Due to good grades and recommendations from my High School, I can go to a good university. I started my sophomore year. As an English major, I can use poetry and clever twists of phrases to seduce anyone I want. It is the way I last year got my high school friend and some girls to stay at the Dorm.
The first day was already half over, and I was not afraid of the perspective load. My next class was a writing class. It looked interesting. As I took my seat, this tall redhead walked in. She was young, and I half expected her to sit at one of the tables near me.
Instead, she placed her bag on a desk in the front of the classroom and wrote stuff on the board. I could not believe this beautiful figure was Professor Williams. I expected an older man with grey hair and a stubble beard. Not a woman who looked like she could be a swimsuit model.
We began. Once the introductions were done, she explained what we would do for the rest of the semester. She allowed us out early. Everyone was happy we got to go early, but I wanted to speak to Professor. I held back while everybody ran out the fastest possible.
When it was only she and I, I went to talk to her. She was soft and smooth. I introduced myself to her and asked if this was her first year at school. She said that it was not only her first year at the school. It was her first year in the city.
I told her that I had spent much of my growing up here. I would be happy to show her around town. I mentioned a few great restaurants and museums, and she seemed interested in the city. At first, she was reluctant to answer if she wanted my phone number.
She could see how awkward it would be for a professor and a student to call each other out of class. She told me there was nothing inappropriate about someone new in town asking for advice about what sights to see. I then gave her my number.
I said she could call me to know about museum exhibitions or the best place to get a pizza. She did not call me, but I thought as much. I saw her in class, and we were talking about a poem. She told us that our homework would be to write a poem for the next class about what we wanted.
I took the opportunity to write my love poem. I did not say who it was but described her red hair and long legs. It is a girl but still vague enough that I could also use it to apply it to a number of other girls. I got it with no comment on the content.
I tried again to write another love poem. But I was more intense this time when I explained the physical acts I wanted to do to her. With innuendos and euphemisms, I said I wanted to have sex with my red hair goddess until our genitals were sore. Then fuck her again.
I also hinted how I would fuck it hard and powerfully in every position. Once more, my poem got no recognition. It was treated like any other piece of homework. She liked me. I was sure that I had done my work well. I showed up to class on time and had plenty of interesting things in the readings.
She smiled every time I said something interesting. She would love to have the class discuss the ideas that I had raised. If you think I am a teacher’s pet, remember I am trying to get into her panties. Had it been the old man, I would not put much effort.
I knew that when we were supposed to write a story, it would have to be painfully acrimonious in its message. She allowed us to write about anything we wanted. So I wrote an erotic story about a student who fucked his English teacher.
I changed the name, but it became clear that I wrote about her and me. The story had a note at the end when I received my stories. “See Me After Class.” Finally, it was the reaction I was waiting for. After class, she walked up to my desk and retrieved my paper.
“You wanted to see me?”
“No, we need to talk.”
It seemed like she forced herself to be calm and steady. “Your writing so far is worrying.”
“Why? Did I have a lot of grammar errors and spelling mistakes?” I was acting dumb.
“You know what I am talking about. At first, I thought it was kissing, and then I thought it was a crush. You are not the first to have feelings for a teacher. But this last story you wrote is too much. This must stop.”
“What must stop?”
“Your sexual advances.”
“I never made any sexual advances.”
She takes a copy of my second poem and starts to read it, ” Those legs of ivory which hide their hidden treasure will part. So I might tell my passions to them.” She took my book and began reading.
“How is that a sexual advance? I did not use your name, but I could want to get to another woman’s vagina. Did you think of that?”
“I do, but your story was about a student having sex with an English professor who sounds like me. Her face was like a sculpted statue by Goddess Venus with sapphires for eyes. Her form was slender but had a slight curvature that would satisfy and man.”
“Although her breasts are tiny, they fit well with her figure and do much to improve her beauty. Her legs begin on the ground but end up miles away in heaven. They are slender too. But they show muscle that would do the work of a hard night’s ride.” She puts the paper down and stares at me.
I know she is a little squirmy in the face with either embracement or excitement. But I can feel my opportunity opening up and know she is closer and closer to my trap. I think to myself that the description of you is a face like the one of the goddess of beauty.
“I think that you are attractive. But I am afraid to say that you are a bit egoistical and self-absorbed.”
