Office Hours: A Student and Professor Story

Tender Professor

The next morning, Mara woke up with a groan on Professor Murray's bed. She blushed as she involuntarily put a hand on her sore sex. With another groan, she remembered how her sex had ended up that way. Last night, according to him, he'd made love to her twice after their bath; according to her, he'd made her have sex with him two more times. Each time, he had helped her reach a mindblowing orgasm. The guy was a bona fide asshole, but she couldn't deny that his skills in bed were infuriatingly excellent.

But thanks to the bastard's sexual talents, she could barely walk today.

"Good morning, my sweet Mara," Jesse said as he walked into the room, carrying a tray filled with scrambled eggs, sausage, and waffles.

She scowled at him. "More like terrible morning."

"Is that any way to speak to the man who brought you breakfast, not to mention is your professor and the reason you're still in school?" he chided.

"It's the way to speak to a man who's forcing me to have sex with him," she replied.

His voice turned low. With a hint of menace, he said into her ear, "If you keep talking to me like that, I might have to go to the dean and tell him about your paper."

She turned red. "I hate you."

He squeezed her breast, making her gasp. "I don't care as long as you give me what I want."

She wanted to slap him. Instead, she grimaced.

He asked, "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm just feeling a bit sore," she answered.

He glanced at her vagina knowingly, smirking. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding anything but apologetic. "I'll be less rough next time."

She narrowed her eyes at him and said, "I should go back to my dorm."

"What? You can barely walk in your condition."

"But I need to finish the Nietzsche reading you assigned."

"I teach the fucking class. You don't think I have a copy of On the Genealogy of Morality lying around? You will do your reading here."

"I have other homework."

"You can do it tomorrow," he growled. "I don't want you walking in your condition."

"I can walk just fine."

"You're lying. You're staying here with me and that's final."

Exasperated, she said, "You're a controlling asshole. Maybe I'll go to the dean myself and confess my crimes and yours while I'm at it."

"Do that and they'll kick both of us out. I know you wouldn't mind seeing me burned alive, but you won't be able to get into another school if you admit you committed plagiarism. You will end up without a college degree and flipping burgers at a run-down McDonald's."

She opened her mouth to protest, but then she closed it. She sighed, resigned. Of course he was right. The dean would no doubt take action against Professor Murray, but he wouldn't be able to overlook the act of academic dishonesty that Jesse had capitalized on. For better or worse, Dean Oliver was a man of utmost integrity. She was damned if she came forward, damned if she didn't.

He lifted her kimono. "Now time to take care of that sore pussy."

She crossed her legs. "Hey, don't..."

"Why are you still trying to be modest in front of me?" He smiled. "I've already seen—" One of his hands crept between her legs "—and touched every inch of you."

"Get your hands off—" She couldn't finish her sentence when he began kneading her sex. A moan escaped her mouth.

He massaged her warm folds, causing her legs to tremble. "Does that feel better?" he whispered.

"Yes," she breathed.

"Want me to continue?"

She hated herself for doing so, but she couldn't help saying, "Yes." She cried out as he caressed her clitoris. God, she was already getting so wet. She nearly begged him to fuck her again, never mind the soreness between her thighs.

It was like he'd read her mind. "No matter how much you beg for it, I'm not putting my cock in that hot little pussy of yours. You need a break."

"As if I would ever consider doing that."

"Hmm," he said, rubbing her damp pussy lips.

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. She was on the verge of an orgasm.

"Still sore, baby?" he asked.

Wordlessly, she nodded.

He shot her a smug smile, kneading her slick folds. When he massaged her soaking wet nub, she screamed, forgetting the soreness, school, and even her own name. His hand became shiny with her liquids. After she collapsed onto the bed, he put his fingers to his lips, sucking the skin clean. "Mmm, you taste fucking delicious, darling," he said.

"You're...you are...damn you," she said under her breath. Why did he have to make her like her debasement so much?

"Let's eat." He winked. "I think you worked up quite an appetite."