Baumgartner Hot Shorts (25 page)

Libby took the elevator down. It was quiet, always quiet, one of the things she loved about the place. That, and the unmistakable smell of books. Stacks of them, all neatly shelved by the old Dewey Decimal system, even if they kept track of them by computer instead of card catalog these days.

She smiled, knowing just where she was going. She was thinking of that fateful day when Henry had come into these stacks, looking for a how-to Dummies Guide to teach himself to read. His dyslexia had made him transpose the call numbers, and when she’d stepped in to help him, she’d pulled
The Complete Idiots Guide to the Kama Sutra
off the shelf instead, much to his dismay. And her amusement.

She often found herself at this exact spot just to touch the books, remember the day, the way he’d affected her, made her heart race, her pussy wet. They’d ridden the elevator together and had joked about a few of the Kama Sutra positions. That had led him to buy her their own copy not long after they’d begun dating and they’d been playing with the positions ever since.

She loved Henry, everything about him. And, she felt loved by him. Adventurous at times, sweet at others, their sex life was a wonder that stole her breath. It made her wet just to think about it. The book was shelved up high, and she slid a rolling stool over to reach. She couldn’t help remembering how she’d purposefully asked for his help, to steady her on a stool she’d climbed successfully on her own a thousand times before, just to feel his hands on her that first day.

She ran her fingers over the spines, but the book was gone from its space. That wasn’t a shock—it did get checked out quite a bit by curious college students—but still, she wondered if it was an omen, a warning form the universe. Did she need to keep up her guard? Was she going to lose him otherwise?

Libby leaned her forehead against the cool metal shelf with a long, deep sigh.

Henry was her life. He was the only man she’d ever really loved, and she knew she would do anything—
anything
—to keep him.

She knew then what she had to do.

* * * *

Libby had an early morning class on Valentine’s Day and she left Henry sleeping, snoring softly, on his belly, one arm hanging off the edge of the bed. He’d never looked better to her, mouth slack, eyes closed, and she wondered with a little flutter in her belly, if it might be the last time they would be alone like this. Would they be sharing this bed from now on, with someone else?

But Libby was ready.

When she returned to their apartment after class, she found red, glittery hearts hanging from the kitchen ceiling, two dozen red roses in a glass vase in the middle of the table, and a big box of chocolates in a giant red heart box beside it. Henry peeked over the back of the sofa, grinning at her reaction.

“Like it?” he asked, laughing when she tackled him, kissing him soundly. “I might have to steal some of that chocolate.”

“You can have anything you want.” She feathered kisses over his cheeks. “Anything, anything, anything.”

“Anything?” He grinned. “Someone’s feeling generous.”

In spite of the butterflies in her stomach, she was.

“Are you ready for my fantasy?” She cocked one eyebrow at him with a devious smile.

“Not as ready as I am for mine.” He was practically buzzing with excitement.

Libby had to be ready.

“Just know that I love you.” She pulled back to look at him. “No matter what.”

“Okayyyy,” he hedged, but she shook her head to warn him off pressing it further.

“I’m going first.” She hopped up, looking down at him. “Stay here until I call you.”

He nodded, lacing his hands behind his head as she went into the bedroom to change. It was time to play out her Valentine’s Day fantasy. This year, she’d gone all out on the teacher-student fantasy. It was her way of letting him know that including Toni was okay with her.

She had everything ready in the closet and she pulled it all out, setting the scene. She place a makeshift desk—really a small table from the living room—at the foot of the bed, setting an apple there along with a few textbooks, papers and a ruler to make it look the part. She put a hard backed chair on either side. Then she put up a black piece of poster board—she’d written on it in chalk—as a blackboard.

“Everything all right in there?” Henry called, knocking.

“Fine!” she called, out of breath from all the furniture moving. “Almost ready!”

She just had to get dressed.

