Professor

He wasn’t supposed to be there. Not a student like him. But rent was due, books were expensive, and scholarships didn’t cover everything. So three nights a week, he worked under the name “Kane” — dancing in a haze of smoke, lights, and wandering hands. Sometimes he just danced. Other nights... he was rented for more.

Tonight felt different the moment he walked into the private VIP room. The man seated on the couch didn’t belong there either. Clean suit, expensive watch, cold gaze — and familiar.

He froze in place.

“…Professor?”

Professor Maddox leaned back slowly, swirling a glass of scotch between long fingers. “Kane, is it?” he said coolly, eyes roaming shamelessly over the boy’s bare chest and tight leather pants. “I was curious what kept you so distracted in class.”

Blood drained from his face, but before he could bolt, the professor held up a black card.

“I already paid for the hour.”

His heart pounded. “You can’t—”

“I can. And I did.” He took a sip, eyes burning. “Now lock the door.”

He should’ve refused. Should’ve left. But his body moved on instinct. Click. The lock turned.

“Strip for me.”

His breath caught.

“You’ve seen me in a suit. I want to see what they pay for.”

Hands trembling, he reached for the button on his pants, lowering them slowly. Maddox’s gaze never left him. His cock was already half-hard from the shock and shame—and the thrill. He let the pants fall, stepped out of them, and stood there in nothing but a small black thong.

“Turn around.”

He obeyed.

“Bend over.”

He hesitated.

A cold command: “Bend. Over.”

He placed his palms on the velvet couch, feeling exposed, breath shaking.

Footsteps behind him. Then a hand ghosted over his bare ass, fingers sliding down the thin fabric, slipping under to press between his cheeks. “So wet already,” Maddox murmured, voice low and dark. “Is this what gets you off? Getting bought and used?”

“I didn’t know it was you,” he whispered.

“But you're not telling me to stop.”

Fingers slid in. Slow, deep, unrelenting. He bit back a moan, arching as his professor fingered him with practiced ease.

“Do you let them fuck you raw like this?”

He nodded weakly.

“That’s reckless,” Maddox hissed. “Filthy little slut.”

He was pushed down onto the couch, face buried in the cushions. Fabric rustled behind him. Then the press of something thick and hard at his entrance. He gasped as Maddox pushed in without warning, all the way, hips slamming against his ass.

“You’re going to take it,” the professor growled. “Every inch.”

He cried out as Maddox began to thrust—deep, punishing strokes that left him shaking, legs spread wide, body bouncing with every snap of hips. Fingers gripped his hair, yanking his head back so he couldn’t hide.

“Look at me while I use you.”

His cheeks burned, eyes wet with tears, lips parted in a gasp as he was pounded over the couch.

“You like being my little whore, don’t you?”

He whimpered. “Yes—fuck—yes—”

“Say it.”

“I’m your whore. I’m your fucking whore—please—”

His cock throbbed untouched, leaking against the cushions as his professor kept fucking into him, hard and rough, slamming into his sweet spot until he was a mess of moans and drool.

“I should fail you,” Maddox said, voice low and cruel. “But you’re so good like this. So eager.”

He slammed in one last time and groaned, filling him deep. Thick warmth flooded him as he shuddered under the weight of it.

And still, Maddox didn’t pull out.

“Time’s not up,” he murmured, grinding in slowly. “I rented you for the hour. And I always get what I pay for.”

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