Teacher’s Pet [Fm] [Str8] [light bondage] [exh] [femdom] [long] [first person]

*Connor is a college art student who has a* ***massive*** *crush on his figure drawing professor, Kennedy Marks. He’d do anything to please his teacher… and she knows it. When Professor Marks invites Connor to her home, the handsome young art student soon finds himself in an unexpectedly steamy situation.* ***(6449 words)***

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**Teacher’s Pet**

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I sweep my hand out, dragging charcoal across my drawing pad in a series of quick gestures. The naked woman in the center of the room changes poses, this time balancing on one foot and twisting her body dramatically. Ten seconds later, she changes poses again. I furiously flip my pad over to the next page, beginning a new drawing before I’ve had time to process the last. Ten other students sit on drawing horses in the darkened room, each focusing on their own human-shaped scribbles. Most are terrible. If I’m being honest, mine are too. Don’t get me wrong, I’m actually pretty skilled at drawing, particularly from live models. But whenever Professor Marks watches me draw, I kind of fall apart. She’s been my advisor for two years now, so you’d think I’d be used to working with her… but my brain seems to have missed that memo. You could say that I have a crush on her, but she intimidates the hell out of me too.

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My whole body stiffens as I sense her presence behind me, the fragrance of her perfume cocooning me in its subtle embrace. It’s a deep and complex scent that’s hard to place, and I’m reminded of wildflowers in the rain. It makes me light headed and a little bit drunk. My hand hovers, frozen mid-gesture. Professor Marks peers over my shoulder, her pale blue eyes flicking rapidly between my drawing and the model. I can’t help myself. I start to babble.

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“So, uh, I really wanted the movement of the spine to feel more fluid in this one. I remember we talked about it last week, and I thought if I-”

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“Don’t talk. Draw.” She cuts me off, the corners of her full lips quirking up into a mischievous expression. She adjusts her glasses and signals for me to turn the page and continue working. As I sketch, she nods and continues, “You’re elongating your torsos again. They’re about thirty percent too large compared to the lower body. Do you see?” She speaks in an authoritative and clipped tone, her words pronounced with perfect diction. I listen to her sonorous voice and try not to think about how close her lips are to my ear.

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“Oh, uh– I’ll work on that.”

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“I’m sure you will, Connor. If nothing else, you have a good work ethic.”

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“Thanks, Professor Marks. I’m trying.”

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Rather than acknowledging my last words, she simply walks away. Her heels click precisely on the concrete floor as circles the classroom, examining each drawing in turn. I watch her brow furrow as she considers a particularly bad sketch, her mouth twitching in combined amusement and displeasure.

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Kennedy Marks isn’t just a drawing professor; she’s an up-and-coming art star. A New York Times article praised her last exhibition as “a nuanced deconstruction of masculinity” painted with “the virtuosity of the old masters and the stylistic panache of punk rock.” To put it briefly, her work is pretty fucking incredible. All of her recent paintings are nudes, which isn’t normally the kind of thing that gets anyone noticed in the art world. But her paintings of men are so aggressively provocative that… well, they’re unforgettable. She paints in a style that draws equally from German expressionist painting and American cartoons, but what really impresses me is her use of color. I mean, her paintings are brash and saturated, but she has an understanding of color theory that I can barely **comprehend**, much less imitate.

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Professor Marks usually dresses like she works in a corporate office rather than an art studio. Personally, I’ve always found her “disheveled businesswoman” chic to be particularly alluring. Today she’s wearing a grey pencil skirt and a white blouse that’s unbuttoned just far enough to be intentionally risque. It hardly escapes my notice that she’s not wearing a bra. Her dark hair hangs in messy locks, and is shot through with a single streak of silver. My breath catches as she bends over to examine a drawing, and reveals a tantalizing amount of cleavage. I allow myself to stare for just a moment longer, appreciating how her clothing hugs her voluptuous curves.

