I was 25, and I had developed my first ever schoolgirl crush.

I was a first year law student and he was my professor. He had attracted my attention slowly – there was nothing particularly extraordinary about him, but I'd always been the type to be more attracted to someone once I had a sense of his personality. Professor Smith was in his early fifties, with graying brown hair, blue eyes, and academic looking glasses. Your average middle-aged law professor, for the most part. But after a few days watching him lecture, I found that there was just something about him that compelled me. I had taken a place in the front row because it was one of the few left by the time I got to class on the first day, but I soon became glad for my position as I sensed his eyes on me a little more often than they should be.

I started to fantasize about him constantly, in and out of class. Every time he made a gesture or spoke, I was mesmerized by his hands and lips, imagining how they'd feel on my body, whether he'd be rough or gentle. I imagined the taste of his breath and skin, wondered whether the hair on his body was brown or gray.

For the first time in my academic life, I started going to office hours on a regular basis. It felt pathetically transparent – some of the questions I invented bordered on the inane. Yet it had become a sort of ritual. Twice a week I would show up, ask him about some tangential point he'd made in class. We'd talk about it for a few minutes, and then go on to talk about anything and everything else until someone else showed up to talk to him. Once, when nobody else did show up, I stayed there talking to him for three hours.

The excuse that I thought of that day was a book that I "needed" to write a paper. Actually, the book was from 1970 or so and I doubted it would be useful, but it had the advantage of being unavailable at the law library, so I thought I would ask Professor Smith if I could borrow his copy.

When I arrived at his office door, it was closed. I took a deep breath and knocked, twirling the end of my long, wavy dark hair around my finger. Even though I did this often, I got nervous every time. That day I was wearing my favorite perfectly broken in jeans, and a white t shirt with a deep v-neck that made my skin look tawny and showed a hint of cleavage. My breasts weren't very big, but they were being assisted that day by the only push up demi bra that I owned.

I never wore anything outright seductive, to his class or to office hours. I didn't want to be obvious – even though I knew how ridiculous that was. Not even the densest person could fail to see that I was seriously infatuated with him after watching me eat up his every move with my eyes in class. But I wanted him to think of me as intelligent, interesting maybe funny – not some stereotypical bimbo who wanted to fuck her professor. I was too old for that sort of thing, and it was undignified.





"Come in," Professor Smith called out after I knocked on the door. I opened the door and stepped inside his office.

I thought that his eyes lit up a bit when he saw me, but was I imagining things? "Hi," I greeted him.

"Katherine, come in," he said, gesturing with his hand and smiling. His smile was what I loved the most about him – how it was so genuine, and made his eyes crinkle at the corners. "What's on your mind?"

"Well, I've been working a bit on the paper," I said. "I was thinking of using that book – the one by Shaw? that you mentioned in class the other day, but the library doesn't seem to have a copy of it."

"Really? I suppose it's gotten outdated," he said. "But I have a copy here – should be on the top shelf -- you're welcome to borrow it."

"Actually, I don't see it," I said, stepping over to his bookshelf and scanning the titles. The shelf was filled with old, worn casebooks that probably came from his own days in law school twenty some years ago. "What did you say it was called again?"

"That's odd, it should be there," he said, getting up from behind his desk and coming to look at the shelf himself.

I had never stood this close to him before, close enough to touch him. He was just about a foot away from me, and I could smell him – just the faintest, clean soapy scent, as if he'd stepped out of the shower minutes ago. I did my best not to inhale audibly. I thought to myself that I would love to bury my face in his armpit and just breathe in the smell of him. God, what was wrong with me?

"Ah, here it is," he exclaimed, reaching out and pulling a thick volume off the top shelf. "This is the one I was thinking of. Sorry, I think I told you guys the wrong author in class. It happens with old age," he smiled and shrugged, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling.

"Oh, don't be silly, it looks like you've got a few good years left in you," I teased, then wondered if I'd gone too far. A flush spread over my cheeks, but the professor chuckled nervously.

"I appreciate your confidence in me," he said.

