MY HOT TEACHER: (Volume 5 of the "My Hot..." series; a stand-alone, New Adult novel) by Isabella Johns Page A
Authors: Isabella Johns
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else’s nostalgia because I really have no reference point for all of this, except the sex.
And maybe that’s what this is all about: context and perspective , something I learned the specifics of in Walls Freshman English. Perhaps it all will help me understand what the Professor really means to me. I have such flimsy history to compare and contrast our very intense situation. Back home, in my usual environment, perhaps Randy could provide some perspective on what feels like deep true love.
We kiss. His lips are thicker than the Professor’s and feel warm and soft.
I move from his mouth to passionate kisses around his cheeks and throat which bring murmurs of approval from him. We take a moment to disengage our seatbelts. I like when he kisses my neck.
I run my hands over his hard body and marvel at the extreme contours and firmness of his chest. I undo the buttons of his shirt and slip my hand inside. He tugs off my jacket and I remove his. I play with his bare left nipple. The Professor always likes this. So does Randy. It arouses me that I excite him, this quarterback, this stud, this Bethesda Sex God.
His breathing increases; it’s loud in my ear, both of us on the front seat of his truck, at the supreme make out place, enclosed in our own passion.
The windows fog.
I pull the shirt off his body and catch a glimpse of his beautiful chest and abs, the moonlight reflecting off them. The Professor’s in shape but this guy’s Mario Lopez.
He seems to like when I’m aggressive, as if he expects me to lie back while he does all the work. I put my mouth to his nipple, lick, suck like the Professor showed me during one of our first encounters. He moans, “Celine, you’re so fuckin’ hot!”
Not just the Professor feels this way!
He kisses my mouth one more time, slipping his tongue inside, while sliding my top off then expertly unsnapping my bra. He sucks my nipple, then bites it.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry.”
He licks the nipple as if trying to soothe it, warming me all over. The Professor bit my nipple once but that was after I had been seduced into my submissive zone and the sensation of pain and pleasure gloriously sent me through the roof.
I push him back against the driver’s door and lick down his belly. As I get closer to his crotch, Randy goes completely passive. I undo his belt, the button on his jeans, slide down his zipper. He does help me pull off his jeans, boxers, and boots.
His monster is at full attention and it quickens my pulse.
Definitely bigger than the Professor’s and close enough in size to match the most vivid descriptions I’ve heard.
I look at him. He’s grinning...perhaps gleaning that I’m impressed after being presented with His Highness.
I lick around it, make him wait for my touch. His penis jumps. He leans his head against the door, closes his eyes, does nothing more except rest his hands on my head. I lick up the shaft, from the base to the head, a long and tasty journey it is, and now his hands grip me hard, and from his mouth bursts, “Oh, Celine!”
Nothing like giving a boy a blowjob, seeing him so needy and vulnerable, to give a girl confidence.
I lick, occasionally suck, but as dictated by my natural instincts I mostly tease, everywhere, and when I lick his balls he’s like a helpless bear caught in a trap as he squirms and squeals. I find this spot under his balls that he seems to love (his B-spot?) as I tongue him and place pressure there with my nose. I make a mental note to try this with the Professor.
Led by light pressure from my nose, my wet pointy tongue flutters along his delicate spot, up along his balls, only to start over again from the bottom up. Randy can’t help reaching down and grabbing himself in a meaty fist then beginning a vigorous self-jacking.
I don’t mind. All part of foreplay. The Professor and I spend so much time on foreplay, the licking, the touching, the caressing,
And maybe that’s what this is all about: context and perspective , something I learned the specifics of in Walls Freshman English. Perhaps it all will help me understand what the Professor really means to me. I have such flimsy history to compare and contrast our very intense situation. Back home, in my usual environment, perhaps Randy could provide some perspective on what feels like deep true love.
We kiss. His lips are thicker than the Professor’s and feel warm and soft.
I move from his mouth to passionate kisses around his cheeks and throat which bring murmurs of approval from him. We take a moment to disengage our seatbelts. I like when he kisses my neck.
I run my hands over his hard body and marvel at the extreme contours and firmness of his chest. I undo the buttons of his shirt and slip my hand inside. He tugs off my jacket and I remove his. I play with his bare left nipple. The Professor always likes this. So does Randy. It arouses me that I excite him, this quarterback, this stud, this Bethesda Sex God.
His breathing increases; it’s loud in my ear, both of us on the front seat of his truck, at the supreme make out place, enclosed in our own passion.
The windows fog.
I pull the shirt off his body and catch a glimpse of his beautiful chest and abs, the moonlight reflecting off them. The Professor’s in shape but this guy’s Mario Lopez.
He seems to like when I’m aggressive, as if he expects me to lie back while he does all the work. I put my mouth to his nipple, lick, suck like the Professor showed me during one of our first encounters. He moans, “Celine, you’re so fuckin’ hot!”
Not just the Professor feels this way!
He kisses my mouth one more time, slipping his tongue inside, while sliding my top off then expertly unsnapping my bra. He sucks my nipple, then bites it.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry.”
He licks the nipple as if trying to soothe it, warming me all over. The Professor bit my nipple once but that was after I had been seduced into my submissive zone and the sensation of pain and pleasure gloriously sent me through the roof.
I push him back against the driver’s door and lick down his belly. As I get closer to his crotch, Randy goes completely passive. I undo his belt, the button on his jeans, slide down his zipper. He does help me pull off his jeans, boxers, and boots.
His monster is at full attention and it quickens my pulse.
Definitely bigger than the Professor’s and close enough in size to match the most vivid descriptions I’ve heard.
I look at him. He’s grinning...perhaps gleaning that I’m impressed after being presented with His Highness.
I lick around it, make him wait for my touch. His penis jumps. He leans his head against the door, closes his eyes, does nothing more except rest his hands on my head. I lick up the shaft, from the base to the head, a long and tasty journey it is, and now his hands grip me hard, and from his mouth bursts, “Oh, Celine!”
Nothing like giving a boy a blowjob, seeing him so needy and vulnerable, to give a girl confidence.
I lick, occasionally suck, but as dictated by my natural instincts I mostly tease, everywhere, and when I lick his balls he’s like a helpless bear caught in a trap as he squirms and squeals. I find this spot under his balls that he seems to love (his B-spot?) as I tongue him and place pressure there with my nose. I make a mental note to try this with the Professor.
Led by light pressure from my nose, my wet pointy tongue flutters along his delicate spot, up along his balls, only to start over again from the bottom up. Randy can’t help reaching down and grabbing himself in a meaty fist then beginning a vigorous self-jacking.
I don’t mind. All part of foreplay. The Professor and I spend so much time on foreplay, the licking, the touching, the caressing,
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