Texting

A couple of evenings later, Professor Van Zaadvocht's cellphone chirped with a text message alert.

The Professor slid into a pair of black boat shoes and slipped on a grey herringbone blazer with leather elbow patches. He had gotten out of his suit earlier and into a set of bluejeans. He had also removed his tie.

When Penelope Masterton opened the front door to her house, he saw she was equally casually dressed. Pink yoga pants, bare feet, and a baggy sweatshirt. Her shoulder-length dark brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail and no makeup.

“Glad you could make it, Abe!” she gushed, while flinging her arms around his neck. At only 5-feet-3, she had to stand on tiptoes to cover his mouth with hers. A wide mouth with full lips. His arms wrapped around her waist and as they kissed passionately, their tongues intertwining and their groins grinding, he could feel himself becoming hard. She could feel it too, for as they moved apart, her eyes darted down to his crotch, and she smiled coyly.

“Have a seat,” she gestured to the couch. “And I’ll fetch the coffee.”

When she returned from the kitchen with a tray, Van Zaadvocht cleared a spot on the coffee table by piling some manuscripts on top of each other. Penelope sat down beside him and reached for the coffeepot to fill their cups. But he stopped her. Grabbing her wrist with his left arm and her back with his right. Again they kissed. Long and intensely. Soon his hand had moved from her wrist to reach up under her sweatshirt. As he had suspected from the way her breasts had swayed freely beneath the loose garment when she walked, Penelope wore no bra. His groping and fondling of her heavy boob caused her to moan repeatedly while at the same time, her hand reached for his lap. Long, slender fingers squeezed into the rigid shaft contained in his jeans.

Van Zaadvocht’s hand left her breast to wedge his finger-tips into the waistband of the tight, form-hugging spandex. However, before he could slide his hand down into them, she pushed him away, saying, “Wait,” and stood up. Hooking her thumbs into the top of the pants, she slid them down past her wide hips, down to her knees, and sat back down to peel them off. Now nude from the waist down, she half-turned to face him and once again wrapped her arms around his neck.

As they resumed their kissing, Van Zaadvocht’s hand reached between Penelope’s shapely thighs. She was clean-shaven and her pussy-lips were swollen in excitement. He found her already damp, and as he slid one finger inside her, she shuddered and tossed her head back. His right hand supported her back as he worked his finger back and forth within her velvety tunnel. All the while watching her face as she kept her eyes closed, and smiled in pleasure from this fingering.

Penelope removed her arms from around the Professor’s neck and reached for his belt buckle, struggling to open it and his fly. He paused for a moment, his finger still buried within her snatch, as she undid his pants and freed his erection from the prison of his briefs.

Then their mouths sought out each other again. Lips pressing. Tongues dancing. Sucking and nibbling, as if trying to devour each other. Meanwhile, their hands were busy. Penelope’s soft fist gripping Van Zaadvocht’s hard cock and pumping it up and down. His fingers (for he had now slid two inside her) pistoning back-and-forth within the gooey sheath of her pussy. Causing her to get wetter and wetter as her excitement mounted. She spread her legs wider. Her hips bucking. Her voice mindlessly whispering, “Oh, yes… yes… yes.”

“YESSSsss!” Penelope screamed out, her hips thrusting and the veins of her neck bulging as she was wracked by waves of pleasure and release. Van Zaadvocht continued to work his fingers furiously in and out of her spasming muff. Watching her face intensely. Gradually slowing down when her convulsions ceased.

“Whew!” she gasped, grinning at him. “I guess I really needed that.”

He did not say anything. Only leaned forward to tenderly kiss her lips. They remained close to each other for several moments. Cuddling. After sometime he slid his sticky fingers out of her sopping honeypot. Again, she grinned. Almost shyly.

“Oh shoot!” she suddenly exclaimed. “We haven’t finished you off!”

Tucking her legs up under her, Penelope repositioned herself on the couch. With one hand gripping his cock and her other hand cupping his balls, she resumed jacking him off. The couple sat there in silence. Both staring down at the head of his dick as she pumped away on his organ.

When Van Zaadvocht started groaning and squirming around, Penelope looked up at him and flashed a wide, toothy smile. One of triumph.

“I’m gonna…” he grunted, but never got to finish his sentence. Penelope’s head dove into his lap, her lips locking around the tip, and her hand jerking furiously. Van Zaadvocht groaned and growled as shot after shot after shot of his sperm splattered into her mouth. All to be swallowed down instantly as her fist coaxed out more of his nut-cream and she sucked voraciously.

====================

When his orgasm subsided, Penelope once more nestled into his side and he toyed with the long strands of her dark brown hair. Eventually she announced, “Oh. You didn’t get the coffee you came over for.”

She leaned forward as she had done earlier, only this time Van Zaadocht did not interfere and soon they were holding two cups and saucers. Sipping the now lukewarm liquid.

“Aw, it’s gotten cold,” she said. “I should go stick them into the microwave.”

“It’s fine,” he assured her, not wanting her to leave his presence for even a second. Glancing at the manuscripts next to the serving tray, he remarked, “Those remind me that I need to get back to work on my own book.”

“Oh? You’re writing one?” she asked with an arched brow.

“I kinda have to,” he took a sip of coffee, trying not to grimace at its coolness. “You know… Publish or perish. It’s just so hard to come up with fresh ideas about such an ancient civilization.”

He chuckled. “I had an idea. But…” He shook his head and snorted another brief laugh.

“What was it?” she asked.

“I’d be too embarrassed to tell you.”

“Abe,” she announced with the solemnity of a judge while staring into his blue eyes. “After what we just did… I think we have somewhat moved past the point of shyness.”

“You’ll laugh,” he protested. But he did answer her question. “There is a myth… a little-known… obscure myth… that the women of a certain city in the area of Thessaly were cursed by a sorceress. They developed an insatiable appetite for sperm. They thrived on it. Lived on it. The curse left them immortal. And also infertile. They drew their strength and vitality from the male seed. A sort of… Well, a sort of sperm vampire.”

“I see,” she nodded.

“And…” He hesitated. “Here’s where you’re going to laugh… I thought… Oh, this is so silly… I thought I had actually found one.”

“A sperm vampire?” Penelope asked. But she did not laugh. Or even smile. “But you don’t think so now?”

“Oh, Penelope,” he sighed and took a deep breath. Finally realizing how fantastic this all sounded. “I had a friend… well, an acquaintance, actually. Who suddenly died, and I just knew that his latest girlfriend had…”

“Had killed him from too much sex?”

Like a small boy confessing to having broken a window, Van Zaadvocht nodded. “He died of Brugada Syndrome… A very rare heart condition.”

“It must be very rare,” Penelope replied. “Over the years I have had to read a lot… and I mean a lot of **** mysteries and can’t remember ever coming across that one.”

She paused and then added, “You should still write about it… About the myth… Only that it is not a myth at all. But a true story.”

“And be laughed out of Academic Community?” he scoffed.

“No, no. Not as history. But fiction… You know. Like the Da Vinci Code or Bram Stoker’s Dracula… There really was a Vlad the Impaler, you know?”

“I know,” Van Zaadvocht replied. But he said no more. He seemed to be considering.