How are you coming along with the grading? Faith’s text floats on the screen. I debate not answering. If I get into a conversation with her about the fact that I am making very little progress on the stack of final papers...well, I will make even less progress on the stack of final papers.

I don’t like grading. It’s certainly not the reading that’s the problem. I love to read student writing. And I love offering up suggestions, praise, and even pointing out what we euphemistically call “areas for growth.” For good papers. Even for pretty good papers. But reading the truly bad papers, the ones written by bruhs who don’t care, is like breaking rocks.

On top of that, I am the world’s sixth-worst procrastinator. I could have been the first-worst, but they had already awarded that when I showed up. Every December and every April it's the same story–I put off grading till the last possible second, then have to pull an all-nighter in my office on the last Friday of the term to get through the final dozen papers.

This year is no different. Finals ended two days ago. The campus is deserted. The row of frat house windows that face my office across the vast parking lot are mostly dark and quiet. Very few of them are waiting to hear what I thought of their exploration of media ethics.

I’m killing it. 4 more to go! That’s a lie–I have eight more to go. I change the subject. How’s girls-night-out going?

Faith doesn’t answer (which is a sort of answer) so I pick up my pencil and turn back to the paper on my desk.This one is a slog: short on punctuation and research, long on filler. I put a C- on the top, struggle to find some nice comment to balance out my criticisms, and move it to the done stack. Seven to go. I decide to reward myself before reading the next one by walking to the vending machine for a candy bar.

I’m squeezing quarters into the machine when my phone flashes again. A young guy was hitting on me all night. Very cute. I got horny so I left. How many papers do you have left?

Three. That sounds hot. Maybe when I crawl into bed later you can tell me about him. She loves to tease me when I’m working late. I admit, it sometimes helps me to pick up the pace.

Aren’t you in your office now?

I bite the corner off the Hershey bar and start back down the hall. Yes. Still grading.

I can’t see you.

I step up my pace and walk into my office and look down at the parking lot. There are only five or six cars in the lot. One is mine. Right beneath my fourth-story window a compact car has slid into the closest spot but its bright headlights make it impossible to see inside.

I reach for my phone. I don’t see your car. Did you get a ride? I’m guessing she had a few too many and one of her friends is dropping her here so I can drive her the rest of the way home. I reach for my jacket and keys. Give me 3 minutes and I’ll be out.

I see you now. Don’t come out. The little car’s headlights switch off and I can see two people in the front seat. Since I’m looking down on them, the angle makes it hard to see faces. But I can see a woman in a low-cut blouse in the passenger seat. She has one hand in the driver’s lap.

I hope you don’t spend all night grading, she texts. You’ll miss all the fun. Faith leans forward and looks up at me through the windshield and puts her phone, screen still lit up, on the dashboard. She taps the screen then leans over to the driver and I see her hand go for his zipper. My phone begins to ring.

I turn off my desk lamp and spin my chair to the window. When I’m seated, I tap to answer the call. “Hi honey. Hi whoever is with honey.”

I see her lean back to the phone a little. “Can you see his cock?” Faith speaks to the driver. “Raise your hips so he can see your big cock.”

With the angle and the steering wheel, I can’t really see it. But I know to take her word for it.

Faith takes the phone from the dash and I see the light disappear into his lap. “Well I hope you don’t mind if I wait here for you.” She pauses to noisily slurp for several seconds. “Mmm, that’s so big. I can’t even get all of it in my mouth.” She tries again and comes up gagging. “Do you want me to hang up so you can grade, honey?”

“Nope. I do not.” I’m straining to see more than her back and glimpses of her head as she bobs on his cock.

“OK,” she pants. “You work and listen to me play.” For a few minutes, I can hear her slurping and him groaning.

He says something I can’t make out and the slurping stops. “Brad wants to fuck me, honey...” his voice interupts for a second. “Sorry, Brandon wants to fuck me, honey. I don’t want to do that in his little car. Should we go home?” Faith doesn’t wait for an answer but goes right back to slurping on his cock.

“No, come in. I’ll come down and let you in.”

She stops slurping. “Well I wouldn’t want to keep you from your deadline, are you sure?”

“Meet you at the North entrance in two minutes.” I’m already out of my chair and heading for the hallway.

Ten minutes later, Faith is laying half-off the little couch in my office. Her skirt is bunched up around her waist and Brandon (who looks to be about 30), kneeling on the carpet, has his dark curly head between her thighs. Faith is gripping the edge of the ratty sofa and looking at me with lidded eyes. Her mouth is open and she runs her tongue over her smeared lipstick.

“I wish you were done grading,” she teases. “I like the kid, but his cock is better than his tongue.” Brandon pauses for a moment and looks up quizzically. Faith playfully grabs his hair and pulls his mouth back to her pussy. “I didn’t say stop, silly.”

Faith reaches for my pants and pulls them down. “How many more?”

She pats Brandon on the head and motions for him to stand. Then she pushes me on the couch (my legs over one end) and squats over my face. Her pussy is absolutely drenched. I feel the couch shift as Brandon climbs on above my head. As Faith swallows my cock, he pushes the head of his against her cunt. Even as his long shaft is slipping into her, she begins to orgasm – soaking my face and the couch.

Brandon wastes no time. After the first two slow strokes, he pulls his hips back and thrusts hard and fast into her. I can feel the whole couch scooting across the floor. I try to lick her clit while his balls smack my forehead. He’s rocking her so hard that, every once in a while, my tongue touches the bottom of his thick shaft as he thrusts.

Faith, in a seemingly unending orgasm, is groaning loudly while she bobs furiously on my cock and pumps it with her left hand. Only when Brandon begins to cum, does she release me from her mouth and hand.

Brandon thrusts harder and harder and then freezes while I feel his balls working. When he finally pulls out, Faith raises up on her knees and grinds on my face, smothering my face with her dripping pussy.

When I’ve licked her clean, she climbs off of me and puts a hand on Brandon’s shoulder to steady herself as she puts her shoes on.

My cock is still throbbing, my balls full.

“We’ve kept you from your grading long enough,” she teases. “I'm going to have Brandon drive me home and fuck me again. Hope you get home in time to join in.”

And just like that, the two of them walk out the door and down the hall.

In the parking lot, I watch them kiss for my benefit. He unlocks her door and she gives his balls a squeeze and looks up at me as she gets into his little car.

I switch on my desk lamp, reawaken my computer, and reach for the pile of papers.

‘Every year,’ I think. My face is still slick with their combined juices. ‘No wonder students want to take my Spring classes and not my fall ones.’

“A,” I scribble on the top paper on the pile. “Great insights!”

“A,” I scrawl on the next. “Very thorough research.”

“A. Terrific ethical reasoning.”

“A. Good...whatever.”

“A”

“A”

“A”