FUCKED BY MY PROFESSOR II (Filthy, Little Lesson)

His cock slammed into me, deeper than before, every stroke harder, meaner—like he was teaching my body a lesson I wouldn’t forget.

"You think you can cheat in my class and get away with it?" he growled, hands gripping my hips so tight I knew I’d have bruises tomorrow.

"No, sir," I moaned, biting down on my arm to keep from screaming. "I’m sorry."

"The only thing you're sorry for," he grunted, "is getting caught."

He shifted his angle, and my back arched automatically—because fuck, he found that spot, the one that made my vision go white.

Every thrust drove it deeper. Every slap of his hips against my ass sent shocks straight through me.

"You’re soaking the desk," he muttered, voice thick with lust. "Dripping like a bitch in heat."

I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. My body wasn’t mine anymore—it was his. And he was wrecking it, wrecking me.

Then he pulled out again.

I whimpered.

He grabbed me by the arm and yanked me upright, spinning me around and lifting me onto the desk.

"Lie back," he ordered.

I did, legs falling open for him without hesitation. My skirt was bunched around my waist, my shirt half-unbuttoned, tits barely hidden under my bra.

He pushed my knees up, spreading me wide, and looked down at my soaked pussy like it was something he owned.

"Look at you," he said. "Fucking ruined already."

He ran his fingers up my slit, spreading me, playing with me like I was nothing but a toy in his hands.

"You want to come, don’t you?"

"Yes," I gasped.

He smirked, rubbing slow circles over my clit with the pad of his thumb.

"Too bad."

I whined. Bucked my hips. He slapped my pussy hard, and I gasped.

"I decide when you come," he said. "You don’t get to control shit."

Then he leaned over me, one hand on my throat, the other guiding his cock back inside me.

Slow at first—just to watch my face twist. Then rough.

So fucking rough.

The desk creaked under us. My moans filled the air. His hand tightened around my throat just enough to make everything sharper, hotter, more dangerous.

"Take it," he growled. "Fucking take it."

I clawed at the desk. My body was burning, my pussy stretched tight, every inch of him dragging over my walls like he was trying to carve himself into me.

"You’re going to remember this," he said, eyes locked on mine. "Every time you sit in my class, you’re going to feel how deep I was inside you."

"Yes, sir," I whimpered.

He slammed into me harder.

I was still pulsing around him when he pulled out, slow and mean, watching me clench around nothing.

"Already coming undone," he muttered, dragging his cock through my slick folds like he wasn’t just inside me seconds ago. "Pathetic."

I couldn’t even answer. My legs were trembling, the desk sticky under my ass, my throat sore from moaning his name like a prayer.

He slapped my pussy again—wet, loud, cruel.

"Up," he ordered. "On your knees."

My body obeyed before my brain caught up. I slid off the desk, legs barely holding me, and dropped down in front of him, flushed and dazed and aching.

He grabbed my hair, twisted it around his fist, and forced me to look up at him.

"Open."

I parted my lips, tongue out, breath hitching as his cock hovered just above my mouth—still hard, soaked in my slick, and twitching with the need to ruin me more.

"You wanted to cheat your way through my class," he said, voice low and venomous. "Now earn your grade."

He didn’t ease in. He shoved his cock deep, burying it in my throat with one rough thrust.

I choked, gagged—but he didn’t stop. Just held my head in place and fucked my mouth like it was another hole made to take him.

"That’s it," he groaned. "Choke on it."

Tears blurred my eyes. Spit and drool spilled down my chin, dripping onto my chest. He used my face like it was nothing—just a warm, wet place to fuck.

I gagged again, and he pulled out with a pop, letting me gasp for air.

But not for long.

"Messy little thing," he murmured, smearing the tip over my lips, slapping it against my cheek. "Do you even know what you look like right now?"

I couldn’t speak. Just stared up at him, drunk on the taste of him, the sting in my throat, the dizzy haze clouding everything.

He grabbed my chin, tilted my face.

"Look at me."

I met his gaze, lips parted, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

"You like this," he said. "Being used."

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.

He saw it all over my face.

And then—he smiled. Dark and satisfied.

"Open wide."

I did.

He slid back into my mouth, slower this time, watching me as he sank deep, groaning when he hit the back of my throat again.

"Good girl," he whispered. "Now don’t stop until I come."

And I didn’t.