monshanjik
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MIDTERM EXAM
By H.T. Fyffe
(Freshmen.May.1998.)
I lost my virginity when I was 19. I was a sophomore in college. He was
a professor at the university.
I was captivated by Dr. Lewis from the first day I walked into his
sociology class. He was a passionate, dynamic teacher, and he was so
handsome! He must have been in his 40s or 50s, I guessed. He had black
hair just beginning to show flecks of gray. He was tall and lean. He was
given to wearing three piece suits, and he often took off his jacket and
rolled up his sleeves, revealing muscular, hairy forearms.
I sat at the front of the class. Sometimes he would look at me during a
lecture, and his icy blue eyes would make my blood alternately freeze
and boil. He was beautiful and brilliant, and I wanted him. But one day
in class he spoke of his wife, and I became resigned to the fact that I
would probably never be able to do anything but fantasize about him.
I fantasized so much that by midterms I was failing his course. One day
he asked me to remain after class. I could tell by the way he spoke that
he was going to be stern with me about my poor showing in his class so
far — me, an A student in high school and even in my other college
courses! I was so nervous. What excuse could I give him for my poor
grades? I could hardly tell him that I wanted him to fuck me so badly, I
couldn't think straight.
After everyone had left he told me, in a kinder voice than I had
expected, that he was concerned about my performance in his class. I
mumbled some stupid excuse. He offered to give me some pointers and
asked if I could spare a few minutes. My next class wasn't for two
hours, so I said, "Sure."
He crossed the room and locked the door. "So we won't be disturbed," he
said quietly. Just the sound of his deep, commanding voice made my
nipples hard.
"Let's go to that back table in the corner," he said, getting a pad and
pen from his desk. I picked up my textbook and followed him. I couldn't
speak. I just tagged along and wondered how long this would take.
We sat at the table for about 15 minutes, discussing the day's lecture —
or, more accurately, he discussed it, and I nodded dumbly. The nearness
of him and the scent of his cologne were overpowering. I wasn't
listening, and he could sense it. Every time he reached over to point
out something in my textbook, his hot, furry forearm brushed against
mine and sent a bolt of lust through me, straight from my arm to my
balls.
I was so intoxicated by him that I was only dimly aware that he was no
longer speaking but just sitting and staring at me. There was a furrow
between his heavy black eyebrows and a question in his eyes, as if he
couldn't decide what to make of me. When I looked directly at him, he
quickly glanced away. He was breathing heavily. The only noises in the
room were the ticking of the clock on the wall and the ragged sounds of
our breathing.
Then I glanced down at his lap and saw the bulge in his crotch. His
thick penis, cradled in a nest of cotton folds, was straining against
the fabric of his trimly cut khaki pants. I could see the outline
perfectly — the shaft and the bulbous head were tightly constrained.
I felt as if fire had consumed me, and suddenly I had to touch him, and
I felt that he wanted me to; that he was giving me his silent consent.
So I touched him, and I looked at his face as I did so. He still would
not look into my eyes, but relief and desire flooded his face. He seemed
to have fallen into a spellbound, dreamlike state, but I felt his cock
throbbing against my hand as I stroked it through the fabric of his
trousers.
Suddenly I wanted to touch all of him, to feel every inch of his hot
body under my fingertips. I touched his face, lightly, on the cheekbone.
I touched his ears. I touched his mouth, and he tasted my fingers and
sighed with what sounded like pleasure. Then I touched his shoulders and
ran my fingers up and down over the hairs on his arms. I touched his
chest and could feel the thick padding of muscle through the thin fabric
of his dressy shirt, then rested my hands on his thighs before feeling
his crotch again and giving his balls a squeeze.
"I don't know what to do," he whispered to me. "I'm not supposed to be
doing this." His voice was as steady as ever, but his hands were
trembling.
I stood before him and slowly took off all my clothes, even my socks.
When I was naked my dick stood out in front of me, fully erect, and he
reached out to touch it. As he wrapped his hand around my cock, I
clasped my own hand around his cock.
Then I loosened his tie and proceeded to remove his vest, his shirt, his
shoes and socks, and his trousers. He let me do it all without a word.
And when I knelt before him and took his cock into my mouth, he held my
head in his hands as if we had done this before.
