Climax

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Obligatory Disclaimer: Names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. This story is a complete revision of a story I previously submitted, but later retracted. Hopefully, this new version is an improvement.

~The Story~

“Are there any questions about anything?” Silence. “Okay, then let’s launch into today’s lecture.”

I chewed my Hello Kitty pen restlessly. This was getting ridiculous; four days a week, I sat in the sixth row of the auditorium listening to Dr. Owen lecture on the history of jazz. Four days a week, I sat in my seat fantasizing about losing my virginity to him.

I wasn’t even a fan of jazz. The only reason I had registered for Jazz History in the first place was the infatuation I’d had for Dr. Owen for over a year. It was Spring, and Autumn of the previous academic year had been my first quarter at the University. I had registered for the History of Western Art Music because I needed an art credit, and I wanted to learn more about the Great Composers. I achieved that goal, but I also discovered Dr. Owen.

Dr. Owen was 48 years old. I was only 21, but the age difference was a turn-on for me. His age and his professorial status automatically put him in a position of power, and the fact that he was a music professor was even more arousing to me. He was very handsome, with dark hair, blue-gray eyes, and a very nice build for someone his age. He always wore suits, usually in shades of brown, and he often wore a vest. He had reading glasses, the little rectangular kind, which made him appear even more scholarly. His smooth, soft voice, over-enunciating every consonant of the English language, could always get my panties wet.

When I took the Western Art Music class (at the age of 19), I talked to Dr. Owen after lecture at least a couple of times a week, and I went to his office hours once. I never told him, however, just how badly I wanted him inside me. And I was sure he didn’t suspect anything lascivious about me; I was far too childlike, timid, and respectful for him to be able to read my impure thoughts.

I was a good little student; I got my “A,” and moved on in my college career. But I never forgot about Dr. Owen; I still masturbated to thoughts of him, I still hung around the music school to catch a glimpse of him, and I always checked the Course Offerings List to see if he was teaching any other classes which non music majors could take.

A year and a half later, the Fates smiled on me. Dr. Owen was teaching an introductory class on Jazz History.

Which brings us to the present scene: Dr. Owen was lecturing, and I was squirming in my seat.

He remembered me from his other class; he had told me so when I approached him about some study sheets I’d forgotten to pick up. I was very impressed that he remembered me; after all, a year and a half had passed. But I wasn’t convinced that the impression I made in History of Western Art Music would work to my advantage…. I was a different person back then: shyer, directionally-impaired, frightened to even be on campus. Now, I felt more secure in my identity as a college student; I knew what I wanted, and I was ready to go after it.

Dr. Owen was talking about the 1920s. He always strived to put music in its historical and cultural context. Sometimes, however, he got a little side-tracked. He was rambling on and on about flappers.

“Women didn’t have to hide their bodies anymore. The female body was opened up for appreciation.”

I bit my lower lip to keep from smiling; I never could tell if he intended to be as obscene as he often sounded.

“There were a lot of very sexy dances during this time, as well. Now, you may not think the Charleston is sexy, but it is,” Dr. Owen said matter-of-factly.

Hmm… I wasn’t sure about the sexiness quotient of the Charleston, but I really liked hearing Dr. Owen say something was sexy. He seemed to have gotten a bit more forward in the past year and a half. I had even caught him quite obviously staring at the female teaching assistant’s ass. Yes, Dr. Owen definitely seemed to have developed a perverted streak. Then again, so had I.

The lecture went on for awhile, until people finally started packing up their books. Nobody seemed to appreciate Dr. Owen besides me (and a small group of suck-ups who always sat in the front row, laughing hysterically at Dr. Owen’s lame professorial jokes). I didn’t get up to leave until Dr. Owen had completely finished talking.

I had made up my mind. Tomorrow would be the day. Tomorrow, Dr. Owen was going realize that I wasn’t as sweet and innocent as I seemed.

“What should I wear?” I half-yelled into the phone.

“Wear something scandalous,” Jim replied in a pseudo-pornographic voice.

