My Married Professor's Late-Night Office Craving

My Married Professor's Late-Night Office Craving

I was twenty-one and stupidly horny the night I walked into Dr. Michael Reeves’s office at 9:17 p.m. The rest of the literature building was dark and empty, just the low hum of the vending machine down the hall and the faint smell of old paper and coffee. I’d spent the entire semester pretending to care about postmodern irony while actually caring about the way his wedding ring looked against the stem of his coffee mug, the way his voice dropped half an octave when he read aloud from Carver or Baldwin.

He was thirty-eight, broad-shouldered, dark stubble already showing even though he’d been clean-shaven that morning. Married for twelve years. Two kids. And tonight he looked at me like I was the only thing left in the world that could still make him feel alive.

The door clicked shut behind me. He didn’t ask me to sit. Instead he leaned back against the edge of his cluttered desk, loosened the navy tie I’d spent far too many lectures staring at, and let it hang open around his neck like an invitation.

“Close the blinds, Alex.”

My pulse hammered. I did what he said. When I turned around again he was watching me with raw, undisguised hunger.

“I’ve been hard since the first week of class,” he said, voice low and rough. “Every time you stretched in that front-row seat, every time you bit your pen while you listened. I go home to my wife and jerk off in the shower thinking about your mouth. That’s how fucked I am.”

The confession hit me like a fist. I could see the thick ridge of his cock straining against his charcoal slacks, the gold band on his left hand catching the lamplight as he palmed himself once, slowly.

“She hasn’t touched me in six months,” he continued, almost like he was confessing a sin. “And I can’t stop thinking about you sucking me. I need it, Alex. Right now.”

I crossed the small office in two steps and dropped to my knees.

His belt buckle was warm from his body heat. The sound of his zipper coming down was obscenely loud in the quiet room. He wasn’t wearing underwear. His cock sprang free—thick, veined, flushed dark at the head, already leaking. The heavy scent of him filled my lungs: musk and soap and pure married man. I wrapped my hand around the base, feeling the heat of him, the way his wedding ring brushed my knuckles when I stroked upward.

“Fuck, look at you,” he breathed.

I leaned in and took him into my mouth in one smooth glide.

Dr. Reeves groaned like he’d been stabbed. Both hands fisted in my hair immediately, not guiding yet, just holding on. I sucked him greedily, hollowing my cheeks, swirling my tongue around the fat head on every upstroke. Saliva ran down my chin. His hips started to rock, shallow little thrusts that pushed him deeper each time. The wedding ring kept catching in my hair and the filthy reminder of what we were doing made my own cock throb painfully in my jeans.

“That’s it, baby. Suck your professor’s married cock. Been dreaming about this mouth for months.”

I moaned around him. The vibration made his thighs shake. He started fucking my face in earnest then, hips snapping, balls slapping my chin. I took it all, throat opening, eyes watering, loving every second of being used by the man I’d jerked off to for fourteen straight weeks.

He pulled out suddenly, breathing hard, cock glistening with my spit. “Desk. Now.”

I stood on shaky legs. He spun me, bent me over the wide oak surface, and shoved my jeans and briefs down in one rough motion. Cool air hit my bare ass. Then his hands were spreading me open and his hot tongue was there, licking over my hole like a starving man.

“Jesus Christ,” I gasped, gripping the edge of the desk.

He ate me with filthy, desperate hunger—long, wet strokes of his tongue, then pointed flicks, then pushing inside me like he was trying to fuck me with it. The wet sounds were obscene. His stubble scraped my cheeks raw in the best way. When he slid two thick fingers in beside his tongue I nearly came right there.

“Please,” I begged. “Fuck me. I need it raw.”

He stood up. I heard the wet sound of him spitting into his palm, then the blunt, searing pressure of his cockhead against my spit-slick hole. No condom. No lube except what his tongue had left. He pushed forward and the fat head popped inside me.

We both groaned.

He didn’t go slow. He sank in deep on the first thrust, all the way to the root, stretching me open around his thick married cock. The burn was perfect. When his hips met my ass and I felt his heavy balls against mine, I pushed back, greedy for more.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he growled. “Gonna ruin this hole.”

Then he started pounding me.

The desk creaked dangerously under us. His thrusts were deep and punishing, each one dragging over my prostate and making sparks explode behind my eyes. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the office. His wedding ring dug into my hip where he gripped me, a constant burning reminder that this was wrong and perfect at the same time.

He pulled out, spun me around, and lifted me onto the desk like I weighed nothing. Papers scattered everywhere. He shoved my legs up and back until my knees were against my chest in a tight mating press, then drove back inside me in one brutal stroke.

“Oh my fucking god,” I moaned.

This angle was devastating. He was so deep I could feel him in my stomach. His face hovered inches above mine, eyes wild, mouth open on a constant growl. We both reached for my cock at the same time—his big hand wrapping around mine as we stroked me together.

“Want to feel you come on my cock,” he panted. “Then I’m going to fill you up.”

I didn’t last long. The relentless drag of his thick shaft over my prostate, the wet slap of his balls against my ass, the sheer filth of being raw-fucked by my married professor on his desk—it all crashed over me at once. I came with a broken cry, shooting thick ropes of cum across my own chest and neck, some even hitting my chin.

My hole clenched hard around him. Dr. Reeves snarled, buried himself to the hilt, and came.

I felt every pulse. Hot, heavy jets of his married load flooding deep inside me, spurt after spurt until it was leaking out around his cock. He kept grinding through it, milking every drop into my wrecked hole while he kissed me like he was drowning.

We stayed like that for a long time—him still buried to the balls inside me, softening slowly, our foreheads pressed together while our breathing evened out. He kissed me again, softer this time, almost tender.

“This won’t be the last time,” he whispered against my lips. “I’m nowhere near done with you.”

He helped me clean up with tissues from his desk, careful and gentle now that the storm had passed. When I was dressed again, he walked me to the door. His cum was already starting to leak out of me, a warm, slick trail sliding down my inner thigh as I shifted my weight.

I looked back at him once before I left. The dark, possessive look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. I’d be back in this office tomorrow night.

I smiled the whole way back to my dorm, feeling his load drip steadily down my leg with every step, already aching for round two.

And that was when I realized the truth I’d been too horny to see all semester: Dr. Michael Reeves wasn’t the one who’d been seduced.

I was.

I’d planned every single second of tonight from the very first day I walked into his lecture hall.