Anne’s Dream Fulfilled

Hey, this Steve from Calcutta and Delhi. Wrote a different one from a female’s perspective. Would love your comments for the experiment. Mail me on [email protected]. And now..

Anne Arendt was about to enter the classroom, but stopped in her tracks. Christ on a bike. This can’t be happening.

But it was Dennis McLaren before the class in all his six-feet-three, bearded Scottish glory, instructing them (in that deliciously gruff baritone) to whip out Richard Siken’s Crush (her all-time favourite poetry collection) and turn to Scheherazade. He beckoned her inside as a smile of recognition lit up his arresting-as-ever face.

Her thoughts throughout the lecture jumped from along the lines of Dennis McLaren is teaching me again Dennis McLaren is teaching me again holyfuckinggod I’m so screwed, to He’s as irresistible as ever while she pointedly avoided eye contact with him. She had the feeling that he had been as thrown by her arrival too, but dismissed it as wishful thinking.

She had always been besotted with him. Always. Couldn’t recall a time when she hadn’t been. He had been her Literature teacher for the last two years of school, and sapiosexual that she was, his intelligence had turned her insides into an embarrassing complex of admiration, longing and of course lust. It helped that he was roughly her type: tall, lean, aloof but with unexpected outbursts of joviality.

His teaching was par excellence; every lecture a dizzying journey into yet another dimension of the kaleidoscopic world of fiction. He was mind-bogglingly well-read (only 27 and he seemed to have read everything), could slice through any argument with his razor-sharp intellect and was generally impossible to bluff your way past. She remembered how her to-be-read list had nearly quadrupled thanks to his recommendations. She had read and loved several of those, too: One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell, Nabokov’s Lolita (apt in a very disturbing fashion), Ian McEwan’s Atonement and countless others. If she was a somewhat well-rounded reader today, she owed it greatly to him.

She consciously stopped herself from considering real-life scenarios: he was hopelessly out of her league, after all. Too erudite, too grave, far too elusive. He never gave out his email ID or phone number to anyone, had never even been rumoured to have any sordid affairs with the male or female faculty members (most of whom definitely fancied him).

Besides, the teacher-student power differential was always going to make things awkward and put a strain even on their imaginary relationship, and even imaginary scenarios ended up with him getting bored of her and leaving her heart in smithereens. Usually not hesitant when it came to making a move on men she fancied, she felt oddly vulnerable around him: content to admire him from afar, and take what she could get. From the occasional ten-minute discussions after class, to random Hellos in the corridors, all the way to her masturbatory fantasies that involved his beard tickling the insides of her thighs as he went down on her while quoting Shakespeare’s sonnets.

But she pined.

Oh how she pined.

“The way you slam your body into mine reminds me

I’m alive…”

At this line from Snow and Dirty Rain, she felt his gaze linger on her. Just a fraction of a second longer than would be normal eye contact for someone reciting poetry to a crowd. Or maybe she just imagined it, fuelled by her lust-addled brain thanks to his cadences. But how desperately she wished her face would cross his mind every time he read a particularly evocative line from Siken.

“Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.

These, our bodies, possessed by light.

Tell me we’ll never get used to it.”

And again. This time she was fairly certain he looked directly at her while enunciating ‘our bodies’. It happened once again with “And the boy who loves you the wrong way is filthy”. Torn between confusion and wild hope, she decided to hang back after class, all her compunctions be damned.

The jealousy that coursed through her veins when others (male or female, she didn’t care) were approaching him with questions while making her wait, reminded her of precisely how badly in for it she was. She played it cool on the surface, but if anyone could look inside, they would see her insides clenching and unclenching with suppressed rage.

MINE, she thought. Only mine. No one else gets to swoon over him. NO ONE. She knew she stood a one in a trillion chance, but she wanted even the unrequited pining to be hers alone. Her only consolation was that he was even further out of their league than hers. He had admitted as much, one glorious winter afternoon in 2009. This batch is horrifyingly dull and apathetic, but you’re one of the smartest literature enthusiasts I’ve ever come across, and had proceeded to ask her if she’d agree to be his sounding board for a postmodern novel he was writing. She remembered the weeks they had spent in his office, debating which idea sounded stupid, which phrases needed editing, whether for all its innovativeness the story would resonate emotionally, and so forth.

