rickroyal

I'd always found her attractive, of course -- the delicate, smooth skin and raven's hair, long limbed, a smile that always seemed just a hint away from a smirk -- but tonight I'd noticed something I hadn't really taken note of before. Her voice. Something of an elegant force behind it; commanding, perhaps. And that laugh that rumbled in her delicate throat when amused.

After the critique of her work, while she was telling us what she'd intended and how we'd misinterpreted, all I could think of was how beautiful she must sound when she comes. How the little sounds that'd catch in her throat as she built to it would be as sweet and rumbly as that laugh; how glorious her moans would be when she gave herself fully to her release; how her sounds would carry far into the night as she moaned and moaned.

At the end of class all I wanted to do was go to her and say, "Let me make you come. Let me slip my tongue between your thighs," and have her ascent so that I could hear her as I tasted her. I wanted nothing more than to make her come.