Sexier Education

Sexier Education Sexier Education

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Part 4 of Forbidden Fantasies by Amber you read Part 1, yeah? There is always something else to learn...always another perspective, another position...


Part 4 of Forbidden Fantasies by Amber you read Part 1, yeah?
There is always something else to learn...always another perspective, another position...


Submitted: December 27, 2011

A A A | A A A


Submitted: December 27, 2011



24th February, Sunday

It’s always the forbidden that we yearn for.

I am the forbidden. That only makes him want me more…..

If only this was a story, you know, like one of those stories that are on the internet, late at night, typing into the search engine. Those erotic stories. But it’s not, of course, it’s true life. Some say you can’t have fantasy without experiencing at least a taste of it in reality. I tasted, it was bitter, it tasted of cliché and I had to spit it out, stamp on it, forget it ever happened.

25th February, Monday

I knew he was watching me. He’s always watching me. Intelligent eyes, beneath those thick, grey eyebrows- so sharp and bright like his mind. Not watching me, no; trying not to watch, as I walk past him for the lecture. You think I don’t know the effect this short, tight skirt has on him? My legs, a shapely silhouette in black, my boots just reaching beneath my knee. My long, blonde plait over my shoulder. Well, why shouldn’t I dress how I want? It’s not as if I’d be able to wear clothes like this when I’m old. Why shouldn’t I???

I glanced up at him. He coughed, as if he was clearing his throat but I knew he was just trying to hide. His serious mind wandering, taking a walk away from sociology, politics and philosophy. I knew what he was thinking about. I always sit quite near the front, with my folder balanced on my crossed knee. He must be older than my father. He had his glasses balanced on the end of his nose and was reading quotes from a boring text book. His beard is bushy and greying. He was wearing a blue jersey over a shirt and suit trousers. I was watching him as he gave the lecture. So serious, so in control, I wondered what it would be like to see him out of control, like just after I saw him, met him by accident that afternoon.

One of the girls told me what he was into. Kinky shit.

The lecture is soon over. I can only picture him now as the girl had described to me. I can’t tell you dear diary, it’s forbidden…..

27th February, Wednesday

Yawn, yawn. So bored. You know, I’ve been thinking about him a lot as I’m stuck here in my room, trying to write my essay. I’ve always been good. Studied hard, did everything that I was supposed to do. But I became bored with all that. Disillusioned. I thought things would change once I’d moved from a small town to University. I’ve changed- my hair, my makeup, my clothes. Since I started work at the massage parlour, my life changed. Kim, one of the girls there, said some of the men there were such perverts that they’d put you off for life.

….Now, I want you: my respected lecturer, my intelligent master. I want you. I lay back on my bed thinking about you. I imagine you going down on me….your beard tickling between my thighs. Feeling your tongue lick where my finger is now. Then I come as I imagine my juice dripping off your’s so wrong…..since I started at the massage parlour I wasn’t sure that I still could. Oh, but I can…..

28th February, Thursday

Two customers, as we call them, all night. I’m getting used to it, switching off feelings of distaste, ignoring the smells of breath and bodies, becoming desensitised to the bumps and lesions and sweat of different strangers' skins. They come to the door. We can see them on the monitor. One of us lets him in. He chooses, waits in the room for the girl as she puts away the money and writes down the time, how much he paid and which room. What gets to me sometimes is the men that come here seem so NORMAL. They could be anyone, anyone’s father, anyone’s brother.

I’ve just had a long bath. I’ve still got my essay to finish……feel lonely. Can’t tell anyone about what I do. Only he knows.

1st March, Friday

I can’t believe it’s now over two weeks. Valentine’s day. What a day to get dumped. The day those little Valentine’s love-hearts turned from pink to black. The day my little taste of fantasy, my little hope of romance, miscarried, died like an embryo in a womb. I picked up the phone… and that same night I was having sex with some old guy who couldn’t even get it up properly. Heartbroken, me??????

4th March, Monday

His office is quiet, a wooden desk, plants, books and folders on every shelf. He was sitting behind his desk and looked up only briefly, vaguely waving his pen at the chair on the opposite side of the desk to tell me where to sit. He continued to tap on his keyboard for a minute then pushed the screen of the laptop over the keys. He smiled professionally then made intellectual comments about my essay, constructive criticisms. Blah, blah, blah. I wasn’t even listening. Boredom had formed a devil in my mind. Loneliness, vice, fanned his wings. I took off my denim jacket. I smiled because I was deliberately sticking out my breasts, my elbows resting on the back of the chair. I was smiling because I knew I was teasing him.

