Fri 5 Dec, 2008
Mrs. B. was a professor of Chemistry, and the most annoying student he had so far. For every teacher he knew, the best student was not the most hardworking or inquisitive one, but the quietest and most submissive one. Mrs. B. was demanding, persistent, eager, and hardworking, the worst in the category. When she applied for personal consultations with him, and confided in Mr. C. that she thought him the best teacher around, he was appalled. But when she turned up in casual wear, coat absent, hair bunned up, and her woman’s body snug in low-rise, he was rigid with temptation.
He couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering to her sumptuous cleavage. The flab on her arms that hinted flesh. The filled out waist spilling out from her tight jeans. He was appalled by this surge of lust. Anyone in his right mind would see the distinct difference between Yin May, the embodiment of physical perfection and vigorous beauty, and this woman, whose youth had left her perhaps ten years ago. Yet he couldn’t take his eyes off her body. He wanted to grab her writing arm and fling it aside and assault her. He would climb atop the desk and force his tongue down her throat. He would grope her flesh and ride on her. They would both fall off the chair and love passionately on the floor.
A message alert for him beeped.
Guilt gripped his heart and arrested the blood flow, chilling it in its entirety. He suddenly understood. This was a test. It was true, he had been deprived of Yin May so far. His insatiable longing for her was reined in and contained while he sought an outlet from her attention. And that desire was on the verge of explosion. But he must not let himself go. It would all pass. All he needed was discipline. He focused on Mrs. B.’s flesh: it’s just meat. It’s just meat. It’s just meat. It’s just meat.
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