Impaled upon me, she sat facing me as I sat in the chair, holding her, stroking her, kissing her cheeks as she bathed me with her passion. Her body shuddered with the aftershocks of her climax, her breath hot against my neck, her breasts pressed nicely against my chest.
I loved the moments like this: the moments when she was not my student, the moments when she was not a twenty-something young woman trying to find her way in the world. Especially since these moments in my opinion did not occur often enough, I cherished these moments: moments when two people connected in the most intimate way possible, when society and its puritanical dictates were cast aside, when I could hold her for hours the way I so desperately wanted to do every time she stepped into my office or sat at the center of the front row of my class where my eyes would almost constantly be upon her throughout the lecture of the day.
I twitched inside her, and instinctively she bore down upon me once more. Together, we heaved a satisfied sigh, her fingernails brushing across the marks she had made over my shoulder blades earlier in the evening and causing me to hiss from the blissful discomfort. Our lips met at last, and I allowed her to probe me with her tongue as she began to rock upon me anew.
When I had seen her on Thursday, she had been sitting in the usual location of the large lecture hall, her legs spread just enough to allow me a very slight peek up her skirt to find that she was not wearing anything underneath. She had teased me with that peek, and from the subtle smirk upon her face as she "absently" nibbled her pencil, she knew that while I was lecturing, I was imagining this very moment...
...when she slowly began to rise and fall upon me again, pausing long to enjoy the feeling of fullness before rising and falling again.
We were not professor and student. We were not older and younger. We were two illicit lovers, hiding from society's unforgiving eyes in a rented seaside condo, making love with the final rays of daylight streaming through the massive window to warm us and the soothing sounds of the Pacific waves crashing upon the shoreline to provide an additional romantic element to the moment.
As I fondled a small breast, engulfing it with my hand, we kissed anew, her whimpers of happiness filling my lungs. But then I nudged her back from me, causing her to lean back, bracing herself with her hands upon my knees, and I fondled her chest with both my hands, alternately watching the expressions of sweet rapture upon her face and the fusion of our bodies, her love coating me and glistening in the fading sunlight.
She looked so small, so young. Not for the first time, I was reminded that given our respective ages, I could very well be her father. Yet age had never been a factor between us.
The only "taboo" was that she was my student. Not a former student, but a current student. And, given that she was majoring in biology, I would almost certainly have her in future classes and labs; at the very least, I would see her regularly at departmental functions and special events. We took great measures to ensure our privacy, to ensure that no one would find out about our unethical relationship, but the need to take those measures certainly affected us both, adding a twinge of sadness to the relationship.
A tear trickled from her eye. Instinctively, I pulled her closer to me and kissed the tear away, yet another tear emerged, followed by another, and then another, and still yet another.
We hugged, and she cried upon my shoulder. She poured out her sadness upon me, clutching me with the desperation of a victim of a near-drowning. As she sobbed, I carefully stood, slipping from her body, and carried her to large the fur rug before the fireplace, placing her gently on her back upon the soothing fur, then laying beside her and holding her close as her tears finally began to subside.
