Page 13 of Off-Ice Misconduct
I can’t hide the smirk. Right. My penis doodles. Some of them had cute little faces and clothes. They were fucking adorable, but he doesn’t look impressed by them. “Yes, sir.”
The smattering of fourth-year Delta Gammas glare their faces off in my direction while I take my seat. I rub my temples some more, and Bender slips me a breakfast wrap he brought from the cafeteria. “Thanks, man,” I whisper. It’s not gonna be enough to fill me up, but it’ll stave off the hunger pangs.
Hmmm. Also gives me an idea, though.
VanCourt gives us one of his promised pop quizzes, which I’m surely gonna fail. With all the shit that went on over the weekend, I didn’t find the time. But I quickly forget about my shortcomings as a student, mesmerized by the titan of a man prowling at the front of the classroom, using that growly voice to make words that should never be considered sexy, fucking sinful. I’ll never hear the word essay the same again.
There’s something strict about the man that heats my insides. Just like last class, his unyielding tone is doing something for me, and I can’t explain it. My body buzzes with tingles, hanging off his every word as blood seeps into my dick, filling it slowly. Thank fucking god I’m in sweats.
Once the class lets out, I don’t move. I get apologetic looks from my friends while I try not to look too excited about being held back. I’m supposed to be mad about it. For real, though? I’m not. The excitement has me sizzling. All damn class; I enjoyed the most magnificent edging session. The now rock-solid boner in my pants was only a delightful half-chub at the beginning of class, and that was just from his voice.
Every time he snapped that fucking pointer stick on the desk—which kinda looks like a retractable cane if you ask me—more blood pooled in my cock. Now, it hurts. The urge to press my hips up and thrust into the desk has become unbearable. I’m practically shaking and I’m not sure I’ll be able to stave off the building orgasm if he does even one more fucking thing.
Jesus. It’s like I’m a teenager with my first fucking boner. Though nothing has ever made me feel like this. Is it the forbidden aspect? He’s my professor and at least ten years older than I am. Or is it his pure hatred for me? Do I really get off on … what? How do I explain this one? I’ve heard of people who like to be told what to do, and I guess there’s an element of that, yet that’s not quite it.
Let’s see. What do I like about the situation?
Sexy, no-nonsense voice? Yep. Promise of consequences? Yep. An old-fashioned strictness that says “obey me or else”? Yep. It’s all of those things. Not to mention he’s smoking fucking hot. He wore nice-ish clothes today, too. Which, don’t get me wrong, he fills out those slacks like nobody’s business, but I loved the wolverine, mountain-man look he was sporting last time.
The one that said, “I will tear your head off with my claws and leave you for the crows to eat”.
God.
What the fuck is wrong with me? This is so unlike me, I might take a fucking sick day.
Now that we’re alone in this classroom together, me about to get dressed down for blatant disrespect, I can’t breathe. The only other place I’ve ever felt this alive is on the ice. And lemme tell you, I never thought I could feel this way off the ice. Now that I know I can, I want it. Want to keep it.
I may never know what to call what’s attracting me to him, but I’m already addicted to the lightning-esque sensation that’s broken out all over my body, threatening to split my cock in two.
“Get your ass down here, McKinnon.”
Fuck, okay. I don’t usually like being ordered around, but I fucking love that. Maybe it’s just him, though? Only one way to find out.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I jog down the stairs toward the desk. He’s pulled the notebook from his laptop bag, the same one I was supposed to write lines in last time. He slams it down.
“Do you recognize these?”
There are no witnesses, and he’s got no real proof I drew those. My word against his kind of thing.
“Looks like someone anthropomorphized penises, sir. Is that one wearing a hockey jersey?”
He glowers. Pretty sure I’m leaking now.
“I could make a sexual harassment complaint, McKinnon.”
I swallow. He can? “But they’re just cartoons, sir. Not real penises.” Unlike the very real penis in my pants that wants him to touch it. If only he knew about the things I want him to do to me, he’d drag me to the school’s sexual harassment office immediately.
“Even still, these are unacceptable.”
The word unacceptable has never been so hot. I half expect him to tell me to unbutton my pants and lay myself over the desk for punishment with that retractable pointer Iknowis a fuckingcane. He can spank me till I’m screaming and crying then shove his cock inside without any mercy.
That’s what would happen in a porno, Ace, and you are not in a porno.
Dammit. Kind of wish I was.
I’d feel so owned. I’ve never had that. Didn’t even know I wanted that until exactly right now.
“A-Are you going to report me, sir? Or can I make it up to you in some other way?” Like by sucking your dick? Fuck. Probably not. I doubt he’ll want me to make amends for what he’s calling sexual harassment by sexually harassing me back.