She waited for the classroom to become vacant, before approaching him with a curt, polite Hi. He smiled (Ohmygod he smiled he never smiles for no good reason what’s even happening), and she found herself grinning back a How’ve you been?

“All good. Was awarded my PhD earlier this year, so decided to quit teaching at school and start at college instead.”

“Oh, so it’s Doctor Dennis McLaren now, sir”, she smirked with added emphasis on the Doctor and the sir. She could feel her brain shutting down higher functions.

He actually grinned and said “So it would seem, Miss Arendt. I had no idea you’d end up being my student again, though. Would’ve come better prepared.”

“Better prepared?”

He gazed at her, and said nothing. She felt the intensity of his gaze pierce her defenses, and despite all her instructions to her body to Never.Blush.Around.Him.Again, it went ahead and did just that. She cleared her throat, and croaked out a “See you around, then.”

“See you”, he said with a smile that crinkled up his eyes and caused warmth to pool in her belly.

That night, she imagined his voice whispering You’ve been a naughty student, let me punish you in her ears, to which she responded All right, Doctor McLaren, if this is how you want to play it. Eventually, her fingers were tangled in his brown curls while his beard rubbed against her clit and that sinful mouth of his lapped up her pussy juices. She came harder than she ever had in her life.

“Miss Arendt! What’re you doing there?”

The next evening, she found herself caught by McLaren as she was crouching under the window of his office, trying to escape after having broken in through the window to steal his grade book.

“Eh…hello, sir. Nothing. Just hanging around,” she said lamely.

“But why?”

She didn’t reply.

“Are you trying to break in?”

“NO!” she protested. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. This college has quite a reputation for leaked papers.”

“Jesus! What kind of a student do you take me for?”

“Either way, I’m duty-bound to report this. Please follow me to my office.”

Arendt. Think of something!, she berated herself, mortified.

His office was exactly as she had imagined: one wall with an embedded bookshelf from the floor to the ceiling, the opposite wall plastered with some of his favourite quotes, a modest desk and chair, and a comfortable reading couch.

“They’ve given you a nice place, Dr McLaren.”

“Yes”, he said, a tad coolly. “So tell me. What exactly were you doing outside my window at this time of the day?”

“Miss Arendt…Anne? You okay?”

Caught staring distractedly, she blushed crimson and took her place on the couch.

“Er yes. S-sorry”.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“I was just being silly. Please don’t report this, Professor. I’ll do anything to make up for it”, she said, glancing unconsciously at his lips.

“Is that so?” he said, fixing her with a stare that went right down to her bones. Emboldened, she walked up to him and put her hands around his neck. Before she had a chance to speak, he covered her mouth with his.

She froze for a moment and withdrew, as though she didn’t quite trust the evidence of her senses. He looked up at her, his eyes forming the question Are you really okay with this? She nodded vigorously; he gave that impossibly infectious grin, pulled her into his lap and claimed her mouth. He tasted of coffee and desire: his tongue brushed against the seam of her lips, resulting in a sharp intake of her breath. His tongue prodded her mouth open and slid against hers, sucking her into his wet warmth. She licked right back, her tongue flat against the roof of his mouth, with all the force of three years’ worth of repressed thirst.

His hands gently massaged the nape of her neck, while hers were gripping his curls. He moved his hands down to her waist, a tad uncertain. She pulled back to catch her breath, took those long-fingered hands in hers and made him cup her arse while resuming nibbling on his upper lip. She traced the outline of his lip with her tongue, biting gently as the beard tickled her. They erupted into giggles, and for a while they were just breathing into each other’s mouths. Still heady with his taste, she mumbled “I could kiss you forever” into his kiss-swollen and delectably red lips.

“I won’t even try to stop you”, he mumbled against hers as he proceeded to invade her mouth again. This time, their teeth clinked together, and they started giggling hysterically again. She wanted to taste his carefree laughter, so she plunged her tongue into his mouth, and practically sucked on his tongue until he was moaning in an octave lower than she had ever heard him employ. One of his hands slipped under the back of her shirt while the other groped her breast. He was all teeth and tongue and beard, and she pulled on his curls as though clinging for dear life.

