by Parker Grey
“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 face 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.
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, righ
t 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 w
ant 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.