Emmaline Ch. 01

I've been asked to write sequels to several of my other stories, but most of them are written as single ideas. I decided to create a story line that I can keep going for 5 or 6 chapters, or longer, depending. This is the first chapter, setting the table for future chapters to come.

I love hearing from readers and other writers and respond to all emails. Please don't forget to vote - and thanks for reading.

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I always wake up the same way: open one eye, then the other. The first eye tells me, yes, I am still alive. The second eye orients me as to where I am. Usually, that's my bed at home. This morning, on opening my second eye, I realized I was not in my bed, but in a strange environment. Bright sunlight on pale green walls and the scent of lavender accosted my senses. Then a wave of realization washed over me and caused my mouth to curl into a smile. I was in Emma's bed.

I turned to see if she was there and saw the covers thrown back in her absence. I took a deep breath and could barely detect her scent. My ears picked up sounds from down the hall and I could swear I heard the sound of sizzling bacon. I smiled again and turned over to relish the morning, thoughts of the previous evening echoing in my head and bringing me into a new day.

I am a 48 year-old English professor at a major state university in Southern New England. My specialty is modern contemporary fiction and I teach several undergrad courses and one graduate level seminar. I've been divorced for seven years, and have been in no hurry to reconnect on a marital level. My work keeps me so busy, and contributed to my divorce in the first place, and I have a few friends with benefits who ease the pain of occasionally lacking a steady female counterpart in my life.

I had made it a policy over the years to avoid fraternizing with my female students. I had seen several of my colleagues suffer embarrassment and worse from illegal student interactions, and I had been able to resist the normal temptations of the freewheeling university atmosphere. That was until I met Emmaline, or Emma, as she liked to be called.

I have had my will tested over my years at the university. I'm a relatively handsome, sensitive fellow, keep myself in shape with diet and exercise, and have never had a problem attracting members of the opposite sex. I'm 6'1" and a tight 175 pounds with long wavy brown hair that I let run a little long over the ears and collar. A few flecks of gray and rimless glasses do give away my approaching dotage, but I feel like a million bucks and stay young from my constant contact and interaction with college age kids. Working on a college campus will do that.

While I've always regarded most of the female students with a bemused eye, it has been rare that one has gotten under my skin. But every once in awhile the right combination of looks, allure and intelligence will be sitting in my classroom, and I find myself fighting the urge to connect.

Emma was a senior English major taking my second semester Modern American Lit seminar. I had noticed her the first day she walked into my classroom; she was hard to miss; and I had found myself struggling to maintain an even keel and equal eye contact with the other students in the room. She was a stunner.

She stood about 5'6" tall, had a wonderfully slender, but curvy, body that looked like it had been sculpted by a very kind God. She had long lithe legs that culminated in one of the finest asses I had ever laid my eyes on. Her breasts, while not very evident under the necessary layers of the early second semester weather, were quite full and very well proportioned to her body.

Her face was a study in innocence and beauty, with full saucy lips, dark, alluring brown eyes, and high regal cheekbones. Her hair was fine, lustrous, medium brown and cut to just below her shoulder. She could wear it loose and flowing, or tie it up casually with everything from a hair clip to a ballpoint pen. She liked to wear tight jeans and sandals or shoes that had a little lift to the heel. She was a stunningly beautiful young woman, yet appeared to be completely unaffected by her good looks.

It was her skin, however, that drove me crazy. She had smooth, silky skin that begged to be touched and stroked. It had a luminescent quality about it and was accentuated by her fine, delicate features. I longed to reach and touch.

Beyond her appearance, she was an excellent student and had a flare for analysis and a writing style that showed great promise. Her father was a well-to-do surgeon in New York and her mother had to have had some exotic bloodlines as she had inherited both the brains and the beauty from her family pool.

I remember noticing her the first day of class and had had a hard time taking my eyes off her as I said. She dallied as she left the classroom that day; a small seminar of about a dozen students; and I remember her walking by me; the last student to leave. My eyes hungrily followed her sweet swaying butt, tucked so tightly into her jeans, when with a sudden quick movement, she flicked her hair and looked over her shoulder at me, catching me with a slacked jaw and an unrepentant look of lust in my eyes.

