as if the air was filled with static electricity that was emanating from deep inside me. I felt like lighting could shoot from my fingertips… and my nipples…

“Yes… that is… fucking… perfect…” Wynn said, leaning in to me so his hands could reach my breasts and still keep my legs hooked under his arms. He slowly withdrew his cock from my pussy until the head was at my hole, then eased himself back in. Uh… holy fucking shit… the sparklers quickly became wildfires as my body lit up and my nerves tipped over the edge. After a few more slow thrusts, we were both lubed up and good to go.

“Now…” I sighed. “Slowly… fuck me… nice… and… slow…”

“I’ll go slowly until you tell me to speed up,” he said. He put his hands on my knees and started rocking his hips in and out, in and out, in and out. Each time his cock slid out and back in, little shocks of pleasure rippled through my body. I was on fire. I started sweating. Juices oozed from deep inside me. My pussy clenched to his cock and held on tight as Wynn rocked his thin hips to and fro.

“How… is that…” he asked, his words tumbling out over heavy gusts of breath. “Fuck… Jude… you are… so… fucking… tight…”

“And you’re… so… fucking… huge…” I sighed at the look on his face. His eyes were closed, his forehead lined, his face intense. The muscles across his shoulders and fuzzy chest were tightening, bulging. His nipples were as hard as his cock. They were big, like the tip of my little finger. I couldn’t wait to have them between my lips.

His thrusts were getting faster as the heat and wetness prompted him on. Soon, he was pounding the head of his cock against my cervix. His body was drenched in sweat. He was grunting like a wild animal, pummeling me now, panting, thrusting. I knew he was about to blow. And so was I.

“Oh… fuck… Wynn… yes… I’m… oh god… fuck… I’m… cumming… I’m… cumming…” I screamed the words until they echoed off the kitchen walls. “Fuck… me… harder… Wynn… fuck… me… harder… oh… yes… yes… yessss…”

I started coming in waves, one after another.

I would climax and try to catch my breath, then I’d climax again, gushing my hot juices all over his long cock.

Wynn’s fingers tightened around my knees. He grunted louder, his thrusts getting jerky.

“I’m… cumming… Jude… I’m… fuck…fuck…fuck…”

I opened my eyes in time to watch every muscle in Wynn’s torso bulge like he was lifting weights. Large veins popped out of his neck as he tossed his head back and gritted his teeth and howled at the ceiling.

I closed my eyes and cooed as I felt my belly getting warm as he pumped his load of milky goo inside my cunt.

He jerked and spasmed for a moment, then blew out a long breath and opened his eyes to look at me.

We both smiled, knowing it was going to be a wonderful weekend.

 

CHAPTER TEN: Holden

I had to leave the house before 8 A.M. on Saturday morning to get to Conner Hall, the large meeting hall on campus where the Psychology & Sexuality in The Modern Age weekend seminar was being held.

It was hard, dragging myself out of bed and leaving Jude lying there on her back, all naked and warm, her perfect breasts rising and falling as she snored softly with strands of hair across her face. Her lips were open, the warm breath sighing out of her made me long to press my lips to hers. God, I loved waking up with this woman. There was just something magical about it. I guess that was because there was something magical about Jude.

I resisted the urge to snuggle up next to her and slide my cock between her legs for a little good morning loving. We had really gone at it hot and heavy last night (what’s better than make-up sex???), not to mention finishing off the bottle of wine Wynn had brought before calling it a night.

She’d had a rough few weeks. She deserved a little rest and relaxation. Besides, unless I missed my guess, she’d be having a little morning delight with Wynn once they were both up and around. There was no need for me to wear her out completely, although the vision of her naked body in my bed remained on my mind’s eye all the way to Conner Hall.

The event didn’t formally start until noon with registration at eleven, but I had somehow been put in charge of logistics, so it was my job to make sure the tables and chairs were set up in the meeting hall, the sound system worked, the food was scheduled to arrive, the coffee was made, and the reception table was all ready for folks to check in as soon as they walked through the lobby doors.

All the attendees had RSVP’d in advance and their nametags were neatly spread out on the reception table, which was in the lobby just as attendees came in the door. The table would be manned by association members and student volunteers, who should start arriving within the hour.

It was not going to be a large event, maybe fifty people or so, but having a celebrity author and fellow psychiatric professional like Dr. Wynn Driver had the place buzzing. The local media had even requested permission to come out and interview Wynn; radio, television, bloggers, and the school paper.

The male members of the association all acted unimpressed at our celebrity keynoter. Most of the female members, on the other hand, were as giddy as teenage girls headed to a Justin Bieber concert. Many of the ladies had, shall we say, “experienced” Wynn intimately. And those who had not probably fantasized about doing so.

Going into the weekend there was an electricity in the air I had never felt at such an event, large or small. My friend Wynn was a star. A star with groupies of all ages. And I could not have been happier for him. And maybe just a tad jealous. Both perfectly normal, I assure you.

I had just finished talking to the catering company over the phone, confirming the lunch menu of rubber chicken and cold rice (a joke, I hoped) when I noticed the beautiful black girl coming through the front door. She had skin the color of chocolate and a head full of short dreadlocks that reached her shoulders and hung over her forehead. She was dressed in a black tank top under a short blue jacket and a pair of jeans that should have charged admission the way they showed off her ample rear end. She set her backpack next to the reception desk and gave me a sleepy nod. It was Izzy, Jude’s roommate and ardent protector.

“Professor Moss,” she said coldly, giving me the eye as she stood at the table staring down at the name tags. “I agreed to work the sign-in table.”

“Ah, that was nice of you,” I said, stepping aside to let her move around behind the table to take a seat in one of the two chairs. “Did Jude twist your arm?”

“No, Jude had nothing to do with it,” she said, crinkling her nose and looking at me as if I were giving off a bad odor. “Professor Atkinson made us draw straws and I lost.”

“Ah, forced to volunteer,” I said with a smile. “Either way, thanks for helping out. I appreciate it.”

“Whatever,” she grunted, narrowing her dark eyes at me. It was obvious that Izzy had not decided whether she liked me or not. She seemed to be leaning toward the dislike-side. She was super protective of Jude, but she had to realize how happy Jude was since we’d been together. Still, she looked me up and down with suspicious eyes and curled her lip at me.

“Where’s Jude?” she asked, her beautiful face twisting into a disapproving frown as she looked around the lobby, which was empty except for she and I. “Is she coming to help out?”

“She was asleep when I left the house,” I said. I shoved my hands into my pockets because I didn’t know what to do with them. Funny, Izzy had the ability to make me nervous with just a look, kind of like my mother used to. I shuffled my feet on the worn carpet and forced a smile. “She’ll be here later to help out. I thought I’d let her sleep in.”

“Uh huh,” she grunted, arching her eyebrows. She sat down in the chair and started alphabetizing and straightening the name tags. “Your friend get into town?”

“My friend?”

She kept her hands busy with the name tags and did not look up at me. “The thoughtful pussy guy,” she said. “What’s his name?”

“Dr. Wynn Driver,” I said with a smile. The thoughtful pussy guy. Classic. I’d have to suggest to Wynn that he put that on his business card. “He got in late last night.”

“He sleep in the bed with y’all?” she asked. The question came out of nowhere in a low growl, like a wolf issuing a warning to a lamb about to get slaughtered. It forced the smile from my face. I pulled over a chair to sit across the table from her.

“Why would you ask me that question?” I asked seriously.

“You know why I asked you that question,” she said, hands busy, eyes down. “Me and Jude talk, you know. I know what you have in mind for her and I don’t think I like it much.”

“Really? And what do you think I have in mind for her?”

“She’s told me all about you and your little gay pal, Wynn, and your little gangbang sessions y’all do,” she said. She glanced up long enough to make me swallow hard. “I know what you two mother fuckers are planning. And so does Jude. So, don’t act all sweet and innocent with me because I know all about you and your little friend.”

“My little friend?” I couldn’t help but smile, then I started to get angry. Obviously, this girl thought she knew me, but she didn’t have a clue who I really was. I rested my forearms on the table and resisted the urge to tell her what Jude and I did was none of her fucking business. Instead, I took a few slow breaths and let the words settle for a moment.

When I spoke, I tried to keep the anger out of my tone. I knew she wasn’t just being a bitch. She was just looking out for her best friend. I certainly could not blame her for that. I’d protect Jude from anything or anyone that I thought might be a threat.

I said, “Look, Izzy…”

She held up a hand to shush me. “Don’t you ‘look Izzy’ me,” she said in a tone that clearly said she would just as soon kick my ass as give me the time of day.

I held up my hands, patting the air with my palms. “Okay, fine. Let’s just cut straight through the bullshit and you can tell me what’s really bothering you.”

“What’s really bothering me,” she said, leaning forward to lower her voice. “Is you—like every other man who has ever come in and out of Jude’s life—are just there to fuck her and forget her. That’s it. You don’t really give a shit about her. You just want to get your rocks off and move on.”

“Is that right?”

“Damn straight that’s right.”

I frowned at her words because I had never given Jude that impression—at least I hoped that I had not—and I wasn’t sure why Izzy saw me that way because she didn’t really know me at all.

Did she think that every man who showed an interest in Jude was doing so only because he wanted to fuck her?

Did she not think Jude was smart enough to gauge the sincerity of a man’s actions and act accordingly?

Or perhaps it was something deeper than that.

Perhaps it was because she had seen Jude put herself in these situations with bad guys for years and was just sick of watching her friend get hurt, even though it was her friend’s own doing.

How many girls had such low self-esteem that they hooked up with men who used and abused them rather than men who would treat them like goddesses?

It was the old bad boy syndrome.

Bad boys treat good girls badly.

That’s why they’re called bad boys.

And sadly, a lot of girls sought out these bad boys and were only happy when they were being used and abused.

I hated to quote Dr. Phil, but he was exactly right when he said something to the effect of, “You teach people how to treat you.”

Izzy was convinced that I was just another in a long line of assholes out to hurt her friend. I suddenly could not blame her for being angry and suspicious. All I could do was convince her that she had misjudged me and my intentions toward Jude.

I glanced around the lobby then glanced at my watch. It was still early. We were the only ones there. In fact, I started to wonder what Izzy was doing there so early because the doors didn’t open till ten and registration started at eleven. Then it hit me. She arrived early on purpose to talk to me. Or to threaten me. I was eager to see which one.

“I hope that I have never given Jude the impression that I’m involved with her to just fuck her and forget her, as you say.” I waited for her to respond, but the only response I got in return was the narrowing of her dark eyes. “Come on, Izzy. Clearly you have something to say, so talk to me. Say it. Because whether you choose to believe it or not, I really do have Jude’s best interests at heart.”

“Bullshit,” she snorted, rolling her eyes. “Guys like you only care about one thing and that’s sticking your filthy cock into as many hot young coeds as you possibly can before your looks and power start to go.”

“Wow,” I said, a smile itching my lips. “Is that what you really believe?”

She folded her arms over her breasts and cocked an eyebrow at me. “You gonna deny it? Please, do try.”

“Am I going to deny that I’m a lecherous piece of shit just fucking as many college girls as I can before my time runs out?” I asked, holding out my hands like a lawyer pleading his case to a hard-nosed judge. “Uh, you bet your ass I’m going to deny it. And for your information, my cock is not filthy. I keep it quite clean, thank you very much.”

“You’re a professor that fucks his students,” Izzy said without acknowledging my sad attempt at humor. Her demeanor didn’t flinch. Nor did her hard gaze ease. Her eyes went up and down my face. “So, how can you deny anything I say, Professor Moss?”

I blinked at the question, not because I didn’t know the answer, but because it was a good goddamn question. What was I? Really? If I wasn’t a professor fucking his way through the female student body? Holy shit… Was I that guy? Was that really me, only my high-headed ego was too pompous to admit it? I’ll say it again. Holy shit…

“Well?” she growled, cocking her eyebrows at me.

“I’m not… lecherous,” I said, trying to sound playful but failing miserably.

“You may be nicer than some of the men Jude’s been involved with, but it’s the same old song and dance,” Izzy said, wagging a finger at me. Her fingernails were long and sharp and painted the color of green apples. “The only difference between you and a piece of shit like Keith Calloway is, he’s in jail for the shit he’s done but you’re not.”

“Wow!” I said, huffing, shaking my head. “You can’t seriously believe that’s the only difference between me and Keith Calloway.”

She shrugged with her face. Her dark eyes cut into mine like lasers. “Seems to me y’all both used and abused my girl Jude. And you’ll keep doing it until she figures out what a sack of shit you are, then you’ll obsess over her and won’t leave her alone until a new victim comes along.”

“I’ve never obsessed over anyone to the point of stalking,” I said, feeling the heat of my temper flushing my cheeks. “And I’ve never used or abused anyone. Especially Jude.”

“You’ve never obsessed over Jude?” She was grinning at me now, which only made me madder because her grin was filled with ridicule and condescension.

“I’ve never obsessed or done anything remotely like Keith Calloway did. I would never do that. Ever.”

She tapped the finger to her chin and mocked a thoughtful face. “Did you or did you not show up on my doorstep a week ago begging me to plead your case to Jude?”

I frowned at the memory, which I saw very differently. “I came to your place hoping to speak to Jude because she wouldn’t return my calls and I had no idea why.”

“Please, Professor Moss…” She rolled her eyes and huffed at me, which just pissed me off all the more. “Do I look stupid to you?”

“You look confused,” I said without thinking. “And my name is Holden.”

She rolled her eyes again. “Professor Moss, you knew exactly why Jude didn’t want to speak to you. You knew how she was feeling after that bullshit in the parking lot with that cocksucker Keith Calloway. And yet there you were, knocking on my front door, looking all sad with your puppy dog eyes and droopy lip, asking me to let you see Jude. If that’s not obsession, I don’t know what it.”

“That was concern… And I don’t have puppy dog eyes,” I said, shaking my head. “And I was not there to take advantage of Jude. I was there to try and help her. I am a degreed psychologist, you know.”

She chuckled and rubbed a knuckle to the tip of her nose. “Do you know how many—” she made air quotes with her long fingers “—degreed psychologists have offered to help Jude?”

“No.”

“No? So, you do not know how many of those degreed psychologists who offered help ended up fucking her? Using and abusing her until they were done with her? Then just tossed her aside like a chewed-up piece of meat? Do you think any of them really helped Jude? Do you, Professor Moss?”

“No.”

“And do you think you’re helping Jude by fucking her every night?”

“Well, I…”

“And you’re not just fucking her body, Professor Moss,” she said, eyes shooting daggers into my face, the words spitting from her lips. She tapped the finger to her right temple. “You’re fucking with her mind. And the worst thing is, you know what you’re doing, but you reconcile it in your ‘degreed psychologist’ over-inflated ego. You’re fucking with her mind and you don’t even know it. What kind of fucking degreed psychologist are you? You’re in mother fucking denial, Professor. Mother… fucking… denial…”

“I’m sorry,” I said, unable to control the angry tone of my voice now. “Exactly what the hell are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” she shot back, hitching her chin defiantly at me.

“No, honestly I don’t know what you’re talking about because I don’t think you know what you’re talking about,” I said, hands in the air.

“Whatever,” she snarled, giving me the universal argument most kids her age used when they couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say.

Whatever… I was starting to hate that word.

I held out my hand with my fingers splayed to count off the ways I was not like Keith Calloway. I said, “First of all, I never came onto Jude. I did not approach or proposition her. Never. She came on to me in my classroom and made me an offer that only a fool would refuse. We have seen each other practically every day since, except for the few days when she was sorting out that business with Keith. And yes, I showed up at your door not because I was obsessed, but because I was worried about Jude, and yes, whether you take me seriously or not, I am educated and equipped to help people deal with such problems.”

“Oh, you help her deal all right,” Izzy said, shaking her head.

I stopped talking and gawked at her for a moment. I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms over my chest to mirror her posture. I eased my voice to match her tone. I said, “Let me ask you a question.”

“I ain’t got nothing to say to you,” she said, looking away as if that was that.

“Just humor me for a moment,” I said. “Has Jude said anything that would lead you to believe that I have done anything that was less than honorable when it came to her wellbeing and happiness?”

“Jude keeps the bad shit to herself,” Izzy said. She was going to be a hard one to convince that I had no negative motives toward Jude. If anything, I would forego my own happiness for hers. Wow… did I just admit that to myself?

“Surely Jude doesn’t just share the good parts of her life with you,” I said, giving her a sideways smile. “You’ve been besties and roomies for years. You said it a minute ago, y’all talk about everything. If Jude was not happy about something—if something I did or did not do made her unhappy— I’m sure you would spot it right away and pry until you found out exactly what the problem was. Then you’d take it upon yourself to fix whatever was broken or solve the problem for her because that’s the kind of friend you are, Izzy. I can tell. You’re not going to let anyone run over your friend. Not me. And certainly not Keith Calloway.”

“Why do you say that about Keith?” she asked. The ferocity left her eyes, leaving them teary. “Did Jude say something?”

“Jude told me that you feel bad because you didn’t step in when she was involved with Keith,” I said, nodding. “Just like you’re stepping in with me now.”

“I should have said something back then,” she said, confirming what I had already figured out. She wasn’t pissed at me. She was pissed at herself. “I knew Keith was a possessive mother fucker. I had known other girls he slept with. And you’re right. Me and Jude share everything. I knew he was making her do crazy shit. Shit she didn’t especially want to do. And I knew he was married before she did.”

I blinked at that one. “Wait, you knew he was married but you didn’t tell Jude?”

The anger seemed to leave her body like steam rising off a morning pond. Her eyes filled with tears. She tugged a tissue from her backpack to wipe them away. “I had seen him in town with a woman and a couple of little kids,” she said. “A few days before his wife caught them at the natatorium.”

“But you didn’t say anything to Jude?” I tried not to frown in judgment. “Because?”

“Because she thought she had feelings for him and I knew it would break her heart to discover that he had been lying to her all along. I was going to tell her. I just hadn’t figured out the best way to do it.”

“I see,” I said, uncrossing my arms and crossing my legs. I wrapped my fingers around me knee, moving from a defensive posture to a more understanding and supportive one. “So, you didn’t want to hurt her, which I totally understand. It can be tough, seeing someone you love in a bad situation, knowing that telling them the truth might hurt them, and hurt your relationship as a result.”

“Sometimes the messenger is the one who gets blamed,” she said, staring down at the tissue. She held it between her hands and started picking it apart. “I was going to tell her… honestly… but before I could… well… the shit hit the fan and it was too fucking late.”

“Did you ever tell her?” I asked, already knowing the answer but letting her say it. She needed to vocalize her feelings. She needed to get it all out. She didn’t realize it, but she was going to feel much better after our little impromptu session. Izzy was riddled with feelings of guilt over what happened between Jude and Keith Calloway. She felt horrible that she had not better protected her friend. She felt guilty to the point of now being overprotective, which I found truly admirable. She was a good friend put in a bad situation. I probably would have done the exact same thing.

“No, I never said anything,” she said quietly. She huffed a sigh that made her shudder. “And please, don’t you say anything to her. I don’t want her mad at me for not having the balls to tell her.”

“I’m pretty sure she’d understand,” I said reassuredly. “But you can count on my silence. But you have to stop blaming yourself for what happened between Jude and Keith. It was not your fault.”

“That’s easier said than done,” she said.

“I know, but you have to forgive yourself and let it go,” I said. I gave her a respectful smile. “Come in, Izzy, you’ve taken all the classes. You’re one of the top students in the grad program. You know what I’m saying is true.”

“I know,” she said, sniffing back tears. “I know I should reconcile these feelings and move on, but that’s hard to do. Knowing and doing are two completely different things.”

“If you had told Jude about Keith’s wife, do you think that would have stopped things between Jude and Keith?” I asked. “I mean, have you ever stopped to think what might have happened if the shit did not hit the fan the way it did? In public, with Keith’s wife and the cops involved?”

She sniffed again and gave me a questioning look. “What do you mean?”

“Think about this,” I said, one finger up. “If you had told Jude that Keith was married, two things might have happened. One, she would have confronted him but continued seeing him, probably because he would have convinced her that he was going to leave his wife for her.”

“Jude would not have fallen for that line of shit,” Izzy said.

“Okay, then let’s look at the other thing that might have happened. She would have told him to fuck off and he would have gone off the deep end faster and deeper, and who knows what he might have done. Someone like Keith Calloway might do anything when pushed into a corner. You’ll never know what he might have done.”

“He tried to attack her in a fucking parking lot in broad daylight,” Izzy said, the anger returning to her voice. “If you had not have shown up, who knows what might have happened.”

“Right, but consider this,” I said, the finger back in the air. “What if she had tried to break up with him in private? Rather than the big commotion at the natatorium which involved Keith’s wife and the cops, what if Jude had confronted him in private. What do you think someone like Keith might have done if there were no witnesses around?”

Izzy’s eyes filled with tears again. “He might have hurt her. Bad.”

“He might have,” I said, nodding slowly. “In my mind, it’s a good thing that things happened publicly, with other people around. A guy like that, crazy enough to confront her in a public parking lot in broad daylight, who knows what he might have done if he got her alone somewhere.”

“So, you’re saying that it was better for things to have happened like they did, rather than her learning about his wife from me and confronting him in private.”

“That is what I’m saying,” I said with a firm nod. “And that’s what I believe. You might feel guilty about knowing beforehand that Keith was married, but you should be patting yourself on the back for how things turned out in the end.”

She sat silently for a moment, her arms wrapped around herself, rocking back and forth. Eventually, she looked up at me from beneath her eyebrows and smiled. “You’re not just saying this stuff, so I will let you off the hook, are you?”

I chuckled and shook my head. “I’m not sure I was ever really on the hook, but no, I’m not just trying to get on your good side. I’m telling you what I would tell anyone who told me your story.”

“Ah, so this is a therapy session,” she said, her lips breaking into a broad smile.

“You might consider it that,” I said. “Or you might consider it two people with a mutual friend coming together to realize that they both want the same thing. And that is for that friend to be happy and healthy.”

She smiled and dried her eyes on what was left of the tissue. “Why is it that those of us in the business of shrinking heads never take the time to get our own heads shrunk?”

“That is a great question,” I said with a smile. “And one I do not have a good answer to.”

“You’re not going to send me a bill, are you?”

I chuckled and shook my head. “No, not if you give me the benefit of the doubt when it comes to Jude.”

She eyed me as she took a deep breath. “You really do like her, don’t you?”

“I really do like her,” I said, smiling, head bobbing. “And I would never do anything to hurt her. Nor would I force her to do anything she did not want to do.” I leaned in and flexed my eyebrows at her. “Believe it or not, I’m probably as protective of Jude as you are. If Keith Calloway ever comes near her again, well…”

“You’ll kick the shit out of him and plead temporary insanity?”

“Who better to plead temporary insanity than a guy that teaches the stuff every day?” I asked.

“True that,” she said, the smile still on display.

I extended my right hand across the table. “Are we good then?”

She stared at my hand for a moment, then blew out a long breath and nodded her head. “Yeah, we good,” she said, shaking my hand with a firm grip. “Just remember, my boyfriend is the captain of the football team, so if you ever hurt my girl Jude…”

“I’ve seen your boyfriend, and point taken,” I said with a smile. “And you have nothing to worry about.” I glanced at my watch. “Okay, people will start drifting in soon. Sign them in, give them a badge, and tell them there’s coffee and water inside the meeting room.”

“Will do.” Izzy brushed the bits of torn tissue from the table and picked up the pen and sign-in sheet. “And Professor Moss?”

“Holden. Please.”

“Holden, I’m glad I got the short straw and had to be here early.”

I gave her a thumbs-up as I backed away.

“Me, too, Izzy. Me, too.”

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Wynn

I reluctantly left Jude blow-drying her hair in Holden’s master bathroom after we took a nice, long, hot shower to wash off the scent of our morning delight.

Naturally, we soaped each other up to make sure we were good and clean. My cock swelled in her soapy hands and her pussy gushed hot juices over my soapy fingers, but rather than have an Act II in the shower, we decided to put our sex drives in park until the three of us—Jude, Holden, and I— could meet back at the house later to talk about partying together.

I dried off with a towel while Jude rinsed her hair, then went into the guest room and dressed in a white button-down shirt and jeans, boots, and topped it off with a black sport coat. Professional casual, it was called. I was checking my reflection in the mirror over the dresser when Jude walked in wearing nothing but a towel around her head. Drops of water dotted her chest and breasts. I resisted the urge to lick them off.

“Um, I was just wondering…” she said tentatively, glancing into my eyes in the mirror. “What do we tell Holden if he asks if anything happens?”

“What do you think we should tell him?’ I asked as I adjusted my cuffs and brushed my hair back with my hands. “Keeping in mind that Holden and I have no secrets.”

“We should tell him the truth,” she said without hesitation. “Holden and I have no secrets, too.”

“The truth is always the best tale to tell,” I said with a smile. “When you always tell the truth, you never have to remember what you said.”

“You’re so deep, Dr. Driver,” she said with a grin. “Maybe you should write a book.”

“I am as deep as a dry well,” I said. “And you’re the one who should write a book. Ooooh, that body… what a tale it could tell.”

“Oh, stop,” she said, moving beside me and bumping my hip with hers to get in front of the mirror. I couldn’t keep my eyes from drifting down to her beautiful tits, so round and pink and perfect, tipped with plump nipples that beckoned to my tongue, saying “Lick me, Wynn… lick me now…”

She tugged the towel free and started drying the ends of her long hair with it. Still watching me in the mirror, she asked, “Do you think he already knows?”

I was still smiling, my eyes wandering down to her smooth cunt. “Yes, I’m pretty sure he already knows,” I said.

