Me & My Professor

There I was. I don't even know how to begin to tell how I got here.

I guess we could start when I got an email that included:

What is your number? I'll call you so we can discuss it.

I was shocked, a phone call? This late on a weekend? It felt superfluous, unnecessary. But to refuse felt strange, too. I couldn't figure out a good wording to ask for another time and it wasn't like I was doing anything in that moment, so that should be fine. Before I knew it, I had sent my number over and waited for his call.

After that phone call, I had awkwardly sat in his office once to discuss a paper and in class had stumbled across a couple questions.

But now, here I was: straddling his lap with his fingers in the waistband of my thong.

In his office, door closed and locked. If anyone walked past his window, they would hear his voice and my whimpers.

Perhaps I should give more background. After those aforementioned interactions, I had received an accidental phone call. Brief, but I felt composed and my laughter felt mature. Then a complement here and there, scribbled on the side of a test or in the margins of a paper. I felt silly for feeling so intoxicated when I read over his praise, but it felt dimensional. He was saying more than just the scratched letters. But paired with sweet affirmations came harsher criticisms. One minute drunk and then the next sentenced to hang.

But that's how he was, brutal, candid, demanding. All of this though comes from a depth that I couldn't quite understand, which pulled me in. I think maybe he saw that. He saw that I recognized it, the pool of experience and emotions. I had dammed up my own lake of doubt and criticisms and musings, too.

There was a time when I visited his office to get a book from him. Him, opening the door and widening his smile, me stepping in cautiously asking about his day and the book. Him, responding and peeling the paperback book off his desk and handing it to me, apologizing that he's in the middle of something. I took the book and walked through the door, but at the same time he had reached to pull it open and so there we stood for two seconds too long. Eyes caught, his gaze dropped to my mouth. He looked as if he was going to say something, then stepped back and nodded. I didn't hesitate to leave and walk down the hallway, in shock of our proximity and...his gaze.

His brown eyes, furrowed brow, and relaxed lips - I couldn't get it out of my mind.

It wasn't until another semester that I found myself sitting in his office, again. Different class, different paper, different topic. I stuttered my way through talking about my idea and the difficulty I was having in bringing it about. Things had felt normal at this point, I told myself they had to be. The conversation carried, he mentioned other writers and theologians that could be of some use. I don't remember how but the conversation had shifted into depression and anxiety. I remember my voice so clear it rings in my head now. I shared and he had, too. It was a beautiful moment. As I was telling him goodbye and how much I appreciated our conversation, his hand twitched at his side before curling into a fist. I pretended to not notice, I had told myself that this was all so ridiculous. But I felt the whisper of a hand touch the hem of my top when I walked away.

Same semester, but near the end, same office but now in a very different conversation in a very different position. Grazing his finger tips across my chest, down my stomach, looping to my back using my hips as a guide. "Tell me to not do this," he pleaded.

"Please do it," I moaned. I could feel him grow underneath me, so I circled my hips. His sharp breath left his mouth, I made sure to watch.

"God," he breathed when he noticed I was watching him. "Fuck."

At this time, I didn't know what to do. I needed to stop thinking. "I need to stop thinking," I repeated outloud. It came out breathy and shakey. Goosebumps were appearing in a trail where he had gone. The ends of my hair brushed my lower back. He smiled brightly and grabbed the ends, before saying, "I can fix that." A laugh began in my throat at his cheesy reply, but was cut short when he pulled on my hair causing my chin to lift and neck exposed. I felt his breath on the left side of the neck before I felt the wetness of his tongue and softness of his lips. I sighed, melting against him. His erection was demanding attention, so I began to grind against him once more but he only held my waist and broke the silence with "No, just you," before continuing to suck. Shivers, moans, it was all I could do in reply, it was the only thing my body understood now.

And now, here I am, straddling his lap, his fingers caught in the waistband of my thong, with his tongue on my neck. My hands were resting on his chest, broad and hard from working out. I reached up to feel his shoulders curve into a neck, then the ears and here I rested my palms against the side of his neck, feeling his jaw move and his soft hair.

