whatislovevavy - Tumblr blog

whatislovevavy · 21 hours ago

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OMG I need a part 2 🥵🥵

Unleashed Desire

pairing; professor!jake seresin x fem!reader

summary; Professor Jake Seresin never expected to fixate on a student—until you. Quiet, brilliant, and untouched. The more he watches, the more possessive he becomes. You're his now. Whether you know it or not.

word count; 13.4k

warnings; AGE GAP (reader is twenty, jake is in his thirties), SMUT, daddy kink, corruption kink, innocence kink, dom!jake, dacryphilia, oral (fem receiving), overstimulation, READER IS A VIRGIN, obsessive thoughts, dumbification, spitting, cockwarming (kinda), spanking, size kink, this is lowkey dark, people are responsible for their own media consumption.

a/n; this is filthy and i apologize for horny dump on y'all. sorry if this sucks i'm still getting familiar with writing this kind of smut, so if you notice i over-described some things that was me being confused and word vomiting all over my word document. there were too many ideas i tried to fit them all, but will definitely do blurbs for these two

masterlist

Jake Seresin walked into the lecture hall like he owned it — because, in a way, he did.

Ten years in the department, full tenure, two books under his belt, and an entire building’s worth of undergrads who hung on every word that came out of his mouth. He knew what he looked like — tall, sharp, confident. He knew what the students whispered. Hot. Smart. Dangerous in a button-up.

And yeah, he liked it.

Most of them didn’t care about postwar American History, not really. But they filled the seats anyway, hoping for an easy grade or a reason to stare at his forearms when he rolled his sleeves past the elbows.

He smirked to himself as he adjusted the papers in his hand. Another semester, another group of over-eager girls and under-prepared essays.

He stepped into the lecture hall, already mid-sentence in his head, and—

Stopped.

Dead.

You were sitting in the front row.

Directly in front of him.

Plaid skirt. White button-up blouse. A ribbon tied neatly in your hair like you didn’t even realize what that did to a man with a functioning pulse. Your legs were crossed, your posture perfect, your desk already arranged — notebook laid flat, post-its stacked by color, pens uncapped and ready.

And your head was bowed.

Not in some coy, flirtatious way. You weren’t looking up at him through lashes or biting your lip to be seen.

You were just… focused. Calm. Present.

Everyone else in the room had turned to look at him the moment he walked in — eyes on his shoulders, his hands, his jaw.

But not you.

You didn’t even glance his way.

You were already writing the date in the top corner of your notes in tiny, perfect print.

And that?

That got him.

He cleared his throat and forced himself to keep walking, setting his materials down on the desk with a quiet thud. The usual whispers rippled through the room. He didn’t care. Not anymore. He only cared about the girl in the front row who hadn’t looked up once.

He started the lecture on instinct alone, the words rolling out smoothly, years of experience keeping his tone measured and confident. But his eyes kept flicking back to you — the curve of your jaw, the bow in your hair, the soft flutter of your lashes as you scribbled something in the margins of your notes.

You weren’t like the others.

You weren’t trying to impress him. You weren’t trying to flirt.

You were just… good. Sweet. Serious.

You didn’t even know how fucking adorable you looked, sitting there all buttoned-up and composed, legs crossed and lips slightly parted as you listened — not to him, but to the lecture.

And maybe that was what did it.

The restraint. The genuine interest.

Because by the time class ended, Jake couldn’t remember a single other face in the room.

Only yours.

And something deep in his chest — something he hadn’t felt in a long time — curled in quiet anticipation.

He needed to know your name.

And if he wasn’t careful, he’d need a hell of a lot more than that.

You were in the same seat.

Second row, third desk from the left.

Just like the day before.

Jake had tried to shake the way you lingered in his mind — tried to forget the way your skirt had tugged just slightly over your thighs when you crossed your legs, how your head had tilted as you wrote, like you were pulling something from memory — but it was pointless.

Because there you were again.

Same posture. Same calm energy. Same goddamn ribbon in your hair.

Today’s outfit was a pale pink blouse, collar neatly buttoned, a plaid skirt in navy and cream. Knee socks. Perfect posture. The kind of softness that didn’t feel designed to tempt, and somehow tempted even more because of it.

You still didn’t look at him when he walked in.

You were too busy underlining your notes with a pastel blue pen.

And that made something in him tighten.

You didn’t crave his attention like the others. You didn’t light up when he passed. You didn’t flash a smile or a low-cut neckline or flutter your lashes like a dozen other students had already done before class even began.

You didn’t care.

Or maybe you were just trying very, very hard not to show it.

Either way — it made him want you.

The lecture began the same way it always did — syllabus points, early framework, a few jokes to keep the room alive.

But then he asked a question.

A tough one.

A silence followed. Then, as expected, a dozen hands flew up around the room — loud, eager, obvious.

But his eyes went straight to you.

“You,” he said smoothly, pointing without hesitation. “Third seat, first row. Go ahead.”

Your head snapped up, wide-eyed. The pen slipped from your fingers.

He watched you blink, inhale sharply, lips parting as you searched your mind for the answer. He could see the nerves flash across your face, that same little crease forming between your brows as you swallowed.

“I—um. The, uh… the cause of the shift in policy was—was rooted in post-WWII diplomatic tension,” you stammered, voice soft. “Specifically the… growing divide between the U.S. and the Soviet Union in the early years of the Cold War.”

A pause.

Then: “Yes,” he said, lips curling into something dangerously close to a smile. “Exactly.”

Your cheeks flushed pink. You looked down immediately, biting your lip, and picked your pen back up like you’d said something wrong.

Jake exhaled slowly through his nose.

Fuck.

You looked so pretty when you were flustered. When you stumbled just slightly over your words. When you turned red from something he did.

He wanted to see that look again. Not here. Not like this.

Closer. Louder. Wetter.

His jaw flexed.

He shouldn't be thinking about you like this. You were a student. Twenty, maybe. Barely even an adult. And he was a professor — your professor — with no business imagining what you might look like on your knees, still wearing that fucking bow.

But you made it so hard not to.

That quiet intelligence. That unintentional sweetness. The way you never looked at him for too long, like you didn’t trust yourself to.

You were perfect in the kind of way that made men like him ruin things.

And he already knew he would.

Because after just two classes, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Not during his office hours. Not during faculty meetings. Not even at night, lying in bed with his hands gripping his cock, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what it would feel like to own that innocence.

And God help him — he already knew this wasn’t going to be enough.

Just watching you from across the room?

It was never going to be enough.

You were walking out of class when he saw it happen.

Some kid — backwards hat, lazy grin, the kind who barely passed the midterms and only showed up when attendance counted — let his eyes drag down the length of your legs as you passed. No shame. No subtlety.

Jake watched from behind the podium, pretending to shuffle papers, while something cold and sharp curled in his chest.

The kid wasn’t alone.

There were two more — one leaning against the doorframe, another pretending to scroll through his phone — all of them stealing glances like you were something they could take.

Their eyes lingered on your skirt, that pretty little plaid thing you always wore. On your thighs. On the bounce of your step. And Jake knew — he knew — what they were thinking.

Because he’d thought it first.

He’d seen that skirt and wondered how far it would ride up if you sat on his desk. He’d looked at the ribbon in your hair and imagined tugging it loose just to watch it fall. He’d watched the way you blushed when he called on you and wondered what you'd sound like if he kept you flustered on purpose.

But they didn’t get to think about you like that. Not them.

You weren’t some girl at a party or a name on a group chat. You weren’t a story they could brag about over beer and noise and cheap cologne.

You were soft-spoken. Smart. Thoughtful.

You were kind.

And you were his student.

Jake’s grip on the folder in his hand tightened.

Those boys — those kids — didn’t even see you. Not really. They saw a pair of legs and a short skirt and a pretty mouth they wanted wrapped around their dicks.

They didn’t know about the way you highlighted your notes in color-coded tabs. The way your eyes lit up when you made a historical connection no one else caught. The way you bit your lip when you were concentrating, or how your breath hitched ever so slightly when he spoke too directly to you in class.

No. They didn’t deserve to look at you. Not like that.

He did.

He watched you stop by the door, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, your eyes flicking up for a second — not at him, never directly — before you slipped into the hallway and disappeared from view.

