Her Dirty Professor

“How much?” I ask.

She tilts her head to the side, confused. “How much?”

“Yeah,” I say, getting irritated with this innocent act of hers while she’s committing extortion. “How much money will it take to keep you quiet about the video?”

She leans away from me. Irritation warps her face. On anyone else, it would be ugly, but I think it’s physically impossible for her to be unattractive. “I don’t want your money,” she says, spitting out the words as if they’ve left a bad taste in her mouth.

“Then what do you want from me,” I say, lifting my hands in surrender.

Shaking her head, she says, “I wasn’t trying to get money from you, I just wanted to see your cock!” She slaps her hands against her mouth, eyes wide, as if she’d spilled a secret she’d meant to keep.

A short burst of laughter escapes my lips. I can’t believe what she’s telling me. “In exchange for your silence, you want to see my cock?”

I’ve never seen anyone’s face turn as red as Georgia’s is now. Seriously, is there any blood left in the rest of her body?

“No,” she insists. “Not in exchange for my silence. I never planned to tell anyone. You’re my favorite teacher. I would never do anything like that. I was just . . . I bought the video and now I’m curious. It’s not blackmail. If you don’t show me, it’s not a big deal.” She scrambles for her backpack. It’s adorable the way she keeps dropping her books when she tries to shove them inside. “Never mind,” she says, anxious to escape. “Just forget I said anything,”

When she tries to leave I grab her arm to stop her. “Sit,” I tell her. She stares at my hand connected to her arm. At first I think she’s going to demand that I let her go, or get pissed that I’m physically detaining her, but instead, she obediently sits back in her chair without a word or even a hint of reluctance.

I take another step toward her so her face is right at the opening of my legs, just inches from my boxer-clad dick. “You stayed to see it, so take a look,” I say.

She starts to fidget. “Maybe it was a bad idea—” she starts to say, but I cut her off.

“Look at it.”

Her eyes shoot upward to meet mine, a look of stunned disbelief making her look younger than she is, and somewhat nervous.

Her next words come out slow and methodical, as if she’s thinking really hard about what to say next. “Okay . . . aren’t you going to take off your boxers?”

“No, you’re going to do it for me,” I say, my words curt, leaving no room for her to argue.

I watch her, wondering if she’ll actually go through with it. She looks scared to death.

She starts to laugh, as if I’m joking, but when my lips don’t budge, her laughter trails off. “You’re serious.”

“If you want to see it bad enough, you get to do all the work. Now pull down my boxers and look at my cock.”

I move closer so that the flap on my boxers is just a hair’s breadth from her trembling mouth.

It will definitely be work trying to get these boxers off now that I’m getting hard. The fabric starts to gouge at the skin of my waist and becomes uncomfortable.

She visibly swallows and reaches for the elastic waistband. Holy shit, she’s actually going to do it, I realize, and I become harder still. Honestly, I thought she would chicken out; she seems so innocent, so virginal, but this girl is determined. I fight the smile wrestling my lips while she struggles to get my boxers over the head of my growing prick. When that approach doesn’t work at first, she reaches behind and slides them down my ass first. Always the little problem-solver.

Once my boxers are down in the back, she’s able to easily get them down in the front. I wait for her to say something, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t really need to, though. The look on her face speaks volumes.

Chapter 3

Georgia

Mr. Johnson has the most beautiful dick I’ve ever seen. Straight with a slight arch toward his belly button, everything proportioned nicely. And big.

Not that I’m an expert on the subject. I’ve only had sex once. I don’t think the minute it took for my high school boyfriend to blow his load while still trying to break my cherry qualifies me as a cock connoisseur, but compared to those I’ve seen on TV and in movies, Mr. Johnson’s would win the trophy.

