S C H O O L E D

By

Donna M.

 

 

These were trying times for me.

My husband lost his job, and his disposition was quickly heading south along with our bank account.  I didn’t pull down nearly enough to keep us afloat, however my company reimbursed for tuition, so it was as good a time as any to return to school and finish my degree.  Somebody had to be the breadwinner, after all.  Getting an MBA would allow me to qualify for a better pay grade at work, or qualify for a better job now that the economy seemed to be rebounding.

That’s how I ended up back in school; working during the day and going to class at night.  My load was two courses, each meeting twice per week.  One of my professors was a pompous, dour woman who made pedantry sound like a good thing.  Her spin on Strategic Planning had me spinning.  At least I knew I could pass and get it behind me.  My other course was Quantitative Analysis, and before it began, I couldn’t imagine a drier subject.  However, Jim Edgars made it enjoyable.  Well, as enjoyable as business statistics could be. 

Mr. Edgars was a tall, thinly-built, handsome man, with a stereotypical goatee and a warm smile.  Math had never been my strong suit but Jim made the subject, if not come alive, at least bearable.  He appeared to be a few years younger than I was and so full of energy.  The more sessions I attended the more enamored I was with the man.  One night I dreamt he took me on his desk while everyone looked on, and I awoke wet from more than sweat.  How silly was that?

My husband wasn’t as amorous as he had been before the job loss, but that seemed understandable to me.  He had a lot more on his mind than sex.  I found an old vibrator, replaced the batteries, and took care of my needs that way.  That didn’t stop me from having fantasies of Jim Edgars, sitting in the front row of his classroom and mooning over him like an infatuated teen.

I was raising my hand and asking more questions than in any other classroom in my lifetime.  I tried not to let my Strategic Planning coursework slide, but Quantitative Analysis was top priority by a long shot.  I began wearing shorter skirts and showing more cleavage to school.  My husband never said a word.

Jim Edgars noticed, though.  Several times I caught him sneaking glances at my assets.  We made eye contact after one of those glances, and I smiled at him.  I didn’t have a concrete notion of what I wanted out of this, however my libido was talking and I was listening.  Things went on like that for a couple more weeks—me wearing provocative clothes and Jim ogling me all the time.  Adolescent behavior, for sure, yet what could I do now that the juices were flowing?  I knew it was only a matter of time before something broke.  Based on how he looked at me, he was proving to be the red-blooded man I figured him to be.  Should I throw fuel on the fire?

“Mr. Edgars, may I ask you a question?” I said one evening after class.

“Sure you can, Anna, as long as it’s not too personal,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

“How personal can statistics get?”  Jesus, I nearly winked at him!

“I don’t know, though they do tell quite a story sometimes if you have the right test subject.”

I asked him a question about that evening’s lesson, and then I asked him out for a drink.  I wondered about his response, but he didn’t disappoint, and said yes, suggesting a place not too far from the school.  We drove separately to the lounge.  The place surprised me; reserved, not tacky as bars tended to be in this town.

Now that we were at this milestone—out together and away from school—I grew aggressive, which though horny, still shocked me somewhat.  While we waited for our drinks, I touched his leg under the table, slowing moving it up his thigh.

“You’re a woman who goes after what she wants, I see,” he said.

Our waitress brought the drinks just then, so there was no need to offer a response, though my hand stayed where it was.  I thought about his comment.  With my husband moping around the house instead of aggressively looking for work, his depression affecting everything, including our sex life, I realized that I had to go after what I wanted, since it wouldn’t come to me on its own.

My hand moved slowly upward while I sipped my cocktail, until I located the bulge.  He was very hard.

“That’s me…always going after what I want,” I finally said. “What do you think I want?”

“I believe you’ve already made that abundantly clear.”

“I do believe you’re right,” I said, giving his bulge a squeeze.

With a bit of aplomb, he said, “Would you care to accompany me to my residence?”

We finished our drinks and soon were in his car and heading across town.  His house was in a tony part of town.  Very impressive.  “I take it you live alone,” I said.

“I live with my sister, but she won’t intrude.”