Jake exhaled slowly, jaw tight.

He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t want this.

But that ribbon in your hair? The way your skirt swayed when you walked?

He was already imagining how easy it would be to press his palm flat against your lower back and guide you into his office. Lock the door behind you. Make you say his name in that same breathy voice you used when answering questions you already knew the answer to.

He knew it was wrong.

But it didn’t stop him from thinking it.

And it sure as hell wouldn’t stop him from watching the next time someone else looked at you like that.

Because next time, he might not be able to stop himself.

You were in the library when he saw you again.

Tucked away near the windows, hunched over a stack of books so tall it looked like they might topple over. Your ribbon today was white, soft satin, tied in a bow at the base of your ponytail. You had one foot tucked beneath you, a highlighter between your lips, fingers moving quickly as you copied something down into a lined notebook.

And you didn’t see him watching.

You never did.

Jake had only meant to pass through. Drop off a faculty packet, maybe grab a coffee on the way out. But then he caught a glimpse of that pale bow and that neat little skirt, and suddenly he wasn’t moving at all.

You were so good. So careful.

You read every assigned chapter before class. You came prepared, never late, never distracted. You didn’t party. You didn’t gossip. You didn’t flirt.

You were smart, painfully shy, and still untouched in all the ways that mattered.

And God help him — he wanted to ruin you.

And he didn’t mean in some metaphorical, hypothetical way. No, he meant it like something that would happen. And when it did, it would be rough. Controlled. Intentional.

The first time he touched you, it would be the kind of touch that would make you tremble. He’d talk you through it. He’d teach you. God, the things he'd teach you. He’d whisper in your ear and press kisses to your flushed cheeks and tell you how perfect you were while you came undone beneath him.

Jake didn’t do this. Didn’t fixate. Didn’t cross lines. But with you? Every inch of restraint felt thinner by the day.

And today, he didn’t walk past the table.

He stopped.

“Reading ahead?” he asked, his voice lower than usual, a touch amused.

You startled — just a little. The highlighter fell from your mouth and hit the notebook with a soft thump.

You looked up at him, eyes wide, lips parted.

And then you nodded quickly. “Y-yes. I mean—yes, Professor Seresin.”

You said his name like it meant something. Like it tasted like nerves and reverence and something you hadn’t named yet.

Jake gave you a smile. Not the one he used in lectures. A quieter one. Just for you.

“Didn’t peg you for a library regular,” he said, even though he already knew you came here. He’d seen you. Twice now. Same seat. Same coffee order from the student café. Same color-coded system of sticky notes.

You looked down at your notebook like it might save you. “I—I usually come when it’s quiet. Helps me focus.”

“Mm,” he hummed, gaze flicking to the page in front of you. “You always this thorough?”

You blushed.

Of course you did.

Jake leaned in just a bit, resting one hand on the back of the empty chair across from you. Not quite an invitation. Not quite professional, either.

“You’re one of the smartest students I’ve had in years,” he said, voice low.

You blinked up at him, stunned, your eyes shiny like you were a child who had just given the biggest lollipop.

He knew he shouldn’t be talking to you like this — not here, not like this — but watching the way your fingers curled nervously around your pen, the way you pressed your knees together under the table upon hearing his praise? It made him feel something he hadn’t felt in years.

Possessive.

Protective.

Predatory.

You weren’t like the others. You weren’t careless. You didn’t wear revealing clothes or beg for attention or ask him what kind of wine he liked just to test the waters.

You were soft. Nervous. You fidgeted with your sleeves when you spoke. You licked your lips when you were thinking. You didn’t even realize how many eyes followed you down the hallway — or that he was one of them.

He cleared his throat.

“If you ever want to come by my office hours,” he said carefully, “we could talk more. You’ve got an eye for detail — more than most.”

You nodded, almost too quickly. “O-okay. Thank you.”

Jake smiled again. “Anytime.”

Then he stepped back, just enough to leave you looking flustered and glowing and completely undone from a two-minute conversation.

And when he walked out of the library, it wasn’t coffee on his mind.

It was the bow in your hair.

And how long he’d last before he finally reached out and untied it.

It had been almost a month since that conversation in the library.

Four lectures, two assignments, and not a single visit to his office.

You hadn’t come by. Not once.

Jake told himself he didn’t care. That you were just shy. That you probably didn’t want to seem like you were trying to impress the professor. That he liked that about you — the restraint. The self-discipline.

But still. You’d said okay.

And ever since, he’d watched you walk past his office every Tuesday and Thursday after class without even looking in.

It gnawed at him.

You were in his head now — had been since day one — all sweetness and blushing cheeks and that damn ribbon you wore like it didn’t mean anything. And now you were avoiding him?

Jake didn’t like being ignored.

Especially not by you.

So when he saw you outside on campus — standing under the awning of the science building, laughing softly at something some guy was saying — something in him snapped.

The kid was tall. Blonde. Baseball cap and sneakers, some letterman-style arrogance in his stance.

And he was standing too close.

Jake watched from across the quad, invisible behind his sunglasses and department-issued windbreaker, the expression on his face unreadable. To everyone but himself, that is.

Because what he was feeling?

Jealousy.

Sharp. Hot. Irrational.

He watched your hands fidget with the hem of your sweater. You were smiling, polite, nervous. You weren’t flirting — not really — but you weren’t walking away either. And that was enough to make Jake’s teeth clench.

Because what the fuck did he have to say that kept you standing there?

Jake had asked you to come see him. Invited you.

And you hadn’t even glanced his way in a month.

But now this guy? This idiot in Nikes? He got your smile?

No.

No, he didn’t like that. Not one bit.

Later that evening, Jake sat at his desk, staring at your name on the attendance roster. The cursor blinked. His hand hovered over the keyboard for less than a second before he typed:

Miss [Last Name],

I’d like to speak with you regarding your most recent essay. Please stop by my office during my posted hours tomorrow.

– Professor Seresin

Short. Professional. Perfectly appropriate.

But his intention couldn’t have been clearer.

You wanted to pretend you didn’t know the pull he had on you? Fine.

But he wasn’t going to stand back and let some boy with a half-formed thought about post-war diplomacy steal your attention.

No.

You were better than that.

You were his.

Even if you didn’t know it yet.

He drank black coffee and stared at his computer screen for exactly forty minutes, unable to work, until your knock came.

You stood in the threshold, clutching your bag to your chest like a prayer. Sleeves of your baby pink cardigan pulled over your fists. Ribbon today was pale blue, tight at your temple.

For a second, Jake thought you might apologize for being early, but you only looked at him with those wide, serious eyes and said, “You wanted to see me, Professor?”

He drank the moment in: the tremor in your voice, the nervous twitch of your left thumb along the bag strap, the way you hovered on the edge of his office like you were afraid to disturb the air.

He wanted to disturb you.

He gestured at the battered armchair across from his desk. “Come in, have a seat.”

You nodded and moved in, perching on the very edge of the chair. He watched your knees press together, skirt riding up just enough to show the bare curve above your knee, and something about the carefulness of the gesture — the fact that you didn’t even try to hide it — made him want to lean forward and rest a palm on the soft skin there, just to see how quickly you’d color.

He didn’t, of course.

Instead, he folded his hands on the desk, faking composure.

“I read your paper,” he said, voice low. “A few times, actually.”

Your jaw twitched. “Oh,” you said quietly. “Was it… bad?”

He fixed you with a look, letting the silence hang, letting you squirm beneath it. “No. It was excellent. Maybe too excellent.”

A little furrow appeared between your brows. “What does that mean?”

Jake smiled, slow and deliberate. “I mean, it was a little hard to believe you wrote it.”

A flash of hurt, quick and sharp, before you schooled it away. “I— I did write it."

“All by yourself.”

You blinked, lips parting. “I—” A flush crept up your neck, coloring your cheeks. “I did. Write it myself, I mean.” You looked down at the papers in your lap. “I just… I really liked the topic.”

He let his smile soften. “I know you did.” He hesitated, then pushed his chair back and stood, circling the desk. You straightened, hands tensing on your bag.

He perched on the edge of the desk beside you, close enough to catch the faint scent of your shampoo—something sweet and citrus, fresh and young. “Would you mind walking me through it?” he asked. “Your argument was good. I only want to hear it in your own words. Sometimes things get lost in translation, from mind to page.”

