I stood from the chair on trembling legs, and forced myself to walk around the desk, thankful I’d worn flats. My legs shook with so many nerves, that I feared I’d stumble at any moment.

Did I want to do this? Could I stop? Could I afford to not do this?

The questions raced around my mind, chasing each other and I halted them all with a simple reminder that it was just a dance. Sure, he was turned on. I could admit my body was attractive, and I was a good dancer. If a dance was all he wanted, then I’d earn my grade and keep my spot.

I stood in front of his spread thighs and swayed my hips, imagining a slow beat to roll my body to. Closing my eyes, I imagined I was at a club with friends as I turned and shifted to the song in my head.

However, all of that came to a screeching halt when I felt rough palms on the outside of my thighs. I gasped and shot my eyes open.

Professor Ryan sat forward in his chair, his face mere inches from my skirt, his elbows resting on his thighs as he stroked my skin with his calloused fingers.

“Professor.” I protested when his thumbs moved to my inner thigh and stroked higher and higher on each pass. I tried to move back, but his grip tightened to a bruising strength.

“I’d offer to stop if you changed your mind.” He finally lifted his brown eyes to mine. “But that’s no longer an option.”

My face burned, taking in what he meant.

I no longer had a choice. He was taking this no matter what I said.

The thoughts dropped through my stomach, settling low in an uncomfortable way. I refused to acknowledge what it did to me.

“Tell me, Miss Belle. What will I find between your legs?”

“What?”

One hand shifted between the soft skin of my thighs. “Will your pussy be covered in lace that matches your bra? Will it be bare? Will it be wet?”

“No.” It fell off my tongue, an immediate denial of the whole situation.

He tsked at my response. “I don’t tolerate liars, Miss Belle.”

I stared down at him, seeing my breasts quickly rise and fall on each breath.

“Keep dancing.”

Closing my eyes, I tried to focus on swaying my hips, tried to bring myself back to the place I’d imagined earlier. But his fingers tugging my panties aside, and stroking a finger between the lips of my pussy, halted all other senses than feeling where I was then.

I hated myself, but I dropped forward and gripped his shoulder, supporting my shaking body.

“Ahhh. Wet. Such a slut wanting her teacher to watch her dance. To finger her.” Two long fingers pushed past my opening, slipping in easily past all my wetness. “To fuck her.”

“No,” I gasped, like it was the only word I could get past my lips. I wanted it to be true, but he just chuckled as he brought his thumb to my clit and I clenched around his thrusting fingers.

“Mmm,” he moaned. “Listen to yourself. Listen to how wet you are around my fingers.” The sounds of his fingers slipping out of me became louder the harder and faster he finger-fucked me. “What would the other professors say if they saw you like this? Dripping cum all over my hand as I shove my fingers inside you.”

I didn’t want it to be true, but I could feel the wetness slipping past his hand and getting onto my thighs. I could hear it on every thrust.

“Are you going to come on my fingers, Miss Belle?” He leaned forward and bit at my breast over my shirt. “Better be quiet. Wouldn’t want anyone walking in to find you riding my hand.”

“The door.” It came out as a gasping plea. I couldn’t have anyone find me like this, and I knew he hadn’t locked it.

“That’s a risk we’ll have to take. Now take off your top.”

He slowed his movements, using one hand to hold me steady so I could stand upright and tug my shirt off. Immediately, goose bumps broke out as the cool air blew across my exposed skin.

“Good girl. Now pull those lacy white cups down and show me your tits.”

I mindlessly followed his orders, feeling ultimate shame for not putting up any fight. I was too lost in the throb growing between my legs. Too lost in the way the deep timbre of his voice vibrated across my skin, expecting nothing but complete obedience.

“Fuck yes,” he groaned. “Pinch your nipples. Make them hard for me so I can bite them and suck on them.”

I gripped the tips and rolled them between my thumb and forefinger, unable to fight the groan slipping from my throat. I tugged harder to the point of pain, loving the way it spread from my breasts to my core, causing my muscles to squeeze tighter around him.

He knocked my hand away and latched on to a rosy tip, biting down hard. I had to bring my other hand to my mouth to smother the cry that escaped my parted lips. I was going to come. Right there, on my professor’s hand, I was going to have a shameful orgasm.

But then he stopped, pulling his fingers out of me, leaving me empty.

“What? What?” I whispered, looking at him with frantic eyes, pulsing my vagina around nothing, desperate to finish.

He laughed at my panic and a flush stole over my whole body in humiliation of almost pleading for him to finish me off.

This was my professor.

I was his student.

He slowly peeled my panties down my thighs, holding my gaze the whole time. I dutifully stepped out of them, unsure of who I was anymore.

“Get on the desk. Face first. Knees spread and ass up,” he ordered as he pocketed my panties. “Now.”

His barked order, snapped me out of my shock and I turned to climb on his desk, leaning forward to press my forehead to the wood. He tapped the inside of my knees, urging me to spread them.

I did until it hurt, pulling at the muscles of my groin. I could’ve only imagined what he saw.

Everything. He saw everything. Every opening I had. How wet I was. How eager.

Teeth bit into the sensitive skin below my ass cheek, right next to my opening. The fire burned straight to my clit and I knew he saw the way I clenched on nothing. My pussy begging for more.

“Such a beautiful cunt.” His finger stoked along my rosette, prodding, causing fear to spike in my chest. Making my pussy clench more. “What I wouldn’t give to fuck your tight asshole. To hear you scream as I make you mine.” He pulled back, dragging his finger to my vagina. “But not today.”

Those were his final words before he plunged his tongue inside me, and used his fingers to swirl around my clit.

My hips thrust, grinding on his face, embarrassingly racing for my orgasm. I was so close, I needed to come. I hadn’t come this far for him to leave me now. He rolled my bundle of nerves between his fingers and I bit my palm as I exploded, clenching around his tongue, dripping cum as my whole body tightened.

He placed gentle kisses everywhere—my lips, my thighs, my clit—before he pulled back. I lay panting on the desk, unable to move, to do anything, but feel the wash of emotions all over me.

Shame, pleasure, embarrassment. So much shame.

The rustling of fabric, the clink of a belt buckle, the rasp of zipper pulled me slowly from my feelings and the humiliation mixed with excitement. He was going to fuck me.

I hated how much I wanted it. How much I wanted to feel him inside me. How much I wanted to come on him again. I needed it.

The soft tip of his dick stroked up and down my wet cunt and the tip pressed in.

And a knock came at the door.