His sister?  I pictured a homely spinster, living a lonely existence under her brother’s roof.

Once inside the stately home, I surrendered to him.  He removed my clothes as if they were holy vestments.  My nipples tingled as my bra fell away.  He nibbled and sucked on my nipples until I couldn’t take it anymore.  He was still dressed as we fell to his sofa.  I laid back and enjoyed the attention, in just my soaked panties, as he played with my breasts, moaning about how beautiful they were.  When I couldn’t wait any longer, I began working at removing his clothes.

We staggered to his bedroom.  I was surprised by the womanly decorations, which made me wonder if he was recently divorced, or perhaps it was all his sister’s doing.  No matter, I wanted him and I was ready, I thought, as I slipped off my panties and fell to the bed.  He was ready too; his erection standing tall and proud.

We sixty-nined for a while.  He proved very skilled at cunnilingus and got me off on a small orgasm.  I often had a small one prior to a big explosion; that is if the big one was right around the corner.  I bet it would be tonight.

“Fuck me!  Fuck me…now!” I begged.

He mounted me missionary, and slid easily into my well-lubricated vagina.  I wrapped my legs around him and thrust my hips out to meet his urgent rhythm.

Jim and I groaned loudly as our orgasms struck, his ejaculate mixing with my juices in what was a long-awaited cocktail, deep within me.  How long had it been since I came at the same time as my husband?

Sated, he asked me (rather belatedly, I thought) “Should I have used…protection?”

“No, unless you have some STD and you’re using that question as a veiled hint.”

He laughed, “No dear, no diseases, particularly since it’s been a long time since I’ve slept with another woman.”

Another?  Maybe he was divorced, and that’s what he meant.  Nevertheless, it was strange phraseology.  He certainly didn’t come across as anything but a healthy, heterosexual male, especially after the way he just fucked me so well.

“Bravo!” came a voice from the doorway that startled me.  I looked up to see a woman standing there.  She was around the same age as Jim, a tall blond with a willowy figure encased in a business pant-suit.  Who was she and how long had she been watching?

Not embarrassed in the least, Jim turned his attention to the woman, saying “You can leave us alone now, Sis.  We’ll talk later.”

The woman answered with, “Give her a kiss for me, okay?  She’s a cute one…a keeper, I think.”  Then she stepped away from the doorway and disappeared.

I was aghast.  I’d made a feeble, unconscious attempt to cover myself when I heard her speak.  He called her “Sis” —this was his sister?  She certainly didn’t understand privacy, that’s for sure.  I asked Jim to explain, my voice reflecting my annoyance at the intrusion.

“Yes, her name’s Vivienne.  She should have known better than to look in, and for that I apologize.”

It had been a great fuck, so I figured I’d cut him some slack.  “What we just did isn’t going to affect what happens in class, will it?”

He smiled and said, “I was going to give you straight A’s, but if you don’t want them…”

I smacked him lightly on the arm, but before I could say or do anything more, he pulled me to him and in a minute was fingering me as I stroked his re-stiffening cock.  We fucked once more, though I didn’t have an orgasm as intense as the one earlier, perhaps because I wondered if his sister was watching.

On the way home, I worried about whether my husband would buy my story of where I’d been.  It turned out I shouldn’t have worried, since he was in bed and never asked me where I’d been so late in the evening.

Jim and I got together every chance we had.    His sex drive proved equal to my long-dormant libido.  Before class and after class; and sometimes on weekends.  We fucked in every position and in every place we found ourselves horny, which was always.  Jim proved very acrobatic and imaginative, and I pulled muscles I hadn’t used since playing sports in high school.  Oh, but those orgasms!  I was a new woman, freed from some prison I’d lived in for too long.  Instead of satisfying my sexual desires, the affair heightened them, shifting them into overdrive.  I was never satisfied.

One day I stopped at his house to see Jim, but he wasn’t home.  Vivienne answered the door instead and invited me in.  We shared a glass of wine, sitting together on the sofa and sharing stories about her brother.  The wine did something to me.  I got lightheaded, but something else was happening too; I was incredibly hot.  That’s when she leaned toward me and kissed me.  I kissed back.  Whatever was happening to me, it was as if a furnace had been stoked deep inside.