You nodded, silent, and fumbled for the copy of your essay in your bag. He watched as you smoothed the pages, careful not to crease them, your fingers trembling as you laid it in your lap. “Uh—should I just… talk through it?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

“Please,” Jake said, and he let his knee brush yours—just the faintest touch—then leaned back, giving you the illusion of space.

You glanced at the first page, unsure, and then you started: “I argued that the US containment policy was less about ideological opposition to communism and more about economic self-interest, especially after the Marshall Plan. I thought—well, I noticed you mentioned the importance of domestic industry in lecture, and—”

Jake watched you stumble through the explanation, your voice catching, your hands trembling as you clutched the paper. You were so fucking earnest, so desperate to be right, to be good, to impress him, and it made him want to ruin you in every way that counted.

You kept talking, oblivious to his attention, until you realized he hadn't noted it in the margins — the way your voice gathered confidence, the way you straightened as your thesis came into focus. By the end of your summary, you were almost steady, flushed but proud, the paper cradled to your chest like you were daring him to snatch it away.

He hadn't meant to smile, but he did. A real one, gentle at the edges, before he remembered himself and cleared his throat.

"You see it, then," he said. "The connections. Most students don't." He tucked a finger beneath the ribbon trailing by your cheek, almost brushing skin, and let it drop. You drew a sharp breath, the color high on your cheeks now, eyes darting to the window, the door, anywhere but at him.

He let the silence hang. It was a test. He wanted to know how long you'd last before you broke it — if you would. Most didn't. Most filled the air with nervous chatter or apologies. You just sat there.

He didn’t say a word. Just reached, slow and deliberate, and rested his hand on your knee.

You stopped breathing.

It was nothing, technically—an academic gesture, a comfort, the kind of thing professors did all the time. But there was something in the way his palm curved to your knee, warm and heavy, that made it feel like the most significant touch you’d ever felt.

He squeezed, gentle but certain.

Your heart tripped. You couldn’t look away.

"Hey," he said, voice softer now. "You’re not in trouble. You’re a smart girl. Maybe a little too smart for your own good."

"T—Thank you, sir."

Oh, that went straight to his cock. Jake thought he could cum from your voice alone. So innocent, sweet.

He couldn't help but let out a mix between a breath and a laugh. "You really have no idea, do you?"

You looked confused. Completely, utterly confused and that turned him on like he's never been turned on before.

"You sit in my classroom. Front row, wearing the shortest skirt you could've found and tying your hair all pretty in a different ribbon, every damn day." He rose from his chair with a fluid motion, circling you slowly, much like a predator sizing up its prey, eyes lingering with an intense focus. "Do you do it for me, sweetheart? Do you enjoy that I notice?" His voice was a low murmur, resonating with a mix of curiosity and something more primal.

A tingling energy coursed through you, setting every nerve on edge. Your skin erupted in a wave of goosebumps, a testament to the power of his words that seemed to resonate deep within, sending shivers cascading down your spine.

You attempted to speak, but the words seemed to tangle and lodge in your throat, stubbornly refusing to emerge. The intense, undeniable ache between your legs heightened your anxiety, and without conscious thought, you instinctively pressed your legs together, desperately seeking any form of friction to relieve the tension. He noticed, naturally. His face lit up with a wide, mischievous Cheshire Cat smile, a knowing glint dancing in his eyes.

"Do you want to be my good girl, sweetheart? Is that it?" The smirk on his lips widened, a playful yet commanding expression that seemed to dance in his eyes. "Do whatever I say?" His presence was magnetic, drawing you in with an irresistible allure that left your heart pounding in your chest.

You forced a small nod, the tiniest tilt of your head, a mere ghost of motion. But it wasn't enough for him. He craved the certainty of your words. "Say it, baby. Say you want it," he demanded softly, his voice a velvet command. His arms created an unyielding fortress around your chair, his presence enveloping you like an unwavering sentinel. Despite his dominating posture, there was an intensity in his eyes, a searing warmth that promised he would stop if that was what you truly wanted.

But you didn't want him to.

So you gathered all the courage you had in you. "I—I want i—it, Sir."

Jake yanks you up to the desk in one powerful motion, his strength both surprising and reassuring. He positions himself between your legs, forcing them apart with a commanding presence. Leaning over you, he creates a tension that makes you instinctively grip the blue fabric of his shirt, seeking solace.

His lips hover tantalizingly close before slamming into yours with a fervor that leaves you breathless. He kisses you with the desperation of a man who has been deprived, as if this moment was something he has longed for, dreamt of, and maybe, just maybe, it truly was.

His hands shot up your skirt with a fierce urgency, forcing a gasp from your lips against his. A sly smirk flickered across his face, but he pressed on, undeterred, his touch becoming more daring. His fingers danced higher, swiftly locating the waistband of your panties and yanking them down with a ruthless determination. Without hesitation, he thrust a single finger inside your soaking core, his lips trailing a fiery path down your neck as you gasped and shuddered under the onslaught of these electrifying sensations.

"Fuck, you're so fucking tight, bet no one has ever touched you down here before." He growled in your ear, drawing out a desperate whimper. "Don’t worry baby, I'll make sure my cock fits in this tight little hole."

Jake brutally forced in another finger, his movements rough and relentless, making your vision explode with stars. His free hand clamped around your throat, jerking your gaze to meet his intense stare. "I've been fucking patient, baby, I played your little teasing game. I let you sashay out of my classroom every fucking day as if you hadn't just given me the most excruciating hard-on of my life."

"I—I didn't mean—" You choked out, tears streaming down your cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure and his brutal words.

"I know you didn't, and that fucking kills me. But I waited, baby, I fucking waited, and now I'm going to take what's mine."

He abruptly withdrew his hands from both your core and your throat, leaving a sudden void that made you whine softly, a sound filled with longing and need. Your hips instinctively pushed toward him, desperate to reclaim the connection you had lost, as if trying to chase the lingering warmth of his fingers. A low chuckle escaped his lips, rich with amusement at the needy, almost pitiful sounds that escaped yours. As he deftly undid the zipper of his pants, the metallic sound seemed to echo in the charged atmosphere, and he revealed his hardening erection with a confident ease.

Your eyes were immediately drawn to him, widening slightly as your lips parted, a mix of anticipation and nervous excitement washing over you in waves. He was impressively large, thick, and commanding, and you couldn't help but marvel at the sheer size of him. The sight was both intimidating and mesmerizing, and you were certain that even the tip alone would stretch you to the point of discomfort. Yet, despite the apprehension, there was an undeniable allure to him, and your mouth watered in response, captivated by the raw, primal energy he exuded.

The older man takes his shaft in hand, the thick, bulbous tip glistening with anticipation. He slaps against your sensitive cunt, sending a sudden, electrifying jolt of pleasure coursing through your body, making you flinch with each deliberate tap. Then, with a deliberate slowness that makes you ache, he traces the wide, smooth head down to your entrance, where it pauses, poised to claim. He begins to push in, his eyes locked on the sight of his thick shaft stretching you, millimeter by millimeter. The sight of your body yielding to his, the contrast of his thick, veined shaft against your delicate folds, is intoxicating. A low, primal groan escapes his lips, drawn out from some deep, ancient part of him.

There's a pain that ignites like a flame, a burning sensation that makes you gasp and bite down onto his shirt, muffling your cries. Jake watches you intently, his eyes searching your face as he continues to sink his length into you, inch by thick inch. "That's my good girl," he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "I know it’s big, baby." he coos, his lips curving into a soft smile. "But you can take it." His voice is a warm, gentle breeze against your skin, a stark contrast to the fierce, burning stretch of his body claiming yours.

Your postwar American History professor slams against you, his heavy balls slapping your ass. He growls your name and the pet names he’s claimed you with, demanding your gaze. “Let me see those fucking eyes, princess,” Jake commands. You tear your face away from his chest, eyes meeting his.

“I’m fucking buried in you, baby. All the way in your goddamn gut,” he snarls, beginning to fuck you with harsh, shallow thrusts. You cry out with each punishing drive, pain morphing into pleasure, a pleasure that consumes you. “That’s it…” he groans, eyes wild with lust and dominance.

