Busted by the Professor – Liliana Troy

Troy1Out Now!

Jared never thought his first semester at college would give him any trouble, least of all Art History. But finding Professor Liliana Troy in front of his class changes everything. If he can only stop staring at her long enough to suppress the growing tension in his nether regions, perhaps he can get out of there without doing anything to endanger his school record, or his relationship with High School Sweetheart Ann. Unfortunately fate, as well as an appendage with a mind of its own has other ideas.

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Keywords: Barely legal, cheating, student/teacher erotica

Sample:

The familiar buzz of my phone on silent continues a few more times, but I can’t be bothered to look at it. I’ll deal with Ann’s wrath later, and anyway she should know better than to call me at this hour. What am I, her boyfriend or a doormat? My eyes meanwhile are firmly fixed a few rows below me and the mesmerising form walking back to her desk to put her book down and end her lecture.

“So, if you could all read the first chapter by next week, and identify which of the discussed artists speaks to you the most and why…” Professor Liliana Troy looks at the class expectantly, her hand still resting on her copy of the textbook on the wooden table.

The lecture hall is large enough, currently seating at least a hundred of us, if not more. For some reason it seems like she’s mainly staring at me though. It felt like that throughout her presentation on early 20th century painters. Her gaze hits me in my core and tickles the hairs at the back of my neck, and more.

It had been a shock, sitting down for the first Modern Art lecture of the first semester of college, and seeing her walk into the room. There’s a familiarity about her which I can’t place; it’s making my fingers itch at the thought of getting the chance to draw her later. It had been a while since I’ve done a portrait, lately focusing on futuristic landscapes instead. They do say inspiration hits in the most unlikely of places.

She doesn’t look like a professor, rather, she could pass for a student if she changed out of that pencil skirt and blouse and into something more easygoing. More so if she let her bright red hair down. It would be such a trip to see her in another outfit, or none at all… Either way, she’s smokin’.

That hair, those eyes, those lips, and especially the promise of what remains hidden underneath her outfit is enough to inspire all sorts of imagery. I best get my mind under control quick.

In the background my mobile buzzes again. Jesus Christ, not now!

“Mr. Whats-your-name-again? Did you hear me?” Shit, she is indeed looking right at me.

“Jared, Jared Billington. Chapter One by next week.” I try, but fail to hide the stammer in my voice. This is the single most unnerving thing that’s happened so far this week, and that includes that terrifying first day when I didn’t know anyone yet. Teachers never intimidated me much in High School, but this one’s off the scale. It occurs to me that my High School teachers were all dull, old, or male.

Some of my fellow students snigger under their breath, putting me more on edge. I throw the most intrusive offender, Steve, a nasty glance. I’ll get you for this, you bastard. Still, my palms are getting sticky, and yet something else is starting to twitch despite my nerves. This class is going to kill me this semester.

“And?” Professor Troy cocks her head and rests her hand on her hip, waiting for more. Damnit, had she said something else?

“Pick a painter.” I breathe a silent sigh of relief after the answer presents itself.

She nods, satisfied. That was close. And yet, it still seems like her eyes remain glued to mine a little longer than necessary. It feels like she can read my mind, like all my deepest desires are written on my forehead for all to see.

Looking down, I realise most difficult part of today still lies ahead: my jeans are tenting badly at the crotch. Fucking great.

My classmates, Steve included, spring into action, closing books, packing bags, making god-awful noise pushing their chairs back to get up.

“You coming?” Steve asks, but he doesn’t wait for my answer and joins the fray. They swarm out of the room, ready to get on with the rest of their day. Modern Art is the last lecture of the afternoon for most of them, myself included. I am forced to stay put, observing the Professor as she collects papers from her desk and puts them into her leather shoulder bag.

Within less than a minute, we are the only two people left in the room. Shit, what if she calls me out? She slips her shiny new Macbook into the bag as well, throws the strap over her shoulder and leaves without looking in my direction even once. I rest my head on the folding table in front of me, arms wrapped around to try and block the world out. What kind of an idiot gets stuck in the lecture hall, afraid to get up before anyone else, because of a throbbing hard-on? And for a teacher no less.

I try to focus, think relaxing thoughts, but the vision of Professor Troy, with her tightly tailored skirt and elegant stockinged legs keeps presenting itself to me. The fantasy is unwanted as well as irresistible. Stop it! No more or I’ll never get out of here!

The tension in my jeans keeps growing, it’s relentless, and I’m starting to ache. I don’t know how to fix it, except… They don’t have video surveillance here, do they? And there better not be another lecture here any time soon. I pick up my bag and start rummaging around in it for tissues. Anything absorbent enough to cope with what’s about to happen… Goddamnit.

I hear a cough, at the door and stop straightaway. Looking up, I find it’s the last person in the world I want to see right now: the professor.

“Mr. Billington, was it? ”

I swallow hard, and try to stay cool.

“What seems to be the problem? I’m supposed to lock up, but can’t very well do that with you still in here,” she says.

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