The Professor (11 page)

I even tell him so.

‘Oh, God, I’m coming,’ I say.

I’m coming
.

And maybe it’s me moaning that aloud. Maybe it’s the sight of me, striped with his come and still on my knees. But either way, he has one final treat just for me. He waits, it seems, until I’m shuddering with pleasure. Waits until I’m calling his name. And then he hauls me to my feet with one hand and kisses me.

He kisses my come-covered mouth, as I lose myself in this bliss.

He barely speaks on the walk back to his flat, but I think nothing of it. I barely want to talk, either. Every part of me is still aching from that encounter. I need time to marvel over it all: that he did it, that he did it in a public bathroom, that I can still taste him on my tongue. Hell, I can still taste him on my lips. I lick them and get just the barest hint of his come – though the barest is more than enough. It makes my clit pulse with an echo of that pleasure.

Or a desire for more.

I think I might need more.

Though somehow I doubt I’m going to get it. The second we enter his flat he just goes directly to the bathroom, and does not come back out. Not after five minutes. Not after ten. Not after I apologise for ruining his plans to hold hands. I tap on the door and tell him I never intended to go that far – though afterwards I can’t help wondering if I really did. It was him who started the kiss. Him who fondled my breasts. He didn’t have to take me into the bathroom if he didn’t want to.

And he certainly didn’t have to come in my mouth.

He could have stopped short. Or at least not kissed me.

But he did. He did, and the more I think about it the crosser I get. Several times I almost bang on the door instead of tapping on it. I think about saying that I’m not sorry at all, and I don’t care if he ever comes out. However, in the end, I manage to just go with a medium-voiced:

‘Are you going to hide in there every time you have a sexual feeling?’

Though I don’t expect an answer when I do. It almost knocks my heart out of my chest to hear his voice come back at me through the door.

‘I think what I did constitutes more than a sexual feeling.’

Now what
, I think.

But I plough on regardless.

‘So you are ashamed then?’

‘Don’t say it in that tone.’

‘I don’t know what tone you mean.’

‘The one you use when you think I’m being an impossible fool.’

‘I have a tone for that? Does it sound like the one you use when
I’m
being an impossible fool?’

I think I’ve lost him then. All I can hear is the plink-plink of water into the sink, and maybe the faint undercurrent of someone breathing. So when the door suddenly swings open I briefly lose my footing. I do little more than stare at him – even after he answers me back. ‘No. Mine is eminently reasonable and employed in a decent fashion,’ he tells me, and I just stand there accepting this for a second. I mean, he does look eminently reasonable and utterly decent. You would never know he just did something weird. His hair is still neatly side-parted and his jacket is buttoned.

He could be about to deliver a lecture on being rational at all times.

Apart from all the things he just did.

He needs to be reminded of all the things he just did.

‘Oh, yes, it definitely seems that way. Right now you look like the most rational man alive, hiding out in a bathroom because your girlfriend gave you a blowjob.’

‘Did you just refer to yourself as my girlfriend?’

‘Well, what would you rather I go with? Associate?’

‘No, of course not. I merely thought that –’

‘Maybe partner would be better.’

‘We are not about to embark on a business venture together.’

‘The only other option is lover.’

I say the last word half-laughing, as though maybe if I do I can head him off at the pass. He can’t dismiss the idea if I do it first – though to my surprise he doesn’t even try.

He nods, instead. He nods over ‘lover’.

Then just in case it wasn’t clear:

‘That would be acceptable.’

‘Even though you kind of hate sex with me?’

He sighs, but not too heavily.

Softer than that, I think. Sweeter.

‘I don’t hate sex with you. I told you – I just want the other things. And what we just did was the opposite of those other things. In fact, it was so far towards the other end of the spectrum that I struggle to think of it without wondering what on earth overtook me. To behave in so base a manner! To stray so far from the affection and love I wish to feel and engender in you. It is beyond the pale.’

I let him pace back and forth after that little outburst. He seems to need it. He seems to need to pinch his brow and search for his cigarettes too – though when he finds them he doesn’t light one. He puts it between his lips and strikes a match, before seeming to think better of it. As though he knows how it looks: like someone not coping very well with the current situation, and desperate for relief from it.

Relief that I want to give him, if I can.

