by Heidi Champa
I waited all summer to get my student teaching assignment. I'd heard so many horror stories; I spent most of my so-called vacation worrying about who I would be paired with. There were some tough professors in my department, and the last thing I wanted to do was spend my semester making photocopies and grading tests while everyone else made lesson plans and taught.
Everyone told me I was being far too serious about all this, but I couldn't help it. I had always been this way. Too mature for my own good. In high school, my guidance counselor had to encourage me to attend the prom. I always thought counselors were there to help you pick your majors, but in my case, they had to force me to have fun; to be normal. It hadn't really worked. I didn't date much in high school and college had been no different. I chose instead to focus on my work, my future. I always told myself there would be time later for fun.
When the letter finally arrived, I tore it open with dread and anticipation. I stared at the name. Dr. Monica Stevens. I had never heard of her. I read on. She was a visiting professor from Cambridge. England, not Massachusetts. She was a specialist in Shakespeare. My immediate Google search didn't turn up any other information except a picture. She was beautiful. Dark hair and eyes, and she didn't look old enough to have made it through grad school, let alone have a doctorate. A little moisture crept out of my pussy as I thought about her standing in front of a lecture hall, commanding a classroom of eager undergrads. This was new, a sensation I had never had for a woman before. I had barely had it for a man. But staring at her smiling face on that computer screen put a knot in my stomach, and not for the reasons I had feared all summer.
Nervously preparing for the first day, I spent my time boning up on as many plays, sonnets and soliloquies I could get my hands on. Shakespeare had never interested me all that much; just something I slogged through to get to the next class. But Dr. Stevens was an expert, and I had a deep desire to impress her. When the day finally came for us to meet, I was almost sick with nerves. I hadn't felt stressed on my own first day of college. But the thought of seeing her for the first time, knowing the initial reaction she had spurred in me, made my stomach feel like I had swallowed a whole plate of spaghetti.
As I was arranging my papers on the tiny desk in a corner of the intern office, I heard the office door close. Dr. Stevens came in, laden with papers, briefcase and an unwieldy big box. I saw the box slipping from her manicured fingers, and I rushed over to help. I set the box on the desk across the room from mine, the one that looked huge and important.
"Thanks. That could have been a disaster. You must be Tina. I'm Monica."
She extended her hand, but I found myself staring into her eyes. The picture online didn't show how truly blue they were. Her hand stayed extended and I realized I had better shake it before she noticed my staring.
"Yeah, that's me. Hi. Tina Walters."
"Well, it looks like you and I will be working together this semester. You come very highly recommended. Your teachers had nothing but great things to say about you."
"Really? Thanks. I read your biography. Very impressive. I've always dreamed of getting a doctorate."
"Then you should. It can be intense, but it's worth it."
I found her manner calming and easy. She exuded confidence and power. Our small talk didn't last long, as she spent the rest of the day getting organized. Her movements were so effortless it barely registered when she walked across the office. In contrast, I felt clumsy and unpolished. She seemed to be everything I wished I could be.
I found myself watching as she bent over to place files in a drawer, staring at her long legs as she sat in her leather chair. The way they slid over each other as she crossed them. I forced myself to look away and get back to work.
I tried to focus on work, but often found myself looking at her, watching her work. I couldn't help it, though I knew I shouldn't. Her glasses would slide down her nose, and she would push them up with a long, red nail. Sometimes, when she was deep in thought, she would let the tip of her tongue slip out from between her lips, forgetting to keep it under wraps.
One day, as the lesson plan for the next day lay in front of me, I heard a clacking coming from across the office. It was her expensive leather shoes, kicked off and hitting the worn linoleum. She slid her foot up her calf, letting her toes massage muscle. She stretched her hands over her head, which pressed her breast into the fabric of her blouse, the outline of her taut nipples visible under the silk.
I couldn't breathe. I looked up and saw her staring back at me, catching me eyeing her body. A hot blush flared in my cheeks, and I turned my head quickly to hide it. But it seemed I was too late. She strode towards me, feet still bare.
"Tina, I was wondering if you'd finished those quizzes I asked you to grade."
She perched on the edge of my desk, her legs facing towards me. Her pantyhose made a rustling when she crossed her legs. I looked up at her for a moment before fumbling for the papers on my desk. I had managed to finish the quizzes, somehow, despite all the distractions Dr. Stevens had provided. I handed her the pile, which she took. But she didn't get up. She just sat there staring at me, making me even hotter than I had been a moment before. There was nothing overt, but I could tell she was gauging every reaction. I knew, deep down, that she was testing me. When she got up, I noticed the lace of her slip showing through the slit of her skirt. As Dr. Stevens sat down and got back to work, I had to excuse myself to the ladies room.
As the pace of the school year increased, I was more distracted by the work than Dr. Stevens. Which was a good thing. There was a time when I wondered if I would make it through the semester at all. But she and I found a working rhythm that made things easy and simple. She even let me plan and teach a few lessons. But at night, at home, the desire to see her body, her breasts, her face screwed up with passion -- it all overwhelmed me.
I tried to push the thoughts away with dates. Male dates. But they didn't come close to filling the hole left by my thoughts of Monica. Not that men had ever done much for me. But I always felt like they were the safe choice, the usual choice. Until now. Suddenly, logically and illogically, I wanted Monica. There was no way around it.
I struggled to get through the days, pretending I felt nothing. If she knew -- which I sometimes thought she did -- she never let on. Not that professional ethics would have allowed her to anyway, but something had to give.
One day after the classes had ended, I found myself alone in the office cleaning up paperwork I had been putting off. The semester was coming to a close, and reports and papers were coming due.
