Fucking my Professor

True Confessions

If you can imagine for a moment a final exam in a university upper-level English course, picture about 12 students in a small room vigorously scribbling away, answering discussion questions for 90 minutes about authors and themes, each of their chairs parked against a long, wooden table where we’ve spent hours during the semester discussing and reading poetry out loud. The room is old with large windows looming down from high on the wall. We are perched on the second floor. Paint is peeling off the cinderblock interior, water stains spotting the ceiling.

The professor is middle-aged with thinning, blonde hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He smokes two packs a day and drinks at least a pot of coffee, but somehow his teeth remain white. His thin lips and narrow face seem to complement his sharp hazel eyes, so clear you can almost see through them. He’s lanky and agitated and pacing around the table in dark socks, having removed his penny loafers.  He’s making everyone nervous – except for me.

I’ve got an ‘A’ in this class. No question. He doesn’t give shit one about the answers on my paper. He only cares about my notes and my poems and the fact that I’ve come to his final wearing a spaghetti strap tank without a bra. I look disheveled in the typical exam week sort of way, brown hair in a bird’s nest, wild tendrils streaming down across my face, not the slightest sign of makeup for days.

He likes that look… the ‘I just woke up in your bed where you fucked me last night’ appearance that he’s never had the privilege of seeing in person but dreams about every night because I’ve sent him some selfies.

I’m taking my time, drawing lewd pictures to punctuate my sentences… watching the clock. I’ve got a chemistry exam to prepare for when I leave, and I’m going to be the last student to exit. I haven’t had much sleep, and it shows.

Once the room has emptied, he closes the door behind the last student. There’s a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign taped to the narrow rectangular strip of glass that hovers over the doorknob. The door has no lock. Footsteps are passing in the hallway. Urgent voices are echoing. The building is a flurry of activity.

He approaches me wistfully in our isolated concrete cubicle. We’ve only kissed once when I briefly followed him to his office. His pale trousers are loose on his legs. I can’t tell if he’s hard.

“I have another class I’d like for you to attend next semester.” He’s mumbling on a mint because he knows I can’t stand the taste of cigarettes. I’m standing by my chair, and I kiss him – this time much longer, more passionately than before. He crumples my test paper, but I stop him.

“You’ll want to look at that later,” I smirk. I fold it up neatly and stuff in down deep in his front pocket. Yes, he is definitely hard. I graze him softly as I remove my hand.

“You know you have an ‘A’ in the course, right?”

“I know,” I chortle. “Do you think I deserve it?”

“No,” he says gruffly, but he can’t hide his mischievous smile. He’s such a nerd. Such a dork. Putty in my hand. Not at all in my league on a barstool downtown, yet mysteriously desirable in this room… in this moment. “You’re the best student I’ve ever had. Seriously.”

I run my finger down the front of his light blue oxford and loosen a button. “You haven’t had me yet, Larry.”

I’ve never called him Larry before… always by his last name. Always a doctor of poetic philosophy. But today in his mind he’s in a bar shooting pool. One of his braless students who has graduated from his class is leaning over to knock down a combo. He looks down her shirt at her perky tits. He’s got her test paper in his pocket. She’s drawn a dick on the back followed by a personal erotic poem.  It’s about sucking his cock until he comes in her mouth.  He’s going to get hard when he reads it – but not harder than he is right now.

He’s never been with a girl like me. I don’t have to ask. He lives with his mother.  She’s a prude whom I suspect still buys all his clothes.

Larry coughs nervously. He loves it when I say naughty things. He intentionally forced me to read raunchy poetry aloud in front of his class. I never knew erotic poetry existed. I was shy and embarrassed at first, blushing and stuttering as I enunciated the words. He made me read several passages over.

“Speak the word clearly, Megan.”

“F-U-C-K” I repeated, licking my lips.  The class moaned in unison.  

Then, I started writing sex poems for his assignments, duplicating the smut that I presented in class. I started writing from my pussy, not my head. I wrote my poems for him, but he didn’t let me read them aloud. Otherwise, everyone would have known. He thought our thing was private.

But it wasn’t.  Everyone knew.  He wanted my cunt around his PhD prick.  He wanted it badly.

“I can’t take your course, Larry.” I unhook another button on his shirt. His chest is artic white, completely hairless with a slightly sunken sternum. He’s never lifted a barbell in his life. “I’ve been accepted to nursing school. I start fall semester.”

He sighs and drops his head. I’m sitting on the table in front of him, completing the process of popping his buttons. He’s standing there letting me do what I want. “Have you ever taken your shirt off outside in the sun?”

Larry shakes his head. “I burn too easily,” he mutters.

“I bet.” I’m giggling. I’m licking his icy pink nipples, curiously light in color, hairless and sensitive. “That’s why they make sunscreen.”

