The Professor Read Online Free PDF Page B

to have a man come all over your face and tongue. What do you think, Miss Hayridge?’
    I think I need to escape, now. Before he goes any further. Before
I
go any further, because oh, I so desperately want to. There are words on the tip of my tongue, filthy, impossible words, just reams and reams of unadulterated smut that I never fully dared express before. Not even to myself, while alone, with no one else around to ever see it. As though to even think it is a source of shame – so God knows what it would be if I expressed it out loud here and now. If I said to Professor Halstrom, of all people, that what I really want to say is:
    I want you to do it.
    I want you to come all over my face.
    I want you to make a mess of me, to ruin me, to fill my mouth with fat, fierce ribbons of jism. I want to use the word ‘jism’ and see your face change, the way mine undoubtedly did when you said ‘quim’. And I want to do it all here, now, in this book-filled room with a door that barely closes, so that when you push me down to my knees and fuck into my mouth with your heavy cock I can thrill at the thought of anyone walking in at any moment. I can imagine us being caught doing the most illicit thing you can possibly dream up, and have you finish in my mouth all the same.
    ‘Miss Hayridge?’
    I stand up too fast. So fast in fact that I knock over a stack of books to my right – though I don’t stoop to set them right. I don’t even gather up the pens that spill from my bag when I launch it on to my shoulder, or make calm and deliberate apologies of the sort I know he expects. Instead I simply blurt out that I need the bathroom, like a total fool, and head for the door before he can protest.
    By the time he speaks again I’m out in the hall, breathing air that somehow seems eight hundred times fresher and cooler. It shouldn’t be – the ancient radiator on the wall is kicking out heat high enough to singe hair and the space is even smaller than I remember. But it remains the case, all the same. 
    Until I hear him.
    ‘Miss Hayridge, are you quite all right?’
    He says it through the door, but through the door is too much. I jolt as if he shouted ‘fuck’ right in my face. Suddenly my heart is in my mouth again and my breaths are coming too short and too fast, and then I’m barrelling down the stairs in a way that seems inadvisable on the staircase to hell. Three steps from the bottom I almost trip over my own feet. My teeth snap together around my tongue and I taste blood.
    But even that doesn’t change how I feel.
    My body is more primed than it usually is after three hours spent writing the sex stuff that he just read out. I’m seething with it, bursting with it; every inch of me is crammed with a pulsing heat that I can’t seem to stop. I stand in the cool, blue and thankfully empty bathroom for twenty minutes, yet still feel the same at the end of it. Even after I splash my face with water, my hands are still trembling. My cheeks are still flushed – and I know this because I see them in the cracked mirror above the sink.
    I’m stained bright pink from jaw to hairline. Lower than that, in fact. I unbutton my shirt to my bra and it’s all over my chest and throat too. Even my lips look a shade darker and a touch plumper, as though I’d spent the last two hours kissing and kissing someone.
    And my eyes…
    God, what must he have thought about my eyes?
    They are fair near gleaming, and quite obviously not with the thrill of debate. They seem wild, even to me. They seem like the eyes of someone who needs to fuck, right here and now. Who wants to be bent over the sink and have her skirt hiked up, knickers tugged down just far enough to get access to her wet and ready cunt. Because I am wet, and I am ready – so much so that he would probably comment on it, if he knew.
    Look at you, so greedy for it
, he might say, and then oh, yes, then he could just…
    Do what he described.
    Slide in smooth and slow.
    Fuck me