As he was talking I knew I wanted to do something crazy. After all, we were alone. What could he say? So I did something crazy. I started to stroke one of my nipples through the thin material of my t-shirt. Ha, ha, ha… he carried on talking then realised that what I was doing wasn’t an innocent itch that I had to scratch. I boldly stared into his piercing blue eyes. They were alert, questioning….that sounds so funny, dear diary, ‘piercing blue eyes’, EXACTLY like something from one of those erotic romance stories. Anyway, he just sat, calmly, watching me, one elbow on the desk, his chin resting on his hand, just watching, as if gazing at a beautiful sculpture and contemplating the meaning. I was light-headed. It gave me such a thrill and I was wondering what he was going to do next.

He stood up and told me leave!!!! What?

Then as I looked down I could see that he was erect, suddenly angry with me yet erect. I looked at him, my eyes were pleading with him. He thought I was doing it because I wanted better grades. He thought I was trying to trap him. Ruin him. It wasn’t that, no. I wanted him….in the lecture hall standing before me, reading out his lecture calmly yet with his cock hard like it is now…sitting in the lecture hall watching him….I’d get up, stroke him, get down on my knees, take him into my mouth. I wanted to fuck him in the lecture hall….. He told me it was time to leave.

5th March, Tuesday

It’s weird but we haven’t mentioned it. Ever. He just looks at me, watches me. Now I’ve done this stupid, crazy thing.

It was SO weird. He was the last person that I expected to see there. …it was about a week after I’d started working there…….

We all wait in the room at the front of the massage parlour, just sitting around, reading magazines. It looks just like a sitting room in someone’s house, with a sofa, pillows, a TV. When you’re sitting around waiting , talking with the girls you almost forget where you are and what you’re doing. Then a guy comes to the door. I remember, the guy walked in and I couldn’t believe it!!!! My lecturer!!!! Oh, no….I was wearing a little PVC dress and my knee length boots. He just looked at me, really calm, just really, really, calm, and said, “I’m glad that you’re doing something industrious with your time.” What's that supposed to mean!!!! Ha, ha….

6th March, Wednesday

Today, I sat right at the front. He saw me. Oh, yes. He even looked pleased to see me. He couldn’t hide that. A sudden smile, a joviality. I was wearing a low-necked red top and jeans. I’d taken my long hair out of the plait, so that it cascaded over my shoulders in waves…the clients love my hair. Then he focused on his lecture. He seemed more animated than usual and I saw him look at me once or twice. When the lecture was over the other students stood up and started to leave, there was the usual low hub of conversation. I stood up too but as I turned to leave he quietly called my name. He asked me to visit him in his office in five minutes. There was a matter that he wished to discuss. Yeah, right…

I felt a bit scared. I was crazy and he was right to tell me to leave. What if he told someone that he knew I was a prostitute? After ten minutes I knocked on his door. He opened the door and closed it behind us as I entered. Then he turned the key. He was looking at me in that same way, something like awe, something questioning. I didn’t really know what was going to happen so I walked over to his desk and sat down. He walked up behind me and I could feel him stroking my hair. His fingers combing gently though my hair. Then stroking my neck, petting me as you would pet a bird in a cage.

I’m caged.

Still sitting in the chair, I took off my red top, pulled it up over my head. Crazy again, I flung it across the room and started laughing. He covered my mouth gently with his hand. He said, “We must be quiet.” I pulled down my jeans. I didn’t even take them off. They were trapping me, around my ankles. I was standing, bending forward over the desk. He was behind, pressing up against me. Stroking me gently with his fingers, kissing my back, I could feel his coarse beard brush against my skin. His kisses getting gradually more forceful, he bit my neck, losing control, breathing heavily. He was moaning quietly, stroking my wetness. Taking out his cock, he forced it into me with a grunt from behind. I wanted to cry out, yet we had to be quiet. He was still fully dressed, tweed trousers on, pressed white shirt collars over his jersey, yet flies undone, taking me hard and fast and quiet. Hard and fast. Hands on my hips, he pushed me down onto his cock and soon he was coming, trying not to let the sound be released, it was just a long-drawn out sound from his throat.

We finished. He was sedate. Glasses slightly askew. Shirt un-tucked. And he told me it was time to leave…..

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