Teacher x Student
An artist/writer takes interest into her Professor, but will the Professor take the bait. Will she give into temptation or will her student persuade, tease and seduces her teacher into being with her.
Professor Rose is my writing teacher. She is something else, something special. When I signed up for this class I never would of thought it would go this way. The first day, she came in with a deep rose red button down blouse, with a tight black skirt, and red bottoms to back. Hair up in a bun with glasses on.
I normally sit in the front, but my body took me to the back. Observing her moves, the way she speaks everything was speaking to me loud. As if me and her was the only ones in the room.
The assignment she gave us on the first day was free range writing. Yet, Professor Rose was on my mind. Quickly I wrote some things down, and let my mind go free. I saw everything about her.
Her curves, lips, eyes... everything. When she walks it like she sways her hips on purpose. Scanning the room, the guys looked like leashes animals wanting to be set free. As if she was the hunted and we all were the hunters.
My paper was about roses of course. Describing how each petal was a desire yet a necessity. How each petal was a position, a demand, a command, and the stem just let the desires happen submitting to the desires and commands.
The next day she want me to see her inside her office. I knocked on the door, and to told me to come in. Instantly I felt her eyes look at me up and down. With my long jacket, boots, jeans with rips in the knee area and my one dangling earring she licked her lips.
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Today I decided to just let my short curls be free. Most say I have a fuck boy with money appearance, but it like my kind of style.
"You want to see me Professor." I said sitting down.
She sat, and cleared her throat. Taking her glasses off she began to speak. "Your writing is something I've never seen before. I can't even write like this."
"How old are you Professor. You look quite young to be teaching." I asked.
"25. Skipped grades, went to college, and wanted to teach writing. This university had an opening, and I jumped for it. Most start off in elementary, but they let me start here. But this isn't my first year if that's what you think." She said sitting back in her chair.
"Not at all ma'am." I said. Studying her body language she seem very flustered.
"Roses huh? What was your intention with this." Professor Rose asked me. I looked to the window and saw roses.
I stood up, walked towards this vase in her office, and grabbed one of the roses. "If you must know, a rose is many romantic gestures . Something simply beautiful, but dangerous with the thorns. Roses. You take the petals, spread them on the bed, possibly on the floor. Romantic yet sexual. The color of a rose resembles blood, red wine, lust, desire. In every way a rose is intoxicating."
I pulled the petals off, and laid them down on her desk. Once it was down to the stem I held it up.
"The stem. Once was cover with layers of petals. As the person holding it, removing the layers the stem doesn't fight back, breaks or anything, but takes it. Submitting to the holder. Submitting to the removal of each petal. Everything has a double meaning. Something so romantic yet filled with sex." I grabbed her hand, and placed the stem in her hand.
