I kicked off my heels and stepped forward, framing myself between his splayed legs, the coffee table just behind me.
"As you continue Jane, I wonder if you might share something with me."
I raised my eyebrows in query, I didn't trust my voice not to crack right now if I were to speak.
"Exactly what," he continued, "were you hoping might happen in my office this afternoon, had you succeeded in your machinations?"
"Machinations?" I whispered.
"Yes, your evil, villainous, wanton machinations."
I laughed, a breezy tone that didn't match the bundle of nerves that was knotting in my stomach.
Time to gather some courage girl. Make this an encore performance he'll never forget. I thought.
Clearing my throat, I looked him in the eye, propped a foot between his thighs, and pressed my toes into his groin.
"Well it was a rather elaborate fantasy," I said, "involving your desk and the convenient location of that mirror." My hands traveled to my garter and for the second time this evening I popped the clasp, rolling the stocking down my thigh as I curled my toes firmly into his crotch. He inhaled sharply and I smiled to myself when I felt the length of him harden under my touch.
"I was hoping, if I succeed in my machinations," I said, glancing up at him as I eased the stocking over my knee and down my calf, "that you would throw me over the desk, push my dress up past my waist," I rolled the stocking over my heel to my instep and leveled my gaze with his, "and plunge your cock into me. I want to watch in that mirror, as you fuck me." I tugged the stocking off my toes, my fingers massaging across his fly as I did so. His hand flew to mine, lifting my hand, stopping me.
"Now, now, I've promised not to touch you, not till after you graduate."
"You're not touching me, I'm touching you," I argued, traveling my fingers up his hand to his forearm. I thrilled at the contact, skin sliding over skin.
"A shallow distinction."
"Your tattoos are so unusual, is there a significance? A special meaning?" I asked, trying to distract him, to prolong the contact. My fingers traced over the lines on his arm. He’d dodged the question in his office. This time I hoped he’d answer.
"Yes."
"Tell me?" I moved my hand from the tattoos, and stroked further up his arm.
"Some other time perhaps. It's not a story for tonight."
"Oooo," I said, "now I'm intrigued." My hand glided across his chest, and dipped into his shirt to linger over his collarbone.
"And I," he said, inhaling sharply at my touch, "was under the impression that there is a strict no touching policy in this establishment." He shook his head, and caught my hand, staying it.
"There is, but the cameras are off. No one will know."
"I'd know. And I'm afraid this," he said removing my hand from his neck, "is a loophole I cannot support." He snagged the stocking from me and laid it with my nightie.
"What can you support?" I asked, frowning.
"Well," he threw his arms up over the back of lounge, "I'm very much in favor of you continuing with the removal of your clothes."
I stepped back a fraction and traded my bare leg for the stockinged one, taking care to avoid contact with his groin. I popped the garter clasp and took my time sliding the stocking down my leg. Once removed, I leaned in, and trailed smooth silk over his lap, up his chest and across his cheek. I bent over him, my cleavage level with his eyes, and strained towards the pile of my clothing that lay just out of reach.
"Oh darling," he breathed.
I threw the stocking on top of the clothing pile, stopped where I was and looked down. My tits were practically smothering him, so close he could have tasted me with the tiniest flick of his tongue. But he didn't. Instead he looked up, his gaze penetrating.
"You're intoxicating," he whispered. "More."
I shifted back, knelt between his thighs and sat back on my heels.
"Okay," I whispered, and with trembling hands I reached behind me and unclasped my bra.
"This excites you," he said, and it was half question, half statement. "To be exposed, watched, vulnerable?"
"Yes," I breathed and my hands stilled in place, my eyes meeting his.
"No," he said, canting his head, studying my face. "Not vulnerable. Powerful."
I smiled and shrugged the bra straps off my shoulders, then slipped my arms free, my palms holding the bra secure to my chest. I was savoring this tension between us, the delicious torture of anticipation. My breasts were heavy and throbbing, my nipples swollen with arousal. I was burning, lost in the heat in his eyes, desperate to feel that same warmth on my naked skin. I rose off my heels and knelt again. He shifted, pulling his legs in closer to my body, caging me.
