Grading Her Wet Pússy Part 2

The grade hit the portal at four-oh-five. A big, fat red F glared back at her.

It did not come as a surprise to her because she did not write anything.

Cheryl just slumped back in her dorm chair, one leg thrown over the arm, cherry popsicle in her mouth. The cold juice dripped down her fingers onto the bare skin of her thigh. Sticky, warm, slow. Her hand twitched, dragging lightly along the slickness, brushing her inner thigh without thinking. The way it felt made her shiver. She had to let out some steam anytime soon. Her phone began exploding with notifications on their school w******p group.

Jess: “WTF, Calder is actually insane???”

Andre: “Bro FAILED me for real, I’m shaking.”

Lexi: “He failed half the class, fr. Someone needs to report him.”

Zay: “I’m emailing the damn department rn, idc.”

Mira: “No one passed question 7.”

Alix: “How did I study for three days and still get a D, wtf?”

Jay: “He doesn’t even know how to teach.”

Tina: “He literally hates girls. It’s not just me, right??”

Noah: “He failed Alyssa too, and she sits front row like every day.”

Gina: “Mine said 59.4, like girl, just round it up, tf.”

David: “I’m not retaking this class. I will take the L and drop out.”

Cam: “This man deadass smiled when he gave me my test.”

Bree: “He’s so smug it makes me SICK.”

Leo: “He used to be in the military or something? Explains a lot.”

Alyssa: “I CANNOT breathe. I got a straight-up 42.”

Jules: “Who tf made him a professor? He’s like a punishment from God.”

Moni: “He should be fired, fr. I don’t care.”

Vik: “Finals week and this is how he wanna play???”

Sam: “I need a drink already. I can’t do this.”

Tam: “I didn’t even open the damn portal. Don’t need that negativity in my life.”

Cheryl laughed, loud and low, pressing the popsicle stick between her lips and dragging her tongue along it slowly. The sweet chill slid along her tongue and down her throat, but the sticky juice running down her fingers and onto her bare thigh made her shiver hotter than anything cold could. Her hand twitched again, brushing along her slick skin, tracing the curve of her inner thigh, pressing lightly against her dripping slit. Her hips moved on their own, arching up slightly, letting her fingers drag across the wetness.

Her stomach tightened, pulsing with reminiscent heat, it was not books or grades. Something harder, meaner, older, the kind of thing that made her pussy squeeze and moan without permission.

Her mind went to him. Professor Calder. That cold, flat stare he’d given her in class. That look like he didn’t care about her at all, and yet, somehow, knew everything. She imagined his hands gripping her hips, pressing her over the desk, whispering “Shut up” while she moaned anyway. She imagined him moving slow at first, then hard, fast, punishing, making her squeal into the pillow, clutching at the wood as he drove in.

Her thighs pressed together then apart, letting the slick spread, brushing her fingers across herself, teasing. The popsicle juice mixed with her own wetness, running down her thigh in little streaks. She moaned softly, biting the stick lightly, letting her lips catch the cold.

“Let’s see why Calder thinks he’s hard to get,” she whispered, brushing her fingers along her slit one more time, slow and deliberate, hips rolling lightly with the motion.

At last, she pushed herself upright, letting her self stand from the dorm chair she was sitting on. Her skin tingled from the aftershocks, still hot and sensitive, she didn’t rush at all . Enough warmth clung to her, teasing her as she dried lightly, leaving a little moisture trapped beneath her clothes.

She pulled on her black pleated skirt from her box, it hug her hips and she slipped into the fitted white crop top that barely contained her chest. Her boots clicked against the floor as she stood, thighs brushing lightly together, every step sending a shiver up her spine.

Then she reached for the bottle of vanilla perfume. A careful spritz between her thighs, a dab under her breasts, a swipe along her wrists. The scent mingled with the lingering heat of her skin, turning the air around her thick and warm. She smiled faintly, feeling the pull of it, knowing he would not be able to resist her.

A final glance in the mirror, her hair slightly damp, lips glossy, chest pushed forward by the tight crop was all she needed. She didn’t check if she looked decent. She made sure she looked like a girl who did not need to be refused a thing.

With a soft laugh under her breath, Cheryl stepped out into the hall. The skirt brushed higher with every sway of her hips. Her chest lifted, pressing forward slightly with each confident step. Eyes followed her, whispers trailed, but she did not give a care in the world. All that mattered was him. Calder. And the plans she had for him.

She reached his office, knocked lightly out of courtesy, when there was no answer she then pushed the door open and walked in. Every sway of her hips, the curve of her chest, the subtle scent of her perfume was deliberate. She was ready for him.

He was sat, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, sleeves rolled up, collar slightly open. His eyes flicked to her as she entered and she let herself notice the flicker of attention he gave her before he buried himself in grading papers again.

“I saw the grade,” she said softly tilting her head, letting her chest press forward, letting her hips rest lightly against the edge of the desk.

He didn’t look up.

“Then you already know what this conversation isn’t going to be.”

She leaned back slightly, legs crossed, skirt brushing higher, crop top pulling snug against her chest.

“You don’t even want to hear what I came to say?” Her voice was soft, teasing, and her eyes dared him to meet hers.

He glanced at the clock.

“You’ve got five minutes.”

She smiled slowly.

“That’s all I need.”

No reply. Just eyes locked, tense.

“Is there anything I can do to change it?” she asked again, soft, teasing, not innocent.

“No,” he said, voice flat, eyes on her, unmoving.

She didn’t react. Legs crossed. Watching him. Seeing the tension in his jaw, the flex of his fingers, the way he shifted but didn’t make to move.

Finally, his eyes drifted, despite himself, past her face, down to the swell of her chest, tracing the edge of her skirt. She leaned forward just a fraction, pressing her chest lightly forward, letting the skirt ride impossibly high, letting him see exactly what he wanted, letting the tension coil and twist between them.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” she asked again, slow, deliberate, teasing.

He didn’t answer, eyes rigid, holding his line as best he could.

The air between them pulsed, thick and alive. Cheryl stayed, hips tilting subtly, chest lifting, every motion drawing him in. She let herself feel every throb in her body, every pulse of wetness low in her belly, every spike of heat through her chest.

Every small shift, every tilt of her head, every soft breath through parted lips was a wire, pulling him closer, testing his restraint. She leaned back once more, letting the skirt ride, letting her chest swell, letting him burn with tension she had built deliberately.

She stayed there, teasing, tempting, letting the pull linger, knowing he couldn’t resist forever.

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That was just a taste 😏… the real fire is coming tonight!🔥 Don’t miss the 8 PM update — it’s going to get hotter than the professor ever imagined. See you then