"Have you written your assignment for my class?"

"Are you trying to micro-manage me?" I answer playfully. "Because if you are, I'm going to remind you that I'm an adult, not a child, and I can monitor my own schedule and decide when to do my own homework assignments."

"So, that's a no then."

I follow Mr. Gabe into his study where he gestures toward an oversized leather armchair. Setting my bag down on the floor, I sink into the large leather seat. This is my first time being in his study, and despite my protests to the contrary, I do feel rather child-like in this giant chair.

I look around at the bookshelves where the books are neatly arranged in order of size and grouped by color. It's a silly quirky thing that makes me smile.

Mr. Gabe notices too from where he stands on the other side of the room, pouring himself a drink from a bar cart. "What's that smile about?"

He crosses the room and sits down in the armchair opposite mine, placing his drink on the side table. The way he's facing me now feels excessively formal, like he's my professor and I'm his student meeting him during office hours.

It doesn't feel like I knelt on the floor of his kitchen with my mouth wide open while he jerked off onto my tongue.

I clear my throat and shift in my seat, uncomfortable with the way the memory makes me flush. "Nothing." What was I smiling about again before I got distracted by thinking about the kitchen? Oh, yeah. "I was laughing at your books."

"My books? What's so funny about my books?"

"They're very… organized," I tell him. "But they're arranged by color and size, not so you can find them."

"That's because I know where everything is. I don't need to alphabetize them."

"You have thousands of books."

He shrugs. "And a good memory."

My own memory is in overdrive, reminding me of the kitchen again. I slide forward in my chair, even as he leans back and relaxes in his. Uncrossing and re-crossing my legs, I wait for him to make a move. He's calm and casual while my entire body feels amped up, waiting for something to happen between us again.

I'd like to be one of those confident girls, the kind who could waltz right up to a man and tell him exactly what to do to her. But I'm not. Instead, I'm still hesitant and timid, waiting for him to make a move because I don't know what kind of move I'd even make if I could.

The first time I'd ever touched a man's cock was in Mr. Gabe's kitchen. It was so big, my hand could barely wrap all the way around it – yet that's supposed to fit inside of me? The idea makes me apprehensive… but also sends a tingle of arousal right to my core. Yesterday when I went down to the student health center to be put on birth control for the first time, I felt just as awkward and hesitant as I did when Mr. Gabe told me to undress in the kitchen.

"I remember the kitchen," I blurt out awkwardly.

He raises his eyebrows. "I would hope you hadn't forgotten."

Heat floods my cheeks. "I don't think it's possible."

"So you haven't done the homework for my class, Purity?" he asks again. "You came here the night before class but you haven't done your work yet?"

I sigh and roll my eyes. "I haven't done my homework."

He takes a sip from his glass as I answer, letting out a sudden laugh that turns into a cough. "Did you really just roll your eyes at me? Weren't you just telling me how you aren't a child?"

"I have all night to do my homework," I protest. "And I can manage my own time."

He gives me a long look. "Maybe I was planning to take up the rest of your night, little girl."

His words suck all of the air out of the room. "Ohhh," I breathe. "I didn't expect – I mean, the last time I was here wasn't for very long, and…"

"And you thought you'd hang out here and we'd get off and then I'd kick you out?" His brow is furrowed and he sounds genuinely offended by the idea.

"No," I reply automatically. "I mean – well, yes actually. I didn't tell my roommate I was going anywhere and I shouldn't be seen leaving here, and I didn't bring any clothes or anything, and – um, were you asking me to stay overnight? Because I – uh, I didn't think that we'd be having sex, and I only just went to the student health center to get on the pill yesterday, and –"

I stop short because Mr. Gabe is staring at me.

"You got on the pill?" he asks, his voice gruff. He shifts in his seat, taking a sip of his drink. Then he sets it down on the table beside the chair.

"I wasn't on the pill before and they said it takes a while before I'm actually protected or anything, so…" I take a deep breath. "I just wanted to let you know."

"Because you thought you were coming here tonight so I could fuck you?"

"I don't know what to expect when it comes to you."

