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A Return to Dodson University

She sat in the Great Hall for the first time since her graduation feast. The current students of Dodson University had left just the day before. She, as well as several of her friends, were there by special invitation of the Dean, Professor Thompson. Professor Franklin was retiring after teaching Creative Writing for more years than anyone, except perhaps for Professor Thomson, knew and the school was sending him off with a celebratory dinner. Heather had always respected her professor, and was happy to help him celebrate, but sad to hear he was leaving.

The party was winding down so Heather felt like she could leave without being rude. She bid a tearful farewell to Professor Franklin, who promptly told her to call him Rob now as she was no longer his student. She promised she would try, but told him he would always be her professor.

Heather exited the grand doors of the Great Hall and just looked around. She had missed Dodson University so much in the last four years. She walked with no purpose, running her hands along the old, wood, banisters of the stairs and looking at ancient portraits hanging on the walls. She often wondered what storied these painting could tell of the days, decades, that have passed if they could talk to her.

Heather found herself at the entrance to the basement classrooms, or dungeons as the students like to call them. She smiled softly and took the all too well known path down to the Chemistry classroom. When she arrived she found the alarms she expected around the classroom. She smirked at herself and with a just a couple tries she had the code broken and the alarm down easily enough. She shook her head. He was still using the same passwords. She walked into the empty classroom and let the memories flood back to her. She sat down in what used to be her seat right up front and stared at the professor's desk.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of chemistry? I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering flask with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death?if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Heather smiled to herself remembering Professor Rickman?s speech he used for every class of first years.

Professor Rickman had just returned to his private quarters after attending the farewell dinner for his colleague. He was just about to take off his coat when he heard the warning of the alarms being removed. He took off with a graceful, yet purposeful stride, through his office, which connected his private quarters to the classroom.

Suddenly the door from the professor's office crashed open as he practically flew into the room.

"Miss Taylor!" he snapped. "How did you get into my classroom? Why are you in my classroom?"

He slowly lowered and crossed his arms. Heather has squealed when the door from the office flew open, startled out of her memories. She looked up at him standing in front of her between his desk and the desk she was still sitting in.

With a twinkle in her eyes, and a smirk on her face, she told him ?I?m not such a dunderhead after all Professor.?

He lifted one eyebrow and before she knew it, he raised his hand, hold a remote and before she knew it all the alarms were reset with an added ?silencing? one. He smirked at Heather; ?It?s a new one I?ve been working on.?

"You didn't answer my second question, Miss Taylor. Can you not handle two questions at once?" he asked sarcastically. Striding closer toward her seat, he repeated the question in his low, silky voice. "Why are you in my classroom?" He put his hands on the desk in front of her and leaned down so he was hovering over her.

Heather twitched slightly in her seat. She thought that being away for four years would have taken away the "crush" she had on him, but she should have known better. She tried dating while at Yale, but found the few boys she went out with couldn't, or wouldn't, hold an intelligent conversation and none of them had a commanding presence that made her feel like a woman.

She looked up at the professor. "I've been hired as the new Creative Writing professor."

"Yes, I know," he drawled out, still leaning on the desk "but that doesn't answer my question. Your office is on the 3rd floor of the West Tower. You are sitting in the Chemistry classroom in the dungeons. Have you been away so long that you have forgotten the way?"

Heather blushed, feeling like a school girl again. It didn't go un-noticed by the professor. "No Professor. I know where my office and classroom are located."

"Then again, why are you in my classroom?" he practically whispered. His voice, and the way he was staring down at her, made Heather shiver.

The basements were usually cold, but that wasn't what caused her reaction. She took a deep breath and looked back up at him. He could see that Dodson courage coming back and smirked at her. He knew he would be getting his answer now.

"I've missed Dodson University a great deal," she started. "Yale just wasn't the same. It felt cold."

"Colder than the dungeons of Dodson University, Miss Taylor?" Professor Rickman stood slowly and walked around behind Heather's chair, caressing the desk with one hand as he went. Heather watched his hand and couldn't help the image of that hand caressing her. She could feel a warmth start to envelope her.

"Umm? I never felt like the dungeons here were cold," she admitted. "I believe I spent more time in this classroom than in any other."

"Yes, I expect you did. Is that why you chose to break into my classroom tonight? You didn't spend enough time here while you were a student? If you were still were, I would give you detention." He had leaned over and murmured the words near her ear.

Heather was having a hard time controlling her breathing. "If I were still a student, I wouldn't have minded detention with you." She was gazing at his desk again.

"Oh? And why is that?" he purred, knowing the answer.

"I've always respected you." Heather could barely speak. She could feel the heat from his body behind her, and his hair touching hers where he was leaning near her ear, still not touching her.

