het smut fic...right...
Title: Poetry and Baldness
Pairing: fictional professor/fictional student
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1633
A/N: This is het. I found it strange to write. Too much in yaoi/slash fics, I suppose.
“Then be not coy, but use your time, and while ye may go marry: for having lost but once your prime you may for ever tarry.” His rich voice caressed the words until her skin prickled with goosebumps.
She watched him take a breath before he raised his eyes to study the class. It was a small class, a class for poetry nerds and English nerds. There were a few non-nerds thrown in by misguided advisers who thought a poetry class might expand their students’ horizons. She watched him study the two guys in the back of the room playing on their iPhones, the three overly-bronzed girls whispering to each other. She noticed the slight eye roll before he moved on to the eager students, some eager to study poetry, some even more eager to study him.
“What is Herrick trying to convey through this poem?” He swept his gaze over the room, paused briefly on her face.
She wondered what he saw. Could he see the lust bubbling just below the surface? Could he scent the desire coursing over her skin every single time he spoke, moved, breathed? Something flickered in his dark gaze before he moved on and signaled for Robin to answer. Anxious to impress the sexiest professor on campus, Robin poked out her more than ample breasts and replied in a flirty voice.
She barely resisted the urge to throw a book, preferably her five inch thick psychology text, at Robin’s head. The girl had all of the subtlety of a freight train on crack. She hoped to all that was unholy she wasn’t as pathetically blatant as Robin. She had her fantasies, sure, but he was a professor with a score of females and a few males flirting with him daily. No way in hell she’d demean herself by flirting with him.
She listened to the ebb and flow of his voice as he responded to Robin and then other students’ questions and comments. She contemplated the wisdom of taking a poetry class when she was a psych major. Especially when the professor turned out to be hotter than ten shades of hell and she spent more of class picturing him naked than she did actually analyzing the poems. Weren’t teachers suppose to be old and short and fat? There should be a law about it since attractive teachers were more distracting than a conga line suddenly appearing in the middle of the classroom.
“Make sure to have your rough draft of the comparison/contrast essay ready by next Wednesday.” Amid groans and grumbles, he smiled. “It’s an order, not a request. See you Friday. Oh, and Miss Jones, I need you to stay after class for a minute.”
She raised an eyebrow but shrugged. What could he want? She was one of his better students-his words. Shoving her binder and book into her backpack, she watched the other students file out of the room. A few of the girls, including Robin, paused to flirt and press against him. She figured he enjoyed it even though his face remained impassive, his smile easy.
As the last student walked out, he moved to the door, normally left open, and shut it. When the lock snicked into place, she narrowed her eyes. What was he up to, shutting and locking the door? He didn’t do that during class, after class, or in his office.
He moved to the podium, the one that hit just below his shoulders. “Come here.” He waved his hand at her.
Hesitating, she considered the implications but decided to risk it. She stood in front of him, the podium between them and lifted an eyebrow. “Did you want something, professor?”
“Yes. I want to know your take on the concept of ‘carpe diem’.” He leaned over the podium, just a little closer to her face.
Shoving her hands in her hoodie pockets, she mused. “It’s a nice thought, really. To seize the day and all that. But life doesn’t really work like that, does it?”
“Doesn’t it?”
“It doesn’t. You can seize all the day you want but you still have to do necessary things. And you always have to deal with consequences of any action taken.”
He studied her. She stared into his storm-gray eyes as he did so. It proved difficult to hold that gaze but she tried. “Maybe sometimes you just have to damn the consequences and do what you want.”
“Maybe.” A weighty pause. “Is there something you want and damn the consequences, professor?”
He grinned, all white teeth and wicked intent. “Indeed, Miss Jones. Indeed there is.”
Quick as a snake, he reached out an arm and pulled her around the podium. She found herself sandwiched between his long lean body and the hard wood. If she wanted him less, she would’ve struggled.
Instead she stood pressed against him and hoped he would do something perverted or dirty or at least a little sexual.
“These little plaid skirts you wear everyday drive me insane.” He watched her, for rejection she realized, as his hand slid over her hip to her bare thigh at the edge of the skirt.
“I wear jeans sometimes.”
“Those are no better. The way they cup your ass so I have to watch it twitch and sway as you walk to your desk or out the door.” His hand slid up the back of her thigh, under the skirt, and fondled her ass.
She gasped at the feel of his hands on her, one on her ass and the other wrapping around the back of her neck. He paused for a second to let her pull away before giving in and crushing their mouths together. His tongue swept inside her mouth and dueled with hers. The hand at her neck tightened and the hand on her ass pulled her pelvis more tightly against him, one thigh insinuating itself between her legs.
When he sucked on her tongue, she ground against his thigh instinctively trying to ease the growing ache. His mouth moved from hers down to her throat where he nibbled and sucked as she gasped and moaned, running frantic hands over his bald head. Normally her taste ran to men with thick dark hair but his baldness somehow added to his overall sexiness. There was something badass, pirate-like, about him.
