Annabelle and James

"You wanted to speak to me, Dr. Miller?"

"Annabelle, please. Yes, James, it's about your assessment."

She went to the desk and started logging off of the room computer. I got the sense she was waiting for the rest of the class to file out.

She confirmed my suspicion by asking, "Close the door, please, James."

The room was on the top floor of the university building. The floor to ceiling windows looked out over the harbour, lit up by the glowing lights of creeping coal ships and tugboats. I didn't love doing the late night class, but I had to admit the views from the classroom at this time were lovely.

Dr. Miller... Annabelle... leaned against the desk, folding her arms, and smiled at me. "How do you feel you went with your assessment?"

I shrugged. "I think I went okay."

She was older than me, maybe her late forties, early fifties. She wore glasses, framed by auburn hair. Her face was splashed with freckles, made darker by an active life outdoors. She was wearing a red blouse and a simple, off-white skirt. The shoes matched her blouse.

When she smiled, it made my core feel light, yet tight. "You did more than okay." There was a purr to her voice. "Highest marks in the class. I haven't checked yet, but maybe out of all the classes in this course."

I shuffled my feet. "That's great!"

"You did... so, so well."

My heart fluttered. This is what had happened last time. I'd come to her office, to review a draft for a different assessment. We had been alone, it was late. She had praised me, I had gotten flustered. Then it had seemed we were both leaning, our lips touching...

Then she had pulled away, apologised, said she had to get home. Apologised again.

Now here we were, alone once more. The space between us was both a chasm and a single step. Enormous, yet easily crossed.

She asked in a low voice, "Would you like to leave, James? Do you need to?"

I shook my head. After a moment, I said through a tight throat, "No."

Her lips, red like her blouse, curved into a small smile. She sat up on the desk, with an endearing hop. There was something in her eyes, a bright light that lent a youthful aura to her face.

"Then come here," she murmured.

I stepped closer, sure that my legs would fail me.

As I drew closer, she began to part her legs, slowly lifting the white skirt. Up past her knee... further up her thigh...

"Such hard work deserves a reward," Annabelle said.

I came to stand before her. Her skirt was now pushed up to her waist, her legs spread wide, and I could see a tuft of dark hair perched over a pair of soft, lips. She hadn't been wearing panties this whole lesson, maybe the entire day. Waiting for this moment, waiting for me.

She reached out, gently took my wrists and guided my hands onto her thighs. They were bare, warm, soft skin over strong muscle. Without thinking, I sank to my knees. Annabelle hooked her legs over my shoulders. She wasn't smiling anymore. She was looking down her body at me, with a look of apprehension, perhaps even a touch of fear. Of being caught? Of going too far? Of never stopping?

I ran my hands along her thighs, then around to cup her ass. I started to kiss my way up the inside of one leg. Soft, thoughtful kisses. I heard her sigh. My lips came all the way up to the end of her right thigh. Then I started again on the left. Slowly, gently. A trail to find my way back.

A thought nagged at me. A hesitation. I looked up at her. "Are you sure."

She smiled, laughed a little. She reached down and combed her fingers through my hair. "It's yours. You earned it."

And she pulled me forward.

I kissed her lips, then split them with my tongue. I felt her hips writhe, and her hand twisting in my hair. She was warm, and wet, and her taste made me think of warm summer evenings. It made me hungry for more. I used my tongue to explore her, to delve deeper, to feel as much of her on my mouth as I could. Then I shifted my focus to her clit, waiting patiently for me. I took her into my mouth, sucking and teasing. I heard her yelp, then her voice was cut off. Her hand was now a fist in my hair, occasionally relaxing to stroke me before my tongue made her tighten again. Her juices were coating my chin, running down my neck. The more I tormented her clit, the harder she ground into my face. I thought of her, sitting on the desk, her back arched, legs over my shoulders, my head working into her, against the backdrop of that peaceful, dimly lit harbour. It made my cock unbelievably hard.

I brought my fingers up, and they slid so easily into her pussy. I heard her say, "Oh, James, fuck!" Her first words since my tongue had licked her lips. I started to stroke her with two, then three fingers, while my mouth worked on her clit. The smooth, writhing motion of her hips was replaced by a spasmodic, erratic thrusting and grinding. I thought I could hear her mumbling, but her thighs were now covering my ears. I worked her as hard as I could, desperate to maintain my rhythm. To please her. To impress her.

I knew I was about to get my wish when her legs became a vice, and both her hands were in my hair, shoving me down. I felt the tremor rise from within her, savoured the tremble of her muscles as she came. I moaned as her throbbing clit danced on my tongue.

But we weren't finished yet...