Michelangelo’s Brushes

By Jennifer McIntyre

All Amanda wanted to do was seduce her hot Economics professor. She had no clue that he also hunted artifacts to sell on the black market. What started as a visit to his office for some "extra credit" turned into an international treasure hunt while being pursued by violent thugs!

 

Will Amanda escape with her life plus riches? But more importantly, will she make wild, passionate love with her college professor?

 

Sex, guns, treasure. What could go wrong?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer McIntyre
• Release date: Jul 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393382454

Book preview

Chapter 1

IT WAS WAY TOO EARLY for Amanda to be this fucking horny.

Amanda Davenport tried to take her mind off her libido by doing the puzzles that came in the free student newspaper. It was something she usually enjoyed (in high school her friends called her The Bookworm due to her love for reading and puzzles), but today her brain jumped and skipped and scattered all across her consciousness. She did a bit of the Sudoku, filled in some of the crossword, and now just sat and stared at them as her mind whirled and her chest grew tight with anticipation. Oh, The Bookworm had planned to be dirty today. She had been scheming for weeks.

She liked to sit about halfway up the auditorium—close enough to see Professor San Antonio, but not so close that he could notice her watching him. Through a combination of procrastination and poor planning, Amanda found herself taking Introductory Economics at eight in the morning during the last semester of her senior year at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. After four long, tedious years working toward a degree in Child and Family Studies, this one freaking class was all that stood between her and graduation. As far as class schedules go, it sucked, but having a gorgeous professor took out a lot of the sting.

A door opened at the front and Desmond San Antonio entered with a backpack slung over his shoulder. Tall with dark hair, he wore a blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal thick, veined forearms. Amanda squirmed just a little as she felt her pussy get hot.

Good morning, everyone! Desmond greeted. We’re all doing okay? Feeling good? Thrilled to be here? Well, here’s your bad joke of the day: you have a little moron and a big moron. One falls off a cliff. Which one is left? The one that's a little more on. Get it? Boom! Wake up everybody!

There class responded with a few light chuckles and a melodramatic groan. Amanda responded by pulling her hoodie over her strawberry-blonde hair.

Aaand we lost one already, he laughed. That's okay, it's Friday. Long week for everyone.

Amanda couldn't help but grin. Little did he know, she didn't do it out of sleepiness or disrespect. She wanted to hide her gaze from him. She didn't want him to catch her eating him up with her eyes.

She drew her arms in from her sleeves and tucked them into her baggy top which (combined with matching sweatpants) engulfed her petite frame, furthering the image of being just a poor, sleepy coed. Only she knew the purpose for her oh-so-comfortable leisure wear.

After midterms on a chilly Friday morning the auditorium stood maybe about a quarter full. People barely wanted to be there. No one would be paying attention to Amanda, and most certainly not closely enough to notice her masturbating in class.

Desmond began by orating on something called The Tragedy of the Commons, but Amanda could only hear the rich baritone of his voice. She drank in his timbre, becoming intoxicated on the melodious rhythm of his speech, and she had to squeeze her thighs together as she felt wetness seep between her lips.

Was she really going to go through with this? In class, in public? Could she really be that bold? That daring?

Her eyes licked him from his waist to his chest. Oh yes. Yes, she could.

Amanda slid her hand down into her sweatpants, under the elastic of her panties, over the light stubble of hair, until her fingertips crept into the crevice of her cunt. She adjusted, ever so slightly, to make sure her top draped over enough to hide what she did underneath.

Amanda wondered if Desmond would be surprised to know that one of his students swirled her fingertips along her moist pussy while she watched him teach. That her eyes sucked in every bit of his tall body. That she fantasized about what lay under his clothes.

She began rubbing her fingers against her clit as her eyes scanned across his broad chest, following how it tapered down into his pants. Amanda inhaled sharply and reminded herself that she had to control her breathing. Her classmates sat oblivious and she wanted to keep it that way.

She could feel the seed of her orgasm building slowly, like a snowball getting larger as it rolls downhill. Her gaze went lower to Desmond's crotch. At this point in the semester she had studied it enough to know that he possessed a most-certainly-above-average cock, and that it also hung to his left.

Amanda could see his dick in front of her, could see herself grabbing it, putting it in her pussy. She could visualize Desmond grabbing her waist, taking control and using her as nothing more than a sex toy to get off. Let him use her... take advantage of her.

