True Confessions: The Final Exam

If you can imagine for a moment a final exam in an upper-level English course at a prestigious, heritage university in Chennai, picture about twelve students in a small room vigorously scribbling away. They are answering discussion questions for ninety minutes about authors and themes, each of their chairs parked against a long, heavy teakwood table where we've spent hours during the semester discussing and reading poetry out loud. The room is incredibly old, with large, arched windows looming down from high on the wall. We are perched on the second floor of the arts block. The pale yellow paint is peeling off the plastered interior, with deep water stains on the ceiling, accompanied by the hypnotic whir of ancient ceiling fans and the flicker of fluorescent tube lights. The professor is middle-aged with thinning hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He smokes two packs of Gold Flake a day and drinks at least a full flask of strong, dark filter coffee, but somehow his teeth remain remarkably white. His thin lips and narrow face seem to complement his sharp hazel eyes, so clear you can almost see through them. He's lanky and agitated, pacing around the heavy table in dark socks, having removed his leather sandals near the podium. He's making everyone nervous—except for me.

I've got a guaranteed 'A' in this class. No question. He doesn't give a single shit about the answers I'm scribbling on my paper. He only cares about my personal notes, my original poems, and the glaring fact that I've come to his final exam wearing a thin, sleeveless white cotton top absolutely without a bra. I look wonderfully disheveled in the typical exam week sort of way—dark brown hair tied up in a messy bird's nest, wild tendrils streaming down across my face, and not the slightest sign of makeup for days. He secretly loves the look... that 'I just woke up in your bed after you fucked me all night' appearance that he's never had the privilege of seeing in person, but dreams about every single night because I've teased him with some late-night selfies on WhatsApp. I'm taking my absolute time, drawing lewd pictures on the margins to punctuate my sentences... deliberately watching the clock tick down. I've got a brutal organic chemistry exam to prepare for when I leave, and I am determined to be the last student to exit this room. I haven't had much sleep, and it definitely shows in my heavy eyes.

Once the large room has finally emptied, he quickly closes the heavy wooden door behind the very last student. There's a printed 'Testing: Do Not Disturb' sign taped to the narrow rectangular strip of glass that hovers over the brass doorknob. The door has no functional lock. Footsteps are passing briskly in the tiled hallway outside. Urgent student voices are echoing down the corridor. The college building is a total flurry of afternoon activity. He approaches me wistfully in our isolated, concrete-walled cubicle. We've only kissed once before, when I briefly followed him into his cramped staff room office. His pale formal trousers are hanging loose on his lanky legs. I can't quite tell if he's hard yet. "I have another advanced class I'd like for you to attend next semester," he says. He's mumbling on a Center Fresh mint because he knows perfectly well that I can't stand the stale taste of cigarettes on a man's breath. I'm standing confidently by my chair, and I kiss him—this time much longer, much more passionately and hungrily than before. He grabs my test paper and crumbles it in his fist, but I quickly stop him.

"You'll want to look at that later," I smirk playfully. I take the crumpled paper, fold it up neatly, and stuff it down deep into his front trouser pocket. Yes, my knuckles brush against him—he is definitely hard. I graze his bulge softly as I slowly remove my hand. "You know you have an 'A' in the course, right?" he whispers. "I know," I chortle softly. "Do you think I deserve it?" "No," he says gruffly, but he completely fails to hide his mischievous smile. He's such a massive nerd. Such a dork. Total putty in my hand. Not at all in my league if we were sitting on a barstool at a pub in Indiranagar, yet mysteriously, intensely desirable in this dusty academic room... in this stolen moment. "You're the best student I've ever had. Seriously." I run my index finger slowly down the front of his light blue Peter England shirt and effortlessly loosen a button. "You haven't had me yet, Lakshman." I've never called him Lakshman before... always by his formal last name. Always a distinguished doctor of poetic philosophy.

But today, in his racing mind, he's in a noisy bar shooting pool. One of his braless female students who has practically graduated from his class is leaning over the green felt to knock down a combo shot. He's looking right down her loose blouse at her plump, perky tits. He's got her exam paper burning a hole in his pocket. She's drawn a detailed dick on the back of it, followed by a highly personal, deeply erotic poem. It's explicitly about sucking his cock until he comes hot and heavy right in her mouth. He's going to get rock hard when he finally reads it—but probably not any harder than he is right now in front of me. Lakshman's never been with a wild girl like me. I don't even have to ask to know it. He still lives with his traditional mother in Mylapore. She's a total prude whom I strongly suspect still buys all of his boring clothes. My professor coughs nervously, breaking the silence. He absolutely loves it when I say naughty things to him. At the beginning of the semester, he lustfully demanded that I read raunchy, classical poetry aloud and in front of his entire class.

