50 Shades Of Sinful Pressure

Professor's Private Reasons III

The next afternoon, the lecture hall buzzed with the usual low chatter as students settled into their seats for Professor Kelvin’s 2 PM literature class. I arrived early and claimed my usual spot in the front row, right in the center where his eyes would naturally land most often.

My heart raced with wicked anticipation. Under my short black skirt — the shortest one I owned — I wore absolutely nothing. No panties, no b*a beneath the thin white top that clung to my breasts. Every step I took reminded me of how exposed and wet I already was. The cool air kissed my bare p***y as I sat down, crossing my legs slowly while making sure the movement flashed just enough skin.

Professor Kelvin walked in exactly on time, carrying his laptop and a stack of notes. He looked composed in his dark button-down shirt and slacks, the picture of academic authority. But when his gaze swept the room and landed on me, something primal flickered in his eyes. He knew. He had to know.

He began the lecture on themes of repression and hidden desires in Victorian literature, his deep voice filling the hall with that commanding tone that always made me ache. I kept my legs slightly parted under the desk, my skirt riding high on my thighs. Every time he glanced my way — which happened far more often than usual — I shifted just enough to let him catch a glimpse of my smooth, glistening folds.

My n*****s hardened against the thin fabric of my top, clearly visible. I bit my lip and pretended to take notes, but my free hand had slipped under the desk. My fingers brushed my inner thigh, then higher, tracing my slick entrance. I was soaked. The thrill of doing this in a room full of nearly two hundred students sent fresh arousal dripping onto the seat.

Professor Kelvin paused mid-sentence, his eyes locking onto mine for a heartbeat longer than appropriate. I smiled innocently and slid one finger between my folds, circling my swollen c**t slowly. The wet sound was faint, but to me it felt deafening. Heat flooded my cheeks and my core.

He cleared his throat and continued speaking, but his voice had grown slightly huskier. “Desire, when repressed, doesn’t disappear. It festers. It demands release in the most unexpected places.”

The irony made me bolder. I slipped two fingers inside myself, pumping them slowly while my thumb worked my c**t. My breathing quickened. I had to stay completely silent, which only made the pleasure sharper. My walls clenched greedily around my fingers as I imagined his thick c**k replacing them.

A girl two seats away shifted, and I froze for a second, fingers buried deep. She didn’t notice. No one did. The risk — the sheer audacity of fingering myself while my professor lectured — pushed me closer to the edge faster than I expected.

Professor Kelvin’s eyes kept returning to me. I could see the growing bulge in his pants when he turned toward the whiteboard. Knowing I was affecting him like this made me even wetter. I pumped my fingers faster, biting the inside of my cheek to hold back any sound.

Pleasure coiled tight in my belly. My thighs began to tremble. I was so close. Right there, in the front row, surrounded by classmates taking notes on repression while I actively gave in to it.

His voice cracked slightly on the next sentence. “Sometimes… the f*******n act itself becomes the greatest liberation.”

That was all it took.

My o****m hit hard and sudden. My p***y spasmed violently around my fingers as waves of intense pleasure crashed through me. I gripped the edge of the desk with my free hand, knuckles white, while my body shook subtly. Juices gushed onto my fingers and the wooden seat. I kept rubbing through the aftershocks, drawing out every pulse until my vision blurred.

When it finally subsided, I carefully withdrew my hand. It glistened with my arousal. Without breaking eye contact with Professor Kelvin, I brought my fingers to my mouth and licked them clean, tasting my own sweet musk. His jaw clenched visibly.

The lecture dragged on for another twenty agonizing minutes. By the time he dismissed the class, I was aching again, his c*m from yesterday still faintly leaking mixed with my fresh wetness.

Students filed out slowly. I stayed seated, legs still parted, until the last one left. Professor Kelvin locked the door with deliberate calm, then stalked toward me like a predator.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Mia,” he growled, pulling me up from the chair roughly. His hands immediately shoved my skirt up to my waist. “No panties. Fingering yourself in my class. l*****g your fingers like a filthy little s**t. What am I going to do with you?”

“Whatever you want, Professor,” I whispered, already breathless. “Teach me more.”

He lifted me onto the edge of his desk in the front of the hall, spreading my legs wide. Without warning, he dropped to his knees and buried his face between my thighs. His tongue was hot and demanding — l*****g broad strokes through my folds, sucking my c**t hard, then plunging inside me.

I moaned loudly, no longer needing to be quiet. “Oh f**k… yes…”

He ate me with raw hunger, tasting both my fresh juices and the remnants of his c*m from the day before. Two thick fingers joined his tongue, curling deep while he sucked my c**t relentlessly. My hands fisted in his hair as another o****m built fast and brutal.

“Come on my tongue,” he ordered against my p***y, voice vibrating through me. “Let the whole empty hall hear what a dirty student you are.”

I shattered. My cries echoed in the large room as I came hard, thighs clamping around his head, flooding his mouth with my release. He didn’t stop — he licked me through every wave until I was shaking and oversensitive.

Only then did he stand, freeing his rock-hard c**k. It looked even bigger than before, angry and leaking.

He slammed into me in one brutal thrust, filling me completely. The desk creaked as he f****d me deep and fast, hands gripping my hips hard enough to leave marks. My breasts bounced with every powerful stroke. He leaned down to bite my neck, then my n*****s through my thin top.

“You’re mine now,” he growled between thrusts. “This p***y belongs to your professor.”

I came again around his c**k, screaming his name. He followed soon after, burying himself deep and pumping me full of another hot load, groaning my name like a curse and a prayer.

We panted together, his forehead against mine, his c*m leaking out around his still-buried c**k.

But he wasn’t finished.

“Tomorrow night,” he said hoarsely, pulling out slowly and watching his seed drip from my well-used p***y. “My office. Bring nothing but this attitude. We’re going to make sure you learn every lesson I have to teach.”

I smiled wickedly, legs still trembling as I slid off the desk.

“Yes, Professor. I’m a very eager student.”