Fucking Me On His Desk

Getting to school today was all I could think about.

Not for class. Not to read.

For him.

Professor Dean.

I had to see him.

So I left the house early, skipped breakfast, and took the first bus I could find. When I got to school, the hallways were nearly empty, just a few students loitering around like shadows.

I pushed into our classroom, dropped my bag into my locker, and turned only to meet Ethan’s furious face. The guy who fucked me when Professor Dean arrived yesterday.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, feigning innocence.

His eyes narrowed. “Why is the new professor asking for you?”

I blinked, heat blooming between my thighs. He was asking for me?

I bit my lip.

I didn’t care what Ethan thought. Hearing that Dean wanted me?

Turned me the fuck on.

Without answering, I turned and walked out, my heels clicking down the hallway, skirt swinging just high enough to tease.

When I got to his office, the door was slightly open.

He was there.

Sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled up, muscles flexing under his shirt as he flipped through some files. Calm. In control. Like last night hadn’t happened. Like he hadn’t wrecked me in my mum's bathroom.

“You’ll just let me finish with this…” he murmured without looking up.

But I didn’t care.

I stepped inside and quietly shut the door without locking it.

“Is the door locked?” he asked, still not meeting my eyes.

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I walked toward his desk, slow and deliberate. My skirt barely covered my thighs. My crop top clung to my chest, no bra underneath. I wanted him to look. I wanted him to snap.

Still silent, I leaned back against the edge of his desk.

Then I spread my legs just slightly.

My fingers slipped down between them. One press over my panties and I felt how wet I already was. Just knowing he was watching. Just knowing what his eyes could do.

I moaned softly, two fingers teasing myself through the thin lace. My gaze locked on him, daring him to stop me.

His pen paused.

“I told you to wait,” he said, voice low and strained.

I didn’t stop.

Instead, I slid my panties to the side and slipped a finger in, slow, wet. My back arched, mouth parting.

His eyes darkened.

The file slipped from his hand.

“You're in my office. Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked, rising slowly from his chair.

I moaned, fingers moving faster. “I’m helping you lose focus.”

He walked around the desk, closing the distance, gaze locked on my soaked fingers. His jaw tightened.

“You’re a little fucking brat.”

I smiled. “So punish me.”

And that was it. He was on me in two steps, grabbing my wrist, sucking my slick fingers into his mouth like he wanted to taste what belonged to him.

"Suck my pussy, Professor," I said, commanding, not begging.

He didn’t rush. His eyes locked on mine for a beat, dark and unreadable, before he lowered himself between my thighs. 

With his fingers, he spread the lips of my pussy open, parting the folds slowly like a man savoring a gift he’d waited too long to unwrap.

My clit throbbed at the touch, exposed and aching. Then his tongue made contact with my clit.

A soft, wet stroke that turned into a slow, maddening rhythm up and down, in and out teasing me with just enough pressure to make my hips lift off the desk.

He tasted me like I was his final lesson, devouring me with steady, focused hunger. 

His spit mixed with me, dripped down, and he licked it right back up. Each glide of his tongue over my clit was a promise and a punishment.

"Oh... suck me deeper, Professor," I moaned, voice breaking, hands gripping the edge of the desk.

He obeyed with a low groan, tongue driving deeper as if he could possess me from the inside out.

"Fuck," I moaned, arching into his mouth. "More. Don’t stop."

He groaned into me, the vibration making my pussy clench around nothing. He pushed two fingers inside, curling them just right as his tongue circled my clit, sucking, flicking, owning.

"Oh, Professor," I whispered, voice trembling. My hands gripped the edge of the desk for balance, for sanity.

His spit coated my pussy again, mixing with my arousal. He licked it up, messy and unashamed, like he couldn’t get enough. 

His fingers kept pumping in and out, wet, loud, relentless.

My breasts were heaving, nipples hard and aching against the thin fabric of my blouse. 

One of his hands slid up, palm rough as it cupped my breast through my soft top, squeezing, claiming. His mouth never left me.

I was shaking due to overwhelming pleasuree. Desperate. 

And still, he didn't stop.

I was right on the edge, quivering, moaning when he suddenly pulled his mouth away.

I gasped at the loss. "What the f—"

He didn’t let me finish.

