by Parker Grey
Fuck me, Professor, I think. Fuck me harder, God, harder...
I gasp and squeeze my eyes shut as I come, head back, one leg still up on the desk, fucking myself with my fingers as hard as I can, my hips working back and forth.
It’s not satisfying. It’s not what I need, but at least maybe I can study now.
“I could watch that for ages,” a low, growling voice says.
I nearly jump out of the chair, yanking my foot off the desk and slamming my knees together, face bright red.
Professor Sharpe steps from between two dark bookshelves. I relax, but only a little.
“You participate in more X-rated activities than any other good girl I know,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “Tell me, Melody, do you make a habit of getting yourself off in the library?”
I hold my breath. This isn’t the first time I’ve done it, but it’s not a habit.
“Of course not,” I say.
He grins wolfishly, and it makes my knees into jelly.
“You should,” he says. “It’s a beautiful fucking show.”
“What are you doing here?” I whisper. “I thought you had to grade papers.”
“I graded yours,” he says, leaning against my desk, right next to me. “And I think we both deserve a break.”
His crotch is nearly at eye level for me, and I can’t stop staring at his bulge, my pussy already throbbing again.
“What kind of break?” I whisper, suddenly shy again.
Professor Sharpe laughs, then cups my cheek in his hand, leaning over so he’s close.
“Not long ago you were practically begging to suck my cock, and now you’re asking what kind of break?” he says, his voice low and dangerous.
His hand slides around the back of my head, and he takes my hair in his fist, just hard enough to pull my head back slightly.
Fuck, it’s hot. I like it when he takes control like this, when I give everything up and become his. I’m panting for breath, my chest heaving, and with my hair in one hand, Professor Sharpe traces his thumb down over my breast to flick at my nipple; it’s so hard he finds it even through my sweater.
I close my eyes and swallow, intensely aware that we’re in a library. Where people are quiet, even though it’s Friday night and the place is practically empty.
I reach toward the zipper on his pants, but he catches my wrist in his hand, hard, and I gasp. He tilts my head up, grinning.
“I don’t think so,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “You’re a bad girl who nearly made me bend you over my desk before I’d even read your final paper.”
Hearing him say it — I nearly bent you over my desk — makes my pussy pulse and practically turn into a waterfall.
“That means, Melody, that everything you do, you do with permission,” he says, grinning down at me, a light in his eyes I don’t quite understand. “So, use your words and ask.”
Oh God. That means I have to ask him if I can touch him, stroke his cock, put it in my mouth. Whether I can touch myself while I suck him off.
I don’t really know how to talk dirty. I mean, I can handle “this feels good” and “I like that” but the other stuff?
I’m bright red already, no matter how eager I am. I clear my throat, but the teasing grin on Professor Sharpe’s face doesn’t go away.
“Can I...” I swallow. “Can I touch you through your pants?”
“What part do you want to touch?” he asks, clearly enjoying this.
I take a deep breath.
“Your...”
Don’t say ‘penis,’ that’s not a sexy word.
“...cock?” I say.
“Yes,” he growls, and I run my hand over it instantly, feeling it fill my palm and harden under my touch even through his pants. I can see the ridge where his thick head starts, and I bite my lip, my pussy throbbing with need for him.
He pushes my head forward and I move off the chair, onto my knees on the concrete floor until I’m kneeling in front of him, still rubbing him through his pants.
“Can I unzip your pants?” I whisper.
“Yes, you may,” he murmurs back.
I lower the zipper slowly, savoring the thickness below, nearly vibrating with anticipation, and when his zipper is down I grab his cock again, my fingers looking for the hole in his boxers.
“Melody,” he says, his voice warning me.
I stop.
“Can I take your cock out of your pants?” I whisper.
“Yes,” he says.
I grab it and it springs free, massive and thick, so wide my hand barely fits around it. I stroke it once anyway and he tilts my head back, the head of his cock almost perfectly at my lips. My wetness is sliding down the inside of my thighs as I look at him.
“Can I lick it?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says, his voice deep and guttural.
I slide my lips over his head, careful not to touch him with my teeth, and lick the underside hard, swirling my tongue around the head as he groans softly above me. Even though he’s big, it’s not uncomfortable, and in moments the tip of his cock is bumping against the back of my mouth as I suck and slurp on him, every inch in my mouth making me a little wetter.
Then I put him at the back of my throat and look up at him. Even though he’s big, really big, I’m pretty sure I can do this.
I’ve never had a gag reflex, but I didn’t realize it was a big deal until freshman year. I drunkenly hooked up with a frat guy — not my greatest decision, but not my worst — who apparently told his entire frat about my lack of gag reflex.
Two dozen calls, about a million requests for dates, and one drunk marriage proposal later, I figured out what the deal was.
I also never went to another frat party there.
“You didn’t ask,” Professor Sharpe says, and pulls my head away by my hair.
Damn, he’s got some self-control. I stroke his cock in my fist, saliva lubricating his thick shaft.
“Can I swallow your cock?” I say, my voice low.
He doesn’t answer for a moment, just watching me.
“Please?” I whisper.
