Lost Flash Drive

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Ass

Curiosity killed the cat – that’s what I’ve always been told. As if I had ever listened to such an advice!

Being a professor in a small literature university has its advantages, all my male colleagues will confirm: small classes, filled mainly with fresh young women (some would even say girls), some even trying their seductive skills on male lecturers to get better grades. Although temptation has always been around, I never gave in to their overtures – ethics and my will to keep my job have always made me behave decently, even when the overtures were not that decent. That did not prevent me however from having an affair with a student that was not mine (my first ever story published here), nor with an ex-student that had become a member of staff.

What happened last month might be considered by some as slightly bending my ethics rules, but I do not.

It all started at the end of a lecture.

All the students had left the classroom and I was about to leave too, after packing all my teaching material, when I stepped onto something on the floor. It was a small flash drive, which had probably fallen off one of my student’s bag. I picked it up, looked in the corridors if anyone was rushing back to recover this tiny piece of electronics, then went to my nearby office. As I always did in those circumstances, I wrote a note and placed it on the notice board “Flash drive found in classroom 101 – retrieve it from Pr. Hunt’s office”. And I simply forgot about it for the rest of the day.

That night, I got home quite late after a meeting that had been a waste of time. The wife and kids were already in bed, so I had a quick snack in the living room, comfortably sitting in my armchair, reading and answering emails on my laptop. I fumbled through my pockets in search of my e-cigarette and found a slim rectangular object at the bottom of my jacket’s inside pocket. I silently laughed at myself – so lost in my thoughts, as always, I had pocketed the flash drive instead of leaving it in my office as I was planning to in the first place.

I looked at it closely. Nothing particular about it : slim, silvery, with 32G written on it. I pondered for a while – should I inspect its content and I might be able to find out whom it belongs to? but it’s not very ethical, a flash drive is something private. After five minutes weighing whether to open it or not, curiosity took over and I plugged it onto my computer. Like most students, this one had not sorted anything neatly, all sorts of files, word, excel, movies, were at the root of the disk. I glanced at the filenames and it did not help much since they were mainly subjects taught in third year or recent movies downloaded illegally. However, there was one with my subject for filename so I opened it. There was no trace of the student’s name in the document, but I was pretty amazed at the notes taken by the student, their accuracy, their insight on my subject. And I have to confess I felt quite proud that someone had understood my teachings so well.

Not finding any information as to whom that disk belonged to, I kept searching absentmindedly, and found a directory called “stuff”. Now, that’s the kind of folder name my curiosity forces me to open. It was packed with jpeg files as well as texts and movies, but the filenames were just numbers or undecipherable codes. The first file I opened surprised me when I opened it. Suddenly on my screen appeared a scan of a black and white comic book where a pretty brunette was sucking savagely on a huge penis. Slightly taken aback, I clicked on the next picture – the same brunette had her juicy pussy taken by the same huge penis.

Although I’m fond of erotic writings, I’m not much into erotic comics. Still, I kept browsing through the image files. Some were black and white, some were colour, all showing extreme sexual scenes and after some twenty of these, I started feeling slightly aroused. Though I don’t know if I was aroused by the images themselves or by the idea that one of my students was getting aroused by them. So I kept browsing. After another dozen of those scans, I ended up with a photo on my screen : clearly an amateur photo, just the middle part of a woman’s body, knees tight together, slim belly, naked and neatly shaved pussy, with a lovely beauty spot at the top left of the pubis contrasting with the creamy white skin.

I glanced at the file name “123me01.jpg”. Gosh, could this be a selfie? That got my vicious mind racing and I felt my blood rushing to my penis. Next photo was named 123me02 and this time, the thighs had parted and there was a clear view, though slightly blurred of this young woman’s labia. They were all puffed and engorged and they were clearly scintillating with wetness. At that point, I could not stop and the next photo nearly made me pull out my cock and masturbate frantically in front of it. In this third selfie, a delicate hand, with long and thin fingers, was shoving a violet jelly dildo in this beautiful pussy. To my great disappointment, there tuzla escort was no other picture from that series and the other images were more comic book scans.

