cross the line
pairing: professor!matt murdock x f!reader (2.8k)
18+! cw: professor/student relationship, power imbalance, mean!dom!matt, use of professor/sir/mr. murdock, masturbation, cockwarming, shameless amounts of begging, praise kink, squirting, choking, pussy slapping, unprotected piv, cockdrunk reader, lowkey nothing happens irl so 😇😇🙏
summary: matt knows better. your crush on him is harmless, easy to ignore- until it isn’t. he knows he shouldn’t want you, but that’s never stopped him before.
A/N: back from the grave with self indulgent porn!!!!!! this is lowkey cope bc i have horrible classes for the next sem nd the most i can do is hope for a hot prof 🤞
ao3 mirror
Matt tells himself he’ll save your essay for last. This is the extent of whatever luxury he’ll allow himself, a harmless concession to the ache your little crush stirs in him. But after four hours of the screen reader droning lifelessly in his ear, the rest of the papers have dissolved into a whirlpool of sterile takes on Milton’s relativism. It's all so trite and numbing—he can’t help but sigh. Leaning back, he swirls the scotch in his glass, eager for the only respite that remained.
Your work.
He exhales.
He’s not like that, he would never.
A student having a crush on him is hardly something new. God knows he’d do anything to be spared the bold, bare-legged co-eds doused in Juicy Couture, with their giggly attempts at leaning too far over his desk. Their movements remind him of newborn deer: clumsy and sexless. But as for you, even as your racing heartbeat gives you away, your only response seems to be to shut it down by chipping away harder at your own work. And though he toys with you, subtly picking on you more than the rest, it seems you haven’t caught on—or if you have, you’re choosing not to act.
In any case, Matt’s grateful for your restraint. It allows him the opportunity to reject transgression. It lets him believe, for a moment, that this wrongness is his alone to bear, instead of a pleasure he’s denying you both.
His cock is stiff in his pants, making him shift uncomfortably.
He tips back the scotch and takes in how the warmth blooms down his throat and across his chest. His mind is weightless, and this way it is a consolation that whatever he’s about to do can at least be partly attributed to the buzzing in his bloodstream. Closing his eyes, Matt finally relents, letting his thoughts swallow him whole.
You’re sitting on his lap, in his office after hours. Your thighs are draped over his, still mostly dressed except for your halfway-unbuttoned blouse and flipped-up skirt. His firm chest is to your back and your panties are shoved to the side, your hot, needy pussy weeping at being stuffed full with his swollen cock. Its every twitch inside you makes you whimper and pulsate around him, desperate for any friction, any relief, anything. But Matt takes pleasure in denying you this, just as you have denied him your attention. It is something that makes you squirm to no avail as his strong arm comes squarely across your waist, barring you from any movement.
“Read,” he commands, low and rough in your ear.
Even as he’s stretching you out, you know you have to try. The papers on the desk before you are arranged in three sizable piles, and it makes your stomach twist something horrible: finishing this task of dictating papers to him might very well be impossible. You've barely made it through four.
It’s stupid, really. He has the class submit their work through the online portal, so there’s no reason for him to have asked for hard copies this time—except only, you suspect, to have you hold each page, feel its weight, make you read to him while you’re impaled on his cock.
Shaken, you focus back on the matter at hand: the essay you’re holding. You recognize it as your classmate’s, a nice soft-spoken boy who’s sat next to you in class once or twice. In fact, he’s cute. You might even like him.
“Th-the central tenet of…,” Soft and breathy syllables escape your lips while his big hand palms your exposed tits, which spill over the loosened fabric of your blouse. Matt chuckles darkly at the way your voice squeaks in response to his harsh tugging and pinching at your nipples, enough to hurt and slow down your progress.
Yes, you like your soft-spoken boy, but not like this.
Not like how you belong so completely to Mr. Murdock.
You can tell he is tilting his head behind you, as he does when he’s disappointed. You can feel his breath ghost over the back of your neck.
“Slow down,” he murmurs, nipping at your earlobe. “I know you skipped a line.”
“I didn’t mean to,” you whine again in protest, but you see that he is right. “I’m sorry. I cou—…”
“I don’t care, you’ll read it again,” he says, tightening the arm around your waist, pinning you flush against his chest.
“Enunciate this time. Properly.”
You sob. There’s a little relief in tightening the muscles of your pussy around him, squeezing and bearing down almost as if to force his cock out, but all it does is make him groan into your shoulder, grinding his hips up just barely. It is enough to make your thighs tremble but not enough to fuck you, and your pussy’s so wet that your creamy slick is drooling down the base of him now, over his balls, soaking into the fabric of his slacks. You should be mortified at the mess you’re making, but your body is quickly betraying your mind as you fall apart just from being so, so full.
