The Night I Gave Myself to My Married Professor

I never thought anything extraordinary would happen during my engineering days in Hyderabad. Life was routine — lectures, assignments, tea breaks with friends. But that was before I noticed him.

He wasn’t just another professor. He had a quiet presence, the kind that didn’t shout for attention but somehow made the whole room lean in. He was in his early thirties, married, confident, always composed. Something about the way he stood, spoke, even smiled — it tugged at something inside me. Something curious. Something bold.

It started innocently enough.

It was during a lab session. The hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional beep of equipment filled the air. He came over to check my work, leaning over my shoulder, his presence both comforting and electrifying. I could feel the heat of his body, the subtle scent of his cologne—a mix of sandalwood and something uniquely him. I didn't move. I let my shoulder brush against his chest slightly, a mere inch, but it felt like a spark. He didn't pull away.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I kept replaying that moment over and over in my mind. Was it something? Was it just me? The way his breath had hit the back of my neck, the way his eyes had lingered on me—it all felt like a secret language only we understood.

The next day, I made a small choice—two buttons of my shirt left undone. Not too much. Just enough to be noticed if someone was paying attention. I walked into the staff room with my file and leaned across his desk to ask something I already knew the answer to.

His eyes hesitated. Just a second. But I caught it. That pause. That unspoken acknowledgement.

“You’re looking… very pretty today,” he said, almost under his breath.

“Thank you, sir,” I replied, my voice soft but confident. “You look good too.”

I could see the slight flush on his cheeks, the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. It was a small victory, but it felt huge.

That evening, my heart raced as I opened WhatsApp and typed:

“Sir, I hope I didn’t disturb you today.”

He replied a few minutes later:

“You didn’t. You rarely do.”

I let the conversation linger. Slowly, carefully, I slipped past formality.

“Sometimes I wonder… if I’m still just your student.”

There was a long pause.

“You’re making this difficult.”

“Then don’t resist. Just be honest.”

The wall between us cracked that night. I could feel the shift, the tension that now hung in the air whenever we were together.

The days that followed felt like a dream—silent but loud. In the corridors, his fingers brushed mine in passing. During lectures, his eyes found mine for a second too long. One afternoon, when I brought a file to him in the staff room, the door was slightly open, the lights dim. I stepped in, closed the door gently, and placed the file on the desk.

He didn’t speak. Neither did I.

I walked to his side and stood there, close—too close. I could feel his breath. I looked up, and his eyes searched mine like he was reading a question I hadn’t asked out loud.

When his fingers touched my wrist, it was so gentle it felt like a breath. He didn’t kiss me. Not yet. But he didn’t need to. The room was charged with an energy that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

One night, the message came.

“My wife is going to her hometown tomorrow. I’ll be alone. I was wondering… would you be able to stay out for a day? Tell your parents you’re with friends.”

My hands trembled.

“Where would we go?”

“I’ve booked a room at Ramoji Film City. Private. Safe. Just us.”

I paused… then typed,

“I’ll find a way.”

The anticipation was killing me. I could feel the mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in my stomach.

The next day, I took a half-day leave from college. I wore my uniform like any other day, but everything felt different. My friends waved goodbye, unaware of the secret blooming behind my smile.

He picked me up near the main road. The car smelled like him. Safe. Familiar. Electric.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” he said, his voice low and husky.

I smiled. “So have I.”

We stopped for lunch. Afterward, in a quiet corner, I changed in the car—from uniform to jeans and a fitted T-shirt. He watched without watching, respectful but burning. As I climbed back in, he reached out and kissed me.

Our first kiss—slow, searching, honest. No rush. No guilt. Just breath and feeling. His lips were soft but firm, exploring mine with a tenderness that made my heart ache. I melted into him, my hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.

At the hotel, the world outside faded. It was just us. No classrooms. No expectations. Just a man and a woman, finally giving in to the connection they had buried for too long.

We didn’t speak much. We didn’t need to. His hands found mine, then my face. My body remembered every glance, every brush of fingers in passing. And now, there was no one watching, no one to hide from.

That night was not about lust. It was about longing—fulfilled, but gentle. My heart felt both wild and safe. His touch asked permission. My silence gave answers.

I lay in his arms that night, tracing circles on his chest, wondering how something so secret could feel this true.

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the setting sun filtering through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue over everything. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I stood there, taking in the moment. This was it. The culmination of weeks of stolen glances, subtle touches, and whispered words.

He stood behind me, his hands gently resting on my shoulders. I could feel his breath on my neck, warm and inviting. "You're sure about this?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine.

I nodded, turning to face him. "I've never been more sure of anything," I replied, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside me.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against mine in a soft, tentative kiss. It was a question, a request for permission, and I answered by deepening the kiss, my hands reaching up to tangle in his hair. He responded with a low groan, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me flush against his body.

