#onedirection

"I want you all to open your books to page 32. Today we're going to talk about Shakespeare and one of the most famous tragedies of all time: Romeo and Juliet." I take the chalk in my hands and begin to write on the board. The sound of my students snorting makes me laugh lightly. "Oh, come on. Who doesn't love a good forbidden love story?"

I open my book to the page where a small fragment of the story is shown, the part where Romeo believes Juliet is dead and decides to end his own life.

"Okay... how many of you have been in love?" I ask, looking up from my book. They laugh, and I smirk. "Come on, let's be honest. How many of you have been in a relationship?" Some raise their hands, some more timidly than others. "And at the time, you thought it was a good idea to die for them?"

My attention shifts when I hear an argument in the hallway and I turn my head toward the small window in the classroom door. Then I see you. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you spoke and gestured rapidly with your hands. I lean forward a little further to see the second person, your boyfriend. This is the third time I've seen you argue this week, and it's only Tuesday. People are saying you're both very toxic and that he's cheated on you several times, but you still don't want to leave him.

Romance between young people will always fascinate me. Wanting to hurt someone you're supposed to love. Why would you do that? And above all, why would you let them do that to you?

You're one of my best students, at least you're one of those who tries. You always write essays, you read your books at home, you're always attentive, you ask questions, and it seems your life outside of this is very different from what you show in class.

But I've noticed you've been very distracted for the past few weeks, and I guess it's all because of that guy you call your boyfriend. He doesn't even study at this university. He drops you off at the campus gate in the morning on his motorcycle and comes back to pick you up at lunchtime. You two always like to make out at the entrance, I don't know if it's to get attention or because you need to suck each other's faces off early in the morning. In any case, I always find myself watching your every move, and I wish I knew why. I guess I don't like that guy one bit, and as your teacher, I have to make sure you're safe.

Or so I want to make myself believe.

I stare at you for a while until I see him grab your arm tightly to pull you towards him, making you jump. My instincts start to go on alert, expecting the worst, and I decide to take action. I head to the door and open it, making both of you turn your heads to look at me.

I clear my throat before speaking. "Miss [your last name], you should go to class. You don't want to miss the lesson."

You look at your boyfriend once more and then back at me, slipping out of his grasp. "Yes, Mr. Styles, sorry..." You mumble before walking past me and into class.

My gaze follows your every move. The way you keep your head down, the way your eyes are red, the way you avoid your classmates' gaze, you're probably having a bad time, and it's all because of the guy standing in the aisle.

I turn my gaze toward him and realize he's also looking at you. "You should leave if you're not a student at this university," I say. "You don't want to get into-"

"Suck my dick," he interrupts as he turns around and starts walking toward the exit.

What an asshole.

I re-enter the classroom and close the door behind me. The murmurs quieted as I stood in front of the desks with my arms crossed. My gaze was on you.

"So, [Y/N]" you lift your head to look at me "we were just starting to talk about Romeo and Juliet. About being in love… about relationships. What do you think about love?" I tilt my head.

You look around nervously, everyone staring at you, all the attention on you. I know this makes you quite nervous; this isn't the first time you've had to speak in public and you feel overwhelmed, but I want to know your opinion on this topic.

"It's... it's okay... I guess." you mumble, lowering your head again.

"Just okay?" I insist. "I suppose you've been in love before, right? What does it feel like?"

"Well... your thoughts start to revolve around that person alone... their well-being comes before yours," you reply, your voice breaking.

"But that's kind of... nice. Don't you think?" I remain silent for a few seconds, "or at least the way I see it. Thinking of someone as if they were the most important thing in your life..."

"It's not all pretty... it's not all butterflies along the way. Love hurts." you interrupt me, looking up again.

"But it shouldn't," I say firmly. "Love shouldn't hurt. Love should be the perfect balance between both parties. It should be beautiful all the time. Romeo took his own life because he didn't want a world without his Juliet."

The students around us follow us with their eyes every time we speak, but none of them say anything, attentive to the exchange.

"Yes, but Tinder didn't exist back then." You sigh, and your classmates laugh. "Love isn't all pretty."

"Not if you're with the wrong person," I blurt out before I can think of a better answer.

