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The Lonely Professor

Leanne doesn't think it fair for the professor to be lonely while she and Matt are so happy

The two students only moved in a month ago. Into the downstairs flat.

Love's Young Dream I called them. They're not married, but no-one is these days, are they? Not that age anyway. I found out they're not even twenty.

It's all so much freer than in my twenties, fifty years ago, or even when I became Professor. Yes, we held hands in public, and a man walked with an arm around his girl. Even then, the neighbours could look askance. But if I'd let an arm slide as far down my girl's back as that young man from downstairs... The girl's just the same.

To be honest, though, I rather like it. Times are different, and they look so innocent. Why shouldn't they clasp each other's bottoms if it makes them happy? I love to see them walking off down the street, carefree, belonging to each other. Like I say, Love's Young Dream. Come to think of it, I'd let a girl like that hold my bottom any day. Of course, you have to call them asses these days, don't you?

They're students at the university, where I was Professor till I retired fifteen years ago at sixty. They started coming to the Orb and Sceptre. That's where I came to know them better. So well, in fact, that Leanne asked if she could tell the story. I had no reservations about letting her. I'd be embarrassed to tell it myself. Even in my teaching and writing days I never wrote about penises, let alone my own, and as for young girls' attributes, well, it was embarrassing enough to write about bottoms. Suffice to say I was soon to feel young hands over more than just my ass. 

.............

Professor Rodney says I can tell you our story. I'm longing to. He's such a sweetie.

Matt and I'd just moved into the ground floor flat.

I'd known Matt was mine the moment I saw him, and it didn't take us long to find the flat and move in together. I've never been so much in love. Or so horny. It showed everywhere we went. His arm around my waist would never stay there without sliding down my back and resting on the cleavage he liked so much. I returned the compliment, holding his muscular, neat ass to show the world I owned it. It gave me tingles in all those places Mother never got round to telling me about.

We didn't care what the neighbours thought. Not that we saw much of them, except the quiet, friendly, white-haired gentleman from upstairs. He seemed lonely. He was always at his window as we went out. It was almost like he wished he was with us. I could feel his eyes as we walked away. I was sure they were following Matt's hand slinking over the small of my back to where it really wanted to be. I didn't mind the eyes any more than the hand. It's nice to be appreciated and he never looked greedily, just wistfully. A girl can tell these things even from behind.

He looked even lonelier in the Orb and Sceptre. We'd just settled at a table, Matt with his real ale, and me with what we could only call 'almost real' wine, and there he was, in a corner, still looking distinguished with his full head of hair and neat, goatee beard. One thing about him, he knew how to keep that hair clean and white.

I didn't feel we knew him well enough yet to invite him over. Matt hadn't spotted him.

"Don't look now," I said to Matt. "The man from upstairs. He's in the corner there."

"Let's ask him over."

"Wait, I've thought of something. Can I run it past you first?"

"Fire away."

"It's just, he always looks so lonely. And we have so much happiness."

"You can say that again."

"Can we share it with him? In a special way? Only... you must say if you don't want to."

It was warm. I was taking my coat off but did it in a way that 'accidentally' undid a couple of blouse buttons. No more than I could get away with in public, but so Matt could see a bit more than most. I also turned a little towards the man while apparently still intent on my wine. Out of the corner of my eye, I knew the man was looking at me. As usual, there was nothing predatory about his gaze, more wistful longing. As though remembering idylls from the past. I knew then what I wanted to do for him.

"Matt, can we invite him to the flat? Will you help me make him as happy as we make each other? Please?"

"Mmm, you've got that horny look about you. What are you scheming? If it's anything sexy I'm game. But you might have to help me get used to it."

Back home we sat on the sofa, me in the middle, basking in the admiration of an old man on one side and a young man on the other. Matt was already holding my hand. As I poured the professor some wine I reached over the coffee table. I leant far forward of where I needed, arching the small of my back inward, so the professor could see the curve of my back, and, as I knew he would, feast his eyes on the cleavage inside my skirt. I could feel his longing. I reached behind me and unzipped the skirt. I whispered to him, "You can," took his hand and placed it against the back of my panty.

I quickly looked round at Matt. He smiled and squeezed my hand. He was going to be on his best behaviour. After all, he was secure, no way was the Professor a rival.

But Rodney (I can't keep calling him the Professor) was behaving like no seventy-five-year-old in my experience. He had crept inside my panty. I lifted my ass so I was sitting on his hand, which knew exactly what to do. I lapped up the feeling as his fingers explored sensuously between my cheeks. I slid my panty off, took his other hand and set it ion my front.

This was an experienced old gentleman. Instantly his palm moulded itself to my mound, while a sinking fingertip sought and found a little but dizzyingly potent nub which must already have been in his imagination. It had taken Matt weeks to learn where that was. I guided the finger, fine-tuning it to an already well-intuited spot.

I put an arm around the Professor and whispered again, "Undress me."

I offered him my blouse so he could undo buttons and bra. Elegantly he bent and kissed each bared breast in turn. He saw my nipples harden and kissed again. His tongue traced the circle of areolae.

I took another sip of the red wine (not that I needed to, the responses of the two men to my body was enough of a turn-on without any extra aid). As I sipped the wine I 'accidentally' spilt drops on each breast. The professor licked them off then kissed my nipples again, slowly savouring their hardness.

