School Me Dirty: A College Romance Read online

  I hold my breath and bite my lip. I squeeze harder and stroke faster, my legs trembling, my pussy wet and aching.

  Then I take a deep breath and open my eyes, because no matter how hard I try, I can’t make a dildo come. I unstick it and rinse it off in the sink, my insides still quivering with excitement, but suddenly, I don’t quite know what to do.

  In the stuff I watched, the girls had it on the wall and backed themselves onto it, but that seems... advanced, and I’m anything but. Besides, I’m a little afraid that I’ll lose control, and the last thing I want is to slip in the bathroom, hit my head, and let my roommate find me unconscious with a comically large dildo in my vagina.

  I turn on the shower so at least there’s some noise covering up what I’m about to do, because I can hear Erica wandering around our apartment. Then I consider for a moment, and after deliberating, I suction the dildo to the lip of the tub.

  It sticks up, angled ever-so slightly forward, and I take another deep breath. I’m fucking horny for this dildo, and even though I know it’s really Professor Sharpe who’s getting me this wet, I’m in my bathroom staring at a silicone monster.

  I don’t care, because I need something and this is it. I step one foot into the tub and brace myself with one hand on the wall and one hand on the lip of the tub, lowering myself onto the massive cock until it’s at my entrance, parting my lips with its massive head.

  Then I swallow hard, half nervous that this thing is way too big and half excited, and lower myself fractions of an inch.

  The head enters me, and I gasp. It’s stretching my tight pussy wide, and I was afraid it would hurt but instead it feels good, like I was meant to be stretched out and filled up.

  I imagine the Professor, sitting in his office chair behind me. His hands on my hips as he pulls me back on to his bare cock, and I bite back a groan as I lower myself further, letting the toy enter me.

  I go slow, back and forth, letting the dildo stretch me and fill me up gradually, even though it feels fucking incredible in my pussy. With my eyes closed, I can pretend it’s him.

  My knees almost collapse at the thought, as I’m still working my way down this monster, breathing hard and trying not to cry out in pleasure. It feels like he’s — no, it’s — hitting every single pleasure spot inside me, pushing me toward the edge of orgasm before I’ve even managed to take it all.

  And then, suddenly, my ass hits the cold porcelain of the tub and I realize that I’ve taken this whole monster and I come with no warning, almost instantly, gritting my teeth together and making a strangled animal noise while I desperately try not to shout or moan.

  I lean forward, bracing myself against the wall as I rock back and forth, biting down the words Fuck me, Professor, please, letting the waves pass through my body as the dildo strokes my insides with every movement.

  Gradually, it fades, and I can breathe again, my heart beating so fast I think it might explode. I shift and the cock inside me slides along the sensitive walls of my pussy, and I gasp because holy shit this feels good.

  I bite my lip. I close my eyes, and very carefully, I put both hands behind me, leaning back. Instantly it presses against my front wall and I grunt without meaning to, the delicious pressure already building up inside me, so savage and insistent that I know I can’t hold it back any longer.

  Resting on my hands, I lift my hips carefully, pulling it out partway and easing it back in, and it feels so good I almost fall over. I move faster, up and down, fucking the dildo on the edge of the tub and thinking about my Roman History professor.

  I come again. I’m almost out of control, riding this sex toy wildly in the shower, but I don’t care. I need this, I need to feel just a little like I’m fucking Professor Sharpe before I lose my mind.

  I don’t stop. I keep fucking myself, feeling the delicious girth slide in and out of me, imagining the Professor holding me down on a table and slamming his huge cock into me, again and again.

  I just keep coming, wave after wave wracking my body, and I can hear myself gasping and whimpering but I feel completely powerless to stop until they’re finally over and I’m shaking, my body wrung out and spent.

  I slide off the dildo one more time. I stand. I unstick it from the tub, get in the shower, and wash it off.

  Do this again before your advisee’s meeting tomorrow night and maybe you can survive it without making a fool of yourself, I think.

  I’m not particularly hopeful.

  Chapter 4

  Professor Sharpe

  This advisee meeting is completely normal. Hartvale University prides itself on small class sizes, and on professors and students working together in a friendly, open, productive community. Most professors host students in their homes a few times a semester, so there’s nothing odd about this.

  Except how desperately I want one of my students. That is completely beyond the pale, but all I can think about is Melody’s body under mine, completely under my control as she writhes and moans in pleasure.

  I want her. I want all of her. I want her body to belong to me, totally and completely, and I want her to beg me to make her mine.

  I’ve jerked off so much thinking about her that my cock is probably developing callouses.

  At eight exactly, my doorbell rings. It’s Todd, followed shortly by Ben, and I welcome them both in.

  “The hot chocolate is ready and on the stove,” I say. “Cookies are already in the living room, make yourselves comfortable.”

  “Thanks,” they say, almost in unison, looking around at my house. Most undergrads are a little nervous their first time here, but it’s understandable.

  Doorbell again. It’s Anna, my third advisee, who’s wearing so many sweaters I can barely identify her as human. Still, she’s a nice young lady who’s very smart and driven.

