SUMMARY: sucking off Professor Riddle while he's talking to a student. that's the summary. have fun. ;)
WARNINGS: MATURE CONTENT. nasty nasty stuff. messy blowjob. exhibitionism, rough oral m!receiving, teasing, slight dumbification, he watches you in the mirror, choking on it, MESSY blowjob again bc I MEAN it, wtf is wrong with me genuinely, reader LOVES gagging on it, cumming in mouth, face slapping, cockwarming
AUTHOR'S NOTE: sometimes I question my sanity while writing these. then I get horny. then I remember yall love me. then, I hit the post button.
wordcount: 3,1k
Your knees ache, dark bruises blooming beneath the thin skin above your joints as you scrape against the rough, worn-down wooden panels of his study. You`ve been here for no more than twenty minutes—not wasting time with unnecessary talking before you sank to your knees and crawled underneath his desk, eager fingers fumbling with the metal of his belt.
Whatever this is between you two—it has shifted into something more than originally intended.
Just once, he said. One time, to improve your grade—he'd sworn to it. To himself more than to you. But one time didn't just stay one time. After two weeks of trying to convince himself he didn't crave you as much as you craved him, his resolve finally shattered.
That very day, he ordered you to stay behind after class ended, and not two minutes later, you were bent over his desk at the front of the classroom, skirt bunched around your waist, his fingers digging into your hips with a bruising grip as his cock slid inside you with one ruthless thrust.
Since that moment, visits in his study have become rather routine than exception—at first, every two weeks. Now, you visit him nearly every day—late at night, when the girls in your dorm are soundly asleep, you slip from beneath the soft warmth of your duvet, cover your pyjamas with your robes, and hurry down the dark, eerily quiet corridors until you reach his study.
Just one issue today—you've been invited to a birthday party of one of your friends after dinner, and you couldn't possibly miss out on that just for the sake of your secret rendezvous with your professor.
However, after seeing him in class earlier today, his new suit fit his beautifully sculptured body to perfection—you couldn't resist. Your thighs pressed together beneath the surface of your desk, and for the rest of your lesson, the only thing on your mind was his pretty cock stuffing you full.
Needless to say, you've been aching for him the rest of the day, and when classes finally ended, you did not even bother returning to your own dorm. Instead, you looked to your left and right before taking the corner leading to the professor's residences and, with four brief knocks—as you agreed upon—announced your presence.
The door flung open with the help of a wandless spell muttered by him, not bothering to interrupt his work for your sake.
Tom knew what you came here for. Knew it the second your gaze lingered on him for too long during class, watched as your thighs clenched together whenever he so much as looked in your direction.
Needy girl.
For you to come here earlier than usual was no surprise. For you to sink to your knees before even speaking a single word wasn't either. So, he lets you do as you please without speaking a word as he continues correcting essays.
The first sound you earn from him is when you work his zipper open and free his already semi-hard cock from the confinement of his trousers, eagerly wrapping your hand around his girthy length—a low growl reverberating from the depths of his chest, dick pulsing to life in your hand.
Professor Riddle isn't a man you can impress easily. Not with outstanding performances in class, and certainly not by being bold and loud—but you, you have found a way.
An incredibly filthy one.
It was your idea to place a mirror opposite his work desk. Your idea to only wear your tiniest skirts and thongs when paying him a visit.
And Tom—he's quickly grown quite fond of your proposition for various reasons.
While he still pretended to focus on the paper in front of him when you entered, as soon as you sank to your knees, he straightened his gaze, watching as you crawled underneath the table on all fours. Your skirt slipped up far enough for him to see it—the red lace thong he left in a box beneath your duvet as a present now slick and soaked with your want for him.
This is the exact reason why he loves this goddamn mirror so much.
Beneath the table, you begin stroking him softly—not tightly enough for it to feel good, but enough to get him hard for you. His cock twitches in your hand, a pearly bead of precum rolling down his flushed tip.
From the corner of your vision, you see his arms still, the faint sound of his fountain pen adding corrections to the essay in front of him fading into silence. That's when you know you've got his full attention on you—on the feeling of your hand pleasuring him, on your reflection in the mirror as you wriggle your ass for him.
