I make my way to the Carnack Building with two minutes to spare. With ten minutes between classes I cannot fathom how this is going to work. First days are always stressful, and when I finally find room 294 I’m sweating and breathless. I barge in, hair a mangled mess, clothes disheveled, and the entire class looks at me. Why can’t the door be in the back of the room,
I think to myself as I sit in the only available seat: front row, next to the teacher’s podium.
I smile politely at the Professor. I believe his name is Killway, but I’m not too sure. It might be Killroy or Killray. When I sit he doesn’t resume his lecture. Instead, he keeps his eyes on me and I apologize sans the proper name. “Sorry Professor, I came from Harbing Hall across campus.” He smiles politely in return and nods as I try to discretely take my notebook from my backpack.
He turns to the dry erase board, pops open a marker, and begins to write his name and course title. ‘Professor Killmay, Classic Latin 101.’ I repeat his name in my head to erase the wrong versions that I considered before.
He’s silent while he makes his way to the podium a few feet in front of me. I quickly take in his attire: grey dress slacks and a white shirt that’s tucked in, belted properly, and a dark grey tie. He’s dressed more formally than the other instructors, and it makes him look younger than he probably is.
I actually sense that he’s extremely young for a Professor, perhaps 22. The smoothness of his skin and dark, almost black hue of his hair set a pleasant contrast of youthful-professor. For a moment I consider that he might have graduated early, perhaps he was a child prodigy.
“Take a moment to review your course schedule to ensure you are in the correct class.” He stands beside the podium, his hand perched on the edge of the laminated top. His eyes meet mine.
Its then I realize that my mouth is hanging open, my eyes have sprung wide and my lower lip has dried in the air. His voice is molten, deep and dark. It rattles through the air and drives into my chest with an intoxicating reverberation. I have never heard a man speak with such a deep, sensuous bass tone before.
“Kildmet, Greek, is down the hall. Sometimes students get us confused.”
I swallow down the saliva that’s pooled on my tongue. His voice is in the lower registers, somewhere between Peter Steele and Mark Lanegan. My body feels electrified, I have never been this turned on, so quickly, with so little effort. All the man did was speak.
I feel my face flush and my nipples perk. I’m torn between the need to run from the room, and the want to rip my clothes off and thrust myself on him like a whorish slut.
He clears his throat and turns away from me, standing behind the podium as he calls out attendance. Every name is said with such deep clarity, it’s like having a sex god read out the phone book low and seductive in my ear. He could probably bring me to orgasm just my talk alone.
I hold my breath as his eyes lock onto mine and he asks my name. His brilliant green eyes blaze into me with a sensuous heat. “Lockette?” His smooth brow furrows when he has to ask a second time.
I feel spacey and out of sorts, only snapping out of it when he turns his eyes down to the podium and makes a quick mark on the sheet. Then he flips the page and scribbles quickly before returning to the roll call.
Class continues on in this manner; his auditory torture and my effort to pretend I’m following along with what is being said, word for word. I even take detailed notes, though I have no sense of what I’m writing. I cannot concentrate well enough to follow along with my handwriting. I feel as if my body has separated and I’m a stranger to myself. I find myself eyeing him in different ways: his black dress shoes, the firmness of his thighs, his height. He towers over me like a living, breathing phallic symbol.
He pauses while writing on the board to undo the button at his wrists and roll his sleeves up. Such a simple act turns erotic as he exposes veined forearms, muscle definition, and the edge of a tattoo. One delicious tattoo that hints at a dark edge under that crisp, clean layer of laundered knickers and starched pockets.
I keenly watch every movement he makes: the shift of his hips as he paces back and forth and the pulse of his bicep and shoulder as he writes on the board. He is intoxicating to watch. Mesmerizing to witness. I am locked onto him as if I’ve been hypnotized. The intense scrutiny my mind has worked into isn’t broken until the piercing screech of desk legs scooting across linoleum rings out. I look around in a panic, wondering what I’ve missed.
