You were still in high school the first time I saw you. In a group of students touring the university at which I teach.
You were pretty and leggy, sure, but that wasn’t it. It was the way you contrasted yourself. The girlish grins, the pouty lips. The modest outfit, the sway of your hips. The bubbly laugh, the direct eyes.
Innocent, but aware.
Next school year, there you were again on orientation day. Your hair was a little longer, you were a little more tan.
I was pleased you had chosen my university, though I couldn’t explain why. I was even more pleased when I realized we seemed to travel similar paths around campus. I’d see you a few times a week, and I’d watch you with your friends. When I watched you, you stirred me.
Without exactly meaning to, I started paying attention to whether I saw you with boys.
I didn’t. For some reason this pleased me.
Second semester, you walked into my Intro to American Lit class. By now, also without exactly meaning to, I had figured out you were going for sports science. My class was a basic prerequisite, though, and there you were. I was happy. Proud, even, although that made little sense.
That first day, you sat in the second row and took off your jacket. You wore a pink v-neck sweater. When you leaned forward to get your notebook out of your bag on the floor, I watched the shadow of your cleavage.
You straightened up and we caught each other’s eyes. I smiled. You gave half a wave.
That semester, I made sure you had everything you needed. Lecture notes. Help with papers. Office hours if you wanted them.
I was always professional, but made sure you knew you had my attention.
You were always innocent, but aware.
I’d catch you looking, though, in class and when we passed each other on campus. We’d find each other’s eyes and hold them. A smile. Half a wave. A wink.
We weren’t overtly bold, but we weren’t shy.
By the time the school year was winding down, I’d admitted to myself that I would miss your little thrills.
The week before finals, you stopped by my office and asked if I could help you prepare. Of course I could. I offered you a chair, then texted my buddy that I wouldn’t be able to get beers after all. I sat down next to you and your notes, closer than I needed to be.
You brushed against me once, twice, then let your weight settle against me. It only took a minute to realize you didn’t really need my help, but we both were happy to spend the hour pretending.
Before you left you handed me a small box. You called me “Sir” when you thanked me for all my help during the semester. Our fingers touched and neither of us moved them for too long. I don’t know what it felt like for you, but for me it was electric. Then you said goodbye. Half a wave. I winked.
I closed the door behind you, leaned against it and opened the box.
Inside was a pair of your panties.
I lifted them out. They were damp. The crotch was creamy. I put them to my face and inhaled.
Had you been wearing them before you came to my office? Had you been wet from thinking about seeing me? Had you stopped in the toilet and slipped them off on the way? Had you been naked beneath your jeans?
That night I lay in bed and masturbated to you. I squirted my sperm across my stomach and wiped myself up with your panties. They were cute, floral print and Brazilian cut. I thought about all the looks that had passed between us. About your weight against me in my office. About the fact that as the semester had progressed, some of your dresses and skirts had gotten a touch shorter than they needed to be. Your tops a bit tighter, or cut a bit lower. About the times there were no panty lines across your ass. About the fact that I still hadn’t seen you hanging out with any boys.
I thought I knew what you wanted, and I decided to give it to you.
The next time you came to my office, it was because I told you to.
As each student finished the final, I shook their hand at the door as they left. When you left, I held your hand longer than I needed to. You let me. I slipped a note into your palm.
My office. 7pm tomorrow.
You knocked softly. I opened the door and let you in. I closed and locked it behind you.
You were wearing a little sundress. You looked so young, so unassumingly sexy. Your hair hung across your collarbone in a way that tripped my breath. I looked at you for a long minute and tried to read your eyes. Fear? Excitement? I was getting hard, and neither of us had spoken yet.
My voice gets even lower when I’m aroused, and now it was a rough whisper.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” I said.
“I’m here,” you said.
I reached out and cupped your cheek. You felt so warm. You touched my chest.
I slid my hand down your neck, around the back of your shoulder, along your spine, and rested it at the top of your butt.
You didn’t move.
I wandered down your bum cheek to the hem of your dress.
Your breath caught, but you still didn’t move.
I brushed the smooth skin at the back of your leg. Trailed my fingertips around to the front of your thigh. Dragged them higher until they brushed your panties.
You whimpered. I could feel your damp heat. Your soft fullness.
“You’re quite on the edge, aren’t you, Ms. Hughes?”
“Days,” you said.
I teased my thumb across you.
“Poor girl.”
I walked you slowly backward until you stopped against my desk. Your hand was still on my chest, my hand still under your dress. My penis was tight inside my pants.
“Turn around,” I said.
You turned around and stood still, straight.
I could hear you breathing.
I assume you heard my belt, my zipper, my tiny sigh as my penis was finally free.
Jesus. It was in a mood. It looked huge compared to you.
Then you surprised me. You slowly reached beneath your dress and pulled your panties down until they were stretched between your thighs. You spread your legs far enough apart to keep them there, and leaned forward, resting your hands on my desk.
I lifted your sundress and bunched it around your waist. You gathered part of the hem in each fist, to keep it up, and leaned on my desk again.
Then I just looked.
Your bum and thighs and privates all came together like nature’s art. Your pussy was shaved and perfect. Swollen labia hung open like an invitation to the moist pink inside.
I finally slid one finger through your slick.
You whimpered. It sounded like relief, so I started moving my finger back and forth, slowly.
You sighed and relaxed into me, and I slipped my finger inside.
You were gooey and tight and so smooth. So young.
My penis started to drool clear precum, the way it does when I’m deliriously aroused. The head was engorged and purple.
I stroked inside you with my finger while you pushed yourself back against me. Neither of us talked. Occasionally a tiny moan or sigh, but mostly just our breathing. I listened to yours speed up, and slipped a second finger inside you.
“Ohhhh….ohhhh,” you moaned.
And then you came.
Your vagina squeezed and spasmed around my fingers. Your body shuddered and your legs trembled. Your breathing stopped. Your wet creamed my hand.
When you finally stopped, you sagged against my desk.
I didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask you how it felt, or if I had done ok. I just pulled out my fingers, rubbed your fluids on my penis and started stroking.
I know you heard me. In the quiet room the sounds of me masturbating were erotically loud.
It didn’t take long. My breath got ragged and my stroking furious. My hips started to buck.
You pushed yourself back from my desk, gasping, your pussy still quivering from the orgasm, dripping. You looked over your shoulder and caught my eyes.
Right before I came my right leg started to shake uncontrollably. My testicles tightened and the base of my penis throbbed.
“Ungh!”
It was a huge orgasm. There was an indecent amount of sperm, and I squirted all of it into your panties.
You kept watching over your shoulder as my penis relaxed and finally went limp. One last bit of cum fell on the floor.
I tucked myself back inside my pants and buckled my belt. Then I reached out and pulled your panties back up. Patted the crotch and felt it soggy against you.
I wiped my hand on your bum, smoothed down your dress, straightened the hem. Put you back together.
No one would ever know your panties were full of my sperm.
Except me. And you. You would feel it squish with every step.
I walked you to the door of my office. Cupped your cheek in the same hand with which I had masturbated us both. Kissed your other cheek, and whispered.
“Think very carefully, Ms. Hughes, about what happens next.”