That time my [F] professor [M] taught me to come for him

When I was a junior in college, I had a really cute professor. He was
young, under thirty, with ashy blonde hair that he kept swept back
like some southern frat boy. He was tallish, at least six feet, and
had a good build, but not in a bodybuilder sort of way. He’d wear
glasses to class, but I always got the impression he did that just to
look older and to be taken seriously as an academic. In truth, he
looked more like a lacrosse player than a history professor.

This all happened at a really small liberal arts college in my
hometown. My brother, who’s eight years older than I am, graduated
from the same school for underground, and it turned out this
professor, we’ll call him Clay, was an alum and knew my brother. I
have a very uncommon last name, so the first week of class, he asked
if we were related, and it turns out they were in the same dorm
freshman year and were friends through undergrad.

Anyway, the semester went on, I didn’t think too much about my cute
history professor, and it was a pretty easy class, so I didn’t really
have to talk or interact much to get A’s. Finals were coming up and
there were only two weeks left in the spring semester. I had a family
wedding out of state I was going to so I sent professor Clay an email
to see if I could bring my last paper by on Thursday during his office
hours since I’d be out of town and missing class Friday, and he said
that would be fine.

So Thursday rolled around. I’d just gotten done with a bio lab and
decided to run by to drop off my paper. It was a little cloudy all of
the sudden, but I figured I’d have time to get back to my dorm before
it started to rain.

Unfortunately, I was wrong. Our school was small, but the campus was
really spread out, so in the five minutes it took me to walk to the
History building, it started pouring and I got soaked.

I stopped in the bathroom, drying off myself with paper towels as best
I could, and wiped off some of the mud that was now on my running
shoes. I looked like a drowned rat and texted one of my friends to see
if she could drive the half-mile from our dorm to pick me up.

I headed to professor Clay’s office, hoping he wasn’t in and I could
leave my paper in his mail slot and not have to be seen. But I had no
such luck. His door was wide open, and he spotted me the moment I
rounded the hallway, inviting me in.

He was much more casual than I’d ever seen him in class, wearing a
fleece pullover and running shoes and minus the glasses. And my
thoughts drifted back to him sweaty on a lacrosse field. Without the
glasses and a whiteboard behind him, he did not look like a professor.

I tried to redirect as we chatted, first about why I was drenched and
then about my brother. Then it turned out we had some mutual friends –
all siblings of my brother’s friends, but it was a small town, so I
wasn’t too surprised. Clay had a great sense of humor which was kind
of a shock, as his class was a little boring at times, and I kept
mentally pinching myself as I realized how attracted I was to him.
This guy was my teacher and almost a decade older than I was. It was
totally crazy for me to be lusting after the man.

But I couldn’t help it. Everything about him was sexy to me – the way
he casually draped his arm over the side of his chair. The bit of
stubble growing in along his angular jaw. I was in trouble….and I
had to get out of his office ASAP, even though it didn’t seem like he
was in any hurry for me to leave.

I dug my phone out of the side pocket of my leggings, realizing my
friend hadn’t texted me back about that ride. The shutters to Clay’s
office were shut, but I could still hear the rain pounding on the old
roof of the building, so I knew it wouldn’t be letting up soon. I told
professor Clay I’d see him the following week after a pause in our
convo and tried to slip out. I didn’t know where I’d go to wait out
the storm, but I couldn’t handle his eye contact anymore.

Instead of saying goodbye, he stood and tossed a few folders in his
messenger bag, telling me he wasn’t going to let me walk back in the
rain and he’d give me a lift.

My stomach shot into my throat. I wasn’t going to say no. I really
needed the ride. But the thought of being alone in a car with him just
seemed like too much.

It turns out it was. And as we walked through the parking garage to
his car, I started to get this feeling that he wasn’t just giving me a
ride. This was…something else.

I was so cold from the rain, my dark hair still almost dripping in
places, and he turned on the heated seats. I worried my teeth were
chattering, and it seemed like he noticed, asking if I wanted to go to
his place for a cup of coffee and to dry out before heading back to
the dorms.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Of course, I wanted to. But this was so bizarre. He was a friend of my
brother, a decade older, and my professor, for Christ‘s sakes. This
had to go against some code of conduct. Surely there was an ethics
board that would expel me and fire him for fraternizing?

Sensing my apprehension, he assured me it was just coffee and no
worries if I didn’t feel comfortable.

I nodded weakly in his direction, my tongue now stuck to the roof of
my mouth, until I shocked myself and blurted out, “coffee sounds
perfect.”

His house was right by campus. Built in the 1920s, it was one of
those little bungalows that couldn’t have been more than 1000 square
feet. But what it lacked in space, it made up for in the design. It
was decorated impeccably with coffee-colored leather sofas, red
oriental rugs, and photos of him traveling with friends all over the
world. I wondered if there was a continent he hadn’t been to as we
chatted and I sipped my espresso.

