His belt buckle loosens beneath my fingers, then his button, until I’m dragging the zipper down.
My professor’s swollen cock head pokes out of the top of his boxer briefs.
There’s myNaughty Professor.
Scene after scene plays out in my head—his cock in my mouth, my hard nipples bouncing against his cold desk as he bends me over it.
A thrill pulses low in my belly, but nerves trickle down my spine as the professor looks at me expectantly. Olly took the lead yesterday, giving me what I wanted without needing to ask, but at this moment, I’m painfully aware of how inexperienced I really am.
What would Olly do if he were here?
He’d take the professor’s cock in his mouth and not let go until he’d sucked every last drop of cum from his balls.
Play the part, Lacey…
I tug the professor’s underwear and jeans down to his ankles and curl my fingers around his shaft. He’s not as thick as Olly, but he’s long and hard.
Professor Gibson moans, his head falling back onto his chair as his hips arch toward me.
His reaction to my touch sends a heady rush of desire to my core. Excitement fills me—I’m about to have my own experience, to find my own inspiration.
I brush my nose from the base of his shaft to the swollen tip and breathe in his scent.
There is no hint of cherry cola.
Stop it.
I slide my fingers up his thighs, deliberately scraping my nails on the sensitive inner flesh as his cock twitches and bobs.
I open my mouth, roll my tongue over his head, slide my lips down, and suck.
“Ohh…” His fingers flex and squeeze on the chair arms, almost like he is too scared to touch me.
Power and arousal surge through me. I feel like the teacher, the guide, a storyteller living out her own erotic scenes in real life.
I am turning my professor naughty.
The beginning and middle of my story are fully formed in my head, ready to be drafted, but the ending eludes me. There is some element I’m missing, a spark that will incite my story and make it impossible for the box set collaborators to turn it away.
I lift one of the professor’s hands and place it on my head. Understanding, he grips my hair. The roots burn almost as deliciously as when Olly pulled my hair back and kissed me for the first time.
The familiar coils of arousal tighten in my belly.
My tongue rolls around the professor’s cock the way it tangled with Olly’s tongue.
Heat builds between my thighs.
Professor Gibson groans, using both hands to grip the sides of my head.
His sounds are soft and muted, unlike the primal grunts Olly tried to muffle against my shoulder.
Desire clenches and unclenches inside of me, seeking relief from the growing ache.
I slip two fingers beneath the hem of my dress, the burning need too intense to ignore. Arousal leaks from me, coating my fingers as they slide and stroke. Pressure builds low in my belly the way it did when Olly touched me for the first time.
I tighten my grip on the base of Professor Gibson’s cock and stroke, my head bobbing, my lips sucking.
What would Olly feel like, pushing against the back of my throat?
