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Him
THE PROFESSOR WAS ABOUTto masturbate.
His eyes squeezed shut as his hand gripped his dick in a familiar manner.
Damn her.
Goddamn her.
Goddamn her for making him want her so fucking bad he had to do this.
Matthijs was an intensely sexual man, the kind that could go long for hours, and while this served his reputation well, it also had its downside. Or anupsiderather, with his dick, upon making its presence felt, requiring immediate action. Once it saw, it wanted, and it wanted and stayedhard.Hence a detour to the nearest fucking restroom, just to get his damnable erection out of the way.
The professor jerked himself off in a predetermined number of strokes, his fingers conscientiously angled to induce an orgasm in the shortest amount of time.
In the normal course of things, the professor's sexual relief should have earned him a modicum (pun intended) of calmness and clarity. But when he stepped out of the cubicle, agitation still had him in its grip, his every movement stiff and aggressive. His inner equilibrium, normally formidable and imperturbable, was shot to pieces.
To make up for his late arrival, Matthijs assigned his students double the amount of their usual workload, and he heard not a word of dissent even as their collective faces contorted in inaudible grimaces.
At precisely 09:30 in the morning, the university's public announcement system played Symphony No. 40 in G Minor, and the professor dismissed his students with a curt nod.
Helder Meer prided itself for doing away with the more uncouth applications of long-standing tradition, and the clip of classical music playing in the background was one such change, with the typical, unappealingly shrill school buzzers replaced by Mozart for Mondays, Tchaikovsky for Tuesdays, Wagner for Wednesdays, and so forth.
Of course, not all such changes were of minor or aesthetic consequences.Ad Altiora Tendo,the university's motto, translated to 'I strive to higher things,' and this manifested itself in Helder Meer's approach to education, which some praised for being groundbreaking (the professor, for instance, taught Applied Psychology with Respect to the Christian Faith) while others criticized it for being unnecessarily radical (e.g. the permitted use of recreational substances within specific areas on campus).
Radical or not, the professor didn't really give a damn about public perception of the university. What he did feel strongly, however, was the university board's continued refusal to grant professors leeway in kicking students out. Instead, the old fucks were still stuck in the past, with their ludicrous insistence that students had to miss three classes consecutively before professors could permanently cross them out of their lists.
In the professor's experience, students who missed his first class were and would always be a complete waste of his time. More often than not, they turned out to be egoistic, self-entitled animals, like leopards that hadn't even the self-awareness to realize they had spots to begin with, much less appreciate the need to change said spots.
The one student he had to markAbsenton the attendance sheet earlier would undoubtedly be the same, and the professor's lip curled when he thought of what was likely to happen afterwards. Helder Meer's students had a remarkable affinity for histrionics regardless of gender, and it was always unpleasant business when the professor dropped the ball and the truth of their ineluctable dismissal from his class stared at them in the face.
Young people today had it too easy, and they didn't even know it.The nature of his thoughts made for hideous company, and the professor's mood was succinctly reflected on his strikingly handsome features.
Female students were able to catch sight of it despite the professor's long-legged stride making brisk work of the walk back to his office, and this mere glimpse was enough, the carved, aristocratic lines of his face seemingly a preordained canvas for haughty derision.
As one infatuated (and no doubt somewhat masochistic) student had once put it:the professor's scowls only made him look hotter, and his looks of icy derision were a huge turn-on.
Albeit inelegant, the description was fairly accurate, as evinced by the way heads quickly snapped towards the professor's direction the moment he strode into view. Skin taking on a rosy hue, dryness lining their throats as nipples pricked into awareness - such were the readily-discernible symptoms of their desire, and that he had a reputation for being an unfeeling scoundrel only added immensely to his appeal.
After all, it was a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman would always want what was unattainable, and what could be more unattainable than a Nobel Prize winner who also happened to be a gorgeous, wealthyasshole?