11 comments/ 156961 views/ 36 favorites Student Seduction By: dykeyfemme I can see her watching me. Pretending not to, casting her eyes down to the novel in front of her every time I catch her eye from across the patio of this open-air café. Well, I've been watching her, too—long enough to know that she's been "reading" the same page for the last 45 minutes. I'm used to stares, and I've gotten pretty good at deciphering them. I know the glare of disapproval by those who think my tattoos, piercings, and radically dyed hair (today? black and red faux-hawk) are wholly inappropriate for a young lady such as myself. But I much prefer this kind of staring, not of outright lust (I know that one, too, and believe me, I've gotten my share of it, from women and men), but of curiosity and tentative arousal—usually from young, twentysomethings like this luscious little chick who's looking at me now, totally oblivious to the copy of Jane Eyre she's supposed to be reading. I know I look pretty good, too, in this wifebeater tank that shows off the tats on my shoulders (a red star and a raven) and my armbands. When I catch her looking at me again, I hold her eyes for a second and slowly lick the silver bead on the tip of my lipring—a subtle move, indiscernible to most of the other patrons of the café, but one that reads loud and clear to the prey of my seduction, four tables over. She blushes and looks back down at her page, but I can see her trying to keep herself from grinning. It's a weakness of mine, these straight girls. I live in a college town, so there's usually no shortage of nubile innocents who are living away from home for the first time and want to "experiment." Luckily for them, I don't mind being the lab. I put out my cigarette, take a final sip of my espresso, and shut my notebook rather audibly. I make a big show of putting it into my backpack and I get her attention—there it is. That's the look I was going for. She looks at me with mild panic, thinking I'm going to leave and kicking herself for being so timid. I get up and make like I'm going for the gate, then at the last minute swerve over to her table and sit down in the empty chair across from her. "Hi, I'm Lara," I say, offering my hand, as natural as if we'd just been introduced at a party. "H-hi!" she replies, her brown doe-eyes wide with surprise at my arrival. She's nervous, but excited—more the latter than the former, I can tell. I hold a beat longer than necessary for a standard handshake, and trace my fingers along her palm as I take my hand out of hers. I see the soft hair on her arms jump up with gooseflesh at the feel of my touch. She's mine. "Reading Jane Eyre, I see. How do you like it?" "It's . . . okay, I guess." She looks baffled. It never ceases to amaze me how many people naturally assume I'm illiterate just because I don't wear LL Bean or some shit like that. I read more than most. She recovers quickly. "I just haven't gotten very far yet, so I'm not sure what I think of it . . . yet." She bites her pouty pink lip ever so slightly, locking those big brown eyes of hers with my heavily-lined green ones. Lovers have told me that my eyes turn from their ordinary hazel to a deep emerald when I am in lust, and I am pretty sure that they are sparkling now. I can see the outline of her bra, barely traceable under the baby blue of her tight-fitting T-shirt. They hold her breasts (not too big, not too small—just the way I like 'em, a handful apiece) into a most appealing shape. Underneath the table, I slip my foot out of my clog and gently trace my toe along the bare side of her foot, which is left wonderfully naked by the strappy high-heeled sandals she's wearing. "I have the BBC version of Jane Eyre on DVD, at home," I tell her, moving in for the kill. "Actually, I live right around the corner from here. You're welcome to come over and borrow it, if you like." I pay extra to have my own studio so close to the college campus and the coffee shops that are frequented by the more studious of the undergrads, but it has been worth every cent of the ridiculous rent I pay. It's always a risk, being as bold as I am right now. I could scare her off, but I really get a sense that she's willing. "You mean, right now?" she asks, more hopeful than scared. "Sure!" I reply, giving her a wicked grin. She finishes her coffee in a quick gulp, puts her book into her purse and stands up. We head out the gate as naturally as if we'd come in together, and head for my apartment. I live on the second story, so when we get there, I gesture at the staircase. "Ladies first," I tell her, and she giggles at my mock-chivalry. Just the same, she walks up the stairs ahead of me and I get the pleasure of a close-up view of the way her full, round ass fills out the denim miniskirt she's wearing. I take a quick glance around—none of the neighbors are out or watching, so I lift my hand to her bottom and give it a quick squeeze. I want her to know what she's getting into before she comes