“Because you guys do this sort of thing all the time,” she said with the towel cupped to her chin. “Or you used to, before you got rich and famous and moved away.”

“Because Holden knows you and he knows me,” I said, turning to face her. I opened my arms and she moved in close. “He knows we can do this without complicating what you and he have. We are all very sexual beings with the ability to separate sex from attachments. That’s why he left early this morning. He knew that nature would take its course. He wanted you and I to spend a little time together before the three of us explored anything further.”

“To make sure you and I were… compatible?” she asked, her head back, lips parted, eyes dreamy. I could not resist giving her a little kiss lightly on the lips.

“Something like that,” I said, rubbing the tip of my nose to hers.

“So, this whole thing was a setup?” she asked, her teeth nipping at my jawline. I felt my cock swelling in my jeans. Damn, all this woman had to do was look at me I got hard. She felt it, too. She wiggled her cunt against my leg and hummed in my ear.

“More of an opportunity than a setup,” I said, summoning the will to gently push her away. I nodded at the clock on the dresser. “As much as I’d love to stay here and play with you, I’m expected at the conference in thirty minutes. Think you can control yourself until we get back here tonight?”

“We could have a quickie,” she said, reaching for my belt buckle, wiggling her fingers with a devilish look in her eye.

“To quote an old movie,” I said, holding up my hands to back away. “With you… never a quickie… always a longie.”

* * *

My brain was still arguing with my cock as I got into the rental car and pulled away from Holden’s house to head to Conner Hall on the other side of campus. I glanced at the gold Rolex on my left wrist. I had about twenty minutes to get to the conference for the orientation, which was basically a meet and greet for the speakers, panelists, and attendees, most of whom I knew from my time at Northwestern before.

I expected some of the attendees to be friendly, some not so much. I had never been popular with the local psyche community, and when you write a mass market book on psychology, many in the field look down on you and call you a hack. That was fine. This hack was helping far more people than they ever could. Plus, I was laughing all the way to the bank.

When I taught at Midwestern my focus had been on psychology and sexuality, two topics that made a lot of people nervous and uncomfortable, but attracted students in droves.

There was considerable resentment from some of the faculty because of the popularity of my courses, but when you’re putting butts in seats—and those butts pay hefty tuition—the faculty can kiss your ass.

My classes were the most popular of the psyche curriculum, which meant that Jefferson Milton, head of the psyche department, loved me. Almost as much as I loved fucking his wife, Jean.

I smiled as I turned onto the street that led through the center of campus. I wondered if Jean Milton was going to show up at the event wanting to fuck in the public restroom like we used to do. If she did, I would not hesitate to acquiesce to her request. I loved fucking Jean Milton. I could never turn her down, not even with fifty people standing outside the door listening to us hammer one out.

The rental car had Bluetooth, so I paired my phone with it and set the phone in the console. As if on cue, a minute later the phone buzzed and the caller ID came up on the dashboard display. It was my old pal Dr. Lane Curtis, the former UCLA football star turned psychologist, bestselling author, and speaker who was probably just under Dr. Phil on the psychiatric food chain.

Lane had the career I longed for: six bestselling books, million dollar speaking gigs, high-dollar seminars and boot camps, and women lined up around the block ready to satisfy his every whim. Lane’s books were about human sexuality, a topic he knew very well. Like me and Holden, me and Lane had double-teamed lots of women over the years. I had suggested that me, him, Holden, and some lucky girl (or girls) should party together some day, and he was open to the idea. I wondered what Lane was doing this weekend? He would freakin’ love Jude.

I tapped the phone button on the steering wheel. “Hey, Lane, what’s up?”

“Dude!” Lane said, still sounding like the hulking football player from a decade ago. “What’s up with you?”

“Oh, I’m just heading to a little conference for the weekend with my pal, Holden at Midwestern,” I said. “What are you doing?”

“I’m at Northwoods,” he said, referring to the private camp in the woods of northern California he owned, where he held weekend “sexual freedom” boot camps for couples at twenty-grand a pop.

To call it a camp was a bit of an understatement. Northwoods covered fifty acres, most of it wooded, with a 30,000 square-foot luxury lodge with twenty-five rooms, a restaurant with a 5-star Michelin chef, an Olympic pool, a sauna, a full-time masseuse, and every creature comfort you could imagine. And for an extra ten-grand, you could get a private session with Lane to help work out all your sexual issues, so to speak. Northwoods was also the scene of some of the most unbelievable orgies since Roman times, many of which yours truly had attended at Lane’s special invitation. Like me and Holden, Lane loved women, and loved doing things to them that made them happy, including sharing them with his friends.

“You’re having a Northwoods event this weekend and you didn’t invite me?” I asked with a smile. “My feelings are hurt.”

“Hey, I’d never leave you out of a party, but don’t worry, the place is closed this week,” he said with a chuckle. “I came up here to work on the next book. I needed a little peace and quiet. It’s just me and the woods. And a few select female friends.”

“God, your life sucks,” I said. “That’s okay. I’m at Northwestern with Holden for a few days anyway. Hey, you should fly out and hang with us.”

“Hmm, that’s not a bad idea,” Lane said. “I’m about to wrap up here. I assume there are many beautiful women there in need of my particular brand of therapy.”

I smiled and shook my head. “Yes, I’m sure we could find someone for you to help.”

“Tell you what, let me make a few phone calls and get back to you. I was supposed to be in Los Angeles for meetings this weekend, but maybe I can reschedule. If so, I’ll fly out and hang with you guys for a couple of days. Are you sure Holden won’t mind?”

“The more the merrier,” I said. “In fact, there’s someone that I think Holden would like for you to meet. Her name is Jude.”

“As in ‘Hey Jude’?”

“As in,” I said. Conner Hall loomed ahead. The parking lot was buzzing with attendees. I pulled in and parked at a space at the end of the row. “Hey, I gotta get going. Think you’ll come? For real?”

“You never know,” Lane said. I could tell by his deep voice that he was smiling at the prospect of a new adventure. “Text me Holden’s address. If I decide to come it’ll be late tomorrow before I can get there.”

“That’s cool,” I said. “That would give me time to wrap up this conference and give us a couple of days to play before I have to get back to L.A.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Lane said. “I’ll email you my itinerary if I can make it out.”

“Super,” I said. “Hope to see you tomorrow.”

I was about to hang up when Lane cut back in. “Oh, hey, you distracted me with all this talk of pussy. I nearly forgot why I was calling you.”

“You mean there’s more to life than pussy?” I said. “Whatever could that be?”

“I want us to work on a book together,” Lane said. “I just got around to reading your book and man, it’s fucking awesome. You’re doing some great work there. I think there’s all kinds of synergy with what I’m doing. I talked to my publisher already and they want to hear a few ideas. You interested in doing a little brainstorming while I’m there?”

“You want to coauthor a book with me?” I asked, my eyes wide. Coauthoring a book with Lane could send my career into the stratosphere. Then an idea struck, and I started to smile.

“Actually, what would you think about doing a book with me and Holden? He’s written some amazing papers on the topic of female sexuality. I think the three of us could come up with something really special.”

“You, me, and Holden doing a three-way?” he said, giggling. “Dude, that sounds freakin’ amazing! We’ll talk about it when I see you guys.”

“Then you’re definitely coming?” I asked, holding my breath.

“Dude, have you ever known me not to cum?”

“You’re a sick fuck,” I said. “And no, I’ve never known you not to cum.”

“I’m no sicker than you,” he said. “See you tomorrow, buddy.”

I was suddenly filled with nervous energy as I hung up the phone. If we partnered with Lane on a book—and that book was a hit— that would give Holden the cash to get the fuck out of Midwestern and join me and Lane in Los Angeles.

Holy shit, I could just imagine the adventures the three of us would have there.

L.A. would never be the same.

 

CHAPTER TWELVE: Jude

When I strolled into Conner Hall just before noon I found Izzy sitting at the reception table with a big smile on her face. I was a little shocked at seeing her there. Izzy hated these kinds of things. Plus, she never got up before noon on the weekend because she and Earl were notorious late-night partiers. I expected her to start ranting and raving about having to be there, but she kept grinning at me as I picked up my name tag and stuck it to the front of my shirt.

“What’s so funny?” I asked with a playful frown. “Why are you here and why are you looking at me like that?”

“Forget why I’m here,” she said, cocking an eyebrow at me. “The big question, what’s got you all glowing this morning?”

“Am I glowing?’ I asked, touching my fingertips to my cheeks. “My goodness, maybe it’s the heat.”

“You’re glowing like mother fucking Cinderella after the ball,” she said, leaning forward to lower her voice. “And I have a pretty good idea why.”

She glanced around to make sure we were alone. The luncheon had started, so everyone else was in the dining hall at the other end of the building. She said, “You’re glowing like a woman who’s just been fucked. And I have a pretty good idea who did the fucking.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said with a shrug.

“Bullshit,” she said, nodding toward the chair next to her. “Sit your ass down and dish up the dirt before I call the sex police on your ass.”

I sat down and scooted in close and whispered, “I had sex with Wynn Driver this morning. On the kitchen table!”

She huffed and poked me with her elbow. “Girl, I think that would be considered a health code violation!”

I giggled at her. “If it had been in public, maybe so. But this was on Holden’s kitchen table.”

“Holy shit, you’re such a slut,” she said, grabbing my hands and shaking them. “Whooo wee! Fucking on the kitchen table. Was Holden there, too?”

I shook my head. “No, he had already left to come here,” I said. “It was just me and Wynn, but I have the sneaking suspicion that Holden set things up.”

“Men are such fucking pigs,” she said, clicking her tongue. “But I saw Wynn Driver when he came in a while ago. Holy moly, girlfriend, that man gives new meaning to the term ‘hot as fuck’!”

“You have no idea,” I said, leaning in, grinning. “He also gives new meaning to the term ‘foot-long’.”

Izzy covered her mouth with a hand as her eyes went wide. “Nuh uh.”

“Uh huh.” I held up my index fingers and spread them a foot apart. “No lie. Like this big.”

Izzy lowered her voice to a growl. “You’re telling me that man has a twelve-inch dick?”

I couldn’t stop grinning at the look on her face. “I am, and he does.”

She started fanning herself with her hands. “Wow, how did that feel? Like somebody driving a Cadillac up your cunt?”

“Well, I couldn’t take it all,” I said, scolding her with my eyes. “But the part that fit inside me felt fucking amazing.”

She chuckled and slapped my knee. “I’m sure it did. So, what’s next? You gonna fuck them both tonight?”

“Well, maybe,” I said, biting my lip because the prospect of having sex with Wynn and Holden at the same time was still a little daunting. “What would you do, Iz? Seriously?”

“What would I do if I had two well-hung white men wanting to fuck me at the same time?” She leaned in with her eyes sparkling. “Girlfriend, I’d tell them to get fucking busy!”

“Or get busy fucking!”

“Either way,” Izzy said. “You win.”

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Holden

“I wonder what that conversation is about,” I asked, standing next to Wynn at the far end of the hall, peeking around the corner to watch Jude sitting with Izzy at the reception table. They were whispering and laughing like two schoolgirls sharing a dirty little secret.

“I’m pretty sure it’s about you and me,” Wynn said. “At least that’s what my ego wants to think.”

“You’re probably right,” I said, turning to look at him for a moment, then back toward the girls. “Izzy grilled me pretty hard this morning about my—our— intentions toward Jude. She is very protective of her friend, and rightfully so. It took some work to convince her that we are not bad guys.”

“Our intentions are always honorable,” Wynn said, giving me a nod. “We can be bad boys with bad girls, but we are never bad guys.”

“That’s what I told Izzy,” I said. “I think she sees now that we are not out to use Jude.”

Wynn gave me a little smile and bumped me with his elbow. “You really like this girl, don’t you?”

I didn’t have to think about my answer. “Yes, I do.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So? Was I right? Is she amazing?”

“She is more than amazing,” Wynn said with a nod. “Do you think she’s open to having sex with both of us at the same time?”

I thought about the question for a moment, then snuck another peek at Jude. She was laughing and chatting like she didn’t have a care in the world. I turned back to give my best friend a smile. “I think she’s more than ready. How about you?”

“My man, I was born ready to have sex,” Wynn said with a big smile, slapping me on the back. He put his hand on the door handle to let us back into the dining room to finish lunch before the event officially began, but paused before opening the door.

He held up a finger to say, “Oh, speaking of having sex with friends, do you remember me talking about my other old pal, Lane Curtis? Dr. Lane Curtis?”

“Of course, I know who Lane Curtis is. Why do you ask.”

“Because Lane may have a sexy proposition for the two of us,” Wynn said, eyes twinkling as he wagged a finger back and forth between us. “And we don’t even have to take our pants off.”

 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Jude

As much as I loved the field of psychiatry, and seeing Holden and Wynn do their thing at the conference, I couldn’t concentrate on a word anyone was saying. All I could think about was what was going to happen when the three of us got back to Holden’s house later that night.

I had never had sex with two men at once (two men in one day, yes, two men at once, no), but the prospect of having Holden and Wynn inside me at once was almost more than I could stand. Having both of their giant cocks in my hands at the same time…. having them both at my lips… at the tip of my tongue. I squirmed in my chair as the juices pooled in my panties and my breasts throbbed inside my bra. Several times I had to sneak away to the ladies’ room to mop myself dry.

The anticipation was nearly more than I could stand. Plus, I wasn’t sure how things were supposed to go. I mean, I knew how things worked, of course, but was there a three-way protocol of some kind or did they take turns or was it just a wild free for all?

It sounded silly at the time, but I decided that the best way to prepare for my first ménage a trois with Holden and Wynn was to leave the conference early and go back to Holden’s place so I could watch a little online porn to see how the pros did it.

I snuck out of the conference around five, went back to Holden’s house, and fired up his computer. I clicked over to YouPorn (yes, chicks do watch porn, duh) and searched on “ménage a trois” and “threesomes”.

An hour later, I not only knew everything I needed to know about satisfying two men and once, but I was horny as hell and ready to party.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Jude

Everything was ready when Holden and Wynn walked through the door just after eight o’clock on Saturday night. I had the lights turned down low, soft music on, cinnamon and lavender candles burning throughout the house, several bottles of wine chilling in the fridge, and I was wearing a short robe with nothing on underneath.

I’d taken another steaming hot shower and shaved my legs and pussy, then douched with a special strawberry-lavender blend that I knew the boys would love the taste of. I dabbed a little perfume behind my ears and massaged my tits and nipples with edible strawberry lotion. I put on the robe, poured myself a glass of wine, and went to wait in the living room for them to arrive, which seemed to take forever even though it was less than an hour

By the time the front door opened and my two lovers appeared, I was so horny I could have made myself cum just by tapping my knees together. I had never been so hot in my life, just from anticipation. Just thinking about what the evening was going to bring was enough to have every nerve in my body standing on end.

“It’s about time you boys got home,” I said, meeting them at the door with a glass of champagne in each hand and a devious smile on my face. I gave a glass of champagne to Holden, along with a soft kiss on the lips, then gave the other glass and a kiss to Wynn. I stepped back and smiled at the look on their faces as their eyes went up and down my body.

“Wow, we should have left that boring old conference earlier,” Holden said, taking my hand and letting me lead him toward the bedroom.

“Yes, we certainly should have,” Wynn echoed, following close behind, speaking with the glass at his lips.

“Wow, this place looks amazing,” Holden said, glancing around at the candles and the bed, which was stripped of everything but the cover sheet and a few pillows. On the nightstand were several towels and an assortment of edible oils and lotions that I thought might come in handy.

“Our own little love den,” Wynn said with a grin. He let his eyes drift over my body and gave me an approving grunt. “And you, my darling, you look delicious.”

“Well then, I hope you’re both hungry,” I said, opening the robe and letting it drop to the floor. I stood before both of them naked as the day I was born, with erect nipples and a pussy so wet I thought I might have to get a mop when all was said and done. I put my hands on my hips and gave them a nod.

“Well, what are you waiting on, boys?” I asked dramatically. “Get your clothes off and your cocks hard.”

Holden chuckled as he got undressed. “Did you get that from a porn movie?”

“Maybe,” I said, sipping champagne as I watched them lose their clothes. “I think it was called Beauty and the Beasts.”

Wynn laughed along as he tugged his shirt over his shoulders and took off his pants. “I think I saw that one.”

Holden got naked first, so he moved in toward me, putting his arm around my waist and letting his hand slid down to my ass cheeks. He dug his fingers in and gave me a strong squeeze, pulling me on to my tip toes so my lips could reach his. My hand went immediately to his cock. As our tongues swirled around, it started getting rock hard in my hand.

Wynn moved into my left side, putting one hand on my other ass cheek and one hand on my tits. My nipples were so hard they throbbed. My breasts ached to be touched. Wynn rolled my long nipple between his finger and gave it a squeeze. I moaned in lovely pain.

My left hand found Wynn’s cock, already hard and full, ready to go. With Holden’s ten-inch cock in my right hand and Wynn’s twelve-inch cock in the left, I started moving my hands in unison, milking them both as Holden’s mouth covered mine and Wynn’s hands explored my tits.

“Fuck… this is… so… surreal…” I said, opening my eyes to look down at my hands wrapped tightly around their cocks. I giggled as the tips of their cocks touched. Holden and Wynn just smiled. Obviously, they were not hung up on having their swords cross, so to speak. They were just hung.

Wynn’s hand slid from my tit to my pussy. My clit was hard and sensitive. He slid his fingers over my clit, making me jump as the breath caught in my throat. He rolled my clit from side to side beneath his fingers, shooting little sparks of electricity through my body. I somehow managed to get on my toes and spread my thighs to give him easy access to my pussy.

Holden went for the back side of me. His hand squeezed my ass, then he let his middle finger slide down between my cheeks and underneath my cunt. I felt his fingers sliding around between my pussy lips, getting oily, teasing my hole.

“How does that feel?” Holden sighed in my ear as he slid the wet finger up to my asshole and started teasing me with the tip of his finger.

“That… feels… just… fine…” I said, my mouth on his, my tongue probing. “That… feels… ohhh… just… fine…”

As Holden’s finger slid into my asshole up to the first knuckle, Wynn continued rolling my clit with his thumb as his fingers slid between my pussy lips. I showered his hand with hot juices as he fingered my hole, teasing it, circling it, sticking his finger in just a bit then pulling it out again.

“God… Wynn… that’s… oh….” I sighed, turning my face toward his. He pressed his lips to mine and slithered his tongue into my mouth. As he did, he slid his finger into my pussy a little more, then a little more, then a little more, until finally, his knuckle pressed against my clit, nearly making me cum on his hand.

My hands on their cocks started to speed up as Wynn’s finger in my pussy and Holden’s finger in my ass rocked me harder and harder, pushing me to climax.

“Fuck… guys… I’m… I’m… cumming… oh god… yes… keep it… yes… yessss… yessss.” I squeezed their cocks so hard it had to hurt, but I could not help it. They were fingering me past the point of self-control. As Wynn started plunging my pussy with his finger and Holden slid his finger deeper inside my ass, the orgasm struck like a tornado, pushing me to my tiptoes again as my hands milked and milked their cocks. My cunt and ass muscles tightening until the boys couldn’t even slide their fingers in and out. I threw back my head and wailed like a wild animal caught in a trap.

“Fuck… okay… fuck… slow… shit… slow… the fuck… down… jeez… fuck…” I was stuttering like the village idiot. I wiggled my ass away from their fingers without letting go of their cocks.

“I think she likes it,” Holden said, smiling at Wynn.

“I think she does, too,” Wynn said, licking my juices from his fingers. “Mmmm… is that… strawberry? I love strawberry…”

“Let’s see how you like this,” I said, dropping to my knees, still holding onto their cocks. I pulled them both toward my mouth until I had both cocks right in front of my face. I stroked my hand back and forth and grinned as the heads grew crimson and wet. I stuck out my tongue and swirled it between them, first around Wynn, then around Holden, then back to Wynn. I heard them gasp with pleasure. I glanced up at them with a cock at each corner of my mouth.

“I’ve waited all fucking day for this,” I said, my hands sliding over the wet shafts. I turned toward Holden and took his cock head in my mouth, then turned to suck on Wynn’s. The room filled with the smell of strawberries and lavender as my pussy started to gush down my thighs. I opened my mouth as wide as I could and took both their cock heads into my mouth at once. I sucked on them like giant jawbreakers, then pulled them free and slathered my tongue around the heads. I could taste their salty precum in my mouth. My hands tightened around the shafts, pumping as my mouth and tongue drove them closer to orgasm.

“Fuck, let us play,” Wynn said breathlessly, his knees teetering a bit.

“Yes,” Holden said, gasping. “Don’t make us cum so soon.”

“If that’s what you want,” I said, holding out my hands so they could help me up. I squeezed my tits and gave them a dreamy look. “You’re the experts. Tell me what to do.”

“Suck me off while Holden fucks you from behind,” Wynn said, taking command. He looked at Holden and grinned. “Then we switch.”

“Works for me,” Holden said, taking my hand to lead me over to the bed. Wynn got onto the bed on his back with his massive foot-long cock extended like a thick flag pole. He stroked himself while I got into place.

“You get on your knees and suck Wynn’s cock,” Holden said. “I’ll stand her at the foot of the bed behind you to bang your sweet pussy.”

“Bang away,” I said with a grin. I crawled onto the bed on my hands and knees, stopping when my mouth was hovering over Wynn’s cock. Holden put his hands on my ass and stepped closer. I felt the head of his cock swirl around my drenched pussy hole, getting lubed up so he didn’t hurt me.

I glanced up at Wynn. He had his hands behind his head and a smile on his face. I wrapped my fingers around his massive manhood and started to pump him slowly with my lips on the head.

“Oh… yes… that’s… yes…” Wynn sighed, closing his eyes and breathing with his mouth hanging open. “Suck my cock… baby… yes… take me… oh… inside your hot mouth… yes… oh… yes…”

I took Wynn’s cock deep into my throat and out again. I suctioned my lips to the shaft and pulled back slowly, feeling the skin roll on the hard muscle between my lips. Just having the taste of Wynn on my tongue made me cum again. The orgasm shuddered through my body, but I did not slow down.

“I can feel you cumming already,” Holden said as he slowly pushed forward. My pussy spread to let his bulbous head slide inside me. I moaned as the breath was pushed from my lungs. With Wynn’s cock fully in my mouth, Holden’s cock filled my twat. I paused for a moment, feeling them both inside me. I swear, I could feel all of our hearts beating as one.

“Oh… fuck… so… fucking… tight…” Holden said as his fingers dug into my hips and he slid his cock in and out, in and out, in and out. With each thrust I slid my mouth over Wynn’s cock. We moved in unison, as one, all headed toward climax.

“Oh… shit…” Wynn moaned as my lips rolled over his veiny shaft. I started tweaking his balls with my fingers as my other hand pumped the base of the shaft, pulling him toward my lips. “You’re gonna… make… me… cum… fuck… fuck…”

I hummed with his cock in my mouth. My fingers slid under his balls, down his taint, to his asshole. I wiggled the tip of my finger around his anus. His cock seemed to grow even larger in my mouth. He moaned and arched his hips off the bed.

I felt my body getting hotter by the second. Holden was hammering into my pussy now with his thick cock, jarring my body, rocking me back and forth, forcing me to hold on to Wynn’s cock, being careful not to use my teeth.

“God… damn… I’m… fuck… getting close…” Holden grunted. “You… guys… almost… fuck… there…”

“I can pop… anytime…” Wynn said, eyes closes, teeth gritted. “Just… fucking… say… when…”

“Jude…” Holden said. “Are you… oh… ready…”

“Mmmm hmmm…” My mouth was too full to speak, but I was ready to cum. The heat, like a wildfire sparking in my cunt and spreading throughout my body, was making me sweat. It felt like I was in a sauna. The air in the room was so thick, so electric, it was hard to catch my breath.

“All right… yes… oh… fuck… now…” Holden said, fingers digging in, hips thrusting faster and faster, pounding into me from behind. “Oh… fuck… now… yessss… yessss… I’m…. fuck…”

“Uh… uh… uh…” Wynn was grunting like a wild animal as he put his hands on the sides of my head and bobbed my head up and down on his cock, mouth fucking me. I could feel his cock twitching, his body jerking. He suddenly exploded in my mouth, shooting his hot, milky goo across my tongue and down my throat.

I came with such force that I thought my body was going to shake, rattle, and roll right off the bed. Holden was behind me, pummeling his thick cock into my gushing pussy, rocking me back and forth. Wynn was in front of my, holding my head, thrusting me up and down, hitting the back of my throat, spraying like a hot geyser. I wished that I had a video of that moment. It would have been a sight to see.

Our mutual orgasms seemed to last for hours, though it was over in less than a minute. We froze there, like a statue, holding onto each other, sweating, panting, smiling. I looked up at Wynn after he released his grip on my head. He was smiling, licking his lips, panting like a tired pup. I looked back over my shoulder at Holden. He was smiling, as well, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

Holden gave me a concerned look and arched is brow. “Are you okay?”

I blew out the words and gave him a dreamy smile. “I am more than okay. You?”

He nodded without answering.

I turned back to Wynn. “And you, sir? Are you okay?”

“I’m more than okay, as well,” he said, letting his head fall back on the pillow as his long cock withered in my hand.

I pushed myself up to my knees and smiled at them both. “I just have one question,” I said.

Holden sat on the bed and leaned forward to brush the hair from my sweaty forehead. “And what question is that?”

I smiled sheepishly and put my hands on their cocks. With a glimmer in my eye, I asked, “Can we do that again?”

 

EPILOG: Jude

That first night together with Wynn and Holden will forever be branded in my memory as one of the greatest nights of my life. Not just because the three of us had sex for hours and hours, in every possible way, but because it enlightened me as to their way of thinking.

