Music pounded into my ears as I walked across campus to my drawing class. My messenger bag slung across my chest dug into my shoulder with its heavy weight, reminding me of the project due at the end of the week. My knee length skirt swirled around me as I turned with the music, dancing with no one, just the music in my ears.
When I came back to facing forward, He was standing directly in front of me. I pulled the ear buds down and froze. My sunglasses hiding my surprise from him, his narrow black glasses hiding nothing. "Ms. Eaves, most people watch where they're going when walking in public."
I pulled my glasses off and stepped back, "Sorry Sir, I'll be more careful."
He nodded, "Be sure that you do." As he paused next to me, and in a lower voice continued, "Your skirt might be the appropriate length Ms. Eaves, but considering how it flows, you might be more careful or else the wrong person would see your turquoise choice of the day."
I fiddled with my sunglasses at the inflection of his voice, "the wrong person Sir?"
He handed me a note summoning him to his office later, "anyone other than me Ms. Eaves."
I returned my sunglasses to their spot on my face and resumed my walk to class. The day went so slowly it seemed the clock worked its magic to drive me crazy. I couldn't concentrate on my lessons, history gave me no joy, no relief from my misery. The last time I had been his office I had finally gotten to taste him, to feel him, but before I came he stopped and told me "not today". I scoffed and rolled my eyes as I leaned over my desk, my chin in the palm of my hand.
"Ms. Eaves, is there something you don't agree with in the lesson this afternoon?" Mrs. Witner called up the ten rows of the auditorium.
"No ma'am, I'm sorry." I responded, sitting up straighter and focusing on the diagram on the board. Mrs. Witner turned back to the rest of class and resumed her lecture early Japanese theater. When class ended I gathered my books and slung my bag over my shoulder, dashing for the door and my appointment.
By the time I reached his door, my breath was tight, my chest heaving against the strain of running cross campus. Forcing myself to take deep breathes I got myself under control and knocked on his door.
"Come in," I heard through the wood. Walking in I found him sitting on his couch reading through a packet of papers. "Close the door Ms. Eaves." He waiting till it clicked closed, "lock it too please."
I turned to look at the knob and locked the door. I blushed when I realized that the door hadn't been locked the last time, anyone could have walked in and seen us. When I turned back I held out the note, "You wanted to see me Sir?"
He set the packet on the side table next to a lamp, he opened his knees and nodded at the chair next to where I stood, "put your bag there and come here."
While I set down my book bag and walked across his office, he opened his slacks. When I stood between his knees he pulled down and shoved my mouth on his cock so quick for a moment my head spun. I grabbed his thigh with one hand and fisted the base of his cock with the other. Lost in the taste of him, the feel of his hand in my hair as he leaned back enjoying my work. With the hand that been on his thigh, I reached down under my skirt and up to my center.
His hand tightened in my hair pulling my head back off of his cock and then moved me up onto the couch. On my back, my head on the far side of the couch from him, I looked down my body to him. He twisted in his seat to push open my knees, pulling one leg up so my foot rested up on the back of the couch, completely exposing my underwear to him.
He sat there, just looking at me, running a hand lazily up and down my thigh; each time getting closer and closer before going back to my knee. When he came close to my center again, I arched up slightly, moving closer, hoping to feel his fingers brush me where I knew I was wet and ready for him.
"Show me," he said. I reached down and with one pulled the underwear to the side and used the other to open myself up for his inspection. He grazed the liquid with the back of his fingers, "Good girl" he whispered as he pressed two fingers deep inside till his fist was at the opening. Pulling them back out he slide the fingertips up across my hips leaving a trail of cold on my skin. He stood and went to his desk, after a moment of looking in a drawer he came back with a pair of scissors. I shivered when I felt the cold metal slide up my thigh till he reached my turquoise; I gasped when I both heard and felt him cut the fabric. Pulling the scraps from my body he stood back and leaned against the corner of his desk.
I blushed and turned my face to the back of the couch. His deep voice was soft enough to not be heard outside his office, but hard enough to be a caress across me, "show me again."
