Page 39 of Misadventures with a Professor
“You are so fucking filthy,” he swears, and I can see how fast his chest heaves under his button-down. “You like this, don’t you? You wanted it.”
“Yes,” I breathe, my head lolling to the side as one finger probes inside. “I wanted it.”
“I knew it. I’ve seen the way you watch me in class, Miss Lynch. It’s improper. It’s very wrong.”
“I can’t help it,” I whimper, lost to our game and to the skilled massage of his finger inside my pussy.
“I bet you even failed your assignment on purpose, just to provoke me into punishing you.”
“I had to,” I gasp. The heel of his palm is rolling against my clit now, and my legs are spread as wide as they’ll go as I shamelessly fuck his entire hand. “I didn’t know how else to get you to notice me.”
“You think I didn’t notice you? Those eyes, so innocent, with that mouth that just begs for a cock? You think I didn’t notice those wanton tits? How they spill over your bra when you bend over? How they jiggle when you move?” He breaks off on his own groan now, and I can see the painful-looking outline of his dick in his trousers, pressing so hard against the fabric that the shape of the flared crown is visible.
“I think you need to be taught a lesson, filthy girl,” he growls. “I think you need to fix the mess you’ve made.”
“Anything,” I say, bucking wildly against his hand. I’m so close, so very close. “Anything you want.”
He removes his hand so suddenly that I curl around its absence, whining at the loss. He ignores me, unfastening his belt and trousers and pulling out his penis. It’s dark and thick, so hard that the skin at the top shines and I can make out every ridge of muscle and vein under the thin, velvety skin of it.
“Suck,” he orders, and I comply eagerly, scrambling to my knees between his legs and taking the delicious organ into my mouth.
His answering moan is worth every discomfort I feel as he gently gags the back of my throat, as he winds his hands through my hair and guides me faster and deeper over him. I’m grateful for the guidance, as I’m still so new to this, and I let Oliver’s tensing thighs and hitched breaths teach me where he likes my tongue, how deep he likes to linger.
“I should keep you as my pet,” he mutters viciously to the top of my head. “Keep you under my desk sucking me all day. Keep you tied up and bent over my desk so I can fuck that pretty cunt whenever I get bored. What do you think?”
I make an assenting noise around his shaft, and he grunts his approval.
“Enough.” He pulls me off his cock with a faint popping sound and then rolls on a condom he grabs from a drawer. He spreads his legs, using his thumb to press his erection away from his belly. The message is clear.
“Come fix your grade, Miss Lynch,” he says huskily, and I crawl up into his lap as quickly as humanly possible, aching for that thick part of him to fill me up and ease the ache that’s been there ever since we fell asleep last night.
“I’ve never…” I trail off as I pause over him, catching his gaze. I’m suddenly apprehensive about this, about being on top. Everything else we’ve done, he’s taken total control of, he’s guided me and taught me, but if we do it like this…my inexperience will be on display. All of my clumsy attempts will be right there for him to see.
“I like that you’ve never,” he says in a low voice. “But you’re a smart girl, aren’t you? You’ll figure it out.”
Determination settles through me. I want to show him what a smart and good girl I am, even if I look foolish doing it. I lower myself until I feel the wide latex kiss of his tip at my opening, having to squirm and circle to get him worked inside.
“You feel bigger like this,” I say as he stretches me. “Fuck.”
“Language, Amanda,” he chides. Other than holding himself up straight at the base, he makes no move to help me as I pant and shiver my way down his cock, impaling myself inch by thick inch, until I’m fully seated against him, so filled up with him that I can barely breathe.
My head drops to his shoulder, and he lets me sit there for a moment, quivering and misted with sweat. “Oh God,” I mumble into his neck. “Oh my God.”
His hands run appreciatively over the round swell of my bottom, up to my hips, and back down to my ass again. “Let’s see you fix that grade, girl,” he murmurs into my ear. “Get to work.”
With my arms wrapped around his neck and my face still in his shoulder, I start to move, moaning as I do. I’m stretched so wide, crammed full of him, and every movement I make sends agonies of sensation all over me. Good agonies, bad agonies, I don’t even know which anymore—just that this colossal erection is going to split me open and also that I’m about to come from the pressure of it alone.
It only takes the tiniest of movements—a rocking forward so that my weight grinds the bead of my clit against him—and then I shudder out a deep, soul-shaking climax, clinging to him and crying my pleasure into his neck. He holds completely still underneath me, allowing me to quiver my way through and use his hard body how I need, and then he cups my bottom again with his hands as I collapse against his chest, utterly exhausted.
“That was very nice,” he says crisply, as if I’ve just finished a violin solo and not wrung out a delicious orgasm on his perfect cock. “But I’m afraid it’s not enough to fix your grade.”
“Do you need to come, Professor?” I ask, sitting up and letting my hands fall to his chest. Even through the fabric of his button-down, I can feel the tattoo of his heart beating against my palm.
“Yes,” he says, and he can use that precisely clipped voice all he wants, because his need is stamped all over his face. It burns inside his eyes and carves itself around the sharp lines of his sculpted mouth. “I need to come now.”
It’s both easier and harder to move along him—easier because of how wet and slippery I am and harder because the orgasm has made me exquisitely sensitive—and Oliver is riveted by my face as I begin to rock against him. His fingertips trace the fleeting furrows in my brow, the little pouts of pleasure and quick smiles I make. There’s feeling everywhere, everywhere, chasing all over my skin; my nipples are so taut they ache, and my thighs are warm with his hips between them, and even the soles of my feet are tickled by the gentle breeze coming through the open window. I’m going to come again, and I don’t think I’ll live through it when I do.
