Spanked By Professor Novels & Stories

“Please fuck me. I need it. I need you inside me so bad. I want your cock to ruin me. I want to feel you splitting me open and pounding me until I can’t walk. I want you to make me scream your name like I don’t care who hears. Please don’t make me wait. I’ve been dripping for you all semester.” He snapped. I saw it happen. He grabbed me by the waist and lifted me up like I weighed nothing. He slammed me onto the desk face-down, bent over, my ass in the air, legs wide open. My pussy was soaked. His fingers slipped when he spread me. Then he spanked me. “Count.” “One!” I screamed. He spanked again, harder. “Two—fuck—Professor, please, I need it—” “Look at this big, fat fucking ass,” he growled

“And you will not say my name again unless it’s with respect.” Her breathing is uneven. Students are frozen. Phones half-raised. I release her hair abruptly. She collapses forward, clutching her face. I step back. “Next time,” I add quietly, “I won’t stop at a desk.” The professor bursts in right then. “What is going on?!” He sees Mara crying. Mara points at me dramatically, voice shaking. “She attacked me!” I don’t move. “She provoked me,” I say evenly. The professor looks overwhelmed.

Seriously, what is happening to me? He turned around and walked to the whiteboard. He started writing on it after picking up the marker. I moved my head down. I don't want to look at him. He is making me crazy. "Oh, my god, Inaya. Our English professor is so hot." Anu whispered in my ear. "You can date him. I'm giving you the green signal." I glared at him instantly. She is saying nonsense. "What? Don't you find him hot?" She asked, raising her brows in shock. I think she has lost her mind. He is indeed hot but that doesn't mean I'll date my professor.

"Right there—yes, don't stop!" "Never stopping until you're shaking." He spanked my ass lightly, then harder when I moaned louder. "You like that? Like your professor spanking you while he fucks you raw?" "Yes," I cried out, the sting mixing with the pleasure. "Again. Please." He spanked me a few more times, the slaps echoing. My orgasm built fast and intense. "I'm close, Marcus. So close." "Come then. Come all over my cock like a good student." He reached around to rub my clit fast and I shattered, biting my arm to muffle the scream as waves crashed through me.

“So fucking wet already. This tight cunt has been craving me, hasn’t it?” “Yes, Professor!” I cried out, gripping the edge of the desk as he pounded me. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room. He was rougher tonight, one hand spanking my ass hard while the other reached around to rub my clit. I came fast and hard, my walls squeezing his thick cock as pleasure exploded through me.

Lean, yes—but curved in the places that made my brain short-circuit and my pants unbearable. I tried to focus. I did. I wrote “threat modeling” and deleted it twice. Then I watched her bend slightly to adjust the projector, and I lost the will to learn anything except what the hell she looked like under those slacks. Jesus. She was at least a decade older than me. A professor. A full-blown, PhD-wielding, mind-dismantling woman who could hack my ego apart with a single sentence. And I was hard. Embarrassingly so.

Jack pats her shoulder, his face twisted in fake concern. I should feel something sympathy, worry but all I can think is: Now who’s going to tell me my art is empty? The dean gestures to the stranger beside her. "This is Mr. Laurent. He’ll be your substitute instructor for the remainder of the semester." And that’s when I finally look at him. Jerome Laurent is not what I expected. Young too young to be a professor, maybe late twenties with tousled dark hair and a sharp jaw shadowed by stubble. He’s dressed in all black: fitted slacks, a rolled sleeve button down, boots that look like they’ve seen more than just a classroom.

“Not really. But the way he looked at me when he took off his coat… I swear time stopped. It’s stupid, right? He’s our professor. Cold as ice most days. But there’s something under that. I can feel it.” Zara smirked, lying on her side with her head propped on her hand. “Cold until you show up with your boobs out and legs for days. I saw his face in class. Man nearly dropped his marker. Proud of you for clapping back at Sophia too. That ‘fake tits’ line? Legendary.”

“Turn around. Ass up on the desk.” I scrambled up, bending over, dress still bunched at my waist, heels on the floor, ass presented high. He stepped behind me, kicked my feet wider. His palm cracked across my right cheek—hard. Then the left. Again. And again. He spanked me until my skin burned, until I was sobbing, until every strike made my pussy clench and drip fresh wetness down my thighs. “Count them,” he ordered. “One… thank you, Professor… two… thank you…”

He moved on to scrub my body with the same deliberate care, and then, out of nowhere, delivered a spank to my ass, leaving me gasping in surprise. "What was that for, professor?" I protested, though there was a playful note in my voice. He merely raised an eyebrow, his demeanor still serious but with a hint of a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Just making sure you're thoroughly cleaned and you've learned your lesson." "Professor Vincenzo," I mused with a sly grin, "I sure did, you have a unique teaching style. Really hands-on..." I said as he scrubbed from between my legs, the loofah created a sudden friction.