Professor: A First Time Novel(13)

The vibrator is small, but it has me gasping and arching my hips off the bed as soon as it touches me. I’m moaning as I roll it across my clit over and over, while my other hand pulls and pinches at my nipples, making my whole body writhe in the bedsheets. In my head, it’s him touching me; him owning my body and making me moan as he teaches me everything I’ve yet to learn.





In my mind, it’s Professor Martin holding me down and sliding into me. It’s hardly a feeling I can picture, having never experienced it, but he’s all I imagine that night. He’s all I imagine as my body begin to crash over the edge, and that wicked, forbidden imagine of his cock is all I can see as I cry out and go tumbling over the edge of my climax.





Chapter 8

Ellie





Wednesdays are our late lecture with him.





Two days later - two days of positively aching for him, and two days of sneaking off to the shower to rub my pussy until I bit my hand to keep from crying out - I’m back in Professor Martin’s lecture hall.





It’s late, and it’s a Wednesday, and its the class that most people show up to in dorm pants and t-shirts.





But I’m not.





I’m wearing a scoop-neck sweater, with nothing on underneath. One that’s a bit too small, and one that had my cheeks burning when I tried it on back in the room. It hugs my breasts in ways that I’d normally never let it in public. But here in this lecture hall, I feel like it’s just him and me, because I’m wearing it only for him.





I’m also wearing a short, pleated skirt; nothing scandalous, but one that shows off a bit more leg that I might normally wear to a classroom. I’m not even usually much of a skirt girl, but there’s something so lip-bitingly naughty about the way it swishes around my bare thighs, and the way the air seem to tease up my legs to my pussy, covered only by a lacy pair of white panties.





But it’s when he looks up from his podium as I walk in, and his gaze locks onto me, that the heat just blooms through my body. I can feel my skin tingle under his gaze, my nipples hardening to sensitive points under the thin, clinging scoop-neck, and my panties growing warmer and wetter. It feels so naughty, and so scandalous as I walk to my seat at the front of the lecture hall, not looking but knowing his eyes are following and devouring me every step of the way.





I take my seat, and carefully cross my legs, letting the skirt ride up a little higher. It’s then that I look up, and my heart about flip-flops in my chest as I’m met with the fierce gaze of Professor Martin.





He’s looking at me like he’s hungry; like a wolf who’s found his prey. I feel a shiver run own my back, my nipples hardening even more under my thin sweater as he holds my gaze a second longer before clearing his throat and reaching for his lecture notes.





I know the thoughts I’m having about him are wrong, and dangerous, and so wildly inappropriate, but I can’t help it. I can’t help but think about what I know he’s got between his legs, and I certainly can’t forget the way he said my name as he stroked it the other night in his office.





And that’s all I can think about as the lecture begins, and he starts to talk. I don’t hear a word he says though, and only one thought is going through my head as I watch him casually lean against the podium in his fitted jeans and tight black t-shirt. A single thought as his deep, powerful voice resonated over the hall, and his his dark, piercing eyes scan over the students before finally landing on me and just burning into me.





I want him.





It’s a thought I’ve never had about anyone before, at least not like this. It’s a need; a wicked, burning desire that I can’t ignore. I’ve of course noticed cute boys before, and of course had thoughts that made me blush and made my body ache in ways I couldn’t ignore.





But this is like nothing I’ve felt.





This is primal, and raw, and nothing that might go away after a quiet, gasping little orgasm in the shower or buried in my pillow.





It’s so wrong, and he’s at least twice my age, not to mention my teacher. But he’s nothing like boys like Ted, or any of the other ones I’ve ever known.





And right then, it clicks. Right then, something falls into place, and suddenly, why I never gave it up to the boys in high school, or the ones here at college all makes sense.





It was’t that I’d been shy or awkward, or gawky, or too busy. Those are all excuses, really, and they suddenly fall way as I sit there lost in my dark, forbidden fantasies about my professor.





It’s because they were boys, and what I want - what I’ve always wanted - is a man.