I freeze, my body tensing painfully when I catch his movement out of the corner of my eyes. He’s coming towards me, and in desperation to regain control of my long lost senses I seek out another male. Some sort of balance, I’m 17 and should be drawn to other 17 year-olds, not my forty-something professor. My eyes fall on Taylor, my best friend who meets my gaze and smiles at me just as the Professor comes to a stop in front of my desk.
I realize that trying to tune him out is a wasted effort. His presence is all that my body is aware of. As I shift to face him again I feel the slickness between my thighs. The smell of ink and shaving cream washes over me, my pussy pulses with my heartbeat.
“Are you feeling alright?” He asks, his eyes on mine as he lowers himself to my eye level, squatting on his feet. One strong forearm rests across my desk and brushes against my notebook. His warm, minty breath washes over me.
I finally am able to swallow and reconnect my brain to my body through the fog. “Yes, sorry.” I smile reassuringly. When he keeps his eyes on mine and doesn’t respond I continue. “The first day is always crazy. I’ll be fine. Thank you.” I nod shakily, trying to drive home the words.
“Good,” he says suddenly, “Good, you look a bit…lost.”
My mind rushes over what I really am: no less aroused than I was one minute ago. Slicked pantyhose and nipples so firm that if I uncross my arms they’ll tear a hole in my frilly top are impossible to ignore markers of my lust for him.
Seeing his eyes drop to my notebook just after I declare my status to be ‘okay’ makes my stomach turn. If he can’t tell I’m painfully aroused he might sense it after seeing the scribble that’s on the page. I glance down, and my face drains of all blood as I read what I’ve been writing. The words COCK, SUCK and FUCK are scribbled deep into the paper with frantic chicken scratch amid illegible notes. No denying that I have been thinking of nothing than doing all of that, with him, during class.
He’s stone still as he eyes the paper. “A bit preoccupied, today?”
As he asks, I wonder why I have yet to make the effort to hide my paper from him. In the back of my mind I know it’s because I want him to know. I want him to be as grotesquely aroused as I am.
“Well, if you need help with anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.” He says as he stands, casting me a knowing, and crooked grin.
My heart stutters in my chest.
The raging hormonal storm doesn’t subside in the least throughout class.
When we’re finally dismissed I jump from my seat and dart out the doorway. My legs are shaky, heart is hammering in my ears, and I have to slow down before I even make it to the end of the hall.
“Anele!” A shrill voice calls out behind me. “Slow down!”
I roll my eyes and groan. “Hi Taylor, how’s it going?”
“Good with me. What about you? What was up with you in class today, you looked out of it.”
I keep up my hurried pace as I head toward the stairs. Taylor follows closely behind me.
“Slow down,” he hisses. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing.” I snark at him. The tone of my voice rings out sharp and harsh. “Sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just…” I take a deep breath, “…first day of classes is just stressful, that’s all. I felt like an idiot in class today but I couldn't help myself.”
I take a deep breath and am thankful for the distraction Taylor’s given me. This is how normal teens in college should be, conversing with each other, not lusting after their college professors. Not the point of actually having an orgasm in class over a voice, at least. My mind was incapable of seeing that he was handsome and nothing more. Instead, I had to fall apart at the seams, melting into a pool in my chair.
I slow down when I reach the bottom of the stairs and walk calmly with Taylor out into the courtyard. I reach behind me to unzip the small pocket of my backpack and retrieve my schedule, only to find nothing.
Angrily, I smack my hand to my forehead. “I’ll catch you later, I forgot my stupid pack.” I wave bye to Taylor and turn to head back inside. I eye the waterfall of students that pours down the stairwell and opt to take the elevator.
As I stand in the cab to make my way back up my stomach clenches with nerves. I mull over the possibilities; what if he’s there, in his classroom?