"It hurts," you observe, your voice catching in your throat, punctuating the sentence with a sharp intake of breath as Jake's movements become increasingly vigorous. "P—please, sir," you add, your words barely a whisper amidst the growing intensity, each sensation rippling through you like a cascade of electricity.

He nods his head and smiles at you sweetly, “That’s right, baby. That’s what happens when your teacher stuffs his fat cock inside your virgin little cunt.” His words made your walls squeeze him even more, making him groan. "Fuck, you're swallowing me, greedy whore."

“I’m gonna start fucking you now, sweetheart, and you'll take whatever I give you,” he forewarns, and you nod your head.

“Yes, sir.” At your words, Jake begins to pummel in and out of your pussy. Obscene noises come from where you’re connected to him—wet sounds and skin slapping against skin.

Jake gazes down, eyes ablaze, as his thick shaft brutally vanishes and materializes, your tightness struggling to accommodate his massive invasion. His heavy balls swing and slap against your ass, glistening with your wetness. “Drenched fucking everywhere,” he growls, his thrusts brutal and unyielding. “You're fucking loving this—I knew you would.”

His cock batters your cervix with each thrust, sending waves of pain crashing through you. But when he grinds against your sweet spot, the agony morphs into ecstasy almost instantly. “Fuck, look at your juices coating my cock,” Jake snarls, slamming forward with renewed ferocity. “You're fucking gushing, dripping down to my balls—shit!”

Jake leans down to kiss you. At first, it’s soft. But then, like the way he's taking away your innocence, it grows rough and desperate. He's in complete control, shoving his tongue into your mouth and doing all kinds of things you can’t keep up with, yet still try to.

Jake impales you, plunging into your fuckhole without mercy, his shaft brutalizing your soaked cunt. His length ravages your sensitive walls, fucking you with a savage skill. He's finally abusing your pussy with the ferocity he's been craving since he the first time he saw you.

"S-sir! It's... it's too much— I—I can't— I can't control—” You’re overwhelmed, body convulsing, senses spiraling. Jake revels in your chaos, finding your confusion fucking exquisite.

“That’s a orgasm, princess. Now, sit still and fucking beg for my cock,” he growls, and you nod, desperate.

“Drench my thick fucking cock, baby. Come on, make a goddamn mess on this dick,” he orders, punctuating his words with hard slaps on your chest and the side of your left thigh. Your cunt spasms around him, clit pulsing like a live wire, back arching sharply as you explode around his cock for the first time. “Atta girl.”

He roars as your eyes roll back, lids clamping shut like a vice while your face contorts in a grimace of raw ecstasy. Your mouth gapes open, shocked by the inferno that consumes you. Your pussy clamps down on Jake’s cock like a vise, squeezing him mercilessly, demanding more.

Jake pounds into you through your climax, barely slowing as your body convulses with wave after wave of pleasure. Your walls clench and release, milking him until he forces you through the crest, and then he resumes his relentless, brutal pace.

Your breasts heave wildly with each brutal thrust of Jake’s hips, your body jerked upwards like a ragdoll before he yanks you back onto his pulsating shaft. “Ah—ah—ah!” you cry out, mindlessly drooling with each primal grunt, eyes rolling back as coherent thought abandons you.

“Silly little girl—prancing around in miniskirts, acting like a little slut when you haven’t even known real sex,” Jake growls, gripping your jaw tightly, his lips curling into a cruel sneer. He hocks a thick wad of saliva into your mouth, commanding you to swallow it like the good little whore you were.

You obey him instantly, a twisted smile on your lips before your face contorts from the brutal sensations his cock inflicts. "Greedy little slut—your hungry pussy is devouring my thick cock," he growls, ramming his thickness mercilessly in and out of you.

"It's so deep, Sir! C– Can feel it in my belly," you cry out, and your words make Jake's cock pulsate violently within your clenching, drenched walls. Your juices gush over his cock, leaving a thick, glistening coat around his shaft and balls.

“Uh-huh—you’re just so tight, baby. I had to force it in—but now you’re takin’ it like pro.” He grunted. "My little fucktoy… This pussy is mine now—all mine, just like the rest of you," he roars, and your second orgasm crashes over you without warning, leaving you shattered and gasping.

You thrash desperately, trying to escape Jake's grasp, but it's futile. Your swollen nipples rasp against his shirt, the friction sending jolts of unwanted pleasure coursing through you. Jake's thick shaft impales you, your tightness making his movements rough and punishing. "That's it, take it," he growls, his voice a low, feral rumble. "Choke on this cock. My little whore." His mouth attacks your jaw, biting and sucking, marking you with primal intensity.

"I'm going to make you mine," he growls, eyes glinting with dark desire. "You're the perfect fit for me, crafted for my every whim. Gonna turn you into my little whore.”

Your walls clamp down on Jake's shaft, throbbing and desperate. You're drowning him in your heat, your body screaming for his release. "Daddy..." you cry out, a shivering, sweating mess, convulsing with an ecstasy so raw it's agony. Jake's jaw tightens at the sound of that word, his eyes wild, fighting back the cataclysmic explosion threatening to detonate within him but it feels like trying to stop a stampede of 1000 horses with a single thread.

"I'm your Daddy, and don't you forget it," he growls, thrusting with a ferocity that makes you gasp. Each movement is a relentless assault, as if his sole mission is to claim you completely. His focus is unwavering as he drives into you with raw determination, intent on filling you to the brim with his release before flipping you over for more. He relishes the challenge of forcing his girth inside you, feeling the tension and resistance. "You're driving me wild, baby. I'm gonna reward you for taking me so well."

At his statement, you jolt with a surge of excitement, your senses suddenly sharp despite the haze enveloping your mind. "R– Really, Daddy?" you manage to utter, your voice trembling with the thrill of anticipation at the promise of a reward.

"Promise, sweetheart. You're such a good girl for Daddy—"

"Going to fill you up, baby," the older man growls with a raw, primal intensity, his voice a rough edge of desire. "I'll stuff you so full of my cum that you'll be dripping with my seed for days," he declares, his words punctuated by a fervent string of curses, each one a testament to his overpowering need.

The sudden cessation of his hips' rhythm is jarring, an interruption as abrupt as a lightning strike. With a surge of animalistic urgency, he drives himself forward, embedding to the core with a fierce determination. The unexpected force draws a frown from you, a sharp hiss escaping your clenched teeth as the unexpected jolt of discomfort courses through you. But then, a searing warmth bursts within, his release thundering through your inner walls, saturating them with a molten, pearlescent fervor.

"There we go—now you're truly mine, princess," he growls, his voice resonating with the deep rumble of distant thunder. His smile is a languid curve, sated and triumphant, his cheeks flushed with the fiery afterglow of his climax. "And I know you love being Daddy's." His eyes, heavy-lidded and shadowed, lock onto yours with a possessive, almost primal, tenderness.

The air was heavy with the musky scent of sex, mixed with the lingering smell of your professor's cologne. It was a heady and intoxicating smell, one that enveloped you and filled your senses. Your mouth is dry, throat constricted as you try to swallow. The taste of him still lingers on your tongue, a mix of salt and musk.

For a fleeting moment, you remained motionless, struggling to catch your breath while your mind grappled with the reality of the situation. The warm sensation of your professor's release trickled from you, a stark reminder of the intimacy you had just shared, while his member remained embedded deep within you. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your gaze darting around the room, deliberately avoiding his eyes. An awareness settled over you, knowing that his intense gaze was fixed on you, observing your every subtle move, every minute reaction. This scrutiny set your skin ablaze, a fiery sensation that coursed through your body, leaving you flushed and breathless.

"I'm still buried deep inside of your pussy and you can't even look at me? Thought we were past the shyness." Jake's hands grabbed hold of your neck, forcing you to look at him.

His eyes were black as a moonless night, just as they'd been when he'd first claimed your mouth. You could feel his cock, still hard as steel, impaling you, pulsing with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

He withdrew slowly, not out of gentleness, but to revel in the sight of his cock glistening with their mingled essence. A primal growl tore from his chest as he watched his seed spill from you, dripping down your thighs and onto his desk in a filthy, sacred mess.

