After Hours in the Studio

I’m an art student at one of the bigger Midwest universities. I see so many different kinds of people everyday, on campus, around my building, and I always wonder, what would that person be like in bed? At a university, especially in an art department, there are so many guys who are pompous assholes. A genuine nice guy is a rarity, and thus, has been a challenge to find. I often find myself especially looking at older men, faculty members, wondering what they are like, not as teachers, but as men. There is one in particular that I am interested in, although I can never admit it to my friends. He is a painting professor, let’s call him Brent, and although I think he is cute and seems nice, he doesn’t exactly fit into the stereotypical “hot guy” category. He is a youthful 40, tall, with blonde hair and blue eyes, and has a bigger build, with a beer belly, but for some reason, I don’t mind. Brent seems kind of shy; he has this really endearing flustered air about him when I talk to him. I don’t think that he is that comfortable around women, especially with so many young art girls around him in class all the time. I have never personally had a class with Brent, so my being interested in him wouldn’t compromise him on any university policies, yet I have a feeling that he is so straight-laced, he would still be reluctant to act on it, even if he was interested in me.

The other day I went out to dinner and drinks with my friends because it was my friend Bethany’s twenty-first birthday. Somehow in the car, Brent’s name came up, because three of my friends have had him as a professor, and apparently, they think he’s nerdy. They were talking about how he made this CD compilation of music for different students, and my friend Bethany was one of the recipients of this CD. The rest of her friends were making fun of her, saying that he was giving her this CD in an attempt to get into her pants, and they all started shrieking “Ewww, gross!” and laughing.

So then Bethany says to the other girls, “well, would you?” They didn’t understand, and she said, “you know, would you sleep with him?”

After a resounding no, and more peals of laughter, they moved on to rating the “fuckibility” of the rest of the male professors. I sat quiet in the front seat as they discussed this, thinking of all the times that my fantasy of Brent bending me over the desk in his office, fucking me silly, got me to a sure-fire orgasm every time I masturbated. I felt bad for the girls I was in the car with, for their shallowness, and inability to see a great guy before them; but I also felt bad for Brent, because this is probably the exact reaction he expects from college girls, and is why he would never even try to ask any of them out. If only he knew that not all students are immature girls, and there was a horny woman fantasizing about him right under his nose. But, I’m shy, so I just don’t know if I could get the guts to ask him out, either, so our relationship may just stay trapped in my fantasy life. I think though, that if the perfect opportunity presented itself, however, I just might take my chances. It would probably happen like this...

It’s late at night, in the art building on a rainy evening. It is the end of final exam week, so the rush of students trying to get all their last- minute projects done is past. Nearly everyone is gone for the summer, even most of the professors have cleaned out their offices for the year, and the building is quiet. I am working late into the night, trying to finish a series of drawings that I am donating to a benefit auction. The air conditioning has been shut off to try to save money when no one is around, and I take a break from working to splash some water on my face. I’m barefoot, wearing a tank top and loose overalls, but I’m getting so warm, I undo the tops of my overalls, until they are hanging down, balanced precariously low on my hips. My tank top is beginning to soak through with sweat, and the perfume I am wearing gets stronger and sweeter as I get hotter. My long hair is piled up on my head, but a few tendrils hang down and stick to my neck and forehead. I sweep my hand across my face to brush aside a stray hair, and unknowingly smear charcoal on my cheek. I decide to get back to work, and examine my drawing’s progress critically. I put my headphones back on, and started swaying my hips as I listen to my Arabic belly dancing music. Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement, and when I turn to look, Brent is kneeling down in the hallway, outside the open door to my studio, and he’s picking up a bunch of art supplies that he apparently just dropped on the floor. I watched him as he gathered up paintbrushes and tubes of paint, and just then, he looked up and our eyes met.

I took off my headphones and said “Hey Brent; you’re here late.” His eyes were fixated at the area of my belly exposed between where my tank top ended and my overalls hung dangerously low. I walked over and bent down to help him pick up his stuff, and in doing so, gave him a great view down my shirt. He stammered something about wanting to clean out his studio after the rush, and turned to go.

I put my hand on his arm, and said, “hey, why don’t you tell me what you think about these drawings I’m working on? Brent agreed, and laid his stuff down on the counter and came into the studio with me.

I complained about how hot it was in the building, and said, “Brent, can you keep a secret?” He looked at me, intrigued, and said, “of course.” I took his hand and led him across the room, to show him, that behind an easel draped with a cloth, I had a cooler stocked with bottled Mojitos.

He laughed, and said, “you know that having alcohol in the building is against the rules- you are a very bad girl...hey, you better give me one too!” So we sat down on the cool floor and drank our mojitos in silence, just listening to the rain fall outside the open window.

“You think I’m a bad girl now,” I giggled, “you should see me with a few more mojitos in me.”

“Hmm, interesting. You’d better drink up; I’d like to see it,” he murmured as he slid his cold, wet bottle down my arm.

“Ooh, do that some more, it feels really good,” I sighed. He moved the bottle up back up my arm to my neck, and then slowly down my chest between my breasts.

I turned my face to his, and he stroked my cheek gently with his hand, and said “you’ve got charcoal all over your face,” then leaned in to kiss my cheek with the smudge.