Even though I had always been promiscuous to the point of sluttiness, I had always connected sex with affection. And as such, I had always seen sex as a one-on-one act between two people. To me, sex and affection went hand in hand. I gave men sex because I longed for affection. And they gave me affection because they wanted sex.

Wynn and Holden showed me that great sex didn’t have to come with strings. Yes, sex with affection—sex with those who you care for— is better emotionally because it stimulates not just your libido, but your heart. But that didn’t mean sex required monogamy or commitment. To the contrary, sex was a physical act that served to satisfy one’s most basic need. Society had tied strings to the concept of sex and piled on baggage filled with judgment and rules. Wynn and Holden taught me that I could break free of those rules. It didn’t matter what society thought about me. It didn’t matter what rules society had established for me. All that mattered was that I was happy, healthy, and satisfied. And boy, was I ever!

Someday, sex and affection would come together for me. I had no doubt in my mind that someday I would find the perfect man and commit myself fully to him: heart, body, mind, and soul. Until then, this girl was out to have a little bit of fun. In fact, I had a new motto: variety is the spice of life.

Sunday morning, we all slept in late, me and Holden in our bed, Wynn in the guest room. We then got up one by one and made our way to the kitchen for coffee and bagels. We sat around the table giggling and snickering like kids on a camp out, only this boy’s club allowed girls, or at least one very special girl. Me!

After breakfast, we were lounging on the sofa letting our bodies recover and our brains rest. Wynn was on one end of the couch with his long legs stretched out and his feet on the coffee table, reading the morning paper. Holden was on the other end of the couch in a similar position watching football on TV. I was lying between then with my head in Holden’s lap and my feet in Wynn’s, wearing the short robe and nothing else. Every now and then I’d grind my heel into Wynn’s cock to tease him. Finally, he put the paper aside and gave me a sideways smile.

“Are you ready for more?” he asked, sliding his hand up my leg to tease my bare pussy, which was tired but ready for more. He rolled his thumb over my clit and slid his fingers between my moist lips. “Parts of you certainly are.”

“They certainly are,” I said, my heel grinding. I felt his cock getting chubbed inside his boxers. I looked up at Holden. “How about you, Professor Moss? Ready for round three?”

“Actually, it would be more like round ten,” Holden said, reaching inside my robe to cup my breast. My nipple popped against his fingers.

“Well then, why don’t we—” Before I could finish my sentence, the doorbell rang. I noticed Wynn and Holden glance at each other, little sly smiles on their handsome faces, like two little boys sharing a funny secret.

Holden let go of my breast and said, “Jude, do you mind getting the door.”

“You want me to answer the door?” I asked, frowning.

“Well, we’re both are a little…” Holden gestured toward his crotch, then to Wynn’s. Their erections were poking through their boxer shorts like turtles sticking their heads out of their shells.

“Fine,” I said, huffing as if I’d been asked to push a boulder up a hill. I rolled off the couch and cinched the robe around my waist as I padded barefoot to the door. When I opened the door, there stood a mountain of a man so good looking that he made my jaw drop. He looked like a football player, tall, broad shouldered, muscles on top of muscles beneath the tight shirt he wore. His dark hair was cut short. His eyes were the color of blue ice. He had a Kennedy jawline and a Clooney smile. He stuck out his hand and gave me a look that made my knees wobble.

“Hey, I’m Lane Curtis,” he said, his hand the size of a catcher’s mitt compared to mine. The moment his fingers closed around my hand I felt a little chill run up my arm that made my nipples hard. “And you, you must be Jude.”

 

PART 3

 

Description

Call me a nympho or call me a slut, but I love having more than one man in my bed at a time. My name is Jude… and I am addicted to men…

 

It all started with just me and Professor Holden Moss, the grad school professor I seduced by flashing him my pink goodies the first day of class. I love being the Teacher’s Pet. And Holden loved playing my games.

 

Then Holden invited his best friend, Dr. Wynn Driver, to join our little party. Wynn was the epitome of hotness: tall, handsome, with surfer boy good looks and a foot long of pleasure inside his linen slacks. The three of us were having the time of our lives, then along came Wynn’s buddy, Lane.

 

Dr. Lane Curtis, the former football star turned psychologist and bestselling author who held orgies at his exclusive spa and became the forth player in our little game.

 

Now, I have three lovers and experience something new and fantastic every day.

 

Someone should write a book about the things we do to each other.

 

Oh, that’s right… someone has… Enjoy.

Chapter One: Dr. Lane Curtis

When I asked the young, attractive red head who was sitting on the other end of the sofa in my luxury hotel suite how she liked being a magazine columnist, she gave me a confident smile and said what most people say when you question their choice of career.

“Oh, yes, I just love my job.”

I gave her a wary look. “Do you? Really?”

I said the words playfully, as if I didn’t really believe her.

Her confident smile faltered for a moment, but her blue eyes held their sparkle. Her lips were full, painted deep crimson to contrast the light tone of her ginger skin. Tiny freckles danced across her nose, across the top of her chest. Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, I just loved red heads.

She cocked her head and gave me the eye. “Do I really what?”

“Do you really love your job?”

She blinked as if I’d just asked if she was sure her name was… what was her name… Meredith… something… I think. Her business card was on the glass coffee table. I didn’t bother to glance at it. A look of confusion washed over her pretty face. When she frowned, a line went across her forehead that Botox would have to address a few years down the road.

“Well, yes, I really do love my job,” she said, a little defensively now. “I mean… Don’t you?”

“Don’t I what?” I asked with a mock frown.

“Don’t you love your job?”

“Well, yes, now that you mention it, I do.” I said it with a grin that should have let her know that I was just messing with her, but she still looked unsure. Just to be clear, I added, “I do love my job.”

“Oh, that’s great!” The words tumbled out over a long breath that she’d been holding. Her shoulders relaxed, and she gave me a demure smile. “It’s always nice when you love what you do.”

“It is,” I said with a nod, thinking that it was also nice when you loved who you were doing it to. She glanced into my eyes and looked quickly away. Score one for Team Curtis.

I should have been focusing on the interview the poor girl was trying to conduct, but it was hard to concentrate given her look and her smell and the way she kept looking at me and the movie that kept playing in my head. Being on the cover of a national magazine would definitely make the cash registers ring—sales of my books, DVDs, seminars, retreats, private sessions with big stars—but sometimes a guy had to do what a guy had to do. And I was all guy. And despite all my advanced degrees in psychology and understanding of how the human brain works, sometimes my cock just seemed to have a mind all its own.

This was my subtle way of innocently flirting with a girl almost half my age and getting away with it without being branded a lech. I had learned early on in my career that when a rich and famous, forty-year-old guy like me, hits on a hot and “seemingly vulnerable” twenty-something girl like her, there were protocols that had to be followed to make sure everything that happened between us—or didn’t happen—was consensual and without coercion. You’ve seen the news lately. Every day it seems there’s a new story about these guys in my position who force themselves on women. They use their power and their influence and their money and outright fear to “persuade” girls to do things they otherwise would not do. Cosby. Weinstein. Spacey. They should have known better, and I hope they get what’s coming to them. End of sermon.

Times have changed, and protocols must be followed so there can be no doubt. Meeting up in a bar was one thing, but if I hit on this girl directly while she was interviewing me for her employer, Psychology whatever magazine, if I made overt suggestions that maybe we should move this conversation to the king-sized bed in the master suite, there would always be that shadow of doubt in her mind that maybe she was coerced or forced into doing something she didn’t really want to do. And shadows of doubt lead to tawdry tabloid headlines and ugly public relations scandals and expensive law suits.

Besides, I was not that guy. I didn’t have to force myself on anyone. I’m Dr. Lane Curtis. I could have women lining up outside my door if I wanted. I’m not being cocky. It’s just the truth. It’s one of the things I love about my job. Fame and wealth have benefits. You’ll hear no apologies from me.

And unless my “horny meter” was failing me big time, Meredith and I were both thinking the same thing. I leaned in and gave her a salacious grin. “In fact, I love all sorts of jobs.”

Her cheeks flushed red and she directed her eyes back to the list of questions on the iPad resting on her crossed legs. She ran her finger down the pad to figure out what her next question would be. I had flustered her, but in a good way.

Flirtation aside, I have always been genuinely curious about what makes people tick. What makes them happy. What makes them miserable. What turns them on and what turns them off. I also wonder why so many people lie about such things. They lie to themselves and they lie to others.

You hear people say that sort of thing all the time. I love my job. I just love my job. I love my spouse. I do. I really do. And I love my life. I’m calling bullshit. Usually, the people who say such things are trying to convince themselves of the fact more than anyone else. They think if they tell themselves something enough times, maybe it will really come true.

So, they chant it like a mantra.

I love my job.

I love my mate.

I love my life.

No, really…

Honestly…

I just looooove my job.

I love getting up every morning at the crack of dawn to deal with my asshole clients and dick head customers.

And I love my employees. They’re like family to me. I love them, one and all.

What bullshit.

They’re not fooling anyone but themselves.

Trust me, I know how the human brain works and I’m well aware of the lies we humans tell ourselves, often in a vain attempt to be happy. Or be somewhat happy. Or to just not be miserable.

You see, I’m a psychologist. A really, really good one, mainly because I don’t have a bunch of baggage of my own. I’ll be the first to admit it. Most people who go to college to study psychology, then go on to make a career out of, do so to try to figure out their own shit. Ask one hundred psychologists why they went into the field and they’ll give you some bullshit answer about being interested in the human psyche and wanting to help their fellow man. Again; bullshit. They just wanted to figure out their own fucked up shit. Some do figure it out, some don’t, most never stop trying. People in the psychiatric field are some of the most fucked up people I know. They just can’t help themselves.

I never really had my own shit to figure out. I have just always been fascinated by how the human brain does and does not work. I hold multiple degrees in the field of psychology and have written multiple bestselling books. I have studied the human brain for most of my life. I know how the average Jack and Jill’s mind works (or more often does not work).

People buy into the bullshit that “whatever the imagination can conceive, the mind can achieve”. Want to be rich? Just imagine yourself rich. Want to be happy in your shitty marriage? Just imagine yourself happy. Want a new Corvette? Just put out your desires to the universe and hang on, my friend, because the universe shall deliver whatever you desire.

I know.

It is amazing how many people believe this bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

Want to solve all your problems in one very expensive afternoon? Go stand in a big arena full of other idiots at a Tony Robbins event and chant along with everyone else.

Me? I know better.

Most people don’t love their job.

Most people don’t love their mate, their kids, or their life.

But they say they do because they think that will make it come true.

Or they think it’s what everyone wants to hear.

I love my job.

I love my mate.

I love my life.

Yeah, sure, just keep telling yourself that, pal. Maybe someday it will come true. Probably not, but maybe. And maybe makes the world go around.

But I really do love my job (I know, you’re probably calling bullshit given everything that I just said). I love it because it’s not a job. It’s a calling, a vocation. I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing. It helps that my job has made me wealthy beyond my wildest dreams and famous beyond my wildest imagination. My name is often mentioned right up there with Dr. Phil and Dr. Oz and even Masters & Johnson. I know Oprah and Gail and Gwyneth and Deepak and Tom, and I hang out with the beautiful people all over the world. Granted, most of them were made beautiful by their back accounts rather than their looks and personality, but that’s okay. Not everyone can look like… well… me (insert that smiling emoji here).

So, back to my point. I really do love my job, my clients, and my life. I also love unicorns and rainbows and cute kittens and women with big tits and tight pussies. Okay, I threw in that last part because in all honestly, that’s the part of my job that I love the most.

The women.

The groupies.

The fame fuckers.

The star suckers.

Even the stalkers, to a degree, so long as they aren’t coming at me with butcher knives or paternity tests.

Yes, my friend, I am Dr. Lane Curtis, Ph.D.; one of the world’s foremost authorities on sex and psychology. I lecture to sold-out crowds around the globe. I write bestselling books. I conduct high-dollar weekend retreats and seminars. And I am a top guest on any talk show you can name, mostly because I talk about how we torpedo ourselves with our fucked up thinking and misconceptions about sex.

Yes, my friends, our brains screw us, often making us un-screwable by those we’d like to screw. I mean seriously, ladies, do you want a well-hung guy who is great in the sack but a total fucking psycho otherwise? Lots of women have just that. Or would you prefer a guy with a small penis but your best interests at heart?

Are you seriously having to think that over?

The answer should be much easier, wouldn’t you agree?

Thanks for proving my point.

And it’s not just you, ladies.

We guys are even more fucked up than you are.

Guys, would you rather have a smoking hot nympho with amazing tits and a tight pussy who drives you fucking batshit crazy 99.999% of the time? Or a simple, decent-looking girl with a not-so-hot body who’ll let you fuck her and then make you pancakes?

Don’t bother answering, guys.

We all know what you’re going to say.

Chapter Two: Lane

So, there we were. Meredith, the aforementioned young journalist from Psychology Monthly Magazine sitting with her legs crossed on the other end of the sofa, as if she thought she had to keep her thighs pressed tightly together to keep me from crawling up them to find the treasures that awaited between her legs. I wanted to tell her to relax. I had been interviewed by dozens of pretty young things over the years and had never forced myself on one.

That’s not to say that I didn’t fuck a considerable number of them, just that I never made the first move. Ever. Legal repercussions aside, it was a thing with me. I could fuck a different woman every day simply because of who I was, but I would never force my fame—or my sizable cock—on a woman without some clear indication that she wanted it thrust upon her. Like I said, I was no Bill Cosby or Harvey Weinstein. To the contrary, in my practice, which I gave up a few years ago when my first book hit it big, I counseled a lot of women who were used and abused by powerful men. I would never do that to a woman. Ever. I only wanted to please, never to inflict harm.

Meredith’s voice jarred me back to reality.

“So, Dr. Curtis, in your latest book, Trade Offs: How Men and Women Use Sex and Love To Get What They Want, you write about how women exchange sex for affection while men exchange affection for sex.”

“That’s right… Meredith…was it?”

She tucked a lock of red hair behind her ear and smiled even though she was trying not to. To her credit, she was trying to keep things professional. At least for now. She had a job to do. If we ended up in bed together or naked on the couch, it would be after she got what she needed for her interview, not before. Smart girl. My brain didn’t work that well after my cock took over.

She said, “Yes. Meredith Wilson.”

“Well, Meredith Wilson,” I said with a warm smile. “Yes, I do believe women give men sex in exchange for affection, and men give women affection in exchange for sex. And it’s that exchange that is the focus of the new book.”

“What about love?” she asked.

“Love?”

“Yes. Love.” She narrowed her blue eyes to give me a suspicious look. “Where does love fit into your equation?”

I gave her my best “that’s a great question” face and held up a finger to accentuate the point. “Don’t get them confused. Love and affection are two entirely different things. Affection may grow into love, and you can love someone without being affectionate, but true love is not an exchange for sex. When two people truly love one another, there is no exchange. They are one. There is simply them.”

She frowned at me. “Them?”

“Them.”

“Uh, exactly what does that mean?”

“It means that when you truly love someone, their happiness comes first in your mind. You do things to make them happy because that’s what makes you happy. You don’t do things for the ones you love expecting anything in return. There is no exchange. You have achieved nirvana.”

She still looked confused. Sigh. These young girls. Sometimes they just didn’t get it. She twisted her mouth to the side and frowned. “Nirvana? Like the band?”

I brushed a knuckle to my lips to keep from smiling. To achieve nirvana, as referred to in Buddhism, meant that one has reached a state of perfect happiness. Bliss. I wasn’t too surprised that the word brought to mind the Seattle grunge band whose lead singer blew his own brains out. Kurt Kobain did not achieve nirvana. He was the leader of the band Nirvana… whatever… I didn’t have time to explain it.

“Yes, exactly. Nirvana like the band.”

She arched a pierced eyebrow and waited for me to say more, but I didn’t bother. I hadn’t noticed it before, probably because I was focused on the size of her boobs, but she had piercings along the ridges of her ears and across her eyebrows. She had a small diamond in the left side of her nose, and a stud with a gold ball in her tongue, which she had a habit of rolling over her lip as she waited for me answer her questions.

“Look at it this way,” I said, holding out my hands as if they contained a visual display of the point I was trying to make. “The relationship between a man and a woman is much like a board game. The dice is rolled. Moves are made. Forward and backward. Options are explored. And in the process, sex and affection become tools in the game, used by men and women to get what they think they want.”

She held up a finger to stop me. Her fingernails were painted the same crimson as her lips. “Can you explain that… to get what they think they want…”

“Sure,” I said, crossing my legs and wrapping my fingers around my knee. I bounced my foot like I didn’t have a care in the world to try to relax her. This girl was wound tighter than a broken watch.

I said, “People often think they want or need something, only to later realize that they actually wanted or needed something else. We spend an inordinate amount of time obsessing over things, only to realize that those things were not what was best for us. In fact, sometimes those are the very things that do us harm, physically, emotionally, spiritually, mentally.”

She glanced up from the tablet she was using to take notes and narrowed her eyes at me. She was also recording our conversation on her phone. It was lying on the sofa cushion between us. “Have you ever done that?” she asked. “Wanted or needed one thing, only to find out that you would have been happier with something else?”

I smiled at the question. “Hundreds of times,” I said, head bobbing. “We all do it. It’s simple human nature.” I gestured toward her. “Haven’t you?”

“I suppose,” she said with a sigh that made her frown at the tablet. So young, I thought, but so many regrets. Bad haircuts. Bag hangovers. Bad relationships. Hot guys who ended up being total douche bags who fucked her best friend. Her story was not unique. I’d heard it all.

“You’re young,” I said. “We all make lots of mistakes in our youth.”

“I’m not that young,” she said, glancing up into my eyes, her fingertips tucking the strand of red hair behind her ear again. “I’m twenty-six.”

“Wow, twenty-six,” I said with a grin. “My darling, I have suits older than you.”

“You’re only thirty-nine,” she said, scolding me playfully with her eyes.

“Actually, I’m forty,” I said, putting a hand to my chest, making a pained face. “Granted, I’m a very young forty.”

“Whatever. Forty is not that old. You still look… I mean…” She gave me the first genuine smile of our time together. It made her face light up. I gazed into her blue eyes until she looked away.

“I still look what?” I asked playfully as the imaginary door between us started to creak open. “Please don’t say that I still look good for my age.”

“You still look very nice,” she said, uncrossing her legs. She turned sideways to face me on the sofa and held the tablet to her breasts. Lucky tablet. “At any age.”

“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Good, because that was how it was meant,” she said. “Now, tell me more about the tradeoff of sex for affection.”

Ah, warming up, but still on the clock. That was perfectly fine. I still had half an hour before the seminar began downstairs in the Grand Ballroom. Plenty of time to do whatever came next.

I said, “Quite simply, the male/female relationship is a series of tradeoffs and exchanges. Women trade men sex in exchange for affection. And other things, of course, like attention, security, safety, and hopefully, eventually, love. Men trade women affection in exchange for sex. Men are not nearly as concerned about where it might lead.”

“Because men just want to get laid,” she said, one eyebrow arching in judgment of all men and their naughty cocks.

“You’ll get no argument from me,” I said, smiling, nodding. “It’s the way we men have been wired since the dawn of man. It’s in our DNA. From the moment our cavemen ancestors first came out of the cave, we have been wired to want and need sex, to procreate, to spread our seed. To get laid.”

“In the book, you refer to men as ‘bees with penises, spreading their seed like bees spreading pollen through a field of sunflowers’.” She narrowed her blue eyes at me again. “Do you really believe that?”

“I wouldn’t have put it in the book if I didn’t,” I said playfully, leaning in and rolling my eyes. “Yes, men, by our very nature, are wired to spread our seed to ensure the survival of the species. Think about it this way, if it wasn’t for the male libido, the male need to reproduce, the human race would have died out eons ago. If we waited on women to initiate sex, well, there goes the planet.”

“Because most men are too lazy to get off the couch,” she said, giving me the look I had just given her. “And the only thing that will get them off the couch is the promise of pussy.”

I grinned at her use of the word. “Yes, the promise of pussy. And maybe beer and nachos. It depends on the man.”

“What does it take to get you off the couch, Dr. Curtis?” Her tongue went across her lips. The little gold ball in her tongue wedged between her teeth. She glanced around the hotel room. We were alone. The door was locked.

“What do you mean?’” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Is the promise of pussy enough to get you off the couch?” she asked, pursing her lips. “Or do you require beer and nachos?”

I smiled. Bingo. I turned to mirror her posture on the couch. “The promise of pussy can make me do all kind of things,” I said. “Especially when I don’t even have to get off the couch for it.”

She picked up her phone and tapped the button to turn off the recorder, then set the tablet and phone on the coffee table and slid toward me. Her hand started at my knee and slid slowly up toward my cock, which was waiting patiently and smiling slyly.

She cooed at me. “So, you wouldn’t get off the couch to have sex with me, Dr. Curtis? My pussy hair is red, just like the hair on my head. Most men love red pussy hair. Do you love red pussy hair, Dr. Curtis?”

“I am a big fan of red pussy hair,” I said, setting my hand on the back of the couch as she slid closer, her hand finding my cock chubbing up inside my linen pants. She gasped a little at the size of it. “And I would definitely get off the couch for you. Although, as hotel couches go, this one is pretty nice.”

“Can I suck your cock, Dr. Curtis?” she asked suddenly, her tongue rolling across her lips. The gold ball glistened with her spit. “I think you’ll love my technique.”

I pretended to glance at my watch. “Are you sure you want to do that now? We only have about ten minutes left, but you could come back later tonight and—”

“I’m sure,” she said, her voice low and husky. Her hand kept rubbing my cock until it was rock hard. It felt like it was going to rip through the linen material. A wet spot appeared at the tip, prompting her to tug at my belt. “I want your cock in my mouth. Now.”

“Have I answered all your questions?”

“Yes, just shut up and get your cock out,” she ordered.

“Yes, ma’am.” I leaned back and lifted my ass off the couch so she could open my pants and work them down to my knees. My cock was thrilled to be set free. She giggled when it sprang out and bobbed in the air before she could wrap her fingers around it.

“Wow, Dr. Curtis…” she said, her fingers working up and down the ten-inch shaft. “Your legend is true.”

I put my hands behind my head and took a long breath. “My legend?”

She smiled with the head of my cock at her lips. “My friend, Ursula, works for People Magazine. She gave you a blowjob when she interviewed you in Las Vegas last year. She said you had a huge cock and could make it do magical things.”

I chuckled. It always made me smile, the things these young girls talk about. Guys in biker bars talking about the pussy they’ve had had nothing on these girls. I shrugged as she took the round head into her mouth.

I sighed. “Well, so much for what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

She cupped my balls with her left hand and started to milk the veiny shaft with her right hand, twisting her fingers as they slid up and down. She stuck out her tongue and rolled the little gold ball under the head of my cock. Wow… she was right… I did love her technique.

As she took me fully into her mouth, stopping only when the head of my cock hit the back of her throat, my cellphone on the coffee table buzzed. It was Arianna, my agent and handler, calling from downstairs to let me know that everything was all set and the seminar would start on time.

There were several hundred people in the Grand Ballroom downstairs, mostly women, waiting for yours truly to bring a little wit, wisdom, and advice into their otherwise empty lives.

They wanted me to tell them it was okay that they were totally fucked up because there was a fix. There was hope. And it was detailed fully in my latest book, which they could have autographed for $50.

If they wanted a selfie with me it was $100.

If they wanted to attend the private VIP dinner later on tonight that was $1,000 a head. The dinner was capped at 100 and had been sold out for months. I still had a hard time believing anyone would pay $1,000 to dine in the same room as me, but I sold out these events wherever I went.

I can honestly say that I love my job… especially since I usually got one of these wonderful blowjobs or a nice quickie in the elevator before every event and usually had several ladies to keep me company for the night afterward. I loved one-on-one sex, but I really loved it when the bed was crowded with naked bodies.

My phone stopped buzzing. I looked at my watch. It was time to get the show on the road. I put my hands on the sides of… what was her name… oh yeah…Meredith… I put my hands on the sides of Meredith’s head and helped her along, bobbing her head over my cock, hitting the back of her throat without so much as a gag. Her fingers tightened around the shaft as she milked it up and down, twisting as they went, the ball in her tongue rolling over the underside of my cock, setting off a thousand tiny nerves that made my whole body tense.

She could feel my muscles tightening. She let my cock slide from her mouth, then used her spit to lube the shaft. She started pumping faster and faster. “Fuck… I’m gonna cum…” she said, though I had not had the chance to even touch her pussy. “Shoot your cum on my face… Dr. Curtis… make me… fuck… I’m cumming…. Yes… yes… yes…”

I pointed my toes and let the orgasm hit, crashing into my balls like a wave slamming into the shore. As Meredith pumped my cock like an oil derrick, I shot ropes of milky white goo in the air. It rose and fell on my cock and on her hand. She giggled like a kid watching a funny show and clamped her mouth onto the head and pumped the shaft until I had nothing left to give. She swallowed every drop, then cleaned me off with her tongue. I lay back, spent, struggling to breathe, until someone knocked on the door. That would be Ari. Telling me play time was over and work time was at hand.

I smiled down at Meredith, who was licking her fingers as if she’d just had a gourmet meal. I tucked the hair behind her ear and smiled.

“Did you get everything you need?” I asked.

She licked her lips and smiled. “Yes. Everything.” She pushed herself up and dabbed the corners of her lips with her fingertips. “If I need anything else… can I…”

“Of course,” I said with a smile. “I’ll have my assistant text you my number.”

“That would be great,” she said, leaning in to kiss my cheek as the knock on the door came again. She gathered up her things while I put myself back together. She packed them into her bag, and followed me to the door. When I opened the door, Ari was standing there with an impatient look on her slender face.