His hand reached across the desk and picked up a sleek, black fountain pen. Polished, cold, expensive like everything else he owned. 

My breath caught as he twirled it between his fingers, his eyes never leaving mine.

"You want to come, don’t you?" he asked, voice low and dark.

I nodded, hips still twitching from the aftershocks of his tongue.

"Then take it like my filthy little student."

Before I could say another word, he spread me wider with one hand and slid the cool metal pen into my soaked pussy. 

My mouth flew open in a scream, but he was faster, his palm clamped over my lips, muffling the sound.

"Shh," he whispered in my ear, breath hot. "You’ll get us caught, and then I’ll have to really punish you."

The pen glided in deep, smooth, relentless and then he began driving it in and out, faster, rougher. The slick, wet sounds echoed between us, filthy and raw.

"You're dripping all over my desk," he growled, watching it vanish into me again. "Look how greedy your pussy is. You like being used like this, don’t you?"

I moaned beneath his hand, eyes rolling back, body jerking every time he thrust the pen in deeper. The tip hit just right, scraping over that spot inside me like he knew exactly where to torture me.

"Fucking soaked," he muttered. "You’re gonna come on my pen like a desperate little slut."

I tried to nod, tried to answer, but his hand stayed tight on my mouth. My cries were nothing but muffled moans, tears pricking my eyes from how hard it was to hold back.

He leaned over, lips brushing my ear.

"Come for me. Come while this pen writes your name inside my pussy. That’s what you are now, mine."

My body jerked. The pressure was unbearable. I was about to fall apart around that damn pen when he yanked it out, slick and dripping.

"Not yet," he growled, tossing the pen aside like he knew it would haunt me later. "You don’t get to come that easy."

Before I could even catch my breath, he grabbed me by the waist, spun me around, and bent me face-first over the desk. 

My cheek hit the cool surface, and I gasped more at the speed than the cold.

He yanked my ass back toward him, lifting my skirt fully. My pussy was swollen and soaked, aching for friction.

CRACK.

His palm came down hard on my bare ass.

"Fuck!" I cried out, my voice echoing through the room.

"That’s for screaming," he said darkly, spanking me again this time lower, closer to where I throbbed. "Someone might walk in, and then what? You want everyone to see what a needy little mess you are for me?"

Another slap, sharper this time.

"You think I haven’t noticed the way you stare at me in class? The way your thought of me last night before you slept?"

"Yes, I think about this," I panted. "I think about your fingers... your cock..."

He chuckled low and sinful. "Then let me give you what you’ve been begging for."

His zipper came down, the sound so loud in the silence that it made my skin flush. Then I felt it, his cock, thick and hard, dragging along my slit as he lined himself up.

"No teasing," I begged, lifting my hips. "Please, just fuck me."

"Now she says please..." he murmured, gripping my hips with both hands. "You want to be fucked like a good little whore on my desk? You want me to ruin you right here?"

"Yes," I whispered. "Ruin me, Professor."

And then he slammed inside, deep and hard, filling me all at once.

I cried out, nails scraping the desk. He didn’t give me time to adjust. His thrusts were brutal, relentless, each one pushing me forward, making the desk creak beneath us.

"God, fuck!" I gasped, jaw slack. "So deep..."

"You feel that?" he groaned, slamming into me again. "That’s how a real man fucks his favorite student."

His hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back so I had no choice but to feel every thrust, every punishing inch of him as he fucked me harder.

His other hand slapped my ass again, leaving a burning sting that only made the pleasure sharper.

"This pussy's mine now. You understand me?"

"Yes, yes, it’s yours!" I cried, body trembling, right on the edge again.

He leaned in, breath hot at my ear, his rhythm never faltering.

"Come for me. Now. I want to feel you squeeze my cock."

And I did, shaking, moaning, coming so hard I nearly screamed, but his hand clamped over my mouth again, muffling everything but the broken gasps and the way my pussy clenched around him in waves.

He didn’t stop. He fucked me through it, deeper, rougher, chasing his own high.

With a growl, he came inside me, hips jerking, cock pulsing deep as he held me tight against him. His grip was bruising.

I was still bent over his desk, breathing hard, his pre cum dripping down my thighs, when the door creaked open.

I froze.

So did he.

Oh. My. God.

No. No no no.

I hadn’t locked the door.