Ciana Rose's Erotic Stories

 

Honor Student

by Voisard d'Orleans

All Rights Reserved

 

 

I teach English literature at a small college on the west coast. The school itself is rather traditional, with large oaks and brick buildings covered with ivy. My class-load is small; we have a student to teacher ratio of about 15-1. Because of the small class size, the instruction is intensely personal and informal.

Victorian literature is one of my favorite classes. I teach the Romantics--Wordsworth, Byron, Shelley and Keats--during the first semester. Invariably, there is a student or two who stand out in every class, and this year was no exception. One student, a freshman from the midwest, sat in the front row and soon was one of my adoring fans. Actually, the feeling was mutual.

She was Italian, with long black hair and brown eyes that seemed much too big for the classroom. When I stood before my classroom, those eyes were all I saw. The other students were background.

On Friday nights, I like to have informal poetry meetings at my house. I live two blocks off campus in one of those homes with the large covered porches in front. Sometimes I would have poets come to give readings, sometimes the students would read their own poems, and sometimes I would read one of mine or something from Samuel Coleridge.

Madeleine--the Italian girl--always attended our poetry sessions. She dressed for these meetings quite differently than she did at school--she wore short skirts and low-cut dresses instead of jeans and casual tops. I could not keep my eyes from her. While someone would read a poem, my eyes would follow her neck down to her shoulders and then admire the rounded breasts that always seemed half exposed. I would imagine her nipples, dark and small, and she would look up and catch me staring at her.

One night during a reading, she uncrossed her legs and stared straight into my face. I noticed at once she wasn't wearing panties. I blushed because I was caught off-guard--should I look at her beautiful eyes or should I look at her pussy? I was sure her pussy was hairless. I looked away and when I looked back, she was smiling, obviously pleased with my discomfort.

She stayed afterwards, offering to help me clear the dishes and straighten the house. We were alone, and as we quickly worked, I recited some of my favorite verses to her. "What thou art, we know not; what is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not drops so bright to see as from thy presence showers a rain of melody."

Madeleine told me how much she liked it when I read to her this poetry from memory. I sat on a deep chair, and to my surprise, she sat on my lap and asked me to recite more poetry to her.

"Teach me half the gladness that thy brain must know, such harmonious madness from they lips would flow the world should listen then as I am listening now." Madeleine rested her head on my shoulders. I rested my hand on her thigh. As we talked, my hand inched closer and closer to her pussy. She started nibbling on my ear as my fingers finally gained purchase of her nether lips.

Her pussy was indeed smooth as a baby.

I dipped my finger into her wetness and lubricated her lips until her clitoris stood out like a golden star. I circled her clit with her wetness, then punished it with my thumb. Madeleine squirmed in my lap and whispered back to me, "I love snow and all the forms of the radiant frost." I recognized the passage and recited the next line: "I love the waves, and winds, and storms." I was surprised by the intensity of her orgasm.

There are strict rules at my college about professors and their students. Still, I couldn't help myself. Madeleine's hand was inside my pants grasping my cock with dainty, passion winged fingers. I unbuttoned her blouse and she took my cock out of my pants. She turned to face me, and I slid into her warm pussy. She rocked slowly in my lap as my fingers played with the kindling buds of her nipples.

Soon my delight was flown inside of her. It was such loveliness to look into her Italian eyes as my aerial ejaculation overcame my other senses. We whispered back and forth poems of our own making, impromptu words of passion and murmur.

Madeleine says she will take second semester with me too. I can hardly wait to tell her about Browning and Bronte and George Merdith. "We saw the swallows gathering in the sky."

O princely heart.

 

 

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