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finkinthisfrew · 6 months

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TEACHER'S PET (Pt.5)

cw: 18+, teacher/student, teasing, taunting, daddy, praise kink, other stuff, v inappropriate :)

You follow Professor Healy up to his office, hands shaking in anticipation, unsure of what to expect next.

“Sit,” he commands as he steps through the door. You enter the room, obediently walking over to the chair facing his desk.

“No,” he says authoritatively as you move to sit, causing you to freeze where you stand. “Edge of the desk. Facing the window.”

Confused, but too anxious to question him, you step behind his desk, hopping up on its edge as you hear the door close shut behind you. Another click- the lock. You sit quietly, heart pounding, eyes glued to your Professors chair, oblivious to the wall of colorful leaves behind it, branches dancing in powerful fall winds as you listen to the sound of his footsteps approaching.

“Miss Thompson,” he starts quietly, though the authority in his voice is unwavering as he continues. “You seem to think indecency on an Ivy League campus is not only appropriate, but worth flaunting,” he says as he steps into your view, eyes looking down at his busied hands. His fingers work at the cuffs of his dress shirt, then he rolls his sleeves up meticulously, exposing his veiny tattooed forearms one at a time. You raise your eyebrows at him, tilting your nose up snootily as you open your mouth to protest.

“”Well maybe if y-“ you start hotly, but he cuts you off immediately, disinterested in whatever you have to say.

“That wasn’t a question- it was a statement. And if you could spend more than two seconds listening to me instead of thinking about my cock all day long then maybe you would realize that, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Thompson?” He asks, towering over you with eyes so dark they look nearly black as he steps towards you.

“W-well, I,” you stutter, cheeks flushing, but he continues like you haven’t spoken as he bends down towards you, placing his hands on either side of you on the desk.

“You spend class after class sitting there in your absurdly tiny skirts, biting your little lip until it’s raw and squeezing your thighs together like I won’t notice, desperate to appease me when called upon in class… yet the moment class is done, you become a tyrant. A good student should always be good- not just when she chooses to be…” he says, his tone displeased as his eyes bear down on you. You desperately want to please him, reaching your hand out to take his tie, dangling before you like bait.

“I want to be good for you,” you say quietly, gripping his tie with both hands and pulling on it gently- pleading as you look up into his dark eyes. “Let me be good for you.” You tug, tilting your lips up towards his, searching for approval.

He looks down at you thoughtfully, mulling something over in his mind as his eyes wander your face. Abruptly, he brushes your hands off his tie, turns, and sits down in his chair, crossing his arms as his eyes travel slowly, greedily up your body, finally piercing through your soul once more before speaking.

“Show me your homework,” he commands.

“What?” You ask, caught off guard.

“You heard me,” he says, his voice low, thick like molasses. “I’d like to grade your work,” he says darkly, face dripping with lust as his eyes wander down your chest to your skirt, making you squeeze your legs together without realizing.

“Spread.”

You spread your already slick legs automatically, the sight of your Professor sitting back in his chair lazily as he watches you spread your legs only exciting you more.

“Ah-ah-“ he tuts, lifting his chin as he watches. “Wider… That’s it,” he says approvingly as you spread your legs as far as you can, exposing yourself entirely to him. “Good girl,” he says, mouth remaining slightly open, slack as he watches your juices drip onto his desk where he was to grade papers later that night.

A moan slips from your lips, his praise sending a shiver of pleasure through your core.

“How do you already look so fucked out?” He says quietly to himself in disbelief. “I’m not even touching you and you’re already moaning,” he says, a smug smile teasing his lips. You nod innocently at him as you run your fingers up the inside of your thigh.

“I like pleasing you,” you said softly as your fingers meet your wetness. You slowly drag them up your dripping slit, making your stomach quake with pleasure. Your finger finds your clit and you begin to rub tight circles into it, moaning a bit louder this time as he watches your fingers intently, eyes flitting back up to yours periodically as you work.

“A little slower- there you go,” he directs you. You slow your speed, whimpering as you scan his face, the memory of his lip in your mouth screaming at you, demanding to be relived once more. But you want to be obedient- you want nothing more than to please him. Heat builds inside you as you watch the corner of your Professors mouth twitch up a your whimpers. The coil inside you tightens more than usual, much deeper than it has before, but it’s still not enough, so you pout in frustration.

He stands up slowly, his eyes penetrating yours as he cocks his head to one side, taking a step towards you as he slips his hands in his pockets.

“Does it feel like it’s not enough?” He taunts with a small smile. You nod your head rapidly as you watch him approach you.

“It’s never enough,” you whisper, your eyebrows creasing in pained frustration.

