Double Dirty Mountain Men(24)

Professor Sharpe smiles, and I relax a little, smiling back.

“Don’t forget, Melody,” he says. “Final papers are due Friday.”

Then he signs off.

My heart flutters, and so does my pussy.





Chapter 8





Professor Sharpe




I turn off my phone and look around. I managed to use a tissue this time, instead of coming all over my couch, but just barely.

I can’t believe I just did that with a student. An undergrad who’s not even old enough to drink. I didn’t touch her, but at this point that’s a technicality.

I have to stop, I tell myself. Everything is at stake. Everything.

Once you turn in grades for the semester, she won’t be your student any more. And you probably shouldn’t fuck an advisee either, but one thing at a time.

I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about Melody, this powerful, all-consuming need to have her.

I want to fuck her, but I want more. I want to possess her. I want her to submit to me, for her body to be mine, completely and totally.

And I want her to beg me to make her mine: her lips, her sweet pussy, her tight little asshole. I want to make Melody scream in pleasure the way no one ever has before.

Shit, I’m hard again, just thinking about her even though I just came.

With a sigh, I wrap my hand around my cock and jerk myself off for the millionth time, imagining her lips bobbing up and down my shaft.



By some miracle, I survive the week. Melody texts me pictures that slowly become dirtier and dirtier, but they’re nothing compared to what I want to do to her. I text back sometimes, sometimes not, but she doesn’t stop and I can’t help but like that.

She’s a nice girl, but I’ve unlocked something filthy and ferocious inside her. Something unstoppable.

It’s finals week, so at least I’ve got plenty of papers to grade. I read about Roman history and Latin grammar and try not to imagine Melody, bent over in front of me, begging with her eyes.

It’s nearly five o’clock Friday afternoon, and I’m starting to worry. No dirty pictures from Melody all day, and she hasn’t turned in her final paper. Most students email it to me, and she hasn’t yet.

I don’t want to fail her. She’s really an excellent student.

Then, at one minute until five, there’s a knock on my office door, and I sit up straight. I know who I want it to be.

“Come in,” I call, pushing my sleeves up past my elbows.

The door opens and Melody steps into my office, a paper in one hand. I get hard instantly, before she even shuts the door behind her. She’s wearing a demure, knee-length skirt, black tights, and a sweater — the very picture of a good girl, circa 1950.

I want to tear her nice-girl sweater off and shove my face between her thighs, ruin every last vestige of good girl left in Melody. I want her to suck me off, I want to fuck her, and then I want feel the perfect, tight heat of her back entrance.

And I want her to enjoy every second. I want her to come until she can’t any more.

“I’ve got my final,” she says, her voice sweet and innocent, as she blinks at me.

I take it from her: The Role of Priestesses in Late Empire Economics: A New Approach.

I raise my eyebrows. It’s a little more advanced than most undergraduates write, but she’s not most undergraduates.

“Thank you,” I say, as formally as I can, and place it on top of the stack.

Melody licks her lip, her eyes darting from my face to her paper and back, her confidence wavering just a little. Then she stands up straight, forcing it back.

“Then... that’s my final, right?” she says, placing both hands on the desk in front of her and leaning forward the tiniest bit.

Her perky young breasts press against her sweater, and I feel an almost irresistible urge to reach out and grab them, bury my face between them.

“Yes,” I say, summoning every ounce of professorial gravitas I’ve got. “But until I grade it, you’re my student, Melody.”

Her face drops in disappointment.

“I promise it’s good,” she whispers, the sounds snaking their way down my spine, from my ears to my cock, hardening it even more. “I worked so hard on it, Professor.”

Self-control, I remind myself. Self-control.

“I believe you,” I say. My voice comes out a low growl, my cock straining against the zipper of my pants. “But you have to give it another forty-eight hours. Grades have to be turned in.”

Her chest is heaving below her prim, proper sweater, and she looks at me with huge eyes like she’s trying to figure something out.

She probably is. It’s hard to tell overachievers like Melody no.

She walks around my desk slowly, then stands in front of me. She swallows hard, then bends over me and puts her hands on my knees, biting her lip as she does.

