Double Dirty Mountain Men(21)

I’ve jerked off so much thinking about her that my cock is probably developing callouses.

At eight exactly, my doorbell rings. It’s Todd, followed shortly by Ben, and I welcome them both in.

“The hot chocolate is ready and on the stove,” I say. “Cookies are already in the living room, make yourselves comfortable.”

“Thanks,” they say, almost in unison, looking around at my house. Most undergrads are a little nervous their first time here, but it’s understandable.

Doorbell again. It’s Anna, my third advisee, who’s wearing so many sweaters I can barely identify her as human. Still, she’s a nice young lady who’s very smart and driven.

The four of us sit in the living room, sipping hot chocolate and eating cookies that I bought earlier today. After a few minutes of trying not to talk about school, I give up and ask Todd how his thesis is going.

He pushes his glasses up his nose.

“Quite well, I think,” he says. “I’ve identified all the primary sources needed to—”

The doorbell rings again, and I practically leap out of my seat.

“I’ll be right back,” I say.

It’s finally Melody, and when I open the door she’s looking up at me with her wide blue eyes, cheeks rosy from the cold, something about her the perfect mix of innocent and downright sinful.

“Welcome,” I say.

“Hello, Professor,” she says, her voice breathy.

I step back and she enters. She doesn’t look around like the others did, only at me. Like she’s expecting something.

Like she wants something and doesn’t know how to ask for it.

“Hot chocolate’s in the kitchen,” I say, forcing myself to stay in control. “We’re in the living room.”

She swallows, then smiles.

“Thanks,” she says.

I sit back down with the others and don’t hear a word they say. It’s an excruciating ninety minutes.



The students all get up and start to leave as a unit, the four of them rising and putting on their coats. We say goodbye, and I walk them to the door.

I don’t want to say goodbye to Melody. I want her to stay here and bend over the couch, but there’s no way I can ask her to stay without seeming suspicious, and I have everything on the line. My entire career, which is essentially my life.

“I’ll see you all next week?” I ask as the students leave in a mass.

“Yes,” they chorus, and then step onto my porch. They go down the steps.

Melody stops, like she’s thought of something, and turns around.

“I forgot my scarf!” she says, and laughs.

“We can wait,” Anna offers.

Melody waves one hand.

“Go on ahead, I’ll be fine,” she says.

The others shrug and walk on, and Melody turns to me, her breath frosting in the cold air, everything I want and absolutely can’t have.

“I think it’s in the living room,” she says, suddenly shy again.

I gesture at the open door, and she walks past me. She picks her scarf up from the couch where she was sitting and looks at me, running it through her fingers.

“You never did tell me what you want to write your thesis about,” I say.

She bites her lower lip, looking down.

“I wanted to write something about Roman mores surrounding marriage and sexuality,” she says, her voice soft, nearly a whisper. The fire crackles. “Particularly on women’s sexuality.”

Right now, she’s so shy and demure that I almost can’t believe what she’s saying, but there it is.

Tell her what books to read and then show her the door, I tell myself. You can’t risk this.

“I’ve got something you might like to see,” I say, my voice dangerously low, even to my own ears. “If you can keep a secret, that is.”

She turns bright pink but unzips her coat, placing it on the couch.

“Of course,” she says, glancing up at me with positively sinful eyes.

I lead her to my study, a simple, small room with a desk, an office chair, and a big leather recliner that’s perfect for reading. The walls are lined with books and one cabinet, and it’s the cabinet I walk to.

“It’s not exactly appropriate for me to share this with a student,” I say, opening the cabinet. “But I’ll make an exception for you.”

I pull open the drawer with the Roman pornography in it. Not original, of course; reproductions. Melody laughs a little, then picks up a heavy, large book and opens it.

It’s a full-page, full-color illustration of a man and a woman on a couch, the woman riding the man’s cock and touching herself.

“Oh,” she says, sounding a little surprised.

