The Professor

The moment she came into the classroom he knew she was trouble. She sat in the front row directly behind the computer stand from which he delivered his lectures. She was always the very first person he would see when his eyes moved from the computer toward the students in the room. With summer clothes still in fashion during early Fall, she would come to class wearing t-shirts that cut in a “V” revealing her substantial cleavage and high-riding athletic shorts with some quip embroidered across her ass, like Kiss It! Or Angel. “Angel” was always the one the seemed the most ironic. Not for a moment was he fooled. He knew her game, yet she played the game better than he had ever seen.

He ignored her lingering eye contact. She answered questions and volunteered to help at every opportunity. She lingered too long at his desk when he asked for help handing out exams. He refused to breathe in her perfume that smelled of sweetened seduction. He diverted his eyes when her t-shirts dipped too low when she bent over at his desk. When he would look up from his computer, he would catch her opening her thighs and shift in her chair. He fought hard not to look up those toned, tanned legs to find what was hiding behind the shorts, teasingly arched high on her hips. He saw her face light up every time she caught him doing so. Her thin, red lips turned sideways into a knowing dimpled smile. He ignored all of this, as best as he could, but she was an expert at allure and enticement. As the semester went along, she kept the pressure on. He wondered how many nights she went home and fantasized about him in that very classroom. He wondered if it had become nightly, as it had for him. He imagined what he could do with her there in that classroom when nobody was around. He imagined how he’d take her, how she would moan. He could show her things she had only dreamed of, read about, or watched in porn. He had that kind of experience. But he had to lock it away every time she showed up in class. She was the forbidden fruit; she a student and he was her professor.

He relegated his thoughts of her to only his late-night fantasies and dreams for the few months during which she attended his course. He was relieved when the semester ended as she would move on to other professors and let them struggle with her sensuality, her relentless seduction. He tried to forget her when the new group of students entered his classroom. The ghost of her would haunt his imagination when his eyes left his computer during lectures. He would rub his eyes to wipe the image of her away before the student who was in fact sitting in her seat became visible to him again. It was an odd feeling imagining her there. It was even an odder feeling to feel a tightness in his chest and throat when he thought of her. He realized that he missed her, somehow. And he didn’t know if it was her or the fantasy of her. She was intelligent. She was articulate. She was funny, light-hearted. It had taken him this long to realize that her attractiveness had overshadowed all the other tremendous traits she possessed. Not even this mattered, however. She was forbidden for at least a year after her graduation, as was the ethics of his profession. He could not be romantically involved with her for the required allotted time. One year could come and go and he would never see her again, he knew. She would graduate. She would move away, as students do. She would find someone her own age and the crusty, old professor would be a whimsical memory, an older man she tried to seduce. She would giggle in fond memory, he presumed. He hoped.

A year and a half had passed and the memory of her had become foggier over time. The fantasies of her had calmed and the professor had found relief that nobody had come close to the level of seductive vigor that she attempted during her semester in his class. She was drifting to sweet memory until that night he stayed late after his evening class to grade papers.

The classroom door clicked as it opened. The professor figured one of the students had forgotten something, so he barely looked up from his work. He only felt the presence of someone moving across the room and taking a seat in the front row directly behind his computer. Then, he smelled that perfume, so sweet but not at all subtle. When he smelled the air, his heart raced. His eyes darted toward the figure sitting in the chair. She sat there wearing a t-shirt that seemed to cut deeper down her neck than she had ever worn before. Her smooth, tanned legs crossed at the knees and she dangled her flip-flops from her toes. Her toenails were painted a fire engine red and she had toe rings on several of her toes.

“Hi, professor,” she said in a tone that he had never heard before, deep and raspy while still sweet like that of an innocent girl. She was far from innocent, he knew. She had certainly premeditated this moment, harbored it for over a year. The professor cleared his throat and straightened his back.

“It’s…it’s you,” he managed to say. It was the most intelligent statement his reeling mind could manage. The former student laughed and nodded her head. Her dimples were deep in her cheeks. He had never actually heard her laugh before.

“Yes, professor, it is me,” she said.

“What, uhm…what do I owe for this visit so late at night?” he said, hopeful. His heart pounded hard in his chest. He glanced at the door to see if the ethics police would crash through and admonish him for eternity. Ridiculous, he knew. There was no such thing. There was only his guilty conscience.

“I think you know,” she said. She uncrossed her legs, as she had done over a year ago in that very chair. She moved her narrow hips in the chair and crossed her opposite leg.

“I…I do?” he said. After a quiet pause, the former student stood up and walked to the computer stand. The professor sat in the chair facing the desk next to the computer stand. His unkempt papers spread across the desk. His mouth ran dry. His palms became wet with sweat. The former student leaned over his desk. Her perfume intoxicated him. Her shirt gaped down, and he could see her firm breasts dangling loose inside. The professor’s heart raced. He fidgeted nervously with the pen he had been using to grade the papers. His slacks squeezed tightly around his cock as it grew full, hard.

“You were so good when I took your class,” she said, her breath minty. “But I caught you looking too many times not to want you.” She smiled wide and her eyes narrowed, studying him. The professor was petrified. He was stone. In the wild, prey either fight, freeze, or flee from their predators. The professor had nowhere to flee. He had no will to fight. She leaned in closer, her lips just beside his ear. She whispered, “I have imagined you fucking me right here in this classroom nearly every night since the final exam.” Their eyes locked. Hers were full of passion, lust. His were filled with anxiousness, and hope.

