Teach Me a Lesson II

Mm, I’ll take one of these… ooh, definitely one of these…

I’ll skip the swiss.

Just grab a few crackers and… I think that’ll do it.

Thanks to the psychology department for keeping me alive on a steady diet of free cheese and crackers these last couple of years.

I’ll just grab my plate and make a silent escape back to my office—

“Oh, Lydia!”

It’s never a good sign when my advisor is yelling my name. I’m either about to be forced into a very dull conversation about department politics or she’s going to ask me to explain my research to someone who would rather be talking to her.

I really need to get back to my office and finish up that proposal, but… oh well.

Jane, subtle as ever, continues waving me over as I make my way through the clusters of students and professors milling about. I can’t see who she’s with… probably one of the new clinicians or that researcher we’ve been trying to coax into joining the faculty.

It’s someone tall, dark hair…

It’s… it’s you.

“Oh, Lydia, there you are. What was the name of the institute again? Where you’re going for your fellowship this fall?”

“The Institute for Sexual Health Studies, in Dresden.”

“That’s right! I couldn’t remember if it was the ISHS or the one in Berlin.”

“Ah, yeah, I’m familiar with it. Great place to study.”

Heat flushes through my cheeks as I look up at you. Your blazer hugs your body loosely and your white t-shirt is tucked just slightly into a pair of dark jeans. Your eyes meet mine for a moment and you smile, just a little. Just enough to give me a flutter of pleasure in the center of my chest.

“Oh, by the way, Lydia, this is Professor Becker. He’s over in the Philosophy department, but he’s going to be teaching a seminar in our department next semester.”

“Hi there. Nice to meet you.”

“Hello, Professor Becker.”

“Please, call me Roman. I don’t even make my students call me professor.”

“You know, Roman, the seminar you’ll be teaching—it reminds me a lot of the research Lydia was doing last year. She’s a wonderful TA, if you ever need one.”

You’re trying very hard to keep your attention on my advisor, but your eyes flick over to mine every few seconds. It’s like you’re fighting against a powerful urge to look at me.

“Well, it’s a shame you won’t be here next semester, otherwise the job would be yours. Your German must be great if you’re going to be studying at the Institute.”

“It’s… acceptable. I could probably benefit from a few more lessons.”

“Would you two excuse me right quick? Professor Goldsmith just walked in and I need to have a word with him, department chair nonsense. Don’t work too hard, Lydia. You deserve to get out of that cave for a bit.”

“Cave?”

“My office. No windows, unfortunately.”

“Ah, that’s no good. You deserve better than that.”

“Yeah, well, maybe next year. How are you?”

“Very well, now that you’re here.”

It’s been four or five days since our first meeting last week. I’ve been wanting to reach out and schedule another lesson, but there’s just been so much to do with my trip coming up.

I may be busy, but that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped thinking about you, at all.

“And you? Doing well, I hope.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I’ve been writing all day, trying to get my experiments squared away before I leave next month. Why, actually, are you at the psychology department’s end-of-semester party?”

“Well, if I’m going to be teaching a psychology seminar then I think that gives me privileges to come and eat your department’s free cheese and drink your crappy wine.”

“Oh! That’s right. That’s wonderful, congratulations. I honestly thought you were joking when you mentioned proposing a class last week.”

“Maybe I was, but talking to you about it kind of sparked something in me. I decided to just try and see if it would be of any interest and the department chair thought it sounded like a wonderful idea, so… barring my syllabus not being approved, then you will see much more of me over here.”

“Is that so? Well, that’s good news, because… I could use some more German lessons…”

“I think you could as well.”

Mmm, there’s that look in your eyes again. That little switch that I saw happen last week when you… I don’t know what to call it… got into character?

It’s like you’re suddenly someone else, like you’re standing up a bit straighter, and your eyes are a little darker.

I should go back to my office and get some more work done, but… I can’t even pretend to resist you.

All week I had been thinking about texting you, but forced myself to stay focused, to not lose sight of everything I have to get done in the next couple of months before I leave.