inside; with this gesture, there's no mistaking my intentions. With my hand still on her ass, she freezes just before the top of the stairs. I walk right up to her and press my tits into her back and place my hand gently on her hip, my fingers stretching delicately toward her pubis. "Do you still want to come in?" I whisper with my mouth right next to her ear. I flick my tongue against her earlobe and tease the little gold hoop earring she's wearing. She's speechless but she slowly nods, so I guide her with my hand on the small of her back to the front door of my apartment and I let us in. "Would you like anything to drink? Water, Tea, Wine, Scotch?" "No thanks," she replies, walking slowly away from me to examine the framed prints on my wall. I do amateur photography, and my apartment is my gallery. The one that draws her attention is a self-portrait of mine, a black and white, very tasteful nude in which I only appear from the neck down. I fix myself a scotch on the rocks and watch her looking at my picture, transfixed by the sight of my ample breasts and pierced nipples. "Do you like my photographs?" I ask her, striding across the room with the scotch in my hand. "They're beautiful," she says. "Who is the model?" I point at the tattoos on the picture, then on my arm. "Me, of course." She giggles. "I didn't realize, I thought you meant you took these pictures." "I did," I reply, taking a long sip of the scotch. "Want me to take your picture?" "Like these?" She asks, aghast, indicating my nudes. I laugh. "Nude? Not necessarily. Unless you wanted to." I flop down on the futon and pat on the cushion next to me, inviting her to sit down. "Look, I'm going to be blunt. Have you ever been with another woman?" She sits down gingerly and looks at me very seriously. "No, I haven't. But I think I would like to." I set down my scotch and run my fingers through her silky, long brown hair. I pull her face toward me and give her a warm, passionate kiss, letting my tongue slowly and purposefully massage hers. I keep kissing her until her rigid shoulders relax, then I pull back and look her in the eyes. "You can leave now, if you want." I tell her, indicating the door. "If you stay, I will fuck you." I lean back and take the last drink of scotch in my glass. She looks at the door, she looks at me. I worry that I've pushed too hard, she might not want this after all. But I start to see a wicked grin play across her face. She's ready. She reaches over and grabs one of my breasts, clumsily, like she's clutching a football, and mashes her face up to mine in a desperate, hungry, asking kiss. I lean my body into hers and she falls back onto the futon, all groping hands and sloppy kisses, letting her heretofore suppressed desire to be with a woman finally surface, full-blown, aching to be fulfilled in the worst way. I lie down on top of her and kiss her neck, lick it, suck on it a little while she gasps for breath. I reach between her smooth, taut thighs and rub the crotch of her panties with my thumb. They are, as I suspected, soaked. I remove my hand from between her thighs and quickly unbutton and unzip her skirt, and whip it off. I stick my face between her thighs and deeply inhale her smell, rub her clit through the thin white cotton with my nose. I plant a quick kiss there and pull my head back up, grab at the hem of her t-shirt and take that off, too. I look down at her, beneath me, her eyes closed, mouth slightly open, her chest rising and falling with her deep breaths. I unclasp her bra and cup her breasts in my hands, gently kneading them, and put my mouth to one of her gorgeous pink nipples, flicking it with my tongue, sucking, kissing, nibbling. She moans and I move on to the other nipple, rubbing my thumb over the first one. She begins to undulate under my hips. I pull back for a second and give her a hungry look. I wait for her to meet my gaze, and when she does, I hook my thumbs into the waistband of her panties and peel them off. I press my palms to the insides of her thighs and push them back so that she is open and waiting, just inches from my face. I breathe on her before I go in with my tongue. I purse my lips and blow gently on her labia, on her clit, holding her squirming legs firmly in place with a strong grip as she strains to make her pussy meet my face. "Ah, ah, ah," I say, bringing my face up to look at hers, which is almost pained with lust. "I want you to hold still," I tell her. "Keep your body still and focus only on the pleasure you feel where I touch you. If you feel like making noise, go ahead—my apartment is soundproofed and no one will hear a thing. You can moan, shout, scream, cuss, laugh, whatever, as loud as you want, but I will not fuck you if you're flopping around like a goddamn fish on my futon." She freezes underneath me, unused to being talked-to in such a stern voice during sex. She looks at me with the face of a petulant child, bats her eyelashes a little. I grasp her chin and kiss her sweetly. "I