“How many times have you tried? Enough?” He asks, his tone dripping with lust as he takes another step. He’s now standing between your open legs, looking down at your hand, then back up into your eyes, his pupils dilated with desire. You nod your head, pushing your lower lip out even further as your frustration builds.

He shakes his still cocked head faintly in disappointment as he slips one hand from his pocket, reaching it up to your face

“Words, Miss Thompson,” he breathes as he looks down at you, taking your chin delicately in his hand. His thumb caresses your bottom lip and you whine at his touch, watching the corners of his mouth turn into a greedy smile through your hazy eyes.

“Too many,” you pant quietly, but your answer isn’t enough for Professor Healy, who gives you another warning look as his hand sharply tips your head up to him. “Every day after class. Every night before bed. Every morning when I wake up. Sometimes even between classes,” you list between moans, panting as you speak.

“And what do you think about?” He asks, dropping his hand from your face to your lap, trailing a single finger down the top of your thigh towards your knee. The rough finger against your hyper-sensitive skin sends a wave of electricity through you, causing another breathy whine to escape your lips.

“You,” you breathe as you close your eyes and slip two fingers inside yourself. You groan at the feeling, a new pleasure blooming within you. But the sensation is too dull- your fingers too small, too gentle to satisfy your need for fullness. It’s not enough. You push them in anyways, fumbling somewhat rhythmically- desperate to relieve that burning need for release.

“Well, naturally,” your Professor agrees in a pleased tone. “And you’ve been doing this every day, multiple times a day, and you’re still not satisfied?” He asks in both curiosity and awe. You open your eyes halfway as you press the heel of your palm into your clit.

“No, it never feels right,” you groan in frustration at the feeling. “I need your help,” you whine. “I need you, Professor.”

“Ahhh,” he says in understanding, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He reaches his hand up to your breast, cupping it just barely as he swipes your hardened nipple through the thin material of your shirt with his thumb, making you gasp at the shock of pleasure. He cocks his head to one side, enthralled by your physical reaction to his touch. You look up at him with renewed fire in your eyes, and he lowers his other hand to your thigh, trailing it slowly back up your bare skin as his eyes pierce through you. “You need some tutoring,” he breathes darkly as he pushes your hand away, replacing it with his own. You gasp at his touch, missing the shudder of pleasure that rolls through your Professor’s body at your erotic moans.

His fingers find your clit first and you groan- loudly- gripping the table with fingers like vices. His calloused thumb rubs wave after wave of pleasure into your clit as you mewl, watching his expert thumb work. His fingers are much longer, much thicker, and much rougher than yours. You want them inside you now.

“Fuck,” you whine, chest heaving as he picks up his speed on your clit.

“Are you taking notes?” He rasps, his own breath growing ragged as his other hand slips up the hem of your shirt, his weathered skin leaving tingles in its wake as it travels back up to your breast, cupping the warm, soft mound of skin.

“More,” you complain in a low whine. “I need you- to fill me,” you say as you bite back another moan. You reach your hand out to his buckle, pulling him closer to you and begin to fumble at the clasp. Suddenly his hand leaves your clit, gently gripping your wrist as he tuts once more. You whimper.

“I’m not done, yet, darling,” he coos as he leans into your ear. “I have to check your work first.” You groan as you feel his hand between your legs once more, his fingers toying lightly at your entrance, teasing you as your hips reach out desperately for more. You feel his other hand trail lightly round your neck, his thumb lingering on your throat for a moments before reaching around, taking a handful of your hair in his grip. He pulls, tilting your head back as he dips a single finger into you, no more than an inch. You groan and whine as you try to push your hips forward, but he keeps his finger just out of reach.

“Look at you, writhing around all desperate for me,” he says, voice gravelly in your ear. “So eager… Do you want more, baby?”

“Yesss,” you plead, turning your head in his grasp to place your lips on the closest part of him to you- reaching desperately for his jaw, thirsting for a taste of him.

“Of course you do,” he says as he lets you nip at his jaw, smiling as he withdraws his finger, slowly replacing it with two as he pushes them in a bit further, stretching you wide. You throw your hands around his neck, anchoring yourself in the sea of pleasure, waves of ecstasy crashing around you as you dig your nails into your Professors skin.

“My best student,” he praises, placing a gentle kiss on your temple as you whine loudly in his ear. He pushes his fingers in the rest of the way, all the way up to his knuckles. His two fingers are thicker than three of yours, their roughness only adding to the whirlwind of pleasure building within you as he begins to pump his fingers at an agonizingly slow pace, every stroke against your G-spot earning a moan from you.

“Is this what you needed? To be filled up a bit?” He taunts you sweetly. “All those performances and tantrums you threw for me, and all you needed was for me to fill you a little?”

