Professor Jewel does British Professor Stone

“Let me get this straight, Professor Jewel.  A beautiful woman like you with brains and personality didn’t have somewhere to go or someone to be with on Thanksgiving?  I understand why that’s the case with me, but with you?” Emerson Stone asked Dolly as they both showed up at the Faculty Dining Club on Thanksgiving, the club filled with professors and deans with their families, and each asked, “Do you have a single table?”

“Might seem strange, but it’s true, Professor Stone.”

“Emerson, please.  I’m actually just listed as a visiting scholar this semester, not a professor.”  Dolly smiled at the handsome modern historian with the aristocratic British accent whom she’d met on the university running and jogging path that fall.

“Okay, Emerson, but you have to stop calling me Professor Jewel and call me Dolly.  And the reason you have no place to go for Thanksgiving is, what again?” Emerson had held back from flirting, as he had casually gotten to know Dolly during the semester.  She was a tenured professor in the business school, had the busiest schedule of speaking engagements in major cities up and down the East Coast and sometimes beyond, and also had a body that any coed would envy.

“You’ve been living in America too long,” Emerson Stone sighed, and then continued in the accent that had charmed Dolly during their casual chats, “You do realize that Thanksgiving is an American holiday, and I have no one here and no family gathering on the other side of the Atlantic, because it isn’t a holiday in England, just as it isn’t a holiday where your accent is from.  But given that we each just asked for a table for one, might I intrude on your adopted American holiday and declare that I’d be greatly honored to dine with you this evening and shall do my best to provide you worthy company.”

The cute guy with the great legs and butt from the running trail who sounds like Hugh Grant just asked Dolly if they could have Thanksgiving dinner together.  Dolly’s own sexiness attracted Emerson, as did everything else about her.  He thought of Dolly as the hard-bodied, fast-running, sexy professor at the American university he was visiting.  To Dolly, Emerson was cute, and she felt a tingle between her legs, which was definitely from this dapper gent in the tweed sport coat and rep stripe tie, not a leftover pussy tingle from the early afternoon recreational screw she’d enjoyed with the running backs coach for the university’s football team after he was finished reviewing film as part of the final preparation for the weekend’s big game. “I’d love to, Emerson.”

Over turkey, dressing, and all the trimmings, and while draining a bottle of Chardonnay, Emerson learned that Dolly was divorced, had two children who were with their father for Thanksgiving this year, and her affection for fitness went back to her days playing tennis in high school and for the university’s team.  Her doctorate was also from the university, so she’d been on campus since the age of 18.  He’d done a much better job looking into her blue eyes and at her blonde hair and movie star perfect smile on his first glass of wine than he did by the time he was nibbling on pumpkin pie and switching to a glass of Port after the two fit academics had drained the wine.  Yes, the scenery his eyes admired during dessert was farther south on her body, down to her cleavage and to her legs and ass on the couple of occasions when he’d stood to shake hands and show his British manners when other faculty and administration members stopped by the table to wish Dolly a Happy Thanksgiving on their way out.  Dolly was one of the university’s most public faces, and the Provost, Business School Dean, and a host of fellow professors all stopped by.  Most of their wives looked jealous when they did so.  But standing up to be introduced gave him the chance to check out the rest of Dolly’s body again. The table visitors weren’t doing too well aat hiding where their eyes were going either.

Emerson had seen Dolly’s amazing ass and legs on the trail, along with her flat, toned stomach.  More than one lonely bachelor evening in his off-campus apartment had been spent jacking himself and thinking about the sexy, friendly running goddess who was often on CNBC or other financial channels.  She had brains, personality, wit, and television good looks.  And now he was having dinner with her, desperately wondering if he had a chance to extend the evening beyond the glass of Port.

Dolly couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner this much.  Her marriage had been long enough to find out her in-laws didn’t approve of the fact that she wasn’t going to be a stay-at-home wife and mother, and it was long enough to find out that her husband was too wrapped up in academia to have much interest in sex after they’d enjoyed some good mutual enthusiasm while conceiving two children early in the marriage.  Dolly’s ex was a former graduate advisor of hers whom she’d started fucking while working toward her PhD.  He was older, so he was ready for kids soon after marriage.  Dolly loved the idea of being a young mom, wanting to be active with her children.  So while they each got what they wanted in terms of parenthood, the marriage didn’t work.  Dolly had always been hit on when she traveled for speaking engagements and research interviews, but once she became certain the marriage was on its last legs, she began to selectively accept the propositions.  Between the stock and bond markets, investment companies, public policy makers from Congress and the Federal Reserve, and commodity exchanges, Dolly found plenty of opportunities for sex in Chicago, New York, Washington, Philadelphia, and Boston.  There had been that especially memorable hook-up at the Drake Hotel in Chicago, when the well-dressed lawyer with a great knowledge of Bordeaux vintages and a tongue that was just as useful for bringing her visiting pussy to a climax as it was at wine tasting. 

