57 comments/ 100362 views/ 18 favorites The Professor By: SomeAussieGuy A university professor crosses the line. * * * * * Click Here to listen. (35 min/mp3) * * * * * The Professor "I'm going to do whatever I want to you," he whispered in her ear. "Anything I want." He slapped her ass cheek, hard. The impact made a sharp cracking sound, and the woman beneath him shuddered and writhed in her restraints, but she made no sound. He could see her clenching her jaw, and sense the tension in her body, a tension it was his mission to release. He slapped her again on her round ass, and she vibrated soundlessly, lowering her head, forcing her shoulders into a delicious contour of ridges and curves. He slipped around slightly, and slapped the side of her right breast, fairly hard. It made her suck in breath and tense up even more. She needed to surrender, to lose herself, but refused. He had his work cut out for him. "Do you think you're ready?" he asked. "Do you think you can hold out like this?" She gritted her teeth and nodded defiantly, and he stood up straight, dizzy with anticipation and desire, the desire to force the beautiful woman below him to submit, to release, to surrender everything. She shifted on the piece of furniture, getting herself as comfortable (if that was the word) as possible, preparing for what she knew was coming. He reached to the table for the crop. They'd met almost a year earlier, and had had a friendly relationship for that time, a genial kind of casual knowledge of each other. They were not couple material, he knew; she was a professor at the school, an exclusive, private university, while he simply worked in the maintenance department. He'd actually changed his feeling towards her when, on a horribly cold night, her heat had gone out in the middle of the night. He was on call, and since she lived in school-owned housing, it was his job to get her 'back up and running'. That night, after fixing the furnace and setting things properly, she'd made coffee and they'd sat at her kitchen table, talking, for several hours. He'd been very surprised at how much he enjoyed her company, and since that time, had looked forward to seeing her at any opportunity. She'd called him during break that year, and they'd gotten together for drinks at a place away from the school, and the same thing happened: they'd talked for hours. The next time he called her, and after the drinks they'd ended up at his house, in bed. She'd indicated during the fucking that she enjoyed, or rather craved, the sense of a loss of control, of being dominated; it had surprised and somewhat alarmed him, but she explained that her work required a surface act, and a social control, that wore her out. She told him, in rarified language, that she liked 'To not be in control all the time.' Her sex life was that time, where she could let go and discard her own power. He was intrigued by the possibilities. The next time, he'd tied her hands with his tie; she'd loved it. After that, things had progressed, and gotten rougher, but she'd had no qualms about any of it. Now, here she was, strapped to the chair, contoured and fitted to her body specifically, held in with black hook and loop straps, blindfolded and wearing a loose, short satin gown and matching, filmy thong, both in a brilliant yellow. She had very pale skin, with a few blemishes, and thick hips, with a large, firm ass. Her back, he thought, was her best feature: muscular, with strong shoulder blades, and a tapering torso that defined her waist wonderfully. He loved to fuck her from behind, grasping that waist and pounding into her without restraint. She had light reddish-brown hair, and kind of a severe face that changed when she was relaxed; he saw that face most often during sex. A prominent, pointed nose and large, heart-shaped lips defined her face. Her breasts were medium-sized and very round, with large nipples that poked down when hard; she had a little bit of a belly, but but all in all she was a womanly figure, and he liked her body. He liked it a lot. Her ass was exposed, the thin line of the thong almost disappearing between the rounded, pale globes. He palmed that ass briefly, one more time, then leaned forward and whispered in her ear again. "...anything I want". She shuddered again, and braced herself. She'd told him she'd never been whipped, or struck in any way, ever, in her entire life. She'd never been spanked or slapped or even been in a juvenile fight; the very concept of physical striking was utterly strange and new to her. This was all new. And, he figured, very exciting. The Professor This is autobiographical about how I came to appreciate and love black women. I grew up in south Texas with all the bias and prejudice that could be taught to a kid. I attended a large public university during the 1960s in the days before student loans. I was a commuter student because I couldn't afford to live in the dorms or apartments. My parents told me I could live at home if I went to college but they couldn't pay for my education so I held down several part-time jobs and took course loads of 19-21 semester hours just to graduate from college before the military draft grabbed me without any choices. One of the jobs I had held since I was nine was mowing lawns. I kept my lawn mowing gear in the trunk of my car along with a change of clothes and an empty gas can. I needed to be ready to make a few dollars when the opportunity presented itself. As usual between classes at the university I was in the student union building basement checking the employment opportunities for any short-term employment that gave me the flexible schedule I needed to study. I ran my fingers down the 3"X5" index cards pinned to the bulletin board and pulled the one looking for someone to mow a lawn for a sociology professor. The card listed the office hours, office locale and telephone number to contact. I looked at my watch I had an hour to catch P.C. Wright, PhD., in the office to follow up on this lawn mowing job. I always wore tan chino slacks, Weejuns and a blue oxford cloth button-down collar shirt -- I guess I looked like a typical white frat boy -- I wasn't I couldn't afford the dues, the booze and the sorority girls. I worked, studied and went to class -- I slept when I could -- at nineteen I was ten feet tall and