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Paula should have known she was in trouble from the first moment she laid eyes on the man. He was not a professor, but rather an instructor, and more importantly he was different. Paula couldn't tell just what it was that set him apart, other than the obviously bald head black babes and quirky retro glasses. His attitude was casual and familiar, humorously irreverent, but then she had experience with casual professors before so this was nothing new. As the class wore on she tried to mentally draw a bead on him, figure him out, but she was just as mystified when she left class as she was when it started. All that night and the next day she found herself thinking about this instructor who told the class to call him by his first name, Michael.
In History class she pictured his face, the curve of his cheek and the shape of his eyes. Were they brown? She thought they were...In Music Appreciation Paula tried to map out what his body was like under the slightly odd suit he had been wearing. He was obviously trim, but was he muscular? The more she tried to get Michael off her mind the more he seemed to dominate every thought, which was incredibly peculiar. Paula had barely known the man two hours, if she could even consider that to know someone. She had exchanged possibly ten words with him and yet she was captivated. Michael was almost a complete stranger, she knew he was an art instructor and that was it. He seemed to exude some kind of pheromone or something that drew her to him, fascinating her.
The night before the second day of class Paula tried to go to sleep at her usual bedtime, but sleep would not come to her. She wrestled with her mind, trying to quell the tumult ebony models of thoughts and images that were composed mostly of Michael. As she stretched out restlessly in her bed she felt her hand brush her thigh. Nerve endings tingled and shot little bolts of pleasure currents up her body. Paula smiled as she realized the perfect way to put herself to sleep and resolve some of her tension at the same time. chipz in black Tossing the covers to the floor, she got out of bed and stripped out ebony sex of her thin, virginal nightgown and flowered panties. Moonlight wafted through the blinds behind her, outlining her body in the dresser mirror, making her seem like a dark fairy in the reflection. Her hands rested quietly at her sides, seeming to patiently anticipate release.
She closed black teen her eyes and stood black cocks still, putting herself in the art room on campus, all alone in the large, dingy, white studio. She was still naked, standing on a low modeling platform in the center of the room, a circle of empty easels surrounding the platform as though ready for eager students to sketch her big booty black girls form. She black betty could feel the heat emanating from a single light over her stage, leaving the rest of the room in comparative obscurity. As she stood alone, a silent sentinel, she heard the door open behind black cock her, footsteps echoing in the quiet. A stream of cool air embraced her skin briefly. She held her breath as the footfalls continued to the platform. The carpeted surface beneath her black flag feet shifted with new weight as the now muffled steps stopped just inches behind her. Trembling, she took in air rich with some kind of spicy, masculine scent.
"I want to know if you are wet," Michael whispered in her ear, his warm breath cascading around her cheek as a strong hand confidently slid beneath and between her buttocks. She opened her black booty legs enough to let him cup her ebony woman sex from behind, feeling a single finger caressing the inner folds of her secret lips. Another hand rested gently on her hip, hot and reassuring in its claim to her soft curve.
"Mmm, very wet, black booty nice," he murmured, stroking her firmly. As his fingers continued their exploration of her smoothly young black pussy shaven mound she shuddered, moaning quietly. His hand seemed to glide effortlessly over, through, and around black women the sensitive flesh, teasing with quick, fluttery strokes over her inflamed clit. Paula black hoes leaned into him slightly, feeling the rough texture of his clothing on her bare back, the cold metal of his belt buckle pressing into her ass. Michael kneaded her hip with his other hand, gradually working his massage up her ribcage and circling her breast. Impatiently, she tried to grasp his hand, force him to touch her breast. He out maneuvered her attempt, laughing as he pinned her arm behind her, holding her hand with an almost painful pressure.
"No, no, naughty girl," he chuckled, bending her forward. Still holding her arm hostage, he suddenly, violently, plunged several fingers into her. She gasped as waves of heat black teen radiated from the depths of her pussy. He pumped his hand faster, slamming into her, taking possession of her. Paula bit her lip as the pressure and heat within her threatened to consume her entirely. She reached with her free arm to take hold of his pants leg, anchoring herself firmly. big black boobs
"Speak to me, speak to me," he panted. She realized Michael was enjoying this as much as she was as she let out another, louder gasp. He encouraged her, kissing her back, nipping the pale, soft skin as she moaned louder. Paula felt like exploding, becoming a blinding supernova right there on the platform.
"You're gonna make me come, I'm so close...don't stop, please don't stop!" Paula finally begged. The intensity of his fingers, his mouth brought out a deep shuddering, a massive contraction of muscle and bone that ripped through her body. Wave after wave tore through her, fiery and unrelenting, leaving her shaken and weak on his hand. Michael never wavered as he felt her entire body clench tight through the orgasm, watching her writhe ebony ayes in the pleasure he was bringing her. She shook her hair ferociously and arched her back, growling deep in her throat, lost in the inferno. The walls of her cunt seemed to try to milk his fingers, draw him in deeper than what was possible. Gradually the spasms wracking her body soothed themselves, winding down to a dull, pulsing, deliciously muted satiation. When she finally quieted and the trembling in her body ceased, he removed his hand gently, let her arm free. As he turned Paula around to face him, he brought his damp and aching hand to his face, breathing deeply the musky, clean smell of her.
"Yes, you are very, very wet." She closed her eyes as he smiled. Falling back onto her bed, exhausted and drained of all excess turmoil, she tugged the covers up from the floor and settled into her inviting pillows. Paula snuggled her bedclothes, aware of the racing drumbeat in her chest slowing down to a relaxing and steady rhythm. She drew her legs up, relishing the sloppy wetness between them. As she drifted into easy sleep Paula brushed the hair off of her face, catching a whiff of her sparkling seashore lingering on her fingertips.
(Thank you for reading my first submission on this site. I am considering ebony woman expanding on this story line, let me know if it is worth the effort, and thanks again!)