Ties Beyond the Rift

Sofia Kepner pedaled intently. She was riding down a quiet street toward the university. Summer still lingered, the air warm, though an evening breeze cooled her skin. At 25, she was finishing her master's degree. She caught herself pressing against the narrow bicycle seat more than necessary, gripping it with her thighs, lost in familiar daydreams about that man. With each pedal stroke, the friction of the seat against her shorts intensified, moisture gathering between her legs, and she softly bit her lower lip. Her nipples hardened under her tight top, goosebumps ran along the insides of her thighs, and her vagina clenched rhythmically. Sofia breathed faster, pretending it was due to the physical effort of cycling. "Oh, Miller, if only you knew," she thought, gripping the handlebars and speeding up to reach her destination, though every movement only fueled the fire, her vagina pulsing, ready to explode. She parked her bike by the building, her legs trembling, her panties soaked and clinging to her skin. Sofia tugged at her shorts, adjusted her hair, feeling the heat between her legs refuse to subside. Her thoughts were consumed by Professor David Miller—a 43-year-old brunette in glasses, always in dull suits, seemingly fused with that ridiculous tie of his. Perfect posture, long fingers, a hint of melancholy in his eyes. She'd been flirting with him for months: lingering after seminars, asking suggestive questions, catching his glances that lingered just a bit too long. He always deflected her attention, citing ethics, but Sofia was convinced: he wanted her, he was just afraid. Today, she decided to push further. Miller's office was on the third floor of the old building, where the smell of books mingled with dust. Sofia knocked, her fingers trembling slightly. "Come in," his voice called, steady with a faint rasp. She pushed the door open, stepped inside, and closed it behind her. Miller sat at his desk, surrounded by stacks of papers, glasses perched on his nose, jacket off, sleeves rolled up. He looked up, and for a moment, his eyes froze on her—shorts hugging her hips, top accentuating her breasts. He had to admit to himself: she was the one he'd been waiting for, hoping she'd knock. He noted, as always, her dark wavy hair, blue eyes he was afraid to meet, strong wide hips contrasting with her slim waist, and her perfectly high breasts. Sofia felt her vagina clench again—just from his gaze. "Miss Kepner? Something about your thesis?" he asked, setting his pen aside, his voice tense. She sat across from him, crossing her legs, feeling her wet panties rub against her skin, her clitoris still throbbing from the ride. "To hell with the thesis," she replied, leaning closer, her breasts outlined by the top. "I'm thinking about you. Not the work." Miller removed his glasses, rubbed his temples, his dark eyes narrowing. "Sofia, this is inappropriate. I'm your professor. There are boundaries." She smiled, slowly parting her knees, her shorts tightening. "Boundaries? I'm an adult, Professor. I know what I want. Do you? How many years have you been hiding behind those 'boundaries'? I see how you look at me—not like a student." He leaned back in his chair, trying to sound as stern as possible. "You're mistaken. This is your imagination. Leave." But Sofia wasn't leaving. She stood, walked around the desk, and stopped beside him, her hip nearly brushing his shoulder. "I'm not mistaken," she whispered, leaning close enough for him to feel her breath. "I want you. Right here." Her hand touched his shoulder, slid down his chest through his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin. Miller tensed, summoning his willpower, and grabbed her wrist, stopping her. "Sofia, enough," he said, but his voice faltered, and his eyes betrayed the desire he was trying to suppress.