Her Dirty Professor (8 page)

Strings of her cum drip onto the floor. Normally I’d lick her clean, but we’ll need that lubrication for what I have in store for her.

I sit on the couch. “Ride me,” I tell her. “I want to see your tits bounce and watch your face the next time I make you cum.

Before she climbs on my lap, she puts on a little show, bending over, spreading her ass cheeks, looking over her shoulder to watch my reaction. I immediately reach for my dick and start to stroke it. She turns around to face me, climbs onto the couch, standing over me with one foot on either side of my hips. Again she spreads herself, her pussy this time, making it gape. It’s a small gape, but enough for me to take a glimpse inside. I have to stop touching myself before I cum.

She squats over me, her ass hovering in the air a moment before she sits, spearing herself on my prick. She holds onto my shoulders for leverage and slowly begins her ride.

I feel the surface of her vaginal wall with the tip of my dick. She can’t go any further. She’s taken as much as she can, and yet there’s still roughly three inches of cock still exposed. She tries to push herself further, and somehow there’s a little more give, and I’m starting to wonder if I’m about to fuck her cervix. There’s a definite tightness there, but it feels amazing, and so I let her do what she wants to do. She knows her body. She can make these calls.

Her mouth opens and whimpers spill out.

“It hurts,” she says, and yet doesn’t try to release the pressure by easing up. Her legs start to shake. “But it feels so good at the same time.”

Just when I start to fear that I’m about to stab through her womb, she sits up until only the head of my dick is still inside of her, then impales herself again. She does this over and over until I can’t take anymore.

I grab her hips one last time and thrust hard and deep inside of her until I explode.

She screams, her body writhing and twisting. Her pussy strangles my cock as her orgasm rips through her with brutal force. Until she finally collapses against my chest.

We sit like this a while, spent and useless. Me, running my fingers through her sweaty hair, while she trails delicate kisses along my jawline. Not talking, just being here together in silence. It’s not uncomfortable one bit. Just the opposite. I’ve never been this comfortable with anyone in my life.

A half hour passes when suddenly I get my second wind. I’m still inside of her, growing hard again as I lift both of us off the couch. Her legs wrap around me and she giggles, trying to hold on. I carry her upstairs for round two.

I
n the morning
, Loche and I are awake before either of our alarms go off. Even after several rounds, we’re not exhausted enough to sleep through the anxiety we both face. I’m wrapped up in his arms. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay like this, in the comfort and safety of him forever. But I have to figure out a way to get Dean Meyer not to can Loche and take away my scholarship.

When I try to leave, Loche holds tighter. “I have to go,” I say, smiling as he grumbles.

“Let’s just forget about everything and stay here. We can watch movies and eat junk food and pretend we’re not adults.”

“As amazing as that sounds, you know we can’t. I’m gonna call a cab.”

“Let me take you back to the dorm,” he says.

“It’s too risky. I don’t want anyone to see us.” His midnight-black Camaro with black rims and a V8 that can wake the dead isn’t exactly subtle.

“Fine,” he says, and finally releases me from his grip. “But find me later.”

“I’ll see you in class this afternoon.”

The thin smile on his face makes me think there might not be a class this afternoon.

* * *

B
efore my first class starts
, I make an appointment to see Dean Meyer. I’m sitting in the waiting area with his secretary, going over a rough argument I prepared. It’s difficult to focus with the
clack, clack, clack
of acrylic nails on the keyboard as the secretary speed-types.

Every time I look up at the clock, five minutes have passed. I’ve been sitting here twenty minutes so far. I just want to get this over with. Another five and I’ll be late for English. I might even have to miss it. I’ve never missed a class before. Not for illness or any other reason.

The phone rings. His secretary answers it and continues to type at the same time. Finally, she puts down the phone, looks at me, and says, “He’ll see you now.”

I go into the dean’s office. No one else comes out. Twenty minutes. What the hell was he doing in his room alone for twenty minutes? Maybe he heard it was me here to see him and he just wanted to make me squirm. Well, it worked. Blood rushes in my ears and my heart is like a caged animal thrashing in my chest.