“Yes, daddy,” you breathe, the word slipping from you naturally before you can catch yourself. Your heart stops as you feel his fingers pause.

“Ohhh, I see,” he says with a smile, lifting his face to look down on you. His fingers resume fucking you, picking up speed, just barely, making you mewl frantically. “Had I known every time you said Professor you meant daddy…” his voice trails off as he looks down at his fingers. You watch him lick his lip, then bite it slightly as he watches in devilish fascination as your hips buck uncontrollably against his hand. “Very good girl,” he says, almost to himself. You groan in pleasure, his praise like its own toy, sending a shiver of satisfaction up your spine, escaping your lips with a shudder.

“Do you want my cock, baby? Is that what you need? Not full enough?” He coos sweetly.

“Yes- fuck, yes,” you reply exasperatedly.

“Yes, what?” He says, raising his eyebrows at you expectantly. You groan through clenched teeth, his mutual need for the word sexier than you ever could’ve imagined.

“Yes, daddy,” you whimper as he smiles, pumping his fingers even faster inside of you, a burning ball of pleasure building steadily in your core. “I need you to,” you add in a choke as you watch the vein in his forearm strain against his skin as his fingers curl, every stroke pushing you closer.

“Well I have some unfortunate news for you,” he whispers in your ear. “You see, you’ve been very bad,” he growls, lips grazing the skin of your neck, teasing you with their touch. “Traipsing around campus in this little getup, flaunting your ass to everyone like it doesn’t belong to me.”

You can’t help but groan at his possessive words- all you’ve wanted was to be his.

“Trying to tease me- trying to tempt me,” he continues, pressing his thumb harder into your clit, making you cry out in pleasure. “You’ve been a very bad girl, Hazel… And bad girls don’t get the privilege of being filled and fucked till they scream,” he taunts as you whimper in frustration. “They don’t get to be pounded till they can’t walk anymore- till they can’t think anymore,” he says, nipping your burning skin at the base of your neck between his words. “You haven’t earned that privilege, Miss Thompson,” he said, his mouth finally planting itself above your collarbone, warm tongue swirling against your skin before harshly sucking on it, making you moan loudly in euphoria.

“How do I earn it?” You beg desperately through panting breath.

“Ohoho, my darling…” you hear him chuckle below you, his face lifting up to look at you with a devilish smile. His mouth hovers above yours as he looks up at you with wide blackened eyes in pity, warm breath taunting you as it washes over your tender lips- bitten raw from countless bitten back screams. “Did you fuck yourself one too many times for me this weekend?” He asks in a mocking tone as he pouts. “You’ve already forgotten what I said? Too cock-drunk for daddy to remember what he told you?” He pushes you down to your elbows, then grinds his hips into yours, his fingers pulsing rapidly within you. He presses his forehead into yours, nostrils flaring, pupils blown-out as he growls into you, “You’re not going to touch my cock- you’re not going to feel my cock- you’re not even going to so much as see my cock for the next four years. I hope that little grab you tried earlier in my trousers will be enough to tide you over until graduation, because you’re going to spend the rest of your Masters Degree replaying it- replaying this- the time you came so close to getting fucked by your Professor- night after night all alone in your bed, until you it drives you mad. I’ll be surprised if you don’t start touching yourself in classes after this… you’ll spend the next four years crawling at the thought of getting to feel my cock inside of you. That’s a decent enough punishment, don’t you agree?” He says menacingly, your clit burning with pleasure under his thumb as he coaxes your orgasm closer.

You shake your head furiously, your need to be fucked by him clouding your mind in such a thick haze of lust you can’t seem to think straight as you ride the high of pleasure.

“No? You don’t agree?” He asks threateningly. Suddenly, he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you whimpering, shaking against him, the overwhelming emptiness leaving you feeling deranged. You nod desperately- anything to get his fingers back inside you.

“That’s my smart girl,” he coos sweetly. You feel his fingers pushing back inside you, the relief almost sending tears to your eyes as your elbows give out. Your Professor catches you with his other hand, holding you up as he pumps his fingers faster. “That’s my smart girl. Yes baby, you’re right,” he says as he kisses your forehead tenderly. “You earned your punishment and you’re taking it so well for daddy.”

He places slow gentle kisses on your face, your voice emitting an endless stream of moans and whining, teetering so closely to the edge of your climax, you don’t think you could remember your name if he asked you.