"No problem," I smiled nervously, holding his gaze even as I felt my blush deepen. It was like a train wreck – I couldn't look away even though I wanted to. For a moment, he seemed flustered, but he gathered himself, cleared his throat and glanced sideways.

"Well, I hope the book is helpful – even if it's a bit dated, there are some interesting ideas in there."

"Yeah... I'm sure it will help," I said, feeling vaguely disappointed. He seemed to want to end the conversation – one of our long talks was not about to ensue. I worried that I had overstepped some line. "Well, thanks," I smiled with false brightness, and slipped the book into my messenger bag, preparing to leave.

But then, his hand was on my shoulder. I stopped dead, and my knees liquified. He had never touched me before. I meant to say "yes?" in a casual, normal sort of way, but once I saw his face I actually choked on the word. It was the way he was looking at me. It was a look of naked desire that I could feel in my stomach.

His eyes were searching mine and it was almost unbearable to maintain visual contact with him. The skin on my face and chest was on fire. "Tell me if I'm wrong."

"No," I said. "You're not." When my voice came out it sounded distant, unfamiliar, like someone else was speaking. I felt lightheaded.

We stood there in a state of suspended animation for a moment, his hand on my shoulder. I had no idea what was going to happen next. Professor Smith had always seemed so concerned with ethics (something I admired about him). I couldn't imagine that he was actually going to kiss me during office hours. On the other hand, the devil on my shoulder reminded me that all law school grading was anonymous, by ID number only, so would it really be that unethical?

I stopped pondering the ethics of the situation as the professor slowly moved his face closer to mine. My heart started doing a crazy, erratic dance at the realization that this was actually going to happen. I closed my eyes as his lips brushed mine, letting them linger softly for a moment. Then I pushed into him, kissing him harder, slipping my tongue between his lips, exploring his mouth. Kissing him like this I could barely remember how he had seemed so far away, so inaccessible. Our bodies seemed to fit perfectly together as we embraced and the taste and scent of him were simply comforting, like nothing bad could touch me as long as he was holding me. It was a pure, almost childish feeling – the kind of security and warmth that usually disappears when we grow too big to be held on our parents' laps.

Still kissing me, he ran his hands gently under the hem of my t shirt. I raised my arms as he ran his hands up my sides, sliding my t shirt off and sending delicious chills down my spine. Then he undid the front clasp of my bra and slid it off my shoulders. He supported the weight of my breasts with his hands, moving back a bit and looking at them with undisguised appreciation. Cupping them gently, he lightly ran his thumbs over my nipples. They began to harden under his touch, humming with a lovely ache. He took my nipples between his forefingers and thumb, beginning to pull gently, teasing them out to their full length. I whimpered as the desire for more pressure, more force, became agonizing. In response he pinched, tentatively at first, and harder when I started to squirm. I felt my cunt starting to open up, pulse with blood, become slick, wet and swollen. His cock had grown hard and was pressing insistently against my thigh.

My fingers worked quickly to unbutton his shirt. I untucked it and slid it off his shoulders, and lightly ran my fingernails down over his chest, his stomach, tracing the thatch of hair that led downward from his belly button. His erection was straining insistently against his pants. I moved my hand down to caress it through the cloth, and he groaned. I pushed against him, backing him up against his desk. He unbuttoned my jeans, and I pulled them down and stepped out of them, kicking them aside.

He wrapped his arms back around my waist and moved in closer to me, pushing his bulging cock against my crotch. I wriggled and writhed against it, desperate for stimulation. He slid a hand down my stomach and into my panties. His palm cupped my mound, and I gasped as his fingers gently split my pussy lips, stroking the length of them and covering them with my juices.

His face was close to mine and he whispered in my ear. "My god, Katherine, you're so wet. You feel amazing."

"Mmmh," I moaned. The feel of his breath against my skin sent delicious shivers all through my body, and hearing him say my name was a delicious aphrodisiac. It made me gush. My cunt was so slippery and I could feel the blood pulsing through it, the muscles contracting and releasing like they were desperate to grip something, anything.

