How To Fuck Your Professor

You and Addison manage to get to class on time, only moderately hung-over. You have two classes with Hunt, one just before lunch and one at the end of the day. You spend the entirety of the first class mentally rehearsing what you’re going to say, but by the end of the lesson you’ve lost your nerve. During the second lesson you decide that it would be better to write a note for fear of being overheard. When everyone in your vicinity has filed from their seats you tear off a piece of paper from your notebook. You write that you didn’t use protection and ask him to meet you in your apartment. You drop the folded note onto the desk in front of Hunt before rushing out the door.

Once home you hurry to clean, determined that your apartment would be spotless when Hunt arrives. An hour passes and you’re slumped on the couch, exhausted after your 45 minute spring-clean and irritated that Hunt hadn’t shown up yet. You sigh and heave your books onto the coffee table to begin working.
Two more hours pass and you’ve finished your four songs and half of your essay on Brechtian Theatre. You jump when you hear the knock on your door, having completely lost track of time. When you open the door to find him standing there your knees go weak. He’s in his impeccably tailored suit, glowering at you in a now familiar way. You step aside to let him in and close the door softly behind you. When you turn around to see him standing in your apartment, your heart flutters. He looks almost out of place, as if a tiger has found its way into your home. He’s surveying your apartment, and you bite your lip as you get a perfect view of his profile. His strong jawline is dusted with a deliberate and stylish stubble, and his dark brown eyes inspect your belongings coldly. He turns to face you.
After an uncomfortable moment of silence you manage to blurt out an offer for a drink.
“Well this conversation will be pretty hard without one,” he grimaces.
Nodding in silent agreement you head to the kitchen to pour two glasses of scotch over ice. You watch him from behind the kitchen counter as he sits stiffly on one of your armchairs. Vivid memories of sitting in an armchair opposite him in the ballroom cross your mind. Although you try to push the images away, your thoughts turn to your night together. You breathe heavily as you remember entwining your legs around him to pull him further into you, and the way he moaned when you clenched around him. Looking down at the drinks you’re pouring you realise that you’ve overflowed the glass and scotch is dripping down your cupboard doors.
“Shit!” You exclaim, setting down the bottle of scotch.
“What’s wrong?” Hunt asks and you see he’s on his feet.
“Nothing,” you say hurriedly, ringing out a dish cloth, “I just spilled some scotch.”
Hunt sits back down. “Well I wouldn’t call that ‘nothing.’ It’s a tragic waste of good scotch.”
You walk over to him and hand him a glass, noticing his mouth has curved up into a slight grin. You give him a small smile and sit on the couch. He takes a sip and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
“What?” You ask curiously.
“Nothing,” he says quickly. “This is just really good scotch.”
You shoot him a sly grin. “Are you saying that you didn’t expect me to have good taste?”
“No! Not at all,” he insists. “It’s just that it’s my favourite type.”
Your smile disappears. “I know, you told me on Saturday night.”
“Oh,” he says, his eyes hardening.
You both sip your drinks in awkward silence.
Heaving a deep sigh, you set your glass down on the coffee table. “Look, I just wanted to let you know that I’m on the pill, and that I’m clean.”
He clears his throat before answering. “I’m clean, too.”
You finish your drink in the silence that follows. “Well, that’s all cleared up, then,” you say briskly, taking your empty glass to the kitchen. With your back to Hunt, you lean against the counter and try to regain your composure. As your breath steadies you hear his footsteps coming up behind you.
You turn to see him leaning against the counter opposite you, holding his empty glass. You stare at each other for an uncomfortable minute before he takes a step toward you. You tense up, your face flushing red, but he brushes past you to put his glass next to yours in the sink. A shaky breath escapes your lips. You hope he didn’t notice, but he’s standing so close to you that he must have. You know you should move away, but you can’t bring yourself to take a single step. He turns away from the sink and his chest is less than an inch from your shoulder. You risk looking up into his eyes and your heart skips a beat when you see fire in place of the ice that is usually there. The tension in the air is palpable, and the room feels like it’s caught fire. You can hear every breath he takes, and you’re sure the thudding of your heart is audible. You move towards him – such a small movement – but he pulls away. You look into his eyes again, and you swear you can see the fire and ice warring there. He hurries to the lounge room and picks up his discarded jacket.
