You Have Mail

Around ten o’clock, Constance Brooks, the Dean of Classical Studies, tapped on a closed door before opening it far enough to stick her head inside. “You busy?” she asked.

Professor Van Zaadvocht was staring at his computer monitor. Actually, scowling would be a better term. Dean Brooks’s voice caused him to look up. “Oh, hello, Connie,” he replied. “Come on in. Remember my friend who died three weeks ago? I was just reading an e-Mail from one of the partners at the law firm where he worked.”

Constance accepted the invitation, opening the door wide and leaving it open as she stepped inside to sit down in the empty chair facing Van Zaadvocht’s desk. Stacks of books were piled into the other one. Her nylons made a hissing sound as she crossed one leg over the other. “From the frown on your face, they must be suing you.”

“No,” he shook his head and looked back at the screen. “At Larry’s funeral, I asked the cause of ****. When the partner said heart failure, I was skeptical. As far as I knew, Larry had no serious health conditions. We played racquetball once or twice a week together. Heart failure did not make any sense.”

“Right,” the Dean nodded her blonde head, her bangs bouncing when she did. She was twenty years older than he was and they had been “an item” since his post-graduate days. “That led you to think that his new lady-friend was a sperm-vampire and had sucked the life out of him while sucking him off.”

He squirmed in his seat at her comment. True, he had more-or-less said that, although not in those exact words. It wasn’t just the feeling of foolishness that caused him discomfort. Constance had the knack of turning him on anytime she said anything remotely related to fellation. Vulgar language enhanced that effect.

“So it seems the partner reached out to a family member. Larry’s brother, I believe,” Van Zaadvocht continued his confession of error. “The brother eventually got around to e-mailing a copy of the autopsy report to the law partner. Who forwarded it to me.”

Van Zaadvocht turned the monitor so that Constance could see. She leaned forward, squinting her eyes while she scanned the document on the screen. “Brugada Syndrome?”

“Yes. I was just googling that.” He clicked his mouse to open another tab. “Seems he was asymptomatic with no family history of the disease.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” she said, leaning back in her chair and adjusting her large black horn-rimmed glasses.

“It’s very rare,” Van Zaadvocht nodded. He, too, leaned back in his back in his chair, laced his fingers behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling. After a moment or two, he remarked, “And I had so hoped that I had discovered the truth behind the myth. That I could prove sperm vampires really had existed… That they still do exist.”

“Darling,” Constance told him, “If you had wanted to make new discoveries, you should have majored in a science. Not history. History is dead. Most so-called new discoveries in our field are just a matter of semantics or ridiculous, crazy theories that no one takes seriously. And the further back one goes, the less likely a new finding will be made.”

“I know,” he sighed. “A ridiculous theory like a sperm vampire.”

“You know what you need, Abe?” she asked as she stood up and strode to the door.

He dropped his arms and sat up straight in his swivel high-back chair. They had been together for a long time, so he knew exactly where this conversation was headed. He didn’t protest that what she was more than likely intending to do was also crazy. The sound of his office door closing and the click of the lock being put on confirmed his suspicions.

When Constance returned to the desk, she dialed the receptionist downstairs. “Judy, this is Dean Brooks. Hold all calls to Professor Van Zaadvocht’s office. We are trying to iron out the details for an upcoming departmental event.”

The couch was as cluttered with books as the rest of the office. It was only by moving some of them over to the top of others that she was able to pick up a seat cushion. She dropped the pillow at the feet of Van Zaadvocht, who had spun his chair ninety degrees so that the desk was to his side, not his front.

“Don’t want to get a run in my stockings,” she explained as she sank down to her knees. “What you need,” she said as she unbuckled his belt and tugged down his zipper, “is a nice, sloppy blowjob.”

“Not too sloppy,” he answered. “I have to deliver a lecture in…” He glanced at the clock over the door, “about forty-five minutes. I can’t have damp spots on my pants.”

“Then lift your fat butt so I can pull your pants down around your ankles,” she quipped.

Actually, he did not have a fat butt, but who is would argue with a woman about to blow you? He arched his back, and she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his trousers and briefs, dragging them down past his knees. The fact that he was already semi-erect caused her to smile. Like Pavlov’s dog, she had unintentionally trained her much younger lover to get a hard-on just by saying the word “blowjob.” Of course, she had blown him so many times over the past twenty years, it would be strange if he did not respond in such a fashion.