He crouched down and firmly grasped my ankles, pulling them apart so that I was standing against the desk spread eagled. Even with my underwear on, I felt incredibly exposed in this position. Then starting at my knee, he ran his fingers gently up my inner thigh. He came tantalizingly close to my pussy, running a finger just under the elastic of the crotch of my panties. I squirmed, trying to get his fingers to move just an inch inward, even though I knew my efforts were pointless. With his face so close to my pussy, I could hear and even feel him breathing in my scent as he ran his hands over my thighs, my ass, everything but what I wanted him to.

I could barely stand it anymore, and I whimpered. "Please, please...."

"Please what?" he said.

I found myself too embarrassed to say what I wanted him to do, and merely groaned in response. Finally, the professor hooked his fingers under the waistband of my panties, and pulled down. I could only imagine how my pussy looked to him, glistening, swollen, ready to be fucked. "You're beautiful, Katherine," he sighed. He moved his hand up to me, cupping my vulva, feeling its heat. I ground against it, an animalistic response to stimulation.

He moved up to my clit, touching it gently, making little circles. I groaned in desperation. Then he spread my lips and ass cheeks apart with soft hands, and gave the length of my slit a long, luscious lick with the flat of his tongue.

"Oh God, oh God, Professor Smith," I murmured. The sensation was making me dizzy, lightheaded. All the blood in my body was rushing to my cunt. He continued to gently lick and probe my slick folds with his tongue, moaning. His tongue flicked at my clit, teasing me mercilessly. I ground my entire vulva back against his face. "Suck," I breathed, even as I blushed at my own vulgarity. But he obliged, drawing my clit in between his lips, making circles around it with his tongue. Only the fact that we were in his office kept me from screaming. I had to bite my hand.

"Please," I moaned as the yawning emptiness in my cunt became unbearable. "Please. I need you..."

I felt two of his fingers gently slide into my pussy and explore, moving around in circles, pressing against the walls, finding my raised, spongy g-spot and stimulating it mercilessly. Contractions started deep within my abdomen and I knew that soon I was going to be having an orgasm whether I wanted to or not. He kept sucking and tonguing my clit, moaning as if it were the best thing he'd ever tasted, and expertly pressing his fingers into that spot which seemed directly connected to the core of my being. "Ahhhh god, my god my god my god," I groaned, as tremors began to overtake me. I grasped the desk and wailed as my body shook, my cunt convulsing and clamping down on Professor Smith's hand. My head thrashed from side to side as a powerful orgasm pulsed through me. Slowly it died down, but my pussy kept twitching, grasping his fingers. Finally he slowly withdrew, stroking my back with his other hand as if to comfort me. I actually felt sad as the sensation of fullness gave way to one of emptiness. Like something was missing.

Despite my shaking muscles I managed to stand up. His massive erection had subsided a bit but was still tenting out his pants. I hugged him, drawing him close to me so I could feel it against my body.

"How did that feel?" He whispered in my ear, smiling.

"Oh, it was just OK," I teased. I felt his erection stirring against me.

"I'll have to do better next time, then," he said. Even though I didn't know whether he really meant for there to be a next time, I felt a little thrill at his words.

"And when's that going to be?" I said, undoing his belt buckle.

"Soon... I hope."

As he spoke I unzipped his pants and pushed them and his boxers down over his hips. My eyes widened as his cock sprang free. It was simply huge – the biggest I'd ever seen in my life. For a minute I wondered if I'd be able to handle it.

"Oh my God," I said, the sheer amazement evident in my voice. Our eyes caught, and we both burst out laughing.

"I ahh... I don't have any condoms," he said then, actually blushing. I guess he was of the generation where the safe sex talk had not become ingrained habit. And shit, of course I should have known he wasn't going to have any condoms in his desk drawer. I was the type who usually never went outside without sunscreen, much less had sex without a condom. But I was frantic to fuck him, condom or not.

