The Study Cubicle

The following story is more-or-less true. It takes place at a Long Island-based university whose main campus is on a main road named after a compass reference and whose admission policies are generally concerned with confirming your pulse and checkbook balance. Not that the place does not provide a good education, it simply isn’t known as inexpensive or picky. The buildings are all brick except for the really old ones and the roof of its student union once collapsed under a snow load. Email me if you think you’ve guessed the answer. No real prize, I’d just like to see how many people get it. You’ve already got several big hints. Ten extra points if you know one additional hint that would give it away completely.

Anyway, one of the neat things about this college is a good large library. The library has stacks on several floors, accessible by elevator or stairs. Most activity goes on on the main floor and basement, although there’s a small steady trickle of people flowing through the upper floors. The window perimeters of the top two floors are occupied by small study or reading cubicles. Wooden roomettes with latch able doors, a built-in desk, a loose chair and walls that start about 1′ above the floor and end at a height of above 7′ above the carpeted floor. The cubicles are about 4′ wide and 5′ long, maybe less.

Oh, this is not fair. You’ve already figured out the whole thing. Maybe I should just leave and you make up your own fantasy.

The year is 1979. I was an assistant professor in philosophy and Molly was a senior, only six years younger than I. Molly was 22 and brighter than I’ve ever been. 5’6″, long brown hair and eyes that spoke volumes. Small breasted, she usually went braless and often wore t-shirts and Indian skirts. We were friends and lovers and although I had a role in “corrupting” her (getting her used to working toward her own pleasure instead of viewing sex as lying on her back and letting some guy grunt in her) she was just as influential with me. I did anything she asked. A woman who can start turning me on with her ideas about balancing real life and the search for spiritual enlightenment and end up later than night stroking my cock until I came on her thigh is someone I cannot resist.

I was working in the library on a bright spring day, two weeks before finals and one week before my publisher wanted my new paper for peer review. I was on the fifth floor of the library, sitting in one the study cubicles surrounded by paper, the story of my life, even today. There were also volumes of philosophy of science, including Kuhn’s The Structure of Scientific Revolutions.

I heard the door from the stairwell close in the background and the very soft patter of feet. I had not been paying attention but I didn’t think there were many people up there with me at 10 A.M. on a Sunday morning.

Then there was the scent of jasmine and a rush slid up my spine. Molly? I glanced out through the very limited field of view outside the cubicle door and saw no one, the scent of jasmine seemed to have disappeared. Or perhaps my nose had just become accustomed to it.

I never saw the hand that grabbed my ankle from the adjoining cubicle, but the laughing “Gotcha!” ended any doubt. The grip was released after a few seconds and silence was quickly followed by Molly standing in the open cubicle door. She paused for only a moment, closed and latched the door behind her and straddled my lap. Warmth of her body against mine, her arms loosely around my neck, awash in jasmine once again. And that smile. And those eyes.

“And what happened to you?”

“You fell asleep last night after you came. I stayed curled up with you until Terry got back and then I left the dorm room. It may be 1979 but I still think they frown on instructors being too obvious about sleeping with students. I also think Terry’s a bit uncomfortable about staying in the room with us.”

“Creep. I wanted to wake up with you in my arms.”

“Well, after finals you COULD move in with me.”

“Is that a proposition?”

“It was the first three times I suggested it, too. Rita gets upset when she can’t curl up between us at night.”

“Your DOG just wants another set of hands to rub her belly.”

“Well, that too.”

“Let’s get back to the present, babe. You left me last night, a Saturday night going into Sunday morning when you know, full well, that you have gotten me into your An Orgasm or Three Every Sunday Morning’ habit. Now, here it is, Sunday morning and – hey – no beard in bed with me when I need him, his tongue, fingers and cock. She laughed and threw her hair back, “Don’t push it, buddy, you could be replaced with a machine. Panasonic. Hitachi.”

“Well, why don’t I just pack up and we can… ”

“No way lover. I’m much too far along for that. Right here. Right now. That tongue is mine for the next half hour or so.”

We kissed, strong and deep, like two people who have kissed often enough and care enough to know what each needs and wants. She began to rub herself against me and rub the back of my neck and head with her hand. My hands rubbed her back and reached down for her ass.