"Show me," he whispered, his expression altering the words from command to plea.
My gaze still locked on his, I removed my bra and cast it away, letting my arms fall to my side. His gaze faltered from mine then, and traveled slowly, along the smooth line of my throat until at last his eyes fell on my naked breasts. My breathing grew labored under his gaze and I leaned forward instinctively, my breasts swaying dangerously close to his body. He lifted his hands towards them, but caught himself, and stopped, his palms cupping air, fingers twitching in protest at the denial. He closed his hands, and brought one fist to his mouth.
"So beautiful," he rasped, his voice husky with desire.
Unnerved, I raised my hands to my hair, searching for some small comfort to steady me.
"I want you to touch me," I whispered, and I sat back, grinding my aching core into my heels, frantic for any contact that could temper the throbbing between my legs.
"Stand," he said. I did. And watched as he rose and towered over me.
"Sit, darling," he said gesturing to the lounge. As I settled against the lush velvet, the Professor drew the coffee table closer and sat on its edge, facing me. I propped my feet up on either side of him, trapping him between my legs.
"Touch your breasts," he said.
I groped my tits at his command, palmed them roughly, found the tender peaks with my fingers and rolled them viciously. "Oh god," I moaned, "please, I want your hands on me."
He twisted, and reached behind him, picking up something from the table. When he turned back to me it was in his hand, a teabag, hot and steaming, freshly liberated from the pot. He smiled, and knelt on the floor between my thighs, his body so broad I had to widen my legs to accommodate his presence. My hips writhed in approval at his nearness, longing to grind against him.
"Eager girl," he laughed quietly, "remember our bargain. After you graduate - oh how I shall touch you," he held the teabag aloft. "In the meantime," he smiled wickedly, "will you allow the Earl of Grey to caress you in my stead?"
I gaped at him, half amused and completely aroused at the thought of what he was going to do with that teabag. Laughter bubbled in my chest and I nodded grinning at him. When the first hot lick from the teabag wet my nipple, I gasped, and the smile was wiped from my face. It was so hot, so wet, the constant flick and glide across my nipples a worthy stand-in to his tongue. I closed my eyes and imagined it was his mouth on me, his lips.
"Look," he said. "Look how beautiful you are.
I opened my eyes and gazed at my breasts, watching as he laved my nipples with the teabag, teasing them until they glistened lewdly. Swelling under his attentions, their color deepened, hard and hot and wet. I cupped my breasts, squeezing, lifting, offering them to use as he desired. He swirled the bag around my areola, then withdrew it, and blew across the tips of my breasts. A cool stream of air hit my nipples and hardened them into painful buds. I moaned with pleasure and watched, enthralled, as he palmed the teabag and squeezed it. Hot liquid streamed over the pink swollen tips, trickled between my breasts, and down my stomach. I moaned again, and felt my panties flood with wetness. I closed my eyes as my hands raced in opposite directions. One hand to my lips, my fingers plunged inside and I opened my eyes to find the Professor staring at me, h
is gaze aflame with awe and lust. His lips parted as if to speak but before he could I sucked hard, drawing two fingers into my mouth until my cheeks hollowed.
"Fuck," he said. And I smiled around my fingers. I arched pushing my ass closer to the edge of the velvet seat, and the Professor sat back on the coffee table. My free hand roamed to the waistband of my panties and I watched as his eyes followed, widening as I slipped my fingers under the lace, and down to play among the slick folds. I slid my finger through the wetness, dipping into my pussy and up to circle the hard nub of my clit. I shivered at the contact, and watched his face as he watched me. I slipped two fingers inside, and thrilled when his breath hitched. He was just as affected as I was, just as turned on. God how I wanted him to touch me, to fuck me, something, anything to relieve this ache deep in my core. His eyes darted back to mine and again he spoke the words that had thrilled me twice before.
"Show me," he said.
6
Chapter Six
I popped my fingers out of my mouth and smiled at him coyly. "This is a tits only establishment Professor."