A dark urge compelled him to his knees, hungry to taste you. In his mind, he had earned this right to your flesh. He had been patient, and now it was time to claim his reward. Though he had already taken your virginity, it wasn't enough. He wanted to devastate you, to leave you feeling his mouth, his fingers, his cock for weeks to come. He wanted to imprint himself on you, a brutal, carnal memory that would haunt your every waking moment.

Jake crashed to his knees, forcing your thighs apart with a feral hunger. He buried his face in your heat, growling at the sweet, intoxicating taste of you. Of course, you tasted like fucking honey—ambrosia from the gods themselves. He'd fantasized about this a thousand times, and your taste was always the same. Sweet. Maddening. Pure.

You fought to push him away, desperate to close your legs and hide the wrecked, ravaged mess that was still soaking wet. But Jake was relentless. His massive shoulders wedged your thighs open, and his arms locked around your waist like a vice. You weren't going anywhere.

"St—stop... too much, p—please," you begged, voice trembling, but your pleas crumbled into a moan as that electrifying sensation surged through your belly once more. The wet, obscene sounds he produced while devouring your pussy were utterly maddening, and your body quaked with the overwhelming intensity of overstimulation.

He ripped himself away, eyes locking onto yours like a predator's. "Don't you dare move, baby," he growled. "Daddy's not done with you yet." His words sent a brutal surge through your pussy, clenching around the emptiness. He saw it, lips curling into a feral smirk. Then he plunged back in, straight for your clit, sucking until your legs convulsed.

You shattered again, and Jake devoured every last drop, his tongue relentless. He was ravenous, a beast feasting on your pleasure, ready to spend eternity between your thighs. And you'd let him, just like you were now, offering yourself up for his use, his possession. He wouldn't stop until you were molded into his masterpiece.

He finally ceased his relentless assault with his mouth and pulled away, delivering a final, teasing slap to your pussy just to watch you squirm once more. His eyes locked with yours as he began to button your cardigan with deliberate precision, the silence between you charged and electric.

"Tell me, sweetheart," he taunted, his voice laced with a dark edge. "Do you often allow random men to have their way with you like I just did?" He tucked himself back into his dress pants with a nonchalant air. As he bent to retrieve your panties from the floor, he casually stuffed them into his pocket, while your eyes tracked his every deliberate movement, filled with a mix of wide-eyed curiosity and incredulous wonder.

Your cheeks turned a deep shade of crimson, and warmth spread across your entire face at his words. "I—I've never... you know. I—I mean, n—no one has—" you stammered, struggling to find the right words.

He silenced you with a gentle, fleeting kiss, his lips barely brushing yours before pulling away. "Oh, sweetheart, I know. I just wanted to see you all flustered," he murmured with a playful glint in his eyes.

A soft, melodic giggle escaped your lips as you glanced down, feeling a mix of embarrassment and delight. Gathering the courage, you lifted your gaze to meet his captivating green eyes once more. "Was... Was I good, Sir?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, filled with anticipation and a hint of vulnerability.

Your eyes sparkled with a tantalizing blend of innocence and a desperate craving for any morsel of his approval. It ignited a fire within him, making his desire stir once more with an insatiable hunger.

"You were absolutely perfect, baby. Such a good girl, taking everything I gave you like a champ." Jake's hands cradled your face with an unexpected tenderness, his eyes burning with desire. "Are you going to let me do it again? Let me split you wide open? Make you cum until you can't hold back the tears, stretch you nice and deep, huh? Would you like that?"

Jake observed you with a newfound eagerness, your head bobbing up and down with excitement, causing the once neatly tied ribbon in your hair to tilt askew, bouncing in time with the soft strands cascading around your face.

"Can we do it again?" you asked, your voice infused with enthusiasm, yet your cheeks still bore that familiar blush, a rosy hue that seemed permanently painted across your skin, much to Jake's amusement.

He couldn't suppress a chuckle, his hands gently grasping your hips to help you slide off his desk. He tugged your skirt back into place, ignoring the creases that formed in the fabric. "Try walking to the other side of the room first," he suggested with a playful smile, "and then tell me if you want to go again."

You tried to walk. God, you really tried — wobbling like a newborn deer with his cum dripping down your thighs with all the resolve of someone trying to pretend they hadn’t just been wrecked over a desk by their History professor. And still, you were trying to collect yourself — brushing hair from your face, smoothing the fabric of your clothes like you could piece together the composure he'd stripped from you.

You didn't make it far before your knees buckled, surrendering beneath you the moment you released your grip on the desk. Jake witnessed the exact instant when realization dawned on you—that you weren't going to make it across the room. The quivering in your thighs was too intense, and the ache that pulsed between your legs was too profound.

“You alright there, sweetheart?” Jake inquired, his voice a low, amused rumble, yet gentle, as if he were trying not to startle you.

You nodded—rapidly, too rapidly—and shifted your weight in a way that betrayed your embarrassment. “Mhm. Just… didn’t expect…” Your voice faded into silence, and you caught your lower lip between your teeth.

God, that lip. That mouth. That brilliant mind of yours, always racing ahead, leaving your words struggling to keep pace.

“Didn’t expect what, exactly?” Jake murmured, though the answer was already clear to him.

“Di—Didn’t expect it to feel like that,” you confessed, your voice barely a whisper.

"That means I fucked you way too good." His voice dripped with possessive satisfaction, a reminder that he couldn't resist repeating. "If we're doing this, you need to grasp one thing, sweetheart. You're mine, completely and utterly. From this moment on, no one else will ever get to see you like this, do you understand?"

Your knees buckled once more, this time at the mere thought of belonging entirely to him. You hadn't entered his office with such a scenario in mind, as your nature was far too reserved for such bold intentions. Yet, you couldn't deny the truth—you had often imagined Jake in contexts far removed from professionalism.

From the very first day you laid eyes on him in that classroom, you had waged a relentless battle against your own thoughts, striving to rein in the endless reveries that involved your achingly attractive professor. His presence was magnetic, with his deep-set eyes and the confident way he carried himself, and it took every ounce of your willpower to keep your mind from wandering into those tempting fantasies.

You weren't sure what he saw in you. You were acutely aware of your own shyness, the way it seemed to wrap around you like a cloak. You struggled to maintain eye contact and engage in proper conversation, yet your mind excelled in academic settings, a sanctuary of logic and equations. You figured it was your only advantage, a lifeline you clung to almost desperately. Jake, on the other hand, was someone effortlessly attractive, radiating a confidence that drew others in like moths to a flame. He was fully conscious of his allure, aware that any girl on campus would jump at the chance to be with him. So why you?

The question baffled you, but you decided not to dwell on it.

You were drawn to Jake Seresin with an intensity that was new and overwhelming, a yearning that eclipsed anything you had ever experienced before. This world of desire was uncharted territory for you. Prior to what had just transpired, you had never even explored your own body, let alone shared it with someone else. Yet here you stood, stripped of your underwear, having been thoroughly ravished and brought to the peak of ecstasy multiple times by the man who now stood smirking before you.

It was almost sacred how swiftly and clearly the words escaped your lips. "I understand, Sir."

The following day, as you stepped into Jake's classroom, you donned those skirts that unfailingly sent his mind into a frenzy, accompanied by a matching ribbon that you now anticipated he'd deftly untie and loop gently around your neck later in the day. You settled into your usual spot, your desk adorned with a meticulous array of color-coordinated pencils and sticky notes.

Yet, a new dynamic was at play—an electric exchange of eye contact that threaded through his lecture like a secret conversation. Every so often, you'd lift your head, your eyes seeking his, only to find his deep green gaze already fixed upon you, causing a blush to bloom across your cheeks, a silent acknowledgment of the shared understanding between you.

Once his lecture concluded and the class was dismissed, you leisurely gathered your belongings, carefully tucking each item back into your bag. Your gaze wandered over to where Jake stood, surrounded by a cluster of girls who lingered after class with trivial questions that bore no relevance to the subject. You tried to suppress a smile as he finally sent the last girl on her way, his eyes locking onto yours with unwavering intent.

"Miss, could you hang back for a second? I need to give you the pointers I made to your last essay." His lie flowed smoothly, as he pretended to rummage through his own bag, extracting a seemingly random stack of papers. Once the room was clear of others and you were entirely alone with him, he let the papers drop onto his desk, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "I want to take you to my place tonight."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "What? W—why? I—I thought we'd meet at your office."

