Professor

by Madison Faye

  “Please, fill me up!” She whimpers, gasping in short staccato breaths. “Please fill me with your cum, professor!”

  “Then you better milk it right out of me, baby. You better use that pussy to milk every drop of my cum out until it fills that tiny little pussy so much that it spills out.”

  And like a shot, she’s coming. I can feel her whole body tremble and shake under me, her eyes squeezed shut and her head thrown back. I muffle her scream with my lips, letting her moan into my mouth as she explodes beneath me. Her pussy shudders and quivers around me, milking the length of my cock to the point of boiling, and it’s more than I can take. I roar into her lips as I feel my cock explode deep within her, my balls blasting rope after rope of cum deep into her fertile, perfect, barley legal pussy.

  “You’re mine,” I growl, as we start to come back to Earth, gasping and feeling our hearts race against each other’s chests. “You’re all mine.”

  “I’m all yours,” She whispers, kissing my neck as she catches her breath.

  It’s still risky for me to be here, and I know her roommate could walk in at any second, but it doesn’t stop me from rolling over and wrapping my arms around her as she rests her head on my chest.

  And it’s perfect. Totally wrong, and utterly obscene, but perfectly so. This prefect little angel, this apple of temptation is perfect.

  Now how the fuck did I get her?

  Chapter 2

  Ellie

  “Well what the fuck else was I supposed to do?” Ted says, as if genuinely bemused as to why I might be upset to learn my boyfriend had sex with someone else.

  I stare at him, feeling humiliated more than I am actually hurt. I suppose the right thing to do would be to cry here - at least, that’s what girls in the movies do when the asshole they’re seeing inevitably acts the part. But I’m pretty sure there aren’t any tears coming. Sure, I’m angry, but it’s more the principal of it all that stings more than hurt feelings.

  Ted shrugs. “It’s not like you were ever gonna let me get any.”

  I scowl at him. “So you cheated on me?”

  “Babe, it’s hardly cheating if we haven’t even done it yet.”

  I am actually getting dumber having this conversation. How did I ever find this boy charming?

  Well, I suppose I knew if I thought about it.

  So I’d come to college a virgin; big deal, right? I knew sex was this big thing, and pretty much anything anyone back in high school talked or thought about, but I just never got around to it. I mean, when would I have had the time? Between school, and running track, and being valedictorian, and getting into an ivy league school on a full scholarship, it just hadn’t been on the radar.

  Okay, and if we’re being honest, it’s not like taking all AP classes and being on the math team exactly makes you the most popular girl in school.

  I was also what my mom called a late bloomer. I’d held on to my baby-fat a little longer than some girls, I guess, until junior year when I’d started running distance for the track team after a guidance counselor suggested adding sports to my extracurbiculurs for when I applied to schools. I wasn’t exactly a candidate for team sports - I didn’t even watch sports, really - and so track it was.

  And then it was like the growth spurt and puberty and all of it hit overnight.

  Overnight, I’d gotten boobs; big, full boobs. Track slimmed me down, but the hips, the butt, and the breasts stayed.

  And I didn’t know what to do about it.

  So, I started wearing baggy sweatshirts, and shapeless dresses and pants; anything to hide the curves that I wasn’t prepared for. So, add “dressing like a bum” to “math team”, “loner”, and “book nerd”, and we have a perfect recipe for escaping high school boyfriend-free and with virginity firmly in place.

  It was before I left for school that the urgings of my mother and my one friend Amy finally got through to me. Or maybe it was that I was starting something new in the fall; a fresh start in a new place where no one knew the old dorky me, and where me being a smarty-pants would actually be a good thing. In any case, I gave in, and let Amy take me shopping.

  So, the girl that walked onto that small-town, ivy-league campus in the fall was anything but the gawky nerd from high school. Okay, the glasses stayed, because contacts freaked me out, and I honestly liked my strawberry ginger hair too much to dye it. Styled, yes, but not changed.

  And I finally had clothes that fit my form instead hiding it away. Add the whole thing up, and I was a brand new me.

  Right, so, that’s how I managed to start dating Ted, the lacrosse jock from one of the fraternities. I mean, this was me we’re talking about; me who’d never once been on a date, or really had much of anything to do with boys. Like for instance, cute and popular boys like Ted who waltz right up on the campus quad the second day of orientation and ask you out.

  Of course I said yes.

  Yeah, some of the other kids here were here because of their parents money, but not me. I was here because I’d had to work for it. And if that meant I hadn’t had boyfriends, and subsequently sex, then…whatever. I was fine with it.

