“Yes, you can take a break if you really need to, Alexis. Is everything OK?”
“Everything’s fine” I lie.
I slide off my stool, keeping my legs together to hide the moisture that’s building up so much it’s making the insides of my thighs slick. Everything is not OK. This whole situation is totally inappropriate, but that sleepy, come-hither look the professor is giving me right now makes me want to take it even further, into the realm of the forbidden.
My instincts are urging me to rip my clothes off and jump my professor’s oh-so-sexy bones. I want to ride him like a pony and feel that long, thick cock penetrate me to my very core. But I can’t do that with my professor.
Truth be told, I’ve never done it with anybody before.
I know, I know—how the hell have I made it all the way through my freshman year of college without getting laid? I just haven’t gotten around to it yet, OK? It’s not like I haven’t had offers. I’ve had way more of those than I want, thank you very much. Maybe the problem is that I just haven’t found the right guy yet. Or rather, the right man.
“Don’t take too long, Alexis,” Professor Cox says. “I can’t hold this pose forever.”
“Of course, Professor! I just need to, um… freshen up a bit.”
There is a big partition at the side of the studio, and walk behind that, letting out a sigh of relief as quietly as I can. Well, not relief exactly. My mind is such a tangled mess. A few minutes ago I was worried I would flunk out of college, and now I’m making my naked professor hard by inadvertently almost flashing him. I’ve got to collect my thoughts.
That’s when I notice the door to the professor’s office, which adjoins the studio. The door is open. Well, it’s slightly ajar. I mean, it’s not exactly saying walk right in, but isn’t saying keep out either. I really shouldn’t trespass, but…surely just an itsy-bitsy peek couldn’t hurt, right? I tip toe inside.
His office is massive, and the walls are covered with works of art by the professor himself as well as many other artists, most of which I actually recognize. There must be a small fortune hanging on the walls in here. I knew that Professor Cox was a major player in the contemporary art scene, but seeing this collection drives home just how connected he must really be.
Along one wall of the huge office there is a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf packed with all kinds of books on art: biographies of great artists, philosophy of art, art history, academic journals. I walk down the length of the shelf letting my fingertips glide over these books.
As I come to the end of the shelves, something catches my eye. On a shelf high up, a portfolio is hanging slightly over the edge, as if it were placed there hastily. Looking up at it, I can see part of the drawing inside—a drawing of a face. It’s just a sketch, but the face looks oddly familiar.
Glancing back at the door, I think that I shouldn’t keep the professor waiting too much longer. He might get suspicious. But my curiosity is piqued. I can’t quite reach the portfolio on the upper shelf, so I quietly push a leather armchair against the bookshelf and stand on that
I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t go through my professor’s things.
Then again I probably shouldn’t be drawing my professor’s giant erection either.
With the portfolio in my grasp, I carefully settle back down so that I’m straddling the leather arm of the chair. I open the portfolio and slide out the drawing. The face is instantly recognizable—It’s me. It’s like I’m looking into some kind of magic mirror. Somehow, with only a quick, gestural sketch, my professor has captured my exact essence on the page.
But that’s not the only drawing. There are more. So many more. Drawing after drawing, and all of them are of me. Some are loose and sketchy, while others are more detailed. In one I am seen from the side, chewing on my pencil deep in thought. In another my chin is propped on my hands as I listen attentively.
These are all sketches of me that Professor Cox has made during class. So that’s what he’s been drawing all this time.
I dig deeper. And the drawings start to change. Reality gives way to fantasy. These other drawings are images that my professor could have only ever seen in his mind’s eye. They are fairly innocent at first. Me biting my lip as I give a sultry come-hither look. Me pursing my lips out like I’m offering a kiss, my eyelids half-closed.
I keep going. What I see makes my heart starts to race, and my clit becomes pebble hard in my shorts.
Here I am nude in one sketch, leaning forward and pressing my tits together. The way he has imagined my nipples is almost uncanny in its accuracy considering that he has never actually seen them.
