A Favor for Professor Whit

"Come 'round for lunch tomorrow?" Professor Whitmore's proposition was innocent enough. "My husband and I are making a pot roast."

"That's alright, Professor Whit," Malcolm said as graciously as he could muster. "Really, I can get myself food, I'm just really busy making sure my final submission is ready."

"Of course you can, hon," she passed an appraising eye over his state of dishevelment, his greasy hair and his nest of books and papers there in the middle of the university library. "But it's not about the food, you need to blow off steam. And as your doctorate advisor in neurobiology, I shouldn't really have to tell you that, now should I?"

Malcolm saw her point... but not her game.

"I'm sure you remember my husband," Professor Whit said the next day as she ushered him inside a tasteful mid-century home in the suburbs. "You met at the last fundraiser."

How could Malcolm ever forget? The man's green eyes were like emeralds set into mustachioed, chiseled stone. His broad chest and belly strained the buttons of his flannel shirt and the chest hair peeking through the seams was the same chestnut brown as his head. He smelled of cedar and men's body wash. The good kind.

Malcolm, seized by an image of what the man might look like applying that soap all over his naked body, felt his knees buckle when they shook hands. The man lingered a bit, placing a second hand over their clasp, and Malcolm felt a warmth kindle in his cock.

"Of course," he played it as cool as he could manage, "Nathan, right?"

"Yeah," Nathan said. He looked oddly nervous, but smiled and invited him further into the house.

The three of them had a splendid lunch together. Nathan warmed up, and Malcolm found just the right ways to make them laugh. He liked that. He particularly liked Nathan's booming chuckles. His voice was deep and masculine and it made Malcolm's stomach flutter.

Professor Whit was generous with the wine, and soon the burning in his cheeks told him he'd overdone it. He smiled as he noticed a rosiness in Nathan's cheeks too, and then their eyes met. He didn't turn away; but raised a corner of his mouth.

"So," Professor Whit said, breaking the reverie. "Malcolm, I have a favor I want to ask you. It-- it's sort of the reason I invited you here today."

"Oh?" Malcolm blinked a few times to refocus on her. "How can I help?"

"It's rather personal," she insisted.

"No problem," Malcolm countered. "What's up?"

"You see..." she downed the last of her wine glass. "Nathan here told me recently that he wants to open up our marriage."

Malcolm froze. Nathan watched the curtains. She continued.

"He told me, of course, after he'd already fucked another woman." She shot him a contemptuous look that was utterly foreign to the happy rapport they'd been having just moments ago. "But, I'm not without understanding. I actually like the idea... given the right chronology." She pursed her lips at him again.

"S-so, what do you want from me?" Malcolm asked, his palms sweating.

"Well, I told him that, as penance, I get to choose when and who his next ten fucks are. It's been six months now since Nathan's had any sex," she leaned back into her couch in a villainous power pose, "and I've decided it's time he gets to have a little treat."

"A-and that's..." Malcolm looked frantically from one to the other, "me?"

Professor Whitmore nodded with an authority he'd never seen before.

"H-how do you mean?" Malcolm asked, stalling. "I-- you-- h-he's not even gay or bi or anything is he?"

Nathan remained silent, nonplussed to be spoken of in the third person.

"Oh, we don't know," she said with a touch of malice. "But tonight, if you'll consent, of course, he'll do as I say, and I thought we might give it a sporting chance."

A chill ran up Malcolm's spine and a shock ran the length of his cock. Nathan's breathing had quickened to a running pace. Malcolm watched his massive chest heave up and down while a red flush crept up his cheeks. He studied the bigger man's stubbled chin, his full and bushy moustache, and his massive arms. He licked his lips as he considered opening himself for such a burly delight, one he'd not had in a long time.

And so he consented.

Under Professor Whit's command, Malcolm's shirt was untucked, unbuttoned, and removed by compliant yet powerful fingers. The warmth from Nathan's body -- so close as he disrobed him -- radiated a sexual tension that belied his nominal reluctance. Malcolm looked up into his verdant eyes, steady and hungry, and the man parted his lips a smidge as he leaned forward and brushed Malcolm's own, a hesitant yet hopeful request.

Malcolm shot a glance sideways to Professor Whit, who crossed her legs and sat back with a face that said, "Go on!"

And so he did, closing his mouth on Nathan's and inhaling his intoxicating, musky aroma as their kiss joined their bodies with magnetic attraction. In seconds, Malcolm had pulled Nathan's shirt over his head and the grit of chest hair on his own smooth skin tightened his hard on.

He pushed Nathan back, forgetting their audience, and pulled his pants down with his boxers. A full bush of ruddy brown hair greeted him in advance of the massive cock that already stood at half mast. Malcolm noted that having sex with a man might not be that much of a punishment for him. He grinned and salivated before opening wide and swallowing as much of Nathan as his throat would allow. Within seconds, however...

"No." Professor Whit's voice rang like an iron gong. "Eat him out."

Malcolm pulled off the stiffening cock with a soft popping sound. "What?"

