Red Hot Obsessions (144 page)

Having completed my dastardly deed, I decided it was time to leave the scene of the crime. Nervousness welled up inside of me as I turned, taking long strides towards the door. That's when I heard a voice, and my body froze.

Instinctively, my eyes darted toward the source of the sound. It was coming from the closed door of Damien's office. I suddenly felt like an idiot for not thinking he could be in there. If I had half a brain in my head, it would have been the first place I checked once I saw that the room was empty. Why else would the door still be unlocked?

Now it was a question as to whether I actually wanted to speak to him anymore or not. After all, I had just stolen his pen, and if he came out into the classroom, he might notice it was missing. Considering I was the only person inside the classroom, I would be the most likely culprit. For a few seconds, I wrestled with the idea of putting it back. I needed the extension on my art project far more than I needed an extension of him. Still, I just couldn't force myself to do it.
If he figures out it's missing, I'll just play stupid
, I decided finally, taking a deep breath and approaching his office door.

I raised my wrist to knock, but the conversation inside quickly stilled my body, my eyes widening in surprise. He was . . . moaning? At least, I thought it sounded like moaning. I held my breath, moving my ear closer to the door to hear what was going on inside.

“You're making me so hard,” he said, though the sound of his deep voice was more conversational than anything else. “Get on your hands and knees. I want to smell that pussy, to stick my tongue in your wet folds.”

My entire body ignited at the sound of the dirty talk. Did he actually have a woman in there? Perhaps another teacher or one of my classmates? Jealousy raged through. God, how I hoped it wasn't one of my classmates. Whoever she was, she was one lucky bitch.

I knew I was best off leaving them alone to their business, but the pervert in me couldn't pull myself away. I wanted to hear his heavy breathing, the sounds of skin slapping together as he took this mystery woman in the heat of passion. Maybe I'd even hear a desk squeak as he laid her out across it and pounded home.
Oh, Mister Reed, it looks like you are a lot naughtier than you act. Don't worry, I'll keep your secret. I promise.

My fingers itched to rub my pussy as he continued, “Are you nice and wet for me? I bet you are. I bet your cunt is dripping.” There was a short pause. “My cock is thick and hard for you. Can you feel it slipping in, nudging at your hole? Open your legs wide for me. I want to watch it going in.”

For all of his talk, there was no response. It was definitely Damien Reed's voice, but if there was a woman in there with him, she was as quiet as a church mouse. My curiosity was quickly peaking along with my arousal. If it hadn't looked so incredibly nosy and odd, I might have knelt down on the floor and peaked under the door to see how many sets of feet were in the room. There was no way that two people engaged in such heated play could be so quiet.

“Moan for me,” he commanded, and a soft groan left my lips, though it wasn't anywhere near as loud as the sound of my hands slapping over my mouth in shock. I heard a chair scratch against the floor inside his office, and I thought my heart might explode. Had he heard me? Footsteps coming toward the door were a good confirmation that he had.

As quickly as I could, I moved away from the door, looking nonchalantly at the whiteboard even though it had been wiped clean. The sound of the door unlocking and opening was almost deafening to my ears. The only thing louder was the thudding of my heart in my chest. My whole head felt warm, burning with undeniable embarrassment.

“Can I help you?” he asked, sounding a bit annoyed.

I turned, trying to look surprised, as if I hadn't expected him to come out of his office. Although I was looking at his face, my peripheral vision was zeroed in on his crotch. There was a delicious bulge there, and everything in me wanted to reach out and grab it.

My mind raced with a million different thoughts. He had come out of his office so quickly, and fully dressed. It wasn't until I saw the cell phone in his hand that I realized what had actually been going on. He had been having phone sex with someone. A wave of relief rushed through me, though I didn't quite understand why. Perhaps it made me less jealous to know whoever he was talking to hadn't actually been touching him. On the depressing side though, that probably meant he had a girlfriend.
It shouldn't matter. Doesn't matter.

“Extension . . . Project," I mumbled, somehow losing the ability to speak.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I . . . need an extension for my art project. I mean, I came to ask you if I can have one. My mother is in the hospital with pneumonia, which is why I missed your class yesterday. I'm going to the hospital to make sure she's alright. I was wondering if I could have an extension for my art project until Monday. I know this probably looks bad, considering that school just started and all, but I can bring you a note from the hospital if that will make things better.”

“Sure. Sure. That will be fine,” he replied, sounding distracted.