"The thing is, sweetheart," he growled, stepping closer with an imposing presence that seemed to swallow the room. "The things I desire to do to you demand a bed—a real one. While my office has all the space in the world, there's just no way I can cram a bed in here and tie you up the way I envision without setting off alarm bells for everyone around."

You gulped. "Okay."

"Atta girl." He reached out to give your arm a light squeeze, his fingers lingering for a moment. "Be a good girl and go to your next class, then come find me in my office when you're done."

You managed to nod before turning away from him and toward the exit. You didn't want to go to your next class, not when the ache between your legs was growing rapidly as you processed Jake's words. He wanted to tie you up on his bed, and you were supposed to sit through a two-hour lecture about the American Revolution? Not fair.

The day only seemed to slow down after that. You tried so hard to focus, scribling in your notebook like a maniac, pretending there wasn't a borderline humiliating wet patch in your panties from the thought of getting fucked by your professor. And when the last class was done, you practically threw your things inside your bag without a care and made your way to Jake's office.

Your hands trembled with raw anticipation, a visceral thrill coursing through your veins. For a fleeting instant, a sharp doubt pierced through the haze of desire—what the hell were you thinking? Racing to his door, burning with the reckless urge to be taken like a desperate whore in his house, sprawled on his bed.

But then, the memory of him flooded back, an overwhelming tidal wave—the way his fingers, mouth, and cock overwhelmed you, filling you in ways you had never dared to dream possible. You weren't naive; you understood sex long before losing your virginity to Jake, but you never could have fathomed it would ignite a pleasure so consuming.

There was no room for overthinking; he was already there, leaning casually against the doorframe, his office having closed for the day. His posture was relaxed yet expectant, with arms crossed over his chest and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbows, revealing his strong, sinewy forearms. The late afternoon light cast a warm glow, accentuating the subtle play of muscles beneath his skin.

"Ready to go? I don't know about you, but I'm ready to relax a little."

You didn’t know how he managed to stay so composed on the walk to the parking lot, especially when you kept glancing over your shoulder every few steps, half-certain someone would see you slipping away with your professor. Still, you stayed close beside him, matching his pace, and murmured a soft thank you — cheeks flushed — as he opened the passenger door of his car for you.

"I hope you didn’t make any plans this weekend," he said casually, draping his arm over the back of your seat as he looked over his shoulder to reverse the car. "You’re staying at my place tonight."

"I—I am? But I didn't bring any extra clothes with me."

Jake didn’t even look at you as he pulled out of the lot, voice low and wicked with promise. “You won’t be needing any, sweetheart. I plan on keeping you naked all weekend.”

His house was exactly what you’d imagined — maybe even more so. Warm, quiet, and steeped in character, it felt like stepping into the private study of a man who lived and breathed knowledge. Towering bookshelves lined the walls, packed so tightly with old hardcovers and leather-bound tomes that some were stacked horizontally on top of others. The scent of aged paper mingled with the faint aroma of coffee and sandalwood. Dark leather armchairs, clearly well-worn and well-loved, faced a stone fireplace that looked more decorative than functional.

Framed photographs of ancient ruins, battlefields, and crumbling cathedrals dotted the walls — remnants of places he’d likely studied, maybe even visited. A globe sat near the window, polished and antique, and a mahogany desk in the corner was littered with yellowed papers, fountain pens, and a magnifying glass. It was the kind of house that didn’t just belong to a history professor — it belonged to him.

"You’ve read all of these?" you asked, eyes wide as you slowly scanned the towering shelves, your head tilting back to take them all in.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, you felt the warmth of him as he stepped up behind you, the quiet rustle of his shirt as his arms slid around your waist. He buried his face in the curve of your neck, breathing you in like he needed the scent of you more than air.

"You can come read them whenever you want," he murmured against your skin, lips brushing just beneath your ear. "Preferably naked."

"You’re relentless," you declared with a stern edge, and he responded with a deep, rumbling laugh, pulling you even tighter against him.

"I can't switch it off, darling. Not when all I crave is to have my way with you again. Would you let me, baby? You've been driving me mad all day with those tempting short skirts of yours."

You inhaled sharply, surrendering to the intoxicating warmth of his touch as his hands roamed possessively from your waist to your thighs. "P—please, sir," you pleaded, your voice a desperate whisper. In response, he pressed his lips to the tender spot behind your ear, sinking his teeth in just enough to send electric shivers down your spine.

"I'll take care of you, sweetheart, don't you worry," he promised, his voice a low, tantalizing growl. Your heart raced with anticipation, believing he would finally let his fingers venture to the place where your desire burned brightest. But when you opened your eyes, you found yourself aching with disappointment as he withdrew entirely. "But first, I'm making you dinner. We can't have you passing out on me before the fun even begins."

Jake's hand landed on your ass with a sharp, stinging slap that echoed through the room, making you gasp. He then strode confidently to the kitchen, immersing himself in the task of preparing food, his focus unwavering, as if your presence was a mere afterthought.

"Can I ask you a question?" you blurted out, your voice barely steady as you mustered the courage to trail him into the kitchen and perch nervously on a stool, eyes glued to his every move.

He paused, lifting his gaze from the simmering stove to lock eyes with you, a devilish smirk playing on his lips. "Anything you want, darling."

Your heart pounded like a drum in your chest. "Ba—back in your office, w—when you said you'd turn me into your... your w—wh..." Your cheeks flamed as red as the tomatoes he stirred with casual ease, your words stumbling to a halt in the suffocating tension.

"Whore? It's okay, you can say it." His smirk deepened, dripping with a mix of amusement and challenge, as though speaking to a child. "I can't believe you caught that. Thought you blacked out for a second."

"I—I just, I don't get what you mean," you stammered, your confusion swirling with a potent cocktail of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you.

"God, you are so innocent," he muttered to himself, his voice dripping with raw desire. "Well, sweetheart, do you want me to teach you?"

"Teach me what?"

"How to be my little whore." His words were delivered with a chilling nonchalance, as if he were commenting on the day's forecast rather than proposing to unravel your very soul.

"W—what do I have to do?"

"Eat your dinner, baby. Let me do the rest."

After you agreed to Jake's proposal and found yourself in his office for that first heated encounter, you never anticipated the whirlwind that followed. The last thing you expected was for him to transform from a detached lover into a gracious host, cooking you dinner with an unexpected sincerity. He peppered you with questions about your life, as though you were on an intimate date, not caught in an arrangement where you were, essentially, reduced to being his fuckdoll.

Yet here you were, stumbling over your words but still managing to answer everything he asked with a nervous stutter. A fiery blush spread across your cheeks as you squirmed in your seat, every nerve electrified when Jake's hand stealthily slid under the table to rest possessively on your knee, or when he leaned in with piercing focus to tenderly wipe the corners of your mouth after each bite. You wanted to dismiss his almost parental attention as strange, but you couldn't deny the truth to yourself.

His intense gaze tracked your every move, igniting a thrilling tension. He effortlessly cut your steak after you shyly confessed you'd never eaten it before, and each time his hands inched closer, your eyes followed them, captivated by their grace. It was inexplicable how the ache between your legs intensified with every considerate gesture he made for you, a pulsing desire that grew stronger with each passing moment.

“Before we do anything else,” he said at last, once you’d finished eating, “we need to talk about a few rules.”

He withdrew his hand from your knee slowly, deliberately, then leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest. The motion was effortless, confident—his spine relaxed against the chair, posture loose but commanding, like he knew exactly how the rest of the night would go.

“Like what?” you asked, voice softer than you meant it to be. It was almost pathetic, the way you were ready to agree to anything—just for the chance to feel his hands on you again, to have him close, claiming you.

"First, during sex and when we're alone, you'll address me as Sir or Daddy. You call me anything else and I'll have to punish you, alright, sweetheart?" His eyes bore into yours, demanding an answer from you.

"Yes, sir."

"Atta girl." He smirked. "Second, I need you to know you can say no to me anytime you don't feel okay with what we're doing. While I'm fucking you, we'll use something called the traffic light, you know what it is?" You shook your head. "I'll ask you for your color and you'll say green when you want me to keep going, yellow when you want me to slow down, and red when you want me to stop completely."