“Shhh, you don’t need to worry about that now. Right now you need to come for daddy. Can you do that for me baby girl? That’s it, you sound so beautiful when you scream, my angel. Moan for me just like that, there you go,” he says as you buck your hips uncontrollably against his relentless fingers, unravelling in his grasp. “Do you need daddy to fuck you a little harder with his fingers? Is that it? Such a needy girl…” he taunts with a smile, your climax only seconds away as the pleasure begins to overflow inside of you. “Are you ready to cum for daddy? Yes? Yes, I think so too, baby. Be a good girl and cum for me. All over my fingers. Ah- that’s it. Good girl, just like that. Perfect… My perfect girl…” he mutters the last few words into your skin as your orgasm bursts through your core, spreading through your body to your fingertips and toes, electric waves of pleasure splintering you from within as you scream. You shudder in his grip, legs shaking against his hips as your eyes roll back into your head. Pleasure explodes and pulses within you as his fingers slow with the settling of your body, leaving you limp in the strong grasp of his arm. The pleasure envelops you, slowly bringing you back to consciousness as you catch your breath from the release, relief flooding your body after weeks of aching. You eventually open your eyes only to find your Professor looking down at his hand, still between your legs.

“Look at this pretty little mess you made for me,” he says, tilting his head as admires the juices coating his dripping hand. He moves his fingers around inside you curiously, pulling them in and out as he plays with your wetness, periodically looking up to watch you as you jerk and jolt at his movements, too sensitive to be played with after such a strong climax, but too drained to stop him.

“Feel that? Do you feel my fingers inside you?” He asks you softly. You shiver as he cradles you closer to him, his fingers still toying with you, then manage to nod your head twice. “Memorize that. Because you’re not going to feel them for a very. Long. Time.”

You can’t help the whimpers that escape your lips as he withdraws his fingers. He looks down at you with an indecipherable look as his eyes travel over your face. Then, he leans down, placing a single gentle kiss on your lips, his mouth moving carefully and purposefully as a new kind of flutter awakens in your core. When your lips finally part, you watch as he steps away, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the juices from his hand.

“You’re forgiven for your behavior,” he starts quietly, wiping each finger meticulously. “But if you try to tempt me like that again, I promise the next punishment won’t be nearly as pleasant for you,” he says without looking at you. “You’re dismissed.”

You stand up in a daze, furrowing your brow in confusion as you walk towards the door obediently, too fucked-out to do much more than simply follow his command. You open the door, glancing back at your teacher once more, his back now facing you as he looks out the window of his office before you leave, closing the door behind you. You lean against it, the click of the lock a minute later causing you to flinch. You rest your head back against the glass window of the door, catching your breath as you play through what just happened, the wet mess between your legs becoming more noticeable outside the steamy haze of the office.

It didn’t make sense. Why didn’t he fuck you? Did he not want to? That wouldn’t make sense. He didn’t have to touch you, and yet he went out of his way to make you cum anyways? Eagerly cooing every sweet nothing you could have possibly wanted into your ear when he could have just sent you home… That only made the mystery of him not fucking you even more confusing. He had every opportunity to fuck you just now, and yet he didn’t even so much as stroke himself. Maybe your sexual desire wasn’t as mutual as you’d thought it was…

A sudden sound shakes you from your spiral. You scan the empty hall, waiting for the sound to repeat itself in the hopes of identifying it. You stand there quietly, ears perked. You hear it again, realizing the sound was coming from behind you.

A whimper.

You turn, then reach as high as you can on your tiptoes to the tiny sliver of glass that hadn’t been covered in newspaper.

Just barely, you see him. The two fingers that had just been inside you, the same one’s he’d just cleaned in front of you now in his mouth, his eyes closed as he sucks on them. You can’t see his other hand, hidden behind the desk, but you slowly piece together what he’s doing, the rapid rhythmic movement in his lap paired with his soft whimpers finally clicking in your mind. You catch yourself as your hand drifts back down between your legs, clenching it into a tight fist before you could do anything crazy. You can’t get caught out here- another teacher could walk by at any moment and see you straining on your toes to spy on your teacher in his private quarters. No, this you’d have to enjoy later. You let yourself watch him pump himself a another minute longer, taking extra care to memorize every whimper before promptly running down the hall, desperate to get home so you could replay the look on his face when he caught his bottom lip with his teeth and chewed it, hair bouncing with the speed of his hand before looking down with a pained expression at the small crumpled pile of black lace on his desk…

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finkinthisfrew · 6 months

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TEACHER'S PET (Pt.4)

cw: 18+, teacher/student, slow burn, pining, public arousal, public nudity, vomit (I'm so sorry- it's brief), v inappropriate :)

Since most of y'all were okay with another (accidental) chapter of buildup/tension/pining, here you are (any complaints that they haven't fucked yet can be disposed of directly in the garbage- good things come to those who wait <3 )

Teacher's Pet Part 4

You barge through the door of the bar, your blood boiling, what was lust before now turning into anger as you storm towards the bar, your eyes burning your anger into the back of his head where he sits, chatting with the same band mate as before. You tear at the buttons of your Professors coat, wrenching it off of you and tossing it on his lap as step between him and his tall drummer friend. You lean in front of him across the bar towards the same bartender that’d been drooling over you mere minutes ago, painting on your most seductive smile.

