My cock was jutting out longer and harder than it ever had in my life. Professor Milford, kneeling before me, reached out and grabbed the shaft from underneath. Her fingers were smooth and cool, and I sucked in my breath at her touch. Her red fingernails stood out in stark contrast to the smooth pink skin of my shaft. She began slowly stroking it, forward and backwards.
She looked me dead in the eyes. "I want you to cum all over my glasses," she said throatily, with a nasty gleam in her eyes. "I want you to drench me with a nice big load of your hot cum. I want you to soak me like the slut that I am!" She kept executing long, slow strokes up and down my shaft as she spoke.
The feeling was incredible; it was like electrical jolts were leaping from her talented fingertips to the flesh of my cock. And staring down into her eyes, wild and needful behind her glasses, made the feeling all the more intense.
"Give me your jizz, Patrick! Shoot it all over my face. Cover my glasses with your big load of spunk!" She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with her middle finger and stared all the more intently at the business end of my dick.
She nestled my taut scrotum in the palm of one hand, gently jostling my gonads, while her other hand continued to jack up and down my shaft. Each time her hand came to my cock head, she gave it a twist, stimulating the sensitive rim, and sending shivers up and down my spine. I could feel my knees getting weaker with each stroke. My thighs were starting to throb and my hips were beginning to buck.
She moved her face closer to the spongy head of my buzzing penis. She extended the tip of her tongue and lightly licked the gaping slit. "Give it to me, Patrick. Shoot that big load all over my glasses and all over my face. Frost me like a birthday cake! Treat me like the cumslut that I am!"
My head was reeling and my heart was pounding; sweat was breaking out on my brow and my cock felt like it was caught between Heaven and Hell, ready for judgment day! I needed release, and I knew it wouldn't be long in coming....
************************
Today had started like an ordinary day; like any other day in the life of a nerdy college sophomore. I had woken up late, as usual, and barely made it to my first morning class, Finance 250, before the buzzer. I struggled to keep my eyes open and take notes. Then a mad race across campus to my Accounting 221 class; more tedium. A hasty lunch on the Quad, then afternoon classes and some studying at the library. Then, finally, back to the dorm for dinner in the cafeteria.
I had dinner with my roommate Stuart, as usual. We bitched about classes and gossiped about our classmates. Then Stuart nudged my arm and pointed with his eyes across the room.
"There she is. Mary Sue."
I looked. Sure enough, it was Mary Sue Henderson. Both of us were in love with Mary Sue. We didn't consider it an official dinner until we spotted her across the cafeteria. She was so cute, and sweet, and kind to everyone. Blonde and stacked and dimpled and beautiful. She was sitting by herself, reading a sociology book while eating her dinner. She was wearing a fuzzy pink sweater that emphasized her voluptuous figure. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was perfect.
"Why don't you go talk to her?"
"Why don't YOU go talk to her?" I said. "You chicken?"
Stuart was as big of a dork as I was. We both knew that neither of us had the balls to talk to the beautiful Mary Sue. But we were happy to admire her from afar.
"Ohmigod, ohmigod... She's coming this way!" Stuart dropped his voice to a whisper. "Don't look," he said.
But I was already staring, my mouth open, my forkful of food suspended in mid-air. I tried to look away but she had already caught my eye. It was too late.
"Hi Patrick!" she said in the sweetest voice in the world as she approached our table. "How's classes and stuff?"
All I could do was gulp and mumble. "Mmmm, uhhh, okay I guess?" Then I looked down at my plate.
Mary Sue rolled her eyes and shook her head. "See you guys later!" And she strode on out of the cafeteria.
"You dork! That was your shot! You blew it!"
"I know. God, I am such a loser!"
"Don't worry. Stick with me and I'll teach you all about talking to women."
It was my turn to roll my eyes. "I could use a beer. Let's go down to The Minnow."
An hour later, we were at the dive bar near campus known as The Minnow. This is not a fancy place. It's a place with cheap drinks for people who feel like getting drunk. It was exactly what we needed at the moment. After a few beers, we were both feeling better about ourselves.
"I wish there was a team of cheerleaders in here tonight," said Stuart. "Because I would march right over and ask every one of them out!"
"Yeah, and every one of them would turn you down!"
"No matter. I've got confidence. That's what counts."
"What you've got is called Liquid Courage. It will evaporate as soon as you sober up."
"Well what about you? How's your confidence."
I thought for a moment. Maybe it was just the beer, but I was feeling more confident. "I think I've got a modicum of confidence. Better than before, anyway."
Stuart looked around, searching for a woman to turn me loose on. There were slim pickings. This was not the kind of establishment that coeds hang out in. But there was one older woman sitting at the bar nursing a drink alone. He motioned with his head in her direction. "What about that one?"
I looked her over. She was a bit past her sell-by date, but still had a decent shape. Her hair was a blend of black and gray, and she was showing a bit of crinkly cleavage. She was wearing thick black librarian-style glasses and had bright red fingernails. Then I realized that I knew her; she had been my professor in an English class my freshman year! What was a faculty member doing in a townie bar?
Stuart stood up, a bit wobbly. "I gotta take a leak. Why don't you go talk to the old broad? It will help your confidence." Then he shuffled off towards the back of the room.
I glanced toward the woman. She had caught me looking at her, and now she caught my gaze. She pointed at me, and made a "come here" motion with her index finger.
I raised my eyebrows and pointed at my chest, who me? She nodded and patted the empty bar stool next to her. Remembering my modicum of confidence, I thought, why not? I got up and went to sit down next to her. She had a glass of yellowish liquor and an ashtray full of cigarette butts in front of her. She smelled of smoke and licorice.
"Do I know you?" she asked, slightly slurring her words.
"Yes, Professor Milford. You were my instructor for English Composition last year."
"Oh. Did you pass?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"What's your name?"
"Patrick."
"Patrick.... Doesn't ring a bell. But no matter." She looked me up and down. Her head was tilted, like she was thinking about something. Then she seemed to come to a decision. "What are you drinking, Patrick?"
"Just beer, ma'am."
"Barkeep! Another Pernod over here, and a draft for my friend." She stubbed out her cigarette and lit another one. "What are you studying, Patrick?"
"Um, accounting."
"Accounting. That sounds very tedious. But maybe you find your excitement in other areas of your life?"
"Ma'am?" Even though she was old enough to be my mother's older sister, I still felt excited being near her; the smell of booze on her breath, her shiny nylons and her high heels, the ashtray full of cigarette butts; it was all so... mature!
She was staring at me over her sexy librarian glasses. "So tell me, Patrick. When was the last time you had an orgasm?"
"Umm, a few days ago." I don't know why I answered such a personal question. Something about her unvarnished frankness made me feel like being completely open with her.