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"See me after class"
The words keep ringing into my ears as I carefully pack up my bags and clean the workspace around my easel. I glance at the front desk where my art professor totally ignores me, a shudder running over my back.
He is the strictest; most demanding; most critical man I have ever met, and he drives me absolutely insane every time I look at him. His dark violet hair; the pink splotches in his eyes; the way his lips always look moisturized. I see him every night when I close my eyes and yearn to see it all up close, to feel his long fingers, that can expertly maneuver a paintbrush.
But since he's my professor, it's all just thoughts and wet dreams. So I draw him. I imagine every detail he carefully hides under his flamboyant suits. Every curve, every muscle. I imagine him having hidden scars or tattoos or maybe even a scandalous piercing.
But now, all my courage has gone out of me, now that he has my sketchbook on his desk, filled from cover to cover with my sketches. All of him, in the most outrageous poses I could imagine. Some clothed, but most of them naked.
And he saw them.
As the art room grows emptier, my nerves start to get the best of me. My brow starts to get damp, my knees buckling under me. And then - finally - the last student leaves and he looks up at me.
"Explain."
His deep voice rings in the empty room. I tremble slightly as he takes of his glasses to clean them. His multicolored eyes looking more vibrant - more pink - then ever before.
"I ... Uhm ... I'm sorry, sir."
The words stutter out of my mouth, which suddenly feels drier then a dessert.
"I didn't mean to draw you that way."
His gaze grows more fierce as he places the glasses back on his nose. A small smirk playing at his oh so juicy lips.
"Of course you did, else you wouldn't have filled a whole sketchbook worth of them."
He suddenly pushes off his desk and approaches me, his gaze never leaving my eyes.
"I meant, why are they so bad. Your anatomy is all off, you lack basic perception of measurements and perspective and you give in to ... fanciful, dare I say, fantasies more then in fact. The only thing decent about them is my face. I expect better of you."
I take a tentative step backwards until I feel the cold bricks of the wall against my back, his arms placed at either side of me so I can't escape, his breath caresses my ear as he whispers.
"I can help you get better, correct your technique; your attention to detail; help with the ... specific measurements."
The words hang in the air, electrifying it. My skin prickles from the closeness of his lips, almost caressing my ear, goosebumps forming all over my neck. I can feel my heartbeat pumping fast in my neck vein as my whole brain focused on how close he is and the sound of him swallowing.
I slowly nod at his offer and he pushes away from me, creating a more breathable space between us. But my body screams at me to be close to him again, to feel his breath, his touch, his very essence.
"Professor, are you really going to tutor me?'
His smirk turns wider as he walks to the door of the art studio, locking it.
"Oh, I'll tutor you alright, cutie. But if you get it wrong..."
He lets his words trail off, my mind almost exploding with the meaning behind them. After I catch my breath, I follow him with my eyes while he sets up a place for me to work at.
"We'll start with something easy. You sit here and I'll model."
He points at the stool he placed behind an tilting table, right in front of the chaise longue we use to take breaks during long painting sessions. He lays down on it, hand supporting his head and he smiles mischievously.
"Now, paint me like one of your French girls."
He laughs at his own joke, his voice gradually changing from his normal stern demeanor, to a more relaxed higher pitch.
I quickly sit down and grab pencil and paper, outlining his rough sketch, trying to get the basic shapes right before grabbing transfer paper.
But before I can even start transferring the sketch, he grabs it from the table and studies it. His eyes unreadable as he glances over the paper.
"Hmmm, it's technically correct, cutie. But you need to focus more on the subject instead of just the basic shapes."
Before I can protest, he moves behind me, leaning over my shoulder awfully close, taking my hand in his as he starts correcting my sketch. His breath tickling my skin while he whispers.
"Don't focus so hard on the technical side, yes it should be correct, but you should also focus more on the flow of the clothing, the form of the muscles, not just what you learned they look like, but actually see it. Everyone's shapes are different."
I want to explain my reasoning for first getting the pose right before doing the actual sketch, but my mind blanks when I feel his lips on my neck, not as a kiss, but a gentle caress. The softness of it sets my body on fire and tenses my muscles even more.
"You need to relax more, cutie. How can you make art while being so tense."
His fingers run over my spine while he continues.
"You should be aware of how the body moves, how muscles change with every small shift in position. Forget about the technical stuff for one evening, sketch what you see, not what you know."
His fingers continue to send fire throughout my body while he shifts them over various bumps and dips on my back.
"C...can you show me, professor?"
My voice comes out more shaky then I intended. I feel him shift away from me, the sudden coldness of his absence making me shudder once again. A second passes and I hear the clink of his belt falling on the floor, the shuffle of clothes being removed, and then only the sound of my own hitched breathing.
"Call me Rafayel when we're alone."
