Geek Lust: Erotic Stories about Hot Nerds (12 page)

Then I heard him taking off his shoes again. Thump, thump. I gave him my notes and he started examining it like he did with my comic books. Only this time it looked as though he wasn’t really examining it. It looked like he was just pretending to read it.

He leaned in closer to me. “What does this say?” and I could have sworn I felt his socked foot touch my ankle.

“It says Plantae Kingdom,” I replied. I could feel my skin turning red. Maybe he just accidentally hit my ankle.

“Ah,” he said. “Your handwriting is funny looking.”

“Think the animal kingdom but for plants, which is a no-duh...” I stopped my rambling. I could feel his sock rubbing up against my ankle again. There was no mistaking it. He was purposely doing it. I began to get hard instantly.

I looked up and he let out a devilish smile. He then cocked both eyebrows up and I took this as an invitation to lean in a bit. As I was leaning in, he grabbed my cheek and brought me in for a kiss.

“Smooth pick-up line, Clark Kent,” I said to him. I was trying to act cocky on the outside but inside, I could feel my heart pounding again. This was Mark Walker, the most beautiful man on campus and he used a lame pick-up line to seduce me. He must have noticed me sometime before and purposely pretended not to notice me.

“What?” He laughed, showing off his perfectly straight teeth. “I really don’t get biology.”

“Uh-uh,” I said to him. “Something tells me you’re a big bio nerd at heart.” But after that we didn’t talk much. Instead he slammed me down onto the table, gripping my pecs as he started dry-humping my ass. I ran my hand up his shirt and started squeezing his six-pack. His six-pack, the six-pack I’d been jerking off to all of my freshman year, was finally in my hand. I slowly began to take off his shirt off, then started kissing his neck.

He gave a gentle smack on my face. “No hickies, handsome.”

That got me more hard and I started thrusting my pelvis into him. The chairs fell over and he grabbed me by my ass with both his hands as I wrapped my legs around him. We slammed up against the corner of the study room and he moaned out loud.

“Shhhh, son,” I whispered in the stocky librarian’s voice. “Folks here are trying to study.”

“You’re such a dick,” he said, smiling, then began kissing me passionately.

I got on my knees and began unzipping his pants. He was wearing camouflage briefs. His cock was huge. It was so huge the head was even sticking out from the underwear.

He pulled it all out and started stroking it in front of me. It was bigger than it looked in his underwear. It must have been at least eight inches. And it was uncut to boot. I loved uncut cocks.

“Please,” I said, opening my mouth and grabbing onto his balls. “Give me a taste.”

“You want all of this?” he asked as he continued to stroke it a bit.

“I want it so bad,” I replied.

“Well, tough luck,” he said, smacking my face with his heavy dick.

It was thick. I should have noticed how thick it was before but it didn’t occur to me how heavy his could be until I was smacked with it. He let out a grin and I could tell he liked humiliating me.

His smacking me with his heavy cock only got me hornier and I slammed his lower body up against the wall and started sucking on his thighs. I wanted to humiliate him and I bit his thigh pretty hard. He moaned out loud again but this time in pain, and pulled me by the hair. As I was being pulled away I could see a bite mark on his rock-hard thighs and it would no doubt leave a bruise on him.

“You’re a little cocky, Walker,” I said. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“A little?” he questioned, looking down at his penis. “Maybe you should just be a good bottom and take it.”

He picked me up and slammed me down on the table again, but this time our biology textbooks and my comic books fell onto the ground. He was strong. He must have weighed twenty pounds more than me, but it was all solid muscle. I felt his warm body on me as he was ravishing me with his hands. His touch was divine and it felt even better when he began to unbutton my pants.

“You’re wet,” he said. “I’m that good, eh?”

He massaged my calves as he slipped my legs out of my pants, and then he went for my shirt.

As I said, I knew I wasn’t as ripped as he was, but regardless I was toned. I skated a lot in high school and of course I worked out at least three times a week, but I was nowhere near as beefy as he was. Was he really into scrawnier men?

He took a moment to examine me as I lay in my black boxer briefs. I never felt so naked in front of another person. I mean, I was physically naked, but I felt I was laying all that I was in front of Mark. For a second, I was worried he didn’t like my body.