"I'm not going to fuck you until you're good and ready, Purity," he says, his voice firm. "Do you understand? Not until you are ready. Whenever that is, however long that takes."

The problem is, I think I'm good and ready right now. I was definitely good and ready when he was pushing his finger inside me in the kitchen the other day. I could have easily begged him to put his cock inside me instead. I was out of my mind with lust.

"It's just that – what you said before, about not being a good man…" I start. "I just assumed…"

I assumed you'd be pressuring me to fuck you as soon as possible.

I want to fuck you as soon as possible.

"I'm not a good man, Purity," he says, his voice thick. "A good man wouldn't be bending you over and spanking you in his office. A good man wouldn't be telling the daughter of someone he grew up with to strip down naked in his kitchen after promising her father he'd look after her. A good man wouldn't agree to keep her out of trouble while she was at college, while thinking about all of the different positions he intends to fuck her in. A good man wouldn't take advantage of her."

"But you're not taking advantage of me," I protest. "The idea is ridiculous."

He lets out an uneasy laugh as he shakes his head. "That's not how the school administration would see things, Purity. Or how a lot of people would see things. They'd see you as a naïve eighteen-year-old girl and me as a man old enough to be your father. A man exactly your father's age, as a matter of fact."

"I don't care how the administration or anyone else sees things. I'm adult enough to make my own choices, and I made the choice to come here tonight."

Mr. Gabe holds up his hand. "I'm not arguing with you. I know you made the choice to come here tonight – and made some assumptions about this evening and how it would go."

"No," I insist, frustrated with the turn this entire conversation has taken. "I came here tonight expecting –"

"Go on, Purity," he says, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. "Tell me what you expected coming here. In detail. Preferably in extraordinarily explicit detail."

He wants detail, does he? Now is my opportunity to ask for what I want from him. My breath catches in my throat. I sit up straight in my chair, determined to be confident, unafraid, brash, and definitely not nervous.

Say what you want, Purity.

"I was coming here because I wanted to…" I clear my throat. "I wanted to touch your cock again."

I want to touch your cock.

I want you to fuck me.

I'm saying all kinds of things I wouldn't normally say. Of course, I'm doing lots of things I wouldn't normally do, either.

Mr. Gabe looks amused. "Is that right?"

I clear my throat again and attempt to act nonchalant, as if I make these kinds of statements every day. "That's right," I insist, sitting up straighter in the chair, suddenly emboldened. "I came here because you promised to give me lessons. Actually, if I recall correctly, you said you'd teach me how to wrap my little hand around your big hard cock. I think those are the words you used. You also said you'd fuck my warm little mouth, I think? You promised to 'fill my mouth up with your cum'."

I use air quotes for the last bit about filling up my mouth.

Mr. Gabe throws his head back and laughs.

It's the first time I've seen him laugh like that. The sound is warm and wonderful, echoing through the space in his study, but at the same time, I'm not entirely sure if he's laughing with me or at me.

I cross my arms and glare at him. "Those are mostly your words, not mine, just to be clear."

"Oh, I'm definitely clear about that," he replies. "Hearing them come out of your mouth, though... shit, Purity. What the hell am I going to do with you?"

I give him an impudent look. "I think I just told you what to do with me."

He raises his eyebrows. "Is that so, little girl? I give you a couple of orgasms and you're completely corrupted now?"

"Not completely."

He grunts. "You're right. There are a hell of a lot of things I still need to do with you in order to corrupt you entirely."

"So… lesson two, then?"

His mouth twitches again. "You're a greedy little thing," he notes. "I have a feeling you're only going to get more and more so as we go."

Between my legs, my pussy throbs in response to his words, as if agreeing with him. "I'll try to moderate my demands."

"I'd be disappointed if you did. I'd much prefer you in all your greedy demandingness. Now, be a good girl and pull your laptop out of your bag."

"Excuse me??"

"You didn't do your homework yet, did you?"

Enough with the homework crap already. Did he not hear me tell him that I'm an adult who can manage my own schedule?

"I thought I made it clear that I didn't come here to do homework."