His voice is hard and flat when he thanks you for the scotch and accommodation, but you hear it break in the middle of his sentence.
Your heart beats even faster; panicking. You don’t want him to leave.
“What was yesterday?” You blurt out, flushing red with embarrassment when you see his confusion. You clear your throat and try again. “I mean; what did yesterday mean? In your office?”
He clenches his jaw and looks away. “It didn’t mean anything.”
The pang in your chest renders you breathless for a moment, but anger replaces your hurt. “You can’t expect me to believe that!” You exclaim. “Two people don’t just do that for no reason.”
He tries to interject but you hold up your hand and continue.
“Don’t try to tell me that it was just lust. You knew the risks of doing that in your office during school hours. You wouldn’t take that risk simply out of lust. So tell me-! Tell me…”
You suddenly run out of anger, and end your rant abruptly. He’s been standing utterly still in front of you, his eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. You close your eyes and turn away with a sigh.
“What do you want me to tell you?” He asks, his voice shaking with barely controlled anger.
You pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration and pace back towards him, coming to a stop less than a foot in front of him. “I want you to tell me how you feel about me. I want you to…” You take a shuddering breath, “I want you tell me you want me.”
He takes the smallest of steps towards you, “I can’t tell you that.”
You feel tears stinging behind your eyes, so you turn away from him. “Of course you can’t,” you choke out. You begin to walk toward your bedroom but his arms suddenly encircle your waist.
“I can’t tell you,” he murmurs in your ear, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine, “but I can show you.”
You let out a weak whimper as he takes your earlobe in his mouth before trailing kisses down your neck. When he reaches your covered shoulder he spins you around and presses his lips urgently to yours. You open your mouth to the kiss, feeling his tongue exploring your mouth and tasting the scotch on his breath. He kisses you forcefully, and you match his ferocity, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pressing your body into his. He pushes back into you even harder, and you find yourself stumbling backwards into the wall, still tightly wrapped around him. You tear at the buttons on his shirt, managing to expose his chest in seconds. You run your hands all over the skin on his chest and down his muscular biceps. You briefly wonder how a college professor keeps so fit, but soon all of your coherent thoughts are lost to the pleasure. He tears your shirt off and takes his turn to run his hands and mouth over every inch of your exposed skin. When he deftly unclips your bra you moan loudly and press your naked skin against his. You resume a ferocious kiss as he explores your breasts with his hands, brushing his fingers softly over your erect nipples. You break free from the kiss and kneel down to undo his belt. He groans softly and tilts his head back when you brush your fingers over his hard cock. His soft groan quickly turns into a loud moan when you take him into your mouth. Taking your time to lick the bared head of his cock, his pleasured gasp when you circle your lips around his shaft sends hot tingles to your wet pussy. After well over five minutes on your knees sucking him, the feeling in your crotch becomes unbearable and you stand up, taking his hand in yours you lead your naked professor into your bedroom.
In seconds he rids you of the rest of your clothes and you fall to the bed together, you coming to rest astride him. You shoot him a seductive smile before you position your dripping wet pussy over his cock. You both cry out when you feel the tip of his cock slam into something deep inside you. Leaning back, you rock your body on top of him, moaning as he slides in and out of you. He grabs your breasts and pulls them towards his mouth, sucking your nipples as you continue to move your hips. When he grabs your waist and rolls swiftly on top of you, he doesn’t even slide out of you. He pushes deep inside of you and reaches to press his lips against yours. He pulls away and looks into your eyes, brushing a stray hair from your face.
“This is how I feel about you.”
He thrusts into you, and you entwine your legs around his back, moving your hips in rhythm with his. As he makes love to you, he looks into your eyes, occasionally closing his eyes to kiss you. When his mouth closes over your nipple once again you can’t hold back any longer. The pressure that’s been building inside of you bursts into flames, sending you into ecstasy.
“THOMAS,” you scream as you come.
He slumps against your shoulder and you feel his hot cum dripping out of you. Heedless, you clutch him to you, burying your head in the crook of his neck.