I never even knew such explicit erotic poetry existed before his class. I was incredibly shy and embarrassed at first, blushing deeply and stuttering like an idiot as I enunciated the raw words. He made me read several filthy passages repeatedly. "Speak the words clearly, Divya." "F-U-C-K," I finally rumbled from the absolute depths of my gut. The entire class moaned in unison. Soon afterwards, I started deliberately writing sex poems for his private assignments, aggressively duplicating the smut that I had presented in class. I started writing straight from my wet gash, not my grey matter. I wrote my filthy poems strictly for him, but he didn't let me read those aloud. Otherwise, everyone on campus would have known. He foolishly thought our little thing was private. It wasn't. Everyone knew. Everyone could see that he desperately wanted my tight pussy wrapped around his PhD prick. Professors always get exactly what they want. That's what I told him in my poem right beneath the crude sketch of his penis. That's exactly why I drew him so incredibly hard and ready. "I can't take your course, Lakshman." I casually unhook another button on his stiff shirt.

His bare chest is surprisingly pale, completely hairless, with a slightly sunken sternum. He's clearly never lifted a barbell in his entire academic life. "I've been accepted to the nursing college. I start the fall semester." He sighs heavily and drops his head in disappointment. I'm sitting back on the edge of the heavy teak table in front of him, completing the slow process of popping the rest of his buttons. He's just standing there, frozen, letting me do exactly what I want. "Have you ever taken your shirt off outside in the bright sun?" Lakshman shakes his head defensively. "I burn too easily," he mutters self-consciously. "I bet." I'm giggling lightly. I lean forward and start licking his icy pink nipples, curiously light in color, hairless, and remarkably sensitive to my tongue. "That's why they invented sunscreen." "It doesn't help," he says hoarsely. I'm making him lose his professorial voice, or maybe that's just the years of smoking cigarettes. His pecs are totally flat. There are tiny tufts of dark fur under his armpits. He's wearing some sort of musky imported cologne completely foreign to his timid personality.

He's staring hungrily down at my boobs. I'm only a modest B Cup. "I told you I'd come to the exam braless. What's this stuff that you're wearing?" I kiss him softly behind the ear, then trace my wet tongue down his neck. "It's French," he responds, like that's somehow deeply impressive to a college girl. "I can't believe you're not dating anyone," he blurts out of absolutely nowhere as my hands move down and I unbuckle his leather belt. "We're not going to date, Lakshman. We're going to FUCK." I slowly and deliberately pull down his metal zipper. His formal trousers fall completely open. The heavy weight of the belt buckle sends them sliding straight down to his ankles. He's wearing tight, white briefs; the classic VIP kind that mommies put on their ten-year-old boys. No stains, no holes, no ghastly skid marks... thank God for small mercies. His mom would be incredibly proud. I should send her a WhatsApp GIF. Her precious baby's tenting the front of his tightie-whities. I drag my long forefinger down the fabric of his stiff erection. "You look pretty big." ...not.

"We can't do this in here," he protests, glancing nervously at the door. "Let's go to my office." "You're going to do it right here, Lakshman. You're going to do it right now. Step out of your trousers and kick them to the wall before you spill something sticky all over them." He obediently does exactly as I ask while I quickly slip off his shirt and blindly sling it over my bare back. "Let's see what you're working with." As I confidently reach for the thick elastic waist band tightly hugging his pale hips, he suddenly covers my hands with his own. I hesitate, looking up at him. "We could get caught, Divya. I could lose my university job." ...Like I could give a hot hymen in Hades. Jesus, I'm such a bitch. "Yes, you absolutely could, Lakshman." I ruthlessly ease down his white shorts and snug his sketch-artist schlong into the warm, damp heart space between my bare thighs and my crotch. I'm still wearing my tight denim jeans and my skin-tight white tank top.

There are sparse, dark curls on his circumcised cock, but almost no hair on his balls or his pale legs. His bottom is completely baby smooth, and I ruthlessly sink my sharp manicured nails deep into his fleshy cheeks. He groans loudly. I squeeze harder. "You like that?" He nods frantically. "Then get rid of these." I'm firmly tugging at his white underwear, which is still strapped awkwardly around his trembling knees. "I definitely prefer my men to worship me completely naked." "Worship?" he gasps. "You want to slide this inside me, Lakshman?" I'm holding his member firmly in my palm, more certain than ever that this man is still a virgin. He's really not that big at all, even at maximum, throbbing erection. This is the absolute precipice of his manhood's capacity, shiny and deeply purple as a peacock's full plumage, oozing a clear drop of intense anticipation. "This is not the place, Divya." "Your dick thinks it is. Do you want me to just playfully jerk you off? You're not leaving this exam room until you spurt out your cum."

