Welcome to 'A is for Age Gap & Authority & Amusing FMC', the first story in my weekly erotic story series. Readers get to choose the tropes. 😉

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This scene was inspired by ‘Mr Anderson’, a professor x student novel of mine which has since been discontinued. I’ve changed the female main character to be funnier and more self-assured.

Who knows, if you guys like it and want more, I could rewrite & release it? 😉

Enjoy, Smut Bunnies x

 

KEY QUOTE/PREMISE:

“The way I see it, Miss Lanley, we have two problems. You need to pass this class. And I need my cock sucked.”

 

Triggers:

• Age gap (18 fmc x 45 mmc)

• Professor x student

• Authority

• Face fucking

• Dub con (coercion)

• Restraints

• School girl outfit

• He gets off but forbids her release

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***

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I’ve drawn a penis in my notepad.

A big, fat one with swollen, hairy balls beneath it.

I didn’t mean to make it hairy; it just happened when I scratched the biro around the smooth curve of the shaft. And I’ve accidentally made it more hideous by colouring in the protruding vein with a green highlighter. It looks less like the smooth shaft of the pornstar I was eye-fucking this morning when I should have been getting ready for school, and more like an alien cock that’s about to burst.

I frown, then rip out the page to start again. My professor is still droning on in the background when I reach for my black marker pen. The ink blots on the page and immediately sinks through several pages, the sharp stench stinging the back of my throat as it bleeds out. I swallow but it doesn’t budge the lump that’s now forming.

This time, I keep my movements slow and smooth starting from the left, dragging the tip of my pen around the long shaft, curving at the top and then pulling it back down to where the balls will start on the right. I draw circles beneath, smaller this time, and manage to avoid them looking hairy.

Satisfied, I pull back and admire my work.

That’s the best I’ve done all day.

I glance at the other half a dozen attempts sprawled across my desk. The jumble of colours stares back up at me. Vincent Van Gogh would be proud.

I pick up my most recent one, and sigh.

I think I’ve done it. I think I’ve drawn the perfect penis.

Pride bristles in my chest.

“That’s all for today.” Mr Anderson’s gravelly voice suddenly echoes across the lecture hall. "You’re free to leave."

Thank God.

Finally.

Thirty chairs scrape backwards all at once as everyone leaps to their feet, conversations exploding around the room like fireworks finally being released after forty-five minutes of captivity. Bags zip. Laughter erupts. Somebody swears because they've dropped their phone.

I push back from my desk, already stuffing my drawings into my rucksack. I’m about to scoop up my colouring pens from the desk when the professor speaks again.

“Willow,” he calls my name. "Stay behind for a minute."

My head doesn't lift from my exercise book.

Maybe if I pretend I haven't heard him, he'll realise he meant somebody else. Surely there must be at least one more Willow in this classroom.

Moving quicker, I give up on trying to scoop the pens into an organised bunch and resort to using my forearm to push them into my bag directly. They thud on top of each other like a beautiful waterfall of colour.

"Willow.” His deep voice curls around my name like it’s his to steal.

I freeze.

Definitely me.

Brilliant.

For a second, I consider still ignoring him. If I move fast enough, I could potentially get to the exit before he can catch me there, even though the door is right next to his desk, and I’m seven rows up the lecture hall seats.

My heart sinks at the realisation that there’s no escaping this.

I finally glance in his direction and immediately regret it because I’m reminded of how painfully attractive he is. Despite being in his late forties and old enough to be my dad, his face has plagued my fantasies since I started this class last year.  With raven-coloured curls that fall loosely over black eyes, and dark lips that remain curled in a scowl, he looks like he’s been dragged from one of my fantasy novels. Everything about him is sharp: the ridge of his nose, the devastating sharpness of his jaw that looks like if I were to reach out and touch it, I would cut my finger. Even the way he is currently looking at me through low lashes feels dangerous.

A few people glance over their shoulders as they leave, offering those irritating little sympathetic smiles that only make everything worse. Mr Anderson is known for his ruthless tellings off, and punishments, and I haven’t handed in a single paper to be marked since we started in September. And to make matters worse, I showed up late today.

Noticeably late.

I think I’m going to have my ass handed to me.

The classroom empties surprisingly quickly, and I take my sweet time gathering up my things like stalling time will make everything better. The chatter fades down the corridor until the only sounds left are the ticking clock above the whiteboard and Mr Anderson slowly collecting his worksheets into a neat pile.

