Her Dirty Professor Series (21+)

She looked so young seated there. Her eyes so big and sad, and so fucking pretty with her sweet little fingers curled in her hair.

“It’s a bit rich to accuse me of hating you, don’t you think? It’s you who’s gunning for me every time I step through the door.”

“So, you do hate me.”

I smiled. “You drive me fucking mental sometimes, Aimee, but no, I don’t hate you.”

The hairs on my arms stood on end, clocking the danger in the room before I did. Aimee shifted in her seat, raising the hem of her skirt just a fraction. I soaked in the milky white perfection of her thighs. Shit.

Her eyes met mine, and there it was again, the dirty girl glint.

“Do you love Mum? Did you ever? Was it really what you both claimed it was when you came back from vacation and declared undying love?”

“I married your mother, didn’t I?”

She shrugged. “Like that means anything. I don’t think she loves you. I don’t think she ever did. You’re just another one of her possessions left on the shelf now she’s bored of you. You can join the club.”

“Thanks for that.” I feigned chest pain.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. She doesn’t love anyone, only herself.” She paused, bitchiness easing off just a little. “Sorry. If you do love her, I mean. If you don’t, it doesn’t matter a shit.”

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” I sighed. “Not for a conversation about the reality of love in modern suburbia, and definitely not with you.”

“You think I’m a silly little girl, that I’m just the spoiled little brat you see every day. You think that’s all there is to me, don’t you?”

“You make it really damn hard to see anything else, since that’s all you ever show me.”

“Maybe I don’t want anyone to see anything else. Maybe it’s easier that way.”All rights © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Easier to be a cocky little brat than show a little common courtesy? I think that would be easier for anyone. You can take the easy route all you like, sweetheart, and I’ll suck it up. I’ve got bigger things on my plate than whether you’re being a bitch to me or not.”

Her eyes pooled with fresh tears. “See, you really do hate me after all.”

Fucking hell. I’d overstepped the mark like a prick, letting my cocky who-gives-a shit attitude speak for me.

My hand was on her knee before I’d even registered. Her skin was silky soft, warm to the touch.

“If I hated you, I wouldn’t be here. You’re the one who’s stuck here with me, not the other way around.”

“So, it’s not about the house? You’re not staying here for the swanky pad? Yeah, right. Like that’s not your biggest concern.”

I pulled a face, genuinely shocked.

“You think I’m worried about keeping this place? I mean, sure, it’s nice, but I couldn’t give a toss whether I have a nice four-bed detached or not. The apartment is plenty enough for me.”

“Hasn’t the apartment sold already?”

“No. I could pack up and be back there in an hour if I wanted to. I could get straight on to the agent in the morning and tell her I was pulling it from sale, no big deal.”

There was silence between us as she tried to digest it. Both of us drunk and lost for words.

“I really thought you were staying here because you had to,” she said. “I didn’t think you had a choice.”

“Well, now you know, don’t you?”

Another silence as she tried to digest it, and I didn’t fill it in with pointless words.

Her breaths were shallow when she spoke next. “I don’t really hate you, Kyle, I just pretend I do. It always makes it easier to think people hate me, then it doesn’t hurt so bad when I find out it’s really true.”

I swallowed hard, trying to stay detached from her. Just enough to keep my wits and my cool.

She twirled her hair. “You know, when I was little, I thought my mum bought me things because she loved me, now I know it was because she didn’t. She’d always tell me I was a good girl and hand over presents, like they showed me she cared. She was lying, though. She never gave a shit. It was just an easy way to pretend she did. An easy form of compensation.”

I shrugged. “People show love in different ways.”

“She doesn’t show love in any way. Nobody does. I’ve been bad my whole life and nobody says a thing. Nobody stops me. Nobody cares. Mum would sigh and tell me to be good and offer me a reward if I did as I was told. She did it to shut me up, not because she gave a stuff about my behaviour. If she could shut the door on me and let me get on with being a spiteful little brat, she would do,” she paused. “She’d only buy me off when it was necessary. Usually when she had friends over or work to be doing.”

My heart was thumping like crazy. “That’s crazy talk. Your mother is your mother. She cares. People care.”

