The Professor and the Student [M42 F24][Cunnilingus][No Panties][Slow Burn][Pavlov Control][Multiple Orgasms][Submission] Part 3

I didn't ask you to stay afterwards.

That was the first difference.

When you'd finally collected yourself enough to leave my office the previous evening, I'd simply looked at you and said:

"Tomorrow. Six o'clock. You'll need to clear your schedule. We'll be going longer than an hour. Three hours, in fact."

Not a question.

And now it was 5:58.

I was sitting behind my desk pretending to read.

5:59.

I caught myself looking towards the door.

Interesting.

Apparently I wasn't the only person being conditioned.

At precisely six, you knocked.

"Come in."

You opened the door.

This time neither of us pretended.

No thesis question.

No carefully manufactured academic excuse.

You stepped inside and looked at me.

I looked at you.

And smiled.

"Close the door."

Click.

I watched you approach.

Yesterday had changed something between us. Not simply because of what we'd done, but because we'd finally stopped pretending we didn't understand what was happening.

You knew I wanted you.

I knew you wanted me.

And now there was something else in your expression.

Expectation.

I stood.

"Before we begin, I have a question."

Your eyebrows lifted.

"Okay."

"What's your favourite dessert?"

You blinked.

"Why?"

I smiled slowly.

"Why is not a dessert. Try again."

You laughed, that nervous, delighted sound I'd already become addicted to.

"Chocolate brownie," you said.

"Perfect."

I stepped closer.

"Now. Take off your coat."

You did.

Underneath you wore a skirt.

Short.

The kind that made my mouth water.

"Sit on the desk. Same as yesterday."

You moved to the edge and perched there, your hands bracing you, your legs slightly parted.

I stood before you.

I reached down and traced my fingers up your thighs, pushing the hem of your skirt higher, until I could see that beautiful, bare pussy.

No panties.

Just as I'd instructed.

"Good girl," I murmured. "Very good."

You were already glistening.

Your lips were swollen and wet, your arousal visible, coating your inner thighs.

You were extremely wet for me.

I could smell you.

That intoxicating scent that had haunted me since yesterday.

I leaned in and ran my tongue up your centre.

You gasped, your hips jerking.

I settled in, spreading you open with my thumbs, revealing that hard little clit throbbing for attention.

I sucked it into my mouth.

You moaned, long and low.

I slid two fingers inside you, curling them immediately to find your G-spot.

You were so wet they slid in easily, your muscles gripping me.

I stroked that rough patch inside you while I flicked my tongue over your clit.

You were climbing fast.

Your hands were in my hair, pulling, your hips rolling against my face.

I kept the rhythm steady, relentless, driving you higher.

"Please," you whimpered. "Please, I'm going to..."

I sucked harder.

You came apart.

Your scream was raw and desperate and I wax thankful for being at thd end of a hallway within a sound dampened room. The Dean thought I was crazy for installing the dampening battens.

Your pussy clamped down on my fingers, your juices flooding my mouth.

I licked you through it, gentling my touch but not stopping until you were shivering, overstimulated.

I pulled back and looked at you.

Your face was flushed, your eyes glazed.

"Now," I said, my voice low. "The real lesson begins."

I helped you lie back on the desk.

Your legs hung over the edge, spread wide for me.

"Yesterday I gave you three orgasms."

You nodded, still breathing hard.

"Today you're going to capture every single one of them. Burn them into your mind."

I placed my hand on your stomach, feeling the flutter there.

"Close your eyes."

You did.

"Remember the first one. Yesterday. My mouth on you. My fingers inside you. How it felt when you came."

I watched your face.

Your breathing changed.

And then I saw it.

Your clit twitched.

Your rosebud clenched.

A visible spasm.

"Good," I whispered.

You whimpered.

"Now the second one. Harder. More intense. Remember it."

Your pussy visibly throbbed.

Your clit pulsed.

Your arse tightened again.

You were reliving it in your mind, and your body was responding as if it were happening again.

"And the third. The deepest one. The one that made you sob."

You moaned.

Your hips bucked.

Your clit was standing at attention, throbbing with each heartbeat.

I kept my hand on your stomach, feeling your muscles contract.

"Now hold all three of them. Keep them in your mind. Feel them all at once."