The most life-changing pre-divorce hookup, it turned out, was with the investment banker in New York who saw her body, dressed provocatively during hot weather, and made the understandable but incorrect assessment that she was an escort seeking a client at the high-end hotel lounge where she was enjoying a glass or red wine.  Later, when he left after a couple of sweaty and mutually gratifying hours, he left her $2,000 in cash in the bathroom with a note saying, “You were amazing.  This felt like a real date.  We never talked about your fee.  I hope this is okay for the time we spent; if it’s not I’ll make it up to you when you visit town again.”  And then he wrote a phone number.

What a fucking rush!  That mistaken impression restored Dolly’s confidence that, after two babies, a PhD, and a neglectful husband, she still had the same rocking body she’d had before—the one that attracted men and kept her sexual appetite fulfilled.  The Chicago pickup had told her that she was ready to move on sexually, and now, being mistaken for a high dollar escort in Manhattan, wow.  Dolly did call the $2,000-man back.  After riding him to a multiple-orgasm, gushing fuck, deep-throating his married cock, and swallowing his seed, she confessed during the afterglow that he’d been her first escort client and that she hadn’t realized she was an escort until after he left her the money.

His name was Sam, a nice Jewish guy with a wife and children who had decided to treat himself to wonderful no-strings-attached extramarital sex with gorgeous escorts whom he researched at a website called TER, The Erotic Review.  Sam became Dolly’s early mentor in figuring out how to be a “low volume, high dollar” provider during her professional travels to major cities.  Later, he had his IT consultant, a fellow TER devoted client of sexy escorts, design a website for Dolly. 

But Emerson knew none of that.  And Dolly enjoyed the variety of sexual encounters she’d experienced, on the road and since her divorce, sometimes even discreetly in the city where she was a respected professor.  And sex with Emerson tonight would add to that variety and make a very memorable Thanksgiving.  So what if there wasn’t going to be an envelope stuffed with hundred dollar bills.  Tonight with Emerson would be lust.  The evenings arranged through TER were business.  Okay, she loved the sex, the rush, the thrill, the bad-girl aspect, the adoration, the pay-off from all the workouts of driving men wild with her body, along with the money.  And the guys she met—mostly, anyway—were fun, classy, and, best of all, didn’t know her real name or bother her when the hot night (or day) together was over.  Well, Sam knew her real name.  That was its own thrill—that Sam knew her dirty little secret, thought it was really cool, and offered to do everything he could to help.

“Emerson,” Dolly said as she pushed her chair back, “if you didn’t have any plans for the rest of the evening, I wonder if you’d like to join me in some exercise to work off some of these Thanksgiving calories?”  Meanwhile, Dolly motioned for the check.  When Emerson reached for it, she smacked his hand playfully, whispering, “You’re a guest lecturer.  As a tenured professor, I’m a club member, and I insist.”  Emerson looked embarrassed and told her, “In that event, dearest Dolly, of course I’d be happy to join you for some evening exercise, though I thought the college athletic center was closed today, so I can’t get to my locker and I’ll need to go home and change.”  Dolly smiled.  Such manners.  He really thinks she’s inviting him to go running on a full stomach and a bottle of wine?  Really?  The last date with a man this polite was that judge in Washington, D.C., who was a widower, knew how to screw in only missionary position, and was so grateful for Dolly’s blowjobs to completion, something he’d never experienced during his marriage, or before, he informed her.

Dolly took her dining partner’s arm as they left the Faculty Club.  It was only about 7:00 PM, Thanksgiving being an early dinner.  Emerson had walked, so she pointed to her car.  When they got in, Emerson told her where his apartment was located, “And it will take me just a second to get my stuff for a run.”  Dolly smiled at him.  Did he really think she meant they would go running when she talked about working off the calories?  Only when she failed to stop as she passed by his apartment and Emerson told her she’d missed it, did Dolly clue her evening’s companion in on her vision for their work out.

