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My professor and I
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2025-06-12 00:03:18I know I shouldn’t be thinking about Mr. Collins like this. This degree means everything to me. It’s the only way I can get a foot in the door, the only leverage I have for a future.
But that doesn’t stop my thighs from pressing together every time I remember the way he looked at me in our first meeting. That deep voice, the salt-and-pepper hair, the control he radiated from behind his desk. Mr. Collins has to be at least twenty years older than me. He could be my father. I shouldn’t want him. But I do. My throat is dry as I walk down the long hallway toward his office. All I need to do is apologize, convince him that I’m not as chaotic or distracted as I came across earlier. Then leave. Just leave. I knock once and try the knob. It opens. His office is empty. Relief floods me, and something darker slips in underneath. If he’s not here. . . I could wait. Or I could just go. But instead, I walk in and close the door behind me. His scent hits me immediately. Clean and commanding. Sandalwood. A sharp touch of citrus. Masculine and overwhelming. It smells like a man who doesn’t share his space. It smells like him. I know I should walk away. But instead, I step deeper into his private world. His absence means he’s probably in a meeting, maybe with the board. I could have an entire hour. And something in me wants to use it. My skin prickles with heat. No man has ever made my body feel like this before, not even close. I feel flushed, blushing like a schoolgirl, but this time I lean into it, I let the ache take over. My pussy is already leaking, soaked from nothing more than being near his desk. And the worst part? I want to touch myself here. In his office. On his desk. I want to imagine what it would feel like if he were here, watching me come apart for him. I walk up to his desk, slowly circling it until I’m perched right where he would sit down to work. My legs part slightly, skirt tightening across my thighs as I fantasize about him sitting back in his chair and watching me. My nipples ache, painfully hard beneath my thin blouse. I can feel my panties clinging to my soaked cunt, each step rubbing me in just the right way. “Ohh…” I moan, softly. “I want you so much, Mr. Collins…” Saying his name feels wicked. Dirty. And I love it. “Take me,” I whisper, imagining the way his voice would growl against my skin. “Fill my tight little virgin pussy with that thick cock of yours. Make me yours.” My fingers slide between my thighs. My breath catches. My heart pounds. My panties are almost dripping. I stand up, letting them fall down my legs, stepping out of them with slow, deliberate grace. My wetness clings to my inner thighs. I drag my skirt up to my waist and sit back on his desk, legs parted, giving in to the fantasy. One finger grazes my clit and my hips buck. It feels electric. I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t care. My body’s on fire, desperate, needy. I slide one finger inside, but it’s not enough. I need more. Something bigger. Something that feels like him. My eyes fall on the thick black marker on his desk. Grinning, I pick it up, trace it across my lips, and suck on the end, imagining the look on his face when he smells my pussy on it later. I spread myself open with one hand and sink the marker into my slick cunt, coating it in my arousal. “Oh my… Mr. Collins…” The soft, obscene sounds of my soaked pussy fill the office as I move the marker in and out of myself, my fingers circling my clit. Fucking my pussy harder with the thought of him. “Fuck… yes… harder… just like that…” I arch my back, one hand on my clit, the other grabbing my tits, pinching my nipples. The image of Mr. Collins, towering over me, mouth on mine, his cock replacing the marker, has me trembling. I imagine him picking up this marker without knowing where it’s been. Tasting me on his fingers. Realizing what I did. I moan louder, on the edge. . . Then the door opens. I freeze. My thighs slam shut instinctively. I turn my head. Mr. Collins is standing there. Not twenty minutes in. “What the hell,” he mutters, his voice sharp, eyes wide as he shuts the door behind him and locks it. “What are you doing in my office?” His eyes drop down to the desk. My wet panties on the floor. The marker. My flushed skin. My legs spread. “What the fuck is this?” And all I can think is. . . Language, Mr. Collins.
