The Review

Thanks to Sensha for editing assistance with this story.

*

After practically a semester of classes, he could almost swear that there was something different in that student's look, something beyond a simple interest in semiotics. And now the girl was standing in front of him in that peculiar and somewhat suggestive manner of hers, in the very garment always worn in the teacher's reveries -- a pale gray skirt below the knees, made of a lightweight fabric which dangled gracefully as she came and went across the classroom. Came... and went... came... and went...

"Professor."

"Huh?"

"Here's the review. It would be nice if you could correct it for me before the final. Read the attachment afterwards, please," and it seemed to him that she had followed the remark with a slightly mischievous grin. No, that was probably just his imagination...

"Okay. If you like, I can take a look at it now. Just wait a minute. You can pull that chair."

It was turning out better than she had planned -- he would read the text right there in front of his assistants and the passers by the small room in the Visual Arts Department. That would be, in addition to exciting, very, very fun.

In less than five minutes of analysis, his opinion had already been announced:

"Excellent," he raised his eyebrows while giving back the review, really impressed, and received in return two other sheets.

She watched attentively the nuances of expression on his handsome face as he, concentrated, read the attachment. Was it the beginning of a smile on his lips? If yes, her wish was for it to take a more defined shape.

The first two paragraphs of the text suggested a story whose main characters were a teacher and a student, presented in a context exactly like that, the routine situation of a task's delivery. He ran wide-eyed by the lines already anticipating the outcome of the story -- imprudent and passionate sex in one of the college's restrooms. The meticulous style of the narrative sharpened his imagination, which instantly made a quill pen drawing of the scene.

Agitated by the boldness of her attitude, he ran his hand through his hair, fixed his posture, cleared his throat. All his body language showed not only an obvious discomfort, but also a fierce desire. Although none of the two assistants was able to identify what was printed or the impact of this reading underneath his pants, he strove his best to look natural. The more he tried to disguise, the more he seemed nervous, and the more the student had fun.

The teacher had no idea what to do. His will was to grab her, pull her clothes in the style of the story and throw her completely stripped on his desk to kiss her whole body, if he could wait long enough to do this before slipping inside. But, even though he knew she wanted it too, at that moment there was absolutely nothing he could do about that. How frustrating it was, after all those months of quiet expectation...

Half of the story was still to come and his imagination was already running loose. If no action was taken immediately, he would just end up doing something stupid.

"Look, I'm afraid I'll need more time to read this... text. Can you come back in ten minutes?"

As one who points a small problem to be solved, he bowed his head slightly toward the distracted assistants. Oh, always so serious. She loved this restrained manner of his.

"Okay. I'll be back," she replied in a low voice so that only he could hear her, and smiled, despite the grave air of the interlocutor.

As promised, ten minutes later the student was back. The teacher's door had been closed and, surprisingly enough, there was no one even near it. The whole department was complete silence. Composedly, she stepped forward and knocked three times.

"Come on in," he said. It seemed that, by the softness and tempo of the knocks, he just knew it was her.

He got rid of the pages that were still in his hands only when it came the time to grab her. That was so crazy... Among all the reactions she had imagined, this one was undoubtedly the most wanted -- and less likely, due to the teacher's methodical air, but inexplicably it was what was happening now.

The intense kiss, the manly body all pressed against hers and the contact of his hard cock caused an excitement so strong that was almost distressing. If her sex had responded immediately to the touch of his hands in her arms, she now longed for a much more intimate caress. When he let her go for a moment to lock the door, she felt the need to shore her body up on the table. Despite slightly numb inside, it seemed wide alert to every touch of the teacher.

They kissed again while exchanging intimate and rushed strokes. She let him remove her clothes, piece by piece, until there were not even her panties left, and then accepted his gaze as if it was a caress. Being completely naked in front of a man completely dressed -- and especially a man like that -- turned out to be a very exciting situation. He put his fingers between her thighs and then easily slid them into her, trying to remember the last time he had seen a woman get that wet.

"Even better than I had imagined," she thought, smiling. His fingers were moving inside her, causing little spasms.