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My heartbeat quickens as I begin to mentally undress her, but Professor Marks looks up suddenly, her gaze locking with my own. She arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, almost as if she’s challenging me to continue staring. I blush a deep crimson and turn away, forcing myself to focus on my work for the remainder of class. The scent of her perfume lingers in the air, making my head swim with the suggestion of her presence. In the end, I’m left holding a stack of the worst gesture drawings I’ve ever made. Most of them are barely recognizable as human.

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After Professor Marks dismisses class, she gestures for me to stay behind.

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“Wait. Connor, we need to speak for a moment.”

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Naturally, I begin to babble again. “Sorry, Professor Marks. I know that my drawings weren’t any good today.” I self-consciously tug at the sleeves of my black Henley and avoid eye contact as I speak. I’m suddenly aware that my shirt’s just a little too tight. I’ve been a pretty scrawny guy for most of my life, but I started lifting weights over the summer, and… well, let’s just say that I can’t afford to buy new shirts at the moment. “I’m really trying to improve. It’s just that I’m having a hard time focusing.”

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“I’ve noticed.” She regards me coolly and adjusts her glasses. “Fortunately, I know exactly what you need.”

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My heart beats double time in my chest, “What’s that?”

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“A little bit of extra-curricular effort would do **wonders** for your performance, Connor.” Her eyes flick up and down the length of my body as she considers her next words. “I’d like to use you,” She pauses for a fraction of a second, her eyes twinkling as she notices my discomfort, “As an assistant. I teach a class out of my home studio every Wednesday. Nothing formal. Just a figure drawing session for some of the ladies in my neighborhood. It’s a class for hobbyists, but I think you might learn a thing or two by helping out.”

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I find myself nodding before the words are even out of my mouth, “Sure! I mean, yeah… whatever I can do to help.” The opportunity to spend time with Professor Marks outside of class is too enticing of an offer to pass up. With a flourish, she pulls a crisp white business card from her purse and offers it to me.

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“Here’s my address and number. Class begins at five pm, but I expect you to be there fifteen minutes early.”

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“Yes ma’am.”

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She smiles, clearly pleased by my formality. “Excellent. You can leave now.”

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I stumble out of the classroom in a daze, wondering what the hell I had just agreed to.

—————————————

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I arrive at Professor Marks’s house at exactly 4:45 PM, which is a small miracle since I don’t have a car. I lock my bike to a lamppost out front, wipe sweat from my brow, and try to compose myself before heading in. I brush my dark brown locks back with my fingers in an attempt to make myself moderately presentable, but without a mirror the best I can do is guess at my success. I run my fingers over the strong and chiseled contour of my jawline, suddenly glad that I remembered to shave this morning.

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Professor Marks’s house isn’t particularly small, but something about the architecture brings the word “cottage” to mind. Her garden is in full bloom, and splashes of wild color and unkempt vines threaten to choke the stone pathway to her front door. I make my way past a particularly huge geranium bush and rap three times on her front door.

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A middle-aged blonde woman throws the door open, a warm smile on her face. She holds a large glass of white wine in one of her hands.

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“You must be Connor! Come on in.”

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I stare dumbly for a moment, confusion written plainly on my face.

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“I’m one of Kennedy’s students. Christie.” She holds out her free hand and I shake it awkwardly.

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“Connor– er, I guess you already knew that.” I follow her inside and she locks the door behind us. Christie appears to be in her mid-forties, and carries herself with the easy confidence of someone accustomed to getting her way. Her hair is cut in a bob with straight bangs, and she’s dressed in high-waisted slacks and a dark blue blouse. I notice a tiny mole on her cheek, and the blemish gives her features a glamorous and somewhat exotic edge. She gestures for me to follow and heads off down a long hallway that’s lined with massive paintings.

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“The other girls are all eager to meet you. We had fun with last week’s boy, but Kennedy promised us something special for today.”

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“Last week’s— what?”

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“Oh, don’t worry about it. Kennedy will explain everything. Ah, here we are.”