Your face changes completely, and you look back down at your notebook. I immediately regret it. "Anyway... Camille, start reading the passage on page 32." I walk around the table and sit down in my chair, turning my attention back to the book.

Even though the conversation is over, I still think about it constantly in my mind. It's incredible that you have that thought about love just because someone doesn't know how to treat you the way you deserve. At no point was my intention to make you feel bad, but I think if someone doesn't tell you how things really are, you'll never realize what's happening right in front of your eyes.

The remaining 40 minutes of class continue as usual. I continue talking about the tragic story between these two young people, all the while keeping an eye on you. You haven't even raised your head; you only deign to look at your notebook, and it makes me angry to think that my words have truly hurt you. When the bell rings and everyone starts gathering their things to leave, I sit at my desk with only one goal in mind: to talk to you. I say goodbye to the students as they all leave one by one, and when you're about to leave, I speak to you directly.

"Miss [your last name], can we talk?" You turn your head when you hear my voice and remain silent for a few seconds, pondering the question in your head. "It'll be quick, I promise."

"Sure, but I have to be in art history in 10 minutes," you reply in a mumble, letting me know you're not too keen on staying to talk with me.

"Well, I think Miss Johnson will understand," I commented, referring to the art history teacher. "I didn't mean to hurt you with my words and I'm very sorry if that's what happened."

You nod slightly and that's when you look me in the eyes for the first time. "It's okay, Mr. Styles. You have a opinion on love and I have a different one. Not everyone can have the same opinions and that's okay."

"But what I meant was that..." I remain silent for a few seconds, trying to find the best words to say to you and then I continue "It's not right that you have that opinion about love, just because someone made you think that way."

"I think most of us have that opinion about love. Obviously, love is beautiful at first, but then it gets complicated. Or at least that's what happens to most of us young fools in love. I'm glad you were able to experience love in a beautiful enough way to have that opinion, but unfortunately, I haven't." you say, and I feel my heart sink in my chest little by little.

"Y/N..." I call your name this time. "What that boy is doing to you, if it's what I think he's doing, it's not right at all, and you should leave him."

"With all due respect, Mr. Styles, you shouldn't be telling me how to act in my relationship," you say harshly. "Any problems I may have in my relationship are my own business, so I'd like us to not discuss this again. Have a nice day." With that, you walk out the door, leaving me with a thousand words in my mouth.

I let out a long sigh and look back at the book on my desk, still open to the page containing the short story of Romeo and Juliet. I shake my head lightly and stand up, closing the book. I throw my jacket over my shoulder, grab my briefcase, and walk out of class, leaving our little argument behind.

The next few days unfold in a strange way. You come to class, but you don't bother to look at me. You don't even try to participate like you used to. You keep hiding behind your sad eyes. Every day it becomes more evident that something is affecting you deeply, and I'm not the only one who sees it. I watch as your friends talk to you seriously at the lunch table, as you avoid their questions. I'm worried about how many times you ask me to go to the bathroom during each class. You don't even do your homework anymore, and it's not just that you're ruining your career, but your life. And I wish I could know what that boy is doing to you. I wish you would ask for help.

I walk toward my car with the umbrella in my hand sheltering me from the rain, saying goodbye to the students I meet along the way, wishing them a good weekend. The faculty parking lot is practically empty. It's already late, but I had to stay behind to review some exams. As I'm about to get in the car, I hear shouts that make me jerk my head toward the university entrance.

Your boyfriend is riding his motorcycle, putting on his helmet, while you're yelling at him. Your books in your hand, which are getting wet from the rain. He starts the motorcycle's engine, and you stare at him in disbelief.

"Are you kidding me, Luke?" you say as he eases off the pedal of the bike. "Are you just going to leave me here stranded while it pours with rain?"

"You're the one behaving like an insolent brat. You don't even deserve a ride home. We can talk when you're calmer," he blurts out, then speeds off, leaving the university behind.

"Oh great, that's very mature of you, thank you so much!" you shout, but he's already far enough away to hear you.

You stand there, books in hand, watching as he rides away and disappears from your sight. You don't even bother to go under the awning, so as not to get wet. Then, I decide to get in my car and start the engine, it's obvious you have no way to get home and that jerk left you standing in the rain, I don't want you to get hypothermia. I press the pedal, getting the car moving, and drive up to where you are. You turn your head, noticing my car approaching, and I roll down the window, giving you a small smile.

