Student Stud VI by Marmaduke
My husband enjoys letting me fuck my horny college students. Unfortunately, all good things come to an end, and my steadiest fuck, Alex, a great looking stud with a huge, perfect cock, graduated and moved out of state. He has only been able to come back once about every two weeks to take care of me. The last time we spent a whole weekend in a hotel together, but that is the subject of another tale. I still have a little "lap dog" named Jim, who I allow to lap my pussy when I get in the mood, but his cock doesn't get me off any better than my husbands, although they are both of decent size. I have been spoiled by Alex's big tool, and its absence made me crazy for about the first two months. I'll let Jim lap me about twice a week, even though he begs me every day, and my husband eats me the other days of the week that Alex isn't around. Both Jim and my husband enjoy hearing about my adventures with Alex while they go down on me. In fact, they usually masturbate and get off on the floor while getting me off, but lately I have gotten so tired of repeating every detail of my trysts with Alex that I have taken to writing these archives and simply letting each of them read about what I did over a weekend with my lover. As the reader of this you may enj oy this kind adventure, so I am making these available to you, too.
It was once my policy to only recruit the most interesting and sexy of my college students to satisfy my cravings, but the absence of Alex has put this form of semi-abstinence in a new light for me. I find my eyes wandering across the most unlikely pairs of blue jeans in the hallways and classrooms of my fine institution of higher learning. The other professors and administrators who ask me out for lunches and informal dates think I am happily married and have no interest in them. They are right on both counts, but they have no idea of the happy hunting grounds my classrooms have become for my constantly wet and burning desire to be fulfilled. The third month following Alex's departure led me on an odyssey of sexual discovery that has nearly been the ruination of my career, but one which I wouldn't trade for the world.
I knew I needed a cock like Alex's, attached to an athletic body. I knew I loved lots of cum and lots of attention, and the donor of both would be a young male who was crazy in lust with me, and who I could count on to never say a word to anyone about my "desires." I therefore embarked upon a kind of policy of "tryouts" before I committed myself to another disappointment like Jim, whose greatest attribute was that he stumbled in on Alex and me one day, and whose silence has been procured by my continual allowance of his kneeling fetishism. For the sake of clarity I ought to mention now that there are a few things about Alex which bother me. Physically he is perfect, and how this can be a drawback is a kind of irony, because it is exactly that physical perfection which permits him to get any girl he looks at. It is also the reason he can refuse to entertain my desire to sleep with two men at once, and it is why he does things like pinch my nipples and take control of my mouth. These are all things I enjoy, and when he "takes control" of me it is almost enough to bring me to orgasm right then and there. But I am looking for a different kind of relationship in this new adventure. I am looking for a guy that I don't have to worry about leaving me, as Alex has, and one whose primary avocation should be the pleasuring of my lower hole only, and only through incredible and talented penetration.
In short, my goal was to find a younger, less attractive, fuck-addicted, discreet guy, who I still find cute, who still has Alex's prowess in bed, and who will follow me to the end of the earth if and when I choose to ask him.
Usually these "tryouts", as I call them, occurred in a secluded setting, say, a quiet after-class conference in either a long-since-emptied classroom, or even behind the closed door of my office. I preferred the former, but the latter proved an aphrodisiac unmatched by anything heretofore, i.e., the quiet desperation of a young man's orgasm in near silence was blissful, as detection from passers-by was such a distinct possibility. You see, what I had learned from young Jim, and later my own husband, was that I enjoyed watching males masturbate. Not just any males, but the ones fitting my well-considered profile. I had decided that I was tired of seeing the less-than-adequate ones jerk off at my feet. If they were going to do it they were going to do it right; where I could plainly see it, and judge both equipment and enthusiasm for myself close up. Usually, the topic would change from sociology, the class I teach, to academics in general, then to talk of a personal nature. Usually a little repartee about a student's love-life from an attractive female professor brought on a mixture of confused and hopeful responses. The boys never knew if I was willing to help as a therapist or provide the sexual relief they sought every time they masturbated thinking about me back in the dormitory bathroom. Gradually, I could get my interviewee to admit to some lack of sexual satisfaction. If they didn't I simply went on to the next candidate. The ideal candidate was one who not only was frustrated with how fast things were going in the dating world, but one who was masturbating frequently. When I could get one to do that I knew chances were that if they weren't masturbating thinking about me they soon would be. I had as many six boys talking with me about masturbating during a single week, and that is how the game would start to take on a life of its own. Soon, the more desperate among them would start hanging around after class, often until everyone was finally gone, as long as an hour and a half in some cases. Others would schedule office hours with me so they could get me alone that way. Eventually the conversations would come back to the same things: sexual dissatisfaction and the desire to masturbate incessantly.