He give me that wolfish smile and pushes my head forward again, the head of his cock already in my mouth as he says, “Yes.”
When his cock hits the back of my mouth he doesn’t stop pushing, so I take a deep breath, relax my throat, and swallow. Professor Sharpe groans as he slides into my throat, and I swallow again, taking him deeper.
His hand on my head is firm and powerful but he doesn’t push me faster than I can handle. Beyond one short-term boyfriend and a questionable hookup or two, it’s not like I’m very experienced — especially with a monster like this.
Before I know it, my nose is pressed against the soft fur on his lower abdomen, my lips right up against the boxers he’s still wearing. Professor Sharpe growls.
Holy shit, I think, as his hand holds me there a moment longer. I didn’t actually think I could do this.
My eyes are watering a little as he pulls my head back and he slides out of my throat until just the tip of his cock is in my mouth and I suck at it furiously, my hand stroking him as I do.
The Professor doesn’t hesitate. The second I catch my breath he pushes my head back down and this time it’s faster and easier to push him down my throat, my nose against him, and this time I bob back and forth before he pulls me back.
I look up at him, just the tip of his cock in my mouth. His face is a mask of pure lust, so obvious it’s almost animalistic. Before he pushes my head down again he leans against the desk I was using to study and exhales hard, like he has to force himself to stay in control.
“I didn’t quite believe you when you said you didn’t have a gag reflex,” he says, pushing me down again, inhaling sharply when I take him down my throat. “But you’re obviously not a liar, Melody. Just a fucking tease.”
His hand keeps me there, bobbing up and down, his thick cock hard as steel. He pulls me back, pushes me down, over and over again and I let him
do it.
It feels good to abandon all control, to let everything be his decision: when I swallow him, where I suck him off, even what we’ll do if we get caught.
“And because you’re a fucking tease, I’m going to come right down your pretty little throat,” he says, his voice still low and growly. “You’re going to drink every last drop, Melody.”
I swallow him again and this time I can feel his cock pulsing. My pussy is quivering with need, and I’m a little dismayed at his words — I was hoping he’d fuck me right here, in the library, but obviously that’s ridiculous.
But I’m wet as hell, wetter than I’ve ever been, just from the way he talks to me. He’s filthy, and no one’s ever talked to me like that before, not ever.
Up above, his breathing is ragged and hard, and I curl my tongue against the underside of his shaft, swallowing one more time so the muscles of my throat stroke him.
“You filthy fucking girl,” he whispers, and then his cock jerks in my mouth. It’s all I can do to swallow again and again as the thick ropes of cum stream down my throat over and over again. He’s gripping my hair so tight there are tears in my eyes, but I don’t try to pull back or stop because he’s right.
I’m filthy, and I want this. I want to swallow him, pleasure him every way I know how.
I want to be his.
Chapter 10
Professor Sharpe
I come harder than I ever have into sweet, innocent Melody’s mouth. I lose control completely, holding her tight against me, the muscles of her throat practically pulling jolt after jolt out of me until I swear I’ve pumped myself dry and I’m going soft.
Finally, I pull her back and she gasps for air. There are tears in her eyes, but she smiles up at me, rubbing the back of one hand over her mouth.
Melody stays on her knees, perfectly proper and dirty as hell all at once. My mind is a haze as I push my cock back into my pants, even as I know that I shouldn’t do anything else right now, just leave.
But I can’t resist her. I want to see her cheeks flush with pleasure and I want to hear her beg me to take her. And I want to make her pay for coming into my office earlier and making me so fucking hard like this.
“Pull your skirt up and get on the desk,” I say.
She hikes her skirt up until it’s around her hips, her eyes big and innocent and sinful all at once as she reveals the top of her stockings and the thin straps of the garters, my cock already twitching again.
She can’t be that innocent if she’s wearing a garter belt, I think as she sits her bare ass on the desk, her knees still primly together.
“Spread your legs,” I order her. Now I’m standing over her, and I lean my hands on the desk by her side, our faces only inches apart. She’s still breathing hard, but so am I, and as she opens her knees I can smell her scent.
It’s intoxicating, and suddenly, I can’t hold back any more. I have to taste her, now. I spin her and push her backwards so she’s lying on her back on the desk, and she gasps as I do, her hands gripping the scarred wooden sides.
“You wore this because you wanted me to see it,” I say, pressing my lips to one hip and sucking hard as I snap the band of the garter against her. Melody’s body tenses briefly, and her hands tighten on the desk below her.
“Yes,” she whispers, so softly I can barely hear her.
“What did you think was going to happen?” I ask, my lips moving lower, my hands raking along the soft inside of her thighs. “You’d come in, hand in your paper, and I’d fuck you over my desk right then and there?”
I slide one finger along her dripping wet seam, and I can feel her pussy spasm as I say the words. Melody inhales sharply.
“No?” she says.
I run my tongue along the juncture of her hip and thigh, and I swear she whimpers.
“That’s what you wanted to happen,” I say, and push the tip of one finger just barely inside her. She makes a tiny, soft noise that drives me absolutely wild. “You want me to fuck you, Melody. I know what you’re dripping wet for right now.”