Even though they had their tongues down each other’s throats, she felt they weren’t close enough. She needed more, so she undid his first three buttons and started licking at his collar bone. He was beginning to get hard; she could feel his bulge against her crotch.

She exhaled into the crook of his neck and licked his Adam’s apple. He moaned again, and started to frot against her. She undid the rest of his buttons, took his shirt off and nipped gently at his shoulder. Her overwhelming urge at the moment was to taste and catalogue every inch of him along with the sounds he’s making, to be stored in a precious corner of her mind, never to be forgotten. She moved to his neck and started sucking. He looked so soft, so pliant beneath her tongue that she succumbed to the temptation to kiss him right then. Refocusing on his neck, and determined to leave several purplish-red bruises, she sucked mercilessly until he whimpered. I want those stupid classmates to know that you’re mine, she growled into his ear.

Her back had started to ache a little, so she released him reluctantly and stood up. In one smooth motion, her shirt was on the floor. She watched his eyes positively widen as they fell on her breasts. “Wow.”

“I know. You’ll get to suck on them, greedy little fucker that you are.”

He got up and slid his arms around her waist. Her hands travelled down his back and over that butt she’d been eyeing for a while. He growled as she squeezed his behind.

“Tut tut Miss Arendt. What a dirty mouth. That sort of behaviour isn’t tolerated in this college,” he breathed into her mouth.

“You won’t be saying that when you’re thrusting into it. And get a move on. We haven’t got all night.”

“As a matter of fact, we have. Everyone in the faculty has left, and the guards don’t come to check in until early morning.”
“You look unbearably smug.”

“I have good reason to be. I’ve ensnared you, after all.”

But she didn’t get the chance to reply as his lips found her neck and soon he was sucking at her like a man starved.

“Go easy. You’ll leave marks”, she managed amidst moans.

“Vengeance is in my heart”, he quoted, giving her a short respite.

“I hope blood and revenge aren’t hammering in your head”.

“Blood is hammering in my other head, for sure”

“Innuendo? Seriously!” she rolled her eyes.

He hummed and got back to mauling her neck; one hand cupping her groin and the other her arse. He paused to admire the crisscross of bruises he’d branded onto her skin, then bent down and mouthed at the bits left exposed by her bra. Giddy, she felt as though her knees would give way. He began licking from her collarbone, and into her cleavage. His lips moved towards her left breast and he took a little bite over the bra. It was wonderful, but not even close to ideal.

“Oh for God’s sake!”, she groaned impatiently and took her bra off. “Don’t be such a tease, just get on with it.”
“Look at that eagerness.”

“Yeah well. I’ve waited for two years, without any hope that something like this was even possible.”

“Shouldn’t that make you want to savour every moment instead of just rushing through it?”

“There’ll be time for that.”

“Don’t be so sure”, he smirked, the cheeky bastard. And finally, finally, took her nipple in his mouth.

No amount of fantasizing could’ve prepared her for the actual sensation of having Dennis effing McLaren’s lips around her nipple. Her breath hitched and she arched into his mouth, “More”. He didn’t need telling twice as he licked concentric circles round her areola before taking the nipple between his teeth, while his hand pulled and squeezed her other breast. He licked and sucked alternately, leaving light bite marks. Before she could recover, he took her other breast into his mouth, and gave it the same treatment.

“That’s amaz—

“God, keep goin—

He pulled back for a second, “Thank heavens you’re finally losing coherence. Your mouth needs disciplining.” The combination of his voice with what he was doing caused wetness to pool between her legs.

She saw that his nipples were impossibly erect too, and couldn’t stop herself from taking those hardened nubs between her fingers. She pulled and squeezed until he was making the same moans he’d caused her to make. Taking him apart through foreplay, like this, to make him this helpless with need…did something to her.

“Someplace… more… comfortable?” she asked between pants.