It was nighttime, and I Eskort Bayan was consulting one of my friends on just how exactly I should go about tomorrow’s grand seduction. I could always trust Jim to encourage me to be a slut.

“I don’t even own anything scandalous!!”

“Don’t wear a bra.”

“I can’t go braless!” I gasped. “I would have to walk around campus like that all day. Unless I take it off in the bathroom before his class, and then put it back on afterwards…”

“Then do that,” he said, as if we were discussing something completely routine.

Our conversation drifted toward other topics, and eventually we hung up. I kept going back to what Jim had said about wearing “something scandalous.” It certainly was a good idea… The only even remotely scandalous item of clothing I owned was a pair of cherry-print panties. I wondered if I should go shopping for a new outfit, but I didn’t have a lot of money.

I decided to take a little excursion to the thrift shop where my younger sister worked.

“So why do you need a new outfit?” Tori asked.

“No reason. I just want something cute to wear.”

My sister and I foraged through the racks of clothing in Vendome, while I tried in vain to brush aside her questions.

“What about this one?” A blue jumper.

“No way.”

“Who are you dressing up for anyway?”

“No one.”

“These are cute!!!” Only my sister: one part goth, one part emo, and one part punk would like those pants…

“Why don’t you get those, Tori? They aren’t really me.”

“Do you have a date?”

“Of course not.”

“Here, this looks like you.” A long, gray, shapeless skirt. It did look like me; that had been the problem this whole time.

Then I saw it.

“This one!!! Oh, my God, Tori, look at this!!!”

She looked at it skeptically. “I’ve never seen you wear anything like that.”

It was a scandalously short red plaid skirt.

I glared at her over the rack of clothing. “That’s the point. I’ve got some knee socks and my Mary Janes, and a white blouse that’ll go perfectly with this.”

“I wish you’d tell me who you’re dressing like a schoolgirl for, Lily.”

“I am a schoolgirl, why not dress the part?”

Suddenly, a wide grin broke out across Tori’s face.

“What?” I demanded.

“It’s Dr. Owen, isn’t it? You’re dressing like that for him. You should have told me that to begin with; that skirt is on the wrong rack. All the schoolgirl skirts are against the wall over there.”

By the time I was ready to check out, I had a massive armful of all sorts of tiny plaid skirts. I felt so naughty buying them, with the elderly cashier scowling at me the whole time. I loved it.

After I got home, I realized I would need something besides the perfect slutty schoolgirl outfit to make my intentions clear to Dr. Owen. I exhausted my mind trying to think of the best way to lay the groundwork for my plan. I thought back to every stupid pornographic cliche, when I finally remembered the silliest one in the book: a lollipop eaten in a suggestive manner. I laughed aloud imagining myself dressed like a schoolgirl and slobbering over a lollipop during Dr. Owen’s class. But it just might work. Why not try?

I fingered myself before I went to sleep, eager for tomorrow’s conquest.

I showed up for class earlier than usual, because I had to use the public restroom to take my bra off. I went in the stall and undid my off-white, button-down blouse, took off my bra, and then put my blouse back on. I crammed my bra into the bottom of my bookbag. I brushed my long reddish-brown hair and straightened my short plaid skirt. I could not believe I was doing this. What if I was making a fool out of myself? What if he wasn’t interested?

Then again, something told me Dr. Owen would jump at the chance to fuck a student. My friends and I had developed the theory long ago that Dr. Owen was sexually frustrated. After all, he was a married man, yet he was staring at a young TA’s ass everyday. Besides, his wife was a filmmaker, so she was likely away from home much of the time. So Dr. Owen probably needed something to fuck, and I was more than willing to be that something.

I was completely self-conscious as I made the short walk down the hallway to the auditorium. Even though I kept my arms folded across my chest, I felt like everyone could not only see that I wore no bra, but somehow they also knew what I was planning. After a thirty second walk which felt like 30 minutes, I finally entered the auditorium.

I took my normal seat six rows from the front, and took out my notebook and pen. Dr. Owen walked into the room. I stared at him as he organized his transparencies for the overhead projector. My insides instinctively tensed.