I can almost feel all of that resolve draining out of me as you cock your head a little and smile.

“Now.”

“Right now?”

“Mhm.”

I watch your eyes tick around the room, scanning the crowd to make sure no one is paying much attention to us.

I can feel my heartbeat in my throat as I lead us away from the auditorium and down the hall. I reach out to take your hand—oh, shit. No, we can’t do that.

I almost forgot how… inappropriate… this whole thing might be seen as.

For your sake and mine, it’s probably best that we keep it our little secret.

My body is buzzing as we reach my office. It feels like there’s something blocking me from taking a full breath… like I just walked into a wall of heat.

A thousand different images of what you’re going to do to me spin through my head.

Your mouth is on mine before I can fully get inside and close the door. Your kiss is heavy and intense like you’ve been imagining this moment for days.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot this week. Thinking about this.”

“Yeah? Me too.”

I pull away before you can lean in again. Holding space between our bodies… forcing us to just sit with the anticipation.

Something I really liked about last week was how in control I felt, even though you were the one playing the role of the strict disciplinarian. It felt like I was guiding you toward doing what I wanted… telling you in code how to touch me and where.

Maybe it’s the control freak in me… or maybe I just need to learn to let go a little.

“Have you been practicing your lessons this week?”

“Yes, professor.”

I step back and away from you and move to sit on the edge of my desk. You follow me, pressing your torso up against mine with your hands flat on the cool, smooth surface. Between four bookcases and my desk, there’s not a lot of room to move around, but I think we can use that to our advantage.

“You’re going to have to prove it to me… that you’ve been studying.”

“Is this a pop quiz or something?”

“Yes, and you’d do well to take it very seriously.”

You press your palm gently against my cheek and I lean into the touch. Your fingers push into the hair at the nape of my neck.

They curl around a few strands and start to tug.

You continue pulling until my head is tilted back and I’m forced to look up at you.

Last week I let myself be malleable, let you lead me and guide my body where you wanted it. I’m more than a little curious how you’ll react if I resist a little…

I try to turn my head to the side, but your grip tightens and keeps me still.

“So disobedient… you’re just begging for discipline, aren’t you?”

“Yes, professor.”

Your free hand trails up my thigh and guides my legs apart. Each touch starts soft, like you’re giving me an opportunity to adjust or guide you elsewhere. When I don’t protest, your hands get rougher, more insistent…

“Turn around.”

Before I can even process what you’ve said, you’re spinning me around to face the desk.

I lean forward and grip the outer edge.

It’s the same position you put me in last week, and I’m fairly certain that I know what’s coming next.

“Take your pants off. Underwear, too.”

You reach beneath my shirt and slide your hands up my abdomen… over my ribs. Your fingers slip beneath my bra and you grip my breasts as my pants fall down to my knees.

“Let’s start with something easy. Count to ten for me.”

“Eins…”

“Yes, keep going.”

“Zwei.”

“D-drei.”

“Yes. Continue.”

“Vier.”

Heat is blooming across my ass and it feels fucking good. I can feel my pussy clench right before each strike. And again right after.

I squeeze my hands tight around the edge of the desk.

“That’s very good. Your pronunciation has improved.”

“Fünf…”

I want to draw this out… want to feel your fingers on my clit… but I don’t know how interested you are in giving me what I want right now. You might be in more of a mood to punish and deny me.

“Mm, do you not know what comes next?”

“I do… but…”

“But… what? You think you deserve a reward already?”

“Please… I’m… I’m really wet…”

“Oh, are you?”

You reach around my waist and place two fingers just barely between my folds. Not deep enough to get to my clit… just hovering there, barely touching me. Testing my resolve. Or maybe just trying to torture me.

“Oh, fuck, professor, please…”

“This is what you want?”

Your hands pull my hair again, this time tugging with an unrelenting grip. I stare up at the ceiling, gritting my teeth, unable to move my head in any direction.

“Yeah… yeah, please, please touch me.”

“Continue counting.”

“Sechs.”