“Thanks.” I gave him a half curtsey and then quickly headed for the door, leaving him to finish up his heated phone call.

At the hospital, I listened to my mother complain about two of her favorite celebrities that were getting divorced. “Marriage just isn't what it used to be,” she commented. “I'm starting to think they should outlaw it. No one stays together anymore.” By the tone of her voice, I could tell she was thinking of her own failed marriage to my father. In the end, it was both of their faults. He had been a truck driver since shortly before I was born. My mother couldn't stand all the nights and weeks he was away from home, and he wasn't willing to give it up, even for his family. The money was good, and it was the best he could hope to get without a degree. After a while, my mother began to accuse him of cheating, saying he was staying out longer than necessary because he had another life with another woman. Things declined rapidly after that, though they kept the loveless marriage together until I started high school. I never really believed that Dad had cheated, but Mom had somehow convinced herself otherwise. She still talked about it sometimes, how he had ruined their happy little family with his whirlwind romance to some imaginary woman. At times, I got sick of hearing it, but I dare not say anything.

I did my best to tune her out, thinking instead about the kinky phone conversation I had heard between Damien Reed and the mystery woman. Boy, did he have a way with words. If he hadn't made her wet, his skillful tongue had certainly worked on me. How lucky I had been to share that intimate moment with him, even if it hadn't been meant for my ears?

When I got home from the hospital, I went straight to my room and dug the pen out from my backpack. “Mister Damien Reed,” I whispered to it before sticking it under my nose and inhaling deeply. His scent was still there, though not as strong as before. “You have been a very bad boy. But, I'm afraid that I'd prefer the spanking for it.” In truth, I had been far more naughty, listening in on his conversation. A spanking for me was truly deserved.

Although my father was gone for work, I locked my bedroom door. You can never be too careful.

With pen in hand, I giddily returned to my bed, shedding garments along the way. As soon as I was undressed, I flopped down onto my back on the bed, refocusing my attention on the pen. Just the knowledge that his hands had been on it set my body alight. I brought it up to my nose, sniffing at it a few more times before I rubbed my lips across the smooth black surface. It was thick and heavy, though not as thick as something else I would have preferred. My mind instantly went to the bulge in Damien's jeans. How big was he exactly, I wondered, feeling absolutely devious as my mind filled in the answer.

I still couldn't believe I had moaned when he told that person on the phone to do it. Did I really have such little control over myself in his presence? It sure seemed like it.

Now I was in the privacy of my home, and I could moan all I wanted, so I did as I rubbed the pen between my cleavage. I was blessed with generous tits. One might even call them a glorious pair. Half of the time, when guys talked to me, their eyes never made it above my neckline. It was annoying but something I had grown used to since I began blossoming in high school. Either way, I rather enjoyed my fun bags. I could do things with them that small chested girls couldn't, though I never actually had. Only in my dreams and fantasies, some of which I was currently indulging in.

Damien's pen was nowhere near as thick as a cock, but I pretended, none the less, running it back and forth between the crease in my chest, my ample breasts squeezing and milking it. Despite my very vivid imagination, it wasn't giving me quite the sensation that I had hoped for though. Some other form of play was in order.

Thinking back to Damien's phone conversation, I shed my red lace bra and panties and crawled onto all fours, spreading my legs a bit so the air from the overhead fan could kiss my moist pink folds. It took everything in me not to gyrate my hips as I imagined Damien standing behind me, examining my feminine parts. My flower would blossom right before his eyes, allowing him access to whatever he wanted to do to me.

“Are you hard for me, Mister Reed?” I asked, and then giggled, “Oh, I'm sorry. I meant Damien.”

I imagined that the cool air blowing over my cunt was his breath, which sent quivers of sensation throughout my body. I wanted to grab my breasts and tweak my nipples, but I had to be a good girl, or I wouldn't get the prize.

“Can you see how wet I'm getting for you?”

The memory of his words echoed a response inside my head. “My cock is thick and hard for you. Can you feel it slipping in, nudging at your hole? Open your legs wide for me. I want to watch it going in.”

Obediently, I parted my legs a bit wider. Then I felt his tip nudging at my hole. The round end of the pen was nowhere near as bulbous as a cock head, but my imagination filled in the gaps. I pictured Damien's gorgeous mushroom tip, teasingly petting across my entrance, and I groaned with want, silently begging for him to press it inside.

“You're such a lusty creature, Misses Grear,” he said to me, and I nodded in response, pushing my hips back towards the pen, though it moved with me, pulling away to deny me the pleasure I wanted.

