Prof. K and Angel of Temptation

The spring semester was winding down, which meant that all sophomore English composition projects must be submitted by the second week of May. There I was, sitting in my home office chair, sorting through undergraduate e-mails and checking off my roster of submitters. As I made my way down to the "T's," my pencil horizontally scanned across to the name listed: "Temptation, Angel." My attention returned to my inbox, where an e-mail with header "final project" and an attachment with her name on it was listed as sender. I pressed the eraser to my chin, hesitantly, for a moment, before double clicking her e-mail and reading the following message:

"Dear Prof. Kassel, I hope you enjoy what is to cum with my final project. XXOO, Angel"

I blinked, as my imagination took off with the word "cum" ostensibly embedded among the crowd of black text on white background. Among this flow of mundane words was an erotic invitation; was it not? After all, I still had the attachment to download and listen to.

Leaning back against my wooden chair, the pencil eraser against my cheek, I waited as the audio file quickly downloaded. Angel was discrete about her final project, and it was, after all, an open-ended narrative—she could write or audibly record whatever she desired.

"Hmm," I thought, "...whatever she desired. This ought to be interesting."

Over the course of the four-month semester, I had maintained my professional and scholarly duties of being civil and engaging with the students, but Angel was an exception. Never before had there been a student who could capture my attention with her exceptional beauty and grace. Oftentimes, I would feel her eyes on my back as I stood in front of the whiteboard, my markered hand guiding the words to some instruction on Aristotle's rhetoric.

When students passed by my classroom desk to drop off their papers, my eyes would follow Angel from the moment she moved out of her seat. I would watch the way her curves swayed as she walked, how her breasts softly swayed within the confines of her shirt, and imagined how much warmth and smoothness was beneath her skirt. Occasionally, she would raise her hand for help—her soft, round breasts highlighted by this motion—and I would approach her desk.

I smiled, politely and helpfully, "Yes, Angel?"

Her infamous giggle resounded in our space, near the back of the classroom, as she proceeded to ask me for help with her paper.

Standing behind her, my eyes had a direct line down from her soft hair, studying the highlights, down her delicate neck and shoulder, to her breasts so full—rising and falling with each breath. Whether it was her voice, the smell of her perfume, or just standing in such proximate space, my senses would stir as did my desire and clit. Her presence aroused me—it was intoxicating—to drink her in with my sight, and breath the spell of her mildly, sweet fragrance—a mix between strawberries and vanilla. I leaned down behind her, my cheek level with her ear—pretending to concentrate and read her written work, thus far. As I was leaning down, she (inadvertently) brushed her soft hair against my right cheek. She giggled and I blushed with a smile then withdrew my position and stood. I asked her to stay after class for more instruction. I looked up at the wall clock and noted the time—class was wrapping up. As I walked back to my desk, I would feel my jeans chafing against my clit—teasing it as it swelled continuously from my brief contact with Angel.

At 2:15 class was dismissed. I nodded to all my students as I watched them exit. Angel was still seated in the back of the room, alone. Our eyes were locked in a silent intensity—it seems we both knew the chemistry and heat between us—our eye contact was a way of validating that, quietly. I sat on the edge of the desk, a slight smile crossing my lips. We remained like that for several minutes; the air in the classroom growing thick, the sexual tension rising.

Finally, her soft, sweet giggle broke the scintillating silence.

I smiled, "What's that little giggle for?" "You know..." she giggled some more, her pen cap between her teeth "My eyes looked down, then back up at her," I think I might, "...why don't you come up here so I can look at your paper..."

Angel shook her head 'no'

I smiled, standing up and walking slowly toward the back of the room where her desk was. My eyes trailing up her smooth, long legs to her skirt, up her torso, to her full breasts, and on up to her eyes.

"You know, Angel..." I said, softly, leaning my hands on her desk, "you are a living, breathing sonnet—a sonorous voice and ripe sensuality."

Our eyes locked again, breath, just breath quickening between us. I walked behind her then sat down in a desk beside her.

"May I see them?" I asked her politely, resting comfortably back against a college chair, referring to her papers.