He chuckles. "I'm going to choose to ignore that last little smart-assed remark, since you did so well with describing exactly what you wanted a moment ago. But if you're mouthy again, I'll have to punish you instead of giving you another lesson. Understood?"

I put my laptop on my thighs and refrain from rolling my eyes – even though I really, really want to. "Fine," I say, my voice clipped. "Sir."

"Good girl." He rises and moves to the side of his chair. "Now, stand up and walk over here."

My heart beats faster as I do what he tells me to do, holding my laptop in my hands. When I reach him, I look up at him defiantly. "Now, what would you like me to do, Sir?"

"So outwardly compliant, yet not really compliant at all," he says, sighing as he runs his hand over my rear before slipping it underneath my skirt to cup my ass cheek. Heat rushes through me at his touch. I want him to slide his hand between my legs. I want to feel his finger inside me again.

"I don't think you really want compliant, Mr. Gabe," I whisper.

"You're a smart girl, Purity," he notes. "Smart and observant and not very submissive at all."

"I called you Sir," I remind him. "And you spanked me."

He steps behind me, his breath warm on my neck. "Both of those things are true," he acknowledges. "And you're going to do just what I tell you to do right now, aren't you?"

I swallow hard, my throat thick. "Yes. Sir."

"Go set your laptop on the chair."

I walk to the chair and set it down. When I begin to turn around, he stops me. "Reach under your skirt and take off your panties, then drop them on the ground."

So he is going to teach me something. He's not going to make me sit here and do work.

My breath catches in my throat as I bend over in my skirt to give him a show as I slide them over my thighs. When I'm finished, I stand there waiting for him to tell me what he wants me to do next.

"Kneel down in front of the chair," he tells me. "Open your laptop and pull up your assignment for my class."

My heart sinks. How can he get me all turned on and then tell me to just work?

"But –" I protest.

"Purity," he warns. "I'd rather do what I have in mind than have to punish you."

Fine.

I close my mouth and obediently make my way to the chair before lowering myself to my knees and opening my laptop on the seat. Then I pull up the document that I'm working on, the beginning of the piece I was writing for his class.

"Spread those thighs apart."

"Why?" I ask, but I still inch my thighs apart. What is he going to do to me?

"I'll need plenty of space to slide between them," he answers. "Now be a good girl and start your homework. Make sure to arch your back and push your ass up, because I'm going to put my face in between your legs and lick that pussy while you write."

"You're going to what??" I blurt, but he doesn't bother to explain himself again. I realize immediately what he's doing as he grips the back of my thighs and pulls himself up so that I'm straddling his face. The back of his head rests on the edge of the chair and I’m positioned so that I'm kneeling over him.

I'm basically sitting on his face.

Although he doesn't touch his tongue to me yet, his warm breath wafts over my pussy. I can't see his face because my skirt covers it, so I can only feel him.

This feels beyond inappropriate. It feels filthy.

"Look how wet you are," he murmurs. "You were sitting in that chair talking to me like everything is normal while your pussy was soaked. You were sitting there thinking about what I was going to do to you, weren't you?"

"Yes," I admit. I'm dying for him to touch me, but he doesn't. He just talks to me, prolonging my torment.

"Are you doing your homework? I don't hear any typing."

How can I write while he's between my legs? It's not possible. "Yes, Sir."

I try to focus, staring at the page. What was I going to write about again?

"I'd like to lick all of this wetness from your pussy, but I'm afraid I can't until I hear you working," he informs me. "So start doing your homework. If I hear you stop typing, I'll stop licking."

Yes, Sir.

I try my very best to focus on my assignment, beginning to type as he runs his tongue along my slit.

I almost keel over onto the chair as I cry out, "Oh my God."

His hands grip my rear end, holding me in place. "Homework, dirty girl. Keep writing."

Keep writing. Focus.

He licks me, slowly and methodically, his tongue roaming between my legs like he's determined to be there all night. When he presses his tongue against my clit, I moan. "I can't think when you're right there between my legs."

"Well, I'd suggest you figure out how to write while I'm eating you, because otherwise your next lesson is going to involve enduring multiple orgasms."