“Hazel,” you hear your Professor warn quietly as you flutter your eyelashes at the bartender, ordering another drink from him.

“Maybe when you get off we could get out of here,” you say loudly with a cheeky grin to the bartender as he hands you your drink, blatantly ignoring your Professor. You slide a few bills across the bar, letting your fingers linger on the bartenders hand, just long enough for your Professor to open his mouth before swiftly turning around and walking away. You don’t even hear the bartender as he sputters and stutters at you while he drools over your backside. No, all you care about is the brief flash of fury you caught in your Professors eyes as you turned, the image now playing over and over in your mind as you walk with purpose back to the dance floor.

You see Bex in the back, lips locked with a new man. You have no idea what happened to the last guy, but you can’t focus on that now. You’re on a mission. You scan the crowd, spotting a familiar face on the edge of the dance floor chatting with a girl you don’t recognize. You walk up behind him, tapping him on the shoulder, pleased to see a smile of curiosity on the bass player’s face as he turns to meet your flirtatious gaze.

“Hi, I’m so sorry to interrupt,” you say, running your hand down his large bicep lightly as you ignore the look of murder thrown at you by the girl he’d been speaking with. “I just had to say, you played so well- the show was amazing!”

“Oh thank you! That’s very kind of you,” he says with a charming smile, tilting his head in intrigue as he takes a step closer to you, his large muscled body towering over you.

He is quite handsome, you realize. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so difficult to make your Professor jealous after all…

“Fancy a dance?” You ask with an innocent smile, gesturing behind you with your thumb.

“I’ve been waiting all night for someone to ask me,” he replies with a big grin, taking your hand in his as he pulls you onto the dance floor.

It’s not long before the two of your are grinding, running your hands all over each other, losing track of whose is whose. You’re having so much fun, but nothing is more rewarding, nor delicious than the look on your Professor’s face every time you look over. It doesn’t matter how much time passes (not that you’re a good judge of character while drunk), every time you take a peek at your Professor, he’s exactly where you left him: leaning against the bar, arms crossed, watching you with a scorching glare on his face. You hum happily as you grind against the giant muscled man behind you, closing your eyes and imagining that it was someone else behind you…

You open your eyes once more and smile devilishly as you spot your Professor’s glare once more.

“I’m thirsty- shots?” You yell to the bassist who nods with a smile. You weave your way through the crowd of bodies straight, and this time the bassist leads you over to your Professor. He nods at him cheekily, missing the lack of your Professor’s reciprocation when he turns to order a round of shots for all three of you. He passes them out and holds his up to cheers, your Professor tossing it back without waiting.

“To new friends,” the bassist smiles warmly to you as he clinks his glass against yours.

“Hopefully not just friends for much longer,” you say suggestively without breaking eye contact before tilting your head back and downing the shot. He raises his eyebrows with a smile as he takes his own shot, impressed by your forwardness. This was one step too far though, your Professor’s loud voice commanding his friends attention.

“Ross, can I speak with you for a mo-”

“Oh my god, I’m sorry to interrupt, but this is my favorite song,” you groan with excitement as you bounce on your toes excitedly, grabbing onto Ross’s arm and dragging him back to the dance floor. There was no way you were going to let him interrupt your plans- not after what he said in the alley…

“Talk after, mate!” Ross yells, holding up his index finger to your Professor as he follows you back onto the dance floor.

You realize as you stumble after Ross that you’re finally starting to feel a bit drunk. You savor the inhibition, letting your body move closer against Ross’s as you dance. You close your eyes, allowing the relaxing feeling to take over your body, lulling you into a haze as you feel Ross’s hands run sensually over your stomach, their touch the last memory you have of the night…

——

The pounding in your head wakes you up and the smell of something acrid fills your nose as you groan loudly, rolling over in your bed. But you realize very quickly that you’re not in your bed. Your eyes shoot wide open as you sit upright in the bed, the sudden movement making you wince in pain as your hangover protests. You scan the slightly spinning room, bright and white, the few simple modest wood furnishings in the room covered in endless piles of books, the only decoration on the walls being various shelves covered in more books as well as vinyls, CD’s, tapes… You look to your right, the culprit of the smell sitting in a large metal bowl on the wooden floor beside you, a wave of nausea hitting you along with the stench. You pinch your nose in an effort to not add more of your stomach’s contents to the bowl when the thought strikes you. You look down to your body in a moment of terror, comforted slightly when you confirm that you’re clothed. Another moment passes and fear seeps in again when you realize you aren’t wearing your own clothes. You touch the soft fabric of the washed out black long sleeve shirt and heather grey sweatpants underneath. You catch a whiff of something familiar… You clutch the shirt in your hand, bringing it to your nose, taking in the scent of cigarettes, chalk, and something a little spicy…

