Chapter 5: Risky Texts & Quickies

I woke up Thursday morning with her taste still on my tongue and the memory of her pussy clenching around me while I filled her yesterday afternoon. My cheap twin bed smelled like vanilla and sex. My cock was already half-hard, sticky from the dream replay of bending her over that desk, the wet slap of my hips against her ass, the way my cum had dripped down her thigh-highs afterward. Guilt sat heavy in my chest—her husband’s ring glinting while she moaned my name—but the guilt only made me harder.

My phone buzzed at 7:45 a.m. exactly.

I can still feel you dripping down my thighs in class today 😈 Don’t look at me or I’ll lose it.

I stared at the screen, heart slamming. I was already in the lecture hall for her 8 a.m. Lit 301, sitting three rows back like always. She stood at the front in the same white blouse from yesterday, the one I’d unbuttoned while her breasts spilled out. Charcoal skirt hugging her hips, black heels clicking as she paced. The fabric stretched across her 36DD chest exactly the way it had when I sucked her nipples. She looked perfectly professional. No one would ever guess my load was still leaking out of her.

I typed fast under the desk.

Professor, you’re evil. I’m hard just reading this.

Her phone stayed in her hand while she lectured on symbolism. She didn’t glance my way, but her cheeks flushed pink.

Good. Keep it that way. Every time I shift I feel you sliding out of me. My panties are ruined.

Fuck. Show me.

Three dots. Then a photo popped up—taken from her angle at the podium. Her crossed legs under the desk, skirt hiked just enough. The lace tops of her thigh-high stockings dug into soft pale thighs, a hint of black garter strap peeking out. One stocking had a tiny wet spot where my cum must have trailed. No face, just those legs and the edge of her wedding ring resting on her knee.

Professor, you’re going to kill me.

That’s the plan, Alex. I’m soaked thinking about your mouth cleaning me up later.