Her Dirty Professor(10)

By: Penny Wylder

“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


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.