Post-breakup: A Sweet and Sexy Goodbye

“So, you came to my place, broke up with me, screwed my brains out … and I will see you next Thursday for the concert?!?”

We both chuckled, followed by an all-encompassing embrace. Again, more evidence that I am a woman of contradictions. I am not sure what I expected when I broke it off with Bret, whom I had been seeing casually for five months, but it certainly wasn’t an intimate conversation about dating followed by mind-blowing sex.

I described the situation to my friend, Natalie, who has had more turns at dating than a Barry White album on vinyl. Natalie is brilliant when it comes to relationships.

“Sure,” Natalie lilted, “remember James?”

“Yes! Wasn’t he the wine guy, the one with the great hair and shoe collection?”

Women tend to remember the men their friends date — in particular when they’re remarkably handsome or suave like James. Perhaps the only reason I remember him was because he seemed a little too suave.

“That’s the one” she continued. “I broke up with James on a Saturday night and we spent until Monday morning in bed.”

“Oh my!” I replied. “I had no idea there was such a thing as break-up sex.”

During my 15-year marriage, my ex-husband and I had our share of arguments so there was plenty of make-up sex. But never, in the final two years of ripping off the band-aid extended divorce proceedings, was I enticed into shagging with my ex. Standing in Bret’s living room I was a little surprised, though not unpleasantly, that after I announced my intentions to dial down his and my relationship to nearly zero, Bret said “I still want to take you to my bed. And I mean now. Right now.”

My body and its contradictions were more than willing to comply. It is amazing what two horny adults can do with three hours and a soft place to land.

Probably because I was anticipating at some point letting Bret go, I had been holding myself back sexually over our time together. I didn’t want him to see my whole sexual self. That day, with nothing else to lose, I allowed myself to be all of my sexual being. Like college kids skipping a Friday biology lecture, we rolled around all afternoon. I climaxed time-and-time again, even though it messed his creamy satin sheets.

We also engaged in a great round of fantasy sex.

A handful of guys, after recollecting Van Halen’s Hot for Teacher, have told me they think sex with a professor is hot. While “naughty professor” isn’t a name I want on my online dating profile, it does fit my bookish-professor-on-the-exterior and sexy-vixen-on-the-interior identity. My professional life is scientific and demanding; my private life is creative and unbound. During our afternoon of break-up sex, Bret told me about a dream he had a few nights earlier about a naughty professor.

Though Bret and I had never engaged in acting out a fantasy, I was wrapped up in the intimacy of saying goodbye and wanted to engage his sexy side. It was surprisingly easy for me to morph into the naughty professor.

It started with me straddling him, a position of domination that I knew he enjoyed.

“You were a naughty student this afternoon…” I whispered in his ear, referencing the previous naughty acts he had done with his magical fingers. “You can’t get away with treating your professor like that.”

“C’mon, give a guy a break. My girl just broke up with me” he opined, entering the ether.

You were a very bad boy and deserve to be punished. I want to see you after class. Meet me at the computer lab at five and be prepared to do a lot of data entry.” I grabbed his hands and pushed them over his head. It was fabulously luscious to walk him through these slow and sexy consequences.

Sitting alone in the stifling computer lab, the sun streams through full open windows, though no breeze emerges from the cloudless sky. All you can hear is the hum of the computer stations at every table. Realizing that you are the only student kept late, you sit at the computer in the front row. The professor wanders in, and without a word leans over your shoulder and drops a messy stack of paper on the desk. “You need to enter all of this data” she says in her smooth voice, before she, in her crisp white blouse and pencil skirt, settles herself legs intertwined, on the large instructor’s desk. Reaching to turn on the computer, you realize it’s not the only thing getting started.

Naked, rubbing myself against his growing cock, I went on.

“It is awfully hot in here,” the professor comments as she unbuttons the top few buttons of her shirt. She catches you raising your head and sternly reprimands “You, sir, stay focused on your work.” The only air moving around the room comes from the crossing and uncrossing of her bare tanned legs. A whiff of her perfume slides across the room.

The anticipation growing, my legs wrapped around Bret’s erection.

The teacher leans across the desk, grabbing a stack of papers to fan herself. Glancing up, you get a glimpse of the tops of two full-size breasts and silky panties under her skirt. Suddenly, your attention gets pulled away. Through the paned window in the door you see a group of students ambling down the hall. If the students enter the lab, you won’t get another glimpse of pink between the professor’s thighs.

“Can I reach down and grab my cock?” Bret opens his eyes to look up into mine. He knew I was already wet and wanting his handsome self.

Quiet! You have been a very naughty boy. You must keep entering data, hands on the keyboard.” His hands still above his head on the bed, I gripped his wrists harder, alerting Bret that this is my fantasy to control.

The professor twists her long dark hair up on her head, securing her hair with a pencil. With a sigh, she slowly undoes another button. Long red finger nails trail beneath her cotton collar wiping beads of sweat off her neck. Her free hand wanders down the length of her skirt. Sweat dripping between her thighs, she pulls her skirt up to get a bit of relief. As she inches the skirt higher, she moves to adjust her panties. You sneak a quick glance and your gaze lands on wet silk. She catches you, and her eyes, tired from the heat and the long week teaching, settle to meet yours. A whisper of satisfaction crosses the professor’s face. As you scan down her body, you see her pull aside her panties, inserting a finger into her swollen pussy. Another finger slides in to join the first. Releasing one hand, she undoes each button all the way down her blouse. The lace of her bra isn’t enough to conceal erect nipples.

Lifting my hips, I teased the tip of Bret’s cock, allowing his most sensitive part to caress my slit.

“I would have to touch myself. Please?” he begged.

“No, naughty boy. No touching yourself.”

I hesitated, inhaling deeply, intoxicated by the scent of sweat and sex. By now, I was so full of pleasure I had forgotten that a few short hours earlier I had broken up with this man with whom I had shared a good part of the day in bed. Impaling myself on his enormous erection took my breath away. Increasing the intensity, my pussy welcomed his shaft with the force of a piston. Chest-to-chest, we moved with a distinctly pleasurable rhythm.

“Mmmmm,” the professor moans, touching herself.

His whole body tensed in anticipation of climax. After a full afternoon of fucking, my last bit of energy tightened around his cock. The clenching of my walls evoked an explosion of his hot cum deep inside.

The naughty professor satiated by the naughty student.

Did you finish the data entry?” I whispered, climbing onto my elbow, my long dark hair falling around his face. Looking immensely satisfied, Bret was too distracted to reply.

“I guess you’re wondering why I would give up on great sex like this?” I inquired, looking deeply into his eyes.

“No. I know you are a woman full of contradictions,” he said and pulled me down to his chest, “and I will see you Thursday.”

“Yes. You will see me Thursday.”

Maybe break-up sex, at least with caring men like Bret, will become a new part of my relationship repertoire. If that afternoon has any predictive qualities, it bodes well for a few sweet and outrageously sexy good-byes.

S. Lynne

S. Lynne is a mild-mannered professor by day and a vixen by night. Though most of her writing is scientific, she indulges her sexier side by recounting true stories of romantic interludes. S. Lynne is relishing new-found freedom after the end of a 15-year relationship. With many dating sex-capades to share, she hopes to educate and inspire!

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