“No, they don’t. And I don’t blame them.” She twisted her fingers on her lap. “I am the stupid, bad bitch everyone says I am.”

I’ve always hated the victim mentality. Even coming from her with a tear-streaked face, it irritated the shit out of me.

“It’s always a choice, sweetheart. You choose who you want to be. Only you can change your behaviour.”

Only that was bullshit, and I knew it. I could change her behaviour with a few decent slaps on her ass and some proper fucking discipline.

She opened her legs a little, almost imperceptibly. Almost. There was something unspoken between us. A tension building. That’s when I guessed she knew the only you can change your behaviour crap was bullshit too. She knew as well as I did that someone like me could change her behaviour with a decent amount of guidance.

I didn’t think she’d risk voicing it out loud. The alcohol must have been flowing rampant through her brain to even consider it, but she did.

“Maybe I want to be bad, hey? Maybe I hope one day someone will care enough to stop me… to put me in my place and make me behave.”

“You’re drunk,” I stated the obvious.

“So? What if I am? It doesn’t make any difference, does it? I’m only telling the truth.”

“You need to go to bed,” I said. “Now.”

“I have secrets, Kyle…”

“Don’t we all,” I muttered, then took another breath. “Get your ass up to bed, Aimee. Sleep it off.”

“I’m not lying. I have real secrets. I write about them in my diary. I write about you, too.”

“Go to bed, Aimee.” I fixed her in the most serious stare I could muster, part of me begging her to leave, the other part daring her to stay.

She sighed and steadied herself, pulling her legs away from me and raising herself from the sofa. “Fine. Goodnight then, Daddy.”

I held my breath until she was long gone.

Aimee’s bedroom light was on as I made my way upstairs. I walked past quickly, not entirely trusting my urges. Stepdaughter, stepdaughter, stepdaughter. The mantra should have rammed some perspective into my swollen fucking balls, but all it did was stoke me higher. I ditched my suit and took a shower, a cold shower scrubbing my skin to citrus-scented purity, desperate to scrub her out of me. But the glimpse of her white lace panties held firm, blazing bright behind my eyeballs. My mouth watered, hungry for the scent of silky young pussy, hungry for the dirty little girl down the hallway. She’d be satin soft, her tight little cunt so eager for my fingers, so eager for me. I turned up the shower to hot, lowering my head until the force of the jet scorched my shoulders. The water surged around my ears, drowning out the world, but I was all out of fight.

With a groan I relented and reached for my cock. In my deviant mind Aimee was reclining on her bed, head lolling back against frilly white pillows, blonde curls splayed like a cliched golden halo. Her legs were spread wide, nightdress hitched around her waist as her glitter pink nails circled her sweet clit. She’d look at me through hooded eyes, breathing hard and fast. And then she’d say the words; words I should never hear but fuck, they’d sound so fucking sweet. Fuck me, Daddy, please. Please, Daddy, give it to me. Jesus Christ. My cock leapt in my hand, jerking and twitching and pulsing into oblivion. White hot release shot through my balls until I was a wreck, a grunting hulk of sin, coming like a fucking animal. Dirty girl, so fucking dirty.

I caught my breath, my brow pressed to the tile. The forbidden fruit always tastes so fucking juicy. Hell don’t I know it. I’ve been filthy my whole life.

I slung a towel around my shoulders, stopping at the sink to brush my teeth. I wiped a streak in the steam on the mirror, ready to meet the eyes of the dirty fucker who’d shot his load over stepdaughter pussy, but instead I saw beyond. Beyond to the crack of light in the doorway and the flash of blonde hair stumbling from my bedroom.

What the fuck?

Aimee was fragile in the morning. She was waspier than usual, scowling at me as I fried up egg and bacon. My optimism was shelved in seconds. I’d been a fool to think anything about our seemingly heartfelt chat would last through the night. She was back to her usual bratty self, loud and clear.

“Do you have to cook right now?” she snapped. “I think I’m gonna barf.”

I pushed down my indignation, turning to face her with a spatula in hand. “Did nobody ever teach you manners, or are you simply this obnoxious by choice?”