Professor, Please!

“Kneel on the front desks,” he told her while cleaning the whiteboard. He didn’t look back at her as she clambered up.

Class was over, and so everyone else had left. He was switching everything off and packing away his things as if it were a normal class, as if they hadn’t arranged anything.

But they had. She had sent him a picture of herself topless. She never did that because of the scar. Because of the scar, her husband didn’t touch her breasts. The scar wasn’t even on her breasts, but almost above it in a five-inch line where she had emergency heart surgery. She was too young for all that, of course, but it happened. It happens. Early thirties, and she couldn’t go topless again, couldn’t show cleavage, couldn’t even expect her husband to want to look at her there, let alone touch her.

Ye,s they fucked still, when he needed it. But she never took her pajamas off anymore; she knew too well for that.

But her professor had wanted to see. Her professor had sent the picture of her back, covered in his cum. A cum tribute the young people call it, he had said. And nothing had been more beautiful to her. She had been so turned on when he had asked that she had taken it without as much thought as she would normally have done. Normally, she would never do such a thing. It wasn’t the cheating that bothered her. Her husband probably cheated, but she couldn’t believe her topless state would do it for any guy anymore. But god did it do for him!

And who hasn’t fantasised about their teacher? Their lecturer? Their professor? She was sure that she was not the first he had cum on like this, the first he had asked to kneel on the desks at the front of the room. But maybe he was only interested in the mature students with a story behind them, with emotional and physical scars that the fresh-from-school students probably didn’t have. No, they probably do. Growing up seemed so harsh these days.

What if someone came in and saw her like this? She checked around to see if there were any coats or bags left that someone might reappear for. She checked the time, even though she knew exactly the time. Five pm. No more classes in here today, but when did the cleaners start arriving? Couldn’t he lock the door? Wouldn’t if be worse for him if anyone found him messing with students?

But he appeared so nonchalant that he didn’t rush and left her there, precariously wobbling slightly on these desks she now knew so well from her first weeks back in education. Back in education and fulfilling a schoolgirl fantasy already! That was hardly the idea of her coming back to study, but it felt like it was meant to happen.

She was so wet for him. He was in his late forties or early fifties. Maybe older. His hair was grey, but he looked after his body and dressed so well. Not everyone can pull off a waistcoat. She wanted so badly to pull at his waistcoat! He was married, and so they matched up there. Does his wife know what he does? Can she guess so easily?

Her husband mentioned once that she would go off with some spotty kid and dance in sweaty discos. Her husband seemed so old. Yes, there were some hot guys here, a lot younger than her, but this is where she found herself, and this is what she wanted.

He moved towards her now, his briefcase packed and everything off, but not the lights. She wanted the lights lowered. The neon was so harsh.

“Unbutton your blouse,” he demanded.

She would do whatever he asked of her. He had already told her not to wear a bra, and he would now see that she had done as she was told.

She pulled her blouse apart so he could look at her. Look at her full breasts that still had a pertness to them despite a little time and getting a little larger over the years. But the tangle of matted, half-healed flesh in a line up from the top of her cleavage to a little below her neck made her shudder.

He reached out for it. Laid fingers on it. Pressed against them. They didn’t hurt anymore, as they had for months, but she felt a sigh as he did so. She wanted him to touch her there, but she didn’t want that to be why he touched her. She hoped to god that he was not a scar fetishist or something. ‘Enjoy it’, she thought, ‘But enjoy all of me please.’ Or, at least as they had agreed in one of their sexting conversations, that he would enjoy her breasts in a way her husband hadn’t done since she’d fallen ill.

His fingers went up and down it, and then he told her to kneel up. Her nipples felt so hard now, and he hadn’t even touched them. But when he did, it was with a lust that she hadn’t thought possible anymore.

He squeezed them with the passion of a guy touching breasts for the first time. There was no finesse, no thought of whether she would enjoy having her tits crushed in his hands, twisted and pulled in his palms, but that didn’t matter. It still felt good because she was being desired. Her breasts were wanted; they aroused him, aroused her teacher, and he wanted to grope them with all his strength. Let him! Let him do what he wants!