“I was starting to worry I’d have to dispose of a body pretty soon,” you hear in a familiar voice. You turn and freeze as you spot your Professor leaning against the doorway of the bedroom with his eyebrows raised, a mug of something steaming in his hand. He takes a sip as you look at him, and you frown in confusion, looking down at yourself in his bed once more.

“Nothing happened, in case you’re fretting,” he clarifies with a frown of distaste. You feel an odd combination of disappointment and relief- though the thought of sleeping with him thrills you, you don’t think you would have felt entirely comfortable if you hadn’t been conscious enough to remember it… It felt somewhat reassuring that he didn’t feel comfortable with it either.

“Why am I here then?” You grumble in annoyance before cursing loudly at the throb of pain in your head, running your hands down your face as you moan. You hear a soft chuckle come from the doorway. You feel your blood boil. “Got too jealous to let me go home with anyone else?” You taunt in a hiss.

“Miss Schwartz left without you,” you hear his tone darken. You open your eyes to see his face dark once again. “I’m not sure if you remember the rather unsavory characters draping themselves all over you last night after you finished your little rebellious performance for me…” he trails off with a grumble.

“Oh you mean your friend from the band?” You say smugly, trying not to wince from your pounding headache as you lay back against the pillow with your arms crossed proudly.

“No, Ross left after your third round of shots,” your Professor says in a bored tone. But his eyes don’t look so bored, the anger simmering behind them causing you to look away, their intensity too much for your hungover brain to handle right now. “This was much later into the night,” you hear him say as you begin to sulk.

“Who says I was performing for you?” you mumble stubbornly with a frown, clamping your hand to your forehead when the sound from your own mouth banged like a gong in your forehead. The ringing continues in your head as you look down at your lap to steady your breath, but you realize quickly that the room has become silent. You turn to look at your Professor and are met with a cold, unimpressed look. Another beat passes and he stands up straight, eyes boring into you.

“There’s pain medication on the counter in the kitchen. You can see yourself out, Miss Thompson,” he says before turning to walk away.

“Wait!” You call out, the room spinning a bit as you sit up. Your Professor hesitates at the door, and you jump on the opportunity before he can disappear again. “Can’t we just talk about this? Us? Like adults?” You plead angrily, his unnecessary kindness and cool behavior making you more confused than ever.

You watch him turn, his eyes narrowing on you.

“There is nothing to talk about, Miss Thompson. Now, please help yourself to something decent to wear home. I’d rather you not be seen leaving my building in that handkerchief from last night…” he ends with a mutter before making to turn again, but you’re too enraged to let him leave you in shambles once again. Whether it was the intimacy of being in his home or the residual thrill from his promise last night, you’re not sure, but something makes you finally snap.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” You yell as he freezes in the doorway, his eyebrows raised slightly in shock. “You act like the thought of sleeping with me would send us both to death row, then you tell you me you’re going to fuck me senseless, but,” you point your finger for emphasis, “Not for four years! Then you tell me to leave, and now I’m waking up in your bed?!? Seriously, what the fuck!”

You catch your breath, waiting for a response as you watch him slump slightly against the doorframe looking at the floor in silence. You stare at him expectantly and he eventually he looks up at you, a glimmer of sadness in his eyes before he averts his eyes once again.

“I didn’t want you to get… hurt,” he says quietly, his voice faltering slightly as he shifts his eyes uncomfortably. He pauses for a moment, looking at the floorboards in silence before he clears his throat of the emotion in his voice. His eyes flicking back up to you, his gaze more firm this time. “I didn’t want you to wake up alone in a strange home with no explanation,” he finishes abruptly. Your heart flutters when you realize how much he’d gone out of his way to keep you safe- to take care of you. To do something so incredibly risky and incredibly selfless- even after you’d been so reckless last night. You feel touched as you blush, raising your hand to your cheek as you hear your Professor clear his throat again.

“This is a very dangerous game to play, Miss Thompson,” he says formally now as you look back up to see him emotionless once again. “And if anything showed me you’re not ready to play it, it was last night.” He pauses, scanning you one last time before standing up straight again. “Now. I’m very late for a rehearsal. Good day, Miss Thompson…” he says darkly before turning into the hall, leaving you alone, more dazed and confused than ever. If it weren’t for the emotional whiplash, you would have yelled after him again, but instead you sit with your head spinning as you listen to his footsteps fade behind the slam of a door, the sound dying off into the distance.

