When The Professor and I go without seeing each other for a couple of weeks, the tension between wanting to get naked and wanting to catch up in conversation is palpable. We text, but it isn’t the same for two avid conversationalists. Getting naked always wins out, because, well, duh- but the profound friendship is evident throughout.
His penchant for sensuality mixed with an overtly primal approach makes it so that I never quite know what I am going to get. Is he going to tease me, torture me with every breath and touch? Is he going to pin me down and take me as soon as we get upstairs? Only one way to find out.
We exchanged pleasantries when he arrived, both clearly eager to be reunited. A few kisses downstairs, a loose hand hold on the way upstairs- practiced intimacy. Conversation flowed, but when I sat on the bed he pushed me down, laying nose to nose beside me and continuing his story while his hand aimlessly wandered over my hip. He is someone who I listen to with genuine attention (which is somewhat rare for me), but as he spoke I became more and more aware of his lips, the weight of his hand, and the heat of it on my skin. I worked to concentrate on his voice, but that just served to deepen his hold on me.
At long last he moved on top of me, casually asking me to tell him about my week before he kissed me. His tone remained playful, but his hands pinned mine above my head- a subtle reminder of who was in charge. He kissed me like he meant it, lips starting soft while his tongue played with mine, licking lips and swallowing moans as I squirmed underneath him. His grip tightened on my wrists as his kisses intensified, building a fire in me from within that was already threatening to explode.
He moved to the side, giving his hand an opportunity to explore. In a rare oversight we were both clothed, so when his hand slipped under the waistband of my pants I gripped the soft flannel of his shirt in anticipation. He of course made me work for it, his fingertips lightly dancing over the inside of my spread thighs, tickling between my legs. He flirted with the wetness in my pussy, not yet dipping into it. I kissed him harder, softer, deeper; I licked his lips and moaned into his mouth, gripping his shirt and grinding under him in a desperate and ultimately futile attempt to escalate his approach. I should have known, as is always the case, that he does what he wants.
My clit was throbbing by the time his fingers touched it, his moan matching mine as he felt how wet he had made me. His kisses were featherlight, but his touch was hard, rubbing my clit back and forth until my body stiffened. He backed off, his impossibly light touch matching that of his kisses just moments before. He toyed with me for a while. He has a remarkable ability to read my body language, and takes an immense amount of pleasure from eliciting different reactions from me. He plays me like an instrument; I don’t mind because he knows all my favourite songs.
My orgasm built quickly, but when I asked to cum he taunted me with “Are you sure?”, and “Right now?” as responses to my desperate pleas. He knows exactly where to touch me and with what pressure to keep me on the edge, and he did so until he wanted a different reaction. I came hard with his permission, my body gratefully giving in to his demand. My screams quieted, but quickly became moans again as his hands refused to relent. He kept me pinned down and drew two more orgasms out of me with his fingers before standing to undress.
His cock was eager for my mouth, instantly responding as my tongue swirled around it. Sometimes he lets me set the pace, but this time there was more urgency and firmness to his movements. His hands found my hair and set the pace, his hips thrusting forward to meet my accommodating throat. He growled as I sucked, his hand forcing its way between my legs to own even more of me. He brought me right back to the edge, my mind torn between my impending orgasm and his unrelenting assault of my throat. I asked him for permission to cum with my mouth full, and his voice was rough when he replied, “Cum with my cock in your mouth…close your lips and suck.”
I did as I was told, my scream garbled by his cock as my body convulsed.
He flipped me over to take my pussy next, the time for niceties and conversation long past. I moaned as he entered me, taking his time to tease every now and then before thrusting into me. He turned me onto my back, thrusting into me until he got what he wanted. I was trying to get my footing back on earth when he parted my lips, my leg still on his shoulder. He teased the tip of my clit with such precision that it made me feel vaguely seasick. The targeted attention was unbearable, but his face made it clear that I would take it for as long as he was giving. He teased and stroked and circled until my skin was crawling, and finally thrust his fingers into my soaked pussy while he made my clit cum one more time. My orgasm was like a wrestling match, my body desperately trying to free itself from the sensation, his keeping me exactly where he wanted me.
I became aware of more featherlight kisses on forehead, cheeks, and lips, his arms circling around me affectionately. Our conversation resumed as if it were never interrupted.
Like the Professor’s style? Read more about him here.