That badassness contrasted with the smooth-voiced poetry reader and just got her all hot and bothered.
He unzipped her hoodie and pulled it off. He wasted even less time removing her tank top and bra. Cupping one breast in his hand, he rolled the nipple between his fingers as his mouth sought the other one. He raked his teeth over the hardened nub and she arched into his mouth with groan. His free hand worked itself under her skirt and pushed her panties to one side. Fingers played over her clit, sending liquid heat into her abdomen. She spread her legs to give him better access but he stopped and pulled her panties down her thighs to her ankles.
In one motion he lifted her onto the podium, the cool wood a shock to her bare skin. He stood up so her thighs were over his shoulders, panty-bound ankles resting on his back. He gave her a quick grin when she murmured “Oh my god.” Then, holding her open with the fingers of one hand, he tongued her clit and her hips bucked against the wood.
He licked and sucked her clit until she was squirming and moaning. When a finger, then two, entered her pussy, she quivered and bowed up, hands scrambling for something to hold onto. She felt the pressure, the heat build under her skin until she exploded. He continued to lick and suck as she came against his face, around his fingers. Her thighs trembled from the intensity.
“Let’s see how flexible you are.” His breath puffed across her sensitive clit and had her keening. He lifted her orgasm-weak body from the podium and laid her across his desk.
He undid his pants and pulled his cock free. She whimpered just a little at the sight of it. Oh yea, she wanted him inside her. She watched hungrily as he slid a condom, retrieved from his pants pocket, over his erection.
He slid three fingers inside her wet pussy and worked them around, sliding them in and out before lifting his hand to suck the fingers clean. She whimpered again.
“You want some too?” He dipped a finger back inside then brought it to her mouth where she sucked her own juices from his finger. “Mm. Next time you are going to be sucking my cock.”
Her eyes widened in excitement at the thought and he chuckled before sliding into her. Her thighs were pulled taut over his shoulders. Her pussy felt filled to maximum and she screamed, just a little, keeping most of the sound in the back of her throat. He slid out and back in, over and over, so slowly she wanted to scream or cry for more. But she knew there were students in the hallways and they might hear.
He shifted and angled her hips up a little more. The change in angle had him hitting a spot inside that made her see stars and a few fireworks. When a thumb flicked over her clit, she screamed over the edge of another orgasm but he swallowed the sound in his mouth. The feel of her clenching around him, drenching him snapped what little control he maintained. He rutted into her like a beast, hard and fast, with no care for her comfort or pleasure. The force rubbed his lower abdomen against her clit over and over so that she trembled and peaked just before he came inside her.
Pairing: fictional professor/fictional student
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1633
A/N: This is het. I found it strange to write. Too much in yaoi/slash fics, I suppose.
“Then be not coy, but use your time, and while ye may go marry: for having lost but once your prime you may for ever tarry.” His rich voice caressed the words until her skin prickled with goosebumps.
She watched him take a breath before he raised his eyes to study the class. It was a small class, a class for poetry nerds and English nerds. There were a few non-nerds thrown in by misguided advisers who thought a poetry class might expand their students’ horizons. She watched him study the two guys in the back of the room playing on their iPhones, the three overly-bronzed girls whispering to each other. She noticed the slight eye roll before he moved on to the eager students, some eager to study poetry, some even more eager to study him.
“What is Herrick trying to convey through this poem?” He swept his gaze over the room, paused briefly on her face.
She wondered what he saw. Could he see the lust bubbling just below the surface? Could he scent the desire coursing over her skin every single time he spoke, moved, breathed? Something flickered in his dark gaze before he moved on and signaled for Robin to answer. Anxious to impress the sexiest professor on campus, Robin poked out her more than ample breasts and replied in a flirty voice.
She barely resisted the urge to throw a book, preferably her five inch thick psychology text, at Robin’s head. The girl had all of the subtlety of a freight train on crack. She hoped to all that was unholy she wasn’t as pathetically blatant as Robin. She had her fantasies, sure, but he was a professor with a score of females and a few males flirting with him daily. No way in hell she’d demean herself by flirting with him.
She listened to the ebb and flow of his voice as he responded to Robin and then other students’ questions and comments. She contemplated the wisdom of taking a poetry class when she was a psych major. Especially when the professor turned out to be hotter than ten shades of hell and she spent more of class picturing him naked than she did actually analyzing the poems. Weren’t teachers suppose to be old and short and fat? There should be a law about it since attractive teachers were more distracting than a conga line suddenly appearing in the middle of the classroom.
“Make sure to have your rough draft of the comparison/contrast essay ready by next Wednesday.” Amid groans and grumbles, he smiled. “It’s an order, not a request. See you Friday. Oh, and Miss Jones, I need you to stay after class for a minute.”
She raised an eyebrow but shrugged. What could he want? She was one of his better students-his words. Shoving her binder and book into her backpack, she watched the other students file out of the room. A few of the girls, including Robin, paused to flirt and press against him. She figured he enjoyed it even though his face remained impassive, his smile easy.