“Your body. Oh God. Your pecs are so defined,” he said, coming in to bite my nipples. I began to squeal now. I didn’t care how I sounded or if anyone heard me. His tongue was wrapping itself around my nipple and it felt good.

He moved his tongue from my nipple and murmured, “You have the best build, dude. Like a swimmer’s body.” His tongue was making its way down to my stomach and finally he was biting on the waistband of my boxers.

“Looks like someone is packing,” he said, then took my boxers off with his teeth.

“Look who’s talking,” I said, hitting his cock with my foot.

He pulled up his book bag from the floor and shuffled through it. He took out a red Magnum condom.

He came up to me and stroked my hair back. “It figures a blond would get me this horny. You’re gorgeous.”

I looked into his eyes for a second and could feel his yearning. He wanted me as much as I wanted him.

“You okay with this, beautiful?” he asked, showing me the condom.

I nodded and he asked me to put it on him.

I unwrapped the condom and covered his penis with it. His cock filled it up without any effort. He had the biggest cock I’d ever been with. Mark then lifted me up on top of him and thrust his cock in me. It was the most I’d ever have taken. We slammed up against the corner again of the room. His hands were around my waist and I was thrusting up and down on him. I was riding him like a piece of meat, and my cock was slapping up against his beautiful abs. I squeezed my legs around him tighter. I wanted to straddle him in a way he would never forget.

He began to moan loudly again. I had never thought of him as a moaner. I quickly covered his mouth my hand but this only made him pound me harder.

“I’m going to come,” he muttered through my hand. “Oh fuck I’m going to come up all inside you!”

“Me too,” I yelled. “I’m gonna fucking come too.”

When he started coming his thrusts were smoother, his touch more sensual. I was come all over his abs as he was finishing coming in me. It was the best orgasm I ever had. I even shot up to my chest.

I looked down at his stomach. Those abs were mine. I had marked them with my territory with my come. I realized I had my other hand on his head, gripping onto his dark hair as leverage. I was shocked I hadn’t pulled out a chunk while he was pounding me.

We fell onto the floor and then sat up against the corner with our wet cocks, which were still hard, I might add. He gave his dick an extra stroke and a little bit of come came out.

“Fuck,” he sighed, “that was amazing.”

I was resting my head on his shoulder, and my bare ass was on the rough carpet and it was hurting. Mark patted me on the head and got up. He looked concerned for a moment, then headed to the window on the door.

He turned around to me and said, “Funny. No one’s around.” He shut off the light and sprinted towards me.

“So,” I said. “Still in the market for a biology tutor?”

He laughed and put his arm around me. “I think you may prove to be a distraction, but I’ll keep you in mind.”

Was this all it was? Did Mark just want a hook-up? Would he be going back to his apartment to be with his girlfriend and fuck another boy tomorrow?

Mark got up and put his underwear back on. He looked at me and started doing an air guitar, as if he was jamming to the beat of our sexual chemistry.

“Not bad. I bet the girls love those moves,” I told him as I put on my briefs. “Kind of poetic—one of your first gay experiences was with a boy named Adam.”

“What?” he said looking at me as he put on my clothes. “You think I’m straight?”

“Well...” I said. “I assumed. I mean, clearly you aren’t...I just thought socially you weren’t. Like you were still in the closet, or something.”

“I haven’t dated a girl since junior year of high school,” he said. “And I’ve never been with a girl.”

“Oh, my bad, I guess,” I said, picking up my comic books. “I don’t know why I thought otherwise.”

Mark came up to me and grabbed the comic books out of my hand. “Truth be told, Adam,” he said, staring right into my eyes, “I’ve seen you around campus. Heck, I remember when you first started. All the boys wanted to hit your ass.”

“Except you?” I asked.

“That’s not it. The first time I saw you, I knew there was something special about you,” he said. “And today when I saw you reading your comic books, I had no doubt I had to work up the courage to talk to you.”

He pulled me for a hug and I turned into a jackrabbit. My cock started getting hard and it was growing from under his balls.” I started to massage his smooth ass cheeks.

“Hey,” he said. “Looks like we’re going for round two?”

“Looks like,” I said.

