#jack gladney

“I don’t want to go back home—back to reality.”

The large, warm hand that rests on your bare thigh gives a reassuring squeeze as Jack looks over at you from his spot behind the wheel. The air is still tinged with a hint of summery warmth—warm enough to keep the windows down as he drives—in spite of the leaves that have already begun to change in the early Autumn days, coloring the hills in small pops of reds and yellows. Jack’s hair, now streaked with gray, tousles in the breeze as his thumb taps lightly against the wheel.

“I know, Princess.” Slowly, his foot presses down onto the brake, the car rolling to a gradual stop at the intersection. “C’mere,” he says before pouting his lips out to signal his need for more of your affection.

The scent of his cologne is much stronger now that you’re leaning across the console, a hand grazing the soft fabric of the scarf—your scarf—that hangs loosely from his neck. The more that you lean into him, the further his hand inadvertently slides up your thigh until it is disappearing beneath the flowy material of your dress, fingers grazing along your rapidly dampening underwear. A sound of satisfaction rumbles in the depths of Jack’s chest when your lips finally close the distance to meet his. The kiss is slow and unhurried complete with tongues that glide along one another and teeth that nip at plush bottom lips.

“Did you have a nice weekend,” he asks when the kiss comes to an end.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Being a teacher's aide could be fun at times. You could get a reduced tuition rate for the semesters you served, get some working experience for resumés, and form connections with other professors that would benefit you. But you didn't like that the one you helped was a millionth-timed divorcee and a big grump.

When you look outside, Jack Gladney is like any other teacher on campus, enriching students with knowledge of his subject and history. He was just there to do something he mildly enjoyed while living comfortably during his tenure. He hadn't hopped on the idea of taking a senior college student whose major had nothing to do with his course, but he relented. It would be helpful to have someone grade and read assignments for him. After years of doing the same thing repeatedly, it was a nice change of pace, but when he saw you walk through that door, neon pink backpack on your shoulder, he was floored.

The hazy sun rays of the late summer gleamed in your enchanting eyes, dilating as you stepped closer to him, a gorgeously supple face with a soft hand stretched out, introducing yourself. Jack was so lost in thought when you took his ogling as indifference as if you were just another part of the student body, and technically, you were. Before he could react, you had pulled your hand away, snaking it behind your thigh as if you could hide your embarrassment. He was so frustrated at the thought he had missed his chance to feel your youthful skin his words came out as a bark.

"You'll be my new aid, correct?"

It had caught you off guard when he asked it like this was just another task to tend to as a teacher as a moment of silence passed in the empty lecture hall.

It was early August, a week before classes started, and the universe would fill the buildings with scurrying freshman and returning students, so no one could hear as he asked you to follow him to his anointing office. The sound of the fake wooden door thumping and the metal knob flicking shut should not have startled you as much as it did. Jack plopped down on his leather chair, running wide digits through his receding hair and letting out a puff of air the same way his seat did. His fingers were so big, almost meaty. Compared to yours, they were giants. They could easily curve over the tops and make your hand look like a baby's.

Your eyes widen for a split second, barely enough for Jack to register as a wave of heat covers your cheeks. You tore your gaze away from his girthy fingers and focused on his face as he explained what he expected of you as his new teacher's aid with a rumble of his chest.

So young, Jack remembered thinking. She has so much life ahead of her.

Jack was so handsome for someone his age, a silver fox, only realistically so. The prominent nose on his face was like a soft beak that stuck out even more than the splashes of moles and freckles on his skin. Time had aged face with years of worrying and stress, which always happened as time passed, but it was oddly dashing on him. He had a round belly that the buttons on his casual shirt stretched over as he sat—just one of the many things a long life would do to you.

A warmth built in your chest as you studied Mr. Gladney, the kind you only knew to feel with cute boys your age. He caught you staring at his stomach. A twitch of his jaw and a twinge of pink on his ears told you he was embarrassed. That was one of his biggest insecurities, and you, a college girl who made his cock ache, were staring at it. Jack sucked in and sat up straighter, and asked if you had any questions for him, trying to end this conversation as soon as possible.

You shot out the usual inquiries for someone in your position. How long were the classes, what were his office hours, and did he typically follow a specific schedule for assignments? All the while, you subconsciously rubbed your thighs together. Partly from anxiety and the other from the swelling desire in your core that made itself apparent as you imagined what he was like when he was younger. Maybe if fate had brought him later into this world, you could know what Jack Gladney's cock felt like as he held his broad hands around your throat.

Sadly, the universe wasn't in your favor, so here he was, sitting in his dark brown office chair as he opened up his laptop to dismiss you.

This school year was going to be rough.

