Professor’s Filthy Extra Credit: Part 4

“Keep typing, Sophia,” Professor Kane murmured against my ear, his thick cock buried deep inside my pussy as I sat completely naked on his lap in his home office.

My fingers trembled on the keyboard, the laptop screen blurry in front of me. It was past midnight. I was supposed to be writing my literature analysis essay, but every slow roll of his hips made it impossible to think straight.

“Professor… I can’t focus when you’re inside me like this,” I whimpered, trying to type the next sentence.

He chuckled darkly and thrust up slowly, grinding deep. “That’s the point. Read what you have so far. Out loud.”

I moaned softly as he rocked me on his cock. “The… symbolism in the novel represents… ahh… the struggle between desire and morality…”

“Wrong,” he interrupted, thrusting harder. “Symbolism doesn’t ‘represent the struggle.’ Be more precise. Fix it.”

I gasped, trying to correct the sentence while his thick cock stretched me open. “The symbolism… illustrates the internal conflict between…”

“Better,” he groaned, one hand reaching around to rub my clit slowly. “But still weak. Keep going. And don’t you dare stop typing.”

The humiliation burned through me. Here I was, naked on my professor’s lap, his cock buried inside me while he graded my pathetic essay in real time. Every thrust made my breasts bounce as I tried desperately to focus on the words.

“Fuck… Professor Kane, please,” I begged, hips moving on their own, riding him slowly. “It’s so hard to think when you’re fucking me.”

“That’s exactly why you’re failing,” he said, voice rough with lust. He gripped my hips and bounced me on his cock a little faster. “Look at this sentence. ‘The author uses imagery to show…’ Pathetic. Vague. Rewrite it while I fuck this tight cunt.”

I moaned loudly, fingers slamming on the keys as he thrust up into me. “The author employs vivid imagery to… to convey…”

“Convey what?” He spanked my thigh hard. “Don’t lose your train of thought just because your professor’s cock is deep in your pussy.”

The shame mixed with pleasure was driving me insane. I was dripping all over his lap, my juices coating his balls as he slowly fucked me, correcting every mistake with another thrust.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I gasped. “The author employs vivid imagery to expose the protagonist’s forbidden desires…”

“Good girl,” he praised, kissing my neck while grinding deep. “See? You write better when you’re stuffed full of cock. Now finish the paragraph.”

I was right on the edge, trembling, when he suddenly lifted me off his lap. “Not yet. Bend over the desk.”

I obeyed instantly, bending over his wooden desk, my essay still open on the laptop. He spread my ass cheeks and pressed the head of his cock against my tighter hole.

“Professor… wait, I’ve never…”

“Tonight you will,” he growled. “Relax for me.”

He pushed in slowly, the thick head stretching my ass open. I cried out, gripping the desk hard. “It’s too big…fuck!”

“Breathe,” he ordered, sinking deeper inch by inch. “That’s it. Take your professor’s cock in your virgin ass.”

The burn slowly turned into overwhelming pleasure as he worked himself all the way in. Once he bottomed out, he stayed still for a moment, letting me adjust.

Then he started moving. Slow at first, deep strokes that made me moan like a whore. “Fuck, this ass is even tighter than your pussy,” he groaned. “So fucking perfect.”

He picked up speed, fucking my ass harder, the sound of his hips slapping against me filling the office. “Touch your clit. I want you to come from getting your ass fucked alone.”

I reached between my legs, rubbing my swollen clit as he pounded into me. The feeling was intense, dirty, and incredible. “Professor… I’m so close…”

“Come then,” he growled, slamming into me rougher. “Come with my cock in your ass like the filthy student you are.”

The orgasm hit me harder than ever. I screamed, my ass clenching around him as I came violently from anal alone, my pussy gushing onto the floor beneath the desk.

“Fuck yes,” he groaned, still thrusting through my orgasm.

I was still shaking, completely wrecked, when his phone suddenly lit up on the desk. The screen showed “Dean Hargrove.”

Professor Kane didn’t stop. He answered the call, still buried deep in my ass, and slowly started grinding into me again.

“Hey, Richard,” he said casually, voice perfectly steady. He covered my mouth with his free hand and whispered hotly in my ear, “Don’t make a sound.”