NOTE: This is part 4 in a series and it presupposes some knowledge of past events, I encourage you to read the first 3 parts in order to understand how we got here. As always, I love feedback. The more you tell me, the better writer I become. Thank you
*****
Later that night, my phone rang. "Hello Molly," I said somewhat distantly.
On the other end of the phone, Molly, my blonde curled student who I'd fucked in my office earlier that day, mocked my tone. "Awww, professor, you sound upset. It wouldn't be because of a moral dilemma, would it?" She giggled just like she had after she came on the phone for me the first time when I still didn't know who she was.
Having not only fucked her, but also possibly impregnated my student, I was more than tied in moral knots. "Jesus, Molly," I began, "Can you be serious for a second? What the hell are we going to do?"
"I know what I want to do," she cooed through the phone. "How is it that the sound of your voice just makes my pussy flood?" I heard the sound of her sucking on something. "Mmmm," she continued, "I taste different, or maybe I can still taste you."
My cock was growing hard despite my concerns. This was not good. "Look Molly, what happened today... it just can't happen again."
"So what you're saying is," Molly responded, her voice husky over the phone, "you don't want to fuck this tight... wet... young... aching... pussy anymore?" She was moaning as she finished, and my mouth was hanging stupidly open as I listened.
"But I'm married," I all but whispered in a weak attempt to win the argument.
She moaned into the phone, "I know... and I have thoughts about that too."
"What kind of thoughts?" my interest piqued, but also a growing unsettled feeling within.
"Are you stroking that lovely cock of yours?" she asked playfully, like a petulant child. "I won't tell you my thoughts if you're not."
I was, god help me. Despite my conscious struggle against this cute blonde with ravenous appetite I found that I had taken my cock out and was slowly teasing myself as she whimpered and moaned and pouted into the phone.
"Just tell me," I grumbled. At that moment it was difficult to keep my mind from flooding with images of our tryst in my office earlier that day. Molly made it impossible for me to keep focused.
She giggled into the phone, satisfied that I was in fact stroking myself, even if I hadn't admitted it. "Well," she purred, "I was thinking that, given how easy it was to have you fuck me, it might be fun to see if I could seduce your wife too. I bet she'd give me more of a challenge."
"Jesus, Molly," I about choked, my cock softening in my hand, "Stay the fuck away from wife. Are you trying to ruin me?"
"You mean the way you ruined my tight, young, virgin pussy with that nice big cock of yours?" She exaggerated a gasp at her own words. Then, slipping into some imitation of a pornographic Scarlett O'Hara she added, "I do declare I'm no longer fit for any man but you, the way you ravished my poor young body." Then she dissolved into a luxuriously languid laugh that spoke of newfound sexual confidence and desire.
If we had been talking in person, I would have slapped her. Or maybe I would have fucked her. Possibly I would have slapped her and then fucked her. This girl had me all turned around. Since we were on the phone and I was overcome with a mix of fear and anger, I simply said, "Please, Molly."
"Mmmm," She mewled, "I like that. But please what, huh? 'Please let me fuck you again?' Or did you mean, 'Please seduce my wife?' What is it you say in class? 'Be poetic if you must, but above all be clear!'" And then she laughed.
"God dammit, Molly," I said in frustration. I wanted to threaten her, to scare her into compliance, but over the phone it seemed so impotent, so I just stopped there.
"Oh," she said her tone revealing a self-satisfied bratiness , "I like that. I like you angry with me. I want you to put all that anger into throwing me down and fucking me as hard as you can. I want you to punish me with that cock of yours. Will you do that for me, professor? Will you fuck me so hard I can still feel it the next day in your class?"
Torn between whispering a begrudging "yes" and losing all control and screaming into the phone for her to leave me alone, I did the only thing I could think of to do: I hung up. I half expected her to call back but she didn't. Instead she texted me a close up pic of her mouth, lips painted with a shade of pink lipsticks only younger girls wear, two fingers in her mouth. The caption read, "Thinking of you."
I ignored it. Or tried to. Being completely honest I almost immediately went to my home office and jacked off, alternating between the new pic and the older one of her nude in nothing but heels. She clearly had me and was merely toying with me, the way cats toy with mice before they devour them.
As it was I had other things to worry about. First and foremost, that night was an event for big money donors to the University and faculty attendance was mandatory. I encouraged my wife to skip it as it was bound to be dreadful, but she looked forward to such things, being naturally ore outgoing than I. For her it was an excuse to buy a new dress and a pair of heels and drink just ever so slightly more than she should.
My wife, Monica, was a professional in her own right working in the world of finance. Secretly she loved going to academic affairs because her social skills, when compared to the crippling anxiety and awkwardness of most intellectuals, made Monica the belle of the ball.
It helped too that she was absolutely stunning. Standing slightly taller than average for a woman, her legs were long and lean and led up to a body that had rounded ever so slightly as she passed into her early 30s. Her hair was raven black cast against a fair, almost porcelain complexion and deep blue eyes.
Of course, marriages aren't just about how sexy your spouse is. Or, sexiness isn't just a factor of looks. Monica was gorgeous, but she had grown cold or distant. Maybe I had. I don't know really. I decided I lacked impulse control. Fucking Molly was one thing, but fucking my secretary the day before just because she walked in when I was hard, that showed a character flaw. Suddenly I felt guilty. Not just scared of being caught, but actual remorse.
I considered these things when I went into our bedroom and saw Monica sitting on the edge of the bed getting ready for the evening. She was wearing a black slip and sliding a black stocking up her legs. Damn she looked good.
