Erotica Professor Novels & Stories

She curls her tongue inside my cunt, and her mouth pulls on my clit, causing my vision to whiten as pleasure slams through me raw and unforgiving, wet heat, the relentless drag of ridges against my walls, the obscene slurping sounds she makes as she devours me. My grip around the desk gets tighter, my nails digging into the wood, but it doesn’t hurt at all, not with what Lira is doing underneath the desk. My toes curl tight in my shoes. Sweat beads on my forehead. The professor asks a question somewhere in the front, but all I hear is the wet smacking of Lira’s mouth on my cunt and her filthy whispers vibrating through my folds. What will I do? What if the professor calls on me to answer a q

My naughty professor. I shifted on the desk, my pussy throbbing now, slick heat pooling between my legs. He was still reading, oblivious, but I couldn’t stop the flood of images: him in those videos, gripping hips, slapping asses, growling commands like “Take it all, slut” while burying himself balls-deep. “Emily?” His voice snapped me back. He was watching me now, eyebrow arched. “You seem… distracted.” I licked my lips, bold from the rush. “Sorry, Professor. It’s just… you remind me of someone.”

"Bending over your professor's desk. You're tighter than I imagined, you little whore." “Please,” I gasped in a half plea and a half moan. I didn't know what I was pleading for, but it was definitely not for him to stop. I liked his cock. I liked the length of my professor's big cock stretching my dripping pussy. "I want to hear you say it, Liana. Say you're a slut." "I'm a slut! Oh, Professor, I'm a fucking slut!" I cried, gripping the desk so hard my knuckles turned white.

Jenna shot him a glare, whispering fiercely, "Back off, Nolan. She's not interested in your bullshit." He chuckled softly, ignoring her, his voice a dark thread weaving through the professor's lecture. "You say stop, but your legs aren't moving away. Admit it—you love this. The risk, the wrongness. It's like those stories we're studying: the hero fights their desires, but they always give in. You're my tragic heroine, Clara. Wet and willing, even if you hate yourself for it." His fingers pressed higher, testing, teasing, and I bit my lip to stifle a gasp, my body betraying me as heat pooled anew. The room spun, the professor's words on "taboo passions" hitting too close to home, amplifying t

“You like your professor’s mouth ruining your little pussy like this?” “Yes! Oh my God, yes—I love it—fuck—I love it, please don’t stop, please don’t stop, I need it so bad, I need you—” “You’re soaked,” he said, pulling back just long enough to drag his fingers out of me and slap my clit once—hard enough to make me scream again. “You’re dripping down my fucking hand. You came all over my mouth like a whore and you still want more?” “Yes,” I cried, legs twitching, hands clawing at the edge of the desk. “I’ll be a whore—just for you—oh my God, Professor, I want to be yours—”

he said as if he were reading my mind. “Holy shit,” I mumbled, tightening my hold on the cup. “Well…let’s get this show on the road. As you know, I am Professor Elias Grey, and it seems there has been some sort of…improper pairing. My wolf and I recognized us as mates, but nothing will come of it,” he insisted. A brow slid to my hairline. “Improper pairing? Is that a fancy way of saying that the Moon Goddess made a mistake? I hadn’t expected you to be so blasphemous.”

"I have a talent for creative insults." Shaking her head, Kayla put her phone away. "Well, they’re annoying, but they’re not worth our time." Veronica leaned back in her chair. "Fair enough. Still, if they keep bothering you, I wouldn’t mind swatting a few mosquitoes." Kayla chuckled. "That's why you are with me I guess." As the professor entered, the students quieted down, and class began. Kayla took notes while Veronica mostly observed, occasionally scribbling something in her notebook.

But the sight of Alex in her tights is just unbelievably erotic to me. "Hi, Professor Orion." She says, her voice is breathy, and I find even that tiny detail arousing.

“Better; not as you seem to be, but I'm fine now.” “Please, Mrs. Daniela, come forward to the classroom; I have to talk to this student.” “Of course, little Angel, don't be late; I'm looking forward to seeing you,” she said, leaving for class. “Little Angel, you look good. Who would have thought that the great professor of psychology suffered from *the paraphilia of hybristophilia*? It's something like the last straw.” “I don't like married women; she's just a friend.”

“This is private. This has nothing to do with my teaching.” Dean Hargrove leaned forward. “Be that as it may, Professor, the optics are catastrophic. A respected literature professor secretly paying a student thousands of dollars to perform sexual acts on camera? And then placing that same student on academic probation when he enrolls in your class? It looks like retaliation. Or grooming. Or both.” My green eyes widened in horror. “That’s not — I didn’t know he was my student when—” “You admit it’s you?” the other board member cut in.