Filthy Surrender:The Forbidden Files

The Professor's Dirty Lessons (2)

Chapter Two –

Avena's POV

I arrived at his office at exactly seven o’clock.

My thighs were still sore from the afternoon…supervision. And my pulse hammered against my ribs.

The hallway was empty, and the building was quiet except for the hum of the fluorescent lights lighting it. It seemed the night classes had already commenced.

I knocked at Professor Noah's door, staring down at the thin blouse and mid-thigh skirt I had changed into deliberately.

The door suddenly swung open and I almost staggered back.

Professor Noah D'Artagnan stood there with his sleeves rolled to his elbows and his tie loosened. His eyes swept over me slowly and I felt heat crawl up my neck.

“Right on time”. He said, stepping aside to allow me entry. “Come in”.

I entered, my shoulders brushing his clothed chest lightly as I walked past. The office smelled of old books and his cologne—that same woody scent that had completely engulfed my senses.

He closed the door behind me and I heard the lock click. My breath caught instantly. Then he walked past me, settling into his leather chair behind the massive oak desk. He gestured to the space in front of him.

“Strip to your underwear”.

My stomach flipped and I hesitated for only a second. My hesitation was long enough for his eyebrow to arch.

I swallowed then reached for the buttons of my blouse, my fingers trembling as I worked them open. As soon as I slid the fabric off my shoulders, the cool air hit my skin instantly.

I unfastened my skirt, letting it pool at my feet, and stood before him in nothing but my black, delicate lace bra and matching panties.

A deliberate choice chosen for this exact possibility.

He leaned back in his chair and studied me, his gaze travelling from my face down to my breasts, my hips, and then settling for a moment longer, on the damp spot already forming on my panties.

He didn't speak, he simply held up a hand and crooked his fingers.

Come closer.

I walked around the desk on unsteady legs and he swiveled to face me, then picked up a stack of papers from his blotter.

My thesis proposal.

He flipped it open and began to read, his eyes scanning the text, while one hand reached out and traced the edge of my bra strap.

My breathing was uneven.

He wasn't even touching my skin yet, but f**k.

“Your introduction is solid”, he murmured, not looking up. “But your literature review lacks depth. You're citing secondary sources when primary ones are available”.

His fingers slid under the strap, hooking it, and pulling it down my shoulder. I shivered at the feather-light contact of his fingers with my skin.

This man just kept reading, his thumb brushing over my collarbone, then down to the curve of my breast.

He squeezed my left breast just once. “Turn around. Bend over the desk”.

I obeyed, placing my palms flat against the polished wood, my ass presented to him. I heard him shift in his chair, then heard the rustle of paper.

Then his fingers were there, sliding under the waistband of my panties, pulling them down to my knees. The cool air hit my slick folds instantly.

“Your methodology needs work, Avena”.

Two fingers pushed into me from behind, sliding deep without warning. I gasped, my knuckles whitening against the desk with how hard I dug my fingers into them.

He moved his fingers slowly, curling, and exploring my folds, while his other hand held my proposal steady.

“Tsssss…”. I closed my eyes, the squelch of his finger f**k distracting me from whatever he was saying.

“You're relying too heavily on quantitative approaches. Your sample size is insufficient”. His voice was steady and unhurried. “You need to consider—”.

He thrust his fingers deeper, and a moan escaped my lips.

“—a mixed-methods framework. Surveys followed by interviews”. His thumb pressed against my c**t, circling. “Do you understand the value of that approach?”.

“Yes”, I breathed, barely coherent.

“Good”. He said and withdrew his fingers. Then I heard the wet sound as he licked them clean. “Now come here”.

I turned and my eyes widened, mouth hanging open.

He had unbuttoned his pants and brought out his c**k. It was standing hard and thick against his stomach.

I had not being exaggerating when I said he was HUGE.

Damn.

I was still in a daze when he gripped my hips, pulling me into his lap, and positioning me over him. The head of his c**k pressed against my entrance, and I held my breath.

He didn't push in yet. He just held me there, teasing me while he picked up my proposal again.

“Theoretical framework”, he said, scanning the page. “You've chosen a post-structuralist lens, but your analysis means toward critical theory. That's a contradiction”.

Know what else was contradicting?

Him placing me on over his c**k but not f*****g me, but instead, treating it like a thesis supervisor.

I opened my mouth to say something when he lowered me onto his c**k, making me cry out as he filled me, inch by inch.

“Ohhhh f**k!”. I cried. He was impossibly deep.

He groaned low in his throat, taking a n****e in his mouth. He sucked on it, circling his tongue over it, and grazing his teeth lightly, sending jolts through me.

“Mmm…”. I closed my eyes and threw my head back.

He moved to the next n****e and did the same thing. He groaned when he withdrew and I looked at him, but his eyes were on the proposal again.

“Fix this inconsistency”. He lifted me slightly, then lowered me again slowly. It was agonizing. “And your citations are sloppy. Page numbers missing in half the references”.

Each word he said was punctuated by a thrust. He gripped my waist, f*****g up into me with measured precision, his rhythm matching the cadence of his critique.

“Uhhhh yeah. Ohhhhh…..ahhhhh. Fuuuuck. I'm gonna break, profe—.

“Noah”. He corrected in a growl. “And no, you're not going to break, at least not until I tell you to”.

“Tsssss. Yes. Right there. Yessssss”.

“This…line of argument…is weak…”. He drove deeper, harder, and I clung to his shoulders. “But this”. He slammed into me, his voice breaking. “This I approve”.

He sped up, his breath coming faster as his hand slid up to grip my hair. I rode him, my hips moving in desperate circles while his chair creaked beneath us.

The coil inside me tightened until I couldn't hold back. “Please”, I gasped. “Please, I'm —”.

“Look at me”.

I met his eyes and he thrust once, twice, and then I shattered, my orgasm ripping through me while my body convulsed around his c**k. I leaned into him, my hands wrapping around his neck while my p***y continuously clenched around him.

“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!”. He kept moving in and out, riding out my climax, while chasing his.

Then he suddenly pulled out, guiding me to get up his lap and kneel in front of him. He stood, his c**k slick, glistening and inches from my face.

He fisted himself, stroking fast. “Open”.

I opened my mouth and he thrust inside, instantly flooding my tongue with the heat of him. He groaned, his hips bucking and then he came, hot c*m painting my throat.

I swallowed, desperate to take all of him, even then I gagged, my hands gripping his thighs as he emptied himself into me.

He pulled out slowly, breathing hard, and I just stayed there on my knees, lips swollen, while c*m trickled down my chin. He looked down at me and his expression softened for just a moment.

“Your proposal shows promise”. His voice was rough. “We'll need another session, tomorrow”.

He bent down, wiped the corner of my mouth with his thumb, and smiled.

“Wear something easier to remove”.