Red & Black: s*x, Love, and Lingerie

Abigail’s POV I shivered as I walked down the long hallway to the Dean’s office. The wooden floor creaked under my shoes, and the cold air made goosebumps rise on my arms even though it was warm outside. I knew exactly why I was here. I’d been caught skipping afternoon lectures again—the third time this month. Professor Markus would be waiting, same as always, with that stern look on his face that never quite hid the hunger in his eyes. Trouble and I became best friends the very first day I arrived at St. Agnes All-Girls College. I was eighteen, fresh off the bus from a small town where nothing exciting ever happened. A senior girl named Chloe decided I looked too full of myself. She called me “princess” and shoved me in the dining hall line. I shoved back. Hard. By the end of that day, I was bent over the Dean’s desk getting my first spanking. I still remember how shocked I was when the sting turned into something else. Something hot and liquid that pooled low in my belly. Every smack made me wetter. I tried to hide it, pressing my thighs together, but Professor Markus noticed. Of course he did. By the time he finished, my skirt was up around my waist, my panties around my knees, and I was moaning like I’d forgotten how to be quiet. He slid my panties down the rest of the way, saw how soaked I was, and called me a dirty little slut who needed a proper lesson. Then he pulled out his c**k—thick, hard, and already leaking—and took my virginity right there on his desk. He spanked me the whole time he f****d me, each slap matching his thrusts until I came so hard my legs shook. Afterward, I dropped to my knees without being told and sucked him clean, playing with myself while I did it. I came again just from the taste of us mixed. The very next day, I was back in his office. I’d “forgotten” to hand in an assignment. He spanked me again. And again the day after that. Now I’m twenty-two, in my final year, and things have changed so much. I’m not just in trouble anymore—I go looking for it. Every couple of days, I do something stupid on purpose: talk back in class, sneak out after curfew, leave my uniform blouse unbuttoned one too many buttons—anything to earn another trip to this hallway. I’m addicted to the burn, to the way my ass glows red and tender afterward. And I’m addicted to what comes next. Professor Markus loves my ass more than anything else. Regular s*x doesn’t interest him much anymore, and honestly, it doesn’t do it for me either. The first time he took me there, I cried and begged him to stop. It hurt so much I thought I’d split in two. But he held my hips tight, spanked me until I relaxed, and kept going slow and deep until the pain melted into something else—something overwhelming and perfect. Now I crave it. I love the stretch, the fullness, the way he groans when he’s buried all the way inside me. When he finishes, he pulls out and paints my red cheeks with the last spurts of his c*m. Sometimes he makes me stay bent over his desk while it drips down my thighs, so that he can admire his work. I don’t know what I’ll do when I graduate. The thought makes my stomach twist. Who else will understand this need? Who else will spank me until I’m sobbing and dripping, then f**k my ass until I can’t think straight? For now, though, I still have months left. I’m going to take every single chance I can get. I knocked once on the heavy oak door. “Come in, Abigail.” His voice was deep and calm, the same voice he used to lecture the whole school at assembly. But I knew better. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Professor Markus sat behind his big desk, arms crossed, frowning at me like I was the biggest disappointment in the world. His eyes flicked over my body—my short pleated skirt, my white blouse stretched tight across my chest, my knee-high socks. The frown stayed on his face, but the massive bulge in his trousers gave him away completely. “Sit,” he ordered, pointing to the chair in front of his desk. I sat down carefully, already squirming. The wooden seat felt hard against my ass, reminding me of what was coming. He started his lecture right away. “You know why you’re here, Abigail—skipping classes again. Disrespecting the rules. You’re in your final year—don’t you want to graduate with some dignity?” He kept talking, slow and stern, drawing it out on purpose. He knows how crazy it makes me wait. My n*****s were already hard, poking against the thin cotton of my blouse. I could feel them rubbing every time I breathed. My thighs pressed together, trying to ease the ache between my legs. He paused, eyes dropping to my chest, then back to my face. “Are you even listening?” “Yes, Professor,” I whispered, but my voice came out shaky. He leaned back in his chair, letting the silence stretch. My c**t throbbed. I shifted again, unable to stay still. “Abigail,” he said quietly, “you’re wriggling like a needy little girl.” “I can’t help it,” I mumbled. He raised one eyebrow. “You know what happens when you misbehave.” I nodded, biting my lip. “Then why do you keep doing it?” I looked down at my lap, cheeks burning. “Because… because I need it.” “Need what?” he asked, voice low and teasing now. I swallowed hard. My heart was pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it. “Please, Professor,” I finally said, voice cracking. “Would you just spank me? Please.”