Professor's forbidden cunt punishment discipline

His command was a low rumble that vibrated right through the floorboards and up my spine. “My study. Now.”

I pushed the heavy oak door open, putting on my best wide-eyed, innocent look. “You wanted to see me, Professor Vance?” My voice was a little too sweet, a little too breathy. A perfect performance.

He didn’t look up from the papers on his massive mahogany desk. The only light came from a single green glass lamp, casting severe shadows across his sharp cheekbones. “You know exactly why you’re here.”

I bit my lip, feigning confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t, sir.”

That got his attention. His eyes, dark and full of promised punishment, lifted to meet mine. He leaned back in his leather chair, the old leather creaking under his weight. “The answers on your midterm. They are identical to the answer key. A key that went missing from my desk yesterday afternoon.”

I gave a tiny, dismissive shrug, my heart hammering against my ribs. Yes. Exactly. “A fortunate coincidence?”

“There is no coincidence,” he stated, his voice dropping to a dangerous, intimate timbre that made my knees feel weak. “There is only a naughty little thing who thinks she’s clever. A little thief.” He stood up, slow and deliberate, a predator uncoiling. He was so much bigger up close, his presence filling the room, smelling of old books and expensive whiskey. “And I am going to correct her.”

My breath hitched. This was it. This was the moment I’d been playing for since I first laid eyes on him. Make me.

He circled the desk, his steps silent on the Persian rug. He didn’t touch me, not yet. His gaze was a physical weight, stripping away the pretense, the plaid skirt, the white blouse. “Bend over the desk. Now.”

A shiver of pure, unadulterated anticipation wracked my body. I turned, presenting myself to him, and leaned forward until my elbows were on the cool, polished wood. I heard the soft whish of my skirt being flipped up to my waist, exposing my bare ass and the simple black lace thong I’d worn just for him. The air in the room felt cool against my heated skin.

Behind me, the distinct, metallic sound of his belt unfastening echoed like a gunshot. The leather slide through the loops was slow, deliberate. He was savoring this.

I jumped as his palm came down on my right cheek, not hard, but sharp enough to sting, to brand me with his touch. A gasp tore from my throat.

“Quiet,” he ordered, his voice a low growl right by my ear. He hadn’t moved, but I could feel the heat of him hovering over me. “You don’t speak unless I give you permission.” His hand smoothed over the spot he’d just hit, the gentle caress a shocking contrast to the sharp slap. “You will count each one. And you will thank me for it. Understood?”

“Y-yes, sir,” I whispered, the words trembling out of me.

The next strike came, harder this time, on the other cheek. A bright, clean pain blossomed, followed instantly by a throbbing heat.

“One,” I breathed out. “Thank you, sir.”

He spanked me again, and again, settling into a brutal, perfect rhythm. Each slap was a punctuation mark on my sin, each one making me jolt against the desk. The pain was a live wire, sparking through my nerves and pooling as a desperate, aching throb between my legs. I was wet, soaking through the thin lace of my thong, my cunt clenching around nothing, begging for attention. I lost count after six, lost in a haze of sting and shame and pure need.

He paused, his breathing slightly heavier. I heard the crinkle of foil and my entire body went taut with expectation.

“Detention,” he murmured, his voice thick with a hunger that mirrored my own, “is going to be very… thorough.”

His fingers hooked into the sides of my thong and yanked them down to my knees. The cool air hit my soaked, exposed folds and I whimpered. Then his touch was on me, not his hand, but the cold, smooth leather of his belt. He dragged the flat of it over my burning ass cheeks, down the sensitive crease, and then pressed it firmly against my dripping slit.

I cried out, bucking against the impossible sensation—the harsh texture of the leather against my most sensitive flesh.

“I said, be quiet,” he reminded me, and I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood.

He replaced the leather with his fingers, parting my slick folds with a rough, possessive touch. He dragged two fingers through my wetness, collecting it, and then I felt the broad, blunt head of his cock pressing right there, at my entrance. He was huge, stretching me just with that initial pressure. He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. My body was screaming its consent with every ragged breath.

With one powerful, unrelenting thrust, he buried his entire length inside me.

A scream was ripped from my throat, a raw, unfiltered sound of being utterly filled, utterly claimed. He was so deep. I could feel every inch of his thick cock stretching my cunt, a perfect, burning fit. I was pinned to the desk by his weight, his body covering mine.

