Forbidden Lesson I (Riding my lecturers’ c*ck)

God, I remember my first year in college like it was yesterday. The lectures, the late nights cramming, and yeah, the crushes that hit you like a truck. But nothing compared to Professor Alex Harlan.

He was only twenty six, fresh out of grad school, with that messy dark hair that always looked like he'd just rolled out of bed after a wild night, and a body that screamed he spent more time in the gym than grading papers. Broad shoulders, a jawline that could cut glass, and those piercing blue eyes that made every girl in class squirm in her seat. He taught English Lit, but let's be real, half the enrollment was because of him.

Me? I'm Lily Thompson, your typical blonde bombshell at least that's what my friends call me. Long wavy hair that falls to my waist, blue eyes, and a figure that's curvy in all the right places. I'm nineteen, a freshman, and yeah, I've got that innocent look, but don't let it fool you.

I've had my share of hookups, but nothing prepared me for the way Professor Harlan made my heart race and other parts throb.

It started innocently enough. Or at least, that's what I told myself. His class was on Victorian literature, all that repressed passion and hidden desires crap. He'd lean against his desk, sleeves rolled up to show those forearms, and read passages from Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights in this deep, velvety voice that sent shivers down my spine.

I'd sit in the front row, crossing and uncrossing my legs, feeling that familiar heat building between my thighs. He'd catch my eye sometimes, hold it a second too long, and I'd bite my lip, imagining those hands on me instead of flipping pages.

One day, after class, I stayed behind. "Professor Harlan?" I said, my voice a little breathy. The room was emptying out, students shuffling papers and chatting. He looked up from his laptop, those eyes locking onto mine.

"Lily, right? What's up?" He smiled, that crooked grin that made my knees weak.

"I, um, I'm struggling with the essay on repressed desires in Bronte's work. Could I get some extra help? Maybe office hours?"

He leaned back, crossing his arms. "Sure. My office is free tomorrow afternoon. 3 PM work for you?"

"Perfect." I flashed him my best smile, feeling a flush creep up my neck.

The next day, I dressed for it. Short plaid skirt yeah, cliché, but it hugged my ass just right a tight white blouse that showed a hint of lace bra underneath, and my hair down in loose waves. I knocked on his office door, heart pounding.

"Come in," he called.

The office was small, bookshelves crammed with classics, a desk piled with papers. He was there, in a fitted button-down that clung to his chest, jeans that looked way too good on him. "Hey, Lily. Have a seat."

I sat across from him, crossing my legs so the skirt rode up a bit. His eyes flicked down, just for a second, but I caught it. We started talking about the essay, but the air felt thick, He'd explain themes of forbidden love, his voice low, and I'd nod, leaning forward so he could see the swell of my breasts.

"You're getting it," he said at one point, reaching across to point at my notes. His fingers brushed mine, and electricity shot through me. I gasped softly, and he froze, pulling back slow.

"Sorry," he muttered, but his eyes were darker now, pupils blown.

"No, it's fine." I licked my lips, watching him watch me. "Actually... Professor, can I ask something personal?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Depends."

"Do you ever feel like those characters? All that repression... building up?"

He chuckled, but it was tense. "Literature's full of it. Real life too, I guess."

I stood up, walking around the desk. Bold, yeah, but I couldn't stop. "What if we didn't repress it?"

"Lily..." His voice was a warning, but he didn't move as I perched on the edge of his desk, right in front of him. My skirt hiked up, showing the edge of my pink lace panties.

"I'm 19, Professor and very Legal. And I see the way you look at me."

He swallowed hard, hands gripping the armrests. "This is dangerous. I could lose my job."

"But you want it." I reached out, tracing a finger down his chest. He didn't stop me.

"Fuck," he whispered, and then he was on me. His hands grabbed my waist, pulling me into his lap as his mouth crashed against mine. The kiss was hungry, desperate tongues tangling, teeth nipping. I moaned into his mouth, grinding down on the hard bulge in his jeans.

"God, Lily, you're so fucking hot," he growled, hands sliding up my thighs, under my skirt. His fingers found my panties, rubbing over the damp fabric. "Already wet for me? Naughty girl."

"Yes, Professor," I whimpered, rocking against his hand. He slipped a finger inside the lace, stroking my slick folds, circling my clit with expert pressure.

"You've been teasing me all semester, haven't you? Sitting there with those legs, biting that lip." He pushed a finger inside me, curling it, making me gasp. "Tight little pussy. Bet you've fantasized about this."

"Every class," I admitted, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing that chiseled chest. I raked my nails down it, loving how he hissed.

He added a second finger, pumping slow at first, then faster, thumb on my clit. I was soaking his hand, the wet sounds filling the office. "Come for me, Lily. Show your professor how bad you want an A."

The orgasm hit fast waves crashing over me, my walls clenching around his fingers. I cried out, muffling it against his shoulder. "Oh god, Harlan!"

He smirked, pulling his fingers out and sucking them clean. "Call me Harlan when I'm finger-fucking you."

I slid off his lap, dropping to my knees between his legs. "My turn." I unzipped his jeans, freeing his cock thick, veined, the head glistening with precum. God, it was perfect, at least 8 inches, curving up just right.

I licked the tip, tasting him, then took him deep, hollowing my cheeks. He groaned, hand in my blonde hair, guiding me. "Fuck, that's good. Suck it like you mean it, baby."

I did bobbing fast, tongue swirling, hand stroking what I couldn't fit.

He thrust up gently, hitting the back of my throat. Drool dripped down my chin, mixing with his precum. "Gonna make me come too soon," he warned, pulling me up.

He stood, clearing his desk with one sweep papers flying everywhere. "Bend over."

I did, ass up, skirt flipped over my back. He ripped my panties down, spanking my ass lightly. "Such a perfect little ass. you're every teacher's wet dream."

Then he was behind me, rubbing his cock along my slit. "You ready for this, Lily? Gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name."

"Yes, please, Harlan – fuck me!"

He thrust in one go, filling me completely. I screamed the stretch was intense, delicious. He was so thick, hitting spots I didn't know I had. He started pounding, hands on my hips, pulling me back onto him.

"God, your pussy's gripping me like a vice," he grunted, pace brutal. Skin slapping, wet and filthy. He reached around, rubbing my clit again. "Come again, slut. Cream on your professor's cock."

And i did hard, squirting a little, soaking the desk. He didn't stop, flipping me over so I was on my back, legs over his shoulders. Deeper now, his cock slamming into my G-spot.

"Look at you, blonde hair messed up, tits bouncing fucking gorgeous." He pinched my nipples through my blouse, twisting just right. I arched, another orgasm building.

"Fuck me harder, Harlan! Make me yours!"

He did railing me like a p**n star, sweat dripping down his abs.

"Gonna fill this tight cunt with my cum. You want that? Want your professor's load?"

"Yes! Come inside me!"

He roared, thrusting deep, hot spurts flooding me. The feel of it pushed me over I came again, milking him dry, legs shaking.

We collapsed, panting. He kissed me soft now, pulling out slow, watching his cum leak out. "That was... insane."