It was dark outside, and it had started to rain. Against my better wishes, I was still here, still at the desk, still marking, still wired about deadlines and pressure and whether or not the team wanted me here at all. This was all bullshit of course, things in my head, ideas that grow on their own when you spend too much time working beside people but not with them.
But I still reveled in the classroom, I loved seeing the way that students responded, to have a laugh with them and even support some of them through challenging experiences. Now and again you would get to know them a little bit better than teacher to student. But most of the time not. They were mostly young, mostly slightly intimidated, and primarily focused on one another, grades, or just getting out of the room.
There were some, though, who took the time to ask you how your weekend was, who hung around for just a moment longer than required to say hello and connect, which was lovely. Sometimes I wondered who these humans were, who were they when they were at home relaxed on the couch? Who were they when they went out on a Thursday night? And who were they when they curled up in bed? There was one in particular that I wondered about more often than others, sometimes straying for longer in wondering who she was when she slipped out of her clothes, who was she when she was alone, with nobody to see her?
This student was not like the others, let's be honest, uni students are mostly young and appropriately dumb for their age. This one was my age, back at uni, because she wanted to keep learning, keep trying new things. She would ask great questions, but then also ask questions that made me notice her, as a human, as a person of interest, a person I would like to get to know more. But this was little more than a vivid imagination; the moments of connection were so fleeting, squeezed between classes, in glances overinterpreted and slight grazing of hands that are so easily misinterpreted as something they may not be. It didn't hurt that she was hot and seemed to know it.
She wore skirts with splits at the sides, and tops that would show off her midriff. She always seemed to sit close to where I was sitting, and I could be imagining it, but I could almost feel her watching me when I was talking to other students or busy with other things. But again, imagination, wishful thinking, wow, what the brain can concoct when it wants to.
She struggled, though, and I know she really wanted better marks, and she would get there eventually, but it was going to take time. Every time she submitted something, she would come to me and ask for advice, trying desperately to improve her grades. She was improving for sure, but I had done the maths and I knew that in order to get into the course she wanted to get into, she was going to be short of points. I had done everything I could, the university system was just shit like this, she was so close and she was going to be devastated when I told her what her grade was going to be. Which is why I had stayed back, to meet with her, to break the news to her gently, plus this was the only time our diaries aligned.
I heard a shuffle of bags and papers at the door, a pause and then a gentle knock, this must be her. Finally, everyone else had gone home, and while I usually looked forward to spending time with her, this was unlikely to be one of those lovely moments. So the sooner I got home the better. Come in, I shouted. She poked her head around the door with a smile, was I just imagining it, or was she dressed particularly well tonight, surely just my mind. But wow. That skirt, those legs, oh dear. This just made it even harder.
She came in, closed the door behind her as if we were discussing something super important and took a seat in the chair opposite my desk. You could tell she had a vague idea that this was not going to be a particularly fun meeting, but you could also see her effort in trying to make small talk, to smile and laugh. She asked about my weekend and what I did for fun, as if trying to stall the inevitable. But there was something about her, something about the way that she sat, the way that she looked at me, the way that she walked her fingers up and down her thigh. It was captivating.
I was just about to break the bad news to her, "your grades" I started, but she cut me off with a weird combination of vulnerability and strength. "I've done the maths" she said, and I have a faint suspicion that I am not going to get the grade I need, I know that is what this meeting is about. How close was I?" she follows. How embarrassing, now I have to admit that it was only 1% short. "Wow, that is so close, I can't believe the university system won't accept that. I worked so hard, and you gave me so much help, you were fantastic, she clarified. Surely there is something that can be done.
She paused at that point, looked at me with a ferocity that I wondered whether I might be reading into it, but a lingering desire almost. She just waited, silent, looking at me, straight into my eyes. But then her eyes moved down as if looking at my whole body, all of me, slowly, lingeringly running her eyes from my face, to my neck, to my arms, and chest, all the way down to the tip of my toes and back up again. Normally, I am not short for words, but in this moment, I was stunned, but enjoying the attention. I did not want it to stop.
