Adult-FanFiction.org : Celebrity

As the Seasons Grey	By : christinecornell Category: Celebrities - Misc > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 46 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Started life as kinky Christmas-related short stories in 2022 and took on a life of its own shortly thereafter. 100 fiction, none of this is real, and I own nothing except for the character of Christine.

Chapter List
- 15
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- 17
“Christine?”
She turned her attention to the front of the classroom, where right in the middle of the blackboard, he stood there with a clipboard in his hand as he took roll call. The substitute teacher for the day, with his shoulder-length black hair and that long plume of gray upon his head, long and thin like that of a feather, as well as the fine lines of age upon his face.
“Present,” she declared, and he showed her a little smile and a twinkle in those deep-set eyes in response. The only older man in a room full of college students.
He moved down to the next round of names before he set the clipboard down on the desk.
“Are you the sub?” the girl at the other side of the room asked him.
“Yes, I am the substitute for the day,” he informed them as he rubbed his hands together. “I don’t know much about music theory, but I do know what today’s lesson holds for all of us.”
“So, we’re not going to watch a movie?” Christine chimed in.
“Oh, no,” he assured her with a shake of his head. “It’s going to be some time before we can watch a little movie.”
Every so often during that day’s lecture, he would look over at her with a playful little smirk on his face and that twinkle in his eye, as if he was up to mischief. It was hard to imagine a professor who carried his weight so well: the way that he walked around the front of the room with his hands clasped together before his chest and the way that the little soft-looking roll of fat around his waist poked out underneath his arms, the very beginnings of a middle-aged potbelly, made Christine think of elegance. Even with the little bit of extra weight on his body, he carried himself so well, with such grace and class, as if he belonged on a runway rather than the front of the classroom.
Whenever he tossed his hair back, he showed off his neck, in all its tender slim beauty. Even with the slight lines around his prominent Adam’s apple, he showed no signs of sagging there. He was graying, growing older, and yet he showed no signs of aging. If anything, he seemed to go along with that big pocket of grays at the front of his hair.
When he scribbled something on the blackboard, he flashed a fleeting, but knowing glance over at her, as if he was trying to read her mind, or come inside of her mind, rather. Whenever he wrote something at a quick pace, he stuck his tongue out at her, as if he was trying to tell her something.
At one point, he picked up a nylon-string guitar from the little black metallic rack on the floor, and he took his seat at the teacher’s desk with it plunked across his lap. A piece of his hair fell over his eyes and the bridge of his prominent nose, all to where Christine could only see his right eye and the right side of his face. Those long, lanky fingers spread across the neck of the guitar like the legs of a scorpion, and he pursed his lips and puckered them out as if he beckoned a kiss from her.
A chill ran up her spine at the sight of him as he played a piece of Latin music for them at a quick pace. Some of that lush, decadent spice, as if he was playing it all for her instead. She glanced over at the rest of the class and most of them did in fact look rather bored at the sight of him there: he was playing it all for her instead.
He jammed it for about ten minutes before he brought it down to a slower, more sensuous outro, and then he finished it out with a final strum of the pluck. A round of applause and he set it back down on the rack on the floor.
“Are there any questions?” he called out by the time there were five minutes left in the period.
“What are your influences?” one kid asked him.
“I’ll tell you later,” he frankly replied, and a couple of people giggled at that. One girl raised her hand.
“What’s the story behind your gray streak?” she asked him. “Like why is that one part of your head gray but the rest isn’t?”
“I don’t really know,” he confessed with a shake of his head. “I’ve heard some people say it’s a birthmark, or it’s a scar—one time, I went up to Indian Rock, north of Berkeley, where I'm from originally, when I was a kid and everyone in my class hit their head trying to go up this thing. I was about fourteen, I was brushing my hair one day and I found a gray hair down in the sink basin. I showed it to my mom, and she goes, ‘oh, it must be one of your father’s’ but my dad was like—completely bald at that point. As for the exact origin, though? I can’t really say.”
Christine then shot up her hand. He lowered his eyelids at her and nodded in her direction.
“What kind of underwear do you wear?” she quipped to him, and the students next to her giggled at that. Alex raised his eyebrows at that, and then he glanced back at the teacher aide, who snickered as well.
“We’ve got a little sassy one over here,” he declared, and he strode on over to her.
“It’s a simple question, actually,” she insisted. “I want to know if you’re comfortable at all when you play around with some nylons like that.”
Alex stood before her with his hands tucked into his pockets, and his shoulder-length hair sprawled over his narrow shoulders. Christine's eyes scanned him from his lanky feet all the way up his slender, spindly legs, to his slightly full hips, to his round waist and his deep chest, to the rolled sleeves on his elbows, to the sly little smirk on his round, handsome face.
“You know what—just for that, I ought to see you after class,” he remarked, and she swore that he had flashed her a little wink. The kids next to her whispered things to each other right then, and that was when the bell rang.
