Tasting the Forbidden - A Mayhem Erotica Anthology (9 page)

She let out a contented sigh as I began to pull out, and then push back in again. She clasped her hands behind my head, creating an arch in her back, but pulling my cock into her fully. I could feel myself hit her hilt. I wanted to thrust faster and harder, to hit her deep inside over and over again. “Yes,” she growled as I punctuated her snarl with a powerful thrust. My enthusiastic pace quickened, lifting her toes off the ground as I drove into her. She brought a hand down, grasping mine at her hip, and then guided me to the front of her pussy. Our fingers linked, massaging the plump flesh of her swollen lips slick with moisture, flowing free. I hugged her closer, not wanting an inch of space between us. My eyes closed as I imagined my lips around her nipples, tonguing them like hard pieces of sugary candy. My mouth watered thinking about their taste, texture, and her needy cries.

“Uh…oh, yes… I’m… I’m…” Her voice rose with each syllable. And then she clinched around me. Her pussy gripped me, its pulsing breaths constricting and releasing my cock. The rhyme sent me over, already tenuous with my need to come. The blackness overtook my vision, and there was a momentary lapse in reality. I couldn’t think, move, breathe—my body in lockdown as unequivocal pleasure shot through me. There weren’t enough words known to man that could describe how I felt at that moment…

I had been altered.

Ϯ

Despite having been sated a number of times in the last several hours, my mind continued to race as we lay together in bed. After our tryst in the church, we adjourned to Beth’s home to continue our devotions. We were lost in the intimacy, whispering words of devotion and promise, unable to deny our connection. “I will move heaven and earth to be with you,” I’d told her after our third session of lovemaking, meaning it more than any vow I’d made before.

I lay on the soft mattress in her bungalow, perfect in our simplicity with blankets bunched around us, creating a cocoon. Beth was asleep, her naked body pinned to mine. With each breath she took, I thanked God for her existence, an existence I wanted to be a part of. In order for our life together to begin, though, I had to conclude another part of mine. It wouldn’t be as simple as sawing off a limb and leaving it behind. It would be painful to confess to my mentors what had transpired. I would have to confess my sins and the desecration of the chapel. I would have to admit to my flock—my parish—that I was no longer a man of upstanding character qualified to lead them; that I, too, was a sinner, no better than the man who cast the first stone. But for her, I would do it. I would spend the rest of my days begging forgiveness and repenting. One day, I would be worthy of her love and devotion.

Ϯ

“Sacrifice is defined as ‘
the offering of some material possession to a deity, as in propitiation or homage, the surrender or destruction of something prized or desirable for the sake of something considered as having a higher or more pressing claim, or loss.
’ We often see sacrifice as tangible only by those who acknowledge and embrace, to the fullest, selflessness, nobility, and divinity. For example, Christ carrying the cross, enduring and absorbing so much pain to save us, and while costly, it was done with extraordinary… sacrifice. But to say that all sacrifice must be born of suffering is a disservice to all of God’s creatures; for we could—and should—live every day with the smallest amount sacrifice. A quarter in the offering basket, clothing donations to the local shelter, making room for one more on a crowded bus... these are all sacrificial acts. While they are not grand in gesture, they are enough to alter someone’s life.
”

“I stand before you today, about to make a sacrifice. While I will not be carrying a cross, or leaving a quarter in the offering basket, I will be sacrificing you, my family. It is with a heavy heart that I stand before you today, as it is my last day as a man of God.”

Ϯ

Sicut erat in principio,

nunc et semper,

mundo sine consummationem, Amen.
^ɸ

John 13:34-35

(34)A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another. (35) By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.”

INDECENT

L.J. Anderson

Copyright © 2013
L.J. Anderson

Edited by Lynda Martin

Cover Art ©
Mayhem Cover Creations

All rights reserved,

Special thanks to Robin and Lynda

His notes consumed me, invaded every waking thought with the unsettling feeling of being watched by someone--someone so observant that all my hidden desires were laid bare, leaving me naked and vulnerable to my mysterious stranger’s watchful eyes.

I was unnerved, at a disadvantage, out of control.

And I had no one to turn to.

January

I
found it on my desk—a crisply folded sheet of college rule paper, loose leaf, handwriting neat with an exaggerated tilt. The black ink was a little smudged, looking as if it had been written in a rush. It seemed innocuous enough, but the churning ache that erupted in my gut as my eyes scanned the letter’s contents proved otherwise.

I looked anxiously around the deserted classroom, hoping for an explanation, and wondering if anyone was watching and waiting to see my face contorted in an expression of fear. My heart beat faster as I silently prayed for this to be a practical joke. Glancing back at the paper in my hand, I wished the words would be different from the last time I read them. But they weren’t.

-

I’ve seen the way your eyes linger over certain men, guys mostly, like me. You think no one notices or no one sees you adjusting your
hard cock in those tweed trousers.

But I’ve noticed.

-

The words on the note called to me, beckoning me to read them again, to dissect each syllable. I studied the curve of each letter, mentally comparing the penmanship to every handwritten paper I’d ever graded, but it was a useless effort. Unfortunately my memory wasn’t
that
good.

