"I'm a lecturer… You can't do this to me…"

Kieran Walsh drops by to ask me a couple of biology-related questions. He insists on making me demonstrate the answer in person. When he grinds against me with that rock-hard and powerful body of his, I can barely withstand the pleasure.

"You've never felt such intense pleasure before, have you?"

I feel Kieran pinning me on the desk, my legs already parting on their own unconsciously. As for the remaining biology-related questions that he still fails to understand, maybe using my body to teach him isn't a bad idea.

My name was Naomi Lovell. I was 26 and worked as a physiology lecturer at a local university.

I'd anticipated awkward moments when I chose this major, but what made things uncomfortable wasn't the professional terminology. It was the way certain hormone-driven students looked at me during lectures.

I had the kind of figure that drew attention—the kind that made women jealous and men stare. At five-foot-seven and 120 pounds, with slender legs and a narrow waist, my proportions were hard to hide. Most of my curves were concentrated in my chest.

Every class attracted stares, and the white lab coat the university required did little to conceal my figure.

That afternoon, the entire campus had back-to-back classes, and the hallways were packed with students. When the bell rang, the crowd surged toward the door. I found myself pushed and jostled along with everyone else.

The corridor was worse, with people pressed shoulder-to-shoulder. This floor had more classrooms and a narrower hallway, and I was swept up in the current, barely able to move on my own.

The flow of bodies behind me pushed me forward. Just as I reached the stairwell corner, a sudden shove from behind made me stumble, and I was pressed against the wall. Before I could turn around, I felt a solid body press against my back.

The stairwell was too crowded. I was pinned against the wall, and a male student, carried by momentum, pressed fully against me. Through my thin blouse, I could clearly feel the defined muscles of his chest. But what I felt more clearly was lower down.

Students from upstairs were also descending, and the crush of bodies pushed him even tighter against me. That part of him pressed directly against my backside.

He lowered his head, and I felt his warm breath on the back of my neck. At this distance, I could smell the faint scent of laundry detergent and that hormone-laden smell unique to young men.

My boyfriend, Blake Norris, and I had been together for years. He was four years older than me. When we first moved in together, he was very vigorous. However, his demanding job seemed to have worn him down lately.

Sometimes he barely touched me for weeks. My body was in its prime, restless and unsatisfied from the lack of intimacy.

Blake hadn't fulfilled those needs in a long time. With this unexpected contact and heated proximity, I felt myself becoming increasingly sensitive. The crowd continued to surge, and the student shifted slightly behind me, the pressure moving from my backside to a more central position.

Each movement created friction between our bodies. The shifting crowd made him press against me again and again, and I could feel him growing firmer, pressing insistently against me through the thin fabric.

My face burned. The crowd's movements grew slightly more pronounced, and the sensation became even more intense. I had recently felt like a volcano on the verge of erupting, waiting endlessly for rain that never came. And now, in this crowded stairwell, a stranger was easily igniting the fire inside me.

I missed a step and fell backward against him. One of his hands caught my waist to steady me, while the other ended up resting much lower.

He moved his hand slightly, then withdrew it. But I was acutely aware that the dampness from my body had transferred to his fingers.

He wiped his fingers against my thigh, the moisture smearing across my skin. His other hand, still at my waist, gripped a bit tighter.

He brought his face close to my ear, his hot breath brushing against my earlobe. "You're turned on. Need help with that?"

His voice carried a note of hesitation, testing my response.

I bit my lip and didn't answer, but my body was more honest than my mind. I could feel my back arching slightly, my hips unconsciously pressing backward, responding to his presence.

The stairwell lighting was dim, the crowd noisy. No one noticed what was happening in this corner.

His hand shifted position, sliding from my waist downward. The hem of my blouse lifted as his fingertips touched the bare skin at my waist. The burning heat of his touch nearly made me cry out.

"Don't…" I muttered, my voice coming out barely above a whisper.

The man didn't stop. Instead, he grew bolder, slipping his hand beneath the fabric. His rough palm pressed against my skin, exploring upward inch by inch. His other arm wrapped around my stomach, pulling me tight against him.

I closed my eyes. Reason told me to push him away, but my body had gone soft, weightless. My legs trembled, and if he hadn't been holding me up, I would have collapsed to the floor.

His fingers finally reached the thin lace edge. As he moved beneath it, a soft sound escaped my lips.

"Mm…"

I bit down immediately, but he caught the noise anyway. His movements grew bolder, cupping me entirely in his palm, kneading with increased pressure, occasionally squeezing.