I counter that thought with logic: teachers go from class to class, he won’t be there. With this new knowledge I take a deep breath and stalk down the hallway with confidence.
That found confidence shatters when I get to the classroom and find it empty. While I’m relieved that he’s not in the classroom, I also panic because this likely means the door is locked. As I jiggle the handle I’m surprised to find it opens. Relief sweeps through me as I step inside the darkened room. I head to my desk, scoop up my backpack, and fling it over my shoulder.
As I turn to leave a dark, solid figure in the corner of the room catches my eye. A jolt of fear darts through me and I jump, pressing my hand my chest. My heart clenches before taking off in a sprint. A chill races through me, causing me to shudder.
“Apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I take in deep, quick breaths as I try to calm my senses. My nerves are rattled, but that raging lust I felt earlier races back at the same moment when my mind registers the intoxicating depths of Mr. Killmay’s voice. “I didn’t see you when I came in. I left my backpack.”
Mr. Killmay takes a step toward me, away from the darkened corner. “I saw you left it, I didn’t know if you would be back for it. I was going to take it to my office if you didn’t show soon.”
I nod, unsure of myself. “Well thank you.” I stare at him, getting lost in how the top buttons of his shirt are now undone. His tie hangs lose from his neck. “I guess I should go…” I say, my voice weak and watery.
“You sure? You can stay for a while, we can…talk…if you like.”
My mouth falls slack. His deep, creamy voice makes every word out of his mouth sound lurid. I struggle to breathe steadily. “I really have to go.” I say as I tear my eyes away from the open V of his shirt. With sluggish steps I make my way to the door. “I’ll see you in class.”
“We are in class.” He states with a tone that dares me to flip the bolt to lock the door instead of twist the handle to open it.
Daunting heat boils in my gut when I pause mid-turn to consider this. There are few ways to interpret his words and I feel safe assuming that ‘I want to fuck you’ is what he means.
I glance at him, his broad shoulders and nicely kept hair. Time slows as he approaches me. When his massive form is inches away from me he reaches out a steady hand and flips the lock. His scent envelops me and powers through my lungs. My breath comes in short, jagged gasps.
For a moment I feel afraid. I don’t know him, he doesn’t know me. Yet here we are crossing the line. We’re crossing numerous lines: my schooling and his career. God knows what else? Is he married? I try to eye his ring finger but his hand is in his pocket. Morality rattles in its cage as I briefly consider these things.
A moment later I lose my train of thought as the flesh of his fingers touch my chin. It’s a light, soft touch but it’s enough to set my skin on fire. My eyes drift closed and I turn my face up to his.
When his mouth presses to mine my body hums with an electric tension. He tastes like his breath, minty and sweet. I open my mouth to taste more of him. Our tongues meet in a devilish dance of unsure passion mixed with fettered lust.
I relax into his touch, into the kiss. Letting him set the rhythm. I feel lost in his fingers, his tongue, and his heat. Strong, firm arms wrap around my waist as he pulls me closer. I moan into his mouth, the feel of his hard cock against my belly is erotic.
The sweet, passionate kiss is enticing, but the longer it goes on the more lust driven I become. I want him, I need him. I need him to slide his hands under my skirt and into the wet, hot folds of my pussy.
He grunts as I slide my fingers into the waist of his slacks, working my hands toward the front I seek out the clasp and zipper. As I glide the leather through the belt buckle his hands quickly grasp mine. He breaks the kiss.
“You don’t have to.”
I moan as I slide my fingers down the front of his slacks, outlining his hard cock through the thin fabric. My voice melts out of my mouth when I say, “You can’t talk if you want me to stop.” I draw my hand back toward the top of his slacks and find the zipper pull.
“Why is that?” He asks. The deep undertones of his voice surge under my skin as he walks us away from the door, towards the desk.
Chills radiate from my ears, down my neck, and across my chest. I lick my tingling lips, tasting him on me. Another groan slips out from my mouth. “Your voice.” I whisper as I melt against him, sliding my hand into his boxers to pull out his hard cock.
