1 comments/ 6873 views/ 4 favorites Illicit Actions By: blondebella91 An adoring graduate student fantasizes about her advisor. ***** I've thought about it more times than I'd like to recount. Many different ways in many different situations. In one instance, we'd just gotten a huge grant and I walk in to his office to celebrate. Of course, I close the door behind me and go in for a hug, holding him just a beat too long. He reaches over a locks the door (even though it's too late for anyone to still be in the building) and then takes me in his arms again. Very gently he places one hand on my face, the other resting on the small of my back. "We did it," he murmurs before lowering his lips to mine. It is here the fantasy goes one of two ways. In the first, we kiss for just a minute before we both pull away, blushing at our momentary indiscretion. The second is much less innocent. I'm wearing a dress right on the cusp of appropriate that he's complimented several times. I'm not very tall, 5'3" on a good day, and not very blessed up top but quite generous from behind, all of which is accentuated by this outfit. The kiss deepens and his hand goes from my face to my shoulder, caressing my collarbone, sending shivers down my spine. Never sure what to do with my hands in these moments, I simply rest them on his chest. I may take a moment here to describe the object of my desire. He isn't considerably tall, but tall enough that I could nuzzle into him if I wanted to. He is a typical academic - white tube socks with black dress shoes, traditional khakis and always a wrinkled button down without an undershirt. He's pushing 50 with a bit extra around the middle and he definitely had more hair at another time. But the vestiges of being particularly handsome in his younger years remain. But it wasn't his looks that attracted me. No, it was his understated intelligence. This was a man who had stacks of every kind of book imaginable in his office, and you felt your IQ drop a few points every time you left. He could carry on a conversation about anything ranging from South Park to Skyrim to complexity theory. He graduated from Harvard and got his doctorate from NYU. He'd written two books on subjects like digital poetics. He spearheaded a center in the English department that dealt with publishing books and working on other creative projects and performances. We sent flirtatious emails and texts. Never anything completely overt, but there was enough to make me happy to receive communication from him. I will never know what he saw in me. From the very beginning, when I first stepped into his office to ask for an intern position for my capstone. I didn't know then that signing up to work on his latest project would completely change the trajectory of my life plan. He always encouraged me to do what pleased me, wrote me every letter of recommendation to apply for the position of editor at the school newspaper and then as an applicant to the graduate program there. If I'm being honest, I stayed at this university to stay with him. I've had so many great opportunities, and it's all because of him. I owe him everything I have. So, these feelings are strictly verboten and irrational. But how could I ignore them with the amount of time we spend together, in the office and on longer trips? How else could I interpret the 10:00 p.m. texts about my April Fools article in the newspaper or the 9:30 p.m. emails discussing a weird Skype call from earlier in the day? I digress. To return to my steamy fantasy... With my hands on his chest, his kisses become more urgent, more insistent. His hands begin to explore my ample bottom and my flat stomach. I push my body against his in an attempt to soak in as much of him as possible. With a shared glance to his overflowing desk, I gingerly move the stacks of papers and books into a neat pile to the other end. In one quick motion, he lifts me on to the edge of the desk and I place my hands back behind me for support, granting him access to the front of my dress. He takes the opportunity to push the sleeves from my shoulders and plays with the straps of my black lace bra. My breath quickens and he uses that opportunity to trace the swell of my breast. My nipples instantly tighten, poking through the thin material. He tweaks a nipple and I think I might explode. I grab his hips and draw him in between my legs. I move against him and feel his cock, hard and throbbing with desire. For me. Finally. He suckles and kisses my breasts as I rock against him. Without shame or hesitation, he unzips his khakis and pulls out his cock. It's as perfect as I'd imagined it would be. Circumcised, the perfect length and girth to fill you up but not painfully so. Without further ado, he pushes my dress up to my waist and only slows down to make note of my matching lace thong. "You're getting my desk a little dirty," he whispers in my ear, "let's see if we can fix that." With that he pushes the tip of his hard cock against my clit, and I'm afraid I'll cum before it even happens. He holds me still, one hand on my hip, the other under my knee, holding up my leg for more leverage. "Please..." I beg. "Please." Acquiescing my request, his slides in between my soaking lips to pierce what seems to be my very soul. I take a moment to savor what's happening, that it's finally real, my innermost desires come to fruition. The moment passes and he begins thrusting with more zeal, and I can tell in that instant that he's wanted this for as long as I have. His breath quickens and moans of pleasure escape. I lift my hips to meet each thrust, matching his force. I reach down to rub my clit to bring forth my climax, he intercepts me and uses his finger to circle my clit, teasing, drawing it out. When his cock fills me and he strokes my clit at the same moment, I fall into ecstasy. I bury my face into the crook of his arm to muffle my screams, but that's the last bit of control I can maintain. My hips rock of