I moved a hand in front to caress her breasts and began to nibble her ear. She moaned a “yeah” and pulled on my hair. Some time later I unbuttoned the waistband of the Indian skirt and moved her off of my lap, pulling the skirt off and draping it over the back of the chair. We moved her onto the desk with her ass positioned on the edge and Molly smiled widely as I hooked my fingers on the waist of her cotton panties and slowly pulled them off. Still sitting in the chair, I leaned forward to place my warm mouth on her mound.

She was already moist and fragrant. Without any physical contact I started getting hard as my lips began to run up and down hers. She leaned back as best she could, reached down for my head, rested her heels on the edge of the desk and looked down at me as I licked her pussy. I widened my tongue to spread her lips apart and licked up and down the insides of her delicious slit. My tongue slid inside, which caused her to stiffen, moan and tighten her grip on my head. I moistened and then slipped a finger into her as my tongue began to concentrate more on her clit. Rapid tongue strokes and steady fingering. She was squirming and she draped her legs over my back, sliding her soles firmly up and down my back.

Keeping quiet was not one of Molly’s strong suits, whether in sexual or nonsexual situations. She was trying to muffle herself considering where we were, but even that level of self-control produced some quiet, but still memorable sounds. Particularly the one she let loose when we heard the stairwell door open.

It was something like “Eeeepfh!” I had entered a state of LIBF (Lust-Induced-Brain-Freeze) and had no intention of stopping. I was into licking and fingering Molly’s pussy and nothing was going to get me to stop except Molly. Both of us had, maybe 2% of our brains (the rational parts) listening for voices and footsteps and the other 98% was headed straight toward having Molly’s cunt grinding desperately and involuntarily all over my face. I looked up at her and she seemed even more turned on by this set of circumstances. Sure, SHE wouldn’t get fired, just earn a confirmation of her rep.

Her lips were clamped together and I could tell she was trying to hold off until the intruder left. Her nails were scraping off pieces of my scalp and I couldn’t have cared less. I decided to up the ante. I began to suck on her clit, something that Molly cannot generally hold up under for more than two or three minutes, tops. Her head snapped back and I heard her gasp, “Bastard,” she maintained a thread of control.

Then, just like the camping trip three years before when I’d awakened at 3 AM to hear a bear padding right past our tent, Molly and I heard footsteps right past our cubicle. Looking up into her eyes I couldn’t tell if she was going to crack up or cum. And just like the bear which had trudged off into the woods, our intruder clicked off down the linoleum floor to the sound of the closing stairwell door behind him/her.

Molly’s vow of relative silence was immediately withdrawn and she began laughing, crying and coming all at once. I dropped to my knees and pressed my face against her pussy, using the bridge of my nose to rub her, my tongue to lick her and a spare finger to slide into her ass as she came.

She scaled one peak and seemed to leap off another, guttural animal moans combined with laughing and the tears in her eyes. She held my head hard and fast against her as she ground herself against my face. Minutes later she slowed and then stopped, resting her legs over my shoulders and petting/stroking my head as I continued to gently lick and kiss juices from her pussy and the insides of her thighs.

I looked up at her, the tension gone from her body, sweat on her t-shirt, brow and hair. Her 155-IQ brain turned to oatmeal.

She reached down, grabbed me by my shirt and tugged to get me standing. We kissed as she reached down to unbuckle my belt and unzip my pants. She reached inside, said “What have we here?” as she tugged to get my hard cock out of jockey briefs. She pushed my pants down below my balls, grabbed my cock and started using it to rub her pussy lips anew.

“You have plans for that?” I asked.

“Maybe,” she smiled.

I reached down, aimed and slid into her in one wet stroke. Her arms went around my back, her legs locked around my waist and I wasted no time fucking her. We gazed into each others eyes, pressed close as we were, kissed and grunted indulgently. The cubicle shook a bit and so did we.

She wouldn’t play fair either and reached down to squeeze my balls. She looked into my eyes with her “resistance is useless” look and whispered for me to empty my balls into her. I came shuddering, pulled into her sweet gaze, and then her lips.

We left the library looking a bit sweaty and disheveled, although no one seemed to notice. She said, “Now can we go back to your place for orgasms two through four?”

“I didn’t tell you? I came once early this morning before I got up to come here. I’m already up to two today for Sunday morning.”

“Creep!” she laughed as she gave me a dope slap on my head and we walked to my car arm-in-arm.