bullet-proof. I no longer had time to lift weights or run like I did in high school -- my part-time jobs kept me in good condition. I got to the Liberal Arts building and sprinted up the stairs to office 214D, the name plate on the door listed, 'Phylissia C. Wright, Ph.D.' "Okay," I shrugged, "I didn't expect a woman but that's okay money is money." I knocked on the door and in a moment it opened, "Yes may I help you?" "Yes ma'am, I'm Steven Edwards responding to this ad for someone to mow a lawn," I explained. "First of all Mister (with emphasis) Edwards I am not ma'am I am Doctor (with emphasis) Wright and you will address me as such," her tone was inciting and caustic. I held up my hand, "I beg your pardon - my parents raised me to respect anyone that I don't know personally with sir or ma'am especially individuals who have earned titles such as doctor or reverend or attorney and I don't know you but I will tell you this I won't work for someone I don't respect and you just made my list. I came looking to mow a lawn not to be chastised for being respectful and courteous. I don't need this kind of headache to cut one lawn -- here's your card ma'am you'll probably want to repost it. Good afternoon ma'am." I turned and walked away. In a fast second I head the clicking of heels on the concrete hallway as they echoed louder coming toward me. "Great I need this like I need a third eye," I thought. Then I hear, "Mr. Edwards...Mr. Edwards...please wait a minute." I stopped and turned around and watched Dr. Wright managing to 'run' to where I had stopped. Her skirt was tight and the heels weren't made for running and she really wasn't accustomed to chasing down anyone with her attitude. As she got closer I could see that she was clearly upset -- I guessed correctly my words stung her into reality of her behavior and bias toward me. She was a bit breathless, "Mr. Edwards please forgive me...I...uh...I jumped to a conclusion...I never expected to see a white boy...uh man answering my job card." This was an awkward moment. She was vulnerable because her academic position dictated that she be open to any circumstance in social norms, mores and customs and our exchange shattered that perception of openness. "You're forgiven ma'am. Is that all? If so I need to get to the library ma'am." She shocked me as she extended her hand, "I am sorry for my rudeness and I do need someone to mow my lawn. I just bought this little house and the grass is almost knee deep - would you be willing to come look at it and see if it is a job that you could do?" Her apology and softened attitude caused me to rethink her situation and it also caused me to look at her in a kinder light. No doubt she was intelligent. She was the first black woman I ever shook hands with. She was tall -- 5'8", from what I could tell very well proportioned, her hair was piled up on her head, her skin was flawless, her nails long and manicured no polish, her lipstick if there was any blended with her skin tone. It's funny what we notice when we're not being attacked. "Yes ma'am I'd be happy to come take a look at your lawn," I smiled politely to her, "when would be a good time?" "Well this afternoon or Saturday morning -- is either time okay?" I nodded, "Yes ma'am, what time this afternoon?" She looked at her watch, "I have office hours for another thirty minutes if you're free after that Mr. Edwards you could follow me to my house." I agreed, "Okay. Where are you parked and what color and make of car do you drive?" We worked out the details and within a half hour I was driving to the faculty lot to follow Dr. Wright to her home. She was driving a fire engine red Triumph TR-6 convertible with the top down, Ray-Ban horn-rimmed sunglasses and driving gloves. 'Nice. At least she has good taste in cars and how to drive them.' We traveled to the acceptable section of the fashionable Heights section where professional blacks lived in middle class comfort. I surveyed her lawn as I pulled in -- it was a disaster -- really overgrown. "Are you scared by this jungle Mr. Edwards?" she smiled and it did her face a good turn -- she went from being shrewish to gorgeous with one smile. "No doc. I've handled worse I can assure you. Let me walk around and look this job over and I'll give you a fair price." I took a careful assessment of the work to get the 'yard' under control and respectable enough to call it a 'lawn.' Dr. Wright had gone inside to change while I walked around and then she came out onto the porch that wrapped completely around this Victorian-era bungalow. She was sitting on the porch swing as I finished. "What do you think about getting control of this mess," she asked. I told her it would take two or three cuts otherwise a onetime cut would kill off the St. Augustine grass if too much was lopped off. "So how much for the first cut Mr. Edwards," she asked. "Ten dollars each cut which includes trimming, raking, bagging and sweeping," I stated. She nodded and seemed to calculate what that meant, "How often between cuts?" "Once a week ma'am," I told her. "Okay. When can you start," she was in a hurry to get the yard cleaned up. "I can start now I just need to get a can of gas and a place to change into my work clothes," I told her. "Sounds great just let me know when you're finished," with that she went inside with the screen door banging closed behind her. I went back down the street to the corner Esso station and got a gallon of gas and changed into my work clothes in the men's room. In a few minutes I was unpacking the lawnmower from the trunk and proceeded to fill the gas tank. It would take a gallon of gas to get this mess mowed. I walked around and picked up junk so as not to ruin the blade. After about three hours work the lawn was mowed, raked and trimmed. I parked the lawnmower in the shade in front of my car to cool down -- I had run it out of gas so I could close the trunk without worry about it blowing up on me. The front porch was now in the shade and I was sitting on the bottom step wiping my sweaty face on a towel when Dr. Wright came onto the porch. I stood and turned to face her. She was barefoot, wearing a sleeveless cotton dress with her long wavy black hair pulled back into a ponytail. She looked like a teenager -- in fact she was beautiful. "Dr. Wright the first cut is finished," I