I looked at my reflection in the mirror for the fifteenth time, checking my hair and mascara. I was obsessed with my appearance for the first time in probably ever. Granted today was no regular day, at least that's what I had been telling myself so I wouldn't feel like the enamored nineteen year old I was. I never spent this much time getting ready for some guy.

He wasn't just some guy though. He was older. Not by much but his position made him seem older. He was my poetry professor, one twenty eight year old Nathan Kennick. He was honestly the reason I decided to take a poetry class. As much as I longed to take a fiction workshop, I couldn't pass up four hours a week staring at him in his flannel shirts. It was an added bonus that his class would help me in getting my creative writing major.

We eventually became good friends, maybe a bit more flirty than most teacher student relationships. When I'd walk by him he'd always give my arm a squeeze and I'd wink at him. The first time he was caught off guard and as I walked away I mentally cursed myself for freaking him out. The next time I saw him however, he winked first. My friends always joked that I was sleeping with him.

“If I was fucking him, I think he'd give me better grades,” I always said. He was particularly tough on me, making me periodically want to strangle him.

“Maybe you should try oral,” one of my friends joked.

I did finish his class with an A- at least. But being that I couldn't imagine my life without those four hours of him every week I took another class he was offering. This one significantly more difficult since the writing focus was more rhetoric than it was creative. I spent far more time in his office this semester, discussing books to the binding. I was slowly falling more and more in love with him.

The problem was that his job wasn't permanent, and today was his “teaching preview.” Yes in all honesty it would be like going to any other class of his, and I had no real reason to get dolled up, but I just felt the need to look good for him.

God, what the hell was I doing falling for my professor.

I heard a knock at the door.

“It's open,” I called. In walked my friend Alexander, who also crushed on Kennick until we discovered the poet didn't bat on his team.

“Come on child, we're gonna be late.”

“Calm your tits, it takes five minutes to get from one end of campus to the other,” I told him as I picked up my back pack and keys.

“I don't like being late,” he said.

“Talking to an army brat. I know the lecture, okay?”

“Shouldn't you be more adamant about punctuality since it's your Kennick's day to present?”

“He's not mine,” I said.

We walked past the library and on to the quad. It had been a while since anyone could use the short cut since the not-completely-melted-snow had made the plot slick and slippery with ice. I watched my footing near the mud, just in case. I gasped when I looked up.

“Oh my fucking god,” I choked out.

“What?” Alexander asked.

Right there not fifteen feet from me was Kennick, in a suit with a pea coat on top. He had just cut his hair and trimmed his beard. I felt myself become wet in an instant. I swallowed hard as I tried to remember how to walk again. Luckily he was distracted by one of the other professors in the English department and hadn't noticed me gawking at him from afar.

“He certainly cleans up nicely,” Alexander chuckled. We kept walking and my eyes kept roaming over his body, studying it. He wasn't particularly muscular, or anything like that but he was lean, and he dressed well, which for me was better than any jock. When we finally made it to the classroom, Kennick saw me and like the adorable dork he was, introduced himself.

“Hi I'm Nate Kennick, nice to meet you,” he joked holding out a hand to me.

“The pleasure's all mine,” I replied placing my hand in his. My hands were about half the size of his, which made me shiver a little. He took my hand up to his lips and shot me a wink.

It took all of my strength and control not to let my eyes roll back or drag him into an empty classroom, but I couldn't stop myself from biting my lip. Luckily Alexander tugged me into the classroom, sending me a knowing glance.

We sat in some desks near the middle of the room. Some other girls had taken up the front row, one of which was a girl I recognized from my last semester poetry classes and the other from my current fiction workshop. Behind us were all the other professors in the English Dept.

Alexander tried distracting me with a story about something that happened at one of the frat houses last weekend, but I kept sneaking glances at Kennick. It was then that I realized he had a skinny black tie on. I looked down and shut my eyes before letting them roll back. Ties were one of my weaknesses. I had no idea how I was going to make it through the hour long session without touching myself or jumping him right then and there.

Kennick walked to the front of the classroom and began speaking. I could hear his velvety voice, but the image I was seeing was one I was sure was in my head. Instead of listening to him rave about his favorite poet, John Ashbury, he and I had escaped to his office. This imaginary office had a large dark wooden desk, where he sat in the same outfit from before. He had a hand on his chin, a stern expression on his face.

“Do you know why I called you, Miss Nicholson?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No, sir.”

“I noticed you weren't paying attention in class today.”

I dropped my head and held my hands behind my back. “I'm sorry, sir.”

“That is a serious disrespect to me, Miss Nicholson. What do you think your punishment should be?”

I looked up at him, my bottom lip between my teeth, and shrugged.

He looked at me and nodded. He slid his chair back and stepped around so he stood behind me. I heard the lock click behind me. In a moment I could feel his breath on my ear and neck. “Bend over the desk, Miss Nicholson,” he ordered softly.

I did and because the imaginary me was dressed like a school girl, I felt my ass becoming exposed. I moaned softly when I felt his fingers run over my thighs and ass, purposely skipping over my cloth covered pussy.

“It's very naughty to be disrespectful,” he said. “Are you a naughty girl?”

“No, sir.”

“You are a naughty girl,” he corrected.

“Say it.”

“I'm a naughty girl.” I felt his fingers skim over my exposed panties. I bit my lip as he groaned.

