Indecent Read online

  INDECENT

  L.J. ANDERSON

  Indecent

  L.J. Anderson

  Copyright © 2013 L.J. Anderson

  Edited by Lynda Martin

  Cover Art © Mayhem Cover Creations

  All rights reserved

  Kindle Edition

  Special thanks to Robin and Lynda

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with others, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and you did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Warning : The following stories contain scenes of an explicit, erotic nature and is intended for adults, 18+

  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...
>
  Fuck. Now is not the time to be fantasizing, especially since we’ll be sharing the same air for the next hour.

  Needing a distraction, I was seconds away from poring over my note again. At least until I realized Kaleb hadn’t left. He was still standing there, watching me, his handsome face a mask of indiscernible emotion. Our eyes locked, and I was immediately disarmed, unable to look away from his piercing gaze.

  Naked: I felt so goddamn naked and exposed that I had to fight the urge to look down at myself to make sure I wasn’t. The feeling was familiar, aching, inflaming my body, stiffening my cock. It was like reading that first note all over again, but more, compounded by the intensity of Kaleb’s penetrating stare.

  What I am doing? He’s a student!

  With great effort, I somehow managed to look away, breaking the connection.

  “Did you need something else?” My word were preceded by the awkward sound of my throat-clearing reflexively.

  “Um, guess not. You just seem a bit anxious.”

  You seemed anxious. The subtle resemblance to the comment at the end of this afternoon’s note caused my eyes to widen slightly before narrowing, drawing my brows together in concentrated suspicion.

  Is Kaleb my stalker?

  “I’m fine,” I replied, keeping an even tone, though inside, my emotions were undulating wildly—wavering between disbelief and excitement, anger and arousal. I didn’t know what to feel.

  Kaleb shifted from foot to foot, nervously rocking on his heels again. He looked away, unable to hold his composure under the pressure of my intense stare.

  “Okay...well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Professor,” he muttered before turning toward the door and shuffling out as quickly as he could.

  Maybe Kaleb wasn’t the one leaving them after all. He seemed so timid and sweet, while the guy who who had left those notes was self-assured and confident. Smug.

  -

  -

  When I stepped through the doors of my lecture hall the following morning, my eyes sought the desk, wondering whether or not today’s letter had been delivered. I’d already stopped by my faculty mailbox, holding my breath as I shuffled through each piece of correspondence. I wondered if I’d find the most recent report of my inappropriate behavior, but I found nothing. My desk was curiously empty as well. Maybe it will come this afternoon.

  Except it didn’t.

  The first few classes of the day were spent scouring my attendance rosters trying to figure out who was missing.

  There were three, two of which I was absolutely certain, based on their intellects or rather lack of, could not have been my stalker. The third wasn’t that strong of a candidate either, and as soon as I compared his handwriting against yesterday’s note, any doubt I had of his innocence washed away. There was no way he’d written them.

  I was back at square one.

  Before taking my lunch break that day, I stopped by my office to retrieve the tests Kaleb had graded the day before. At the university, that was the one place my stalker had never invaded with his observant reports of my deviant behavior. It served as a stalwart sanctuary when I couldn’t hide out in my apartment at home. But the day had come when even that place was no longer safe.

  My body burned, nerves standing on end as my gaze locked on the folded white sheet neatly placed in the center of my desk. There was something different about it that day though. Maybe it was the sudden break in routine, or the fact that I was now seeking the notes out, rather than hiding from them. Something had changed, and I recognized it immediately. Fear—it wasn’t the presence of it, but the lack thereof.

  I no longer felt the urge to cringe as I unfolded the paper in my hands. I didn’t worry whether the next note I opened was going to be the one to tell me I was being blackmailed or exposed to my colleagues and students.

  All that fear was gone and replaced with sheer anticipation. I felt like a child at Christmas as I scrambled toward my desk, grasping for the note. I had to force myself not to tear the thing as I opened it, hoping that in reading it, I might soon be closer to unraveling its mystery.

  The first thing I noticed was that today’s note was far longer than any that preceded it.

  I scanned the creased sheet, eyes raking over the scrawled text. It wasn’t long before I realized I needed to sit down to avoid collapsing from the weight of its revelation.

  -

  -

  I honestly can’t believe I’m writing this, let alone giving it to you, but after yesterday, I just can’t hold back any longer—not after the way you looked at me, making me feel like I’d been stripped to the bone. It was as if you could see inside me, exposing my bare desire.

  Could you feel how much I wanted you?