"Well...I usually use condoms, but I'm on the pill, and I know that I'm clean; I got tested after my last relationship," I said. "But it's up to you."

"I'm clean... but you really shouldn't trust me like that," he said, with fatherly concern.

"I know," I said. "But I can't help it." I traced his testicles lightly with a fingertip, and ran it up the underside of his cock as he made a guttural sound. He grabbed me, pushed up against me, holding me against the desk and pushing the tip of his cock against my clit. We kissed, our tongues in a dance of feverish exploration as our hands roamed over each others' backs.

Then he lowered himself a little, so that the length of his cock was touching the slippery length of my slit. As he moved against me I pushed myself down on his cock, and tried desperately to reposition myself so that I could take him in my pussy. He pulled back a little and gave me a look of affection and amusement. "You seem to be getting impatient," he said.

"Stop teasing me," I admonished him indignantly.

He smiled. "You're sure you don't like being teased?"

As I whimpered, he lifted me up and sat me facing him on the desk. I wrapped my legs around his torso, trying to draw him in. But he kept his hands on my hips, letting his cock slide just millimeters into me, and then hovered there, opening me but refusing to fill me.

"Pleeeease, Professor, please, just fuck me." It came out like a sob. I truly thought I might implode if I was denied satisfaction any longer.

My head was thrown back, my eyes closed, and my voice came out like a sob. Then I felt his hand on my cheek. I opened my eyes and looked at him.

"Katherine," he said, his voice thick. "You're sure?" I almost laughed. Clearly we had thoroughly transgressed every student/professor boundary by now. But even in my desperation to fuck, I was still rather touched that he asked.

"YES, for God's sake."

"Good," he sighed. He slowly pushed his full length into me. I gasped in delight, both from the delicious sensation as I was gradually stretched and filled and from hearing his own groan of pleasure. Nothing had ever felt so amazing, so perfect.

I laid back, drawing my legs up so that my knees pointed towards the ceiling and my heels were on the edge of the desk, almost touching my ass. He wrapped one arm around my knee, and put the flat of his other hand on my mound, rubbing my clit with his thumb. "Oh Jesus, oh God Professor that feels so good, oh God oh God," I moaned, nearing incoherence. As he thrust in and out of me with slow, measured strokes, maintaining steady pressure on my clit, I felt myself moving closer and closer to the brink of orgasm. But I sensed that he was holding back, and I wanted all of him. I wanted him to feel as frenzied as I did. "Fuck me harder, please," I whispered, grasping the edge of the desk with my hands. He maintained the same maddeningly steady pace, back and forth, stroking my swollen g spot with the gentle upward curve of his cock. I didn't know if he didn't hear me, or if he was just trying to drive me insane.

"God, oh FUCK, please," I cried, in a volume verging on inappropriate for office hours. He chuckled and put a finger over my lips. "All right, little one." He leaned down and whispered in my ear, driving into me powerfully, burying himself in me. I felt a deep, satisfying ache as his huge cock pushed up against my cervix. "Ohwwww ow oh God yes oh God," I cried.

It felt unreal. With every stroke it was like he was turning my body inside out, caressing my internal organs, working me into the most unimaginable frenzied desire. The pleasure almost verged on pain, yet I had never felt anything so exquisite, and it was intensified as I felt the professor losing control of himself. I could tell that at first he'd been afraid of hurting me, but he didn't seem to be thinking anymore as his pace increased, and he murmured my name over and over, Katherine Katherine Katherine. Our bodies thrashed together, my hips bucking up against him until I came again and again, in a stream of orgasms so unbearable that finally I had to beg him to finish. Then I felt myself filled with a pulsing heat as he groaned, all the muscles in his body seizing and then finally, relaxing. His strangled cry of pleasure was music to my ears.

We stayed in that position for a while after he came, just breathing hard, me lying back on the desk, him standing up inside of me, bent over, his head on my chest as I stroked his hair. The office was quiet, the air thick, and I could hear the muffled talking and laughter of students passing by in the hallway. I think we both knew that once we broke that spell, neither of our lives would be the same.