Story 2– Office Hours Chapter 1

I had his cock buried in my throat when the door opened.

The tile was freezing under my knees. My jaw already ached in that stretched, messy way I loved. The lacrosse boy’s hands were fisted in my hair, hips jerking, that wet slap of skin loud against the metal lockers. Spit ran down my chin and dripped onto my heavy tits. They swung with every bob of my head, nipples tight and scraped pink. Between my legs my fingers were working my clit hard, my shaved pussy dripping down my thighs. I was soaked. I always got soaked when I put on a show.

I knew exactly how I looked. Big tits out. Ass up. Mouth stretched wide around a thick cock. The most wanted body on campus, currently on her knees and taking it.

Then the footsteps changed.

I didn’t pull off. I kept sucking, kept the pressure, kept rubbing myself. But my eyes lifted.

Dr. Kane stood in the doorway.

Dark shirt. Sleeves rolled once. That same calm, unreadable face from class. His eyes moved over me the way someone looks at a wet floor they don’t want to step in. Me on my knees. Mouth full. Tits swinging. Fingers buried in my cunt. The whole filthy picture.

And he walked past.

No pause. No stare. No flicker of heat. He went straight to a locker three rows down, opened it, took out a clean shirt, closed it again. The metal clicked soft and final. He never looked back. Not at my face. Not at my tits. Not at the way my pussy was glistening under the lights.

He left the same way he came in.

Quiet. Controlled. Completely untouched.

The lacrosse boy was still hard against my cheek, breathing like he’d run a mile. He reached for my hair again. I shoved his hand away.

“Out.”

“Ava, come on….”

“Get the fuck out.”

He left with his dick still wet and his face red. I stayed on the tile, staring at the door Kane had just closed. My heart was slamming. My pussy clenched around nothing. The air-conditioning raised goosebumps across my wet skin.

Nobody ignored this body.

I stood up slow. My knees cracked. Spit and pre-cum had dried sticky on my chin and between my tits. I walked to the mirror above the sinks and looked at myself the way I always did after…checking the damage, confirming I still looked like the thing men lost their minds over. Same heavy tits. Same round ass. Same smooth, open cunt still shiny and swollen. Nothing had changed on the outside.

Inside felt different.

I pressed two fingers between my legs and felt how swollen I was. The touch made my thighs twitch. I watched my own face in the mirror while I rubbed slow, filthy circles over my clit. I kept seeing the way Kane had looked at me without looking at me. The complete absence of want. It sat under my skin like a bruise I couldn’t stop pressing.

I came standing there, quiet and mean, one hand braced on the sink. It didn’t help. The restlessness stayed. I washed my hands, wiped the mess off my face and chest, and pulled my clothes back on without underwear. The short skirt sat high on my thighs. The tight top made my tits look even heavier. I could still feel the shape of his indifference like a hand that hadn’t touched me.

Outside, the late light was flat. Students crossed the quad without looking up. I didn’t see Kane. Part of me was glad. The other part wanted him right there so I could step into his path and make him look properly this time.

I went back to my dorm. Roommate gone. I locked the door, stripped again, and lay on the bed with the ceiling fan turning above me. I didn’t touch myself right away. I just lay there and replayed the moment he walked past. The soft click of the locker. The way his eyes moved over everything I was offering and then simply continued on.

My nipples tightened all over again.

I thought about class that morning. The low, precise way he spoke. The poem about wanting and the difference between hunger and action. I had sat there shifting in my seat, already deciding I would have him. Most of them were simple. A look held too long. A brush of my tits against their arm. A quiet invitation after the room emptied. They folded. Kane had walked through the middle of me being used and treated it like nothing.

I slid my hand between my legs again. This time slower. Two fingers inside, the wet heat of my own body closing around them. My other hand pinched one nipple hard enough to sting. I closed my eyes and pictured his face if I walked into his office like this—skirt up, no panties, fingers still shiny from my cunt. I pictured the exact second that calm might crack. The first time he looked and couldn’t stop. The first time his hands replaced the idea of control.

My hips lifted off the bed. The sheets stuck to my back. I fucked myself deeper, harder, chasing the edge, and when I came the second time it was with his name in my mouth, quiet and vicious.

Afterward I lay still, breathing hard, thighs trembling. The restlessness hadn’t gone anywhere. If anything it had settled deeper, a low constant heat under my skin.

I sat up and reached for my phone. The campus directory loaded easily. Dr. Elias Kane. Office hours tomorrow, four to six. Literature building, third floor.

I stared at the listing for a long time.

Then I smiled, slow and certain, the same way I smiled when I already knew how a night was going to end.

He was going to look.

I would make sure of it.

Tomorrow.