"By my last year I had developed a huge crush on you," she almost moaned.

"I know," he whispered into her ear.

She could feel his breath against her skin. Her heart was beating so hard and fast she felt she might faint if he didn't touch her soon. She closed her eyes and her head dropped to the side, causing her golden brown hair to fall, exposing her neck where the professor was talking to her.

"You knew? You read my mind?" she managed to utter.

"I didn't need to. You didn't hide it well. I tried to discourage it by the way I spoke to you. A few snarky comments to a student had always ended any crush a student had on me before, but not with you. I tried standing too close when talking to you in class, thinking it would distract you from what you were doing. I knew your grades came first, and if you were distracted enough to get a bad grade you would feel differently, but you never let your grades fall. It did cause enough distraction that you had to have me repeat questions though. I was able to deduct points from your Fraternity because of that, and that didn't deter you either."

The silkiness of his voice and the feel of his breath against her skin finally made her moan lightly. "I used to have dreams about you Professor."

He smirked. "And what did those dreams entail, Miss Taylor?"

"In my dreams I would get detention for something. You would have me write lines, or try and make an experiment, something, while doing your best to distract me. You? oh?" she whimpered when he blew on the skin just below her ear.

"What would I do, Miss Taylor?"

"You? you?" she couldn't take it. He was teasing her to the point where she felt like she was going to explode, and he hadn't even touched her.

"You seem to be at a loss for words. Would you like me to guess?"

Heather could only nod.

"Let's see. Maybe this?" He nipped her earlobe, then took it between his lips and licked.

Heather slumped in her chair and cried, "Oh, Professor!"

He nuzzled her neck with his lips, nibbling every now and again, then licking that spot. Heather had been gripping the side of her chair, but when the professor grazed the spot just behind her ear, she gasped and grabbed his head, entangling her fingers in his hair, and forcing him closer. "Ahhhh?" was the only sound she could mutter. Her body was shaking with need.

He smiled and bit the sensitive spot. Then, much to Heather's dismay, he stood up and started to walk away. She tried to catch her breath as she watched him walk, but gasped when he stopped at his desk.

"Breaking into my classroom can not go unpunished Miss Taylor. Come here!" he barked in the voice she had heard so many times in this very room.

"Yes sir," she stammered, trying to stand up on shaky legs.

"Is there a problem Miss Taylor? Is the simple act of walking too much? Do you need a book for that as well?"

"No sir." Heather slowly walked up to the professor and stood in front of him.

"Who is in charge in this classroom Miss Taylor?" he growled, looking down at her.

"You are sir," she muttered.

"Sit on the desk," he commanded.

"Your desk?" she asked, not believing her ears. That desk had been part of many of her dreams with the professor.

"Did I stutter?"

"No sir."

She turned to sit on the desk and felt herself being pushed back towards it. He suddenly grasped her by the waist and plopped her on the edge of his desk, causing her knee length skirt to sit in a puddle around her.

He slowly skimmed his hands from her waist, down her hips, and over the tops of her thighs, to rest on her knees, never breaking eye contact. Heather moaned in response to his caresses. She gripped the fabric of his coat over his hips in fear of falling, causing him to growl. Shoving her legs open in front of him, he clutched the ends of her skirt, pushing it up around her waist. He grabbed the bottom of her shirt and peeled it off of her, making her break contact with his coat.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her to the edge of the desk up against his body. When she felt the bulge behind his pants pressed up against her, she couldn't help but buck her hips crying out.

Professor Rickman leaned forward, and kissed and sucked at the skin on her neck. Heather groaned and again bucked her hips against him. "Professor?" she whimpered. If he didn't take her soon, she was going to explode.

"Miss Taylor, you will be still and be quiet," he purred into her ear, "do you understand me?"

"But Professor, I can't. I need you?" He pushed her body down against the desk with his body, causing his bulging groin to rub against her knicker covered slit. He pulled her arms up over her head, holding her hands together with one of his. He bit down on her skin, between her neck and shoulder, just hard enough to make a mark but not draw blood.

That was all it took. Heather screamed as her body hit its peak. He could feel her body pitching below him and growled against her.

Before she could completely come down from her high, he had her lacy bra off and was darting his tongue around her breast and flicking it over her hard nipple. Heather felt like she had been reduced to a bundle of nerves. She couldn't speak. She thrashed her head from side to side as he paid equal attention to her other breast.

He reached down with his free hand and looped his fingers under the edge of her matching lacy knickers, pulling them off of her body. He kissed and licked his way down from her breasts and over her stomach, letting go of her hands. He knelt on the floor in front of the desk and breathed in deeply when he reached her core, but avoided touching her. She tried to grasp his head to lead him where she wanted him, but he would have none of it and pulled away slightly, holding her thighs up with his hands, stoking the insides with his thumbs.

