by Parker Grey
“It’s just someone I’m seeing,” I tell Greg. “Nothing too exciting or salacious.”
That might be the biggest lie I’ve ever told.
Chapter 7
Melody
I know I shouldn’t be texting Professor Sharpe with these pictures, but I can’t help myself. Ever since Saturday night, he’s practically all I can think about — the look in his eyes as I fucked myself with that strange stone dildo, the way he leaned over my chair and whispered when finals are over.
I know he won’t respond. I know that he has a lot at stake, and that I don’t really — my academic reputation, I guess, but that’s not such a big deal.
So I eye the big purple dildo and send him another selfie. I don’t even care if I’m coming on too strong. I want him.
Fifteen minutes later, my phone rings. It’s the Professor, and it sounds like he’s outdoors and maybe a little out of breath.
“You’re a dangerous girl, Melody,” he says, keeping his voice low.
I bite my lip, blushing.
“Am I?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says, his voice thick with authority. “My department chair just saw you naked and about to fuck something purple.”
Shit. I hadn’t even thought about other people seeing the pictures — I just wanted so desperately for Professor Sharpe to know how I felt that I didn’t consider it.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t think.”
There’s the sound of a door shutting, and then his end of the line is hushed, like he’s indoors.
“Did you fuck it yet, or am I too late?” he asks.
I’m on my bed, naked, the dildo next to me. I haven’t fucked it yet — okay, not in the past hour — because I was hoping for this, that he’d call me back. I swallow hard, trying not to smile.
“Not yet,” I say.
He growls.
“Get your clothes off,” he orders.
“They already are,” I say. “I’m lying on my bed, naked, thinking about you.”
“Touch yourself,” he says. “Start with your perky little titties. Pinch your nipples and moan for me.”
Chills rush down my spine at the sound of his voice telling me what to do, and my pussy gets wetter with every syllable. I clamp my knees together, but it doesn’t help at all. I want him, and I want him now — not this dildo.
But I do what he says. I let my fingers drift down my body until I’m pinching one nipple between them, and a moan escapes me as I do.
He chuckles on the other end.
“Do you like thinking about my hands on your tight little body?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, still rolling a swollen nipple between my fingers.
“Lower,” he says. “Slide your fingers between those pretty little lips and tell me how wet you are for me.”
I do it, panting for the breath into the phone, and I lick my lips.
“I’m really wet, Professor,” I say, my voice breathy. “So wet, just thinking about you...”
“Rub your clit slowly,” he says. “Don’t make yourself come. I have one requirement, Melody.”
I rub myself in circles, forcing myself to go slow, even though it feels like torture.
“What’s that?”
“You come when I say.”
I swallow.
“Yes, Professor,” I whisper.
“Rub yourself until you’re on the brink,” he says. “And then stop, because you’re going to fuck yourself to orgasm.”
I moan into my phone again, rubbing my clit harder and faster. The pressure builds inside me, spurred on by his perfect, sexy voice, and by being ordered around like this.
I like being told what to do. I want to give control to him, my professor, let him take me completely and utterly.
“I’m close,” I whimper soon. My eyes are closed and my breathing is shallow. I want to rub myself a little faster and come hard with him on the other end of the line, but instead, I slow down and wait for instructions.
“Stop touching yourself,” he says. “Take the dildo and rub it along your pussy, just like in the photo.”
I grab the dildo and slide it along myself, groaning. I’m incredibly, ridiculously wet, even for this piece of purple silicone.
Then I realize two things simultaneously.
One, he doesn’t know about the suction cup. He thinks it’s a regular dildo.
And two, I have video chat capabilities, and Erica’s not home.
“Professor,” I say, the dildo still nudging at my lips. “Can I show you something?”
I’m already getting off the bed, grabbing the dildo, and heading for the bathroom.
“Show me?” he asks.
I wet the dildo and stick it to the shower wall at the right height, over the lip of the tub. Then I activate video chat on my phone, heart hammering, and prop it up on the bathroom counter.
After a few moments, his face flickers onto the screen, and I minimize him so I can see myself better.
I clear my throat.
“It’s got a suction cup,” I say nervously, pointing at the dildo mounted on the wall.
Professor Sharpe is silent, and for a horrible moment, I think he’s about to sign off.
Then he speaks.
“Get in front of it and bend over,” he finally commands, his voice so low that it’s practically breaking with lust.
I do it, steadying my hands on the lip of the tub, my ass high in the air.
“That’s a very large cock,” he says quietly. “Are you sure you can handle it?”
“It’s not as big as yours,” I say.
“Are you sure?” he asks, a smile in his voice.
I just nod.
“I like the practice,” I whisper.
“Show me how you practice,” he says. “And don’t come until I say.”
Suddenly I’m nervous again, because the show is up to me and I don’t want to let him down. I’ve never done anything like this before — I’ve never even masturbated in front of a boyfriend, and now I’m putting on a full-fledged sex show in my bathroom.
I move backward until the cock is right at my entrance. And then, with a gasp, I slide it inside of me in one long, smooth stroke and I grunt as I do, the sound tearing itself from my lips.