  Ted, however, had not been, and in hindsight, I think that was the entire reason he’s come strolling up and asked me out that day - to get in my pants.

  The thought made me furious when I thought about it, like he’d tried to cheat me out of something.

  We’d had fun on date one, and he’d been a gentleman through the whole dinner and even walked me back to the dorms after, where I gushed to my roommate Ally about everything like the silly nervous virgin I was.

  Date two, he’d gotten a little handsy, and I’d had to ask him twice to stop.

  It was date three when he’d pulled his penis out in the car, like I as just supposed to do something with it. I’d left the car, and stalked back to my dorm room furious with myself.

  And thus, why he was breaking up with me.

  Nice, huh?

  “Fine, Ted,” I say, rolling my eyes and trying not to feel upset over an asshole like this guy.

  “I mean, if you ever wanted to have some casual,” He says, shrugging, “You know, just call me.”

  I don’t need this crap, I think to myself as I roll my eyes and walks way from him; my first failed attempt at the whole “boyfriend” thing.

  What I need is a coffee.

  Chapter 3

  Liam

  Damn, I think to myself, raising a brow appreciatively as I stare at the perfect ass in front of me in line at the coffee shop.

  She’s wearing frayed cut-off jeans shorts, and ankle boots, and those creamy, shapely legs are impossible not to stare. She’s wearing a tank top that fits her upper body perfectly, her freckled shoulders bare and her long reddish-blonde hair streaming out from under under one of those beanie-type hats the kids are all wearing these days. Yeah, she looks young, but not that young. Plus, I’m far enough away from campus that I’m not that worried about her being a student or anything.

  Whatever, you’re allowed to look, man.

  Honestly, I’m not sure how I couldn’t look with the job I’ve got. Freshman literature at this school? Are you kidding me? Young women off on their own and expressing their sexuality out in the world by the dozens every year. This’ll be my third year at Hardham Colleg, and every fall, it’s the same thing. Every fall, I’ve got a class full of absolute temptation, and at a sixty-forty female to male ratio, it takes the focus of a saint sometimes, I’ll tell you.

  I mean, I’m a younger teacher, I keep in great shape, and I’m single. Oh, right, and I guess most of these kids probably read my book in high school, so there’s that too. Anyways, I’m not vain or anything, but it’s not like college freshman girls are exactly known for their subtleness.

  Let’s put it this way: I get offers.

  Jesus, do I. Sometimes they’re more timid about it than other times when I get flat out asked. But either way, I can bet on at least two or three girls every fall trying to pull something. Two

or three absolutely fucking stunning, totally tempting, and totally fucking off-limits offers; every damn fall.

  It’s a nightmare sometimes, I’ll tell you.

  When I was still riding high as the author of the moment with my bestseller and my books tours, it was a different ball game. I was up to my damn eyeballs in pussy back then, but it was the kind I was allowed to touch.

  This is different. These girls are decidedly off-limits. Yeah, they’re technically old enough, but there are rules. We’re a week into the semester, and I’m already feeling the drudgery of the new-semester schedule starting to sink in. The same courses, the same books to go over, the same sea of totally legal if not totally-untouchable temptation class after class. I’m not tenured, so I’m fully aware that acting on those temptations means my job.

  Plus even if I’m younger compared to most of the other teachers at Hardham, I’m still literally twice these girls’ age.

  But here, off campus in the cool of the trendy coffee shop, I can let the imagination run wild as I run my eyes appreciatively up and down the legs and over the ass of this girl in front of me. I mean, damn. I’m a fucking sucker for redheads, too, and between the hair, the ass, and that creamy skin on her thighs, my imagination is having no trouble getting away with itself.

  And for a second, I think of her. In a classroom full of temptation, she’s the damn apple of temptation. She’s the forbidden fruit; original fucking sin. The tight little red-head with the tits she doesn’t even know what to do with, the crystal blue eyes that watch me like a hawk, and the furious note-taking. And the fact that she’s such an obvious nerd and clearly totally unaware of her affect on men makes her that much more tempting.

  Yeah, so freshman girls are off limits, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t stroked my cock about a dozen times since the semester started fantasizing about my front-row, straight-A, strawberry-haired temptation.

  And she’s exactly who I’m thinking about as I let my eyes drink in the girl in the coffee shop. Hell, at least here I can be a bit more obvious. Here, it’s not like I’m staring a student.

  I suddenly notice the copy of Finnegan’s Wake tucked under her arm, and my brows shoot up.

  Damn, great legs and she reads James Joyce? Now I definitely want to get to know this mystery coffee-shop girl.

