My Favorite Student

She'd been eye-fucking Marcus for weeks, wondering if that bulge in his pants was the real deal. The guy's always packing heat behind his zipper, six-foot-something of cocky confidence in tight jeans. Today she finally texts him: office hours, bring the proof. He shows up grinning like he owns the place. She tells him to drop the pants and he doesn't hesitate—thick, heavy meat swings out, already getting stiff, black as coal and bigger than her forearm. Her hand barely wraps around it. She strokes him once, twice, feeling the veins pop against her palm. "I knew you'd bring the good stuff," she says, voice all husky. Marcus grins wider. She kicks her office door shut and bends over the desk, ass up, skirt flipped. "Condom's on the table. Don't make me wait." He rolls it on, lines up, and drives in hard—stretching her wide open around that fat cock. She grips the desk edge like she's about to break it. The wet slap of his hips hitting her ass echoes through the room. Every thrust knocks something else off the desk—papers, pens, her graded exams scatter like debris. Marcus grabs her hips and fucks like he's late for class, balls-deep and then some, pounding her spot until she's biting her forearm to stay quiet. His strokes get quicker, rougher, and she cums first, thighs shaking. He keeps hammering through it, chasing his own finish with that same cocky smirk until he pulls out, snatches the rubber off, and jerks thick ropes across her ass and the small of her back.