A Second Visit during Office Hours

"Oh, Professor Hall..."

"To think, I originally wanted to ask my students to just call me David." He mused. "I much prefer the way 'Professor Hall' sounds coming from your mouth."

I felt his nose brush over the panties, causing a jolt when he grabbed my hips and tilted me so his mouth met my clitoris. If this was what over-the-panties felt like, I was going to lose it once he actually touched me.

His teeth barely grazed my skin as he bit the fabric, pulling downward, little by little. Once I couldn't stand it anymore, I slid them down to the floor and kicked them aside.

"Hey now, you ought to be nicer to your panties." He chided.

"And why is that?" I teased, touching his face.

"They shield a very important part of you from the world, from lecherous professors and the like." He grinned. "I, for one, would be put out if something had happened to your cunt."

Ah, so he knew how to wield the dreaded c-word as well as Oliver Mellors, even without the Northern accent. I wondered if he could use his tongue in other ways just as well.

It didn't take long to find out.

First came the tentative licks, like a scouting party. The spare sensations, teasing against that sensitive piece of flesh only made me feel like falling even more. Then came the rapid flicks like a full-out invasion, the end of the tongue still barely touching at crucial points, but the increased frequency of touching made my entire body hum like a power line.

"Ah, I..." I about fell over, but felt his hand catch my back, pushing me back up again to steady myself on my feet.

He stood, placing his hands on my shoulders. "Are you all right?"

"Very much so." I laughed, feeling the flush in my cheeks.

"Let's have a seat." He gestured to a couch that I had not noticed since the last time I had visited him.

He sat down, and I followed suit, taking his lap.

"You know, there is plenty of room." He smiled, running a hand up my thigh.

"I'm perfectly comfortable." I purred into his ear, giving it a nibble for good measure.

I shook again as his fingertips brushed against my clitoris, working their way back and forth, around in lazy ellipses as he slowly worked his fingers further inside with each stroke. I felt his erection straining in his pants, pushing against my thigh demanding entrance. The whole time, we kept kissing, devouring each other. At this point, I was wet, but sweating so much it was hard to tell the difference.

I slid down slowly, almost like a mechanic on a board, looking up momentarily to reassure him I wasn't going far, then undid the fly of his pants.

I was right. He was a boxers kind of man.

His cock seemed to find its way to my mouth on its own. It stood firmly, proud as any Queen's subject (even though neither of us were British, but just Anglophiles by academic association) at attention. Pre-come had already started beading at the smooth head. I swirled around the soft crown with my tongue before taking him in any further. Despite the awkward angle, I was able to get most of his cock inside my mouth.

He shifted slightly. At first, I thought he was involuntarily thrusting his hips to move further, but he kept moving until his face was against my cunt again. This time, there were no tentative tips of the tongue, but a ravenous attack, whole mouth devouring my flesh. For a moment, we were like a peculiar human mobius strip until he shifted his weight so I was completely on top of him.

I felt like an animal on all fours, crouched and greedily sucking, licking, murmuring in wordless pleasure at devouring and being devoured. I felt my entire body start to shake as he combined his efforts between his fingers and his mouth. It was as if he was exploring every inch of me, staking a claim with every touch until there was nothing left of me, just his. My moans were his, my shuddering climax, every muscle in my body tensing and relaxing suddenly, all his.

Of course, I found it hard to focus on pleasing him while he had so overpowered me.

But he didn't seem to mind.

As the last wave shook through me, he sat up and gently guided my hips so I could turn back around, kneeling, straddling him. His cock was still hard, if not more urgent.

Yet his eyes still had the same uncertain tenderness to them.

"I need you." I said, lowering myself onto him.

His hand traced my neck, fingers brushing against my cheek and through my hair.

"Oh, Professor Hall..."

Of course we fit together. It wasn't like trying to put a square peg in a round hole or a key into the wrong lock, but the way I felt him move beneath me to meet my slow undulations caused his cock to slide against every spot his tongue had already claimed as his.

"Jane..." His eyes closed. Professor Hall's back arched and I could see the pure contentment and peace in his face.

His hands crept up and down, from my hips to my breasts and shoulders, from my neck back down again. He had undone the front of my dress, sliding my strapless bra down so he could touch my skin, grasp with his hands every soft curve like he was carving or sculpting me with his fingertips.

My hands, when not trying to help maintain balance, wandered his body as well. I doubted I could claim him nearly as well as he had claimed me, but I tried. I held his face in my hands, tracing my fingertips like I was trying to memorize him by touch as well as I had by sight. When I traced his lips, he kissed each fingertip, sucking on each of them, kissing my palms.

I continued riding him, moving faster, tightening the grip with my thighs as if he could slip out at any second. Even my inner muscles contracted, as if every cell in my body wanted to keep him in as long as possible.

"Ah!" I cried out, arching my back and shuddering again.

He sat up, leaning back against one arm as his other hand continued guiding the movement of my hips.

I watched his eyes shut for a moment, brow creased. His mouth opened followed by his eyes.

"Jane..." He kissed me and pulled away, dropping on his back and letting his hands guide me like clockwork. My name was a mantra, quiet and moving beneath my skin as I felt him arch once more against me, grasping my hips as I pushed down.

Both slick from heat and exhausted, we seemed to melt into each other. We weren't even a breath apart, face to face.

We just looked at each other.

As opposed to the "fight or flight" response I had learned about in my introduction to anthropological biology class, I guess I could refer to this as the "fuck or flight" response.

"Professor Hall..." I tilted my chin up, not moving my eyes away from his.

"Yes?" He asked. I could smell his cologne again, the one that whispered of citrus, smoke and leather or suede, but tinged this time with sweat from the heat. His hand seemed to grow even hotter in mine, his body even closer to mine.

"Thank you." I smiled and withdrew my hand.

We just looked at each other.

"Good luck." He smiled tightly and returned to his desk.

"Thank you, Professor Hall." I turned and walked out the open door, counting the tiles in the corridor as I walked past.

***