"I understand, sir."

"I knew you would, you're a smart girl." His words made you squirm in your seat, every part of your body begging to be touched by the man in front of you. "Last, when you're with me, no panties are allowed in the house, so hand them over."

"R—right now?" Your eyes widened, half incredulous and half scandalized at his request.

"If you make me ask again, I'll have to punish you, baby. And I'd rather not leave any marks on you just yet." His tone darkened as he opened his right hand to you. You trembled a little as you stood from your seat and slid down your baby pink panties down your legs to place them in his hand. "Good girl. Shall we begin?"

He stood and guided you toward the stairs, his hand firm on the small of your back. With each step you climbed, your skirt rode a little higher, and he watched with a dark, hungry gaze your naked ass.

Jake’s bedroom was spacious and sharp, every corner reflecting his controlled, deliberate nature. A king-size bed dominated the center of the room, dressed in dark gray sheets that looked both luxurious and well-worn, like they’d been chosen for comfort but never shared. Beside the bed sat a sleek nightstand, a single drawer nestled beneath a reading lamp and a half-finished book. The rest of the space was just as orderly—clean lines, muted tones, nothing out of place. It was a room meant for rest, maybe even solitude—until now.

He led you straight to the bed with an unyielding grip, and with a firm yet gentle shove, you fell onto it with a soft, resonating thud. "I know you've had your pussy eaten before because I did it the other day." He murmured, his eyes locked onto yours with an electrifying intensity. "But tell me, sweetheart, have you ever felt the relentless hum of a vibrator on your cunt?"

"N—no, Daddy. Never." You breathed, aching for him to come closer to you.

You watched with bated breath as Jake strode purposefully to the nightstand, yanking open the drawer with a confidence that made your heart race. He retrieved a white wand vibrator, massive and imposing, and instantly, a deep, throbbing heat pulsed through you. Though you had never encountered such a device so intimately before, an instinctive shiver coursed through your body, foretelling the overwhelming intensity that piece of plastic promised to unleash.

"I'll show you how to use this on your pretty clit, princess. It'll have you screaming my name without me even lifting a finger." His voice was thick with dark desire, an electric promise as he flicked the switch and the device purred to life. He gently teased it against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, causing you to gasp and shiver.

"It tingles, Daddy," you whispered, breathless and yearning.

"Is that so? Let's see how you handle it when it's right… here." With deliberate slowness, he traced it upward, igniting a fiery trail up your thighs before pressing it against your drenched, eager pussy. Your head fell back, a moan escaping as your body instinctively tried to close itself to the overwhelming sensation, but Jake's firm grip kept you exposed. "Don't even think about it."

You fought desperately against the instinct to close your legs, driven by an overwhelming desire to fulfill his every desire. Jake reveled in the spectacle of your surrender beneath him, his eyes drinking in your submission as he increased the intensity of the vibrator, leaving you drenched with arousal. Your breath came in ragged gasps, a symphony of whimpers and moans spilling from your lips, torn between pleas for more and desperate cries for mercy as he continued his relentless assault of your sensitive hole.

"Cum for me, sweetheart. C'mon, let me taste you." His voice was a sultry command, his teeth grazing your thighs with a tantalizing bite, sending shivers through your body.

You came with a breathy moan escaping your lips, chest rising and falling rapidly as you gazed down at Jake nestled between your thighs. He discarded the vibrator carelessly and repositioned your legs over his broad shoulders, diving back in with fervor. His mouth worked magic on your most sensitive spot, the sinful sounds echoing in the room as he devoured you with the hunger of a man possessed.

"Pl—please… too much, sir," Your fingers clutched the sheets desperately, seeking an anchor amidst the overwhelming sensations. That exquisite tension coiling in your belly was all too familiar, yet irresistibly intoxicating. His mouth worked its magic, drawing gasps and needy whimpers from your lips, torn between the plea for him to stop and the desperate desire for him to continue.

"Come on, baby, give me another one." His voice was a sultry whisper, vibrating against your most sensitive spot, as his hand pressed you firmly against the mattress, ensuring you stayed right where he wanted you. Not that you had any intention of moving.

You came for the second time that night, tears of overwhelming bliss pooling at the corners of your eyes, teetering on the edge of spilling over as the intense pleasure surged through you, almost too much to bear.

Jake growled, "You're fucking pretty when you cry." His mouth reluctantly left your drenched core. He pushed himself up, now looming over you, still fully clothed. Leaning in, he licked the tear stains from your cheekbones, his tongue hot and hungry. "So fucking beautiful, so pure. So innocent, ready for me to defile."

He held his weight with one arm, his hand pressed firmly into the mattress beside your head. His other hand roamed your body, leaving a trail of fire and goosebumps before pausing at your belly button. "Color?" he demanded, his voice thick with lust.

"Green, sir." Your breath hitched, your body ached with need, and your mind was a whirlwind of desire. Jake grinned, a wolfish smile, before claiming your mouth in a fierce kiss. He trailed kisses across your face, making you squirm and giggle.

"You're going to come for me again, sweetheart." His fingers danced down to your swollen, sensitive pussy. Your legs trembled and tried to close, but he kept them open with his knee. He thrust a single finger inside you, making you gasp and arch off the bed. "Fuck, you're so tight. Can you take more?"

You nodded eagerly, desperate to please him and to satisfy the hunger within you. "I—I can take it."

"That's my good girl, my best girl, taking everything I give you." He groaned, adding another finger, stretching you, possessing you.

Jake fingered you relentlessly, his every movement a brutal assault on your senses, catapulting you over the edge into a shattering abyss again and again. His gaze, unyielding and fierce, feasted on your undoing, watching you splinter apart with each savage thrust.

"The moment I saw you, I knew I had to have you, baby," he growled. "You begged for this, didn't you? You craved your older professor to break you, corrupt you. Filthy little slut, teasing me with your clothes, your scent—you knew exactly what you were doing."

"Ye—Yes, Daddy! Please," you gasped, the words tumbling out in a desperate plea, your mind a chaotic storm. His words and movements were a relentless assault, scrambling every coherent thought until nothing remained but the overwhelming presence of the man above you, his fingers deep inside your pussy.

You would say anything, do anything, just to sustain this intoxicating sensation. It felt like you were drowning, submerged in the inebriating aroma of his cologne, lost in the depths of his piercing eyes, consumed by the feeling of his cock.

"That's it, baby. Cum, cum on my fingers. God, you're so pretty, wish you could see what I'm seeing right now."

You came again, your legs trembling with a delicious intensity and your eyes glazed over in a daze. Exactly where Jake wanted you—utterly undone. A needy whine escaped your lips as he withdrew his fingers, only for your eyes to widen in pleasurable surprise when he slid them into your mouth. You eagerly sucked on them, savoring your own essence, a satisfied hum escaping you as he gazed at you with eyes brimming with desire, pure and consuming.

You lay there in a hazy blur, body boneless and warm, still trembling from the aftershocks. Jake moved quietly around the room, the sound of running water drifting in from the bathroom. When he returned, the cloth in his hand was warm and gentle against your skin. You flinched slightly at the contact, a soft hiss slipping from your lips, but he was quick to soothe you with a low, “Easy, sweetheart.”

He took his time, careful and thorough, then helped you sit up with a firm, steady hand. One of his shirts—soft and oversized—was slipped over your head, the familiar scent of him surrounding you like a second skin. You sank into it, into him, and he brushed your hair back with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

"You're incredible," he said finally, voice thick with something dark and reverent. "I wasn’t lying, sweetheart—you’ve been in my head since the first damn day. Walking into my class like temptation wrapped in innocence."

Your limbs were limp, boneless in his sheets, every nerve still singing from how thoroughly he’d ruined you. The afterglow made your lips loose, words tumbling out unfiltered. "I—I didn’t show it, but I had a crush on you too," you confessed, cheeks burning. "You're so smart... I didn’t know how to act around you. It was kind of intimidating."

He let out a low, almost disbelieving laugh, shaking his head as he hovered over you. “I just told you I’ve been wanting to fuck you senseless since the moment I saw you—and you were worried I was smart?”

