SWEET DESIRES

CHAPTER 11: PROFESSOR’S PRICE PT 2

The formal schedule arrived in a short email the morning after the first session. Three late-night meetings per week in Professor Vaughn’s campus office, always after the building had emptied, plus the possibility of unannounced pop quizzes at any hour he chose. Camila read the message twice, deleted it, and felt the new structure settle over the rest of her semester like a second set of course requirements.

The sessions escalated quickly. Desk work became prolonged and methodical. Vaughn would position her on her knees or bent forward across the surface of the desk, sometimes with her wrists loosely bound behind her back by a soft strap he kept in the bottom drawer, and then he would open the text they were studying. He required her to recite long passages from memory while he used her body with the same precise attention he gave to every academic error. If she stumbled over a line or lost the thread of an argument, he stopped moving and delivered a measured strike to the soft flesh of her ass or the inside of one thigh. If her body failed to remain open and ready for him, the intellectual task was paused until she corrected the physical failure as well.

“Defend the central claim of the third chapter,” he said one evening while she was bent over the desk with her hands braced on the far edge and his c**k buried deep inside her. The thick heat of him stretched her open, every inch seated so completely that the pressure forced a low, involuntary sound from her throat. “Do it without summarizing. Argue.”

Camila’s voice shook but she began. Each careful sentence left her mouth while he drew back and drove forward again, the wet slide of his c**k through her cunt loud in the quiet office. When her reasoning tightened into something sharp he rewarded her with slower, deeper strokes that dragged against every sensitive place inside her. When the logic softened he f****d her harder, hips snapping forward until the impact jarred a moan past her teeth.

“Again,” he ordered, voice calm even as his c**k pistoned into her dripping heat. “That transition is weak. Tighten it.”

She tried. The words came out broken between gasps. He reached under her, found the swollen bud of her c**t, and rubbed it in tight, deliberate circles while he continued to thrust. The dual sensation ripped a filthy, helpless sound from her.

“f**k—Professor—”

“Defend the claim,” he repeated, and drove into her so deeply that her elbows nearly buckled. Her cunt clenched around him, slick and greedy. She managed three coherent sentences before the pleasure forced another moan. He did not slow. He used her body as ruthlessly as he graded her work, correcting both the argument and the posture of her hips in the same even tone. When she finally produced a clean, rigorous defense he finished inside her with several hard, precise thrusts, flooding her with heat while she trembled through a reluctant climax of her own.

The first use of the library stacks happened on a Thursday after the main doors had locked. Vaughn had keys. He led her between the tall shelves in the deserted upper floor and stopped in a narrow aisle where the light was dim. He turned her to face the metal shelving, lifted her skirt, and pushed her panties aside. The blunt head of his c**k pressed against her entrance. He entered her in one long, controlled thrust, burying himself to the hilt while distant footsteps of a security patrol moved somewhere on the floor below.

“Remain silent,” he whispered against her ear. “If they pass this aisle you will not make a sound.”

Camila bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste copper. He f****d her in slow, measured strokes, the thick length of him sliding through her wet cunt with quiet, obscene sounds. Every thrust pressed her hips against the cold metal of the shelf. The risk of discovery tightened every muscle in her body. Against her pride, it also heightened the reluctant arousal that answered his precision. Her n*****s tightened against her blouse. Her cunt fluttered around him. A soft, desperate whimper still escaped when he angled his hips and struck the sensitive place deep inside her.

He covered her mouth with one hand and continued, f*****g her with the same calm focus he brought to a difficult text. When the footsteps finally faded he finished inside her, holding still while the pulses of his release filled her. He remained buried for several long seconds, then withdrew and stepped back as if the entire act had been another form of tutorial.

“Next time you will recite the assigned passage while we are here,” he said. “Failure will cost you an extra session.”

Financial relief arrived within the week. Tuition was paid in full. A modest living stipend appeared in her account every Friday. The constant pressure of possible expulsion lifted, and her academic performance began to improve under the same intensity that governed the sessions. She started to confuse the intellectual sharpness Vaughn demanded with the physical physical control he exercised over her. The two forms of rigor blended until she could no longer separate the satisfaction of a well-defended argument from the shaky aftermath of being used across his desk.

The closing scene of the week took place on a late Friday night. Vaughn finished the main portion of the session—Camila bent over the desk once more, wrists bound, cunt stretched around his c**k while she recited the densest passage of the week from memory—and then pointed to the floor beside his chair.

“Kneel there. Stay quiet.”

Camila lowered herself to the carpet. Her thighs still trembled. c*m leaked slowly down the inside of one leg. He opened a thick stack of undergraduate papers and began to grade them with red ink, his free foot resting lightly on her thighs as if she were a living footrest. From time to time he set the pen down, reached for her, and used her mouth. He guided her head with quiet authority, sliding his c**k between her lips until she took him deep. The taste of her own arousal mixed with his earlier release. She worked him with careful suction and the soft drag of her tongue, trying not to make noise. When he grew hard again he simply pushed her forward onto her hands and entered her from behind for a few measured strokes, the wet sound of her cunt accepting him once more the only interruption to the scratch of his pen.

He never spoke while he graded. The only sounds were the quiet movement of paper, the occasional soft wet noise of her body, and the low, involuntary moans she could not entirely suppress when he f****d her particularly deep. Each time he finished using her he returned to the stack as if nothing had happened, leaving her open and dripping on the carpet.

When the last paper was finished he closed the folder and looked down at her.

“You will read the next two chapters and prepare a written defense of the author’s weakest claim. Bring it to the Tuesday session. New rule beginning next week: you will arrive already without undergarments on every scheduled night. Access is to remain constant once you enter the office.”

Camila kept her eyes lowered. c*m still leaked from her used cunt. Her mouth felt stretched and used. “I understand. Two chapters, written defense, and no undergarments.”

Vaughn nodded once. “You are dismissed. Go home and revise the essay I marked earlier. I expect improvement.”

She rose on legs that still trembled, gathered her bag, and left the office. The corridor was empty and silent. Each step reminded her of the intermittent use she had just endured—the lingering stretch of her cunt, the faint ache in her jaw, the wetness that continued to slide down her thighs—and of the new rule that would greet her on Tuesday. Tuition was paid. The stipend continued. Her grades were rising. The arrangement had become the central structure of her days, and she walked out of the building already calculating how to meet the next set of demands he would place on both her mind and her body.