His cock was not overly long but thick and warm and pulsating in my
mouth. I closed my eyes and inhaled the heavy, sweet musk of him. Then
he withdrew his dick from my mouth and had me sit on the edge of the
table while he got down on his knees and started to suck my cock. It
didn't take him long to discover what I liked — long, lascivious lip
strokes alternating with some short, sharp tongue jabs. I was growing
hotter by the second. I went wild. I pulled on his hair and stroked his
moving, sucking jawline and stuck a finger up his nose and another in
his ear, just to feel what they were like, and wrapped my legs around
his back and stroked his ass cheeks with the soles of my feet. I noticed
I was sitting on my open textbook.
In a little while he let my dick pop out of his mouth and hoarsely
rasped, "I want to be inside you." He picked me up and carried me across
the room to his chair, the big chair behind the professor's desk, and he
sat down in his chair, stroking his cock. I sat on his lap and kissed
him, licked him, petted him, played with him. I was light headed with
sexual arousal, and I wanted to giggle like a little boy, out of sheer
well being, whenever I wasn't kissing him. The implications of this
teacher-student picture were not lost on me, but I was too horny to
care.
I straddled his legs, which were taut and furry like his arms. Facing
away from him, I lowered myself onto his spit-soaked cock and felt the
thickness of him stretch my asshole. He placed his hands firmly on my
ass and held me down on him, then slowly probed and swirled and wiggled
his cock inside me.
Then I slowly began to hump his dick, moving up and down on his shaft,
undulating my hips, clenching and unclenching my asshole. He moaned and
bit the spot between my shoulder blades, and I almost blacked out from
the intensity of unadulterated pleasure. I rode his cock for what must
have been somewhere between a moment and an eternity and surfed waves of
desire that threatened to drown me.
My pace quickened. I impaled myself on his cock — hard — and our moans
echoed loudly through the empty classroom. As we neared the end, his
hands were all over my body at once, and I can remember his thick
fingers, the tender roughness of them, the smooth, dry pads of his palms
sliding over my ass, my back, my thighs, my stomach and chest, and
finally stroking my bobbing, engorged cock.
I shot burning jets of my thick juice into his hands, still riding him,
and my head fell back in ecstasy onto his shoulder. I could feel his
warm, quick breaths on the back of my neck. Suddenly he clutched me in
his strong arms and let out a roar as he poured his hot seed into me.
I'm 26 now, and I've never told anyone this story before. I'm telling it
now because I want you to know that dreams do come true.
----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----
Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!
By H.T. Fyffe
(Freshmen.May.1998.)
I lost my virginity when I was 19. I was a sophomore in college. He was
a professor at the university.
I was captivated by Dr. Lewis from the first day I walked into his
sociology class. He was a passionate, dynamic teacher, and he was so
handsome! He must have been in his 40s or 50s, I guessed. He had black
hair just beginning to show flecks of gray. He was tall and lean. He was
given to wearing three piece suits, and he often took off his jacket and
rolled up his sleeves, revealing muscular, hairy forearms.
I sat at the front of the class. Sometimes he would look at me during a
lecture, and his icy blue eyes would make my blood alternately freeze
and boil. He was beautiful and brilliant, and I wanted him. But one day
in class he spoke of his wife, and I became resigned to the fact that I
would probably never be able to do anything but fantasize about him.
I fantasized so much that by midterms I was failing his course. One day
he asked me to remain after class. I could tell by the way he spoke that
he was going to be stern with me about my poor showing in his class so
far — me, an A student in high school and even in my other college
courses! I was so nervous. What excuse could I give him for my poor
grades? I could hardly tell him that I wanted him to fuck me so badly, I
couldn't think straight.
After everyone had left he told me, in a kinder voice than I had
expected, that he was concerned about my performance in his class. I
mumbled some stupid excuse. He offered to give me some pointers and
asked if I could spare a few minutes. My next class wasn't for two
hours, so I said, "Sure."
He crossed the room and locked the door. "So we won't be disturbed," he
said quietly. Just the sound of his deep, commanding voice made my
nipples hard.
"Let's go to that back table in the corner," he said, getting a pad and
pen from his desk. I picked up my textbook and followed him. I couldn't
speak. I just tagged along and wondered how long this would take.
We sat at the table for about 15 minutes, discussing the day's lecture —
or, more accurately, he discussed it, and I nodded dumbly. The nearness
of him and the scent of his cologne were overpowering. I wasn't
listening, and he could sense it. Every time he reached over to point
out something in my textbook, his hot, furry forearm brushed against
mine and sent a bolt of lust through me, straight from my arm to my
balls.
