My Professor - InkSpot.Com

About This Author

I am a 40 year old married mother of two teenage boys. I live for writing, especially romance. Love the happily ever after scenerio. The best thing about writing for me is the ability to lose yourself in your work, and feel as if you've accomplished something great. At the end of the day, that's all that really matters.

My Professor

Sitting in the third row with my back up against the cement wall gives me the perfect view of my obsession. I need that cooling temperature the wall emits because every time I’m within this distance, blood surges through my veins like a swift moving fire making it hard to breathe. I should have sat in the back row, but that would’ve only hindered what my hungry eyes devour. Every time you look my way, I can’t help but get lost in the depths of those dark pools that envelop me like a warm blanket of desire. As you explain today’s lesson I drift off to your soothing voice, experience it like a gentle caress to my soul, warm, inviting, and oh so very intoxicating.

By the end of class, it’s as if I’ve somehow awakened from a drugged induced slumber. The sounds of my classmates chatter and gathering of their belongings snaps me back to the here and now, to a reality where there are boundaries again. I stand on shaky legs, my mind racing, trying to savor the intense feelings that have left me wet with a need so strong I’m desperate to find release. I snatch my bag from the table and take one last, lingering glance of you before making my exit.

“You seem to be struggling today,” you say as I near your desk.

That comment is like an invitation to stay, to chat, to get some quality time with you. I turn and rest my bottom on the table across from your desk and smile, hoping to hide anything else you may see upon my face.

“Not struggling, just a little distracted,” I admit.

You move toward me, only the three-foot aisle separating us. From this close proximity, I can smell your cologne, all musky and spicy, sending my heartbeat on another rapid upturn. I’m trying hard not to pounce like a cat in heat, even though my every instinct is to do just that. The longing to fuse my mouth to yours, to explore you in the most intimate of ways grows as each second passes by. As our eyes lock, my breath catches, and I can see the question dancing there. If you seek that answer, if you dare to take the chance on asking me why I am so distracted, I will not be able to lie.

“I have that affect on a lot of people,” you joke, clueless as to the power you have over me.

I blush, tearing my eyes from yours, unable to do anything else. Dragging in a ragged breath, I turn to leave, knowing it’s the last chance I have. “See you later, Professor.”

Your hand on my shoulder prevents me from taking a step forward. One gentle squeeze and I can barely breathe, seeking support from the table as my knees quake. I feel you moving closer, your body pressing up against mine as that hand slides down my arm sending shivers of delight up my spine. You reach around and cup my breast, your thumb brushing over my hardened nipple. Suddenly I feel it, the wanting within you, your heat pressed into my bottom making me smile. My professor wants me as much as I want him, and that knowledge is enough to turn me wanton.

Gripping the edges of the table, I push my butt back, rubbing against you, loving this sudden surge of excitement sparking between us. I hear the zipper of your pants, the metallic sound music to my ears. The tweaking of my nipple stops, and your hand moves to the hem of my skirt, hiking it up, before yanking the string of my thong aside.

With one quick slap, my butt stings, but the pleasure I take from that only makes me hotter and a throaty moan escapes, giving you all the information you need.

Your hand rubs the spot, before sliding in between my legs, discovering just how much I want you.

“You are naughty,” you whisper, plunging your finger into my wetness, “always staring at me.” Twisting the finger, driving it deeper only flattens me on the table, my bottom up in the air, ready and waiting.

You remove the digit and I groan in disappointment, which elicits a satisfied chuckle from you. Then I feel you, the tip of your head probing, your hands spreading my legs apart to allow your entry. With one quick thrust, you bury your heat into me, and I am already on the brink of climax. Grasping my hips, you pull me hard into you, each stroke making my grip on the table tighten, turning my knuckles white.

Picking up the pace, the intensity rises as I push hard into you again, my release quick, squeezing your shaft and making you explode inside of me. I feel the fire, the heat filling my body, and love every second of it. You collapse on top of me, your heavy breathing keeping the smile plastered on my face.

“That was interesting,” you say before standing up and pulling away.

I stand, fix my skirt, turn and plant a firm kiss on your lips. “Meet you at home, honey.”

WC:867

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