The months went on and on with you working as Professor Jack Gladney's aide, grading small assignments he didn't feel like doing and helping with technical issues whenever he tried to start a projector or hook up a new speaker system. 

There were months of heated stares and partner-less orgasms for both of you. After all, Jack was your professor, and you were his aid—his sweet little, eager-to-please assistant.

By the middle of the first semester, you were on the brink of quitting, willing to deal with the extra thousand or two in tuition if it meant you wouldn't have to please yourself before and after his class, see the way his balls would show every time he sat down, and his dress pants would tighten. But then, he remembered your birthday, gifting you this cute pink trapper keeper binder with a 3D matching star charm. Your heart nearly burst out of its seams when you opened the neatly wrapped present. You hadn't been expecting him to do something thoughtful for you. You almost kissed him then. 

You sometimes thought he did those small hormonal-altering tricks on purpose, but that couldn't be it. Mr. Gladney would never think of a student that way, and certainly not the aid he gave all the grunt work to. But still, you could never deny how he would adjust whenever you bent over or crossed your thick legs.

You were flattering yourself. That had to be it.

Finally, after returning from Thanksgiving break and amid mid-terms, you decided to grade a study packet you had typed up for Jack for his students.

You were going to wait to reapply for the second semester. You couldn't handle seeing his gorgeous face every day, and you couldn't handle grading 90% of his assignments while balancing your own. It was so exhausting, your infatuation with him. This wasn't something worth tiring yourself over. It never had the chance of happening.

And now, here you were, knuckles inches away from his office door, ready to break the news. Finally, you got the courage to knock, hearing a faint "come in" as you opened the fake wooden slab.

Jack's face was buried in the small screen of his typing machine. He was furiously typing as he squinted, the same plush lips you dreamt about kissing pursed in concentration, disregarding your presence.

"Mr. Gladney," you start, taking a deep breath. "I... I just wanted to inform you that I won't be reapplying as your teacher's aide next semester."

That got him to stop typing, eyes snapping to you.

"Why?" He questions plainly, leaving no room for hesitation.

"I just want to try something else next semester. I think I might apply to work in the college library," you lie with your face downcast.

"Is that so?" Jack's words are rhetorical as he stands, pushing himself up on the arms of his chair, grunting softly. He stops in front of you, only being able to see the shiny black shoes on his feet.

"Have you not enjoyed your time working with me?" He tries to hide the hurt in his voice, but you notice it and whip up your head to reassure him. You couldn't stand to see him upset, especially if you were the reason.

"No! No," you say a bit more calmly than before. I have. It's just that..." You can't think of another lie as Professor Gladney crosses his arms and stares tensely.

"Then what is it? Do I give you too much of a workload? I can lessen it next semester." Jack says your name sweetly, almost begging for you to tell him how he needs to fix this. 

He will do anything for you to stay with him—to feel your bubbly presence for as long as possible. You make him feel young. He never wants that feeling to disappear again.

You let a partial truth slip out.

"I-I just can't handle the emotional toll this takes on me." Jack drops his arms, moving closer to you, worry etching his features.

"The emotional toll?' he repeats. "Have I been too harsh with you? I-I didn't mean it. I just wanted to treat you like any of my other coworkers." You scoff, anger now taking the reigns, closing the distance between you, bodies a foot barely apart.

"Like a coworker? Is that all I am to you?" you asked hotly, fists clenching. He was shocked at your sudden outburst. Perhaps you were too emotional, but you had held back these thoughts and feelings for so long that you couldn't help but open the floodgates.

"I thought I meant something more than that! For fucks sake, you remembered an item I mentioned once and got it for my birthday! Do you treat your coworkers like that?" A vein pops out of your neck as you practically yell.

Jack's mouth opens and closes as if he's thinking and trying to say something simultaneously, but nothing comes out. He walks to the office door and closes it, pressing the little lock button. You don't even care that you're trapped here with a professor, your boss. He sighs, pressing the pads of his finger on his lips, walking back, finally letting the cold front he puts on leave.

"You're right," he concedes, "you are more than that to me." Your heart leaps out of your chest; those were the words you have been dying to hear for the past few months. "Your youth intoxicates me. You make me feel young again. I love that about you." Jack places his hand to cup your cheek softly. You lean into him, smiling. "But we can't. Ignoring all rules of teacher-student relationships, you shouldn't be like that. You have your whole life ahead of you, boys your age you can feel that way about."

Tears well up in your eyes as he continues his rant as if he's making the biggest mistake ever. Jack fears the short time left of his life will end with the thought of you regretting him.

"I've been divorced. Had kids. I had a whole life, but you haven't. You shouldn't let an ancient pervert like me be what you want."