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Forbidden Desires(Short Erotica Stories) XII
Moh’s POV The morning light the next blasted me while making it feel like a physical weight. It was too bright, too honest for a house built on shadows. I had dressed with trembling fingers, putting on a thin, white cotton dress that felt like a shroud over my body. Around my neck, the silver locket, the secret-keeper clinked against my skin. It was a heavy, cold reminder of the previous night in the attic. I felt different, my body is different. My body was a map of Julian’s possession. My inner thighs were tender, my skin was sensitive, and there was a deep, dull ache in my core that felt like a permanent mark. I was no longer the girl who had arrived here a few weeks ago. That girl was gone, buried under the weight of Julian’s body. When I walked into the breakfast room, the air was surrounded by the scent of fresh coffee and expensive flowers, which my mother must have made sure were provided. My mother was already there, looking perfect in a silk robe. Julian was at the head o
Forbidden Desires(Short Erotica Stories) XI
Moh’s POV The attic was not like the rest of the manor. While the lower floors were a testament to Julian’s public-facing power, all marble, mahogany, and vast, open spaces, the attic was cramped, sweltering, and smelled of dust, old cedar, and the sharp tang of linseed oil. It was a graveyard for the things the Thorne family had outgrown, a labyrinth of draped furniture and stacked crates. But it was neat! As much as it could be. And at the very end of the narrow hallway sat the "secondary study." It was a small, circular room at the base of the manor’s north turret. There were no grand bookshelves here, only a single, heavy drafting table and a low, velvet chaise longue that looked like it belonged in a nineteenth-century brothel. The windows were small, diamond-paned, and currently glowing with the bruised purple of twilight. I stood in the doorway, my pulse a frantic drumbeat in my ears. The silence up here was absolute. The rest of the house felt like it was miles away. "You
Forbidden Desires(Short Erotica Stories) X
Moh’s POV The porcelain of the bathtub felt like ice against my skin, but I didn't turn on the hot water. I needed the chill. I needed to scrub the scent of Julian, that intoxicating mix of expensive sandalwood and raw, spent lust, off my body before my mother walked through the front door. Every movement was a struggle. My inner thighs were tender, the skin chafed from the friction of his trousers, and there was a heavy, persistent ache deep in my pelvis that made my legs tremble. I looked at myself in the mirror, horrified to find my lips weren't just swollen, they were bitten, a dark, bruised red that no amount of lip balm could hide. I heard the crunch of gravel outside. The Mercedes. My heart leapt into my throat, like a frantic and a trapped bird. "Moh! Julian! I'm home!" My mother’s voice drifted up the stairs, bright and buoyant, slicing through the thick, illicit atmosphere of the house like a sharp tool. I threw on a high-necked sweater, even though the morning was warm
Forbidden Desires(Short Erotica Stories) IX
Moh’s POV The smell of old leather and Julian’s sharp, masculine musk swirled around me as he pinned me against the bookshelf. The spines of the ancient books dug into my shoulder blades, a hard, unyielding reminder of where we were, and who he was. My breath was coming in short, panicked hitches, but my body was screaming for him to fill the void he had created. "Look at me, Moh," he commanded, his voice a low vibration that seemed to rattle my very bones. I looked. His face was a mask of dark, concentrated hunger. He didn't look like my mother’s husband, he looked like a man who had finally dropped the burden of civility. He reached down, his large hand cupping my heat, and then his fingers slid through the slickness between my folds that my pussy had produced while under his desk. "You are fucking shaking," he murmured as his thumb found my clitoris and applying a crushing, rhythmic pressure that made my knees give way. He caught me, his other arm hooking under my thigh and
Forbidden Desires(Short Erotica Stories) VIII
Moh’s POV The shadows beneath the mahogany desk felt like a confessional, cramped and smelling of expensive leather and the faint, sharp scent of wood polish. I curled into the small space, my heart hammering so hard I feared he could hear it through the floorboards. From this vantage point, all I could see were his legs, long, powerful pillars clad in dark trousers, and the polished gleam of his shoes. The heavy thud of his leather chair settling above me signaled the start of my ordeal. Then came the click of the speakerphone on the desk's surface, followed by the sterile, professional chime of the dialing tone. "This is Julian," he said. His voice was different now, crystalline, cold, and utterly authoritative. It was the voice that moved markets and crushed competitors. It was impossible to reconcile this man with the one who had just told me I tasted like honey. "Good morning, Mr. Thorne," a chorus of voices responded from the speaker. "We have the Hong Kong representativ
Forbidden Desires(Short Erotica Stories) VII
Moh’s POV The early morning sunlight that filtered through the heavy velvet curtains of my bedroom felt like an intruder. I had spent the night in a fever dream, my skin still humming with the ghost of Julian’s touch. Every time I drifted off, I felt the phantom weight of his fingers in my sensitive parts, the rough silk of his voice against my ears, and the crushing realization of what I had become. I was a predator’s prize. And the worst part. . . the part that made me pull the duvet over my head in a fit of self-loathing, was how much I wanted to be caught again, so i could experience my punishment all over again. I dressed slowly, my body aching in places I had never felt before. There was a dull, throbbing heat between my thighs, a constant reminder of the way he had opened me up on that desk. I chose a simple sundress, something light and innocent, as if cotton and floral prints could mask the corruption blooming beneath my skin. As I walked down the grand staircase, the
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