  As often as I watch you, I’d never seen you look at another guy the way you looked at me.

  It was hours ago, and I can still feel the heat from your stare. That look gave me the strength to stop this game and tell you how much I want you, that I’ve wanted you from the first time I saw you, and that I’ve never felt this way before, overwhelmed by burning desire and all-consuming lust.

  I’ve imagined you taking me so many times. More times than I can count or would be willing to admit. But I needed you to know that it’s you I dream of when I lay in bed alone at night, wishing I was wrapped in a pair of strong arms, surrounded by body heat, smooth skin, and a hard cock pressing against the crack of my ass.

  It’s so hard to fight the urge to stroke my myself, when all I can think about is you bending me over your massive oak desk, those warm hands gripping my hips as you pound into my ass over and over until I no longer have the strength to stand.

  You know the kind of games I play, but I wonder about you, whether or not you’d spank me. We both know I deserve some punishment for sending you all those naughty notes, and as frustrated as you looked watching those boys by the soda machine, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had the urge to whip my ass till it turned hot pink and sensitive.

  I bet you’d love to teach me a lesson and show me what a bad boy I’ve been, spanking me hard before you pushed me to my knees? I’d let you because I think you’d love the sight of me kneeling in front of you, all hands and unsteady fingers fumbling with the tab of your zipper, showing you how goddamn eager I am to have you in my mouth.

  I’d suck you so hard, Professor Cameron, drawing out your pleasure, taking the hot tip between my lips as I lick around the curve of the head. Then I’d slide my tongue up the length of your shaft before opening wide to take you in as far as I could. Sucking and tasting, touching and teasing, I’d be so turned on, I’d let you fuck me any way you wanted.

  Just thinking about being with you is almost too much. You can’t imagine how fucking difficult it is to write all this out without touching myself, while the thought of having you nearly makes me come in my pants.

  Maybe it sounds juvenile, but what I’m trying to say is that I want you, and if you want me too, then I’m yours.

  I’ve given you my words, Professor, a little taste of the desire burning in my chest, but those words pale in comparison to what you do to me. Maybe it’s wrong—I know it is, but I can’t change the way you make me feel. I don’t want to.

  Kaleb

  -

  -

  Fuck.

  My face felt hot, and my slacks tight, as I re-read what he’d written, all the naughty things this boy claimed he wanted to do to me and have me do to him.

  Kaleb Davis. The thought of him writing all this, ending his game so he could admit his true desires was beyond anything I ever dared to hope for. All the notes before this one, the teasing and taunting, those small thrills no longer mattered. Right now, all I could think about was the note in my hands, the one that contained the secret desires of a horny young boy who wanted nothing more than to be fucked by me, his professor.

  Christ.

  My thoughts were spinning out of control, trying to understand what all this meant, what I’d actually read. One thing was ce
rtain—that fucking letter was downright indecent. My rock-hard dick throbbed and twitched in agreement.

  What the the hell was I going to do? What could I do?

  I knew what my body wanted to do, what my dick ached for...that hot piece of ass on his knees in front of me, letting me fuck his mouth...

  Just as soon as the image popped into my head, I knew I was fucked. I tried as hard as I could to will it away, but it was no use. The memory of that errant thought would be branded into my brain till the day I died. Unlike the other times I fantasized about fucking Kaleb, it was with the knowledge that what I was doing was nothing more than a fantasy, a dream that would never, could never, be realized, but now—now that I had his words, my fantasy had every chance of becoming a reality.

  Why Kaleb? Why not some handsome, available professor I could actually date without risking my career? Why did it have to be a student, the one student I had absolutely no chance of resisting?

  I was well and truly fucked.

  My emotions spun out of control, frustration and self-loathing mixed with desire and need so overwhelming I had to fight the urge to slide my boxers and slacks down to my ankles, freeing my erection from the confines of smothering cotton and tweed. If I had let it get that far, there would have been nothing to stop me from jerking my dick. But I couldn’t have tricked myself into thinking that would have been enough because it had never been enough. No. I needed more than that, more than just the calloused palm of my left hand. I needed scruff and an angular jaw rubbing against my fingertips as I pushed my dick into a hot, eager mouth.

  How could I be expected to hold my composure and teach a class in such close proximity to his dizzying presence? In the past, anytime I’d indulged myself with a glance in his direction, I would catch him watching me, nibbling on the end of his pen, those full lips wrapped around the tip in a way that was deliciously obscene. The memory alone was enough to inspire a lifetime of scorching hot fantasies.