"These two powers determined the course of history almost all over the world; that's why it's called a bipolar world order," I explain to the camera in front of my laptop when I hear the door open and you come in from the outside in December, cold and, somehow, hot air coming in your footsteps.

"Uh, wait a moment, please," I say to the student I'm giving the private lesson to and mute the microphone.

"Hi," I say, turning back.

You blow a kiss as you stand, out of the camera's view, and I feel like I caught something mischievous in your eyes.

"Sorry, honey," you say, "don't want to disturb you; go on with the lesson."

I turn back to the laptop and to the student who doesn't even have his camera on while you take off your coat and scarf. I start another sentence about the Cold War, but it doesn't escape my attention that you let your jacket fall on the floor for some reason.

After a few moments, the floor creaks, your scent swirls around me, and suddenly, to my surprise, I notice you crouching next to me.

Your hand strokes my leg, and I hear you whisper, "Sorry! Continue with the lesson; just push the chair back a little!"

I'm confused. Do you want to take something out of the cupboard? I think to myself, or are you looking for something under the table?

I carefully push the chair back a little while focusing on the screen. There's still 15 minutes of the private lesson, and this kid doesn't know whether Truman was Russian, German or American.

Still, out of the corner of my eye, I see you trying to duck under the table, and now your perfume hits me.

What's going on? Now I finally look at you. You are in your black bra and panties.

Are you going to exercise now? And maybe the mat or something is in the cupboard? But why would it be? I'm still confused, but now your hand touches my leg. I get stuck in the middle of the sentence about the Soviets.

"...what was the... um… what..." I repeat into the mic, as I feel your hand crawling up my leg.

"Go on with the lesson, go on," you say softly, in a whisper, and now, as I look into your eyes, something slowly begins to take shape in my head about what you're thinking.

I turn back to the camera. While I'm trying to talk about the division of Berlin after 1945, I feel your fingers fiddling in my lap. You haltingly pull down my zipper, and now your fingers, still a little cold from the winter, start caressing my cock through my boxers. I feel it beginning to rise like a loyal animal that never wants to leave your hand.

I hear my loud heartbeat in my ears as you caress my shaft. Heat is bubbling somewhere down there.

"What do you know about the… what do you know about the Eastern Bloc?" - I try to ask the student in the distance, but I don't know if what's happening is real. You pull my pants down with two rapid tugs, then free my cock and start playing with it with two fingers.

"Uhhhh… uh-huh," I wheeze with a pounding heart, and I hope the microphone doesn't pick up how much I'm shaking as you slowly begin to pull the skin back on my stiffening cock. I quickly turn the camera towards the wall so that it doesn't show my face and direct my eyes to the digital history textbook because I know that I will have to ask a new question in a few moments. The kid doesn't know what the Soviet Union was...

"So I should ask about..." I'm trying to focus, but in the next second your lips are at the base of my glans — hot, wet, and indescribably soft.

While I lose this battle for focus, the student has finished the sentence somewhere in the distance and falls silent now. You are still kissing my glans, less and less discreetly. I know I have to say something now into the mic. But I can only hear you whispering:

"Difficult, huh?"

I'm not looking down, but still I can clearly hear that you're smiling right now, like when doing a good prank. I gulp. It's as if tanks were rolling close by on the street; everything is rumbling in my ears.

I am trying to focus and start a question:

"Who…um… who were…"

I strain all of my nerves.

"...can you list who the important leaders of the two sides were?"

The kid starts a sentence but then hesitates and stops after two words. At the same moment, you grab the base of my cock with your left hand, and I feel your mouth take in the head of my cock. Hot, wet and soft. The intense pleasure hits me so suddenly that I involuntarily moan out loud. And I was not on mute.

I blush and quickly clear my throat.

"Hmm... sorry, there was some noise... would you please start over?" I say, then instantly click mute on my microphone with shaking hands as I feel your mouth envelop my cock.

I look down. You are blowing me now, no games anymore. Our eyes lock. I see your beautiful lips move around my meat at an obscene tempo, and I feel like your eyes tell me, Yes, you're mine.

As your lips slide up and down my cock and I feel your tongue caressing it, the heat of your mouth, I become incapable of thinking. The student is talking about something in my ear, repeating Stalin's name two or three times, but all I really hear is your breathing and the soft, lustful sounds of your mouth and my own stifled gasps.

I turn my microphone back on.

"Wait, sorry, I have to go for like five minutes. Let's take a break, okay?" - I splutter.

I don't even wait for an answer, just mute the whole conversation and slam the lid of the laptop. I push it aside and push the chair back.

"Come here," I moan, in a voice unrecognizable even to myself. I lift you up onto the table and pull down your panties. You spread your legs. Your pussy is open and glistening. I kneel before you and start to spread kisses on your thighs, but you grab my head and pull me closer to your pussy. I lick your hot, red cunt, devour your shining clit with a hungry tongue. Then I stand up, kick my pants aside and grab your waist.

You push your hips closer, I position my cock to your opening, and two seconds later we're fucking and panting wildly. My heaving and your cry-like moans, which are getting louder and louder, fill the room, maybe the house, maybe the whole world.