This is too much. It’s more grownup than anything I’ve had to deal with since graduating high school. I want to walk away and forget everything. The only thing keeping me grounded is knowing I’m doing this for Loche. I’d do anything for him.

“Shut the door behind you,” Dean Meyer says. He sits behind an imposing desk. On top of it are pictures of his wife and grown children placed in matching gold frames.

He stacks a pile of loose papers in front of him. The task seems more important to him than giving me his full attention. Funny how I used to really admire this guy, but now that my scholarship and Loche’s job are on the line, I’m looking for the horns and pitchfork hiding beneath that very obvious rug on his head.

Folding my hands in my lap, I say, “I wanted to talk to you about what you saw at the restaurant last night.”

Not that what he saw could be misconstrued as anything but what it was. I’m going to tell the truth, for the most part. I think that’s best. But in the hours between when I got back to my dorm this morning and sitting here, I read the entire manual on student conduct. I will inform him that there are no definitive rules stating that a teacher cannot date an adult student. It’s only frowned upon when it comes to ethics and morals. Unfortunately, by me pointing this out, I’ll be saying Loche doesn’t have those qualities that this particular school finds important enough to make as their motto. But, not having those things is not grounds to terminate his job. Especially if that student will no longer be attending that school.

The thought of leaving fills me with such a deep sadness, my vision starts to turn gray. I shake my head and square my shoulders, pulling myself together. I need to stay strong or I will never get through this without breaking down, and I refuse to cry or appear weak in front of this man.

Before I can say another word on the matter, Dean Meyer stops me and says, “There’s no need. Mr. Johnson already came to speak with me this morning.”

“He did . . .” I say, hanging off the edge of my seat.

“He resigned from his position.”

“What?” I say, voice rising. “He can’t do that. This wasn’t his fault.”

The dean stops what he’s doing and looks at me with eyebrows raised. “He did it to save your scholarship. As I’m sure you’ve probably read in the manual of conduct, students on scholarship can be released for any reason that might jeopardize the moral or ethical reputation of this establishment. While it does have to go in front of a board for vote before that can happen, I’m fairly certain having an affair with a teacher will fall under that category. You’re welcome to roll the dice, Georgia, but Mr. Johnson fought to save your scholarship. I think he’d be highly disappointed if he threw himself under the bus for nothing.”

“But—” I start to say when Dean Meyer interrupts.

“I can tell by the look on your face that you’re willing to do whatever it takes to protect him, because he had that same look on his face when he came in here to protect you. I gave him the option to either end his relationship with you or leave his job. He chose to leave. Let it go.”

I close my mouth. It’s been hanging open this whole time.

“Good day,” the dean says. “Please close the door on your way out.”

Unable to get words out, I stand and walk out of his room and close the door. His secretary watches me leave, no doubt hearing everything.

* * *

I
still can’t believe
Loche would rather leave his job than end his relationship with me. That’s more than a fling. I know that I love him, but I’d had my doubts about his feelings toward me. Until now. I need to find him. Find out what happened. See how he’s doing. This can’t be easy for him. You don’t just fill out an application and hand it over to a manager to get a job as a professor as a prestigious university. That takes time, money, commitment. He must be devastated. I have to be there for him.

I go to his house, ditching my classes for the day. It’s probably the most rebellious thing I’ve ever done in my life—well, besides sleeping with my teacher. But I’m sure the world won’t stop and my grades won’t plummet for missing one day.

I take a cab to his house. When I get there, he’s sitting on the porch swing with his borrowed cat curled up on his lap. Loche smiles when he sees me.

“What did you do?” I say, trying to sound firm, but my voice withers away into a pathetically sad sound.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” he says.

“I had to come see you.”

“I take it you talked to Dean Meyer.”

Tears start to fall without me realizing they were even there. Suddenly I’m imagining a life without Loche in it. No more seeing him every day in chemistry, my favorite teacher just a favorite memory. What if he starts to resent me after this? If he struggles to pay his bills or can’t get another teaching job, he’ll ultimately blame me. I don’t want to lose him.

He stands up, moving the cat to the side. The cat glares at him a moment for interrupting his comfortable spot before finding a different spot on the cushion.