It’s incredible when I have him free. I shuttle my hand up and down, spreading the pre-cum from the tip down the length. The sound of my hand over him is loud in the quiet room. My hand on his slick cock, our panting breaths, and intoxicating moans accent each movement.
His breathes become an unsteady, shaky mess. He’s rattled
, I think as I grip him more firmly and work my hand over him. He lowers his mouth down to mine, frantic and needy this time. His hands fall to my hips and he uses his fingers to work my skirt up inch by inch.
For a moment I feel like I’m free falling as his hot, firm fingers meet my nylon clad flesh. He ruches my skirt even higher to expose the banded waist line underneath. He pulls away from me to look down at the sight of me working my pantyhose down my legs. His eyes drift half closed making him look drunk on lust as more of my skin becomes exposed.
“Holy shit.” He groans. “God, you’re perfect.”
The compliment makes me blush. I shift a little, aware of how exposed and awkward I must look. I haven’t had sex in months and most certainly I’ve never had it like this before – abandoned and so raw.
The awkward feeling I have erodes when he slides his fingers over my hot, wet slit. The sensuous wet sound of his skin against mine sounds out into the room, spurring on my need for him.
I grip his hair with my hand and pull him to me as he slides his fingers into my pussy. I’m so slick it takes little effort to work them in. I grip his cock with my free hand again, stroking in time to the pulse of his fingers in my cunt.
“Your cock is gorgeous.” I tell him, boldly stating the truth. It’s a perfect, slick, solid specimen of a cock; delicious and inviting to look at and feel.
He turns us around slowly, pressing my back against the cement wall. Curling his fingers inside me, he strokes my sweet spot before slowly pulling out. The sudden lack of him inside me leaves me feeling empty and desperate for more.
His hands go to the hem of my top and he quickly lifts it, exposing my breasts. “Fuck, nothing underneath.” He sounds lost.
We both sound lost together.
He brings his mouth down to my breasts and suckles greedily at one while feverishly working the other between his fingers. The attention sends jolts of need to my pussy; I thrust my hips toward him in the hopes that I can make contact with him somehow. I need friction, firm and solid friction.
Sliding his hand down to my hot slit, again, he drives his fingers inside me with determination. The relentless rhythm with the thickness of his knuckles creates a rough, delicious sensation. I clench around him to spike the intensity, it’s phenomenal. As I give myself over to the sensation of him working his fingers like a piston wetness trickles down my thighs.
With a quick, fluid movement he stands straight. I grip his bicep and bend at the waist, taking his cock in my other hand. I take his cock into my mouth with one, deep swallow. The strained hiss that pours from his mouth and his hands lacing through my hair spurs me on.
He’s so hard and thick, it’s a thrill to take him to the back of my mouth. His veins ripple against my pinked, swollen lips and tickles them as I take him in greedily.
His hands grip my hair and he thrusts his hips, working his cock into my mouth. I gag as the head of his cock slips into the back of my throat. The garbled ‘Oh God’ he gives thrills me into doing it again . . . and again.
Soon, he’s fucking my mouth with wild and frantic thrusts. His breath is ragged and I can feel his legs shake.
“Fuck, stop, I don’t want to cum yet.” He tells me with pained urgency in his voice. My mind receives mixed signals, the depths of his bass undertones make me was to do it more, just to hear that desperation again.
I stand, raking my fingernails under his shirt as I go. He presses his mouth to mine, drinking me in through a frantic, passionate kiss.
Grasping my hips he turns me away from him and takes a step back from the wall, bringing me with him. His cock presses against my back and I work my ass against his thighs. He’s a wretched tease. Every movement of flesh against flesh drives me wild.