“Yes. But in order to be good one has to endure punishment. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He came to stand on one side of me and suddenly I felt his hand slap my ass.

I let out a shocked yelp.

“Sh, little one, you mustn't lose control of your volume,” Kennick whispered before smacking my ass again.

It hurt bad but felt fucking good. Occasionally he'd slip his fingers over my covered, soaked pussy, adding varying pressures. If I let out more than a whimper he'd go harder, sometimes I did on purpose. He continued and I could feel his cock getting harder and pushing against my hip.

“Turn over and get on the desk,” he demanded. I did as he said and a second later he had torn open my blouse and was kissing me hard. He shoved his tongue into my mouth and I mimicked him, making him groan deeply. I tried hard to keep from moaning too loudly as he pulled my breasts out of my C cup bra and started twisting my nipples between his fingers. I felt myself fumble with his belt buckle then the button to his slacks.

“Naughty little girl wants my cock?” Kennick said against my lips. He moved his hands to pull off my blouse and bra.

“More than anything.” I undid his pants, finally, and they dropped to the floor. He moved his hands to my knees, which were now on either side of him, and slid them under my plaid skirt to pull my panties down and dropping them next to his pants. He let his boxers drop too, exposing his rock hard cock.

“You like it?” he asked, proud.

“Yes, sir. More so if you'd fuck me with it, sir,” I said honestly.

He chuckled and slid the head along my slit, making my eyes roll back.

Suddenly I felt a shove from my side. I turned to see that Alexander had knocked me out of my fantasy. I glared at him and he grinned.

“Aden,” I heard Kennick say. I turned to him, feeling my cheeks blush. He grinned slightly and continued, “Would you please grace us with your voice and read the next poem? It's the Guillaume Apollinaire one on page three.”

“Right. Right. Yes,” I answered, fumbling with the packet I discovered on my desk.

“Thank you, you're very kind,” he said sweetly, but a playful gleam was still in his eyes.

The session ended a tad late and people were rushing to wherever they needed to go. Alexander had History of English Lit. next, which left me alone. My roommate had the same class, so I'd have the dorm to myself. I rushed to my room, locking it behind me when I made it in. I had an hour until my first class, so I closed the curtain and stripped out of my clothes except for my panties.

The moment my body touched my bed, my hands were cupping my breasts and squeezing my nipples. I bit my lip to keep from moaning out loud. I tugged on them feeling them harden and trying to ignore my aching clit that was screaming for attention. I licked my fingers and worked on my nipples a while longer until my pussy couldn't be ignored any longer.

I slid my hand down my stomach feeling tingles rush through my body. I slipped my left hand under my cotton panties and slid my middle finger over my slit. If I bit my lip any harder I may have broken the skin. I slipped my finger in, feeling the warm, wet walls wrap around my finger. I graced the entrance of my vagina, but didn't push my finger in. I was still a virgin and for some reason had never thought to do so while masturbating.

I moved my now wet finger to my pulsing clit. The moment I touched it, I knew it wouldn't be long before I came. I started circling it slowly, replaying my fantasy in my head. My eyes closed and the images returned as my finger switched from clockwise to counterclockwise and back and forth. I could feel my finger start speeding up of its own volition and I had to concentrate to slow it down. I replayed all the dialogue in my head. I thought of him winking at me when he kissed my hand and I lost it.

I circled my clit faster, and rotated my hips against my hand. I could feel it building with more intensity. I softly started whispering his name that came out wrapped in a soft moan.

“Oh Kennick...Nate Kennick...yes.”

I felt it start to wash over me and both my hands worked on rubbing my clit from either side as the orgasm took over. I felt it rolling over me then suddenly crashing. Some muffled moans escaped me as the pleasure shot to every nerve in my body. My hips pushed up to my still rubbing fingers and my back arched so that only my head was on my pillow. I lowered slowly as the mind blowing orgasm subsided.

I breathed heavily and somewhat noisily. I lay there for a while, and took a short twenty minute nap. I looked at my watch when I woke up and saw that I had about ten minutes until my French class, which meant fifteen or twenty minutes since the professor always ran late with her other class. I got dressed again and walked to the Humanities building. I got to the third floor and realized that I'd forgotten to go to the bathroom to clean up. Luckily the girls bathroom was on this floor. Just before I walked into the bathroom I heard, “Aden.”

I turned and saw Kennick. “Hey,” he said.

“Hi.”

“Dosing off at my presentation? Was I really that boring?”

“Oh no! Not at all, I was just...distracted,” I said.

He gave me a little grin. “Oh. Well I got you something,” he said handing me a wrapped rectangular prism. “It was for your birthday last month, but I kept forgetting to bring it in.”

“Oh. Wow, thank you,” I said breathlessly.

“The pleasure's all mine,” he said and took my hand again, and kissed it. But unlike the time before, he lingered. I realized it was my left hand and instantly blushed. I felt his tongue slip out and lick my middle finger. He looked at me, pupils dilated, and winked. He let go and grinned. “I definitely got you the perfect gift. Bye, Miss Nicholson.”

My breath caught as I said bye and ran into the bathroom. In the stall I unwrapped the gift which made my breathing even more raspy. It was a book of letters between Heloise and Abelard, the most famous Parisian couple. The very first teacher, student affair. I opened it and gasped. In his beautiful handwriting was, “If you get it, you get me. My office hours you know by now, I'm sure.”

I swear in that moment I almost came.