PROFESSOR'S PET pt 2

Monday, 10:07 a.m.

I’m in the front row before the first student even walks in.

Notebook open, pen aligned perfectly, legs spread just enough that the ache in my balls is constant. I didn’t sleep. I edged five times last night exactly like she ordered, each one worse than the last. By the fifth I was crying into my pillow, cock purple, hips fucking the air, begging out loud for a woman who wasn’t even there.

I’m wearing dark jeans today. The wet spot won’t show as fast.

The room fills. I don’t look at anyone. My entire world narrows to the doorway.

10:09.

She walks in.

Same heels. Different skirt. This one is black leather, tight as sin, ending just above the knee with a zipper running the full length of the back. White silk blouse, two buttons undone. I can already see the black lace of her bra peeking through the gap. Hair loose today, dark waves brushing the tops of her breasts every time she breathes.

She doesn’t look at me. Not once.

She writes “Donne The Flea” on the board, turns, and starts lecturing like I’m not sitting here ready to combust.

Her voice is pure filth wrapped in academia. Every time she says “mingled” or “suck’d” or “swell’d” my cock leaks another pulse. I don’t take a single note. I can’t. My hands are shaking too hard.

Halfway through she pauses, marker hovering.

“Mr. Harper.”

My name in her mouth again. I jerk so hard the desk rattles.

“Stand up.”

Every head turns. I rise slowly. My hard-on is obscene, tenting the front of my jeans like a fucking flagpole. A few people gasp. Someone whispers “holy shit.”

She doesn’t blink.

“Come here.”

I walk down the aisle on legs that barely work. When I reach the front she steps aside, gestures to the podium.

“Read the stanza aloud. Start at line ten.”

I try. My voice is wrecked. The poem is about blood and sex and marriage inside a flea bite. Every word feels like she wrote it for me. I stumble through it while she stands two feet away, arms crossed under her tits, watching my mouth like she’s imagining it somewhere else.

When I finish the last line there’s total silence.

She smiles, small and lethal.

“Very good. Sit.”

I turn to go back.

“No,” she says softly. “Here.”

She points to the floor directly beside the podium. Right in front of her. In front of everyone.

I drop to my knees without thinking.

The room erupts in murmurs. Someone’s phone is definitely out.

She ignores them all, leans down just enough for her perfume to drown me.

“Stay,” she whispers, lips brushing my ear. “Exactly like that. Hands on your thighs. Don’t move. Don’t speak.”

Then she straightens and continues the lecture like I’m a piece of furniture.

Forty-five minutes.

Forty-five minutes of her pacing inches from my face, leather skirt creaking, tits swaying under silk every time she gestures. Every time she turns I can smell her, wet, musky, stronger than yesterday. She’s soaked. I can see the shine on the inside of her thighs when the skirt shifts.

I’m dripping steadily now. The front of my jeans is dark, a thick strand of pre-cum stretching from the tip to my thigh every time I breathe.

When the lecture ends she doesn’t dismiss the class the normal way.

“Everyone out. Door locked behind you. Mr. Harper and I have… research to discuss.”

They file out in stunned silence. The door shuts. Deadbolt. Click.

She turns to me.

I’m still on my knees.

She walks forward until her shins brush my chest. One heel nudges my thighs wider. She towers over me, hair falling forward like a curtain.

“Look at you,” she murmurs. “My perfect, obedient boy. Did you edge for me?”

“Yes, Professor.” My voice is shredded.

“Five times?”

“Yes.”

She cups my jaw, thumb pressing into my lower lip. “Show me how full you are.”

I fumble with my belt, hands trembling. She watches, patient, as I shove my jeans and boxer-briefs down just enough to free my cock.

It slaps up against my stomach, angry red, slick and shining. A thick rope of pre-cum immediately drips from the slit and lands on the floor between us.

She hums approval.

“Stay on your knees.”

Then she unbuttons her blouse, slow, deliberate. Every button reveals more black lace. When it falls open her tits are barely contained, heavy, spilling over the cups, nipples hard and dark against the sheer fabric.

She shrugs the blouse off, lets it drop.

Reaches behind, unzips the leather skirt. It slides down her legs and pools at her feet. No panties again. Just the garter belt, stockings, and those heels.

Her cunt is bare, swollen, glistening. A string of wetness clings to her inner thigh.