As you sit there stewing in your frustration, a fresh wave of anger hits you, this one much stronger than the previous ones. Very quickly you realize that with this anger came a wave of nausea.

Toilet. You need a toilet. Now.

You get up from the bed quickly and dash down the hall directionless. You see a door just before the entrance to the living room and spot the toilet, diving into the bathroom just in time for the second, even stronger wave of nausea. But not before you catch the sight of a couch in the corner of your eye, rumpled grey blanket and white pillow still arranged on it as if someone had just slept there…

You heave into the toilet, annoyed at the familiarity of the sensation, realizing you must have thrown up in here multiple times last night as you rest your clammy forehead against the cool porcelain. The only thing missing from the ghost of last nights memory, you realize, is the soothing sensation of hand rubbing tender circles in your back…

— —

You tighten your coat around you as a particularly strong gust of wind hits you, mumbling a string of curse words at yourself for having decided to wear such a short skirt on such a chilly fall day as you arrive at campus early Monday morning. It’s been over a week since you’d found yourself at your Professor’s house that morning and you can’t help but smile smugly to yourself as you walk up the steps into the familiar brick building, several hours before you needed to be there.

The Monday after the concert, you’d decided to skip class- your mind too scrambled, too fried to be able to sit through an entire class with Professor Healy teaching. The following Friday, you showed up expecting your teacher to ignore you, make his own life easier by just snubbing you, but to your surprise (and let’s be honest- delight) his stern gaze followed you as you entered the room just in time for class to start.

“Nice of you to join us today, Miss Thompson. I presume whatever ailment prevented you from attending my class is gone now?” He’d said loudly, the class silent as they waited nervously for your response.

“Yes, I’m feeling much better, Professor,” you said meekly, standing awkwardly in front of his desk. You stared at him with pink-tinged cheeks, taking in his beauty for the first time in almost a week. It felt impossible you could have forgotten just how handsome he was, and yet somehow you had, his features even more perfect in person than the countless times you’d reimagined him while rubbing useless circles into your clit, laying frustrated in bed as the memory of your Professor burnt an endless need within you.

Suddenly you realized the room staring at you, as well as your teacher, the look on his face expectant- you didn’t even hear his question.

“Huh?” You said, blushing immediately at your ineloquence. The smirk on your Professor’s face only deepened the shade of pink on yours as he repeated himself.

“Are you ready?” He asked, eyebrows raised patronizingly.

This is a very dangerous game to play… and if anything showed me you’re not ready to play it… echoed over and over in your head.

“Yes, Professor,” you nodded quietly in a daze, still standing in your spot.

“… If you’re ready to begin the lesson, then I suggest you find your seat, Miss Thompson,” he said sternly, but you weren’t fooled. You could see the delight at your dazed state dancing behind his eyes. You turned on your heels, fuming inside before sitting down, realizing that if you wanted to play his game, you were going to have to show him how ready you really were.

Now, as you stroll down the hall only a few days later, you practically shiver with excitement at the thought of your plan as you climb the large staircase inside up towards the teachers floor. Once you arrive at the door with its simple brass plaque that read ‘Prof. Healy’, the window covered with several sheets of newspaper for privacy, you knock before trying the door handle, the door swinging open with ease. You’d never seen his office before, but it was exactly like you’d expected after having seen his home- full of warm brown wooden furnishings and covered head to toe in books, the walls decorated in old exhibition posters and prints of various paintings. It was academic and handsome, just like him. Pleased when you see the office empty, you close the door shut behind you, then hurry over to his desk, eager to get in and out quickly. You reach under your skirt and begin to pull down your already soaked panties, your plan exciting you well before you stepped onto campus this morning. You place them in the centre of his desk, smiling at the glistening fabric in satisfaction before scurrying back out, pulling the office door shut.

You planned ahead this time, wearing a black skirt today which you were grateful for, as the first few classes were torture to get through- the thought of your Professor finding your wet panties on his desk all too delicious for you to do much more than take autopilot notes in your classes as you imagined all the different faces he might make when spotting them. You’d just begun to daydream about him touching himself in his office, the thought so filthy, so thrilling, so forbidden, you could feel yourself behind to drip down your leg when you finally headed towards your last and favorite class of the day. You bit your lip as you walked towards the door of the classroom in an effort to hide your smile of excitement, holding your breath in anticipation at what was to come.

