Cum on My Cock

God, I'd been nursing this massive crush on Professor Harlan for like, two full semesters straight. It was one of those deep, gnawing aches that just twisted me up inside whenever he'd launch into his Victorian lit rants. That voice of his…deep, all commanding and shit. It'd snake around me like some soft, inescapable bind, and don't even get me started on those piercing blue eyes. They had this way of just... peeling you apart, layer by layer, right there in the middle of a packed lecture hall. I'd sit in the back row, my thighs clenched, imagining his hands pinning me down, making me squirm and plead. But hey, fantasies? They're harmless, and just clean, not until that email from him popped up in my inbox one random afternoon: "Office hours, we have to talk about the thesis . Don't keep me waiting." Boom. My heart went into overdrive, slamming like it wanted out.

I timed my arrival and went just in time to his office. His office door creaked open once I raised my hand to knock, like it had a mind of its own, and fuck, there he was: towering, shoulders that screamed "I could toss you around without breaking a sweat," in a white button-down with the top couple undone, flashing this killer slice of tanned chest that had my mouth going dry. He looked up from whatever mess of papers he had on his desk, his dark hair all rumpled like he'd been yanking at it in frustration, and hit me with, "Elara come in and shut the door."

My throat felt like it was closing up, my pulse thumping wild as I locked that door with a click that hung in the air like a dare. I'd picked my outfit that morning knowing damn well what I was doing: this ridiculously short plaid skirt that skimmed my thighs like it was allergic to coverage, the kind that yells "trouble" without making a sound. Paired it with a blouse so sheer it might as well have been a suggestion, molding to my body like a second skin. Bra? What bra? My nipples were already standing at attention from the draft and the rush of nerves, tenting the fabric, basically waving at him. And those black thigh-highs, garters hidden like a secret just for him to unwrap.

He leaned back in his creaky chair, lacing his fingers together all professor-like, but I saw it…the way his eyes dipped fast to the hem of my skirt, then dragged up slowly to where my chest was fighting the buttons. "Your thesis draft... it's got guts, maybe too much for a polite company. You get off on that edge, huh, Elara? Teetering right there, like you are now." His tone was gravelly, laced with this edge that made my stomach flip, but underneath? His jaw was locked tight, like he was one wrong breath from unraveling.

I skipped the chair bullshit, I sauntered right up, my hips doing that lazy, come-hither roll I'd practiced in the mirror, and planted my ass on the corner of his desk like I owned the joint. Papers shifted and cranked under me…whatever. I uncrossed and recrossed my legs, real deliberate, letting the skirt creep up just enough to tease the damp lace of my panties, which were already sticking to me like they'd forgotten their job. "You drill it into our heads: test the limits, right? Or do you want me dialing it back, playing the good girl in pearls and flats?" I toyed with the first button on my blouse, popping it with this soft, needy exhale. Fabric fell open, showing off the flushed curve of my tit, skin all warm and waiting for trouble.

He dragged in a breath, sharp and ragged, his knuckles blanching where they gripped the chair. "Elara." It came out broken, like he'd scraped it over broken glass, and I could feel his control cracking, splintering right down the middle. I scooted closer, my lips ghosting his ear, breath hot as I murmured, "I've gotten off to you so many nights. Picturing you manhandling me right here, bending me over and wrecking me for being your filthy little cocktease." My palm skimmed his thigh, soaking up the scorch through his pants, that massive ridge pulsing under the zipper like it had a heartbeat of its own. I raked my nails over it, feather-light, and he hissed, it was low and feral, sending a jolt straight to my clit.

That did it…whatever thin thread he'd been clinging to just... snapped. He bolted up, hands like vices on my hips, dragging me dead center on the desk with a growl that vibrated through me. Papers went flying, books thudded to the floor in a chaotic avalanche, but the destruction? It just poured gasoline on everything. "Fucking hell, you cock-hungry brat," he snarled, crushing his mouth to mine. It wasn't a kiss but it was a raid, all biting lips and thrusting tongues, him devouring me like I'd been his last meal denied for months. I melted into it with a whine, tasting the bite of his coffee and that wild, unraveling edge of him, my hands fisting his shirt and shredding buttons loose in a frantic scatter.

He reared back, chest heaving, fisting my skirt up to my waist and exposing my soaked pussy to the sudden cool draft. "Christ, you're drenched for me, aren't you?" he grated out, palms rough on my ass, squeezing until I knew there'd be fingerprints tomorrow, the good kind of ache. His fingers caught my panties' edge and yanked it, the tear ripping through the quiet room. He popped his fly, and his cock sprang free: thick as fuck, veins standing out like ropes, the swollen head weeping pre-cum that had me throbbing empty and desperate.

"Harlan, shit, please, now," I begged, arching up, my thighs falling open wide in shameless invitation. He growled something incoherent and thrust home, burying himself to the hilt in one ruthless plunge that tore a scream from my chest, my walls clenching and fluttering around the impossible fullness of him. He didn't ease in, but he ravaged, his hips slamming forward in this brutal, slick rhythm that shook the desk like an earthquake, my whole body jerking with each deep, grinding stroke. I hooked my ankles over his back, yanking him closer and harder, as sweat slicked us both. He'd shredded my blouse by then, my tits tumbling free, full and heavy, bouncing wild until he dove in. His mouth was hot on one nipple, sucking it deep and grazing with teeth until I bucked and keened, spark twisting low and filthy in my belly.

"Jesus, you're strangling my dick, so goddamn slick and starved," he groaned against my skin, one hand twisting into my hair, hauling my head back to latch onto my throat, sucking marks that'd bloom purple by morning. He hammered into me relentlessly, the fat length of him raking that perfect, mind-melting spot until sparks burst behind my eyes, my clit pulsing hot and neglected but right on the razor's edge. I was there, teetering, my walls starting to flutter in that kind of squeeze. "That's it, baby…come all over my cock. Milk me dry, you perfect little slut."

I shattered, a guttural wail ripping out as the orgasm hit like a freight train, my pussy convulsing in vicious waves, flooding him, the desk, everything in a hot, messy rush. He rode it out with a bellow, pulling out at the brink, fist flying over his drenched shaft. Cum erupted in thick, searing jets across my ass and thighs, painting me sticky and owned, ropes cooling fast on my fevered skin. "Cum on my cock," I panted, dazed and greedy, twisting back to wrap my hand around him, pumping slow through the spasms to chase every last shudder, my fingers slick and shining when I let go.

We crashed down in the debris, lungs burning and our breathing ragged. Harlan buried his face in my hair, voice a spent, rumbling drawl against my temple. "Thesis? Gold star. But next round... ditch the skirt. I want nothing between us." I managed a loopy smile, limbs like jelly, still humming from the high. Yeah, our twisted syllabus? It was wide open now.