As the last student walked out, he moved to the door, normally left open, and shut it. When the lock snicked into place, she narrowed her eyes. What was he up to, shutting and locking the door? He didn’t do that during class, after class, or in his office.
He moved to the podium, the one that hit just below his shoulders. “Come here.” He waved his hand at her.
Hesitating, she considered the implications but decided to risk it. She stood in front of him, the podium between them and lifted an eyebrow. “Did you want something, professor?”
“Yes. I want to know your take on the concept of ‘carpe diem’.” He leaned over the podium, just a little closer to her face.
Shoving her hands in her hoodie pockets, she mused. “It’s a nice thought, really. To seize the day and all that. But life doesn’t really work like that, does it?”
“Doesn’t it?”
“It doesn’t. You can seize all the day you want but you still have to do necessary things. And you always have to deal with consequences of any action taken.”
He studied her. She stared into his storm-gray eyes as he did so. It proved difficult to hold that gaze but she tried. “Maybe sometimes you just have to damn the consequences and do what you want.”
“Maybe.” A weighty pause. “Is there something you want and damn the consequences, professor?”
He grinned, all white teeth and wicked intent. “Indeed, Miss Jones. Indeed there is.”
Quick as a snake, he reached out an arm and pulled her around the podium. She found herself sandwiched between his long lean body and the hard wood. If she wanted him less, she would’ve struggled.
Instead she stood pressed against him and hoped he would do something perverted or dirty or at least a little sexual.
“These little plaid skirts you wear everyday drive me insane.” He watched her, for rejection she realized, as his hand slid over her hip to her bare thigh at the edge of the skirt.
“I wear jeans sometimes.”
“Those are no better. The way they cup your ass so I have to watch it twitch and sway as you walk to your desk or out the door.” His hand slid up the back of her thigh, under the skirt, and fondled her ass.
She gasped at the feel of his hands on her, one on her ass and the other wrapping around the back of her neck. He paused for a second to let her pull away before giving in and crushing their mouths together. His tongue swept inside her mouth and dueled with hers. The hand at her neck tightened and the hand on her ass pulled her pelvis more tightly against him, one thigh insinuating itself between her legs.
When he sucked on her tongue, she ground against his thigh instinctively trying to ease the growing ache. His mouth moved from hers down to her throat where he nibbled and sucked as she gasped and moaned, running frantic hands over his bald head. Normally her taste ran to men with thick dark hair but his baldness somehow added to his overall sexiness. There was something badass, pirate-like, about him.
That badassness contrasted with the smooth-voiced poetry reader and just got her all hot and bothered.
He unzipped her hoodie and pulled it off. He wasted even less time removing her tank top and bra. Cupping one breast in his hand, he rolled the nipple between his fingers as his mouth sought the other one. He raked his teeth over the hardened nub and she arched into his mouth with groan. His free hand worked itself under her skirt and pushed her panties to one side. Fingers played over her clit, sending liquid heat into her abdomen. She spread her legs to give him better access but he stopped and pulled her panties down her thighs to her ankles.
In one motion he lifted her onto the podium, the cool wood a shock to her bare skin. He stood up so her thighs were over his shoulders, panty-bound ankles resting on his back. He gave her a quick grin when she murmured “Oh my god.” Then, holding her open with the fingers of one hand, he tongued her clit and her hips bucked against the wood.
He licked and sucked her clit until she was squirming and moaning. When a finger, then two, entered her pussy, she quivered and bowed up, hands scrambling for something to hold onto. She felt the pressure, the heat build under her skin until she exploded. He continued to lick and suck as she came against his face, around his fingers. Her thighs trembled from the intensity.
“Let’s see how flexible you are.” His breath puffed across her sensitive clit and had her keening. He lifted her orgasm-weak body from the podium and laid her across his desk.
He undid his pants and pulled his cock free. She whimpered just a little at the sight of it. Oh yea, she wanted him inside her. She watched hungrily as he slid a condom, retrieved from his pants pocket, over his erection.
He slid three fingers inside her wet pussy and worked them around, sliding them in and out before lifting his hand to suck the fingers clean. She whimpered again.
“You want some too?” He dipped a finger back inside then brought it to her mouth where she sucked her own juices from his finger. “Mm. Next time you are going to be sucking my cock.”
Her eyes widened in excitement at the thought and he chuckled before sliding into her. Her thighs were pulled taut over his shoulders. Her pussy felt filled to maximum and she screamed, just a little, keeping most of the sound in the back of her throat. He slid out and back in, over and over, so slowly she wanted to scream or cry for more. But she knew there were students in the hallways and they might hear.
He shifted and angled her hips up a little more. The change in angle had him hitting a spot inside that made her see stars and a few fireworks. When a thumb flicked over her clit, she screamed over the edge of another orgasm but he swallowed the sound in his mouth. The feel of her clenching around him, drenching him snapped what little control he maintained. He rutted into her like a beast, hard and fast, with no care for her comfort or pleasure. The force rubbed his lower abdomen against her clit over and over so that she trembled and peaked just before he came inside her.