I'm really happy to announce that one of my favorite stories from my archives is now available online over at the delectable Oysters & Chocolate.
The title of the story is "Dear Professor Pervert" and it deals with many of my favorite themes--naughty academics, bukkake scenes, sexy writing assignments, office sex. There's a lot going on in this story and best of all, I've been elevated from my usual "vanilla" designation to the far more intriguing "licorice whips" category. The pervy Professor Perkins first started giving his X-rated assignments a few years ago in the pages of Yes, Sir, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel and now he's ready to teach everyone his special sex writing tips.
Please stop by and vote if you feel so moved. And here's a sort of vanilla excerpt to whet (wet?) your interest. Trust me, this is only the beginning of the perversion! (And I actually did have a dream like this about a professor way back in the day....)
A flashback scene from "Dear Professor Pervert":
In fact, it was my dirty mind that lead us down a darker, more twisted trail. It all started innocently enough with a naughty dream.
I was lying on the floor of Professor Perkins’ office wearing an old-fashioned schoolgirl’s kilt and white blouse. The Professor himself was stretched out on top of me, but he didn’t really have a body. He was just a hot weight pressing me down, making my flesh feel all tingly and melted. I couldn’t see his face either, but I felt his hand stroking my cheek and his voice slipping into my ear. Your final paper was so good it made my cock hard for two weeks straight.
Which, of course, didn’t make any sense. I mean, how could a ten-page paper on “Ode on a Grecian Urn” give anyone a boner for one minute not to mention two weeks? However, the dream got me so turned on, I lay in bed playing with myself and thinking about Jonathan until I had a very wet, loud orgasm. Even after that I was still horny and missing him terribly. That’s how I got the idea to send him a provocative email.
In retrospect it was mild stuff. I told him about the dream and how I “pleasured myself” when I woke up. Then I said, tongue-in-cheek, that I was looking forward to August when I could feel his “pulsing manhood” in my “turgid sex.”
After I sent it, I was a little worried he’d laugh or be offended, but instead he called and said in that low, syrupy voice guys get when they’re shy but turned on at the same time, that he enjoyed my email and was going to send a reply soon.
I couldn’t restrain a giggle of triumph. Last spring I never would have imagined I’d inspire Professor Perkins to send me an X-rated email.
But that wasn’t quite what I got. The subject line was simply “Comments on Your Essay.” In a formal, professor-ish tone, he told me my paper would be stronger if I gave more context for the self-pleasuring—what I was wearing, how long it took, and specific techniques I used to reach satisfaction. He suggested I draw my reader into the scene through the use of vivid detail and avoid clichés such as “pulsating manhood.” He concluded that my work showed promise, but there was much room for improvement.
My face burning with embarrassment and disbelief, I fired back a reply. “Dear Professor Pervert, I didn’t realize I was going to be graded on my effort. Maybe you should write out the assignment with a list of guidelines so I can do better next time?”
A few hours later, I found this in my in-box:
Assignment #1. Spend at least an hour pleasuring yourself without bringing yourself to orgasm. After one hour, you may enjoy a climax. You’ll be keeping a “Masturbation Journal” which will be graded on style and content. At the top of each entry record then time of day, length and location of session, what you are (or are not) wearing as the session unfolds. I’m looking for an accurate and thoughtful essay that explores not only physical sensations, but your thoughts, feelings and fantasies while you are masturbating. Fresh images and honesty are key elements of the exercise. The assignment is due within four hours. Late papers will be penalized. Sincerely, Professor Pervert.
“The nerve!” I sputtered at the computer, shaking with anger. For a minute, I was too worked up over his audacity to notice he’d gotten me worked up in other ways: my panties were soaking wet....