just want this to feel as good for you as it does for me, little one," I tell her. Then I pry her legs back open and reward her with a generous lick all up and down her pussy lips before I zero in on her clit and begin lapping at it like a kitten. She starts to shake and I squeeze her thighs a little more tightly until she stops. She's quiet for a moment, then she moans. I relax my grip and stroke her thigh with my left hand while I start to finger her with my right. I continue to flick her clit with my tongue, rhythmically and in time with the thrusts from my fingers. She moans again, this time louder. Words, dammnit, I think. I like my lovers vocal but I hate to try to force them. I just keep fucking her, with my mouth and my hand, waiting for the deluge of words or even just sounds to come out of my shy little conquest's mouth. I quicken the pace of my tongue lashings on my little one's clit and allow three of my fingers to thrust inside of her somewhat erratically. She starts to squirm again but then catches herself, instead mutters, "Oh, fuck," and I increase the pace of my fingerfucking and suck down hard on her clit so I can hear her explode. "Oh, god! Oh, Jesus! Lara, Lara, Lara! Fuck me, yes, yes, oh god that feels so fucking good, unh! Ah! Ahhhhhhh!" She screams, as I feel my hand get wet with a flood of her juicy cum. I withdraw my hand and raise my head up to look at her. She grabs my head and tries to direct it back to her pussy. "More," she cries, "More, give me more. Eat my pussy some more, please? Fuck me with your hand again, I want to come, I can come again, I know it . . ." I pull my head out of her flimsy grip and gently push her supplicant body back down on the futon. "Hang on, I've got something even better for you," I say, and reach under the futon (which is both my couch and my bed) for my black lacquered box of tricks. I pull out my harness and my big, black strap-on, and watch her eyes get wide when she realizes this is what I'm about to fuck her with. "Let's see, what else have I got here?" I rummage through the box of vibrators, lube, dildos, and other assorted toys until I find them. "Bingo!" I say, and pull out a set of fur-lined handcuffs. "Have you ever been restrained during sex?" I ask her, again, hoping I haven't overstepped my boundaries and scared her off. "No, but I think I might like it," she replies. I convert my futon into its bed function and use the handcuffs to restrain her arms and legs in a spread-eagle position on my bed. Standing over her and taking in every inch of her luscious body, I take off my tank top and shorts and stand nude in front of her. I go to put on my harness and strap-on when I catch a glimpse of my camera on top of my dresser. With the dildo protruding from me like a great, black erection, I stride across the room and pick it up. "Is it okay to take your picture?" I ask, aiming the camera at her and seeing through its lens just how lovely she looks, pale and shy against the black fabric of the mattress. She blushes and looks away. "Okay," she says, bashfully. "Just promise they won't end up on the internet or something." I nod solemnly and take a few snaps—some close-ups of her boobs and crotch, some of her sweet face, some of the whole, spread-eagle shebang. Unable to stand it any longer, I flop onto the bed on top of her and plant soft, wet kisses on each of her nipples and trail down her stomach to her tenderest spots, and lick up some of the cum that still clings to her swollen, dark pussy lips. "Fuck me, Lara! Fuck me!" she cries, and I am happy to oblige. I put the dildo up to her pussy lips and tease them open with the head, then thrust it in smoothly while she groans with pleasure and gratitude. I bang her hard with my strap on, rub her clit with my thumb, all slick from her cum, and coax her into a series of orgasms that she announces with a loud moan and a series of four-letter words and prayers to the god of aroused females. Just when she starts to look like she's had enough, I push the button on the battery pack attached to my harness and the strap-on starts to vibrate. I do this for my own pleasure, but I can tell it's having an effect on her, as well. Pretty soon, the vibration and the feel of her sweet, tender body undulating under me is enough to send me over the edge, and I cum while I continue to fuck her with the dildo. She opens her mouth and lets out this howl—I can only describe it as a howl—as she comes to her highest climax of the afternoon. I slow my thrusts and gently pull out of her, while she gasps and shakes beneath me. "Was that good, princess?" I ask her, and she nods slowly, eyes closed, a look of perfect contentment on her face. I think about all the things I want her to do to me, how bad I want to shove her face into my own dripping-wet pussy and make her eat me while she looks up at the bliss on my face with those big Bambi eyes of hers. I decide not to, though—not right now, at least. Usually when I pick up one of