"Concentrate, professor." you murmur, collecting the wetness on the head of his cock with the tip of your tongue, humming in approval at the familiar taste. "Wouldn't want you to make a mistake, hm?"
"Quiet," he replies almost instantly, voice raspy, his cock now pulsing and rock-hard in your palm. "Finish what you've started, brat."
His left hand drops to his lap, finds your hair, and pulls you closer—an unspoken warning not to get too brave with him. At the same time, he flips up your skirt with his fine leather shoes again, which slipped down the curve of your ass.
"Now, arch your back and get to work. Want to watch how wet you get just from sucking me."
You do as he says, of course, one hand on his thigh, the other tightly wrapped around his base as you guide the first few inches of him past your glossed lips. He groans lowly when he feels your wet, hot tongue circle the sensitive head of his cock, relaxing back against his chair, his pen slipping from his hand, eyes fluttering closed.
God, he needs this after today.
You take him deeper then—eager to taste his hot cum on your tongue.
But then—just as you're about to choke around him for the first time that evening—two sharp knocks echo from the door to his study.
He tenses instantly, and you draw back in surprise. If anyone sees you two like this, you are in trouble. Big trouble. You inch closer to him beneath the desk, sitting in between his legs in order to make as little of you visible as you can—but clearly Tom isn't satisfied with that solution.
"Hide yourself in the closet," he hisses beneath his breath, watching the door handle as the person knocks another time. "Now!"
You roll your eyes at that, because the closet in his study is fucking tiny—but you decide to listen for once. Or at least, you want to listen for once—however, before you get to do so, the door flies open, and an exasperated student of the second year bursts inside, losing a few papers on the way, stopping right before his desk.
"Professor Riddle, I have something urgent to discuss!"
You sit back down, breathing out a relieved breath. He didn't see you at first glance, thank Merlin and thank whatever gods Muggles believe in.
Tom must be equally relieved, easing the tension in his muscles slightly. He clears his throat before he speaks. "What is it, Mr. Flewett?"
The younger student goes on to explain said urgent matter—and you have to keep yourself from giggling and subsequently getting yourself caught. His very urgent matter is the project due in two days. He's asking—begging—Tom for an extension.
The student must be new here. No one else would dare even think of asking Riddle this—or bursting into his study without permission.
He's talking on and on, without a single break. Trying to explain how busy he's been, that he hasn't yet started with the preparation. Making it worse for him without even meaning to do so.
This is good, you think—he's so caught up in his own problem, in his nervousness, that he doesn't notice you at all, neither as a soft laugh escapes your lips when Tom relaxes fully, and you can clearly imagine the disinterested look that must be etched into his features currently.
His hand finds your hair again then—tugging at the roots gently, shutting you up.
The student is still talking.
And your professor's cock? Twitching right before your lips and so fucking hard, his tip is glistening with precum.
What a terrible waste.
An idea comes to your mind then—lips curving into an evil little smile. This will be fun.
You arch your back again—skirt still bunched around your waist, lace of your panties damp with arousal. The sight of it earns you a low growl from him, shifting slightly in his seat.
The student stumbles over his next words, but keeps talking, explaining, apologising.
Poor Tom—he must be so damn bored. So why not spice it up a little?
Your fingers hook into the lace of your panties, slowly, teasingly easing them down your thighs until they're just above your knees, where they're bent on the floor—your soaked pussy now perfectly angled towards the mirror.
Because you know his eyes are on your reflection in his mirror, not on the student pleading with him to grant him extra time for his project. Riddle stills completely at the sight right before his eyes—but he keeps his composure. For now.
With a relaxed, bored voice, he answers his student that it's not possible to extend the due date. That this is his own fault, a missed chance for a good grade when he is already failing his class.
Tom is so good at this. So awfully talented at keeping his voice steady, his expression neutral and strict, even when his cock is leaking precum, the thick vein on the underside pulsing, practically begging for your lips and mouth. So good at answering nonchalantly, while every hidden part of his body is telling an entirely different story—hand in your hair tightening to a level that's bordering painful, thigh muscles flexing beneath your touch.