She looked shocked, “What? You think I am self-absorbed. You are writing a story about a student with an English teacher who is young, redheaded, and slender. She has small breasts and long legs that describe me.” She prefers being the object of my lust rather than merely a girl.
“I don’t know. Your legs don’t seem that long to me.” She looked shocked and injured again. The skirt then raised to the upper leg showing the entirety of the beautiful leg. I wanted to see what else I could get her to do.
She grabbed her chest and held it down, “How could you say they are fake? They are all-natural.” I wanted to scream at the line, but I kept my cool, “I think they’re real, but I can’t tell if it’s silicone or a bra.” She opened her bra and let it fall to the floor.
There she was, naked, and she forced me to grab her breasts. I couldn’t believe things were going so well. I squeezed them and played with the nipples, which soon became hard and erect. She realized I wasn’t groping to see if they were real. I was playing with them now.
“That was a very bad idea. We have to stop.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s wrong.”
“But it feels really good.”
“No, we have to stop.” She grabbed my hands and pulled them away. She looked up at me and down at my groin, where a very visible cock had gone up. “I think you better go.”
“I think we should go together.”
“What?”
“I think we’d better go to your house and finish our conversation somewhere more private. Where there’s less chance of someone walking in on us.”
Finally, she took her eyes off my erection. Standing there naked, holding a student’s hand in the classroom. I took my hand off and dressed her. She stood for a moment without saying anything. Trying to decide whether she should take me or not. “Let’s go quickly.” And we went to her apartment.
It was a beautiful place. We sat in the living room while she spoke. “This has to stop. I can’t believe I brought you into my home myself. It’s so inappropriate and illegal. You know where you have to go. I don’t know why I brought you here. What can we say here? We can say in my office on campus.”
“Can I say something?”
“What?”
“We came here not because you wanted to discuss my writings or progress. But because you wanted to act on them.” I started to approach her on the couch. She turned his face away. I gently put my hand under her chin and turned her back so I could look her in the eye.
“I saw how you couldn’t take your eyes off my erection, and your heart raced when I grabbed your breasts, how you blushed when you read my stories. They turned you on, didn’t they? The thought that a young man who could choose from all those young college girls fantasizing about you, you had a shot.”
“I bet you even liked to fantasize about me. I bet you will even touch yourself as you read the story and stay engaged with the characters. When John touched Lola up and down her legs, you sure did.” I ran my free hand up and down her thigh, rising each time.
She didn’t try to stop me as my hand pushed her skirt further and further up her thigh. “And when they kissed, you felt hunger on my lips. ‘I kissed him, and he wasted no time kissing me. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into a deep French kiss.’”
I broke the kiss and whispered, “Not here.” Then I picked her up like a groom would his bride. I led her down the aisle to our honeymoon suite. I put her down gently, and soon we were kissing again. She was holding onto me for dear life.
I started moving down her body, kissing her earlobes, then her neck and unbuttoned her blouse. I pulled down her bra to reach her breasts. They were louder than in the classroom. When I nursed and licked her nipples, she did not pull me away but moaned with pleasure.
She told me to get down. I left her chest and continued south. Her stomach, and then I met the top of her skirt. I slowly pulled it down with her panties to reveal her precious treasure. A small patch of shorn hair was the only fur from her beautiful pubic hair.
I stood there looking at her naked body, taking in all the beauty. From the look she gave me, I knew she wanted more tongue bathing. So I went to her long legs and played her trap. I could see and feel her excitement. It was sweet and powerful.
I went in for the kill and slowly ran my tongue up her pussy. When I reached her clit, chills ran through her entire body. I did this a few more times before I stuck my tongue out and fucked her with it. She moaned and writhed. Every time I ran my tongue over her clit, she shuddered.
She moaned, “Oh my god, it’s unbelievable. It’s been so long since a man fell over me.”
“So I bet it’s been longer than anyone.” I pushed two fingers into the pussy as far as they would go. She sat straight, and every muscle in her body contracted. Her face showed either intense pain or intense pleasure. After a few seconds, she fell back on the bed and relaxed.
I climbed on top of her and kissed her on the lips. For a moment, she just lay there, indifferent to my kiss. Then reality sunk in, and she tried to swallow my tongue again. She pressed her hips against my pants to cover the front with her juices.
Then she snapped, “I can’t take it anymore. Take off your pants and fuck me already.” In the blink of an eye, my pants were gone.
If you like it the story of my English teacher, I’ll write the second part. Your replies will make me happy.