After exploring my upper body, he seemed unsatisfied. The hand at my stomach began sliding downward.

His large hand moved lower, stroking the front of my underwear before tugging at the fabric, creating friction.

"You're so turned on. Want me to take care of you?"

Then he slipped beneath the waistband, his fingers reaching that forbidden place. The sudden contact nearly made me cry out. I bit my lip hard, suppressing any sound.

He wasn't satisfied yet. He pushed aside the soaked fabric, preparing to go further.

Reason finally won out. I grabbed his forearm. "Not there…"

Shame flooded through me. My students surrounded us on all sides. Terrified of losing control, I pushed backward, accidentally grabbing him there instead.

"Can't wait anymore? The foreplay isn't even finished yet."

I yanked my hand back, but the brief contact startled me. His size far exceeded Blake's.

Just then, the crowd in the stairwell began moving forward. The dense pack of students gradually thinned.

The man withdrew his hand, and I frantically straightened my clothes.

As the flow dispersed, I didn't dare look back. I hurried forward instead. Even after putting distance between us, I could still feel his burning gaze on my back.

Back in my office, I shut the door and leaned against it, breathing hard. My heart hammered as I looked down. My blouse was bunched up at the hem, and I'd fastened the buttons wrong, missing one.

The wetness between my legs felt sticky and uncomfortable. The office was empty anyway, so I slipped off my underwear, planning to throw them away and change into a fresh pair.

Just then, someone knocked. I didn't have time to put the underwear back on, so I quickly pulled on my skirt to cover myself.

"Come in."

The door opened. A man walked in, and his first words made me freeze.

"Hello, Professor Lovell. Blake sent me. My name is Kieran Walsh."

The student from the stairwell stood in my doorway. He greeted me politely, showing no sign of recognition.

"Oh… please, sit." I tried to sound natural. "You're interested in the physiology graduate program?"

"Yes." He sat down beside me.

"I'm very interested in human physiological mechanisms, particularly genital response."

As Kieran spoke those last few words, his gaze locked onto my face.

I pretended not to notice. "What's your undergraduate major?"

"Also physiology. I'm a junior."

"You're already preparing for grad school? That's early."

"I want to be prepared, play it safe." He smiled at me. "Besides, I've sat in on your lectures before, Professor Lovell. They're excellent."

I froze. "You've sat in on my classes?"

"The Human Physiology Fundamentals course you're teaching this semester. I've attended every lecture."

His eyes stayed fixed on me. "Your teaching is very engaging, Professor, especially today's section on the genital response cycle. You covered a lot of details very clearly."

I caught the implication in his words.

"So… Do you have any specific questions?"

He pulled a notebook from his bag, flipped it open, and slid it across the desk. "This section on male genital response mechanisms—there are some parts I don't understand."

I looked down. The notebook contained neat notes from my lectures, covered with dense annotations. He'd clearly been paying attention.

"Here, you mentioned that male genital response has four phases: excitement, plateau, orgasm, and resolution. My question is, if someone remains in the plateau phase with continued stimulation but doesn't reach climax, what are the physiological effects?"

It was a legitimate academic question. I answered carefully. "Prolonged plateau phase without release can cause prostatic congestion. Over time, this could potentially lead to prostatitis and other issues. So appropriate…"

Halfway through, I realized something and looked up. Kieran stared back at me, the hint of a smile playing at his lips.

"So Professor Lovell, if someone stays aroused for a long time without release, they need to take care of it, right?"

Take care of it? My heart skipped a beat.

"That's… Well—"

"I have a friend who's been dealing with this recently," he cut me off.

"He gets aroused randomly, and once it happens, it won't go away. Sometimes it lasts for hours. He saw a doctor who said there's nothing physically wrong and suggested he just needs release."

He stared at me intently, enunciating each word slowly. "Professor Lovell, do you think that's sound medical advice?"

My face grew hot. Every word seemed loaded with suggestion.

"Well… From a physiological standpoint, appropriate release does help relieve prostatic congestion. But it really depends on the specific circumstances."

"Would you be willing to help him, Professor?"

"What?"

Before I could process his question, he leaned down, hands bracing against the arms of my chair, trapping me in place.

"Kieran, you…"

"Professor Lovell." His mouth moved close to my ear, his voice overlapping with that same whisper from the stairwell.

"You're turned on. Need help with that?"

The sensation from the stairwell, that touch that had brought me to the edge of losing control, seemed to crawl back over my body. I trembled, unable to stop it, feeling the heat between my legs intensify.

Kieran looked down at me, amusement in his eyes, taking in my every reaction.