"I think you need a ride home," I say, "and I have four free seats in this car, so... what do you say?"

"No need to bother yourself, Mr. Styles. I can call my mom," you say, but you still don't make any attempt to pick up the phone or at least take shelter from the rain.

"Come on, it's no bother. Besides, it's my duty as a teacher to make sure you're safe and sound." Your expression still doesn't change, which tells me you're going to keep refusing. "Please, it's raining heavily, and you'll get sick if you stay down there. Get in the car."

You look around doubtfully, but then I notice your expression turn calm. You look back at me and without another word, you walk around the car and climb into the passenger seat. As soon as you close the door behind you, I turn on the heater so you can warm up.

"I live in Sutton, if it's a long way for you I can take the train." you say as you turn your head to look at me.

"It's no problem, really. Besides, I like driving, so it'll be nice." I say, giving you a small smile. But still, I know I'm not going to let the minor detail of how your boyfriend left you stranded in the rain slide. "I also think you could use a mug of hot chocolate, so I'm taking you to my favorite cafe in all London. And I won't take no for an answer." You were already on the verge of refusing.

I rev the car again and drive through the London streets. At least I'm relieved that you're no longer trembling like an abandoned kitten. It's obvious this situation makes you uncomfortable, and that's normal. It's very strange that your teacher would invite you in for a cup of hot chocolate, but it's simply because I want to know what the hell is going on.

I have no idea if this is a case of abuse, and I hope it isn't and you're just having the typical relationship problems that most young people have. I hope I don't have to find out that this guy isn't just hurting you psychologically, but physically as well. And I really hope I'm just imagining things.

I park the car in one of the underground parking garages near the cafeteria and turn to look at you. You remain silent and don't even turn your head to look at me, but I speak to you anyway, "We're here." We remain silent again for a few seconds. "Hey, just accept this cup of hot chocolate, and then you can go back to pretending I don't exist. You can keep ignoring me in class, and I won't say a word."

"I'm not ignoring you, Mr. Styles," you murmur. "I'm just embarrassed to look at you after the other day. And not just you. Practically everyone. So please don't hold it against me. I really like your class and I really enjoy literature."

I sigh lightly. "Do you think we can talk about it in the cafeteria?"

You give a small nod and get out of the car, making me feel relieved because you're finally willing to talk to me about the topic that's been on my mind for a few weeks.

I get out too and lock the car, approaching and walking beside you to the parking lot exit. Only our footsteps can be heard as we walk toward the cafeteria, but it's not an awkward silence, since we both know the real conversation will begin once we sit down.

The café isn't very crowded; after all, it's midday, and people are probably at home. We walk to the first free table we see next to the window overlooking the street, where you can occasionally see people passing by, and the more curious ones stop to look inside.

I watch as you take the drinks menu in your hands and give it a quick once-over. You flip through the pages quickly, not even bothering to read the ingredients. This makes me tilt my head slightly. "If I may give you a recommendation, the cappuccino here is delicious. In fact, I always order it with a little cream on top and extra cinnamon. When I'm feeling a little sad, I also ask them to add some marshmallows."

You look up at me, arching an eyebrow slightly. "Do you come here often?" you ask with a hint of humor.

I laugh a little and look around. When my gaze rests on you again, I answer. "I used to work here before I passed the exams and became a university professor. I know every single drink on that menu, both how to make them and how they taste. So every combination I come up with, is probably something I've made myself in the past, and I know you'll love it."

I can see an attempt at a smile on your lips, and you look back at the menu, this time to close it. "I'll listen to you, then. Since you're the one who's worked here."

"Good choice. I'm sure you won't be disappointed. After all, marshmallows are never a bad accompaniment to a cappuccino."

One of the waitresses comes over to serve us, and when she sees me, she gives me a smile. "Harry! What a surprise to see you here again. Is this the fifth time this week?" she jokes as she takes her small notebook out of her pocket.

"Hello to you too, Emily." I reply, and she moves her gaze to you.

“Who is your companion?” she asks.

“Uh… she is…” i start.

“Just a friend.” You interrupt, offering Emily a small smile. Actually, I'm glad you took the initiative to say you're just a friend. Calling you my student might sound a little harsh.