“It doesn’t help,” he says hoarsely. I’m making him lose his voice, or maybe that’s just the cigarettes. His chest is flat. There are tiny tufts of fur under his armpits. He’s wearing some sort of cologne foreign to his personality.  He’s looking at my tits.

“I told you I’d come braless for my test. What’s this stuff that you’re wearing?” I kiss him behind the ear, lick him down his neck.

“It’s French,” he responds, like that’s somehow impressive. “I can’t believe you’re not dating anyone,” he says out of nowhere as I unbuckle his belt.

“We’re not going to date, Larry. We’re going to fuck.” I slowly pull down his zipper. His trousers fall open. The weight of his belt sends them sliding to his ankles. He’s wearing tight, white briefs; the kind that mommies put on their ten-year-old boys. No stains, thank God. He’s tenting the front. I drag my forefinger down his erection. “You look pretty big.”

“We can’t do this in here,” he protests. “Let’s go to my office.”

“You’re going to do it right here, Larry. You’re going to do it right now. Step out of your trousers and kick them to the wall before you spill something on them.” He does as I ask while I slip off his shirt and sling it. “Let’s see what you have,” I whisper. As I reach for the elastic waist band tightly hugging his hips, he covers my hands with his own.  I hesitate.

“We could get caught, Megan.  I could lose my job.”  …Like I could give a shit.  God, I’m such a bitch….

“Yes, you could, Larry.” I ease down his shorts and snug his slight schlong between my gaping legs. I’m still wearing jeans and a tank. There are sparse golden curls on his circumcised cock with no hair on his balls or his thighs. His bottom is baby smooth, and I sink my sharp nails into his cheeks. He groans. I squeeze.

“You like that?” He nods. “Then get rid of these.” I’m tugging at his underwear, still strapped around the middle of his thighs. “I prefer my men worship me naked.”

“Worship?”

“You want to put this inside me, Larry?” I’m holding him in my palm, more certain than ever he’s still a virgin. He’s really not that big, even at maximum erection.  This is the precipice of his manhood’s capacity, tight and purple as a peacock’s full plumage, oozing with anticipation.    

“This is not the place.”

“Your dick thinks it is. Do you just want me to jerk you off?  You’re not leaving this room until you come.” His shaft bobs inside my fist and for a brief moment, I think that he’s shooting off. 

He finally hands me his shorts, and I flip them nonchalantly towards a large window at the top of the wall. Now, they’re hanging off the ledge of an alcove. There’s no way to get them down. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

Not really.

Larry’s looking at his undies, distressed, as I stand up and peel off my Levi’s for girls. “Want me to flip my panties up there too, or would you prefer to take them home?” I shimmy out of my see-through thong. Larry is entranced as I sit back on the table and stroke him.

Someone stops at the door as if reading the sign, contemplating knocking or just walking right in. I pull Larry close and keep fondling. He’s terrified and tense, clothes scattered on the floor, tighty whities hanging from the window.

The person in the hallway moves on, but the clatter beyond our room seems louder. “At least put a chair against the door,” he begs.

“Shut up and shove your prick in my cunt, Larry.” He does…  I lie back, thighs wrapped around his waist, gyrating and grinding against his angular pelvis. The table is rocking. The heavy legs are creaking. There’s not a doubt in the building about what’s going on. “Fuck it, baby. Fuck me.” He loves it when I talk dirty.

How many times have I stood before his class offering metaphorical passages of sex? My professor insisted. I complied.

“Harder, Larry. Come on. Mess me up.” I jerked off my shirt so he could check out my tits, then massaged his smooth scrotum into a nut-tingling knot. His breathing was erratic. His flat chest was pounding. I never saw the person who opened the door.  Larry had only been inside me for a minute.

He unloaded in my pussy almost instantly, tucking his head as if no one could guess his identity. I held his face to my breast after the door closed abruptly, raking my fingers through his hair. “Finish up,” I whispered, gently tugging on his ass, mimicking his feeble thrusts. “Give me all of it.”

He humped as he whimpered, sweet strokes of discovery, until he dribbled out the last drops of bravery… my arms and my thighs still snugly wrapped around him. I felt his penis fall out and the warm stream that followed. It took nothing to make him slump to his knees.

“Look at me.” I was standing over him, my crotch in his face. He scanned my whole body, glancing into my eyes. “Kiss it, Larry.” He did. “Lick it,” I told him. I was soaked with his semen. The air reeked of his scent. I pulled his face into me, his mouth against my cum covered clit. “Everything’s okay. I’m taking the pill. You’ve got one less paper to grade. Why don’t you get me off.”

He was sucking my nub like a nipple. Cleaning it up. Making me crazy. Bringing me closer to climax. I was amazed he knew how or was willing to try. I was pouring his spunk out my slit.

“Eat it, Larry…”

All worry was forgotten till I exploded in his mouth…then, I noticed the sign was missing. The next class was waiting outside, taking turns as they peeped through the clear, narrow window.