“Hmm, that doesn’t seem to be getting it off.” I leaned forward and kissed him passionately, and said, “maybe you should use this.”

With that, I peeled off my tank top and handed it to him. He stared at my lush and full breasts with their pale pink nipples and said, somewhat shyly, “Nah, I like my girls dirty,” he looked up at me surprised at himself for saying that, and then he smiled and tossed my tank top aside. I quickly straddled him and we kissed for eternity. He ran his rough hands up and down my soft back, tracing my spine.

When we broke our kiss, he said breathlessly, “the door is open, what if public safety walks by on their rounds?” I replied by unbuttoning his shirt and saying, “they’re in for a treat tonight, then. Stand up, Brent, I want to see the beautiful cock I’m about to suck.” He stood up and I grabbed one of the nearby cushions for artist models to sit on. Placing it beneath me, I kneeled down in front of him, and undid his zipper. As his jeans fell to his ankles, his cock tented his boxers, and I could tell I was in for a treat myself tonight. I pulled down his boxers, and licked my lips in anticipation. I didn’t usually enjoy giving head, but tonight I was so turned on, I couldn’t help but get wet at the thought of putting my hot mouth on the cock of this professor I had lusted after for so long. He leaned back against the wall and moaned in pleasure as I first kissed and licked the purple head of his thick cock, then wrapped my lips around the end and began to perform the most amazing oral sex I’m capable of giving. His hot member pulsated inside my mouth, and I could tell he was really enjoying my performance. I couldn’t help but wonder if he had fantasized about this moment as much as I had. I didn’t want him to come in my mouth, I wanted him filling my wet pussy, and stretching it to the limit.

I took my lips off his hot rod and said, “Brent, I want you to fuck me now.” He stepped out of his pants, grabbed my hand, helped me to my feet, and led me to the platform in the center of the room where the artist’s models posed. He laid me down gently on it, and tugged on the pant legs of my overalls. He slid them down slowly, to find that I was wearing lacy low-rise bikini briefs. The overalls, like the tank top, got tossed aside, and he spreads my legs, and kneels down in front of me, lowering his face to the hot, wet, gusset of my soaked panties. I can see that the initial shyness of this flustered professor is quickly melting away, as he inhales deeply and kisses slowly up my thighs to the center of my womanhood. He kisses over the waistband of my panties, to my bellybutton, and hooks his fingers under the waistband, and gently pulls them down as I raise my hips to get them off.

Now we are both naked, and quickly becoming dirty with the charcoal dust of the art studio. He leans down and tenetively licks my lower lips, and I encourage him with my moans. He uses his tongue to French kiss my pussy until I am on the brink of coming. Brent lowers himself down to me, and I wrap my long legs around his back. I whisper to him, “I’ve wanted this for so long,” then gasp as I feel his big member filling me like I have never felt before.

The combination of the thrill of being caught by public safety, the fact that he is a professor and I a student, and the fact that I find him so damn hot are almost too much for me to handle. I kiss him and taste my own sweetness on his lips. We find our rhythm, and soon are both gasping with pleasure. I want him to experience the best I can give to him, so I request that we switch positions, to my personal favorite, doggy-style. He agrees (quite excitedly, I might add), and I turn over and get on my hands and knees. He impales me once again, and in this position, I am able to squeeze down on him with my kegel muscles. I love the power I can hold over a man’s dick when I can massage it from inside of me. Brent leans over and kisses me down my back, murmuring, “you are a sex goddess,” as he continues to fuck me, speeding up, then slowing down to long, drawn out strokes, teasing me and making him last longer.

“Brent, will you stick a finger in my ass?” I request.

“Hmmm, kinky.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “I like it.”

He pauses, withdraws himself from my dripping honey pot, inserts two fingers, and gets some of my wetness to use as lube. Then replacing his fingers with his hard cock, he continues to slowly pump in and out of me while rubbing the tiny star of my anus with my own juices. I moan, as my pleasure increases with every movement of his fingers. I can feel him slowly inserting one digit into my waiting and eager ass, and I push back on it. He slowly fucks me in the ass with his finger as he speeds up the pumping of his cock in my pussy.

I am so turned on, I start to moan louder and louder, saying, “oh, fuck, this feels amazing, you are so sexy!”

My vocals apparently sends him over the edge, because I can feel that familiar pulsating of his cock about to come, and I squeeze down on him with all I have. As I do, I can feel my orgasm washing over me, and we moan in ecstasy together, as we reach the heights of our pleasure. We collapse onto the platform, me on my stomach, and him on his stomach on top of me. He lays his head down on my back, and gives a long satisfied sigh. He kisses the back of my neck and then slowly rolls over next to me. I curl up next to him, resting my head on his shoulder, and we lay that way, enjoying the wave of post-orgasm exhaustion that falls over us.

Brent raised himself onto one elbow and said to me, “You know, tomorrow is the first day of summer vacation. Neither of us have class in the morning. Why don’t you come home with me, and we can wash off all this charcoal dust, and see if we get any artistic inspiration out of this experience?”

“It’s a deal,” I laugh, and kiss him once more. “But first you have to critique these drawings I’m working on!”