Fantasizing About My Professor (2)

An hour later, I stood outside his office door. The hallway was empty, the custodial staff starting their evening rounds. I raised my hand to knock, hesitated, then tapped twice.

“Come in.” The voice was muffled but authoritative.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” I whispered.

“I believe this is yours,” he said, leaning back. “After reading the part where the student is told to get on her knees… I was wondering were you planning to follow the script?”

I gasped. This wasn’t a reprimand, it was something else entirely.

“I… I wrote it, Sir,” I whispered.

“So you did.” He stood, moving around the desk until he was in front of me. Close enough to smell him, clean, faintly tobacco.

He tilted my chin up. “In your story, Anna doesn’t stammer. She doesn’t make excuses.”

His hand moved from my chin to the back of my neck, his grip firm and possessive. My knees weakened, a rush of wetness soaking my panties instantly.

“You think I didn’t notice you staring every lecture?”

I froze, he knew.

I looked up at him, my glasses fogging slightly from the heat of my flushed skin.

“Read it,” he said, and my pulse jumped. “I want to see how far your imagination goes.”

I did. I read aloud, trembling, feeling heat coil in my stomach as the story became a dangerous dance between words and reality. His hand brushed mine, lingering, teasing, a whisper of skin against skin.

By the time I finished, he leaned close, his breath warm against my ear. “Now, show me,” he murmured.

My body moved before my brain registered. I was in my knees as my shaky hands moved to his belt, I fumbled with the buckle. I undid his trousers, lowering the zipper with agonizing slowness. As I pushed the fabric down, his cock sprang free—thick, hard, and already glistening with precum. It was bigger than I’d imagined, bigger than I wrote about, the head flushed a deep, angry pink.

“The only thing you wrote wrong in your draft was this,” he muttered. He glanced down at his erect cock and smirked.

“You underestimate me.”

I nodded, overwhelmed.

“Good girl," he groaned, his hand tangling in my hair, guiding me forward.

I opened my mouth and took him in, the taste of salt and musk exploding on my tongue. He hit the back of my throat, and I gagged slightly, but I didn't pull away. Instead, I moaned around him, the vibration making his hips jerk forward. He began to move, fucking my mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts, using my hair as leverage. My pussy clenched, heat and wetness pooling between my legs, my thighs trembling with need.

I hollowed my cheeks, sucking hard, my tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge of his head. I looked up, watching his face contort in pleasure, his head falling back, his lips parting in a silent gasp. I had written this moment, imagined it a hundred times, but the reality I was experiencing it myself and with him, was overwhelming.

“Is this what you wanted?” he rasped, looking down at me, his eyes dark and wild. “Is this what you pictured when you were sitting in my class, soaking your desk?”

I hummed a yes, unable to speak with my mouth full of his dick. I wanted to pull back when I felt a trickle of his cum.

Professor Reed’s fingers tightened in my hair, not pulling, just holding me there as his cock swelled over my tongue. “Swallow it, Celine. Every fucking drop.” His voice was a rough command, a vibration I felt through the hand still fisted in my curls.

I did. I gulped, the warm, gluey strands coating my throat. It was more than I’d ever imagined, a thick, white load that kept coming, spilling past my lips even as I tried to keep up. It dripped down my chin, onto the front of my blouse.

He let out a long, satisfied groan and gently pulled his softening cock from between my lips. I knelt there on the office carpet, breathing hard, my glasses askew, his cum cooling on my skin. The room smelled like sex and old books.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his thumb wiping a stray cum from my cheek before pushing it back into my mouth. “My good little writer. How long have you wanted to fuck your Professor?”

“I… I never thought…Since forever S—sir,” I muttered.

“Up,” he said, his tone leaving no room for debate.

My legs trembled as I stood. He didn’t let me adjust, his hands going to the buttons of my blouse. They popped open under his efficient fingers, and he pushed the fabric off my shoulders. My plain, black bra was next, the clasp giving way with one move. My tits spilled out, full and heavy, with pale, pink nipples that were already hard as ice

“Fuck, you’re sexy,” he breathed, his palms engulfing them.

No one had ever called me that not even the guys I’d been with. I’d only been called fat.

“I’m not,” I say despite myself.

“You’re perfect, always have…always will be.”

I had no time to think because I felt his hand gripping my tits tighter.

He weighed them, his thumbs circling my nipples with a pressure that made my knees weak. “All this softness, hiding in the back row. Writing about being used.” He pinched a nipple, sharp and sweet, and I gasped. “You wanted the attention. Now you have it.”

He bent his head and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, his tongue flicking my areolas. The sensation was electric, a direct line to my soaked cunt. I whimpered, my hands flying to his shoulders for balance. He switched to the other breast, lavishing it with the same rough attention, biting just enough to make me jump.

