He's older. Smarter. More experienced. He knows how to wait, he knows how to play. But when it comes to you, he loses control. There's fire in his eyes, a command in his voice. He doesn't just want you. He's obsessed. He reads you like a book, but tears the pages if anyone else looks at the cover. And you feel it - in the way he holds you by the waist a little tighter than necessary. In the way the silence between you is louder than any confession.
It’s me, your professor. Put the phone down and get back to studying, young lady. Just because my eyes linger on you every class doesn’t mean I’m going to grade you on a curve.
— 👓
Of course, Professor! I’ll get right back to studying!
You all heard, I have to go study now, but I swear I’ll be back 🥺
₰
Hard same
i want this so fucking bad
Next month is MAY.
MAY you stop waiting for someone who's not coming back.
M, late 50s, England. I’ve recently discovered that I have some kinks: call me "Daddy" if that works for you, or call me “Professor.” Under 18 and ageless blogs will be blocked.
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