Another pearl of precum forms on top of his pretty cock, and this time—this time, you can't resist.
Your face is mere centimetres from his dick, and you close the distance within less than a second, swiping your tongue over the wet, reddened head of his cock, letting the taste of him flood your senses, thighs clenching.
Tom hisses, his hips barely staying seated with much effort on his side. He fucking hisses, not quietly either—shutting the student's rambles up effectively.
His fingers stay buried in your hair—but he doesn't make a move to push you away, instead, he keeps you right there.
"A-Are you alright, Mr. Riddle?" the younger student manages, voice trembling, as do his legs not a metre away from you.
Tom takes his sweet time to respond to that. Moments that must feel like hours to the guy pleading with him, probably already realising his mistake. In the meanwhile, your tongue darts out again, brushing over his tip with short kitten licks, essentially having his hips buck into your touch.
"Yes, yes, I am." Tom grits out, eyes focused on the mirror behind the student, watching you tease him. "We will speak about this matter later—you're dismissed."
From the periphery of your vision, you catch the blonde guy shake his head. "But professor, this is urgent… I—"
You decide it's a good time to wrap your lips around the aching head of his cock, suckling gently, one hand wrapped around his thick, throbbing base—slick with your spit and precum—the second cupping his balls, massaging gently.
"Later," I said." Tom responds, voice shaky. The student gulps, taking a cautious step backwards. "Can you not see I am quite occupied?"
Poor guy. Probably thinking this is because of him.
He nods then, retreating towards the door. "Yes sir, my deepest apologies."
When Tom doesn't spare him more than a strict glance, he leaves in a haste, the door falling shut behind him.
Tom pulls you off his cock with a wet sound the second the lock clicks.
"Dumb little girl," he murmurs, glaring down at the innocent eyes you're offering him. "I expect you to make this up to me later—now, finish what you've started. And show me, with extra effort, just how sorry you are."
"I am not sorry, though." You say decidedly before you spit on his cock, watching it cascade down the side before taking him back in your mouth.
He pretends he didn't hear you. For your sake.
The thing is, you like it messy—and Tom, Tom loves it messy. He adores how filthy you sound with him stuffing your mouth full, when you drool around him and soak him with your spit. Undoubtedly though, his favourite part is when you let his cum dribble back onto his cock and watch it drip down to his balls, mixing with your saliva before you suck it back in and swallow the mess you've created.
He fucking loves how nasty you are for him.
Right now, he's observing you bob your head up and down his length, gagging around him each time his tip hits the back of your throat—the vibrations having his fingers fist your hair more roughly, groaning lowly.
"Mmm, y’ taste so good," you mumble around his cock denting your cheek, sucking eagerly. He twitches inside you at that, hissing when your hot tongue swipes over the crown of him.
"You have a filthy mouth on you, darling." Tom replies, guiding your head down on his length until you choke—keeping you there for a little longer before he lets you catch your breath.
You smile up at him, then. "You love it, professor. Don't pretend it's any different."
The next few minutes, you gradually increase your pace—keep him lodged in your throat for longer, spluttering around him before you withdraw and wet his cock with your spit, licking it back up before your lips close around him again, and you repeat the process.
Your hand leaves his thigh, wandering between your own instead—gently rubbing circles around your neglected, puffy clit, spreading your folds as you run two fingers down your slick slit.
"Fuck," Tom's head dips back at that view. Your glistening, slick-coated pussy on display for him while you make the filthiest sounds sucking him off, gagging and moaning around him.
He is embarrassingly close. Already.
The things you are doing to him…
…And the things he will do to you in return…
"Should have you write an essay on how to pleasure a man," he rasps, hips jerking upwards when you choke around him again, allowing him to feel the vibrations of your muscles. He hisses lowly, wetting his lips at the slick sounds your fingers are drawing from your cunt.
You ease off of him for a second then, blinking up at him innocently.
"Would you let me pass—," you ask him, licking a thick stripe up the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock, holding eye contact while you do so. "—professor?"
"Fuck—" he responds, groaning in pleasure when you suck him back into your warm mouth. "With an Outstanding, even."