“Sieben.”

“Acht, acht…”

“Ne-neuf…”

“Zehn…”

“Good girl. Almost perfect. But it’s neun. Neuf is French.”

Your fingers slip between my folds and glide over my clit… all the way down to my entrance… and back up again.

You keep my head tipped back and my hips pressed against the edge of the desk. The combination of the stinging heat on my ass, the dull throbbing ache of your fingers pulling my hair, the intense pleasure of your fingers working my clit. There’s a clouded haziness settling in my mind… like the room is foggy and the air is suddenly heavy…

“I think… since your pronunciation has improved so much… we should put your mouth to good use. What do you think?”

“Yes, fuck—please, yeah—”

“Please, what?”

“Please, professor. Use my mouth however you want…”

Your hands turn me around again and you push down gently on my shoulders.

You take a step back and drop down into a wooden chair next to my desk.

The cold of the cement floor against my knees is a shock to my bare skin as I get settled between your legs. Your fingers are in my hair, again. I don’t think I’ve been hiding very well how much I love it when you do that.

“Oh, yeah, you ready?”

Instead of using my words, I pull down your briefs and direct the tip of your cock between my lips.

I’m trying to hold back, trying not to take you in all at once, but my self-control is fading.

I squeeze your hip to brace myself and guide you further into my mouth. Letting my tongue slide over your shaft… as slowly as I can…

The sound of your moans is making me throb. Hearing your pleasure, watching you watch me… it’s hard not to reach between my legs and start fingering myself.

Then again, I’m kind of curious about what you would do if I did.

“Oh… oh, yeah…”

Your cock feels so solid in my mouth. So filling and heavy.

I pull back and suck on the tip, right around the rim of your head.

“Use me, use my mouth…”

“Oh my god… you are so fucking hot…”

You tighten your grip around the back of my neck and push my head forward. I let you take control and guide my mouth where you want it. Letting you set the pace… the intensity… making me take as much of you as you want…

“Oh my god… I can’t… I can’t wait any longer… I need to fuck you.”

“So fuck me then.”

You pull me up onto the chair and into your lap. I brace myself on the armrests while you search in your blazer pocket.

“Put it on me.”

You hand me a condom you pulled from your jacket pocket and I place it on the tip of your cock. I look up into your face as I slowly… roll it down…

“You seem sensitive, professor.”

“Mm, very. You’re being so good for me. Being such a good girl…”

You hold your cock at the base as I lift myself up. I grip the top of the chair, each arm resting on your shoulders, and lower down.

Your cock pushes into my pussy… just an inch or so… easing my walls apart…

“Oh… oh, that’s it, further, further…”

I rock my hips forward to get you deeper. I’m white-knuckling the chair as your cock fills me up and spreads me open…

I look down and watch as my body meets yours… as I sit down and your cock completely disappears into me.

You grip my waist and grind into me, lifting and lowering me in a messy, urgent rhythm.

“Oh, fuck—fuck—you like being used? You like your professor’s cock in your mouth?”

“Yeah, yeah, I—oh—I love your cock, professor. My pussy—my mouth—they’re yours.”

“That’s right, they’re mine.”

I bounce harder, faster, lowering down each time until I almost feel you in my stomach. I can’t get enough of you, can’t get you deep enough—

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you? Cum on my cock, be a good girl and cum for me—”

“Yes, keep going—”

I press my forehead against yours. Your breath is hot on my cheek, but I don’t pull away or make a move to get up. The sensation of your cock sitting in me is too good.

“Alright?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Mmhmm.”

Your hands connect around the back of my waist and for many moments we just stay here… connected.

The game we started last week is far from my mind. Right now I’m thinking about… your apartment… what kind of detergent you use… what books are by your bedside. All of the banal details of your life… I suddenly need to know.

“When do you leave again? For Dresden?”

Your question rips me out of my thoughts. It feels like a collision with reality.

“Next month. The 25th. Why?”

“Just wondering how many lessons we can fit in between now and then.”

“Mm, think less. Kiss more.”