“Tell me how it feels,” he demands.
“It feels good,” I manage to gasp. “So fucking good.”
I start fucking the dildo, moving back and forth slowly and carefully, letting him watch as every inch of it enters and leaves my pussy.
“Keep going,” he says. “Just like that. I like watching you slow.”
I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes shut, concentrating completely on the huge fake cock filling my tight hole. When it’s all the way inside me it feels so good it’s almost impossible to think, and I have to force myself not to go too fast, because I want to slam myself back onto it, again and again, until I come hard for the Professor.
“I would never have guessed a straight-A student could be this dirty,” Professor Sharpe growls. “It’s a very pleasant surprise.”
I can only gasp, the sound quickly becoming a moan.
“You like having your pussy stuffed full like that, don’t you,” the Professor goes on.
I just nod. I can’t speak, because it’s taking everything I’ve got not to come right this instant, the heat burning hot and wild through my body. It just feels so fucking good to have a giant cock inside me with the Professor’s voice telling me what to do, even if he’s not actually here.
“Please let me come,” I beg. “Professor, I can’t last long like this.”
I slide the cock in one more time, moaning so loud the downstairs neighbors can probably hear me, but I can’t stop myself. My legs are shaking, and I need release more than I’ve ever needed it before.
“Please,” I whisper.
There’s a long pause. I don’t move, the cock stuffed all the way inside me, because I’m certain that if I do I’ll come so hard I’ll scream, and he ha
sn’t said I can yet.
“Come,” he finally commands.
I move forward and the dildo lights up every spot inside my incredibly sensitive channel. I’m pure desperation and need and I start slamming myself back onto the big purple cock, moaning and gasping and grunting and a few strokes later everything goes white.
I come so hard I’m afraid my knees will buckle, a pure bolt of pleasure washing through my whole body as I shake, my hands gripping the lip of the tub hard.
As it passes, I realize I’m whispering something, over and over again.
“Please fuck me,” I’m saying. “Please fuck me, please.”
The Professor grunts, but he’s tiny in the corner of my screen and I can’t see him. I’m oddly disappointed, because I really liked watching his thick white jizz arc over his office on Saturday.
Then I’m still bent over, gasping. I pull the dildo out and stand, suddenly shy, my arms cross over myself, legs clamped together.
Professor Sharpe smiles, and I relax a little, smiling back.
“Don’t forget, Melody,” he says. “Final papers are due Friday.”
Then he signs off.
My heart flutters, and so does my pussy.
Chapter 8
Professor Sharpe
I turn off my phone and look around. I managed to use a tissue this time, instead of coming all over my couch, but just barely.
I can’t believe I just did that with a student. An undergrad who’s not even old enough to drink. I didn’t touch her, but at this point that’s a technicality.
I have to stop, I tell myself. Everything is at stake. Everything.
Once you turn in grades for the semester, she won’t be your student any more. And you probably shouldn’t fuck an advisee either, but one thing at a time.
I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about Melody, this powerful, all-consuming need to have her.
I want to fuck her, but I want more. I want to possess her. I want her to submit to me, for her body to be mine, completely and totally.
And I want her to beg me to make her mine: her lips, her sweet pussy, her tight little asshole. I want to make Melody scream in pleasure the way no one ever has before.
Shit, I’m hard again, just thinking about her even though I just came.
With a sigh, I wrap my hand around my cock and jerk myself off for the millionth time, imagining her lips bobbing up and down my shaft.
By some miracle, I survive the week. Melody texts me pictures that slowly become dirtier and dirtier, but they’re nothing compared to what I want to do to her. I text back sometimes, sometimes not, but she doesn’t stop and I can’t help but like that.
She’s a nice girl, but I’ve unlocked something filthy and ferocious inside her. Something unstoppable.
It’s finals week, so at least I’ve got plenty of papers to grade. I read about Roman history and Latin grammar and try not to imagine Melody, bent over in front of me, begging with her eyes.
It’s nearly five o’clock Friday afternoon, and I’m starting to worry. No dirty pictures from Melody all day, and she hasn’t turned in her final paper. Most students email it to me, and she hasn’t yet.
I don’t want to fail her. She’s really an excellent student.
Then, at one minute until five, there’s a knock on my office door, and I sit up straight. I know who I want it to be.
“Come in,” I call, pushing my sleeves up past my elbows.
The door opens and Melody steps into my office, a paper in one hand. I get hard instantly, before she even shuts the door behind her. She’s wearing a demure, knee-length skirt, black tights, and a sweater — the very picture of a good girl, circa 1950.
I want to tear her nice-girl sweater off and shove my face between her thighs, ruin every last vestige of good girl left in Melody. I want her to suck me off, I want to fuck her, and then I want feel the perfect, tight heat of her back entrance.
And I want her to enjoy every second. I want her to come until she can’t any more.
“I’ve got my final,” she says, her voice sweet and innocent, as she blinks at me.
I take it from her: The Role of Priestesses in Late Empire Economics: A New Approach.
