Chapter 2
Amonth of classes at the Royal Academy had made me feel settled into my new life, but unfortunately, my silent little infatuation with Professor Excidium had only gotten worse.
After the first few days, I felt confident enough to sit further up toward the front of my classrooms generally, and that included Advanced Necrotic Battle Magic.
I was already rather an expert in this area, but it was a required course of study for those pursuing arcane certificates.
The book learning portion of this class was all very familiar material to me, which left me plenty of time to stare at Professor Excidium and pretend like I was listening.
I was not, in fact, listening, but was rather undressing him in my mind, imagining all the things he'd do to me. I needed to find a hobby.
As time went on, though, I started to see small things that almost made me wonder if he'd taken notice of me, too.
I convinced myself that it was just wishful thinking—catching him staring back at me while I bent to pack up my things after class, a particularly intent look of interest when I raised my hand to contribute to the discourse, even a smirk when I said something witty.
I almost thought his eyes flicked down to my mouth a few times as he spoke to me.
I must be losing it, right? Wishful thinking and all that?
It was enough to set my imagination truly on fire, though.
One night, as I lay awake unable to sleep, images of him making my body sing, seducing me, flooded my mind. I snaked my hand down between my legs, my eyes squeezed shut, and began to gently stroke myself. I was so wet already from my filthy thoughts, my fingers slipped easily over my clit.
My other hand found my breast, and I lightly pinched my nipple until it was pert and sensitive, imagining Professor Excidium's hands on me instead.
Images of him pinning me down, whispering in my ear, pushing my knees apart, pushing himself into me…
I kept circling my clit, and my orgasm began to build in my lower back.
I shifted my finger, rubbing the pad against the spot to the side of my clit that always sent me over the edge.
I pressed down, imagining what sorts of dirty things the professor would say to me, and my pleasure crested.
I came with a moan, breathless. I lay there, determined not to feel too pathetic for what I'd just done. After what might have been an hour, I rolled myself off the bed and went to take a hot shower, hoping the steam could bring me some sleep—and some relief from my infatuation.