But Nathan was already on it; wordlessly he pulled Malcolm up by his armpits, roughly turned him around and pulled his pants down to his ankles. Malcolm had barely a moment to demure at being stripped down to his underwear in his advisor's bedroom before Nathan pulled the back of them down and plunged his tongue deep into his crack.

"Uhnnnnn..." Malcolm moaned gutterally as he leaned forward on the Whitmores' burgundy sheets.

Ok, he's definitely enjoying this. No one reluctantly eats ass this good.

Nathan's tongue assailed Malcolm's asshole to within an inch of its life. Malcolm's grunts and groans left him drooling. The bristle brush feel of that virile mustache between his cheeks was sending him into orbit.

"Now fuck him," came the imperious voice from the armchair, coupled with the dull thud of a bottle of lube landing on the floor beside them. Nathan stood immediately, picked up the bottle and began dribbling it on Malcolm's already soaked hole.

He trembled with anticipation as he listened to Nathan lube himself up, and took steadying breaths as he felt the head line up with his asshole. He deftly extracted his foot from his pant leg and lifted his knee to the bed, opening wide. The familiar burn in his underused hole ignited as Nathan began to push inside. Malcolm wanted to take him -- all of him -- immediately and he greedily leaned back to meet Nathan's probing thrust.

"Ohhhhhh," Malcolm intoned a high-pitched, breathy sigh as Nathan grabbed hold of the briefs still covering his untouched cock and pulled on them as leverage while he unrelentingly impaled the smaller man. He exhaled his own husky sigh when he bottomed completely out. The ridges of his manhood thrummed Malcolm's prostate like the tines of a key, unlocking waves of pleasure that opened him further.

In and out. In and out. Nathan sawed at a tantrically slow pace.

"Uhn... oh my god..." Malcolm panted.

"Yeah, you like that?" Nathan's gravelly, resonant voice caressed Malcolm's skin.

"Yeah, I do."

"You like that cock up your ass?" He thrust with extra power on the word, his voice just above a whisper; the domineering words passed just between the men.

"Mmm, yes, sir. I do."

Nathan leaned forward, gripping Malcolm around the chest and driving his weight deep into his canal. His moustache scraped into the back of his neck as the older man kissed and suckled his skin.

His pace increased, battering Malcolm's hole with abandon, and in a short while, Malcolm surrendered himself to gravity. He collapsed onto his chest and released all control to the man plowing his back fields.

"Oh, fuck yeah, you dirty little slut, you take my fucking cock just like that, yeah you want it long, hard and deep, you naughty boy..." Nathan kept up a steady stream of whispered profanities, and Malcolm drank it in willingly. He arched his back and twisted slightly to bring the side of his face next to Nathan's, watching him mutter up close in supplication.

"Yes sir," he repeated in harmony. "Yes sir, I fucking love it, sir, I want your massive load. I fucking want it so bad..."

A high-pitched moan issued from the forgotten armchair, and Malcolm glanced over to see Professor Whit, legs spread and skirt pulled up, fingering herself. She had her other hand on an exposed breast, which heaved in time with her husband's earth-shattering thrusts into the twink's spread asshole.

Nathan's pace quickened further, and Malcolm whimpered loudly with every pass his ridged cockhead made over his g-spot. A rare pressure began to build in his loins, and Malcolm's jaw lolled open as his untouched, rock-hard erection began leaking copious semen into his briefs. The full wave of his orgasm had yet to crest, and still Nathan's ridiculously pleasurable piston was quite literally fucking the cum out of him.

Then suddenly, his dam burst, and Malcolm saw stars as his full load shot into his underwear, causing his sphincter to clench around Nathan's cock.

"Oh fuck, yeah! That's it, baby, let me feel you cum, that's fucking it..." and he finally exploded with great heaving shots deep into Malcolm's body.

Malcolm could feel Nathan's muscles contracting behind him, engulfing him in waves of pleasure; Malcolm's body responded to his stimulus with resonating hums of its own, rhythmically clenching down on Nathan's firing cock.

In the panting silence that followed, as Nathan slowly retreated from his used hole, Malcolm turned to look at Professor Whit. Her body was also shuddering as she restabilized from the height of climax.

"You said you're gonna choose his next nine fucks now too?" He asked her over his shoulder.

Nathan huffed a breathy chortle into Malcolm's back, but it was Professor Whit who spoke.

"Oh no, hon. You're not the first one."

Malcolm lifted his head in surprise. "Oh really? What number am I?"

Between breaths at his back, Nathan replied. "Lucky number seventeen."

Malcolm's eyes widened and he grinned, impressed, back at Professor Whit over Nathan's still heaving shoulder. She raised a triumphant eyebrow and returned a cheeky smirk.

"How many men?"

"Seventeen."

Malcolm let his head drop to the mattress and sighed. "Well then, put me down for slots eighteen, nineteen, and twenty, please."

The three of them chuckled as Nathan's cock twitched against Malcolm's hole once more.