Then she flips the page. There’s a woman on her hands and knees, one man fucking her from behind, another man’s cock in her mouth.

Melody clears her throat.

“Modern people didn’t invent dirty sex,” I say, grinning wickedly.

Now I’m afraid that I’ve gone too far, that she’ll leave here and tell the dean that I showed a young, female student porn.

“Of course not,” she says, flicking her eyes up to mine, a smile in them. “Humans have always loved anything that feels good.”

Melody flips another page, this one with two women, one’s face buried in the other’s crotch. She stops for a moment, then clears her throat, staring blankly at the page, her face bright pink. I’m so close to her I can smell her floral shampoo, feel the heat rolling off her perfect tight body.

I’m hard as fuck, my cock tenting up my pants so obviously that there’s no hiding it. Melody glances down at it for a split second, then looks up at me, and I swear her eyes are equal parts lust and nervousness.

“Have you ever tried any of these things with anybody before?” she whispers.





Chapter 5





Melody




I think I might puke. Have you ever tried any of these things with anybody, what kind of stupid, terrible question is that?

Professor Sharpe is in his late thirties and hot as hell. I’m sure he’s had sex before, and I’m so embarrassed that I just look down at the book, wishing I could melt into the floor.

He just chuckles.

“A few,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.

He’s looking down at me, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity I can’t begin to explain. Then his face gets serious.

“But never a student.”

I hold my breath, and just nod. The message is clear: Professor Sharpe isn’t interested in students, so I close the book and put it back in the drawer, then turn to leave.

I’m nearly to the door of the study when I hear his voice again.

“Melody,” he says.

I turn, embarrassed and horny all at once. I wish he’d just let me leave so I could go home, masturbate, and then never look another human in the eye again.

Professor Sharpe walks toward me, his body big and powerful, his enormous erection beyond obvious under his pants.

“Yes?” I whisper.

Now he’s towering over me, and I feel like I’m melting.

“I could get fired if I touched a student,” he says, his voice a growl. “Everything I’ve ever worked for, out the window.”

I just nod.

“I understand,” I mutter. “I’m sorry, it was —”

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” he says. “Look at me.”

I look up, face burning, eyes pricking with embarrassed tears.

“Unbutton your blouse,” he whispers.

I stare at him for a few seconds. My heart thumps so hard it sounds like a door slamming in my chest, because I was certain I was about to get the brush off, that he was about to tell me that I was a nice girl but he wasn’t interested.

My hands are trembling, but I undo the top button, then the next, then the next. I’m a little embarrassed at the white lacy bra I wore tonight — not particularly scandalous, but the sexiest thing I own — but he groans at the sight, steadying himself against a bookshelf with one hand.

Soon my whole shirt is unbuttoned to the waist, and I run my fingers lightly over my breasts, trying to tease him even though I’ve never teased anyone like this before.

“Touch yourself,” he commands.

I pinch my nipples through my bra until they’re hard, then push the cups below the fullness of my breasts. Professor Sharpe flexes his jaw and sucks in a breath as I pinch my rosy, pebbled nipples between my fingers, looking up at him.

“Tell me what you think about when you touch yourself,” he orders, his voice quiet and dangerous.

I swallow hard. I feel almost lightheaded in this moment, pinching my own nipples at his command.

“You,” I whisper.

“Go on.”

“I think about — the things you could do to me,” I go on, not really sure how. “I think about you undressing me, and, um, looking at me, and I think about you...”

I blush even harder and swallow.

“Touching me,” I finish, my voice nearly a whisper.

“Touching you where?”

“Down on... my vagina,” I say.

He grins, the smile wicked and sexy and sinful all at once.

“Do you think about me licking your sweet little clit until you come, then fucking you with my tongue up your pussy and drinking your honey until you come again?” he says.

My pussy throbs at the thought, but I’m so surprised that he said it that I stop moving my hands. No one’s ever talked to me like this before. Not even close.