Here I am in another drawing reclining on my back, my legs spread wide as I finger myself. The expression on my face is one of delicious agony. The dewey blossom of flesh between my legs has been lovingly rendered with exquisite detail. So has the small dark star of my butthole below it.
As I continue to shuffle through the pictures, I realize that I’m grinding my crotch against the padded arm of the chair, applying such delicious pressure to my little pleasure button. I whimper softly, and look at another drawing…
Here I am running my tongue along the gently curving contour of a stiff cock that looks very familiar. Dribbles of saliva are running down the naked shaft.
Here I am with that same cock squeezed tightly between my tits, bending my head down to lick a droplet of pre-cum from the tip.
I grind myself even harder against the upholstered arm of the chair. I shouldn’t be doing this but I just can’t stop. It’s all I can do to choke down the love sounds bubbling up in my throat.
Here I am down on all fours. My ass is up in the air, cheeks spread wide open. My eyes are peering back over my shoulder with an expression of yearning. How has he captured the emotion so perfectly? The look of desire. Of hunger. Of pleading.
As I turn to the final drawing in the stack, the muscles of my thighs tense tightly and then melt into incredible relaxation as I cum against the arm of the chair. I choke back the moans that are trying to escape my lips.
The drawing that did it, the one that put me over the edge, is an image of me nude and seated on a bed. However, this one is different from the others. In this drawing my belly is round and enormously swollen like a ripe melon. I am smiling down at it, and the professor appears kneeling behind me, his arms wrapped around my body so he can lovingly stroke my pregnant belly.
As the last shiver of my orgasm passes over me, I look more closely at the drawing and notice that slicing diagonally across the paper there is a faint, off-white stain, as if some kind of fluid was squirted across it and then left to soak in and dry.
“Alexis?”
Startled, I drop the drawings and they drift down in slow swaying arcs, finally settling softly on the floor like fallen leaves.
Professor Cox is standing in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame completely. His cock is still standing straight up at attention like a pillar of stone. Has it somehow gotten even bigger?
“Have you been going through my things, Alexis?”
My professor advances into the room, his intense, intelligent eyes locked with mine like a tractor beam. I’m frozen in place, and I’m having difficulty forming my words to answer him.
“I didn’t mean to go through your things Professor Cox, it’s just that I—”
“You didn’t mean to do it?” he cuts me off. “And yet here you are, very much doing it.”
“I’m sorry, Professor. I’m really very sorry.”
He doesn’t say anything. Without taking his eyes away from mine, he bends down and picks up one of the drawings from the floor. It is only after he has risen again, with the paper held in front of him, that he allows his eyes to drop to the drawing and inspect it. It’s the last one I was looking at before he came in.
The one that made me cum.
The one that made him cum.
“Oh yes,” the professor says, “it's a shame about this one. A rather nice comp
osition, if I may say. But then I let myself get a little too…impassioned, and I made a mess of it.”
He turns the drawing in his hand, looking at it from a different angle.
“I don’t know, though,” he muses. “I think I rather like it all the same.”
I’m still in the same position I was in when the professor caught me, straddling the arm of the chair. I start to move, but the professor stops me.
“Stay,” he says, with an edge of command in his voice. I freeze.
He places the drawing on the desk beside him and comes even closer to me. His bare feet are padding softly over the fallen drawings carpeting the hard wood of the floor. He steps so close that the tip of his hard dick is just resting against my bare thigh.
His hand moves downward between my legs, but he doesn’t touch me. He touches the warm leather upholstery that is slick with moisture from where I’ve been grinding it. He runs the tips of his index and middle finger along the wet surface, stopping just millimeters before he touches my crotch. Then he raises his fingers to his face. Sniffs them. Licks them. Smiles.
“You’ve been a very naughty girl, haven’t you, Alexis.”