told her as she surveyed the yard's first trim in a while. She walked around the porch looking over the yard, I followed her. She turned and faced me, "It's beautiful." "Thank you doc," as I wiped my face. It was hot and I was sweating a lot. "I'll be right back Mr. Edwards," she went inside and in a few minutes she came out with a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses. She handed me fifteen dollars, "I owe you much more than this but you said ten and it's too cheap for your work. How about some iced tea?" "That sounds great," I smiled as I sat down on the first porch step. She patted the empty spot on the porch swing next to her, "Come sit here it's cooler." "Ma'am I'm sweaty and dirty and well, you're freshly scrubbed -- I don't want to get you or the swing dirty and sweaty," I protested. S he wasn't taking no for an answer, "Please Steven?" When she called me Steven it was sweetly innocent and endearing. She had coaxed me over. I put my towel on the swing and sat down as she kicked the swing to a slow start, "Thank you for the fifteen dollars doc, there are some books I need to buy and this will sure take care of that," I confessed. We talked for a long while drinking tea and cooling off when finally she asked me an interesting question, "Have you ever kissed a black woman?" I felt my face flush, "No ma'am. The truth is I haven't kissed many girls...so I guess I'm inexperienced in that department." She smiled, "Steven you're a handsome man I find that hard to believe." I shook my head, "It's true doc. I haven't had much time to date and such. I have to pay for my college so...socially I'm a bit out of the swing of things." "It's Phylissia -- we can drop the 'ma'am' and 'doc'. Okay Steven?" I nodded, "yes ma'am...uh...Phylissia." I stared at her and she smiled sweetly, "What is it?" "Well...it's just...uh...you're a beautiful woman," I nodded and looked at my hands. "I'm black," she announced. "I noticed that about you," I smiled. She grinned and grabbed my forearm, "Thank you that was generous." "I wasn't being generous I was trying to tell you I don't care what color your skin is -- you're beautiful. Probably the prettiest woman I've ever been around and certainly one of the most intelligent," I complimented her. "Steven about this morning when I was so ugly to you I watched my parents get treated badly and disrespectfully by white folks and they took it by smiling and saying 'yes sir' and 'yes ma'am'. It has always made me angry how they were treated," she confessed. "I can see why it would. I hope you know that I respect you as a professor and a woman," I smiled to her. She leaned toward me and kissed me. At first it was a sweet kiss on the lips and she didn't draw back she kept her lips near mine so I kissed her this time like I would a girlfriend and it was amazing. There was something boiling inside of us that we didn't see coming. A part of it was 'jungle fever' -- part of it was our work ethic of driving hard to succeed and missing out on real relationships and the other part was lust. As I pulled back and looked at her, "I'm not sorry for kissing you like that. You are a very sensual woman you caught me completely by surprise -- I've never been kissed like that," I admitted. She was breathing hard, "Come inside Steven. I need more than a kiss." My face flushed hot and red, "Okay...uh...Phylissia?" She turned and extend her hand to me, "Come with me baby." Whatever she wanted she was going to have that was certain -- I was enthralled with this woman. Once inside the door she wrapped her arms around me and kissed me, her tongue wrestling with mine, her breathing was short and fast, I could feel her nipples pressing against my sweat-soaked t-shirt that stuck to my skin. I suddenly realized that my hands were on her ass cheeks -- she was not wearing underwear. Our bodies were plastered against one another. We broke for a breath of air, "Phylissia I need to tell you something." She leaned back with her hands on my hips, panting, "What is it baby?" I was ashamed to tell her. "C'mon Steven," she prodded me. I blurted it out, "I'm a virgin." She took my hand and kissed it, "Come with me baby let's do this right. You need to remember this forever..." The Professor I felt nervous. I had spent time wondering if the e-mail I had received that morning was real or not. It said to meet with Professor G today at five in his room. The e-mail read that it had been sent from the professor's e-mail address. So, it couldn't be fake. The last time I looked I had had an A in Creative writing. I didn't think it could be about my grade. On my way there I walked along the sidewalk enjoying the warm spring air. I began to nervously straighten my clothing. I didn't have much farther to walk before I would be at the building where his classes were held. I pulled my tight fitting jeans up. They hugged my heart shaped ass just the way I liked them too. I pulled my snug pink shirt down so that it's creases were eliminated and it showed off my tiny, toned waistline and a small amount of cleavage. I smiled and buttoned a single of my thin grey jacket's buttons just under my bust. The bright pink surrounding my breast drew attention to them but I pretended not to notice. My jacket ruffled in the spring breeze and I closed my eyes enjoying the feeling. The more I thought about the meeting with Professor G the more my heart fluttered. I had a small crush on him. I had only told my roommate. She thought the age difference made it inappropriate but I didn't care. It wasn't anything big. I mean, it is not liked I had talked to him outside of class or anything. I just turned red whenever he called me out. I think I also enjoyed his attention a little more than I should have. He was a little more than thirty years my elder. I was only eighteen. I felt like the feelings I had for him were normal. I decided not to discuss it with my roommate any more. She obviously didn't like the idea of me falling for an older man. It made me feel sad because mine and the professor's relationship was only hypothetical and I needed someone to talk to. I pulled my phone from my pocket and tilted the screen so I could read the time in the sun's blinding light. I had five minutes until I was supposed to be there. I could see the building ahead. There were a few cars here and