As is self-evident, this is the second chapter of a story, and I would suggest that you read chapter one first. In response to some questions I've gotten, yes, I'm a college student (just graduated) and this story is partly fiction, and partly not. Hope you enjoy.
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The rest of the week passed in a blur. Between classes, studying with friends, and well, just about all the time, my thoughts would flash back to what happened Monday afternoon in Professor Jameson's office. I wasn't sure what to think of it... it wasn't typical for me to be aggressive like that, and I had certainly never just "fucked and parted" in such a seemingly casual way--let alone done it with a professor. I couldn't deny that I had wanted him for a while now... and it was consensual, after all. But at the same time, I was terrified of the potential consequences. What if someone found out? Would he be fired? And what must he think of me now?
As if confirming my fears, Professor Jameson never even looked in my direction during Wednesday's class. Unsure of what was going through his mind, I certainly wasn't going to take the initiative in approaching him. As the weeks stretched on, I was becoming more and more miserable--my other classes were tedious, my thesis writing wasn't going well, and to top it all off, it was turning out to be the worst winter yet since I'd moved to the east coast. I had stopped going to Professor Jameson's office hours, and frankly, I missed the intellectual stimulation. His lectures were still great, but I sat in the back of the class and avoided asking questions or making eye contact with my history professor.
Two days of rain had turned the most recent snowfall into dirty gray slush, transforming the cobblestone walkways of campus into barely navigable rivers. As if our ever-increasing stacks of readings and papers weren't bad enough, nature had to have a go at us during midterms time. A misstep on the way to class landed me ankle-deep in an icy puddle, and I cursed as the freezing water seeped into my shoes.
Damp socks weren't my only concern though, as I walked into Professor Jameson's class. The paper proposals we had turned in the previous week were being distributed back, with comments. I had taken great care in choosing my topic--gender and sexuality in early 20th century urban China--because the subject interested me, and for more pragmatic reasons, because I needed a good recommendation from the professor to get into graduate school. "Though you might have blown it already, what with that fucking on his office desk," I grimly reminded myself.
Professor Jameson was just inside the door, handing our proposals back to us as we walked into the classroom. I kept my eyes down as I took the piece of paper from him, and didn't look at it until I was safe in my seat at the back of the class. There was only one sentence written at the bottom of the paper--"Please see me in my office after class."
My face flushed hot with the prospect of having to face him. Was he angry that he had allowed me to seduce him? He seduced me just as much, I thought. But he probably regretted it... and probably wanted to make sure I wasn't babbling about our sexual encounter with other students. But he did write "please"--so maybe he just had some comments about my paper topic that would take too long to write down. Maybe. I clung on to that thought as the minutes of class ticked away.
It really wasn't that I regretted the incident, I admitted to myself as class ended and I trailed behind the other students as we filed out of the room. After all, I did "accidentally" let him see up my skirt when I was sitting at the front of class... and when I got down on my knees in his office and sucked his cock, and then he took me over his desk--well, it was damn hot sex, and I didn't regret one minute of it. No, it wasn't regret that made me avoid him...it was the fear that I had ruined a perfectly good academic relationship.
While I mulled these thoughts over, my feet had carried me automatically to his office door. As was customary during office hours, the door was cracked open, so I knocked and, hearing a "Come in!" entered, closing the door behind me. Professor Jameson was making a note in a book, and without looking up, waved me into the seat. I sat down quietly, and pulled my notebook out. Marking his place, Professor Jameson closed his book and looked up.
"Well," he said without preamble, "I thought you'd stopped caring about my class, until I saw from your paper proposal that you are still working hard."
When I didn't speak, Professor Jameson continued. "From your lack of participation in class the last few weeks, I thought something was wrong. But I figured if you had any concerns, you'd see me in office hours. Except you stopped coming to those a few weeks ago. And--why is that? Been busy with other... classes?"
The raised eyebrow and tone of voice that accompanied his last sentence clearly insinuated something, and that goaded me into speech.
"Yes, professor, I've been busy with classes," I delivered the words rather forcefully. "I'm always busy with classes--I'm a student. Perhaps I don't understand your question. Maybe you'd like to be more explicit?" I knew I was verging on insolence, but his suggestion that I had been sleeping with other professors... well, he had no right to say such a thing.
Professor Jameson crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, fixing me with his intense gaze. Even now, when I was experiencing a mixture of anger and uncertainty, I couldn't help but admire how intelligent and attractive he looked, with his chiseled features and hazel eyes framed by dark-rimmed glasses.
Then he said, "I was merely wondering why you might be having--issues--with my class. Oh, and you left something last time you were in office hours." With that, he pulled open one of his desk drawers, fished out a red thong, and tossed it across the desk so that it landed on my open notebook.
I'd been wondering what he did with it. I had worn a skirt that day, so many weeks ago, and in my daze, only realized after I had left the building that I'd left my thong lying next to his desk. I had felt far too foolish to go back to retrieve it. "Well, if there's one way to bring up a subject, this is it," I thought, staring down at the memento of my tryst with the professor.
The situation possessed enough of the surreal that I couldn't help smiling. "Yes, Professor Jameson, I do have some issues. Not that you need reminding, but I'm your student. And hopefully you don't need reminding, but you fucked me, right over this desk. And now, you expect me to continue coming to your office to talk about the May Fourth Movement, or early Communist propaganda, or whatever? Maybe you do this sort of thing a lot. But I don't know what to do."
At this, Professor Jameson smirked. "What to do? Well that's not too difficult to figure out..."
He stood up and walked over to my side of the desk, and leaned over my shoulder, as if looking at my notes. He spoke in a whisper, but deliberately so that I wouldn't miss a single word. "You want me. And I want you. Not everything is so complicated. Now... do you want this? Or shall we go back to discussing gender and sexuality in the purely academic sense?"
While speaking, Professor Jameson had unzipped his slacks, and pulled his hard cock out of his boxers. It stood there at full attention, the tip glistening with precum, for me to admire.
Despite the impropriety of the situation and my momentary flare of indignation at his presumptuousness, I was unable to fight my own desire. And so in answer to his whispered taunt, I half-turned my chair to face him, and took his waiting cock into my mouth.
Almost instantly, my head was swimming, and I couldn't think of anything except for how hot and throbbing his cock felt in my mouth, and how good he tasted as I alternately swirled my tongue teasingly around the shaft and sucked his cock deep into my throat.
I heard Professor Jameson give a soft moan as he wove his fingers through my long black hair, using this as leverage so that he could fuck my mouth even harder and faster. "Yes..." he groaned through gritted teeth, "suck my cock, you little whore... suck me off."
I didn't need the encouragement. It's one thing to discuss the evolution of gender norms and sexual taboos on a theoretical level with your professor. It's quite another having your mouth fucked by said professor, and half-noticing, in a state of dizzying pleasure, that your lipstick is rubbing off onto his slacks. I sucked and licked his cock for all I was worth, and Professor Jameson's legs tensed up, his hand on my head gripped almost painfully as he thrust his cock forcefully into my mouth, almost making me gag on its thickness. With a warning grunt, he spewed a thick load of cum into my mouth, and I swallowed eagerly, not wanting to spill a drop. This wasn't an easy task, as his cum came in hot spurts again and again, and I smiled inwardly, thinking that perhaps he didn't have sex all that often after all, or else he wouldn't build up such a nice big load.