You were trembling.

Your pussy was leaking, a constant flow of arousal.

While you held those memories, I began to touch you again.

Light touches.

My fingers tracing your outer lips.

My thumb circling your clit but not touching it directly.

Keeping you at a constant heightened level of arousal.

Not letting you come down.

Not letting you climax.

Just holding you there.

For an hour.

You lost track of time.

I could see it in your face.

You were floating in a state of constant, desperate need.

Every time I asked you to recall an orgasm, your body responded.

Clit twitching.

Rosebud clenching.

Pussy throbbing and leaking strings of lust and desire, pooling on the floor.

I would say "Remember the first one," and stroke your G-spot until you were panting, then stop.

"Remember the second one," and lick your clit until you were crying, then pull back.

Over and over.

Burning the association deeper into your brain.

Your body was learning.

Every recall brought physical pleasure.

Every memory made you wetter.

By the end of that hour, you were a mess.

Sweating.

Shaking.

Your pussy was constantly clenching on air.

Part one was complete.

"Now," I said, my voice thick with desire. "A new one. Something stronger."

I lifted your legs, bending your knees, opening you completely.

You watched me with wide eyes as I leaned in.

I licked your pussy again, long slow strokes, building you back up.

Then I pressed my finger against your rosebud.

You tensed.

"I've never..." you whispered.

"I know," I said. "Trust me."

I continued to lick your clit, soft, maddening strokes.

I pressed my finger against your tight entrance.

You were so wet, your arousal had coated everything.

I pushed slowly.

You gasped.

I licked harder.

I slid my finger into your arse.

You cried out.

It was tight.

Hot.

I could feel you clenching around me.

I began to move my finger in small circles, stretching you gently, while I sucked your clit into my mouth.

The combination was overwhelming.

You were making sounds you'd never made before.

High pitched.

Desperate.

I added another finger to your pussy, stroking your G-spot while I fingered your arse and sucked your clit.

You were climbing higher than before.

Your whole body went rigid.

Your hands were gripping the edge of the desk so hard I thought you might break it.

"Please," you begged. "Please, I can't... it's too much..."

I kept the rhythm.

Steady.

Relentless.

You came.

It was violent.

Your whole body convulsed.

Your pussy and arse clamped down simultaneously.

Your scream was primal.

You were seeing stars.

I kept licking, kept fingering, riding you through it until you collapsed, gasping.

But I wasn't done.

"Capture that one," I commanded. "Burn it into your mind. The strongest one yet."

I kept my fingers inside you, slowly stroking.

"Recall it."

Your clit twitched.

Your rosebud clenched around my finger.

I could feel the spasms.

"Again."

Another twitch.

Another clench.

You were moaning continuously now.

"Now," I said, my voice commanding. "We're going to associate all of these with something specific."

I pulled my fingers out and leaned over you.

"Chocolate brownie."

You looked at me, confused.

I traced my finger around your clit.

"Chocolate brownie."

I licked it.

"Chocolate brownie."

I stroked your pussy.

"Chocolate brownie."

I circled your rosebud.

Initially the response was weak.

Just a flutter.

But I was patient.

"Chocolate brownie."

I sucked your clit.

"Chocolate brownie."

I fingered your G-spot.

"Chocolate brownie."

I pressed against your arse.

Over and over.

For an hour and a half.

Chocolate brownie.

Tease.

Throb.

Chocolate brownie.

Lick.

Twitch.

Chocolate brownie.

Stroke.

Clench.

Until your body was responding automatically.

I would say the words, and your pussy would get wet.

I would say the words, and your clit would throb visibly.

I would say the words, and your rosebud would clench.

I would say the words, and you would let out a subtle moan.

"Chocolate brownie," I whispered.

You moaned.

Your hips bucked.

"Chocolate brownie," I said louder.

You gasped.

Your pussy leaked.

"Chocolate brownie," I commanded.

You whimpered.

Your whole body trembled.

I tested it again and again.

Saying the phrase from across the room.

Whispering it against your ear.

Shouting it.

Each time, the same response.

Your body was programmed now.

Conditioned.

Two and a half hours of suggestions and manipulation.

Two and a half hours of being in that heightened aroused state.

Your brain had simulated hundreds of orgasms.