"Show me," he repeated, his eyes unblinking.
"We don't get paid to take our panties off here."
"Then I won't pay. Show me," he insisted.
"Touch me," I countered.
"No."
"Why not?" I removed my hands and sat up. Frustrated. "Why will you look at me naked, fondle me with a teabag but not your hands. Why is all of that okay but actual touching isn't?" I stood up facing him.
He looked up at me, a thin smile dancing at the corner of his mouth.
"I don't understand these games," I continued. "And if it's the University you’re worried about, I can't imagine that they would understand either."
He stood up, his body skimming mine as he rose. He lowered his head, his lips grazing the strands of hair that curtained my ear.
"Fuck the University," he whispered. "We went past what the University would deem acceptable that night in the Laundromat. This is about what's acceptable to me. It's a very fine distinction I grant you. But it's mine. And I will not waver." His lips ghosted over my cheek, lingering over my eyelids before dropping to hover just beyond my lips. "That night in the Laundromat, I crossed the line." His eyes sought mine and held. "I shouldn't have, because that was my undoing, one taste and you became my addiction. Like any addict, I have limits. So for now, I must be allowed to define the parameters."
"You, you," I began, fumbling to find the words. He was crowding me, forcing the power of rational thought from my head with the heat of his proximity.
"I promised you I would fuck you, Jane." His eyes lowered to gaze at my lips, and I marveled at the thick fringe of his eyelashes, the fine creases at the corners of his eyes and the scent of his breath on my neck. This man was beyond beautiful and I wanted him with every cell in my body. "I promised I would have you on your knees, begging for mercy, and I promised," his lifted his gaze to mine again, and all hint of humor had gone from their depths, "that I would see your pretty little cunt glistening with hunger."
I gulped.
"I never said in what order these events would transpire," his jaw tensed and his hands rose, framing my face, his palms so close my skin prickled with awareness.
"I promise. I will fuck you. But not yet." He lowered his hands and stepped back.
"For now," his gaze was blue steel, penetrating, dominant. "Show me."
Never in my life had a man spoken to me this way. It was exhilarating, and maddening and I wanted more. I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my panties and dropped them to the floor. I was completely naked for him now, my only adornments my necklace, a thin garter at my waist, and a silk rose in my hair.
"Good girl," he smiled, "have a seat."
I sat, legs closed, knees pressed together tightly, hands nervously caressing my thighs. I was almost quaking with nerves. Why? I was no shy virgin. Hell, I dance naked for a living. And this was hardly the first time my kitty would be getting a little face time. But I knew the answer. This man intimidated and excited me like no one I'd ever been with. The sheer force of our attraction, the lust that had sparked between us that first morning in the University pool was electric. The strength of it terrified me. If I'd become his addiction, he was quickly becoming mine, and what did that mean? How do you come back from something like this?
"At your leisure," he said mildly, as he sat across from me again. I inhaled deeply and relaxed against the velvet with a sigh. My eyes searched for his and found them eager, heated and twinkling with anticipation. I drank him in, locked my gaze to his, and drunk with lust, I walked my fingers down the length of my thighs to my knees. I drew them apart slowly, until they rested wide. I lifted my feet to the coffee table, and set them on either side of his thighs, making a frame with my legs, my pussy on display. His eyes searched mine, then he slid from the edge of the coffee table to his knees. He sat for a long moment, his gaze locked on that tender place between my thighs. Finally he spoke.
"So, so pretty," he said, smiling up at me. "Very shy," he added, arching an eyebrow. I blushed deeply at his words.
"Let's see," he said, softly, "if I can't coax her into blooming for me."
I watched as he pursed his lips and exhaled a steady stream of heated air across the outer lips of my pussy. His scent filled my senses; he smelled of tea, and spice, clean soap, and aroused male mixed with a hint of alcohol from the beer. I shivered, and moaned, reveling in the nearness, the thought of his lips that close to my core, and the erotic picture of his dark head bent between my legs. My fingers reached for his hair, and dove deep, curling into the dark brown waves.