It was a formidable phallus on screen. In person, it’s downright intimidating. I can’t help but wonder if he’s hard for me, or if it would be the same standing naked in front of any girl. Pre-cum bubbles up from the opening of the tip and dribbles down its length. I’m so tempted to stick out my tongue and lick the glistening stream. I wonder how it tastes, how this amazing cock would feel cradled in my gentle fist, nestled in the warm cushion of my mouth. I want so badly to touch him, but I don’t want to step over any lines. He’s showing me because he thinks if he doesn’t I’ll tell someone about the video. He’s not naked in his classroom, risking his career because he’s willing to give it all up for me. Though my stupid fantasies wish that were the case, it’s just not, and so I have to set up boundaries for myself to keep from going too far.

Suddenly he reaches down and pulls up his boxers, cutting me off from his beautiful member. I startle from the quick movement, breaking out of my trance. I’m not at all prepared for this moment to be over. I need more time to memorize it, take it all in. “Wait,” I say.

He shakes his head. “There, you saw it. Now we’re done.”

I’m taken aback by his abruptness.

“But—” I don’t want to beg or seem desperate, but I am desperate. I want to see more, touch it, feel the silky skin coating the hard shaft, live out all those dirty fantasies that stormed my thoughts while I was watching his movie.

He starts to laugh. I must seem so pathetic. Inwardly I scold myself for being incredibly transparent, only I can’t help it. I want his cock. I want him.

He steps away from me and leans over my desk, scribbling something on a piece of paper. He hands it to me. It’s an address. “Be there at eight tonight and don’t be late.”

I go back to my dorm, unable to keep Mr. Johnson off my mind. I’m supposed to meet my study group at the library tonight. Fuck them, they’re on their own. I’m not about to pass up the opportunity to spend real time with that lovely cock for an English assignment that will barely make a dent in my grade. Besides, it’s already mostly done. I only go to study groups just to get away from the dorm once in a while, and because it’s time to get out and start making friends. Easier said than done.

There are three hours until I’m supposed to meet Mr. Johnson. I go to my footlocker that houses my tiny wardrobe. When I first started college, I was dead-set against dating so I never bought anything too revealing. The closest thing I have that’s worthy of a night spent trying to seduce an older man is a 1990s-style baby-doll dress. But I’m not trying to look like a child. I want to look sexy for him. Looking at my measly collection, it doesn’t appear that’s going to happen. Oh well. No time to dwell on that. He’s used to seeing me in sweats and leggings most days anyway, so anything I wear will be an improvement.

Next I completely pluck and shave my entire body. This takes up most of my time. That’s when I realize I’ve really let myself go when it comes to upkeep. I mean, I exercise because I want to stay healthy. Sick body, sick mind, they say. I need my mind on top of its game, so a daily workout routine is essential. Unfortunately, pruning isn’t part of that regimen. I don’t think I’ve shaved above my knee since I was sixteen, and I’m starting to wonder if my poor razor is going to crap out on me before I’m done. It doesn’t, but there will definitely be some razor burn going on tomorrow.

Now, back to the perfect outfit, since I have yet to pick it out. I try on my one dress. It’s cute. When I pull my hair up and add a pair of flats with it, it’s even cuter. But cute is not what I’m going for. So I opt for a pair of jeans that fit my curves quite nicely. It’s not going to knock him backwards when he sees me, but at least it won’t giv

e him second thoughts about our hook up—I hope.

As if telepathically sensing my dilemma, my roommate walks in. We’re not all that close, but she’s let me borrow clothes before, and she’s tidy, so we get along just fine. She also has impeccable style. She can throw together some of the most random things and make it work. And she definitely likes to show off the goods.

She lifts a brow when seeing me standing in front of the full-length mirror. “You have on your nice jeans. What’s the occasion?”

I look down at my “nice jeans”, as she calls them. The only thing that makes them nicer than the others is that they’re the only ones I own without holes in the knees.

Obviously, I’m not about to tell her about a possible hook-up with my teacher, so I keep it vague. “I have a date.”

“With a man?” she says, skeptical.