these undergrads, I'm happy to fuck them once, turn them on to all sorts of kinky sex, then never call them again. Even so, when they see me around town they've usually got a warm smile and a big "thanks" for me—sometimes I can even tell that their friends and roommates thank me, too. But I don't think I'm so ready to let this little piece in front of me get away so easily. I want to prolong this, have my meal served to me in courses, as it were—I've got plans for her. "Get your things," I tell her softly, taking the fur-lined restraints off of her wrists and ankles, "it's time for you to go." "What?" She asks, sitting up and crossing her arms in front of her heaving breasts. "But—would you like to get dinner? Can I spend the night?" "I'm sorry," I say. "I have work to do, but I do want to see you again. Meet me tomorrow, at the same time, at the café, and I'll bring you back here again and teach you a few more things." She looks hurt, and confused, but I don't say another word, I just walk to the kitchen (still naked, mind you, and wearing the strap-on) and pour myself another scotch. She dresses, grabs her bag, and throws me a look of hurt and anger. "You don't even know my name," she says, sounding almost bitter. "Shh." I put my finger to my lips. "Don't tell me. The ball's in your court, sweetheart. If you want to see me again, meet me tomorrow. I want you to have some time to think over what you've done and make sure it's something you want to keep doing. And whether it's anything you want to keep doing with me." She nods slowly and lets herself out my front door. I have a sip of my scotch and look at the disarray in my one-room apartment. She was a lot of fun, but tomorrow's the first day of Fall semester and I've got to prep for the first day of class. *** I always try to wear my most respectable-looking clothing at the beginning of a new semester, which is always a hilarious contrast with my facial piercings and funky hair. Still, in my white collared shirt and black pants, I think I make an imposing figure of authority to my class of impressionable youngsters. (Youngsters! They're only a few years younger than I am). I get to my classroom early, turn on the lights, and arrange the chairs into a big circle like I always do. I sit down at one of the desks and rifle through my syllabus and assignments, looking over them for any mistakes and thinking of what kind of icebreaker game I'm going to have them do so I can remember all of their names. The students start to file in, sleepy and with coffee cups in hand, at about 10 minutes to 8. One of the girls reminds me of my little one, the girl from yesterday, and I smile briefly, thinking how funny it would be if she showed up for my class. I suppose there's always the chance, when you're a grad student instructor like me, that if you mess around with undergrads, one of them is going to end up in your class one of these days. I never mess around with my students while they're current students, but I have been known to take one or two of them home with me—after the semester ended and after grades had been submitted. I'm normally quite careful, but it occurs to me that this time, I could have fucked up. I let myself fantasize, for a second, about what I would do if she did turn out to be my student. A minute later, I don't need to fantasize anymore. She walks through the door, into my classroom. At first she looks horrified, but then looks around quickly to see if anyone else notices her reaction. She collects herself, sits down in the farthest chair away from me, which happens to be facing me directly, and stares. I look around the room, and none of the drowsy students are paying any attention whatsoever. I catch her eye, then let her watch my gaze as my eyes linger on her cleavage, peeking out from under the white v-neck blouse that she's wearing, then continue my downward glance at the tops of her thighs, which I can see below the hem of super-short, navy blue miniskirt. She darts her eyes back and forth across the classroom and, like me, realizes there is no one paying any attention to us whatsoever. She scoots to the edge of her seat and spreads her legs wide so I can see the fabric of the black thong that she's wearing. I let my hungry gaze linger there for only a moment when the door opens, and I turn to see the next student walking in. My little one resumes a more ladylike sitting position almost instantly. I look at my watch and see that it's just after 8. "Okay, class, we're going to get started. My name is Lara Andersen, please call me Lara. I'm going to go around the room and have you all introduce yourselves and try to learn your names. Let's see, why don't I start with . . . you." I point at my once-shy girl, who has just treated me to the sight of her panties right in the middle of a classroom. I get out my class roster and briefly glance over the names, wondering if I can guess which one is hers. Student Seduction Returning (so-called nontraditional) students