“Please,” you mewl, a hiccup in your throat as you try to behave, try to focus again on the printed letters. You’ve creased the paper in your hand and a crisscross of lines are wrinkled through your classmate’s words. For some reason, this makes your chest seize, and you feel the guilty tears rising before you even understand why. “I’m trying. I just— Please, Mr. Murdock…”
It’s taking everything he has not to thrust up into you, or better yet push you forward and fuck you forcefully against his desk until you can do nothing else but cry.
“Please what?” he prompts, heat radiating off his body. Clearly, being called by that name has some effect on him—Mr. Murdock, it is what you call him in class, Mr. Murdock in that huffy, indignant tone that tells him you’re far from pleased with his teasing. Evidently, he loves it.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he says softly, a stark contrast to his aggressive suckling and biting on your neck, sure to leave marks for everyone to see. “You’re a big girl, use your words for me.”
And though he doesn’t spell it out, the message is clear to you: you’re not going anywhere. The corridors have long gone quiet and no one is coming; he can stay here all night until you finish reading every last paper, or until you beg.
After all, it takes so little for him to give in, doesn’t it?
“Fuck me,” you gasp, the desperate shame burning in your cheeks. Then louder, breaking, “Fuck me, please, just a little… I’ll keep reading… I swear I will, please…”
Your breath hitches, unable to say more. You’re sure he’s ignoring you again, letting you squirm around him, but then he turns your face just enough to kiss the corner of your mouth, and when he does his stubble scrapes at your cheek.
How could he ever deny his sweet, polite girl?
Matt pulls back and bites your bare shoulder, slowly shifting his hips. It is one deep, dragging stroke that has your vision going spotty, your whole body falling limp. The sound it makes is obscene, your sloppy, sticky pussy milking his cock.
“That’s it, fuck, that’s my girl,” voice raspy and sweet, lifting your hips up before dropping you, letting gravity fuck him into you. The sensation, along with his praise, makes you feel so full and fuzzy you want to cry again. “See? You can do something right after all. Take it all for me, okay?”
You nod tremulously. You are eager to please and you know he knows this. He knows there is nothing else to you, he is all you feel, all you hear, all you are. And perhaps you’ve finally done something right because he doesn’t stop at one thrust, rocking his hips again deep as he’ll go.
“Your heart’s beating pretty fast,” he smirks as his lips brush your ear, though you can barely make out the words through the thudding in your temples, “What happened to your focus, hm? Too much for that pretty little head of yours?”
You try to answer, but all that escapes is a high shattered whimper as he thrusts up again, his free hand coming up to close around your throat, pressing, testing how much you can take before your breaths turn to labored gasps.
“M-Mr. Murdock, I can’t... Oh god, Matt..”
He ignores your protests, even your blatant nerve to use his name. Instead he growls, “You can take it,” with sweat beading at his temples as he kisses down your neck, your shoulder. “This is what you’re made for. You’ll take what I give you.” His lips never stop moving and nor does his other hand, which has gone from steadying your waist to stroking up and down your sides tenderly. Your tits bounce shamelessly with every thrust, and your skirt’s hiked so high it’s come up to the softness of your stomach. But Matt’s still fully dressed, except for the thick, glistening cock impaling your tight wet cunt—stretching you, reshaping you.
Matt’s pace is just a little short of brutal, and each stroke drags you closer and closer to the gaping pit in the bottom of your stomach that is building and building and it is worsened by his roaming hand coming between your legs to rub your engorged clit.
His palm smacks your bare cunt once, twice, again—hissing at the way it makes you seize and clench around him. You cry out, clawing at the watch on his wrist in blind desperation. The pressure is tipping toward the unbearable. The way he’s touching you sets off a mounting pressure in your bladder, and you try to shift away, but it’s no use. He’s too strong and you’re too far gone.
A small, terrified part of you wants to tap out before you humiliate yourself completely, before you make even more of a mess all over the place.
“Wait, Professor—please-!” you gasp suddenly. Frantically, you try to close your legs, trying to block his frenzied rubbing at your sensitive clit. “Wait, I think I’m… m’gonna…”
“What?” he grunts, not letting up even a little. “What now?”
“M’gonna pee, stop it, stop it—!”
To your dismay, Matt laughs. Dark and so smug you feel stupid for even saying it. He shakes his head, like you’ve just told him a completely asinine joke.
“You’re not gonna pee, sweetheart,” he tells you, spitting the word with amusement, or maybe disgust—you can’t really tell with him fucking you dumb. “But if you need to close your legs that badly…”
His hands slide down your thighs smoothly, and then they’re clasping around your ankles—bending your knees in, folding your legs tight to trap him deep inside you as he bounces you on his dick.
