My Secret Sketch Session with Professor Sinik: Obsession Turns to Raw Fuck

I waited in the croquis room, third floor, end of classes. Heart slamming like a drum. That cluttered space—mannequins half-dressed, tables shoved back, mirror on the pillar. My spot. Sat on the desk edge, legs dangling, ponytail loose now. Smelled like charcoal and old canvas. Six months of obsession boiling inside. His voice, his rain-gray eyes, those dreams where I moaned his name. No more waiting.

Door creaks. He strides in, vermilion suit screaming artist wild, purple-black shirt, black hat glued on, mauve glasses hiding those hypnotic eyes. Stops at me. Drops hat, glasses. Reveals that face—pale, sharp, fucking magnetic. ‘Center of the room. Pose like the models.’ Voice velvet gravel. I strip fast. Bra, panties stay. Hair cascades to my ass. Grab chair, sit, legs wide, hands tucked between thighs. Exposed. Vulnerable. Wet already.

The Approach

He flips on the halogen lamp, harsh light carving shadows. Grabs his sketchpad, pencil scratches—scritch-scritch-scritch. Fifteen minutes stretch eternal. My thighs burn holding still, pussy throbbing under his stare. He doesn’t blink. Finally, sets it down. ‘Come see.’ I pad over, naked almost. The drawing—me, perfect curves, legs splayed, eyes hungry. Breath catches. He grabs my arm, firm. Yanks me onto his lap. Heat radiates through his pants. Our eyes lock. No words. Just his finger tracing my lips, then his mouth on mine. Soft at first. Opium sweet. I melt.

But fuck waiting. I attack back, arms around his neck, tongue invading, biting his lip. Passionate, violent. He groans low. ‘Nelly…’ My name drips like sin. He lifts me to the desk, unhooks my bra. Tits free. He palms them slow, thumbs circling nipples. Hard peaks. Bites my neck—purple mark blooms. Hand slides down my spine, other tangling in my hair. I arch. ‘Professor…’ He silences me, hand over mouth, then kisses between my tits.

The Explosion

I yank his jacket, pop shirt buttons. Skin hot. He laughs dark. ‘Too impatient, muse.’ Licks my nipple, sucks hard. Teeth graze. I wrap legs around him, grinding. His shirt off—torse ripped, pale marble. I trace abs, bite shoulder. He shucks pants, boxer tents huge. Cock outline strains. Lays me back gentle, desk cold on my ass. Kisses trail—hip, thigh, basin. Skips my clit. Tease. I whimper, frustrated. Push his head down. He gets it. Tongue lashes my slit, circles clit. Fingers probe—wet, open. One in, then two. Pumps slow, then fast. Sucks my nub like candy. G-spot hits perfect. I buck, moaning loud. Tits heaving under my hands. Stars burst. Close.

He stands, boxer gone. Cock springs—thick, veined, dripping. No condom, no pause. Rams in. Fills me tight. ‘Fuck, so wet for me.’ Grinds deep. I claw his back. ‘Harder, Professor. Fuck your student.’ He grips hips, pounds. Desk shakes. Skin slaps wet. My walls clench, milking him. Sweat mixes—his musky cologne hits full, dark spice. I shatter first, screaming, juices flood. He growls, thrusts brutal. Buries deep, cums hot ropes inside. Bodies locked, trembling.

He pulls out slow, cum leaks. Grabs tissue, wipes me tender. We pant. He pulls me close, head on shoulder. Heartbeat syncs. ‘Our secret, Nelly.’ Whispers in ear. I nod, dress shaky. He suits up, hat back. Eyes cold again. I slip out first. Hall empty. Back to student. Strangers now. But that ache lingers. Secret burned in.