Wordlessly, he dragged her to the couch, made her sit down and kneeled before her. He pushed her skirt up and spread her legs. She knew where this was going, and the mere thought of it brought back memories of the countless nights she had spent touching herself while imagining this very act. His eyes looked hungry…as though he wanted nothing more than to lick and savour every inch of her. She couldn’t believe his hunger for her was actually on the same page as hers for him.

“Lie back”, he ordered. She was shivering with anticipation by then. She lay back, legs still spread and him kneeling between her thighs. The image itself was obscenely erotic. She felt utterly vulnerable, yet her instincts trusted him to make this good for her. She was no virgin, but her sexual experience had been lacking this kind of intensity, this level of mutual want.

He started by dropping gentle kisses on the insides of her thighs, which quickly turned into licks, shameless open mouthed kisses and finally he was tonguing the line of her underwear at the junction between her thigh and pelvis. Before she could even process what’s happening, he was mouthing at her mound from the outside, with his tongue gently probing her slit. He sounded as though he was tasting a delicacy, and she felt her underwear turn wet from the combination of his mouth and her juices as his tongue went deeper and he was practically dry fucking her with his tongue. He pushed in and out, in and out, setting up a rhythm. “Dennis, aah…oooh….mmmhhhh”.

“Wait, you aren’t allowed to come until I say so”, and moved her panty crotch to a side. He was looking at her exposed pussy as though he couldn’t believe he was finally getting to do this. The rawness framing his eyes got her. She managed to croak out “please put your tongue back where it belongs”, and it was all the invitation he needed to plunge his tongue into her hole with renewed vigour. The moan that escaped her mouth was so primal that it embarrassed her.

He pulled out and took her clit between his lips as he had taken her hardened nipples. He licked and licked, with a flattened tongue until she felt as though she’d choke from the held back pleasure. “Not yet”, he ordered as he refocused his attention on her hole, his beard tickling her clit as well as the insides of her thighs. The reality of the moment bordered on consciousness-altering; all her dreams of that moment paled in comparison.

“De…dennn….dennnn”, she was incoherent by then. He was still lapping at her vulva like he had no intention of stopping. His beard was soaked in her juices by now, and he was looking into her eyes as though she was the most desirable person he had ever seen. That thought was enough to make her come. While still sucking on her clit, he slid his index finger into her and she let out a strangled cry. “Shhh…it’ll get better”, he said in that soothing voice, and began to stroke her languorously. In, out, in, out, and matched every stroke with a lick to her clit.

The combination drove her crazy and tore at every shred of self-control she had been exercising. She inhaled audibly as he pushed in his middle finger too, maintaining the same slow torturous maddening rhythm. She wrapped her legs around his head and tangled her fingers in his hair, thrusting into him so that she was grinding her clit against his nose .

He didn’t seem to care as he growled “Come for me, Anne. I’ve waited too long” against her thigh. She arched, and let her orgasm wash over her in waves as she clenched around his fingers and tightened her knees around his head. She was shouting “Dennis! Oh God oh God!” and he was hungrily swallowing all her ejaculate. He pulled his fingers out and licked them clean. Still dazed, she finally put her feet back on the ground and sat up.

“That…was out of this world”, she managed, still breathless.

“Sentiment completely reciprocated”, he said, looking up at her from between her thighs. He smiled and dropped one final kiss to her vulva.

“Wow. You never cease to surprise. And here I was, thinking your greatest prowess was literature.”

“Have never been gladder to prove someone wrong”, he grinned.

His hands massaged her thighs as she caught her breath. “I want to return the favour”, she said, eyeing his hardened bulge.

“You don’t have to”.

“But I want to. How would you like me to do it?”

“However you’re comfortable. Have you done this before?”

“No, not really. But I want to try on you. Stand up, if you will.”

“Damn, so you’re going to make me the guinea pig for your fellating technique.”

She rolled her eyes, and pulled him closer, unzipping his trousers while he stepped out of them. She could see his black underwear straining from that hardness, and longed to set it free. Pulling the waistband, she peered inside and found his impressive length rock hard. Dripping with precum. Her mouth watered.

“So the ten inch rumours weren’t that far off the mark”.