always seem to have a different attitude about school. Benedick was no different. A fastidious note-taker, he seemed to revel in sharing his opinions and fostering discussion in his classes. With a biting wit that sometimes flirted with political incorrectness, he seemed to have a knack for drawing classmates and professors alike into debates. And so it was with her. Benedick knew he was one of her favorites. He caught the sly smirk at his occasional remarks. He knew she understood that he sometimes played devil's advocate strictly for the purpose of encouraging his classmates to defend their points of view. And she knew he relished those opportunities when she took him to task, forcing him to defend his own point of view. In truth, he rarely seemed to win those encounters with her. But he never seemed bothered by it. In fact, she noticed that each time she engaged him in that repartee he catalogued her responses for future use, making each challenge tougher than the previous one. This was what a professor loved to see. This was a student who loved the subject, devoured knowledge and knew how to apply it. So it was odd that late morning after Beatrice's final class. As she stood with her back to the door, wiping the day's remarks from the whiteboard, she heard his familiar voice. A solid, self-assured, deeper-than-average voice. "Professor?" he said. She turned to find him leaning against the door frame, book under his arm. His faded jeans did little to conceal the muscular thighs beneath and his broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his black T-shirt. Recognizing him, her eyes flared briefly, recalling the spirited conversations they'd had. "Benedick," she said, "come in. What can I do for you?" "I wanted to talk to you about something," he told her, walking into the empty classroom and shutting the door behind him. "I have office hours this afternoon," she told him, feeling the heat from his smoldering glaze. Somehow, his presence was imposing, but not threatening. A strong-willed woman, Beatrice had never been one to shy away from conflict, but something about this man made her question her fortitude. He stood before her, slightly closer than teacher and pupil should be. She looked up at him, noticing the faded scars along his strong jaw and wondered briefly how they got there. "I'd prefer to do it now," he said with just a hint of a smile. "Oh," she said, taking a step towards the desk to retrieve her bag, an obvious attempt to put a little more distance between the two of them and give her a chance to retreat and regroup and re-establish a position of dominance. "What's on your mind?" she asked trying to cover the slight quiver in her voice. "I wondered if you offered any chance for extra credit," he asked as he confidently sidestepped, placing himself between her and the desk. Beatrice immediately evaluated her position and stepped back, trying to act nonchalant as she found her back against the wall. "You've got a good solid 'B'," she told him, "You don't need any extra credit." She noticed his eyebrow raise slightly and saw his smoldering green eyes, seeming to look right through her. He took another step forward and now they were separated only by inches. "Would you please step back," she asked, trying to sound stern, but unable to control the quiver in her voice. She reached out to put her hand on his broad chest to press him back, but his hands snapped forward, catching her wrists and he stepped forward again. Now he was pressed against her. Her wrists pinned against the wall. "You get off me this instant," she began to protest, but found the last word muffled as he bent his head down and pressed his mouth hotly against hers. Her lips still parted, his tongue darted into her mouth and she felt her knees go weak. Her head spun as she tried to wrap her mind around this turn of events. Her logical side told her to fight off this imposition. Her sensual side, however, betrayed her. The side that she had thought was so well-controlled now raged to the surface and she found herself kissing him back. "You can't do this," she panted as he broke the kiss and looked at her. She looked at him through half-lidded eyes and felt her tongue slide across her lips, tasting him. She cursed herself silently for being so easily controlled by this man. "But I am doing it," he told her with a mischievous grin, "And you're not going to stop me. Are you?" She knew he was right. She wouldn't stop him, though she felt he would stop if she seriously wanted him to. Problem was she didn't want him to and she knew he knew it. Moving her wrists above her head, he grasped both of hers with one powerful hand. His long, slim fingers wrapped around her wrists. She put up a token struggle, realizing the part she was expected to play. His free hand pulled her shirt up and over her head. As it reached her wrists, he brought her arms down behind her and twisted the fabric, binding her arms together. She felt the cold surface