Your heart shatters for him. He sounds like no more life left, but he's wrong. You know Jack's wrong. You don't care about the stereotypical life he has fulfilled. You care about the one now—the life in the present.

You mirror his gesture, putting both hands tenderly against his face, boring your stare into his, hoping he'll understand what you're trying to say as your lips meet his, melting into a deep kiss. Jack doesn't hesitate to kiss back, snaking his hand into your hair as you part your lips slightly, silently permitting his tongue to enter. You moan at his taste, dark coffee and cinnamon Altoids dancing over your buds.

He begins to walk forward until your backside meets his desk, only parting to catch your breaths momentarily.

"I don't give a damn about boys my age." You say the last phrase with disgust. It was as if the mere thought of you finding yourself in the arms of any man besides Jack was repulsive. "I want you."

He groans, dropping his head and closing his eyes as you feel his manhood harden, his belly lightly brushing yours. You hop on the desk, wrapping your legs around his waist, and pull his face in again; your tongue dances against his this time. His fingers find their way around your neck, tingling the sensitive flesh. You buck into him and whine—a familiar heat searing your body.

You pop the first button of his patterned dress shirt and move on to the next, eventually getting into the middle, curly chest hairs peeking through, but he stops you, breaking the kiss as you whine.

Jack's insecurity about his aging body clouds over any lustful thoughts. An older man with a beer gut kissing a young college girl is unheard of. He doesn't want to disappoint you.

"Jack." He opens his brown eyes, and an almost invisible rim of green lines his pupil. How had you never noticed how beautiful they were? "I want you." You reiterate once more. "I want your body. Every single part of it. I want you to fuck me on your desk until I cum."

His stomach never disgusted you. It was cute, with the barely tamed gray and black hairs on his head and the purple bags under his eyes. 

Everything about him was amazing and experienced, and you wanted more of it, needed more of it. You see his anxiety calm, loosening his tense shoulders as you continue your movements, taking off his shirt as he does the same to you.

Jack paws at the padded fabric of your bra, squeezing and rolling your breast like dough as your head falls back, revealing your now bare neck. He doesn't seem to appreciate that something isn't adorning it, so he puts his mouth there, sucking a welt onto the skin as you moan. You continue to undress him, unfastening his leather belt and khakis, palming at his bulge underneath the trail of hair to his boxers. His cock is so impossibly wide. If he was that big, your mind must be playing tricks on you. You lower your hooded eyes, finding the hem of his red and dark green plaid underwear, and pull them down to reveal the myth.

Your mind was not playing tricks on you. Professor Gladney was that broad—more comprehensive than a can of soda—and you gasped, struggling to fit your hand around him. You could feel Jack smirk at your reaction. The same confident bastard you fantasized about was back.

"You think you can take all of me, baby?" He teases. You blush at the new pet name. "You think you can fit all of Daddy's fat cock in that tight pussy of yours?"

Jack calling himself Daddy was not something that ever occurred to you, but it had turned you on more than anything. You would have done so if it were possible to climax with just words. Your shame left you as you gently stroked him, careful not to irritate the sensitive skin.

Jack lost all self-restraint, pushing your body down onto the hard surface, forcing your arms up to rip your bra off, revealing your bare tits as his mouth latched on the perked nipple. You had lost your grip on his shaft, replacing it by removing your pants and cotton underwear, suddenly feeling embarrassed to have only such a plain pair. Jack begins to trail kisses down to your wet cunt, not suctioning enough to leave marks as he stops at the top of your mound, pausing for too long. 

You open your mouth to protest, but loud moans replace your sentences as he licks a stripe up your slit. Your hips buck into his tongue, chasing it to touch your clit. You shouldn't be surprised that he's so skilled. As he said, he's had a whole life before you, and indeed part of that life was eating out a woman's pussy. The thought of his mouth and hands on another only spurs you on. His experience was so attractive.

Jack's lips suck on your clit, pulling the bud into his mouth and releasing it with a pop. You dig your fingers into his short hair, not allowing him to leave your wet skin more than an inch as he continues. Your moans and groans are sporadic and wild as you continue to fuck his face, feeling two prodding fingers at your entrance as he coats them in your slick, sliding them in. His digits stretch you just as much as you dreamed they would, sighing happily as he begins to curl them repeatedly.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted to taste this young pussy. To feel how fucking tight your unused hole is." Jack's words are so lewd, borderline offensive, implying you've never had this done to you before, like some ignorant child.

You weren't naive to the feeling of fingers stretching you, but you were to these fingers, ones so wide it almost felt like a cock.

"Please, use my hole, Jack." You squeak in a high-pitched voice. "Make it the way you want it. It's yours." It feels as if something has possessed you. You've become such a demeaning and whiny thing because of him, as he adds a third finger.