Loche comes toward me. I should meet him half way but my legs won’t move. I’m afraid if I try, they’ll collapse.

He pulls me into a hug and I breathe in his familiar scent, his warmth. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I let the tears flow freely now. “I’m so sorry,” I tell him, trying not to be too loud even though my body is going through the motions of wracking sobs.

“It’s okay,” he says, kissing my forehead and rubbing comforting circles across my back.

“No, it’s not okay. I doubt Dean Meyer will give you a letter of recommendation after all of this.” I look up at his beautiful house. I can’t imagine living like this, then having to move into an apartment or something worse.

“I don’t need one,” he says.

I pull back to look at him. He wipes tears from my face with his thumbs. “What do you mean? How will you get another teaching job? Without a letter of recommendation, you’ll be asked why you left and you’ll have to tell them the truth. No one will hire you after you slept with a student—even if it’s perfectly legal.”

“I know,” he says.

I shake my head, confused. “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t need a teaching job. I don’t need a job at all. I was only teaching because it was something I worked so hard to do, but honestly, I don’t love it anymore. There are other things I’d rather do with my time.”

“What do you mean you don’t
need
a job? How will you survive?”

His cheeks flush and he looks at his hands that are now on my shoulders. “After I got paid for being in the movie, I used some of that money to patent a formula I came up with for a longer-lasting lubricant. It ended up changing the sex industry, actually. I made enough to where I don’t need to work anymore.”

I just stare at him, wide-eyed. “Are you serious?”

He smiles and shrugs.

“Let me guess, does it involve coconut oil?”

He laughs. “Maybe a little.” His gaze finds mine and he gets this serious look on his face. “I’m excited to see where this thing between us goes. I want to be with you.” He bites his lip, looking more nervous than I’ve ever seen him.

“What?” I say.

“I’m in love with you.”

I hesitate, but only for a moment, my muscle memory still fearing someone will see us. But I guess that doesn’t matter anymore. I launch myself into his arm and kiss him. I don’t want to stop kissing him, but the words are fighting to get out of me. “I love you too,” I say, more tears spilling down my cheeks, but this time with laughter falling shortly behind.

We can be a couple. He actually wants that from me, and I want it too. More than anything.

He takes me by the hand and leads me into the house. We’re barely through the door when I start to take off his shirt, and I kiss his nipples, sliding my tongue across them. I’ve heard men’s are just as sensitive as women’s. The way he groans make me think they really are.

While my tongue is busy, I unbutton his jeans and pull them down, along with his boxers. He steps out of them. I don’t touch him right away, wanting to make this moment last, prolong the pleasure. Instead, I touch everything but his dick. Tickle his belly button, run my fingers along the trail of hair beneath it. Follow it down to his trimmed pubes and brush my fingers through it.

His breathing quickens and his cock twitches. But still I don’t touch it.

Crouching down, I kiss his stomach and make my way down. My lips hover over the head of his cock, breathing lightly, softly blowing on it. He shivers.

“You’re driving me crazy, you know that, don’t you?” he says.

My face stays at crotch level while I look up at him with only my eyes. “That’s the point.”

He moves my hair off my face so he can watch as I lip the silky skin of his balls and take one of them in my mouth, rolling it around softly with my tongue.

He tilts his head back. “Oh, God,” he says in a husky, breathy voice. He doesn’t stay that way long, eager to keep watching the action.

Snaking out my tongue, I take turns licking and kissing up the shaft of his prick until I reach the head. A few rings around the rim and I’m putting the entire thing in my mouth. I poke the hole with the tip of my tongue, tasting the salty goodness of his pre-cum. He massages my shoulder as I swallow him down, going slow while trying to breathe through my nose so I don’t have to come back up for air.

Relaxing my throat, I take more of him. The more he groans and gets excited, the faster I move, until he’s thoroughly fucking my face. I feel just like one of the girls in porn, taking as much as he gives, and it’s so fucking hot that I keep going even after he warns me that he’s about to cum. I want it. I want to taste it, drink it.

He lets out a guttural sound and grabs the sides of my face, holding me still while his cum fills my mouth. Strings of it hit the back of my throat. There’s a lot of it, and it’s hard to swallow at first, but I manage.