“Don't tease me,” I begged.

“If this is what you really want.”

“Oh, it is.”

Centimeter by centimeter, the pen slowly pushed into my pussy, rubbing against my inner walls and causing my cunt to pulse with pleasure. It was almost enough to set me off, but I wasn't ready for that to happen yet. Once it was fully inside, the pen began to move, pumping softly, making love to me. I moaned shamelessly into the pillow below, whispering Damien's name into it, trying it on for size. It rolled off my tongue almost naturally, like I was meant to say it.

Constant slow love-making wasn't normal though. I had seen enough pornos to know that, so I picked up the pace, allowing the delicious friction to drive me to the brink of insanity. All the while, I imagined Damien behind me, his hands curled around my hips, his fit body rocking behind me, that gorgeous cock hammering in and out of my tight hole. Within seconds, it was all more than I could bear, and I felt the explosion of pleasure bloom between my legs, spreading out to infect my stomach with the contractions of my orgasm.

“Ohhh. Oh, yes,” I cried out, though it sounded a bit dramatic considering the small object that was actually inside of me. If it had really been Damien, the words would have been sincerer, I was sure. Still, the pen, coupled with my vivid imagination, did the trick. It was the best orgasm I had in a long time, all thanks to Mister Damien Reed and his magic pen.

Chapter 3: CAUGHT ONE HANDED

Why I put the pen in my backpack, I don't know. Perhaps it was a subconscious thing when I was piling all of my crap in my backpack the next morning, but somehow, it made it in there. Who could have known that one mistake was about to change everything?

I seemed to be running late all day long. A night of restless sleep was causing me to drag ass. Not getting enough sleep always put me in a crabby mood, so I spent a good majority of the day with a scowl on my face. Even seeing Damien Reed's rocking body wasn't enough to turn my frown upside down.

I slid into my seat, annoyed at the way it scratched lightly across the floor in response to my weight, annoyed with the way the guy sitting next to me was staring at my boobs, annoyed with the fact that there was a quiz today that I hadn't really studied for, annoyed with everything. Damien had just had everyone turn in their art projects and was making the rounds to pass out the quiz. It was a rarity he did that himself. Usually, when he had anything to pass out, he handed it to someone in the front row to do it for him. At least that would be one ray of sunshine in my otherwise dismal day. I'd get to be physically closer to the object of my recent obsession, if only for half a second.

The universe seemed to want to deny me even that pleasure though. My phone rang inside the front pocket of my backpack, and I screamed internally as I picked it up, unzipped the pocket, and dumped the contents onto my desk in an overly dramatic gesture, not feeling like having to dig for the damn thing among all of my other crap.

Damien Reed was at my desk by that point. He gave me a queer look that quickly sulked into disappointment at the fact I hadn't turned my phone to vibrate. Then his eyes landed on something on my desk, and I followed them to the pen. Without even bothering to ask if it was his, he picked it up and shoved it in his jean pocket. If I hadn't been scrambling to shut my phone off, I would have died of embarrassment. Did he really know the pen that well?

Part of me wanted to die. Damien now knew I had stolen his pen. There was no other way it would have randomly ended up in my backpack. Sure, I could probably come up with some excuse, but would he really buy it. Probably not. The pen never left his desk.

Once I had regained my composure, I pulled out one of my own pens to begin working on the quiz. My concentration was at an all-time low, worrying more about what Damien would do about me stealing his pen than answering the questions on the quiz. He didn't seem to hold a grudge about it though, keeping his focus down on his own paperwork. I sighed in relief. Maybe it wasn't such a big deal after all. If he asked, I could tell him I found it on the floor and didn't know it was his. Who really paid attention to a teacher's writing instrument anyway besides pervy girls who turned them into fantasy sex toys?

Feeling like everything would be okay, I mustered up all of my concentration and blazed through the quiz. Despite the stress that I had been under all week, I felt like I had done pretty well on it. With a satisfied grin, I looked up, preparing to stand and turn my quiz in. That's when our eyes locked, and I thought my cheeks might explode as all the blood from my body rushed to my face.

Damien Reed had the pen under his nose, inhaling my scent, and he was giving me a very knowing gaze. My eyes shot back down to my paper, my body growing heavy, as if my heart was hammering me right into the floor. There was no way he couldn't smell me on the pen. I had been so exhausted that I just wiped it off with a sock before I stuck it on my bedside table and rolled over for sleep.