A tingle runs down my spine. He says that like it's a threat, but orgasms until I finish my assignment doesn't sound like torture at all.

"I'm going to keep fucking you with my tongue until you're finished writing, and I'm not going to stop until your homework is done."

His mouth covers my pussy, and I can hardly breathe. "How will I be able to focus on my assignment when you're doing that?"

"You're a clever little girl," he says, chuckling. "I trust you'll be able to figure it out. Back to work."

I begin typing again but only get a few words down on paper before Mr. Gabe's tongue is busy working me over again. His mouth is warm and wet and the most amazing thing I've ever felt in my entire life. I don't know how he thinks I could possibly work when his tongue is flicking over me with masterful strokes, up and down my slit and around my clit until the computer screen begins to blur. When he sucks my clit into his mouth, a wave of arousal hits me so intensely, I almost collapse onto the chair.

He pauses, his hands on my thighs. "I don't hear typing, Purity. Are you writing?"

"Writing?" I murmur.

That's right. I'm supposed to be working.

Squinting at the screen, I try to form a coherent thought, but it's impossible with the throbbing sensation between my legs distracting me.

He won't put his mouth back on me until I type, so I begin typing stupid nonsensical words. Even that takes a level of concentration I can barely summon.

"Keep writing," he murmurs.

Then he thrusts his tongue inside me.

Inside my pussy.

"Oh my God," I groan. Any attempt to write goes out the window, along with any semblance of composure I still possessed. Gripping the armrests on the chair, my fingers dig into the leather as he pushes his tongue further inside me. My hips buck against his face almost of their own will, and soon I'm moving rhythmically as he fucks me with his tongue.

Mr. Gabe is fucking me with his tongue.

This is the dirtiest thing I've ever done in my not-so-eventful life. It's also the hottest.

I close my eyes and toss my head back, allowing myself to be completely consumed by the pleasure he's giving me right now. If I'd have known before that this could feel so good…

Until he stops.

"Dirty girl, I feel you fucking my face, but I don't hear you typing."

My breathing is labored. I want to scream my frustration at being brought so close to orgasm and then being denied. "Because I can't type."

"Oh, but you can," he insists.

My pussy throbs.

"I know you have self-discipline because you're the same girl who told me she hardly ever touched herself."

"But that was before," I whine.

"Before what?"

"Before you started…"

Before you started turning me on and spinning me up and getting in my head so I couldn't think about anything but you.

How can I explain to him that the things he's doing have done something to me? I didn't know how good any of this could feel before. Now I crave his touch. A couple of orgasms from him and now I want all of the orgasms in the world.

I'm terrified of what will happen when he uses his cock instead of his tongue. I might go insane, become some sex-crazed girl who can't get out of bed.

"Before I started what?" He flicks my clit with the tip of his tongue.

"Stop doing that," I snip, my hands going to the top of his head. I'm the one kneeling over him; I should be the one in charge.

But he's the one with the magic tongue.

And the magic fingers.

And probably the magic cock as well.

"Stop doing this?" He sucks my clit into his mouth and I think I might cry with relief at the sensation of his tongue on me again. My eyes go to my laptop screen, and I almost laugh. I've typed three sentences, and none of the words make any sense.

At this rate, I might be here on his face all night.

I think I want to be on his face all night.

Mr. Gabe's tongue stops moving and I hear a buzzing noise, but I can't figure out what it is. "Purity," he murmurs between my legs.

"Mm-hmm?" I can't seem to catch my breath, dizzy from arousal.

"Are you buzzing?"

"What? That's not me."

"I think that's your phone," he says, pulling me away from him. I groan with disappointment as he slides out from underneath me.

"It's okay. I'll let it go to voicemail."

"Answer it," he tells me, amused.

The phone keeps buzzing. How long is the damned thing going to keep ringing?

"Go get your phone right now," Mr. Gabe insists. "Answer it and put your pussy back on my face. Do it now or there won't be any more orgasms."

Does he want me to answer the phone while he's licking me? He wouldn’t dare.