Professor Riddle has never once given anyone the highest mark—claiming that no work can ever be perfect. It simply doesn't exist for him. Never has.
"Mmmmh," you purr, suckling on his oversensitive tip, purposely keeping him right on that blissful edge he's currently teetering on. "Generous."
He shakes his head, cock throbbing inside your mouth, your head sinking down on him until your nose is pressed against his lower abdomen. "No. Well deserved."
You quicken your pace at that, and he growls, gritting his teeth, jaw clenched tightly—he is going to come. He is going to fucking come so hard, you'll fucking struggle with it.
When both of his hands fist your hair, pushing you down on his pulsing length, you know he is going to spill down your throat any second—and when your throat closes around the invasion, and you struggle against his grip, he finally does.
Accompanied by a string of mumbled curses, he empties himself deep inside your mouth with thick, hot ropes of white cum, making you swallow around him eagerly before he lets you go.
You pull off him, sucking in deep breaths as you cough violently, a string of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his flushed tip.
When your breathing slows down, an eager grin spreads on your lips. You dive back in—tongue cleaning your thick spit and the remnants of his cum off his cock, making nasty, slick sounds.
"Come here," he grunts, chair screeching against the wooden planks of his floor as he lifts you onto his lap, kissing your lips and wiping the drool from your chin. "You are a nasty fucking girl. Y'know that?"
Your head dips to press a kiss to his tense jaw. "Only for my favourite professor. With the others I am good. Mostly."
SMACK!
Your head whips to the side at the sharp impact his palm makes with your cheek, leaving behind a blissful sting, coaxing a moan from your lips.
"Sit down on it," he orders, dark brown eyes leaving no room for argument as they flick from your own to his hardening cock mere inches from your slick pussy. "I don't want to hear another word from that filthy mouth until I am done correcting these essays."
Your head turns to find a huge pile of papers on his desk.
No fucking way.
"But I am invited to a birthday party," you pout, fighting the hold he has on you—without success.
He huffs a laugh, lifts your hips, and sinks into your weeping, pulsing hole with one single, vicious thrust—then, lodged deep in your warm, velvety walls, he averts his attention back to the paper he left abandoned on his desk around half an hour ago.
"You will not move a single inch until I am done here with you, sweetheart. Even dumb little girls like you have to learn that every action comes with its consequences."
little funfact: I rushed through writing this as I am currently at a birthday party posting this. yep. you heard that right.
thank you so much for reading! <3 feel free to reblog and leave feedback! :3
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masterlist. | oneshots.
headmaster!Riddle gives you detention dicktention!
warnings: mature content. headmaster x student. punishment sex, orgasm denial, teasing, rough sex, unprotected p in v, nasty shit bc author is ovulating ahem, spanking, choking, degradation, nipple play, creampie, cum play, pussy slapping, panty stealing, happy end for both in a way even though reader doesn't get to come.
author's note: good evening. this is some nasty stuff, don't blame me. blame the hormones or whatever they say.
wordcount: 1,8k
His study is bathed in the glow of the late afternoon's golden sunlight, the air around you thick with the scent of sweat and sex, rich notes of sandalwood and tobacco filling your senses.
You came here approximately an hour ago—thighs trembling a little less than they were now, heart thumping wildly in your chest as you knocked ever so carefully on the mahogany door leading to the headmaster's office.
The worst—or, perhaps, best—part is that you were very well aware of what would await you behind the cold, rough stone wall you were steadying yourself against. Detention with the headmaster himself was one of the most tedious and dreaded experiences of any student here at Hogwarts.
But not for you. Never for you.
Professor Riddle—and since this year, headmaster Riddle—was notorious for being the most unforgiving teacher the school had seen in years. Nothing escaped his sharp senses—no whispered gossip, no student sneaking around past curfew, no single breach of school rules whatsoever.
Your offence: stealing potion ingredients from the storage room.
Yes, it was a beyond-stupid idea to attempt this when he was your Potions instructor. Even more so when you know his eyes are glued to you specifically, following your every move from the back of the class. But there had not been another option—the ingredient had sold out in Hogsmeade, and the only other option was to venture into the very depths of the Forbidden Forest—another rule break and much scarier than pretending you'd run out of a certain ingredient during class in order to sneak a vial of the rare liquid into the pocket of your robes.