“You won’t need any clothes for the hot, sweaty calorie burning cardio we’re going to share, Sweetheart, trust me,” and she slid her hand over to the passenger seat, across his left thigh, and stroked his cock which went from the beginning stages of interest to a full academic fascination in about three finger strokes.  It felt strong, younger than most of the Dolly dates she managed to schedule into her otherwise legitimate business trips.  Because she’d seen him in athletic action, she knew that, as long as he could handle the Chardonnay and Port, the evening was going to be wonderful.  And if the alcohol had been a bit more than ideal, then this wonderful young Brit with one of the better sets of teeth she’d ever encountered on an Englishman was going to be in for a long night, because whatever Dolly wants, Dolly gets.

Somewhere in his mind, Emerson wondered how on earth he’d gotten this lucky.  He thought about how strong her hand felt, cupping his balls, stroking the underside of his hardening shaft.  Then, he imagined his cock driving into her, into that firm, fit body he’d seen on the running path and in the fitness center doing circuit training, vanishing into her warmth just below her perfectly shaped, firm ass.  His hand slid over her right thigh, his fingers raking the inside of her thigh, so toned, so inviting.  He imagined feeling those legs closing around him.  He looked down at her gun metal gray manicured, slender but strong hand, and imagined Dolly pulling his own athletic ass toward her, his hard cock sliding into her, and knew that fucking Dolly tonight was going to make this one of the best evenings of his life and certainly the best Thanksgiving he might ever experience.  “Let us go to your abode, then, Professor.  Do lead on.”  Again, Dolly thought, that genteel, proper British dialect was a complete turn-on.  And soon she would enjoy a right and proper Thanksgiving fuck from this proper English gentleman.

Her shoulders were so confident, her ass swaying in a sexy, feminine way that complimented her perfect figure, as Emerson consciously had to increase his speed to keep up with Dolly as she walked to her front door.  Her heels made her toned calves look so good.  He knew his cock was at full mast.  Dolly’s blonde hair swayed over her collar, and she looked over her shoulder to make sure Emerson was keeping up, with a smirk and a tinge of playful wickedness in her eye.  Oh, God, this is going to be good, they each thought independently, at exactly that same time.

She left the door open behind her, saying, “C’mon, Lover.  Oh, by the way, can you make a fire?” as she gestured toward her fireplace in the living room of her cozy restored bungalow.  Her coat and scarf were left on a wing chair near the door to her main floor master suite just off the living room.  Emerson closed the door behind him, knelt down as he reached the hearth, and surveyed the gas starter, kindling box, log holder, and fire irons.  He added his tweed jacket to the outerwear pile on the wing chair, turned back to the fireplace, opened the flue damper, and got to work.  A feeling of warmth and a smell of burnt oak made for a cozy setting when Dolly stepped out of her bedroom, barefoot, red satin robe covering only to her mid-thigh, with black collar and matching black satin sash wrapped around her slender waist, her glowing skin lightly freckled.  The tops of her ample, inviting, D-cup breasts were on healthy display through the partially open robe. Her legs were tanned, toned, and advertising how wonderful and firm and silky they would feel when they would be spread for him. 

Dolly knelt on the sheepskin rug as the fire slowly grew, and Emerson turned off the gas starter and secured the wrench-like key that was inserted into the valve in the bricks.  As he turned back to Dolly, her robe was slightly more open, now showing about two-thirds of her breasts at the top of the robe and even more of her upper thigh at the bottom. “Take your pants off, stay a while,” Dolly told him, tilting her head to the side to watch her lover strip.