Arianna Goldman was fifty-seven, stick thin, with short silver hair and coal blue eyes that could stare down a cobra. She was dressed in her usual black pants suit and silk blouse with six-inch heels that brought her to about five-foot-eight. She wore no jewelry other than the silver Rolex I had given her ten years ago after she sold my first book at auction. Ari was my manager, my friend, my confidante, and my keeper. If it wasn’t for her I’d still be doling out hack psychiatric advice from a tiny office somewhere in Encino.

“It was great meeting you, Dr. Curtis,” Meredith said officially, sticking out her hand for me to shake. Her hand was sticky to the touch. Ari just rolled his eyes.

“It was great meeting you, Meredith,” I said, letting go of her hand and giving her a little nod. “I look forward to reading your article.”

She giggled a bit, then skipped off down the hall. Ari shook her head as we watched her go. “Jeez, man, it sucks being you,” she said. “The last time I had a girl that hot in my hotel room she left with my purse and a big chunk of my pride.”

“I’m sure it was a small price to pay for that moment of bliss,” I said with a sigh. “Is everything ready downstairs?”

Ari nodded as she let her eyes go up and down me. She noticed the wet spot on the crotch of my pants. “Yes, but you need to clean up and change,” she said, rolling her eyes like a teacher scolding a student she was fond of. “Then get downstairs. There are five hundred women ready to hang on your every word and write you a check.”

“Okay, I’ll hurry,” I said, stepping back into the room and leaning against the door. “And you’re right, you know.”

She frowned at me. “I am? About what?”

“It does suck to be me.”

I grinned at her until the door swung shut.

 

 

Chapter Three: Lane

Arianna took two ice cold Coronas from the hotel room mini fridge and brought them over to the sofa where I had gotten the Meredith-special earlier in the day. Now, I lay stretched out with my shirt and shoes off and an arm over my eyes. I was wearing a pair of black boxers and nothing else, my body still warm and damp from the steaming hot shower I had just taken after calling it a day. I wasn’t bashful in front of Ari. She was like my mom—or my big sister—and she was a lesbian. We’d seen each other in various stages of undress for years. Hell, back in the old days, we slept in the same hotel room bed and shared a shower to keep costs down. No number of pheromones or glances at my cock or her tits was going to change our relationship. Thank God. Sex just muddied things. That was a complication Ari and I would never have.

She set one of icy bottles between my bare thighs, making me jump, then took her beer and sat on the other side of the coffee table in one of the plush leather chairs. She kicked off her shoes, stretched out her long legs, and wiggled her toes.

“Ah, that’s better,” she said, bringing the bottle to her lips. “That was an incredibly long fucking day.”

I took a long drink and sighed. Drinking Coronas after an event had become a ritual for us. It started years ago when I was doing seminars for a few dozen people at a time in tiny motel meeting rooms. Now, I could fill a major hotel grand ballroom without blinking an eye and could afford to toast with Dom Perignon, but we still drank Coronas. It was our homage to the past.

Ari and I knew we were two of the luckiest two people on the planet, doing everything we got to do and getting paid insane amounts of cash for it. Ari got 15% of every nickel I made, and massive bonuses throughout the year based on sales and productivity. And she was worth every penny.

She not only managed my career, but negotiated book deals, lined up the speaking gigs, coordinated the seminars and events, oversaw the sale of schwag at the back of the room, and managed every other aspect of my life except for getting me laid. And she would have managed that for me if I had asked her to. For now, I had no problem lining up my own pussy. When you have pussy lining up, it’s not that hard.

“That was a long day,” I said with a sigh. I glanced sideways at her with the bottle resting on my chest, the condensation leaving a cold ring of moisture that felt good against my hot skin. I had been onstage for two hours, signed autographs and posed for pictures for another two hours, then held court at the VIP dinner for three hours. I was tired and sweaty and wrung out like a dish rag. All I wanted to do was finish my Corona and collapse into bed. I was so freakin’ tired it didn’t even bother me that I would be sleeping alone, for a change.

“Long, but profitable,” Ari said, the dollar signs dancing in her eyes. Ari had been a successful lawyer and accountant before I convinced her to chuck it all and roll the dice on a no-name psychiatrist and first-time author with big dreams of building an empire like Dr. Phil’s. We weren’t quite there yet, but we were getting closer and closer every year.

I smiled at the look on her face. She was grinning like the Grinch and counting dollars in her head. “I bet you know exactly how much we made today,” I said, narrowing my eyes at her. I licked the beer from my lips and waited. “Come on. Give. How much?”

She pushed her thin shoulders up and down. “We’re looking at a couple hundred thousand net, give or take the price of lobster.” She was referring to the cost of the VIP dinner of one hundred steaks and lobsters. Attendees had paid a thousand-dollars a head, giving us a hell of a profit margin. Ari smiled with the bottle at her lips and said, “Either way, we came out okay.”

“That’s good,” I said, stifling a yawn with the back of my hand. “Maybe now we can take a break and enjoy some of that cash we’ve been stockpiling since this book tour began.”

We’d been on the road nearly six months promoting my newest book, Trade Offs, with book signings, speaking at seminars and big events, and I had no idea how many personal appearances. And we had done an endless stream of radio, TV, cable, and satellite promotion. I had talked so much about the fucking book that I wanted to poke my eyes out. It was fun and nothing like real work, but the road was kicking my ass. I hadn’t been home to my place in Malibu in months and it was starting to wear on me.

“We have another month of this,” she said. She propped her bare feet on the coffee table with her ankles crossed. For a woman of her age, she had exceptionally pretty feet. And don’t ask me why I noticed that. Ari is a lesbian and old enough to be my mom. Still, I’m a dude. Dudes notice shit non-dudes never do.

“Another month?” I whined, blowing out a long breath. “Fuck, Ari, I need a break. Six months on the road is too much.”

“You want that villa in Tuscany?” she asked, one penciled-in eyebrow cocked.

I huffed into the bottle. “You know I do.”

“Then stop your whining because when this tour is finished you’ll be able to pay cash for it.”

“Well, I just hope I’m still alive enough to enjoy it,” I said, leaning my head back on the cushion to stare at the ceiling. “It just gets old sometimes. You know?”

“I know, sweet cheeks,” she said, her head bobbing. “Just think how I feel. I’m doing all this with you for a lousy fifteen percent.” We smiled at each other. Her fifteen percent had totaled over five million dollars last year, not to mention another million in bonuses, and a new Tesla that she had never even bothered to drive.

“Tell you what,” I said, turning on my side to face her. I propped up on one elbow and aimed a finger in her direction. “You get me some time off and I’ll raise that to twenty-percent for the rest of the tour.”

“As tempting as that sounds, my dear one, the schedule is set in stone,” Ari said, mocking me with a sad face. “Quit your fucking whining. It’ll all be over in a month. Just hang on. Then you can spend an entire month at Northwoods decompressing with your usual gaggle of girls.”

The mention of Northwoods, my secluded, luxury retreat in the California mountains made me sigh. “Gaggle of girls?” I echoed with a broad grin. “Is that like a gaggle of geese?”

“If geese had great tits and asses,” Ari said with eyes wide. She finished her Corona and let her feet drop to the floor. She set the empty bottle on the coffee table and stretched her arms toward the ceiling. “Okay, hot shot, I’m done. I’m gonna turn in. How about you?”

“After I finish this,” I said, tipping my bottle at her.

“All right. Good night, my love. See in you the morning. Get some sleep. We’re on a plane to Chicago at ten.”

Ari pushed herself out of the chair and came over to give me a goodnight kiss on the forehead. She hooked her shoes with two fingers and padded barefoot across the plush carpet toward her room As great as my life was, it was a little sad that my best friend in the world was a middle-aged lesbian who treated me like a whiny little kid, mainly because I often acted like one.

I swung my feet to the floor and picked up Ari’s empty bottle. I finished off my beer as I walked into the little kitchenette, and set the bottles on the counter. I was about to head to bed when I heard a tap-tap-tap on the door. Somehow, I knew immediately who it was, but checked the peep hole just to make sure. I opened the door with a tired but happy smile on my face.

“Why, Meredith Wilson, what are you doing back here at this time of night?” I asked, hooking my thumbs in the waistband of my boxers and wiggling my eyebrows at her. My cock twitched as my eyes sent word down its way that Meredith was in view. “I thought we finished our interview.”

“Oh, we finished the interview,” she said slyly, stepping into me until her lips were an inch from mine. She slid her right hand inside the boxers and grabbed onto my plump cock as her left hand went around to squeeze my ass. “But you didn’t finish me.”

“Well, well,” I said, wrapping my arms around her as her hands went to work. I slid my hands over her luscious ass cheeks and ground her pussy into my hard on. “Let’s see what we can do to remedy that.”

Like I keep saying.

I just love my job.

 

 

Chapter Four: Lane

Four weeks later…

Northwoods Resort & Spa, California

 

I had never been so freakin’ happy to be off the road in my life. After leaving the lovely Meredith sleeping in my hotel room bed in Vegas, and after one more month of traversing the country peddling books and cookie cutter psychobabble to thousands of lovely ladies (and a few gents), I was almost ready to slit my own wrists.

You would think knowing what I know about how the brain works, I could control my feelings of angst and frustration. Just because I know what causes something does not mean I can control. I am, after all, only human. I sometimes have to remind myself of that fact, especially when others seem to think I’m not.

Ari knew I had about reached the end of my rope, too. I was as snippy as a teenage girl on the rag by the time we wrapped things up with the big event in New York City. She did what she could to keep me sane but sometimes it wasn’t enough. I’d blow a gasket over some little something, and she’d patiently let me vent then give me a motherly hug and tell me to shut up, stop whining, and get back to work.

Ari was great at keeping the bullshit to a minimum, and she dealt with things so I wouldn’t have to, but putting on a smile for twelve hours a day and keeping the energy up was exhausting. I did not know how Tony Robbins did it, but after this tour, I had a newfound respect for the guy. I still thought he was full of bullshit, but I respected his energy and work ethic, nonetheless.

The last night of the tour I didn’t even stay at the hotel. We were in New York City and Ari wanted to stay for the weekend because she had met a group of lesbians and wanted to fuck her way through them all. I understood, but I was all fucked out. I left Ari in New York City, chartered a private plane back to LAX, then climbed into my Jeep and drove up to Northwoods all by myself. It was the first time I’d been truly alone in months. I knew that I’d quickly get bored, but at that moment I was in Heaven.

Northwoods was my haven, my retreat, my getaway, purchased with the money I’d made from six bestselling books, lots of six-figure speaking gigs, high-dollar seminars, and dozens of weekend boot camps.

Northwoods was located in the mountains north of San Diego. It covered fifty wooded acres with a 30,000 square-foot luxury lodge that contained twenty-five rooms, a 5-star restaurant with a Michelin chef, an Olympic sized swimming pool, a huge sauna and full-time masseuse, and every amenity you could imagine and money could buy.

And for an extra ten-grand, you could get a private session with yours truly to help work out all your sexual issues, so to speak. Northwoods was also the scene of some of the wildest orgies you can imagine, real Roman-style shit, both spontaneous and scheduled.

Northwoods was closed for the month because Ari had scheduled no retreats knowing that I’d be beat to hell coming off the road, so other than a few staff members, I had the place to myself.

As I sat on the balcony of my penthouse suite at the top of the lodge, looking out over the mountains as the sun set in the west, I thought about how truly fortunate I was. This moment reminded me why I did all the things I did. Six months on the road were swept away by the cool mountain breeze.

I was proud of myself. Not bad for a poor kid from Encino who worked his way through college waiting tables and playing on a partial football scholarship. None of this had been handed to me. I had worked my ass off for everything I owned. I also knew how lucky I was. I knew a lot of people who were much smarter than me but had seen far less success.

I started thinking about my best pal Wynn Driver, a classmate at UCLA who had published his first book a year ago and was following in my footsteps, more or less. His book, cleverly entitled, What’s Your Vagina Thinking, was a runaway bestseller and had put Wynn on the fast track.

Despite the somewhat comical name, which probably came out of a three-day brainstorming session by a bunch of marketing geeks, the book tackled a serious topic and offered lots of helpful advice.

Wynn’s book focused on the connection between a woman’s brain and her vagina, and how that connection made women make the decisions they made; good, bad, and indifferent. Sort of like guys thinking with their dicks (which never comes to any good). Wynn put the shoe on the other foot, so to speak, and his book—and message—was a hit.

Wynn was now doing book signings, and appearing on talk shows, and getting invited to seminars and events that couldn’t afford me. In this business, like most, the more you’ve accomplished, the higher your price. Wynn was on the fast track, clearly in my rearview mirror. Success could not have happened to a nicer guy, and I could not have been happier for him.

Wynn’s success had also not gone unnoticed by Ari, who one day came into my office holding Wynn’s book with that look on her face, the one that said, “I have a wild fucking idea that’s going to make us a shit load of cash.” Whenever Ari came in with that look, I just closed my mouth and listened to the cash registers ring.

“Have you read this book?” she asked, holding it up and tapping the cover, which was a white background with a Rorschach inkblot image that could have been a pussy or a butterfly. Again, very clever, those marketing wonks.

“I have read it,” I said, lying even though I had not, but had meant to for months. Wynn had sent me an autographed copy the week the book came out. It was in my master bathroom with the rest of the books I promised to read, but knew I never would. “The author is a pal of mine from grad school. Dr. Wynn Driver.”

Ari plopped down in the leather chair across the desk from me and sat flipping through the pages. “There’s some really brilliant stuff in here,” she said. “I mean, nothing as good as yours, of course.”

“Of course,” I said with a smile.

“But really great insight into the way women think, based on signals from their vaginas.”

“Like men thinking with their cocks,” I said, the smile still in place. I watched her for a minute. She was frowning as she perused the pages. I could almost hear the gears grinding inside her head.

I stopped rocking and hitched my chin at her. “Ari? What are you thinking?”

She snapped the book shut and clutched it to her flat chest, then wiggled her drawn-on eyebrows at me. “How well do you know this Wynn Driver?”

I shrugged. “Pretty well. We were at UCLA together. I played football, he played rugby. He’s a regular at the Northwood parties. We’ve shagged a lot of the same girls.”

“So, you’re pals,” she said, head bobbing slightly.

“Yeah, good pals.”

“He’s very good looking,” she said, turning the book over to stare at Wynn’s photo on the back. “Again, not as good looking as you…”

“Jesus, Ari, just get to it,” I said with a long sigh. I leaned my elbows on the desk and propped my cheeks between my hands. “What are you thinking?”

“What would you think of maybe co-authoring a book with Wynn Driver? Then doing a book tour together? And seminars with you as the star attraction and him as the opener?”

“You make us sound like rock stars,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“To a lot of people, you are.” She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at me. “What do you think?”

I frowned, not because I was opposed to the idea, but because it had never even occurred to me. When you were a narcissistic asshole, you didn’t think too much about others. And when you did, it was in terms of what it meant to you.

“Co-authoring a book with Wynn on what topic?” I asked.

“On the topics you’re both experts at,” Ari said. “The brain, the human psyche, the female anatomy.”

I snickered at her. “Ah, there it is. It always comes back to the pussy for you, doesn’t it?”

“Fuck you, pot, said kettle.” She opened Wynn’s book to the acknowledgments and ran a thin finger down the page. “He doesn’t list an agent or manager. Do you know if he has representation?”

I sat back and laced my fingers behind my head. “Representation as in someone like you?”

“Someone exactly like me,” she said. “I mean, it would be easier to convince your publisher to take on the project if you were both represented by the same agent.”

“That does make sense,” I said. I cupped a hand under my chin and drummed my fingers to my lips. “I suppose I could give Wynn a call. Just to feel him out.”

“Why don’t you do that,” Ari said, a little smile itching her thin lips. “Just to gauge his interest.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure there’ll be interest,” I said.

“Then you’ll give him a call?”

I leaned back and folded my arms over my chest to give her a long, hard look. “You sure you wanna take on another me? You’re always saying what a handful I am. Wynn’s a nice guy, but his star is on the rise. He’ll need a lot of hand-holding and guidance. Are you sure you can handle both of us? Without a negative effect on my career?”

“You will always be my priority, my darling,” she said, holding up her hands, wiggling her skinny fingers like the Wicked Witch of the West. “But I have two hands. Make the call.”

“Fine,” I said, patting the air between us with my hands. “I’ll make the call.”

“That’s my boy,” she said, pushing herself out of the chair. She set Wynn’s book on the desk and tapped a finger to it. “Maybe look through that before you do.”

I winced. “You want me to read a book? Seriously?”

“Lane,” she said, putting her hands on her hips.

I held up my hands in defeat. “Fine, fine. I’ll read the book.”

“And make the call.”

“Yes, mother, and make the call.”

* * *

I hadn’t talked to Wynn Driver in a while. I took that afternoon and read his book as Ari ordered. I have to be honest. I had no intention of reading it, but once I started I couldn’t put the damn thing down.

His insights and theories into the topic of the female libido’s persuasion on the female brain was cutting edge stuff. Not only that, he was a much better writer than me.

Hell, there’s no need to bullshit you. I wasn’t a writer at all. I just dictated my thoughts into a recorder and had a professional put it all into coherent form. The ideas were mine, but putting my words on paper in coherent form was beyond my skill set and attention span. Besides, Ari says my time is too valuable to spend doing something as mundane as writing. The money was in the ideas, she said, not in the execution of the ideas.

I found some videos of Wynn on YouTube, speaking at various events, and even a Ted Talk. He was just as good a speaker as me. Maybe even a little better. He had this presence about him that most speakers didn’t have. I had to work to be likable. Wynn was a natural. And he had a twelve-inch cock that the ladies loved. I knew because I’d seen women arguing over who was going to ride it first at those aforementioned orgies.

I set my Corona on the glass patio table and glanced at my watched. It was still early where I was in California. I had no idea where he might be, but I tapped the speed dial to find out.

After a few rings, Wynn’s voice came through the speaker. “Hey, Lane, what’s up?”

“Dude!” I said, grunting the words like the old football player that I was. “What’s up with you?”

“Oh, I’m just heading to a little conference for the weekend with my pal, Holden at Midwestern,” Wynn said modestly. “What are you doing?”

“I’m at Northwoods,” I said with a happy sigh.

“You’re having a Northwoods event this weekend and you didn’t invite me?” Wynn asked. “My feelings are hurt.”

“Hey, I’d never leave you out of a party, but don’t worry, the place is closed this week,” I said. “I came up here to work on the next book. I needed a little peace and quiet. It’s just me and the woods. And a few select female friends.”

“God, your life sucks,” Wynn said, echoing a sentiment I heard more and more lately. “That’s okay. I’m at Northwestern with Holden for a few days anyway. Hey, you should fly out and hang with us.”

“Hmm, that’s not a bad idea,” I said. I searched my mind for the name Holden… then I remembered Wynn’s best friend was a psyche professor by the name of Holden Moss. I didn’t know Holden, but Wynn always spoke highly of him. They were both on the faculty at Midwestern University when Wynn’s book was published.

I said, “I’m about to wrap up here. I assume there are many beautiful women there in need of my particular brand of therapy.”

Wynn chuckled over the speaker. “Yes, I’m sure we could find someone for you to help.”

“Tell you what, let me make a few phone calls and get back to you. I was supposed to be in Los Angeles for meetings this weekend, but maybe I can reschedule. If so, I’ll fly out and hang with you guys for a couple of days. Are you sure Holden won’t mind?”

“The more the merrier,” Wynn said. “In fact, there’s someone that I think Holden would like for you to meet. Her name is Jude.”

That piqued my interest. If there was a woman there Wynn thought I should meet, she must have been a hell of a girl. I said, “As in ‘Hey Jude’?”

“As in,” Wynn said. “Hey, I gotta get going. Think you’ll come? For real?”

“You never know,” I said, nodding. “Text me Holden’s address. If I decide to come it’ll be late tomorrow before I can get there.”

“That’s cool,” Wynn said. “That would give me time to wrap up this conference and give us a couple of days to play before I have to get back to L.A.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said. “I’ll email you my itinerary if I can make it out.”

“Super. Hope to see you tomorrow.”

I was about to hang up when the reason I called came back to mind. I said, “Oh, hey, you distracted me with all this talk of pussy. I nearly forgot why I was calling you.”

“You mean there’s more to life than pussy?” Wynn said. “Whatever could that be?”

“I want us to work on a book together. I just got around to reading your book and man, it’s fucking awesome. You’re doing some great work there. I think there’s all kinds of synergy with what I’m doing. I talked to my publisher already and they want to hear a few ideas. You interested in doing a little brainstorming while I’m there?”

“You want to coauthor a book with me?” Wynn asked warily, as if he hadn’t heard me correctly. “Actually, what would you think about doing a book with me and Holden? He’s written some amazing papers on the topic of female sexuality. I think the three of us could come up with something really special.”

“You, me, and Holden doing a three-way?” I said with a smile. “Dude, that sounds freakin’ amazing! We’ll talk about it when I see you guys.”

“Then you’re definitely coming?”

“Dude, have you ever known me not to cum?”

“You’re a sick fuck,” Wynn said. “And no, I’ve never known you not to cum.”

“I’m no sicker than you,” I said. “See you tomorrow, buddy.”

I hung up the phone and texted my assistant to arrange travel. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was about to embark on my next fun adventure. I was about to meet a woman who would change my life.

And her name was Jude.

Chapter Five: Jude Allen

Present day…

Midwestern University

Madison Illinois

 

“What the hell was I thinking, Iz? taking on two guys at once? And I’m not talking about taking them on at arm wrestling or chess or badminton. Oh no, that would have been too easy. I’m talking about taking them on sexually, as in letting them gang-bang me like there was no tomorrow. Not just once, but over and over again?”

I noticed Izzy’s mouth start to move in an attempt to respond, but I didn’t give her the chance. I waved my hands in the air like a drunken airport runway worker and tried to keep my voice to a low level so the other fifty or so students in the university cafeteria didn’t hear me ranting.

“Fine, okay, I admit it. I enjoy every freakin’ second of it. And I’m sure I’ll enjoy it even more when it happens again, probably tonight. But holy moly, Iz, I am sore in places I didn’t know you could be sore in. My tits and my ass and my cunt… I feel like I’ve been slammed by the entire WWE! I need a break!”

I stopped ranting long enough to look across the table at her. She had a blank look on her face, as if she were in shock.

“Iz? You okay?” I asked.

Izzy widened her dark eyes and held out her hands. “Are you finished?”

“What?”

“Are you finished?’ she asked, looking around to see if anyone else had been part of the audience to hear me complaining about the three-way relationship I’d gotten myself into with Professor Holden Moss and his best friend, Dr. Wynn Driver. “Because God forbid I interrupt you while you’re on a tirade about getting your clock cleaned by two gorgeous men at the same time!”

“I’m sorry,” I said. I felt my neck flush red hot. I put my hands to my cheeks and stuck out my tongue like a panting dog. “I didn’t mean to rant and rave. It’s just that, well shit, what the hell was I thinking?”

Izzy picked up her bottle of water and rolled her eyes as she took a drink. “Here we go again. What was I thinking? My tits hurt. My pussy hurts. My ass hurts. I’m having too many orgasms. I don’t know what to do with all this cock. Poor me. Blah, blah, blah, blah.”

“That sounds nothing like me,” I said with a hard stare, although it kind of did.

“It sounded just like you, you whiny bitch,” Izzy said with a grin. She picked up a French fry from her tray and swizzled it through the pool of ketchup she’d made. “I swear, Jude, you’re never satisfied. One minute, you’re bitching about a guy using you, and the next minute you’re bitching because you can’t get laid, and the next minute you’re bitching because you’re getting laid too much. What did you expect when Holden brought Wynn into the bedroom with y’all? Tag team fucking?”

I blinked at her because I didn’t know the answer. “I don’t know what I expected,” I said honestly. “I just thought it would be interesting to fuck two guys at once.”

Izzy leaned in and smiled. “And so? Is it interesting?”

I looked around to make sure no one was close enough to listen, then grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “It is fucking amazing!”

“I knew it!” Izzy said, clapping her hands and cackling at the top of her lungs. Every head in the cafeteria turned our way for a moment, but Izzy ignored them. She reached across the table and squeezed my arm. “Okay, enough whining. Tell me how it works.”

I knew what she was asking, but I wanted her to squirm a bit. “Tell you how what works?”

“How it works with two dicks and one pussy?” she said. Izzy was a black girl from Atlanta who was in the top 2% of her psyche class at Midwestern, but at the moment, she had switched into ghetto mode and was swaying her head back and forth. “Don’t play dumb with me. Tell me how it works. Who sticks what into where? And do they take turns? Is it like Red Rover and you call them over? Come on. Spell it out.”

I picked up my soda and brought the straw to my lips without taking a sip. “Well, honestly, the first time was a little awkward. I mean, we got naked and both of them were hard as rocks. And I gotta tell you, Wynn has the longest cock I have ever seen.” I held up my hands a foot apart. “I mean, Holden is like ten-inches, but Wynn is a foot long, like a freaking hot dog, I swear to god.”

“Damn girl,” Iz said, whistling. “And I thought my man was hung like a horse.” Her man was Earl Winston, captain of the Midwestern University football team. He was large and black and scary as hell to anyone who didn’t know what a teddy bear he really was. He looked out for me and Izzy like we were his two prized cubs.

Izzy put her elbows on the table and rested her chin between her hands. “Okay, so you got naked. Then what.”

“Well, we got naked and we kind of just huddled up together,” I said, sighing at the memory of the three of us standing naked in Holden’s living room. I wiggled in my chair because a warm flow of juices had started flowing between my legs.

“Then what?”