I raise my eyebrows. It’s a little more advanced than most undergraduates write, but she’s not most undergraduates.
“Thank you,” I say, as formally as I can, and place it on top of the stack.
Melody licks her lip, her eyes darting from my face to her paper and back, her confidence wavering just a little. Then she stands up straight, forcing it back.
“Then... that’s my final, right?” she says, placing both hands on the desk in front of her and leaning forward the tiniest bit.
Her perky young breasts press against her sweater, and I feel an almost irresistible urge to reach out and grab them, bury my face between them.
“Yes,” I say, summoning every ounce of professorial gravitas I’ve got. “But until I grade it, you’re my student, Melody.”
Her face drops in disappointment.
“I promise it’s good,” she whispers, the sounds snaking their way down my spine, from my ears to my cock, hardening it even more. “I worked so hard on it, Professor.”
Self-control, I remind myself. Self-control.
“I believe you,” I say. My voice comes out a low growl, my cock straining against the zipper of my pants. “But you have to give it another forty-eight hours. Grades have to be turned in.”
Her chest is heaving below her prim, proper sweater, and she looks at me with huge eyes like she’s trying to figure something out.
She probably is. It’s hard to tell overachievers like Melody no.
She walks around my desk slowly, then stands in front of me. She swallows hard, then bends over me and puts her hands on my knees, biting her lip as she does.
“Don’t you want me?” she whispers.
I take one wrist in my hand and squeeze, hard. She gasps, and I swear all the nervousness in her eyes turns into lust instantly.
“I want you once grades are in,” I say, using my most commanding voice, her wrist still locked in my hand. “Monday, Melody.”
Before I know it she’s on her knees in front of me, her other hand reaching for my cock. I grab it too, squeezing her wrist hard, and I swear her eyes glitter.
“I just want to taste you,” she says.
“Melody,” I say, warning her. I can’t believe I’m in this position, forcefully turning down the hottest girl I’ve ever seen as she begs to suck my cock, but I am.
“Professor, can I tell you a secret?” she asks, but doesn’t wait for me to answer. “I don’t have a gag reflex.”
I grab her by both wrists and stand, hauling her up with me. If she stays one second longer I’m completely certain this will end with my cock in her mouth, and later, me in front of an ethics committee, losing my job, becoming completely unhireable.
I’m an adult man. I can postpone pleasure for two more days.
“You need to leave,” I say, bringing her to the door. I open it and let her go, and she turns and looks at me.
There’s no one in the hallway.
“I’ll make you pay for that Monday,” I whisper.
She blushes, then nods.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I need to go study anyway.”
Then she ducks away and I’m left in my office, dick hard as diamond, a stack of final papers to grade.
Chapter 9
Melody
I slink off to my favorite spot on campus: one of the study carrels in the basement of the main library. No one else ever seems to come down here, and even the books are old and dusty. It’s quiet, the Wi-Fi still works, and it smells lovely, like old books and bricks.
Usually, this is my happy place, where I come when I want to lose myself in work and get away from life for a little while. But now I’m just staring at a textbook with my head in my hands.
I’m thinking, over and over again, you’re an idiot. My f
ace burns with shame at how I just threw myself at Professor Sharpe, like some desperately horny teenager.
Hell, that’s practically what I am. I’m desperately horny, at least. I don’t have a gag reflex? I can’t believe I said that to him.
I take a deep breath, and remind myself that he still wants me. He just has to turn his grades in, and that’s perfectly reasonable. I just need to be patient.
I read one paragraph about Moby Dick, but my mind is wandering again, and I’m thinking around wrapping my lips around Professor Sharpe’s thick cock as it stretches my jaw open, slurping him in and out of my mouth. I wonder if I could swallow him — I could deep-throat my ex, the guy I fooled around with freshman year, but he was a lot smaller.
Crap, I’m soaking wet again, and I didn’t even wear panties. I wore a garter belt and stockings, some leftover Halloween costume, because I was so sure he’d be consumed with lust and take me right there on his desk.
I sigh, then look around. The lights in the book stacks are out, and it’s Friday night. No one else is here, and if someone comes along, it’s so quiet that I’m sure I’ll hear them.
I put one foot on the desk and push my skirt up to my hips quickly. God, I can smell how turned on I am even though I showered just a couple of hours ago. I close my eyes and quickly slide my fingers from my soaking wet slit to my clit and start circling it in the same familiar pattern I’ve used countless times this semester.
I wish I had the dildo here, I think, but I don’t want to risk bringing it to campus and having it fall out of my backpack in the middle of class.
I rub myself quickly, leaning back and closing my eyes, imagining Professor Sharpe here. Bending me over this carrel, holding me down. Telling me what a bad girl I am as he enters me, driving his thick cock all the way in with a single stroke, one hand over my mouth so I don’t cry out.
With my other hand, I slide my fingers inside myself. It’s a terrible substitute, but I feel so empty that I need something, and I sigh. Even though I’m just jerking off, I’ve been so constantly horny lately that I’m already close to coming, and I bite my lip to keep myself from coming.