That is when I would suggest there was something they could do to "help" the situation if they promised to keep my suggestion absolutely confidential. I told them "in so many words" that it was a psychological fact that if they "shared" the experience with someone close to them that it would relieve the tension and guilt that tends to build up from the practice of masturbating too much. After a little more talking about what "sharing" meant and who the potential candidates in their lives might be, it was universally true that they absolutely "knew" in their hearts that there was only one person with enough understanding and interest in them to be a good candidate without thinking that they were strange or perverted.
It would usually start by me complimenting how I thought their body was "probably very sexy with all the clothes off of it" and how I would enjoy "participating" in their private pleasures. Usually I could get them to entirely disrobe as I sat comfortably in my office chair.
I would say to them "now pretend I'm not even here, I want to enjoy the complete act as you do it every day." I had a great time watching all manners of masturbating techniques known to man, and since to woman. These "tryouts" rendered some amazing performances.
I had young men with little penises, large penises, boys who could only masturbate standing up, sitting down, with a tube of lubricant, with fingers up their posteriors, with tons of foreskin, with none, with grunts, groans, long shots, shots only into Kleenex, some who used only two fingers, some who used their off-dominant hand, one who would spit on to his cock every twenty seconds with astounding accuracy, ones who would apologize for coming, others who would come on the desk right in front of me. And then there was Justin.
Justin had the right combination of everything for me. I knew the first time I saw that cock. Justin was nineteen and had had just one girlfriend who teased him for years and who he was in the process of breaking up with. He didn't look like a film star but he had a cute, shy way about him. He was about five feet eleven inches tall and was tanned and slightly muscled without being really bulky. He had light brown hair and blue eyes. When he first pulled out his penis it was rock hard and as large as the largest I had seen. He even had length over Alex. When he masturbated he would flex up his whole body and vigorously flog his penis with his eyes shut tight. His other hand would cup and stroke his balls. When he got close to shooting he would all but stop his wrist from moving and thrust his pelvis forward holding his hand in a vagina-like grip. Muscles bulged out of his thighs and his stomach became completely lined as he would shoot jets on my desk in front of me, and the very first time, on my dress. That first day he apologized for hitting my dress I knew he would be all mine. As a few of the boys managed, Justin also kept his hard-on even after shooting so much cum that it took eight Kleenexes to sop it up. I told him right then that if he could keep a secret I would like to "help" him a little further. As he nodded, I couldn't resist the temptation and lifted my dress to reveal my pantiless state. As I slipped up on to the desk I asked if he thought he could repeat his act with a "live target". I spread wide and got my now dripping pussy to the edge of the desk, and inch or two from his still throbbing cock. His eyes never moved from in between my neat bikini lines as he took aim and began to stroke again. It had only been about a minute from when he had deposited his massive desktop-load. Within another minute his balls had produced five more thick white jets of come covering my stomach, thighs and clit. During his last few thrusts the head of his penis had just grazed the outer parts of my open pussy lips at which point I began to cream without a hand on me. I wasn't in control of myself as I moved my own right index finger to my clit and began sliding it back and forth between the already pulsating petal and my open hole where I was depositing thick loads of Justin's cream. He was smiling ear-to-ear as he asked is I had cum, too. I told him that I thought it would help him if he knew how sexy I thought his little show was, so I just "let it happen". I looked down at his amazing cock and noticed that it was a good six-inches in its limp state. He also had relatively little pubic hair and his scrotal sack hung down almost as low as his penis, except it didn't sag, it was simply that big. The head of his cock was slightly larger than the rest of it and was separated by a nice circumcision scar which created the friction ridge I love so much about Alex. He immediately suggested, no begged, we meet that evening for dinner but instead I made a date for the next day, Saturday, "to explore his frustrations some more in an out-of-town hotel room. He was dancing on air as he left my office.
When I got home that afternoon my husband had come home early from work to hear my latest story while he licked my cream. I was still very horny as I spread my legs and laid back on the couch. I had cleaned all the evidence off my body because I don't really go for any of that "clean-up routine" he had asked me about before. In fact, when he began to probe my hole with his tongue and asked me "where the evidence was" I told him storytime was over, that he could read about it on the net with everybody else.