I gave her an evil grin. “Then, I took a cock in each hand while they started kissing me and feeling me up. I had fingers on my tits, in my pussy, in my ass…”

“Whoo, that sounds… whooo…” Izzy grinned at me. “So, you’re playing milking machine with their monster cocks while their fingers are doing the walking all around your booty hole.”

“My booty hole?” I smiled as my nipples pushed against my bra. “Yes, something like that.”

“Then what happened?”

“Then we went into the bedroom,” I said. “End of story.” I leaned back and folded my arms over my breasts and let my shoulders go up and down. I clamped my mouth shut and tried not to smile.

“End of story my ass,” Izzy growled, her forehead lining in a deep frown. “You… don’t even think about holding out on me. What happened next?”

I couldn’t keep the smile off my lips. I put my elbows on the table and leaned over them with my voice low like a man’s. “Well… then Wynn says something like, ‘I want you to suck my cock while Holden fucks you from behind, then we’ll switch’!”

“He did not say that,” Izzy covered her mouth and squealed.

“Yes, he did.”

“Oh, that nasty mother fucker.”

“Nasty is right,” I said. “Nasty and amazing.”

“So, you sucked Wynn’s foot long while Holden laid his pipe into you from behind.” She blew out her lips and shook her head. “Girl, you got me melting in my drawers. Then what?”

“Then we did everything you can imagine,” I said. I crossed my legs and put my hand in my lap beneath the table. I rubbed the tips of my fingers against my clit, which was so swollen I could feel it through the spandex workout pants I’d put on to meet Izzy for lunch. “They took turns on me, I took turns on them. We fucked and sucked and fingered and you name it. There was not a hole in my body—other than my ears and nostrils—that didn’t have a cock in it at some point during the night.”

“Damn…” Izzy said with a smile, absently rubbing her ears. She leaned back in the chair and let go a long breath, as if she was spent from my tales of great sex. “And you’re gonna do it again tonight?”

“With any luck,” I said, putting the straw between my lips to take a sip of my soda. “Holden and Wynn are at the association conference until nine or ten, then they’ll be back at Holden’s place and I expect the fun to begin again.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “You want to come join the fun?”

Izzy scoffed at the idea. “Girl, Earl would kill us all if that happened.”

I giggled and nodded my head. “That’s probably true.”

“Man, I bet your ass is tired,” Izzy said, head shaking, still snickering. “How long is this gonna go on?”

“Um, I think Wynn flies back to Los Angeles on Tuesday or Wednesday, so another couple of days.”

“Do you think you and Holden can just go back to being a couple after Wynn is gone?” Izzy asked. She picked up another fry and wiggled it at me. “For that matter, were you guys ever a couple?”

It was a good question, and one that I had asked myself several times over the last month or so, ever since I first seduced Professor Holden Moss, who was my grad school psychology professor and the latest target of my “Teacher’s Pet” fantasy.

You have to understand, I’ve always considered myself to be a bit of a nymphomaniac. Actually, Holden—the psyche professor— says there’s no such thing as a nymphomaniac. He says I just have a hyperactive sex drive.

Okay, whatever. Fuck me anyway.

Plus, I’ve also had a thing for older guys, especially older academic, authoritarian guys; like professors, teachers, executives, speakers, authors, etc.

It didn’t hurt that Holden looks like a Greek god and can do things to my body that had never been done before. We fucked the first night we met and every night since then. No regrets, no remorse, lots of orgasms.

Then, his best friend and famous author, Dr. Wynn Driver, arrives in town for a weekend meeting and my fun suddenly doubled. I fucked Wynn on Holden’s kitchen table the morning after he arrived, then I fucked them both later that night when they got home from the conference.

It turned out that Holden and Wynn had planned the whole thing. They had done a lot of tag-team fucking in the years they had known each other. Wynn had probably seen Holden’s cock more than I had, given the number of women they’d shared. And now they were sharing me. I was having the time of my life, but the fun came with a few dark thoughts. And, as Izzy had so aptly pointed out, I had no idea what would become of the relationship I had with Holden after Wynn left town. Would things just go back to normal? Or were things really normal to begin with? Shit…

“How do you see your relationship with Holden?” Izzy asked, all serious now, her psyche training kicking in. That was one of the things about having all psyche majors and professors as friends. We were always trying to psychoanalyze and solve each other’s problems. “Do you see you and Holden as a couple? Or are you just fuck buddies or what?”

“That is a very good question,” I said with a heavy sigh. “Before Wynn arrived, I would have said that we were just two consenting adults having fun together.”

“And now?” Izzy asked.

“And now? I’m not so sure.”

She laced her fingers together and propped her chin on them. “What changed?”

“Another good question, Dr. Parks,” I said, sighing again as I stretched my arms toward the ceiling. I grunted like an old woman. Wow. I really was tired. “And again, I’m not sure.”

Izzy narrowed her eyes at me. “Okay, let’s try a different tact. How do you feel about Holden?”

I shook the ice loose in my drink cup and took a moment to ponder the question. “You mean, do I have feelings for him?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose I do… I mean, I’m not in love with him… Not yet anyway.”

“Okay, so you’re not in love with him, but you do have feelings for him.”

“Yes, I do have feelings for him. Definitely.”

“And have those feelings changed now that Wynn is in the picture?”

I snickered at her. “Jesus, what is this, the Oprah Winfrey Show?”

“Is that a reference to me being black?” she asked, mocking a frown.

“No, that’s a reference to you being nosy,” I said.

“Okay, fine, I’m nosy,” she said, wiping ketchup from her lips with a napkin. “But you still gotta answer my question.”

“Which was?”

“Jude, please,” she said, huffing. “Have your feelings for Holden changed since Wynn is now in the picture?”

“Honestly, Iz, I don’t know,” I said quietly. My tone had a little whine to it. “I mean, I really like Holden, and if Wynn had not come into the picture, who knows where that relationship might have gone. Or might still go. I mean, I’m not looking to settle down or even be monogamous. I don’t think I have the ability to be faithful to one guy. But if I did, I wouldn’t mind if that guy was Holden.”

She nodded slowly. “And what about Wynn?”

“What about Wynn?”

“How do you feel about him?”

“I barely know the guy,” I said, which was an awful thing to say given that I had fucked him every which way but loose over the last twenty-four hours.

“So, you don’t have the same feelings for Wynn that you have for Holden?”

“No, at least…”

“At least what?”

“At least not yet.”

 

Chapter Six: Holden Moss

I’m not going to lie to you. When the idea of bringing my best friend, Dr. Wynn Driver, into my relationship with Jude Allen first came to mind, I was more than a little hesitant.

It wasn’t because I didn’t think either of them would not be open to the idea. To the contrary, Wynn and I had done more tag-team fuck matches than any wrestler in the World Wrestling Federation. Our tag teams involved one (and sometimes two, three, or more) beautiful, hot, horny women that we shared to everyone’s delight. Call it gangbanging, tag-teaming, or the fancier term: ménage a trois, Wynn and I had fucked a ton of women at the same time. It was kind of our thing. And the women never complained. Ever.

And Jude, well, Jude seduced me by coming into my grad school classroom on the first day of class, sitting in the front row, and spreading her legs to show me her shaved pussy. She was one of the most sexual women I had ever met. She oozed sexuality and desire like a warm cookie oozes… well… whatever it is that a warm cookie oozes and makes you want to have a bite. You know what I mean.

She claimed to be a nymphomaniac, and had a long history of sexual relationships with teachers and professors. In fact, she told me outright that she wanted to be my pet… my teacher’s pet. And one look at her beautiful face and voluptuous body… one quick glance at her perfect, moist, pink pussy, and one taste of her lips left me without any options. She would be mine and I would be hers. There would be no turning back now.

We had sex that very night and every night since our affair began. Jude was a sexual dynamo. An acrobat in bed. With no inhibitions or hesitation. She literally could go all night and never get enough, though she orgasmed in waves one after another and always begged for more. That, she thought, made her a classic nymphomaniac. Oh, and when she came her pussy gushed. And sometimes squirted like a water fountain on high. Jeez, I do so love a woman who squirts…

But, I digress… sigh…

As someone highly trained in psychology, and the inner workings of the human libido and brain, I did not buy into the concept of nymphomania, which is what Jude claimed to be. I informally diagnosed her as being “hypersexual”, which simply meant that she had a very high sex drive and acted upon it. She loved to fuck, so she did. A lot.

Better that than to suppress it as so many people feel the need to do. I believed was why there was so much cheating and infidelity among couples throughout the world these days.

Usually, it’s the man who wants and needs more sex, and his female partner who doesn’t give it to him because she doesn’t have the same hypersexual needs that he has.

Sure, some men cheat just because they are self-centered assholes, but some men literally cannot control themselves. Men who, like me, live and love for the sake of having sex. Yes, I admit it. Fucking is my favorite thing to do, followed closely by getting my cock sucked, and then returning the favors to my lover. If you asked me if I would rather breathe or fuck, I’d drop my pants, work up a hard on, and see how long I could hold my breath while hammering it to a beautiful girl. I’d either cum or pass out. Or perhaps both!

I loved sex.

I loved women.

I loved sex with women.

And I wasn’t so shallow that the woman had to be like Jude: a 15 on a scale of 10. I loved beautiful women, but to me beauty was only skin deep. I had had unbelievable sex with women of all ages, all shapes, all sizes, all colors, and all ethnicities.

Hell, one of my favorite fuck buddies was a fifty-year-old bisexual Russian History professor named Marsha Clarkson. Marsha was short and pudgy, with cropped hair and a penchant for flannel and baggy jeans. She was also one of the most amazing sex partners I’d ever had. Wynn and I gangbanged her the first time after a psyche association meeting in the bathroom at a dive bar called The Royal Crown Club. It was such a fun experience, banging a lesbian in a public restroom, and she was such an amazing fuck that we still tapped Marsha whenever the chance came around. Wynn wanted to seek her out this weekend while he was in town. Then he got a look at Jude.

Marsha was energetic, creative, horny as fuck and not afraid to try anything. We had had sex in restrooms, broom closets, classrooms, her car, my car, and a dozen other places. That was the key, I think. I’d had sex with a lot of beautiful women who spent more time concerned about their hair than making me cum. When Marsha had sex, she went all in. And like the WWF, it was an all-out, no holds barred, see how many positions we can come up with and how much cum we can get out of each other fuckfest. I dreaded the day when Marsha met a nice lesbian and settled down. She would be one player sorely missed in our little world of swinging dicks.

Jude was a lot like Marsha, only forty years younger and a million times hotter. She was tall, naturally pretty, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, luscious lips, curvy, with big tits and a tight pussy that she could control like magic fingers around my cock. She was also a brilliant psyche student who would one day hang out her own shingle and help other women deal with the issues that she had overcome.

The thing I loved most about Jude (besides the incredible marathon sex we had) was that she made me happy. Truly happy. Like few women had done before. It was impossible not to sport a silly grin when Jude was around. I sometimes caught myself smiling like the village idiot. She was happy and carefree, even bubbly sometimes, and it was contagious.

And she was this teacher’s pet.

At least for now.

Back to my original thought…

Jude and I had been going at it pretty hot and heavy for a month. And she knew all about my… shall we call them… past group activities… especially with Wynn. I had been blatantly honest with her and she seemed to revel in the tawdry details of our misadventures. In fact, when I told her the story of Wynn and I banging Marsha Clarkson in the restroom at the Royal Crown Club, she got so fucking excited she nearly attacked me.

We talked about three-ways and four-ways and orgies Wynn and I had participated in. We talked about two guys and one girl, and two guys and three girls. I told her about the orgies we’d attended and the swinging we’d done with married couples on and off campus.

When I told her about the time me, Wynn, and another buddy named Jake Rule all three had sex with one girl at the same time, her eyes grew wide and she licked her lips.

“How does that work?” she asked. “Three cocks and one pussy?” She masturbated as I gave her the dirty play-by-play details. She came so hard she squirted all over me and the sheet beneath us.

I let her know right out of the gate that if such things were interesting and exciting for her, maybe I could arrange a little foray into group sex. She looked at me like a kid who had been promised a pony on Christmas morning and said, “That would be… awesome…”

As luck would have it, Wynn was scheduled to come to town for a long weekend to be the keynote speaker at the local Psychology Association annual meeting that I was involved in. When I brought up the prospect of Wynn staying at my house and perhaps partaking of the delights Jude had to offer, she was a little coy at first, but when the clothes came off and the dicks came out, like Marsha, Jude went all in. The three of us fucked and sucked and fingered and probed and prodded most of last night. I was completely exhausted when it was over, as were Jude and Wynn. By the time Wynn and I left my place headed for the morning session at the conference, she was still passed out in bed.

Both of us stood in the bedroom door for a moment watching her sleep. She was lying on her back, naked, breasts rising and falling, legs spread wide, shaved pussy bare, hands over her head. It took every ounce of willpower in both our bodies not to strip off our clothes and climb on top of her. But there would be plenty of time for that later on.

 

Chapter Seven: Holden

“Whatcha thinking about, partner?” Wynn asked. He was sitting in the passenger seat of my Honda with a steaming cup of McDonald’s black coffee in one hand and an Egg McMuffin with cheese in the other. He looked like a surfer dude with his deep tan and long blonde hair blowing in the wind coming through the open window. I had to smile because he looked like the same cocky kid I met my freshman year in college twenty years ago. Tall, broad-shouldered, with lots of lean muscle, the aforementioned tan, and hair courtesy of hanging out at the Malibu beach house where he now lived.

“I was thinking that it’s about time you started to age like the rest of us,” I said. “You can’t maintain this surfer dude look forever.”

“Just you watch me,” Wynn said, smiling as he bit off a chunk of the Egg McMuffin with his perfect, white teeth (courtesy of his new Malibu dentist). “Ah hell, Holden, you’re holding up pretty good, for an old psyche professor.”

“Fuck you,” I said.

“Fuck you back.” He grinned at me as he chewed. “In fact, watching you hammer it to Jude last night, you look like you’re still in pretty decent rugby shape. Maybe we can scare up a match with some of these jughead students while I’m here.”

Funny, it wasn’t the least bit odd or unusual for Wynn and I to talk about each other’s bodies while we were with a girl, probably because we’d been naked around each other so many times it just seemed natural now. A lot of guys probably would have accused us of being gay. The truth was, we were two of the most heterosexual mother fuckers on the planet. The first time our cocks even got near each other (double blow job from a girl back in grad school) we both got the heebie jeebies. Now, we were just totally comfortable being naked and hard around each other. The only thing that bugged me was that Wynn’s fully erect cock was twelve-inches long, which was longer than mine by a couple of inches. The bastard. Rich, good looking, and hung like a fucking horse. Sometimes life just ain’t fair!

“I don’t think we’ll have time for rugby,” I said, turning onto the main street that ran down the center of campus, which would lead us to Conner Hall, the building where the Psychology & Sexuality in The Modern Age weekend seminar was being held. “Unless you’d prefer to spend time kicking a ball down a field as opposed to spending time going down on Jude.”

“Uh, I think we can play rugby some other time,” Wynn said. He took a careful sip of the hot coffee and sighed. “You were right, man. Jude really is something else. Just an amazing girl. Hot, horny, so fucking smart.”

“I told you,” I said with a proud smile. “She likes you, too.”

“Well, it is always good to be liked,” he said, giving me a nudge with his elbow. “You sure you’re okay with this? Me third-wheeling you guys, I mean?”

There was the question that had been biting at the back of my mind since Wynn arrived a couple of days before. He and I had shared a lot of women over the years, but mostly one-night stands and girls we met at swinger parties or orgies. We had had our regulars, like Marsha Clarkson and a few others, but mostly the girls we tapped had just been one and dones.

Jude was the first girl we had ever shared that I had feelings for, though I wasn’t a naïve kid. I didn’t love Jude, at least not in the “in love” sense, but I did care deeply for her and wanted her to be happy. That’s why I allowed Wynn to join our little party. Jude was hypersexual. She loved to experiment and try new things. She was young, single, and unattached. And sex made her happy. Sex with me made her very happy. Sex with me and Wynn drove her over the fucking moon.

There it was, the answer to my question. Jude’s happiness was all that mattered.

“Hey, as long as Jude is happy, I’m happy,” I said with a smile that I hoped backed up the sentiment of my words. “I told you her nymphomania theories.”

Wynn’s head bobbed. “You did. And my limited time with her tells me that your diagnosis was one-hundred-percent correct. Nymphomania is simply an old school term for hypersexuality. There is absolutely nothing wrong with Jude Allen. To the contrary, she is young and healthy, with a sex drive most women would die for. And most men would die to experience.”

“Exactly,” I said. We pulled up to a red light and I took the opportunity to take a sip of my coffee, which had been riding in the cup holder on the dash. I took a careful slurp—why is McDonald’s coffee so fucking hot??—and set the cup back in the holder and popped on the lid just as the light turned green.

A new thought came to mind as I worked my way through the sparse morning traffic. It was Saturday. There were no classes today, so most of the students at Midwestern were still asleep. I said, “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask, tell me more about your conversation with Lane Curtis.”

“Ah, good old Dr. Lane Curtis,” Wynn said, sighing the words. “Hang on. He sent a text sometime last night I didn’t see till this morning. Let me read it to you.”

Wynn worked the lid back onto his coffee cup and set it in the cup holder next to mine. He fished his cell phone from inside his jacket and tapped open the text messaging program. He read the message from Lane.

“Trip confirmed. Coming to see you this evening at MW. Will rent a car and drive to Holden’s place. Looking forward to meeting Holden and Jude.”

I frowned at him, a little taken aback that he had taken the liberty to mention Jude to someone I didn’t even know. “Seriously? You told him about Jude? What the fuck, man?”

Wynn shot me a defensive look, then rolled his eyes. “He asked if there were any hot girls at Midwestern and I mentioned Jude,” he said. “Don’t get your panties in a wad. I did not promise him anything.”

“That’s fine,” I said, huffing a little. “She’s not yours to promise.”

“You have a problem with Jude having a go with Lane?” he asked. “Or a problem with Lane joining our little party?”

I should have been offended by the way he was talking about Jude, like she was some ride at an amusement park, but that was just Wynn’s way. He could be a dick—an insensitive asshole, even—but at the end of the day, he had Jude’s best interest at heart. He knew Jude enjoyed sex with two men, and would probably enjoy it with three. She loved to experiment and experience new things. He was simply talking out loud.

“Whether or not Jude has a go with Lane is totally Jude’s call,” I said, giving him a stern look. “I just think it’s a little presumptuous of either of us to decide what she should and should not do. And who she should or should not fuck.”

“Is that what you told her about me before I came to town?” Wynn asked, eyebrows up. “That it was up to her whether or not she and I had a go?”

“That is exactly what I told her,” I said. “Jude is the boss of Jude. She’s not our plaything, Wynn, and she’s not some pawn in a sex game. This isn’t Fifty Fucking Shades of Grey, you know.”

“I realize that,” he said as he slid the phone back inside his jacket and reached for his coffee cup. “I just get the idea that Jude is enjoying herself immensely, and might enjoy a foursome if given the chance.”

“Again, that is Jude’s call,” I said.

“So, if Jude is okay with Lane joining our little game…” He asked the question and let the words hang in the air for a moment.

“If Jude is okay with it, so am I,” I said, shrugging. I slowed the car to pull into the parking lot of Conner Hall. There were already several dozen cars in the lot, and early attendees milling around. I parked at the end of the row and switched off the key.

“Looks like a good turnout for the morning session,” Wynn said, picking up his cup and reaching for the door handle.

“We still have a couple of minutes,” I said, holding up a hand. “Finish your breakfast. And tell me more about this book idea you had with Lane.”

He popped the last bite of Egg McMuffin in his mouth, then pulled the lid off the cup and dropped the trash in the floorboard, then leaned back with the coffee resting on his knee.

“Well, Lane called me to ask if I would be interested in coauthoring a book with him. As you know, he’s written six New York Times bestsellers on psychology, sexuality, relationships, and such. And has parlayed that into an empire worth a fortune. The guy must be worth at least ten or twenty million bucks now if he’s worth a dime.”

“Marsha Clarkson calls him ‘the sexy Dr. Phil’,” I said with a smile.

“Yeah, if Dr. Phil was six-foot-four, with all muscles, and perfect teeth, and movie star good looks,” Wynn said, chuckling. “I love the guy, but I hate him, too.”

I could not argue with Wynn’s assessment. I had seen Dr. Lane Curtis many times on book covers, in magazines, on videos, and TV. He was tall, broad-shouldered, muscular build, with short dark hair and dancing blue eyes (Marsha’s words, not mine).

Dr. Lane Curtis was the latest psychobabble slash self-help star who rubbed elbows with the likes of Oprah and Deepak Chopra and Tony Robbins. He was a former football start at UCLA who blew out his right knee before he could make it to the pros. So, he focused on academics, went on to get his doctorate in clinical psychology, practiced psychiatry for a few years in his hometown of Encino, California, then wrote a book called Is It Me or Is It Me, which explored the topic of narcissism and its negative effects on the relationship between men and women. The book was an instant hit, Lane became an instant star, and the rest was history.

I knew that Lane and Wynn had become fast friends, especially since Wynn’s book What’s Your Vagina Thinking had become a bestseller in its own right. It didn’t surprise me in the least when Wynn told me that Lane shared our interest in swinging and alternative lifestyles. A lot of people in our profession leaned toward the non-monogamous style of life. Maybe because when you studied the human brain for years and came to understand how it worked, you realized that monogamy and love are just illusions, probably created by women to keep men in line, just as Hallmark kept inventing new holidays on which to sell cards.

I know, what a chauvinistic, asshole thing to say…

Oh well, I’m a dude.

Sue me.

“Yes, he is the sexy Dr. Phil,” Wynn said, still chuckling. “Though I’m not sure he’d appreciate the comparison. Anyway, he thinks there is a synergy between the stuff that he writes about and the stuff that I write about.”

I gave him a quick sideways frown. “So… how do I fit into that picture?”

Wynn huffed and held out his hands. “Dude, you have written some really great shit on the topic of human sexuality and the myth of monogamy,” he said.

“How the fuck would you know that?” I asked, a little confused, and a little flattered. I had never written a book like him and Lane, but I had written dozens of articles for various psychology magazines and journals over the years. I never expected Wynn to read any of my stuff.

“I still have a subscription to the Psychology Monthly Journal,” he said. “I read your shit all the time. In fact, it’s the only thing worth reading in that dated old rag. When you stop writing for them, that’s when I’ll cancel my subscription.”

“Wow, I guess I should be flattered,” I said, shaking my head with my eyes on the road. “You read my shit in a dated old rag. How fucking flattering is that?”

“Ah, don’t let it go to your head, my friend. I still have a subscription to Big Tittie Monthly, as well,” he said with a grin.

“Fuck you,” I growled.

He laughed and held up his coffee cup. “No, seriously, man, your theories are cutting edge. Really great shit—I mean—great stuff. Imagine how great a book you, me, and Lane could write if we joined forces? We each could cover a different angle of one common theme. It would fucking knock the world of psychology off its fucking axis.”

“It could be interesting,” I said thoughtfully, suddenly imagining the world that might open up if I became a bestselling author like Wynn and Lane Curtis.

I could see myself leaving Midwestern to move to Malibu with Wynn.

I could see myself traveling the country signing books and speaking to thousands of adoring fans. And fucking my fair share of them.

And the money… Jesus, what could I do with a little bit of cash in my pocket? I loved teaching, but the pay was shit, and the benefits were nil. I’d probably make more co-authoring a book with Lane and Wynn than I’d made the entire ten years of teaching at Midwestern.

“It could be interesting and profitable,” Wynn said, nodding, giving words to my thoughts. “I pitched the idea to Lane and he was intrigued. Part of the reason he’s coming here is to talk about doing something together, all three of us.”

“That’s just part of the reason,” I said resolutely, my mind circling back around to Jude. “What’s the rest of the reason.”

“He’s coming here for the same reason I did,” Wynn said, poking me with his elbow as he opened the door with his other hand. “To meet Jude.”

To meet Jude…

As I watched Wynn get out of the car and hurry toward the building to greet a few of his fans who must have heard he was in town, I started to wonder if introducing Lane Curtis to Jude was the right thing to do.

I wanted Jude to be happy.

And to experience every pleasure that life had to offer.

But I wondered how much of my enthusiasm for Lane’s visit was for Jude’s benefit and how much was for my own.

 

Chapter Eight: Jude

Izzy and I took our time finishing off our breakfast in the MU cafeteria. One of the perks of being a student at Midwestern University was that the cafeteria was open for breakfast, lunch, and dinner on the weekends to keep us poor students with food passes but no cash from starving.

I was in no rush to hurry home. It was relaxing, sitting there with my best friend forever talking like two horny high school girls that had just discovered the joys of sex.

Holden and Wynn were at the conference and wouldn’t be home till later in the afternoon. So, I took my time regaling Izzy with the dirty play-by-play of my night with Holden and Wynn. She had a thousand questions and I had a thousand tawdry answers. She sat wide-eyed with her mouth hanging open through most of it. Occasionally, she’d lick her lips and say something like, “Dang, girl…” or “Didn’t that hurt?”. Mostly, she sat listening quietly, enraptured by my filthy tale of the Teacher’s Pet with her two well-hung and highly-qualified instructors. Beauty and her Beasts.

“Whew, I swear, girl I’m gonna need a cold shower when we get home,” Izzy said, falling back in her chair with her tongue hanging out, dramatically fanning herself with a napkin. “I don’t see how you’re even walking today! My poor twat would be sitting in a bathtub full of ice.”