You were so close to the edge. You almost come undone with just his digits and mouth. As if Jack senses it, he removes both, not giving you room to protest as he pumps his cock with the wet fingers and slides it over your folds, sending jolts of pleasure every time he bumps your clit. He lines the head with your entrance, barely entering as you feel the sensation of stretching, putting his free hand onto your hips for purchase. 

He slides in, the burning pain becoming more prominent and not yet pleasurable as you begin to pant, placing your sweaty palm on the back of his hand for support. He shushes your whines with a kiss, finally seated enough to use his thumb to rub your clit, easing the discomfort.

Jack's cock is so impossibly huge that you have no idea how you will take the rest of him, barely handling a half. He will surely tear you apart.

"Look at you," he coos against your hot face. "You're doing so good. Taking me so well." You preen under his gaze, hiding a self-satisfied grin at the praise.

You begin to thank him, but the poke of his head hitting your cervix silences you, squeezing his hand tight as he settles inside.

You're so complete, so unbelievably full you feel like you'll burst, tears leaking out of your eyes, and then he's pulling back out, your tight pussy creating a suction against his shaft as Jack hisses, trying not to cum so soon. He can hardly help himself, but now he finally has you. After so long, after months of fucking himself into his hand, picturing it as you, it's ultimately real. He wants to do so many things with you, defile your body in so many ways it'll have you screaming, crying, begging for more, but another sharp squeeze on his hand brings him back from the future. He realizes you're right. He needs to live in the moment-- in the now. He might not even hear your soft, petite pleas for him to go faster if he doesn't.

Jack's mind arrives to the present again as he speeds up, dragging his veined cock against the soft spongy flesh inside you as he continues the assault on your clit. Your skin jiggles with each thrust, the stiff desk squeaking under your jolting body as you pull Jack towards you, his stomach pressing yours as you hug him close.

The lost orgasm from before quickly makes its appearance again as Jack mumbles sweet praises into your ear, his hot breath fanning the hair by it. Your cunt grips him so tight that he's barely able to pound into you harder, but he finds a way, always the ever-so-persistent professor.

"So full, Jack. You make me feel so full." You cry as your back arches. You can feel the pressure in your body about to snap as he pinches your nipple.

"I just knew you could do it." He kisses your sensitive neck as your cunt clamps down on him, hissing. "My little aide, taking her professor's cock so well. You're so good to me. So perfect."

Finally, the fictional band snaps within you, blinding you for a few moments as you cum, nearly screaming underneath him. Jack follows suit, painting white ropes of cum on your walls, making you feel even more stuffed. He slows his thrusts, riding the ends of his climax as he rests on top of you, careful not to put his total weight on.

As both your heart rates slowed, Jack peeled himself off your sticky body with a tired groan, gently pulling out of your vice grip of a cunt with a squelch, his spend dripping out. You cover your face in shame, embarrassed by the sound. Your head is so far up in the clouds that you don't even care he's fishing for his clothes, knowing that you need this time to calm down and collect yourself as he does the same for yours, slipping your bra and shirt overhead. He smiles, proud of his work, as he grabs a tissue from the box on the corner of his desk, wiping the rest off your folds, ever the skilled man. He's gentle with you, kind, and mindful of your body's sensitive and aching areas.

You feel like you might fall asleep, but the rumble of his baritone voice pulls you from the warm embrace. You blink slowly, trying to understand what he's saying. He almost looks worried at your lack of response, but all it takes is his thumb caressing your cheekbones to get your ears to work.

"I'm sorry, what?" You asked, dazed. Jack laughs to himself, shaking his head.

"I asked if you were okay, but I see I fucked your hearing right out of you." You grin at his joke, reassuring him that you're okay. He leans you up, hesitating for a moment as he gathers your jeans and panties.

"Can I-uh," Jack clears his throat, ears, and cheeks pink. "Can I keep these?"

You look to see what he has, realizing it's your panties, and you grin even more exhaustively, nodding.

"Yes, you can keep them, Jack." You tease with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I want there to be something physical you can remember me by as you jerk yourself off tonight."

Jack shakes his head, sighing through his nose as he stares at the beautiful woman above him slipping on her pants. He was utterly obsessed with you, the way you laughed, always helped him, spoke, smiled, walked, and touched him.

You catch Jack staring, but you don't make any questioning looks. You acknowledge that you can see him looking at you with a warm smile. 

After months of waiting, nothing could damage your mood, not even how you stumbled as you tried to walk across his office, his hand on your lower back the entire way. Now, you were excited at the prospect of the new semester starting all because of your professor, your surprisingly quirky and kind history professor at the college on the hill. 

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