"Ah ah ah," he said, grasping my wrists, pushing my hands to my sides. "Naughty girl."
"I want to touch you." I whimpered, squirming in my seat. "I want to be touched."
"Show me," he said for what felt like the hundredth delicious, torturous, time tonight. "Show me how you touch yourself."
I moaned with arousal and frustration, and drew my feet back from their perch on the coffee table, raising my knees to balance my toes on the edge of the lounge seat. My thighs splayed wide, I felt the folds of my pussy, wet with arousal, kiss each other as I moved and I shivered at the sensation. My hands slid toward my lips and found them slick, and quivering. I stroked deeply, coaxing, opening myself wide. My eyes were closed but still I could feel the heat of the Professor's regard on me, could tell where his gaze was locked.
"The pinkest petals," he whispered.
And then I felt a touch, a touch that didn't come from my hand. My fingers stilled, and retreated to the sides, but I held myself open, allowing this new sensation to dominate. It wasn't his hand that touched me, but I suspected I knew what it was and the thought of it was impossibly arousing.
"So pretty, like the rarest of orchids." The neck of the Professor's beer bottle explored and caressed, swirling, circling my swollen nub and dipping shallowly into my core before withdrawing.
I inhaled sharply, bereft at the loss. I opened my eyes and found him gazing at me in awe.
"So beautiful," he said solemnly, then broke into a smile. "This is now, hands down, my favorite brand of beer." He tipped his head back and finished the bottle, draining it. He smacked his lips. "Mmmm, yes, definitely my favorite." His eyes darkened as he gazed at me.
"Jane?" he said, turning back to me. "Tell me more about the office. Touch yourself for me. I want to see you come."
I almost came right then. His manner was so assured, he was so certain of what he wanted, so confident I would give it to him, it was irresistible.
"I..." I began. I wanted this man, wanted him so much I was willing to give him anything he asked. Suddenly aware of how exposed I was, body and soul, I hesitated.
"Go on darling," he coaxed, "please?"
"I walk into your office," I began, my voice growing steadier as I spoke, "and you're not there, so I stay for a moment looking around the room, snooping a little, checking myself out in the mirror." I cl
osed my eyes and sent my fingers in search of the wetness between my thighs. I probed my folds, circling, massaging my clit as I continued.
"Then I decide to leave a note for you, so I bend over the desk to find a sheet of paper and a pen. That's when I realize I'm not alone. You've returned, snuck in without me noticing and you've locked the door."
"How very naughty of me."
"Yes," I laughed. "You turn off the lights, but I can still see a little, there's a dim glow from the windows."
"Good, because I want to see every inch of you."
"Yes, that's what you say when you come up behind me. Your hands slide up my arms and you take the paper and pen from me, tossing them aside. But you don't turn me around. Instead, you grasp my chin and kiss me deeply. Your hands unbutton my blouse and you shove it to my waist, trapping my arms to my sides."
"My, I'm very forceful."
"Yes," I breathed, plunging my fingers through my folds, I flicked the tender bud, feeling that delicious coil of tension building deep inside. "You remove my bra and palm my breasts, massaging, groping, tugging at my nipples with your fingers and sucking with your lips until I cry out. You turn my face and kiss me again, fucking my mouth with your tongue. Then you release me, and bend me over the desk, turning my head away from the mirror."
"So you can't see me?" he asked and I could hear the strain of desire in his voice.
"No, I can't see you. But I can feel you, I can hear you."
"And that excites you," he said.
"Yes," I answered, aware that it hadn't been a question.
"And what do I do next?" he asked.
"You kick my legs apart and drag my skirt up past my waist. Then you bend me over the desk, and wrench my panties down to my knees."
"Mmm, I'm anxious. I can't wait to get to that tight pink flower."
"Yes, and so am I. I hear you behind me. I hear the clink of metal when you unbuckle your belt, the sound of your zipper and your pants hitting the floor. I feel your cock, hard and thick against the back of my thigh, then my ass and finally nudging at my lips, pressing against my cunt."
The Professor (Becoming Jane) Page 7