I realize as he looks at me, the corners of his mouth twitching, that's exactly what he's asking me to do.

"Hurry, dirty girl," he tells me. "If it stops ringing, no more orgasms for you."

I dive to grab the phone, but as soon as I realize who's calling, my heart stops beating. I hold it up, hissing at Mr. Gabe. "I can't answer this. It's my father."

But Mr. Gabe just chuckles. The bastard. "Answer it, Purity."

Luckily, the phone stops buzzing. "It went to voicemail."

"Bring it back over here and get on my face," Mr. Gabe orders. "We both know he's not going to stop calling."

"I can't," I protest weakly. I shouldn't do it. It's too dirty, Mr. Gabe doing that between my legs while I talk to my father. Yet I'm so desperate, so close to orgasm.

I let out a long exhale and resume my position.

Heaven help me.

It's less than thirty seconds before the phone begins vibrating again. I curse under my breath.

"Don't you dare silence that phone," Mr. Gabe orders, his tongue exploring me.

"This is so…"

"Inappropriate?" he finishes for me. "Over the line?"

"Yes," I gasp as he pushes his finger against my entrance. My head swims. "That's exactly why you're going to answer the fucking phone, Purity. Put it on speaker."

"Speaker??" I protest. It's wrong. I can't do this.

But Mr. Gabe slides his fingers inside my very wet hole, and I don't want him to stop. I want him to make me come.

I need him to make me come.

I'm definitely going to Hell, but at this point, I'd sell my soul to come on Mr. Gabe's face.

"Do it, Purity," Mr. Gabe says, his voice dark. "You're a grown woman who needs to stop letting herself be controlled by her father."

I almost begin to protest again, but he's right.

I press the button.

"Are we not answering our phone anymore?" My father's deep voice booms through the room even as Mr. Gabe plunges two fingers inside of me as far as they can go.

Clutching the sides of the chair, I try desperately not to cry out as I stare at the phone screen that proclaims "Alan Taylor" in bold letters.

"I – of course I'm answering my phone, father," I reply. My voice is shaky and I pray that he doesn't hear anyone else in the room.

"What are you doing?" he asks suspiciously.

"Me?" I squeak, my voice an octave higher than it normally is. "I mean, me? Nothing. I'm doing nothing."

Between my legs, Mr. Gabe shakes. The asshole is laughing.

I smack the back of his head, and in return he sucks my clit between his lips so hard that I let out a moan.

"What was that?" my father asks.

"Oh, it's just the television," I lie.

"I hope you're not watching anything I wouldn't approve of," he snaps.

"Of course not," I lie again, and Mr. Gabe chuckles, sending a vibration between my legs that only makes it more impossible to pretend that nothing is happening here.

"How was church?" my father asks.

Mr. Gabe rolls his tongue over my clit.

Oh, God.

I'm definitely going to Hell.

"Church was…" My voice trails off as Mr. Gabe pushes his fingertips against me on the same spot he did before, the spot that made me orgasm almost instantly in the kitchen.

No, no, no.

Panic rises in my throat as pleasure washes over me in waves.

I can't do that right now. Not while I'm on the phone.

Talking about church.

"It was…" I can't catch my breath. "Oh my God – goodness, I mean. Oh my goodness."

"Don't lie to me, Purity," he snaps. "I know what you're doing."

"What??" My voice squeaks, and I think I might have a panic attack. Can he hear Mr. Gabe? How does he know??

"I know you're lying to me about attending church," he goes on.

Lying about attending church is the least of my sins.

"I –" I start, but Mr. Gabe's fingers keep stroking me right in that spot, and I can't even come up with a reasonable lie, let alone stand up to my father and tell him that I just didn't want to attend the church he'd selected for me – or maybe not even any church at all.

"You what, Purity? I don't have time for this. Spit it out."

"I – went to a different church," I say quickly, my fingers gripping the chair even harder as Mr. Gabe's fingers move to a consistent rhythm inside me, as if he's blissfully unaware of the fact that I'm talking to my preacher father on the phone right now.

As if nothing untoward is going on and this isn't all kinds of screwed up.