A few of my classmates passed by my desk to turn their quiz in before I finally mustered up the courage to stand and turn mine in. All the while, I kept my eyes to the floor, refusing to meet Damien's gaze. Whether he was still looking at me or not, I couldn't tell, but I didn't want to know.

Thankfully, class was almost over. Pretending I had to go to the restroom, I gathered my things and headed for the door. Damien would be mad at me for leaving early. He had mentioned on the first day of school that he didn't want us to go to the bathroom right before class was over. I could not have cared less at that moment though. All that mattered was getting away from him—getting away from those eyes.

I spent the rest of the day over-analyzing everything that had happened. With any luck, he'd forget about the pen over the weekend, and things could return to normal.

It turned out that the phone call had been from my aunt letting me know that my mother was being released from the hospital. That was a blessing, at least. No more spending my afternoons at the hospital and then rushing home to cram and do homework afterward.

I sighed in relief as I drove back to my father's house, feeling the overzealous joy that Fridays usually bring. It's funny how much I took them for granted during my break between high school and college. Now, they were all I felt like I had to look forward to.

After going home and changing, I headed back out to meet up with Tanya at a local restaurant. We spent the afternoon talking about how much more intense college was than high school, what classes we were taking, what professors we liked and didn't like, and about all the boys that Tanya wanted to bone. Her list was a mile long. Mine only had one person on it, and he was hardly a boy.

Just thinking of Damien Reed made my cheeks grow warm, and the thought of his intense gaze while he held that stupid pen under his nose made me absolutely hate myself. Why did I have to steal it in the first place? And how could he possibly have known it was his just by looking at it?

“You okay, Chey?” Tanya asked, breaking me from my thoughts.

“Oh. Um, yeah, I'm fine.” I must have been dipping a fry in my ketchup for waaay too long.

“You look out of it.”

“I was just thinking of something that happened today.”

“Ohhh, something juicy? What was it?”

“Not juicy. Embarrassing.” I avoided her gaze, not really wanting to talk about it. We shared everything, but this was a bit too personal.

“Well, now you have to tell me,” Tanya insisted, her almond eyes growing wide with excitement.

“Maybe some other time. I'm not feeling too good,” I lied. “I think I'm going to have this boxed up and head home.”

Her expression quickly changed from curious to concerned. “Alright. Do you need me to get you a barf bag or something?”

“No. I'll be fine. I just . . . need to lie down.” And think of Damien Reed's pen some more. Of how I violated myself with it and he smelled me on it afterward.

Thankfully, Tanya didn't ask anymore questions. Her maternal instincts kicked in and she babied me all the way to my car, insisting that she carry my purse and even asking if I wanted her to drive me home. I wasn't that sick—didn't look that sick. Hell, I wasn't even acting that sick, but I was grateful for her caring nature, none the less.

Once I got home, I buckled down on my studies. It was strange having a house all to myself. I was so used to my mother being around when I got off school. Her job let out at four o'clock, so oftentimes, I only had about thirty minutes to myself every day before she got home. With my father gone on the road, the big house seemed almost too empty.

A good portion of my weekend was spent working on my make-up art project. Since I had more time to finish it than the other students, I decided to go ahead and give it a background. I even created an additional character who was supposed to represent Tanya. The finished product was a manga version of the two of us standing together, winking and throwing the peace sign in the college cafeteria, best friends forever. Hopefully, Damien would like it, though I couldn't blame him for failing me after I had stolen his pen. I still wasn't sure how I was going to face him, but it was unavoidable.

On Monday, I waited until the last possible second to show up to Art Appreciation class. Some bitch had been bold enough to steal my seat, but I knew I should count it as a blessing. The further away I sat from Damien Reed, the better. Maybe if he couldn't see me as well, he wouldn't remember the pen incident. It was a stupid thing to hope for, but sometimes I could be a stupidly hopeful girl.

Class started as usual, with Damien sitting in his chair doing a silent roll call. I kept my eyes on my desk, determined to avoid his gaze, though I could swear that I felt him looking at me, if that was even possible. His lecture began, and I signed in relief. Somehow, I had gotten off scot-free. At least, I thought I had until the end of class when he came up to me and told me he wanted to see me after school. That left a bitter taste in my mouth and a sick churning in my stomach for the rest of the day. Hopefully, he just wanted to talk to me about my grades, though I wasn't naïve enough to believe that. This had to be about that stupid pen. I cursed myself for stealing it, but I couldn't change what I had done. I would have to face the consequences head on, whatever they may be.