  The four of us sit in the living room, sipping hot chocolate and eating cookies that I bought earlier today. After a few minutes of trying not to talk about school, I give up and ask Todd how his thesis is going.

  He pushes his glasses up his nose.

  “Quite well, I think,” he says. “I’ve identified all the primary sources needed to—”

  The doorbell rings again, and I practically leap out of my seat.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say.

  It’s finally Melody, and when I open the door she’s looking up at me with her wide blue eyes, cheeks rosy from the cold, something about her the perfect mix of innocent and downright sinful.

  “Welcome,” I say.

  “Hello, Professor,” she says, her voice breathy.

  I step back and she enters. She doesn’t look around like the others did, only at me. Like she’s expecting something.

  Like she wants something and doesn’t know how to ask for it.

  “Hot chocolate’s in the kitchen,” I say, forcing myself to stay in control. “We’re in the living room.”

  She swallows, then smiles.

  “Thanks,” she says.

  I sit back down with the others and don’t hear a word they say. It’s an excruciating ninety minutes.

  The students all get up and start to leave as a unit, the four of them rising and putting on their coats. We say goodbye, and I walk them to the door.

  I don’t want to say goodbye to Melody. I want her to stay here and bend over the couch, but there’s no way I can ask her to stay without seeming suspicious, and I have everything on the line. My entire career, which is essentially my life.

  “I’ll see you all next week?” I ask as the students leave in a mass.

  “Yes,” they chorus, and then step onto my porch. They go down the steps.

  Melody stops, like she’s thought of something, and turns around.

  “I forgot my scarf!” she says, and laughs.

  “We can wait,” Anna offers.

  Melody waves one hand.

  “Go on ahead, I’ll be fine,” she says.

  The others shrug and walk on, and Melody turns to me, her breath frosting
in the cold air, everything I want and absolutely can’t have.

  “I think it’s in the living room,” she says, suddenly shy again.

  I gesture at the open door, and she walks past me. She picks her scarf up from the couch where she was sitting and looks at me, running it through her fingers.

  “You never did tell me what you want to write your thesis about,” I say.

  She bites her lower lip, looking down.

  “I wanted to write something about Roman mores surrounding marriage and sexuality,” she says, her voice soft, nearly a whisper. The fire crackles. “Particularly on women’s sexuality.”

  Right now, she’s so shy and demure that I almost can’t believe what she’s saying, but there it is.

  Tell her what books to read and then show her the door, I tell myself. You can’t risk this.

  “I’ve got something you might like to see,” I say, my voice dangerously low, even to my own ears. “If you can keep a secret, that is.”

  She turns bright pink but unzips her coat, placing it on the couch.

  “Of course,” she says, glancing up at me with positively sinful eyes.

  I lead her to my study, a simple, small room with a desk, an office chair, and a big leather recliner that’s perfect for reading. The walls are lined with books and one cabinet, and it’s the cabinet I walk to.

  “It’s not exactly appropriate for me to share this with a student,” I say, opening the cabinet. “But I’ll make an exception for you.”

  I pull open the drawer with the Roman pornography in it. Not original, of course; reproductions. Melody laughs a little, then picks up a heavy, large book and opens it.

  It’s a full-page, full-color illustration of a man and a woman on a couch, the woman riding the man’s cock and touching herself.

  “Oh,” she says, sounding a little surprised.

  Then she flips the page. There’s a woman on her hands and knees, one man fucking her from behind, another man’s cock in her mouth.

  Melody clears her throat.

  “Modern people didn’t invent dirty sex,” I say, grinning wickedly.

  Now I’m afraid that I’ve gone too far, that she’ll leave here and tell the dean that I showed a young, female student porn.

  “Of course not,” she says, flicking her eyes up to mine, a smile in them. “Humans have always loved anything that feels good.”

  Melody flips another page, this one with two women, one’s face buried in the other’s crotch. She stops for a moment, then clears her throat, staring blankly at the page, her face bright pink. I’m so close to her I can smell her floral shampoo, feel the heat rolling off her perfect tight body.

  I’m hard as fuck, my cock tenting up my pants so obviously that there’s no hiding it. Melody glances down at it for a split second, then looks up at me, and I swear her eyes are equal parts lust and nervousness.

  “Have you ever tried any of these things with anybody before?” she whispers.

  Chapter 5

  Melody

  I think I might puke. Have you ever tried any of these things with anybody, what kind of stupid, terrible question is that?

  Professor Sharpe is in his late thirties and hot as hell. I’m sure he’s had sex before, and I’m so embarrassed that I just look down at the book, wishing I could melt into the floor.

  He just chuckles.

  “A few,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.

  He’s looking down at me, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity I can’t begin to explain. Then his face gets serious.

  “But never a student.”

  I hold my breath, and just nod. The message is clear: Professor Sharpe isn’t interested in students, so I close the book and put it back in the drawer, then turn to leave.

  I’m nearly to the door of the study when I hear his voice again.

  “Melody,” he says.

  I turn, embarrassed and horny all at once. I wish he’d just let me leave so I could go home, masturbate, and then never look another human in the eye again.

