His Prize Pupil

I never told him about my hunger, however.

That’s what I call it inside my own head.

My hunger.

But last week in that loud dive bar, when he told me about this brothel in Julian near his brother’s home—and that he was planning on visiting to rid himself of an infatuation with an unnamed redhead—I was tempted for the first time in my life. To let myself indulge the hunger for a fantasy I should be ashamed of. As a man and a Jeopardy champion.

Here I am, though.

One time to get it out of my system and I can go back to my life of gradients and apertures and chemicals. It’ll be my own anomaly. One I can’t capture on film, but still. For the next hour, I’m not the strict bastard who sends photography students running from his office with their tails between their legs. I’m just some faceless girl’s Daddy.

Perhaps the first order of business should be punishing her for being late.

I reach down and massage my cock through my pleated black dress pants, feeling it thicken in my hand, the forbidden trappings of my hunger fusing my mind. Pink, swollen lips that pout at me. An inexcusably short plaid skirt. The sound of a gasp that is both confused and excited and perfectly fucking whiny. Daddy, why does it feel so good when you touch me there?

I rip my hand away from my throbbing dick and start to pace.

Sick. These thoughts in my head are so sick and I can’t help them. They are a part of me I can’t seem to eliminate. I gave up on women years ago, because sex was unfulfilling and I couldn’t bring myself to tell them why I lost interest. I’m going to allow myself this one indulgence.

One night and that is all.

Julian is far enough from home that no proof of this night should follow me.

And thank God for that.

After ten years of being a professor at the university, I’m being considered for a position on the board of directors. Members are required to be above reproach. Too many times in the past, I’ve witnessed professors or even deans fall from grace because they got caught in an affair or doing something they shouldn’t be doing. The vote to induct me onto the board takes place during the first week of the semester—seven days from now—and I need to have this out of my system by then. I’ll accept the honor with a clear conscience or not at all.

When the door opens slowly and I see who I’ll be spending the next hour with, however, my conscience ceases to exist. It turns from a boulder to a speck of dust. My cock pulses painfully at the sight of her. Good God. Where did they find this girl?

I’ve never pictured actual facial features, not once during all of my fantasizing, but I know for certain that I will picture this girl’s baby face every time I beat off for the rest of my life.

She’s impossible to believe. Her blonde hair is simple, parted down the middle, though her eyebrows are dark. Winged in graceful arches that mimic her cheekbones. Her nose is kind of stubborn, and Jesus, why do I like that so much? I like her lithe thighs even more. They’re beautifully bare under the hem of her short white robe, the belt cinched so tight around her waist, I think of wrapping it around her neck like a leash, so I can tug her forward, back, forward, back while she sucks my cock.

I can’t get my mouth around all of it, Daddy.

“Close the door,” I growl, my voice in a tone I don’t recognize.

I’m not required to be polite tonight. I’m here to fuck the way I want to fuck and I’ve waited decades to fulfill this raging appetite. Waiting a second longer is unacceptable. I’ve kept a tight lid on my needs for so long and now that relief is close, in the form of this gorgeous little princess, all impediments have been ripped away, allowing my innermost secrets to finally see the light of day.

“Sorry,” she breathes, snicking the door shut quickly and leaning back against it, her posture timid, chest expanding, drawing my attention to her ripe, apple-sized tits. “I just…I think I’m in the wrong place.”

“You’re not.” Get naked and spread your legs, little girl.

“But you’re…”

“I’m what?” I snap, the way I might if a student was texting during a lecture.

“Your balls probably aren’t even saggy,” she blurts, turning a very interesting shade of fuchsia. “What I meant is…you’re young. I didn’t expect young. Or like, the serious Tom Hiddleston vibe you’re giving off. Kudos on that.”

I start. Who the fuck is Tom Hiddleston?

There is something about the husky notes in her voice that I can only compare to hearing a masterpiece symphony for the first time. Revelatory. And how have I gone from aroused beyond belief to…curious as hell about this young girl? She’s not the collection of blurred body parts from my imaginings, she’s a flesh and bone female. Delicate physically, but there’s cleverness in her eyes, in the way she scrutinizes me, as if she’s drawing conclusions.