She had always enjoyed a little pain there, that was for sure. Maybe not from rough groping exactly, but even that reminded her of fumbles when she was younger. No, it was usually from more targeted pain, directed at her nipples, which really made her want to scream a joyful orgasm.

He knew this, she had told him. Told him everything, things she was ashamed of, but things he drew out of her with his need. They both had needs, it seemed, and those needs fitted each other like a glove.

His fingers lingered on her nipples for a second, checking their long stiffness. She did have big nipples! Another thing she was sometimes embarrassed about, but usually found men adored. Or had before she had become stuck with a husband who would hardly even look at her now.

And then he pulled on them. Pulled very hard. She gasped. She wanted to scream. As if reading her thoughts, he said, “Make whatever noise you like, but save it all for the end, for when I cum. I do not want to hear you until then.”

Oh fuck that would be hard! Impossible. How could she not make noise when he was pulling her nipples so hard that her tits were pointed and extending well beyond where you imagine they could get. She needed to touch herself. Again, he knew this.

“Sit,” he said and let go of her clamped nipples so suddenly that her boobs bounced back into place, and she wanted to rub, to spread the soreness a little.

She swiftly did as she was told, swinging her legs around so she was in a sitting position on the edge of the desk.

“Lean back,” she propped herself back on an elbow. He took his hands to her trousers and put both hands tucked just in the top and gripped there tightly. His fingers were so close to her pussy she wanted to push his hands down that little bit further and get some of the relief he had promised her.

They snap. Rip. Ping! The desk wobbled violently.

He had pulled her pant suit trousers apart, the one large button fly, so wildly that they had ripped. The button had come off and landed on the floor somewhere. He kept on ripping them, past the seam, the little join. They were ruined. They would be unwearable. She wouldn’t be able to get home wearing these. She didn’t fucking care.

“Touch yourself as I bite your nipples. I will bite harder and harder until you cum.”

And he leaned over and, without waiting for her to get her fingers on her pussy he sucked her nipples into his mouth.

This was going to be painful, she knew that. He had told her took no prisoners if this was what she asked for. It was what she had asked for. She would need to be touching, to fight the pain away with masturbation. A guy could do anything to her if she was wanking herself.

His erection pressed through his own trousers to the back of her hand as she took up the familiar angled position for the best way to masturbate. She let her knuckles press against the underside of his cock. Oh fuck she wanted it out and up her.

He drew nipple by suction as far into his mouth as he could get, then she felt his teeth glide up onto them, and he bit.

Oh my fucking word, that hurt! Too much too soon. But he didn’t let up, and she had no choice but to frig harder.

It worked. As his teeth dug in halfway along her nipple, she could feel an orgasm already rising. Like a young man who hasn’t fucked or wanked for a week she had so much pent-up frustration of decent real human contact that she raced to climax.

He only bit the one nipple, but he didn’t leave the other nipple naked. He twisted it and pulled it, turning it 360 degrees and causing her to want to faint right out. His dick pressed down on the back of her hand, and she wondered if he would cum too. She loved feeling it, and if she’d had a spare hand, might have grasped it, but it was also getting in the way and making touching herself harder.

This frustration made her lean slightly to one side to create a gap so she could move her fingers just right. She screamed as she felt his bite go so deep she swore her nipples would bleed. She screamed because she had done it, she had cum with another man in well over a decade. She screamed because her tits had been touched for the first time in three years.

He clasped his hand over her mouth as if to say to her, “Shut up! I told you not now.”

Her mouth gurgled and spat under his palm, which he held firmly to her face. Her eyes watered; the spasms of orgasm meant he had to let go very soon. He did. With perfect timin,g he stopped biting and twisting and pulling and torturing her nipples. They still hurt as she came down from her high, but the extreme pain was gone, washed away by her whole body being engulfed in the pleasure she was giving herself.