My husband enjoys letting me fuck my horny college students. Unfortunately, all good things come to an end, and my steadiest fuck, Alex, a great looking stud with a huge, perfect cock, graduated and moved out of state. He has only been able to come back once about every two weeks to take care of me. The last time we spent a whole weekend in a hotel together, but that is the subject of another tale. I still have a little "lap dog" named Jim, who I allow to lap my pussy when I get in the mood, but his cock doesn't get me off any better than my husbands, although they are both of decent size. I have been spoiled by Alex's big tool, and its absence made me crazy for about the first two months. I'll let Jim lap me about twice a week, even though he begs me every day, and my husband eats me the other days of the week that Alex isn't around. Both Jim and my husband enjoy hearing about my adventures with Alex while they go down on me. In fact, they usually masturbate and get off on the floor while getting me off, but lately I have gotten so tired of repeating every detail of my trysts with Alex that I have taken to writing these archives and simply letting each of them read about what I did over a weekend with my lover. As the reader of this you may enj oy this kind adventure, so I am making these available to you, too.
It was once my policy to only recruit the most interesting and sexy of my college students to satisfy my cravings, but the absence of Alex has put this form of semi-abstinence in a new light for me. I find my eyes wandering across the most unlikely pairs of blue jeans in the hallways and classrooms of my fine institution of higher learning. The other professors and administrators who ask me out for lunches and informal dates think I am happily married and have no interest in them. They are right on both counts, but they have no idea of the happy hunting grounds my classrooms have become for my constantly wet and burning desire to be fulfilled. The third month following Alex's departure led me on an odyssey of sexual discovery that has nearly been the ruination of my career, but one which I wouldn't trade for the world.
I knew I needed a cock like Alex's, attached to an athletic body. I knew I loved lots of cum and lots of attention, and the donor of both would be a young male who was crazy in lust with me, and who I could count on to never say a word to anyone about my "desires." I therefore embarked upon a kind of policy of "tryouts" before I committed myself to another disappointment like Jim, whose greatest attribute was that he stumbled in on Alex and me one day, and whose silence has been procured by my continual allowance of his kneeling fetishism. For the sake of clarity I ought to mention now that there are a few things about Alex which bother me. Physically he is perfect, and how this can be a drawback is a kind of irony, because it is exactly that physical perfection which permits him to get any girl he looks at. It is also the reason he can refuse to entertain my desire to sleep with two men at once, and it is why he does things like pinch my nipples and take control of my mouth. These are all things I enjoy, and when he "takes control" of me it is almost enough to bring me to orgasm right then and there. But I am looking for a different kind of relationship in this new adventure. I am looking for a guy that I don't have to worry about leaving me, as Alex has, and one whose primary avocation should be the pleasuring of my lower hole only, and only through incredible and talented penetration.
In short, my goal was to find a younger, less attractive, fuck-addicted, discreet guy, who I still find cute, who still has Alex's prowess in bed, and who will follow me to the end of the earth if and when I choose to ask him.
Usually these "tryouts", as I call them, occurred in a secluded setting, say, a quiet after-class conference in either a long-since-emptied classroom, or even behind the closed door of my office. I preferred the former, but the latter proved an aphrodisiac unmatched by anything heretofore, i.e., the quiet desperation of a young man's orgasm in near silence was blissful, as detection from passers-by was such a distinct possibility. You see, what I had learned from young Jim, and later my own husband, was that I enjoyed watching males masturbate. Not just any males, but the ones fitting my well-considered profile. I had decided that I was tired of seeing the less-than-adequate ones jerk off at my feet. If they were going to do it they were going to do it right; where I could plainly see it, and judge both equipment and enthusiasm for myself close up. Usually, the topic would change from sociology, the class I teach, to academics in general, then to talk of a personal nature. Usually a little repartee about a student's love-life from an attractive female professor brought on a mixture of confused and hopeful responses. The boys never knew if I was willing to help as a therapist or provide the sexual relief they sought every time they masturbated thinking about me back in the dormitory bathroom. Gradually, I could get my interviewee to admit to some lack of sexual satisfaction. If they didn't I simply went on to the next candidate. The ideal candidate was one who not only was frustrated with how fast things were going in the dating world, but one who was masturbating frequently. When I could get one to do that I knew chances were that if they weren't masturbating thinking about me they soon would be. I had as many six boys talking with me about masturbating during a single week, and that is how the game would start to take on a life of its own. Soon, the more desperate among them would start hanging around after class, often until everyone was finally gone, as long as an hour and a half in some cases. Others would schedule office hours with me so they could get me alone that way. Eventually the conversations would come back to the same things: sexual dissatisfaction and the desire to masturbate incessantly.