Emerson did as he was told, now fully knowing the payoff that awaited.  He made a playful face, feigning irritation as he struggled to get his socks off and settle onto the sheepskin, next to which a plaid lamb’s wool blanket sat folded.  He reached over to Dolly, taking her waist in his hands, his fingers playing with the satin as he undid the belt-tie, and pulled her toward him.  Their lips met, tentatively at first, then slowly, the passion building.  Then their lips opened, their tongues met, and their deepening kisses inspiring their hands to wander.  Soon, Dolly’s robe was tossed toward the wing chair that held the rest of their clothes, but had fallen short and lay on the floor. Emerson’s hands were warm from working near the fire and felt good to Dolly as he wrapped them around her round, still-firm breasts, his thumbs and forefingers circling her areolas and tweaking and twiddling her nipples.  Dolly’s hands framed his shoulders, square and athletic, though his muscles were toned and taught, rather than large and bulky.  His body reminded her of one of her more recent sheepskin-on-the-floor lovers, the visiting head basketball coach from a Philadelphia area university.  Dolly first had sex with him during a visit to Philadelphia during which she spent one and three-quarters of her two days in very proper business and finance meetings and two hours of the second business day being treated like a fuck-happy, cock-starved MILF porn actress by this oft-televised coach.  Dolly had seen him on television, thought he was handsome, and had eagerly enjoyed when he pulled her hair, spanked her during doggie-style sex, and placed his rough hands all over her hips and tits during an athletically bucking and thrusting cowgirl position portion of the interlude.  She then sucked and teased his cock mercilessly until she jacked his load onto her chin and breasts, then scooped it up on her fingers, and licked them clean while the grinning, sweating coach caught his breath.  Dolly then kissed him deeply, the taste of his own seed proving to be a surprising turn-on to him.  So when the second half of the home-and-home was scheduled for Dolly’s university, he sent an email to her escort website asking whether she ever entertained in the town she said she called home.  That she was affiliated with the university was something he didn’t know, and usually the answer was “No, I make dates only on tours.”  However, as luck would have it, the kids were at their Dad’s that weekend.  No one else in town was offering her a pile of Benjamins and a firm body to play with that weekend, so she accepted.  Coach left town with a victorious-feeling sexual encounter with Dolly and an overtime loss on the court.  And still none the wiser, having merely asked, “So are you affiliated with the college?” to which Dolly replied, “I’ve had my way with some who are.”

And now Emerson pressed Dolly down onto her back, removed his kind, hungry lips from her lustful mouth, and moved down her neck and shoulders.  He stopped to suck and linger on her breasts, while his fingers found Dolly’s very wet, very inviting, cleanly shaved pussy and smeared her nectar over her swelling clitoris.  She quivered and twitched at the touch of his fingers.  Emerson circled her clit slowly, varying the pressure, letting his fingers glide in the slick sex juice, coating her pleasure button.  Dolly arched her back, whispering, “Yes, there.  Just like that, yes!  Oh, God, yessss!”  He kissed down from her flat, toned tummy to the scene of his fingering.  When his lips latched onto her clit, his fingers ventured down her slit, around her opening, and into her tight, sensitive pussy, finding her textured flesh spot, rubbing, stimulating, feeling her body convulse, tighten, flex, become even more slick.  Then two fingers became three, and Dolly’s convulsions increased as she grasped Emerson’s wrist, held him tight to her, and dug her nails into his flesh.  As he sucked her clit and flittered his tongue back and forth against her over-stimulated nerve endings, the quakes and shivers possessed her body and moved outward from her sex to her extremities.  Thrusting her hips into his hand, she fucked his hand and his face.  Dolly’s scent, her flavor, her essence was all over his face.  A wicked smile spread over his face after her orgasm subsided.  “Jolly good,” he said.  And she was.  Jolly good … and Dolly good.

Emerson climbed up to join Dolly on her bed and gently embraced his new lover.  Dolly’s magnificent body was warm, flushed, and slightly moist from sexually-induced perspiration.  It felt wonderful to his touch.  Emerson had no idea that Dolly was often rewarded for such sexual intimacy and “members-only tours” of the wonderland that was her body with a generous helping of Benjamins.  He knew only that he’d dreamed of being with a woman like this.  Actually, the women in his wildest dreams weren’t as hot as Dolly, so he’d surpassed his dreams.  When they each caught their breath, Dolly asked if he’d like her to return the favor.  Emerson, ever the elegant Englishman, replied, “Turnabout is fair play.”  And then he kissed Dolly deeply, her tongue active, aggressive.  Emerson felt himself being taken over.  He sensed—but did not in any way resist—Dolly’s hands, as they grasped his shoulders and turned him onto his back.  She slid her mouth from his, sucking his bottom lip, then whispering, “Your turn, Emmy.”

Just as Emerson wondered how Dolly knew the nickname his Grandmother had given him (she didn’t, she simply shortened Emerson in the playful intimate mood she was feeling), he felt her mouth move down from his mouth to his nipple.  Dolly licked then nibbled then sucked his nipple.  He’d never had his nipples sucked before.  The sensation was amazingly stimulating.  As Dolly worked her magic, there were more amazing feelings on the way.

