Wednesdays is the late lecture with him.

Two days later - two days of positively aching for him, and two days of sneaking off to the shower to rub my pussy until I bit my hand to keep from crying out - I’m back in Professor Martin’s lecture hall.

It’s late, and it’s a Wednesday, and it's the class that most people show up to in dorm pants and t-shirts.

But I’m not.

I’m wearing a scoop-neck sweater, with nothing on underneath. One that’s a bit too small, and one that had my cheeks burning when I tried it on back in the room. It hugs my breasts in ways that I’d normally never wear it in public. But here in this lecture hall, I feel like it’s just him and me, because I’m wearing it only for him.

I’m also wearing a short, pleated skirt; nothing scandalous, but one that shows off a bit more leg that I might normally wear to a classroom. I’m not even usually much of a skirt girl, but there’s something so lip-bitingly naughty about the way it swishes around my bare thighs, and the way the air seem to tease up my legs to my pussy, covered only by a lacy pair of white panties.

But it’s when he looks up from his podium as I walk in, and his gaze locks onto me, that the heat just blooms through my body. I can feel my skin tingle under his gaze, my nipples hardening to sensitive points under the thin, clinging scoop-neck, and my panties growing warmer and wetter. It feels so naughty, and so scandalous as I walk to my seat at the front of the lecture hall, not looking but knowing his eyes are following and devouring me every step of the way.

I take my seat, and carefully cross my legs, letting the skirt ride up a little higher. It’s then that I look up, and my heart about flip-flops in my chest as I’m met with the fierce gaze of Professor Martin.

He’s looking at me like he’s hungry; like a wolf who’s found his prey. I feel a shiver run down my back, my nipples hardening even more under my thin sweater as he holds my gaze a second longer before clearing his throat and reaching for his lecture notes.

I know the thoughts I’m having about him are wrong, and dangerous, and so wildly inappropriate, but I can’t help it. I can’t help but think about what I know he’s got between his legs, and I certainly can’t forget the way he said my name as he stroked it the other night in his office.

And that’s all I can think about as the lecture begins, and he starts to talk. I don’t hear a word he says though, and only one thought is going through my head as I watch him casually lean against the podium in his fitted jeans and tight black t-shirt. A single thought as his deep, powerful voice resonates over the hall, and his his dark, piercing eyes scan over the students before finally landing on me. Just burning into me.

I want him.

It’s a thought I’ve never had about anyone before, at least not like this. It’s a need; a wicked, burning desire that I can’t ignore. I’ve of course noticed cute boys before, and of course had thoughts that made me blush and made my body ache in ways I couldn’t ignore.

But this is like nothing I’ve felt.

This is primal, and raw, and nothing that might go away after a quiet, gasping little orgasm in the shower or buried in my pillow.

It’s so wrong, and he’s at least twice my age, not to mention my teacher. But he’s nothing like boys like Ted, or any of the other ones I’ve ever known.

And right then, it clicks. Right then, something falls into place, and suddenly, why I never gave it up to the boys in high school, or the ones here at college all makes sense.

It wasn't that I’d been shy or awkward, or gawky, or too busy. Those are all excuses, really, and they suddenly fall away as I sit there lost in my dark, forbidden fantasies about my professor.

It’s because they were boys, and what I want - what I’ve always wanted - is a man.

The idea of some frat jock flopping around and just sticking it in me is obviously a total turn off. The idea of being groped or fumbled with in some drunken night of shady half-memories is not how I want it to be.

But the thought of a man - a man like Liam Martin - taking me and showing me everything, gets me hotter than anything. The idea of submitting to him, and letting him slide inside of me for the first time has my panties soaked and my pulse pounding as I sit there in the lecture hall.

He’s talking about Hemingway, but he’s staring right at me. Me in my pleated short skirt that I borrowed from Ally, and the thin scoop-neck sweater that doesn’t quite fit me. He’s staring right at me as that last little piece falls into place in my mind, and I’m instantly and head-swimmingly turned on. I’m still not even hearing the words coming out of his mouth, and instead I’m picturing those lips kissing me, and tasting me in all sorts of places.

There’s a rush of that blooming through me as I feel the urge to play into this game of looking that we’re playing. He’s still lecturing as I slowly uncross my legs, feeling the thrill roar through me as I watch his eyes grow a bit wider, and his words stumble just a little bit as I flash him the quickest, most innocent glimpse of my little white panties. He finds his place and continues, but his eyes flick to mine and burn right into me, and I shiver.

I arch my back in my chair, letting my full, heavy breasts press against the thin material of my sweater, and I watch his eyes flash down over my body again, I uncross and recross my legs again, slower this time.

I’m so turned on, and my pulse is thundering through me as I’m picturing his cock. God he was so big. Again, I’ve got nothing to compare it to, but it’s thrilling to imagine something that big fitting inside someone.

Someone like me.

The bell rings, and the spell is shattered. He clears his throat again and drags his eyes back to the class as he reminds us all about the test next week, before he grabs his notes and storms out of the room.

And part of me pouts to see him leave so fast, but when he turns and gives me one last fiery look from the doorway, I feel a naughty shiver run through me. And then I’m wondering if the reason Professor Martin is exiting so fast is so that he can go to his office to stroke that wonderful cock again. Just the thought of it has my pulse skipping a beat as I squeeze my thighs together and feel the shiver run through me. It’s a thrill, wondering if I’m responsible for that. Part of me wonders if after catching glimpses and peeks of my young body all class, he needed to go stroke his big cock again.

The other part of me wants to find out.

And that’s the part that takes over as I find myself pushing through the rest of the students drifting out of the classroom. It’s the part of me that takes control as I swallow all my self-doubt and my trepidations, and any last hesitations as I climb the stairs to the floor above. And it’s the only part of me that matters as I find myself stepping quietly down the darkened hallway, heading towards the only faculty office with light still creeping out from under the door.

Professor Martin’s office.

Because I’ve already made up my mind, and there’s no going back.