The Things That Make Me Give In Read Free Page B

thinks.
Don’t tease, just fuck me with your hand, your cock, anything
.
    ‘I never said there was. I only wondered what
you
were really like.’
    His finger finally finds its way between her over-swollen and aching lips, and eases through her creamy slit without a hindrance. Her clit jumps and demands attention, but he isn’t so kind.
    ‘Tell the truth now – do you work up all this slipperiness in my class? Is it my voice or your own fantasies that do it? Tell me what you do when you go home. Do you make it home? Or do you go the bathroom and lock yourself into one of the stalls, frig yourself off with just one hand in your knickers, the other in your mouth while you think about me shafting that tight little cunt?’
    The words she wants to say win, at last. There’s going to be a tidal wave, she’s sure.
    ‘I want you to fuck me. Oh, God, please fuck me, Professor.’
    He breaks too, then, she thinks. He breathes a sound against her neck, at least, and she isn’t sure it’s because she asked him to fuck her. Really, she thinks, it’s because she called him Professor.
    Like Lord. Like King. Like Sir.
    He rips her knickers down, hard enough to make the elastic scrape and roll against her flexing thighs. She glances up at the lecture-hall door, but no one’s there, and the hallway seems dark beyond. Still, the image of ten people suddenly being there, staring down at them . . . cocks and pussies in hands, maybe, some of them fucking as they watch . . . oh, that’s nice, too. Almost as nice as his idea of how far her characters could go – a cock in every hole, fucking and spurting and making a mess of her.
    She hears him dealing in his usual brusque fashion with a condom – the twang and snap of rubber – and can’t stopwondering why he has one on him. Does he keep them in his drawer, just waiting for wicked students to cross some line? Or were they in the pocket of those dusty cords – the kind of trousers you would never imagine condoms being inside?
    The contrast is jarring, exciting. He grabs her hips too roughly, before pushing in – easing in, really. It isn’t the force of him that makes her smack her hands flat on the board, but the tension of his cock inching into her clenching hole. Her pussy wants to force out the too-thick invader, she wants to push and squeeze until he is no longer jabbing into her, but really that’s bullshit because more than anything it feels delicious to shimmy and tighten around him.
    ‘Ah, yes, that’s gorgeous,’ he says, and it’s worth it just for that. ‘Do you like –’
    ‘I like to hear you talk. I like to hear you talk in class all the time. Say things to me.’
    ‘And once he’d driven his hot prong into her creamy depths . . .’
    ‘No – no, please – say what you like. Say what you want. Don’t tell me about what I’ve written, just tell me what you want.’
    ‘I want to fuck your snatch until you cream all over my cock.’
    ‘Oh, God, yes.’
    ‘And then I’m going to lick your clit for hours and hours without letting you come.’
    ‘Fuck – you bastard, you bastard.’
    ‘Tell me you like me shafting you.’
    ‘I do – fuck my tight cunt! Ream my little pussy, you fucker.’
    ‘Oh Christ, more of that, more.’
    He has hold of her hips more tightly now, and is jerking her almost off the ground with every thrust. It’s not difficult to give him more. It’s not difficult because of course he’s right, he’s right, God, she’s always wanted to change pulsating love blossom to cock and cunt and clit and pussy and tits and, oh, it’s even better than she could imagine hearing his clipped, posh voice using all of the words she never dared to.
    She presses her face against the board and probably smears herself with green ink but cannot care. Someone will come in and see them – him hunched over her, fucking into her while her skirt slops around her hips. How small she must look! And how much like she’s being pleasured so thoroughly