Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1162671.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Original_Work
  Character:
      Original_Characters
  Additional Tags:
      Older_Man/Younger_Woman, Closet_Sex, Vaginal_Fingering, Oral_Sex, Spoiled
      Teenager, Not_So_Innocent, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot
  Series:
      Part 1 of Hot_and_Cold
  Stats:
      Published: 2008-12-28 Words: 521
****** Hot Coffee ******
by RisqueSno
Summary
     A tenured university professor finds the right way to survive a
     boring formal event.
Notes
     Author Notes: I've enjoyed playing with first-person POV before, but
     this is basically a love letter to empire waists on skinny bitches
     and coffee at boring events. Possibly distinguished older professors
     as well.
     Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction and any resemblance to
     anyone, dead or alive, is entirely coincidental. I in no way
     encourage, and in fact abhor, relations between actual adults and
     minors under the age of eighteen.
Her mouth tastes like chocolate and coffee, warm and with a wicked grin, soft
hands tugging at the lapels of my jacket in an attempt to pull me closer. Hair
curled and Covergirl cheek powdery against mine. The dim light escaping from
the dying bulb above us casts shadows across the stacks of identical chairs
populating the confining space of the wooden-paneled storage room. She has
seated herself on my lap now, my hands sliding underneath her dress and finding
the edge of lace at her thighs. Outside the door there is tinkling music and
mumbled conversation, a recognizable voice of a colleague speaking on
investment firms, the clatter of a bus boy and his dishes walking past. Inside
there is a stifled moan and the quiet rustle of clothing, her hand tracing the
outline of my slacks, diamond tennis bracelet against gray pinstripes. Princess
sleeves of her black dress slip down slender shoulders, the low neckline of the
empire bodice dipping lower, revealing lingering tan lines and dusky pink
peeking over the edge. Manicured fingernails rake through my hair as I run my
tongue along the tempting swell, my own fingers quite busy beneath her skirt
and wet lace.
The music crashes to an end and a new song begins, light and airy, filtering
through the thin walls from the main hall, but inside our little kingdom of
chairs there is nothing now but furious movement, mostly hers as she performs
her motions above me in a learned, exuberant manner. The formal and polite
event we are supposedly attending sharply contrasting with the current sight of
the two of us in a closet, her dress hiked up and sliding off while my shirt is
unbuttoned and my tailored pants rather comically fallen around my ankles. She
stops me latter-coitus before we reach our conclusion and gets down on the
floor, quickly engulfing me with the warm mouth that has obviously done this
previously and knows the game. Afterwards, I retie the sash of her dress and
she fixes my collar. Our last kiss tastes of coffee and come and her vanilla
lipgloss. She exits first and I follow several minutes later, casually heading
in an opposite direction, mingling once again with the dull crowds and holding
a cup of coffee I don't care about.
An hour or so later I run into an old friend from graduate school, who has
recently been hired by the university as one of my fellow professors. He
rattles on about the usual topics with me: how gratifying it is to teach again,
he and his wife's new home in the area, their grown son's recent internship.
Then he introduces his daughter, who is tagging along for the night and is just
really a bright young thing who hopes to be attending our college to study
psychology in my department, after she graduates high school in a few years.
She beams at me politely with those vanilla lips and gestures towards my cup
with her own, wrist sparkling like a coy wink. "The coffee tastes much better
when you add the hot chocolate to it."
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