“I’m a little stiff and sore,” I admitted with a happy sigh. “But it’s a good kind of sore. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Izzy narrowed her eyes at me. “So, you’re going to be doing that all weekend long? Fucking those two studs?” She shook her head and whistled. “Lordy, you’re gonna be worn completely out by Monday. Be careful you don’t fuck yourself to death.”

“Oh, I’ll be careful,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows playfully. “But boy, what a way to go.”

Izzy and I gathered our trash and giggled as we left the cafeteria and went to our cars. I followed her back to our tiny off-campus apartment to shower and change, and to let my batteries recharge a little. And maybe sit for a bit with an icepack between my legs.

It was one of those rare Saturday mornings when I didn’t have anything I had to do. I was a grad student now, with just a couple of classes, so the long weekends of burning the midnight oil doing homework and writing papers were behind me for the most part. Plus, Holden and Wynn would be tied up at the psyche conference most of the day, so rather than sit at Holden’s house pining away for hours until my men got home and the fun began, I decided to have a little me time.

Izzy was at the apartment just long enough to shower and change, then she was out the door to meet Earl for a little pre-game fun. Earl was the star of the MU Trojans, and Izzy had convinced him that it was good luck to have sex before every home game. Granted, the Trojans lost more games than they won, but that fact never seemed to bother Earl, who would gladly service his woman anytime she pleased.

So, I had the place all to myself. I ran a hot bath, lit a few candles, pulled down the shades, put on some soft music, and locked the bathroom door in case Izzy and Earl came back home. Earl had a habit of bursting into our only bathroom to take a leak without bothering to knock. And usually he didn’t care who else was in the dinky little bathroom or what they were doing at the time. He would just nudge his way to the toilet, whip out his large black cock, and hum happily to himself as he let it fly, creating a sound that sounded like a firehose blasting into a pond.

It bothered me the first few times it happened. I would be naked in the shower or in my bra and panties leaning into the sink doing my makeup, and here would come Earl just bursting through the door like a little kid that had to pee so badly his knees were knocking. He wouldn’t even bother to close the door.

“What the fuck, Earl?” I screamed the first time it happened, cowering behind the clear, plastic shower curtain.

He glanced over casually and kept right on pissing. He shrugged and said, “Hey, Jude.” Like everyone did, he sang the words and giggled to himself, like I’d never heard that shit before. “Whatcha doin’?”

“I’m taking a shower!” I said again. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

He shrugged and pissed. “Just leakin’ Little Earl. What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?”

His response made me grin, though I bit into my lip to keep from showing it. “I’m sorry, did you just say you were leaking Little Earl?”

He nodded his head without looking at me. He stared straight ahead at the wall and continued to hum. I glanced down and got my first look at what he called “Little Earl”. If that was Little Earl, I could only wonder what Big Earl would look like.

“Well, I’m taking a shower, you can’t just kick open the door and come in here,” I said, trying to cover my private parts with my hands and arms. It wasn’t that I was ashamed of my body. To the contrary, I someday hoped to practice psychiatry in a nudist camp. The point was, Earl was Izzy’s man and Little Earl was Izzy’s cock. I had no business even being in the same room when that thing was out of Earl’s pants. The fact that we were in the same room virtually naked, was not all right in my book. I might be a hyperactive nymphomaniac, but I would never think about fucking my best friend’s boyfriend, at least not without her invitation to do so.

Before I could scream at him again, Izzy stuck her head in the door and yelled at him on behalf. “Goddammit, Earl, hurry up so we can leave! I’m fucking starving.” Izzy looked at me, cowering behind the shower curtain like nothing was out of the ordinary. She asked, “We’re going to Arby’s, Juju. You want anything?”

“Uh, a little privacy would be nice,” I said, frowning at her boyfriend who was still standing at the toilet with his cock out, humming, pissing like a racehorse. Jeez, how much had he had to drink?

“Don’t think they sell that at Arby’s,” Earl said.

“For fuck sake, Earl, come on!” Izzy roared. “Can’t you see Jude wants to shower without you pissing all over the place.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Earl shook off Little Earl and tucked him back inside his jeans. He took the time to wash his hands, then wiped his hands on his shirt as he lumbered out of the bathroom like it was no big deal.

The same thing happened the next week and the next. Soon, it became no big deal. Now, Earl can whip out Little Earl and pee right next to me without me even noticing. Weird what you can get desensitized to.

I filled the tub with steaming hot water and lavender bubble bath. I had already showered earlier before meeting Izzy, but I still felt icky, mainly because my pussy was continuing to ooze out the juicy remnants of things that had been deposited deep inside it during the night before. I had lost count of the number of orgasms I had had, and I knew Holden and Wynn had each cum inside me a couple of times. I was a squishy mess. And I freakin’ loved it!

I took off my clothes and stood naked in front of the mirror to look at myself for a moment. I was sure that my body would be covered with handprints and bruises from the night before with Holden and Wynn. Some of the sex got a little rough, but rough is what makes it fun for me.

Think about it. When there are just two people fucking, things can get pretty wild. When there are three of you, and two of those are huge, muscular men, pretty wild can quickly become freakin’ insane. I was manhandled and tossed around and bent into positions I didn’t know I could get into. They treated me like a human pretzel, but I gave as good as I got. I rode them both like a buckaroo at a rodeo and was pretty sure they both bore long scratches on their chests, backs, and asses from my sharp nails. I had probably left my teeth marks in them as well.

I put my hands on my hips and turned around to look myself up and down. My ass cheeks were still a little red from spankings and slaps, and my tits had a few red marks on them, but I was none the worse for wear. Any bruise or bitemark on my body was well-earned. And before this night was through, I would do my best to earn a few more.

I carefully stepped into the tub and lowered myself slowly into the hot water. It felt good on the muscles of my legs and when the hot water hit my twat, I smiled and sighed.

“Aah…” I moaned as I slowly lowered myself in. “That’s exactly what I needed.”

I lay back in the tub with the bubbles up to my neck. I leaned my head back against a folded wash cloth and closed my eyes. I was immediately at peace, my body totally relaxed. Little beads of sweat formed beneath my eyes. My nipples plumbed in the hot water. I could feel the juices oozing from between my legs.

My mind immediately began replaying the night before. I had a brain like a steel trap and a photographic memory. And what I couldn’t remember as fact, my imagination did a wonderful job of filling in the gaps.

I had brought a little toy into the bathroom with me. It was called a Pink Pussy Egg. It was a waterproof vibrator the size and shape of a small egg. Once turned on and lodged deep inside a woman’s pussy, it vibrated in a variety of waves and intensities, which you could feel not only inside your pussy and humming through your clit, but all through your entire body, like an inside-out massage. It was the most relaxing feeling I had ever experienced. I used the Pink Pussy Egg during those rare dry spells when I didn’t have a cock (or cocks) to keep me satisfied. And I used it at times like this when the dirty memories were keeping my pussy so wet that my panties squished when I walked.

My private “me time” was about to get a lot more interesting.

One of the things I had learned in psyche class was self-hypnosis; the ability to slow my breathing and clear my mind to go into a quiet, hypnotic state. I used self-hypnosis all the time to relax myself and drain stress from my body. I planned to use it now to pleasure myself.

I twisted the Pink Pussy Egg and it began to hum. I brought it to my pussy beneath the hot water, spread my legs, and slid it deep inside me, using one finger to get it in as far as it would go.

I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing as the vibrations began to hum throughout my body. The movie in my head began to play in vivid, living color as the fire deep inside my womb rekindled anew.

 

Chapter Nine: Jude

I remembered glancing at the digital clock on the nightstand in Holden’s bedroom. The red numbers read 02:48 AM. Holy shit… Wynn, Holden, and I had been going at it like banshees for nearly six hours, with short breaks to have a few glasses of wine, catch our breath, and to clean ourselves off before starting the next round. I was learning that you didn’t have marathon sex with two hot and horny guys without taking a break to clean up the mess now and then. And trust me, we made one hell of a mess.

Holden, Wynn, and I were laying on Holden’s bed, naked, sweating, and panting like greyhounds after a race. I was wedged between these two gorgeous men, massaging my own tits and enjoying the afterglow of yet another massive orgasm that had me squirting and gushing like a fire hose. If this kept up, Holden was going to need to buy a set of rubber sheets. Maybe two sets…

I lifted my head for a moment to have a look around the room. Holden’s bedroom looked like it had been hit by an F5 tornado. The comforter and bedsheets were stripped off and piled on the floor. The pillows were scattered about the room. Our clothes were everywhere. There were three empty wine bottles on the dresser, along with three empty glasses. My head was a little buzzed, but I was pretty sure I’d sweated out most of the alcohol I had consumed during our Olympic sex sessions. I didn’t feel high. I just felt… happy… and satisfied… very, very satisfied…

The clock flipped over to 02:49 AM.

I heard Holden grunt next to me on the bed. From the other side, I heard Wynn sigh.

“Fuck, you guys are killing me,” I said, glancing between them. “If this keeps up I’m going to need a rebushing after this night is over.”

Holden was lying to my right. He turned his head my way and gave me a curious look. “A rebushing?”

“You know,” I said, nodding toward my soppy nether region. “A rebushing. You guys are wearing out my bush, so I’ll have to get it redone when you’re through with me. Oh, come on, guys, surely you’ve heard that old joke!”

Holden’s face held blank for a moment, then he cracked up. I loved the sound of his laughter. He said, “Well, I’m pretty sure we can all chip in for that. How much does a rebushing run these days?”

“It’s very expensive,” I said, nudging him with my elbow. “I’ll get an estimate when you guys are through using and abusing my poor bush.”

“What if we’re not through with you for a while?” Wynn asked, lying to my left. “What then?”

“Then… we’ll just have to see,” I said, sighing again. I sighed when I was happy and content. And I was very happy and content. I put my hands behind my head and smiled at Wynn. His surfer boy blond hair was in his eyes, hanging over his tanned forehead like a little boy. His face was perfect, like a god. When he smiled it made my nipples grow hard and thick. They longed for his touch and the feel of his lips. I leaned my breasts toward him.

I said, “You have an evil look in your eye, Dr. Driver.”

“Evil is in the eye of the beholder, my dear,” he said with a devilish grin. He was on his side with his head propped on his hand. He started massaging my left breast with his free hand. He rolled the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then gave it a hard squeeze. He blew cool air on my nipple as it turned dark crimson between his fingers.

I could feel Wynn’s twelve-inch cock getting hard again as it rubbed against the side of my leg. Hells bells, this guy was freakin’ insatiable. And his recovery time was nothing short of inhuman. He’d already cum three times and was apparently ready to get back on my ride again.

Holden put his hand on my right breast and started tweaking my nipple. I guess he didn’t want my left nipple to have all the fun. He leaned in and took the nipple in his mouth and suckled like a hungry baby. As he did so, his hand trailed down my stomach, across my shaved mound, and slid down between the folds of my pussy, which was still hot and gooey from his cum.

“Mmmm… you’re a mess…” Holden said with his lips on my nipple. He glanced at Wynn. “Maybe it’s time for a shower?”

“A shower would be nice,” Wynn said. He leaned up to press his lips to mine. He kissed me gently, then rubbed noses. “Hey Jude, would you like for us to give you a shower?”

“A shower?” I gave him a wary look. “What kind of shower.”

Wynn shot Holden a quick smile. “Oh, you know, just your average shower.”

“Why do I get the feeling that this would not be just your average shower?” I said. Wynn started nibbling at my ear, which made it very hard to concentrate on the conversation. Holden slid three fingers inside my sticky cunt and swirled them around. Jeez, these guys were distracting as fuck!

I asked, “Would this be a golden shower?”

I had watched a ton of online porn before agreeing to have sex with Holden and Wynn at the same time. Izzy called it “doing my research”. One of the videos had two guys peeing on the girl. I didn’t think I was up for that—I mean, come on, ick—but a different kind of shower might be interesting.

“Actually, it’s not a golden shower,” Holden said. I saw him give Wynn another look. They had lousy poker faces. “Although that might be interesting at some point in our relationship.”

“It might at that,” Wynn said, the devil dancing in his eyes. “I’ve heard that a warm golden shower from the right person can be quite nice.”

“What kind of shower then?” I asked, my voice a whisper as little arcs of electricity webbed through my body, ignited by Holden’s long fingers wiggling around deep inside me.

Holden ran his tongue around my nipple and smiled. “This particular shower involves a handheld shower head and two very soapy cocks.”

“And one very soapy pussy,” Wynn said, his tongue circling my ear. “And perhaps, one very soapy ass.”

“Ooohh… that does sound… interesting,” I said. I gave them both a scolding look. “Why do I get the feeling that you guys have done this kind of thing before?”

They just looked at each other and smiled again. They sure were smiling a lot... I could feel both their cocks now, rock hard against the sides of my legs. I reached down and took one in each hand and started to tug on them. It was like holding two kielbasa sausages. And they were just as sticky and gooey as I was.

Apparently, we all could use a shower.

* * *

Holden had told me the main reason he purchased his little house on Beaker Street was because the shower in the master bathroom had been remodeled. Most houses the age and size of his had a standard tub insert with a shower head in the wall, barely big enough for one person to fit in comfortably. The former owner, however, had remodeled Holden’s bathroom, enlarging the space, and creating a huge standup shower stall that was big enough for four people, with multiple shower heads attached to the walls, a rain shower in the ceiling, and a handheld shower head attached by a long hose. The shower was encased by a clear glass door. Holden loved to sit outside and watch me shower. And it was even more fun when he joined me inside.

Holden got the shower going and soon the bathroom filled with steam. I sat on the toilet, taking a much-needed pee, and watched Holden and Wynn interacting like two guys at a bus stop. It was quite the picture, these two gorgeous men with these two gigantic rock hard cocks, standing and talking as if they were at a cocktail party. I giggled and caught their attention. Wynn came over to me while Holden adjusted the water temperature and directed the jets coming from the three shower walls.

“What’s so funny,” Wynn asked, moving to stand in front of me with his hands on his hips and feet spread wide like Superman. His foot-long cock loomed large before my eyes. I cupped his tight balls with my left hand and wrapped my right hand around the shaft of his cock. I started moving my hands back and forth slowly. He closed his eyes and sighed. The head of his cock was big and round and shiny, like a crimson water balloon about to burst. I pressed my lips to the tip of his cock and swirled my tongue around the slit, teasing the little bundle of nerves beneath the head. His cock was still covered in both our juices. I could taste his cum and my juices, mixed together like a lovely, salty cocktail.

“You guys just crack me up,” I said, pulling him closer so I could swirl the head of his cock around my nipples as I finished peeing. Hmmm… maybe a golden shower would not be a terrible thing after all...

Wynn put his hands on my shoulders and smiled down at me. “Why do we crack you up?”

My right hand milked his long shaft as my left hand slid beneath his balls to massage his taint. He spread his legs a little more so my finger could slide down to tease his asshole.

I said, “It’s just funny, watching two guys with these massive erections standing around chatting like they’re waiting on a bus or something.” I flicked my tongue to the slit and smiled. “It’s just… funny…”

“You know what else is funny,” he said, putting his hands on my cheeks. He leaned down to press his lips to mine. “The fact that you can take a piss while sucking my cock.”

“That’s not funny,” Holden said, interrupting the moment. “That’s sheer talent.”

“You may be right,” Wynn said, looking toward the shower stall. The water was shooting out from all sides and from the rain head in the ceiling. Steam billowed out of the stall. “Is the shower ready?”

“The shower is ready,” Holden said, coming over to take my hand. He lifted me off the toilet and gestured toward the steaming shower. “Madam, your shower awaits.”

I stepped into the shower and under the hot spray. It felt A-MA-ZING as the hot water cascaded over my body from all sides and above. It sluiced between my tits and down my belly, dripping off my clit like a spicket. Holden and Wynn stepped into the shower with me. Everyone grabbed a bar of soap and went to work on themselves. Like I said, there were shower heads on three walls and a big rain head in the ceiling, and plenty of room for everyone to soap up without bumping into each other.

We all took a few minutes to soap up and wash off the gunk that we’d deposited on each other over the last six hours. I watched with great pleasure as Holden and Wynn soaped up their cocks and balls. Their cocks were still hard, which was amazing to me given the work out they had both put their cocks through so far tonight. Holden was the first man I had ever slept with that could literally go all night long without an orgasm. It was as if he had a switch in his head that he could throw when he wanted to cum.

Or he’d let himself cum with me, take a quick breather, then be ready to go again before I even had time to catch my breath. I thought surely he was an oddity, then I met Wynn. He was the same way. In fact, I was pretty sure he could shoot his load and his erection would never fully go down, because two minutes later he was ready to go again.

I was in awe of their prowess, but damn, a girl needed a break now and then. I told myself we’d call it a night right after the shower I had been promised, but watching the boys massage their cocks with soap, I couldn’t wait to see what they had in mind for me.

I soaped up my pussy and ass, reamed my both goods with my soapy fingers, then reached for the detachable shower head to rinse off my lady parts. Holden put a hand on my arm to stop me.

“Nuh uh, I get to do that,” he said, arching one eyebrow at me. “You’re taking the shower. I’m giving it.”

“Okay…” I said with a cautious frown. “What do you want me to do?”

Wynn moved to stand behind me. I could feel the head of his hard cock sliding up my back. He put his hands on my hips and gently pulled me back onto him. His long cock slid beneath my twat like the bar of a bicycle.

“Just lean back against me,” Wynn said softly in my ear, sliding his hands down my sides. “Do you trust me?’

I leaned my head back against his shoulder and said, “I trust you.”

When I leaned back against him, Wynn braced me with his arms and slid his hands under my ass to literally lift me off the tile floor. He pressed his back to the wall to steady himself. He was so strong. I knew he wouldn’t drop me. It was like being a baby that was lifted up by an adult and set in a swing. I felt like I was hovering above the floor with Wynn’s hands under my ass and my legs spread wide, not to mention his cock under my ass for support.

“You good?” Holden asked us both. I nodded, and Wynn did the same.

“Okay, time for a nice pussy shower,” Holden said. He took the handheld shower head in his right hand and adjusted the pulsating jets to a narrow flow. The water jettisoned from the shower head, pulsing from hard to soft. It dawned on me what Holden was about to do. I held my breath and waited for the pleasure I knew was about to come.

With Wynn’s hands bracing beneath my ass and my legs spread wide to expose my entire cunt and ass, Holden directed the pulsating jets over my clit. My body immediately jerked from the sensation. Holden used his free hand to pull back the hood from my clit so he could direct the spray directly onto my clit nub, which was swollen and pink. When the steamy water hit the little man in the boat, I jerked against Wynn and moaned.

“Oh... fuck... me…” I said, the words echoing off the tile walls. “Fuck… that’s… oh… oh… shit… oh…”

“That feel good, baby?” Holden asked, grinning at me like a kid who had discovered a new toy.

“God… yes… yes…”

As the water pulsed against my clit, I could feel Wynn’s hard shaft beneath my ass, helping to support my weight. The hot water hitting my clit was also soaking his shaft. My asshole slid up and down it as my body spasmed from the clit job Holden was so adeptly giving me.

“Mmmm… nice and clean…” Holden said. He soaped up his free hand, then rubbed the lather over my clit. I was two seconds from orgasming and he knew it. He directed the pulsating jets toward my pussy lips as he rolled my clit back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

“You’re cumming,” Wynn said in my ear. “I can feel your body tensing.”

“Yes…” I moaned. “Yes… I’m… cumming… oh… fuck…” With the jets now hitting my pussy hole and Holden’s fingers on my clit, I erupted in orgasm. My cunt bucked, and my body jerked. For a moment, I was worried that Wynn might drop me, but he held on tight. My ass clenched around his long shaft for support. Holden didn’t stop teasing my clit until I gasped for air and begged him to stop.

“Mmmm, that’s my teacher’s pet,” Holden said, humming the words. With my clit squeaky clean, he went to work on my pussy. He got to his knees in front of me and soaped up his fingers again, then started cleaning my pussy with them lather.

“Is my cock in your way?” Wynn asked, smiling down at Holden with his lips at my ear.

Holden smiled up at him. “If you don’t mind, perhaps you could just back that monster out a bit. I love you, but I’m not giving you a shower. You can take that thing to a car wash.”

“Certainly,” Wynn said playfully. Without loosening the grip he had on my ass, he pulled his hips back to move his long cock out of Holden’s way. I felt the length of him go up my back. He started sliding his cock up and down the crack of my ass, pressing his balls against my soapy flesh. Holden now had full access to my pussy without Wynn’s monster cock getting in the way.

“Much better, thanks,” Holden said. He smiled up at me again. “Ready for a little pussy shower?”

I held my breath and nodded. “Yes. Please.”

Holden smiled for a second more, then used his left hand to spread my pussy lips as he brought the shower head up and pointed it directly at my hole. The steaming water and pulsating jets set every nerve in my cunt on fire. It felt like a thousand tiny tongues were licking my pussy, probing my hole, driving deep inside me at once. The fire consumed my body, making me sweat. It was hard to breathe. I couldn’t catch my breath. Every time I gasped for air another wave of ecstasy raged through me. Within seconds, I was immediately on the edge of another orgasm.

“Oh... oooh… ooohhhh… fuck… fuck… oh… Holden…fuck… fuck.. me… I’m going to… fuck… going to… oh… shit… cum… I’m going to… cum…”

“Not yet,” I heard Holden say. He pressed the shower head to my cunt and the water shot deep inside my pussy, making me tremble against Wynn, who was sliding his cock up and down my spine like a great soapy snake.

“Oh… god… oh… god… oh… goddddd…” And with that, my pussy literally erupted. The orgasm was overwhelming. My pussy gushed hot juices back over the shower head. Holden quickly dropped the shower head and replaced it with his fingers. He rammed them hard in and out of my cunt, in and out, in and out, and when the orgasm hit I squirted like never before, spraying him, showering his hand and chest and face with juices, shooting it halfway across the shower, drenching him and the walls behind him.

I heard Wynn grunting in my ear. He was whispering, “Cum, baby, cum… Jeez… squirt that cum… that’s it… yes… yes… fuck…”

After I stopped shaking, I looked down to see Holden rinsing me off again. He was gently massaging lather into my folds now. I sighed because it felt so fucking good.

“So, who got the shower?” Wynn asked, grinning at Holden as he rinsed my juices off is face and body. Wynn carefully lowered my feet to the floor and brought his hands up to my aching breasts. He pulled me back onto him again, his long cock sliding between my pussy lips. I glanced down to see the head of his cock peeking out from beneath my clit. He put his hands on my hips and started sliding me back and forth over the length of him.

“I think I got the shower after all,” Holden said, getting to his feet. He soaped up his right hand and started lathering up his cock with the suds. He moved in close and pressed his lips to mine. His tongue slid into my mouth as his soapy hands moved to my breasts.

I finally caught my breath as my body came back down to earth. Wynn’s cock was sliding between my legs from the rear and Holden’s cock was sliding up and down my belly as he kissed me. I took them both in hand and gave them a wicked smile.

“I want both these inside me,” I said. “My pussy and my ass. I assume you’ve done that before.”

Wynn and Holden exchanged a quick glance, then gave me a cautious look. “Are you sure you can take it?” Holden asked. “It might be a bit… tight.”

“I guess we’ll just have to see,” I said, my hands working their shafts, sliding, squeezing. “Just tell me what to do.

Holden gazed into my eyes for a moment with his forehead pressed to mine. “You know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“Uh, I suggested it,” I said. “Come on, let me just try it. If it’s too much, we’ll stop.” I glanced over my shoulder at Wynn, who was staring back at me with his eyebrows arched.

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure. I want both of you to fuck me at once.

Chapter Ten: Jude

“Okay, I’m going to lie down at the foot of the bed and you get on top of me,” Wynn said, talking with his hands. Since his cock was the longer of the two, it was decided that he should be in my pussy while Holden slid inside my ass—or attempted to.

I won’t lie. I was nervous as fuck at the prospect of having both their cocks inside of me at once. I mean, I’d had one in my mouth and one in my pussy several times already. And I’d had anal sex lots of times. I loved anal. In fact, it was right up there with vaginal and oral sex in my book. Sure, it was a little uncomfortable a little at first, but when things got lubed up really good and everyone took their time, it could feel incredible. I could orgasm just from anal. No lie. I had done so many times.

But now…

My heart was beating faster than normal. I could feel it pounding in my chest. Adrenaline was coursing through my veins. I wondered if this was what it felt like the first time you stood at the open doorway getting ready to jump out a plane. It was both exciting and a little scary. At least I wasn’t in danger of splattering all over the ground, I told myself. I mean, there was that, right?

I loved anal, but now I was looking at having Wynn’s twelve-inch cock in my pussy, or however many inches I could take in. And Holden’s ten-inch cock in my ass, or however much. Nervous or not, just the anticipation of it was making my juices flow like a raging river. Yes, I was a little nervous, but I think the guys were even more nervous than I was.

Wynn lay back on the bed with his ass at the edge and his big cock sticking up like a branchless tree. His cock was not only long, but girthy and thick, mapped with veins. It was a beautiful thing to behold. And to hold. I wrapped my fingers around it and gave it a few strokes as I climbed on top to straddle him.

“Okay, you know how this part works,” Wynn said, putting his hands on my hips to slowly lower my pussy onto him. I paused for a moment when I felt the bulbous head press against my hole, but I was already super wet, so he slid in without a problem.

“Ohh… that’s so… nice…” I said, lowering myself onto him until I felt the tip of his cock hit my inner wall. I moved up and down on him a few times to get us both good and wet. Already, I was gushing like a leaky pipe.

“Now, me,” Holden said from behind. He moved to the edge of the bed, and with Wynn’s cock inside me, I pushed my ass out and invited Holden to join our little party.

Holden had brought a tube of KY from the bathroom and stood now slathering his cock with it. With enough KY, you could drive a Buick through the eye of a needle. In this scenario, my pussy was the eye...

