Free Four Temptations by PJ Adams

that corridor in the bowels of the humanities block, half an hour past the deadline for my first essay, I really was slow to pick up on what was going on. The look on Harry’s face as he stood at his office door, fumbling with the key and an armful of essays.
    “I’m so sorry,” I gasped. “I... Well, I...”
    “It’s okay,” he said. “Take a breath and start again.” Then he saw the essay I was clutching. “We have strict guidelines,” he said. “No late submissions. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can–”
    I don’t know what possessed me. I don’t know why it was that everything suddenly clicked for me at that instant, but it did.
    I was eighteen, he was well into his thirties, a wedding ring on his finger. He was trying to be nice about telling me I’d screwed up, telling me he couldn’t make exceptions. He was a decent guy. I knew that, all in that instant.
    A decent guy, a married man, trying to explain the situation to me, but... His eyes were all over the place: looking into mine, straying across my face, down my neck. My chest was still heaving, breathing heavily from running after him, and that was where his eyes kept coming to rest, on the rise and fall of my breasts.
    He was a genuine, decent guy and he was talking to my breasts.
    It was an instant, a split second, and all of that registered in a rush. And so, as he stood there at his office door, his hands otherwise occupied, I reached forward, took the zipper of his trousers and slid it down.
    “I...”
    My hand was inside before he could say anything more, my palm lying against his long, soft member, my fingers on its head.
    “I...”
    He started to grow hard.
    “I’m very sorry I was late. It won’t happen again.” I began to press rhythmically against that stiffening shaft.
    He managed to turn the key and push the door open. As he backed into his office, I followed, not once losing my grip.
    Hamming it up even more, I went on: “Really, I’m a good student. I promise I won’t let you down.”
    On the outside I was all brazen hussy, I was the slut I’d never known I was. On the inside my thoughts were racing madly. I’d never done anything like this. Never even kissed a boy, would you believe? It was all a process of discovery for me.
    Harry stopped when he had backed up against his desk, and that was when I released the button on his trousers.
    The essays... they went somewhere. On the desk, on the floor, I don’t know. I didn’t care.
    His shorts were white, stretched tight. I reached inside and God he was hard, as I pulled his shaft up straight, stretching well above his waistband. His cock was fascinating to me. I’d forgotten about essays, about life, about everything right then.
    I dropped to my knees, more than anything simply to get a better look.
    The head of his cock was swollen and colored a deep, flushed purple. Veins stood out on its hard shaft, and the whole thing pulsed and twitched in my grip, as I used my free hand to ease his shorts down to give me better access. The opening at the end was a vertical slit leading down to a ridge of skin stretched tight and then, as I watched, a bead of clear, thick liquid squeezed out. I put a finger to it and his cock lurched at my touch just there. It was slippery, like baby oil, and I spread it over that swollen purple head, marveling at the way his whole body stiffened at that touch. The skin was so smooth to my fingers! Then, as I traced that ridge of skin just below the head, he gave a long, drawn-out groan. I started to flick across that ridge with the tip of my finger, a light, delicate touch, insistent and fast, and he moaned again.
    Then I dragged that finger the length of his cock, along the underside, tracing its contours until I reached the hairy swelling of his balls. They twitched at my touch, retracting, the whole ballbag tightening, and then as I watched the sac relaxed and the balls dropped again. I cupped them, squeezing gently, feeling their smooth,