The Dirty Professor: #1: The Lecture Hall BJ

Imani

“Excuse me, Mr. Thickpole? What did you say?”

“Heh heh, you heard me, Imani,” he teases. “I was saying that now you can finally get a chance to do what you claimed you had been wanting to do.”

My knees touch the floor near his desk, his dress pants and underwear around his shoes.

“I - I - I, I’m not sure what you want me to do, Mr. Thickpole,” I say innocently.

“Right, you’re not sure, huh? Is that why a few days ago you had that lollipop in your mouth, saying how much you liked having something in your mouth?”

Shit, I definitely remember that!

He doesn’t wait for an answer.

“Look up at me, Imani.”

I already know what I’ll see when I look up and butterflies of excitement are already fluttering inside me. My eyes slowly scan up, taking in the sight of his rock-hard erection. I acknowledge that at this point, his erection could probably hold a stack of textbooks.

“What should I do, sir?” I ask, as if I am some hussy from a hackneyed porn flick.

“You already know the answer, honey.”

I scoot across the floor, the cool air rushing over my exposed lower back as my shirt rides up slightly, exposing the edge of my panties just enough.

It is so trite that I am about to give my professor head, yet I wouldn’t want to be doing anything else. I take him into my mouth, his sounds of pleasure starting immediately thereafter.

“Mmm, yeah, Imani, that’s it,” he groans, his thick helmeted tip barging its way past my lips.

“Good job, Imani, suck my dick,” he says, my mouth filling with his manhood.

“Such a little slut, aren’t you?” he teases, his hands on the back of my head.