And you were close—so close—to succeeding with your plan. In fact, you were sure you had succeeded with it—until the end of the class approached, and he dismissed everyone but you.
His expression remained awfully stern as he retrieved the stolen ingredient from your pocket and took a long look at the opaque substance.
"Moondew," he murmured, unimpressed. "I've been notified of a shortage due to the humidity. I was under the impression my students had prepared accordingly when this issue affected remaining stock."
Your voice trembled when you forced an answer. "I was— busy, sir. I wasn't able to collect the ingredients until last week."
"That serves as no reasonable excuse to steal from school supply," he huffed, slipping the vial into his suit pocket. "I have no choice but to see you in my study today at 19:00—don't be late."
You didn't argue or try to charm your way out of this predicament. Because you knew you wouldn't be able to. Not with him. You merely nodded, slung your bag over your shoulder, and left the classroom without the last ingredient you so desperately needed.
・・・
Hours later, six minutes past seven—because of course you didn't make it in time—you're bent over the desk in his office, skirt bunched around your waist, panties shoved deep in his pocket as he pounds into you from behind.
"Look at you, fuck— so needy for me," Tom rasps, gravel in his voice as he withdraws from your slick cunt momentarily. His hands grasp your ass and spread you open for him, drinking in the sight of your glistening pussy and pulsating hole. "So fucking wet. Stupid little girl."
Before you find the words for a snarky remark, the flushed, leaking head of his cock slides between your slippery folds, rubbing up and down languidly a few times. His thumb circles your now empty, weeping entrance in the meanwhile—and the way he does it, so slowly, so gently, makes you whine, arch your back more.
Tom snorts and, with a single thrust, buries himself inside your warm walls again.
"T— Tom!" you shriek, knuckles turning white from how tightly you're gripping onto the desk—but Tom doesn't pay you any mind. Too traitorous is your pussy, welcoming him back inside by trying to suck him in deeper, pulsing around his length so sweetly like it missed the feeling of stretching around his girth.
"And yet—" he breathes raggedly, fingers digging into the supple flesh of your hips with a bruising force as he yanks you back towards him each time you scoot forward with the intensity of his thrusts. "Yet, you are taking it, aren't you? Like you were made to. You were fucking made for this cock, don't ever dare believe otherwise."
One of his hands wraps securely around your throat then, arching your spine as he pulls you closer—enabling him to thrust impossibly deeper, at an angle he knows makes you see stars, makes you come within minutes.
His hips snap against your own, watching your ass ripple with the power behind each surge forward, groaning at the sight of it. He loves this—you, utterly at his mercy, squirming with the need to come while you know he won't let you. Watching your hole struggling to stretch around him while he thrusts deep enough to nudge his tip against your cervix.
"Please— fuck, please, Tom," you cry out when he angles his thrusts to rub right against that one sensitive spot inside of you, feeling the knot in your lower stomach tighten, ready to burst. "Please, let me—"
"No, don't you fucking dare," Tom seethes, grinding his hips against yours, stilling his movements. "Don't you think for one second you'll get to come. You'll be good for once and fucking. hold. it."
Tears fall over your cheeks when he pulls out almost all the way just to shove back inside again, making the table creak as it's pushed forwards. Tom loves it—fucking adores your little whimpers, how tight you get when you try to hold back your pleasure for him, how you still beg and plead and reason with him.
"I am sorry, Tom— please—" you try again, without luck.
His palm comes down on your ass once, twice, head dipping to watch your pussy soaking his cock—and damn him, he would never get over just how wet and slick you can get for him. Your juices coating him from tip to base, dripping over his balls and down your thighs.
"Messy fuckin' girl. You shouldn't be enjoying yourself—this is supposed to be a punishment, and yet you are creaming all over my cock like the needy slut you are." Tom groans, smacking your ass again—harder this time.
Your mind is too fuzzy, too numb with pleasure, to process his words. The only sounds your brain recognises—because the sheer amount of times you have been in this very room, in the same position, has branded itself into every last corner of your brain—are your combined sounds of pleasure. His rough grunts, your pleading moans, skin slapping against skin while his cock makes slick sounds each time he pushes back into you.
