Oh my God—it’s my former biology professor, who I’ve had locked up in my spank bank since my first senior year. I took her nature study class as a required cultural enrichment course and failed it, but man, she’s the only reason I kept going back to class. Or signed up at all.
She’s a bombshell.
Wait, isn’t she married?
“But—”
She slaps her hand over my mouth. “No. You’re going to dance for me, and you will not say a word. I’m going to leave here, and we’re both going to act like this never happened. Nod if you agree to these terms.”
I nod, and my dick swells. There’s something so sexy about her taking charge like this. In all my fantasies about her, I was always the one taking control, bending her over her desk or pushing her up against a bookshelf. At school she was always soft-spoken and mild-mannered, unless she was actively denying my advances. What started out as flirtatious remarks to gain favor and better grades, turned into frequent takeovers of my mind while rubbing one out.
But that mild-mannered woman is nowhere to be found. There’s a dominating powerhouse standing above me with her fingers ever so slightly digging into my jawline, and I’m confused but certainly turned on by this change in pace.
There’s definitely a wet spot on my sweatpants now.
I’m not going to question this.I want this.
I stand slowly and keep my eyes trained on her. She’s a petite woman, and I tower over her, but the fire in her gaze tells me she’s in total control. She takes my spot on the couch and reaches into her dress to pull out a stack of cash from her bra.
As hot as that is, I hold up a hand. “No charge.”
She furrowsher brow. “Why not?”
Kim said I had twenty minutes, and I intend to make every second count. There’s a bouncer stationed just outside the room for the safety of the dancers and patrons. If Professor Wilde had wanted to, she would have stepped out the second she recognized me—but she didn’t.
“Did you request me specifically?” I ask.
Her throat works, and I’d bet anything if it wasn’t so dark in here I could see blush spread across her face. But her face is locked tight. “Yes.”
She knew who she was getting. She requestedme,her former student.
The corner of my mouth quirks. “I’m not charging you for something I want, too.”
Her only reply is a sharp inhale1.
My cock strains against my G-string as I tap the remote mounted on the wall for a new song to start. With a salacious smile I couldn’t wipe away if I tried, I saunter back and relish the way she drinks in my body—landing on the tent I’ve created in my pants.
Normally, I have a fairly standard routine for these private shows, but I can’t remember how it goes now. Her full attention is all I want.
When I’m close enough, I prop a knee on the cushion next to her thigh and grab the back of the couch. I’ve never been close enough to smell her, because surely I would have remembered this lavender and vanilla scent.
I roll my hips against her chest and then duck down to run my face against the side of hers. Even with the music pumping, I can hear her heavy breathing. I grab her hands, place them on my ass, and grind against her. Normally it costs extra for people to touch me, but even without accepting a dime from her, I feel rich being under her touch.
Firm, curious hands slide down my thighs and squeeze. They glide up my back and over my shoulders before I stand up and carefully peel away my white tank. I sway myhips—rolling in time with the music—and drop my arms down. In a second, I am straddling her again and trying to wrap her wrists with my shirt. But all too quick, she’s retracting her hands and discarding the shirt on the floor in a huff.
“Don’t tie me.”
“Okay,” I whisper, thankful she let me say even that.
“But you can touch me,” she says, guiding my hands until they’re a centimeter from her chest. “Would you like that?”
My dick throbs before I can answer. “Of course, ma’am.”
With her change request, I redirect her hands to the back of my head. My hands glide down her chest and, holy smokes, I’m touching Professor Wilde’s tits. I’m rubbing my very hard dick against her andshe’s letting me.I know this is my job and I probably shouldn’t take it personally, but a woman of this caliber is allowing it, so I’ll shut up.
“Fuck, you’re pretty,” she rasps, and a delightful melody of praise hums through my body.
I stand up and flash her a grin before turning around and sitting in her lap. I lean against her, and her hands travel from my hips to the juncture between my thighs and groin. It’s then that I notice it—the absence of her wedding ring. It’s like finding an unexpected gap in a defensive line, and I’m booking it for the breakaway. If I’m honest with myself, I wouldn’t stop at this point even if she wore a ring.