there but nothing that yelled anything out of the ordinary was happening. I suddenly felt nervous. "What-if's" started running through my mind. I took a deep breath as I approached the building and tried to shake my irrational anxiety. As I got closer I could see my reflection in the building's glass doors. I smiled at myself and ran a hand through my long chestnut hair to calm its windblown state. My amber eyes glowed in the afternoon sun. I looked down to my breast. Though they were not large they stood out from my chest in their natural perky positions. My nipples slightly showed through my lace bra and thin cotton shirt. I averted my eyes.I was finished looking myself over. "Okay, Enough worrying," I told myself aloud. I took a deep breath and entered the building. The air conditioning felt good against the exposed skin of my chest. It gave me chills that ran over my body leaving my nipples erect. You could definitely see them now. I paid them little attention and continued walking to the Professor's room. I arrived at his door and stared at the knob. My body was hesitant to go through the doorway. Maybe I could just pretend I didn't get the e-mail. He wouldn't have e-mailed me if it weren't important, I thought. This was enough to keep me from stalling any longer. I stepped into his room and closed the door behind me. Professor G looked up from a book and smiled. I felt blood running to my cheeks. "I'll bet that you're wondering why I asked you to meet me here?" the professor said taking off his glasses. "Yes, actually, I WAS wondering that because I have no idea." "Well, I asked you to come here so we could discuss your poetry." "Poetry?" I asked, confused. He hadn't given us any poetry assignments. He held up a small black book. "Last Friday as you were leaving I think you dropped this. I found it on the sidewalk as I was returning to my car. I was going to toss it before I saw that your name was in the front cover." My breath caught in my throat and my hand moved to my jacket pocket. I knew it wouldn't be there as I lowered my hand to it. My fingers plunged to the bottom to find nothing. I closed my eyes as wave after wave of embarrassment hit. The book in his hand wasn't just poetry. It was my journal. A journal that I had confided feelings in, particularly the ones about him. I had written everything in it in a poetic form so that it wouldn't be easily understood if it were ever found. Of course with my luck it had to be the professor I wrote about who found it. My face burned. I reached for the book and Professor G handed it over letting his soft hands drag along mine. He looked up at me curiously. I smiled and took a step forward feeling a sudden rush of heat pass though my body and mingle with my embarrassment. I stepped back realizing what I had done. He stood up from his chair and causally crossed the room to the doorway. I couldn't read his expression. "So, was everything in the book true?" I nodded finding I couldn't use my voice. Of course he understood it was a journal. He was, after all, a professor. Through the embarrassment I felt something else...something along the lines of hope. Had he read all of it? I wondered if he was mad, flattered, or if he was just never going to acknowledge my existence again. "So in your poetry I found that you continually referred to one of your instructors. What does he teach?" Professor G asked politely. I hesitated, "He teaches Creative Writing." The professor nodded. " There are only 2 people on this campus who teach that and one of them happens to be a woman. So that narrows this down some." I tried to dislodge the knot in my throat. I could feel the fear of rejection in my stomach. The professor leaned toward the door. Instead of opening it and telling me to leave he clicked the lock into place. I felt stirred. The little black book fell from my hands to the floor. I didn't pick it up or even acknowledge that it had fallen. The professor leaned against the door frame with his hands in the pockets of his slacks. "So is it true?" he asked. "Do you want me?" I felt myself getting hotter. I couldn't hold my tongue. I had to tell him. "Yes, I want you. I have wanted you." "Exactly how do you want me?" the professor asked with a slight smile. "I want to fuck you." I said bluntly. I unbuttoned my jacket and laid it across the nearest desk top. I crossed the room and stopped in front of the professor. My fear and embarrassment had left me and the only thing left was a burning want that made tingle all over."So, the question I'm wondering is, do you want me?" The professor hadn't taken his eyes off me. I didn't have to hear his answer to know that it was yes. I began to shed my shirt. I watched his expression as I slowly took it off. He seemed entranced as I lifted it above my head and threw it to the floor. My hands, once released from the shirt, stroked my shoulders and caressed my c-cups. My mocha colored nipples stood in attention under the thin lace of my bra. I teased them in between my fingers. The professor began to move toward me. I bit my bottom lip. He stroked my exposed sides leaving goosebumps on my sun kissed sun. His eyes devoured my shirtless state. His hands found my lower back and forcefully pulled me toward him. I put my hands to his chest to catch myself. I enjoyed the feeling of its solidness against my body. He rubbed his hands along me and I smiled in enjoyment. I loved the way he felt. I couldn't believe this was happening. If my roommate ever found out she would never speak to me again. I smiled to myself. This is me not caring, I thought. I stood on my tip toes and arched my back so that I could press my breast against his chest. I could feel his heart beating through my hands. I smiled up at him resting my chin on his chest. I then used his collar to pull him down to my height were I locked his lips against mine. I pushed against him letting my hands go up to his graying hair. Our tongues danced and as my hands fell to his shoulders. I broke the kiss letting my teeth catch his bottom lip. I released it just as quickly as I could stand upright on my own again. His hands moved down past my waist and began groping handfuls of my luscious ass. I reached for the top button of his shirt and began to undo them all. He quickly switched to the front of my jeans. I felt my