No, instead he'll use the Professor to Practice

Chasing the dean or chancellor—or whatever title rules this place—feels too risky, the uncertainty of your power’s reach gnawing at you. Instead, her presence, softened under your sway, sparks a different idea. She’ll be practice, a chance to hone your skills, though sex with her? A quick glance at the lines etched into her face, the grey threading her hair, pulls a silent veto—too old for your tastes.

Kissing, though, that could work.

“Teach me how to kiss a woman,” you say, your voice steady, laced with that resonant pull, “and get her… worked up.”

Her eyes flicker, a spark of eagerness lighting them as she rises, heels clicking against the floor with a deliberate rhythm. “A while it’s been,” she murmurs, her Spanish accent rolling the words into a sultry wave, lips curving into a knowing smile. “Half an hour we have, plenty of time.” The desk creaks as she rounds it, closing the distance, her blazer brushing against your arm with a whisper of fabric.

Warmth radiates from her as she leans in, her breath grazing your cheek, scented faintly of coffee and mint. “Start slow,” she instructs, voice dropping to a husky murmur, guiding your hands to her waist. Her fingers trace your jaw, tilting your head just so, and her lips hover near yours—soft, teasing, before pressing gently. The kiss deepens, a dance of pressure and pause, and you feel her respond, a shiver running through her frame as her hands clutch your shoulders.

“More,” she breathes, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, cheeks flushing with a rosy hue. “Let your lips linger, tease the lower one with a nibble—gentle, like this.” Demonstrating, she nips lightly, her breath hitching, and guides your hand to her neck, encouraging a slow caress. “Stroke here, feel the pulse—builds the heat.” Her voice trembles slightly, eyes half-lidded as the room seems to shrink, the air thickening with her rising excitement.

You follow her lead, lips brushing hers again, nibbling as she suggested, your fingers tracing the warm pulse at her throat. “What else?” you ask, voice low, curiosity driving you as her body presses closer, the scent of her perfume—something floral and bold—filling your senses.

“Thrust with your tongue, slow and deep,” she coaches, demonstrating with a languid kiss that sends a shiver down your spine, her hands sliding to your chest. “And here,” she adds, guiding your other hand to her lower back, “massage in circles—firm, but not rough. It’ll stoke the fire.” Her breathing quickens, a soft moan escaping as you obey, her hips shifting subtly, the tension in her frame shivering under your touch.

A faint tick-tock pulses from the wall clock, its rhythm stretching time into a slow dance as your lips explore hers, guided by her murmured instructions.

Her breath hitches, warm and uneven, brushing your cheek like a summer gust, while her lips part wider, revealing a hungry edge that deepens each kiss. Fingers tighten on your shoulders, her nails grazing through your shirt, and a soft tremor runs down her spine, betraying a passion you hadn’t anticipated.

The air thickens, charged with her rising heat, a flush creeping up her neck to bloom across her cheeks like wildfire. Her hips shift slightly, pressing closer, the fabric of her blazer rustling against you as her eagerness spills into every movement—eyes half-lidded, glistening with a spark that catches the light, her body arching subtly as if drawn by an unseen current.

Suddenly, a slow pressure begin to exert itself on your erection, You feel the Professor’s nether regions rubbing against your crotch with a deliberate rhythm, the pressure of her body sending a jolt through your frame.

Fabric whispers against fabric, her warmth seeping through as she presses herself closer, her breath quickening into shallow gasps.

Leaning in, her lips brush your ear, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Do you want to take it further?”