  I definitely want to know that ass, too.

  But then the hipster barista is wisecracking with me and running all sorts of stupid vaguely Italian sounding drink names past me when all I want is a fucking coffee. And when I finally look back, she’s gone.

  Fuck.

  I snatch the coffee from the idiot that somehow got me to miss the girl walking out and mutter as I stalk out of the store. Great, so much for that idea. Back to grading papers, pontificating on Steinbeck, and -

  Bam.

  And I walk right into her, literally, as she comes around the corner of the building.

  She gasps as the big cup of iced coffee goes tumbling out of her hands as we come crashing into one another, and she shrieks a little as the icy liquid empties across her tank top and my shirt as she goes sprawling into my arms.

  Holy shit.

  It’s her; the girl reading Joyce from inside. The girl with the perfect ass and the long legs, and the red hair. My arms go around her instinctively, holding her tight as she trips, and I bring her tight against me as the icy drink spills across both of us.

  And I couldn’t give a fuck about the coffee. Because if she looked hot from behind, she’s a fucking knockout from the front; the front, I might add, that’s pressed right up against my chest.

  She gasps as she looks up at me, her eyes shaded by big black sunglass above lightly freckled cheeks and cute, soft pink lips open in surprise. And if that ass was one thing, her tits are a Goddamn works of art. They’re huge on her small frame, and the way they press right up against me through her soaking wet tank top and my soaking wet t-shirt has my cock throbbing in my pants.

  “Oh!” She gasps, her breath catching as she suddenly freezes in my arms as this cute little smile spreads across her lips. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”

  I swallow, feeling the blood rush from head right into my dick with this utterly sexy, heart-stompingly gorgeous girl presses her body against mine. I’m suddenly remembering this is reality and not some fantasy as I quickly set her straight on her feet and begrudgingly let her go.

  She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth as her brow furrows above her sunglasses. “Oh my God, I got it all over you! I am so freaking sorry!”

  There’s something so earnest in the way that she says it that I’m grinning as I hold my hands up. She’s so sweet, and not swearing or anything like any other girl I know would be in that moment. “No, no not at all. Totally my fault for plowing into you.”

  The sudden thought of plowing into her in an entirely different way comes to mind, but I quickly push that aside as I just take her in.

  Jesus Christ is this girl sexy as all fucking sin. She is young, in this perky, glowing, fucking tempting off-limits way, and there’s a familiarness to her that I can’t place, but that I chalk up having just seen her a minute before inside. But whatever ideas I have about having seen her before suddenly go tumbling right out of my brain as my eyes land on the front of her tank top, and it’s all I can do not to growl.

  The iced coffee is soaking through the front of her white cotton tank top, and the nipples beneath are quickly reacting to it. I’m holding the groan as I see that hard little pebbles of her nipples poking through the thin cotton, and they’re so hard and the shirt is so soaked that I can practically make out the outline of her aureolas.

  And if I was checking her out before, now I’m just fucking devouring her with my eyes. She stands there with her brow furrowed as she looks worriedly at me, as if she’s totally oblivious of how fucking sexy she look with her finger against her lips, or that her nipples are all but totally visible through her soaked tank top. The juxtaposition of the nervous, almost shyly furtive way she carries herself with that smokin’ body is enough to get my cock raging as I just stand there staring at her and resisting the primal urge to grab her back into my arms again right then and there.

  “Oh, shit, I got some on you too,” she frowns, biting at her lip nervously again.

  “No, really, that’s all me, trust me,” I say, flashing a smile at her and grinning even wider when I see the flush bloom in her cheeks and a small smile of her own creep over those lips.

  “Honestly,” I say, smiling and forcing my eyes back to hers tucked behind those shades. “It was completely my fault.”

  “No, I-”

  “Seriously,” I say firmly, smiling at her and watching her lips part into a grin. “Listen, please let me pay for the dry cleaning at the very least.”

  “Oh- no, that’s-” She’s stammering as that adorably innocent looking blush creeps back into her cheeks. “No, I couldn’t.”

  “You could, and really, I insist.”

  She bites her lip again as she looks at me through those shades, and I hold that gaze, feeling the urge to mash my lips to hers right there; resisting the primal caveman urge to rip her clothes off and take her right there against the side of the building.

  She suddenly glances jerks her cellphone out of her pocket and gasp. “Oh, God, I need go, I’m late for something.”

  I glance at my own watch and swear under my breath. Fuck, I’ve got a lecture that starts in two minutes and I’m ten minutes from campus.

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