“Let me grease you up, my dear,” Holden said with a grin. He squirted a glob of KY on his fingers and lubed up my ass good, rubbing the jelly around my hole and dipping in his finger a few times for good measure. I grunted and moaned each time his finger slid inside. When he decided I was ready, Holden put his hands on my ass and positioned the head of his cock at my anus.

“Just breathe,” Wynn said, looking up into my eyes. “And yell stop if you need to.”

“Yes,” Holden said, giving my ass a playful squeeze. “Do not let us hurt you.”

“I’m fine,” I said, forcing a smile for their benefit, trying to hide my nerves. The feeling of Wynn’s cock inside my pussy was overriding my fear. As I slowly slid up and down on Wynn’s pole, I gave Holden a nod to proceed.

I closed my eyes and breathed slowly in and out, focusing on the pleasure Wynn’s cock was already giving me. I knew from experience that gritting my teeth and holding my breath was not the right thing to do. Anal sex is about muscle control, relaxation, breathing, going slowly. Holden had done this many times. He knew what he was doing. I trusted him completely.

When the head of Holden’s cock slid into my ass, I gasped a little. Not because it hurt, but because it felt really crowded back there with Wynn’s cock already in my vagina. Holden asked if I was okay and I said yes. Keep going. Proceed. Please…

Holden slid in a little more, then a little more. When he was just at the right spot, I said, “There… right… there… oh… wow… do I feel… full…”

“Are you okay?” Wynn asked.

“Yes, just go slowly…” I said.

We started slowly at first, moving as one. As Wynn moved his hips up and down to fuck my pussy, Holden moved his hips in and out to fuck my ass. It didn’t take long. Soon, we were all in rhythm and I was convinced that if my heart didn’t stop, I was going to have the best orgasm of my life.

“Jeez… you’re so… fucking… tight…” Wynn said, his fingers digging into my hips. “Damn… Holden… gimme some room…”

Holden was trying not to laugh and not to cum. I knew my pussy was tight, but my ass was super tight, clenched around his shaft. And it had to feel incredible when the head of his cock slid in and out of my ass. His fingers pressed into my ass and he sped up a little, still being careful not to go to deep.

“Fuck… I can’t… fuck… hold it… anymore…” Holden said, his motion becoming erratic as the orgasm started to build. “Fuck… I’m gonna… cum…”

“Me… too…” Wynn said. I smiled. I was making them both cum at the same time. There had to be some kind of merit badge for such an auspicious accomplishment. I could only imagine what that little graphic would look like.

“I’m… oh… shit… shit… cumming… yes… yes… yes…” I moaned and forced myself not to jerk too quickly. I had two very large cocks inside of me. One wrong move on my part and we’d all end up in the emergency room trying to explain what happened.

Luckily, all three orgasms hit at once.

Our bodies twitched and jerked in unison.

Two seconds… three… four…

After a moment, we all blew out the breath we had been holding and collapsed in a sweaty, goopy heap on the bed.

A few minutes later, without saying a word, we all fell fast asleep.

For a very long time, I would remember this as the best Saturday night of my life.

 

 

 

Chapter Eleven: Lane

Sunday morning…

I chartered an early morning private Learjet to fly me directly from the tiny Northwoods airport to the equally-tiny Madison airport because I hated to fly commercial.

Call me a snob all you want, but when you’re the least bit famous and people see you in an airport, for some reason they think that gives them the right to accost you with hugs and slobbery kisses and demands for selfies and all number of other things. They think because they buy your books or watch you on TV that you owe them something in return. I know, you hear celebrities bitching about it all the time, but that truly is the downside of fame. Hell, I can’t even go to a dive bar and pickup cheap biker pussy anymore without TMZ waiting outside. And I loves me some cheap biker pussy… ;o)

I once had a professionally-dressed woman who appeared to be in her fifties (she looked like a lawyer or an accountant) approach me at LAX and stuff a pair of dirty panties into my hand. And when I say dirty, I mean dirty. And the funny thing was that she had written her name and cellphone number on the waistband in red permanent marker. Dolores something or other. Sorry, Dolores. I like a good pair of aromatic panties as much as the next guy, but I dropped those nasty things in a trashcan on my way out of baggage claim and found the nearest restroom so I could wash my hands. Several times.

The trip to Madison would have been a total bore if not for a travelling companion I did not expect. It was just after five AM California time, Sunday morning, and still dark outside. I was sitting in the charter service office waiting to board the Learjet when the manager came over and asked if I would mind having a companion on the private plane as far as Chicago. When I asked who this passenger was, he pointed toward a thin girl standing outside on the tarmac with a black duffle bag slung over her shoulder that was nearly as big as she was.

She was one of these goth girls who looked to be in her early twenties at most, with hair so black it shined blue under the lights and skin so pale it was almost translucent. Her eyes were heavy with black mascara and fake lashes. She wore crimson lipstick and black fingernail polish. She was dressed in ratty, skin tight black jeans tucked into unlaced combat boots, and a black t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. There was the huge face of a Blue Man on the front of her shirt. Her pale arms were adorned with colorful tattoos: a parrot, the virgin Mary, a dancing skeleton. She had a dozen or more bracelets on each wrist and rings on every finger. Everything about her appeared to be pierced or painted. I doubted she’d ever make it through a metal detector without setting it off.

“What’s her story?” I asked. She glanced my way and we briefly locked eyes, then she looked away and started chewing on a thumbnail.

“Her father is a rich doctor in Chicago,” the manager said, a pleading tone to his voice, probably because he didn’t want her hanging out all day in his terminal scaring off his wealthy clients. “She was backpacking to Los Angeles and ran out of money. He’s willing to pay your tab all the way to Madison if you’ll let her hitch a ride as far as Chicago.”

The cost to charter the jet from Northwoods to Madison was nearly ten-grand. Not a lot of money in the grand scheme of things (I know, I’m a rich asshole), but why waste it when you don’t have to. Besides, she looked like she might be an interesting girl to get to know.

“Well, what do you say, Doc?” he asked, his eyes hopeful. I could have told him to drop on his knees to beg me and he probably would have.

I stared at her for a moment more, then shrugged and said, “Why not. As long as she behaves herself and doesn’t bug me along the way.”

“No, no, she’ll be good, I promise,” he said, sighing relief. “Okay, let me introduce you. We’ll be ready to take off shortly. Let me introduce you.”

Before I could tell him that wouldn’t be necessary, he waved her over and asked her to introduce herself. She stuck out her hand and told me her name was Gina, but I should call her G. When I started to tell her my name, she squeezed my hand and smiled.

“Oh, I know who you are,” she said. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her breath smelled like vodka. I couldn’t tell if she was tired or high. “You’re Dr. Lane Curtis.”

She reached into the duffle bag at her feet and brought out a dog-eared copy book of my book, Trade Offs: How Men and Women Use Sex and Love To Get What They Want, and handed it to me.

“I fuckin’ love your book,” she said excitedly. “Can I get an autograph?”

“Uh, sure,” I said, opening the book’s cover as I reached inside my jacket for a pen. When she leaned in close to watch me scribble my name in the book, I caught the strong whiff of marijuana wafting off her clothes and hair. Vodka and pot, ah, the smells of my misspent youth. They almost made me smile. Then the grown up in me kicked in. Sunday morning an hour before sunrise and she was already high as a kite. She looked me in the eye and smiled. I scribbled my name in the front of her book and handed it back to her.

“Thanks,” she said, tucking the book back into her backpack. She glanced past me and nodded. I turned to see the manager waving at us from the door, saying that the plane was ready to take off.

“I hope they have vodka on this fucking plane,” she said, hefting the duffle bag over her shoulder and leading the way. She smiled over her shoulder at me. “I could use a fucking drink. How about you, Doc?”

“Sure,” I said, shaking my head as I followed her out the door and across the tarmac to the Learjet. The manager walked us to the plane and told us to have a good trip. G grunted at him and I gave him a nod. He was smiling now, happy as a clam. I got the suspicion that G’s father was paying far more for this trip than he should have. Perhaps there was an additional fee for ferrying wayward children back to the fold.

The Learjet was a six-seater, with three plush leather seats down the right and three down the left. I paused to talk to the pilot for a moment, then took the first seat on the right. G parked it in the last seat on the left. The middle seat on each side swiveled around to face the rear and a small table could be raised between the two seats.

After takeoff, the pilot turned off the seatbelt sign and the lone flight attendant, a pleasant looking woman dressed in a pressed blue suit, came over to ask if her only passengers would like coffee or a soft drink, and a breakfast croissant with strawberry jam.

I ordered coffee and G asked for a vodka and tonic. When the flight attendant asked to see her ID and G could not produce one, G got belligerent for a moment, then huffed and asked for a Coke. She huffed again when she was told that Pepsi was all they had on the plane.

G and I moved to a table setup facing each other and waited for our drinks. “So, how old are you, really?” I asked.

She scrunched up her nose. “I’m seventeen, but I’ve been drinking since I was twelve. I know that my old man’s paying a fortune for this flight. They should give me whatever the fuck I want to drink.”

“Well, unless I miss my guess you’ve got a bag of pot in your duffle that you can fire up soon as the plane lands.” I saw a lightbulb go off in her head. “And don’t even think about firing one up in here.”

“Fuck you,” she growled, shooting me a suspicious look. “How do you know what I’ve got in my duffle?”

“You reek of pot,” I said, saying it without meaning to offend but not really caring if I did. She got an angry look in her eye. “It’s in your clothes and hair. And your breath stinks like vodka. You might want to ask if there’s a shower on the plane so you can clean up before we land. I don’t expect your dad would be too happy if you came home smelling like a frat party.”

“Fuck him, too,” she said, spitting the words like they tasted bad. “He’s not even going to be at the airport to pick me up.” I saw the look of a hurt little girl in her eye, but she was masking it well with heavy mascara and anger.

“Here you go,” the flight attendant said sweetly as she set a tall glass of ice and a can of Pepsi in front of G, and a cup of steaming black coffee in front of me. She offered me a small tray that contained creamer and packs of sweetener. I stirred a packet of sweetener into my coffee and smiled as G gave the flight attendant a ‘fuck you’ look, which the flight attendant ignored.

“Will there be anything else, Dr. Curtis?” she asked, giving me a smile. She was fortyish, blondish, attractive-ish. She wore a wedding ring and large diamond on her hand. I didn’t cheat with married women, so I told her I was fine for now.

I picked up the coffee cup and watched G. She was only seventeen-years-old, not old enough to be served alcohol on the plane and certainly not old enough to be seduced by me on the way to Chicago. I figured I’d finish my coffee, get back into my seat, and doze the rest of the way so I’d be refreshed when I made it to Holden’s house. Besides, it had been a long time since I had attempted a conversation with a teenager (not since leaving practice), especially an angry one painted like a zombie.

“Fine, fuck it, whatever, don’t think my dad’s not gonna hear about this” G said, waving the flight attendant away.

“I doubt your father would take your side on this one,” I said, smiling as I blew a cooling breath over the surface of the coffee. “Even shitty fathers don’t want their kids getting wasted on a plane.”

“Whatever,” she grunted, pouring the Pepsi over the ice and leaning back with the glass resting on her flat belly. She was thin, overly so. I wondered when she last ate.

“Sure you don’t want a croissant?” I asked.

She took a noisy sip of the Pepsi and shook her head, then turned the conversation back on me. “So, the famous Dr. Lane Curtis. Why the fuck are you going to Madison?”

I took a careful sip of coffee and smacked my lips. “I’m going to meet with a friend to talk about writing a book together.”

“What kind of book?” she asked, suddenly interested. “Another psychobabble bullshit book?”

I frowned at her. “I thought you liked my psychobabble bullshit book.”

She mugged her lips and let her thin shoulders go up and down. “Oh, I liked it okay. I’m just not sure I buy into all that psychobabble bullshit. No offense.”

“None taken,” I said. “You don’t believe that psychobabble bullshit can help people overcome issues and lead better lives?”

“I think people do what makes them feel good… or feel good about themselves,” she said, giving me dreamy eyes that would have been oddly sexy if we were both high and she had been a few years older. “Is that what you do, Dr. Curtis? What feels good?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” I said.

“All those times TMZ has caught you coming out of clubs in the middle of the night with Victoria’s Secret models? All those sex parties that you supposedly throw in the woods at that retreat of yours.” She narrowed her dark eyes at me. “Do you think with your brain all the time, Dr. Curtis, or does your cock take over every now and then? Do you do what benefits everyone involved? Or do you just do what feels good to you?”

I stared at her for a moment, realizing there was much more behind the painted eyes than a goth seventeen-year-old. And she knew more about me than I liked. Damn you, TMZ. Damn you, Google.

“If you think I’m full of shit and my book is just a bunch of psychobabble, why would you buy it?” I asked.

“I didn’t say you were full of shit specifically,” she said, shrugging with her eyes as a little smile curled the edges of her lips. “A friend of mine recommended your book. I won’t talk about why, other than to say that she thought I had issues your book might help with.”

“And did it?”

“Did it what?”

“Help with your issues?”

She narrowed her eyes for a moment, then blew out a long, slow breath. “Let’s just say I’m thinking clearer than I was at the time. That’s why I’m going back home… to face my demons… And, partly that’s because of your book. So, thank you.”

“Well, that’s nice to hear,” I said, toasting her with my cup. “And you’re welcome. Please, tell me more.”

“Well, I read your book. And I did a little research online about you.” She took a slow sip of Pepsi, then licked her lips slowly as she stared at me. Something in her mood seemed to change. The tension seemed to drain from around her eyes. She visibly relaxed as she leaned back with the glass between her hands. “There are tons of rumors on the web about you and your, shall we call them, sexual escapades?”

I tried to keep my expression blank. “I’ve never met a seventeen-year-old who used words like ‘sexual escapades’.”

“And I’ve never met a man who is infamous for gangbanging actresses and models,” she said bluntly, watching for my reaction. “Not to mention staging Roman orgies at his retreat in the woods.” She let her eyes drift around my face as she waited for me to answer. I clenched my teeth together and gave her a blank stare. “Let’s cut the bullshit, Dr. Curtis. Why are you really going to Madison of all places?”

“I told you, I’m going to meet a friend to discuss writing a book together.”

She huffed at me. “And let me guess. This friend is a hot female with big tits and a tight pussy? Who probably has another hot friend or two who are willing to all fuck your brains out at the same time?”

I almost snorted coffee through my nose. I set the cup on the table and picked up a napkin to wipe my lips. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

She kept smiling. “I don’t kiss my mother,” she said. “But I can give one amazing blowjob with it.”

My head began to shake on its own. I held up my hands and patted the air with them. “I don’t want to hear about that,” I said. “You’re underage and I’m rich and famous. I know how this works.”

She leaned into the table and stuck out her tongue, swirling it slowly around her crimson lips. Her tongue was pierced with a little silver ball and stud. “Come on, Doc. I know all about you and the shit you do. It’s fate that we’re here together at this moment in time.”

“G, seriously…” I said, my hands still up between us.

“Lane… can I call you Lane?”

“No.”

“Lane… my pussy is dripping like a broken faucet. Just let me suck that famous cock of yours. Who’s going to know?”

I smiled and directed my eyes to the video camera mounted in the ceiling at the back of the cabin. “Well, I’ll know. And so, will they?” She turned to look at the camera. When she turned back to me there was a big frown on her face.

“What the fuck? Are you videotaping this?”

“I’m not a fool, G,” I said with a sigh. “I told the pilot to turn on the security cameras and record our entire trip. Like I said, I’m rich and famous. I’ve been targeted before.”

“I’m not targeting you,” she said. “I just offered to suck your cock because I thought you might enjoy it.”

“Well, I appreciate the offer, but—”

“You’re a total mother fucker,” she said, sounding more hurt than angry. “Why don’t you trust me?”

“Because I don’t even know you,” I said calmly. “And, like you said, I’m infamous for my ‘sexual escapades’. True or not, I don’t have sex with minors. And I can’t be blackmailed by one either.”

“I wouldn’t do that shit,” she huffed, retreating to her side of the table and folding her arms over her small breasts. “I was just trying to have a little fun for fuck’s sake.”

“We can have fun just talking,” I said, picking up my cup to take another sip. With my free hand, I pushed her drink in front of her. “Drink up, G, and let’s chat.”

“I got nothing to chat with you about,” she said, pouting. “Mother fucker…”

“I think you do.” I set down the cup and leaned into the table. “Maybe it is fate that has brought us together. Not for sex, but for other things.”

“Other things like what?”

I looked at my Rolex and shrugged. “We’ve got five hours to kill. Why don’t we talk about those issues of yours?”

“Fuck you,” she growled, directing her eyes out the window. We were headed east toward the sunrise. The sky outside the plane was clear and crystal blue. It was the start of a new day for us both.

“Hey, when will you ever get five hours with one of the world’s most famous psychiatrists who is will to help you work out your shit?” I asked with a sincere smile. “I mean, do you have any idea what I normally charge for this kind of thing?”

“Who says I have shit to work out?”

I kept smiling at her. “Oh, G, you have shit to work out. We all do.” I laced my fingers together on the table and pushed up my eyebrows. “Why don’t we start by talking about your father.”

The next five hours passed quickly and productively.

By the time she got off in Chicago, G’s mood seemed to be considerably lighter as if some of the weight of her world had lifted off her thin shoulders. When we parted on the tarmac, she kissed me on the cheek and gave me a hug.

“Thanks, Doc,” she said with a tearful smile. “I feel better about things. I can’t wait to talk to my dad and tell him all the things I told you.”

“Just be honest with him, G,” I said, patting her cheeks. “Tell him how you feel. Make him listen.”

“I will,” she said, sniffing back a tear. She held up her cell phone and wiggled it at me. “I have your number. I’ll let you know what happens.”

“Yes, you do that, text me anytime.” I cupped her chin in my hand and gave her a fatherly smile. “And thanks for letting me brush up on my therapeutic skills. It’s nice to know I can still help someone one no one.”

“You’re wonderful, Dr. Curtis,” she said, drying her eyes. “This trip might have saved my life.”

I put my hands on her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “You have your whole life ahead of you, Gina. Enjoy the adventure.”

“I will,” she said, nodding as she backed toward the waiting car. The driver was holding open the door, giving me a hard look. G called back to me. “And this friend you’re going to see?”

“Yes?”

“She is one lucky girl.”

 

 

Chapter Twelve: Jude

It was a lazy Sunday as Holden, Wynn and I took our time crawling out of bed, taking separate showers, then meeting in the kitchen for a late brunch of black coffee, orange juice, Holden’s homemade waffles, and a couple pounds of bacon.

We were all ravenous, having spent most of the night going for silver, bronze, and gold in the sex marathon Olympics. There was not a single muscle in my body that was not sore. My poor cunt… There was no permanent damage, of course, but like every other muscle in my body, it was screaming, “Hey, bitch, how about a break? Okay… how about a short break?”

“So, what’s on tap for you boys today?” I asked, sitting at the kitchen table between them spreading butter on my third waffle.

“Well, we wrapped up the conference last night, so today is just a rest and relaxation day,” Holden said, sitting back to rub his full belly. He was wearing a pair of boxers and no shirt. Wynn was sitting across from him, wearing a pair of sweat pants and a UCLA t-shirt.

“And when do you fly back to California?” I asked, wishing that his answer would be never.

“I have a flight booked tomorrow afternoon,” Wynn said. “But I might change that if my friend Lane arrives today.”

My ears piqued. “Lane? Who is Lane?”

“Yes, Dr. Lane Curtis,” Wynn said.

“He’s a pal of Wynn’s,” Holden added.

I recognized the name immediately. On the famous doctor of psychiatry scale, Dr. Lane Curtis rivalled Dr. Phil for the top spot. I froze with a mouthful of waffle. Chewing, trying to swallow, I said, “Did you say Lane Curtis is coming here? The Lane Curtis? Dr. Lane Curtis?”

Wynn smiled and gave me a nod. “Yes, the Dr. Lane Curtis.”

I glanced at Holden, who seemed to already know all about the impending visit from the famous Dr. Lane Curtis. “Why didn’t you tell me? What’s he coming here for?”

“I just found out yesterday,” Holden said with a casual shrug. “And you didn’t really give me much time for chit-chat last night.”

I turned back to Wynn. “Why is Dr. Lane Curtis coming here?”

Wynn took on a Cheshire cat grin. “To meet you, silly.”

“To meet… or fuck you,” I said, giggling at the thought. “Seriously, why is he coming here?”

“He is interested in writing a book with me and Holden,” Wynn said.

“He is interested in writing a book with you,” Holden said, giving Wynn a nod. “He doesn’t know me from Adam.”

“He knows all about you,” Wynn said as he wiped syrup from his lips with a napkin and shook his head. “When I suggested the three of us work together he got very interested.” He gave me a little smile. “And when I mentioned that the most amazing girl in the entire state was right here at Midwestern…”

I blinked at him, not knowing if I should be flattered or offended. “What does that mean?” I cut my eyes between them. “Holden, what does that mean?” My face flushed red and I stabbed what was left of the waffle with my fork. “What am I? Just some piece of pussy you guys think you can share? What are you going to do, call all your pals from California to come here and fuck me? Well, let me tell you assholes something—"

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hang on a freakin’ minute,” Wynn said, putting a hand softly on my arm. “Nobody invited anyone here to fuck you. Lane called to talk about the book project and I invited him here to meet Holden. Yes, I told him I was staying with Holden and his lady friend, Jude, but I never said, ‘hey come on down and get in line to fuck her’.”

“My lady friend?” Holden snorted, trying to lighten the mood. We looked at each other with the same question. What the heck was I to Holden and what the heck was he to me? How different from “girlfriend” was “lady friend”?

“Anyway, I did not invite him here to fuck you,” Wynn said. “Although I have to admit, I could not help but tell him what an amazing woman you are, both physically and mentally.”

“Oh, I’m sure he would be interested in my brain,” I said, huffing, rolling my eyes. “About as interested in it as you two jokers are.”

“Hey, I’m interested in your brain,” Wynn said with a smile of relief that my blood had stopped boiling.

“I love your brain,” Holden added. “It thinks up such interesting ways for the rest of your body to pass the time.”

I tried to act mad for a moment longer, but my lips betrayed me. I blew out a long breath and went back to my waffle. I couldn’t resist asking the most obvious question.

“So, Dr. Lane Curtis,” I said casually, as if I were just asking about the weather. “Does he do what you guys do?”

“What we do?” Holden asked.

“I mean, the gangbangs and the orgies,” I said. “Does he do that?”

Wynn’s lips curled into a devious smile. “Oh yes, Lane makes Holden and me look like rank amateurs when it comes to those things. In fact, Lane is famous for the things he does. Far more so than the two of us.”

“He holds orgies at his private resort in the woods,” Holden said, shaking his head as if he disapproved, but I knew otherwise.

I licked the syrup from my lips and watched Wynn’s eyes. “So… he may be interested in fucking… I mean…”

“In fucking you?” Wynn said, finishing my sentence. He sat back and sighed. “Oh yeah, he would definitely be interested in fucking you, missy.”

“The question is, would you be interested in fucking him,” Holden asked.

“Or would you be interested in fucking all three of us at the same time?” Wynn added. They both looked at me with raised eyebrows and naughty smiles.

I pondered the question for a minute. Would I be interested in fucking three gorgeous men at the same time? How would that even work? Shit, back to the online porn for a little research…

I reached for the syrup as they watched my every move As I slathered the rest of my waffle in syrup, I smiled and said, “I guess we’ll have to just wait and see.”

 

Chapter Thirteen: Jude

After our late breakfast-early lunch, Wynn, Holden, and I were lounging on the sofa letting our bodies recover and our brains rest. Wynn was on one end of the couch with his long legs stretched out, his feet crossed at the ankles, heels resting on the coffee table, reading the Sunday morning paper.

Holden was on the other end of the couch in a similar position watching football on ESPN. I was lying between them with my head in Holden’s lap and my feet in Wynn’s crotch, wearing a short robe with nothing on underneath. Every now and then I’d grind my heel into Wynn’s cock just to let him know that I was not finished with him yet. He was leaving in twenty-four hours. I expected to get at least two or three more rides on his monster cock before he slipped away.

He set the paper aside and gave me a sideways smile. “Are you ready for more?” he asked, sliding his hand up my leg to tease my bare pussy, which was tired and sore, but ready for more. He rolled his thumb over my clit and slid his fingers between my moist lips. “Parts of you certainly are.”

“They certainly are,” I said, my heel grinding into his crotch. I felt his cock getting hard inside his boxers. I glanced up at Holden. “How about you, Professor Moss? Ready for round three?”

“Actually, it would be more like round ten,” Holden said, reaching inside my robe to cup my bare breast. My nipple swelled between his fingers.

I said, “Well then, why don’t we—”

Before I could finish my sentence, the doorbell rang. I noticed Wynn and Holden glance at each other, little smiles on their handsome faces, like two little boys sharing a funny secret.

Holden let go of my breast and said, “Jude, do you mind getting the door.”

“You want me to answer the door?” I asked, frowning.

“Well, we’re both are a little…” Holden gestured toward his crotch, then to Wynn’s. Their erections were poking through their pants like turtles trying to stick their heads out of their shells. Just the sight of them made me giggle.

“Fine,” I said, huffing as I rolled off the couch and cinched the robe around my waist to pad barefoot to the door. When I opened the door, there stood a mountain of a man so good looking that he made my jaw drop.

He looked like a football player, tall, broad-shouldered, muscles on top of muscles beneath the sport coat that he wore. His dark hair was cut short. His eyes were the color of blue ice. He had a Kennedy jawline and a Clooney smile. He stuck out his hand and gave me a look that made my knees wobble.