I was way too excited to stop there and that “stuff” directory probably contained many other treasures. So I turned to the video files. Most of them were downloaded videos from porn sites, but they all had in common to feature a young woman in her early twenties with a man in his forties or fifties. However, one of the videos caught my attention. It was two minutes long and it resembled the photos that had caught my attention earlier. The hand was slowly thrusting the jelly dildo in this magnificent pussy. Her juices were dripping and when I put the sound on I heard deep moans mixed with barely audible pleas to make her cum.

That was so much for my eyes, for my hormones, for my senses. I had already my hand in my pants, caressing my ever so hard cock. I watched the video again and again. I particularly liked the moment when her body tensed as a violent orgasm electrified her. And I came. I hd an orgasm in front of a video, probably a selfie by one of my students, I creamed my fingers, I creamed my pants, I creamed my shirt, but that felt so good.

It took me a while to straighten my ideas after that. I quickly rushed to the bathroom to clean up then returned to my computer. I could not prevent myself from making a copy of that “stuff” directory on my own computer before ejecting the drive and placing it safely in my schoolbag. I had not seen everything in that folder and I wanted to have a chance to do so the day after.

No need to say my night was filled with images of this beautiful young pussy making love to that enormous dildo.

————

When I got to work the day after, the corridors were filled with students and some were queuing in front of my office door. I got in and told them to come one after the other. Each of them wanted to know their grade. Some left my office jumping and singing, other crying in despair. Samantha, one of my second year students, came with a deep cleavage, as she always did, in case I would raise her C to a B – which never happened. Jeanne, the sexy blond in my 3rd year class, offered to do “anything to get an A”, to which I replied “anything can start with a bit of regular work”.

Then came Cassandre. I looked up at the shy petite brunette with large black framed glasses and let out a friendly smirk.

“Don’t tell me you are coming to negotiate a better grade, Cassandra, you’ve had A’s every term since your first year and your last term in this university is no exception!”.

“Oh, I’m not here to negotiate my grades, Professor”, she protested, “I am the one who forgot her flash drive in class yesterday.”

I felt immensely confused. Cassandre is the kind of student that goes unnoticed. Polite but shy. Pretty but never wearing anything too sexy or indecent like some of her class friends do. Brilliant mind but discreet. She was the one to whom belonged that flash drive? I could not believe it. All these thoughts rushed through my head in barely half a second, but she seemed to notice my hesitation as I reached for my schoolbag and retrieved her flash drive.

As I handed it back to her, she looked down, as if to avoid eye contact, as if she knew I had been looking through her files. She grabbed it, and at that precise moment, I paid attention to her hand. Her long thin finger definitely looked like the ones I had been watching in the video the night before. I tried to get a grip on myself.

“you’d better not lose it again”, I ordered, “it would be stupid to lose all your academic notes that way!”.

I smiled at her, but she did not look up at me.

“Thank you professor, I promise I won’t!” she muttered in a shy voice.

And she left my office as fast as she could, to be replaced by yet another student complaining about her lousy grades.

All day long, although I had students in my office or colleagues I was meeting with to prepare for next year’s organisation, I had flickering and conflicting images in my mind: the introvert petite brunette I had seen in my class for the past three years, and the extrovert slutty photos and video I had seen on her flash drive. And all day I was longing to have time on my own to get a better look at that “stuff” folder I had copied on my laptop.

—————–

As soon as I got the opportunity to be alone, that night, at home, I opened my laptop and rushed to the “stuff” folder that I had copied from Cassandre’s flash drive. My first move was to watch that video again – but there were many other files to browse through, and I definitely had to check them up, and maybe I’d find another interesting piece.

I opened the folder and sorted the files by type. There was only that one video of her, no more, sadly. There was a fair amount of images, but I’d gone through them all the night before. Then there were a few word processor files and the first one alphabetically was tuzla escort bayan called “dear professor.doc”. I had to open it, what else could I do?