Never saying a word, she undressed me before undressing herself and guiding me to her bedroom.  My mind was full of conflicting thoughts, as conflicting emotions swirled through me as well.  Had I been drugged?  The only time I had ever been with a female was back in high school when I’d experimented with a girl friend of mine.  I never thought I’d ever experience that again, but here I was, whether it was my will or not. 

Vivienne had a fine figure, not bony as I first imagined it to be that day she intruded on her brother and me.  Her cunnilingus skills were unmatched.  Her probing tongue had me cumming and cumming, though I wondered how much of this result was because of whatever she may have slipped into my drink.

I lay back as she scissored me, pussy to pussy, rubbing herself on me as if a cat in heat.  Her heat, it seemed, was immense—and catchy, since it oozed into me until I was panting wildly, and orgasmic once more.  I don’t think I actually passed out, but somewhat dazed, I may have imagined the ungodly wail she made when she came.

During my next moment of lucidity, I saw Jim hovering over me.  He seemed to be naked.  He said, “Yes, a keeper,” though I may have imagined that too.  What I didn’t imagine, I’m sure of it now, was Jim climbing between my legs and fucking me hard.

In a short time I yelled, “OH GODDDDDDDDDDDDD!  YES!” as the mother of all orgasms sent me to another place.  I wasn’t completely back until I found myself lying between brother and sister in his bed.

“Wh…what…did…you…do…to…me?”  I managed to spit out.

“We really didn’t do anything to you, except fuck you,” Jim said, smiling.

“But…something was in my drink.”

Vivienne said, “Only a very mild sedative to relax you.  I did the rest.”

“The rest?”

“I am a psychologist, and quite adept at hypnotic suggestion.  You didn’t do anything that wasn’t already in your nature to do.”

“My nature?”

Jim said, “Oh Anna, you’re an amazingly sexual creature.  Viv and I always yearned for someone who could equal our passion but figured no such person existed, that was until you entered my classroom.”

“As soon as he described you, telling me about your flirtations, I knew you were the right one for us,” Vivienne crooned before moving to kiss me.

Our lips locked together; our tongues teasing each other’s, dancing and darting within our insatiable mouths.  Yes, insatiable.  What I earlier thought of as an internal furnace was fired up and red hot.  Still kissing Vivienne, I felt Jim go down on me.  He devoured my burning hot clit and within seconds I was quivering and quaking.  Although I couldn’t see it, by his response I believed that I squirted on Jim’s face as I came.

They would not let me rest, and frankly I didn’t want them to let me.  On hands and knees, I was getting furiously fucked by Jim while his sister’s pussy was pushed into my face.  It was my turn to be the clitoral devourer.  It was her turn again to scream out in orgasmic delight.

“OHHHHHHHHH MYYYYYYYYYYY GODDDDDDDDDDD!” I hollered as every muscle in my body seized up in convulsive tremor.

“Jesus!” Jim yelled, probably in response to my orgasmic vagina walls clamping down on his cock.  “I’m gonna cum!”

Vivienne shouted, “On me!  I want it!”

Jim pulled out of me, leaving me to fall to the bed in trembling bliss, and sprayed a copious load all over his sister’s face and chest, which she had readily offered to him.  It still freaked me out a tad to see siblings engaged in a sex act, and as they rubbed his spunk all over her writhing body, that’s exactly what it was.  I went off to shower as his sticky fingers found her cunt, and she began to moan.

They both kissed me deeply before I left the house.  When I got home, I expected many questions from my husband.  I got none.

What I did get was straight A’s from Jim Edgars.  All my quantitative analyses ended up in groups of three.  I’d spend time before school at Jim’s and Vivienne’s place, fucking one or both of them.  During class I’d tease Jim with quick flashes of skin.  After class he’d be so turned on that we’d fuck like animals as soon as we got our clothes off.  His sister often used her talented tongue to clean me up afterward.