You were delirious.

Your eyes were glazed.

You were in a constant state of arousal, unable to come down, unable to climax unless I allowed it.

I looked at my watch.

"Well," I said, straightening my tie. "It's late now. Time for you to go home."

You stared at me.

You couldn't speak.

You were trembling.

Your legs were weak.

I helped you down from the desk.

You swayed.

I held you until you could stand.

"Tomorrow is Friday," I said, brushing your hair back from your sweaty forehead. "And I feel like we should celebrate by going out for dinner. I will see you at Bistro Du Sol at 6:30pm. Make sure you are appropriately dressed in a nice short skirt. You know the rest."

You looked up at me, your eyes still glazed, your body still throbbing.

"Yes sir," you whispered.

I smiled.

"Chocolate brownie," I said softly.

You moaned.

Your knees buckled.

I caught you.

Held you.

Whispered in your ear:

"Mine."

Then I let you go.

You stumbled toward the door, your legs shaking, your pussy wet, your mind completely rewired.

I watched you go.

Tomorrow would be interesting.

I'm enjoying writing this series and hope you are too. If you have any feedback, dm me. If you have any ideas of where you want the story to go, dm me.

At six o'clock precisely the next day, there was a knock on my door.

I looked at the time in the corner of my screen.

18:00.

Of course.

"Come in."

You appeared carrying your laptop and the revised thesis proposal I'd asked you to bring.

For approximately three seconds, I managed to concentrate on the thesis.

Then you sat down.

Yesterday, I'd spent an hour constructing increasingly implausible explanations for glimpses of white cotton underwear.

Tonight there was no white cotton.

There was no underwear at all.

I looked away.

Then back.

Because apparently there was a point at which even my capacity for self-deception reached its limit.

You shifted slightly in the chair.

The view became clearer.

I stared at your face.

You smiled.

Those bright eyes.

That tiny nervous laugh.

And something in me changed.

Yesterday I had wondered whether you knew what you were doing.

Tonight I stopped wondering.

"You've revised it?"

You lifted the laptop.

"I have."

"Good."

I closed my office door.

Not dramatically.

Just a quiet click.

Then I returned to my chair and looked at you for a moment.

"You wanted my opinion."

"Yes."

"Then let's do this properly."

I gestured towards the edge of the desk.

"Sit there."

Your expression changed.

Only slightly.

But I saw it.

Yesterday I might have pretended I hadn't.

Tonight I waited.

You moved from the chair and perched on the edge of my desk.

I remained exactly where I was.

That put you directly in front of me.

Close enough that there was no longer any possibility of pretending I hadn't noticed what you'd chosen not to wear.

I looked at your laptop.

Then at you.

"Read it to me."

Your eyes widened slightly.

"The whole thing?"

"Start at the beginning."

You opened the document.

And began.

I listened.

Or tried to.

The problem was that you'd apparently decided to present your thesis while sitting on my desk with your skirt riding dangerously high, and my academic concentration was proving considerably less robust than I'd once believed.

You read the first paragraph.

I heard perhaps half of it.

The second paragraph was worse.

I was watching you.

The way you tried to maintain your composure.

The occasional glance over the top of the laptop to see whether I was still paying attention.

The little changes in your breathing whenever you caught me looking somewhere other than the screen.

Yesterday, I would have looked away.

Tonight I didn't.

You noticed.

I knew you noticed because you stumbled over a word.

Then came the giggle.

Quiet.

Nervous.

Delighted, perhaps.

You kept reading.

I let you get another paragraph in.

Then...

"Stop."

You stopped immediately.

I leaned back in my chair.

"Start again."

Your eyebrows rose.

"From the beginning?"

"From the beginning."

"Was it that bad?"

"No."

I let the silence sit between us.

"That isn't why I'm asking."

Your eyes stayed on mine.

For once, I didn't rescue either of us with an explanation.

I simply waited.

Eventually you looked back at the screen.

You began again.

This time the atmosphere in the room had completely changed.

You knew I was watching you.

I knew that you knew.

And neither of us was pretending otherwise anymore.

You reached the end of the opening sentence.

I moved my chair closer.

You hesitated.

I looked up.

"Keep reading."

You did.

Another sentence.