She didn’t think of herself as a blowjob person, but presented with this man’s cock, there was nothing else she’d rather do. For the next few hours, even.

She slid his underwear down, and took his cock between her fingers. Deciding to draw it out and make him beg for it, she started with open-mouthed kisses to his pelvic bone. She moved up to his belly, and flicked her tongue against his navel. He jerked into her and gulped audibly. Her nose travelled down and she inhaled the musky, sweat-drenched pubic hair at the base of his cock. She didn’t know if she should find it alarming or funny that “so this is probably what Amortentia would smell like to me” was the first thought that came to mind.She gazed reverently at the beautiful leaking slit, and bent down to give it a light lick. His masculine scent made her light-headed, and she took his head in her mouth.

He gasped at the sensation, but stopped himself from thrusting into her mouth. The velvety texture of his foreskin combined with the slightly bitter taste of the precum made her want to take him all the way in, but her inexperience dictated that she take it slow.

Her hand took hold of the base of his cock, and her tongue swirled around the head. She could hear his breathing become more and more ragged with every tiny movement of her tongue, and she loved how receptive to her ministrations he was. Dennis, the Dennis McLaren is squirming with pleasure because of my tongue on his cock, his near-ascetic calm shattered by our mutual lust.

While fondling his balls, she began to lick his entire length, from the base to the top. After licking for a while, she enveloped the head between her lips again, and sucked hard.

“Fuck, you’re—definitely—a fast—learner”, he said, between his labored breaths. She looked up into his eyes, to find his pupils blown wide with arousal.

She took one testicle into her mouth, and licked around it. Her finger found his perineum, and he almost stopped breathing. Grinning, she continued to teabag his other testicle while stimulating the perineum.

By then he was thrusting into her mouth, so she took in as much of his length as she could, and felt the bitter precome hit the back of her throat. She could feel him get harder because of the friction provided by her lips. His hands, which were content to rest on her shoulders so far, entangled themselves in her hair, and he began to pull on them in tandem with his thrusts.

He paused abruptly. “Sorry, does it hurt?” he inquired, clearly concerned that he was causing her pain.

“No no, it’s fine. Please keep going”.

“I think I’m going to—

“No, not yet. You will come inside me. While fucking me against that wall”, she said in a low voice, and released him with a soft pop. He groaned at the absence of her warm mouth, but the very next moment, he lifted her into his arms and pinned her against the wall. His lips found hers, and she felt the mingled taste of both their ejaculate on her tongue. If his taste had left her reeling, it was nothing compared to the thought of both of them sharing the combined taste, the evidence of their thirst for each other. She felt herself get aroused again, and began to grind involuntarily against his achingly hard groin.

“We don’t have condoms”, he said.

“My wallet”, she indicated. He ran across the room, fetched the packet and slipped one on.

He forgot about his own rock-hard erection for a moment, and slipped two fingers into her already dripping hole, preparing her. While her dominant thought was how she was mere seconds away from having him inside her, her lust-muddled brain registered how he was putting her needs first despite his own raging arousal. Damn him. He then propped her up using his upper body, and she felt the head of his cock near her entrance. She spread her legs, a warm welcome, and he plunged into her, balls-deep. His teeth found her neck, and she was arching up to him with her legs wrapped around his waist.

“God Dennis, yeah. Just like that. Harder.”

“Yes, Anne. Anything—you—want—you—goddess”, he said between thrusts. She felt each thrust hit her like a tidal wave, and all she was aware of was the feeling of drowning in this man’s regard and desire for her, egged on by the lack of any buffers from her side.

Without warning, he grazed against her g-spot, once, twice, thrice: she was so overwhelmed that she was shouting and crying and coming all at once, delirious with pleasure, conscious of nothing but being enveloped in every way imaginable by the body of this incredible, incredible man. A few moments later, he was coming too, their bodies moving in tune with each other, and every thrust felt so natural she had to remind herself that this was their first time.

They were still panting as she engulfed him in a tight hug, and he hugged right back. Her exhaustion was matched only by her ecstasy. Dennis McLaren and I just made hot, wild love. In his office. Against the wall. And he made me come twice were the only thoughts she felt capable of having.

