SWEET DESIRES

CHAPTER 13: PROFESSOR’S PRICE PT 4

Mid-term week arrived and Professor Vaughn began using campus locations that carried higher risk. He took her to an empty lecture hall after the last evening class had ended, locking the door and bending her over the front desk while the wide rows of seats remained dark and silent around them. He ordered her to recite the opening argument of the paper they had discussed that afternoon. As she spoke he lifted her skirt, found her bare underneath as required, and pushed his c**k into her in one long, controlled thrust. The sudden stretch forced a soft, broken sound from her throat.

“Again,” he said, voice low. “Tighter phrasing. And keep your hips still.”

Camila tried. Each careful sentence left her mouth while he f****d her with precise, measured strokes, the wet slide of his c**k through her cunt loud in the empty hall. When her argument drifted he drove deeper, the impact jolting a moan past her teeth. When the logic sharpened he slowed, grinding against the sensitive place inside her until her thighs trembled and filthy, helpless noises spilled out despite her efforts to stay quiet.

“f**k—Professor—please—”

He covered her mouth with one hand and continued, correcting both her phrasing and the angle of her hips with the same exacting attention. She came with a muffled cry against his palm, cunt clenching hard around him. He f****d her through it and finished deep inside her, holding still while the pulses of his release flooded her.

On another night he led her into the faculty lounge long after the building had closed. He placed her on her knees between two leather chairs and opened his trousers. Camila took his c**k into her mouth without being told. He reviewed departmental correspondence on his phone while she worked him with careful suction and and the soft drag of her tongue. Soft, wet sounds filled the lounge. When he grew fully hard he gripped her hair and f****d her mouth in slow, controlled strokes, the head of his c**k pressing the back of her throat until her eyes watered. She moaned around the thick length, the vibration drawing a quiet exhale from him. He finished across her tongue and made her swallow every drop before ordering her to straighten her clothes and leave first.

The most deliberate risk came in a locked seminar room while a colleague graded papers just down the hall. Vaughn kept one hand over Camila’s mouth and entered her from behind in a single deep thrust. She whimpered against his palm. He f****d her in slow, controlled strokes, speaking quietly against her ear whenever she made a sound.

“Silence is part of the requirement,” he said. “If you cannot maintain it, the session extends.”

She stayed quiet until he finished, though every deep push forced soft, desperate noises against his hand. When he came he held himself buried, filling her while distant footsteps moved in the corridor outside.

Academic stakes rose at the same time. Vaughn assigned her a high-visibility research assistant role that placed her at his side during office hours, departmental meetings, and long afternoons in the graduate reading room. The position gave him continuous opportunity for subtle control—an order delivered in a low voice while another faculty member stood only a few feet away, a brief touch that reminded her of the evening session still to come, an abrupt instruction to follow him into an empty office for ten minutes of use before they returned to the public corridor as if nothing had occurred. Camila learned to keep her expression neutral and her notes accurate even while her body remained aware of his proximity.

The breeding focus intensified. He timed the longer sessions around her fertility window, kept detailed notes in a private file, and discussed the potential academic and personal consequences of pregnancy with the same calm tone he used when reviewing paper revisions.

“If you conceive before the term ends,” he said one evening while she lay on her back across his desk, knees held open by his hands, “you will continue the research assistant work until the physical demands make it impractical. We will adjust the schedule. The intellectual standards will not be lowered.”

Camila stared at the ceiling. His c**k was already inside her, thick and deep, stretching her open. He f****d her with deliberate care, each slow thrust pushing against her cervix as if to force his seed as far as possible. Soft, continuous moans spilled from her lips. Her cunt clenched around him, slick and greedy.

“I understand the consequences,” she managed between gasps.

He finished inside her with several hard, precise strokes, flooding her completely, and then recorded the time and duration in his notes before allowing her to dress.

Her internal conflict reached its sharpest point during these weeks. The genuine intellectual growth she experienced under his demanding standards—the clearer arguments, the tighter prose, the rising quality of her seminar contributions—sat directly against the complete surrender of her bodily autonomy. She began to anticipate the sessions with a mixture of dread and need that she could no longer separate. The same voice that corrected her thesis statements also ordered her into stress positions. The same mind that pushed her toward better scholarship also tracked her cycle and used her with the stated intention of impregnating her. Pride and dependence twisted together until she could not tell which impulse was stronger.

The climactic sequence took place on a Saturday night at the country house during an all-night grading marathon. Vaughn had brought two large stacks of undergraduate papers and a thermos of coffee. He set Camila on her knees beside the desk and began to work. Between batches of papers he used her without ceremony or pause for conversation. Sometimes he simply pushed her forward onto her hands and entered her from behind for several measured minutes. The wet sound of her cunt taking his c**k filled the study. Soft, involuntary moans escaped her with every deep thrust. He returned to the red pen while still buried inside her, correcting undergraduate logic while her body remained stretched and open around him.

Sometimes he ordered her to take him in her mouth while he continued to write comments in the margins. She sucked him slowly, tasting her own arousal from the previous use, soft wet noises accompanying the scratch of his pen. Once he lifted her onto the desk itself, spread her legs wide, and f****d her slowly while reading a particularly weak essay aloud and correcting its logic between thrusts.

“Your body is another tool available while I work,” he told her when she began to tremble. “You will remain open and quiet until the stack is finished.”

Camila obeyed as best she could. The night stretched past midnight and into the early hours. He graded methodically, used her repeatedly between sections of papers, and spoke only to issue the next physical instruction or to note another failure in the undergraduate work. Each time he entered her the stretch forced fresh moans from her throat. Filthy, broken sounds—“f**k… please… Professor, it’s too much—”—spilled out whenever he drove particularly deep. He ignored the words and continued, finishing inside her again and again, the accumulating wetness of his releases making every subsequent thrust obscenely slick.

When the final paper was marked he set the pen down, pushed her onto her back across the remaining space on the desk, and f****d her one last time with slow, thorough strokes. Her cunt was swollen and oversensitive. Every movement dragged another moan from her. He came with a final deep push and held himself there, letting the last pulses empty into her while he reviewed his private breeding notes over her shoulder.

“You will report any change in your body the moment you notice it,” he said. ently. “The fertility window is still open. We will continue on schedule.”

Camila kept her eyes lowered. c*m leaked steadily from her used cunt onto the desk. “I will report every change immediately.”

He dismissed her at dawn. She dressed in the half-light, gathered her bag, and rode back to campus with the residual evidence of the long night still present between her thighs. The research assistant role waited for her on Monday. The higher-risk campus locations remained available whenever he chose. The intellectual growth continued, and the complete surrender of her body continued with it. She walked toward her dormitory already feeling the twin pressures of dread and need settle into place for the week ahead, knowing that both would be answered in the next session he scheduled.