Research Assistant to Office Wife
Abby fills the void left by the Professor's wife.
All characters in this story are 18 or older..
I started working as a research assistant for Assistant Professor Johnson the summer between my junior and senior year. It was a great opportunity to build up my resume, plus he was working on interesting projects in the field I was majoring in. Of course, it didn't hurt that he was smart, handsome, a great teacher and a rising star in his field. I had taken two of his courses and was a total fan girl for him, so when I got the internship I was over the moon.
Ted was up for tenure in the fall so the workload was intense. He was trying to get three papers accepted in prestigious journals, so as soon as the spring semester ended he was grinding away from morning until night.
Even though he was only an Assistant I sometimes called him "Professor" anyway. I could tell he liked the sound of it.
Most of my job was data-crunching. I pretty much spent my five days a week in front of a computer, working on spreadsheets. I didn't mind, though, because the Professor let me take a long lunch every day. I'd have a quick bite at my desk then go to the campus Athletic Center and work out.
Also, my "boyfriend" was working from home all summer so I had to get out of the house. When the dorms closed at the end of the school year I accepted his invitation to move into his off-campus apartment, even if we weren't that into each other at that point. He didn't charge me any rent as long as I let him fuck me every weekend, so as far as I was concerned everything was just fine.
In truth, though, I did miss having a real boyfriend. I'm a pretty horny girl and the once-a-week uninspired fucking from my roommate wasn't really doing the job. Most nights, back in my room, I'd use my vibrator or finger myself to orgasm but I was never really satisfied. I missed having a steady guy who could work magic in the bedroom.
Anyway, the one drawback of the job was that my office didn't have air conditioning and it got really hot in the afternoon. There was a big window fan but it didn't do much. After the first week working in the heat I decided just to embrace it - I dressed to keep cool, and the less I wore the cooler I was.
Fortunately, there weren't many people in the building over the summer so it didn't matter that I did my work half-naked. I wore short shorts or skirts paired with skimpy halter tops or loose, torn t-shirts. Other times I'd wear a wispy, sleeveless sundress. Always flip-flops. I had a button-down shirt draped over the back of my chair that I could throw over my tiny top if I had to go down the hall to the bathroom or if I had to talk to the Professor.
It was inevitable, of course, that he would catch a glimpse of me now and then without my overshirt. I kind of hoped he did, actually. Like I said, I work out every day, and I'm pretty proud of my looks. I'm 5'5" with smooth legs, a flat belly, and firm, shapely boobs between a B- and C-cup. My hair is a silky reddish-brown that come to my shoulders. I have a nice face, I'm told, with a bright smile, full lips and high cheekbones. At first the Professor seemed not to notice my skimpy attire, but soon after I started he would stop by my office to ask a question about some random thing.
"Ummm, Abby?" he would ask to get my attention, standing in my doorway. When I sat at my computer my back faced the door, so he couldn't see my chest in my tight, sweaty top. He would lean against the doorframe and question me about my work, not in a nagging way but just checking in. "Did you analyze the data from the southwest quadrant yet?" he would ask, or something like that, looking at the back of my head.
The first few times he stopped in I just turned my head over my shoulder to respond, keeping my body hidden. Or I would subtly pull the overshirt from the back of my chair, draping it over my shoulders before I turned to face him.
But one day, toward the end of my second week, he stopped by to talk about one of our statistical calculations. I was wearing a tiny, light-green halter top with spaghetti straps. It contrasted nicely with the auburn glow of my hair and my soft nipples were clearly visible, tiny mounds poking out against the thin fabric. For some reason - maybe I was feeling frisky, maybe I was just bored - I spun around in my chair first, giving him a clear view of my scantily clad front before I casually covered up with the overshirt.
I saw his eyes drop for an instant, stealing a glance before returning to my face. I sensed the excitement charging through him. It was just a fleeting moment and we were immediately back to discussing statistics. But we both knew it.
After that we had almost daily incidents. Sometimes I wouldn't put on the overshirt at all when he came by. We would have a professional conversation - just a minute or two - with my sexy top on full display. I started wearing crop-tops that revealed my taut belly. The Professor would keep his eyes on my face until I purposely looked away at my computer or papers on my desk to give him an opportunity to sneak a peek.