  Professor Sharpe walks toward me, his body big and powerful, his enormous erection beyond obvious under his pants.

  “Yes?” I whisper.

  Now he’s towering over me, and I feel like I’m melting.

  “I could get fired if I touched a student,” he says, his voice a growl. “Everything I’ve ever worked for, out the window.”

  I just nod.

  “I understand,” I mutter. “I’m sorry, it was —”

  “I don’t want you to be sorry,” he says. “Look at me.”

  I look up, face burning, eyes pricking with embarrassed tears.

  “Unbutton your blouse,” he whispers.

  I stare at him for a few seconds. My heart thumps so hard it sounds like a door slamming in my chest, because I was certain I was about to get the brush off, that he was about to tell me that I was a nice girl but he wasn’t interested.

  My hands are trembling, but I undo the top button, then the next, then the next. I’m a little embarrassed at the white lacy bra I wore tonight — not particularly scandalous, but the sexiest thing I own — but he groans at the sight, steadying himself against a bookshelf with one hand.

  Soon my whole shirt is unbuttoned to the waist, and I run my fingers lightly over my breasts, trying to tease him even though I’ve never teased anyone like this before.

  “Touch yourself,” he commands.

  I pinch my nipples through my bra until they’re hard, then push the cups below the fullness of my breasts. Professor Sharpe flexes his jaw and sucks in a breath as I pinch my rosy, pebbled nipples between my fingers, looking up at him.

  “Tell me what you think about when you touch yourself,” he orders, his voice quiet and dangerous.

  I swallow hard. I feel almost lightheaded in this moment, pinching my own nipples at his command.

  “You,” I whisper.

  “Go on.”

  “I think about — the things you could do to me,” I go on, not really sure how. “I think about you undressing me, and, um, looking at me, and I think about you...”

  I blush even harder and swallow.

  “Touching me,” I finish, my voice nearly a whisper.

  “Touching you where?”

  “Down on... my vagina,” I say.

  He grins, the smile wicked and sexy and sinful all at once.

  “Do you think about me licking your sweet little clit until you come, then fucking you with my tongue up your pussy and drinking your honey until you come again?” he says.

  My pussy throbs at the thought, but I’m so surprised that he said it that I stop moving my hands. No one’s ever talked to me like this before. Not even close.

  I just nod. Professor Sharpe turns and walks to his luxurious leather desk chair and leans back, looking at me, and gestures at the leather armchair.

  “Sit,” he says.

  I do, ankles crossed, knees together, breasts still bulging over the top of my bra. I’m desperately excited for whatever’s about to happen, even if I don’t know what it is.

  “Push your skirt up and spread your legs,” he says. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

  I take a deep breath, then slowly pull my modest black skirt up my thighs. I don’t really know how, but I want to tease Professor Sharpe. I want him to want this as badly as I do, so I make him wait for it.

  When I finally push my skirt past my hips, he grins and I blush. I didn’t wear underwear tonight in a moment of wild lust, and now he knows that I planned this. That I wanted it to happen.

  “Do you usually skip panties?” he asks me. He’s leaning back in his chair, rubbing the flat of one hand over the bulge of his cock, and I can’t stop watching.

  “No,” I say.

  I drape one leg over the chair arm, then the other, spreading myself for him in a moment of pure bravery. I’m still convinced that at any moment, he’ll tell me that I’m interpreting everything all wrong and ask me to leave, but instead he stares at my pink pussy.


  I bite my lip, carefully running my fingers over my slick folds. I’m wetter than I can ever remember being, and now he’s here, watching me.

  I can’t help myself. I start running my fingers up and down my slit, spreading my lips and showing the Professor, who can’t tear his eyes away, and then I start rubbing myself, desperate for a release to the pressure building up inside me.

  At last, the Professor unzips his pants, and I slow for a moment, just watching as he reaches inside his zipper.

  Out springs an absolutely massive cock, even bigger than I thought it would be.

  I stop rubbing myself, my mouth hanging open, and the Professor chuckles, stroking it.

  “I didn’t say stop,” he says.

  I watch him as I rub myself, faster and faster, circling up to dizzying heights of pleasure. I can’t help but imagine that big, fat cock inside me, bending me over this chair and taking me hard and fast, again and again, a hundred times better than the dildo in the shower.

  I plunge the fingers of my other hand into my pussy and gasp, because it’s not what I want but it feels good anyway. He’s still stroking his huge cock, his eyes intent on me.

  “Professor,” I whisper.

  Then I come. I try to stay quiet, but I’m gasping and moaning, my pussy clamping down around my fingers, my whole body rocking with the force of it. It’s good but it’s not him, it’s not his cock making this happen, and even though it feels good I’m empty afterward.

  The Professor is still sitting in his chair, stroking his cock, hard and fast. God, I want it, I want him, so much that I lick my lips staring at him.

  He grins wickedly.

  Chapter 6

  Professor Sharpe

  I can’t decide which is better: Melody coming in my chair or Melody staring at my cock hungrily, like she’s starving and it’s a meal. Now she’s panting for breath, legs spread, looking like a wanton harlot.