Creampie on a Rainy Day
The Rainy Day Creampie: A steamy tale of forbidden pleasure betwixt a naughty coed and her professors’ dining room, involving explicit algal communion and copiousematic exclamation.
The morning sun crept lazily through parted sheer curtains, its rays dancing upon the droplets of rain tapping rhythmically at the widow pane. Emma roused from her slumber, the first tendrils of consciousness caressed by the warmth of her heavy comforter and the symphony of spring showers outside. She stretched languidly, catlike, arching her back in a sensual full-body yawn. A wicked grin spread across her face. Today would be the day she’d get back at Professor ultra-Prickly-Harry-Fuckstick-tron, IV, PhD.
It all started innocently enough, with a routine assignment: “Thesis on the role of cognitive dissonance in propagation of political bigotry,” the old perv had blathered on in his annoyingly booming baritone. “Due on the tenth, my office at 9 for the usual ‘discussion.'” As if she didn’t already know about his “tutoring sessions” that involved the thigh and sole and not the synaptic and summation. Why society put up with a lecherous windbag like him she’d never understand. But she’d play along… for now.
Emma made quick work getting ready, pulling a tight pink top over her petite frame. She slid into her trusty thigh-high boots, envisioning the tantalizing sight Professor Crawlbaum would have when they rode up to her supple calf muscles. Her leather mini skirt followed, hugging her ample bubble butt and leaving little to the imagination. Wobbling seductively to the kitchen, she poured some coffee in a large thermos, the warmth of it seeping through the cup and giving her secret thrill. She downed two shots of vodka to fortify her nerves (and consolidate her sobriety) before heading out.
As she traipsed through campus, she could feel the rain-soaked fog clinging to her skin like an unwanted hug from Uncle Joe at the family reunions. Each step had her ass twittering, the ease of her miniskirt allowing glistening droplets to work their way into the crevices she’d soon unleash upon her target. Emma reached the academic building and made her way to the third floor, each clack of her boot heels on the linoleum floor a metronome counting down to her performance.
She arrived at Professor Crawlbaum’s office, a knock requesting entry. “Come in!” his deep voice bellowed. There was a slight quaver of excitement as she opened the door, setting the thermos on his desk. “I brought coffee,” she stated bluntly, plopping down onto his lap. Emma wiggled side to side, relishing the surprise in his eyes, the way his pencil-drawn mouth gaped at her juvenile exhibition. Slowly, she spread her legs, silently beckoning him forth.
Professor Crawlbaum leaned forward, preparing to take his seat and give Emma the drill she always seemed to need. “Oh professor, I’ve been such a bad girl,” she began, her breath hot on his ear. “I need some good instruction.” His eyes widened, realizing her placement straddling his waist. Her skirt rode up, revealing a lacy thong that barely covered the tuft of hair poking out. “What kind of lesson do you recommend, professor?” she asked playfully.
Crawlbaum gulped, licking his lips. His hands found her hips as if possessed, gripping the flesh beneath her skirt. “You’re already in the perfect position. Climb on up!” His voice was a secondary syllable to his impropriety, the fat fuck indeed pricking hard through his trousers. Emma smirked, slithering off to stand before him. “Aren’t you forgetting something, teaching? Remove that long face, silly!” She wiggled her hips, the beckoning call in her voice almost too much for Crawlbau to ignore.
Professor Crawlbaum looked up at the student slut, her raven hair a shocking contrast to her feigned homeliness. She stood there, eyes lit with mischief, her speech so brazenly provocative. The face man moaned, his cock stiffening to a strain. His hands shook as he slipped his pants to the floor, revealing a deformed, yet brimming erection. Emma bit her lip, her eyes gleaming with mock appraisal. “Bring him closer. I need to see how big you really are,” she whispered smoothly.
Watching Crawlbau scramble to present his meat, Emma’s spine shuddered slightly. It was like being torn painfully asunder. She knelt on top, slowly lowering herself onto his shaft, the head parting her fem- lips almost gently. Crawlbau groaned as she gyrated down, forcing a pained growl from his throat. Emma hastened her movements, the voice in her head shouting to go faster at the sight of Crawlbau writhing. The thrusting became more frantic, her body moving with the almost animalistic hunger that could be seen laming his stare. “Come for me,” she moaned between clenched teeth, the friction almost unbearable. “Please, I need your cum!” Crawlbau reddened, his climax pushed into her tight walls in rapid hot jets. She squealed as the warmth began, shaking with the satisfaction that came from getting back at the pig.
Emma stood up, slowly pulling her clothes back on. Crawlbaum lay on his desk, panting and covered in sweat and other fluids. “Thanks for the Professorial TUITION- SAL, Professor,” she said with false gratitude before sauntering out the door. After such a vulgar exhibition, she deserved a cigarette.
Drenched by the tempest outside, Emma sloshed her way to her hovel, feeling the morning’s illiqibrations still slithering through her body. She whipped off her soaked clothes, peeling away the sticky creampie dampness. Grabbing a cigarette, she lit up with trembling hands and stared out into the grey landscape. The rain slid down the windowpane, a silent partner in her watery undoing. She took a long drag, relishing the burn as it filled her lungs. Perhaps there was still justice in the world, after all. To her ass, thankyou.
