Worth Your While

“Okay, so, I think if you moved this paragraph down—maybe make it the third or fourth—”

“Before the initial argument? Really?”

“Yeah, because if you put this after the introduction, then it might confuse readers who aren’t familiar with the research. It suggests that—”

“Oh, oh, yes, I see. Okay. That makes sense. And then this paragraph can go here—”

“Exactly. Put that there and then your introduction connects really seamlessly with your research data.”

“What about the word order? Did you notice any errors?”

“Um, no, I don’t think so. But let me skim it one more time just to make sure…”

“This is really, really good, by the way. I don’t know if I said that before.”

“You said it a few times.”

“Well, it needs to be said multiple times. You’ve come really far since my graduate seminar.”

“You must really mean that because you rarely gave any positive feedback when I was in your class.”

“Okay, okay, in my defense, students respond better to criticism when they’re accustomed to it. Positive reinforcement is earned in my class, not deserved.”

“Oh, I remember. And I worked hard for what little I got.”

There aren’t many former students of mine that I keep in contact with on a regular basis. Other than you, of course.

Some students reach out to me now and then to ask for letters of recommendation or keep me up to date on their research, but you’re the only one that seems interested in having a more… social relationship now that you’ve got your degree.

You’re certainly the only one who’s ever asked for my professional opinion on your research after graduating. The only one I’ve ever taken time out of my busy schedule to review a grant proposal for.

You were a graduate student when I first met you, almost three years ago. I was teaching a seminar on Comparative Politics which, even for grad students, isn’t exactly easy.

You were sharp, and that’s putting it lightly. Always had a sly comment at the ready for me during my lectures. And while I would normally find that obnoxious, you somehow made it endearing.

I really admired how much you cared about the material, how dedicated you were to each week’s reading. I sometimes suggested additional readings for you to take on, just to see how far I could push you.

But I honestly never expected to see you again after you graduated, as is the case with most of the students I teach. But you kept emailing me. Sending me a link each time you had an article published. Quick notes asking if I had heard of this or that book.

And your emails got more and more casual. And eventually… you asked if I could help you out with this grant proposal. Just a quick half-hour meeting at my office to look over your draft and offer my professional opinion and a promise to make it worth my while.

I’m trying to focus on the document you’ve sent me, but I can’t stop thinking about what you meant by that. Was it just an empty phrase? Are you like this with any of your other former professors…?

You’re watching me as I read.

You get up and move to stand behind my desk chair. Your body leans against me as you bend forward to look at my laptop screen. Your hair falls and lands on my shoulder.

“You look confused by something. What part are you at?”

“Impatient. I’m almost done, just give me another minute…”

“You’re not reading fast enough.”

“I could read faster if you weren’t distracting me with questions every other second.”

“Oh, I’m distracting, am I?”

“Yeah, you are. You’re distracting when you send me emails promising you’ll make this meeting ‘worth my while’. What did you mean by that?”

“Just that… I fully intend to repay you for your time today.”

“And… how exactly are you going to repay me?”

I get up from my chair and lean all the way into your chest, backing you into the desk and laying my hands flat on the surface behind you.

You’re not my student anymore. And, even when you were, you were a graduate student. Anything that may or may not happen between us… is happening between two consenting adults.

“Do you want to go somewhere…?”

“Not really. It’s kind of hot… being in your office.”

“Yeah? And why is that?”

“No, but I can pretend.”

Your hands connect around the back of my neck and close the remaining space between us.

I understand now why I would feel so breathless sometimes when you looked at me in class. Your eyes narrow and flash with want. You’re begging me to cross this boundary with you.

“So… you think it’s okay for you to waste my time like this? You know I have much more important things to do than look over student work…”

“I’m sorry, Professor. Let me make it up to you…”

“Turn around.”

You turn to face the desk and bend forward, extending your arms out and reaching for the far edge of the desk. The hem of your skirt hovers just below your ass and a hint of black lace hugs each cheek.

I kneel down against the polished hardwood floor and drag my fingers slowly down your back… your ass… your thighs.

I drag your underwear down to your ankles and you step out of them as fast as you can.

I kiss each thigh… dragging my tongue along the soft curve of your ass… before arriving at the top and kissing your pussy.

I tease apart your folds with the tip of my tongue… holding onto your hips, digging my fingers into your soft skin…

“Ohhh, fuck, Professor…”

You turn around to face me as I stand up and you press your mouth hard against mine.

I pull your shirt over your head and let you fumble with the button on my pants.

I cup my hands under your ass and lift you up onto the desk.

“Do you know how much trouble I could get into? If anyone found out about this?”

“I know, Sir… just let me know what I can do to make it better…”

“Lie back.”

I slip two fingers up against your pussy, not entering you yet. Just teasing… making you want it even more…

I tease your folds with a long, slow stroke… just barely touching your clit…

“Ohh, fuck, please, Sir… please, professor… I… I want your cock, please…”

“Sshhh…”

Your pussy is wet, your folds slick with desire. I drag two fingers up from your entrance all the way up to your clit. Your whole body jerks.

“Oh my god, Professor… I want you to fuck me, please… please…”

I push my fingers inside you and thrust nice and slow…

“You want my cock?”

“Yeah, yeah, please…”

“Yeah? You want your professor to fuck you?”

“Yes, sir. Please… ohh, fuck, please…”

My cock slides in you so easily…

“My clit… touch my clit…”

You slide forwards and my cock completely disappears inside you. Your legs wrap tight around my waist and I thrust harder… deeper…

“Pull my hair…”

“You sure like to tell me what to do… I’m your Professor, remember?”

I push my thumb between your lips and you greedily suck it in. Your cheek is warm as I curl my finger around your jaw.

I pull my thumb out of your mouth, wrap my hands under your ass, and pull you up to me.

I focus on your tits bouncing up against me… your pussy clenching around my cock…

“I, uh, I’ve never had sex in my office before…”

“Kind of hot, huh?”

“So, was this your way of making it worth my while?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I may have been fantasizing about this since your seminar last year…”

“Well, I’m glad you came by today. We, uh, might need to schedule some… follow-up meetings to look at your grant proposal a little more closely. Maybe a review session… writing workshop…”

“Maybe next time we can meet someplace a little more… private?”

“Definitely somewhere private.”