breath catch as he grabbed hold of the button. He undid it in one quick motion and was working them down my thighs. My eyes widened. I finished pulling his shirt off and he lifted me up and sat me on a desk top freeing my legs from my pants. I sat before him in my white matching lace under garments. He stepped back seeming to admire my innocent looks. My legs fell apart at his gaze. I was burning for him. I could feel the moisture I was producing soaking my panties. I couldn't take him watching me anymore I needed him. I propped on my arms allowing my breast to jut forward. He stepped toward me and I grabbed his waist. I could feel his manhood against me. My teeth moved to the button of his pants. With a steady pull from the top corner of the fabric they popped open. I felt surprised as his large shaft sprang free from beneath his pants. "You look shocked," he said smiling proudly. "I just didn't expect it to be so...BIG." He smiled and worked his boxers down to the floor. He reached behind me to remove my revealing lace. I leaned forward and took his cock into my mouth. I heard a sharp intake of air and he slowly began to push against me. He thrust until he was hitting the back of my throat. I had taken all of his rod. He released my bra's clamp and my breast sprang free. They gave a soft bounce and I squeezed them before allowing them to go free. He withdrew from my mouth and I went down on him again. He pushed my face away and I finally released him. He took one of my nipples into his mouth. He worked it with his teeth. I let out a moan and my hands dropped to my lacy underwear. I rubbed myself through them. He steadily suckled my breast and my feeling of want was uncontainable. I grabbed his face pulling him towards mine. I gazed into his gorgeously dark eyes. His salt and pepper hair had fallen slightly into his face from his earlier comb-over. I was urgent with need, moving my body against his. "Fuck me!" I said hoarsely from the sheer amount of want that was radiating from my body. "I need you to fuck me." Those dark eyes which were already glazed seem to roll back at these words. He grabbed the lace of my underwear and pulled them off and let them fall to the floor. I spread my legs wide allowing him a full view of all I had to offer. He drug his finger along my navel and down to the pink of my pussy. Its cleanly shaven lips were slightly open. The moisture from my need was visible. "Please..." I begged letting my head fall back. He grabbed my thighs and pulled them towards him. He lowered himself to his knees and breathed upon my exposed sex. I shivered at the warmth on my bare skin. He began to trace my smooth lips with his tongue. I leaned back not able to take it anymore. He began to lightly lick. I pulled his hair as he licked and steadily spread those warm sensations throughout my body. He moved his fingers to my opening and easily entered from my natural lubricants. I gasped as he moved in and out. He began to rub against the upper inside of my walls quickly jilling me until thought and speech went away. I screamed out completely caught off guard by intense pleasure. Tensing I reached up and pulled my own hair as he continued his soft licks and sucks to my delicate folds. His fingers didn't stop but increased in speed. My legs stretched out around his head and my toes curled in response. I felt more and more disoriented as my pleasure built. My back arched and I felt a surge. Hot, watery, female cum soaked his bare arm. He smiled getting back to his feet. I laid lifeless for a minute before sitting up again with my dripping flower open to him. He helped me to my feet and led me across the room to his desk. I smiled as he cleared it off. I had figured we would work our way to the desk. He turned me around. I laid across the desk. My full ass wiggled in the air and my pussy was ready again. I snapped my teeth impatiently waiting to be pleased. He gave my ass a smack and I jumped. He laughed at my start. My ass jiggled and I turned my head to watch him. He eased his huge cock to my entrance and began slowly moving; teasing me. I moaned. I slid back and he began to move deeper. He slowly buried his shaft deeper and deeper inside me. I cried out clawing the desktop as I stretched. This allowed him deeper entrance and I quivered as he filled me. He withdrew slowly and reentered more quickly. My soft mews became louder moans as his thrust became more forceful. He slammed into me again and again. I moved with him taking it. I could feel every inch of his huge cock as he delved inside me. I reached down to feel us joining and moaned in ecstasy. I moved my soaking fingers up to my mouth and allowed the wetness of our love making to flow over my tongue. I licked my lips enjoying the salty flavor. He pounded me again and again. I felt all 9 of his inches bringing me to blissful release. I gripped the cold wood surface feeling my body tense up. I reached down again to find my clit and rub myself. I let out a little cry as he went faster and faster bringing me closer and closer until finally I felt myself slip. The white heat of my climax overtook me. He gave me one last thrust. He filled me with his cum at the same time. He leaned over me allowing himself to stay inside me as I laid across his desk. My pleasure was elongated as I felt his cock's every contraction as it filled me with even more of his salty white pleasure. As his erection subsided he let himself leave me. A mixture of our body juices flowed from my pleasured and battered cunt. I tried to wipe them off as the ran down my leg but found I was having trouble standing. So I laid back across his desk. He gave a soft chuckle and sat down in his office chair. He leaned back and took a deep breath putting his arms above his head. He seemed to be recovering faster than me. His gaze fell to my nakedness and smiled. He seemed to enjoy that he had made me this way more than his own release. He stood up bracing himself on the desk. He gave my ass another smack. I yelped and watched him as he crossed the room and began to collect clothing. Shaking I eased myself up to help him. He handed me my under garments and smiled. "We should have meetings about your poetry more often." Professor G said. "Maybe this time next week?" I replied. He nodded to himself and we dressed. I walked to the door