This is when his fingers went down, unbuttoned the top buttons of my skirt, and silkly slid his index finger over my underwear. I could've cried, my thighs were shaking atop him from want. I could smell myself, my desire. He whispered my name softly and captured my lips with his while beginning to circle my clit. I gasped with pleasure in his mouth. His other hand had stayed on my back and it now slipped down to cup my bottom. Taking in his soft circles, I felt his hand dip farther down. We had broken our kiss, and he was now watching me and I had closed my eyes. He quietly asked for permission and I nodded, "God, yes, please."

He sought my asshole and dipped a finger in experimentally. Shuddering, I moaned to him. His breaths were quick and heavy, and it was as if a switch went off. He quickly buf gently leaned me against his desk, lifted my shirt and began kissing my breasts, sucking, pulling, teasing my nipples with a firm tongue. His fingers had not stopped massaging my clit or fingering my ass, only now with more pressure and speed. "Oh, oh, ohh," I cried. I hadn't felt this, three walls of pleasure closing in on me. I whined and he whispered, "You have to be quieter, or I'll have to stop."

"Fuck, sorry," I whispered back, talking to the ceiling. My eyes couldn't concentrate on anything. His tongue flicking my hard nipple while circling again and again between my legs, I could feel my wetness leave my thong and trace down my thigh. His front hand left and I felt him draw a line where the wetness now left a cold streak. "Fuck!" I covered my mouth and said the word over and over and in my hand.

"Good girl," he told me.

Though the edge of his desk dug into my back, it exaggerated ny breathing and my breasts heaved in front of his face. Imagining the sight of us, combined with the building trio brought me over the edge. "Oh my god! I'm coming, I'm coming!" I whimpered and he held my body as I rode it out, feeling my body tight and seize in ways I hadn't seen, hadn't felt. I laughed lightly when my orgasm left me. He met my laughter with a smiling mouth. He complemented my hair, my freckles, my breasts, my back, my stomach, my ass, my thighs. I let him pour on these words so thickly, that I was left pushed down against him, my head on his chest to catch my breath and feel his words tickle my ears.

I reached between us and unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. I saw his erection push against his underwear. I straightened my back and looked at him to see his expression. "Surely you don't want me to touch you," I teased as I drug a finger lazy down over his waistband and where the head of his dick leaked precum. "Surely you wouldn't want me to... let's say put it in my mouth." I grinned at him, with every word that left me he clung on with a desperation. I ate up the power. I stood up, let my skirt fall and sank down to the ground. When he realized what I was doing, his adorations drooled from his mouth.

He helped me take his erection out, and he held it in his big hands. I joined my hand there and touched it to my tongue. I began to take it slowly in my mouth, savoring his noises, noticing what made him purr and what him whine and what made him groan.

Only after a few minutes, he pulled me up to him and beckoned me on top. I mounted, feeling such a need and desire to be filled that it was a seamless joining. Our bodies began to immediately move against one another. He bite my neck and shoulder, his lips vibrating against my skin as his moans danced along and left bruises and bite marks. His occasionally curses were like stacattos, leaving a moment's silence before his breath was heavy again. I rubbed myself while riding, whining. His hand came up to slap against my mouth. I guess I was being too loud.

Then he wrapped his hand around my throat, he whispered in my ear, "You dirty--girl, fuck. Fucking me...in my--office, huh? Fuck. Fuuck! You're so sexy, so--sexy."

The only response I could manage was a physical one, kissing and humping and grabbing.

He said in my ear that he was about to come and within moments we were choking on moans and whines, trying to make as little sound.

Collapsing, I made a joke about his chair. He laughed and said something to fill the space.

Slowly, whatever clothes got taken off or at least were rearranged, were put back into order and we exchanged cordial goodbyes with friendly well wishes. I grabbed the doorknob and whisked out, feeling if I stayed there any longer I'd find a way to dispell the magic and convince myself it didn't happen.

Oh dear me.