of the whiteboard on her bare shoulders and she shivered. He reached behind her with one hand and with a quick twist, she found her bra unclasped. Her arms now hanging limply at her sides, he untwisted the shirt that bound them, slipping it off and her bra along with it. Her nipples, already hard, stiffened more as the cool air from the air conditioning, blew across them. "We can't do this," she tried to protest. He ignored her and she heard his zipper being pulled down. She glanced down and saw his pants drop to the floor. With a combination of fascination, desire and fright, she saw him pulling a sizeable cock out of his black briefs. He stroked his cock slowly a couple of times and then took her hand in his and placed it on the throbbing shaft. Instinctively, she wrapped her fingers around it, feeling it pulse in her hand. It was as rigid as a bar of iron and yet as soft as velvet. The head, growing shinier and larger as it filled with blood, flared from the shaft in a smooth ridge. She stared at it, transfixed. He lifted her skirt and slipped a finger beneath her panties and felt her wetness. She sighed at his touch, slightly embarrassed at being betrayed by her own reactions. His rough, calloused hands worked their way under the waistband of her panties and he tugged them determinedly down over the curve of her hips. "What do you think you're doing," she rasped. "This is wrong. I'm married. We can't do this. Not here." But her body refused to move, allowing him to drop her panties to the floor. Another quick motion and his T-shirt was over his head and on the floor. She felt his cock pulsing in her hand as he moved, it pressed against the smooth taught skin of her stomach. He reached down, took hold of her ass and in a single motion, lifted her up and pulled her to him. His cock slipped between her legs, sliding along the slickened cleft of her labia. She felt her breasts flatten against the firm muscles of his chest as he held her close, supporting your small frame easily in his powerful hands. "Oh please," she whimpered against his neck, feeling him throbbing against her clit. "Please what?" he demanded, grinning. For a moment, she thought she was going to maintain her resolve and ask him to let her go. But when she lifted her head and her pale blue eyes met his deep green eyes, she realized that her mind wanted the same thing her body wanted. "Please," she repeated, and then added, "fuck me." A final step forward and he pinned her forcefully against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist and tilted her hips slightly. He tilted his the opposite direction and suddenly his thick shaft was splitting her, forcing its way past her labia and into the warm, tight depth of her vagina. They both sighed as he plunged forward, stopping only when he was fully immersed in her and they both felt the head of his cock nudging her cervix, filling her to her limits. With her legs already around his waist, she threw her arms around his neck, feeling the tight cords of muscles and tendon stand out as his body tensed and he began thrusting into her. She moaned, feeling his powerful hands controlling her motion as he lifted her easily and then lowered her, practically dropping her onto his rigid cock, only to repeat the cycle again and again and again. She felt herself being pummeled by his large cock and she luxuriated in each deliciously forbidden thrust as she felt her muscles rippling, urging him into her, inviting him deeper. His hands, squeezing her ass, continued lifting and lowering her, repeatedly filling her. His hands slid farther back cupping her ass and she suddenly gasped as one finger slid into her ass. She arched her back and tightened involuntarily around the invading digit, but still he pushed. Firm, but gentle pressure kept his finger, lubricated with her own wetness, sliding into her ass. First the tip popped past the ring of her sphincter and then she felt his first knuckle pass the opening. He continued to pound his cock into her as his finger continued to slip into her ass. Finally, he was in her fully. His cock pressed against the opening of her womb and his finger in her ass to the second knuckle and she could feel the two invaders, separated by the thin membrane inside her. She gave herself to him fully and at that moment, her body belonged to him. He turned, walking easily, as though it were completely natural to have her wrapped around him and his cock buried inside her. He practically masturbated himself as he felt his own finger in her ass, sliding along the length of his cock. He laid her down on her back on the broad desk and reached behind himself, grabbing her ankles. He placed them on his shoulders, now glistening with a light sheen of sweat and he felt the backs of her thighs against his stomach. With her legs against him, she found herself penetrated more deeply than ever before. The feeling was intense, full to overflowing. She felt as though she were at the limit of here