He's annoyingly organised.

Everything about him is. Even his desk looks like it belongs in one of those furniture catalogues where nobody has actually lived in the house. Pens lined up perfectly. Exercise books stacked by height. Whiteboard markers placed in colour order.

Who actually puts the lids back on whiteboard pens?

Psychopaths.

Definitely psychopaths.

I grip my pen a little tighter.

He hasn’t said another word. Instead, he calmly slips another worksheet into a folder before straightening it against the edge of his desk.

Tap.

Perfect.

Tap.

Perfect again.

Honestly, if I breathed too loudly, he'd probably hand me a detention for disturbing the symmetry.

He breaks the silence. "Come here, please."

I flinch.

My trainers suddenly feel glued to the floor.

I hate this bit. The walking. The knowing someone is watching you walk towards them, especially someone like him, someone every fibre of my being is desperate to please. Every step feels wrong. Too slow. Too fast. Too heavy. Too awkward.

I force my legs forwards anyway because standing here like a deer in headlights is way worse. The sound of my boots taps against each step of the auditorium. And the closer I get, the taller he becomes, and the less I breathe.

Pull yourself together, Willow.

Teachers are just...teachers. They stand at the front. Write things. Explain Shakespeare like the bloke is still alive, and he is no different to us.

I swallow hard.

But he is different. He’s fucking hot and does awful things to me in my dreams that make my nipples hard just thinking about it now.

And standing this close…he is enormous. Solid. Like somebody had carved him from oak instead of flesh. Broad shoulders stretch neatly beneath his charcoal shirt; sleeves rolled to his forearms where faint blue veins disappear beneath lightly tanned skin. His tie has already been loosened, the top button left undone after a long day of teaching, though somehow, he still looks put together.

And now my attention is caught on his hands, and I can’t seem to stop staring. Permanent ink stains near his thumb, just above a tiny white scar. His long fingers somehow manage to make holding a whiteboard marker look intimidating. They’re clean. Thick. The sort of hands that always seem to know exactly what they're doing.

I swear my face is bright red.

My eyes finally meet his.

“Care to explain why you were fifteen minutes late to my class?” He frowns. He folds his arms across his chest, and his large muscles threaten to jump out of his tight shirt. I avert my eyes to the floor. It’s better that way. Safer.

“I overslept.” I offer lamely.

“You overslept?”

“Yes.”

“That’s pathetic.” He spits. I brace in anticipation for the lecture. “You’re eighteen years old. Do you not own an alarm clock?”

I shake my head because I don’t trust my words.

“Then what happened?”

I decided instead of getting up I’d stay in bed and touch myself. The truth whispers. He taps his foot once against the ground, almost like a warning signal. I swallow hard.

“I hit snooze.” I manage.

He stares at me with incredulity. “That’s not good enough, Miss Lanley.”

He knows my last name.

The thought comes so fast it makes me dizzy. I dip my head, because there is nothing else to do. Every single word has suddenly disappeared from my head like I’ve been dropped onto my skull.

“I expected better from a scholarship student,” he says finally, reaching for a yellow file under a pile of books. He opens it slowly. I catch my picture attached to a sheet of paper.

My eyes widen. “Is that my—”

“Your application? Yes.” He doesn’t take his eyes away from the page and instead drags a finger down the paragraphs. The sound of it is enough to make my stomach flip. He reads from it. “I’m excited to study Philosophy and Ethics at Oxford university because I believe I can make a real difference to our community.”

He smiles like the words amuse him.

I recoil.

“That was for the recruitment team.” I say, flushed. “Not—”

He speaks over me. “Ethics are something that is dear to me after I watched my brother fell through every gap in the mental health support network.”

“Okay,” I squeak. “Okay, enough. I get it.”

He slams the file shut. When his eyes return to my face, I’m certain that I’m going to pass out from humiliation. He stares at me like I’ve done something hideously wrong.

“Aristotle’s four virtues.” He says.

“What?”

“What are they?”

I go still.

“We went through them today.” He says slowly, too slow, like he knows he’s about to catch me out and he’s dragging out every second of it. “You were listening, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” I say quickly. “Aristotle’s four virtues—”

I scan his desk like some miraculous lesson plan might be there to help me.

“You can use your notes.” He says.

A cold chill slips down my spine.

Ground, please swallow me whole.

“What are you waiting for?” he watches me closely. “Get your notebook out.”

“I—”

He snatches my bag before I can stop him and tears it open.