their own volition and my toes curl painfully. He grabs my right breast and plants his hand on my back to stabilize the force of his thrusts and then shudders, letting out the breath he's been holding. Both completely spent, we take the next few moments to regain composure. I fix my dress and smooth my hair. He zips up his pants and turns away to give me privacy. Always the considerate gentleman. They don't make them like that anymore. I pick up my bag and laptop and walk out the door. It was as though it never happened, which considering I had a long-term boyfriend, he had a wife and two kids and was my advisor, was probably for the best. Illicit Actions Ch. 02 Dearest readers, I apologize for this one being a bit longer. It's hard to resist the temptation to write. *** There was a chill in the air as we stepped out of the car, close enough to Lake Wakatipu to smell the delicate fresh water. This was the first time I've ever been to New Zealand, and being the fantasy nerd I am, it was everything I could ever hope for. If I squinted, I could see every part of the area that was used in filming the Lord of the Rings movies. I was not the only one freaking out. My travelmate, another participant in this year's conference and friend from the university, dropped his bags and screeched. It figures the man who routinely coordinated with our advisor on video game projects would be more ecstatic than me. We made our way through Queenstown proper, trying not to gape at the scenery around us. We only had about an hour to make it to the hotel, change clothes, and freshen up before we had to be at the opening reception. I had a room to myself this year, meaning my comings and goings wouldn't be monitored. I counted my lucky stars repeatedly on the long plane ride over. I'd brought typical conference outfits: dress pants, low-heeled boots and flats, modest dresses with thin cardigans. In a separate part of my suitcase, I'd packed only miniscule thongs, lacy bras, and silk slips. You never know when you might need it. For the first night, I put on my favorite midnight blue slip: the silk slid through my fingers like a gentle breeze and the lace brushed the tops of my breasts, sending a chill down my spine. I savored the sensation for just a moment before pulling on my knee-length wrap dress. A quick readjusting of my low bun and another swipe of lipstick and mascara and I was out the door. I didn't want to be late. I hadn't seen him since the end of the semester. I'd finished grading final portfolios at the last possible moment and all that was left to do was wander around and say farewell to whomever was left. He was among them. Per usual, he was frantically attempting to complete seven tasks at once. I popped my head in to say goodbye on my way out, but he had me sit down. We discussed some loose ends in preparation for this conference and a few other projects before he headed a month-long study abroad program. Even just talking about mundane details such as AV requirements with him got my heart racing. As I've said before, my advisor is no longer akin to George Clooney, but he's got a certain charisma, a certain way of looking at you, as though nothing else in the world is as important to him as you are right now and no one has ever said anything more profound. It was because of this I'd never thought of him as anything less than a colleague. It was also because of this that I'd fallen madly in love with him. The reception was tastefully done, with unassigned tables meant to encourage mingling, soft music playing in the background, and food and drinks constantly refreshed. I caught up with a few people I remembered from last year's conference when I looked up and saw him approaching my table. "Make it alright?" he asked. "For my first trip to this part of the world, it wasn't terrible. The jet lag is going to be the death of me, though," I replied, getting the gentle chuckle I'd hoped for. It had been nearly two months since I'd seen him last and he hadn't changed a bit. He wore his trademark khakis with a rumpled button up, but he had managed to find black socks to wear with his shoes, instead of his usual white tube socks. The man had style. We didn't talk much after that; the proceedings were opened with a hot-off-the-screen premiere of a work from a famous author. We all watched in fascination, appreciation, or in my case, amusement mixed with confusion. The president of the organization gave a speech about the breadth and quality of presentations this year and gave out all of the logistics of how the conference would work. My advisor and I would present the day after next. At the first opportunity, I fled back to my room. The door was barely shut behind me as I kicked off my shoes, tugged open my dress with one hand and reached for my trusty dildo with the other. I never traveled without it and I never failed to get looks from the TSA staff as they scanned my luggage. I hardly lasted five minutes before I came and fell asleep, too exhausted to even bother with the rest of my nightly routine. The first day of talks went off without a hitch. I'd attended as many talks as I could, making sure I made time to watch my travel mate. After a brief break for attendees for freshen up, most of the conference attendees met for the formal dinner. Because it was the second night and we were all itching to catch up with colleagues we saw maybe once a year, the attire was more casual and the drinks were poured more freely. I kept my glass of gin and lime replenished, but took no more than a sip or two at a time. I was on a mission. Earlier that day, I'd made sure my advisor was rooming alone. He'd arrived late and was forced to pay full price for a room with a king-sized bed. I skipped out on the last talk a little early so I could plan my outfit for dinner. I curled my shoulder-length blonde hair into perfect, undone waves. I put on my favorite red thong and matching bra, the kind that isn't meant for support or comfort. Finally, I put on my most irresistible dress: a semi-fitted black number with a sweetheart neckline that hit that point on my thigh that bordered inappropriate. Tonight would be the night I seduce my professor. The dinner was excruciating. My panties were beginning to soak through from sheer anticipation. Various people I'd met before insisted on asking me a million incessant questions, and my vow to keep my head clear instead of drinking with the rest of the group started to seem like a stupid one. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the night was winding down. Attendees were either trickling back to their rooms or over to the hotel bar. The universe was on my side; he was there, alone. I approached him, under the pretense of making final adjustments for our presentation the following morning. As conversation with him usually does, we drifted from topic to topic. Every so often, I'd shift on my stool so that my hemline inched farther up or readjust my arms so the sheer fabric of my bra would peek out. Each time, his eyes dropped and he stumbled over the next few words. I had him in my clutches. Around 11 p.m., he yawned and claimed he needed to get some rest before the big day. I knew he wasn't nervous - he'd presented a million times before - and I caught him covertly adjusting himself as he rose to his feet. "Do you have the notes on your computer? I'd like to review them real quick, just so I can refresh my memory." Not the smoothest line I'd ever uttered, but it worked. My logic was solid and he couldn't refuse. After all, he'd had the only copy of the document. We got to his room and he fumbled while opening the door. I hesitated in the doorway while he moved piles around to uncover his laptop. "You can go ahead and come in, if you want," he nodded his head over to the main part of the room. He was in the only chair, so I sat gingerly on the bed. It supported my weight without creaking. Perfect. After about 5 minutes of small talk, I couldn't hold myself back. It was now or never and judging by the bulge in his pants, I doubted he'd refuse me. "You know, I've been so grateful to be able to work with you these past few years. I appreciate everything you've done for me." I locked eyes with him, as though I was spilling my secrets. "It's been a pleasure working with you. I know you'll go on to do great things." His reply was short and his breathing was labored. Whether he knew it or not, he wanted me, too. Without explanation, I stood up, bent down, and kissed him deeply. I made sure he had a clear view of my hard little nipples, standing up proudly through both the fine mesh of my bra and the thin fabric of my dress. With a groan, he pulled me down onto his lap. I was straddling him, facing him. He extended the kiss, opening my mouth with his hand and exploring my tongue with his. I almost fainted them from the pleasure. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined this reaction. "I know what you were trying to do. I saw your slutty red thong downstairs and I was pretty sure I could make out your nipples through this dress," he punctuated the last bit by blowing some hot air onto the sensitive skin, and I rocked my pussy against his thigh. "I was never sure how you felt toward me, but tonight made it quite clear." With that, he put me back to my feet and motioned for me to take off my dress. "Let me see what you've been hiding under there." He pushed me a few more inches away from him and gently guided me around in a circle, pausing only to brush his hand down the curve of my ass. "Is this special for tonight?" he asked. "No, actually I've been wearing a variation of these for three years, on the off chance this moment ever happened," I replied, my eyes downcast. His eyes widened and seemed to look me over with new curiosity. He pulled me back into my lap and kissed me once more. His left hand cupped my ass, holding me in place. His right hand circled my breast and he lowered his hot mouth onto my nipple. The combination of hot, wet, and fabric almost made me lose it, and in response, he lowered both hands to my waist. My eyes were shut in sheer pleasure. I felt something shift beneath me, and I realized it was his cock. Even through pants it was impressive. Cut, clean, thick - just like I like them. He unbuttoned his shirt and shifted underneath me to lower his pants and pull out the very thing I'd been having wet dreams about: his perfect cock. In an instant, any semblance of control I had in the situation fell away. He used the tip to gently massage my clit through my thoroughly soaked panties. I stifled a moan and yanked my panties down and immediately began fucking the man who'd given me every professional opportunity I'd gotten in the past the years. He held my hips in place as we rode each other, hard, releasing pent-up tension. We both knew this would happen eventually, and it may not happen again, and I was intent to make the most of it. He bit my lip. I kissed his neck. He sucked on my breasts. I began rubbing my clit. The fire began to build in my belly, and I could tell he was close, too. One more bout of wild thrusting, and I tipped over the edge into pure ecstasy, my toes curling involuntarily, my cries unrestricted. Just as I was coming down, he grunted and pushed his cum as deep in my vagina as he could. If it's going to happen just once, you'd better make it count. I quickly got dressed and kissed his lips, lingering just a moment too long. "See you at breakfast? We can go over the presentation one more time," he asked. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." With a smile, I tip toed back to my room and slept more soundly than I had in months. A disembodied voice was calling my name. "Hey, wake up! We're about to touch down in Pittsburgh." My travelmate broke through the dark clouds of slumber. I could only remember bits and pieces of the sexy fantasy I'd been living as I slept. A girl can dream.