I made no movement toward trying to look away or pretend I was looking elsewhere. She just smiled quickly and kept moving out the classroom door. It had all happened in a split second, but the ensuing months would hinge on that quick visual connection. She knew that I had been watching her and was pleased with herself for luring me into her orbit. I was lured in willingly, but was somewhat frightened by my lack of self-control.

As the weeks passed we maintained a cordial teacher/student relationship, but I did find myself looking forward to those weekly afternoon seminars. Emma would look at me with a bemused expression on her face that said, "I know you want me." She was right, of course. In any case, I became more attracted to her as the semester wore on, especially as I slowly discovered her keen intellect. I've always been a sucker for a certain type of beauty, but throw youthful intelligence into the mix and I'm a goner.

As April brought warmer spring weather, the coeds began to celebrate by wearing less and less. It's my favorite time of year as the lush young bodies that have been covered under fleece and flannel expose themselves to the sun and spring air. Emma was no exception and I gained a new appreciation for the loveliness of her body as she began to wear tight tank tops and leave her midriff exposed; slender bra straps peeking out as they arched over the delicate bones and smooth skin of her shoulders. Occasionally she would wear a short skirt or dress that would slowly ride up her shapely tan legs as she'd shift in her chair, making no pretense of trying to be modest.

I was constantly fighting the urge to observe her body during class. She would see me looking at her and I could swear there was an unspoken connection between us. More than once I caught her staring at my crotch, a wan smile on her face, as I waxed on poetically about Walker Percy or Dom Delillo. It was as if we had come to a silent agreement that it was okay for each of us to ogle one another.

One beautiful spring morning I was walking across campus when I spied Emma, some distance away, walking toward me. She was talking on a cell phone as she strolled and I sat down on a bench just off the path to watch her. She was looking down as she walked so I was pretty sure I could observe her unnoticed. She was wearing a tight black low cut top, skin tight designer jeans and high heeled sandals. A bag was slung over her shoulder and her lustrous hair bounced and swayed with her very sexy stride. I couldn't keep my eyes off the tight crease of her pussy. The jeans gathered together so snugly at the apex of her thighs and belly, and the beautiful vee of denim cupped her treasure; her labia clearly visible through the well-worn fabric. Her breasts jiggled in tight controlled bounces as she walked and I could only wish that I was on the other end of her conversation; perhaps making plans to see her.

As she walked by I saw her exquisite profile for a fleeting moment, and then admired the retreating form of her little bubble butt, twitching tightly as she strode by. I hoped, as I stared, that no one was watching me leer at this lovely student. But for those few seconds, I really didn't care. I shook my head in disbelief and wonder, then gathered myself together and stood up to go on my way.

As the semester wore on the students began to work on their final papers. Emma hung back after class one day and said she was having a little trouble with her topic and asked if she could see me in my office. We made an appointment for the following day. She looked radiant as she stood a few feet from me. I watched happily as she swayed out of the classroom; knowing that she knew I was watching and lusting. I fantasized about seeing her alone in my office, but knew I'd leave it as a fantasy. Still, the thought of having her alone was making my blood run hot. The next day she showed up at my office on time and grinned that beguiling smile of hers; a combination of naivete and naughtiness.

"Hi Professor Wood. Can I come in?"

"Emma. Please. Nice to see you." This was an understatement.

She had on the requisite jeans, a tight top with bra straps showing, and a pair of sandals with a little kick of elevation. Her hair was up and looked like she'd done it as an afterthought. It was so sexy; errant strands falling on either side and framing her beautiful face. She sat down, put her bag on the floor and we began to talk about her topic. I worked hard at not letting my eyes wander down to the delicious cleavage and swell of her breasts, clearly on display above the scooping neckline of her top.

It became evident that a little focused research on the computer would take her to some sources she hadn't considered. I got up and had her sit in my chair and use the computer to do her search. I stood over her, hand on the back of the chair as she googled her way through several excellent sites I directed her to. As she worked the mouse I stood over her, breathing in her fresh scent. Her long dangling earrings shook as she talked, and I found myself wanting to lean down and kiss the nape of her neck. I surveyed the swell of her breasts from above, wanting to slide my hand in and scoop up their fullness. She had to know I was looking at her, but she showed no shyness or modesty as she unselfconsciously let me look at her luscious body.