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Christie opens a set of double doors, and gently pushes me into Professor Marks’s studio. The room isn’t huge, but it’s filled with light. Scattered tables are packed with brushes, paint, and jars of amber liquid. The walls are lined with racks of paintings, and a few easels are set up around the room. At the center of the room is a model stand that’s covered with a luxurious number of pillows and blankets. Two other women lounge on a couch at the far end of the studio, but Professor Marks is nowhere to be seen. One of the women stands up excitedly when she sees me, spilling a bit of her wine onto the floor.

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“This is him? Well, let’s have a look at you!” She pushes an errant dreadlock back from her forehead and practically devours me with her eyes. The gothy black woman appears to be in her mid thirties, and is covered in piercings and intricate tattoos.

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“Calm down, Kim. He hasn’t even signed the paperwork yet.” The other woman on the couch gestures lazily with her glass of wine, “But a little peek won’t hurt anyone. Give us a spin, Connor.” I stare at her dumbly, desperately trying to figure out what’s going on. Her delicate features darken into an irritated expression. “Fine. I suppose we can wait.” She tosses her brilliant red hair back and huffs in annoyance.

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Christie pinches my ass as she walks past me and settles onto the couch, “All things in good time, Allyssa.”

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I finally snap, “Okay… is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on!?”

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Professor Marks throws the doors open and strides into the studio, barely glancing at me as she walks by. “Ladies. What have I told you about speaking to our models before they sign the paperwork?”

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Allyssa looks down at the rebuke, “Sorry Kennedy.”

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“It’s quite alright, Allyssa. Just try to remember, we’re all friends here, but my career is on the line if you don’t follow proper protocol.”’

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I clear my throat, “Did, uh… did you say model?”

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Professor Marks meets my eyes with a steady and commanding gaze, “Of course. You didn’t think that you were skilled enough to help me teach, did you?”

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My face burns and my throat tightens at the insult. I try to come up with a stinging retort, but all that comes out is a weak, “Oh.”

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She arches an eyebrow, unfazed by my crushed expression, “Self pity is hardly flattering on you, Connor. You’d be twice the artist if you spent more time drawing, and less time undressing me with your eyes. Thankfully, your drawing skills aren’t required for this task. Only your body.”

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I gather my wits and reply with another clever comeback. “Oh.” A potent cocktail of fear and embarrassment courses through me, making my heart pound double time and my mouth go dry. But beneath these feelings, I’m surprised to discover a thrill of excitement at the prospect of getting naked in front of my teacher.

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Professor Marks thrusts a thick stack of papers into my hands, “You can start by signing these.”

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I quickly flip through the inscrutable tome of legal jargon. “What is this?”

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“It’s a non-disclosure agreement.”

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“Wait… why would I need to sign a non-disclosure agreement?” A bead of sweat trickles uncomfortably down my back.

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“Sometimes my methods for getting a model to… *open up* can be a bit unorthodox. It could be problematic for both of us if these methods were to become public knowledge, particularly since you’re my student. This form protects us from these kinds of complications.”

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“Oh. Okay.”

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She hands me a pen and points at a line at the bottom of the page. “Sign here.” She flips another few pages. “And here. Initial here. And here. And one last signature right… here. **Excellent**.” She snatches the papers from me and files them on a shelf at the back of the room. “Perfect. Now that everything’s taken care of, you can disrobe. Ladies, go ahead and set up your drawing stations.” She takes command of the room, adjusting easels and switching on spotlights as she goes. She points at me and repeats herself, “Disrobe.”

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I get the feeling that she’s not used to asking twice. In this studio, she is the queen, and the rest of us are her subjects. Without hesitation, I obey. I tug my shirt over my head and pretend not to notice Christie, Kim, and Allyssa watching me hungrily as I undress. Christie whistles, and the other women burst out laughing. I stare at the ground, my face growing hot as I unbuckle my pants. I’m not an unattractive guy, but this kind of attention is entirely new for me.

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“C’mon, Connor. Don’t be shy.” Kim purrs.

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I try to ignore her as I remove my socks and shoes, and then pull my pants off. Now wearing nothing but my boxers, I turn away from the women and try to shield myself as I undress.

