I have a friend who is a professor at a local university who..

I have a friend who is a professor at a local university who also likes to write erotica. I asked her if she had anything that would work for today’s theme…

Hot for Teacher:

“Um, excuse me, professor?” The voice snapped me out my reverie and I took my gaze away from the shiny red apple sitting on the corner of my desk. I had to ask the student to repeat herself (again), and as I answered her question, I could’ve sworn that I heard the ghost of chuckle coming from one side of the room – his side of the room. I didn’t allow myself to look in his direction.

Never had I been so distracted during class until this dark-haired hunk joined my senior seminar, an elective course for students majoring in architecture. Now I found myself stumbling over well-rehearsed points in my lecture far too often… it’s difficult to keep my mind on design practices when it keeps wandering into forbidden fantasies. So today when he swept into class a minute before the hour with that smirk I loved and a bright crimson apple identical to the one in my dream last night, I knew I was in for a challenging class.

It was a blessing when the clock finally marked a quarter past and the students filed out, already chatting about their weekend plans. But of course, he wouldn’t let me off that easily… I recognized he hadn’t vacated the room with the others just 30 seconds before I realized he was perilously close to me. Close enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne. Near enough that when he reached for the book on my desk and his arm brushed against my chest, I would have called it an accident if not for that faint grin.

“Can I help you take your things to your office, professor?” The question seemed innocent, but there was a certain suggestive lilt to his baritone voice, and his dark eyes danced, lingering on the top button of my dress before snapping up to catch my eye. “I wanted to ask you about extra credit opportunities...”

I nodded my assent, worried that if I said yes aloud, it would turn into the “Oh god, yes, yes,” that was the most prolific utterance in all my fantasies about him.

As I led him down the hall to my office, I rapidly became aware of the familiar sensation of my nipples tightening in anticipation, and I subtly loosened another button at the neck of my dress as I gestured for him to enter the cluttered room – my semi-private sanctuary, tucked into one corner of the building.

The door clicked closed – a casual violation of the unofficial “open door” policy that our Human Resources officer always mentioned during new faculty orientations – and then we were alone together for the first time. The normally-dull hum of background noise typical of the office suite suddenly seemed louder. The copier whined as someone printed off a lengthy document, and a phone rang somewhere down the hall. My student gently set my books and folders on my desk, but they seemed to come to rest with a bang.

I collected myself enough, finally, to speak: “Normally for extra credit we try to have students engage in extracurricular activities, something where they can put theory into practice as it were… I can offer some suggestions if you don’t have anything specific in mind.” Was that really my voice, so calm and collected? And, more importantly now, was that really my hand, drifting so close to his in order to straighten the papers that rested between us on the desk?

The shock of chemistry when my fingertips brushed his arm was undeniable. Rather than shying away, my casual gesture seemed to embolden us both as we each audibly sucked in a breath and edged a centimeter closer to one another.

“Well, professor, I really think I could benefit from some closer mentorship, if you have any research projects I could assist on…” he murmured.

My pulse climbed; I felt sure that he could hear my heart beating in my chest at this point. Before I could question it any further, I heard myself answering, “There is one theory that has been on my mind since the start of term; I could use some help but it would mean some long hours working one on one… how would you feel about that?”

His smooth “Perfect,” accompanied by the shift of his long fingers from the walnut desk to the neckline of my dress, was all the answer I needed.

It was hard to say for sure who initiated that first kiss; probably most accurately it was both of us, all at once. I was as acutely aware of the sound of footsteps down the hall outside as I was of how good his lips and tongue tasted… his mouth was sweet like apples and crisp, too, in the quick nip of his teeth into my lower lip as I stifled a moan.

Maybe it was that first taste of him that drove my curiosity for more, or maybe it was simply the fantasy that had played out countless times as I touched myself alone in my office after our weekly seminar. But as his fingers threaded into my hair, loosening the bun I had tossed it in that morning, I knew I wanted to taste more of him.

What followed was a delicious whirlwind of sensations that I will always savor. The brush of his lips behind my ear, a sigh against my breast, the tightening of his fingers in my hair, his tongue and teeth skating across both nipples, the wooden edge of the desk against my butt as his thigh pressed between mine… the rough office-grade carpet against my bare knees and his little gasp of surprise as I unzipped his jeans and met his member with my eager mouth.

Every time I taste an apple now, I feel that familiar rush in my nether regions and can’t help but grin around the flavor of the sweet fruit against my tongue. I’m already looking forward to our next extra credit session…