There was no cruelty in his tone—just wonder. Like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

"You’re unreal," he murmured, brushing your hair back, eyes hungry even now. “So sweet, so fucking shy—do you have any idea what that does to me?”

He kissed the corner of your mouth, then lower, over your jaw, your neck. “You’re mine now. Every soft little sound you make, every blush, every part of you—mine to ruin, mine to worship.”

His voice dropped as he pressed his forehead to yours. “And I’m nowhere near done with you, baby.”

His shirt felt impossibly soft against your skin — and far too big. The sleeves draped over your hands, and the hem brushed your bare thighs with every quiet step you took. You hadn’t meant to wander, but the living room drew you in: all warm wood and soft lighting, shelves lining one wall from floor to ceiling.

You glanced over your shoulder. Jake was stretched out on the couch, one leg propped up casually, a glass of something dark in his hand. His gaze followed you like it always did — slow, intent, full of quiet hunger. He hadn’t looked away from you since you left the bedroom.

The bookshelf was packed. All history books. Some names you recognized, some you didn’t. You ran your fingers along the spines before stopping at one with worn edges: The Private Lives of the Tudors. You pulled it out carefully.

Jake’s voice came from behind you, warm and amused. “You’ve got a thing for scandals, sweetheart?”

You blushed immediately, ducking your head. “N-No. I mean—I just like that era. The clothes. The... politics.”

He laughed under his breath, low and fond. “Adorable,” he muttered. “Pick something you like and bring it here.”

You turned to him slowly, book clutched to your chest. “You want me to read?”

“I want you next to me,” he said simply, his voice dipping into something velvety and sure. “The reading part’s optional.”

Your cheeks flamed again, and he smiled wider, patting the cushion beside him. “Come on, sweetheart. You’re too cute when you’re flustered — I’d hate to miss a second of it.”

Heart racing, you padded across the room and sat down beside him, still clutching the book like it might save you. Jake draped an arm over the back of the couch and let his fingers play lightly with your hair, brushing against your neck now and then just to make you squirm.

He leaned in, voice just above a whisper. “Bet you blush even harder when we get to the juicy parts.”

You hid your face behind the book.

Jake chuckled, low and satisfied. “God, you’re perfect.”

You sat stiffly beside him, the book heavy in your lap, pretending to read while trying not to focus on how close Jake was — how his fingers brushed your hair, your neck, your shoulder, just to watch you squirm.

“I have an idea,” he said after a long moment, voice velvet-smooth, full of mischief.

You turned toward him slowly, unsure whether to be intrigued or terrified — probably both.

He smirked. “Let’s play a game.”

You blinked. “A game?”

Jake reached over and tapped the cover of your book. “You read to me,” he said, tone almost innocent. Then, his eyes dipped lower. “And I’ll keep myself entertained.”

Your breath caught.

“I—Jake—”

“You keep reading,” he cut in gently, “no matter what I do. If you stop... I stop.” He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Think you can handle that, sweetheart?”

Your cheeks went hot, your heart thudding so loud you were sure he could hear it. Still, you gave a shaky nod.

He grinned. “Attagirl.”

Jake took the book from your trembling hands, flipping a few pages as he settled between your legs. He helped you shift until you were lying back on the couch, the book propped open in your hands, your thighs parted around him.

“Start here,” he said, tapping the paragraph with a single, commanding finger. “Nice and loud.”

You began to read, your voice uneven, barely above a whisper. “’Despite the grandeur of court life, privacy was rare—’”

His hands slid slowly up your thighs, warm and steady. Your breath hitched, but you kept reading.

“’Even monarchs found it difficult—d-difficult to escape the eyes of—of their households.’”

Jake chuckled against your skin — low, amused, impossibly pleased. You couldn’t see him, not really, but you could feel him. The heat of his mouth, the trail of soft kisses he left along the inside of your thigh.

You bit your lip.

“Keep going,” he reminded you gently, voice vibrating through you. “Don’t stop.”

You took a shaky breath. “’Henry VIII was known for his appetite, both literal and—’” Your voice faltered as his lips pressed higher, breath warm and maddening. “—and... and otherwise.”

He hummed in approval. “History never sounded so sweet.”

As he kept going, your words grew more tangled, breathier, every syllable a challenge. Your fingers trembled as they gripped the book. Jake was relentless — not cruel, just completely, devastatingly focused. Worshipful, almost. Like he’d dreamed of this and was finally, finally getting everything he wanted.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured against you, his voice thick with desire and pride. “God, look at you.”

You tried to answer, to keep reading — but your voice cracked, and Jake paused instantly.

“Ah, ah,” he teased, pulling back just enough to make you whimper. “Rules are rules.”

You forced the next sentence out, breathless and desperate, cheeks burning from the effort — from how good it felt, how much he was making you feel without even asking for anything in return.

Jake watched you, his own breathing heavier now, eyes never leaving your face. He kissed the inside of your thigh again, softer this time, and murmured like a secret: “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

You shook your head, eyes glazed, lips parted.

He grinned, utterly undone. “Good. You keep reading, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

And then he went back to it, dragging you under all over again — and this time, you didn’t even try to keep your voice steady.

Your voice was barely holding together, words stumbling out between shaky breaths and quiet gasps as Jake kept his promise — and his pace.

“’Royal apartments were not—mm—not designed for solitude...’” you managed, eyes fluttering shut for a second before forcing them open again. The page was swimming in front of you, your fingers white-knuckled on the book’s spine.

Jake was gentle and deliberate with every movement, every kiss, every stroke of his tongue — like he knew exactly how much you could take before your thoughts scattered again. His hands never stopped caressing you, coaxing you, steadying you when your hips twitched or your legs tried to close around him.

He paused only to murmur, “Eyes on the book, baby. You stop reading, I stop.”

You whimpered, blinking rapidly to refocus. “I-I’m trying,” you whispered.

He grinned against your skin, sinful and smug. “I know you are. You're so good for me.”

Your voice quivered again, reading now a whisper of syllables barely stitched together. “’M-many monarchs... r-relied on a network of—’”

Another flick of his tongue made you arch, voice breaking. “—trusted attendants to guard their privacy...”

Jake rewarded your effort with a deeper press of his mouth, and your whole body reacted — a shiver racing through you, your breath catching.

“You’re so sweet like this,” he muttered between kisses, lips slick against your inner thigh. “Trying so hard. You like being good for me, don’t you?”

You nodded frantically, not trusting yourself to speak.

He chuckled low. “I knew you’d be like this. Knew you’d melt the second I touched you right.” His voice dropped. “I’ve had to bite my tongue every day just to keep my hands off you.”

Your fingers trembled again, the book slipping slightly as another wave built low in your belly. It was too much and not enough, all at once. You didn’t even realize you’d stopped reading until Jake pulled back, and you let out a quiet, pleading noise.

He raised an eyebrow. “I warned you, baby.”

“Daddy,” you gasped, eyes wide and desperate now.

He leaned up just enough to kiss your inner knee and then trailed one finger along the crease of your thigh. “Then read,” he said gently. “Be a good girl and I’ll give you everything you want.”

You fumbled for the words on the page, voice wrecked and shaky. “’Despite the formal nature of court life, physical passion was—was often c-concealed behind—’”

Jake rewarded you instantly, returning his mouth to you with slow, deliberate strokes that had you crying out again — this time muffled into the back of your hand.

“That’s it,” he praised, his voice thick. “God, you taste like heaven. Keep going. Let me hear you fall apart.”

You tried, you really did — but your body was already trembling again, heat curling fast and sharp in your belly, and your voice collapsed completely as the words dissolved into moans. Jake held your hips steady as you writhed, grinning against you, utterly drunk on your reaction.

And when you finally broke apart — shaking, panting, head tipped back in pleasure — he didn’t stop right away. He drew it out, kept you there, lips soft and reverent as he coaxed you down from the high he’d built just for you.

When he finally pulled back, your thighs still trembling, the book had slipped to the floor.

Jake rested his chin on your knee, watching you with flushed cheeks and soft eyes, like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You,” he whispered, catching his breath. “Are so worth the wait.”

You could only nod, still dizzy and breathless.

He leaned up to kiss you — sweet, slow, utterly different from what he’d just done — and smiled against your lips.

“I hope you’re not too tired,” he murmured. “We’ve still got the whole weekend.”

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