“Dear Professor,

I’m posting this letter on Literotica, because I know I’ll never have the guts to send it to you directly.”

Well, that started in a very interesting and surprising way. One of my best students was planning to post a letter on rather than send it to her professor. I did not expect someone so close to be on like I was. As I kept reading her fairly short letter, she gave details that made me doubt whether she was addressing an imaginary professor, a colleague or me.

It mentioned weekly classes for three years, the blue eyes of her professor and I was pretty sure I was Cassandre’s only teacher she’d had on a weekly basis for three years in a row who had blue eyes. When she mentioned moving from last row to first, doubts started clearing away – I had on my screen a letter that Cassandre was writing for me, or at least for some form of fantasy about me.

As I kept reading, she went on describing how she had become fond of her professor, how she had masturbated after a lecture (and that gave me an enormous hard-on), how she had become addicted to desiring her professor. The paragraph before last was extremely hot, describing how she’d love to take advantage of her prof by tying him up on a chair. She concluded her letter by saying that writing it had made her wet and that she’d go masturbate.

I could not believe what I was reading, so I read it again and again. The more I read it, the more I was convinced the letter was addressed to me, the more I was aroused. I launched the video I had seen that night before. I put my headphones on my ears and bathed in the sounds of her moans while I was reading her words again. I pulled my pants down and, encouraged by her moans, her “oh yes”, her “fuck me” and her “make me cum”, I masturbated madly till I shot my load all over myself once again.

—————-

The following days were quite uninteresting at work. I gave re-sit sessions to failing students and even though some girls made all the imaginable efforts to seduce me into giving them decent grades, my mind was all focused on Cassandre.

My wife and children had already gone on holiday and were expecting me to join them a week later. At least, that gave me the opportunity to freely read Cassandre’s files. Her other texts were not as fascinating – maybe because I could not recognize myself in them.

On the first evening home alone, I went to and searched through the stories, using keywords in her letter. And I immediately found it. Cassandre had an account on and had published the letter I had found on her flash-drive. She also had a profile where she displayed a photo of her, hiding behind her hands and long black hair. I hesitated a moment, then left a comment on her transcript: “it’s a lovely letter – you should sent it to your professor”.

I went to bed with my laptop and re-read her stories, and in particular her letter, while having her video looping in the background. Imagining my cock replacing that violet jelly dildo was a real turn on. Seizing my cock and masturbating in rhythm with her moves on my screen, it took me little time to cum. I went to clean myself in the bathroom then went back to bed to fall in a deep sleep.

When I woke up in the morning, I noticed my laptop had been running her video all night long and her moans had accompanied my sleep. No wonder I had the wildest dreams. No wonder I had a huge morning glory. Sadly, I did not have time to take care of this and had to rush taking my breakfast and showering in order to arrive at work on time. While driving, during my various meetings, even during lunch with my colleagues, her voice, her moans were echoing hypnotically in my head.

I returned to my office around 5pm to check on my emails before heading home. Amongst the work mails, there were a couple of notifications from Literotica. There was a private answer from petite_cassandre to my comment where she simply said “thanks for the advice, but I’ll never dare” as well as two pleasant comments she had placed on two of my stories. Suddenly, my office phone rang.

“Professor Hunt?” – gosh, the irritating voice of my secretary.

“Yes”

“I have a student of yours on the line, will you take the call?”

I glanced at my watch, 5.35pm, I was not meant to be in my office anymore at that time.

“Oh well, pass me the line, thanks”

There were a few clicks and beeps on the line then

“Hello? Professor Hunt?”

“Yes, what can I do for you?”

“I feel a bit silly professor. Oh, it’s me, Cassandre. I know I promised I’d be more careful about my flash drive, but I think I left it in room 102. Would you be so kind and see if it is still there? I’m so sorry to bother you again.”

I hesitated FOR a second, knowing I’d be stuttering my answer since her recorded moans were still echoing in my head.

“Shh… escort tuzla sure… can you hold on the line while I go check?”

