Professor Butler
Character/Fandom: Austin Butler
Requested: You can thank the EFC for this lol
Prompt: Professor Butler, your music history teacher, wants to show you his Elvis collection. Can you take the heat? [ Fem!Reader ]
TW: A little degradation, bondage, basic bdsm stuff
Rating: Mature with a capital M || Word Count: 5152
A/N: this is pure smut. i'm going to hell, but enjoy this while i burn for eternity xx
Read part two here!
🦋 mila
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You absentmindedly twirl a lock of hair in your finger as your professor talks. Your eyes track his every movement, from his strong hands, to his crystal blue eyes, to the way he wears his dress shirt folded up to his elbows.
“A lot of people actually say that Elvis was a key moment of American history,” he says, leaning against his desk. “He inspired a massive cultural movement and helped to usher in what we know as rock’n’roll music.”
You bite your lip to keep a smile from spreading across your face. Just when you think Professor Butler’s music history class can't get any better, he dedicates an entire class to Elvis Presley, who you happen to love very much. In some ways, Professor Butler reminds you of the King. He has the same deep voice with almost a little southern twang to it. He's incredibly charismatic and everyone in your friend group has a major crush on him.
“But, as we know, Elvis was a man of many talents and interests,” Professor Butler has been glancing around the room and makes eye contact with you. You give him a small smile, and he returns it. “He was also a champion of blues, soul, and gospel. For example…”
Professor Butler reaches behind him to pull out his acoustic guitar. You sit upright in your seat. This has always been your favorite part of the class. Not only is Professor Butler an excellent guitar player and singer, but you also like to watch the way his fingers dance across the chords. He starts to play Elvis’ “Heartbreak Hotel,” and you smile. It's one of your favorites, and he sings it so well.
“So you can see how the song has elements of blues as well as rock’n’roll…” he continues, glancing at his wristwatch. “And it looks like we’re pretty much out of time today. I can hear you packing up in the back, so get outta here. Enjoy your weekends and please don’t forget the theory paper due next Tuesday. I don’t wanna have to hunt you down for it.”
Everyone finishes packing up and files out of the classroom. You hang back, packing as slowly as possible. You've been waiting weeks for an opportunity to talk to Professor Butler one-on-one. You know it's stupid to think that anything could happen between you, but you just want one conversation with him alone. And you want more than anything to impress him, to show him how seriously invested in the class you are. Once the last few people are staggering out for the weekend, you approach his desk. He's restacking some papers to put back into his briefcase.
“Hi Professor Butler,” you say, nervously clutching your stack of textbooks. Your professor looks up with a smile and takes his glasses off.
“What’s up, Y/N?” he asks.
“I was just wondering if I could ask you a question about the lesson from today?”
“Well you already have asked me a question,” he responds with a small smirk. You feel yourself go white. “But I’d love for you to ask me another one.”
You laugh nervously and watch the veins in his forearms flex as he tucks his hands into his pockets.
“I was just wondering, um, how did the public receive Elvis’ music? I know he was a little forward for his time, but I don’t quite understand why he was so controversial,” you ask.
“Well that’s a complicated issue,” he replies. “I could give you a short answer, but knowing about your deep interest in Elvis and music history I don’t think you would be very satisfied with my shortcut answer.”
Everything you do satisfies me, you think to yourself, but keep your mouth closed.
“If you want a real answer, we’d have to spend quite a bit of time talking. Now, I have a meeting in about twenty minutes, but we could reconnect later to discuss?” he suggests. “I wouldn’t be so bold as to assume you have no weekend plans, so we could shoot for next week sometime?”
“I don’t have any weekend plans,” you blurt out, even though it's completely inappropriate and also a lie.
“Oh, alright. Well,” he glances at his watch again. “My meeting ends around four o’clock. We could meet at five? I’m not sure how you feel about sushi, but there’s a place right next to campus?”
“I love sushi!” you reply, maybe a little too enthusiastically.
“Perfect. I’d better run off for my meeting, but I’ll see you later for some serious Elvis talk,” he says, grabbing his briefcase. He shoots you a finger gun and a wink on his way out of the classroom.
Once he's gone, you melt onto the nearest desk. What are you getting yourself into?
You have about two hours before you have to meet him again. Plenty of time to change your outfit and reapply your makeup. You take as much time as you can making sure everything looks right and change into your best clothes. Even though your roommate lends a hand with your hair and makeup, you still somehow run out the door a few minutes late.
You walk quickly along the sidewalk and when you turn the corner to the sushi place, he's already there. Promptly on time. He's wearing the same outfit as before — a light blue button-down, a tie, and black pants — but the top three buttons are unbuttoned, and the tie is significantly loosened.
