3: Professor's Cumdump

ELIJAH

Claustrophobic—that was what I always felt anytime I had to set foot at the university campus.

The eyes watching me were too many just like the ceaseless whispers about me.

Arguments over who I had been with the night before were always a thing.

Once there was a fight over who I had fucked in the bathroom stall at a party.

I didn't care.

Let them talk.

I liked being seen.

I liked knowing people wanted me, even if most of them couldn't have me.

But that was before him.

The new professor.

Michael Bollin.

But all, these were the fun parts because what bothered me were the rules—there were almost always too many of them.

And I hated it.

As if I didn't thoroughly enjoy breaking each and every rule I happened to come across.

It excited me.

I have heard people say a million times that I was a reckless piece of shit willing to set relationships on fire and watch it burn.

They weren't wrong.

That was how I lived, how I wanted to.

I slept with whoever I wanted, and never had to apologize for any of it.

My sexuality wasn't something I hid—it was my only weapon in this boring life.

And I was extremely picky about whoever was going to be on top of me.

A bottom for only the best.

Only the ones who could handle me.

And when I had first seen Michael, I knew almost immediately.

He was one of the best.

Yet he didn't want anything to have to do with me because of his new status.

My professor.

He wanted to just keep living as if that night hadn't existed for both of us.

And he expected me to do the same.

But, it didn't hurt at all.

Because the night had been.

And also because I loved the chase.

From that day on, I became obsessed with him.

And the longer I spent watching him, the more I wanted him for myself.

I was nothing like the other student who claimed to want him.

I didn't want it from afar.

I didn't want him in secret.

I wanted him to ruin me, openly.

I needed him to violently suffocate me with that cold authority behind his eyes and see if he could make me break.

But Michael?

He wouldn't bulge.

He treated me like a stranger at every turn no matter what I had tried since then.

Still, I was determined to never give up.

I always caught him outside the hall after every lecture with a daring smirk plastered on my happy face.

And sometimes I followed him to his office to tease him away from public eyes.

"Do you ever give private lessons, professor?" I would ask, leaning against the doorframe.

He didn't even look at me most times.

"Leave."

Any time I brushed against him in the hallway, I always said in a low voice:

"You know, you would look a lot better with your tie hanging around my neck."

The first time I had done it, his wide eyes had cut to me for half a second.

"Pathetic," he had muttered in a sharp and dismissive tone, like I was beneath him.

Then he kept walking.

Perhaps he had felt that his indifference was going to be a demarcating wall.

But to me, it was only a challenge.

Every rejection only made me want him harder, made me desperate for him.

I was pulled back to reality by someone roughly brushing past me on skateboards.

It was two students playing tag in the corridor on roller skates.

I hissed, turning into the corner where Michael's office was situated.

Luckily, I spotted him walking down the corridor now, in front of me.

He was carrying a stack of books with his icy expression sitting in his face like a mask.

One he never took off.

Especially at school.

My stomach did the thing as my yearning heart started pounding loudly like it always did whenever he was near me.

I didn't even think—I stepped forward, keeping pace behind him.

He reached his office, unlocked the door and started to slip right inside.

I didn't hesitate.

My body moved as I slid in right behind him, closing the door with a soft click.

He didn't turn immediately.

The books he carried were what he set down on the table before adjusting his cuffs.

The hot stare he pinned me when he finally looked up at me was piercing.

A grin graced my face.

My body grew hot with the intensity of my desire as I leaned against the door.

"Elijah," he said. "You again."

My hands raised to my lips to cover my mouth in mock surprise.

"Oh my!" I breathed.

He quirked a brow at me.

"I was utterly convinced that you must have forgotten my name by now."

He hissed.

"You've made it impossible to forget."

A chuckle bubbled up my throat.

"I am touched."

He completely ignored me and went around the desk to his chair to take a seat.

My eyes followed his hand as he started to arrange the table like I wasn't even there.

I crossed my arms.

"Most men I know would kill for my attention, you know?"

"Then it's a good thing I am not like most men," he mumbled under his breath.

I continued despite his interruption.

"But you—" I tilted my head—"you continue to act as if I am invisible."

He didn't even glance at me.

"Because you are."

He uncapped his pen and began to write across the paper lying afore him.

Amusement birthed a low laugh.

"Unfiltered—I like that about you."

Finally, he set the pen in his hands down with a snap and directly looked at me.

His gaze was intense.

"Let me make this very clear, Mr. Elijah. I am not interested. Not in your flirting, not in your games, and certainly not in you."

I stepped closer, close enough to smell his cologne—musky sandalwood.

Blood rushed through my head.

"Oh, you were very interested when your lips were plundering mine at the gay bar downtown, don't you lie!"

His eyes widened.

"Elijah!" He snapped.

It was satisfying to watch his dark eyes dart around and if someone would hear us.

"Lie that you don't want both of us together Professor Michael," I teased him.

He sucked his teeth.

"Me and you—" he gestured between the both of us"—will have nothing together."

"We will."

I chuckled lightly.

"You just don't want to admit it."

His jaw tightened.

"You are wasting your time."

"Maybe."

I leaned down over his desk.

"But I've got plenty of time to waste."

He stood abruptly and was instantly towering over me by inches.

For a second, I felt that dangerous yet familiar thrill run down my spine.

The image of my ass pressed against his length on the dance floor came back.

I grew hard in my pants.

"Get out," he said.

His clipped tone brought me back to reality.

I grinned up at him.

"Fine. But don't pretend you didn't imagine it—me on my knees, your hand in my hair as I take your cock deep insi—"

"Stop it!" He bellowed.

I flinched.

His face flushed and I nearly doubled over with laughter.

His eyes grew dark.

Not with lust, but with fury.

And then he walked to the door, held it wide open and waited for me to leave.

The dismissal was clear.

The rejection sent a rush of heat straight to my groin and I walked out of the room biting my lips with my cock already hard.

Minutes later, I found myself in one of the bathroom stalls with a picture of Michael which had been posted in the forum.

He was in a dashing black suit, standing at the lectern with that familiar cold gaze fixed onto something unseen.

My breath quickened as I spit into my right hand and wrapped it around my cock.

The strokes I delivered were fast and furious as I began to imagine his voice snarling commands straight into my ears.

My eyes fell close the faster I went and I imagined him pushing me down into the floor as he dicked me hard.

The thought of his hand gripping the back of my neck, forcing me open—fuck.

I came hard.

Vision blurring into black and white twinkles as my body trembled from the release.

Thick white cum shot up into the air, spilling over my hands, onto my underwear.

My body shuddered terribly.

My teeth sank into my lower lip to keep my deep moans in check.

I sat there, panting when it was over.

Then, I smiled.

Michael Bollin had rejected me again.

And I had never wanted him more.