Her Dirty Professor Series (21+)

Relaxing my throat, I take more of him. The more he groans and gets excited, the faster I move, until he’s thoroughly fucking my face. I feel just like one of the girls in porn, taking as much as he gives, and it’s so fucking hot that I keep going even after he warns me that he’s about to cum. I want it. I want to taste it, drink it.

He lets out a guttural sound and grabs the sides of my face, holding me still while his cum fills my mouth. Strings of it hit the back of my throat. There’s a lot of it, and it’s hard to swallow at first, but I manage.

It takes him a minute to recover. He sits down on the couch to rest, a silly smile on his face. “That was amazing,” he says. He grabs my waist and pulls me toward him.

As he undresses me, there’s a familiar pressure deep in my groin that I only feel when I’m with him. It’s that need to have him inside me. A yearning ache.

He pulls my pants off and my panties. He does the same thing I did to him, teasing, toying with me. His fingers flutter over the top of my mons, tickling me. Then his finger dips into the cleft, finding my clit. Swaying, I enjoy the sensation of being touched on that most tender part. His narrowed, hungry gaze slides over my body, before he pushes me down on the couch. He grabs my knees and pulls them apart, then positions himself and sinks into me. I squirm beneath him, bucking my hips as he envelopes my breast in his mouth, flicking the tip of my nipple with his tongue.

The way he bends and folds my limbs like some kind of marionette is welcomed; I have no control over my body. I want pleasure and don’t care how I get it. At one point he flips me over onto my stomach and enters me from behind. While pushing into me, I feel him spread my butt cheeks apart with his hands. His wet finger glides along the cleft of my ass, back and forth several times until coming to a stop at my hole. There’s a distinct pressure that I’m not expecting. Is he . . . yes he is. His finger enters my asshole. I’m so stunned by the sudden intrusion that I’m not sure what to do. At first I just lie here, doing nothing. His dick in my pussy feels so amazing, and surprisingly, the addition of his finger in my ass only enhances it. So I let it happen.

I’ve always wanted to try anal, but never thought it would be for me. That’s the kind of thing brave, outgoing girls do, not shy bookworms. As he pumps his finger in and out, getting me closer to my orgasm, I start to think maybe I’m one of those brave girls, after all, because I’m loving it. I arch my back, urging him on.

“You like that?” he asks.

“It feels so good,” I moan.This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

The second he enters another finger, I’m coming.

“Yeah, baby, cum for me,” he says.

I’m crying out his name, unable to contain my voice. He pulls his cock out of my pussy and puts it up against my asshole. At first I think he’s going to try and shove his monster inside of me and I’m genuinely terrified. But he doesn’t. Instead, I feel the wet, sticky warmth as ropes of cum spit into my open asshole.

I lie where I’m at, flaccid, and happy.

When he’s done, I roll onto my side, and he lies down beside me so we’re facing each other.

“Move in with me,” he says.

I laugh. Clearly he’s still in a postcoital haze. “Funny.”

“I’m being serious. I don’t live that far from campus, and since I’m not working I can drive you there. And this way I still get to see you every day. My house is plenty big enough for the both of us, and . . .” The cutest smile stretches across his face. “We can fuck like rabbits every night and just fall asleep in bed. You won’t have to worry about going home at night or sneaking off in the morning.”

“Aww, I see where this is going. You just want your own personal blowup doll around whenever you want to get laid.”

He playfully slaps my ass. “You know it.”

“I see how it is.”

His smile slips away and his expression becomes serious. “Really though, I want you to move in with me. I love you. I want to have a life with you. I wouldn’t have given up my job if I wasn’t serious about making this relationship work. I’ve never felt like this about anyone in my life.”

The air grows heavy in my lungs. I love him too, more than anything. My parents will freak when they find out I’ve left the dorms and moved in with an older man-my former teacher, nonetheless-but I don’t care. I want to be with him.

“Yes, I will move in with you.”

He kisses my forehead, the tip of my nose, and then my lips, and I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.

Epilogue

Loche Johnson

One Year Later

Georgia comes into the bathroom, where I’m brushing my teeth and grabbing the things I forgot to pack and putting them in our overnight bag.

“Are you sure you feel up to meeting my parents?” she asks. “I can tell them you have the flu.”

I spit out toothpaste and rinse my mouth. “It’s been a year since you moved in with me, I think it’s finally time I met them.”

She fixes my collar and kisses me. I take her hand. “You ready?” I ask her.

“I think so,” she says with a deep breath and a smile.

We double-check our packing list and head for the airport.

After a long flight and a four-hour layover, our plane finally lands. This will be my first time meeting Georgia’s parents, but I’ve actually talked to her mom several times on the phone, just friendly chatter to get to know one another more. When she sidelined me, asking me to come to their Thanksgiving dinner, I wasn’t sure what to say, and so I just said yes.

“Why would you do such a thing?” Georgia had asked, panicked out of her mind. She’s concerned about what they’ll think about me being ten years older than she is and a former teacher at the university she attends. Not that she never planned to tell them; she just wanted to ease her way into the conversation.

After a year of us being together, the subject could’ve found its way into a conversation sooner, but I never said that-they’re her parents and she can deal with them how she wants. Of course we won’t tell them that I was her teacher and our relationship is the reason I’m no longer employed there. If they don’t ask, I won’t bring it up. If they do, I’ll just explain that I found opportunities elsewhere-which is true. I’m now working in a lab, creating chemical formulas for cosmetic and skincare companies. Sort of a dream job, utilizing my skills as a chemist instead of teaching others how to hone theirs. Had I not met Georgia, it might not have ever happened.

I pull the rented car up to a small, quaint house with the all-American white picket fence out front, and a giant oak tree with a tire swing hanging from its limb that has been there so long the tree has started to grow around the rope itself. Must’ve been left over from Georgia’s childhood. I can imagine a younger version of her, with knobby knees and sun-kissed, long, awkward legs, as she kicked at the ground to push herself higher. Early Christmas lights are hung, gearing up for the holidays, and pumpkins and Indian corn decorate the porch. There are several cars in the driveway.

“My brothers are already here,” Georgia says.

I have to admit, I’m a little intimidated by the idea of meeting her entire family at the same time. There are three brothers in all, two of them fully grown, married, and with kids of their own, as well as a younger brother still in high school.

“Great,” I say. “Can’t wait to meet them.”

I’d hoped to ease into the situation by meeting her parents first and getting them to like me, before meeting the older, protective brothers. I figured if I had the parents’ approval, the brothers would follow suit. Now I have to impress everyone at the same time. I just hope I have it in me.

I’m carrying two bottles of champagne in my arms, the same Dom Perignon that I’d bought for my first evening with Georgia.

The Christmas lights flicker on and the front door opens before we’ve made it to the porch. Her parents crowd in the doorway, their smiles beaming at their daughter.

“George,” her dad says. The nickname is funny and suits her, in a way.

Her dad is older than I was expecting, probably in his late sixties, with silver hair and a kind face. Her mom, on the other hand, can’t be older than early fifties, with long dark hair and streaks of blond that twist up in a bun. Maybe the age difference between me and Georgia won’t be an issue, since it’s clearly the same situation as her parents.

“And you must be Loche,” her mom says with outstretched hands. I take her awaiting hands and she gives mine a squeeze.

“So nice to meet you, Mrs. Brightly,” I say.

“Please, call me Angela.”

“Come on you two, let’s go in before the food gets cold,” her dad says.

It’s probably already cold. We were supposed to be here and hour ago, but with our delayed flight, there was nothing I could do.