“Professor Butler, I’m so sorry to be late,” you say.
“Not a problem at all,” he replies and holds the door open for you. “Ladies first.”
You feel a burning heat creep into your face when you enter the restaurant. You both order, but he refuses to let you pay for your own meal. You've reached forward with a credit card, but he brushes your hand back.
“This is a school outing, and it was my idea,” he says. “Please let me cover it.”
You just nod and mutter a quet thank you. Once you have your food, you sit outside and begin to eat together.
“So, Y/N, you clearly have a special interest in Elvis. I’d love to know how it started,” he says between bites.
You tell him all about your family, how your dad is a big fan and passed the interest down to you. You talk about which songs are your favorite and, gradually, you start to relax. He smiles and nods as you talk, even laughs a time or two.
“Well, that’s great to know that Elvis’ impact is still being felt. But to answer your question from earlier, it’s really multifaceted,” Professor Butler says. He's finished eating and leans back in his chair, spreading his legs. You shove sushi in your mouth to keep from screaming.
“The fact that he was so forward for his time is the biggest reason he caused a ruckus. Not only was his music different than what people were used to, but his whole image challenged the white nuclear family American dream. He wore transgressive clothes, makeup even. His songs were greatly influenced by African American artists, which many white southerners didn’t like. But one of the biggest transgressions, I think, was the way he moved his body. It was sexually charged, raw, and inappropriate. The girls loved it, and it scared the hell out of their parents. Sexual promiscuity was a major no-no in the mid-twentieth century, but Elvis was unlocking things.”
You pause eating and look up at your professor. His eyes are trained on you, holding your attention.
“What do you mean by that?” you push.
“Well, to be frank,” Professor Butler leans forward over the table, “he was unlocking a sexuality many people didn’t even know they had.”
Honestly, you feel your own sexuality being unlocked as Professor Butler’s mouth curls into a smirk.
“He was inviting people to be sexual and showing women what they could experience if they just let go of social norms. It terrified traditional parents who liked their daughters the way they were: chaste and devout.”
You’ve lost your appetite. For food, anyway.
“That’s fascinating,” is all you can squeeze out. You're dying inside and don't ever want this conversation to end.
“It really is,” he agree. “You know…ah, nevermind.”
He waves his hand dismissively.
“What?” you ask, dropping the formalities out of desperation to know.
“Well…I suppose it wouldn’t be appropriate, but I do have quite a collection of Elvis memorabilia that I think you would find very intriguing,” he replies. Your stomach drops. Is he…inviting you to his house?? “But I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“I would…actually love to see it, if that’s alright?” you say timidly. His eyes light up, and he nods.
“I’d love to show it off. You’re one of the only students I’ve ever had with as much interest in the King as me,” he says with a laugh. You smile and finish your last bite of sushi.
You gather up your things, and start on the way back to wherever it is he lives. As you walk down the street with the sun setting in the background, everything in you starts to scream.
What are you doing? You barely know this man and here you are going back to his apartment — an apartment that you have no idea how to even get to or get back from. As much as you can hear your parents scolding you for being irresponsible, so much of you still trusts him. So you go on walking, chatting about Elvis and other, more personal, things.
“Well this is the place,” he finally says, and you stop in front of a beautiful apartment building. “Good evening, Tom.”
There is a literal doorman, glass windows, and orante architecture everywhere. Apparently Professor Butler is well-off. The step up from the sidewalk is rather large, and Professor Butler holds out his hand for you. You nervously take it, and he helps you up the step. But he pulls a little too forcefully, and you sort of slam into his chest.
“Oh…sorry,” you both mutter and then smile.
He's still holding onto your hand and hasn't let it go by the time you're loading into the elevator. A very small part of you hopes someone else will join you, but as the doors close you feel bolder than ever. You stand together, holding hands and not saying anything in the small space. You watch him hit the button for the 24th floor and know you have a few minutes at least. You stare straight ahead, not daring to look at him.
After a few seconds, you feel his eyes on you. His thumb softly rubs circles on your skin, and you don't know what to do. Just as you've gathered the courage to look over at him, the elevator beeps and the doors open. He leads you out and down the hallway to the penthouse apartment.
“The penthouse? Very nice,” you say.
“I got a good deal, fortunately,” he replies and opens the door to his apartment.
You cautiously step in and it hits you again how wrong everything you're doing is. You're standing in your professor’s apartment alone with him. He throws his keys into a dish and untucks his shirt.
