Oh, Professor!

She had always adored watching him in class. The soft kink in his hair where it curled ever so slightly, the crisply ordered nature of his robes. And his eyes - oh, how she did love his eyes. She could write more sonnets than Shakespeare had ever managed, just about his eyes. They were so blue, bluer than the sky on a clear, June day. She dearly wanted to look into those eyes and see them look back at hers with the same intensity as she bestowed unto him.

Oh, Professor.

Yesterday he had touched her hand. He had touched her, if only for a second. She had felt him, his skin brushing tenderly against hers as the parchment slipped out of his refined hand. Her breath had caught in her throat, and for a second she thought he had noticed. He smiled at her, and complimented her on her penmanship. She returned the smile - she had practiced to perfect her handwriting so it would resemble his, the very essence of beauty itself. She ducked her head down again, but when she glanced up she had seen him lick his lips slowly, as if pondering something.

Oh, Professor, indeed.

She wouldn't mind him licking her lips. No, bad girl. Stop it - he's your Professor, for goodness sake, exclaims the voice of reason. But he is rather nice, she can't help but think secretly. She would love it if he brushed those lips all over her body, taking care to linger slightly over her mouth and plunging his tongue into the folds of her lips, while his hands glide over her curves and caress her where not even her mother knew about. He would touch her better than she could ever have touched herself, fumbling in the darkness of the dormitory and hoping no one would hear her.

Oh, Professor...don't stop.

She stayed behind after class. He asked if something was wrong, and she froze. How could she explain the effect he had on her? Thankfully, he anticipated her question. He stepped closer to her. Wanted to know if she thought about him when she touched herself. She stayed still, trapped in the gaze of those blue eyes, her heart beating faster each moment. He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her towards him. Her arms slipped up around his neck of their own accord. And then he kissed her once, softly, before returning for more and making her gasp and writhe at his touch and...

Oh, Professor.

He broke away; grasped her hand and pulled her up the spiral steps to his office, like an over-eager youth. She struggled to catch her breath as he pushed her up to the wall, kissing her again. His hands were running through her hair. She felt like she was burning, but oh, the fire was sweet. He finally got the door open and they fell through it, entwining themselves together in a fury. She found herself thrust roughly against the desk that sat in the middle of the room, as a hand worked its way up her skirt. It went up, and up, and...stopped. She opened her eyes, which she had closed in the midst of her euphoria.

Oh, Professor!

"Why did you stop?" she asked.

He smiled that brilliant smile of his, and gave her thigh a squeeze. "Because you are my student, dearest. As much as you may find me attractive - and I can't say I blame you - this is more than slightly illegal."

She sighed sadly. "Are you going to take points?"

"Oh no, my dear. I wouldn't want Ravenclaw to lose the house cup." He winked, and she could have died. Then he seemed to falter in his movement away from her. "On second thoughts, Gryffindor will win anyway."

He pushed her down onto the desk.

Oh dear, Professor!