First Class, With Honours

Carrie licked her lips nervously, straightened her top and knocked lightly on the door. She waited for a response, but she couldn't hear anything – had she knocked hard enough or was he just busy? If she knocked again and he had heard her the first time but ignored it then wouldn't he get really annoyed? She paused for a few seconds more, then took her courage in both hands and rapped sharply on the door.

"Come!" said a deep voice inside the room and she opened the door and went in.

A slightly shabby man with grizzled hair sat at a large desk with his back to her, typing something on an ancient computer.

"Can you bear with me a moment?" he asked, "I'm just in the middle of something."

"Of course," said Carrie and stood, fidgeting just inside the doorway.

He finished typing with a flourish and turned round to look at her. She was a pretty girl, fairly young looking for a first year undergraduate, with long, light brown hair and big hazel eyes. She was obviously nervous because she kept licking her lips.

"How very distracting," he thought, trying to concentrate on her eyes, even though his gaze was more often drawn to her pointed, pink tongue flicking out between her dark red lips.

He sat there and looked at her solemnly as she explained breathlessly about her essay and how much she was struggling to find a suitable title on which she could write 5,000 words.

"Have you thought about examining the use of Gothic imagery in Lady Audley compared to the pastoral in Eliot or Hardy?" He asked, trying to concentrate on what she was saying.

He was nearly 54 and he'd been dealing with nubile undergraduates, mostly female, for going on 30 years. On the whole he was uninterested in them; a silly bunch of little girls wasting their parents' money for 3 years while they tried to figure out whether to go into P.R. or get married. Every so often, though, there was a girl like this. An earnest, serious little thing who was not only attractive, but would attend every lecture, every seminar and obviously care about her subject.

Anthony ran his fingers through his salt and pepper hair, pushing it off his face and looked up at the clock. Dammit, staff meeting in 10 minutes.

"Look, Carrie. Why don't you go off and do some more independent reading, bearing in mind the things we've talked about and then come back and see me at the end of the week? Thursday perhaps? I should be free that afternoon and we can discuss this at more length when I don't have to go to some blasted bureaucrat's staff meeting."

Carrie agreed and smiled gratefully. She wasn't used to teachers taking such an interest in her. She'd come to university straight from a private girl's school where the teachers had treated the students as only one gene up from pond scum. Ignoring their requests for enlightenment and belittling their efforts, this adult discussion with a tutor was completely alien to her.

She smiled to herself as she thought of that gruff old man. She liked the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners and how unashamedly he wandered around in a tweed blazer with leather elbow patches. He was like some caricature or stereotype of an English professor and she was very taken with the distinguished figure he made, standing at the front of the lecture theatre declaiming about the origins and evolution of fiction or ranting about the way things were going in modern Britain. He made her laugh.

It surprised her how attractive she found him. Her only encounters with the male sex had been effeminate teenagers and she hadn't been very impressed. Her father had died when she was 9 and she lived at home with her mother, 2 sisters and her granny. Coming from such a matriarchal home the masculine nature of the English department had been a bit of a shock. Sure there were female lecturers, it was just that she didn't seem to have got any of them.

There was a weedy PhD student, an absent minded old Professor and Dr. Maitland –Anthony, she said to herself. That was another weird thing, calling lecturers by their first names. Anthony, Anthony, she said his name to herself a few times to try and get used to it.

She was still thinking about him when she got back to her room. He was so gruff and masculine, his face weather beaten and tanned made his blue eyes really stand out. She liked the way his square hands were well kempt, despite his general scruffiness and thinking about them now made her cheeks grow warm.

"How bizarre," she said to herself, "I think I've got a crush on him, but he must be over 30 years older than me."

The more she thought about it, the more the idea turned her on. It seemed to be the age difference that did it: how strange and perverted it was that she fancied someone so much older.

Her hand was sliding into her waistband as she analysed the situation. By the time she had resolved it she was lying on the bed, her hand in her knickers, rubbing her pussy in fast little circles.

She thought about her seducing him on Thursday. Walking in there in tight clothes and slutty underwear, flashing her legs and making him want her against his better judgment. She felt herself grow wetter as she thought about this, but some how it didn't seem very satisfying.

She stopped for a moment and then resumed the steady massage of her most intimate areas as she imagined him taking her against her will. She was sweet, she was innocent, but he was threatening her physically and with bad grades. He started pulling at her clothes, exposing her delicate young skin to his lewd gaze and rough, ink stained fingers.

She was getting so hot now, she loved the idea of being perverted by an older man. Forced into submission by his strong personality and determination. She felt herself teetering on the brink of orgasm now and stepped the fantasy up a notch.

He was forcing her to suck his cock. Ramming his big, thick, old man cock into her mouth and down her throat; holding her head pressed into his crotch, then pulling it away by her hair. Before she knew it her had her bent over the desk, her little pleated skirt pushed up over her hips, her knickers round her ankles, her naked bottom exposed to his look and touch.

