Sex with Professor: The Lesson After Hours

 Sex with Professor: The Lesson After Hours

Sex with Professor Greene was one way to get extra credit, but by mid-semester, I didn’t see another option. Philosophy 201 was devouring my GPA, and Professor Greene wasn’t the type to hand out sympathy grades. When class ended I stayed behind as the lecture hall emptied. My pulse quickened as I approached her desk, clutching my latest paper marked with a glaring D+. She was gathering her things, her movements slow and deliberate, as though she had all the time in the world. “I’m struggling,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I need to pass this class. I’ll do anything.”

She looked up at me, her sharp blue eyes catching mine. For a moment, I thought she might dismiss me outright, tell me to work harder, or consult the syllabus. But instead, she straightened, her expression unreadable as her eyes lingered on my pleated skirt. “Come to my office tonight at eight,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “We’ll talk about what can be done.” I nodded, too stunned to respond. She walked away without another word, leaving me standing there, my mind racing about Sex with Professor Greene.

I never thought I would resort to sex with Professor Greene…

That evening, I hesitated outside her office door, the cold fluorescent lighting of the corridor humming around me. The campus was eerily quiet, most students had already gone for the weekend. I stared at the plaque on the door that read Dr. Stacey Greene and almost turned back. But I knocked instead. “Come in and close the door,” she said, not looking up. Her office was warm and cluttered with books and papers. This is not what I had pictured when I thought about sex with Professor Greene. A single desk lamp illuminated the space, casting long shadows across the walls. She was seated behind his desk, leaning back in her chair, her glasses perched low on her nose. I obeyed, my heart pounding. She set her pen down and leaned forward, her hands folded.

The Professor stood, rounding the desk until she was leaning against it, just a few feet away.  She reached down, her hand brushing the back of my thighs. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but it sent a jolt through me. “Bend over my desk and put your hands palm down,” she asked, her voice low, the words hanging in the air like smoke. Sex with Professor Greene was going to be more kinky than I had anticipated. I swallowed hard, my throat dry. I didn’t answer, but I didn’t pull away either. She took a step closer, her hand grazing my ass, and lifted the fabric of my skirt revealing my lacey white panties. The warmth of her fingers seeped through, and I felt myself leaning into it, almost involuntarily. “Spread your legs.”

Her hand smacked my ass so hard my pussy clenched.

She spanked me until my legs were shaky beneath me and my panties were soaked. She reached out again, her thumb brushing my tight ass as she traced the outline of her hand prints. The room seemed to shrink, the space between us disappearing until I could feel the heat radiating off her.  When she kissed me, it wasn’t tentative. Her lips pressed against mine with the confidence of someone who had done this before, who knew exactly how far she could go. I don’t think I was the first student to have sex with Professor Greene. Her hands slid down my arms, firm yet unhurried, guiding me closer until I was pressed against her.

I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. She turned me gently, pressing me back against the edge of the desk. Papers crinkled beneath me as she leaned in, her hands exploring, her mouth trailing from my lips to the curve of my neck. My breath came in shallow gasps as her fingers moved with calculated precision, igniting sensations I hadn’t anticipated as they slipped under my panties getting me ready for hot lesbian sex with Professor Greene.

Did I ever get my extra credit? Did I make a mess all over her desk?

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