Professor’s pet

The lecture hall emptied slowly, students shuffling papers, zipping backpacks, murmuring about weekend plans. Sophia lingered at her desk in the third row, pretending to scribble notes long after everyone else had gone.

She knew he’d notice.

He always noticed.

Professor Elias Grant stood at the podium, closing his laptop with deliberate care. Mid-forties, tall, broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair that made him look distinguished rather than old. His tailored charcoal suits fit like they were made for sin, and his voice—deep, precise, commanding—had been the soundtrack to her filthiest fantasies all semester.

Today she’d worn the skirt he liked: short, pleated, black. Paired with thigh-high stockings and a blouse one button too low. She’d caught him glancing at her legs more than once during his lecture on Renaissance symbolism.

The door clicked shut behind the last student.

The room fell silent except for the faint hum of the projector cooling down.

Sophia stood, gathering her books slowly, letting her pen roll off the desk and clatter to the floor.

She bent to pick it up—slowly—knowing the skirt would ride high enough to flash the lace tops of her stockings. Maybe more.

When she straightened, he was watching her.

Dark eyes unreadable.

“Miss Reyes,” he said, voice low. “Stay a moment.”

Her pulse spiked.

She walked down the aisle toward him, heels clicking on the hardwood, stopping just in front of the podium. Close enough to smell his cologne—something expensive, woody, dangerous.

“You’ve been… distracted lately,” he said, leaning back against the desk, arms crossed. The posture pulled his shirt tight across his chest. “Your last paper was adequate, but I expect more from my top student.”

Sophia bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Professor. I’ve been having trouble focusing.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth, then lower—lingering on the swell of her breasts, the way her blouse strained against the buttons.

“Is that so?” He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. Towering over her. “And why is that?”

She met his eyes, heart hammering.

“Because of you.”

The words hung between them.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then his hand lifted—slow, controlled—and brushed a strand of hair from her face. His thumb lingered on her cheek, then traced down to her lower lip.

“You’ve been testing me all semester, Sophia,” he murmured. “Short skirts. Leaning forward when you ask questions. Biting that lip every time I look at you.”

His thumb pressed into her mouth. She sucked it without thinking, tongue swirling around the tip.

A low growl rumbled in his chest.

He pulled his thumb free and gripped her chin firmly.

“Office. Now.”

She nodded, breathless.

He locked the lecture hall door on their way out.

His office was down the hall—corner suite, frosted glass door, blinds already drawn. He let her in first, then locked that door too.

The click sounded final.

He didn’t turn on the main light. Just the desk lamp, casting long shadows.

“Over here.”

He pointed to the front of his large oak desk.

Sophia walked to it, palms suddenly damp.

“Bend over.”

The command was quiet, but it hit her like a slap.

She obeyed, folding forward until her chest pressed against the cool wood, ass presented to him. Skirt riding up immediately.

He stepped behind her.

No touching at first—just the weight of his stare.

Then his palm smoothed over the back of her thigh, slow and possessive, pushing the skirt higher until her black lace thong was fully exposed.

“Christ,” he muttered. “You’ve been sitting in my class like this?”

His hand came down—sharp, stinging slap against her ass.

She gasped.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, Professor.”

Another slap, harder.

“And you wanted me to notice.”

“Yes.”

He hooked his fingers into her thong and dragged it down her thighs, letting it pool at her ankles.

Cool air hit her soaked pussy.

He groaned softly.

“Look at you. Dripping down your legs already.”

One thick finger traced her seam, gathering wetness, then pushed inside without warning. She moaned, pushing back.

He added a second finger, pumping slow and deep, curling to hit that spot that made her knees buckle.

“You’ve been fantasizing about this, haven’t you?” he said against her ear, leaning over her. “About me bending you over my desk and fucking you raw while the campus walks by outside.”

“Yes—God, yes—”

He withdrew his fingers, and she whimpered at the loss.

Then she heard his belt unbuckle. Zipper.

The blunt head of his cock nudged her entrance—thick, hot, bigger than she’d imagined.

He gripped her hips.

“Beg for it.”

“Please, Professor,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Please fuck me.”

He thrust in—one long, punishing stroke that buried him to the hilt.

Sophia cried out, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the desk as he started moving. Hard. Deep. Relentless.

His hand fisted in her hair, arching her back.

“You’re going to come on my cock, pet,” he growled. “And then you’re going to sit in my class next week with my come still inside you. Understood?”

She could only moan in response.

He fucked her like he’d been holding back for months.

And she took every brutal inch.