As he began lecturing on Miles Davis, I slowly unwrapped a lollipop which I had slipped into my purse earlier in the morning. Cherry flavored with a bubble gum center. I tentatively licked the lollipop, my eyes focused on Dr. Owen. He glanced at me to make eye contact, and saw the way I was licking the lollipop; confusion registered itself upon his face. I was feeling very nervous and unsure of myself, so I broke eye contact. Not wanting to abandon my mission, however, I broke eye contact by letting my eyes drift down his body, resting upon his crotch. I could feel my face growing warm; I was ashamed of what I was doing, yet strangely thrilled at the same time.

I began to slowly suck on the lollipop, sliding it in and out of my mouth. At the same time, I was doodling in my notebook, pretending to be completely innocent and unaware of how my actions must have appeared, what I was implying with the lollipop. My heart was pounding, and I felt myself growing moist. Despite my lust, I was also wary of my actions. I was so scared that he would think I was stupid, that my attempt at seduction was achieving nothing, other than making a fool out of myself.

Dr. Owen had instructed one of the teaching assistants to put on a c.d. so that the class could listen to the song he’d been discussing. I rubbed the lollipop across my mouth, then licked the cherry flavor off my lips. I timidly lifted my eyes to look at Dr. Owen. He was sitting on the stage, his legs pressed close together. He was looking at me in strange fascination, but then he quickly looked away. I silently prayed that what I was doing was having an arousing effect on him, that he was not disturbed by my new demeanor.

A few minutes passed, and Dr. Owen was standing up and lecturing again. I was really enjoying the lollipop, licking it and sucking it, swirling my tongue around it. As I did this, my eyes were focused on his crotch. I felt so dirty, but the slutty feeling was turning me on immensely. I felt a grin spreading across my face as I ogled his crotch and slobbered all over my lollipop.

Suddenly, Dr. Owen said: “I think we need to review modulation; it is very important that you recognize when the music leaves and returns to the home key.”

He walked quickly to the small upright piano and wheeled it around so the keys were facing the class. He stood behind it, the lower half of his body hidden as he played. The piano was not his primary instrument, but now he was hitting even more bad notes than usual. His face was full of either intense concentration or intense frustration; I could not tell which. The other students looked at each other in confusion; why was he suddenly talking about the importance of hearing modulation, when just moments before he was talking about Miles Davis’s particular jazz style? I, however, was almost sure I know why: he had a certain something to hide, and the quickest way to hide it was to stand behind the piano. My heart pounded in my chest so fiercely that it was getting hard to breathe normally. It was working; I was really having an effect on him with the lollipop.

A few minutes later, he came out from behind the piano, and there was no sign of arousal in his pants. And he had hidden himself so quickly to begin with that I didn’t get to see anything; perhaps he had felt himself hardening before it became truly visible. I felt incredibly frustrated, and to make matters worse, he didn’t look at me at all for the remainder of class. I began to think that he never had a hard-on at all, that I had inferred too much from his piano playing. Feeling humiliated and ashamed, I rewrapped my lollipop before I even reached the bubble gum center and shoved it into the bottom of my purse. I felt like such a fool; he wasn’t aroused by me at all. He was probably incredibly disgusted by me. I was such a slut, a slut who was still a virgin.

Class ended, and I got up to leave. To get to the door, I had to walk by Dr. Owen; I lowered my eyes in shame as I passed him, but then I heard him say: “Excuse me, can I speak to you for a minute?”

There was no question that he was talking to me; no one else was anywhere near him. Still avoiding eye contact, I whispered: “Yes?”

“I was wondering how you’ve been. You haven’t said much this quarter, but you talked to me quite often in my other class.”

“Oh,” I whispered timidly. “I’ve been okay…” Was this some kind of intervention?

A long, uncomfortable pause filled the air, and I wondered if the teaching assistants were watching us. Finally, Dr. Owen said: “Do you have time to come up to my office for a couple minutes?”

My head jerked up and I looked at him; he had a slight grin on his face. I was completely bewildered as to what I should be thinking… Had my plan worked after all?

