Creed-
"It’s the last day before summer.
I won’t see you for a whole three months," I whined, pulling Mr.
Zimmerman's hand into mine and guiding it between my legs.
I’d taken off my panties in the bathroom, so he met bare, hot, wet flesh. I loved the way his callous fingers felt.
"See how wet just thinking about you made me?" I was telling the absolute truth.
Mr.
Zimmerman had been one of the speakers at my sister and brother's graduation.
Just looking at him up on stage had my pussy wet. He was fine—6'3" with dark midnight skin, wavy hair, and this "fuck me" Latino accent—and all that was wrapped in an expensive, tailored suit. I would have fucked him on stage in front of everybody if he had allowed it.
He groaned, rolling his head on his neck.
"Creed, I can’t.
I plan to fix my marriage," he claimed, but he didn’t push me away.
I stepped closer and slid my hand down his pants, stopping at the bulge straining his zipper.
Mr.
Zimmerman had a big-ass dick, and he knew how to use it too.
And my day had been stressful. I needed him.
My parents were famous nutjobs who were either eating each other's faces off or yelling at each other.
Today, they were yelling.
My mother was thee, Scarlett Rose.
She was fucking hot.
She barely looked a day over thirty but was almost fifty.
So many college dudes eyes were on her. My dad is the jealous type, so her smiling at a few of the men giving her attention was equivalent to her giving them hand-jobs —in his head.
My brothers, Ebony and Ivory or Maine and Jason, whose college graduation it was—were used to their fuckery and found it funny.
And Noah was his usual indifferent self.
I was annoyed.
They didn’t have to make a spectacle out of themselves everywhere we went. I had ducked off from my family just to find Zimmerman. I needed him to make me cum really hard, but he wanted to be difficult. He knew damn well that he barely cared about his wife. He’d been fucking students long before me, while married to her.
"But you haven’t yet, so let’s say this is the last time," I coaxed.
He narrowed his coffee-brown eyes at me and said, "Little girl, what the fuck do you have me about to do to you?" His Adam's apple bobbed as he eye-fucked me.
"Nothing you ain't done before," I encouraged.
He was acting as if we hadn’t been fucking most of my freshman year.
Want to fuck a professor? Drop a few pencils in front of him while you’re panty-less, and he’s bound to put some dick up in you.
At least, that was my experience.
He chuckled in response.
Taking a step back from him, I climbed up on his desk.
The whole time, he was staring at me like I was something good to eat.
I spread my legs.
"Kiss her goodbye, at least," I nodded.
He shook his head before falling to his knees in front of me.
Something about him on his knees in his expensive tailor-made suit caused fresh cream to ooze from my pussy.
His fingers dug into my soft flesh as he spread my legs.
My back hit the desk, as he dragged his long tongue along my slit, I hummed in satisfaction and let the world around us fade into insignificance.
The rattle of his classroom door handle ruined everything.
Mr.
Zimmerman jumped to his feet.
Swiping his hand across his face as he went.
He damn near ran to the door, opened it, and looked around. Nobody was there.
He turned to stare at me as I fixed my skirt.
His face was contorted with anger and frustration.
His voice was laced with irritation as he instructed me, "You have to go.
Fucking around with you, I'm going to lose my fucking job."
I rolled my eyes as I grabbed my purse from his desk.
"Fine.
Goodbye, Zimmerman." I pushed past him and out the door.
I was kind of sad that I was going to have to find a new dick for sophomore year, and the summer was gearing up to be boring as fuck.
Fuck my life.