She felt vulnerable, utterly exposed and lay there, panting, waiting for his next move. He put his hands on her bare flesh, feeling how smooth, firm and young it felt, then pulled her buttocks apart to show her wet, pink slit and the little puckered hole above it.

With no warning at all he poked his spit-wetted finger into her arsehole as he jammed his big cock into her cunt and ...

She came hard and suddenly, her body spasming with brief, shameful pleasure. For a little while she absent-mindedly stroked herself as she came down from her orgasmic high, then abruptly pulled her hand away and re-arranged her clothes.

***

The next day she pondered the situation some more as she sat in the library stolidly working through the list of articles and books Anthony had recommended. Even after the self-induced release of masturbation and fantasy she still found the idea of sex with her tutor incredibly appealing. Normally when she fancied someone inappropriate (the plumber who came to fix the gas leak last summer sprang to mind) a quick one or two orgasms, administered privately, usually exorcised the attraction.

She had no idea what to do. Sex had never been so appealing before. There was something about this gruff old middle-aged man that really turned her on and she wanted to do something about it, even though she fully realised how inadvisable it was – on more than one level!

Eventually she settled the matter, by leaving it up to chance and up to him. Heaven knows, she wasn't going to throw herself at him, but she'd make herself as attractive as possible, whilst retaining the innocent angel look, and then, if he made a move, she'd just ... let him.

Once she had resolved this, her mind was free to return to the question of the essay. The issue suddenly became clear. What more interesting and appropriate topic than the manifestation of female sexuality in the English nineteenth century novel?

"Bingo!" She thought, "That's two problems solved."

***

Come Thursday, though, Carrie's resolve had weakened a little. Not about the essay, she was already excitedly re-reading some of her set-texts to find the most apt novels to discuss, but about the sex.

She was both very nervous and incredibly frustrated. She had been fantasising about Anthony almost continually since their last meeting and she'd lost count of the number of times she'd brought herself to orgasm, but it was probably into double figures by now.

Dressed with especial care in a chocolate coloured, pleated corduroy skirt that came to just above her knees paired with some pointy, knee-high, black boots and a clingy green top with long sleeves that had a wide neck to leave one shoulder bare she felt sexy, but didn't look too over-dressed for everyday. Underneath she had gone a bit further. She never wore tights, preferring the secret thrill of stockings and suspenders and she was wearing these now; black, like the lacy French knickers and balcony bra she also had on.

Her make-up was light, but flattering. She just looked like a more polished version of herself, though the warm pink lip gloss make her full lips look wet, pouted and unbelievably sexual.

"Perfect," she thought as she checked her reflection in the lift's mirror on the way up to the department. She walked briskly along to Anthony's office. She may not have been overdressed to a casual onlooker, but she was way more dressed up than normal and one of the other students or the secretary might notice and wonder at it.

She knocked on the door, firmly this time. She felt sexy and it gave her confidence. She walked into the room when she heard him reply and sat down in the chair placed at right angles to his desk, crossing her legs demurely at the ankle. He had his back to her still, scribbling something fast onto a manuscript.

She waited patiently until he had finished then smiled sweetly at him. He didn't fail to notice her glossy, sexual lips. He felt his prick hardening just looking at those plump lips, briefly imagining them wrapped around his throbbing flesh.

They exchanged a glance then. Nothing lingering, nothing overt; brief, hot. It was enough to inflame them, but not enough to truly read the other's desire.

They carried on as normal, discussing the novels, discussing Carrie's idea. He nodded thoughtfully as she expounded it and listed her secondary sources.

"I think I might have something germane to that topic," he said, standing up to reach his bookshelves.

"Ah, here we are. There's an article in here that specifically refers to the potential damage caused to women by repressing their emotions. You could argue that this same damage could be caused by repressing sexuality, leading to the kind of physiological malaise seen in many of the female characters we've studied."

He sat down again, opening the book to the right section and tilting it towards Carrie so that she could follow his finger as he read down the page. She shuffled her chair closer to him and leaned across. Trying to read she flushed as she felt his arm pressed against the side of her breast and deliberately angled herself so that he could see down the front of her top.

To be fair to Anthony he barely noticed the extensive view of her cleavage or the slight, soft pressure of her breast. No, he was utterly distracted by the sweet musky scent he could smell. That unique, rich fragrance given off by a woman in her sexual prime who was aroused and welcoming.

They could feel the warmth of each other's bodies and she could smell the tobacco from his pipe on his jacket. Slowly, slowly they leaned in towards each other. Now they were touching along the full length of their arm, the rough tweed of his blazer grazing the bare skin of her shoulder.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and looked up at his face. Her eyes were wide with dilated pupils, her cheeks flushed and her lips slightly apart and suffused with blood. Her whole expression shouted arousal and he could not resist it any longer.

He had tried to be an adult; tried to shun his sexual feelings for this girl as he had for those previous few, but this was too much temptation and too close. It was obvious that she was physically attracted to him, despite his age and how could he resist a nubile, young, sweet girl – one ripe and fresh for plucking.

