Her Dirty Professor Series (21+)

Her beautiful porcelain skin floods with color. “The bottle broke in my backpack so I dumped it in the flask so it wouldn’t get all over my homework.

I glance over at the sink attached to table right beside her, and the trashcan just below it. She had two options of easy disposal, but decided to dump it in a flask instead-for which she would have had to use a funnel in order to sift it through the small opening. This is a smart girl with excellent problem-solving skills, not whatever this character is she’s playing-who reminds me more of the ditzy Serena she’s been sitting behind who barely squeezes through life on a C average.Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

I start to wonder if this has anything to do with the reason those two have been talking in class the last couple of days.

“Can I see your paper, please?” I ask. I want to see if she really did need help with her assignment or if this is some game she’s playing that I have yet to figure out the objective of.

Her jaw clinches, and she takes the paper in her hand, hesitating as though she might not give it to me.

“Georgia? If you don’t turn it in today, you don’t get credit.”

“Can’t I turn it in late?” she asks, looking up at me with those big innocent eyes. The way she bites her bottom lip has me itching to grab her by the sides of her face and bring those lips to mine. If she were anyone else but my favorite student, I would have.

My voice stays firm even though I’d probably cave if she asked me for an extension. “Highest grade you can get when turning something in late is a C.”

Her eyes go bright with fear, and I fight the smile bubbling up. Little Miss Overachiever. I knew that would get her attention. She hands me the piece of paper. Even with the smell of mint still lingering in the air, the scent on her paper fills my head. I’m stunned at first, and glance over at Georgia who stares down at her desk, chin bobbing as if she’s either about to cry or scream, or maybe both.

With the page to my nose, I fill my lungs with the sweet, earthy scent of female cum. I want to close my eyes and live in this moment, stick my tongue out and taste her. I would know this smell anywhere. Hairs stand up all over my body and my dick strains against my boxers. Reluctantly, I put the paper down in front of me to hide my arousal.

When I finally break the hold her scent has on me, I look at the page and realize her work is flawless-like usual. So why had she been sitting there acting as if she were in need of help, unless she meant all of this to happen? I have a sinking suspicion that she was trying to get me out of my clothes on purpose, and that she had every intention of having me smell her cum on these pages. The only question that remains: is this brilliant student trying to start something with me?

I don’t know her well enough to say for sure that she’s not the kind of girl who would carelessly try to hook up with a teacher and risk losing her scholarship, but she definitely doesn’t seem like it. I would never try to do anything to ruin the limitless options of her future, only I’m really struggling not to give in to her.

“Georgia, what’s this about?” I say, trying to mask the lust-heavy undertones of my voice with authority. I don’t know how successful I am at it, but I’m giving it one hell of an effort. “I know this wasn’t an accident. Does this have something to do with Serena and Chad?”

She looks at me, but she can’t seem to hold eye contact. Her eyes start to wander over my body, stopping at my hip. Her gaze lingers on the small birthmark shaped like California, and her mouth drops open.

“What . . .” she says, her voice trailing off as if her mind is somewhere else.

I snap my fingers in front of her face to get her attention. “What is going on with you?”

She hesitates. Whatever it is bears a heavy weight that makes her shoulders droop.

“I can’t help you unless you tell me,” I say.

Taking a deep breath, she lets her head fall into her hands. “I’m so sorry.” She looks up at the acoustic tiles on the ceiling and winces. I’m actually a little afraid of what she’s about to say. With as much twisting and turning as she’s doing in her seat, it can’t be good. “I was sitting behind Serena and Chad and they were watching this video . . .”

She’d mentioned them watching videos before, but the way she says it now leaves no doubt as to which video she’s talking about. Squeezing my lips together, I stand straight as if my vertebrae has been soldered together. It was only a matter of time before someone found the old movie. I hoped it would be long after I’d retired, but luck doesn’t seem to be on my side. At the time, when the porno was first made, it seemed like a needle in a haystack that someone I knew would come across it. It was made in a tiny back-alley studio. The company was professional enough to test for STDs prior to production and it paid well, but as these types of companies go, it was like a mom-and-pop thing. The director wrote the script, did the lighting himself, and ran cameras, while his wife and brother ran the others. I had no idea they’d have the kind of distribution to keep videos out in the world after all these years.

Now it has finally come back to bite me in the ass.

“Who all knows about the video?” I ask, sounding angrier than I should. It’s not like it’s her fault that the students in my class found it, and I can’t blame her for being curious enough to watch it. If the shoe were on the other foot and I found a video of Georgia, I would definitely check it out.

“As far as I know, just us,” she says. “They were hesitant to even show me, but I’d already seen enough to realize what they were watching. I don’t think they’ll tell anyone.”

“No,” I say, resigned. Looking out the window at the clear sky, I see my entire career-all those years of late-night study sessions and horrible part-time jobs in greasy fast-food joints to earn tuition flash before my eyes.

That’s why I’d resulted to porn, because there were no part-time jobs that paid enough. I was going through the job section of the newspaper one day when I saw the ad for porn actors. I was young and thought, fuck for money? Hell yeah, I can do that. But it wasn’t at all how I thought it would be. I showed up at the studio and met my co-star, who, at the time, was smoking a joint because she couldn’t bear to have sex with me sober. She was twenty-six years old and had already starred in over fifty movies, some of them so extreme, according to her, that they had to have a medic on set just in case. After that I was afraid, to say the least. There was nothing sexy about any of it. She immediately went into the rules, what she was willing and not willing to do. I was then instructed to lie on a bed with all eyes on me. With the heat from the lights blazing down on me, and the cold mechanics of the whole thing, I struggled to stay hard. They made me pop a little blue pill and threated to kick me out and not pay me if I couldn’t perform. Somehow I managed, but despite my hard cock, I wasn’t turned on one bit. Once I came, I was so glad it was over I decided never to do it again, even after receiving a nice paycheck. It just wasn’t worth it. And now, everything I’ve worked for, all of it could be gone because I had sex for money on camera ten years ago.

Exhaling a long, exhausted breath, I say, “I don’t think they’ll tell anyone as long as I give them something in return. Their parents are wealthy, so I doubt they’ll want money, but I’m sure they will want As in this class. But you already have a perfect grade in my class, so what will you want?”

I have a hard time keeping the irritation back. I thought Georgia was different. Stupid me, I was actually starting to feel a connection between me and her. I thought she liked me. Now that I realize she did all of this to blackmail me because of the video, I realize how dumb I’ve been.

“I don’t want anything,” she says.

I watch her, trying to read her face. I’ve been teaching long enough to spot a liar from a mile away. So why am I not picking up on anything? I want to believe her. Those big blue eyes look sincere, and so does the shocked expression on her face, but the way she continues to twist the straps of her backpack tells me she’s not being entirely honest.

“You’re lying,” I say.

She bites her bottom lip, her eyes bouncing between my face and my dick, which has finally settled down in the face of my ruin.

“Well, there’s one thing,” she says.

It’s probably money. Scholarship kids are always scraping by. But how much will she want and how much is this job really worth to me?