She wanted to moan but kept it in. Kept breathing, in and out, nice and easy. Desmond strolled across the class, going on about public resources or some crap. Every step he took had power, had purpose. She could see the strength in his hips...

... and could picture them thrusting his dick deep inside her.

She sucked in a soft gasp, hoping no one heard. Her orgasm grew hotter, more intense, like a star about to go supernova. She could see him on top of her, holding himself up with chiseled arms, abs flexing as he fucked her, as he made her take every inch of his hard meat.

Her clit exploded, sending hot waves of liquid pleasure through her veins. A squeal of joy rushed up through her throat and she tried to suppress it but a shrill squeak still escape from her lips.

Oh god, they heard her.

Heat flushed into Amanda’s face as a handful of students turned to look at her, and even Desmond paused before returning to his lecture. At least she kept her hoodie up so no one could see how red she was. Surely someone had to know what she did. Someone had to sense, or hear, or see, that Amanda Davenport just finished flicking the bean while using her professor like a piece of porn. Someone had to know. She could feel eyes burning through clothes, staring at her in her state of sexual depravity.

Or maybe not. When everything settled back to normal she pulled her hand from her pants and spent the rest of class as quietly as possible.

Back in her apartment, Amanda danced and jittered and paced across the floor. From one end of the apartment to the other, popping in and out of each room, moving for the sake of moving to trying and kill this explosion of energy.

You're one crazy bitch, she said to her bathroom mirror, and her reflection grinned in agreeance (or perhaps insanity).

She masturbated in public, in the middle of class, and made herself cum while staring at her hot professor's cock. Even just a year ago she would have been mortified at the mere thought of it. Oh, how The Bookworm has changed.

She stripped off her clothes and jumped in the shower. Her vulva still pulsated hot and she hoped that the cool water would help, but instead she squeezed her thighs together to try and tame her horniness.

Today's the day, she said as she lathered. I'm fucking doing this.

In truth, Amanda had been thinking about this ever since she first laid eyes on Professor San Antonio. What she did that morning was fun (holy shit was it fun), but it was only a test. She had to test herself, her nerve, her resolve...

Amanda wasn't content fingering herself to Desmond. She wanted to seduce him.

Was it seduction, though? She wasn't going to his office today to fuck him. She just wanted to put herself on his radar. Let him know she existed. Ease him into knowing her and (hopefully) liking her.

She got dressed in a long-sleeved tee and a pair of jeans. Spent more time than usual on her makeup, stuck in that weird paradox of needing to do more for that natural look. Pulled her hair back in a ponytail. Not trying to look slutty at all. Keep it casual. Keep her intentions inconspicuous.

The idea wasn't far-fetched. When Desmond introduced himself at the beginning of the semester, he explained how he joined the Air Force out of high school. Started taking classes while he was in the service, finished his degree when he got out, got his master's, and was currently working on his PhD. That put him in his late twenties, maybe thirty at the most. Their age difference wasn't at all unreasonable. It wouldn't exactly be a May-December romance.

She kept running through the plan on the drive back to campus. Ask him about some of the class material, make some small talk... let him know she exists. And at the end of the semester if he didn't ask her out then she would be brave and ask him. If he wasn’t receptive then... well, fuck it. She’d never have to see him again, anyway.

As she walked to his office she wondered... what if...? What if she wanted more right now? What if she actually wanted to seduce him?

There were already rumors out there of students having affairs with professors. It wouldn't be unique. But how did these things happen? Who initiated? But more importantly, how would she do it?

She could picture herself entering his office. Closing the door behind her. And then what? Slink down to her knees. Crawl toward him. Undo his pants and wrap her lips around his dick. Sucking it, letting him fuck her mouth like it's her pussy. Letting him cum down her throat, on her face, wherever he wanted. Letting him be as nasty and depraved as he wanted to be. Offer him an oral report, so to speak.

It couldn't fail. What guy would ever say no to a blowjob? What guy wouldn't want to use a pretty young college student however he desired? Amanda had come to terms with the fact that she’d never sign a contract with a modeling agency, but she also knew that she would never have to beg for men’s attention. Not a knockout, but cute—a girl-next-door type. She found herself attractive, if she could say so herself, though she would never be gauche enough to admit that to anyone.

She’d been on her fair share of dates (not so much that she’d be considered slutty,