The Phone Call

My phone rang at 2:15 a.m., Friday night/Saturday morning. I'm a night owl, so it didn't wake me up, but it did scare the hell out of me. By the time you reach your late 30s, if the phone rings in the middle of the night, someone is likely dead.

"Hello?" I answered, trying my best to sound calm.

"Ooooh God..." a drawn out female voice moaned into the phone.

I smiled to myself, "Hello? Who is this?" After all, it's not every day I get an obscene phone call from a woman. In fact, I'm pretty sure that had never happened to me before. My wife had long since called it a night and slept quietly at the other end of the house. This was something new.

"Oooh God... I'm getting so close. I want you to fuck me so bad."

"You do, huh? Well then, go ahead and tell me all about it." The prospect of hearing a stranger talk dirty to me was exciting, and I began to feel my cock stir in my pants as I listened to the feminine voice alternate between low moans and girlish cooing.

"Mmm, I want you to bend me over and fuck me from behind as you pull my hair," she continued between gasps and sharp intakes of breath, "I want you to force me to my knees and fuck my mouth with your cock... I'd be such a slut for you."

Awkwardly trying to join in as I undid my zipper I said, "I can tell, and I want to hear more about it. What a slut you must be to call stranger's in the night just to get yourself off."

Her breathing quickened, her moans becoming rhythmic. "No... no... no..."

"'No,' what?" I said sarcastically as I began to stroke my cock. "No to being a slut? I don't think so, just look at what you're doing. Fingering yourself, getting close to cumming for me."

She moaned more desperately into the phone, her voice becoming more high pitched as her orgasm approached. "Oh god yes, cumming for you... for you... ohhh professssorrrr!"

Professor? Immediately my eyes went wide. Fuck, was this a student? Every student I have has this number, it's on every syllabus I hand out. Was she being serious? Was I being pranked? I sat there motionless in my home office, cock in my hand, trying to think of what I should do. All the while she came, hard from the sound of it, I could hear her shuddering as pleasure overran what I imagined to be her lithe, young body. The sound was intoxicating.

Her climax tapered off and as she caught her breath, her ecstatic whines and whimpers turned into giggles. "Are you still there?" She asked me with an obvious smile on her lips.

I paused, half trying to make myself just hang up, half trying to figure out who she was. Finally, I all but whispered, "Yes."

"Did you enjoy that?" She was all but taunting me.

Regaining a fragment of my wits I replied, "Not nearly as much as you did, I should say."

She laughed into the phone and mocked me playfully, "'I should say' only you would talk like that."

"Well, yes, I suppose. You've had your fun, so, good night." I replied, irritated at the prospect of being a punch line for a student prank.

"No, No, No!" She said a bit desperately, keeping me on the phone, "No, I like the way you talk. It really... gets to me."

"Who are you?" I asked again. I was as much interested in solving the mystery as I was anything. Not knowing would be torturous to me as I built my life and career around finding answers.

"Oh God," she said again slowly, this time with a touch of surprise, "You really don't know? I figured it would be obvious. I always feel like I'm giving myself away in class." She sounded somewhere between relieved and disappointed. "I wish I was brave enough to tell you, but I'm not."

"Not even a little hint?" I asked, perhaps more flirtatiously than I should have.

"Hmmm, no, I don't think so," she sounded thoughtful. But her voice suddenly brightened, and she said devilishly, "But won't you have fun thinking of all the girls in your classes it could be?"

This caught me off guard, and before I could think of some clever response, she gave a seductive "goodnight," and hung up.

Needless to say I had trouble falling to sleep after that. Her number had been blocked on caller ID, of course, and despite thinking through my class rolls, I couldn't come up with anyone. I have a tendency to become a bit obsessive when presented with a question I can't find the answer to, it's part of what make makes me good at research, but this was getting to me.

The reality began to set in. In some way I had just had phone sex with a student, at least some one could say that. For a while I worried about getting in trouble with the college, but what did I do? All I had done was answer the phone. I hadn't even known it was a student until the very end.

As for my wife, well, that was another matter. Playing along with an obscene phone call she'd understand as a good bit of harmless fun. The prospect of a student aggressively seeking me out and getting herself off? That would likely be a bit more threatening.

Needless to say, the weekend dragged a bit as I replayed the conversation in my head and pondered over and over again who it might be. I had hoped that Saturday night might bring a second call, but there was nothing. Again Sunday dragged and as night fell my anticipation grew, but nothing.

As I readied to leave for class on Monday morning, I'm embarrassed to admit that I might have spent a little longer in the mirror than usual. At 38, I was still in good shape with a full head of hair even if I had begun to show signs of grey at the temples. I donned my professorial uniform of a sports coat and slacks trying not to think too much about the young women who would be attending this morning's lecture on Puritanism and Constitution.

I fortunately served a college committed to keeping class sizes small, which allowed me to easily survey the students of my 9:00 a.m. class. In total there were 11 young women in this class, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't imagine everyone one of them lying in their dorm room getting off to the sound of my voice. I had my preferences, sure, but all of them were attractive in their youthful sexuality and nothing is hotter than a woman who gets off at the mere thought of you. Especially in middle age, such knowledge is intoxicating.

