I spent my undergrad student years at a university in the North of England, studying engineering. The course required me to study maths, and in year 2 my lecturer was Mrs. G.: South-East Asian, with soft clear skin and mid-length black hair which she kept tied back. Her face was kind, with a prominent, slightly hooked nose and keen dark eyes that sparkled. She had a calm and gentle (almost austere) manner, and she liked to keep everything around her under control and in order. She was married, but young - as a recent graduate or post-grad, she probably wasn't much older than I was.
Her teaching outfits were plain: a dark-coloured shift dress, or white blouse with a tight grey A-line skirt, paired with pale flats or sandals. As she turned to face the whiteboard, my gaze would often drift from her written calculations down to her greatest asset: her peach of a backside. It was always beautifully shown-off by the tightly stretched skirt fabric, and it wiggled a little when she wiped the board. During lectures my dick would often stir, and I'd struggle to focus on the lesson - eventually giving up and drinking in the view of her hourglass figure and the tight bulge of those pert cheeks.
Through the year we fell into a kind of comfortable, pally friendship. At the end of lectures she would slink over to me for a chat, and although I enjoyed our connection I felt it only polite to slip a book or paper onto my lap to hide my erection. I think she knew, and I also think she quite liked the idea.
One Friday she asked me if I could help her with moving some furniture at the weekend. I dropped by hers mid-morning the next day.
Her house was a neat, well-kept semi on a plain suburban street. I rang the doorbell and waited. The sight that greeted me when she came to the door will be with me for all time. She wore a white sundress with a red floral pattern, cinched at the waist in a way that accentuated the curves of her broad hips. The hem of the bust line was low and strained to hold in her ample breasts. Her hair, for the first time, was loose; its glossy length swept to one side so that it cascaded down her left shoulder, laying over her bust. We sat in the garden for a while. She poured some wine and we sat, talked and laughed. She said she wanted to take photos of us both, to remember me by. She brought out a Polaroid camara and we posed. While the timer ticked down, she suddenly pressed herself to me. Her soft breasts squeezed into my chest, and I felt her nipples through the thin dress fabric.
As the bottle emptied, the conversation became more loose and endearingly nonsensical. During a moment of gesticulation, she brushed her glass onto the lawn. She rose to her feet, turned away from me and, bending from the hips, reached down to the floor to retrieve it. The light fabric of her dress tightened and stretched over her beautiful bottom, and lazily rode up the backs of her legs to reveal her smooth golden-brown calves. She turned back to face me and in a soothing voice whispered: “Not going to hide your hard-on today?”. She reached out and gently caressed the hard bulge in my jeans. I did not speak, but I closed my hand over hers, and moved it gently up and down.
With dignified urgency she led me indoors, through a conservatory and into a neat and orderly dining room. She turned away, leaning forward over the dining table with arms outstretched. slowly laying herself down face-first on the tabletop. In this position, with feet still on the floor, her hips and arse seemed huge - the pattern on her dress stretching and distorting over them. She kept her head still and began gently to raise each foot on tiptoes one after the other, back and forth, so that her big bum gently wiggled, and a serpent-like motion travelled up her spine. My proximity to the focus of so many of my fantasies was dizzying. I felt shocks of adrenalin in the pit of my stomach as I instinctively reached out to trace my fingers over the tight fabric. Mrs. G. pursed her lips and purred softly, a sound which developed into in involuntary open-mouthed sigh as my hands flattened out and stroked the inviting roundness of her behind.
She reached back to rest her hands on her hips and, making a drum-roll motion with the perfectly manicured fingers of both hands, she gathered up the skirt of her dress. The hem rose, inch by inch: exposing calves, the backs of her knees and her thighs until it finally slid over the fullness of her bare arse. The thong she wore did nothing to stem the flow of slick, slippery juices which were running from her dark crease and down the inside of her leg.
In a light-headed frenzy I unbuckled my belt and unzipped my jeans, the sound of which brought another gentle sigh from her. I was rock-hard, and she was going to know for sure. I yanked the gusset of her underwear to one side and used my dick to probe her dark crease, gently sliding it up and down, until I couldn’t help but try to push it into her. Despite the slipperiness, there was quite some resistance as I tried to drive it into her - but eventually I filled her, stretched her, and she whimpered and moaned when I was fully inside.
I paused for a moment to grab the table edge and bunch up her dress so I could keep a view of her beautiful backside, and began to slide back and forth. She reached both arms forward and gripped the far side of the table as if in exquisite pain or ecstasy. Her head was laid on its side, and her face alternated between clenched-teeth frowning and soft open-mouthed surprise. Each new expression brought its own pant, sigh and cry.
As I pumped, I massaged the soft fat of her buttocks, grabbing, groping, squeezing and occasionally slapping my palms down against the cheeks. I watched their rich tan colour becoming flushed and rosy. Mrs. G pushed herself backwards, forcing my cock to reach deeper inside with every thrust. The clapping of my pelvis against the tight fat of her bottom and thighs was joined by the dull thudding of her feet against the floor as my aggressive humping lifted her off the ground.
I put my hands around her small waist and reamed faster as she started a low, continuous wail. I began to think that the sight of her bare arse and back might cause me to need a few moments to cool off - getting her pregnant was too complicated to think about, but it felt impolite to pull out and spray my spunk across the front room of such a neat and tidy house. Suddenly she reached back and pushed me away. I slid my cock out of her, pulling against the grip of her vagina that seemed to want to hold on. She turned to face me and at last had a view of my cock; rigid, shiny-wet and pulsating. She climbed onto the tabletop and laid back, leaning on her elbows and spreading her legs. She drew up her knees so that her toes gripped onto the table edge. Her wide-open crotch and darkly glistening, trimmed fanny were framed by delicate crumpled floral fabric. She yanked down the top of her dress to free her breasts, letting her dark nipples pop out over the hem.
By this point I was simply acting on animal instinct and I desperately rammed my dick back into her. Her hair had become wild, mussed up with twisted strands sticking to the sweat on her face. Her chin was resting on her chest, her eyes pressed shut, and she let out a squeal with every thrust.
Very soon I began to feel the tingling in my balls. She must have sensed that something had changed in my grunts: without raising her head she opened her eyes and fixed me with a hungry stare. From the corner of her mouth she blew the hair away from her face and whispered, almost hissing: "Cum inside me".
We were just animal, grunting and fucking and thrashing. My body was entirely wracked with the vice-grip of angry desire. My balls were tight, and as the tingle grew my whole body became so tense I could barely flex enough to thrust; instead just rocking on my feet and using my tight hold on her tiny waist to pull her back and forth on my cock. As the ecstatic relief of contractions came to me she threw back her head, whipping her mass of sweaty hair behind her and let out a growl. I felt my whole self gushing and spasming into her from the depths of my balls into her warmth. I filled her completely and the tightness of her fanny made the cum overflow and squirt back past my still-rigid and thrusting cock. The spunk pooled on the table edge and dripped in fine threads onto to the pristine carpet.
She kicked out her elbows to lay flat on the table, and as I looked down at her, her eyes closed, head resting on a black treacle mess of hair, heaving golden-brown breasts glistening with rivulets of sweat that ran down into her shallow cleavage, I felt quite in love with her.
Ten years later, I saw her by chance at the main railway station. She was with her husband. She introduced us cheerily, describing me as 'my hardest-working student’. For the briefest moment I wasn't sure if we all knew what had happened between us. The husband gave me a brief glance and looked at his watch. Mrs. G. turned to leave. She asked for my address, and we went our separate ways.
A few days later I received an envelope from her, with a Polaroid photo. I never saw her again.
