Sorry Professor, You Said You Are WHAT?

Episode11

Kathleen's P.O.V.

The night seems to drag on forever; I had done everything I could possibly think of to catch some sleep before dawn came. I tried reading, watching a movie, and scrolling through social media; even sketching didn't help. Somehow, most of my thoughts seemed to be infiltrated by Professor Dawson. His masculine aura, the air of authority he seemed to carry about him, exuded even when he spoke. His voice was like a sinful melody, a sound I could listen to over and over again.

His words played like a broken record in my mind: 'I could run my fingers through your hair all day.' Ugh, even simply recounting our 'encounters' had me feeling some type of way. I glanced around my room, my eyes darting outside, realising it was still a bit dark. A devious thought crept into my mind, a thought so stupid I'd be absolutely mortified if anyone ever found out. But I didn't care at this point. I needed to feel something, anything. Knowing that there was no chance in hell Professor Dawson and I would ever be intimate, I couldn't help myself, my fingers slowly and gently tracing the curve of my neck and the base of my throat, moving slowly to pull down the straps of my nightie. Under the cover of darkness, my boldness grew. I imagined him above me, slowly pulling down my nightie to reveal my perky D-cup t**s. My bud was painfully hard and sensitive, a moan escaping me when my finger glided over it.

My hand travelled further, eyes closed as I got dangerously closer to where I craved to be touched. Spreading my legs open, a shiver ran through me as I traced my outer lips, my finger dipping into my warmth, feeling how wet I was. Lord, I was soaked. Slipping a finger in, my back arched slightly, eyes closed while my other palm caressed my boobs. Adding another finger, I quickened my pace, simultaneously slipping my fingers into my mouth, wetting them before placing them back on my boobs, squeezing and pinching as I worked my c**t. I imagined my fingers to be his, thicker and more experienced as they worked their way into me, his teeth pulling at my buds while he whispered dirty things to me.

'You love this, don't you, my dirty little w***e. Look at you, all drenched for your professor.' I imagined him whispering to me. My toes curled into my sheets, a breathy moan escaping me as my fingers worked faster. My walls clenched around my fingers, his name a whisper on my lips as I reached my high, my chest heaving.

Only when I did calm down a few minutes later did I realise the gravity of what I'd done. I had got off on thoughts of my professor, and to make matters worse, I had his class later today.

After a lot of deliberation on whether or not to skip his class, I sucked it up and stepped into his class looking anywhere but at him, intending to avoid eye contact as much as possible, and it worked. Turns out, him treating me like a regular student was just what I needed to shrug off my coat of shame. Although I might have spoken too soon, I fear, as our eyes lock. The tension in the air was increasing ever so slightly by the minute; it was nearly suffocating. Thoughts of what I had done this morning clouded my mind, causing me to clench my thighs together in a bid to suppress my lustful feelings. Although, it would seem that I hadn't made the right call when I noticed how tense he became, his grip on the edge of the table tightening. It didn't help that everyone else was so focused on the class assessment we had been made to take, so no one witnessed our silent interaction.

I watched his eyes darken and his throat bob as his jaw clenched. I shifted in my seat, hoping to reduce the ache I felt, but it only seemed to make it worse, especially with how intensely he looked at me. Just when I couldn't take it anymore and had half a mind to either do something to push his restraint or excuse myself to get some relief, our moment is interrupted by a student asking for assistance.

Throughout the rest of the class, Professor Dawson avoids me like the plague. Regret and embarrassment washed over me as I realised what I'd done. How stupid was I? What did I actually want? One minute, I wanted normalcy, for him to treat me like every other student. And the next minute, I craved his touch; I wanted to know what it'd be like to be with him, a real man.

Class ends, and I pick up my bag, bolting out of the class as fast as possible so he wouldn't have the chance to ask me to stay behind, that is, if he had any intentions, which I doubt. I hurried across to my locker, swinging it open just when a paper fell out. Picking it up, my brows scrunch up in confusion at the scribbled writing.

'You look absolutely gorgeous, Kathleen. Though you may try, you can't hide forever.' Panic surged through me at the cryptic note, wondering what it meant. My head whipped side to side, trying to catch a hint of anyone who looked suspicious, but I found nothing. Feeling terrified, I gather my things, head out of campus and fish out my phone, intending to call Lexi. My fingers hovered over her texts, about to dial her number when I paused. It wasn't safe here; I couldn't risk telling her this over the phone in fear that it may have been tapped or there could be someone eavesdropping, and by someone I meant my unknown stalker. Instead, I shoot her a text, asking to meet up, which she agrees to.

Just as I'm about to leave school grounds, I unconsciously glance at the building, my breath catching in my throat when I realise someone is already watching me, none other than Professor Dawson.