You don't answer, can't even. You beg again to let you have this, to finally end your torture—but Tom is too caught up in holding himself back for a little while longer to berate you.
It's nasty—the scent of sex, sweat, tears—but also how your headmaster is making your pussy clench with the need to come, arousal creating a mess on both of you, coating your inner thighs and his lower abdomen.
"'S good— so good, Tom," you say instead, because it's the only thing you know and the only words you can possibly muster up.
His laboured breaths ghost over your ear, nipping at the shell of it gently, his hands squeezing your tits, rolling your hard nipples between his thumb and index finger. He pinches them softly, the way he knows you like it, and just when you think you cannot possibly keep your climax at bay any longer—his teeth sink into your neck. You scream at the unexpected sting, but he holds you close, wraps his hand around your throat once more, and cuts off your airflow almost completely before his thrusts change rhythm.
Instead of quick, shallow strokes, he now pushes deep with languid snaps of his hips. His cock twitches inside you then—every vein throbbing with the need to spill inside you—and Tom no longer has the patience or the urge to torture you both any longer.
"Going to come deep inside this tight little cunt, make you so full of me you'll feel me for days," he growls, and with another three rougher thrusts, his hips stay flush against the curve of your ass, cock twitching as he spills himself in your velvety walls, painting you white with his release.
He holds you steady through it, whispers praises between groans into your ear, and when he's spent, emptied himself in you, he lets you drop onto the surface of his work desk.
Your body aches, every fucking part of it—and yet, you whine when he withdraws slowly, pussy clenching around his softening length as though to keep him inside.
Tom huffs, fingertips trailing down your spine before he crouches down behind you and spreads your folds with his thumbs.
"Thieves don't get to come, sweetheart," he tells you innocently, watching with admiration when the first thick drops of cum seep from your stretched, sore hole. "This is what they get."
One of his hands holds your legs open, the second slapping your pussy more often than you can count—still glistening with your own slick and now with his, too. You whimper, thighs trembling at the feeling—because if anything, it's good, feeds the ache in the pit of your stomach. His index finger spreads his cum over your folds, your outer lips, rubs your clit with it until you moan with pleasure.
Tom then straightens himself, fixes his exterior, and spins you around. Presses his lips against yours and wipes your drying tears from your cheeks before his careful, skilled fingers button up your blouse again—leaving the upper three buttons open.
You pull your skirt over your hips again, eyes scanning the room for a trace of your lace panties when he turns your gaze back to his with two of his fingers under your chin.
"Here," he offers, retrieving the vial of Moondew he'd taken from you earlier that day from his pocket, gently slipping it in between your tits before he buttons up the rest of your blouse. "You've earned this back."
thank you so much for reading! <3 feel free to reblog and leave feedback! :3
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masterlist. | oneshots.
♡ SUMMARY: your professor deserves a little punishment after leaving you aching and denied the last time you two met—one that he isn't quite fond of at all. ;)
♡ WARNINGS: MATURE CONTENT. bondage. revenge orgasm denial m!rec. professor tied to his classroom chair. semi public sex, riding, edging, teasing, begging, good luck trying to ever be on top again after this, lol.
♡ AUTHOR'S NOTE: heheheh as promised, part two. :3
wordcount: 1,9k
this is part two of BEHAVE. <33
The warm afternoon sun filters through the high, stained glass windows, bathing you in a subtle golden glow—but that doesn't distract you from the fact that you are currently sitting on top of your professor's lap, facing him as you grind your slick pussy over his hard cock.
"Learned a new trick, huh? Tom breathes, his head tilted forwards, a few of his brown curls falling over his forehead. Darkened eyes watch you struggle as frustrated whimpers slip from your lips—the flushed, leaking head of his cock nudging at your entrance, just shy of slipping inside.
He fights against the binds keeping him tightly secured to his chair, but it's no use. Too rigid are the ropes of the spell you used on him minutes ago, doing exactly what you need them to. Keep him in place, make him unable to move, no matter how much he strains his well-built muscles.