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“No.” Professor Marks speaks softly, but her domineering tone stops me cold. “You’re going to let them watch. Turn around.” I slowly turn to face her, my stomach fluttering nervously. “Now strip.”

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“Yes, ma’am.” My words are a barely audible whisper. The other women jeer and clap as I drop my boxers to the floor and kick them away, but Professor Marks only watches with a steady and inscrutable gaze.

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“Good. Now, let’s begin. Connor, we’re going to start with some five minute poses.”

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The strangeness of my situation makes my legs weak as I climb onto the model stand. I begin with a simple twist of my body, one foot placed slightly in front of the other. The women quiet down and begin to work. As they draw, Professor Marks circles the studio like a shark, her eyes locked on my own. I have to fight not to squirm under the intensity of her gaze. She considers my body, examining every part of me. Her gaze settles on my exposed penis, and a small smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. My thoughts scatter as she calls for the next pose. I kneel and raise my arms over my head. For the next twenty minutes, I cycle through poses. Professor Marks offers a few suggestions here and there to her students, but her approach is much more hands-off than in her university class.

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“Very good. Now let’s try a forty minute pose. Connor, stand with your legs shoulder width apart. Good. Now lets see some contrapposto in the pose.” I tilt my hips and put more of my weight into my left leg. “No. More dramatic. Yes, that’s good. Now lace your fingers behind your head. Perfect.”

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The pose isn’t exactly comfortable, but I doubt that my comfort is high on the list of Professor Marks’s concerns. For the first thirty minutes, the women draw in silence. But then Christie waves Professor Marks over.

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“I’m having a hard time getting his hips right. Could you help me out, Kennedy?”

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Professor Marks examines the drawing for a moment, her eyes flicking back and forth between the paper and my groin.

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“Let’s get a closer look, shall we?” She steps onto the model stand and signals for Christie to come closer. The older blonde woman grins wickedly and follows. My stomach flutters and sweat trickles down my brow as my teacher slips behind me, her body almost touching my own. Her dark red lips brush against my earlobe as she whispers, “I’m going to touch you now.” It’s not a request. Her hands snake around my sides and hover over my pelvis. She pauses at the last moment, and purrs, “You don’t mind, do you?”

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I get the impression that my answer won’t affect the outcome either way, but I shake my head and gasp breathlessly, “No, ma’am.”

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“Good boy.” I can’t see her face, but I can hear the satisfaction in her voice. She gently brushes her fingers over my abs and addresses Christie, “You’ve drawn his upper abs beautifully. But what you’re missing…” the tips of her fingers graze my skin as they travel downward, “…is the abdominal V, known more commonly as ‘sex lines.’ Connor here has great sex lines.” I shut my eyes and try to steady my breathing. Her touch is butterfly-soft, but the sensation in almost unbearably intense. Her nails lightly scrape against my stomach, traveling lower as she traces the contours of my abs. My teacher continues caressing me as she speaks, “They provide a great reference point for capturing the tilt of the hips.” Even with my eyes closed, I can’t escape the intoxicating scent of her perfume. Her presence consumes me. Her touch electrifies me. I flush with embarrassment as my arousal becomes apparent. My cock stirs slowly at first. But Christie’s gasp of excitement is too much for me, and my manhood begins to stiffen and swell more noticeably. Professor Marks murmurs teasingly into my ear, “Oh my… is that for **me?**”

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The room erupts with feminine laughter and catcalls. I flush with embarrassment, but feel my erection become fully rigid before their eyes. Conflicting emotions flash through my head: shame, fear, vulnerability… but also intense and undeniable arousal. I push my wounded ego aside and submit to their jeers and whistles.

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“It’s quite alright,” Professor Marks addresses the class calmly, her hands sliding down to caress my upper thighs, “But you’ll need to adjust your drawings since the pose has… *changed*.” I let out a muted gasp as the tips of her fingers brush against the base of my cock. “Remember that every penis is unique, so don’t fall into the trap of over-generalizing what you see. Connor isn’t quite as big as some of the other men that we’ve enjoyed, but you’ll notice that his shaft is deliciously **thick**.” She wraps her lips around this last word in a way that practically drips with sex.