"Yeah, a friend..." Emily says, turning her head slightly toward me to wink, which I feel awkward saying to myself. "What should I get you and your little friend?"

"Two cappuccinos with cream, extra cinnamon, and marshmallows, please," I order with a small smile.

"Coming up, two monstrosities for the palate." With that, Emily leaves, leaving us alone again.

"She's nice," you say, simply looking down at your hands resting on the table.

"Oh come on, she's the worst. We didn't get along when I worked here," I say, leaning back in my chair.

At least I get a little laugh out of you "yes, the truth is that she seems to be the worst."

I wait quietly for a few seconds to see if you'll somehow bring up the conversation I've been waiting for, but you don't. It's obvious you want to avoid this topic as much as possible, but something inside me is screaming for me to talk to you about it. So I can't stay silent much longer.

"Why did he leave you stranded at the entrance to the university while the downpour of the century was falling?" I ask softly, playing with my hands. You take a while to answer, even avoiding my gaze. You're probably thinking this is a topic I shouldn't get involved in, but you decide to answer anyway.

"He's not a bad guy. At least he wasn't when we first started dating, or when we first started talking..." You lift your head to look at me. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm constantly trying to defend him when it's obvious what he's doing is wrong."

"You can tell me. I promise I won't criticize you or the situation. It's just that if I see you're having a bad time, my job as a responsible adult is to give you my best advice and try to help you. If you're in a dangerous situation—"

You interrupt me immediately, "No, no... it's not that, he's never hurt me, he's never laid a hand on me."

"Well, I saw him grab your arm in the hallway at university. And it wasn't exactly a gentle grab," I remember.

You sigh lightly, "When he gets frustrated, he acts differently than he really is, but I swear when we're alone together, he's a sweetheart."

"That's exactly what someone in danger would say. Someone so blinded by love, they don't see the reality of what's happening." I say, and you stay quiet. "Listen, Y/N, love doesn't have to hurt." I repeat the words I said in class that day. "Love is wonderful. It's hope, it's a future, it's excitement, it's acceptance, protection, affection, and above all, respect."

You remain silent, so I take this as a cue to keep talking. "Your boyfriend isn't respecting you. He's exerting power over you that he shouldn't. He's implying that he can do whatever he wants with you, that he can leave you standing in the rain and you won't say a word about it. That he can grab your arm harshly in the hallway at school to make you obey. That's not love."

"Then teach me what love is," you say, looking into my eyes.

The request leaves me so stunned that only a simple "what?" comes out of my mouth.

"I'm not stupid, Mr. Styles. I see the way you glance at me in class every two minutes. The way your eyes wander every time we pass each other in the hallway. The way you always wait for me to raise my hand in class to hear my answer. You always use my essays as an example, even if they aren't that great. Don't get me wrong; I'm flattered that a man as attractive as you is attracted to me. But I've never taken things seriously enough to say anything until you invited me to a cappuccino at your favorite coffee shop. And don't tell me it's just to talk about my boyfriend."

I search my head for the exact words I can say now so as not to look like a real perverted teacher who is totally crazy about his student. It may be true what you just said, but obviously I can't confess it. And the worst part is, I'm not thinking about losing my job, but about the things that must be going through your head right now.

"I don't know what you're talking about..." and those are the only words my head has been able to utter.

You snort heavily and lean back in your chair. You cross your arms and squint at me. I can't tell if you're angry or just trying to tickle me.

"Seriously, are you going to deny it after being after me for months?" you say.

"Listen, Y/N, you're a beautiful girl, and maybe I was attracted to you once, but that's normal, I'm a man with eyes and you're young, but not so young that it would be considered wrong. We're only about eight, nine years apart in age, so even if it were actually true, it's not crazy." I try to reason.

"So you just confirmed that you're indeed attracted to me, and the idea doesn't seem so bad to you since we're only eight years apart. Plus, you called me beautiful," you say with a slight smile.

"And you said you find me attractive," I counter.

"And I do. I think you're a very attractive man, aside from the fact that you're my teacher. And I can't see the madness, since I'm of legal age and we're only eight years apart." you say.

"Okay, I think you're talking too much now." I say, trying to let the topic drop.