“Fuck,” he groaned into my hair, his hips flush against my throbbing ass. “You greedy little thing. You’re dripping all over my cock.”

He didn’t move, letting me feel the full, overwhelming sensation of being impaled. Then he drew back, almost all the way out, the drag of him leaving me hollow and desperate, before slamming back into me with a force that shook the desk.

He set a punishing pace, each thrust a masterclass in taking what he wanted. His grip on my hips was iron, holding me in place for his use. The sound of our bodies meeting, skin slapping against skin, filled the quiet study, mingling with my choked sobs and his guttural grunts.

“You like this, don’t you?” he snarled, pounding into me. “You planned for this. To have your tight little cunt stretched out by your professor’s cock.”

“Yes!” I moaned, the confession torn from me. “Yes, sir!”

He reached around, his fingers finding my clit, rough and demanding. The dual assault was too much. The coil of pleasure in my gut tightened impossibly, fueled by the sharp, sweet pain in my ass and the deep, stretching fullness of his cock.

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice dark and irresistible. “Now.”

It was an order I couldn’t disobey. My orgasm exploded through me, a silent, seismic shock that clenched my cunt around him like a vise, milking his cock as waves of pure ecstasy washed every coherent thought from my head. I shook violently against the desk, seeing stars behind my clenched eyelids.

He fucked me through it, his rhythm becoming erratic, brutal. With a final, deep grind of his hips, he stilled, burying himself to the hilt. A hot, guttural groan erupted from his chest as his own release flooded into me, pulse after pulse of wet heat filling me up.

We stayed like that for a long moment, joined, panting, dripping with sweat. He was still inside me, softening, his weight a comforting pressure. His hand left my hip and came to rest possessively on the small of my back.

He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear, his voice a low, satisfied murmur. “Detention isn’t over. We’re just getting started. Now, be a good girl and clean my cock with your mouth.”

His command hung in the air, a dark, thrilling promise. My body still hummed from the blinding climax he’d wrung from me, my cunt feeling deliciously used and full of his seed. The scent of our sex, musky and primal, was thick in the room. I pushed myself up on trembling arms, my skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat. His cock, now softening and glistening with a mix of his release and my own wetness, slipped from me with a soft, wet sound that made my cheeks flush with a fresh wave of heat.

I slid off the desk, my legs feeling like they were made of jelly, and sank to my knees on the rich Persian rug. The hardwood was firm beneath it, a stark contrast to the plushness under my bare knees. I looked up at him. Professor Vance had not moved. He stood there, a statue of pure masculine authority, his pants still pooled around his ankles, his shirt rumpled and clinging to his damp chest. His dark eyes watched me, predatory and intense, missing nothing.

I opened my mouth, my tongue darting out to meet him. The taste was immediate and complex—salty, musky, uniquely him, all underlined by the sweet tang of my own arousal. I took him into my mouth, not as the hard, demanding weapon he’d been moments before, but as a softened prize I was being granted the privilege to tend to. I swirled my tongue around his sensitive head, cleaning every drop, lapping at the slit where a last pearl of cum beaded. I sucked gently, my lips forming a tight seal, drawing the last of our combined flavors from his skin. My submission was total, absolute, and a current of pure, depraved electricity shot through me because of it.

He let out a low, approving hum, his hand coming to rest on the top of my head, not guiding me, just claiming. His fingers tangled gently in my hair. “Good girl,” he murmured, the words a rough caress. “So diligent.”

When I was finished, when his cock was clean and I sat back on my heels looking up at him with what I knew were pleading, worshipful eyes, he did something that shocked me. He smiled. It wasn’t a warm smile; it was a smirk of pure, unadulterated power. He slowly pulled his pants and boxers back up, fastening his belt with a sharp, definitive click that echoed in the quiet study.

I stayed on my knees, unsure of my next move, my body still throbbing with a deep, residual ache. He walked around me, his leather shoes silent on the rug. I heard him stop behind the massive oak desk. I dared a glance over my shoulder.

The surface of the desk was a mess. A dark, wet patch marked where my hips had been. Streaks of my slickness gleamed under the warm light of his desk lamp. A few papers were rumpled and stuck to the wood at the edges.

