Dear Professor

Dear Professor,

I'm posting this letter on Literotica, because I know I'll never have the guts to send it to you directly. I doubt you'll ever read it on here, but at least, I'll feel much better knowing you might eventually come across this letter, one day, when I'm gone far far away.

For the past three years, the three years I've spent at the University, I have attended your weekly classes. At first, I took your subject because I had no better option. But from the first lecture, you had me. Your passionate teaching, your great presence in class - most of us, girls as well as boys, were hooked to your lectures, even though you have this hard image of a demanding and uncompromising lecturer.

But to me, this intellectual attraction soon turned into something more passionate and physical. At first, I just felt compelled to do my best in your classes. Fighting against my shyness, I tried to participate in class, give the best presentations when asked to, for the sole sake of receiving a satisfied smile from you. Do you know you smile with your eyes too? Every smile from you was the best reward for my hard work.

From lecture to lecture, I slowly moved from the last to the first row in class, to be closer, to have a better view on you. Your voice was hypnotising, your blue eyes, your full lips, your strong hands and more generally your very expressive body language, all that became my weekly two hours drug. I addictively needed your lectures. Rapidly, attending your lectures became exquisite moments of sexual arousal in my dull life.

This first time I got my panties wet in your class, I could not believe what was happening to me. I felt my cheeks turn red and I hid in my books. And as soon as the lecture finished, I rushed home and locked myself in my room. I felt so embarrassed I did not know whether to cry or not. And wondering about that, I had again images of you in my mind and I started getting wet again. At first I fought against it, but then I let my imagination take over.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. I could still smell your spicy perfume when you had stopped by my seat to talk to the class. I was admiring you, as always. I love that proximity. And during the exercice, when you came to help me, your hands on my keyboard had me all feverish and tipsy with a sensation I could not explain. I was stretched on my bed, remembering your large tanned hands. Oh, I wished I could touch them, guide them, feel them all over my burning body. I had my right hand under my sweater. My fingers are much thiner than yours, their touch much different from what I imagine yours is. But I was caressing and pinching my hard nipples the way I wanted you to. Meanwhile, my left hand found its way inside my panties, teasing my clitoris. I was dripping wet. No ther fantasy had ever made me that wet. Inevitably, my body soon exploded with a shattering orgasm.

This soon became a habit. After every single lecture with you, I would rush home and caress myself to a shattering orgasm. I often wondered if you could sense my arousal when passing by my desk or stopping to help me on a particularly difficult exercise. I often thought of making indecent proposals, but I am the shy girl that I am. I would simply store in my mind every detail of your physiognomy, every move you made, to remember them once I was at home.

Day after day, week after week, month after month, I have found all sorts of ways to pleasure myself thinking of you. A few months ago, I did what I had never done before. I went to a sexshop downtown. Well, the thing is, since I've started lusting for you, there was no way I could keep my boyfriend Sam. Every time he was fucking me, because that's the only thing he could do, he never made love to me, he could only fuck me and I did not enjoy him much. So I went to a sex shop and bought a beautiful violet jelly dildo. I bought it for the sole purpose of being filled deep inside when I fantasize about you. And little prof fulfils its duties every day. Oh I wish it was you and not some jelly dildo that makes me cum every night.

I even took some photos and videos - at some point I may have had the idea to send them to you, anonymously of course. But I never dared. But taking those photos and videos had the wildest effect on my libido. As if your blue eyes had been staring at me while I was making passionate love to you in my mind, while little prof (that's the name I gave to my dildo) was slowly thrusting in my dripping pussy. Oh I wish you could see me, I wish you could hear me moan for you.

On several occasions, I could not wait for the end of the class. I often rushed to hide in the toilets during the class break, and muffling myself with my own hand, I fingered myself wildly till I made myself come intensely and quickly. Then I returned to my seat in the front row. I'm sure there was a scent of arousal all around me but that did not seem to awaken your senses.

Now, I'm about to leave college definitely, and I won't have the pleasure to see you anymore. I am sure that I will see you in my fantasies every night for a long time. But I will miss not having made love to you. I wish I could tie you right now to the reclining chair in the corner of my room. I wish I could rip your clothes and lick your cock till you beg me to make you come, as my body has been begging every week for the past three years. I wish I could feel your cock deep inside me. I wish I could feel your hot cum deep burst in my pussy. I wish I could hear you moan with pleasure. I wish I could abuse of your body, just for one night, just to have no regrets in my future life.

Writing these words has made me all wet, once again. I'll have to abandon the keyboard and give in to this urge to have yet another shattering orgasm thinking of you.

Yours truly, my dearest professor,

Cassandra.