She sat straight as an arrow in the chair, and the curve of her back narrowed into a slender exposed waist, then flared out to her ass sitting pertly in my chair. This position caused her tight jeans to pull down on her backside, and I could barely make out the line of her panties peeking out. They were magenta and had a small bow in the middle. The fabric looked like sheer lace. I tried to make coherent and professorial comments as we discussed her paper, but as she focused her eyes on the computer screen, I kept glancing at her lovely body. I felt myself thickening and worried about showing my excitement.

As she closed up Google, she spun in my chair and looked directly at my crotch as she turned. I'm not sure if my bulge was evident or not, but she smiled and looked up at me.

"Thanks, Professor. I think I'm set for now." She stood, pushed the loose strands of hair over her ear and leaned down to pick up her bag. I shot a glance down her top and eyed the most beautiful pair of tits, encased in a low-cut bra, but their fullness overflowing the top and jiggling ever so slightly. She knew I was looking and took a few seconds to gather her things while I gaped. She was such a tease.

"Gotta go finish this paper. Thanks for your help, Professor. You're the best. See you in class," she said with a grin, then spun on her heels and headed out the door. I sighed, sat back in my chair, and looked at the ceiling. I was in trouble.

Emma turned her paper in a few days later and it was excellent. She got an A, as she deserved, and it had nothing to do with her looks or my incredible attraction to her. But I figured the semester was over and she would move on, as would I. So I was somewhat surprised a few days after classes ended to hear a knock at my office door and see Emma standing on my doorstep.

"Emma. To what do I owe this pleasure?" I exclaimed, hardly hiding my glee. I looked her up and down, throwing caution to the wind, taking in her lithe beauty. Class was over, she was no longer my student, and I leered with impunity. And she loved it.

"Well, I just stopped by to thank you for your help. And my grade. And all the wonderful comments on the paper. Thank you so much," she said with obvious pleasure and a big smile. She had great teeth.

"Emma, it was well earned. It was an excellent paper and you deserved the grade. Keep up the good work; you have an excellent future in front of you."

I saddened at the thought of her moving on, but notice that she seemed to have something else to say.

"Was there something else, Emma?" I asked expectantly.

"Well, if you wouldn't think this a weird suggestion, I..."

She stopped and looked at me in mid sentence.

"Yes, Emma?"

"Well, I was wondering if I could pay you back for all your help by cooking you dinner?"

She smiled and looked at me quizzically. She had on a short denim skirt, her impossibly long tan legs going on forever. Her hip was cocked to one side as she nervously awaited my answer.

"Well, Emma. I don't usually socialize with students; even ones as lovely as you," I stated with a wavering authority.

"But you see, Professor. After graduation this week, I won't be a student here anymore," she argued as she looked me straight in the eye. "And, I make a mean lasagna. So...I think you should come." She looked at me expectantly. Had it been my imagination, or had she placed a little extra emphasis on the last word of her sentence?

Good God. How could I possibly say no to this creature? I didn't want her to leave. I just wanted her to stand there so I could look at her; take in her delicate beauty.

"Well, I guess...I will take you up on your kind offer."

She bounced up off her heels with glee, and as she landed back on her heels, her breasts jiggled so pertly. I smiled up at her gleaming eyes.

"On one condition, however: you have to stop calling me Professor. My name is Jack."

She scrunched up her nose and made a face.

"Well, I suppose that's a condition I can live with. Jack. Graduation is Wednesday. How's next Friday night?"

"Superb," I replied.

"Goodie." She spun on her heels and headed out the door. She looked back over her shoulder. "I'll email you directions." I smiled and waved. She stopped, spun, smiled, cocked her hip to one side and waved back. "Bye, Jack. See you Friday."

"Bye."

I checked my email a little more than usual over the next few days, when I saw one pop up from Emma.