Stockings, garters, heels, short shirt, low-cut blouse—no panties of course—along with a pair of glasses. They were reading glasses that had been in the journalism department’s lost and found for two months, so she didn’t think twice about borrowing them.

She perched herself on the “desk,” next to the textbooks, crossing her legs and trying to calm her fluttering nerves, before calling Henry in.

His jaw dropped when he opened the door.

“Mr. Baumgartner, come in.” She made her voice low, throaty, as much like Toni Franklin as she dared. “In my class, you’ll do just as I say, or you’ll fail. And you can’t afford to fail, can you, Mr. Baumgartner?”

“Yes, professor.” His eyes widened in surprise at first, then he slowly smiled as he realized what she was playing at. “I mean, no professor. I can’t fail or I’ll lose my hockey scholarship. So, I guess I have no choice but to do everything you say.”

“That’s right, Mr. Baumgartner.” She picked up the ruler from the desk beside her, tapping it on the back of the chair. She wondered if he’d said something like that to Toni Franklin during their first session together and her stomach clenched at the thought. “Have a seat.”

“Yes, professor.” Henry pulled a chair back, looking up at her as he sat in it.

“Tell me something, Mr. Baumgartner.” Libby’s spine straightened, pushing her breasts forward. She saw him looking at them in her brand new red Victoria’s Secret push-up bra through her sheer white blouse. They were impressive, if she did say so herself. “Are these big enough for you? What grade would you give them?”

“P,” he piped up, grinning. “For perfect!”

“The alphabet might go all the way to ‘Z,’ Mr. Baumgartner, but letter grades are A through F.” She winked.

“A then,” he corrected, leaning forward to get a better look at her cleavage. “Definitely an A.”

“Would you like to earn your own A, Mr. Baumgartner?” She slowly uncrossed her legs, giving him a good glimpse up her skirt—sans panties—before crossing them again.

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded in agreement, practically salivating. “I sure would.”

“In this class, all you have to do to get an ‘A’ is follow my directions.”

“I can do that.” He perked up.

“Good.” She placed one high heel between his denim clad thighs on the chair, her red painted toenails showing through her stockings and the open-toed shoes. “Then undress for me, Mr. Baumgartner.”

She didn’t have to ask him twice. He stood, ripped off his shirt, toed off his shoes, and pushed down his jeans in no time flat to leave him standing there with a nice erection already growing, a positive affirmation that he definitely liked her Valentine’s Day fantasy.

“Take this piece of chalk.” She handed it to him from the makeshift desk. “And write on the blackboard, ‘I will obey my sexy teacher’.”

“I will!” He took it, looking eager, and she smiled. She’d hoped this wouldn’t go too far, make him uncomfortable or give him flashbacks, because being called on to go to the board was a dyslexic’s worst nightmare. But he didn’t hesitate, and Libby knew that was thanks to Toni Franklin. She’d given Henry the confidence he needed not to feel ashamed about writing anything on the blackboard.

How could Libby deny him?

She watched him walk to the “chalkboard,” his cock bobbing, ass cheeks tight. Damn, he was sexy. She wanted him more than she ever had before. She wanted that gorgeous cock buried in her flesh, so much she had to remind herself that she was willing to share it—if that’s what he wanted. As long as she could be with him.

She watched him write.

I will obey my EXTREMELY sexy teacher.

Henry underlined extremely four times.

“Good boy!” She praised him, smiling as he turned to face her, chalk in hand. She crooked her finger at him. “Now, get that sexy ass of yours back over here. It’s time to lick teacher’s pussy.”

“Oh, goodie.” He grinned as she parted her legs, skirt riding up high on her thighs, revealing her garters and stockings—old school, so to speak. He groaned when he saw them, kneeling down like he was worshipping her.

His hands firmly grasped her upper thighs, fingers opening her folds. She gasped at the delicious pressure, the tingling sensation of having her opening exposed to him. He went first for her clit, giving it a good swipe with the tip of his tongue. Without pause, he let his full tongue lap over her opening. She groaned and rocked forward, begging him for more. She pulsed from her pussy to her stomach with need. He obeyed without being asked.