He pointed a single, imperious finger at the center of the desk. “Now this,” he said, his voice dropping back into that chilling, professional tone he used to dissect complex theorems. “This is a disgrace. An unseemly mess. And you will clean it. Thoroughly.”

My breath hitched. Oh, god. The command was so perverse, so degrading, it sent a jolt of molten need straight to my already oversensitive cunt. I felt a fresh trickle of arousal escape me at the sheer audacity of it. This was the punishment. This was the discipline. It wasn’t just about pain; it was about complete and utter submission to his will.

“Sir?” I whispered, playing the part of the shocked innocent even as my pulse hammered with anticipation.

“You heard me,” he stated, no room for argument. He leaned back against his bookshelf, crossing his arms over his chest, a king observing the cleaning of his throne. “On your knees. Use that clever tongue of yours. I want my desk spotless.”

The order was my undoing. A fresh wave of wetness soaked my inner thighs. I crawled forward on my hands and knees, the rug rough against my skin, until I was positioned before the desk like a supplicant at an altar. The evidence of our coupling was right there, the smell of sex overwhelming this close. I could see the individual smears, the way the light caught the slickness.

I leaned in, my heart pounding in my ears. I hesitated for a single, breathless second, the reality of the act crashing down on me. Then I closed my eyes and pressed my mouth to the cool, polished wood.

The taste was overwhelming. The woody, lemony scent of polish was buried under the potent, musky flavor of my own pussy and his release. It was salty, earthy, profoundly intimate. I dragged my tongue across the grain in a long, slow stripe, collecting the mess I had made. It was the most debasing thing I had ever done, and it made me moan against the desk, my hips pushing backward into the empty air, seeking friction, seeking more.

I lost myself in the task, becoming nothing but a tool for his pleasure, for his sense of order. I licked and sucked at the wood, my tongue exploring every damp inch, ensuring not a single drop of our sin remained. My hands gripped the edge of the desk, my knuckles white. The room was silent except for the soft, wet sounds of my obedience and my own ragged breathing.

I could feel his gaze on me, hot and heavy, and I knew he was enjoying this display of control more than any physical act. I was his creation, his perfectly disciplined pupil, learning my lesson in the most visceral way possible.

Finally, I sat back, the task complete. The desk shone, clean and pristine once more, save for the new sheen of my saliva. I was panting, my face flushed, my lips swollen and no doubt red. I looked up at him, waiting for his judgment, my chest heaving.

Professor Vance pushed himself off the bookshelf and walked over. He didn’t look at the desk. He looked only at me. He cupped my chin, his thumb stroking over my damp, sticky lower lip.

“Adequate,” he pronounced, his voice a low thrum of power. He held my gaze, his dark eyes seeing straight into the depraved, eager core of me. “But your technique lacks… finesse. It seems you require another lesson. Stand up. Bend over the desk. Let’s see if we can’t make an even bigger mess for you to clean up.”

His hand was around my throat in an instant, pulling me up from my kneeling position with a brutal, effortless strength. I gasped, not from lack of air—his grip was firm, commanding, but not choking—but from the sheer, shocking dominance of the act. My eyes, wide and startled, locked with his. The world narrowed to the pressure of his fingers on my skin, the dark fire in his gaze.

You’re mine now, aren’t you? he whispered, his voice a low, possessive rasp that slid over my skin like rough silk.

The words weren’t a question. They were a verdict. A branding. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird in a cage of his making. I could feel the heat of his body, the faint scent of his cologne and our previous exertions clinging to him. My own scent was on his fingers. My mouth watered. My cunt pulsed, a fresh, wet heat blooming between my legs, betraying any attempt at defiance I might have pretended to possess.

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. My submission was a physical force, pouring out of me in the slight, involuntary arch of my back, the way my lips parted, the desperate, pleading look in my eyes. He saw it all. He drank it in.

Answer me. His thumb pressed just under my jaw, tilting my head back further, exposing the vulnerable line of my throat. Whose are you?

“Yours,” I breathed, the word a shattered, willing confession. “Professor Vance. I’m yours.”

A slow, devastating smile touched his lips. It was a reward and a threat all at once. Good girl.