Hi Jack -- I live in the Linden Ridge condos south of town. I've attached a Mapquest link. How's 7pm? You don't need to bring anything except yourself. Dress casually and if it's nice, we'll eat out on the patio. I can't wait to show you my appreciation for all your help this semester.

xxx -- emma

ps -- bring your dancing shoes :)

I read the email several times, trying to glean meaning. This had all the earmarks of an incredible evening in the making. And she was living in some pretty high end housing for a student. I figured dad must have invested in a nice condo for his little girl. For someone who was obviously from privilege, she seemed quite unaffected by her background. I looked forward with great anticipation to our dinner.

Friday arrived, hot for this time of year, so I decided to wear my linen shorts and a short sleeve black silk shirt. I didn't have any dancing shoes, so I wore my sandals instead. I stopped on the way out of town and bought a nice bottle of Brunello, not wanting to arrive empty handed despite her directions otherwise. I stopped and bought a nice bouquet of flowers as well, and felt kind of silly as I wended my way into her condo complex.

She had a nice end unit backed up to the woods. I parked my car and anxiously approached the front door. I could hear music inside as I rung the bell. The door opened and there stood Emma; a huge smile splashed across her face.

"Jack. Right on time. Oh, are these for me? You shouldn't have."

I handed her the flowers and leaned down to give her a little peck on the cheek. She smelled divine. Whatever she was wearing was expensive and floral. She looked, and smelled, amazing.

"Nice digs you got here, Emma," I said as I surveyed the scene. "Not exactly the dorm."

"Well, my dad figured if he was going to pay for a room anyway, he might as well make it an investment. I can't complain. I love the privacy and I get a lot more accomplished here than living in a dorm or in an off-campus apartment with a bunch of girls. Let me get these in water," she said, smelling the flowers. "Come on in."

I followed the gentle twitch of her ass as we entered her apartment. She was wearing a very short yellow silk dress. It was low-cut and gathered tightly around her generous breasts, then flared out to a flowing skirt that swayed loosely with her movements. I could not detect a bra. I thought about how easy it would be to lift up her dress and see what she was wearing, if anything, underneath. She wore a pair of stiletto heels that accentuated the fine line of her legs.

Her condo was well-appointed and showed the evidence of good taste and money. A throbbing beat was rumbling from hidden speakers and the aromas of garlic and onions sweetened the air. We entered the kitchen where Emma put the flowers into a vase. I found a corkscrew and opened the wine.

"A Brunello," Emma stated. "Well won't this be a fine Italian evening. Thank you so much. Glasses are in the cupboard there."

I opened the wine, grabbed a couple of very nice crystal stems and poured, handing her a glass and holding up mine for a toast.

"This may need to breathe awhile," I said, swirling the thick red nectar in the goblet.

"But, to one of my favorite students, who combines the rare mix of keen intellect and exquisite beauty." I lifted my glass as Emma beamed. Damn this girl was gorgeous. I wanted to toast her right out of her dress, but I knew I should be patient.

"Well, thank you, Professor, errr...I mean Jack. It's actually me who should be toasting you. Let me see," she said, putting her finger to her nose. She thought for a minute and then held out her glass.

"May this evening allow us to play out the fantasies we've both harbored all semester."

She smiled with a sexy stare and held out her glass. I looked her level in the eye, thunderstruck.

"I'll drink to that," I replied as casually as I could.

We both raised our glasses, clinked lightly, and sipped. Emma began to bounce a little to the music; a steady throbbing beat had her head nodding as she sipped her red wine. I looked her up and down; not caring now whether she saw or not.

"Those don't exactly look like casual shoes," I said smartly, admiring the taut line of her calves, elongated by her impossibly tall heels.

"No. But they make my legs look good," she smiled, turning sideways and looking over her shoulder. "Don't you think?" She pulled the hem of her dress up a little; exposing her lean smooth thighs.

"That they do."

"And they are my dancing shoes." She eyed my sandals. "And those are yours? I specifically stated in my email that you should wear your dancing shoes. Hmmm. Might have to mark you down a grade for that one."

She took another sip of wine.

'This wine is wonderful, Jack. I love a deep thick rich red wine."