Dolly’s fingers stroked and teased all over Emerson’s body, relaxing him at the same time that they raised his level of excitement—a rare double that Dolly had mastered in her dedicated pursuit of becoming the best sexual experience her lovers would ever have.  On one of their follow-up trysts, Sam, her nice Jewish semi-regular who’d taken such an interest in her secret career, asked Dolly, “How does it feel to be human heroin?  You’re that addictive.”  Charmer, that Sam.  She’d even blushed when he said that.  And now Emerson was the one blushing, as Dolly found each new spot on his body to elicit an “Aaahhh” or an “Ooooohhh, God, yessss” or even a “Fuck, darling, oh fuck, yes.”  So much for the polite Englishman!

A nice uncircumcised cock awaited.  This was not Dolly’s first rodeo—she’d mastered the slight differences in handling an uncut package during a Washington, DC visit, when an economics conference not only gave her a reason to visit the nation’s capital but also provided her Dolly date that weekend with a reason to be in town the same time.  That au natural cock with an intact foreskin belonged to a memorable fixed-income investor.  Now Dolly’s skilled fingers applied the lessons learned regarding how to pull back a full foreskin to reveal a cock head for slow licking and sucking purposes to Emerson’s British tool.  He was stiff, his head was back, though he struggled to keep his eyes open to take in the amazing view of this finely conditioned, toned, tanned, sexy athlete deep-throating him, angling her neck to make eye contact with him, while reaching down and fingering herself, going from one to two to three fingers.  It was as if she were strumming a guitar down there, the way her fingers worked her clit and labia and dipped in and lubed her entire sex zone for slicker operations.  Dolly brought him to the verge, tasted his precum, worked him back, slowing down, then back to the edge of a volcanic eruption again.  She climbed on top of him, her mouth returning to his, the vague taste of his own early pre-spunk making her kiss taste like the essence of sex.  She reached across him to the nightstand, opened the drawer, rummaged around for a condom, opened the foil packet, and slipped it over his cock, covering the sex tool that soon would be pressed against her cervix and fill that just-applied condom.

Dolly raised her hips, mounted his now-covered cock, and slowly pushed her body down onto Emerson while his hands held her round, full globes and twiddled her nipples.  Their eyes were locked on each other’s.  After a deep breath, Dolly began to rock up and down, and these two athletes began to move together. They thrust into each other, bracing their bodies against each other, pulling into each other.  Her legs, though lean, were powerful, and he felt absolutely captive as her sex tool for the night—just the way he liked it.  And the way Dolly liked it, too.  She showed her sexual dexterity in taking the lead in changing positions, transitioning herself into a reverse cowgirl position and then onto her back for some missionary, as she enjoyed the sight of Emerson’s own fit body as he worked above her.

Emerson was on the edge of cumming quickly.  Dolly second-guessed herself—should she have sucked him off to increase his chances of lasting longer once he got hard again?  No matter, as this was a great mating, and there would be future chances to do whatever they didn’t do this evening.  But he surprised both of them by lasting longer than expected, and Dolly loved that there wasn’t much they weren’t doing.  She’d worked herself up to an orgasm while riding him, and then she literally pulled him on top of her as she rolled onto all fours.  From that position, he straightened up and pulled his knees under him, so that he was now behind her, fucking Dolly doggie-style while she reached under and smeared her heavily flowing sex fluids over the base of his cock on his back strokes before he dove back into her.  She twiddled herself in rhythm to his forward thrusts.  This time, when her body convulsed and shook and tightened around him, Emerson stiffened, grunted, and then let loose inside the condom.  Their bodies were entwined, and they locked that way, arms and legs all extended around each other.

It was late, and they’d had a lot to drink.  She’d cum three times, and he was spent.  Dolly took his condom off, licked his cock clean, then kissed him with a latex, cummy flavor.  Those off-flavors soon were lost, and all that remained was a passionate afterglow kiss.  “You’re staying tonight,” she told him.  It wasn’t a question.  There wasn’t an argument.  They slept nude, warm beneath a down comforter.  In the pre-dawn semi-light, he touched her between her legs, eventually working two fingers into her warm, always ready body.  She came on his fingers once, and then she re-wrapped him and rode him to another orgasm before rolling onto her back and squeezing him with all four limbs as he came during missionary position sex.  They made their way to the shower, and, after gentle sudsing of each other, the freshly cleaned lovers checked one more box on the to-do list—Dolly sucked Emerson off, showed him her tongue full of cum, then swallowed.

When she finally dropped him at his apartment, Dolly kissed Emerson again and told him that she hoped they could have some repeat performances.  Again, there wasn’t an argument.  Emerson the Englishman definitely had learned what he was thankful for on that, his first Thanksgiving.



Purely fictional fantasy for your reading pleasure.

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