"Which church did you attend?" my father demands to know. "I chose the one I chose for you for a reason and I talked with the pastor. He was expecting you."

"Um… the church I attended…" I bite down hard on my lip to try and silence my breathing because right now, it sounds like I'm running a marathon.

Mr. Gabe fucks me faster with his fingers. He rolls his tongue around my clit in circles. My entire body is hot, my face flushed and my forehead damp with the insane amount of exertion it takes for me to keep myself from crying out right now. I want to scream out, to moan for the whole world to hear, but I can't. Instead, I grip the sides of the chair until my fingers are so numb, I can't feel them any longer. I bite down on my lip until I taste blood.

What was the question?

"You don't know what church you went to??"

"Um, yes. I do…" I gasp.

I can't breathe.

"Are you lying to me, Purity Taylor? God hates a liar."

Mr. Gabe presses that spot inside me, then strokes it faster. I think it must be a thousand degrees inside his house now and my heart feels like it's going to beat through my chest as I try not to scream.

"The name… the church… um…" My words come out between gasps. "Holy…"

"Holy what?"

Holy shit, I'm going to come.

I let out a loud gasp as I realize I'm going to have an orgasm right here while my father is lecturing me. I know it with certainty as the sensations swell inside me, building and building like a tsunami.

I know I'm not going to be able to hold back.

I can't control it any longer.

I'm going to orgasm. I'm going to come and it's going to be so hard and it's going to be on Mr. Gabe's face.

On his mouth, as his tongue flicks over and over my clit.

On his fingers, as he fucks me harder and deeper and faster.

My pussy swells around him as he pumps his fingers in and out of me. The sound of my wetness as he fucks me is deafening.

"Holy… um, oh God." I let out a long moan, immediately clamping my hand over my mouth.

I didn't just moan out loud. I couldn't have.

"What's going on there?" my father yells.

"Nothing!" I barely choke out the word before I moan again.

Damn it.

"Are you ill? You sound ill."

"Yes!" I burst out, my voice far too loud and far too enthusiastic. Mr. Gabe fucks me harder and harder. "Ill. I'm very… oh, my God…"

I'm going to come.

I try to stop it.

I try to be a good girl.

"I'm so, so, so, so sick right now…" I groan.

So sick.

So utterly filthy and sick and dirty.

The swell grows and grows, and it's too late. I can't stop it, no matter how hard I try. I'm panting and gasping and gripping the sides of the chair for leverage as I grind my pussy against Mr. Gabe's face.

I fuck my professor's face while I'm on the phone with my father.

My preacher father.

I completely let go.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!"

I crash over the edge, the explosion of my orgasm obliterating everything else in the world.

I don't know what I say as I come. For all I know, I could be screaming Mr. Gabe's name.

I completely lose control.

When I pry my eyes open, I'm immediately aware of silence. My heart is still pounding, blood still pumps loudly in my ears, but the room is still.

And I'm panicking inside.

Yanking up my skirt, I look down at Mr. Gabe between my legs, silently trying to telegraph my terror. He looks up at me – his eyes half-lidded and drunk with lust – and gives me the smuggest smile I've ever seen.

The asshole. This must be some kind of game to him.

My father's voice echoes loudly through the room. "What in Heaven's name was that?"

Oh, God. I'm going to be sick.

Embarrassment floods me as I rack my brain for a response. I can't believe I just did that. I can't believe Mr. Gabe wanted me to do that.

This is wrong, wrong, wrong.

Scrambling to my feet, I grab my cell phone. I take it off speaker and press it against my ear, my heart racing. "Sorry, father," I say quickly. "That was – um, we were watching a football game on the television in the common area. There are a lot of people here."

"Since when do you watch football?"

"Oh, I've just gotten into it." I can barely get out the words, too humiliated to speak.

I have to get out of here right now.

When I glance at Mr. Gabe, he gives me a dark glare. I ignore it, the embarrassment of what I just did too much to bare. I can't face him right now, and I can't talk to my father in front of him.

I grab my bag and laptop, then run for the front door.