Finally, she smiled a full-bodied smile, the kind of smile you have when you know you have solved a problem. "I've always admired you," she said. At first, I went to say thank you, thinking immediately of my teaching and academic work, but she cut me off. No, I've admired the energy you bring to the room, I've admired your voice, the graze of your hand, the shape of your body, and the way that you move through the classroom. In fact, for a while, I have wondered what it would feel like to be here, having this conversation, in this moment. Fuck, I couldn't help myself, I smiled at her, a big full confident smile, I looked at her, really looked at her, I brazenly allowed my gaze to run straight from her face to her cleavage, mmm.. then further down, those legs, I swear that split in her skirt seems to have opened up just a little further for me.
She smiled back, she knew, she knew she knew. "Tell me what you've wondered" I asked. Leaning back in my chair, consuming the view of her in my office, in my space, on my time. "I've wondered what it would be like to run my hands through your hair" she said and paused, waiting for some kind of nod of approval, which I gave, I've wondered what it would be like to undo the buttons on your shirt and run my hands over your chest, to hold you close to me. She stopped at this point, adjusting her skirt, opening the split wider so that I could see a hint of the pink knickers she was wearing.
She leant forward, intentionally showing more of her cleavage, then she opened her mouth again, paused and said, I've wondered what it would be like, to suck your cock, and fuck you in your office. Then she leant back and crossed her arms, with a smirk. I swear she knew that she was making me hard. I shuffled in my seat to make room for myself, to allow for the inevitable. She just sat there, not a word, just a smirk, just waited and said nothing more. It felt like an eternity that I wanted to simultaneously end and never stop. I knew where this was going; there was no question. This student was mine to play with.
I stood up, moved the door, and checked that it was locked; it already was. I turned off the bright lights and flicked on the corner light. I closed the curtains, not saying a word, not looking at her, but knowing full well that her eyes did not leave me for a second. I stood, directly in front of her as she sat, she didn't move, arms crossed, still smirking, but I swear she was moving in her seat a little more than before. "You are to do exactly as I say, when I say. You can leave whenever you wish, but if you stay, you must do as I say".
Fuck that felt good to say, to demand her obedience, and service, but what felt even better was the gentle, submissive, "yes sir" that followed. I sat back down, cleared my desk of papers slowly, methodically. I then turned to her and told her to stand up, turn around and take her knickers off and hand them to me. To face the wall, and hand them to me without looking in my direction. She stood, the smile left her face, replaced with a concentrated but ravenous obedience that captivated me. She faced the wall and gently slid her hands up the split of her skirt and slipped her knickers off.
She stayed facing the wall and handed them back to me. I took them from her and brought them to my face, totally captivated and excited by the intimacy of holding my student's knickers, being able to smell her faintly, of knowing that she knew, that I wanted them and that she gave them too me obediently, even hungrily. "turn around" she turned to face me, smiled when she saw I was holding her knickers to my face. I wanted to draw this out, to go slow, to revel in every sensation, in the newness of seeing things I hadn't seen, of tasting things I hadn't tasted, of being touched in ways I hadn't been touched by her. I told her to sit on my desk, she did, but coyly, legs covered, on the edge of the desk.
I sat down in my chair facing her. "No, not like that, I want you to sit right up on the desk, with your back against the wall, I want your feet on the desk, and I expect that you open your legs for me. Show me yourself" She obeyed. Scooting back, letting her skirt fall aside, putting aside any pretense of coyness, she looked me in the eyes, then opened her legs to me. Fuck it was gorgeous, the most beautiful pussy, I wanted it, I was so hard at this point, it took everything in me not to take her straight away.
Now, I want you to answer some questions, and if you answer honestly, you might get what you want. Have you ever fantasised about me, sexually? "Yes, sir" she said in a low, breathy voice. "Have you ever fingered yourself while fantasizing about me? "Yes, sir" you could hear the strain in her voice, the hunger, the desire to be seen in her fantasy. I wanted to see it, experience it, and be present for it. And she was mine, so I could ask for what I wanted. Show me how you play with yourself.
She didn't hesitate at all, her fingers gently rubbing her beautiful pussy. Fuck she was hot, the way she moved, the way she rolled her hips, the way she managed to get lost in the fantasy even though I was right there. "have you ever fantasised about me going down on you? Fuck this was such a self-interested question, I didn't really care whether she had fantasised about that, but fuck I was hungry to taste her. Who can blame me. "Yes!" she said with a surprising enthusiasm.