"Oh come on, we've only just started. Are you nervous? Do you think something could really happen between us?" You tilt your head.

"I don't think it's the right thing for something to happen between us." I look up at you.

"But you're not denying it either."

I let out a heavy sigh and looked away. If you were trying to tickle me, you are, indeed, and I don't know how to respond anymore. Damn, of course I'd like something to happen between us. You're probably one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen, and on top of that, you like literature and you're a good girl. I'd die for something to happen between us.

"You're enjoying this way too much. We didn’t come here for this, if not to talk about your shitty boyfriend, and now this whole thing seems like a bad idea to me." I say in a mumble.

"Oh, well now I want to talk about how horny I make you every time you see me.” you say smiling.

I lean across the table so you can hear me clearly, "Don't say it too loud, someone will hear you."

"Oh, are you afraid someone will find out that you want to fuck your student?"

“For God’s sake, Y/N.” I close my eyes and let out a sigh. Who told me to bring you here?

"Listen, maybe I'm actually wrong and you're not actually attracted to me and don't want to fuck me, so I'm going to make this easy. I'm going to go to the bathroom and wait for you there for 15 minutes. If you don't show up, I’ll go home. But if you do, we'll probably have the best sex of our lives in a public bathroom. So, Mr. Styles, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to retire to the bathroom." Your words leave me so stunned that I don't even notice when you get up and walk into the bathroom, closing the door behind you, but not before giving me a quick glance.

What can a person like me do in a situation like this? The most reasonable thing would be to pay for the cappuccinos, which haven't even been served yet, leave the cafe, get in my car, and drive home without looking back. But that little part of my head, thinking about how fucking pleasurable it would be to stick my cock in your pussy right now, is screaming for me to get in that bathroom.

And since I'm a fucking idiot, I'm going to go for the second option.

I quickly get up from my chair and take a wide stride to the bathroom. I open the door and step inside as quickly as I can, closing it behind me. I scan the space and find you sitting on top of the sink, staring at me intently.

"So my literature teacher decided the best idea today was to fuck his student, who's eight years his senior." You say. "I'm not going to refuse either. I think I'm even looking forward to it more than you are. Besides, you're one of those guys who has a huge cock."

I let out a small laugh "let me tell you, you won't be disappointed."

I close the distance between us and position myself between your legs, cupping your face in my hands. I caress your cheeks with my thumbs as I inspect every detail of you. You truly are one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen.

"Do you want to kiss me?" you ask

"Sweetheart, I want to do so much more than kiss you." With nothing else to add, I capture your lips fiercely in mine.

The kiss is passionate, full of desire. My tongue touches your lips, asking permission to enter. The moment you let me, all is lost.

I raise my hands to your hair, gripping it tightly, making you throw your head back and giving me a better view of your neck. I lower my kisses to it. I lick, suck, bite, all between our ragged breaths. I even dare to leave a few marks; I just want to drive your boyfriend crazy.

"God, I want you so bad." I say between bites, my breath hot on your neck.

“Then have me…” you gasp.

My head snaps up to look at you, your words stirring something inside me, igniting something. "Fuck, I need you now, fuck the consequences."

I move back down to your neck, placing my kisses on that area, while with my hands I lightly lift your shirt. My fingers gently run down your torso, then up toward your breasts.

"I love it when you don't wear a bra. Do you know how hard it is for me not to stare at your nipples in class? The way they pop out—fuck." I grip them tightly, making you gasp.

I lift your shirt up over your head and help you take it off. It's the first time I've seen your tits in front of me, and I think I could get down on my knees and pray. How fucking wonderful. I'll probably regret this tomorrow, but right now all I can do is enjoy myself.

I don't wait much longer before grabbing them and slipping one into my mouth. I begin to trace circles with my tongue around your nipple, making it hard. I hear you moan slightly, but I'm so focused on sucking on your tits that I can't think of anything else right now. I move over to the other one and do the same thing until your nipples are as hard as an iceberg. I pull away a little and continue rubbing them with my two thumbs. I'm an atheist, but I could start to believe.

I raise my head to look at you again, and I see your head leaning back against the bathroom mirror, your eyes closed, and your bottom lip between your teeth. I smile at the sight. "Tell me, Y/N, does your boyfriend suck your tits this fucking good?"

