Just Like That!

~Bonnie

I dropped to my knees the moment he said “open,” my heart hammering against my ribs.

The carpet burned my skin, but I didn’t care. Professor Marcellus stood over me, trousers open, cock thick and flushed, already glistening at the tip from my earlier teasing.

I wrapped my hand around the base, hot, velvet hard and leaned in.

My tongue flicked out first, lapping slow circles around the head, tasting salt and him. He hissed above me, fingers threading gently into my hair, not pulling, just guiding.

Then I took him deeper. Lips stretched wide, I slid down inch by inch until he bumped the back of my throat.

I hollowed my cheeks, sucked hard, tongue pressing flat along the underside, swirling every time I pulled back.

Saliva slicked him, dripping down my chin. I bobbed faster, messy and eager, moaning around his length so the vibration hummed through him.

“Fuck, Bonnie,” he groaned, hips twitching. “Just like that.”

I looked up, eyes watering, mascara smudged and locked gazes while I sucked harder, hand twisting at the base in time with my mouth. His thighs tensed. Breathing turned ragged.

He pulled out suddenly, fist pumping fast. “On your tits,” he rasped.

I arched my back, pushing my chest forward. Hot ropes spilled across my breasts, thick, warm, painting my skin in messy streaks. I gasped at the feel, nipples tightening under the heat.

He exhaled, thumb brushing a drop across my collarbone. “Perfect,” he murmured, voice wrecked.

“Up,” he said, voice thick.

I started to rise on shaky knees, but he didn’t wait.

His hands hooked under my arms and hauled me to my feet in one smooth pull, strong enough that my legs dangled for half a second before he set me down.

Then he spun me so my back was to him, pressed me forward against the edge of the desk, my palms slapping flat on the wood to catch myself.

Before I could even catch my breath he was on me again.

One arm banded around my waist, yanking me back against his chest.

My nipples were already tight, aching. He didn’t tease, he covered one with his hot mouth and sucked hard, teeth grazing just enough to make me jolt.

At the same time his free hand dove between my thighs from behind.

Two fingers plunged straight in my pussy, no preamble, no gentle stretch, just thick and deep, curling immediately against that spot that made my spine bow.

I cried out, loud enough that it echoed off the bookshelves.

He switched to the other breast, sucking even harder, tongue flicking the nipple while his fingers pumped faster, slick and relentless.

The wet sounds were obscene, filling the room along with my broken moans.

“Fuck… Professor…” I gasped, head falling back against his shoulder.

He released my nipple with a wet pop, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You’re so sweet, Bonnie,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked. “So fucking sweet when you fall apart like this.”

The praise hit like a drug. My hips rocked back onto his hand instinctively, chasing more.

Then he withdrew his fingers, slowly, leaving me clenching around nothing. I whimpered at the loss.

He didn’t give me time to recover.

Both hands gripped my hips, hard enough to bruise. He bent me forward over the desk in one rough motion, my chest flattening against the scattered papers.

My skirt was still bunched uselessly at my waist, torn pink lace hanging off to the side like it had never mattered.

I heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper, quickly, practiced then the blunt head of him nudging between my folds.

I wasn’t a virgin. I’d had sex plenty of times. But never like this. Never bent over a desk, never from behind, never with someone who didn’t ask first or ease in slowness.

He didn’t warn me.

He just pushed in, slow at first, letting me feel every thick inch stretching me open then snapped his hips forward and buried himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke.

I screamed.

The sudden burn of being split open from this angle, deeper than I’d ever been taken. My hands scrabbled at the desk, papers sliding, pen clattering to the floor.

He didn’t pause.

He pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in, hard, deep, relentless.

The desk creaked under us. My breasts dragged across the wood with every thrust, nipples scraping, sending sparks straight to my clit.

“Fuck, you’re tight like this,” he growled, one hand fisting my hair, tugging my head back so my spine arched. “Taking me so well.”

I couldn’t form words anymore, just high, desperate moans every time he bottomed out.

The angle was brutal, hitting places inside me that made my legs shake, made my toes curl against the carpet.

He reached around with his free hand, fingers finding my clit and rubbing fast, rough circles.

“Come on my cock,” he ordered, voice dark and commanding. “Let me feel you.”

I was already close, too close, every thrust shoving me toward the edge.

The stretch, the slap of skin, the tug on my hair, his fingers on my clit, it all crashed together.

I came screaming his name, whole body seizing, clenching so hard around him he groaned like it hurt.

My knees buckled but he held me up, kept fucking me through it, drawing it out until I was sobbing, oversensitive, dripping down my thighs.

He didn’t stop.

He sped up, short, punishing strokes then buried himself deep one last time and came with a low, guttural sound, hips jerking against my ass.

For a long moment we just breathed, his chest heaving against my back, my forehead pressed to the desk, both of us slick with sweat.

He finally eased out slowly, careful now. I whimpered at the drag.

He turned me around gently, lifted me to sit on the edge of the desk again. He brushed wet hair off my face. He kissed me softer this time, slow, deep, almost tender.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, thumb stroking my cheek.

I nodded, still catching my breath, a lazy fucked out smile spreading across my lips.

“Better than okay.”

He smirked, pressed one last kiss to my forehead.

“Good girl.”

Then he stepped back, already reaching for tissues to clean us up, like the professor had slipped back into place.