We didn’t pounce on each other right away and start ripping clothes
off. Actually, it took a few hours and felt pretty organic…coffee
turned into wine…wine turned into a second bottle, and before I knew
what was going on, it was almost dinner time, and I was still on his
sofa. By this point we were openly flirting. I’d fessed up and told
him I’d thought he was cute all semester, and he’d been more than
complimentary about my dimples and had made several comments about how
much he loved my dark brown hair, wet and all. I’d all but forgotten
he was my professor, and when he brought us both a water bottle, I
grabbed his hand and pulled him down in the leather next to me.

I was nervous at first and a little jittery as I traced my hands
across his fleece pullover, feeling the lean lines of muscle that ran
underneath. But the nervousness quickly melted away to pure desire as
his tongue slipped against mine – warm and gentle and with a heady
edge of merlot from our last few glasses of wine.

We made out like that for what felt like an eternity as I snaked my
hands across him and let that stubble dig into my flushed cheeks. God,
he was a good kisser, and I decided then and there that I’d sleep with
him if he made a move. I wasn’t going to stop him.

A total gentleman, he pulled away after a while, asking if I wanted to
stay and telling me he’d take me home whenever I was ready. “I’m not
ready” was all I could mumble, and I kissed him harder than I had
before, letting my fingers run down his jeans to a substantial bulge
in the denim. He was big, at least seven inches, and thick too. My
stomach rolled as I imagined him inside me.

That was all the reassurance he needed as we stumbled to his small
bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes and socks behind as we moved. I
fell back into his duvet, thinking how much better this was than a
futon or a bed on the floor, which was unfortunately what most college
guys brought me back to.

No, these sheets were soft, and the feeling of his warm skin on top of
me and the crisp cotton underneath made my toes curl.

He grabbed a condom, taking some time to find one, which I thought was
interesting. He checked at least four drawers in his dresser. That
told me he didn’t have female students, or anyone for that matter,
over regularly. Somehow that turned me on all the more as I watched
him slide it over his hardening cock.

His lips landed on my breasts, taking each of my nipples in my mouth
one at a time as he sucked, and I felt his length push into the skin
of my thigh. I let out a sigh as one of his hands trailed down from my
breast to my stomach, landing at the top of my slit.

He made some joke about how I was really soaking wet now, and I spread
my legs farther for him, feeling his fingers part my folds and lightly
touch my clit. He was so gentle, rubbing circles, and I couldn’t help
rocking myself up to meet his touch.

“Do you like that?” He asked in a gravelly voice, and I let out
something between a yes and a cry. And before I knew it, he’d shifted
his body completely, his cock teasing me and right outside my body. He
let it slide, up and down my clit, totally wet from me and the
sensation sucked my breath from my lungs. It was torture and heaven
all at once.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked, and the stubble of his jaw
scraped across my neck as he pushed kisses down towards my collarbone.

“Yes” was all I could say, and before I’d even finished, I felt the
length of him thrust inside me.

My body began to pulse, feeling him slide deeper and deeper with every
push. It felt so different from anyone I’d ever been with. Each time
he thrust himself into me, it felt more deliberate, like his every
movement was to make me come and not so that he could hurry up and get
off.

He wrapped his large hands around my body, digging his fingers into my
backside and bringing my hips up even closer to his. He was deep.
Maybe deeper than any guy had ever been, and I felt my limbs go slack
as he continued pumping in and out. My hands were everywhere, splaying
through that blondish hair, my nails running down the warm skin of his
back and across his tapering waist. I couldn’t get enough of him, and
my body was working itself into overdrive.

In a breathy whisper, I told him I was about to come, and he said he
was too, and he picked up the pace, thrusting faster until I felt each
individual nerve ending in my body catch fire. I came for him,
contracting and clenching tightly around his hard cock as I rode out
wave after wave of pleasure. It was shocking how intense it all was.
And I almost saw stars as I listened to the rain hit the roof and felt
him pulsing inside me.

He came a few seconds after, letting out a moan and collapsing against
my body as he planted kisses into the skin of my neck.

“I’m starving. Do you like Thai?” He asked, still inside me and
trailing his fingers across my hips.

I nodded and mumbled that I did, still in an absolute stupor over what
had just happened. I’d just hooked up with my professor. And it didn’t
seem like I was leaving anytime soon…

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/nt73lo/that_time_my_f_professor_m_taught_me_to_come_for

3 comments on “That time my [F] professor [M] taught me to come for him

  1. Are you a man or a woman? A year ago you posted a story as a guy hooking up with a female client.

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