This was serious. Someone had been watching me long enough and carefully enough to notice a pattern, and they’d been astute enough to interpret my behavior and identify it for what it was.

The knowledge was only slightly less terrifying than it was exhilarating.

-

-

February

I saw you today by the dining hall. You were leaning against the vending machine watching the soccer team warm up, your hand wrapped tightly around a can of soda. Even as you sipped, your eyes never left those dirty, sweat-covered bodies as they ran around, pushing each other and wrestling around in the mud.

You seemed especially anxious today.

-

-

That was the second note I’d received today. After the first one, I stalked down to the courtyard with heavy, trudging footsteps and a crease between my brows. I needed a smoke to blow off a little steam. All that pent-up rage evaporated the moment my eyes settled, landing on the glorious sight of soccer players.

They were filthy and sweaty, muscles flexing, tempting me away from the cigarette I no longer craved. Maybe it was a rare moment of weakness on my part, making the trek to the courtyard to watch them practice in the mud, but I couldn’t resist, stalker be damned.

He must have noticed the weary signs of sexual frustration written all over my face. But then, of course he did. He always noticed.

Usually, I only managed to elicit one note a day, but apparently my behavior by the vending machine had warranted his commentary and, dare I say it...
concern
? If he was so worried about my well-being, then he had no business playing this game. But the correspondence hadn’t ceased. For the last two weeks, each and every one of those crisp, folded notes had found their way into my possession—on my desk, inside my faculty mailbox, and most disturbing of all, my fucking briefcase. None of them were signed or gave any indication as to who left them.

If I were being honest, the fact that this guy was sending me anonymous messages wasn’t my biggest worry. It was the content I found so disconcerting, the fact that he knew me and obviously had access to my schedule, my lecture room, not to mention my briefcase. Worse yet, he’d somehow seen past my careful facade, unlocked my most carefully guarded secrets, and was using the knowledge to taunt me. Oddly enough, the notes weren’t threatening. Not at all. What unsettled me the most was the sensation of being watched by someone—someone so observant that all my hidden desires were laid bare. His notes left me feeling naked and vulnerable to my mysterious stranger’s watchful eyes.

I was unnerved, at a disadvantage, completely out of control, and I had no one to turn to. Despite my desire to keep it a secret, I wasn’t ashamed of my sexuality. After more than a decade of keeping that part of my life hidden from colleagues and superiors, it just didn’t feel right coming out now. Not after all this time.

In all the years I’d been working at this university, I’d maintained the idea that I was simply a perpetual bachelor, allowing my co-workers to assume I was straight. People just weren’t as open back then when I’d first been hired. And now, it seemed too weird to make this
grand
announcement about my personal life. They didn’t need to know, and besides, it wasn’t as if my sexual preferences were anyone else’s business. I was a very private person and planned to keep it that way.

What I didn’t need was some creeper following me around, watching me throughout the day just so he could report back to me on my failures at blending in with the rest of the breeders. I was tired of worrying about it though. It was time I paid more attention to my surroundings, got my head out of my ass, and caught this guy. I wanted him to see how it felt to be stalked for a change.

Enough is enough.

“Professor Cameron?” a quiet voice called from nearby. Too engrossed in pretending to be engrossed in my work, I barely glanced up from my laptop.

A single glance was all I needed to alert me to the fact that Kaleb Davis, my TA, was standing there, anxiously rocking on his heels.

Oh hell.

Clearing my throat, I looked up at Mr. Davis, trying to keep my expression detached and completely devoid of emotion. One infuriatingly observant person in my life was enough. The last thing I needed was for young Mr. Davis to catch me ogling his defined chest, boyish half-smile, or the sharpness of his perfectly square-cut jaw.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Davis?” I ‘d asked in an attempt to hide my arousal with irritation, my reply a bit more terse than I’d intended.

“I just finished going through yesterday’s tests, and they’re ready for your review.” He didn’t seem as fazed as usual by my gruff attitude, though out of the corner of my eye, I did notice him straighten up, tightly clutching a stack of papers.

“Thank you,” I told him, waving him away dismissively. I thought I’d done a pretty good job of expressing my desire to be rid of his tempting presence. If I was being honest with myself, I had to admit Kaleb was too good looking for his own good. Lately, he’d starred in quite a few of my fantasies. After each one, I felt that inevitable sense of self-loathing at the realization that my thoughts had, yet again, led me down a dangerous path.

Harboring the desire to fuck a student, even if he was my TA, was bad enough. The fact that I had a stalker watching my every move made the situation infinitely worse. All I needed to lose my job was to be reported by that snoop for having inappropriate contact with a student.

I was far more likely to be reported for indecent exposure, especially if Kaleb wore that emerald green button-up to class again. The last time he showed up to class wearing that thing, I just about rubbed myself raw, fucking my hand over and over to the memory of him sitting in the front row, his body leaning toward me, giving me a tempting glimpse of his nearly hairless chest...