“So, erm. Dinner or something?”

She smirked. “That usually precedes the sex, Dr McLaren.”

He bit his lower lip shyly, and smiled. She was surprised to find something resembling tenderness in his eyes. He looked bashful, certainly, but also…happy. Incandescently so.

“Okay”, he said, sobering up. “Since when have you wanted this?”

“Oh so we’re doing the post-coital pillow talk now. Butt naked. While standing in your office. Really.”

“It’s apt given the circumstances”.

“Speaking of circumstances…”, she began, fetched her bag, pulled out his grade book and held it out to him.

“How did you get hold of this?”

She looked at him as though to say Don’t be daft, and he answered her with a smug “So I wasn’t wrong. At all.”

“Yes, all so I could have a legitimate reason to see you. I would’ve got away with it too, but an extremely sexy Scottish professor got in the way.”

It was his turn to blush.

“Then things turned out well for the both of us”.

“You think so?”

“Absolutely”.

“And to answer your question, I’ve liked you since you took your very first class with me. Back in school.”

“Damn. Could’ve told me sooner.”

“Yeah, absolutely. ‘Excuse me, sir. I want you to fuck me into oblivion. Never mind that I’m your student, and that we’ve barely spoken to each other’. Not creepy at all.”

“No but honestly, when you left school, I had lost all hopes of ever seeing you again.”

“Me too. It gutted me to leave.”

“Why did you leave without a word?”

“Can’t you guess?”

“Yeah, but I want to hear you say it.”

“Because I was so attracted to you that I couldn’t think straight, and I didn’t think I’d ever have a shot. I couldn’t bear to reconcile my self-perception with the horny teenager you had reduced me to. Also, I hated the idea of you being just my mentor, as though I were just another face in the crowd.”

“But you weren’t. I wouldn’t have shown my novel to just about anyone.”

“Perhaps”, she nodded. “But why me?” she asked, meaning more than why she was chosen to help with the novel.

“I don’t know. I’ve thought about it a fair bit, and all I know is that I felt myself looking forward to classes because of your ever-incisive questions and staggering intelligence. I was always on edge, and under tremendous pressure to put my smartest foot forward. I couldn’t have you thinking I was stupid or boring-it would’ve been mortifying. I put extra effort into planning lectures for your classes, and you made it worth it.”

She smiled, grateful or relieved, she didn’t know. Incredulous, definitely. Her chest was blooming with happiness, and she though she’d combust with joy.

“If only I had known.”

“If only.”

“Ugh. Let’s not do the whole “but both of you think the other’s just looking at the ground” routine. We sound as though we’re dying, when in fact we’re on the first chapter. Do cut it out,” he sighed in mock-exasperation.

“Yeah, there’s time for that”, she said while threading her fingers through his hair. He was tracing slow circles above her tailbone.

“But seriously? Students speculate on my dick size?”

“It’s not their fault you reduce them to a puddle of lust”. He let out a low guttural rumble.

“Oooh, someone has a praise kink. Will bear that in mind next time. Also, you really were quoting Siken to me in class today”, she said.

“Yes, I was. Those lines reminded me of you”.

She gave him a fond look, and suggested dinner.

“Sure, starving.”

They helped each other get dressed. She was still playing the events of the last one hour in her mind, giddy with contentment. Looking up at him, she couldn’t believe how she got so lucky. You’re going on a date with him. An actual date. After being thoroughly fucked by him. Your stars sure are feeling generous today, Arendt.

He drew her into his arms, and kissed her. Gentle, unhurried. Not the hungry, passionate devouring they had indulged in earlier, but imbued with no less emotion for that.

It was pitch dark outside by then, and contrasted beautifully with how radiant she felt.“These, our bodies, possessed by light…”, he began, reading her mind.

“Tell me we’ll never get used to it”, she whispered back, fully aware of the cinematic over-the-topness of the moment, but glad. Glad that she was finally writing the first chapter of her own fairy tale romance with someone who understood why we were all stories in the end, and would do his part towards ensuring that theirs was a darned good one.

Anne’s Dream Fulfilled