“Hey! You can’t do that!” I start, but it’s too late. His fist curls around my drawings and he throws them onto the desk. The cocks all land face up. Every single one of them.

Damn.

He jolts, and I see the surprise is written all over his face. The seconds tick by. I swear he can hear how fast my knees shake. I wait for it to harden to fury, for him to rip my scholarship from right underneath my nose and kick me out, but then the corner of his lips tip up like this amuses him.

“Well, well, well,” he tuts. “What do we have here?”

He picks up my favourite penis drawing and studies it. The black marker has sunk through the page until the penis is almost curling from saturated ink. The pride I felt earlier disappears fast.

He scoffs. “Well, no wonder you don’t know the answer. You were distracted.”

He holds my drawing for a moment longer, stretching the silence until it feels unbearable. Then he lets go. The page flutters awkwardly to the floor, settling between us. We both watch it land. When I finally look back up, his full attention is already fixed on me.

“Do you know what happens to your scholarship if you do not pass your exams?”

I peer up and can’t help but stare into his grey eyes.

No.

Blue.

Actually... Neither. One of those stupid colours that changes depending on the light, making it impossible to describe properly.

I look away first.

Coward.

Heat creeps up my neck.

God, why am I acting weird?

“Have you lost your voice, Miss Lanley?” his voice is as smooth as velvet.

I jolt.

“I, uh,” I stumble over my words. “No.”

“Good,” he hums. “So, what happens?”

“They resit?” I try optimistically.

He shakes his head. “They lose it.”

Shit.

“And you’re at risk of losing your scholarship.”

My head snaps up. “What? What do you mean? I haven’t failed any exams!”

He watches me with an intensity that has me reeling. His gaze soaks up every twitch of my frown.

“You also haven’t handed in any work.”

Panic crashes through me.

“No, I can’t lose this scholarship.” It comes out more like a squeak than anything for him to take seriously. “Please, don’t fail me. I’ll hand in every single paper I owe you.”

“All twelve of them?”

My eyes bug out of my head. “Twelve!”

One side of his mouth moves. It’s not quite a grin, but more like he considered smiling but decided against wasting the energy. “What have you been doing all this time?”

Drawing dicks.

The answer is on the tip of my tongue, but I dare not say it. I don’t think he’d find it funny. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth for good measure.

“What should we do?” he hums, and I swear his voice drops a few octaves.

I freeze so suddenly it feels like he’s hit pause on me.

Was that…on purpose?

Is he suggesting that I make him a proposition?

My mouth turns dry. I replay the question over and over again until the words blur into mush. I stare at him. He is still looking at me with that mild irritation plastered over his face, looking at me like I’m shit on the bottom of his shoe that he can’t seem to wipe away.

I become painfully aware of how long I’ve stayed silent.

Speak, God damn it!

"So..." I manage.

Excellent start, Willow.

"So," he repeats.

"So..."

Fantastic.

Really hitting those conversational highs now. He folds his arms—not defensively, just comfortably—and waits. Still patient. Still infuriatingly calm.

“I don’t understand.” I finally confess.

He arches an eyebrow, and then his hand moves to his tie. With one movement, he tugs on the knot, and the tie untangles in his palm. His throat becomes exposed for me. Tanned skin stares back at me, dancing over his Adam’s apple that bobs once.

“The way I see it, Miss Lanley,” he hums, “we have two problems. You need to pass this class.”

He drops back in his chair, spreading his legs. And then I see it. The huge bulge in his pants that his hand now moves over. He strokes himself through the strained material.

“And I need my cock sucked.”

My eyes widen. “What?”

“You heard me.” His jaw ticks. “And don’t act so naïve. You know what you’re doing prancing around in that slutty little outfit.”

I glance down at my tight-fitting shirt that curves around my breasts. My top few buttons are undone, exposing the swell of my breasts, and I’ve tucked it neatly into a small grey skirt that stops just below my ass.

He noticed.

He finally noticed.

My cheeks burn.

Am I fucking dreaming?

“You dress like that,” he points at me and then gestures towards my drawing on the floor. “And you draw cocks all day. I can only assume that you’re a dirty little whore who needs to be taught a lesson.”

My mouth goes dry. And my pussy goes…not dry.

God, please don’t let this be a dream.

The corner of his lip tips upward. “Now, come over here and show me how badly you want to pass my class.”