endurance, yet she wondered if she could take more of him inside her. She realized that she wanted to consume him and be consumed by him. His thrusts were more powerful now and as he wrapped his arms around her legs, one hand reached down and grazed against her clit, sending shocks through her body. "Mmmmm. Like that, don't you," he grinned, sounded almost sardonic. His fingers toyed with the little button, teasing and stroking it gently. The gentle touch of his fingers was a counterpoint to the pounding she was receiving from his cock. Suddenly, she began to get wetter and in a spasm that burst on her like a roman candle, she was wracked by orgasm. She shuddered and moaned and her body twisted as his hammering cock kept pushing her to higher and higher peaks until at last her nerves seemed to burst, flooding her entire being with a rush of pleasure. She moaned and wailed, the sound a cross between pleasure and pain as the intensity of her orgasm tumbled on to her like an avalanche. He gritted his teeth and continued his rhythm while her orgasm slowly subsided, jumping occasionally to spasmodic peaks before descending into a valley of relaxation. Each peak slightly lower than the last until she felt just a low rumbling deep inside and the tingling buzz of nerve endings taken to extremes. When he sense returned and she opened her eyes to see his smiling face and caring eyes, she knew he had give her exactly what she wanted. Even if she hadn't known she wanted it. Somehow he knew. She sat up, dropping her legs to his sides and put her hand on the back of his neck. She pulled his mouth against hers with a force that surprised them both. She kissed him deeply, their tongues lashing against each other and breathing into each other's mouths. Her hands slid down his back and, as she scooted to the edge of the desk, she pulled his ass to her. She grinned up at him and it was his turn to gasp as he felt her finger invade him. She pressed a finger deep into his ass, sending shivers through him as she pulled him against her. And then, with her finger buried in his ass, she controlled his motions, forcing him to slow down when he felt the come start to rise in his balls. He felt that slow tingle growing almost to a dull ache as his orgasm started to demand release. She kept his strokes slow, teasing him, as her finger stroked in and out of his ass, pressing against his prostate and making his impending orgasm build even greater potential. Still she controlled the speed and the depth of his motion, refusing to let him speed up or deliver a full stroke. "Now you want to come too, don't you?" she asked. His answer was little more than a guttural growl, and she saw his jaw muscles clench. "Then go ahead and fuck me," she told him, jabbing her finger deep into his ass and returning control to him. He grabbed her hips and withdrew almost completely before slamming into her again, a rapid, almost frenzied rhythm. He pistoned his cock into her and he felt his legs begin to shake as orgasm began boiling up from his balls and expanding until it erupted like a volcano, spewing his molten charge into her and she felt his cock pulsing and twitching inside her as he came. His legs began to buckle and he leaned forward, supporting his weight on his hands as he felt her milking his cock with muscular contractions and he could hear, as though far away, her slight giggle at the almost complete incapacitation his orgasm imposed on him. As his orgasm ebbed and his senses returned, they looked at each other, Rivulets of sweat dripped from his dark hair onto the light skin of her chest. Gravity directed the droplets through her cleavage to pool in her navel. With a grin, she reached down and spread it across her stomach and chest, giving herself a moist sheen. "I think you're argument needs work," she told him in mock seriousness. "Be in my office at noon tomorrow. There are some things we need to go over again." "Yes ma'am," he replied in mock submission. Student Seduction "Bunny," she says, and a few of the students snicker. "Bunny Hopper." "Is that your real name?" this frat-boy looking, polo-shirt wearing motherfucker asks my sweet one snidely. I look down at my roster—there's a Beatrice Hopper, but no Bunny. "Yep," she says, looking me squarely in the eyes, challenging me to contradict her. "Bunny Hopper. My parents had a sick sense of humor." I look at the polo-shirt wearing kid with eyes of ice. "You need to be more respectful during class," I say to him. I look at the student next to Bunny. "Go." He says his name, and the rest say their names, in turn, but I'm only half-listening. I'm trying to figure this Beatrice out. So she wants to be called Bunny, huh? I think to myself. I wonder if she'll still show up at the café around 5 today, the same time we met up yesterday. Hell, I wonder if I will—am I really willing to break the student/teacher taboo for this sweet little brunette? Either way, I can tell, this is going to be an interesting semester.