‘Yeah, but you get that you still engender those things in me while coming in my mouth, right? That they don’t go away because you did an electrifying sex thing to me?’ I ask, and when he stops, and turns…when he looks at me like a drowning man reaching out for the rope I just tossed…that’s when I know I should continue. It takes a deep breath and a bit of sitting down, but I continue. ‘You need to stop separating love and sex. Duty and passion. It doesn’t have to be that way. Do you think fucking me in a bathroom erased you saying you loved me? That if you are only ever affectionate towards me or polite or restrained, it somehow makes what we have more real? I don’t. To me, it never felt more so than when you said those filthy things to me as you filled my mouth. Or when you kissed the come from my lips. Those things make us real, because those things show that you
do
view me as your lover, and not just a student or some weird ideal you think you have to protect.’

He opens his mouth to say something when I am done, but nothing comes out. All he can really manage is a sort of strained lift of one brow – but that’s all right. It says everything I need to know. It tells me that the idea I just expressed is something that hasn’t completely occurred to him, and that it is now sinking in.

The only thing I need to do now is really drive it home.

‘So if you want to agonise over it and try to plan how our relationship – yes, I said relationship – plays out, you can. But I’m going to carry on enjoying the hell out of every filthy sex act you accidentally fall into, regardless. In fact I think I’m going to spend most of my time from here on in trying to persuade you to do as many of them as possible.’

‘Oh, yes, and how do you expect to go about that, exactly?’ he asks, in a tone I think he intends to be challenging. When it emerges, however, it seems faint and far away.

Unlike mine. Mine is sure and straight as an arrow fired from a crossbow, when I tell him: ‘You’ve been locked up so tight for so long that a simple frantic kiss made you fondle my tits in a museum and then fuck me in the bathroom. It shouldn’t be too hard.’

Though I think I might come to regret it.

Partly because of the sudden glint in his eye.

And the way he sits, suddenly comfortable, with his hands in his lap.

But mostly because he finishes our conversation by saying this:

‘Well, I suppose you can go ahead and try.’

In a voice that has all the challenge that his previous words failed to supply.

I start with something small. Something that he might not even register as an attempt at seduction. Just a hand on his back as we walk by a river – and yes, maybe I put it under his jacket. It could be that I almost touch bare skin. But still I expect it to be a little more effective than it turns out to be. I barely did anything in the museum and he practically fell all over me. I opened a window and he couldn’t resist eating my pussy. This doing-but-not-really-doing-anything should work like a charm.

Instead, as soon as he feels it he steps away, and suggests we get lunch.

Though I can tell by the look on his face that lunch isn’t really on his mind at all. He has that ghost of a smile on his lips, like he knows he’s getting one over on me. He’s probably even aware that he just has to wait my time here out – I have another two weeks before I have to leave. And once I do we can go back to letters and dates that he arranges and barely any being together in bed unless he specifically says so. I might never be able to persuade him to do anything filthy again.

I can barely persuade him now, with him lying next to me night after night. I wear my tiniest nightie and press against him in the sultry, sleepy mornings, and try steering conversations around to sex. But when I do manage to get him talking, it barely seems to work. He just absorbs it, the way he used to in his office. He has all of this practised resistance, and he deploys it with incredible skill. I tell him about my deepest fantasies, and he simply nods. I disguise the filthiest things as story ideas, but he just urges me to write them down. To type them up, on his rattling old typewriter, as he watches over my shoulder.

Even when I go one further, he still manages to head me off at the pass. I tell him I need to come so badly, after a night spent saying all these filthy things. I push my knickers down to my knees – just like he did. And, as I whisper that I just can’t help it, I start to play with myself. I spread my legs and let him see my fingers rubbing around and around my clit, a million filthy words still on my lips.

Words designed to persuade him.

‘I want you to come in my mouth,’ I say, soft and urgent. ‘I want you to come in my mouth then kiss me like you did before. Taste yourself on my lips – because you did, didn’t you? You could taste yourself on me, and it thrilled you to do it. So do it again. Do it all over my face.’

Though honestly, I don’t expect it to work.

‘Why stop at your face?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I could come all over your quim.’

‘You could? You could…really?’

I try to keep the excitement from my voice. I really try.

