Speaker 1: It's September sixteenth, and that means it's time for your
Speaker 1: daily fuck on Taboo Tuesday. The campus is silent, cloaked
Speaker 1: in a late evening darkness. The only light comes from
Speaker 1: the third floor of the Humanities Building, a single, warm,
Speaker 1: inviting square, doctor Evelyn Allister's light. I'm in her office,
Speaker 1: surrounded by towering walls books. The air is thick with
Speaker 1: the scent of old paper and her faint, expensive perfume.
Speaker 1: We're supposed to be discussing my final paper on the
Speaker 1: Viennese Secessionists, but for the last hour the conversation is
Speaker 1: felt like a slow, deliberate seduction. She is everything I
Speaker 1: want to be, brilliant, endinggmatic, and utterly in control. She's
Speaker 1: in her forties, with sharp, intelligent eyes and a severe,
Speaker 1: elegant beauty that makes my heart ache. My admiration for
Speaker 1: her began as purely academic, but it has slowly secretly
Speaker 1: morphed into a desperate, aching crush. Thanks to my religious upbringing.
Speaker 1: I'm only just beginning to understand that my desire for
Speaker 1: women is a real and powerful thing, and has found
Speaker 1: its singular focus in her. The eroticism in Shield's work
Speaker 1: isn't just in the nudity, Clara. She rises from behind
Speaker 1: her massive desk. It's in the tension the line. Come here,
Speaker 1: I obey. My leg's feeling a little weak as I
Speaker 1: walk over to where she stands by a bookshelf. She
Speaker 1: pulls down a heavy art book, its pages filled with stark,
Speaker 1: angular nudes. She opens it on electern, her body close
Speaker 1: to mind, her shoulders brushing. See her long manicured finger
Speaker 1: traces the contorted leg of a woman in a painting.
Speaker 1: See how the artist's line doesn't just outline the form,
Speaker 1: but possesses it. True beauty requires a confident hand. As
Speaker 1: she says the last words, the back of her hand
Speaker 1: brushes against mine, a touch that feels anything but accidental.
Speaker 1: My breath hitches, The air is electric. Does she feel
Speaker 1: the same way about me that I do her? It
Speaker 1: seems impossible. And then she closes the book with a
Speaker 1: soft thud and turns to face me, her eyes dark
Speaker 1: and unreadable. But theory is one thing, Clara. Her look
Speaker 1: is intense. Practical application is another. Entirely, just as I'm
Speaker 1: trying to get a handle on whether she is making
Speaker 1: a move, she heads the female body is not just
Speaker 1: to be viewed and appreciated. It is to be touched.
Speaker 1: And as she says the word touched, she takes my
Speaker 1: hand and lifts it up to her lips. Her tongue
Speaker 1: lightly licks my fingertips. I came here for a grade,
Speaker 1: but the look in her eyes is a different kind
Speaker 1: of test. Not I desperate to pass. I decide right
Speaker 1: then to let her teach me everything. I close my
Speaker 1: eyes as she sucks on my fingers. She pulls me
Speaker 1: in for a kiss, and her lips meet mine. The
Speaker 1: kiss is a revelation. It's not the clumsy, mechanical kiss
Speaker 1: of the boys I've known that was lacked any sort
Speaker 1: of passion. The boys wanted to kiss me, but I
Speaker 1: didn't want to kiss them. This, this is different. She
Speaker 1: knows I want her. I don't know how, but she
Speaker 1: knows it. Her kiss is slow, expert, and utterly devastating.
Speaker 1: She's teaching me what a woman's mouth can do, and
Speaker 1: I'm a wrapped student. Her hand comes up to cradle
Speaker 1: my jaw, her thumbs stroking my cheek as she deepens
Speaker 1: the kiss, taking complete control, she pulls back, leaving me
Speaker 1: breathless and dizzy, less than one a ghost of a
Speaker 1: smile and her perfect lips forms. She takes my hand
Speaker 1: and leads me to a warn leather sofa in the
Speaker 1: corner of the office. Lie down. I lie back on
Speaker 1: the cool leather, my heart pounding of frantic rhythm against
Speaker 1: my ribs. She doesn't join me, though. Instead she kneels
Speaker 1: on the floor before me, a queen kneeling before her subject.
Speaker 1: She slowly pushes the fabric of my skirt up by thighs.
Speaker 1: Her case is intense and unwavering Egon's shield, believed the
Speaker 1: body was a vessel for ecstasy. Her voice is a
Speaker 1: low academic purr let's test that theory. Her mouth is
Speaker 1: on me, and the world dissolves into a kaleidoscope of pure,
Speaker 1: unadulterated sensation. She is an artist and my body as
Speaker 1: her canvas. Her tongue is a brush, painting slow deliberate
Speaker 1: strokes along my inner lips before focusing on my clit
Speaker 1: with a schular's single minded intensity. I've never felt anything
Speaker 1: like this. It's a pleasure so sharp, so focused, it's
Speaker 1: almost painful. My hands gripped the edges of the chaise.
Speaker 1: My knuckle's white as she brings me to brink then
Speaker 1: pulls back a control, absolute patience. Clara. The best discoveries
Speaker 1: require thorough research. She returns to her work, and this
Speaker 1: time she doesn't stop. She drags me over the edge
Speaker 1: with a calculated, perfect precision. My orgasm is a violent
Speaker 1: shuddering wave that rips through my body, A stoundless scream
Speaker 1: torn from my throat. It's a moment of complete and
Speaker 1: total discovery. I'm left panting on the chaise, my body
Speaker 1: a trembling, hyper sensitive mess. She rises, gracefully, retrieves a
Speaker 1: silk handkerchief from her desk, and gently dabs the corner
Speaker 1: of my mouth. As I'm pulling myself together, I close
Speaker 1: a tangled mess. She looks at me, her expression once
Speaker 1: again cool and prefaceorial. Your paper showed excellent promise, Clara.
Speaker 1: She has a wicked glint in her eye. But your
Speaker 1: practical work is truly exceptional, an A plus I believe