The professor was going on about something in the Roman Empire. A subject I had often tortured myself to learn but hardly comprehended or remembered. This was the only class I was ever managing to fail. But I don’t accept defeat, so I enrolled in it again to try and learn more.

Class had just begun not more than ten minutes ago and my attention span was severely lacking. He had walked into class late. His six-foot three frame hard to ignore in the silent room. He looked over the seats and found the only empty one. One row to the left and two seats down.

He had scrambled to get his belongings together. His sunglasses fell off his head as he maneuvered items in his backpack pulling out only his notebook and pen. He misplaced the pen on the desk and it rolled off to the right. Just the sight of his body extenuating for the reach, with no effort, to pick up the pen, was enough to distract me from the entire lecture.

This was the boy whose command could manage to get me undressed and have me thinking it was all my idea. This was the boy who would tell me exactly what to do with my naked body and I would obey.

I would enjoy the hunger in his brown pursuant eyes as he watched me. He would have me stand against my empty wall in my studio apartment. He would have me touch my clit until my moans became high-pitched want for him.

I stared at his fingers fondling his pen. The veins in his hands protruding out to his forearms. He pressed down the pen and began to write a note of importance stated by the professor. I probably should have caught what that was. Or I could ask for his notes at the end of class.

He started to work. He had a scabbing cut on his middle finger. His hands told a story and I wanted to know what it was. But right now all I could see were the naughty things he could do to me with those hands.

When I would moan for him, he would move closer to me. He would remove his black Nike jacket and pull his soft cotton shirt over his head leaving it to an empty thud on the floor. He would slip his thumbs underneath his mesh shorts pulling them down just an inch as my moans grew louder.

The dark hair on his chest traveled all the way down to what I really wanted to be handling. I would stop touching myself in protest. But he would protest more stepping away and removing his fingers from between the band of his shorts and his skin.

My legs would weaken and I would only dream of crumbling to the floor for him to take me right there. But even in my imagination, that would never happen.

Instead, He would walk closer to me. The intensity in his eyes more powerful than his words telling me what to do. He would take hold of my wrist and turn me around until I was lying back on my bed.

He would place his knees beside my hips to straddle me and lower down until he was biting my ear. He would cup a breast in his hand as he moved his tongue lower and lower.

I would reach for his shorts in an attempt for him to feel what I could do to him. But he raised his pelvis, shifting away.

I could no longer feel his length or how hard he was for me. He would restrain, but his body told me he wanted me just as bad as I wanted him. He would take his time. And when he was ready he would give me everything I desired. He would show me how he works. He would let me feel his ridges. Let me stroke him until I was fully clinched around him moving my hips to feel all of him.

But until that time, he would lean down to my ear again so I could hear his breathing and feel just the brush of his lips as he whispered to me.

“Touch yourself.” He would move my hand down to my clit again and start to demonstrate what he wanted. At this point I would throb for him. His hands brushing my lips making me cry out for the girth of his strong fingers to enter me.

He would look up and smile at me before returning to whispering, “Touch yourself until you scream. I want to know what you can do to yourself. How move underneath the waves of pleasure. The sounds you make. And then I’ll have my way with you.” This would be torture.

I would arch my back up and whine in need. I then heard a loud crash and had to catch my head as it fell. I was so deep into my daydreaming that my body began to slide off its lean on the table. My elbow pushed my journal and pen off the desk. I was able to catch my mug of coffee.

And when I came to, he was staring at me. My gaze was immediately on his hands… only hoping that the final moan had not been out loud.

 

Originally Published: November 6, 2015