“Let’s fuck to music,” he said, pulling out his iPod from his bag. “Do you like For Our Hero?”

“Are you kidding me,” I said. “I’m going to their show next week!”

Mark put his hands around my waist. “All right, then, looks like you’re going to be your date, handsome.”

I smiled at him and for a moment the entire world stopped. As I said, he was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen and now he was mine to fuck as much as I wanted to. There was no one else I wanted to pound me and make me his.

“Mark Walker,” I said, sitting down on the table. “You’re such a dork.”

by Kaysee Renee Robichaud

If Dr. Richard Kupfer knew how good-looking he was, he did not seem to give a damn. Dr. Sara Goodkind knew something hot lay beneath Richard’s absent-minded professor demeanor, not that it was easy to perceive. She had studied him at enough Friday afternoon meetings, which the UT physics departmental chair had dubbed Chalk Talks, to see through his façade.

Richard took a page from Einstein, wearing a fresh set of the same clothes every day: periwinkle button-up shirt with a dark tie, dark slacks, dark loafers, dark belt, undoubtedly the same boxers (or briefs) and dark socks—so as not to waste brainpower thinking through outfit choices. However, he wore his clothes with the same confidence and swagger Goldman Sachs executives did. He sometimes lost track of his glasses when he rested them in his hair; however, his steely blue eyes were fascinating to behold. When he was thinking through a problem, he often tapped the fingertip of his index finger against his lips in an unconscious shushing motion. Sara often wondered both how dexterous those long, slender fingers were, as well as how soft the lips might be. Like Einstein, he kept his hair long and uncombed, but Richard’s hair was dark, washed every day, and never skeevy. His natural musk and leather-scented cologne mixed in ways which drove Sara wild.

Sara had been a member of the department for almost three months before she made her move to get to know him.

“Dr. Goodkind?”

She glanced up from typing through her quarterly funding expenditures report to find him in the doorway to her office. He looked perplexed but yummy.

“Yes, Dr. Kupfer?” University of Texas’s physics department was informal; everyone knew everyone on a first-name basis. Only Richard Kupfer kept up the veneer of title and last-name formality.

“I think there’s been a mix-up. Maybe on my end, but I was wondering if we could have a little 
quid pro quo
.”

“Come in,” she said, “and tell me the situation.”

He glanced around her office, noticing the barely controlled chaos with a disapproving frown. Sara’s office was still being moved into. She had seen his office, and though it was not much better at a cursory glance, she knew he had a method he adhered to. Everything in Richard Kupfer’s office was in its proper place. He was a theoretician, after all, and had no lab space of his own to let his materials spill into.

As with most experimental physicists, Sara’s lab space was her primary interest point: the office was a place to do paperwork, and could wait. Thus, the books were not yet arranged on the shelves as she might want. The boxes around her desk were not yet unpacked. The three grant applications she was working on concurrently dominated her desk, while a separate station served her computer. Moving into a new workspace was a slow, slow process.

“Thank you.” He entered and closed the door, and pulled an empty chair to her station and sat down.

Breathing in, she caught his scent, and her heart started racing.

“Paolo,” he said, “That’s my postdoc?”

“I’ve met Paolo,” she said, recalling the slump-shouldered postdoctoral fellow working away at the journeyman level of his career with an eye to escaping it in, oh, seven or eight years instead of the recommended three or four. Everything about Paolo, from his slovenly attire to his shuffling walk, contributed to an aura of diligent laziness.

“Paolo signed me up for the department’s server time.”

UT’s physics department had exclusive access to one of the campus’s two Cray supercomputers. The devices were incredible workers, nothing short of miracle machines capable of chugging through even the most complex computations if given enough time. The devices were in high demand, their valuable time needed to be doled out to the many, many interested researchers.

Though the rest of the campus had moved on to automation and paperless e-file systems, the Crays still had a physical sign-up sheet. Pieces of paper attached to a clipboard with time allotment spaces for researchers to fill out. Or, more realistically, for researchers to have their grad students or postdoctoral fellows fill out. Slavery was alive and well in academia.

“He told me,” Richard continued, “I was next on the list. Turns out, I’m not. 
You
are.”