Our clothes seemed to disappear in a flurry of movement, each piece falling to the floor with a soft rustle. His fingers traced the curve of my spine, sending shivers of anticipation down my back. I could feel his heart pounding against my chest, matching the rhythm of my own.

He led me to the bed, his eyes never leaving mine. We lay down, our bodies entwined, and he began to explore me with a tenderness that took my breath away. His hands roamed over my body, memorizing every curve, every freckle, every scar. I did the same, my fingers tracing the defined muscles of his back, the scar on his shoulder, the soft hair on his chest.

His touch was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through my body. I arched into him, wanting more, needing more. He obliged, his mouth trailing kisses down my neck, my collarbone, my breasts. He took his time, savoring me, his tongue circling my nipple before taking it into his mouth. I gasped, my back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure washed over me.

He continued his exploration, his hands and mouth working in tandem to drive me wild. He kissed his way down my stomach, his fingers tracing the waistband of my underwear. I lifted my hips, helping him slide them off, my breath coming in short gasps.
He settled between my legs, his eyes meeting mine. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "So perfect."

I reached out, pulling him down for a kiss, my legs wrapping around his waist. I could feel his hardness pressing against me, and I shifted, positioning him at my entrance. He hesitated, his eyes searching mine for confirmation.

"Please," I whispered, my voice raw with need. "I want you."

He pushed into me slowly, inch by inch, his eyes never leaving mine. It was a slow, sensual dance, our bodies moving in sync, our breaths mingling, our hearts beating as one. The pleasure built, a slow burn that started in my core and spread outwards, consuming me, engulfing me.

Our lovemaking was a symphony of touches, kisses, and whispered words. He knew my body better than I did, his touch bringing me to the brink of ecstasy before backing off, only to build me up again. I matched his rhythm, my hips moving in sync with his, my body begging for release.

When it came, it was a tsunami, crashing over me, leaving me breathless and trembling. He followed soon after, his body shuddering as he found his own release, my name on his lips.

We lay there, our bodies entwined, our breaths slowly returning to normal. He pulled me close, his chin resting on the top of my head. "I've never felt this way before," he admitted, his voice soft. "You're incredible."

I smiled, my heart swelling with emotion. "Neither have I," I replied, my voice muffled against his chest. "Neither have I."

We spent the rest of the night exploring each other, our bodies learning each other's secrets, our souls entwining. It was more than just sex; it was a connection, a bond that went deeper than anything I'd ever experienced.

As I lay there, safe in his arms, I knew that this was just the beginning. Our journey was only starting, and I was ready to see where it took us.

The next morning, we woke up to the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains. I stirred in his arms, feeling a mix of contentment and anxiety. This was the part I had been both looking forward to and dreading—the aftermath.

He kissed the top of my head, his voice gentle. "Good morning."

I looked up at him, smiling softly. "Good morning."

We lay there for a while, just holding each other, neither of us wanting to break the spell. Eventually, reality crept back in, and we started to get ready to leave.

As we drove back, the city waking up around us, I felt a pang of sadness. The bubble we had been in was about to burst, and we would have to face the world again.

He dropped me off near my college, giving me a soft, lingering kiss before I got out of the car. "I'll see you soon," he promised, his eyes filled with a mix of tenderness and regret.

I nodded, trying to hide the tears that were welling up in my eyes. "Soon," I echoed, before turning and walking away, leaving him and our secret behind.

The days that followed were a blur of classes, assignments, and stolen glances. We kept our distance in public, but the connection between us was palpable. Every time our eyes met, it was like a jolt of electricity, a reminder of what we shared.

We continued to meet in secret, our encounters becoming more frequent and more intense. Each time, it was like the first time all over again—full of anticipation, passion, and a deep, emotional connection.

Our secret became a part of us, a bond that tied us together. We knew we were playing with fire, but we couldn't help but be drawn to the flame. It was dangerous, exhilarating, and utterly consuming.

But as the days turned into weeks, the reality of our situation started to set in. He was a married man, a respected professor, and I was his student. Our secret was safe for now, but how long could it last?

One evening, as we lay in each other's arms, I couldn't help but voice my fears. "What if someone finds out? What will happen to us?"

He sighed, his fingers tracing patterns on my back. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I can't imagine my life without you in it now."

His words filled me with a mix of joy and terror. Joy because I knew he felt the same way I did, and terror because I knew the stakes were high.

The choice was ours to make—continue living in our secret world or face the consequences and come clean. We both knew that the latter would be devastating, but the thought of losing each other was even more unbearable.

So, we chose to continue, to cherish every stolen moment, every secret touch, every whispered word. We chose to live in the now, to savor the passion and the connection that had blossomed between us.

And as I lay in his arms, listening to the steady beat of his heart, I knew that I would make the same choice again and again. Because with him, I felt alive. Because with him, I felt loved.

Our story was far from over, but for now, we were content to live in our secret, passionate world, where it was just us against the world.