"You're driving me crazy, girl," he whispered hoarsely in her ear, and was presented with another beautiful smile in response.

She closed her eyes as his moist lips closed around her nipple. His soft mouth sucked her there for a moment, and then his lips parted to make room for his tongue, which began describing circles around her nipple. Breathless, the student couldn't handle much more teasing. She pulled him on top of her on the table, craving to feel his weight. But then the teacher declined the invitation made by the student's partly open legs, preferring to compose a path of kisses from her inner thighs to the soft hairs of her pussy as she let her head fall back languidly. The experienced tongue teased her by licking her most sensitive spot and then stiffened, ready to pick up the salty liquid at its source. He started switching between the two regions, always offering his fingers where his tongue was missing, and always watching her reactions with a lust-driven expression on his face.

She sat up just long enough to reach his pants and open them, finally exposing what they both wanted inside her. It was rock hard.

"Now," she said in a decisive tone. What once had been an invitation, was now an order.

He obeyed her right away. Despite slipping easily, he penetrated her slowly, but too soon had to quit controlling the urge to move faster.

"Professor," someone called across the room door without being heard by either of them.

"Is anyone there?" joined some soprano voice, slightly louder and more incisive than the first one.

She wrapped him in her legs to follow with circular motion the increasingly fast pace he dictated. When she came, almost took him with her. He then waited for her reaction... but no, she wouldn't stop there.

The anonymous steps were now decreasing in volume along the department's wooden floor. Thank God, because they were really far from being able to keep quiet.

Seeing her perched provocatively on the table with her legs apart and inviting him with a sweet smile, he approached so careless that ended up dropping a pencil holder. It didn't matter, anyway. The last thing that would worry him at that moment would be the noise, as the room itself didn't seem more real than the landscape in a frame hanging on one of its walls. Getting out of there was not a concern either, at least not yet.

A slight tug at her waist was enough for his shaft to naturally find its way. The teacher's right hand glided across the student's belly, hooked firmly between her legs and began massaging her clit with precise pressure. This time it was she who forgot that they were in college and let out a louder moan.

"Groan, sweetie," he whispered in her ear. His words and tone made her second orgasm quietly announce its arrival, just the way she liked it.

The teacher, who had increased the strength and pace of his movements in proportion to the volume of the student 's moans, was now moving slower. She ran her hand behind him, held him to stand still and then began describing circles with her hips in her own rhythm. Each time she went forward, she let his cock almost completely out, watching it in all its length. Each time she went back, besides pasting against him, she pulled him against her hips.

Not even the teacher himself was aware of the self-control he showed by resisting perfectly still until finally coming only with the other body's movements. Numb, he opened his eyes in time to see a remnant of sperm flowing down her leg. Between her drenched lips rested the tip of his cock which, once departed, gave way to much more cum. He couldn't resist spreading the viscous liquid over those perfect forms, first along her lips, then around her clit, then on the lower curve of her butt. Finally, he stuck his fingertip into the hole that was showing still intact to him, and drew it back. The rim glittered with wet brightness.

To his surprise, she didn't flinch -- on the contrary, held each butt cheek with one hand and parted them, offering him a privileged view. Urged on by the scene, he began playing with his finger there, grazing, tucking its tip, pushing one more finger together. After a few minutes of teasing, the teacher was excited enough to stick more than his fingers into that hole which no longer looked quite so unopened.

His cock was pointed to her ass and his other hand was about to land on her waist but, at the last moment, he looked at the medium heels sandal tossed aside on the floor. The serious guy had a fetish.

"Would you wear those again for me?" he asked her.

"So you want to see me naked and in heels."

He smiled. She smiled back.

***

Done. I check the file's statistics: 96 minutes of editing and 9 reviews. The actual homework didn't take me that much time...

Now, the version to be printed. I delete the more explicit parts, replace the strong words. So much nonsense. I really let myself go this time.

Would life imitate fiction today? Would I even have the courage?

The cursor blinks slowly at the end of the last sentence, as if counting the seconds of my delay. Just below it, the computer's clock changes its final digit. I try to imagine the critical moment.

Maybe...