That is when I would suggest there was something they could do to "help" the situation if they promised to keep my suggestion absolutely confidential. I told them "in so many words" that it was a psychological fact that if they "shared" the experience with someone close to them that it would relieve the tension and guilt that tends to build up from the practice of masturbating too much. After a little more talking about what "sharing" meant and who the potential candidates in their lives might be, it was universally true that they absolutely "knew" in their hearts that there was only one person with enough understanding and interest in them to be a good candidate without thinking that they were strange or perverted.
It would usually start by me complimenting how I thought their body was "probably very sexy with all the clothes off of it" and how I would enjoy "participating" in their private pleasures. Usually I could get them to entirely disrobe as I sat comfortably in my office chair.
I would say to them "now pretend I'm not even here, I want to enjoy the complete act as you do it every day." I had a great time watching all manners of masturbating techniques known to man, and since to woman. These "tryouts" rendered some amazing performances.
I had young men with little penises, large penises, boys who could only masturbate standing up, sitting down, with a tube of lubricant, with fingers up their posteriors, with tons of foreskin, with none, with grunts, groans, long shots, shots only into Kleenex, some who used only two fingers, some who used their off-dominant hand, one who would spit on to his cock every twenty seconds with astounding accuracy, ones who would apologize for coming, others who would come on the desk right in front of me. And then there was Justin.
Justin had the right combination of everything for me. I knew the first time I saw that cock. Justin was nineteen and had had just one girlfriend who teased him for years and who he was in the process of breaking up with. He didn't look like a film star but he had a cute, shy way about him. He was about five feet eleven inches tall and was tanned and slightly muscled without being really bulky. He had light brown hair and blue eyes. When he first pulled out his penis it was rock hard and as large as the largest I had seen. He even had length over Alex. When he masturbated he would flex up his whole body and vigorously flog his penis with his eyes shut tight. His other hand would cup and stroke his balls. When he got close to shooting he would all but stop his wrist from moving and thrust his pelvis forward holding his hand in a vagina-like grip. Muscles bulged out of his thighs and his stomach became completely lined as he would shoot jets on my desk in front of me, and the very first time, on my dress. That first day he apologized for hitting my dress I knew he would be all mine. As a few of the boys managed, Justin also kept his hard-on even after shooting so much cum that it took eight Kleenexes to sop it up. I told him right then that if he could keep a secret I would like to "help" him a little further. As he nodded, I couldn't resist the temptation and lifted my dress to reveal my pantiless state. As I slipped up on to the desk I asked if he thought he could repeat his act with a "live target". I spread wide and got my now dripping pussy to the edge of the desk, and inch or two from his still throbbing cock. His eyes never moved from in between my neat bikini lines as he took aim and began to stroke again. It had only been about a minute from when he had deposited his massive desktop-load. Within another minute his balls had produced five more thick white jets of come covering my stomach, thighs and clit. During his last few thrusts the head of his penis had just grazed the outer parts of my open pussy lips at which point I began to cream without a hand on me. I wasn't in control of myself as I moved my own right index finger to my clit and began sliding it back and forth between the already pulsating petal and my open hole where I was depositing thick loads of Justin's cream. He was smiling ear-to-ear as he asked is I had cum, too. I told him that I thought it would help him if he knew how sexy I thought his little show was, so I just "let it happen". I looked down at his amazing cock and noticed that it was a good six-inches in its limp state. He also had relatively little pubic hair and his scrotal sack hung down almost as low as his penis, except it didn't sag, it was simply that big. The head of his cock was slightly larger than the rest of it and was separated by a nice circumcision scar which created the friction ridge I love so much about Alex. He immediately suggested, no begged, we meet that evening for dinner but instead I made a date for the next day, Saturday, "to explore his frustrations some more in an out-of-town hotel room. He was dancing on air as he left my office.
When I got home that afternoon my husband had come home early from work to hear my latest story while he licked my cream. I was still very horny as I spread my legs and laid back on the couch. I had cleaned all the evidence off my body because I don't really go for any of that "clean-up routine" he had asked me about before. In fact, when he began to probe my hole with his tongue and asked me "where the evidence was" I told him storytime was over, that he could read about it on the net with everybody else.