Matt wasn't being left out. When I'd returned the glass he took my hand and placed it in his opened fly around his hard cock. Curiously I felt for the Professor's dick (he surely couldn't object by now) to see if it, too, was responding. It had the hardness, and size, of an eighteen-year-old's. Whether through the wine or the admiration I was becoming intoxicated. I stood up and dropped the few clothes that were left in a slow twirl of a striptease. Both men watched me, entranced, each totally unembarrassed in the presence of each other, the Professor transfixed with the grateful smile of an old man. I turned to him and slowly undressed him. I wondered how long it had been since anyone had seen his cock.

It was oddly different from Brian's. It had a quaint hint of a curve and a fleshy foreskin. Inquisitively I kissed the foreskin, occasioning a gratified and gratifying gasp. My tongue explored the veins and contours of this seventy-five-year-old but undeniably sprightly, dick. I was certain that Matt wouldn't mind. He knew his reward would come later.

I looked round at Matt. Far from minding, he was relishing his new role as voyeur. He too had undressed and was fingering his own cock, stroking his balls, indicating to me that I should stroke Rodney's in the same way. Matt was miming a lesson in male masturbation. Maybe they were things he'd wanted me to do to him but had never dared ask. Well, I knew now, and, boy, would he benefit? My fingers around Rodney's dick and balls followed Matt's instructions, ministering to the penis and balls, with an occasional deeper exploration that seemed to please him. I hadn't known men's ass holes were so sensitive. My only fear was that one of the men might come too soon. I wanted this to go on much longer. It looked like Rodney had many years of loneliness to catch up on.

So I gave the two men and my two hands a rest, while I stood up and danced, naked for them both. Feeling their eyes was a wild turn-on.

Silently I ordered them to sit one at each end of the sofa. Naked I lounged between them, my legs draped over Rodney's lap, deliciously vulnerable, my head in Matt's lap beside the dick I knew so well. 

I'd inspired the old Professor into feats of youthfulness. He bent his head over my belly and mound. Tentatively his tongue entered my vagina. Like his fingers his tongue knew exactly what to seek. It played around my clitoris for a few dizzying moments. I wanted to cry out. I think I did. Suddenly, uncontrollably, his tongue plunged deep into my vagina. Thirstily, as though after endless years of drought, he drank of my moisture, breathed in the musky, honeyed scent of me. He was all but eating the soft intimate flesh that was devouring his own senses as well as mine. So aroused was I that the scents of my arousal were even reaching me.

They must be reaching Matt too. My head still in his lap, I took his cock in my mouth and breathed the scent of aroused penis, and the warmth of his curly bush. It caused me to turn slightly, so Rodney was able to finger the ass that he'd watched so often and so longingly.

I gave myself to the sensation of the Professor's fingers, possessing me front and back, while Matt's worshipped my breast and proffered his cock to my mouth. I was high on the aroma of masculine sweat and sex, and wet with the juices of my cunt. 

All my feelings blended, floating in a cloud of scents and sensations. I looked down on our nakedness as though from the stars. Me and my two men, one at the start of his career, one at the end. Over fifty-five years separated them, and, spanning that half-century, like a bridge, were my body, mind and senses. I felt like Mother Nature herself.

But Rodney deserved more than this.

Turning fully onto my belly I drew my knees up, my ass offered high towards him. He kissed my cheeks and stroked a hand up each thigh. My eyes closed and I nearly fainted as his hands met between my legs.

Matt stood up, crossed the room and sat naked, facing us. Now he was the pure voyeur. As Rodney ministered to my doggy position with his hands, Matt played with his own dick. Not with the unthinking wildness of a schoolboy, but slowly savouring every move like the connoisseur of sensuality he is; one who loves and cherishes his cock, massaging it with the sophisticated control I have taught him, aware of every ripple and vein, and every response to the foreplay he was watching.

A thought occurred to him. He stood up, took something from a drawer and presented it to Rodney. I looked round. Carefully, with nurse-like tenderness, Matt was rolling a condom onto Rodney's cock, bless him.

Rodney took his place again behind my 'doggy'. Now I felt his hands against my cheeks but this time what was teasing my labia was no finger, but the Professor's penis, hard and throbbing after goodness knows how many years of loneliness and neglect. I thrust my ass luxuriantly upwards, offering the cock a home in my hot, wet, equally throbbing vagina, challenging him to come deeper, then receding so he would tickle my clit again with the tip of his ravenous dick. His foreskin was sensitive even in its protective sheath. At first I thought there was no way a seventy-five-year-old could free his hands to clasp my breasts the way I loved Matt to do. But again, I was wrong. It was my turn to gasp as a hand closed over each boob, pulsing to the rhythm of the thrusting cock.

I'd had to teach Matt how to behave after a climax. Some good teacher must have had Rodney under her wing in the past because after a climax which more than carried me away with it, he stayed inside me. I still don't know how he did it but he manoeuvred me so we were lying alongside each other with his cock inside me, gradually subsiding. My feelings weren't, I was still up there in space. He understood. With the grace and gallantry of a rococo Austrian count, he motioned to Matt. He needed no words. Matt took his place, laid himself on top of me, clasped both my hands and, this time without condom, finished what the Professor had started, bringing me to three more climaxes before allowing himself a fulfilment even more noisy than my own.

Unsure as to the appropriate small-talk after such a tripartite engagement, we invited the Professor to dinner the next evening. When he'd retired upstairs, I asked Matt, puzzled, "Just what were you doing behind us all the time? Watching, or a bit more? Be honest."

Matt blushed silently for some time before mumbling, "Well, I've never done it before. Not to a man, I mean. But I was...er...I was...fingering the Professor's ass."

So it wasn't just me. We were all learning something new every day. And not just in the lecture theatre.

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Copyright © all stories under the name of cornodamore are my own original work, and entirely fictitious.

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