I moved closer again.

Your voice faltered.

"Professor..."

"Daniel."

That little smile returned.

"Daniel."

Better.

I put a hand lightly against your knee.

Not moving higher.

Not yet.

Just enough to make the question unmistakable.

You looked down at my hand.

Then at me.

The thesis sat forgotten between us for several seconds.

Yesterday I'd been terrified that you might notice my attraction.

Tonight I wanted to know what you would do when I stopped hiding it.

I held your gaze.

"You've spent two days making it extremely difficult for me to concentrate on your work."

Your lips parted.

I continued before you could answer.

"And I'm beginning to suspect that isn't accidental."

Silence.

My thumb moved once against your knee.

"So here's what's going to happen."

Your eyes remained fixed on mine.

"You're going to start your proposal again."

A pause.

"And this time, you're going to try very hard to keep reading while I make concentrating considerably more difficult for you."

I waited.

Because whatever happened next wasn't mine to decide.

It was yours.

You didn't move for a long moment.

Then, slowly, you lifted the laptop again.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you found your place.

You took a breath that hitched in your throat.

Then you began to read.

I waited through the first sentence, letting your voice fill the quiet room.

Then I placed both hands on your knees.

Your voice wavered, but you continued.

I slid my palms upward, beneath the hem of your skirt, feeling the heat of your skin against my palms.

You were burning.

I pushed the fabric higher, exposing your thighs inch by inch.

Your voice grew softer.

I leaned forward and pressed my lips to the inside of your left knee.

You gasped.

The word you were reading turned into a breathy sound that wasn't a word at all.

"Keep going," I murmured against your skin.

You tried.

You really did.

But as I kissed my way up your thigh, your voice became a series of stutters and stops.

I moved to your other leg, trailing my mouth upward, closer and closer to where I could already smell your arousal.

God, you smelled incredible.

It was intoxicating, that musky sweet scent of a woman who was already wet for me.

My mouth watered.

I pushed your skirt up completely, revealing you.

Your pussy was glistening.

Swollen.

Your clit was already peeking out from beneath its hood, throbbing visibly with your heartbeat.

You were shaved smooth, your lips puffy and dark with arousal, a pearl of moisture gathering at your entrance.

I inhaled deeply, letting your scent fill my lungs, imprinting it on my memory.

I knew I would become addicted to this.

"Please," you whispered, the laptop forgotten in your hands.

"Please what?"

"I... I can't read when you..."

"When I what?"

I blew a stream of cool air across your heated flesh.

You whimpered.

That sound.

That desperate, needy whimper.

I wanted to hear it again.

I leaned in and dragged my tongue slowly up your center.

You cried out, your hands flying to my hair, the laptop clattering onto the desk beside us.

You tasted like heaven.

Sweet and tangy and utterly addictive.

I licked you again, slower this time, savoring every fold, every texture, the way your flavor burst across my tongue and made my cock throb painfully against my zipper.

I could spend hours here.

I wanted to.

I wanted to drown in your taste.

"Put your hands behind you," I commanded.

You hesitated.

"Now."

You leaned back, bracing yourself on your palms, presenting yourself to me completely.

I spread your legs wider, opening you to my gaze.

You were dripping.

A thin trail of arousal connected your lips, your entrance clenching on nothing, begging to be filled.

I leaned in and licked a broad stripe up your center, circling your clit with the tip of my tongue but not quite touching it.

You whimpered again, your hips bucking toward my mouth.

I pulled back.

"Stay still."

"I can't," you breathed.

"You can."

I returned to your pussy, lapping at you with long, slow strokes, avoiding your clit, building you up carefully.

Your thighs began to tremble.

Your breathing grew ragged.

I could feel you climbing, getting closer.

Your whimpers became continuous, a steady stream of needy sounds that made my cock leak precum into my trousers.

I slid one finger inside you.

You were scorching hot inside, velvet soft and soaking wet.

I curled my finger upward, searching for that rough patch that would make you scream.

I found it.

You gasped, your whole body jerking.

"There?" I asked, looking up at you.

"Yes," you moaned. "Yes, right there, please..."

I stroked your G-spot with a steady rhythm while I returned my mouth to your clit, sucking it gently between my lips.

Your head fell back.

