College Professor: Part 2

I arrived at four-ten.

The English department hallway was quieter than the main buildings. Most of the office doors stood closed. A single strip of light showed under Professor Lang’s. I knocked once.

“Come in.”

He sat behind the desk in the small office, sleeves rolled, a stack of papers at his elbow. The room smelled like old books and the faint trace of his cologne. A narrow window looked out over the quad. He watched me enter and close the door behind me without being asked.

The soft click of the latch changed the air.

Professor Lang leaned back in his chair.

“Ms. Voss. I wasn’t certain you’d come.”

“You said office hours were from four to six.”

“I did.” His eyes moved over me—blouse, skirt, the same careful choices as the day before—then returned to my face. “Sit down.”

I sat in the chair across from his desk. The cushion was firm. My skirt rode slightly higher on my thighs when I crossed my legs. I left it.

He didn’t reach for any books or notes. He simply regarded me across the small distance of the desk while the muffled sounds of the hallway faded further into the background.

“You don’t have questions about the readings,” he said.

It wasn’t framed as a guess.

My pulse settled heavier between my legs. “No.”

“Then tell me what you’re actually doing in my office at four-ten on a Thursday.”

The directness of it left no room to hide behind coursework. I felt the weight of his attention like a physical thing. The office was small enough that I could see the exact shade of his eyes, the controlled line of his mouth, the way his hands rested still on the arms of the chair.

“I wanted to see you,” I said.

“You see me three times a week in lecture.”

“Not like this.”

A quiet beat passed. Professor Lang stood. The movement was unhurried. He walked around the desk until he stood in front of me, close enough that I had to tip my head back. The scent of his cologne wrapped around me. My nipples tightened against the inside of my bra under the blouse.

“You’re a student in my class,” he said, voice low and even. “There are rules about this kind of conversation. About this kind of closed door.”

“I know.”

“And you came anyway.”

“Yes.”

He looked down at me for a long moment. My breathing had gone shallow. I could feel how wet I had already become under the skirt, the fabric of my panties clinging to the heat between my thighs. The knowledge that he was only a few inches away, that the door was locked by the simple fact of being shut, made the ache sharper.

Professor Lang reached past me and turned the lock on the door with a soft, final sound. Then he rested both hands on the arms of my chair, caging me in without touching.

“Last chance to stand up and leave,” he said. “You walk out now and we never speak of this. You stay, and I stop pretending I don’t know why you keep wearing these skirts to my lectures.”

The words landed low in my body. I stayed in the chair.

Something darker moved through his expression.

“Stand up.”

I stood. The space between us narrowed further. My chest nearly brushed his shirt. He reached down and took the hem of my skirt between two fingers, lifting it just enough to feel the air move against my bare thighs.

“How long have you been thinking about this?” he asked.

“Since the second week of the semester.”

“Be specific.”

My face warmed. “I’ve thought about you closing the door. About you putting me over this desk. About what your cock would feel like.”

The admission hung in the quiet office. Professor Lang’s eyes darkened. He released the hem of my skirt and brought his hand up instead, tracing the side of my throat with his knuckles before settling his palm lightly against the base of my neck. Not squeezing. Just holding.

“You’re wet right now,” he said. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

My hands trembled slightly as I reached under my skirt and hooked my fingers in my panties. I pulled them to the side. Cool air touched my cunt. The slickness was obvious—shiny against my skin, unmistakable even in the ordinary light of the office. Professor Lang looked down and made a low sound of approval in his chest.

“Good.” He released my neck. “Put your hands on the desk.”

I turned and placed both palms flat on the wooden surface. Papers shifted under my fingers. Behind me I heard the soft sound of his belt, the lowering of a zipper. My cunt clenched at the noise. A moment later the thick, hot head of his cock pressed against my entrance through the open space of my pulled-aside panties.

He didn’t push in yet.

“This is what you came for,” he said, voice rough around the edges. “Not readings. Not clarification. This.”

“Yes.”

He thrust forward and filled me in one steady stroke.

The stretch forced a broken sound from my throat. Professor Lang gripped my hip with one hand and pressed the other between my shoulder blades, holding me down against the desk while he seated himself fully inside my cunt. The office around us stayed quiet—the distant murmur of the department hallway, the faint tick of a clock, the wet sound of his dick pushing deeper.

“Quiet,” he muttered. “These walls aren’t thick.”

I nodded against the wood and pushed back to meet the next thrust. He fucked me in controlled, powerful strokes that rocked the desk slightly with each one. My skirt was bunched around my waist. My panties remained shoved to the side, the fabric cutting lightly into my skin. Every drive of his cock dragged against the sensitive place inside me until my thighs began to shake.

Professor Lang’s hand slid around and found my clit, rubbing tight circles while he thrust. The dual pressure built fast. I bit down on my own wrist to stay silent as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter under his fingers and his dick.

“Come,” he said.

The word broke me apart. My cunt clamped around his cock in hard pulses while I gasped into my arm, shaking against the desk. He fucked me through it without slowing, drawing every wave out until I was trembling and oversensitive under his hands.

Only then did he grip both hips and drive deep, coming with a low, strained sound as he flooded me in thick spurts. I felt every pulse. The sensation prolonged the fading tremors until my arms nearly gave out.

For a moment the office held only the sound of our breathing. Professor Lang pulled out carefully. His come slid down the inside of my thighs. He stepped back, fixed his trousers, and looked at me still bent over the desk with my skirt around my waist and my cunt wet and used.

“Fix your clothes,” he said.

I straightened on unsteady legs and smoothed the skirt down. The fabric clung to the mess between my thighs. My panties were a lost cause. Professor Lang returned to his side of the desk, straightened a stack of papers that had shifted, and met my eyes again.

“Private study sessions,” he said quietly. “Tuesdays and Thursdays after four. Same office. Door locked. You come prepared and you leave when I say. Clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now go. And Ms. Voss—next time, don’t bother with the panties.”

I collected my bag, unlocked the door, and stepped back into the ordinary hallway with his come still warm between my legs and the new schedule already burning under my skin.

Tuesday was three days away.

I already knew I would be here when the clock struck four.