by Parker Grey
I don’t think I’ve ever liked anything more, especially now that she’s loosened up with one good orgasm.
“Melody,” I say. “Look to your left.”
She does, looking tired and almost dazed, and her eyes alight on the stone dildo.
It’s a reproduction, of course, but it’s big and thick — though not bigger than me.
Melody takes it in one hand without moving out of the chair and looks at it, her eyes a mixture of lust and fear.
Mostly lust. Ninety-five percent lust, because I don’t even have to ask her to do anything. She starts at her downy mound, then slides it along herself, past her clit and between her folds. Her eyes slide shut and she moves her hips up and down as she positions it at her entrance, her thighs still wide on the chair.
I slow my hand on myself, because I don’t want to come again before she does.
“Do you like fucking big, fat cocks?” I ask, my eyes glued to my student’s pussy as she’s about to fuck herself.
She doesn’t answer, just leans back and slides the head of the stone dildo into herself with a small, shallow gasp, and my balls tighten against my body like I’m about to come already.
Melody moans, her eyelids fluttering, as she moves her hips and takes more of the dildo inside herself.
“This feels so good,” she whispers, her lips stretched around the thick phallus, my eyes glued to her. I’m going as slow as I can, but I still think I might come at any minute.
Her pussy swallows the dildo slowly, and then she starts moving herself up and down on it, fucking herself slowly. The base is so slippery with her juices that she’s having a hard time getting a good grip on it, but watching her fuck herself is still the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Professor Sharpe,” she whispers, her voice a half-whimper.
“Come for me,” I growl. “Again.”
I’m so hard and ready that I’m practically stone myself, and even though Melody is a little awkward and nervous, I can’t believe how much I want this girl. She’s writhing in the chair now, her hips working up and down, her eyes rolling back into her head.
“Fuck me, Professor,” she whispers, driving the dildo into herself hard, and then she comes. Her toes curl and she arches her back against the chair, the dildo deep in her pussy as she moans, losing control completely.
I come seconds later, spurting thick ropes of cum past my hand and onto desk, all the way to Melody’s thigh in the chair. I come hard, again and again, until it feels like I’m about to shoot dust instead of jizz and I collapse back into the chair.
Melody slides the dildo out of herself, takes her legs off the chair, pulls her skirt down and then sits there, dildo in one hand, legs crossed, blushing and not looking me in the eye. I stand, tucking my cock back into my pants, and lean over her chair as she looks up at me.
“I can’t touch you as long as you’re my student,” I murmur.
She bites her lip, and I wonder if she knows how wild it makes me.
“When can you touch me?”
“After finals,” I say.
I get the first photo the next day. I don’t know how Melody got my cell phone number, but now she’s sending me sexy selfies and I almost wish she wouldn’t.
For someone so sweet and innocent, she’s driving me absolutely crazy. I don’t know how I can make it through the next week until final papers are due, then the next few days until I turn in my grades.
I don’t respond to the texts at first, which is nearly impossible. They’re immature, almost childish — her posing, naked, in front of her bathroom mirror; her, in the shower wearing a wet white t-shirt — but I jerk off to each of them twice.
She sends one more that night before I go to bed, along with a text that says: You’re not doing anything wrong.
Monday I can barely concentrate in my classes. I fuck up the subjunctive again and again but I barely notice, because she’s still texting me, and I swear every time my phone buzzes in my pocket it makes my cock twitch a little.
I should have more self-control, especially around a girl who’s only twenty. I should want women my age, not her.
A week, I tell myself. Have some self-control for a week.
I should have self-control for longer. Much, much longer, at least until she graduates — maybe forever. After what happened while I was in grad school, I’m already on thin ice, and frankly, it’s incredible that I got a job at all.
After my last class, I have a meeting with the department chair. It’s nothing exciting, just class schedules for next semester — that kind of thing. Melody must be in class, because she stops texting me for ninety minutes.
“So, if you could take the Monday - Wednesday - Friday Latin 201 class, then Abigail could...”
My phone buzzes again in my pocket, and out of sheer habit, I check it.
It’s Melody. Or, rather: it’s Melody’s body, naked from the neck down. There’s a massive purple dildo just barely poking between her lips, and even in the preview on my phone, I can tell she’s soaking wet.
I click my phone off instantly, but from the guilty look on Greg’s face I can tell he’s already seen it.
Shit, I think. Jesus, I’m a fucking idiot. Thank God her face wasn’t in that photo.
I don’t need my department chair knowing that an undergraduate student is sending me pornographic pictures of herself.
I clear my throat.
“Sorry,” I say. “I keep getting spammed with porn from numbers I don’t know...”
He looks away, drums his fingers on the table, then looks back at me.
“I hired you here because you swore your past was your past,” he says. “And it isn’t illegal to receive saucy pictures, Ethan, but your reputation does precede you...”
My reputation.
It’s been nearly ten years, but I know that I’ll never fully live it down.
When I was in my third year of graduate school — age twenty-five — I was a teaching assistant, and I slept with an undergraduate student in my class.
Twice. Once at night and then the next morning.
She was a senior, so the age difference was only three years, not a big deal, but the problem was that she was in my class. I still had to grade her papers.
And she thought she could use our ill-conceived sexual encounter to blackmail me into a better grade. In the end, I had to decide whether I wanted to let her hold that over my head forever, or whether I wanted to come clean, and I picked coming clean.
I admitted everything, the professor for the class graded her final paper, and I was barely permitted to remain in my Ph.D. program. And now everyone knows that once, I slept with an undergraduate, and they treat me a little like a pariah.
“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 seein
g 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 hasn’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
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nbsp; 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.