This is your form of payback. Your own little lesson to teach to your professor, who was mean enough to leave you dripping with both of his and your own arousal for the entirety of the night the last time he had you for himself in his study—and the first class the next morning, which he didn't wake you up early enough for, either. On purpose too, which you figured out judging by the stupid grin plastered on his face as he studied you hurriedly getting ready whilst he casually sipped his tea and read the newspaper.
"Had—oh God—had the best teacher, didn't I?" you retort, eyes fluttering closed with pleasure when you manage to fit the first inch inside of you, and you both gasp at the same time—you, at the delicious stretch of him, Tom, at the snug warmth of your pussy.
Your skirt is bunched up just high enough for him to see you stretch around him, to have a visual to the sensation. And fuck, does it feel good—having you struggle to take him in this position, two of your fingers not nearly having been sufficient enough of a replacement for two of his own to prepare you for him.
Is he annoyed with you taking advantage of his trust, allowing you enough time to hex him when he wasn't paying attention? Yes. Will he retaliate later tonight, perhaps keeping you locked in his bedroom for the entire weekend? Very likely. But, most importantly—will he first enjoy watching you fuck yourself on his cock like a good little slut? Most fucking definitely.
You've managed to accommodate about half of him when a slight upwards thrust of his hips makes you hiss, your eyes finding his instantly. He isn't supposed to be able to move. At all.
"Riddle, I swear— stay the fuck still." you seethe, one of your hands leaving his shoulders and curling around his throat instead, feeling his adam's apple bob beneath your touch.
But Tom—he just smirks at you, all arrogant, all self-assured. If you had a free hand, you'd use it to smack him across his stupidly handsome face. Once. Maybe twice.
"Can't even take all of me. Show me you're worthy of being my best student, sweetheart. Come on, work for it."
Three times, it is.
Your eyebrows pinch together in annoyance, but you are determined. Determined to drag this out as long as you have to for him to learn not to leave you aching for his touch again—because today, you will show him just how torturous it is to be deprived of what you need most. Release.
"You don't get to tell me what to do. You're the one tied up, remember?" you breathe, steadying yourself with both hands on his chest as you lower yourself further, nearly having fit all of him.
"Tied up and helpless while I—fuck—take what I need. What you didn't give me last time." You grit your teeth, pushing yourself to your limit to take all of him, your walls clamped around him like a vice.
You feel his scorching hot gaze on you as you struggle—really struggle—to fit all of him in this position. Most of the time when he allows you to be on top, he guides your hips, praises you, circles the pad of his thumb over your clit. But now, with his hands tied and him being awfully uncooperative with his punishment, he merely looks at you amusedly, taking pleasure in your effort.
None of that, you decide.
Your hips roll against his, letting the head of his cock nudge at your cervix—and instead of the familiar sting you expect, an electric wave of pleasure floods your core, making your head tip backwards, moaning.
A small smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth, and with the help of your hands on Tom's shoulders, you slowly, gently lift yourself about halfway off his swollen, pulsing cock before you sink back down, grinding down on him.
Tom groans. Fucking groans when he feels your velvety walls part around him again, sucking him right back into their treacherous warmth, clenching down so sweetly around him, it has stars dance in front of his vision.
"Fuck— God, you're— you're impossible."
You set a pace, then—slow half-thrusts at first, allowing yourself to explore your favourite angles and pace, your eyes locked onto the deep, dark honey brown of his own. And dark they are—especially now, when your tits bounce right in front of his face, buttons of your blouse strained, your lips parting for sweet, serenading little gasps and moans, almost like a mermaid would sing for a fisherman beneath the blanket of the starry night sky to lure him into the depths of her stormy waters.
One of your hands wanders to that aching, neglected spot between your thighs—your clit. Slowly, you begin circling your fingers around the swollen, sensitive bud, and Tom's eyes follow the movements intently, jaw clenched tightly.
God, how deeply he wishes this was his hand rubbing your sweet little pussy.
His wrists ache due to the tight, rough ropes rubbing his skin raw, and yet he cannot stop himself from trying to yank himself free. He fucking needs to touch you—needs to feel the swell of your tits beneath his palms, wants to taste the slick dripping down his cock, staining his favourite trousers.