I went to the room 102 that served as cybercafé for the students. The silvery flash drive was still plugged on one of the computer. I grabbed it, returned to my office, sat down at my desk, took a deep breath as I contemplated the flash drive, then grabbed the phone again:

“Cassandre? Are you still here?”

“Yes Professor! Did you find it?”

“I found it, and it is now safely stored in my office – you can come and collect it anytime tomorrow.” (Well, safely might not have been the wisest choice of words)

“Well… It’s a bit embarrassing… I’m finishing packing all my belongings as my sister comes to pick me up tomorrow to return home for the summer. Would you accept to send it by post?”

I hesitated for a second, knowing I was diving head first in a trap that I was setting to myself

“I’m about to head home. If it’s on my way, maybe I can drop it at your place – personal delivery is much safer than the mail.”

She did not seem to hesitate at all on her side

“Oh, that so sweet of you. I live on the Avenue de la Libération. Is that too much of a detour for you?”

That was not much of a detour, five minutes maximum, so she gave me the exact number, the code for her building, the floor and door number. I noted this, then packed my things, getting ready to drive home. All of a sudden, my mind had protectively obliterated my night fantasies as well as her moans that had been echoing in my head all day long.

————-

Fifteen minutes later, I was parking by her building in “Freedom avenue”. I left my schoolbag and suit jacket in the trunk of the car and only took the flash drive and the piece of paper where I’d taken notes on how to reach her door. It’s only when I was about to knock at her door that I felt a knot in my stomach. I felt like a teenager on his first date. Silly me. She did not dare sending me her letter, she would not dare more and I would just drop her flash-drive and ride home in a few minutes.

But the moment she opened the door was the final blast that knocked me down. She had pulled her hair back in a pony tail, her black framed glasses enhanced her sparkling eyes that wore little more than a little mascara on her long eyelashes, her lips showing a wide welcoming smile. She was wearing a man’s shirt as if it were a dress, with a belt holding it around her hips and the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, while the unbuttoned top revealed part of her shoulder blades and a moderate but fascinating cleavage.

“Good evening Professor. That’s ever so sweet of you to bring me my flash-drive back.”

I was about to hand it over to her, but she opened the door wide, indicating me to come in. I was so in awe at the sight of her that I simply did. She closed the door behind me then moved towards what seemed to be the kitchen. As she passed by me, I noticed for the first time that she really was petite – she was barely as tall as my shoulder. And her light vanilla perfume intoxicated me immediately.

“I have a bottle of wine in the kitchen – I’d rather drink it than take it all the way back to my parents’. Would you care for a glass? That’s the least I can do to thank you for the trouble I caused you.”

I had instinctively followed her in the kitchen and without waiting for an answer, she’d poured me a glass of red wine and was handing it to me.

“Thank you Cassandre – but it’s not quite reasonable for me to drink as I’m driving.”

“Come on, Professor. I don’t plan on getting you drunk. It’s just a little thank you gesture… and a way to celebrate that I’m done being a student!”

I accepted the glass and raised it :

“To you not being a student anymore!”

She raised her glass too and clinked it with mine

“To me not being your student anymore!”

She was showing a wide grin when she said “not your student anymore”, but I tried not to extrapolate on that sentence. We small-talked while sipping our drinks, about her student life, her prospects, the beautiful view on the mountains from her kitchen window. Soon our glasses were empty and without asking she poured us a second one. Then she jumped and sat on the kitchen counter against which I had been leaning since I entered the room.

“Now I’m as tall as you are, that should facilitate conversation” – and she giggled.

To the contrary, I had even more difficulty keeping up with the conversation. Her thin porcelain white legs were now inches away from me, and the shirt that was meant to be a dress to her barely hid the upper third of her thighs. I started wondering what kind of undies she was wearing (apparently she was not wearing any bra), how far away her beauty spot was, the beauty spot I had seen on the photos and on her video. The video! Suddenly remembering why I had come in the first place, I took her flash drive out of my pocket and handed it to her.

She took it from my hand. But this time, she did not look down as she grabbed it, while whispering a soft “thank you”. She put it away on the counter then looked back at me with a very serious stare:

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