He doubted that she'd make a move on him, she was young and in awe of his status, she may not even realise her own feelings fully. No, the onus was on him to act and he did.

He leant his head down and kissed her full on the lips, cupping the back of her head with his large, strong hand. The smooth silk of her hair slipped through his fingers and the burning heat of her soft, sticky lips overwhelmed him. He thrust his muscular tongue between her lips and explored the taste and textures of her mouth; raping it utterly.

She was passive, savouring his intrusion, but he feared he had gone too far when he felt no real response and pulled away. She moaned from the very back of her throat as he withdrew and instinctively wrapped her arms around him as she planted her mouth back on his.

She was lying along the length of his body now, pushing him back in his chair and kissing him ferociously. She'd let him make the first move, but she wanted him too much to let him develop scruples about it now.

Her passion ignited his fully and he responded with as much desire as she was showing, enveloping her in his arms and grinding his lips on hers. His hands started wandering, exploring the hot strip of smooth skin above her waist band, over the round curve of her bottom, down her thigh, then up it again, pushing under her skirt.

"Christ!" He exclaimed as his hand reached the hard strap of her suspenders cutting into her tender flesh. "You planned this!"

Carrie was about to reply, to deny this accusation, but she didn't have a chance. His last reservation about the situation vanished as he realised what how very willing she was.

Now her fantasies seemed to come true, as he turned into a man possessed. He pushed up, out of his chair and pulled her to the floor. His hand were everywhere as he stripped her of her top, pulled her bra straps down, tucked off her panties and pushed her skirt up round her wasit. His hands were hard and eager, squeezing and pinching her soft flesh, bringing it to his mouth so that he could taste it, suck it, bite it with sharp little nips that set her body on fire.

She lay there, dazed and willing, responding to his touch and instructions, kissing and stroking him and enjoying the intoxicating sensation of being entirely consumed with desire.

He knelt down between her legs and starting to flick at her clit with his tongue. She squirmed away from him, it was too sensitive for such rough treatment.

"Fine," he said gruffly, "if you don't want it I bloody well do."

So saying he knelt up and slowly unzipped his trousers. She watched in anticipation, hoping the real life model would live up to her fantasies. As he slowly pulled his cock out she sighed with pleasure, it was even more meaty than she had hoped, she craved it inside her. He moved forward then and pinched her nose and, as she opened her mouth to breathe, he slid his dick in and starting fucking her mouth.

Her eyes opened wide with astonishment. She'd never given head before and to be used like this shocked her beyond belief. She struggled to get up, but that just drove his cock deeper into her throat. He took his hand away from her nose and held her down by the hair.

She lay there, unable to do anything but take it and, as she did, she slowly started to enjoy. She began using her tongue a little bit, suckling on his thick cock and moaning, her excitement growing even more when he reached down to put his hand between her legs and stroke her wet pussy. He dipped his fingers in and used her juices to lubricate his fingers as he stroked her clit.

Her moaning and writhing grew more frantic as she approached climax, heightening his pleasure too.

"Not yet you don't," he told her, as she bucked her hips up against his hands, trying to reach the ecstasy that was so close. He took his hand away and pulled his cock out of her mouth, now dripping with her saliva.

He loved having her submissive like this, willing yet struggling, enjoying the struggle. He wiped away the moisture from around her mouth, then continued his dominance of her. He held her down by the wrists, leaning all his weight on them as he repositioned himself between her legs.

She opened them as wide as she could, longing for his prick inside her. When he entered her she felt the most exquisite mix of pleasure and pain and the deep, satisfying sensation of fullness.

He, in turn, savoured the hot, clinging embrace of her pussy around his cock and the pulsing grip of it as he slowly thrust in and out. He looked down at her beautiful young face as she screwed up her face in pleasure and mewled for him to fuck her more, faster, harder.

He couldn't believe the incredible feeling of her cunt, how tight it was, he stared at her firm, young, pert breasts as he ground his cock into her over and over. He was so close now. She was rolling her hips, trying to rub her clit against the base of his cock. He couldn't restrain himself any longer.

Both of them started to buck and thrust harder and faster. The rhythm and heat built until the climax was inevitable and they were straining to reach it, to climb to the heights of ecstasy together.

Carrie came first, her cunt rippling and pulsing with orgasm, milking his cock until he came too, pounding into her and fucking like he hadn't fucked for 25 years. She yelled as she came and he had to put his hand over her mouth to silence her, he could not risk any questions or, even worse someone walking in. At the thought of the immense risk he had just taken by fucking one of his students here, on the floor of his office, his orgasm intensified and he jabbed into her sweet, tender pussy with one last, massive thrust.

They lay together on the floor, the sweat drying on their exhausted bodies. Carrie felt sore all over, her wrists, her jaw, between her legs, but she also felt so incredibly satiated. Satisfied for the first time all week. Nervously she turned to Anthony, licking her bruised, swollen lips.

"Anthony?"

"Yes?"

"Did I do Ok?"

"First class, my dear. With honours."