But, by God, I know I fail. I sound like I just inhaled helium.

He, on the other hand, sounds as calm as a summer breeze.

‘I could coat your clit in that sweet, thick liquid, then lick you clean. Lick you until you come as badly as you seem to need to. Keep going until you go over again, sobbing and squirming.’

‘Oh, God, yeah, that sounds good.’

‘And then when I’m done there…’

‘Yes. Yes.’

‘I might pull your mouth down over my cock.’

‘That would be…I would…yes.’

‘Force you to suck me off.’

‘Mmmmmm, yeah, yeah.’

‘Or I could just keep talking until you do it.’

I snap a look at him at that, in part because of the tone. His amusement is so clear it doesn’t even sound like him. It sounds like someone much more lighthearted, who suddenly decided to wear his skin.

And then there are the words he uses.

Those offhand words, as I lie here squirming and moaning. I was so close to coming, so high on everything he was saying – though naturally I am loath to admit that now. Not now that we seem to be in the middle of a game that he is absolutely winning.

‘I’m nowhere close to doing it.’

‘Of course you are. Your cheeks are flushed. Your clit is impossibly swollen. I give you another thirty seconds at best. Maybe a minute, at a push.’

‘Your calculations are way off.’

‘Are they though? Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely positive. I can barely feel a thing for all your smugness.’

‘You think this is just me being smug?’

‘It certainly looks like it to me.’

‘As though I just want to win something.’

‘Yes, exactly.’

‘Well, how about I give you something to help you along, instead?’

‘Yes, yes, please, that would be nice,’ I say, mostly thinking of his hand or his mouth or
anything
except what he actually gives me. He just reaches over to his bedside drawer and retrieves a smooth plastic shape – one that I don’t initially recognise.

Until he turns it on.

‘Go ahead then, use it,’ he says, in so calm a voice I should really be furious. Or possibly insulted in some way. He is messing with me, now, and he’s doing it on purpose.

But the thing is, being insulted and furious is very hard, once I have that slippery buzzing thing between my legs. I run it over my puffy lips just to test it, really. Then somehow testing turns to easing it through my slit. And after that, well…I just have to try it against my clit. Just a little, I think. Just so he can see me using it on myself, back and forth and back and forth over the tip of my little bud, until I’m gasping and shuddering and oh, God, this is totally not going the way I wanted it to.

I wanted him to fall on me, and instead I’m falling on myself. I have a hand on my own breast. My belly is already starting to tighten. A few dozen more strokes with this amazing little contraption and I’m going to do it – and the most infuriating part is that he knows it. He knows everything. He is completely and utterly in control, to the point where he can actually sit there with his hands folded in his lap.

And then give me casual instructions.

‘Part your lips a little, that’s it. Just work it back and forth over your clit – slowly, slowly back and forth instead of those frantic circles. You can even push it inside yourself…yes, just like that. Does that feel good?’ he says, and I want to tell him no. I do. I want to tell him that this game is ridiculous and unfair and why can we not just fuck, but when I go to all that comes out is this:

‘Ahhhh yes, yes, yes, oh, my God, yes. Lukas, Lukas, I’m going to come.’

And when I do he is only too happy to take full advantage.

‘That’s it, good girl. Rub your little clit at the same time,’ he says, after which I lose the last bit of sense I had. I think the word ‘good’
is some sort of trigger. I know the word ‘clit’ is. As ever, that voice of his makes even slightly filthy things sound like the most perverted thing there ever was. And I react in kind.

‘Oh, oh, oh, mmmmmmyeah, like that,’ I gasp.

Half of the sentence isn’t even made up of words.

While his sentences remain as taut and sharp as ever.

‘That’s exactly it. A little faster now.’

‘God, yeah, here it comes. Here it comes, I’m doing it, God, I’m doing it now.’

And I am. I do. I come so hard and so long that I lose track of everything I was attempting. By the time I realise he’s already changed out of his pyjamas and is ready for a new day of affectionate behaviour – all of which is lovely. It’s wonderful. It’s satisfying in a way I never dreamed possible. But it’s not quite what it should be, considering how much he definitely does want me. I see his erection sometimes, after I’ve brought myself to another shuddering climax on that amazing fucking toy.