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Allyssa speaks up, “What about texture? I couldn’t quite get that right last week.”

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Professor Marks slips her fingers beneath my manhood, gently lifting it and then allowing it to bounce back into place. You can hear the smile on her face as she continues, “That’s because you ignored the veins last week. Veins will be more or less visible depending on how aroused the model becomes. Connor seems to be very excited at the moment, and I expect to see this reflected in your drawings.”

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She cups my scrotum with one hand and firmly grasps my shaft with the other, coaxing a lustful whimper from my lips. The other women watch with rapt attention as Professor Marks slowly pumps her hand up and down the length of my sex. My breath quickens as I surrender to her touch. I rock my hips against the exquisite pressure of her grip, my cock pulsing eagerly with every experienced twist and and tug of her fingers. After a moment, the class resumes drawing, but I hardly even notice.

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My teacher whispers softly into my ear as she caresses me, “You’ve wanted to fuck me ever since we first met. Don’t try to deny it. I’ve seen you sneaking glances, undressing me with your eyes.” She chuckles, “You probably think that you’re special because you’re an artist, but I see you as you ***truly*** are: just another horny college boy. You stare at women, subjecting them to your perverted gaze whenever you want.” She nibbles my earlobe teasingly. “Well how does it feel now that the shoe’s on the other foot? You like it, don’t you?”

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“Yes.” I breathe the word more than speak it.

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“Yes, **ma’am.**” Professor Marks corrects me sternly.

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“Yes, ma’am.” I reply, this time more loudly.

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“Good. You see, I’m going to help you, Connor.”

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“Help me?”

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“Yes. I’m going to **instruct** you in how to overcome your baser instincts. When I’m finished with you, you’ll have the discipline to place a woman’s desire above your own.” She pumps her hand more quickly, her fingers kneading my flesh relentlessly as I writhe beneath her grip. “You’re just *dying* to cum, aren’t you?” She nuzzles my cheek, her dark hair tickling my neck. “I can feel it… you’re ready to explode. Would you like that? Would you like to coat your teacher’s hand in hot sticky cum?”

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My voice trembles as I reply, “Y-yes, ma’am.”

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Professor Marks releases my cock suddenly, “No. You don’t have my permission to cum. Perhaps later… after I’ve had my fun with you.” Her heels tap loudly as she circles around to face me. She considers me for a moment, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses. I get the sudden impression of a sculptor looking at an uncarved block of marble. “I imagine that this embarrasses you… that it makes you feel like less of a man. Well, I’m going to **shatter** that fragile masculinity of yours and reshape it into something ***truly*** pleasing.” She takes a step closer and cups my cheek in a gesture that’s almost tender. “And when that happens, I’ll be there with brush in hand to capture the moment.”

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I try to speak, but can’t manage to find any words. So I simply nod.

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Professor Marks turns to her class with an expansive gesture, “Alright, ladies. I’m going to end things a few minutes early in order to do some one-on-one work with our model. We’ll reconvene this time next week.”

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There are a few groans of disappointment, but the women pack up their things. I breathe a sigh of relief and relax my muscles, feeling blood flow back into my arms. But when I try to step off of the model stand, Professor Marks catches my wrist and shakes her head. “You’re not going anywhere.”

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As the women file out of Professor Marks’s studio, Christie turns to me and winks, “**Loved** the show, Connor.”

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I blush and mutter a quiet, “Thanks.”

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At last, I’m all alone with my teacher. She guides me to the center of the model stand and points at the floor.

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“Kneel.” Her voice is hard as steel. A shiver of exhilaration courses up my spine, and I lower myself to my knees. I stare up at Professor Marks with wide eyes, wondering what she has planned. She opens a small chest that’s tucked between some pillows and removes a red silk scarf. “Hold out your hands.”

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I do as I’m told. She loops the crimson scarf around my wrists several times before tying it off into a knot. The silk is luxuriously soft against my skin, but my bindings are tight enough to be secure. A satisfied smirk tugs at the corners of Professor Marks’s mouth as she looks down at me. I feel like a fly caught in a spider’s web. Vulnerable. Helpless. Her prey.

