I seduced my married professor and now I wear my boyfriend's lingerie for him
I never thought I'd be this girl, but here I am confessing that I've become completely addicted to my calculus professor's approval and his cock.
I started freshman year lonely. My boyfriend and I have been together 4 years, but going from seeing him daily to long-distance wrecked me. To cope, I threw myself into studying, basically living in my 51-year-old married professor's office hours. We bonded fast, too fast. He gave me his personal number for questions anytime, and I convinced myself it was innocent.
Then I noticed how he looked at me. Not just looked, consumed me with his eyes, head to toe, lingering everywhere he shouldn't. I should've been disgusted, but I wasn't. Maybe it's the daddy issues (never knew my father, constantly starved for male validation), but I started testing him. One day I wore a mini skirt and crop top to office hours. Watching him lose his train of thought, stammering while his eyes devoured my legs, something shifted in me.
I told myself it was harmless. Just fun. But every day I'd wear something sluttier, shorter skirts, tighter tops, bending down to pick up pencils just to feel his heavy, possessive gaze on me. His fingers would shake when I got close, like they knew exactly where they wanted to explore. Our goodbye hugs started lasting too long, his arms crushing my petite body against him, his breath hot against my neck.
The breaking point came after a late study session. I went in for our usual hug and accidentally glanced down. The outline of his cock against his dress pants was massive, the biggest I'd ever seen. When I felt it poke against me, I didn't pull away. I leaned in, grinding subtly, making him sigh so deep I felt it vibrate through his chest.
"I have a boyfriend," I whispered, lying through my teeth about being loyal.
He saw right through me. "You're not fooling anyone, princess. You've been teasing me for weeks." Then he admitted everything, his fetish for mentoring a younger woman, how he fantasized about me as his daughter figure, how he wanted to take care of me and ruin me simultaneously.
I should've felt guilty. Instead, his words broke something open inside me. When he called me his perfect little girl and said he was proud of me, I felt complete for the first time in my life. His pleasure became my only purpose.
Now I dance for him. After locking his office door, I strip slowly, swaying my hips, spinning to give him the full view. He sits in his chair, examining every inch of me like I'm art he owns. His hands roam up my waist, my stomach, my back, pulling me into his lap where I grind against his throbbing erection. He breathes harder, clutching me tighter, his cock straining desperately against his zipper.
Last week I finally couldn’t take it anymore. I unzipped him, and his cock sprang out, thick, veined, hypnotic. He stroked my hair, calling me his princess, his good girl, telling me how perfect I was. I lost my mind. I sucked him with desperate, relentless passion, chasing that high of being wanted by this father figure who saw me as everything. When he came, I swallowed every drop like it was validation itself.
We fucked right there in his office chair, him praising me the entire time, and I've never felt so owned, so complete.
Now I wear the lingerie my boyfriend bought me underneath my clothes every single day, to class, to office hours, just to put on a private show for my professor. My boyfriend thinks I'm being faithful. My professor knows I belong to him.
And honestly? I've never been happier being someone's slutty little secret.