I [F] took my panties off in my professor’s [M] office

It’s back to school season, and things are so chaotic this year, so I wanted to share something naughty from my time as a college student.

I’m a huge nerd and I loved being a teacher’s pet. Not just in the sexual sense. I was always the girl raising her hand to volunteer. Handing out papers, going first on presentations, whatever. I loved participating in classes and debating my teachers. It was fun. Most of the classes we were forced to take were not fun. But for the ones I loved, with the professors I admired and had major crushes on, I gave those classes everything I could.

So many classes I sat through just thinking up scenarios and stories. Lots of fucking. Lots of kissing and sweating and moaning. But only in my head. If only they knew. Don’t worry, I was still a straight-A student.

With one history professor, easily one of my favorite teachers ever, I distinctly remember discussing Asian sex tourism and about how East Asian women were viewed during (and following) military control in those areas by the West. I remember getting more and more aroused as our conversation grew heated. That was the topic of my final paper for that class lol, not something I just randomly brought up to him.

It was nearing the end of the school year and already way too damn hot. I had plans later that day with friends, so I was wearing a light purple dress that showed off my legs and shoulders and the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra.

We talked more about how women were brought to the stationed soldiers to keep safety measures up. (Soldiers were forcing themselves onto people, so to keep the population safe, they gathered all the willing participants they could and generated income off it.) We talked about how all of that played a role in creating stigmas and stereotypes still prevalent in our society today about East Asian women. How it all intertwined with the sociocultural effects of colonialism.

By then my panties were around my ankles. I’d been pulling slowly, just teasing myself a little, but the more we talked, the hornier I got, the riskier I became, and my panties went sliding down my legs.

I wanted to tell him how badly I wanted to role play that period in history. Despite some of the nightmare stories, hot intercultural encounters were abundant as people discovered the other. Cultures coming together and cumming together. I wanted to be one of the whores he paid to suck on his cock and slobber on his balls. Or a shy shopkeeper who’d fallen for the foreigner she served lunch to. Then provide him a place to stay, a bed to sleep in. My bed.

I wanted to offer up my little pussy for whatever he desired. I wanted him to finish inside me and sail away, leaving me to raise my interracial child. A physical token of proof that love/lust can transcend cultural barriers. And maybe I’d wait for him to one day return on a ship and marry me, longing for him to touch me again.

Raceplay was already a major kink for me, and as a history major, that was just too much to discuss with someone I already had a huge crush on. Especially a professor, a man who seemed larger than life, knowledgeable of everything I loved studying. It was overwhelming. I wanted to fuck his brains out and talk to him about every little thing in history that I found intriguing.

I touched myself, my toes curling, my legs trembling. The lower half of my body was hidden from him by his desk and monitor. My hand was firmly between my thighs as I leaned forward, half wanting to rest my head on his desk, shut my eyes, and let him hear the moans rising to my lips. But I maintained eye contact while I mentally unbuckled his pants. Imagined crawling around his desk and situating myself between his legs and offering him my soaked panties with my teeth.

But instead, I fingered myself, nodding along to his words about the economic collapse in several communities, wondering how strong my poker face was. My panties were on the floor. I took them off with my feet so that I could spread my legs. I pretended I was stretching. We spoke more about things, but I don’t remember it all exactly. By then I was fantasizing about climbing over the table and kissing him. Feeling his stubble against my skin, wrapping my arms around him and lowering myself onto his lap. Pulling up my dress and saying, “Look. Look what you’ve done to me.”

Our class would start in a few minutes, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to accompany him to class like I usually did. His office was on the first floor, and the class was on the fifth floor of that building. So normally, I’d hang out with him then walk alongside him to class. On the stairs, I loved leading the way, knowing my hips were swaying in front of his face. Knowing that if I stopped abruptly, there was a chance of contact. Sometimes, we took the elevator, standing side by side. Our conversation still flowing, all the way till we entered the classroom and I took my seat right in front of this desk. But not this time.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to make it. My heart was beating so hard, my blood rushing. So much heat trapped between my legs. I told him I had to pee, saying the word before realizing I’d said the word “pee” and not just that I had to use the bathroom. That heat spread to my face in an instant, and, blushing hard, I apologized and fixed it. “Gotta use the restroom. I’ll see you in class.”

He laughed it off, but when I stood up to leave, I turned away from him and took a deep breath. My mind was spinning out of control.

His desk, his computer probably hid most of it from his view. But he was getting his papers together. A part of me wanted to wait till he stood up so he could see me grabbing my panties off the floor. I wanted to raise my dress and ~~ask~~ beg him to cancel class today and stay here with me for the next few hours.

Instead, I bent down, grabbed my panties, and stuffed them into my bag. Then I pretended to be rummaging for something, feeling the gentle breeze against my skin as he got up with his things.

When I put my bag on, it yanked up the back of my dress. Which I knew it had a habit of doing, but I’d forgotten in my flustered state. To this day, I don’t know how much of my ass he saw. But I’d felt the cloth come above my hips, and I hurriedly yanked it back down. Thoroughly embarrassed now. I didn’t turn back. I just left his room, trembling so badly.

I rushed to the bathroom on that floor, locked myself in a stall, and leaned against the door. One foot up on the toilet as I furiously rubbed my clit. Wishing I could’ve done this at his office. My foot on his desk as I spread my lips for him to see. As I begged him to have a closer look. His beard ticking my thighs, and all my little secrets vulnerable for him.

I didn’t care if anyone else was in the bathroom. I shut my eyes, my chest filling with moans, as I came hard on my fingers, rattling the door as my entire body shook. I had to bite down on my arm to stifle the noise.

I got to class late. He smiled and waved me in, and I sat in the only empty seat in the front, on the opposite of the room from him. I couldn’t look him in the eyes. I didn’t raise my hand to answer or suggest anything. My legs wouldn’t stop trembling. My heartbeat slowing down only to rise back up again when I heard his voice. My panties were stuffed in my bag. I spent most of that class still fantasizing, trying to rub the teeth marks off my arm, and not sneak off to the bathroom again.

I didn’t visit him at his office for the rest of that week. Even though I needed his help with my paper and one of the resources I was using. My paper ended up being late cause I kept procrastinating. Every time I sat down to write, I ended up thinking about him and getting distracted and overwhelmed.

By the next week, after I’d finally finished it and hit submit (after he’d emailed me asking where it was and telling me I wouldn’t be penalized for it if I got it in before the day of the final). That day, I caved. I stopped by to say hello and explain my lateness with some excuse.

It was as if nothing happened. And nothing did really happen, but in my mind so much had occurred. He told me it was alright. My papers were usually perfect, so he didn’t mind. He enjoyed reading my arguments. But I couldn’t help but daydream about apologizing in another way. Getting my grade through some other means, naughty services. Why do I always have to be a good student?

I knew that even if there was anything to what I felt between us, he couldn’t do or say anything because of his job, his marriage, and I didn’t want to get him in any trouble just because I couldn’t keep my panties on.

This is one of my favorite memories ever, a mixture of intense arousal and thorough embarrassment.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/iqcf3g/i_f_took_my_panties_off_in_my_professors_m_office