She giggled, nodding. She got up, slowly, flashing her backside at me in her short, tight denim skirt. Her heels clicking against the hardwood floor and echoing in the empty classroom. She stood in front of me, her paper—the pages were the 'them' I was referring to—she rested down before me on the desk. She proceeded to sensually lower her body onto my lap—the tip of our noses brushing lightly, softly. My eyes closing for a moment, but opening to drink in her beauty once more. I studied her features, my hand lifting to caressing her cheekbone; my thumb tip brushing against her supple bottom lip.

"I meant the papers...um, your work...them..."

Angel waved her finger in front of my face with a 'no-no' expression on that dainty, beautiful face. Her hand dropping to her shirt, unbuttoning it slowly—each button opening almost voluntarily from the buxomness of her chest. My eyes watched this slow unveiling of her sweet mounds. Just as she had parted her shirt a bit, my head leaned down to kiss her cleavage, sweetly. My face gently buried there for a moment, tasting the sweet and salty of her skin.

My head lifted up a moment later, her eyes on mine; my hand guiding her face in closer to mine, beneath her chin. I tilted my head and closed my eyes—a tender light smack of our lips quickly grew to a sensual mix of sucking lips. My hand finishing the unbuttoning that hers began. My hand parting both sides of her opened shirt, revealing her lacy bra—my fingernails slowly running along the side of her ribcage. My head leaned down to blow warm, soothing breath upon her cleavage now rising and lowering faster. My fingers and palms smoothly running over her bra like a sculpted mold of which her tender nipples were inside. I unhooked the front of her bra, watching her breasts spill forth and groaned at the sight.

Her fingers running through my hair, her nose against my cheek. I could feel her backside grinding against my lap; she was rubbing against my clit. My index finger running down her cleavage, over her tummy and down over her skirt. My eyes on hers as my hand moved up beneath the hem, tenderly stroking both inner thighs and kissing her again deeply—our tongues sensually swirling.

My hand felt the heat radiating from the front of her panties as I teased her milky thighs with my hand's attention. Finally, my middle fingertip lazily dragged up the front of those lacy panties, tapping against her hood lightly and quickly. I broke the kiss, watching her reaction—her eyelids heavy, as mine were as well.

"All I could think about...this whole semester, every class, was pleasing you," I whispered, nearly breathless.

Angel moaned in the rich sweetness of her voice.

I smiled, content with the fact that she was willing to go this far with me and in all places, our classroom. My eyes locked on hers, I lowered my head to nibble around her nipple, circling it then with the tip of my tongue. My hand simultaneously tapping, then circling the outline of her clit through her panties, feeling her squirm even more. Finally, my mouth covered her nipples—each at a time, my head moving left then right between those full breasts. Nosily, my lips sucked as they drew her nipples out then released with a 'pop.'

Gosh, she was delicious and dangerously erotic. Her hand dropped down to meet mine beneath her skirt, guiding them, as she liked. I loved how she guided me, my nose against her cheek so softly as I guided my index and middle fingers into her for the first time. How I wondered what she's feel like—how tight, how warm, how soft? At this intimate moment, all of the questions were answered as her wetness quickly pruned my fingers, milking me in further. Looking down at her skirt, we both saw the outline of my hand and hers together there moving in against her, then out --fingering her pussy warmly and slowly as she preferred. My hand letting her set the pace, but admittedly I pressed my fingers in as deep as they could go. I wanted to feel every inch of her warmth and clenching.

"Mmmm," I groaned; my eyes closed as my nose was against her cheek, "feel that?"

Angel whimpered and nodded, adding in her sweet voice a labored, "Yessss..."

"Just breathe, Angel. Mmm. Just breathe" I replied. My fingers were working faster within her panties. Her juices trickling down to the crease between my thumb and index fingers. My lips returning to her breasts, locking my lips around her nipple, and swirling my head in time with my fingering.

Soon, Angel's body tensed there against me as I felt her grind, her pussy wetly contracting around my fingers over and over. I moaned from the intensity of the moment and the fact that I made this amazingly sensual and beautiful creature cum against my fingers, in her panties.

We relaxed there together, as she recovered, a giggle following her orgasm. This giggle concluded the audio attached essay she sent me. She recorded our little intimate sessions as her final project to be graded. Having relived this fantasy, throbbing in my wooden chair, the pencil snow split in half between my fingers from the intensity of the memory, I now have a recorded version she so kindly sent for my listening pleasure.

The title of her final project: "Just Breath" by Angel of Temptation.