I especially enjoyed the times we set up, where I would enter the house and play voyeur.  I would pretend to sneak in and watch them fuck.  I wasn’t sure if it was my burgeoning voyeurism or it was them, but Jim and Viv looked so good in bed together.  She seemed to prefer riding him.  On top and sliding up and down on his cock, she took on the appearance of a Roman goddess, a gladiator in command of her chariot.  I’d watch them while rubbing myself furiously, and end up cumming long before they did.  After all, the show was more for my benefit than theirs.

One time I left his bed to use the toilet.  When I returned, Viv and Jim were humping like wild dogs.  I ended up watching that time too, though their screaming and mewling orgasms where much more vivid than mine. 

I became dessert.

Slowly—just as Jim was doing in the classroom—they were teaching me many new things.  I spent more time at their place than I did at home, but my lost and defeated husband had given up caring long ago.  There were nights I didn’t go home.  I had many euphoric moments in bed with them, making me wonder how (‘if’ was no longer in question) Vivienne continued to hypnotize me.  Frankly, the thought never bothered me for long, only until my next out-of-this-world orgasm.

I noticed that brother and sister were increasingly having a hard time sharing me.  Vivienne would orally assault me, and while I was cumming, I’d espy Jim sulking at the bed’s edge.  Other times Jim would be fucking me like a madman, and I’d see Viv out of the corner of my eye staring petulantly at her brother, probably comparing his ardor toward me with his toward her.  I didn’t care.  I simply bathed in the most amazing orgasms.

At the completion of the term, I aced Quantitative Analysis and squeaked by with a C+ in Strategic Planning.  In reality, I’d forgotten both planning and analysis and let my vagina make all my decisions for me.

My mistake.

One night in bed, Vivienne told me “We’ve grown rather bored with you, dear.”  That was it.  Jim gave me a pitying glance before climbing into bed and jumping his sister.  Stupid me watched him slide into her from behind before I shrugged the whole scene off and left for home.

Perhaps it had been a bit of cognitive dissonance on my part, but while I shared their bed I saw nothing wrong with their unnatural relationship.  Now that I’d been dismissed, could I see them as sick puppies that needed help?  I began to cry, regretting how I’d let my husband slide away into futility while I became a wanton slut, only caring for myself.

Yet, it was too late.  My marriage was crap.  My husband resented me as the breadwinner.  I resented him for being a quitter.  I kept up my school work, since school was the only thing I had left, really.  I occasionally ran into Jim Edgars in the school hallways, but to him I was invisible, probably since he was ‘hunting’ for his (their) next conquest. 

What had I seen in him?  Maybe just an escape with a cock attached.  He’d schooled me good, teaching me some lessons I should have learned long ago.

One thing besides school that hadn’t changed was my not going home afterwards.  Lately I’d taken to finding the sleaziest bars in town and drinking myself silly.  I got fucked in back alleys, back seats of old beat-up cars, and in dirty restrooms. 

One night, I found a bar with a phalanx of Harleys in front and figured it for as good a place as any to lose myself in.  Provocative clothes on a solo woman late at night in a biker bar: I was fresh meat.  They took turns buying me drinks and feeling me up.  I didn’t stop either from happening.  Some unspoken message circulated throughout the bar, as the front door was locked, the “OPEN” sign turned off, and the hungry wolves circled.  They were all big men, with big tattoos and other big things.  I was liberated from my clothing and draped over the pool table.  One after the other fucked me like that; my ass strategically placed while my tits rubbed against the cool texture of the table’s felt covering.  I lost track of orgasms as well as cocks.  I had cum dripping down my thighs, and must have been quite a sight if some unbiased observer had been able to walk through the door and see me.

As abused as I was, I still felt good when I realized that some of these guys had gotten it up again and filled me with their second round.  I was surprised it took as long as it did, but eventually my anus was assaulted and another hole soon oozed spent semen.  It didn’t hurt at all. 

Late into the night, I continued to be schooled, learning many a new lesson on what could be done to a woman.

The End

 

Donna M.

© 2011

 

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