Chapter 2

After that encounter with Chris, I tried to shake off the emotions he had aroused within me and made sure I was not put in that situation again. However, no matter when or how fast I requested assistance, he was always the one assigned to me. At least it was always when other people were around us, even though we worked in a private little study room. The other acute problem looming over me was the absence of David over an extended period. I had not realized how difficult it would be without the support of my family and friends, which I had always had before we were married and were separated. The periods of loneliness and gloom could be overbearing at times, putting me in a funk. What really surprised me was the void created by a sexless life. Since we had been married for such a short time, I had assumed it would not be a significant factor. I was wrong.

Regardless of my misgivings about the encounter I had with Chris, every time I spent any time thinking about what happened with him I became very aroused. When we were at school and I was around him I got that twinge between my legs. I'm sure he was aware of what he did to me. I could tell by the look on his face and the glint in his eyes as if he's saying "I've got your number and I can call it in any time I want to." Twice in those next few weeks, when we were studying together in the private rooms, he casually started touching me. Mostly it has been him massaging my neck, and then slipping his hand down over my breast through the cloth. Even though I always quickly and quietly removed his hand, I didn't know what turned me on the most, him touching me or the confidence in which he did it. He certainly was to the point that he felt I was his for the taking and that was something entirely new to me, unthought of even just a few days ago. My way of dealing with it after these touching incidences was to go home and bring myself off, sometimes not even making it home at all but finishing myself in the parking lot or on the freeway. Each time I saw him later he seemed to know I had done it. Things like "How did your day go Tuesday. Were you able to concentrate on your work?" or "You look different than you did a few days ago. Are you more relaxed now?" When I was at home and started thinking about him it rarely went by without me cumming, sometimes very slowly for an hour at a time. I did the same thing when I was thinking about David, but I found myself thinking more and more about Chris. Maybe it's because we were in such constant contact.

His touches became bolder. It became common for him to touch my breast under my blouse and to rub me through my jeans, causing me to squirm in my chair and weakly say things like "Please, Chris. We can't be doing this," always pushing his hand away. Finally, I made the mistake of scheduling a late afternoon session on a day that I wasn't in class. Instead, I showed up coming straight from work. I had not thought about it before, but instead of jeans I was wearing my work clothes that consisted of a light blouse and a very short skirt. I rarely wore panty hose and had none on then.

The mistake really came to my attention when I saw him there and his eyes literally lit up when he saw me. Excusing himself for a minute, he made a quick phone call before rushing me into one of the secluded rooms. We went straight to work with no small talk, indicating he was in a hurry. However, as soon as we discussed my problems and he gave me a few to do on my own, his hands started to roam. It was over my breast at first, as it had been in the past. I moved my body around to try to avoid him and brushed his hand away. He turned his chair sideways so he was facing me from my right side and draped his left hand over the back of my seat, putting him very near me. Anybody walking in would have thought it a little inappropriate, but nothing outrageous.

I was not surprised when his right hand arrived at my knee, but still was not prepared and jumped a little. I reached down quickly, grasping his hand and saying, "Don't, Chris."

He didn't answer, leaving his hand where it was but rubbing gentle small circles with his fingers. All thoughts of math were gone now. As I concentrated on blocking his hand from advancing up my leg, I hardly noticed the one behind my back slowly sliding under my left arm. Very softly and smoothly, he cupped my breast over my blouse. His fingers took my nipple and slowly teased it, bringing it to an immediate full attention as I felt it swell with the manipulation. I placed my left hand over his, as if that was doing any good.

His hand had managed to persistently creep up, giving my leg a full massage now with his hand rather than the light brushing with his fingers that he had been doing before. Slowly, oh so ever slowly, he moved it up, taking my hand with it. The soft kneading of the inside of my leg, along with the constant taunting of my nipple, was getting to be much more than I could take. I started to move softly with his hands, eyes closing slightly, the fingers on my left hand starting to slowly move over his hand in a small, approving gesture as he continued to please my nipple. My grip on his right hand was no longer a defensive tool, but more a futile attempt of denial.

The brush against my thong was hardly noticeable at first, barely a wiping touch of his fingernails. Sneaked in between the powerful feeling of his full hand on my leg and the ever-growing sensation of my nipple, I almost missed it. But, I didn't. A light sigh came out of my mouth through the quickened breath I took, matching the small unwanted but grateful gyration of my hips. He felt it and immediately increased the speed and pressure he was applying to my nipple. I reacted to his hand on my breast by grasping his wrist, rubbing it slowly as I completely gave in to it. Again, the area of his attention switched, this time using his fingertips to brush fully up and down the length of my labia, one side at a time, teasing them ever so lightly through the cloth.

I closed my eyes and lifted my hips slightly from the warm rush I was feeling. Expecting him to brush my thong aside and enter me with his fingers, he caught me completely by surprise. Leaning over and placing his lips close to my ear, he simply said "Hi," as if seeing me for the first time today. I said nothing, not knowing what he expected me to say, drawing a blank, as my mind was totally captivated now with his touch. "How do you feel"? He asked, as if he didn't know.

I didn't know if he really expected an answer. When he sort of leaned around me with a quizzical look on his face, I knew he did. Gathering what strength and composure I had, I decided to be honest. "Good," I said with a very low voice, almost a whimper.

He nodded quietly, then did the expected and slipped a finger under my thong, sliding it deep and the entire length of me. I threw my head back and moaned, the invasion being a delayed welcome. "You're very wet," he said. "Do you always get so wet so fast"?

What was I to say? Here I was, opening and closing my legs in pleasure as he slipped another finger into me, my nipple on fire and begging. "It's been a long time," I whispered. "I miss my husband." There, I had managed to cover it truthfully.

"Oh, do you"?

"Yes." It was delayed and quiet, but the truth.

"You know, that's a little bit of a surprise." Giving the door a quick check, he surprised me by bringing his mouth down on mine suddenly, deep and full, and leaving it there for a long while as his tongue found mine and his fingers went deeper.

He pulled away. My thoughts gathered and I said "Why"? As if the answer really meant anything.

"Well, even before he left you acted like you were not being satisfied and was going hungry." I wondered how he would know that but didn't push.

"I was completely happy." That was my best response.

"I didn't say you haven't been happy. I said you weren't satisfied." His correct assessment caused my body to give a shudder. Was it so obvious that I could be clearly read? If he could see it, could David?

"Do you fantasize about others when you are with him"? He was whispering very low in my ear, as if this needed to be a deep, dark secret.

I had no intention of feeding his smirk with the truth. But when he took his thumb and forefinger and squeezed my clit suddenly, the pillar of strength I thought I would be turned to sand and I answered truthfully with a very low "Yes. Sometimes."

As if in unison, we both let out with a long "U-m-m-m-m-m," me from the twisting action he was giving my clit and he from the answer I gave which obviously was to his liking.

"Does he ever play games with you."

"Sometimes"

"What kind"