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She cocks her head for a moment, as if measuring my response. Whatever she sees on my face clearly pleases her, and she begins to slowly unbutton her white blouse. I watch breathlessly as she parts the fabric of her shirt and allows her full breasts to spill forth. Her nipples are two firm jewels against a soft expanse of pale skin. I yearn to take one of them into my mouth, to tease her gently with my teeth, to feel the pliant skin between my lips. My erection twitches eagerly at the thought, but I remain obedient and still.

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Professor Marks tosses her blouse aside and turns away, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that I’m still paying attention. With a slow sweep of her arm, she unzips her pencil skirt and allows it to fall to the floor. She’s not wearing any panties, but a black garter belt hugs her wide hips. My breath catches in my throat as I behold her perfection. The generous curves of her backside are as pale as the moon, and her milky thighs are thick and muscular. The straps of her garter belt are fastened to black stockings that accentuate the powerful muscles of her shapely legs.

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She turns around, and I nervously meet her gaze. She nods, “You have my permission to look.”

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This is all the invitation that I need. I ravenously drink in the sight of her voluptuous body. The soft flesh of her belly jiggles slightly as she approaches me, her heels tapping precisely on the floor with every step. I long to kiss her stomach, to feel her supple skin beneath my fingers, to worship at the altar of her femininity. My eyes travel downward, settling on the neatly trimmed nest of dark hair between her legs. A single bead of moisture drips from her sex.

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Professor Marks slips a hands between her thighs and bites her lip. She gives me a long and simmering look before gently pushing her index finger into her pussy. Her darkly painted eyelids flutter for a moment as a tremor of pleasure washes over her. She withdraws her finger slowly and holds it out to me. It glistens with her wetness.

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“Your first lesson is this: learn to love the taste of my pussy.”

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It wasn’t a question, but I feel compelled to express my obedience, “Yes, ma’am.” I lean forward and open my mouth. At this moment, she’s no longer my teacher. She is my Goddess, and this is my devotional act of communion.

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Professor Marks smiles approvingly and slides her finger between my lips. She purrs, “There may be hope for you yet.” Her taste is musky and full bodied. I suck on her finger greedily, desperate for more. She pulls her hand back after a moment and cups my cheek. “Now lie down. You’ve been a **very** obedient student so far, and I have a special reward for you.”

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I lower myself to the ground and lie face-up, my bound wrists resting comfortably on my stomach. Dozens of richly patterned pillows and blankets are arranged around me, bringing to mind the exotic decor of a sultan’s harem. I give in to my role as my teacher’s odalisque, and twist my body in a way that accentuates the contours of my sculpted muscles. She smiles down at me, admiring the view for a moment. Satisfied with what she sees, Professor Marks places a foot on my chest and pushes me flat once more. The tip of her heel bites into my skin, but she’s careful not to hurt me as she holds me in place.

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I start to speak, but she cuts me off, “Don’t talk.” Her eyes twinkle wickedly, “You can put that pretty mouth of yours to work in **other** ways.” She removes her heel from my chest and places her feet on either side of my head. I gaze up at her sex, and notice that her labia is already swollen with desire. She lowers herself slowly, her eyes locked on my own as she allows my anticipation to build. Her rich scent fills my nostrils as she pauses just above my face, her loins mere inches from my mouth. I breath in, savoring her bouquet, and then exhale gently through my mouth. Professor Marks trembles as the heat of my breath caresses her skin. “Lick me.” She commands in a voice that’s husky with desire.