Of course, surveying the class, nothing stood out. Most of the students, men and women seemed to be barely awake as they took their customary seats. As I called out the roll, I listened intently to try and match the voice that had burned into my mind over the phone Friday night. I couldn't make out anything definitive. I stumbled through my lecture a little more than usual. At one point I thought I caught a knowing smile from a cute blonde in the second row, but then I realized she had her phone in her lap and was texting during class.

I had two more classes Monday afternoon with similar outcomes. The mystery caller was bound to remain a mystery. I figured it was all for the best. I wasn't about to risk my career and family and actually do something, but I really hated not knowing.

By the time I got home after a day of imagining nubile young coeds masturbating, I was pretty worked up, so it was doubly frustrating when my wife came home late from her job and announced that she was going straight to bed. I went to my home office in pursuit of pornography and masturbation.

Around 1o, I received a text message:

"Are you alone? Are you free?"

It was from a number I didn't recognize, and immediately my heart began to race and my throat went dry. I stared at the phone for a moment, trying to convince myself not to reply. As I held it in my hand, it began to ring, making me jump. It was the same number as the text.

"Hello," I answered cautiously.

"Hi," came the soft almost purring reply. "Remember me?"

Before I could answer she continued, "So, was I right? Did you have fun today thinking about all of us girls in your class?"

Pulling myself together a bit, "Alright, you've had your fun. Who is this?"

She giggled, "No, I like it that you don't know. I think it's sexier that way. It's like I'm an anonymous mouth in a glory hole, you can imagine using me without any feelings of guilt. Would you like that? Would you like to fuck my mouth?" Her voice suddenly becoming more wanton.

"Look," I said, "I don't know who you are or what you're after, but you need to stop calling me."

"Mmmm, I don't think that's quite what I need," she mewled. "Want to know where my hand is right now?" She let out a low moan.

"Um, please..." I offered weakly.

"Well, since you're so polite," I heard her smile as she intentionally misconstrued my words. "Right now my hand is inside my panties and two fingers are rubbing over my very wet and very hard clit."

I stayed silent as she paused to let out a moan. She continued on, "I was so wet in class today, I saw you glance around the room, and it was so hot knowing you were looking for me. So hot knowing that at some point you thought about me with my legs spread for you."

As I listened to her breathing become ragged my cock became hard, and I moved to free it from my pants. I should have hung up, but instead I slowly began to stroke my cock as she continued.

"I just want to walk up to you one day and drop to my knees and suck your cock until you cum in my mouth. Oh God."

I must've let out a small sigh because I could hear her tone change as she asked, "So, Professor, where is your hand right now? Are you stroking your cock for me?"

Caught doing the obvious, I thought about lying, but then, what would be the point in that, so I whispered, "Yes."

"Oh God," she almost growled, "That is so hot." And after a few moans she almost pleaded, "Will you cum with me, when it's time?"

"Yes," I was barely audible.

"I want to feel your cock in my mouth so bad," she said, "Sometimes I think about hiding in your podium, and sucking you off while you lecture. Or maybe hiding under your desk, and taking your cock in my mouth as you meet with other students, your secret cum slut."

I stroked my cock intently as she laid out her thoughts. "Do you want a secret cum slut?"

"Oh god, yes," I breathed.

"I'd wear the sluttiest shade of red lipstick so that when you fucked my mouth your cock would be smeared with it, marked by my lips." Her breath was becoming stilted.

"I'd want to feel you slide deep into my throat, force yourself into my tight... little... mouth." These last words were drawn out. "I'd be such a hungry girl for your cock."

Trying to play along, I contributed, "I'd wrap my hands in your hair and pull you roughly onto my cock. I'd feel myself swell against your eager tongue as I violated your throat."

"Yes," she panted breathlessly, "violate me. That's the word. You're so good with words." Then she added with desperate intent, "Wrap your fingers in my curls and violate my slutty mouth."

I moaned into the phone, my orgasm nearing, forcefully adding, "I want to hear you cum, and I want you to cry out 'professor' when you do, you little student slut."

Suddenly she began to whimper and cry as her orgasm overtook her. Obediently she almost whined a prolonged "Professor," before adding, "Cum in my mouth, let me taste you."

And with that I erupted into my hand imagining some curly haired young woman on her knees with my cock in her mouth.

There was silence for a moment and then she let out a self-satisfied giggle.

"Well," I said, "that was new."

She laughed lightly, "What? You've never had phone sex with an anonymous student before?"

"No, I can't say that I have. But I'm not sure how much longer you'll be anonymous."

"Oh?" she asked, sounding intrigued, "Why's that?"

"Well, the more we talk the more I learn about you. Apparently you have curls in your hair."

There was a long pause and then a suddenly nervous, "I need to go." Before I could respond she had hung up. I thought about calling her back, but I figured it was best to let her go. I had my clue and, as Sherlock Holmes always said, the game was afoot.