I nod wordlessly as he takes his fingertips—the ones that are wet with my juice, the ones he just licked—and runs them over the soft, moist plumpness of my lower lip.
My eyelids flutter closed as he slowly penetrates my mouth with his fingers. My hand, seemingly on autopilot, drifts down and finds his hard shaft, which is touching my naked thigh.
He abruptly withdraws his fingers from my mouth and takes a step back. I suddenly feel so deprived. I want him back, and I want it right now. But it’s not my place to make demands of my professor. He’s in control now, and he’s teaching me a lesson in patience.
“Come with me,” Professor Cox says, before turning and striding toward the door.
With that firm, powerful-looking ass of his, I would gladly follow him anywhere he chooses to lead me. I’m hot on his heels. Very hot.
He returns to the middle of the studio and gestures toward the center of the circle, showing me where to go. I walk to the spot he’s indicated and stand beside the model’s platform.
“Undress,” he says.
“Professor Cox!” I gasp, “Are you sure it’s—”
“Alexis.” The stern blade of his voice cuts off the rest of my sentence, and it drifts away unspoken.
The studio is so quiet that I can hear my own heart pounding in my ears. There’s nothing I want more than to expose myself to my professor. To stand before him totally naked and show him the wet desire between my legs. But it still feels so forbidden somehow.
“Undress.”
He is commanding me. I obey.
My sweatshirt comes up over my head, and my tits jiggle as they become free from the soft fabric. I toss the sweatshirt on the floor and flip my hair back over my shoulders. I put my hands under my tits and bounce them lightly. One glance at my erect nipples will tell him just how turned on I am.
“Is this what you want, Professor Cox?”
“Beautiful,” he breathes. “Absolutely beautiful.”
He grabs a sketchpad and pencil and sits on a stool facing me. I don’t know how it’s possible, but his stiff cock looks even bigger than it did a moment before.
“Now turn around,” he commands me.
“Yes, Professor,” I say as I turn my back to him.
“Take off your shorts.”
I do as he says, sliding the soft fabric down my smooth thighs and carefully stepping out of the shorts. Now there’s nothing between us but air. The feeling is electric.
“Exquisite,” Professor Cox purrs behind me. “Such sensuous, graceful lines. A true masterpiece.”
For a few moments the room is silent except for the faint scratch of his pencil as he sketches me.
“Now, get on the platform, Alexis. I want you down on your hands and knees. I want you down on all fours.”
My breath is coming in quick shallow gasps. I feel so vulnerable, so exposed, and it thrills me. I climb onto the platform and get down on my hands and knees like the professor told me. I spread my knees apart and arch my back, raising my ass as high as I can get it. I look back over my shoulder at him and I wonder if he can see the hunger in my eyes.
For a moment he just stares at me, his jaw hanging open speechlessly. Finally he speaks.
“Perfect,” he says. “Hold that pose.”
But he has put down his drawing pad and pencil, and now his hand is slowly stroking the length of his hard cock. It seems like the professor has a different kind of art in mind. A performance piece, perhaps?
“Many students make the mistake of thinking that drawing is only a visual medium,” he says, “They think that it’s only about what you see. But in fact, nothing could be farther from the truth…”
He stands up and walks toward me. My legs wobble with anticipation.
“Hold your pose, Alexis. Now, as I was saying, a true work of art must be tactile. It must be real—alive. Therefore, the true artist needs to incorporate all of the senses…”
He kneels behind me. My muscles are starting to ache a little, but not as much as my pussy aches to have him deep inside me.
“The sense of touch.”
He places his large, masculine hands on the soft cheeks of my ass. He kneads my flesh and I groan with pleasure. He spreads my cheeks apart and runs his thumb in firm little circles around my anus.
“The sense of smell.”
He presses his face between my legs and inhales deeply.
“Taste.”
His tongue glides over my pussy in long, wet strokes, dividing my moist lips as it passes. My pussy is dripping wet, and the professor’s mouth is watering, and soon my whole backside is one big wet aching mess.