and he unlocked it. Before he opened it he kissed my forehead. "Come back whenever you want to talk about 'poetry'". I brought him down for another slow kiss."How about I come back whenever I need someone to fuck me right?" "I guess that works too," he said smiling. We gave ourselves a last straightening. We both understood that this would be strictly between us. We put on our business faces. He opened the door and I walked out. I gave him a last little wave before turning to leave. It would be like it never happened but I wanted it to. I wanted it to happen again and again and again. I felt no shame about what I had done and I knew that I would be coming back. The Professor Professor Harrington was a handsome man. Handsome enough that girls found him attractive based on looks alone. He was tall and trim with salt and pepper hair that always looked orderly but not overly fussed with. His eyes were an intense grey blue. He was definitely handsome, but it was his position as a professor in Women's Studies at the college and his straightlaced demeanor that drove the girls in his classes crazy. He wore tweed jackets, pressed shirts, and patent leather shoes even though most professors on campus opted for more casual attire. Also, rather than addressing students by their first names like other faculty members, he referred to his almost exclusively female students as Ms. It was this air of formality and propriety that drove the girls crazy. Stacy certainly wasn't the first female student to have a crush on Professor Harrington. She also wasn't the first to make her crush known. She was, however, more persistent and aggressive than the others. For instance, early in the term she'd taken to bringing one big, bright, red apple to the Professor just before the start of every Monday session. Her ritual was the same every Monday. Walk - almost skip - to the front of the lecture hall, polish the apple against whatever tight sweater hugged her ample breast, place the apple on the professor's desk, wink, then turn with a twirl that would flair the short skirt she was wearing to provide a brief glimpse of her black or red or otherwise provocative panties. The professor would smile politely and say "thank you Ms. Villa." No winks. No knowing smiles. No embarrassed glances into the crowd of onlooking students. Stacy always wore short skirts to Women's Studies. She also made sure to always get a seat in the front row of the class where every cross of her legs provided a tempting view of her toned upper thighs, the shapely fold where her legs met her butt, and her barely covered pussy. As she crossed and uncrossed her legs she would probe the edge of her mouth with the eraser of her pencil, or flip her hair and fan herself, or some other small gesture to draw attention to her show. Each time she would watch the Professor's eyes closely to see if he would sneak a peak, or, even better, make eye contact. He never did. But Professor Harrington seeming disinterested only further emboldened Stacy. She wasn't sure she really wanted anything to happen anyway. At first it was just fun flirting with the Professor. When it became clear it wasn't leading anywhere, it became an intensely erotic fantasy for her. She felt free to let her imagination run wild knowing it was all just going to remain a fantasy. She took to wearing sheer blouses under a blazer with no bra. Mid way through class she would pull the lapels of her blazer to each side to reveal, only to the Professor standing directly in front of her, a clear view of her pouty breasts, large areola, and nipples erect from rubbing against the silky fabric of her blouse and from the dirty thoughts running through her head. She tried a number of times to set meetings with the Professor during his office hours, but he always pushed her off to a TA or invited her to a session involving other students. One particular Wednesday Stacy sent an email to Professor Harrington with yet another request for a private meeting. Just before class began she received a reply that read: Ms. Villa, A meeting is a good idea as we need to discuss your behavior. Can you please come by my office directly after class? Professor Harrington Upon reading the message her cheeks rushed red and her heart raced. She knew he would be upset with her, but still, the thought of being in a locked office alone with the professor got her juices flowing. So much so that, on this day, when she went through her standard leg crossing ritual a clear wet spot could be seen on the teal satin fabric of her panties. Class flew by in what seemed like mere seconds. When the clock struck the hour and students started spilling from the lecture hall, she panicked. She was so accustomed to having her requests for meetings rejected, she'd never bothered to think about what she'd *actually* do if one were to occur. Of course, she'd fantasized many times about the meetings. Barging into the office, pushing him back into his book shelf, dropping to her knees, and as he was blustering and protesting, drag his pants down his thighs and bury his cock deep in her mouth. A great fantasy, but not exactly a realistic plan. As she walked the short handful of paces to the Professor's office, she decided there just wasn't enough time to come up with a plan. No subtle enticement to open the door for a possible rendezvous. No sexually charged double entendre that she could work into the conversation. As she reached to knock on the door, she decided she would just go wherever the conversation took her. As she knocked she was sure that would be a stern talking to and that she'd end up promising to stop all of her flirting. "Oh well. Fun, and incredibly hot, while it lasted." As she walked in, the Professor didn't look up from the papers on his desk as he asked her to have a seat on the leather sofa in front of his desk. When she settled, he looked her in the eyes and asked "why do you think I've asked you to my office?" She replied, finding the boldness to be playful, "is is because you're allergic to apples?" "No. It's so I can fuck every hole in your body" and with that he stood up, brusquely opened his desk drawer, and pulled forth a handful of metal handcuffs and several lengths of rope. Before she had the chance to fully process what he said - "He has to be joking. No way he just