“Oh?” That would teach Paolo to use pencil on a form everyone else signed in ink.

“Yes,” he said, “and I was structuring my week on the basis of having server time.”

“Oh?” she repeated, liking the way this was going.

“And I thought I might come over and talk to you about your project,” he said, before adding, “Not that I want to scoop you or skunk you or perform any other intellectual property impropriety.”

“Of course not,” she said. 
You want to know if my little insignificant project can be put on hold while you continue working on your grand design.

“I was hoping to find out if your project was in a crunch phase, or if it could perhaps enter a non-excited state so I could take advantage of your slot.”

“Oh my . . .” She forced herself to adopt a serious face. “Dr. Kupfer, are you insinuating something?”

Richard’s eyes widened with sudden surprise at his choice of words.

“Time slot. On the Cray. Take advantage of your time slot.”

Was he flustered? This was new. And rather adorable. He had this whole Jeff Goldblum thing going for him. Young Goldblum, that was. Circa 
The Fly
. Early in the movie, before he got goopy-nasty looking. This of course, brought up images of Jeff Goldblum in icky makeup.

Okay
, Sara thought, 
so maybe Richard Kupfer was nothing like Jeff Goldblum in 
The Fly. 
What about 
Jurassic Park? That was better. In the Park, part one, of course, Goldblum was ambitious and self-assured and rather yummy.

“Any thoughts?” he asked, performing the verbal trick of attempting to unbury himself by tossing her the proverbial ball.

“I’ve a couple,” she said. “But I want to hear your proposal.”

“My proposal?”

“Yes. I’m a new investigator, as you’ve pointed out at several meetings.” The term principal investigator was applied to any research scientist at the university. She was still on her start-up funds, which the university itself offered, but the pressure to get her own grant funding weighed upon her. It was the start to a cycle which would end with retirement.

“Yes, you are, and welcome,” he said. “I believe I welcomed you before, yes? In public, even.”

“Yes, you did. At the departmental mixer.”

“Coffee klatch,” he corrected.

“What’s the difference?”

“Mixers are dinner parties conducted for the purpose of displaying gee-gaws and orchestrating forced social situations for otherwise unacquainted neighbors. Whereas a coffee klatch is a time-honored business arrangement, wherein colleagues can step away from their daily activities and partake of social interaction opportunities, which might otherwise be lacking due not to their own decisions to remain indoors but to the demands of their particular working environment.”

“I see,” she said, wanting to see him squirm all the more.

“I’m a repository for unusual facts,” he said. “But you were saying?”

“As a new investigator,” she said, “My research time is vital. I’m applying for funding opportunities through the NSF, the NIH and NASA.”

“Ambition is the way to succeed.”

“And publication is part of that process. If I don’t get computer time this week, I’ll be delaying my major publication opportunity, which gums up the proverbial works.”

“Ah,” he said. “This is a conundrum.” One he considered for almost thirteen seconds before he said, “I have an idea.”

“Oh?”

“’Oh,’ indeed. I have a grand design,” he said. “You might have heard of my work on string theory?”

Of course she had. No one came to the university without knowing about Richard Kupfer’s work on the grand unified theory of physics, also known as string theory. Also known as the grand design. No matter what you called it, Kupfer was a leading developmental mind on the scientific theory trying to assemble everything in the known universe under a single umbrella. How dare he treat her like she might not be aware of his work?

Forget about seeing him squirm. Now, she wanted nothing less than to break him like a horse.

“I might have heard something,” she said. “One or two little bits.”

“Well, I have a spot open,” he said. “In my latest journal article. A piece slated for 
Science
. It could use a little extra oomph from someone specialized in particle physics and statistical analysis. I’m suggesting a simple data modeling data exercise, nothing too taxing.” He chuckled. “Shouldn’t take you more than a day or two with your top-of-the-line desktop machine, right there.” He indicated the Dell sitting on her desk with a nod, but never once broke eye contact with her. His gaze was fierce, aggressive, intoxicating, despite the purely cerebral things he was talking about. “Don’t believe I’m offering to trade a publication credit for your Cray time. Instead, consider this as compensatory incentive for your consideration. One colleague to another.”

She stood up and walked toward him.