“Hey, I’m Dr. Lane Curtis,” he said, his hand closing around mine. Compared to my hand, his was the size of a catcher’s mitt. The moment his fingers closed around mine I felt a little chill run up my arm that made my nipples hard. “And you, you must be Jude.”

 

 

Chapter Fourteen: Lane

I know it sounds cliché, but my jaw literally dropped when the door opened and I first saw Jude standing there in the short pink, silk robe. She was tall, all tan and toned legs, voluptuous breasts, deep cleavage peaking at me from the top of the robe, and round hips that a man could really dig his fingers into. When she looked into my eyes I felt the breath catch in my chest.

She was naturally beautiful, even without makeup, with long blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulders. She was truly a vision to behold. My cock twitched in my pants like a snake detecting prey.

She had a confused look on her face as she let me in the door. Wynn, wearing a pair of sweat pants with a big bulge in the front, greeted me with a firm handshake and a loose hug. He introduced me to Holden, who was wearing a pair of boxer shorts with a similar bulge. Obviously, I had just walked in on something that was about to get very interesting. I wondered if they’d be willing to let me take part.

After a few minutes of chit chat, Wynn and Holden disappeared down the hallway to get dressed, leaving me sitting at the kitchen table watching Jude. She had fixed four glasses of lemonade and set them on the table. I sipped mine and watched her from the corner of my eye. When she reached up into the cabinet for the sugar bowl, the short robe rode up and gave me a wonderful peak at her bare ass. My tongue darted between my lips and slid around for a moment. I was salivating at the sight of her. Wynn was right. This woman oozed sexuality. And she knew it. We both did.

“So,” Jude said, taking the seat to my right. “Dr. Lane Curtis.”

“So,” I said with a smile. “Miss Jude…”

“Allen,” she said. “Judith Allen. My friends call me Jude.”

“As in…”

“Don’t say it,” she said with a grin. Our eyes locked for a moment and we both knew what the other one was thinking. If I knew Wynn, he had already planted the possibility of their threesome becoming a foursome. I was up for anything, but I would prefer to have Jude to myself the first time to make sure we were compatible. Yes, sometimes you run across a girl who looks and acts like she’d be the best fuck of your life, but turned out to be like fucking a dead fish. I didn’t think Jude would be that way, but as Arianna was fond of saying, “You never knew how sweet the grapes until you’ve tasted the wine.” It was just a pretentious way of saying that you couldn’t know how good a lay a girl was until you tapped that ass.

“Hey, we hate to do this, but we’ve got to run out for a bit,” Holden said as he and Wynn came back into the kitchen, fully dressed in jeans and t-shirts. Holden was holding a set of car keys in his right hand.

Jude looked up, startled. “What? Why?”

“There’s some issue at the conference center,” Holden said. “We wrapped up things there last night, but apparently there’s a laptop and a projector that has gone missing and the manager of the Conner Center is losing his mind.” He leaned down to give Jude a kiss on the head. “Don’t worry. We won’t be long.”

Wynn moved in behind me and put his hands on my shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “Yeah, we won’t be gone long. Maybe an hour. Maybe two. I’ll text you when we’re heading back this way.”

Jude and I looked at each other for a moment. She smiled as Holden and Wynn went out the front door. We weren’t fools. We both knew what was happening. We were being left alone so we could get better acquainted.

“Well, could that have been any more obvious?” she asked, giving me a dreamy look that made me swallow the lump that had formed in my throat.

“I know,” I said, putting up my hands. “Look, Jude, I don’t know what those guys told you, but—”

“Just shut up,” she said, getting out of the chair, pushing it back with her legs. She tugged open the sash and pulled the robe back slowly to reveal her perfect body to me.

Her skin was flawless…

Large, firm breasts with dark areolas and nipples the size of the end of my little finger…

Her pussy was shaved clean…

Her long clit was plump and pink.

She came around the table and held out her hand.

“Come on, Dr. Lane Curtis,” she said, taking my hand. “We’ve just got an hour. Maybe two.”

 

 

Chapter Fourteen: Jude

Fine, call me a filthy slut all you want, but damn it, the one thing my time with Holden and Wynn has taught me is that life’s too short to beat around the bush—which is why you should always keep your bush trimmed and ready for action!

When you have a rich, handsome, hot guy sitting across the table with you, eyeing your tits like a kid in a candy store, licking his lips as he gazes into your eyes, you just have to take the bull by the horns—or the stud by the balls—and do what feels good. And I had a feeling that what Dr. Lane Curtis was about to do to me was going to feel freakin’ amazing.

I took Lane by the hand and pulled him out of the chair and into my arms. I pressed my naked body to his as his hands slid around my waist and found my ass cheeks. His fingers dug in and lifted me up as if I didn’t weigh an ounce. He pulled me into the hard-on that was pushing through the front of his jeans. I wrapped my arms around his neck and stood on my tiptoes to reach his lips.

He was huge, taller than Holden and broader than Wynn. His body was one big muscle, like a boulder beneath my hands. His mouth was warm and wet. He kissed me like a man dying of thirst, drinking from my lips, sucking on my tongue as if he were pulling sweet life from it.

“Wow, I didn’t expect this,” he said, sighing into my mouth. He looked into my eyes, just a few inches from his. “Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want to pressure you.”

I smiled. Like Wynn and Holden, Lane actually gave a shit about what I wanted, about what I was willing to do. That alone was enough to make me want to fuck his brains out. It was so rare to meet a man who gave a shit about anything other than getting his own rocks off.

“Oh, trust me, I want to do this,” I said, my fingers pushing the sport coat off his broad shoulders. I started opening the buttons on his shirt. He was wearing some kind of cologne. A faint aroma of musk wafted off his bare skin when I opened his shirt. His muscled chest was shaved clean. His nipples hardened as my hands ran across them.

“If you’re sure then,” he said softly, bringing his hands around to my full breasts. He cupped them in his palms and rolled his thumbs over my nipples. “But I’ll let you take the lead.”

“Wonderful,” I said, smiling as I rubbed my nose to his. “Come with me.”

Holden’s bedroom was still a total wreck, as was the guest room where Wynn’s shit was scattered all over the place. I took Lane’s hand and led him down the hallway to the guest bathroom. He followed me inside and smiled when he saw the wall above the sink was covered by a long mirror.

“I want to watch you fuck me,” I said, leaning back against the sink. I massaged my tits and gave him a nod. “But first, let’s see what I have to work with. Strip, doc.”

“Of course,” he said. He pushed the shirt off his shoulders as he kicked off the expensive loafers he was wearing without socks. Jeez, he had a body like freakin’ Thor! All rippling muscles and thick veins. Even as he unbuckled his belt I could see a huge erection inside his jeans. I mean, the man himself was huge, so it only made sense that he would have an enormous cock to go with the rest of him, right?

Lane did not disappoint.

When he slid the jeans and boxers down his legs, his huge cock sprang free and bounced in the hair. It wasn’t as long as Wynn’s twelve-incher, but it was a good ten-inches and girthy, with large veins that ran from his shaved crotch to the head of his cock, which was the size of a golf ball and the color or a plum.

“Will this do?” he asked, grinning as he started stroking his cock. It grew larger in his hand. The head blossomed and looked as if it might pop at any moment. He stepped toward me, wielding it like Thor’s hammer.

“That will do very nicely,” I said, reaching for him with both hands, my fingers wrapping around the thick shaft. It was like holding a warm-blooded anaconda. I leaned back on the sink and spread my legs so I could swirl his cock head around my wet pussy.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his hands on my breasts and his lips at my ear. “I’d love to take the time to explore every inch of your body, but if I don’t fuck you soon I might just embarrass myself and cum all over your hand.”

“Hmmm… eager are we…” I said, milking the shaft, squeezing the head so little drops of precum would ooze against my skin. “We can explore later. For now…”

I let go of his cock and turned my back to him so I was facing the mirror. I braced my palms on the counter and pushed my ass toward his cock. I gave him a haughty look in the mirror.

“Come on, Dr. Curtis. You have my permission to bang the shit out of me.”

Lane smiled back at me and put his hands on my hips. Stepping closer, and without requiring his hands, he directed the head of his cock into my hole. The air rushed from my lungs as he impaled me with one hard thrust. His cock was so thick and round, my pussy opened up to let him come inside, then suctioned to the shaft. My juices started flowing, gushing, washing over his cock as he slowly pushed it in as far as it would go, then slowly withdrew it until the head was at my hole, then slid back in again.

“Holy… fucking… shit…” I sighed. I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was all over the place. My mouth was hanging open so I could breathe. I was panting like a dog. Lane was behind me, hands on my hips, cock deep inside me, swaying back and forth, in and out, in and out. He was looking back at me, smiling.

“God… you’re so fucking… tight…” he said, panting the words. “Your pussy… milking my… cock…”

“You… fill me… up,” I moaned, watching him move behind me like a dancer, his large, muscular body setting the rhythm for both of us. The fire inside my pussy ignited again, sending waves of heat rushing through me like lava flowing down a mountain side. My cheeks reddened. Sweat popped out on my top lip and across my swinging breasts.

“Faster…” I moaned. “Bang me… faster… faster… oh bloody fucking hell…” I was suddenly lost in the heat of my building orgasm. I let my head drop and gritted my teeth. “Fuck me… Lane… harder… faster…”

Lane’s fingers dug deeper into my hips as he quickened the pace of his thrusts. He was banging me good and hard now, slamming his cock into my pussy, ramming my cervix, making my tits sway back and forth. With every thrust my orgasm got closer… the heat intensified… it was like being on an amazing ride that slammed you back and forth until you came, then you immediately wanted to climb back on board.

“Jude… fuck… I can’t hold it…” he moaned. I opened my eyes to watch him cum. Every muscle across his upper body inflated and clenched. Veins webbed across his chest and shoulders and up his thick neck. He gritted his teeth and growled, then, with one final thrust, pushed his cock inside me as far as it would go and filled me with such milky heat that I instantly came with him, my body jerking and twitching, my juices gushing over him, squirting, drenching his cock and balls. The hot air in the tiny bathroom filled with the smell of our sex.

“Oh… yes… yessss… yessss…”

I could bare speak.

I just pushed my ass toward him and hung on until we were through.

When it was over, I opened my eyes to find him smiling at me.

“Welcome to Midwestern University, Dr. Curtis,” I said, grinning as I let go of the breath I’d been holding. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Thank you, Miss Allen,” he said, leaning down to plant soft kisses between my shoulder blades. “So…” Kiss... “Am…” Kiss...“I.”

 

 

Chapter Fifteen: Holden

I won’t lie. I was a nervous wreck as Wynn and I drove around town for an hour to give Jude and Lane a chance to get to know one another. That was never my original plan, to leave them alone so soon, but when Wynn suggested that we make ourselves scarce to give Jude time to form her own opinions of Lane, it just made sense. That’s one of the downsides of holding a doctorate in psychology. It’s hard to fight logic and common sense, even when your emotions are telling you to do so. I had to keep reminding myself, this was not about me. This was not about Wynn or Lane. It was about Jude. Whatever happened going forward was up to her. She was the one calling the shots.

“This is her decision, man,” Wynn said, sitting in the passenger seat with his phone in his hand, as if he had just read my mind. He was a big talker, but I could tell that he was a little on edge, too. He kept glancing at his phone every ten seconds, waiting for Lane to text with an update.

“I know it’s her decision,” I said, nearly barking at him. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry. And you’re right. She doesn’t need to feel like we’re pressuring her in to anything because we are not. I just want her to be happy and enjoy herself. It’s up to her who she has sex with, not us.”

“That’s exactly right,” Wynn said with a single nod. He glanced sideways at me and prodded me with his elbow. “Still, it’s hard not to be protective of her, huh.”

I smiled and bobbed my head as I drove slowly through town, barely noticing the scenery around us. “Yeah, she is a very special girl.”

“Yes, she is,” Wynn said, sighing reverently. “Thanks for sharing her with me.”

“I’m not sure that was what happened,” I said, chuckling. “I’m pretty sure she’s the one actually driving this train. We’re just passengers on the Jude Express.”

“And what a ride it’s been,” he said, whistling through his teeth. “Man, this is a time I will never forget.”

“Make sure you tell Jude that,” I said.

“Don’t worry. I will.”

Then the conversation stalled as we both started thinking about our time with Jude. Wynn would be leaving in less than twenty-four hours. I couldn’t help but wonder if Jude and I would just go back to our lives before Wynn arrived or would things be different now. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about her, and I knew she wasn’t sure how she felt about me. We had both been adamant. No strings, no attachments, no commitments, no bullshit. When it stopped being fun for both of us, we would simply walk away. I hoped that bringing Wynn and now Lane into our relationship didn’t turn out to be a grave mistake.

We drove around town for another half an hour, doing our best to make small talk like two old pals just catching up. We talked about his life in California, about my life at Midwestern, and about the possibilities of writing a book together. We did our best to keep our minds off of Jude and Lane, and whatever they were doing back at my house. After a few more minutes, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I knew that Wynn trusted Lane explicitly, but I didn’t know him from Adam. But if Jude was uncomfortable about the situation, she certainly didn’t show it before we left.

I parked a block down the street from my house and put the car into gear without shutting it off. I stared at my little house at the end of the street. “What do you think’s going on in there?” I asked.

“I think they’re getting better acquainted,” Wynn said with a long breath, probably remembering his first time alone with Jude. He turned in the seat to face me. “You’re still worried about her, aren’t you?”

“This is all new to her, man,” I said, my fingers squeezing the steering wheel. “I know she’s having a great time and all. I just don’t want her to do anything that’s going to have a negative effect on her, now or into the future.”

“She’s a strong, independent woman,” Wynn said. “She seems to have her shit together. And she knows what she wants. I’m pretty sure we’re the ones being used here. You should be worried about us. Not her.”

We exchanged a quick smile. That would be about like Jude. We thought we were fucking her, but in truth, she was fucking us.

And enjoying every last second of it.

“Think we can go in now?” I asked.

“Hang on a second,” Wynn said, looking at the phone which had never left his hand. He sent Lane a text and held his breath. After a moment, Lane’s response came back. Wynn read it to me with a grin on his face.

“This is Jude on Lane’s phone. You guys cum join the party.” He wiggled the phone at me. “Cum… c-u-m.”

“Such a clever girl,” I said, putting the car into gear to pull slowly away from the curb.

Wynn tucked his phone inside his jacket and shook his head. “A very clever girl, indeed. An apparently, you’re right. She’s the one driving this train. We’re just along for the ride.”

“Well, hang on tight, my friend,” I said, pulling into my driveway and put the gear into park. “Because I think the train’s about to leave the station again.”

Chapter Sixteen: Jude

Think badly of me if you will, but before I sent that text to Wynn using Lane’s phone, telling him and Holden to “cum join the party”, I spent ten minutes alone in the master bathroom, sitting on the pot, contemplating what I was thinking about doing. I mean, seriously, sex with three men at once? I never even imagined such a thing.

I never hesitated to have sex with Holden. Hell, I seduced him in his classroom the first time we met by flashing my pussy at him. And when he asked if I wanted to bring Wynn into the fun, I didn’t blink an eye. But now that Lane was here and the possibility of having sex with all three of them at once was a looming reality, I wondered if I should proceed as my body was telling me to, or to pump the brakes to slow things down, like my brain was suggesting.

“What do you want to do, Jude?” I asked myself out loud, though it was my BFF Izzy’s voice in my head doing the asking. She was always harping on me to make my own decisions, to be in charge of my own destiny, and not leave it up to anyone else, especially a man.

I thought about it for a moment more, then asked myself the next question Izzy would ask if I went to her for advice. Ten years from now, which would I regret most? Fucking three gorgeous men at once, or putting the kibosh on the party and sending everyone, maybe even Holden, on their merry way.

As I sat on the toilet, letting Lane’s seed seep out of me, I began to smile. I knew what I wanted to do. Lane had handed his phone to me when Wynn texted to see if he and Holden could come home. I had brought the phone in the bathroom with me because Lane told me to reply while he lounged in Holden’s bed.

I wiped myself off and turned on the shower for a quick lather and rinse. Before I stepped under the steamy spray, I sent the text to Wynn.

This is Jude on Lane’s phone. You guys cum join the party.

* * *

I spent fifteen minutes in the shower, lathering up my pussy and tits, getting all nice and clean for my three guys. That was the only thing about group sex that I didn’t much care for: the mess it made. Granted, it was flattering—and hot as hell—making two guys shoot their loads at once while I was doing my firehose routine, but the mess it made could be really… icky.

I turned off the shower, toweled myself dry, then opened the bathroom door without worrying about putting anything on. To say that I was both shocked and excited by what was waiting for me in the bedroom was the understatement of the century.

When I opened the bathroom door Holden, Wynn, and Lane were all lined up naked as the day they were born, standing at the foot of the bed with big smiles on their faces, hands stroking their respective ginormous cocks, which were all hard and waiting for me like hungry pups waiting to be fed.

“Well, isn’t that a sight,” I said, leaning against the bathroom door, my hands massaging edible, strawberry lotion into my breasts. Just the sight of them was enough to get my juices flowing again. I could feel the fire igniting between my legs, the lava starting to flow. Playtime was here…

“We thought we would save you the time of watching us undress,” Holden said, the smile on his face melting into a sexy pout. His right hand was slowly milking his cock. “We wanted to be ready for you.”

“The question is: are you ready for us?” Wynn asked, one hand on his balls and the other tugging the twelve-inches of cock in his hand. I licked my lips as I smiled back at him.

“Can you handle all three of us at the same time?” Lane asked. Even though he had cum less than half an hour before, Lane’s cock was back at full attention and ready for action. He slowly worked his hand up and down the girthy shaft and grinned at me.

“I’m pretty sure I can handle you boys,” I said playfully. I cupped my tits and gave them a squeeze. “The real question is: do you think you boys can handle me?”

“We’re certainly willing to try,” Holden said. He came to me with his hand out. I put my hand in his and he pulled me in for a kiss. He whispered in my ear. “You sure about this?”

“Oh, I’m sure,” I said, biting his bottom lip, giving it a tug between my teeth. “You boys just tell me how this works and let’s get this party started.”

* * *

You have no idea how truly coordinated and dexterous you are until you have wild sex with three men at the same time. Thank goodness, the guys had done this before, so I let them take the lead and did as I was told.

I lay on Holden’s king-sized bed literally surrounded my hot, horny, gorgeous men. I was on my back with my legs spread wide and toes curled.

Holden was between my legs, his mouth on my cunt, licking, sucking, fingers probing, making me gush like a raging river in springtime.

Wynn was lying on his side to my left with his cock at my lips. I was pumping him with my left hand and sucking on the head of his cock like it was a big crimson lollipop.

Lane was on top me, straddling my ribs, being careful not to put his weight on me. His long cock was sliding in and out between my tits as he hands pressed my globes together tightly around his shaft.

I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall watching it all like a kid at a three-ring circus. Or had a hidden camera so I could watch the footage later. At that moment, I was just trying to keep it all going. Breathe… suck… pump… breathe… fuck… my pussy… so… good… ohhh… my tits…

“God…” I moaned as Holden’s tongue brought me to climax again. I couldn’t see Holden because of the very large man straddling me, fucking my tits, but I could hear him licking my pussy and sucking up the hot juices I was squirting all over his face. He hummed as he worked.

“Fuck, that’s… oh yeah…” Wynn said when I opened my mouth and took him in until his cock head hit the back of my throat. I suctioned my lips around the shaft and sucked hard as my tongue slid along the underside of the head, teasing the nerves there. “You’re gonna make me cum… if you keep… doing that.”

“That’s… the point…” I sighed. I let Wynn’s cock slide from my mouth, but kept my hand going over the slobbery shaft. I looked up at Lane, who was sliding his long cock between my tits. He had lubed up my cleavage with more of the edible strawberry lotion. I leaned my head up and licked the head of his cock when it came up through my tits. It tasted like a salty, strawberry lollipop.

“Oh… shit…” Lane gasped, his tongue hanging out like a weary dog as my tongue teased him. “I’m right… behind you… buddy… I’m gonna… shit…”

“Holden…” I said. “Holden… you there?”

Holden looked around Lane. He was smiling. His face was covered with my goo. It glistened on his cheeks and chin like a glazed donut. “Yes?”

“Will you… please… fuck me… now…”

“With pleasure,” he said. I felt his strong hands under my legs as he lifted my cunt up to meet his rock-hard cock. I closed my eyes, reveling at the feeling of the head swirling around my hole. Then he was suddenly inside me, one hard thrust, pushing until he could go no more, then sliding out and in, out and in.

“Fuck…” I sighed as I turned my attention back to Wynn’s cock. I brought my right hand up to Lane’s chest and squeezed his nipple, which was like a hard pebble protruding from his muscular chest.

“Guys… I’m… fuck… ready…” Holden said, his hips thrusting faster now, his cock rocking my body as it hammered in and out. “I’m gonna… cum…”

“Me… too…” Wynn said, his cock swelling in my mouth. He started moving his hips back and forth to mouth-fuck me as my hand squeezed the shaft.

“I’m there…” Lane said, his cock sliding between my breasts, his hands tweaking my nipples hard. I opened my eyes to find him looking down at me with his mouth hanging open and sweat covering his forehead. “Jude… are you… ready…”

I could not answer with my mouth full, so I just squeezed my eyes shut and moaned with Wynn’s cock in my throat and Holden’s cock deep inside me. Soon, my moans were drowned out by the grunts and howls of the three gorgeous men all cumming at one with me. Wynn exploded in my mouth, shooting his warm, salty milk down my throat and over my lips. Lane exploded between my tits, shooting ropes of milky goo over my chest, neck, and face. And Holden… sigh, my darling Holden… came with such force that it set my cunt on fire. We climaxed together, him filling my cunt with hot cum and me squirting my hot juices back over him. The room filled with the aroma of sex, sex, and more sex.

Our bodies twitched and jerked for a moment more, finally fell still, then we got the giggles when Holden said, “Friends, this fucking train has arrived.”

It must have been an inside joke between the boys because I didn’t really get it, but I laughed along anyway.

I had just had one of the best orgasms of my life, I was covered and filled with cum from both ends, and the only thing I could think was… now… now I’ll have them… one at a time…

Am I a nymphomaniac?

Am I a slut?

Should I be ashamed of what I’d done?

You tell me.

What would you have done if you were me…

 

Epilog: Jude

One year later…

I sat in my little office with the thick book clutched tightly to my breasts. My eyes were filled with tears of joy. It was all I could do not to burst out crying, I was so proud of my three boys. I set the book on the desk and gently caressed the cover with my fingertips. The cover of the book had the blurred image of a naked woman sitting on the edge of a bed with her knees together and arms covering her breasts. It was me in the picture, but no one would ever be able to tell.

“You inspired this book,” the three of them had told me after letting me read the first draft a few months ago. They wanted to dedicate the book to me by name, but I said no. I had no desire to be known as the woman who inspired a book on the science of group sex. That’s when the idea of putting my blurred image on the cover came up.

Holden had put his hands on my shoulders and gave me a smile as he looked deeply, appreciatively, into my eyes. “Jude, this book would never have happened if it wasn’t for you. If we can’t use your name, how can we give you credit?”

“Come on, Jude,” said Wynn, moving in to give me a hug. “Let us dedicate the book to you in some way.”

Lane was on speaker phone from Los Angeles. He spoke up. “Hey, I have an idea…”

And that was that. I became the blurry girl on the cover, and they promised that no one would ever know. Lane even had hired a famous photographer to fly in and do the shoot, and made him sign a nondisclosure agreement.

I let my fingers go across the title; a simple font in white: Sex In Numbers, A Scientific Approach To Group Sex.

The names of the authors made me smile as my fingertips traced each name. I turned the book over so I could look at the photograph of the three of them on the back.

From left to right: Dr. Lane Curtis, Dr. Wynn Driver, Dr. Holden Moss.

My boys.

My men.

We had spent so many nights together over the last year, at Holden’s house in Midwestern, at Wynn’s place in Malibu, and at Northwoods, Lane’s sexual spa in the mountains. The boys worked on the book together and called me their muse. Any time they would get stuck or suffer writer’s block, we’d have a marathon fuckfest and the words would again magically start to flow.

The book came out a month ago and was an immediate bestseller. Holden was now on the road with Wynn and Lane, doing book signings, making public appearances, doing the network morning shows, and a shit ton of television and online interviews.

Holden called me every day to give me an update. And to tell me that he missed me. And to send me images of his cock with a sad face drawn on the head. I loved Holden and he loved me, but we were sexually-free adults, just like those profiled in his book. There was no jealousy, no anger, no commitment, and no possessiveness. We just… were…

“Um, Professor Allen? Did you want to see me?”

I looked up from my desk to see one of my grad students standing at the open doorway with a timid smile on his face. Toby Reese was his name, twenty-two years old, six-foot-two, lots of muscle and enough brains to graduate at the top of his class at the end of this semester.

He had been flirting with me since the semester began two weeks ago.

Since graduating with honors, I had taken a position at Midwestern as an interim professor, filling in for Holden while he was on the road. I still intended to open my own practice soon, but for now, I found teaching incredibly fulfilling; and found it to be very, very interesting, being on this side of the desk.

I looked up at Toby and smiled.

“Yes, come in,” I said, opening a drawer and sliding the book out of sight. He stepped inside the office and quietly closed the door. And locked it.

Funny, the teacher’s pet was now the teacher.

And the young man at the door looked like he would make a wonderful teacher’s pet.

But this teachers’ pet wasn’t interested in any of this shit now.

All she cared for was her three men, her three teachers, and being with them forever.

Sorry Toby, it’s not gonna work out.

Not now, since I am kinda committed…

Am I?

The End