The pressure is instantaneous and you instantly know you’ve made a mistake, whining and crying as the tautness in you winds tighter and tighter, pressure everywhere from the inside out growing and cresting and—
Eventually you’re unable to hold it. Your body convulses violently, spine bowing as your legs kick open and shake helplessly. He holds you down with both hands, fucking you through every spasm of your cunt as it gushes all over his shaft, spraying and soaking his lap, his thighs, his ruined slacks. Even the papers on the desk.
“God,” Matt groans loudly, eyes fluttering. A string of curses tumble freely from his lips as your pussy spasms around him. “Fuck, there she is, so good, baby. So perfect for me.”
You slump back down on him, shuddering. You’re thoroughly exhausted, boneless at the exertion, but he’s far from finished.
Matt lifts you with ease, shifting you forward to bend you over. The stacks of essays sink and topple beneath you—some slide to the floor and some catch under your bare tits, but you barely register them, body folding with no hint of resistance.
His hand flattens between your shoulder blades, pinning you down against the desk. He pulls out—drawing a pitiful whine from your throat—but only long enough to spit into his palm, and then he’s sheathing himself back in you again, bottoming out to the hilt.
It knocks the air clean from your lungs. It feels so much deeper like this, held in place by him, that your brain sparks and short-circuits with the overwhelming push.
“Hands down on the desk. Palms flat,” he orders, voice hoarse. One hand fumbles across the surface until he catches a sheet, shoving it before you. “Eyes on the page.”
Oh god. You can’t do this again.
You can barely even see the words, your vision addled by tears and sweat. But you want to please him, you need to, so you plant your hands down on the desk without being told twice.
“Read.”
And he starts to fuck you.
No pretense now. He ruts into you hard, every thrust raw and wet through your spent cunt, each loud slam of his hips against your ass punctuating your choked gasps. The desk rocks with each impact and you tremble to keep yourself upright. His grip bruises your hips, thumbs digging into soft flesh, using you to chase his own selfish release.
You try to read, but whatever’s on the page is pulsing in and out of meaning, and any word you can start to form melts on your tongue as he spears you deeper, the fat head of his cock punching into the tender spot that makes you twitch and flutter around him.
“Oh, trying to be good now?” he croons, sweet with mockery, “Cute. You think I'm gonna go easy on you just ‘cause you came?”
You shake your head no. Lips parted, you try to focus again—but you can barely even think of doing anything else but shutting up and taking it, save for your helpless babblings of oh god Matt... Professor, Mr. Murdock please…
His grin is audible in his breath.
His star student, fucked stupid, drunk on his cock.
“Continue,” he snarls, hips snapping harder, his length pistoning in and out of you as he grabs at your ass with both hands, kneading the soft flesh, spreading you open, striking it to elicit more of your loud cries. “Keep reading. Keep fucking trying.”
His thrusts are getting sloppy now, ragged with increased fervor but precise enough to hit that spot again and again every time. Matt can hear it in your breathing. It hitches and tightens, and breaks every time the fat head of his cock drags against the swollen, sensitive spot inside you.
“I can’t anymore, please.. it’s too much…”
Sure enough, you’re close again. It’s less sharp than before, but it’s still so much—the stretch, the forceful hand pinning you down as he uses your abused cunt, all of it forces only his name from your lips again, no matter how hard you try to obey his orders. You don’t fucking care about these papers. You only want him.
“M-Mr. Murdock…”
“S’right... say it...” he grits out, voice breaking. “You’re mine... you’re mine, sweetheart.”
His rhythm stutters, grip crushing at your hips. With finality, he drives his cock as deep as he can go, and with a broken groan he spills his thick seed inside you, rocking in short jerks as his body shudders behind you. Feeling him fill you up, you join him in his climax, your fluttering cunt milking him with every aftershock.
Spent, Matt practically collapses over you, braced on one arm beside yours as he rides it out.
You don’t know your name and you can’t find it in yourself to care. He’s still inside you. He hasn’t moved, stinging your shoulder with his ragged breaths.
Your little game is over, and you feel a little bad for him, really. You suppose he’ll have to use the screen reader after all.
Unless, of course, he’s decided you’ll keep going.
Back alone in his office, Matt exhales sharply, chin tipped up and chest heaving. His hand is still wrapped around his cock, fingers coated in his own spill. Distantly, he hopes his slacks hadn’t been too badly soiled, having been pushed down just far enough to get the job done.
Before him, your work glows faintly on the screen, untouched and half-read.
Matt shuts his eyes. His guilt sits like a hot stone in his chest. You, sweet and unsuspecting and shy, have no idea what he’s done. What he’s doing. But even with the shame, honesty is a virtue Matt has chosen to keep. And the truth is, he’s going to do it again. He’s far, far from done.