After three hours of Othello, I was beginning to go mad. Getting up and staring out the window, I saw a group of students laughing and smoking. It seemed like forever since I'd had any fun. Getting so caught up with teaching had clouded my mind. But the truth was, something else was eating at me: my feelings for Monica. They hadn't changed, and I was no closer to figuring out what to do about that.
I was so caught up in my thoughts that I didn't hear the office door open. Or lock. I turned around just in time to come face to face with Monica. She smelled like Obsession, and I'd never fully realized how tall she was until she stood so close, looking down at me.
Her hand came up and swept my hair off my face. An innocent gesture, but I felt my body contract all the same. Again the heat in my face overwhelmed me, and I was sure it was unmistakable. Her hand came back up towards my face, a finger gently sweeping over my cheek. I could hardly believe what was happening. Her smile was casual, but her attention was anything but.
"Sorry for sneaking up on you."
"It's okay. I was just zoning out. Got tired of reading papers. But I can get back to it now."
"The papers can wait. I think we need something better, something to take our minds off work. Don't you?"
I knew what she wanted. I just wasn't sure I could respond. A nod seemed like too much work, too much effort. Again her finger swept over my cheek, this time heading lower. Tracing the triangle of flesh exposed at my neckline, her teasing sending a shot of moisture to my pussy. I tried to pull back, to pull away from her touch, but I couldn't. Even though I knew we shouldn't be doing this. Whatever 'this' was.
"Have you ever been with a woman, Tina?"
"No. I've never been with anyone. I mean, not, like, I mean, I've never had sex. Officially."
I blushed again, but this time at my stupidity. Dr. Stevens was so cool, collected. I was a mess, and nothing had even happened yet.
"There's no need to be scared, Tina. I know you feel the way I do. I'm attracted to you. I'm leaving for England at the end of term." She smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry. I'll take good care of you." Her finger's insistent journey had reached my first button, tracing it with the tip of her red nail.
Fear was soon replaced by the need to taste her, to feel her near me. She slipped the button through its hole and exposed my chest a bit. I thought she'd stop, that she'd torture me, but she kept going. Her fingers eased the buttons open one by one until my shirt was completely undone. My bra had been chosen that morning for utility, which I now deeply regretted. Monica traced the line of collarbone with the light scratch of her fingernail. She lowered her mouth until her lips were right in front of mine.
"Tina, do you want me to kiss you?"
"Yes, I want you to kiss me."
"I think you've been waiting for this all term, haven't you?"
"I've wanted you from the first time I saw your picture on the internet."
She just smiled, and I felt so na´ve. Her cool demeanor remained unchanged despite her desires. I felt sweaty and clammy, flushed.
I felt her lips graze mine, a whisper touch that broke down any last barriers I had. The kiss finally became a real kiss, her tongue sweeping into my mouth over and over. Everything she did was confident and strong. In her hands, I felt sophomoric and inexperienced. As we kissed, her hands slid up and cupped my small breasts, sliding over the silky fabric, making my nipples reach for more. The front clasp gave way, my gasp trapped by her hot mouth on mine.
Her fingernails gently ran over my hard nipples, the twinge of pain making my hips buck forward. Her mouth broke with mine, her sweet lips closing around my taut flesh. The slide of her tongue released fresh heat between my legs. My hips rebelled yet again, pushing forward, desperate for attention.
Without releasing my nipple, she slid her free hand up my leg, inching the hem of my shirt up. I hadn't worn pantyhose that day, and her hand was met with only my damp panties. I felt one long, slim finger slide over the fabric, pressing gently between my lips. She rubbed my hard clit without a hint of fumbling. The closest anyone else had been to it was Derek Taylor in 11th grade, but his clumsy fingers never made me feel anything resembling this.
Suddenly she sank to her knees, dragging my panties down. I knew what she was going to do, but I could scarcely believe it. This perfect, poised professor was about to pleasure me with her mouth. It was like a dream -- she grabbed my hips and inched her face towards my waiting pussy.
I felt her tongue first, a sharp bite of pleasure as she caught my clit. Instinctively, my legs parted further. She spread my lips with two fingers, her tongue assaulting the wet center, darting in and out before returning to tease my clit. I looked down at her dark hair, her face obscured under the bunch of my skirt. I stifled my cries on the off chance of anyone walking by the office.
I felt a probing finger slide just barely into my pussy. The walls of my cunt pulled at her flesh as she retreated, then thrust deeper. She was making quick work of my body; she had me under complete control. Just when I was about to come, she would pull back to keep me balanced on the knife's edge.
The desire to release drove me crazy, but Monica wasn't ready to give into me just yet.
I felt her lips close around my clit, a gentle sucking replacing her lapping tongue. A second finger slid inside me, stretching me open even further. That was all I could bear, and I felt the shudder of pleasure start to bloom from my clit.
With the last act of her tongue she flicked my clit, causing another series of shocks to course through my body. I could no longer control the moans spilling out of my mouth. I held her by her hair, riding her face, milking every last ounce of pleasure from her mouth and hands. My cunt squeezed and pulsed around her fingers.
I lowered my leg from her shoulder and we stood together. She was still the perfect portrait of style and poise despite her mussed hair and wet face. She kissed me, to leave my own juices on my lips, salty and musky.
She caressed my cheek. "Why don't we go to my place? We have a few more lessons to go over before the term ends."
I could only nod. She grabbed a Kleenex and dabbed her face, and dropped folders into her briefcase as if nothing had happened.
The recommendation letter came weeks after term had ended and Professor Stevens was long back in England. I would have no trouble finding a job that fall. But I would never have another mentor like Monica.