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My first kiss is gentle, almost teasing. I playfully caress her inner thighs with my mouth, my lips traveling ever closer to her glistening core. My teacher lets out a shallow gasp when she receives my first true lick. I gently sweep my tongue across the length of her pussy, and then press it flat against her vulva. She shivers as the moist heat of my mouth envelops her, and then I lick her again. Each sweep of my tongue is luxuriously slow, and she begins to rock her hips in response. I stoke the flames of her desire, gently dabbing my tongue against the pink bud of her clit between licks. Our bodies synchronize as I find my rhythm, and my teacher starts to grind against my face more forcefully. Her thighs tighten against the sides of my head and lock me into position. I press my upper lip into her dewy flesh, allowing her womanhood to smother me as I lap at her clit. I patiently maintain my rhythm, occasionally adding flourishes of my tongue that cause her to writhe and gasp above me.

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I surrender to her desire completely, and allow her pleasure to become the entirety of my being. My jaw is sore and my tongue slightly numb, but my teacher’s surging moans of ecstasy are all the encouragement that I need. I renew my efforts, gently sucking on her inner lips before returning my attention to the heart of her femininity. Forgoing any subtlety, she roughly grabs the back of my head and firmly presses me into her sex. A series of shallow gasps rack her body as she rides my face, and her skin becomes searingly hot against my own. I struggle for breath, but she relentlessly grinds against me, using my face as her sex toy. Just as I think I might pass out, she allows me to draw a ragged lungful of air, and then smothers me in her slick folds once more. Her thighs quiver as her pleasure builds, and then erupts in a long and wordless cry of pleasure. I feel her pussy rhythmically contract against my mouth as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over her. She holds me in place for a long moment, her entire body rigid above me. At last, she releases me and slides off of my face.

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Professor Marks’s skin shimmers with sweat, and her cheeks are flushed with a rosy glow. Her dark lips part slightly as her breathing slows, and I imagine myself kissing them. She looks down at me with a satisfied smile and murmurs, “You **are** eager to please me, aren’t you?”

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“Yes, ma’am. My body is yours to use, Professor Marks.” My reply gets the desired response. Her smile widens and she nods approvingly.

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“It certainly ***is***, you dirty little slut.” She speaks these words teasingly, and I don’t take it as an insult. With a wink, she places her hands against my pecs and slithers down my body until her voluptuous ass presses against my cock. I groan as she wiggles her hips experimentally, my manhood throbbing and eager against her soft skin. “This is just the halftime show, Connor, and I’m not **nearly** satisfied yet.” She lightly presses her red-tipped nails into my chest and rakes them across my torso. The sensation is intense, but not entirely unpleasant. Professor Marks bites her lip and continues, “I bet you’re just **dying** to thrust that juicy cock of yours into me. Would you like that? Would you like to be your teacher’s fuck-toy?”

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“Yes, Professor Marks.”

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She giggles wickedly and gyrates her hips against me, “Say please.”

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I gasp desperately, “Please.”

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“Good boy.”

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My teacher takes my swollen manhood in her hand and guides me into the drenched folds of her sex. With a sigh, she lowers herself onto my erect cock. I let out a long moan as I enter her, my back arching like a drawn bow. It takes all of my concentration not to explode inside of her right then and there… but I shut my eyes and pull myself back from the precipice at the last moment. She presses her palms against my chest as she rides me, feeling my muscles rise and fall with my quickening breath. I open my eyes and gaze up at her, marveling at the beauty of her pleasure. Her strong features are softened by an expression of absolute bliss, and it amazes me that I could be the cause of such a thing.

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Our bodies synchronize as we reach a galloping pace, my manhood plunging into her welcoming flesh again and again. She leans forward and cries out, pressing her clit against me as we fuck. I want to please her, but I know that I can’t last much longer. I thrust into her more urgently, seeking my own release. Blood surges into my loins and my muscles tighten as I prepare to erupt. Sensing that I’m about to finish inside of her, Professor Marks digs her nails into my skin. I gasp in sudden surprise and pain, and am pulled back from the edge once more. My teacher responds with a guttural battle cry of ecstasy, and tosses her hair back wildly. She grinds against me ferociously, her eyelids fluttering as a powerful orgasm swells within her. Her cries of pleasure blossom into a full-throated scream as she cums for a second time. We continue to fuck as her orgasm crests and then subsides, our bodies slick and shining with sweat. Finally, she comes to a rest, my sex still swollen and aching for release inside of her.