You keep your eyes on your seat in the front row as you enter the room. You can feel his eyes burning on your skin as you walk. You sit down in your seat slowly, and take your time as you pull out your things from your backpack one by one, carefully placing them on your desk, organizing them neatly while savoring the burn of his stare. You sit up straight, cross your legs, and lace your fingers together in your most innocent goody-two-shoes pose before finally lifting your eyes up to meet his.

His stare shakes you to your core, his dark eyes glaring at you unimpressed from under heavy eyelids, his thick curls covering his subtly furrowed brow. His hands are clasped in front of his mouth, propped up on his elbows as he runs his thumb over and over his bottom lip. The last time you’d seen his eyes smolder with this much intensity, he’d dragged you out to the alley to tell you he was going to fuck you senseless after graduation. Either his patience was wearing thin, or he had understood your message that you were ready to play his game, but either way, you could tell he wasn’t planning on letting this go anytime soon. You simply smile back at him, too pleased with yourself not to luxuriate in your obvious success.

The class begins as normal and you try your best to focus as you take notes, writing down your Professor’s words ravenously, an effort not to draw hearts around each one. You’re grateful for the lack of class participation during the lesson. There was no way you’d be able to construct a coherent sentence, let alone one worth participation marks- not when every moment of silence between his words filled with the images of your Professor pumping himself in his hand to your panties. By the time the end of your class nears, you can feel you've soaked through your skirt- significantly.

You glance at the clock- only a few minutes of class left. No time for homework prep this time… Your eyes hurry back to your Professor- so little of your precious time left to look at your gorgeous teacher. You scan his body once more as he paces the front of the class when you notice a curious shape in his pocket, the fabric on his right side moving a little differently than on the left. Then, you spot it. A little sliver of black lace peeking out of his pocket, imperceivable to anyone who wasn’t looking for it, the black of his pants masking its presence.

He pocketed them. Professor Healy has your panties in his pocket.

You recross your legs, squeezing them tightly as you do, the itch between your legs desperate for some relief as you all but drool at him. The last minutes of class slip away like sand between your fingers, and suddenly everyone is gathering their things and leaving the room. You shake yourself from your daze, then smile to yourself as you take your time with finishing up your notes for the day and placing your belongings in your backpack. When you’re sure you’re the last person in the class, you slowly stand up.

“Excuse me, Professor?” You say loudly, your tone dripping with innocence. You wait for him to look up at you, eyes already challenging you before you turn, then slowly bend over, revealing your lack of undergarments- your glistening cunt entirely on display as you bend over to retrieve your backpack from the ground. You could practically feel his eyes, their gaze caressing the skin between your legs, a fresh drip of wetness rolling down the inside of your thigh. You stand back up straight and shiver with pleasure when you turn, the look on your Professors face all too delicious as you approach him.

“I finished the homework you assigned,” you say as if you hadn’t just exposed yourself entirely to your Professor.

“You didn’t have any assignments this week, Miss Thompson,” he replies. His tone is bored but the look on his face is anything but, the lust practically dripping from his parted lips.

You step even closer to him. There’s less than a foot between you two now.

“I don’t think you assigned it to everyone, Professor,” you say, your voice thick with desire. “I’m pretty sure you only asked me to touch myself at the thought of you, sir,” you say under fluttering eyelashes. You watch as his mouth tightens, nostrils flaring as he deliberately holds himself back, desperate not to let you win.

“If you think this is going to wo-“ he begins in a threatening voice, but you cut him off.

“I thought it was only fair to give you something to think about when you touch yourself, Professor,” you say innocently, looking up at him with your biggest doe eyes. “I’m just trying to be the best student I can be for you, sir,” you blink up at him.

“And you thought exposing yourself in my classroom would make you teacher’s pet?” He says, his voice gravelly with restrained desire.

You nod at him.

“I’ll be your pet,” you say, your eyes softening to something more sincere. “I’ll be anything you want me to be,” you breathe, tilting your chin up towards him, your lips only a couple inches from his.

“How about clothed and not a nuisance in my class?” he offers through gritted teeth.

You reach up on your tip toes, brushing your lips against his neck as you purr into his ear.

“If you wanted me clothed you shouldn’t have hid these somewhere so tempting…” you whisper as you slip your hand into his pocket where he’d tucked your panties. Just as your fingers enclose around the familiar delicate lace, you smile when you come across something even more exciting. You hear his breath hitch as your fingers brush against his length, warm and hard against your fingertips. You suck in a gasp when you feel his hand on your wrist, gripping you tightly as he removes you from his pocket. Your heart pounds in your chest with anticipation, as he looks down at you with a fury so deep, you can barely stay upright from the weakness in your knees.

Then, he utters one word. One sinfully delectable word.

“Detention.”

part 5

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