In Love With Shakespeare

Internal

I was actually close to coming already.

I have never been that aroused in my entire life.

I smiled again, thinking What will happen if she actually touches my clit!?

Honestly, I felt like a firework ready to go off!

"Can you feel the effect of the love-butter?" my professor asked softly.

"I'm not sure... oooooh!" I said, struggling to get the words out. "It actually feels – ooooh yes right there! – I mean it feels amazing, so I'm not sure if it's – aaaaahhhh! - the butter... or just you."

"You look so sexy like this!" Professor East said suddenly, and I felt like I was literally drowning in that compliment.

I was just about getting over it when she added, "You've made a middle-aged woman very happy and very hot and very...."

Her voice trailed off into nothing. Both her hands were sliding slowly up and down between my butt cheeks and I wanted to cry out for the sheer joy of it.

"Very what, ma'am?" I managed to say, squeezing the words out. "Well, let's just say I will have a little extra laundry tonight!" my professor added with sunshine in her voice.

I giggled. "You're so fun!" I said. "And less of the 'middle-aged',

OK?"

This time it was my professor's turn to laugh: "I like that you think I'm fun," she said. "I've been called beautiful, and I've been called smart. But not always fun."

I sensed a little hurt there, but my thoughts were quickly interrupted - Oooooh! – by a huge shudder of pleasure surging through me and making me shake a little.

"If this is not fun," I managed to say, "then I don't – oh baby, DO me! – sorry, I mean I don't know what is."

"Did you know," my professor said suddenly, interjecting a piece of information as if during one of her lectures, "did you know that the effect of Indonesian love-butter is redoubled when it is administered internally?"

My mind was swimming as I thought about what this might mean.

"I don't get you," was all I said.

"Just try to relax, dear," she replied softly. "You'll find out soon enough."

I could feel a fingertip circling the little rosebud between my cheeks and I think I had a pretty good idea what my professor was intending to do. Her finger felt so slick and so purposeful.

"You're not thinking to..."

This time it was my voice that trailed off.

"I am indeed," she said firmly. "I am thinking exactly that."

I remember kind of squirming away from her finger, more out of modestly than anything, and then kind of quickly pushing upwards in a more encouraging way, seeking more attention on that most sensitive – and most taboo – little area.

"You don't need to be nervous," Professor East said kindly. "I just want to bring you pleasure."