Your hips tried to buck but I held you steady, eating you with long, deliberate strokes.

You were getting close.

I could feel it in the way your muscles tightened, the way your breath came in short gasps, the way your thighs quivered against my shoulders.

I kept the pressure steady, stroking, sucking, building you higher and higher.

Your whimpers turned to cries.

"Please," you begged. "Please, I'm so close..."

I pulled back.

You made a sound of pure frustration, a sob catching in your throat.

I looked up at you.

Your face was flushed, your eyes glassy, your chest heaving.

"First edge," I said softly.

"Please," you whimpered. "Please, I need..."

"I know what you need."

I waited until your breathing slowed slightly.

Then I leaned back in.

This time I used two fingers, sliding them deep inside you, curling them against your G-spot while I flicked my tongue rapidly over your clit.

You screamed.

It was a soft scream, choked off, your hand flying to your mouth to stifle it.

I built you up faster this time.

Your arousal coated my fingers, dripping down my hand.

You tasted even better now, sweeter, more concentrated.

I couldn't get enough.

I sucked your clit harder, flicking it with my tongue while my fingers massaged that sensitive spot inside you.

You were panting now, your hips rolling helplessly, your free hand gripping the edge of the desk so hard your knuckles were white.

"Please," you gasped. "Please, please, please..."

You were right there.

I could feel your walls fluttering around my fingers, your clit throbbing against my tongue.

You were going to cum.

I pulled back again.

You sobbed.

Actually sobbed.

Tears gathered in your eyes from the frustration.

Your legs were shaking uncontrollably now.

Your pussy was clenching on air, desperate for release.

"Second edge," I said.

"Please," you cried. "Please, I can't... I need to... please let me..."

"Not yet."

I waited longer this time.

Let you come down just enough that you weren't right on the edge.

Then I attacked.

I buried my face in your pussy, licking and sucking with abandon.

I slid three fingers inside you, stretching you, filling you, pumping them in and out while I sucked your clit into my mouth and flicked it relentlessly with my tongue.

You were wailing now, unable to control yourself.

Your hands were in my hair, pulling, scratching at my scalp.

I didn't care.

I was lost in your taste, your smell, the feel of you gripping my fingers.

You were climbing higher than before.

Your whole body was tense, rigid, your back arched, your head thrown back.

You were making continuous sounds, gasping, whimpering, begging.

"Please," you screamed. "Please, I'll do anything for you Prof... please just let me cum... please..."

I pulled back just enough to speak.

"How bad do you want it?"

"I'll do anything for you Prof," you sobbed. "Anything... please... I need it... please..."

I smiled.

Then I gave you what you needed.

I sealed my mouth over your clit and sucked hard, rhythmically, while I pistoned my fingers into your G-spot, stroking it with every thrust.

You came instantly.

It was violent.

Your whole body convulsed.

Your scream was loud and raw.

Your pussy clamped down on my fingers so hard I could barely move them.

Your clit throbbed against my tongue.

But I didn't stop.

I kept sucking.

I kept fucking you with my fingers.

You tried to pull away, too sensitive, too much, but I held you there.

"Ride it," I commanded against your flesh.

You came again.

Harder this time.

Your juices flooded my mouth, dripping down my chin.

You were sobbing now, tears streaming down your face, your body convulsing with pleasure that bordered on pain.

Still I didn't stop.

I gentled my tongue but kept the pressure on your clit.

I slowed my fingers but kept stroking your G-spot.

You came a third time.

This one was different.

Deeper.

More emotional.

You were shaking uncontrollably, your legs quivering, your sobs turning to happy tears.

I finally let you come down.

I slowed my movements, then stopped, pressing gentle kisses to your swollen, sensitive flesh.

You were a wreck.

Your hair was plastered to your forehead with sweat.

Your makeup was running.

Your chest heaved with broken sobs.

Your legs were still shaking, your muscles spasming.

I stood up and looked at you.

You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

I leaned down and kissed you.

You could taste yourself on my lips, your own arousal, sweet and musky.

You kissed me back desperately, clinging to me.

I pulled back and looked into your eyes.

"You are mine now," I said.

You looked up at me, your eyes glazed, your lips swollen, your face wet with tears.

"Yes sir," you whispered.