Constance grabbed Van Zaadvocht’s dick at the base with her right hand, holding it upright as she took the top half of it into her mouth. She sucked on it while slowly lifting her head, her lips stroking along the length. When she reached the top, she re-opened her mouth and lowered her head to engulf him once again. Each time she did that, he got a little bit harder, until finally she had coaxed him into a full erection.

With that goal achieved, Constance shifted hands, using her left to move the meat-pole to the side and to lick the underside of the shaft. Repeatedly. Until it was glistening with her salvia. She pumped on that rigid piece of flesh, rotating her wrist, while she stared up into his face. A teasing, playful smile on her own face.

Then she sucked him some more. The fingers of both hands touching the sides of his dick as her head lowered and raised, lowered and raised. Repeatedly. Her lips locked tightly around the cock. Her cheeks caved in from the sucking action.

But she couldn’t ignore his balls. After all, they were the source of the cream she was seeking. She spent several minutes licking and lapping at the hairy, crinkled sack, occasionally taking both orbs into her mouth and suckling on them. His moans and sighs confirmed she was doing it just right.

Constance would have been perfectly content to remain with her face between Van Zaadvocht’s widely spread thighs, paying homage to his testicles, but she knew he had a class soon. Shuffling her knees to redistribute her weight and get more comfortable, the dick-diving Dean raised up and leaned forward. Hovering over Van Zaadvocht’s lap. Opening her mouth wide, she plunged down on his cock. Taking it fully down her throat. She did that a couple of more times. On the final descent, she stayed there. Her chin resting on top of his balls. Her mouth touching his groin. She shook her head from side-to-side, her tight throat muscles sheathing like a snug glove.

Her head popped back up, and she gasped several times, gulping down air. Then, with using her hand to augment her oral caresses, she began to fellate him with fervent affection. Wanting to please and satisfy the man she has so long been devoted to.

Meanwhile, Professor Van Zaadvocht was clenching the arms of his high-back, black leather executive chair. The ends of his fingers dug into the padding and his head lolled around. Eyes closed. Lips parted as he breathed through his mouth.

“Connie… Connie… Connie,” he chanted. Like reciting a mantra as the kneeling woman between his legs worked her magic.

“Hm-mm! Hm-mm! Hm-mm!” she replied and sped up her movements. Stroking faster and sucking harder. With her free hand, she cupped his now-tight nut-sack and pressed it gently but firmly into his body.

“I’M CUMMMINNNG!” he cried out. His upper body jerked forward and his hand shot out to clasp Constance’s head. Pulling it in close as his hips bucked like a bronco rider.

Her fist around his shaft prevented him from ramming his cock all the way down her throat, and just remained there. Motionless. Surrendering her mouth to him during the closing moments of her knobber. He filled her mouth with his hot, thick sperm. Flooding it as his cock spasmed and twitched. Each blast searing through his shaft to explode within her.

Constance stayed with her head tilted forward. Her hand clasping the base of his cock. She made loud, gulping sounds as she strove to swallow down the torrent of male-juice.

When his hands fell away and he collapsed back into his chair, she continued to hold the now softening dick between her lips. She rolled her eyes upwards, seeking out his own eyes, and winked. Then, lifting her head, she kissed the now almost completely deflated dick and licked it off any droplets of cum. She leaned to the side and dug into the left rear pocket of his pants that were heaped around his ankles for a handkerchief.

A few wipes with the folded cloth, a goodbye kiss to the spongy cockhead, and she handed the handkerchief up to him.

“There you go, all nice and tidy for your lecture,” she said. She had to grab the chair-arms to assist herself in standing up. With a groan, she commented, “These old knees are getting too old for this.”

Seeing that he was about to say something, she smiled. “Don’t worry. If you were not such a slob and used a bookcase instead, you could sit on the end of the couch and I could lie on my stomach to suck you off.”

That was not the first time she had criticized the way he (un) kept his office.

“I kinda lost it there at the end,” he confessed with a sheepish grin. “I hope all the other offices were empty.”

She chuckled and tousled his hair. “Do you think anyone on campus does not know about us?”

As she walked to the door and unlocked it, she added, “Besides. They probably think it’s cute that a stuffy old college Dean blows her boy-toy during school hours.”