His stiff shaft bobs aggressively in direct response to my blunt demand, and for a solitary, panicky moment, I honestly think that he's prematurely shooting his wad right into my hand. He finally bends over, hands me his white shorts, and I flip them nonchalantly up towards the large, open window at the top of the wall. Now, they're stubbornly hanging off the dusty ledge of the high alcove. There's absolutely no way to get them down without a ladder. "Holy shit, I'm so sorry." ...not really. Lakshman's looking up at his stranded undies, visibly distressed, as I confidently stand up and start peeling off my tight Levi's for ladies. "Want me to flip my panties up there too, or would you prefer to take them home to your mother?" I have wicked, fleeting visions of him secretly trying them on in his bedroom. I shimmy completely out of my tiny, see-through lace thong. Lakshman's utterly hypnotized, mouth slightly open, as I sit back on the edge of the heavy teak table and begin to slowly stroke his throbbing length again.

Someone abruptly stops at the heavy wooden door, exactly as if reading the paper sign, deeply contemplating knocking or just boldly walking right in. I aggressively pull Lakshman close by his hips and keep fondling his rigid cock. He's absolutely terrified and tense, his formal clothes scattered on the dusty floor, his tighty-whities hanging high up from the old window frame. The unseen person in the hallway finally moves on, but the general clatter of students beyond our room seems to grow louder. "At least put a heavy chair against the door," he begs pathetically. "Shut up and shove your prick right in my cunt, Lakshman." He does exactly that... I instantly lie back on the hard wood, my bare thighs wrapped tightly around his furiously gyrating waist, grinding my wet core against his bony, angular pelvis. The heavy teak table is violently rocking. The thick wooden legs are loudly creaking against the floorboards. There's probably not a single doubt left in the entire arts building about what's going on in here. "Fuck me, baby! Fuck me goooood." He absolutely loves it when I talk dirty like a streetwalker.

How many times have I confidently stood before Lakshman's lecture class, offering deeply metaphorical passages of explicit sex for his private amusement? My professor heavily insisted. I happily complied. Professors always get what they want in the end. "Harder, Lakshman. Come on! Mess me up." I violently rip off my thin white shirt so he can finally check out my bare tits, then I reach down and thoroughly massage his smooth scrotum into a tight, sperm-spewing knot. His breathing is totally erratic and wheezy. His bare, pale chest is pounding furiously against mine. I never actually see the person turn the knob and open the door. Lakshman has only been buried inside me for a pathetic sixty seconds. He unloads deep in my wet snatch almost instantly, quickly tucking his head down into my shoulder as if the sudden intruder could never guess his obvious identity. I securely hold his flushed face to my bare breast. The heavy door closes abruptly with a loud click. I'm softly raking my fingernails through his damp, dispirited mane of thinning hair. "Finish up," I softly whisper in his ear.

I'm gently tugging on his bare ass whilst perfectly mimicking his last, feeble, exhausted thrusts into my core. "Give me all of it." He humps the air as he pathetically whimpers, giving me desperate strokes of newfound discovery, until he pitifully dribbles out the very last drops of his academic bravery... my slender arms and my wet thighs still firmly embracing his violently trembling frame. I finally feel his softening penis slip and fall out, followed by the sticky, warm stream of his fluids leaking onto the table. It takes absolutely nothing to make him immediately crumple down to his bare knees on the dusty floor. "Look at me, Lakshman." I'm standing proudly and directly over him, my dripping crotch plastered right next to his childlike face. He's fearfully scanning my whole naked body, glancing up nervously into my dark eyes. "Kiss it, baby." He obediently does. "Now, lick it," I strongly insist. I'm completely soaked with his messy semen. The humid air in the classroom completely reeks of his musky confessional scent. I firmly pull his face forward into my sloppy, wet satisfaction.

His trembling mouth eagerly latches onto my cum-covered clit. "Everything's completely okay, sweet professor. I'm taking the pill, so you definitely can't get me pregnant from this. You've got one less exam paper to grade tonight. We have the room all to ourselves now. Why don't you get me off." He's greedily sucking my sensitive nub exactly like a starving baby drains a mother's nipple. Thoroughly cleaning off the creamy, sticky colostrum. Making me absolutely crazy, ready to gush right down his throat. He's rapidly bringing me closer to the perfect, shattering climax. I'm honestly amazed he knows exactly how to give a college girl such incredible head. It must definitely be something he's unconsciously absorbed from years of reading all that classical poetry. I tightly squeeze the final drops of his spunk through my slick slit. "Eat it, Lakshman. Swallow it all down. Our bitter, dirty little secret." All worldly worry is completely forgotten until I violently explode right in his willing mouth... and then, over his shoulder, I suddenly notice the damn paper sign is missing from the door. The next batch of students is waiting outside in the hall, eagerly taking turns snapping clear pics as they peep right through the clear, narrow rectangular window.