While guiding my forearms to the tray of the dry erase board he leans into me, causing me to bend forward at the waist. Then, I feel nothing. His hot flesh against mine is gone, leaving my sweat to cool in the air. I look over my shoulder to find him staring at me with a look between shock and lust. I flush a violent red, seeing the smooth roundness of my ass in the air and him taking in the site of me as I lean against the wall.
This entire situation is far more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced. My mind goes into sensory overload, a comfortably numb and sex induced haze creeps over me. All I can think of is how much I need him to touch me again. He feels miles away from me, it’s agonizing.
He reaches into the back pocket of his slacks and pulls out a condom. He brings the foil packet to his teeth and rips it open. Gripping his hard length in one hand he expertly rolls the condom down.
I shift on my feet, anxious and needing him to drive into me. Two hours have yet to go by since he first set me on fire with his voice, but it feels like an eternity. I can’t remember anything other than this agonizing sensation.
With one hand on my hip he steps to me, lightly gripping me as his rigid cock nests against my ass. He slides one hand around my front, reaching down to stroke through my wetness, and glides his fingertips across my sensitive, swollen clit.
He pulls away from me just enough to position himself at my slit. “Are you sure?” He asks.
“Yes. Please. Fuck me, please. I need your cock.” I beg him, every bit of urgency I feel seeps into my words and fills the air. I need his cock in me, hard and deep, more than anything else. My body is singing out for him to fuck me . . . and he does.
Finally, he gives me what I need, it’s satisfying – like bread to a starving woman. One long, firm, solid thrust nests him deep inside me. I cry out from the satisfaction of finally feeling him where I’ve needed him all this time.
“Fuck, you feel incredible.” He groans as he pulls out, pausing briefly at my entrance before he thrusts inside me again . . . and again.
“Christ,” I curse as he picks up the pace. My forearms glide against the sweat covered board. My legs shake each time he drives in deep.
He works one hand around to my clit, through the slippery, sweaty mess that I am. I arch my back even more, step my legs apart against the strain of the nylon. He sinks in deeper, hitting a sweet spot deep inside. The way my stiff nipples rub against the fabric of my top as they sway with each thrust electrifies me. Streams of senseless sounds pour off my tongue.
“You like that? My cock deep in your pussy?” He grunts with each deep, driving thrust as he grips my hips so he can fuck me harder.
“Yes.” I whimper, “Yes, I love your cock in my pussy. You feel so fucking good. Holy shit. Keep fucking me. Make me come.”
His thighs smack against mine, echoing through the room. As his fingers work over my clit I push against him, gyrate my hips with his rhythm. The need to orgasm spikes. Suddenly, I wish he didn’t have a condom on. I’m moments away from telling him to take it off. I’m on the pill, I tested clean.
Just as I open my mouth to demand he take it off and give all his cum to my greedy pussy his body goes rigid for a moment. “Holy fuck.” He grunts, repeating a string of lustful obscenities as he wildly thrusts to chase his orgasm.
Spastic pulses race through his body as he juts and jerks into me. His orgasm seizes every muscle. For a moment I’m taken aback by the intensity of it. I lose sight of my own, until he presses his fingers firmly against my clit and tells me to come. “Come with my cock deep in your pussy, my fingers on your clit. Come hard.” His deep, dark, voice has taken on a sinister undertone. It undoes me completely.
As my orgasm surges through me, over and over, I’m listless. Weightless and simply floating through orgasmic space is all I am. It’s as if he’s joined directly with my dark, inner succubus and unleashed a disturbing sexual force inside me.
My knees give out and I collapse to the cold floor that’s now slick with my sweat. Breathless and exhausted, I drift through it all. When I finally turn to look at him I see he’s done the same and collapsed in a crumpled heap. His chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath, his dress shirt is drenched. His spent, condom clad cock is dripping cum from the rim of the latex.
When he looks at me he’s too worn out and breathless to do anything other than roll his eyes back in post orgasmic bliss.
It’s then that I realize he’s not a Sex God; he’s the Devil Incarnate out to destroy me.
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with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
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