By the third week he became bolder. Instead of stopping in the doorframe he'd march right up to my desk, standing over me. He would have a great view of my tits and the smooth skin of my thighs. Maybe the third or fourth time he stood over me I was wearing a loose sundress. We were discussing the data on the computer screen, me in my chair and him standing over me, his crotch right at eye level. I gave a sidelong glance and noticed what seemed to be an impressive package in his faded jeans, making me tingle.
I looked up into the Professor's eyes and saw hunger and frustration as he looked down at me. I pretended not to notice. I turned my attention back to the screen of my laptop, clicking from tab to tab to show him my progress, and as I clicked I slowly leaned forward, letting the loose dress drop down and giving a full, unimpeded view down the front. I wasn't wearing a bra. He could easily see my naked tits. I gave him a brief show then leaned back in my chair, pulling the dress tight against my chest. He was still leaning forward, so his crotch was now right next to my face, just inches from my cheek. A quick look made it evident he enjoyed the show, a major bulge rising from the front of his Levis. I had an incredible urge to lean over and give it a gentle bite, to chew on it through the faded denim. When the Professor realized the position he was in he got flustered and bolted from my office, telling me we could finish the discussion later.
After that day Ted mostly stayed in his office, and if he did stop by he stayed in the doorframe. I felt bad for him. He was overworked, trying to get published, and also having problems with his marriage. I could hear him on the phone with his wife every day. It was always, "I know, I know," and "yes, but..." and "OK, OK" and "I'm sorry" and "why not?" Never anything happy, no laughing. One day I heard him say "bitch" under his breath after he hung up the phone.
Poor guy - he had tenure looming over his head, a nasty wife, and a sexy, tempting office assistant frustrating him daily. The Professor was hugely stressed out. I was afraid it was too much for him.
Everything came to a head on a warm evening in August, about two weeks before Teddy's tenure application was due. The pressure had been building all summer and he hadn't been sleeping enough. Two of his papers had been "conditionally" accepted, which sounds good but actually means you have to do a lot more work before it actually gets published. He had just hung up after a particularly ugly call with his wife and I could hear him muttering to himself and banging on his keyboard.
I got up from my desk and peeked into his office. He was resting his head in his hands and shaking it from side to side, as if he was finally acknowledging defeat. I didn't know what to do, but I had to do something.
He looked so sad, so vulnerable. I was genuinely worried about his well-being. I thought for a second about going back to my office to get my cover-up because I was wearing an obscenely skimpy, wife-beater style white t-shirt and tiny denim shorts, but I didn't. I quietly walked behind him and put my hands on top of his shoulders. He tensed up immediately and froze. I wasn't sure what to do, but slowly I began to knead my fingers into his taught flesh.
"Teddy," I said softly, "you've got to relax."
"Ummm, Abby?" he croaked, "Thanks but you don't have to do this, you know. I'll be OK. Really."
I didn't reply right away, just kept working his muscles. I could feel him start to wilt under my touch even as he tried to focus on his computer screen. "Don't worry, Professor," I finally said. "I know you're a perfect gentleman. I just want to help you relax. Then you can get your work done, OK?"
Teddy exhaled. He was conflicted, but I persisted. My hands wandered from his shoulders to his neck, rubbing and squeezing. He was trying to pay attention to his work but his will was dissolving. "OK," he replied with a sigh, "but I just want to be clear that you don't
have to do this
. It's definitely not part of the job description."
I paused, resting my hands on his biceps and leaned down to his ear. "Does that mean you want me to stop?" I asked innocently.
He sighed again, torn by indecision. "Ummm... I... ummmm... it's just, you know -- you don't
have to
. And you probably shouldn't."
I chuckled and started massaging his shoulders again. "Let's just say I'm doing this on my own initiative, OK Professor? And besides," I added, "you need it. You're so tense you're about to burst."
I pushed my fingertips into his flesh through the old t-shirt he wore, alternating between squeezing and kneading and gentle rubbing. I worked from his biceps across to his neck, feeling the heat of his skin against my hand.
Soon he wasn't looking at his computer any more. His head was down and I could hear him quietly moaning, finally giving in to my efforts.
I brought my lips to within an inch of his ear. "Are you
sure
you don't want me to stop?" I teased.
"Noooooo," he groaned, "It's just... you know..." His words trailed off.
"I know," I said reassuringly, "don't worry. Just relax."