His fingers spread my juice and his saliva over the tender berry of my clit, lubricating it. He rubs it, alternating between tight circles and long steady strokes, all while his tongue continues to work my pussy lips and my ass.
“Oh yes, Professor! I think I understand,” I whine, as the delectable tension builds up between my legs. “But in class… you always tell us… that we have to… go deeper… beyond the surface.”
“Patience, little one. I was just getting to that.”
I am wide open for my professor, and his fingers slide into me easily. He begins stroking my most sensitive spot inside me, while the fingers of his other hand continue to rub my tingling clit. My walls constrict around his fingers as if my pussy is trying to devour him. The feeling of impending release continues to expand within me.
Even though I’m breaking my pose, I allow one hand to reach back between my legs and grasp his long, hard cock, stroking it to the same rhythm with which he is stroking me.
“God your cock feels so full, Professor, I think you’d better put it inside me…so you can go even deeper.”
Professor Cox comes up for air with a smile on his face.
“Do you want your professor to fuck your sweet little pussy, baby girl?”
I can’t even get the words out to say yes, I’m so lost in the throes of what he’s doing to my G-spot and my clit. But I manage an enthusiastic nod, and I know that the look in my eyes tells him just how much I really need it.
He leans back and presses the full length of the underside of his shaft against my ass, right between my cheeks—just like a sausage between two buns. I work my ass up and down so that my pussy spreads its slick juices all along his cock, making my professor growl with ecstasy.
“Oh my god, baby girl, that feels incredible,” he groans. “You’re so fucking wet.”
“I’m wet for you, Professor. Only you.” I crush my pussy against him even harder, stroking him and lubricating his shaft with my juices. “My pussy is all yours.”
He braces himself with one hand on my hips. The other hand grips his rigid rod and guides the smooth round helmet of his cockhead toward my hungry opening. He pushes forward slowly, and the tip of his cock slides
past my slippery lips and pops into me. My pussy is open and yearning for him, but his big meaty dick is so thick that it spreads me apart and stretches me out. It hurts just a little, but I can take it. After all, there’s nothing I want more than to please my studly professor.
Once he’s sure I can handle it, he slides his cock all the way into me, until his hard, taut hips are pressed tight against my supple ass, and his cock is plunged all the way into my soft wet depths. I reach between my legs and fondle his big smooth balls, which are dangling there. He slowly draws his cock back, far enough that the tip just pops out, before he plunges into me again, and I lose control in a rolling wave of ecstasy.
I spread my arms out in front of me and lay my head down on the platform, keeping my hips up in the air as Professor Cox fucks me. His long gliding strokes become faster and harder. His powerful hands grip my hips, pulling them back into him with each thrust so that he can fuck me even deeper. But there is still a tenderness in the way that his thumbs gently caress the dimples of Venus on my lower back.
“Don’t stop, Professor. Please don’t stop!” I beg him. “I’m going to cum for you.”
He keeps the rhythm steady and hard, and the tension inside me is stretched to the breaking point.
“Do it,” he commands me, as he runs his hand over my back. “Cum for me. Cum for Daddy.”
The sensation explodes inside me, washing up and down my body in waves as my muscles tense and relax. I lose myself in spasms of pleasure. I’m nearly delirious with it. My handsome professor is making me come with his cock.
He stops pumping me when he sees that I just can’t take anymore. I collapse exhausted on the platform, a weak, shivering mess. He kneels over me, massaging my shoulders and my back and gently brushing aside my hair to kiss the nape of my neck.
“Did that feel good baby girl? Is that what you like?” His breath tickles my ear.
I try to say yes, but it just comes out as a gurgle. My tongue feels thick in my mouth and my fingers and toes are numb from cumming so hard. I’ve never felt this good before in my life. I’ve never even thought it was possible to feel so good.
21 Taboo Tales Page 7