“You want my slot,” she said. “And you’re offering me a spot on your grand design?”

“Yes,” he said, offering her a grin he might have thought reassuring but which came across as all too smug. “That’s what I’m offering.”

It meant quite a bit. A whole new avenue of research funding had just opened up.

“Talk nerdy to me,” she said, and leaned in to brush her lips across his. Shock froze him, preventing his immediate ability to respond to her kiss, but when her tongue slipped between his lips, he got with the program.

His kiss was intense, passionate, his mouth moving with hers, leading and being led in turn. He caught her by the shoulders, moved around behind her, strong hands squeezing her back through her blouse.

The kiss broke, and he met her eyes.

“Why, Dr. Goodkind, are you seducing me?”

“I’m trying to get involved with your real grand design.” She smiled and he kissed her again, and he surprised her by squeezing her ass.

“I want you, Dr. Goodkind,” he whispered between kisses.

“Sara,” she said, lacing her fingers behind his neck. “Richard, do you know how hard it is to get you alone?”

“I’m a busy, busy man,” he said. “But then, you’re a busy, busy woman.”

“Sometimes we just have to say to hell with work.”

“Never,” he said with a grin. She swatted him across the cheek before he got too smug again.

“It’s not easy for stable electrons to jump rings, after all,” he said. “They need an outside stimulus.”

“But electrons are at their most interesting,” she said, reaching down, “when they’re in an excited state.” Oh, he was excited all right. His cock tented his dark slacks. When her questing hand found that bulge, the shaft bobbed at her touch. He squirmed, and she said,

“I like making you do that.”

“I enjoy your eliciting the response.”

“You have quite a vocab,” she said and stopped his mouth with a kiss, the nicest way yet devised to say 
shut up
.

His mouth found hers again but did not stay long before following her jawline and moving down her throat. He whispered her name like a prayer when she licked the circumference of his ear and caught his lobe between her teeth.

His hands drew hot trails up her back before they caught hold of her shoulders. His mouth busied itself in the sweet place where neck and shoulders met. The application of his teeth and tongue and lips made her squirm.

When she could think straight, she thought, 
No way. 
He
 needs to be the one squirming.

She guided him back to the desk, and turned so he was against the edge. Her hand did a zipper trick she had picked up in undergrad, then it was inside, tickling his fancy through his silk boxers. A nice size. She massaged it, milking it for every sensation. As her fist squeezed, softened, squeezed around it, she blew him kisses to turn his mind toward blow jobs.

He shivered in a delightful way, and she smiled at mission accomplished. She had regained control of the situation.

She hadn’t realized the idea of blowing him would be quite so attractive. Maybe she really should give it “the old college try”?

She opened his boxers, his cock thrust out, and she caught sight of the shaft. A nice surprise curved up as though pointing the way to his chin. The head was slick with pre-come, and she realized just how wet she was. Her own musk was quite a giveaway. Could he smell her? He must be able to.

Kneeling, she took his shaft in her hand, stroking it and pointing it toward her mouth. She tasted him, and his sweet lubrication was as intoxicating as his gaze. Her hand dragged along his cock, strong strokes, while she sucked on his head. When her teeth brushed across his sensitive skin, he writhed. Controlling Dr. Kupfer, she discovered, was an incredible addiction.

His cock tasted glorious, but his responses were far better; his flailing hand slapped her desktop or the wall. When his hands moved to her, they were light, delicate, as though touching her too long or too firmly might unweave the moment.

When she took his full shaft into her mouth, he was not the only one responding in delicious new ways. The sensation of his cock moving across her tongue sent shivers down her spine. When his cock head tickled her uvula, she giggled.

Soon, he urged her off him. He eased her around and dragged down her pants and panties. He knelt between her legs and showed her the many splendored things his mouth could accomplish with her pussy. His fingers eased inside her while he teased the edges of her hood. He curled his fingers inside her, finding and stimulating her g-spot while his tongue worked her clit. She gasped and turned orgasmic in short order. She caught him by the hair but he kept at it, working her through a second climax.

Sara dragged him to his feet by pulling on his ears. His face said 
ow
, but his cock stiffened a little more, saying 
yes yes yes
—was he into a little rough play? She would not be surprised.