She came into the classroom, wearing thr red skirt and white blouse that drove him nuts. Her legs were long and sleek under it. He groaned, thinking of how those legs would feel around him, the smooth nylon of her stockings rubbing against his bare skin. He closed his eyes and felt his cock harden. He shifted in his chair uncomfortably.
She turned, seeing him sitting there. She couldn't help but smile. She thought how damn good looking he was, how tall, how big, and she shivered. They were meeting late, after everyone had gone for the day. He had asked for additional help with the special project he was working on. She knew in her heart it was dangerous to meet him this way. She knew the way he looked at her. She could almost feel his eyes traveling over her body, the same way she envisioned his hands would. She sucked in a deep breath at the thought.
Standing in front of the mirror that morning, she had chosen this skirt to wear today. Somehow she knew it was his favorite. She tried to convince herself differently, but she knew she was dressing for him that day. She felt wicked and sensual as she selected the laciest undergarments she owned to wear underneath. Her thoughts wandered to Tom as she dressed.
He was a little older than most of her students. He started college late, after working for a few years, but he was still years younger than she was. But she knew she had never looked better than she did at this age. There was a sensuality to her that seemed to radiate from her. And men her own age bored her. They were either dull and poor company, or bitter and angry against women in general, wanting only a sexual fling with no strings attached. God, she hated that phrase anymore. How could sex be fulfilling with a stranger? She wanted to know her lover, inside and out. She wanted to fulfill his fantasies, and her own. She had always told her friends, how can you make love to someone you don't even like?
When she walked into the classroom that day, she had known it was time. He didn't realize that she felt the same way about him that he did about her. She wanted him, and tonight she was going to have him. She had watched him for months, seeing him squirm in his chair, trying to hide his erections. But she knew; she always knew when he was aroused.
"Hello, Miss O'Niel," he said quietly as he watched her come into the room.
"Hello, Tom," she replied, her voice husky and low. "How are you this evening?"
"I'm good," he answered, his eyes skimming over her body from head to toe. "Are you ready?"
She started, and looked at him. Did he know what she was thinking? She shook her head, trying to regain her sense of balance. He jumped to his feet, and his strong hand gripped her elbow. "Are you alright, Ma'am?"
She looked up into his eyes, feeling an almost electric shock when his hand touched her skin. God, she thought, they were so blue. She searched his eyes, looking for something deep inside him. She found it.
Taking a deep breath, "No, Tom, but I will be." She stepped closer to him, her mouth a breath away from his. His hand slid up her arm to her shoulder, his long fingers massaging into the muscles gently. His other hand slid around her waist, and somehow she was suddenly solidly pressed against his body. He pushed her back towards her desk, and lifted her up to sit on the edge of it, standing between her thighs.