​

Her eyes sparkle triumphantly as she gazes down at me, “This. This is the version of you that I want to paint.”

​

“W-what?” My voice trembles slightly, and I’m acutely aware that my throbbing cock still rests inside of my teacher’s pussy.

​

“Mmmm…” She purrs, “That desperate look in your eye. It’s perfect.” Professor Marks stands, and I let out a low mewling sound when my engorged penis slides out of her. She smirks when she sees my agonized expression, “Hold that pose.”

​

Still wearing nothing but lingerie and heels, Professor Marks gathers her painting supplies. She moves about her studio with a practiced confidence that assures me she’s done this many times before. A sharp snap rings out as she pulls on a pair of vinyl gloves and begins mixing paint. Next, she removes a large canvas from her storage racks and sets it on an easel. At last, she begins to work.

​

I lay bound and drenched in sweat on the model stand, my pulsating erection aching for release. But I obediently hold the pose, and the rise and fall of my chest is the only movement that I permit myself. Professor Marks paints me for two excruciating hours, her eyes constantly flicking back and forth between me and her canvas. At last, she sets her brushes down and sighs in satisfaction.

​

“I think I have what I need to finish this on my own. Thank you, Connor.”

​

“Any time, Professor Marks.”

​

She smiles wickedly, “Careful… I just might take you up on that offer.” She tosses her gloves aside and saunters up to me, her wide hips swaying entrancingly with every step. “Now… you’ve been a **very** good boy today, and I think that you deserve a reward.”

​

My stomach flutters with sudden hope, and my erection stirs eagerly. I stare up at Professor Marks pleadingly, arching my back and squirming against my restraints. She slowly runs her tongue over her lips and bends over my prone form, a hungry twinkle lighting her eyes.

​

“Well don’t you just look… **delicious**.”

​

She gently takes my balls in her palm and lowers her mouth to my cock. A tiny flick of her tongue against the head of my penis coaxes a lustful moan from my lips. I gasp and buck my hips, prompting a satisfied chuckle from my teacher. Her ravenous gaze meets my own as she wraps her full lips around my shaft and dexterously swirls her tongue against me. My face flushes red and my heart pounds rapidly, pressure building in my core as I’m pushed to the limits of my endurance. With a ferocious dip of her head, Professor Marks takes me up to the base of my cock, enveloping me in the wet heat of her mouth. My vision narrows as I erupt, my entire body trembling beneath her. I empty myself and she swallows, devouring my seed as it jets forth. The entire world swims before me as I cum harder than I ever have before. I hear someone shouting, and realize a moment later that it’s me.

​

“Yes! Yes! ***Yeeesssssss!!!***”

​

This last word comes out as a prolonged hiss, and then my whole body relaxes. I lay still and thoroughly spent, my chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. As I recover, Professor Marks unties me and then stands. A tiny trickle of cum oozes from the corner of her mouth, but she wipes it away with the back of her hand and licks it clean.

​

“Yummy.”

​

I slowly stagger to my feet and begin to gather my clothing. When I turn around, my teacher tosses a roll of cash at my feet.

​

“I have things to do, Connor. I’m sure you can show yourself out?”

​

I nod, my pride stung by my brusque dismissal. All the same, I thrust the money into my pocket. Art supplies aren’t cheap after all.

​

Just as my teacher reaches her studio door, she turns back to me and adds, “I expect you to show this level of enthusiasm for our next session. Next week is Christie’s turn for some ‘*hands-on*’ work with the model, and I don’t want her to be disappointed..”

​

I suppress a goofy grin and nod eagerly, “Yes, ma’am.”

​

Professor Marks winks at me, “Good boy.”

​

With that, she shuts the door behind her. My stomach flutters with nervous anticipation… I can hardly wait for next week’s class.

​

**The End**

​

*Author’s Note:*

This is the first time I’ve ever put any of my writing out into the world for others to read. I hope you liked it!

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/kktis5/teachers_pet_fm_str8_light_bondage_exh_femdom