The rest of my day was pretty much miserable, thanks to thoughts of impending doom. What was the punishment for stealing a college professor's pen anyway? Maybe he'd kick me out of his class, or worse, try to have me expelled. I went over my apologetic groveling speech in my head until it was committed to memory. I would do whatever it took to get back on his good graces—anything it took.

For the first time ever, I dreaded the ending of the school day. Every minute that ticked down, I wish I could rewind so that I wouldn't have to face Damien Reed. Time didn't stop for me though, and all I could do was pray that he was a compassionate man. His face always looked so hard and serious, yet he had given me extra time to finish my art project. He couldn't possibly be that bad.

When my last class was over, I wanted to take my time returning to Damien's classroom, but I knew better. I already pissed him off by taking his pen. Being late could only make things worse.

When I reached the Art Appreciation classroom, Damien wasn't inside. Taking a queue from the last time I had walked into his unlocked empty classroom, I went straight for his office, knocking gently on the door.

“Come in,” said a stern voice.

Now it was time to put on my Oh God, I'm So Sorry, Don't Expel Me pout. Being cute had its benefits. Hopefully, I could use my feminine wiles to lessen my punishment.

Damien was sitting at his desk, staring up at me with those cold dark eyes. His hands were steepled atop a short stack of papers, that blasted pen sitting parallel in front of them.

“Close the door and have a seat,” he told me without so much as moving a muscle.

I swallowed hard, doing as I was told. Being in the same room alone with him, surrounded by his presence, wiped my mind completely clean of the speech I had so meticulously practiced. Now I was all nerves and fear, afraid to look directly at him, but afraid not to too.

When I was settled, he picked the pen up, holding it between his index fingers so that I could see it from end to end.
Shit. I knew this was going to be about the damned pen.

“Do you know what this is, Miss Grear?” he asked, his voice calm yet serious.

It sounded like a trick question, and I wasn't sure what he was getting at. “It's a pen, sir?”

“This is not just an ordinary pen.” He looked over the pen at me, piercing my soul with his dark gaze. “This is a Montblanc Meisterstuck LeGrand Ballpoint Pen. It has a gold-plated clip and gold-plated rings. If you'll notice, the Montblanc emblem is on the pen in several different places. Each one of these pens has an individual serial number. Do you have any idea how much this pen is worth?”

The knot if my stomach doubled in size. “I have no idea, sir.”

He returned his attention to the pen. “This particular pen is worth a little over four hundred dollars. It was given to me by my father as a graduation present. He always used to tell me that a good teacher should have a good writing instrument.”

I didn't know what to say to that. A few things came to mind, but they were all pretty stupid.

“Stealing is illegal,” he continued, getting to the real reason why I was there. “Did you know that?”

“Yes, sir.” I dropped my eyes to my lap shamefully.

“You didn't just steal this pen though. You did something else to it, didn't you?”

When I looked back up, he was holding the pen under his nose. My cheeks instantly turned into two burning balls of redness. I had been caught, and even if my mouth denied the perversions I had done to his precious graduation gift, my face gave me away completely. I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

“How should I punish you?” He went on, pulling the pen away from his face and rolling it between his index fingers.

“I . . . I'm sorry. Please don't have me expelled,” I begged.

His eyes shot up to mine, as if to tell me to be quiet. “Come here.”

Reluctantly, I stood, taking a few steps around his desk, stopping at the side of it.

He placed the pen down on his desk and rolled his chair to face me. “Closer.”

I took the last few steps around Damien's desk until I was standing in front of him. What he was planning to do, I had no idea. All I knew was that each second was absolutely torturous, waiting for my punishment.

He stood then, taking a step forward until he was dangerously close. I could smell the heavy scent of his cologne, masculine and tantalizing to my senses, intoxicating me. My fear was melting into something else, and I silently chastised myself for allowing my mind to slip into the gutter. He was so close though. Closer than we had ever been before. Closer than any man I had ever lusted after had been to me before. All I would have to do was take another short step forward to close the gap between us, to feel the hard muscle of his chest pressed against me.

By the time I felt his fingertips brush my cheek, my breath was already becoming ragged. My eyes were hooded with lust, and though I was afraid, I dared to look up. The intense gaze that he gave me sent shivers all the way down to my moistening core.

“Should I give you what you really want?” he asked, and before I had a chance to respond, his lips were touching mine, caressing them in a sensual kiss.