STEAMY DESIRES: wet collections

Part 2

I arrived at 6:55.

The corridor outside his office was silent, the rest of the building already emptied for the evening. My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my fingertips when I raised my hand to knock. Before my knuckles touched wood, the door opened.

Professor Grant stood there in the same white shirt as the night before, sleeves rolled to the elbows, dark trousers, no tie. His expression was unreadable. He stepped aside without a word and closed the door behind me. The lock clicked.

“Sit.”

I obeyed, taking the chair in front of his desk. He didn’t sit, he walked around behind me, and I felt the heat of his body as he stopped close enough that his thighs nearly brushed the back of the chair. A stack of papers landed on the desk in front of me—my paper, the one I had cheated on, now covered in his sharp red notes.

“Begin,” he said. “Out loud explain every source you stole and why it was wrong.”

My voice shook as I started. He listened in silence for several minutes, then leaned down. His breath touched the shell of my ear.

“Louder, and stop fidgeting.” I tried. Every time I stumbled over a sentence he corrected me in that low, controlled voice, so close I could smell his cologne and the faint scent of his skin. His hand rested on the back of the chair, then on the desk beside mine, then after another mistake settled on my shoulder, heavy, warm and possessive.

Halfway through the page he took the pen from my fingers. His hand lingered, fingers brushing mine deliberately.

“You’re not focusing,” he said.

I turned my head to answer and found him already leaning over me. He gripped the arms of the chair and turned it so I faced him fully. He caged me in with his body, looking down at me with those dark, cold eyes that no longer looked cold at all.

“If you want to keep your secret,” he said quietly, “you will learn to listen better.”

I swallowed. “I’m listening.”

Something in his expression shifted. He reached down, caught my chin the same way he had the night before, and dragged his thumb across my lower lip. This time he didn’t stop at a brush. He pressed until my mouth opened, then slid the thumb inside and tasted salt and skin.

“Suck,” he ordered.

A broken sound left my throat. I closed my lips around his thumb and sucked, cheeks hollowing, tongue stroking the pad. His eyes stayed locked on mine the entire time. When he finally pulled free, a thin string of saliva connected my mouth to his skin for a second before it broke.

“Good girl.”

He straightened, unbuckled his belt with one hand, and freed his cock. It was already hard, thick, heavy, the head flushed dark and already glistening. My mouth watered even as shame flooded my face.

“On your knees.”

I slid off the chair and sank down onto the office carpet. The position put me at eye-level with him. He rested one hand on the top of my head, not forcing, just resting, and waited. I leaned forward and took him into my mouth.

The first slide of his cock across my tongue dragged a moan out of me that I couldn’t stop. He was hot and heavy, stretching my lips. I hollowed my cheeks and took him deeper, tasting the clean, slightly salty precum at the tip. His breath left him in a controlled rush. The hand on my head tightened just enough to guide me.

“That’s it. Deeper.” I tried. My eyes watered as he nudged the back of my throat. I moaned around him anyway, the sound vibrating along his length. He cursed under his breath and began to thrust in shallow, deliberate strokes, fucking my mouth while I sucked and licked and hollowed my cheeks for him.

Spit ran down my chin but I didn’t care. I gripped his thighs and took everything he gave me, moaning every time the head of his cock dragged over my tongue.

After several long minutes he pulled free with a wet sound. A strand of saliva still connected my lips to him. He hauled me up by the arms, spun me around, and bent me over the desk in one motion. Papers scattered. My skirt was shoved up to my waist, underwear dragged down to my knees. The cool air of the office hit my bare pussy for only a second before his hand was there.

Two thick fingers pushed inside me without warning. I cried out, the sound raw and helpless. I was already soaked embarrassingly so and he felt it. He fucked his fingers into me hard and deep, curling them against the front wall until my legs shook. The wet sounds filled the quiet office. I moaned without shame now, pushing back onto his hand, chasing the stretch.

“Already this wet for your professor?” he murmured, voice dark with satisfaction. “Filthy.” He added a third finger. The stretch burned and then melted into pure need. His thumb found my clit and rubbed tight circles while he kept thrusting.

I came suddenly, hard, clamping down around his fingers with a broken moan that echoed off the bookshelves. My knees nearly gave out. He held me up with the hand still inside me until the last tremor passed. Then he pulled his fingers free, lined up his cock, and thrust into me in one deep, relentless stroke.

I screamed half pleasure, half shock at how completely he filled me. He didn’t give me time to adjust. He gripped my hips hard enough to bruise and started fucking me in long, powerful strokes that slapped against my ass and made the desk creak. Every thrust dragged a moan out of me. I was loud, beyond caring who might still be in the building.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Let me hear you.”

He reached around and rubbed my clit again while he fucked me. The dual sensation built so fast I was already trembling toward a second orgasm. When it hit, I sobbed his name Professor, Elias, I didn’t even know clenching around him so tightly he cursed and had to slow for a second.

He pulled out, spun me around, and lifted me onto the desk. My legs spread automatically. He stepped between them and thrust back in even deeper than before. Face to face now, he watched every expression that crossed my features while he fucked me. One of his hands wrapped lightly around my throat not squeezing, just holding while the other kept working my clit.

I came a third time with his cock buried to the hilt and his name broken on my tongue. The rhythmic pulsing of my pussy dragged him over the edge with me. He thrust deep one last time and came with a low, guttural groan, flooding me in thick, hot pulses. I felt every spurt, the heat of it spreading inside me.

For a long moment the only sound in the office was our ragged breathing.

He stayed buried inside me, forehead resting against mine, one hand still lightly at my throat. When he finally pulled out, his cum immediately began to leak down my thighs onto the polished wood of his desk. He looked at the mess we had made, then at my flushed face, and something darkly satisfied settled in his eyes.

“Lesson one is over,” he said, voice rough but once again controlled. He stepped back, tucked himself away, and smoothed his shirt as if he hadn’t just fucked me senseless over his own desk. “Same time tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

I slid off the desk on unsteady legs, pulled my underwear and skirt back into place with shaking hands, and somehow made it to the door. My thighs were sticky. My lips were swollen. Every step sent an aftershock through my well-used body.

At the threshold I looked back once.

Professor Grant was already seated behind his desk, pen in hand, reviewing some other student’s paper as if nothing had happened. Only the faint scent of sex and the dark heat still lingering in his eyes betrayed him.

I left with his cum still dripping out of me, legs trembling, already knowing I would be back tomorrow night and the night after that, and every night he demanded until he decided the lessons were over, or until I no longer cared whether they ever ended at all.