I slide the tip of another finger inside her, just to tease her. She’s rigid with anticipation, and I ease my fingers into her sweet wet cunt slowly. God, she’s tight, everything about her right now is utterly perfect.
“And I’m not going to give it to you,” I say. She swallows hard. “Because you don’t get to decide what happens when, Melody. Not with me.”
With that I slide my tongue down the cleft between her lips and dance it lightly over her clit. Her whole body jerks, her legs over my shoulders tightening. Melody’s so tightly wound that I can tell she’d come almost instantly if I let her, but I’m not about to do that.
Instead I tease her. I crook my fingers in her cunt slowly, rubbing the delicate, sensitive spots on her front wall but not enough to make her come. I flick my tongue back and forth over her clit lightly, just enough to drive her wild.
It’s a little evil of me, but I don’t care. I want her horny out of her mind, completely desperate for me and the things I can do to her, and I know exactly how to get her there.
I tease Melody right up to the edge, her pussy muscles fluttering around my fingers, and I back off, her breath quickening and slowing, getting ragged and uneven. And then I do it again, and again, bringing her right to the brink before letting her down.
Finally, she sighs, her head thrashing, a noise of disappointment and frustration, and I laugh, pulling my fingers out and stroking her.
“You want me to make you come?” I ask.
She swallows, then looks down at me.
“Yes,” she whispers.
I put my fingers back in and stroke her inner walls hard. She clenches around them.
“Beg me,” I say.
“Please,” she says. “Please, Professor, let me come.”
I stroke harder, adding a third finger.
“You can do better than that,” I say.
She’s panting for breath, coming undone before my eyes.
“Please make me come, Professor,” she begs. “Lick me and finger-fuck me until I can’t take it anymore and please, God, make me come.”
I chuckle and get back to it, licking her furiously, my lips wrapping around her clit, my fingers working furiously as I taste her honey and work her toward climax as fast as I can.
“Fuck me,” she whimpers, and I push my hand further in, my cock twitching in my pants. It takes all my self-control to not pull it out again and bury it in her, right now, but I resist.
“I need you to fuck me,” she says. Her toes are curling, and her back is arching against the scarred wooden desk. “Please, Professor. Please, God, oh—”
Melody comes with a sharp gasp, then clamps one hand over her own mouth, her hips bucking and her back arching. Her pussy clamps so hard around my fingers that, for a moment, I’m afraid she’ll sprain them, and her whole body is wracked by spasm after spasm as she flushes pink.
I don’t stop until she’s done, every lick rewarded with a bodily jerk before she goes limp on the desk and she’s gasping for air, her eyes hazy and unfocused.
I stand, pulling my fingers from her, and tower over her again. She’s disheveled and undone, right here in the library, utterly perfect. I lick her juices from my fingers as I look her in the eyes, her legs still around me.
“My office, Monday,” I say. “Five p.m.”
Then I gather all my self-control, turn around, and walk away.
Just as I do, I swear a shadow disappears between the bookshelves, and for a moment my heart is in my throat. But when I get there, there’s nothing. No sign of life, no sign of motion, anything.
It’s just your imagination, I tell myself. No one saw you.
Chapter 11
Melody
For a moment, I lie on the desk in the library and wonder if I’m dreaming. It doesn’t seem real that he’d find me, eat me out, and then leave, but I feel like it was real.
Slowly, I sit up, listening to his footsteps as he walks away
. The elevator doors open. There’s a ding. I stand and pull my skirt down, smoothing it against my legs. The elevator doors close.
I sit back down in the chair, nearly shaking as I open the book I was reading and start trying to study for finals, but it’s useless. All I can think about is the way he tastes, the thickness of him in my mouth, the way he lost control for me.
His tongue on my clit, his fingers inside me — and now I’m definitely not studying again, I’m thinking about the crazy, half-fantasy thing that just happened to me.
Holy shit. Holy shit.
Monday. Five p.m.
This is going to be the longest weekend of my life.
It is. Nothing but sheer panic and the stress of finals makes me study for the test I’ve got to take Monday morning, and even then, I’m not sure how well I do. I’m wet and squirming the whole time, and it’s not nothing to do with linguistics.
You can’t lower your GPA because one professor makes you wet, I tell myself. This is your life at stake here. First, you’ve got to ace college, then get into a good grad school, write a great thesis, and then you’ll be a professor yourself...
When my test is over, I barely know what to do with myself. Erica invites me to a party that night, since it’s the last day of finals, but I make up something about needing to start working on my thesis or maybe just chilling out and watching TV or something.
She gives me a weird look, but doesn’t say anything. I think I’ve been acting a little odd all week, but she hasn’t called me on it. Not yet, anyway.
At four-thirty, I’m standing outside the Classics Department, half an hour early. Even though it’s twenty-five degrees out, I’ve worn the stockings and garters again with no underwear. He seemed to like it Friday.
And, if I’m being honest, I’m a little afraid that over the weekend he’s remembered that he’s a professor, fifteen years my senior, hot as hell, and could get any girl he wants, probably — and that he doesn’t need an inexperienced, awkward undergraduate student. Maybe, my thinking goes, if I give him easy access I’ll get to at least have him once before he remembers all that.