It’s your last class of the week, and you’re glad as hell because it’s been a bitch. But there’s one consolation: your new prof. She’s gorgeous and moves and smells just as good. You’ve been having a hard time concentrating on your classwork all hour because you notice, even through her heavy sweater, that her nipples are erect, and you’d swear she isn’t wearing a bra underneath it, which raises an undying question in your mind (and elsewhere) if she’s wearing any underwear at all.
Just as you, for the fourth time in as many minutes, wish that you could wrap your lips around her aureole, you hear her say that class is dismissed. But as you start to stand, she points a pencil at you and says that she needs to talk to you. You restlessly wonder what could have gone wrong so early in the semester, as it’s only the third week, and this must be a new record even for you.
Patiently, you wait until the rest of the class has left, then nervously walk up to her desk. Her long, wavy red hair drapes down over her shoulder like a cloak, making it that much harder for you to think of her as a superior, but you try. Then she looks up, and you see her emerald green eyes looking, you swear, right to your heart, and you look away, hoping she can’t read your mind.
She reaches over, oh so gently places her hand under your chin, and lifts it so that you are forced to look into those most enchanting eyes. She smiles and asks you what is wrong; you weren’t having any problem looking at her in class. You realize that she caught you staring at her, and you turn a shade of red that is definitely a new addition to the painter’s art.
She gives off a laugh that sounds more like a tinkling of bells than a human utterance. She then tells you that she doesn’t mind and, in fact, is quite flattered. She then looks at your crotch and repeats, “Quite flattered.” Once more, you make a new chromatic effect. She just smiles and asks what you have planned for the night. You are slightly stunned by her forwardness but answer that you had only planned to possibly go out drinking with the guys and then crashing.
She says that sounds rather dull and asks if you wouldn’t rather come to her place for a drink, as she presses her ample bosom against your arm. Not wanting to let the spell break, you ask where she lives and explain that you would like to get a shower and change before you go over. She grins and says that the two of you can stop over at your room for you to grab a change of clothes, and you can take a shower at her place.
Not believing your luck, you agree and say that it might be a good idea for the two of you to meet on neutral ground and suggest that she wait for you at the student union and that you will meet her there in 10 minutes. She agrees and tells you to make sure that you bring your black denims and gray flannel shirt that you had been wearing last week. This definitely confirms that you haven’t been the only one looking, seeing as those are your tightest jeans.
It takes you about 3 minutes to get to your dorm—a new school record; another two to find your clothes, then 4 to get to the union, leaving you a whole minute to rest. Just then, she walks in, looks around as if hunting for someone she can’t find, gives you a nod, then leaves. You give it a few minutes for comfort, then you get up and follow her out.
She is sitting, waiting in her car. You get in, and it smells like roses. You nervously sit back, and you’re off. About a block away, you hit a red light, and she bends over and kisses you dead on the lips. The shock slowly wears off, and you look at her—she seems to have a look as if this is an everyday occurrence.
When you arrive at her apartment, it is on the outskirts of town, and you are sure that no one will recognize you. You slowly head up the stairs that lead to her flat, watching her supple ass all the way, and you are almost positive she is wearing nothing beneath. You reach the top of the stairs, and she shows you where you can take your shower. You shut the door behind you, breathe a sigh of relief, and get undressed.
After a few minutes under the hot water, you hear what sounds like the door opening and softly closing. Just then, the shower door slides open, and there she stands, completely unclothed from her soft red hair to her two bare feet. You stand there in amazement as she asks if she can join you. You blink twice and say, “Sure,” and she slips in beside you, then closes the door and picks up the soap and begins to lather your chest.
Just then, the soap slips from her hand, and not missing a beat, you pick it up and begin rubbing it over her firm, soft breasts, and decide that they are far from a disappointment. You then ease your way down to her stomach and lather it up. You feel a hand on the back of yours, and she slowly guides it to the flame-red bush at the apex of her thighs, and you feel her hot, wet passage on your fingertips, and you begin to slowly rub till her clit emerges from its hood. Then you ever so carefully make circular motions with your fingers just above her panic button till she can take almost no more, and asks you to stop.
She then turns around to rinse herself off, and you get your first real glimpse of her firm, raw ass. Just as your mouth begins to water, she turns and takes the soap from your hand and begins to once more wash your chest and stomach, then slowly moves her way down till she is holding your erect cock in her hand and gives you the most expert hand job in history. Just as you are about to blow, she stops and says that you had better rinse off and get dressed for dinner, then gets out of the shower and leaves the room.
You quickly hop out of the stall, dry yourself off, and get dressed. When you get out of the bathroom, she is standing there wearing the tightest pair of slacks you have ever seen, and they accentuate her muff well enough so you are positive this time that she is wearing no underwear. She informs you that dinner will be ready in a couple minutes and suggests that the two of you go in the living room and have a drink while you wait.
The conversation over drinks is anything but sexual as she asks the standard “what are you going to do with your life” shit that always goes on when you don’t know what else to say. Dinner also proves to be nice but far from exciting till dessert when she walks over to the refrigerator and takes out only a can of Redi-Whip and announces that she is dessert and sets the can down on the table and undoes the zipper to her pants (which you notice goes all the way from the front to the back). She steps out of the jeans and sits down on the table in front of you with one foot on each side of your chair and hands you the whipped cream.
You spray a little bit around the outside of her quim, then shoot some up inside and begin to run your tongue all around, making sure you get every last bit and almost bringing her off but just stopping on the brink like she had done to you. She is hot and ready and says that you aren’t going to get away that easy as she grabs your wrist and leads you into the bedroom where she pushes you backwards onto the bed and yanks the jeans right off your body and massages your cock till its hard and ready, then eases her hot quim over your cock till you can feel every inch inside her hot spasming cunt, and she gives out a long, low moan as you feel every muscle grip and release through her orgasm.
Then, after what seems like forever, she looks down and grins and says that now it’s your turn to go to heaven and slowly lowers her warm, soft lips around your cock and slides up and down till you think your mind will leave you. Then she gives one last deep throat, and you blow your load deep down her throat, and the two of you lie there in the glow of your passion, only to continue once more the next day—but that is another story entirely.
