Office Hours: A Student and Professor Story

Overpaid Professor

She gawked at the dark red Victorian mansion in front of her. "Exactly how big is your salary?" The place seemed like something out of a Bronte novel.

"Very, very big," he said before climbing out of the Mercedes-Benz and opening the passenger door.

She shook her head as she stepped out, refusing the hand he offered her. She didn't need his fake chivalry, thank you very much. "You get paid too much for giving dull lectures on the ramblings of dead white guys." A luxury car and a mansion? Yet all her mama got for working her ass off at two janitorial jobs was a beat-up Toyota and a trailer that was little more than a big hunk of metal.

"You think my lectures are dull?" Ignoring the fact that she'd spurned his hand, he grabbed hers and dragged her toward the mansion.

"Yeah, so boring I almost fall asleep every time you open your mouth."

"You don't pay attention in class? No wonder you had to resort to plagiarism."

She shot daggers at him as they went inside. She repressed a gasp at the grand staircase in front of her. "How many steps are on that thing?" Her legs were going to feel the burn if she ended up having to walk up those stairs.

Before she could blink, he picked her up as if he were a just-married man carrying his new wife to the honeymoon suite. "You don't need to concern yourself with that, darling. I will sweep you off your feet."

Gag me. During the walk up, she asked, "So you live all by yourself in this big place?" At least a dozen trailers could have fit inside the mansion. And that was a conservative estimate.

"Yeah," he said.

"Must get a little lonely."

He shrugged. "I like the solitude."

"Maybe I should go back to my dorm room and let you be then."

He laughed. "Nice try, Mara. I might like being alone, but I immensely enjoy the thought of your naked ass on my bed."

She swallowed as he opened the door to his bedroom. For some reason, she was expecting to see a room full of whips, chains, and other kinky things. To her surprise, though, she just saw an ordinary bedroom: a white queen size bed, a dresser in the corner, and posters of Ang Lee movies on the walls.

He dropped her on the bed, then opened her leather jacket. She closed her eyes, moaning when he yanked down the cups of her bra and put her nipple between his lips. With his other hand, he unzipped her shorts and massaged the crotch of her panties, making the fabric damp with her liquids. "You like that, baby, don't you?" he murmured, his lips touching her breast.

She couldn't help being honest. "Yes."

He sprinkled kisses down her bare stomach. "Have you ever had your pussy licked?"

A few frat boys she'd met through Tinder had gone down on her. But they'd been underwhelming experiences. She had found herself looking at the clock as they'd licked her. After a few minutes had passed, she'd forced herself to shout expletives and scream of fake delight. Because God forbid she left frat boys with their fragile egos feeling like anything less than utter sex gods. "Yeah," she said.

"That wasn't a very enthusiastic 'yeah,'" he noted.

She lifted a shoulder. "I've only had lackluster cunnilingus."

He pulled down her panties, exposing her sex and the small patch of black hair. "That's about to change, my sweet Mara."

"I'm not your sweet Mara."

"For the time being, you are."

She was about to give a snide response, but he lowered his head and stuck his tongue inside her slit. A shout jumped out of her throat as his tongue stroked the places within her folds. The frat boys hadn't known how to do this. Her wet heat fell into his mouth and he lapped it up eagerly.

Her cries echoed throughout the room when he sucked at her nub. Goddamn, goddamn. She shouldn't have enjoyed this so much; he was blackmailing her, for Christ's sake. This is, like, Stockholm syndrome. But when he moved his mouth away, she mewled like a cat who'd just been denied her precious milk.

A smug smile on his lips, he caressed her cheek. "Want me to resume?"

She made herself say, "No."

"I think you're lying," he said, stroking her nipple.

She bit her lip, holding back a moan as her nipple pebbled under his touch.

"Really, you don't want me to resume?" He removed his hand from her breast. "Okay, guess I should start writing my article on Descartes."

Impulsively, she clutched his shirt.

He stared at her knuckles, amused. "Looks like someone doesn't want me to leave."

Fuck. Where had her pride gone? "I...I..."

"If you want me to go down on you, all you have to do is ask, my darling."

Her pussy throbbed, aching for that delicious mouth. So much for mind over matter. "Can you go down on me?" she breathed, loathing herself almost as much as she loathed him.

"I can and I will...if you beg for it."

Why did he love to torture her? "Please," she whispered.

His breath warmed her ear. "Try harder."

Pathetically, she whimpered, "Please, Jesse."

"Hmm, I still haven't been persuaded."

"Oh fucking hell, just please eat my pussy! I want your mouth on me!"

"That's more like it." Then thankfully, his mouth returned to her clitoris. She screamed as he sucked and licked at it. The hatred running through her veins left her body, replaced by pure unadulterated lust. Why did her blackmailer have to be so damn good at pleasing her? Within minutes, an orgasm tore through her and she gave another scream, her juices pouring into his mouth.

"I hate you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper as he sat up and took her into his arms.

"Your pussy juices told me differently," he said, playing with her nipples.

"For an Ivy-League-educated professor, you're pretty vulgar."

"Says the elite liberal arts college student who begged me to eat her pussy."

Her stomach growled.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. The last time she'd eaten had been hours ago and all she'd had was an unsatisfying veggie sandwich she'd lifted from a table at the wellness fair on campus. "I should go to the dining hall." Thank the Lord her financial aid covered her meal plan. Without her dining hall swipes, she would've been living on canned ravioli and free veggie sandwiches that couldn't fulfill the appetite of a rabbit.

"Nonsense. You'll have dinner here."

He really wasn't going to let her go. "Thanks, but—"

"You'll be happy to accept the invitation because your academic future depends on it?"

She so wanted to chop off one of his fingers. "You're ever the opportunist, aren't you?"

Without an ounce of shame, he said, "Indeed I am. And actually, I have a wonderful idea for dinner..."

Why did she both hate and like the sound of that?