She steps out of the skirt, kicks it aside.

“Hands behind your back.”

I obey.

She straddles my lap without touching my cock, thighs framing my hips, heat radiating against my stomach. Her tits are level with my mouth.

“Suck.”

I latch onto her left nipple through the lace like a starving man. The fabric is damp already from her arousal. I suck hard, tongue flicking, teeth scraping. She gasps, fingers spearing into my hair and yanking me closer.

I move to the other breast, biting down just hard enough to make her moan. I mouth them roughly, soaking the lace until it’s transparent, her nipples stiff and red beneath.

“Harder,” she hisses.

I bite, teeth closing around one nipple and pulling. She cries out, hips grinding air, cunt dripping onto my abs.

I switch again, sucking bruises into the soft flesh spilling over the cups, marking her like I’ve dreamed for months. She’s trembling now, breath coming in sharp pants.

“Rip it,” she orders.

I grip the center of the bra with my teeth and yank. The lace tears with a wet sound. Her tits spill free, heavy and perfect. I attack them bare, mouth everywhere, sucking, biting, licking. I leave teeth marks around both nipples, purple blooming against pale skin.

She shoves me backward. I fall onto the carpeted floor, cock slapping my stomach. She follows, straddling my chest, knees pinning my arms.

Her cunt is right above my mouth now, dripping.

“Open.”

I open wide. She lowers herself onto my face without hesitation, thighs clamping around my head.

The first taste detonates behind my eyes. She’s so wet it floods my mouth instantly, salty-sweet, pure sex. I lick into her like I’m dying, tongue fucking her hole, nose grinding her clit.

She rides my face hard, hips rolling, tits bouncing above me. Her hands brace on the floor behind my head, back arched.

“Teeth,” she gasps. “On my clit, now.”

I close my lips around the swollen bundle and graze it gently with my teeth. She screams, thighs shaking, and comes hard, gushing over my chin, my neck, soaking my shirt.

I keep licking through it, swallowing every drop, until she’s shuddering with aftershocks.

She slides down my body, grabs my cock in one slick hand, lines me up.

“Look at me.”

I force my eyes open. Her face is flushed, lips swollen, hair wild.

She sinks down in one brutal stroke.

We both shout. She’s impossibly hot, impossibly tight, clenching around me like a fist. My hips jerk up involuntarily and she slams a hand on my chest.

“Still.”

I freeze, buried to the hilt, her walls fluttering around me.

She starts to move, slow at first, rolling her hips in filthy circles. Every motion drags her clit against my pelvis. Her tits bounce with each grind.

I’m already close, embarrassingly close.

She leans forward, bites my lower lip hard enough to taste copper.

“Come inside me,” she whispers against my mouth. “Fill me up right now.”

That’s all it takes.

I come with a strangled roar, hips snapping up, cock pulsing so hard it hurts. Rope after rope floods her, more than I thought possible after last night. She keeps riding, milking every drop, until I’m shaking and oversensitive.

She doesn’t stop.

She sits up, hands on my chest, and starts fucking me in earnest, hard, fast, brutal slams that make wet sounds echo in the empty hall.

My cock never softens. I’m eighteen and she’s a goddess; I stay hard inside her like I was born for this.

She comes again, sudden and violent, cunt spasming, head thrown back, tits shaking as she grinds down and stays there, inner walls rippling around me.

I flip us.

She gasps as her back hits the floor. I hook her legs over my shoulders, fold her nearly in half, and pound into her like an animal. The angle is brutal; every thrust punches a cry out of her.

Her nails rake down my back, hard enough to draw blood.

“Harder,” she snarls. “Fucking ruin me.”

I do. I fuck her so hard the podium rattles, so hard her tits bounce wildly, so hard her eyes roll back.

She comes a third time, screaming my name, cunt locking down so tight I see stars.

I follow her over, coming again, deeper this time, hips stuttering as I empty everything I have left into her.

We collapse, panting, sweat-slick, her legs still wrapped around me.

After a minute she laughs, breathless and wicked.

“Next class is Wednesday,” she murmurs against my neck. “You’ll sit front row again. And this time I won’t be wearing anything under the skirt at all.”

I groan, already hardening inside her again.

She clenches deliberately and smiles.

“Welcome to the semester, Mr. Harper.”