His other hand came up, tangling in my hair, fisting the strands and pulling just enough to make my scalp sing. He held me there, suspended between his two points of control—my throat and my hair—completely at his mercy. His dark eyes burned into mine, seeing every filthy, eager thought, every twisted fantasy his discipline had awoken in me.

This cunt, he murmured, his gaze dropping to the apex of my thighs, is mine to use. This mouth, his eyes flicked back to my lips, is mine to fill. This ass… His grip tightened. Is mine to punish. Do you understand the terms of your detention?

“Yes,” I whimpered, the sound barely audible.

I can’t hear you.

“Yes, Professor Vance!”

He released my throat, his hand sliding down to roughly cup my breast through my thin blouse, his thumb circling my already-hard nipple. I cried out, the sensation a bolt of pure lightning straight to my core. Then assume the position. I want to see that perfect, cheating ass in the air. I want to see how wet my property is for its owner.

I turned on trembling legs, bending over the polished surface of his massive oak desk. The cool wood was a shock against my flushed cheek. I heard the rustle of his clothing, the unmistakable sound of his belt being undone again, the slide of his zipper. My breath hitched. Not the belt. Please, not again. The ghost of the sting still lingered on my skin.

But then his hands were on my hips, his hard, thick cock pressing against the inside of my thigh. He hadn’t reached for the belt. He’d been undressing himself.

You flinched, he noted, his voice dripping with dark amusement. Were you expecting another punishment already? So greedy for it. He leaned over me, his chest pressed against my back, his mouth at my ear. Don’t worry. I have something else in mind.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of my panties and dragged them down to my knees. The air was cool on my exposed skin. He spread my legs wider with his foot, and I felt utterly open, utterly exposed. His fingers trailed through my wetness, gathering it, and I shuddered violently.

So fucking wet, he growled, and all for me. Dripping for your Professor. He rubbed my own slickness over my asshole, the intimate, shocking touch making me jolt. This is mine, too. Everything is mine.

He positioned himself, the broad, fat head of his cock nudging against my soaked entrance. He didn’t push in. He just teased, circling, making me push back against him, a silent, desperate plea.

Tell me what you want, he commanded, his voice thick with his own need.

“I want you inside me,” I moaned, the words muffled by the desk.

Inside where? he insisted, delivering a sharp, stinging slap to my ass cheek that made me gasp and my cunt clench around nothing. Use your words. Be specific.

“Inside my cunt,” I cried out, humiliated and electrified. “Please, Professor Vance, fuck my cunt. I need it.”

Since you asked so nicely.

In one brutal, perfect thrust, hesheathed himself to the hilt inside me. A choked scream was torn from my throat. He was so big, stretching me, filling me completely. The force of it slammed me forward against the desk. He didn’t pause, didn’t give me a second to adjust. He set a punishing, relentless rhythm, each drive of his hips a claim, a correction.

This is what you needed, isn’t it? he grunted, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. This is the only lesson your filthy little mind truly understands. Feeling me claim what’s mine.

“Yes! God, yes!” I babbled, my fingers scrambling for purchase on the slick wood. Each thrust hit a spot deep inside me that blurred my vision. Pleasure, sharp and coiling, began to build, a counterpoint to the raw, animal power of his fucking.

You take my cock so well, he groaned, his rhythm faltering for a second as his own pleasure mounted. Your tight, greedy cunt is perfect for it. Made for it.

He leaned over me, covering my body with his, one hand snaking around to my front, his fingers finding my clit. The dual sensation was too much. I came apart with a shattered cry, my inner muscles convulsing around his driving cock, my orgismilking him, pulling him deeper.

The feel of me clenching around him was his undoing. With a guttural roar that was pure possession, he buried himself as deep as possible and pulsed inside me, his hot cum flooding my depths, branding me from the inside out. He held himself there, grinding into me, making sure every last drop was spent.

We collapsed together over the desk, both of us breathing in ragged, syncopated gasps. The only sounds were our panting and the slow, wet drip of our combined release onto the floor. His weight was a heavy, comforting prison.

After a long moment, he pulled out, and the sudden emptiness was a shock. He turned me over onto my back on the desk. My skirt was rucked up around my waist, my blouse soaked with sweat. I was a mess. His mess.

He looked down at me, his expression unreadable. He trailed two fingers through the spend that was already leaking from my well-used cunt and brought them to my lips.

“Clean it,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.