said that. If he's joking what's with the handcu..." - he was standing in front of her. He grabbed her by the wrist, hard, and walked her behind the sofa. The whole situation was so surreal, she numbly followed him. He spun her around so she was facing away from him, right up against the back of the couch. He knelt down behind her and grabbed her left ankle. The feeling of his hands on her flesh was electric. He pulled her leg toward the left side of the couch. He clicked one side of a pair of handcuffs around her ankle and then the other around the leg of the couch. Then he grabbed her right ankle and slid it to the right side of the couch. As he closed the cuff around her second ankle, she became acutely aware of her vulnerable position with her legs spread wide and now chained by two limbs to a giant piece of furniture. And, for the first time in the confusing whirlwind of the last 45 seconds, she realized "he's really going to fuck me." All at once she was excited and scared. She'd fantasized about sex with the professor hundreds of times, but she'd never dared fantasize about him as the aggressor. It just felt to far fetched even for a fantasy. In her mind he was always reluctant, or shocked, or caught in a moment of weakness. Certainly never "...so I can fuck every hole in your body." As all that was sinking in, Professor Harrington had moved around to the front of the couch. He grabbed her left wrist and pulled her forward over the back of the sofa. As he did, Stacy could see an urgent looking bulge in the Professor's pants. He cinched a slipknot over her wrist, then deftly looped the other end under the leg of the sofa, lifting the corner of the couch up to slip the rope under. In one movement he tightened the rope so Stacy was firmly stretched over the leather back of the couch. Same thing with the right hand and now her face was buried in the plush leather and her ass was hip-height with her legs spread wide. She wasn't going anywhere. As the Professor walked behind her, Stacy took stock of her situation. "The Professor isn't as prim and proper as I thought. I am tied to a large piece of furniture. I'm about to get fucked. In every hole apparently. Wait a second. EVERY hole?" That sunk in. Stacy'd tried anal before, but it wasn't a regular part of her sexual repertoire. Apparently it would be this particular afternoon. Regardless, her pussy was dripping wet. Professor Harrington stood behind Stacy. To her it felt like forever for him to even rustle. Unable to see him, but knowing he was somewhere behind her in her vulnerable state was intensely erotic. So when his hand grazed the hem of her skirt a charge of sexual excitement shot through her. His hand slid under her skirt and the top of his forefinger slid over her now soaking wet panties against her swollen clit. She moaned, but then he pulled his slowly away and said "Not so fast Ms. Villa. You're here for my pleasure. Any pleasure you get. Certainly any opportunity for your little slut pussy to cum will be because you've made me happy and I decide to let you." With that he flipped her skirt up over her back to reveal her tight but plump ass cheeks. He slid his hand underneath what little fabric made up the back of Stacy's panties and pulled it tight in his grip. This bunched the fabric together along the crack of Stacy's ass and also hiked them up so the crotch of the panties partially disappeared between her swollen labia. As they pressed hard against her clit, she nearly came. "First, you need a punishment for all those time you gave me blue balls in class." And with that his hand crashed hard against her left ass cheek. The impact stung and made a sharp clapping sound. It also rolled the flesh of her ass against her now tight panties which created a delightful friction against her clit. Then a second slap. Only this time the tips of his fingers smacked into her pussy and asshole. Then a third. This time with the Professor's hand coming down directly in the middle of her ass. Stacy's butt cheeks absorbed most of the impact, but the Professor's palm still bottomed out on her pussy - somehow with just the right amount of pressure. Then a fourth spank. The hardest yet. Directly where the first had landed. Her left ass cheek radiated with pain and pleasure. Her pussy was throbbing. A fifth spank landed more softly over the middle of her ass. This time the Professor's hand lingered on her skin. Partly on her ass cheek but with the tips of his fingers folded over into her crevices. He hooked a finger through her panties and pulled them slowly to the side so that her pussy and ass were fully exposed. He slowly slid a finger into her soaking pussy. it slid all the way up to his knuckle with ease and his other fingers tickled against Stacy's clit. The sensation was fantastic, but as wonderful as having his fingers in her pussy and rubbing against her clit, she was ready to be filled. To have her pussy stuffed with cock. Stretched. Pounded. She was pretty sure that was coming soon. But his fingers worked on her pussy and clit a bit longer. As they did, his thumb dabbed at the edge of her red lips for lubrication and then slid over to her tight asshole. His finger plunged in and out of her pussy, his other fingers pressed hard against her clit, and his thumb rubbed over and around her asshole. As it became clear that Stacy was getting close to orgasm, he pulled his hand away. As Stacy caught her breath and the building creciendo of her imminent orgasm subsided, she could hear him stepping around to the front of the sofa. "Now that you've had your spanking. it's time for you to suck my dick you little cock tease. After all those times sucking on pencil erasers and getting my dick hard in class, you're finally going to have my cock in your mouth." Stacy heard the Professor's pants unzip and saw his pants and underwear fall to the floor at his ankles. Then his hand reached into her hair and grabbed a handful and firmly pulled her face up from the sofa. As it did, he knelt down so his fat cock bobbed in front of her face. Already a thick pool of pre cum had gathered on its tip. She opened her mouth as his grip tightened around her hair. At first he pushed his cock just far enough forward for her to kiss the tip and lick the pre cum from the head. Once the head of his cock was wet from Stacy's