Todos los capítulos de Bend me over, Professor : Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

Everyone had filed out of the lecture hall, laughter and the scrape of chairs echoing off the walls as the door clicked shut behind the last student. Chantelle had glanced at me on her way out, eyebrows raised, lips already curled into something teasing."I'll wait for you outside?" she'd said, loud enough for Martinez to hear.I just nodded, pretending not to feel the way his eyes tracked my every movement. I couldn't tell her the truth—that I was staying behind because I was a complete fucking mess who couldn't handle the fact that my untouchable literature professor was apparently my anonymous club stalker."I just need to ask about the reading list," I lied.But I hadn't brought my book. Or my pen. Or anything resembling actual academic interest. Because let's be real—I knew why I was here. And so did he.The silence inside the room shifted once we were alone. Not heavy. Not awkward. Dangerous. Like standing too close to the edge of a cliff and real

I stood still in the center of his red room, arms at my sides, chest bare and straining, the lace panties still clinging to my hips like a secret I hadn’t decided whether to keep.The walls glowed like flame, low red lighting casting shadows that slithered along the floor like silent witnesses. Every breath I took smelled of worn leather, clean sweat, and something ancient—like desire that had lived here long before I had.“You say you want to submit,” his voice came from behind me, low and composed like a sermon. “But you still hesitate. You still try to control. That ends tonight.”His footsteps were soft, measured, each one louder than the last inside the wild beat of my chest. He guided me forward—fingers grazing my spine—and sat on the edge of a low padded bench. His legs parted when he patted his thigh once.“Over my lap. Now.”My heart tried to crawl up my throat, but my body moved anyway. I eased myself over his lap slowly, breath hitching as my cheek tou

I have no clue why Dr. Vanelope wants to see me.I’ve never taken a class with her. Hell, I’ve never even had a real conversation with the woman beyond polite hallway pleasantries. The most interaction we’ve had was her nodding when I held a door open for her last month.Yet here I am, trailing behind her down the English department hallway like a lamb being led to slaughter, my stomach churning with anxiety.“Dr. Vanelope?” I venture as we walk. “Can I ask what this is about?”She doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t slow down. Just keeps walking with that precise, measured pace that makes me feel like I’m in trouble for something I can’t even identify.“We’ll discuss it in my office,” she says, her voice carrying that particular academic authority that brooks no argument.My fingers tighten around my bag strap. The silence stretches between us, thick and intentional, like she’s letting my unease marinate before whatever comes next.How does she even know my ful

I needed this outing like I needed oxygen. My brain had been stuck on repeat for three days straight—Martinez's hands, his voice, the way he'd completely rewired my understanding of power dynamics in about thirty seconds flat. Vanelope's warning glares across campus weren't helping either. Neither was the fact that I kept catching myself checking my phone every five minutes like some kind of Pavlovian disaster. The city air was sticky and loud, and Chantelle’s voice had already drowned out my inner monologue before we even hit the first store. "Explain to me again why you own twenty-nine identical plain black shirts," she groaned, holding one up like it personally offended her ancestors. "You're not Steve Jobs, babe. Try color. Try literally anything that suggests you have a pulse." “I like black,” I said, folding my arms. “It’s reliable.” "So is death. And taxes. And my vibrator when the batteries are fresh." She tossed t

"Ugh, I fucking hate you," Chantelle whined, throwing her head back like she was auditioning for a soap opera death scene. "You never give me any actual details about what Mystery Daddy is doing to you. I just know you got absolutely railed yesterday, but please—I am literally parched over here. Throw me a goddamn crumb!" I laughed, but it came out nervous and tight. "I did give you details." "You said he made you cum," Chantelle said flatly. "That's not details, that's a fucking bullet point. Your rose toy makes you cum too, and it doesn't require emotional investment. I want to know positions. I want angles. I want to live vicariously through your sexual awakening because my dating life is a barren wasteland." I was still laughing when a voice cut through our conversation like a scalpel. "Mystery Daddy?" We froze. My heart didn't just drop—it fucking plummeted through the earth's core as we turned around to find Professor Martinez