FORBIDDEN ACADEMIA: Riding My Professor II

The heat between us was suffocating. Julian’s palm cupped me right through the soaked silk of my panties, pressing hard into my clit until a high, needy whimper broke from my throat.

“You’re dripping,” he growled against my neck, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine. “All over my desk. All because of me.”

Without waiting. His fingers hooked into the sides of my panties, tearing them down my thighs in one sharp, ruthless pull. He tossed them onto the floor among my marked essay and scattered lecture notes, leaving me completely bare on the cool, polished wood.

The contrast made my skin burn—sitting raw and exposed on my professor’s desk while he stood between my knees, still dressed in his suit trousers, looking down at me like he owned every inch of my body.

Julian unbuckled his leather belt with quick, heavy movements, the metallic click echoing in the quiet room. He unzipped his trousers, shoving his briefs down, as his cock sprang free—thick, long, heavily veined, and leaking a clear bead of pre-cum at the dark head. My breath caught in my throat. Seeing him completely exposed in his official space made my blood run hot.

“You’ve wanted to step into my office?” he rasped, his hand gripping his thick shaft, stroking it twice, right in front of my face as his grey eyes held mine. “Then take what you came for.”

Instead of laying me back across the wood, Julian pulled his heavy leather office chair right up to the edge of the desk, sat down in it, and looked up at me with raw, possessive hunger.

“Straddle me,” he commanded, his voice thick, authoritative, and utterly unyielding. “Ride me, Zara. Show me how badly you wanted this.”

My pulse hammered in my ears. I slid forward off the high edge of the desk, swinging one leg over his lap. The hot, heavy head of his cock brushed directly against my wet clits, making me shudder violently. I rested my hands on his broad, suit-clad shoulders for balance, my fingers digging into the fabric as I lined my center up with his length.

Slowly, gently I lowered my hips.

His wide head stretched my tight walls open, inch by thick, agonizing inch. I let out a sharp gasp, my back arching as he filled me, the sheer width of him stretching me so completely that tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I sank all the way down until my bare core hit his lap, burying his massive length to the hilt.

The sensation of having my professor completely inside me while he sat in his official chair sent a wave of liquid heat crashing through my belly.

Julian’s large hands clamped hard onto my hips, his fingers digging deep into my skin, holding me pinned against him as his chest heaved. “Christ... you’re so tight. So fucking wet for your professor.”

I didn't give him time to recover. I lifted my hips, sliding up until just the tip of his head remained inside my soaking entrance, then slammed myself back down hard. A loud, wet slap rang out against the book-lined walls.

“Fuck—” Julian grunted, his head snapping back against the leather chair, the cords in his neck standing out sharp and rigid.

I picked up the rhythm, setting a wild, punishing pace. I lifted and dropped my hips, rolling my pelvis as I rode him raw right in the center of his office. Every slide of his cock dragged over my most sensitive spot, the thick ridge stretching me open again and again. My pleated skirt was bunched up around my waist, my knit sweater sliding off one shoulder as I bounced on him without mercy.

“Faster,” he growled.

Julian brought his hands up between us, his thumbs finding my soaked clit and grinding tight, merciless circles into it with every downward plunge.

The dual overload was brutal. White heat flashed behind my eyes. I rolled my hips hard, grinding my wet mound straight into his pubic bone as I slammed down on him faster, the leather chair squeaking loudly beneath our combined weight.

“Look at me,” he rasped, his hands gripping my waist to control my speed, driving his hips upward to meet every drop of my body. “Look at who’s fucking you, Zara.”

I forced my eyes open, looking down at him. His dark hair was ruined, his tie hanging loose, his shirt unbuttoned at the throat, his grey eyes black with lust as he pounded up into me from below.

“You,” I gasped, my chest heaving, my hands clutching his neck. “Professor Vance—fuck—Julian!”

Hearing his real name tear from my lips broke whatever sanity he had left.

Julian growled, reaching down to grab my ass, lifting my body slightly and slamming his hips up into me with devastating force. He hit my cervix with every thrust, completely taking over the pace. My inner walls went into violent spasms, clamping around his cock in tight, wild waves as my orgasm shattered me. I cried out his name into the empty room, hiding my face in his neck as my entire body shook uncontrollably.

“That’s it,” he growled, his voice thick and ruined as he fucked me right through my release. “Take all of it.”

He drove up three more times—harder, deeper, before burying himself as far as he could go. A low, guttural groan tore from his chest as he came, his cock throbbing violently inside me, shooting thick, burning streams of cum deep against my womb. He held me locked against his lap, grinding his hips up to milk every last drop inside me.

For a long time, the only sound in the dark office was the rain outside, and our ragged, heavy breathing, . I stayed collapsed against his chest, my face buried in the crook of his neck, listening to his heart hammering violently against his ribs while his cock stayed buried deep inside me, slowly softening.

Eventually, Julian lifted his hand, stroking my hair as he pressed a slow, hot kiss to the side of my throat.

“Your essay still needs serious work,” he murmured, his voice returning to that low, velvet tone that used to make me shiver in lecture.

A breathless, shaky laugh escaped my lips. I pulled back just enough to look into his dark eyes. “Are you going to make me stay after class again, Professor?”

Julian’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk. His hand slid down my spine, cupping my bare hip.

“Every single week,” he whispered against my mouth. “Now clean yourself up before someone walks in.”