My eyes jump to the door almost instinctively. “But…”

“I have no more classes today.” He grins, reaching out for my hips. With one pull, I’m stumbling towards him like a fucking ragdoll until I almost fall on top of him. My hands shoot out to steady myself, but they land on his chest. I’m instantly aware of how hot he feels beneath my fingertips.

His hands snake around my back before settling on my ass, his fingers digging in with a possessive squeeze. My stomach drops. A gasp slips free, but he swallows it the second his mouth crashes into mine.

The kiss is all heat and contradiction. Coffee. Cigarettes. Bad decisions.

Wait.

My professor is fucking kissing me.

And I kiss him back with embarrassing enthusiasm, like this moment could be ripped away from me at any second. My fingers clutch at his shirt while his hands roam with quiet confidence, claiming every inch they can reach. They never stay in one place for long. Just as I begin to anticipate where they'll land next, they're already somewhere else, gliding over my body with maddening purpose.

Every lingering touch sends a shiver skating beneath my skin, leaving every nerve awake and every hair standing on end.

He pulls back slightly, his hand finally stopping at the waistline of my skirt. Slowly, he runs a finger underneath the elastic band, testing, teasing. His dark eyes scan my face for every reaction.

“Please.” I whimper.

I hook my thumbs beneath the waistband of my skirt, ready to peel it off, but before I can, he catches both my wrists in one hand and wrenches them behind my back.

A startled gasp escapes me as the sudden movement forces my chest forward.

He moves with effortless precision, like he's done this countless times before. With his free hand, he slips off his tie in one smooth motion before looping the silk around my wrists. The fabric glides over my flushed skin, cool against the burn beneath it, before tightening just enough to keep my arms pinned awkwardly behind my back.

“Spread your legs.” He demands.

I do. So fast. His lips curl into a devilish smile.

He reaches for his belt.

The metallic buckle catches the light as his fingers work it loose with infuriating calm. A soft click echoes through the silence, impossibly loud, impossibly slow.

I can't look anywhere else.

He slides the leather free one loop at a time, each measured pull accompanied by the quiet scrape of leather against fabric. It should take seconds. Instead, he draws the moment out, unhurried, as though he has all the time in the world and knows I'm counting every heartbeat.

My eyes shamelessly follow every movement.

For God's sake.

Just when I think he'll finish, he pauses, feeding another length of leather through the next loop with deliberate precision. The restraint is almost cruel. Every second stretches tighter than the last, my anticipation coiling until I swear it hurts.

He isn't just removing his belt.

He's making me watch.

“Have you seen a cock before, Miss Lanley?”

“In videos.” I confess quietly.

“And in real life?”

I shake my head no.

“No?” his eyebrow arches. “You’re eighteen. What do you do when you need release?”

Shame burns on my cheeks. “I touch myself.”

His head tips back, a low groan rumbling from deep in his chest. My gaze catches on the sharp line of his throat, watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard. Then my attention drops again, following the slow, deliberate drag of his fingers as they lower the zip of his trousers.

“You really are a naughty girl.” He says, and the words are like pure sex. My stomach flips.

My legs give out so quickly I hit the floor with an ungraceful thud.

His fingers find the nape of my neck before slipping into my hair. A shiver races down my spine as his grip tightens, just enough to guide me. Without a word, he draws me closer, pulling me between his parted legs.

I go willingly.

The outline beneath the soft grey fabric leaves nothing to the imagination, the material stretched so tightly it looks ready to surrender. My brain completely short-circuits.

With one unhurried tug, he pushes his material down, and reveals himself to me. My breath catches. Every coherent thought abandons me.

He's bigger than anything I've ever seen on a screen—thicker too, built in a way that almost doesn't seem real. My stare catches on the gentle curve, then the smooth crown, already gleaming.

A nervous breath catches somewhere in my throat.

Before I can gather another thought, his hand sinks into my hair again. With a steady, unyielding pull, he guides me closer.

I don't resist.

“Open your mouth.”

I do.

But the closer I get, the louder my insecurities become.

He's too big. Far too big.

A knot of panic twists low in my stomach. What if I can't do this? What if I choke? What if I make a complete fool of myself?

The doubts claw at me, drowning out everything else.

“More.” He demands. His voice has lost all that velvety smoothness now, something dangerous lurks beneath it.

I push myself as far as I can, every muscle in my jaw protesting with the effort until it aches.

The first contact steals my breath.

