Former classmate

I'll tell you how I fucked my former classmate, now a neurologist. It all started when I started having some strange pain in my groin. My wife said, "Go see a doctor, stop putting up with it." So, I made an appointment at a private clinic to avoid lines and prying eyes. I show up, sit in the hallway, and wait. The nurse calls out, "Come in, room twelve." I walk in and am stunned. Sitting at the desk is Olya Smirnova, my classmate about ten years ago. She's aged, sure, but not much. She still has the same bangs, but instead of jeans and a sweater, she's wearing a white coat. "Wow," I say. "Olya? Is that you?" She looked up, squinted, then smiled: - Oh, my God. I didn't think you'd end up here. Come on, sit down and tell me what's bothering you. I sat down and began to explain. She listened, nodded, and wrote something down. Then she said: - Okay, let's watch. Lie down on the couch and take off your pants. Well, I undressed. She put on gloves and started feeling me up. Her hands were cold. I lay there, looking at the ceiling and thinking, "Oh, my God, I'm in deep trouble." And then she suddenly said: "Listen, are you okay? I don't see anything serious. Maybe you're just nervous." I sat up and started getting dressed. She took off her gloves and threw them in the trash. And then I noticed how she was looking at me. Not like a patient. But like a man. I pulled up my pants and fastened my belt. She kept watching. “Well, thank you, doctor,” I say. “Does that mean I’ll live?” "You'll be fine, what else can you do?" she grinned and took off her robe. Underneath was a regular sweater, gray, long-sleeved. "Listen, I'm taking a break in ten minutes. Maybe we could get some coffee? We have a vending machine downstairs, but it's crap. I'll make you a decent one in the staff room." I agreed. What could I not agree with? She was a classmate, after all; we hadn't seen each other in ages. We walked down the hallway, and she opened a door marked "Staff" and let me go first. The room was small: a desk, a sofa, a filing cabinet, and a kettle on the nightstand. She clicked the button, and the water began to gurgle. “Sit down,” she nodded towards the sofa. I sat down. She got out two mugs, instant coffee, and sugar. She stood with her back to me, stirring with a spoon. I looked at her back, at the way her shoulder blades moved under her sweater, and for some reason I remembered how we'd sat in the library in our third year and she kept chewing on her pen. And then, at graduation, we got drunk and kissed in the entryway. It didn't go any further because she said, "Don't, this is all wrong." In the morning, we pretended nothing had happened. “How are you?” she asked without turning around. “Are you married?” — Married. "And I'm divorced," she said simply, as if reporting the weather. "Two years ago. My husband turned out to be a real jerk. Classic." She placed a mug in front of me and sat down next to me, but not too close. A hand's distance away. We drank coffee and talked about nothing: who was working where, who was a drunk, who had left. She said she'd been working there for five years, that she was tired of other people's problems and other people's flesh. That sometimes she came home and just sat in the dark because she couldn't even turn on the TV. “And you?” she asked. “Are you happy?” I shrugged. Honestly, I didn't know what to say. My wife is fine, but things have been going on between us for a while now... without any real desire. Once a week. No fire. "I see," she said. And then, without a pause: "Listen, do you remember how we kissed at graduation?" I nodded. "I lied then," she said. "I didn't want to stop. But I thought you'd regret it in the morning. Or that someone would see." She put the mug on the floor. She turned her whole body towards me. Her knees almost touched mine. "And now," she said quietly, "I have a break for another twenty minutes. No one will come in. I closed the door." I looked at her. She looked at me. And I realized that I wasn't going anywhere. She stood up, walked to the door, and clicked the lock. I heard the click and for some reason immediately calmed down. As if the decision had already been made, and all that was left was to leave her alone. Olya returned, but didn't sit down. She stood in front of me, between my knees. I raised my head and looked up at her. "Are you sure?" I asked. Not because I wanted to refuse. I just had to say something. “Shut up,” she replied and took my chin. She leaned over and kissed me. Not like at graduation. Back then, it had been awkward, drunken, my teeth chattering. Now, slowly, confidently, with complete understanding of what she was doing. I felt her tongue, the taste of coffee, and my hands found their way to her hips. She was wearing jeans, thick ones, and I squeezed them through the fabric, pulling her toward me. She took a step, stood between my legs, still kissing me. I slid my hands under her shirt. Her skin was warm and smooth. No belly, no folds—she clearly took care of herself. I ran my palms down her back and unfastened her bra—she exhaled into my mouth when I did so. Then I pulled the shirt over her head. She was left wearing her bra, which immediately slid to the floor, and jeans. Her breasts were small and neat, her nipples already hard. "You haven't changed," she said, looking at me. "Still the same naughty boy." “And you’ve become better,” I replied. She smiled. I pulled her by the waist and sat her on my lap. She spread her legs on either side of my hips, facing me. I cupped her breasts in my hands and squeezed. She threw her head back as I took a nipple into my mouth. Her breathing was ragged. She rubbed against me through my jeans, and I could feel my cock pressing against my fly, how she wanted more, but she was in no hurry. “Wait,” she said, getting off her knees and spreading her white robe on the sofa. “Lie down.” I lay down. She unbuckled my belt and pulled down my pants and underwear. My penis rose as soon as it was free. She looked at it, then at me. "Nice dick," she said simply. "How long has it been?" - What long time ago? — Haven't had sex for a long time? I didn't lie. — With my wife—about 10 days ago. But that doesn't count. She smiled and leaned over. She took it in her hand and ran her tongue from the base to the head. Slowly. Then again. I watched her—watch her head lower, watch her lips wrap around the shaft. She sucked very skillfully, without rushing, stopping occasionally, licking the head, looking at me. Testing my reaction. I ran my hand through her hair, not pressing, just holding. "I like your dick," she said, pulling away for a second. "I like the way you look." — Do you like it when people watch? “I love you,” she said and took his cock into her mouth again. She worked her mouth for five minutes, maybe more. I felt it coming on and stopped her. “Enough,” I said. “Come here.” She stood up and took off her jeans. Her panties were beautiful and black. She took them off too. I saw her pussy—neat, with short-cropped hair. It was already wet. I reached out and ran my fingers along the slit. She shuddered. “You’re ready now,” I said. “I’ve been ready since the moment you walked into the office,” she replied. I sat up, took her hand, and pulled her toward me. She lay on her back, and I covered her with myself. My cock pressed against her, but I didn't enter. I simply moved the head over her labia, feeling how slippery she was. “A condom,” she said. “In the top drawer.” I reached over and opened the drawer. There was a pack of condoms, half-opened. I took one, opened it, and put it on. She looked at me at that moment. Silently. I entered her pussy. Slowly, all the way. She exhaled and closed her eyes. I began to move. Slowly at first, then faster. The sofa creaked, but we didn't care. She wrapped her legs around me, pressing me to her. I felt her womb clench inside me, her nails digging into my back. “Yes,” she said. - Yes. Yes. Yes. Not loudly. Whispered, almost under his breath. But I heard every word. I came within a few minutes. Not because I was in a hurry, but because it had been too long. I froze, burying my face in her neck. She stroked the back of my head. “How wonderful,” she said. I rolled off her and lay down next to her. We both looked at the ceiling. Then she said: — Come back next week for a checkup.