“Don’t tell Miss Mormino you watched a movie,” he called after the class as they all packed in for their round of a break followed by the next period. Christine lingered back until everyone had left the music theory class for the day, and then after a few minutes, she stood up to her feet and walked on over to him. He took his spot there behind the teacher desk with one leg cross over the other and his hand rested upon his knee in repose.
“You wanted to see me?” she asked him.
“I did, yes,” he replied, and once the last student had left the room, he squinted his eyes at her. “So, you wanna sniff my undies?”
“Unless you want to sniff mine,” she retorted back, and she tried her best to hold back a bout of laughter at that. And he let out a low whistle and shook his head at that.
“You know what? Just for that, I ought to take you over my knee and spank you,” he quipped.
Christine pressed her hands to her hips, and she showed off her figure to him.
“What’s on your mind right now?” she asked him.
He ran his hand along his knee and the inside of his thigh: her eyes followed the path of his hand there, all the way to the crotch of his blue jeans.
“I can’t say,” he told her with a slight flutter of his eyelids at her. Those eyelashes, like his flat, comma-shaped eyebrows, were dark and prominent, especially in junction with his milky white skin and the fine lines on his face.
“Really, what’s on your mind right now?” she asked him in a low voice.
“Right now? Oh, just—y’know, stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?” she continued, and she folded her arms over her chest. He never said anything. Christine moved in closer to him.
“Alex? What kind of stuff are we talking about here?”
“The kind of stuff that would—probably get us into a heap of trouble,” he said in a husky, near whisper of a voice.
“What kind of trouble are we talking?” she asked, and she rested her hand down on the top of the desk before her. Alex nibbled on his bottom lip at the sight of her hand. “Are we talking about like—detention? A week of detention? Suspended for a week?”
“Depends,” he declared, still with his voice husky and low: the way he lowered his voice like that made her think of melted dark chocolate, as rich and full as the act of sin itself. He lifted his gaze towards her, complete with his eyes hooded and his hand still rested upon the inside of his knee. “It depends, my dear Christine.” The tip of his tongue slithered out from his cherry lips like the tongue of a snake, ready to strike and take her down with his venom.
“Depends on the severity?” she asked him.
“Maybe.” He lowered his gaze to his legs and the edge of the desk before him again. “It could also depend on how it’s doable, too.”
“Is it doable?” she asked him.
He showed her his tongue again, and then he brought his gaze back up to her.
“Get up on top of the desk,” he told her in a near whisper. “Take off your pants, then get on top of the desk, and I’ll lock the door.”
“Deal.” She flashed him a wink, and she peeled off her jeans and her underwear, and then she climbed to the top of the desk. Alex himself, meanwhile, made his way over to the door of the classroom, and he clicked the lock on the handle with his thumb and his index finger. He then returned to her with that devilish smirk across his face: Christine suspended herself onto her hands and knees.
“From behind, I see,” he said, still with his voice down low.
“From behind, like the dirty dogs you and I both are,” she quipped. He chuckled at that as he slid a chair over to the side of the desk. She could hear him unzip his jeans, and then he climbed to the top of the chair and then the desk. His long, lanky fingers crept her bare hips and he gave her ass a little squeeze.
“Nice and soft, I see,” he noted.
“Not as soft as I am for you,” she teased him.
“I like you, Chris,” he told her. “You’re soft but you’re sassy, too—” He thrust hard into her. “Sassy is—always good—”
“Sassy is in charge!” she yelped out.
“Ah, but I am the teacher,” he assured her in between thrusts. “I’m leading the class. But you did—” He gently squeezed the left side of her ass. “—get my attention. Maybe you are the one who’s boss.”
“Fuck me, Alex,” she commanded him in a low growl of a voice. “Fuck me like the filthy dog you are.”
“I’m the teacher, remember?”
She licked her lips and gave her hair a toss back with a flick of her head.
“Fuck me, Mr. Skolnick,” she repeated, that time in a near whisper.
“There we go,” he declared, triumphant, and he gently patted her ass once again before he thrusted some more. The desk held the two of them rather well even though it wasn’t made for such an act: the hard surface hit up against Christine’s knees, but they kept her afloat all the way until he reached down in between her legs for a little fingering.
“There has to be another climax in there,” he chuckled to himself. “There just—has to be—”
His index and middle fingers slithered under her hood, and she gasped right then and there.
“Not if I make you cum first,” she retorted back to him.
“Ha! You'd have to reach back and grab me to do that. At least I have an easy reach here.”
As soon as the words left his lips, Christine lifted herself up onto her knees and she lunged for that full erection. She held onto him with both hands; the whole act caught him off guard, and so she was able to fondle him with ease. Alex closed his eyes, and he tilted his head back as she gave him a nice little hand job there. She could feel something oozing on the back of her hand. She looked down in time to find him ejaculating all down the top of her left hand as well as part of her wrist.
“Good boy,” she whispered into his face. She had dominated the one on top, right as the bell rang.
“Class dismissed,” he croaked out in a broken voice.
- 15
- 16
- 17
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As the Seasons Grey