I was so intoxicated by him that I was only dimly aware that he was no
longer speaking but just sitting and staring at me. There was a furrow
between his heavy black eyebrows and a question in his eyes, as if he
couldn't decide what to make of me. When I looked directly at him, he
quickly glanced away. He was breathing heavily. The only noises in the
room were the ticking of the clock on the wall and the ragged sounds of
our breathing.
Then I glanced down at his lap and saw the bulge in his crotch. His
thick penis, cradled in a nest of cotton folds, was straining against
the fabric of his trimly cut khaki pants. I could see the outline
perfectly — the shaft and the bulbous head were tightly constrained.
I felt as if fire had consumed me, and suddenly I had to touch him, and
I felt that he wanted me to; that he was giving me his silent consent.
So I touched him, and I looked at his face as I did so. He still would
not look into my eyes, but relief and desire flooded his face. He seemed
to have fallen into a spellbound, dreamlike state, but I felt his cock
throbbing against my hand as I stroked it through the fabric of his
trousers.
Suddenly I wanted to touch all of him, to feel every inch of his hot
body under my fingertips. I touched his face, lightly, on the cheekbone.
I touched his ears. I touched his mouth, and he tasted my fingers and
sighed with what sounded like pleasure. Then I touched his shoulders and
ran my fingers up and down over the hairs on his arms. I touched his
chest and could feel the thick padding of muscle through the thin fabric
of his dressy shirt, then rested my hands on his thighs before feeling
his crotch again and giving his balls a squeeze.
"I don't know what to do," he whispered to me. "I'm not supposed to be
doing this." His voice was as steady as ever, but his hands were
trembling.
I stood before him and slowly took off all my clothes, even my socks.
When I was naked my dick stood out in front of me, fully erect, and he
reached out to touch it. As he wrapped his hand around my cock, I
clasped my own hand around his cock.
Then I loosened his tie and proceeded to remove his vest, his shirt, his
shoes and socks, and his trousers. He let me do it all without a word.
And when I knelt before him and took his cock into my mouth, he held my
head in his hands as if we had done this before.
His cock was not overly long but thick and warm and pulsating in my
mouth. I closed my eyes and inhaled the heavy, sweet musk of him. Then
he withdrew his dick from my mouth and had me sit on the edge of the
table while he got down on his knees and started to suck my cock. It
didn't take him long to discover what I liked — long, lascivious lip
strokes alternating with some short, sharp tongue jabs. I was growing
hotter by the second. I went wild. I pulled on his hair and stroked his
moving, sucking jawline and stuck a finger up his nose and another in
his ear, just to feel what they were like, and wrapped my legs around
his back and stroked his ass cheeks with the soles of my feet. I noticed
I was sitting on my open textbook.
In a little while he let my dick pop out of his mouth and hoarsely
rasped, "I want to be inside you." He picked me up and carried me across
the room to his chair, the big chair behind the professor's desk, and he
sat down in his chair, stroking his cock. I sat on his lap and kissed
him, licked him, petted him, played with him. I was light headed with
sexual arousal, and I wanted to giggle like a little boy, out of sheer
well being, whenever I wasn't kissing him. The implications of this
teacher-student picture were not lost on me, but I was too horny to
care.
I straddled his legs, which were taut and furry like his arms. Facing
away from him, I lowered myself onto his spit-soaked cock and felt the
thickness of him stretch my asshole. He placed his hands firmly on my
ass and held me down on him, then slowly probed and swirled and wiggled
his cock inside me.
Then I slowly began to hump his dick, moving up and down on his shaft,
undulating my hips, clenching and unclenching my asshole. He moaned and
bit the spot between my shoulder blades, and I almost blacked out from
the intensity of unadulterated pleasure. I rode his cock for what must
have been somewhere between a moment and an eternity and surfed waves of
desire that threatened to drown me.
My pace quickened. I impaled myself on his cock — hard — and our moans
echoed loudly through the empty classroom. As we neared the end, his
hands were all over my body at once, and I can remember his thick
fingers, the tender roughness of them, the smooth, dry pads of his palms
sliding over my ass, my back, my thighs, my stomach and chest, and
finally stroking my bobbing, engorged cock.
I shot burning jets of my thick juice into his hands, still riding him,
and my head fell back in ecstasy onto his shoulder. I could feel his
warm, quick breaths on the back of my neck. Suddenly he clutched me in
his strong arms and let out a roar as he poured his hot seed into me.
I'm 26 now, and I've never told anyone this story before. I'm telling it
now because I want you to know that dreams do come true.
----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----
Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!