The tip of his tongue ground harder against her clit. After a few swipes, he slid it lower to her hole. Her juices flowed and her insides throbbed, wanting him, all of him, stretching her, rubbing inside her. His tongue was nowhere near enough.

“Open the book beside me to the bookmarked page,” she gasped.

“What sort of class is this?” He eyed the book. “You have the Joy of Sex on your desk?”

“Sex education, of course, Mr. Baumgartner.” She laughed. “Now open it.”

“You just lost a grade point for speaking without being asked a question,” she warned.

The page showed an illustrated couple having sex.

“Take me that way,” she demanded, pointing.

“Here?” He looked at the little table-slash-desk.

“Here.” She leaned back onto her elbows, letting him lift her legs up over his shoulders as he aimed his cock between them. The table wobbled as he thrust, both of them moaning at the sensation. She needed him like this—the hungry look in his eyes, his dark hair falling over his forehead as he pressed into her over and over, the way his gaze dipped down to her pussy so he could watch himself claim her, possess her. This. This was what she wanted.

His hands grasped her ass, squeezing, pulling her closer. The little table rocked, the book falling to the floor, papers scattering, pencils rolling.

“Rub my clit,” she demanded, panting hard. “Rub your teacher’s little clit.”

Henry groaned, but did as he was told, thumbing her nub as he fucked her, strumming it, her juices flowing, spreading, pooling beneath her on the hard surface of the desk. It was so good her thighs shook, her heels hooked over his shoulders as he rolled his hips just the way she liked. His cock throbbed, the head rubbing deep, in soft places she could only imagine, sending her into orbit.

“Wait!” she gasped, pushing against his hard chest with her hands.

His eyes opened, searching her face, so she smiled to reassure him he’d done nothing wrong.

“I just want to change positions,” she explained. “Every way you take me bumps your grade up a letter.”

“Awesome.” He laughed as she swung her legs down. He helped her to stand on the floor and she gave his cock a little squeeze and tug before she turned her back to him, facing the desk. She bent over, leaning on the desk, twisting to look at him.

“Like this, professor?” His hands moved over her hips. “From behind?”

“Yes, on the desk.”

He yanked up her skirt, making short work of pushing back into her, stretching her with the glorious invasion of his throbbing cock.

“Ahhhh,” she cried. “Hard. Take me hard if you want a better grade. Make me feel it!”

She had to feel him, all of him. This would be the last time they were like this together, alone, just them. After this, Henry would bring her in, his Valentine’s Day fantasy, from wherever she was waiting. Would he call her? Was she out there in the parking lot, waiting in her car for his signal?

It didn’t matter. She would welcome it, would give him everything he wanted. She loved him, and he deserved it.

Henry drove into her over the hard surface of the desk and Libby hung on for dear life. He pounded her hard, just as she asked him to, jarring her teeth and trembling her thighs. She cried out and took him, every hot steel inch of him deep in her womb, aching all over. Her pussy throbbed and pulsed, her clit humming with pleasure at every smack of their bodies. She felt the clasps of her garters digging into her thighs, the dig of his fingers into the sides of her hips.

“Oh, baby, yes, yes, fuck me hard!” she moaned, grinding back against him. “Harder! Harder! Do me harder!”

Henry gave a low growl, reaching around to grab her pussy with one hand, slipping a finger between her folds, finding her clit. His palm cushioned her mound against the hard desk as he slammed back in, as if he was trying to protect her at the same time as she begged him to destroy her, tear her apart.

“Don’t stop!” she panted. “I want you to come inside me! If you come inside me, I promise you’ll get that ‘A’!”

“Yes, professor,” he huffed, his fingers rubbing her slit as he pushed harder, faster, driving them both toward orgasm. “I’m going to fill that hot cunt with all my cum. Are you ready to take it all?”