I can't resist turning around, finally looking upon his body. Unlike in my fantasies, there's no tattoos, no piercings, but his body is riddled with tiny freckles. I just stare at him for a long time, trying to take in his beauty, his finely tuned muscles, the veins on his arms, the small scar on his right knee. He takes my hand into his and starts guiding my fingers over his biceps.
"Stop looking with only your eyes, make your hands do the work. Touch and you will remember, feel and let your pencil guide you."
He releases my hand, telling me to draw without actually speaking. I grab the pencil in my still shaking hand and start to sketch. While I lay down my outline, I get lost in him, the sight of his almost naked body, the pattern on his boxershorts. They inflame my brain with wild ideas and guide my hand. The warmth of his body pressing against me shocks me out of my fantasies.
"tsk tsk, did I ask you to draw more then my bicep? Can't you even follow the most basic instructions?"
"S...sorry profess-"
The feeling of his hand hitting my thigh sends a new shockwave of arousal through my body. He grabs my legs sharply and turns me around on the stool, facing him again.
"That's for not listening and calling me professor. For your other mistake ... I have something else in mind. Strip!"
"Strip, sir? Sorry ... uhm ... Rafayel?"
Another clap against my outer thigh sends a jolt of heat straight to my core, forcing out a startled yelp from my lips. My shaking hands instinctively move to undo the buttons of my blouse. I fumble to loosen each of them, my mind buzzing with wild idea's about what's about to happen. I bite my lip while idea's about defying him bubble their way up, battling it out with my conscious telling me to submit to his rules.
My blouse falls open over my bra and I can feel his eyes boring into me, scanning over my breasts. I shiver when I remove it completely, the cold air against my lace bra sharpening up my nipples immediately.
"Again, pick another body part."
I think for a moment, trying to get my mind out of the gutter before carefully touch his shoulder, gliding over the hard muscles that lay beneath the surface. Each stroke sending jolt through me, making me struggle against the desire to throw all caution to the wind. I feel the hardness of his collarbone under my fingers and trace over it until I feel the dip of his sternum.
My hand glides down even farther, drawn by the two tiny freckles on his left pectoral. Before I know it. I'm on my feet, trailing my fingers over his chest, to his v-line and back up untill they glide over his hips, eventually my other hand joins in to caress every raise and dip on his back. Studying him with my fingers.
I find myself pulled close to him, his face buried in the crook of my neck as he follows the movement of my hands on my own back. My eyes automatically close when I feel him breathing in my scent and groaning lowly into my shoulder.
"Rafayel ... we should stop this, before ..."
He cuts me off.
"Gods, cutie, you're so soft. Don't think I could even translate that to paper properly"
The tone of his voice softly and sultry, his normal sternness long forgotten while he keeps caressing my back. My heart skips a beat when his hands hook under the clasp of my bra which he opens expertly.
"Rafa~"
My words break off when he grabs my thighs and hoists my legs over his hips. A whimper escapes my mouth when I feel his lips on my skin again, planting kisses all over my neck. I bury my face against his chest, breathing in the smell of oil paints and his cologne, the subtle touches of citrus and sea salt making the desire in me burn even harder. My hands trail lower over his back, teasingly caressing right above the waistband of his boxers.
"Cutie .... Please ... You're making it really hard to hold back."
The yearning in his voice snaps something in me, my resolve to learn and stay professional goes out the window and my hands disappear into his underwear sliding over the soft flesh of his cheeks.
"I need more references, need to see ... feel ... to draw."
He growl against my skin and drops me onto the chaise longue. I almost salivate when I see how hard he is under the fabric, my fingers glide over his thighs, making him shudder under my touch. I let my hands wander higher, gliding over the fabric from back to front, stopping right before touching hiss balls.
He squirms and whimpers under my touch, making my core heat up even more. I want him, I need him, but I manage to keep myself in check a little longer.
Rafayel on the other hand, can not control himself, he slips off the last barrier between him and my hands, making his hard length spring out. He grabs my hand roughly in his, trying to get me to stroke him.
"Please ... I need to feel your touch..."
"So needy, professor."
I prepare myself to get spanked again, but it doesn't come, his normally strict eyes looking at me like he's a puppy. I take my hand back from him, swallow deeply and run one finger over his shaft. Rafayel whimpers under my touch, barely keeping himself in check, a drop of precum already forming on his tip.
I wrap my hand around his cock, feeling the weight, measuring his girth with the length of my fingers.
"Need you so badly.."
He groans out, rutting against into my hand. My grip tightens around him, moving up and down his shaft with deliberate movements. I lift my ass slightly while I remove my panties with the other hand.
"You need me? You want me? Can I do what I want?"
"Yes ... Yes ... Yes!"
His breathing becomes even more erratic. He whimpers again when I let go of him, getting up from the sofa. I dance around him, turning him to the sofa and pushing him onto it.
"Then let me take controller for once, professor. Let me teach you something too."
I stradle over his lap, my hand wrapping around his shaft again while I guide him into me.