“Don’t you want me?” she whispers.

I take one wrist in my hand and squeeze, hard. She gasps, and I swear all the nervousness in her eyes turns into lust instantly.

“I want you once grades are in,” I say, using my most commanding voice, her wrist still locked in my hand. “Monday, Melody.”

Before I know it she’s on her knees in front of me, her other hand reaching for my cock. I grab it too, squeezing her wrist hard, and I swear her eyes glitter.

“I just want to taste you,” she says.

“Melody,” I say, warning her. I can’t believe I’m in this position, forcefully turning down the hottest girl I’ve ever seen as she begs to suck my cock, but I am.

“Professor, can I tell you a secret?” she asks, but doesn’t wait for me to answer. “I don’t have a gag reflex.”

I grab her by both wrists and stand, hauling her up with me. If she stays one second longer I’m completely certain this will end with my cock in her mouth, and later, me in front of an ethics committee, losing my job, becoming completely unhireable.

I’m an adult man. I can postpone pleasure for two more days.

“You need to leave,” I say, bringing her to the door. I open it and let her go, and she turns and looks at me.

There’s no one in the hallway.

“I’ll make you pay for that Monday,” I whisper.

She blushes, then nods.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I need to go study anyway.”

Then she ducks away and I’m left in my office, dick hard as diamond, a stack of final papers to grade.





Chapter 9





Melody




I slink off to my favorite spot on campus: one of the study carrels in the basement of the main library. No one else ever seems to come down here, and even the books are old and dusty. It’s quiet, the Wi-Fi still works, and it smells lovely, like old books and bricks.

Usually, this is my happy place, where I come when I want to lose myself in work and get away from life for a little while. But now I’m just staring at a textbook with my head in my hands.

I’m thinking, over and over again, you’re an idiot. My face burns with shame at how I just threw myself at Professor Sharpe, like some desperately horny teenager.

Hell, that’s practically what I am. I’m desperately horny, at least. I don’t have a gag reflex? I can’t believe I said that to him.

I take a deep breath, and remind myself that he still wants me. He just has to turn his grades in, and that’s perfectly reasonable. I just need to be patient.

I read one paragraph about Moby Dick, but my mind is wandering again, and I’m thinking around wrapping my lips around Professor Sharpe’s thick cock as it stretches my jaw open, slurping him in and out of my mouth. I wonder if I could swallow him — I could deep-throat my ex, the guy I fooled around with freshman year, but he was a lot smaller.

Crap, I’m soaking wet again, and I didn’t even wear panties. I wore a garter belt and stockings, some leftover Halloween costume, because I was so sure he’d be consumed with lust and take me right there on his desk.

I sigh, then look around. The lights in the book stacks are out, and it’s Friday night. No one else is here, and if someone comes along, it’s so quiet that I’m sure I’ll hear them.

I put one foot on the desk and push my skirt up to my hips quickly. God, I can smell how turned on I am even though I showered just a couple of hours ago. I close my eyes and quickly slide my fingers from my soaking wet slit to my clit and start circling it in the same familiar pattern I’ve used countless times this semester.

I wish I had the dildo here, I think, but I don’t want to risk bringing it to campus and having it fall out of my backpack in the middle of class.

I rub myself quickly, leaning back and closing my eyes, imagining Professor Sharpe here. Bending me over this carrel, holding me down. Telling me what a bad girl I am as he enters me, driving his thick cock all the way in with a single stroke, one hand over my mouth so I don’t cry out.

With my other hand, I slide my fingers inside myself. It’s a terrible substitute, but I feel so empty that I need something, and I sigh. Even though I’m just jerking off, I’ve been so constantly horny lately that I’m already close to coming, and I bite my lip to keep myself from coming.

Fuck me, Professor, I think. Fuck me harder, God, harder...

I gasp and squeeze my eyes shut as I come, head back, one leg still up on the desk, fucking myself with my fingers as hard as I can, my hips working back and forth.

It’s not satisfying. It’s not what I need, but at least maybe I can study now.