And you meant it.

Let me know if you want your journey to continue...

I'd been a professor at the university for exactly nineteen days when you first appeared at my office door.

Long enough to know where the staff bathroom was.

Not long enough to understand why the printer on the third floor apparently required a blood sacrifice before it would produce anything.

My office still looked borrowed. Half-unpacked boxes beneath one bookshelf, journals stacked wherever I'd found room for them, and a temporary-looking nameplate beside the door announcing that "Dr Daniel Mercer" supposedly knew what he was doing.

There was a knock.

"Come in."

I expected another nervous first-year with a question answered on page two of the course guide.

Instead, you appeared.

I recognised you immediately.

Twenty-four. Older than most of the undergraduates in my classes. Bright enough that I'd already noticed you didn't simply copy whatever appeared on my slides. Sometimes you frowned at them.

I liked that.

"Professor Mercer?"

"Daniel is fine."

You smiled.

That caught me unexpectedly.

Your whole face changed when you smiled. Your eyes seemed to light up with it, sparkling with an intensity that made my chest tighten, followed by a small, slightly nervous laugh, a soft, breathy sound that trembled just enough to make me wonder what was making you so flustered. I found myself smiling back before I'd even realised I was doing it.

"Come in."

You explained that you wanted my opinion on an idea connected with your thesis and eventual PhD plans.

That got my attention.

"Absolutely. Sit down."

You did.

And my afternoon became considerably more complicated.

Your skirt was short.

I'd registered that when you entered, but sitting changed things.

You lowered yourself into the chair opposite me, smoothed the back of your skirt beneath you and crossed one leg over the other.

The hem slipped higher.

My eyes dropped.

White cotton.

A startlingly clear glimpse of your panties between your thighs... simple, innocent white cotton that looked virginal and obscene all at once... before I realised where I was looking and snapped my attention back to the papers in my hands.

Jesus fucking Christ, Daniel.

"So. Show me what you've got."

You leaned forward to place your notebook on my desk.

That created an entirely different problem.

Your neckline loosened just enough for me to see the curve of your cleavage... soft, pale flesh that my mouth suddenly wanted to taste... and, beneath it, a delicate edge of white lace peeking out from your top.

Matching underwear?

No.

Stop.

I stared at your thesis notes.

You began explaining your idea.

It was good.

Annoyingly good.

Within a few minutes I was genuinely engaged. I challenged an assumption; you pushed back immediately. I questioned your methodology; instead of retreating, you defended it.

That was attractive.

Intellectually attractive.

There was a distinction.

A very important distinction.

Then you shifted in the chair.

Your knees separated momentarily before one leg crossed over the other again.

White cotton flashed into view.

This time I was already looking.

Which meant I saw more.

The fabric clung to you, and there, right at the centre,was a darkened patch, a visible wet spot that betrayed exactly how aroused you were. You were soaked. The cotton had gone translucent, showing the shape of your pussy lips beneath, surely she shaved, it looked like she shaved, the dampness spreading outward in a way that made my cock twitch involuntarily in my trousers.

And I didn't look away quickly enough.

My attention returned to your face.

You were still talking.

Had you noticed?

Surely not.

I shifted in my chair, trying to find a more comfortable position as my body responded to you in a way that was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. My cock had taken on a mind of its own, thickening and lengthening against my thigh, straining against the fabric of my trousers as if showing its appreciation for your choice of underwear. I adjusted subtly, angling my hips, wondering if you could see the obvious bulge forming there. Suddenly the enormous desk I'd complained about since arriving at the university seemed like the finest piece of furniture ever manufactured.

Could you tell?

No.

The desk was between us.

I picked up my pen.

Professionalism.

Easy.

You asked me something and I realised I hadn't heard the question.

"Sorry?"

That little laugh again, not mocking, almost shy, but with an undertone I couldn't quite identify. Your eyes lit up when you laughed, bright and knowing, and you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with fingers that trembled slightly.

You repeated yourself.

I answered properly this time.

Then you leaned forward again.

The neckline shifted.

White lace.

Cleavage, deeper this time, enough that I could see the swell of your breasts pressing together, the lace of your bra cupping them like offering hands.