“Every night?” he stammered, struggling to find words. She nodded.

“And last night, when I came back to party with some of my girls, I asked around to see if you were still teaching this night class,” she said inching closer to the professor. “They said you were. Last night, after the party, I masturbated half the night imagining coming in here tonight.” The former student leaned in and pressed her thin, sweet lips to the professor’s lips. The professor’s hands reached forward and wrapped around his former student’s waist. He pulled her close as he stood from his chair. He felt her arms wrap around his body underneath his suit jacket. She squeezed her arms around him as would a constrictor, tightening her grip. He ran fingers through her hair, wrapping them in the dark hair-strands. When he tightened his hand into a grip, his former student moaned. When he pulled her head back a little, she smiled.

“Oh, professor,” she said laughing. “It’s as if you’ve been watching my dreams.” She moaned as his lips sucked on her neck. He tasted the salt on her skin. He felt the urge to devour her. He had wanted this for too long. Damn the consequences if there were to be any. He had never waived his ethics. He had kept his distance. She had reappeared on her own and this was consensual.

“I’ve thought about this for a long time too,” the professor said, his voice gruff, hungry. “I hope you’re ready.” He looked into her eyes. They were still full of desire, but now he saw disorientation too. She thought she would be the aggressor, but he had turned the table with his harbored needs. The professor pulled his necktie loose and tied it around her wrists. He pulled her toward the corner of the desk before tying her to the desk’s leg. She leaned forward, unable to escape, vulnerable. “Oh, god, yes,” the former student moaned, approving. The professor tossed his suit jacket to the floor and pulled the desk chair close to the desk’s corner. He pulled her t-shirt up to expose her firm, breasts. Her nipples were erect with anticipation. He ran his fingers along her spine. He leaned forward and ran his tongue down the middle of her back. She moaned “god, yes!” and then he kissed his way back towards her neck. His fingers then ran along the edge of her shorts. He used his feet to push the insides of her ankles outward, spreading her legs further apart. He felt the student trembling against his legs. She was breathing heavily with anticipation and moaning each time he touched her, moved her. His fingers traced the curve of her ass cheeks that teased, hanging just below the seam of her shorts. She looked back at him, her eyes begging him to slide his fingers further under her shorts. As he did so, he found she had not bothered with panties. The crotch of her shorts was hot, wet. He bent down and ran his tongue up the back of one of her thighs. He teased the edge of her shorts with his tongue, his lips. Then he traced his tongue and lips down her other thigh. The former student’s legs were shaking. Her hands squeezed the desk’s leg tight, unable to move them from their bound position. She shifted her hips to get relief between her thighs every time he moved. The professor’s cock ached in his pants, so he stood, unzipped, and let them fall down his legs. The former student moaned when the sound of the professor’s belt buckle landed on the classroom floor.

“Please,” she said. “Let me see! I want to see your cock.” He didn’t answer. Instead, he put the tip of his cock between her thighs and pressed it against her cloth-covered pussy, teasing her with only her clothing between them. Every time she pushed her hips back toward him, he pulled further away. When she relaxed, he put his cock back against her.

“God, professor, please!” she squealed, moving her hips up and down attempting to find him. “I can’t take this any longer!” she said. The professor felt his cock growing harder yet. He too could not take the teasing any longer. He pulled her shorts to the side of her pussy and put the tip of his cock against her.

“I’m going to fuck you hard,” he said letting the tip slide in a little further. “I’m going to fuck you deep. I will not stop until your entire body is shaking.”

“God yes!” she said with a moan. And he thrust his cock inside of her. The young woman moaned so loud that his fear of getting caught regenerated. He glanced around nervously, but, when his former student’s tight pussy squeezed his cock, his fears melted away. Only the intense sensation of her against him filled his consciousness. He closed his eyes and just felt her. He breathed in her heavy perfume. He squeezed her hips. And when he heard her moan, his instinct to thrust began.

As promised, the professor’s hips flexed, and he rapidly thrust. He fucked her fast and deep. The cloth on her ass stifled the sound of their skin slapping. Within the first few thrusts, she came. She squealed loudly and grabbed the round leg of the desk. Her head leaned against the side of the desk while her orgasm raged inside. He didn’t stop his thrusts allowing time for her recover. He kept going. Within moments her second unfolded, shaking her body. He could see she was trembling, and her knees buckled, weak. He bit his lip to fight his need to cum.

The professor untied his former student from the desk’s corner. As he turned her around, he helped her wiggle out of her tight shorts. Her wrists were still bound with his necktie. The professor grabbed the binding as he laid her back on the desk. Exams fell to the floor. Her hips rested on the edge of the desk. She lifted her legs and rested them on his shoulders. The former student begged her former professor to fuck her. The professor fucked her again.

He watched his former student’s eyes drift away in ecstasy. Her eyebrows folded together. Her thin, sweet lips separated. She moaned. He fucked her harder. “Oh my god!” she kept repeating. “Oh my god, professor, I’m cumming!” Her body seized and shook. Unable to resist her any longer, the professor came. He felt his cock expand inside of her. She bucked against him. Her head dropped back against the desk. She shook uncontrollably as the professor’s cock exploded. He moaned loudly, releasing his year-and-a-half frustration, desire. He collapsed onto her. The student wrapped her legs around his waist and her bound hand rested on his head.