"He doesn't even suck them..." you say between moans.

What a fucking asshole.

"I hope he at least eats your pussy properly. Otherwise I don't understand what you're doing with him," I say as my thumbs continue to rub your nipples.

You look down at me with a look of shame and embarrassment, letting me know that he doesn’t even eat your pussy.

"You're lucky I'm feeling generous today. I'm going to show you how a real man treats a woman, and I hope that when we get out of this bathroom, you send that asshole a text telling him you're done. Because after I do what I'm about to do to you, you won't want anyone else to touch you." I growl.

With nothing else to add, I lower my hand to the button of your jeans and unbutton it, never taking my eyes off you for a single moment. I grab the hem and drag them down, and without much effort, your thong falls with them, leaving a trail of moisture along your thighs.

"Fuck, look at that, you're dripping..." My hand moves up your thigh to your intimate, and I run my fingers through your folds, making you shiver. "All this just for me?" I smile.

I raise my fingers to my mouth and suck them, not leaving a drop of your juices on them. You let out a moan just by looking at me.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting to have you like this... to taste you... and fuck, it's perfect." I lower my hand back to your pussy. "I can't wait to feel my cock inside that wet little cunt."

Without warning, I shove two fingers inside you, making you jump in the sink. I move them slowly at first, giving your walls time to adjust to me, but you're so tight... God, I could cum right here just feeling you close around my fingers.

The pace increases, and with it your moans. Someone could walk in at any moment and find us here, but right now I don't give a damn. When you get used to two fingers, I insert a third, bending them to find that spot I know drives women crazy, but you don't seem to.

"Oh, don't tell me you're more of a clitoris person..." I say laughing.

"What woman isn't more into clitoris?" you gasp.

"Fair enough." My thumb joins in, and with pressure like pressing a button, begins rubbing your clit in circular motions.

My four fingers keep working on you and your moans start to get louder and louder, I have no choice but to use my other hand to cover your mouth. My pants are about to burst. I know I can't hold out much longer. I need my cock inside your pussy now. But I'm a gentleman, and I want to make you come first, so I have no choice but to use my mouth for something other than talking.

"I'm going down, so I hope you don't moan too loudly and that someone hears us, or do you want this adventure to end?" You quickly shake your head. "Good girl."

I remove my hand from your mouth and use it to help your legs rise, so that your feet are resting on the sink and you're fully exposed to me. My other hand continues working on you as I get on my knees and watch your pussy open just for me. Your juices are dripping everywhere, your clit is red and begging to be eaten.

"Fuck, how could you have this hidden just for him?" I say angrily. "You should be in a fucking museum."

I run my tongue along your folds to your clit and hear you moan like never before. I laugh into your pussy, making you vibrate, and I raise my gaze to your eyes as I repeat the motion again. You try to look away, but I'm faster.

"No, no. I want you to look into my eyes while I make you cum. Don't take your eyes off me," I command.

"Okay, Mr. Styles," you say, your breath hitching, and I moan softly. You bitch, you know exactly what you're doing.

My tongue dives between your folds again, but this time I let it focus on your clit. I lick it, suck it, even let my teeth graze it a little. My right hand resumes its work, and I insert my three fingers again, pumping them inside you at a rapid pace. I need you to come now, I need to be inside you, please.

As if a genie granted my wish, I feel your walls begin to tighten around my fingers. I can't take my eyes off yours, your mouth parting. God, you're coming, I can feel it.

I speed up my fingers, sucking on your clit as if my life depended on it. Your head throws back and your eyes close. You can't hold it in any longer, and I feel you explode in my hand. Fluids run down my arm and your breathing quickens. You let out one last moan, so loud I think it could have been heard on the street outside. I keep pumping for a few more seconds, wanting your orgasm to last as long as possible. I could frame your face in a picture right now. What a perfect image.

I stand back up and remove my hand from your pussy. Your legs droop. The sink is soaked. Fuck. "Open your mouth," I order.

You open your eyes to look at me, and without protest, you open your mouth. I insert my fingers, soaked with your juices, into it and force it closed. You suck on them intensely, and that makes me smile. "Good girl... tasting yourself... you like to eat your own juices, hm? I don't want you to leave even a drop."