Tom cannot bring himself to care about the latter—not now, at least. Now, he uses his special trick on you, which has almost always gotten him what he wanted.
"Please," he murmurs, softened, big brown doe eyes lifting to yours. "Please let me touch you, darling. I'll make up for last time. Make you feel so good. I promise—fuck, I will do anything, just please, please let me—"
Your muscles fucking ache, trembling with the strain of your rapid movements up and down his soaked cock—and yet, you see right through him. Through the game he's playing with you. And today, you will not lose.
The sound of skin slapping on skin and your combined moans and groans fills the large classroom, echoing off the walls, wrapping you both in a cloud of lust and pleasure. You've been trying to drag this out for as long as you can—but the overwhelming need to come overwrites any desire of vengeance, nerve endings tickling with electricity and held-back pleasure.
As if on cue, Tom's cock twitches in anticipation, wrapped snugly in between your slick, pulsing walls.
"Sweetheart, please— I—"
Beads of sweat have formed on his forehead, colouring some of his curls an even darker brown than usual, and it's truly a beautiful sight—one you'll gladly frame with gold in your mind, tucking it away safely for later use.
His pleading gaze has you huff, pressing a gentle kiss to his tense jaw.
"Whatever would your students think of you? Letting me do this to you. Letting me unravel you to the point you're begging for me. Fucking pathetic, Professor Riddle."
Your fingers rubbing at your clit speed up, pace faltering to a slow, deep rhythm that has every ridge and vein of his length massage your sweet spots, inadvertently pushing you closer to that high you've been chasing ever since you ground your clothed pussy over the bulge in his trousers around an hour ago.
"Hardly have a choice, do I?" he sneers in response, clenching his hands into tight fists behind his back, knuckles turning white from the strain. "If you don't fucking let me touch you, I pray to Merlin he has mercy on you tonight—because I certainly will not."
You pay no mind to his threat—your mind too fuzzy with pleasure, the knot inside your tummy winding tighter with each passing second.
"Shut up, Riddle," you breathe, slapping a hand over his mouth. "Shut the fuck up and take it like you were made to."
The high of your courage to utter these words plus an angry, irritated upwards thrust of his hips has you tumble over the edge. You cry out his name as your walls pulse and clench around his achingly hard cock, your whole body trembling with the force of your climax.
As the feeling slowly subsides, you curl forwards, resting your head on his chest—smiling to yourself.
Victory.
A swift look at the clock mounted to the front of the classroom has you ease yourself off him. His cock is still so hard, so swollen, tip flushed and soaked with both his precum and your arousal, now resting against his lower abdomen, twitching with neglect.
"Don't. you. fucking. dare." Tom grits out, the sheer anger radiating off him sending a vase on a nearby counter toppling over the edge and shattering on the wooden panels of the floor.
You grin at him, turning your back to him as you walk towards the exit of the Defence Against Dark Arts classroom.
"Lesson starts in five minutes. Better get that raging boner under control, professor. Wouldn't want anyone to suspect you may be doing inappropriate things in your own classroom, would you?"
His expression turns venomous, voice pure, undiluted poison. "You will pay for this. Just you wait, brat."
From a safe distance, you turn around one last time to undo his binds, and then, before he manages to fetch his own wand, you disappear behind the thick, dark oak doors of his classroom, walking back to your dorm.
Now, you're smiling with the satisfaction of having successfully given him his punishment—but later that night, you're crying big hot tears, begging him to stop making you come, begging him for a break.
Of course he doesn't give you that break. Of course, naturally, he has you come around his cock so often, you lose your goddamn mind, turning you into a blabbering, broken little toy.
And it may just be his favourite look on you—sobbing, crying out his name with each mean, deep thrust of his hips into your sensitive, dripping cunt.
His broken, dumb little brat.
thank you so much for reading! <3 feel free to reblog and leave feedback! :3
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masterlist. | oneshots.
snowghoul
kianamaiart
gummygunk
tangentwithtanner
areudirty
germansingergirl
jbbartram-illu
titsay
blakekathryn
