You would think with all the cumming I’ve been doing, I wouldn’t have wet dreams. Well, when you have as wild and horny dreams as me, it still happens. More often than I’d care to admit.
After cleaning off quickly in the shower, and avoiding the towel-wrapped women in the communal sink area, I dash off to my first early morning class this semester. Over the past few weeks, I’d gotten used to a lazy schedule, but now that Professor Tachibana is back from her trip home, I’ll have to be up early Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
As usual, I’m the first person in class. I settle into the desk in the back left corner of the room, where I can observe the entire class. Browsing on my phone, I don’t look up as other students enter the room and take their seats. A dull murmur fills the room as the empty seats dwindle and I lose interest in anything I can find online.
Professor Tachibana should be here by now, though the class seems content to chat and lounge in the room. Usually, someone wants to claim we can leave early if the Prof. isn’t there within the first fifteen minutes, but not today.
I scan the room, noting a few cute faces, but you’re not here, and I don’t recognize anyone else at the moment. Resting my cheek on my fist, I watch the clock, bored, and wait.
The hurried clack of heels on the polished cement floor echo in the hallway, slowly growing closer until a gorgeous Japanese woman bounces through the doorway.
The classroom collectively gasps. Not just the guys, either.
“Gomennasai! The train was late. That never happens in Japan.” Her hair is tied back in a tight knot behind her head, but wisps of dark hair stick to her temples and forehead with sweat.
The class quiets as she sets her purse on the desk and catches her breath, flattening the folds in her black pencil skirt so it stretches as low as it can. It barely reaches her mid-thigh. She tugs at the hem between her legs in front and back; the skirt having ridden up as she rushed to class. But that skirt isn’t hiding anything more, no matter how much she tries.
I’ve never seen a professor dress like her, and from the strained whispers circulating through the students, I doubt they have either. I barely got a glimpse, but her strappy, black high heels can only be described as stilettos, and her skintight black blouse leaves about as much to the imagination as her mini skirt. Her top button fights valiantly, like Spiderman between two halves of a sinking ship, trying to hold back her ample breasts. There’s no way those are real.
I hear a muffled sigh beside me and check from the corner of my eye. The guy at the desk there has a hand clamped over his crotch, his eyes glued to her chest. I smirk and look back at the whiteboard. This is going to be an interesting class.
As much as I care about the subject matter, I struggle to focus on the words coming out of Professor Tachibana’s mouth. Every step around her desk as she speaks draws her skirt up a bit more. Her bosom bounces as each heel strikes the floor, and sways as she turns to speak and write on the board.
I question whether she is really a professor, though adjunct, because she seems unused to her massive breasts erasing her lower writing as she stretches to mark the top of the board. I’m able to resist the urge to lean over and sneak a peek up her skirt, but over half the class can’t help themselves.
For a moment, Tachibana Sensei, as she likes to be called, looks over her shoulder. No one is watching her eyes like me, so only I notice the sparkle in her eye and the slight blush that paints her cheeks. As she turns her head back to the board, she locks eyes with me. She doesn’t falter in her speech, but for an instant I know she’s examining me.
I watch the back of her head, some loose hairs dangling from her bun. My pulse thumped in my ears and my blood burned hot under her gaze. I shake my head to clear it and stare at my desk. I’ve seen too many scenes like this. This is reality, though.
As our eyes continue to follow her around the room, I’m convinced she is doing this on purpose. While everyone is drooling over the hot professor strutting her stuff, I swivel my head, peering into the corners of the room and eyeing likely places for hidden cameras. This has to be a setup. I spot a broken ceiling tile in the opposite back corner of the room and stare at it as if I might see a glare over a camera lens.
Someone clears their throat in my ear. I whip my head around and find Professor Tachibana’s eyes staring into mine from inches away. I jerk back quickly and smack my head on the wall behind me, eliciting a quiet round of laughter.
Professor Tachibana has her elbows propped on my desk and her chin in her hands. Up close, I can’t tell if she’s even wearing makeup, but common sense demands her face can’t be any more natural than her titanic tits. A faint hint of cherry blossom wafts over me and while my eyes are locked on hers, I can see her lips in a permanent, seductive pout are colored a glossy pink with tiny sparkles. Paralyzed by her big, chocolate eyes, I gulp loudly, causing her to smirk.
“I wanted to ask if there was anything distracting you, but now I’m concerned you hit your head too hard.” Heat rises in my face, but I’m able to tear my eyes from hers. Over her round ass, I see several students with their phones out, biting their lips in painful restraint.
“Gomen.” I stare back into her eyes coolly. Her smirk slackens, her lower lip drops away from her pout, and a tiny gasp escapes from her mouth. I keep my eyes locked on hers and her face reddens.
Rising on her straightened arms, Tachibana Sensei squishes her breasts between her arms and pouts down at me. I ignore her obvious attempt to unsettle me and narrow my eyes in suspicion. She bites her lip and stands with her hands on her hips, pushing her chest out so much I’m certain she is trying to pop her button and strike me in the forehead.
Without a victory, Tachibana Sensei spins on her heel and struts away up the aisle. For the rest of class, I keep my eyes off her body and meet every sultry glance with a level stare. When the bell rings, most of the class lingers, wanting to feast their eyes on Sensei. I try to escape the crowd, but students block every route out of the room. I’m forced to wait in a line as most of the male students crowd around her desk.
Five minutes later, the classroom is finally clearing. Because of my seat choice, I’ll be the last one out, but now that class is over I ignore Tachibana Sensei’s watchful gaze, feeling the heat of her eyes scanning me. I follow closely on the heels of the student in front of me, my eyes staring at their unisex black boots.
Just as I reach the door, Sensei calls my name. I freeze half in and half out of the classroom. I turn and find Sensei sitting in her swivel chair, eyeing me hungrily. I step back into the classroom and face her as she spins to face me.
As much as I’ve tried to ignore her body, my eyes drop to her mini skirt as she spins, and my heart leaps into my throat. Between her pale thighs, I spot her sheer black lace thong. It hardly covers anything. Not only can I see the lower part of her ass cheeks, I can see she shaves.
I can’t help but stare. As she crosses one leg over her knee, the fluorescent lights glisten over her lace-covered mound. Glisten!
A throaty, humming giggle brings my attention to her eyes as her display disappears. “So you do like what you see.”