"Do I have to remind you who is in charge Miss Taylor?" he warned huskily. Heather shook her head, trembling with need. "Good. Put you hands behind your back and leave them there until I tell you to remove them."

Shaking, she tucked her hands behind her back.

Slowly he began to sweep his lips over the insides of her thighs, tasting her soft skin. He pulled her feet up and put them on his shoulders. "Do not remove your feet."

He reached forward with his hands and fondled and stroked her breasts.

He leaned in, causing her legs to fold up even more and her knees to fall to the sides. He blew lightly on the very wet curls around her nether lips and could feel her trying to pull him forward with her feet.

"Professor? I need?" she stammered.

"You need what, Miss Taylor?" his voice was deep with desire, wanting to take her now, but determined to make the most of the situation.

"Touch me," she murmured.

"I am touching you," he said as he squeezed her breasts.

"Professor?" she groaned, throwing her head back.

Suddenly he thrust forward and covered her pussy with his mouth, sliding his tongue from her entrance up to her throbbing clit. She screamed out and arched her back at the hot contact. He held her down with his hands as he ravaged her, sucking and flicking his tongue all over her core.

It was getting hard to hold her down as she rocked her hips against his face and used her feet to pull his shoulders closer.

"Oh? oh? yes!" she moaned. "Don't stop! Don't stop!"

He could feel her crowning with her second climax and thrust his tongue inside her rubbing her clit with his nose. She hit her summit, crying out, "Oh, Professor? Yesssss!" He drank in her juices as they flowed out of her, slowly allowing her to come back to reality.

He stood up moving her feet to the desk and his clothes were gone as if by magic. He stood over her, caressing her thighs and pressing his cock against her core.

"Look at me," he growled.

She opened her eyes and connected with his.

"Kiss me," she whispered.

"Say my name."

"Prof?"

"No!" he growled, startling her. "Heather, you are no longer my student. Say my name." His breathing was ragged as he looked into her eyes.

She removed her hands from behind her back and reached for his face. He didn't stop her. She laced her fingers in his hair, pulling him toward her.

"Michael," she purred "kiss me."

His lips brushed hers as he brought his hands up to cup her face.

"Say it again," he muttered against her soft lips.

"Michael," she moaned.

His kiss turned from soft and gentle to passionate and hungry at the sound of desire when she said his name. His tongue swept the inside of her mouth, tasting every part of her mouth he could get to.

He pulled away making her whimper. "Look at me." She lifted her eyelids and looked at him. "I want you to know who you are with. I want you to see who is taking you!" he groaned.

"Michael, now? take me now?"

With one quick thrust he buried himself in her. Heather wrapped her legs around his waist, pushing her hips against him. Slowly he began to push and pull with her, moaning as she met him stroke for stroke.

"Faster, Michael?" Heather gasped. He could feel her starting to clench around his cock and moved faster and with more force. Reaching down between their bodies he stroked her clit. He kept his eyes on her, watching the ecstasy wash over her.

She slammed her body up to meet him trying to get closer. Suddenly he stopped thrusting inside her and rolled his hips, making his cock touch every part of her.

"You are so tight!" he growled.

"Michael!" she cried. "Don't stop!"

He grasped her ankles from behind him pulling out so just the head of his cock was inside her. She thrust and jerked, trying to get him back inside of her.

"Noooo?." She moaned as he waited and watched her face contort into almost a painful expression from him stopping.

He put her ankles on his shoulders, on either side of his neck, and leaned forward so she was bent with her legs straight and bent over her body. He slammed into her hard, causing her to scream out. He pulled out and slammed into her again.

"I want you to cum Heather. I want to feel you explode around me!" he growled as he pumped hard and fast into her.

His words sent her into a frenzy. "Oh? damn? Michael? I'm cumming? Oh, bloody hell? yes? yes? YES!!!"

He felt himself peaking, and her intense orgasm pulled him over the edge. "Heather!" he yelled driving himself deep inside her to his hilt, filling her with his seed and riding out her waves. The contractions of her pussy around him kept his orgasm going. When the constant clenching of her inner walls subsided, he pulled her legs down and pushed her farther up on the desk so her thighs had a place to rest, staying inside her the entire way.

He leaned down and caressed her mouth with his lips and ran his fingers through her hair.

He pulled out of her and heard her whimper again. He sat her up and wrapped his arms around her. She returned the embrace and laid her flush cheek against his bare chest.

"You know you're mine now Heather," he informed her with his silky voice, pulling her in closer to him.

Heather sighed and nestled into his arms, "I've been yours for a very long time? Michael."