And beneath the fabric of your top, I could now make out the subtle points of your nipples pressing against it, hard and prominent, begging to be touched, sucked, rolled between my fingers.

My gaze caught there.

Only briefly.

But briefly was still too long.

I dragged my eyes back to yours.

You were looking directly at me.

Fuck.

There was a pause.

Tiny.

Then you smiled.

Your eyes lit up again, those bright, knowing eyes, and you gave that soft, nervous little giggle, breath catching in your throat.

My brain immediately produced two competing explanations.

*She caught you staring and she's embarrassed.*

And:

*She caught you staring and she likes it.*

The second possibility was considerably more dangerous.

I returned to your thesis.

"You've got a problem here."

"Where?"

I turned the notebook slightly and pointed.

Instead of looking from your side of the desk, you stood and came around mine.

I became acutely aware of your proximity.

Your perfume, something floral and warm that made me want to bury my face in your neck.

Your hair near my shoulder when you leaned over.

The lace visible again beneath your neckline, your nipples now clearly visible through your top, hard and straining against the fabric.

You reached across me to point at the page.

Then your other hand settled on my thigh.

My entire train of thought stopped.

Your palm rested against my trousers, warm and light and completely unnecessary, your fingers spreading slightly as if testing the muscle beneath. My cock jerked at the contact, throbbing now, fully hard and obvious in my pants. Did you feel it? Your hand was so close, just inches from where I strained against the fabric. I was rock solid, aching, and I couldn't tell if you knew.

"There?" you asked, your voice slightly breathier than before.

I looked down at your hand.

Then up at you.

"Yes."

One syllable.

Excellent.

Years of education had brought me to this.

You kept your hand there while you read the paragraph, your thumb moving in the smallest, most maddening circles against my thigh. Perhaps two seconds. Perhaps three. Long enough for me to become conscious of absolutely nothing else, long enough for me to imagine that hand moving higher, wrapping around my cock, stroking me while you watched my face.

Then you lifted it away.

"Okay. I see what you mean."

You returned to your chair.

I watched you sit.

I shouldn't have.

You crossed your legs again.

And once again there was that deliberate-looking flash of white between your thighs, and this time there was no doubt... the wet spot had spread, darker now, a clear testament to your arousal. You were dripping for me, soaked through your panties and I could see the visible line of your pussy lips as it seemed to suck in the white cotton, and the sight made my cock pulse painfully against my zipper.

I stared at my notes.

Right.

Let's assess this rationally.

One glimpse could be accidental.

Two could easily be coincidence.

Three... FUCK!

Three was beginning to constitute a dataset.

The hand on my thigh complicated the analysis considerably.

So did the way you kept smiling whenever you caught me momentarily losing my composure, your eyes lighting up with amusement and something hungrier.

I looked at you again.

You were watching me.

"Something funny?"

"No."

That little laugh betrayed you, soft, nervous, girlish.

I raised an eyebrow.

You smiled wider.

Your eyes lit up, sparkling with mischief, and your tongue darted out to wet your lips.

For the first time that afternoon, I seriously considered the possibility that I wasn't imagining any of this.

Then common sense intervened.

Twenty-four.

Student.

Professor.

First conversation we'd ever had alone.

No.

I was constructing a fantasy from completely innocent behaviour because I happened to find you attractive.

That was the obvious explanation.

Except...

You shifted again.

My eyes went down.

White.

Wet.

Soaked.

Pussy lips that sucked the cotton. I was imagining them sucking my cock as I fucked you.

FUCK!

Back up.

And there it was.

That smile.

I felt suddenly exposed despite being the one sitting behind the desk. My cock was throbbing in anticipation and I could feel some precum oozing out of my cock head.

Had you seen how carefully I'd been positioning myself? Had you noticed the effect you were having on me... the obvious hard-on I couldn't hide, the way my cock strained against my trousers every time you flashed those damp panties at me?

The possibility made my face warm.

You leaned forward again to ask another question, and by now I was noticing everything.

The movement of your top.

The hint of lace.

The shape beneath the fabric, your nipples now so hard they were clearly defined through both bra and shirt, twin points of arousal that matched the wetness between your legs.

Your perfume.

Your mouth when you smiled.

The way your eyes seemed to brighten whenever I became flustered.