tongue, he moved further forward so she could take him into her waiting mouth. He rocked back and forth as she swirled her tongue around his frenulum with the head of his cock still in her mouth. Stacy could feel the pressure building in his cock. It was harder than when she first took him in her mouth and his rocking was turning to thrusting and with each thrust he was getting deeper and deeper into her mouth. Just as he was starting to build to an orgasm, and just as his strokes were starting to trigger her gag reflex, he abruptly pulled his cock from her mouth. When he did, a long strand of saliva stretched from her mouth to the head of his cock. As he pulled further back the strand broke and landed partly on Stacy's chin and partly on the sofa beneath her face. The Professor let go of Stacy's hair and gently let her face come back to rest on the sofa. "Time for whole number two" he said as he kicked his pants from his feet and walked behind the couch again. Once back there, he slid his still slobbery cock head against Stacy's waiting pussy. He slid his cock up toward her asshole and then down letting the head of cock part her lips and partially press into her vagina before sliding down to her clit where he would swirl his cock in a circular motion and then start the whole process over again. Stacy was mesmerized. Wrapt by the pleasure. So when the Professor buried his rock hard cock to its hilt in Stacy's pussy it took her breath away. She was so wet and so ready it wasn't the least bit uncomfortable. It just surprised and delighted her. She finally felt full. The Professor rocked his hips forward and put his full weight against Stacy's ass. She was sandwiched against the sturdy sofa allowing his cock to sink deeper than sheed ever been penetrated. The Professor sat motionless with his dick buried in Stacy's pussy for a good 30 seconds. Stacy figured it was probably to compose himself so he didn't cum too quickly. Eventually, he started to roll his hips. Small gyrations at first. Stacy's juices slathered his cock and dripped down to his balls. Then he started to rock his hips. Pull his cock back 3 or 4 inches and then slowly back to full depth. His cock was thick. Stacy's pussy lips gripped at it as it slid in and out. When he pushed his fat cock into her pussy the friction vibrated her clit and it felt wonderful. Then the Professor's strokes began to build into thrusts. His hands found the fleshy notch of her hips and he gripped hard as he plowed his cock in Stacy. He clutched at her skin, collecting handfuls of ass, as he pulled her back to meet his thrusts. The slapping sound and the feel of the Professor's balls bouncing against her clit with every thrust started pushing her closer to orgasm. Another 5 or 6 thrusts and she would have came, but the Professor slowed his thrusts and let his cock every so slowly slide out of Stacy's red swollen canal. As it did her pussy lips kissed the glazed head of his cock and it bobbed in front of her gaping hole. Stacy's whole body was vibrating. Heat radiated from her pussy and ass. Her clitoris felt like it might explode. In that moment, all that mattered was sex. Getting fucked. Cumming. So when the Professor starting the head of his cock around her butt hole and she realized hole number 3 was next she didn't care. In fact, the thought of her straightlaced professor feeding his big cock into her tight ass was better than any fantasy she could have ever dreamed up. Plus, the sooner he filled her ass with his cock, the sooner she could "earn" the orgasm she was now desperate to achieve. The Professor used his hand to borrow the juices from Stacy's pussy. This time instead of one finger he used three. He pressed them deep into Stacy's pussy and rammed them in and out until they were soaking wet. He then firmly massaged those same fingers against her tight anus. At first around the edge. Then over its opening. And then his middle finger pressed gently directly on her anus. The pressure built slowly until the ring of her anus finally gave way and let his finger slide about a half an inch. When it did the first small tremor of an orgasm rolled through her. It didn't fully ignite her orgasm, but she was close. After one wet finger worked her anus, there was two, and eventually three. Wet with her juices the three fingers slid easily in and out of her tight hole. The Professor pulled his fingers back one last time very slowly. Stacy's anus quivered as the tip of the last finger exited. Another tremor rolled through Stacy's clit as she felt the head of Professor Harrington's cock press up against her asshole. As he leaned his weight forward the fleshy head of his swollen cock pressed against her firm pucker. The very tip of his cock bent against the pressure almost like it was going to slide up the crack of Stacy's ass, but the fingering had softened her just enough so that, instead, her ring relaxed and the head of the Professor's cock disappeared into her ass. Again he sat motionless for a long while. Stacy's pussy and ass were throbbing. Her anus gripped tightly against his hard shaft. The Professor reached his hand under Stacy and rubbed her clit. As he did, he leaned his weight forward and sank his cock another inch into Stacy's ass. Still again. More clit massaging. Another inch. Eventually every inch of the Professor's cock was buried in Stacy's ass. She felt full. Stretched. The pinch of pain she'd felt from anal sex in the past had completely given way to pleasure. The Professor started rhythmically rocking his cock back and forth in Stacy's ass. The shaft of his cock was still coated in wetness from Stacy's pussy, so the friction was well lubricated. His hand pressed forward and back over Stacy's clit in concert with the motion of this cock. His movement began to build, to quicken. His thrusts became more urgent and the pressure applied to Stacy's clit became rougher. Finally, when he could take it no longer, he shoved his cock into the tight ring of Stacy's anus one last time. So deep his balls rested against her dripping wet pussy. He stood still for 2 seconds and then the first wave of his orgasm rolled through the shaft of his cock. The pulse stretched Stacy's asshole as she felt the first rope of hot jizz shoot deep into her ass. As it did, the first spasm of her orgasm made her shudder.