He stepped close to me, too close. In a low, quiet voice, he whispered: “If that little lollipop show was only meant as a tease, then I recommend you do not do it again. But if there’s actually something you want, then perhaps you have time to come to my office.”

He stepped backward and stared at me in silence. My heart felt as if it was going to suffocate me, and I struggled to get a deep breath. I glanced over at the teaching assistants, but they were busy gathering their own books and talking to each other; they were completely oblivious to the intense arousal a few yards away from them. I returned my gaze to Dr. Owen, who was now slowly moving his eyes over my body. I felt completely naked, and I was sure that he could see my nipples through my blouse. Trembling, I took a deep breath. My voice barely made any sound as I formed the words:

“Yes, Dr. Owen, I… I have time… to go to… your office…”

He smiled. “Good. Follow me.”

The walk down the hallway and up the stairs to his office felt like a death march, simply because I was so unsure of myself. What had I gotten myself into? I worried that I had gone too far. Dr. Owen attempted to talk to me on the way.

“This is terrible, but what was your name again?”

“Lily,” I whispered.

“How old are you, Lily?”

“Twenty-one.”

“And how old would you guess I am?”

“I don’t know.” It was a lie; I knew his age, his birthday, his license plate number, everything.

We finally reached the Musicology office, and as we passed the receptionist, I worried that she might know exactly what was going on. She said nothing, however; she just peered at us over the rim of her glasses and went back to typing. Dr. Owen and I walked by the doors to the offices of several other professors before reaching his. He unlocked the door and gestured for me to go in first. He closed the door behind him.

His office was tiny and unbelievably cluttered. I stood close to the door and waited for him to say or do something; instead, he looked at me quietly, apparently deep in thought.

Eventually, he said: “Well, Lily… What prompted you to put on that little show today?”

Shaking all over, with my mouth dry and my lungs empty, my eyes downcast, I whispered: “I’m sorry… I’m… I’m kind of attracted to you… I know you’re a professor and you’re married, but I just wanted….”

“Wanted what?”

I lowered my head in shame. This was a terrible idea, and I regretted it immensely. I was just about to tell Dr. Owen that, when he began speaking.

“Lily, I’m very flattered by your infatuation. I’m 48 years old, and it’s quite a boost to my ego when a student is infatuated with me.”

There was a tense pause, and I wondered if he was going to ask me to leave and not bother him anymore. Then again, he was the one who asked me to come to his office…

“Unbutton your blouse,” he said abruptly.

Stunned, I obeyed with shaking hands. He moved toward me, pushing the blouse off my shoulders. It fell to the paper-covered floor. The air conditioning made my nipples grow even harder than they already were. He closed a hand over my left breast, massaging it, and I felt my clitoris throbbing in my panties.

His other hand went to the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, as he moved his face down toward mine. He kissed me roughly, almost violently.. I tried to gasp, but it was impossible to get any air. My mouth opened under his, and I almost passively let him explore it with his tongue. This went on for a few minutes, his right hand alternately massaging each of my breasts, his left hand tangled in my hair, his mouth pressed hard against mine, his tongue deeply probing my mouth. I could feel his erection pressing against my stomach…

When he finally pulled away, I struggled to maintain consciousness as I gasped for air. He was taking off his suit jacket, throwing it on a chair.

“I need… to sit down…” I gasped, my senses reeling. I couldn’t believe this was real; it was finally happening, finally.

He smiled at me gently. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable on the floor for a few minutes?”

I practically collapsed to the floor; the scattered papers crumpled underneath me. Dr. Owen took a step toward me, gazing down on me. I looked up at him, and I realized what he wanted a split second before he said it.

“I want you to take off my belt and unzip my pants.”

I obeyed, and was rewarded with a very nice view of his cock straining against his briefs. It shocked me into a moment of inaction; I had never actually seen a penis before, only in pictures. I stared at his bulge in silence.

“Pull them down.” There was a hoarseness in his voice which I’d never heard there before, and it scared me a little.

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