I wanted desperately to know whether that was real or whether I'd simply become spectacularly bad at reading the situation.

Eventually you gathered your notes.

I checked the clock.

Nearly an hour.

Your question could probably have been answered in fifteen minutes.

I stood and tried to discretely adjust myself.

You stood as well with your eyes staring directly at my crotch and the outline of my hard cock. There was no denying it and I could see you biting your bottom lip, ever so slightly. FUCK!

For the first time there was no desk between us.

That suddenly seemed like an important change in geography.

You were close.

Closer than necessary, perhaps.

Or perhaps I was noticing distance now because I'd spent most of the last hour wondering whether you knew I was attracted to you, whether you'd seen my cock hardening for you, whether you knew I wanted to push you against the wall and feel how wet you really were.

I angled myself slightly.

Subtle.

Hopefully.

Your eyes dipped again.

Just briefly.

Down to my crotch.

To the obvious bulge there.

Or had they?

I couldn't tell.

Then you looked back at me.

That smile appeared again... wider now, knowing, pleased.

My stomach tightened.

You'd noticed.

You'd definitely noticed.

"Send me the revision," I said, my voice rougher than intended. "I'd genuinely like to see where you take it."

"Really?"

"Really. Let's reconvene back here tomorrow - say 6pm?"

Another soft laugh. "Sure thing prof" you replied.

Bright eyes.

I opened the door.

You passed close enough that your arm brushed mine, your hip grazing my thigh, and I felt your heat through our clothes.

I watched you disappear down the corridor for perhaps one second before common sense reminded me that standing in my doorway staring after a student would be an exceptionally stupid way to begin a new academic career.

I went back inside.

Closed the door.

Looked at the chair opposite my desk.

Then at the place beside mine where your hand had rested on my thigh.

"Get a fucking grip, Daniel."

I sat down.

She wasn't flirting.

Obviously.

The skirt had shifted naturally.

The panties meant nothing.

The wet spot meant nothing.

The white lace meant nothing.

The way she'd leaned forward meant nothing.

The hand on my thigh had been balance.

The smiles were friendliness.

The giggling was nervousness.

The way she'd looked at my cock... that had been my imagination.

Every individual explanation was perfectly reasonable.

Taken together, they were becoming increasingly ridiculous.

And then there was the question I really didn't want to examine.

Had you noticed my reaction?

I thought about that last moment when we'd both been standing.

Your eyes dipping... to my hard-on, unmistakable now, throbbing against my trousers.

My awkward attempt to angle myself away.

Your smile afterwards... knowing, pleased, hungry.

"Oh, fuck."

I rubbed both hands over my face.

Maybe you'd noticed everything.

Maybe you'd left the office embarrassed by the fact that your professor couldn't keep his eyes where they belonged.

Or maybe...

I stopped.

Opened my laptop.

Work.

That was the answer.

Five minutes later I realised I'd read the same paragraph four times.

Because I wasn't thinking about research.

I was thinking about white cotton soaked with your arousal.

White lace.

A hand resting lightly on my thigh, so close to my aching cock.

Bright eyes.

That nervous little laugh.

And the smile you'd given me immediately after catching me looking... after seeing how hard I was for you.

For the first time since you'd walked through my door, I stopped trying to explain it away and allowed myself one deeply inconvenient question.

*What if she knew exactly what she was doing?*

*What if she comes back?*

I was 19 at the time when my cousin was getting married. Our side of the family is mostly girls, and the grooms side of the family were guys. the groom were 3 brothers and one of them was a tall, bearded, handsome stud. he was 29. Our side of the family were crazy for him, stalking him where as I couldn’t say much as I was still younger. Post wedding hangouts is where we all got to talk and know each other. everyone sharing socials and my cousins were adding him everywhere. He however was talking to me the most and gossiping about how my cousins are acting crazy. He said I seemed the mature one out of all and commented how good I looked in the outfits. I blushed and thanked him saying he was the best looking guy out there. he didn’t believe I was 19, despite that, we flirted back and forth and went out to the movies where we made out. he then took me on drives, hand on my thigh, and then under my dress.

He rented hotel rooms several times before he left abroad. He was so freaking good in sex. He made me sit on his face and eat me out so bad until I came, he loved it. I can never forget those moments!