Bring her aboard

You're on the edge, the very cusp of cumming. You know there's a chance that, as soon as this is over, the non-sexual side of your personality is likely to take over, disgusted, and put an end to all the fun. He is likely to rob you of this little choice up ahead. You slow down, pull out a moment or two every few thrusts, and stay unmoving inside Carolina's pussy at similar intervalls. Slowly you numb yourself, and clear your mind just enough to think.

It is tempting to simply cum now, deep within, and call it a day, but then, it's always tempting to cum when near cumming. Furthermore, if you cum now, somehow keep the will to carry on, and then wake Miss Dahl, you wouldn't have to deal with sexual frustration if she decided she wanted none of it. It seems unlikely though. The moment you cum, generally, your sexual persona usually just goes out like a light while the rest angrily takes the reigns. In your indecision you find yourself staring down at Miss Dahl's face, as though it may hold the answer somehow.

It is a beautiful face, and you have only seen it express a particular set of emotions. You've only ever seen her professional mask, that which she shows to everybody, the half-intentional Attack Eyebrows, mildly scowling lips. More and more you want to see her out of her element. You want to see her features translate some sort of emotions more intense than mild annoyance at some student being absent or some students being too noisy. You want to see and feel her waking to you, buried inside her.

"Carolina."

Her eyes snap open and roll up into her skull, she archs her back, gasping; down below you very nearly cum regardless your efforts of restraint as her pussy violently contracts around you, as if trying to mince your cock, turn it to soup by sheer crushing ****... and then she flops back on the table, breath in short, laboured bursts, and eyelids drooping over near unseeing eyes. Both of you now panting, several seconds go by. You have time to wonder what that must have felt like, and if there is any way to make it happen to you, make your senses overload instantly.

You feel pressure closing on your buttocks from behind. White hot pain as nails dig into the skin on your back and a weight suspended from them pulls your frame downwards. Carolina Dahl has you in her embrace, pulling you into her with her legs, pulling herself up to you, staring into your eyes looking absolutely possessed. She sucks your mouth onto hers and you start thrusting again, not bothering to try and understand, trying to ignore the improbableness of what is happening. Soon you cum, grunting, and she holds you in as hard as her legs can squeeze. Oodles of semen spurt forth from your cock, sloshing into her wet cunt. Somehow she seems to orgasm with you, moaning into your mouth, her body shaking all over as it rubs against yours.

You lie still for a while. Your arms fail you and your deadening weight slowly falls wholly onto Miss Dahl's naked form. She only seems to welcome it, apparently not bothered about the pressure possibly compromising her respiratory system. She positively holds you even tighter as you sink into her flesh.

She wants you to be one with her, as do you reciprocally. You know she wants it, somehow. You can feel her want, it flows from her like an invisible stream of primal energy, feeding straight into your core. In fact, you don't quite know whether you wanted it first or she did, only that the desire is there, and shared. One of you wanted, and now you both do, locked in a feedback loop. You can feel the shape of her emotions, you can feel her longing in her stomach, feel it right inside yours. You feel your own orgasm rippling through her and back to you, mingled with another sensation that must have been her climax. You can feel her reasoning, feel her questioning, wondering if this is right, confusion, mild panic, and then, acceptance. You don't know where some of it comes from, her or you. You don't know if her calm is really your calm, or if her rejecting her fears is your own disregard of fine morality bouncing back at you. Your minds are mingled, mangled together, intertwined to feed off each other constantly.

Moving as if a single entity in two parts you both rise from the table and quit the room, one staying behind a few minutes to ensure nothing much has changed, and to wipe clean any bodily secretions lying around. When you arrive in the classroom one has already folded the clothes of the other and started clothing themselves. Finally, as you resume your stations prior to the freezing of time, one of you produces an original thought. You.

The remaining thirty-forty minutes of class go by without further incident. In fact, the transmission of knowledge is much improved, at least for you. Carolina's accent is much toned down, her syllables much cleaner cut, vowels easily distinguishable. She responds to you directly, clearing up specific points of theory as and when you feel them escaping your comprehension, always making it seem as though she is acting to the benefit of the entire class. It hasn't changed your core sentiment about the subject matter itself as a nebulous, undisciplined mass of dogma, and indeed your teacher, fed by that vibe, has subtly changed her teaching style as if that were a given. You can see now that when the exam comes you will have some chance of falling within the corrector's expectations.

Class ends. Everyone around you rises from their seat abruptly and starts getting themselves the hell away. Some load their things into their bags, each thing in its proper place, then get into their coats, and walk out. Some just chuck everything in, hope for the best and leave the room still slipping into their outerwear. Some hang around each other in little groups, taking their time to accommodate the slowest, or because they're all slow and don't have lessons afterwards. It's about 4 pm.

You and your other half both put your things away, and end up both clothing yourselves for without again, but you both know it's only a short distraction. Dread fills you both at the thought of separating, bouncing from one to the other and back, stronger tenfold each time. Neither of you knows how far your bond can reach before dissipating. It feels unbreakable here, in each other's presence, like a stainless steel chain wrapped around your beating hearts, but who knows what distance can do to it, and for as long as week. It needs maintenance at the very least, but how do you provide it? You are only supposed to be within reach of each other once a week. You want to be nearby all the time. You are both young and fresh faced, and could both be taken to be lovers in the same age range. But any one student who knows both of you for what you are will spoil it all. This bond jeopardises your discretion.