Warmth. The unfamiliar weight. My brain stalls as sensation crashes over me all at once. I hesitate for the smallest fraction of a second, trying to steady myself, trying to make sense of it.

I blink.

My ears ring, drowning out everything else. The room, the silence, every rational thought fades into the background as I forget how to function, leaving nothing but the overwhelming awareness of how close we are.

My head spins.

I don't know whether it's the nerves, the adrenaline, or the intoxicating rush of finally crossing a line I'd spent far too long imagining. Maybe it's all three.

He pushes until the head is completely gone between my lips.

“Now, suck.” He commands.

I hollow my cheeks like I’ve seen the girls do on Pornhub, and it earns me a delicious response from him. My thighs press together. I’m aching, desperate for more. I try to move my hands, but they’re still tightly fastened behind my back.

“Puh-lease,” I beg around his cock, but it comes out like a pathetic whimper. My body works instinctively, grinding my thighs together for some kind of pressure, but it’s not enough to push me over the edge.

“This isn’t for you, whore.” His fingers curl around my throat. “This is for me.”

I writhe desperately anyway until his foot kicks between my thighs and I’m forced to part, but then all pressure leaves immediately. I try to press them back together, but he keeps them wedged apart.

“Tut, tut, Miss Lanley,” he growls. “If you keep disobeying me, I will have no choice but to fail you.”

I force my thighs apart so quickly that my hips burn.

He takes the opportunity to push further into my throat, slowly at first, before he drags it out all the way to the tip, and then slams it back in. My eyes immediately prick with tears. It hurts so fucking bad; it feels so fucking good. I scream, but he’s already slamming it back again and the noise is ripped apart. He steals the oxygen from my body like it was his to command.

And there’s nothing I can do. His fingers sink deeply into my hair, holding my face still as he face fucks me. My fingers curl. I pull desperately at the restraints, but he’s tied them impossibly tight.

“Suck harder.” He demands, and my brain scrambles to understand. It takes a second, but I squeeze my cheeks around him more. He groans. I shake.

“That’s it,” his other hand curls around the back of my neck too and continues slamming into me. Frustration twists low in my stomach.

“You make such a good fuck toy.” He praises. I moan, and the vibrations do something to him. His breathing hitches. His pace becomes more erratic. It spurs me on. I focus all my energy on keeping the pressure tight. He grunts before thrusting forward.

The sudden movement catches me off guard, stealing the air from my lungs. My eyes squeeze shut for a heartbeat before fluttering open again. Above me, his breathing grows uneven, each inhale sharper than the last. His chest rises and falls in quick succession, muscles tensing beneath his shirt as though he's fighting for control. And then, he roars and at the same time, I feel his hot cum shooting down the back of my throat. Salt. Heat. All him. All for me. And I gulp it down like my body was made to milk him.

A low groan escapes him, rough enough to make every tiny hair on my body stand on end.

For a long moment, neither of us moves.

The only sounds in the room are our breathing and the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. My heartbeat pounds so loudly I swear he must be able to hear it. My jaw aches dully, my lips tingling, and I swallow hard, trying to steady my breathing while I keep my eyes fixed on him.

Slowly, he eases back. His gaze never leaves me, studying my face with quiet intensity, as though he's searching for something only he can see.

"I'm sorry for not listening to you in class today, Professor," I murmur. "I'll do better."

The corner of his mouth lifts into the faintest smile.

He cups my cheek, his palm warm against my skin. His thumb brushes slowly across my lips before lingering there for a beat, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Good girl, for apologising."

There's a quiet approval in his voice that sends another shiver through me.

He reaches behind my back and loosens the knot of his tie. The fabric slips free from my wrists, and I suck in a breath as I bring my arms forward. Pins and needles explode through my hands, followed by a dull, burning ache that makes me wince.

“Come back tomorrow and I’ll teach you something you might be more interested in,” he pulls me flush against his chest. “How to ride cock like a scholarship student and maybe then I’ll give you the release your greedy pussy is so desperate for.”

 

**

OMGGG HOW FUCKING HOT WAS THAT?!?!?!?

I think I need a whole book with more from these two. What do we think?

​

Thank you for reading Chapter One ‘A is for Age Gap & Authority & Amusing FMC’.

We will definitely be seeing more of these characters later on. 😉

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Want more erotic stories and exclusive access to the full novel when I write it? Join me on ChapterLoom. 

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The first 500 readers to join the waitlist get daily chapters & weekly erotic stories plus more for only £3 a month.