Page 38 of Misadventures with a Professor
“I don’t see the problem with my assignment, Professor,” I say, giving him my best innocent face. “I thought I followed all the instructions you gave me.”
He gives me a dazzling smile and reaches out to squeeze my hand once before settling back into his flinty look from earlier.
“You didn’t,” he says shortly. “And I’m afraid there’s no time for you to rework the assignment.”
“Please,” I say, putting my hands in front of me and twisting them. I’m a little surprised at how easily it comes to me, my role, but it’s because I do really want to please him and it’s so easy to imagine how unhappily desperate I’d feel in these circumstances. “Please, I’ll do anything. Just don’t give me a bad grade.”
He studies me, propping his head against his fingers and letting his eyes roam over my body with predatory leisure. “Anything?” he murmurs. “Do you need the grade so badly?”
“I do. Please, you know I do.” I cast around for what I might really say if I were in some kind of academic trouble, letting the sharp judgment in his gaze affect me. I feel ashamed, as if I really have messed up an assignment, and I also feel so fucking turned on I can’t think straight. “I’ll do an extra assignment. Two extra assignments!” I add when he starts to shake his head.
“That won’t work, unfortunately,” he says. “Unless…”
I don’t even have to pretend to light up, that’s how real this all feels. “Yes? I’ll do it. I promise I will.”
“Fine,” he sighs, “but it’s highly unusual. I daresay you won’t be making the same mistakes with your paper after this.”
“Yes, sir.”
His pulse jumps above the collar of his button-down. He likes that.
“Are you wearing knickers beneath that dress, Miss Lynch?”
“Professor?”
“Take them off. You won’t need them for this.”
“B-But, sir—” I pretend to protest, even though inside I’m already squirming with delight. Already thinking of his palm on my backside and his long, thick cock pumping inside me.
He cuts me a look that brooks no argument. “This is your grade. If you want to fix it, this is how.”
I give my best impression of a timid pout, although I think he can see the grin threatening to break through as I shimmy out of my panties. He holds out an imperious hand, taking them expressionlessly and putting them in a desk drawer.
“My bra too?”
“Bra too.”
I take off my bra from under my dress, a little clumsily, wondering if I should just peel the whole dress off but deciding I should follow his instructions literally for now. It does feel quite lewd after I hand him the bra, standing there in a thin dress with nothing underneath. The soft jersey against my sensitive nipples only pulls them tighter and tighter, and my breasts feel obscene like this, heavy and loose and hard-tipped. Oliver seems to agree, his eyes darkening as he takes in my curves under my dress.
“You have a filthy little body, Miss Lynch. It’s fucking profane. It makes me think shameful thoughts, and do you know what happens to a man when he thinks thoughts like I’m thinking?”
I shake my head, even though my eyes drop down to his lap.
“That’s right,” he says. “My cock gets hard and it needs to come.”
I lick my lips instinctively at the thought, and he growls.
“Up on the desk.”
I’d expected to go over his lap, so my hesitation is real. “Sir?”
“You heard me, Amanda.” The use of my full name isn’t lost on me—he means business now, and I’d better listen.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way…although the punishment for not listening might be kind of fun too.
I sit on the edge of the desk facing him, keeping my skirt primly around my knees, which of course he doesn’t allow for long. He grabs at the hem and pushes it up to my waist, separating my knees with an impatient hand. The kiss of coolish morning air against my wet and swollen cunt is nearly unbearable—almost as unbearable as his wicked gaze taking in my most feminine place.
He wastes no time in inspecting my pussy, rubbing me with his long fingers and then spreading me open to see if I glisten for him yet. I do. I can hear it as he moves his fingers over me, and I take a strange kind of pride in showing off how wet I get for him, how needy and slutty he makes me. I don’t want him to doubt ever that his needs are also my needs—that they get me off as surely as they do him.