“I…I should go,” I whispered, the lie pathetic even to my own ears.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said against my skin. His hands went to my skirt, yanking the zipper down. It pooled at my feet, leaving me in just my white cotton panties, dark with my arousal.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband and dragged them down. “Look at this pretty cunt. Soaked for me. Puffy and pink.” He ran a single finger through my folds, feeling my wetness, and pushed it slowly into his mouth. “You taste like seduction.”

He stood then, guiding me backwards until the edge of his massive oak desk hit the backs of my thighs. Papers scattered. “On your back. Now.”

I obeyed, scrambling onto the cool, hard wood. He pushed my legs apart, his gaze burning into my exposed pussy. “Beautiful,” he muttered.

He stroked his cock again, which was already hardening once more, thick and impressive.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded, leaning against the desk to watch. “Show me how you make yourself come when you write these little stories. Get yourself ready for my cock.”

My face burned, but the throbbing on my core ached. I brought my hand to my cunt, my fingers sliding easily through the slickness. I found my clit, a swollen, needy bud, and began to circle it. My eyes closed.

“Eyes on me, Celine.”

I forced them open. He was stroking himself, his fist moving slowly up and down his shaft, his eyes locked on my working fingers.

The obscenity of it—spread out on my professor’s desk, masturbating for him sent a fresh gush of wetness between my legs. This was better than what I wrote.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his voice a drug. “Make that pretty pussy clench. I want to see you cum.”,

I felt the familiar tightening in my belly. His presence, his command, the sheer audacity of the situation pushed me over. My back arched off the desk as my orgasm ripped through me, a silent, screaming wave that made my cunt pulse around nothing. I cried out, a thin, choked sound.

Instantly, his hand clamped over my mouth, his palm large and smelling of his skin and my own scent. “Quiet, girl,” he growled. “The department head is next door.”

As if on cue, the doorknob to his office rattled. We both froze. My eyes went wide with panic over his hand. A voice, muffled through the door, said, “Reed?” You in there?”

Professor Reed’s expression didn’t change. He kept his hand sealed over my mouth, his other hand now pumping in and out of my pussy. I moaned against his palm.

He called out, his voice perfectly steady, “Busy with a student’s manuscript, Richard. Can it wait?”

A pause. “Right, right. Catch you later.”

The footsteps receded. The tension didn’t leave my body; it transformed into a different kind of heat. The danger, the almost-getting-caught, made everything feel more intense.

He removed his hand from my mouth, now slick with my saliva. “Now,” he said, voice voice dropping to a hungry whisper. “Where were we?”

He gripped my hips, pulling me to the very edge of the desk. The position arched my back, presenting my dripping cunt to him. He rubbed the broad, spongy head of his cock through my folds, coating himself in my juices, teasing my entrance. “Say it.”

“I want it,” I panted, the words torn from me. “P—please, Professor…Please fuck me sir.”

With a grunt of approval, he pushed inside.

The stretch was massive. He was so much thicker than my fingers, than any toy I’d ever used, than any boy I’d fooled around with. He filled me completely, making my insides sore. He held himself there, buried to the depth, letting me feel every inch, every vein.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Your cunt is gripping me like a fist. So fucking…tight.”

Then he began to move. He set a deep, punishing rhythm from the start, his hips pushing against my ass. Each thrust drove a grunt from his chest and a choked sob from my throat. My tits bounced heavily with every drive, the slapping sound of our skin meeting filling the quiet office. I clawed at the polished wood of the desk, my vision blurring.

“Look down,” he ordered, his pace never slowing. “Watch my cock disappear into your greedy little pussy.”

I lifted my head, a desperate move, and looked. The sight was obscene. His deep-red shaft, slick and shiny, plunging into my stretched, pink flesh, which clung to him desperately. I could see my swollen lips gripping him with each withdrawal. The visual pushed me toward another peak, a tighter, deeper one building in my core.

“I’m… I’m going to cum again,” I whimpered.

“Cum on my cock,” he grunted, his thrusts growing harder, faster. “Squeeze it out of me. Milk my fucking load into this dirty cunt.”

His words were the final trigger. My second orgasm exploded, it lasted thirty seconds, the longest I’d ever had. I screamed into the crook of my own arm, biting the fabric to muffle the sound.

“Yes! Take it!” he roared, his thrust faster. “Take my cum, all of it.” He drove into me one last, brutal time, and I felt the hot, frantic force of his release deep inside me. It was another massive flood, filling me up, a hot rush that spilled out around where we were joined, dripping onto the desk below with soft, wet sounds.

He collapsed over me, his weight pressing me into the wood, his breath hot on my neck. We stayed like that, joined, panting, covered in sweat and cum. His dick was still buried in me.

I still couldn’t believe it, I had fucked my Professor, I mean I just fucked Professor Reed in his office.

He leaned close to my ear. “Looks like your story just got a sequel.”