I feel your tongue running between my fingers, making sure not a single spot is left unlicked. I remove my hand from your mouth and grab your face with it, kissing you harshly. My tongue enters your mouth aggressively. God, everything tastes like you.

I pull away from you "Get up, I can't wait to put my cock in that pussy, come on."

Without protest, you struggle to your feet, your legs shaking. You can't even stay upright, and you end up leaning against the sink. This makes me laugh. I grip your hips tightly and flip you over, leaving you facing away from me, your face toward the mirror. I have you lean slightly over the sink and I look down at your ass. I slap you once, and you moan.

"So you like being punished..." I murmured, slapping you again. "You're too dirty."

"I've been very bad, Professor..." you joke.

I burst out laughing, "Fuck, so you deserve to be punished... you deserve to be treated like the little whore you are, hm?"

I unbuckle my belt and unbutton my pants. With one movement, I manage to pull them down along with my boxers. My cock is fully erect, the tip red, ready for action. I watch as you glance back slightly, surprised by what you're seeing. "Fuck... I knew you had a big one, but-" you say.

"I told you you were going to be surprised, sweetheart..." I say, grabbing my cock and running it through the folds of your pussy, letting it soak, lubricate with your juices. You let out another small moan, and my cock reacts to it. "I'm going to fill that pussy with my cum and enjoy every moment of it..."

"What happens if someone breaks in?" you ask.

"Let them enjoy the show," I say before plunging my cock inside you, causing you to let out a gasp. "So tight... come on, you can do it. I'm sure you can handle every inch of me."

I keep thrusting into you, forcing your pussy to open for me. Before I know it, my cock is all the way in. "Good girl, you're doing great."

Tears spring to your eyes as I pull back in forcefully. I grab your hair and pull, making you look at yourself in the mirror. That's it, just like that…

The only sound heard alongside our moans is the sound of our bodies colliding. With my other hand, I grip your ass tightly, knowing it'll leave a mark.

"You have no idea how much I've imagined this, how much I've ached to have you like this," I murmur, "You have no idea how much I've wanted to feel your body beneath me, screaming my name. Scream my name, sweetheart…"

“Harry…” you moan.

"Not that name, sweetheart. The other one." I say.

“Mr. Styles…” you moan again.

“Good girl.” i smile. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

My thrusts get harder, your moans get louder. I feel your walls tighten around me again. But fuck, I don't want this to ever end.

My cock slides in and out of your pussy with ease; you're so wet it just slides off. Your ass is red from my grip. You're staring at yourself in the mirror. God, you're reaching orgasm again. I move my hand from your ass to your clit and rub it again. I can tell it's sensitive from the way you jump at the touch. I squeeze hard and move my fingers in circles. You're on the brink, you're going to explode again.

"I'm... I'm coming again." you say between moans.

"Cum for me, sweetheart. Cum on my cock," I say as I speed up the pace of my thrusts.

The last moan sounds loud and your walls clench completely. You come hard and collapse into the sink. Juices run down your legs, onto mine even. I give the last few thrusts and pull out, looking down. My cock is dripping. But it's not over yet. I brush your hair away from your face and grip it tightly. "You're not done yet, baby."

I have you kneel in front of me, still holding onto your hair. Without saying anything, your mouth opens. "Do I have permission to fuck your mouth, sweetheart?" You nod instantly, and that makes me smile. "Good girl."

With my hand gripping your hair, I pull you towards me, sinking my cock into your throat. Tears spring to your eyes, but you don't stop me; you handle it like a champion. I put aside the softness and thrust into your mouth hard, simply thinking about the image of your mouth dripping with my cum. I throw my head back in pleasure as I increase my thrusts. I hear how you choke sometimes, and it drives me crazy. God, screw the university! I'm never letting you go again.

I feel my orgasm building and look down. You're holding it so well. "I'm coming, sweetheart. Be good for me and swallow every last drop..."

My words make you moan, and the sound rumbles in my cock. I don't need anything else to reach orgasm and cum hard in your mouth. The threads of semen running down your chin to your neck. That's the best image in the world. When I notice the orgasm subsiding, I withdraw my cock from your mouth and watch you swallow every last drop. Your throat must feel hot right now.

I brush the hair away from your face again and grab your chin, pulling it up so you're looking at me. "Good girl."

.

.

.

.