“I would move all the Elvis stuff out here, but some of it really shouldn’t be touched,” he says, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I don’t suppose you would be comfortable enough to come into the bedroom and see it.”
You know the right answer. You know what you should say. And yet, you still give the wrong one.
“No, that’s fine.”
You glance around the living area as you make your way into the bedroom. The apartment is small but cozy, and the furniture looks incredibly soft.
Your mouth drops open when you step into the bedroom. He isn't kidding about his collection. There are tons of things there: mugs, posters, vinyls, stuffed animals. Anything you can think of. You go to step closer to it and notice something in your path. Professor Butler quickly moves to pick it up. It's a pair of underwear, and you bite your lip to keep from giggling.
“Excuse me,” he flushes. “Sorry about that…”
He clears his throat.
“But this is the collection. It’s a work in progress, obviously, but you get the idea.”
You walk up to it and peer over everything there. You resist the urge to touch some of the objects. For a moment, you forget that Professor Butler is even there. You gasp when you see something amazing.
“Is this one of the original RCA vinyls of ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ released in 1970?” you ask, whirling around. He's taken his shoes off and is walking toward you.
“Yep. Amazing, isn’t it?”
You nod, examining it.
“Do you wanna hear it?”
You turn around, and he's very close to you now. You just nod with a fading smile. He leans over you to grab the vinyl and gently places it on the record player nearby. In order to set the needle on it, he has to lean dangerously close to you. He's so near you that the scent of his cologne floods into your nose. You close your eyes for a moment, drinking him in. The record crackles and starts to play. As he's reaching his hand back, you find yourself staring up at him. For a precious moment, neither of you move. Finally, he cups your face.
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he says. “I know you’re my student and it would be wildly inappropriate…but I want to kiss you so damn bad. I’ve wanted to kiss you every day since I first saw you.”
You're frozen in his touch.
“Then do it,” you whisper in a voice barely audible over the music. “Kiss me.”
He tilts your face up and captures your lips. He pulls back for only a second before you draw him back down to you. Your arms wind around his neck, and his fly to your waist. He traces your bottom lip with his tongue, and you let him in without a fight. As your tongues dance, he starts to walk you back until your legs hit the edge of the bed. His hands slide down your thighs and he hoists you up onto the sheets. You wrap your legs around his waist, and he moves to kiss your neck. He pushes you further onto the bed and lowers himself down, never breaking contact with your skin. His teeth bite and pull on your neck as his fingers dig into your waist. You're already heaving when he returns to your lips. You bite his bottom lip and pull it toward you. He groans deeply, and you whimper. You raise your neck up for another kiss, but he's already moving away from you.
He slides off the bed and rakes a hand through his hair while shaking his head.
“Austin,” you whisper, using his first name for the first time.
“We can’t do this…” he says. “It’s wrong.”
You feel your heart break into a million pieces. He sits on the edge of the bed.
“I won’t take advantage of you like this. This is all wrong,” he says, burying his head in his hands.
You cluthc at his wrists.
“No, no, please. I’m consenting,” you beg desperately. “Please don’t stop.”
You try to pry his hands away but aren't strong enough. He looks up at you.
“Are you a virgin?” he asks. You're shocked at his question.
“Is that…a problem? Is that why you stopped?”
“Answer the question,” he says.
“Yes.”
He shakes his head.
“I’m not taking your virginity. This is completely my fault, but no one has to know about it. I’m sorry to put you in this position…but I think it might be best if you dropped my class.”
He starts to get up and pull his shoes back on.
“Please, take any of the Elvis stuff you want. I’ll walk you back to your dorm, and I’m sorry again,” he says, about to leave the room. You fly to your feet and grab his arm.
“Doesn’t it matter what I want?”
He stops in his tracks.
“You’re eighteen. You don’t know what you want.”
“You’re wrong,” you say forcefully. “I want you. I’ve wanted you since the day I walked into class and saw you there. And it’s not just because you’re incredibly sexy. I love your personality, I love your passion for music, I love your admiration for Elvis. Everything about you gives me butterflies.”
“Y/N, maybe if you were five years older it could be different. Maybe if you weren't a virgin it could be different. But I’m not going to ruin your first time. Someone your own age with more shared experiences should take that on.”
“Why? What makes you think I’d have any better time with someone my age? You think a college frat boy could respect me more than you could? You know what you’re doing, and I trust you with all my being. You’re the one I want to take me.”
He sits down on the couch and drops his head into his hands.
“Or…do you not want me?” you ask, the thought suddenly occurring to you. “You don’t want me, do you?”
He scoffs and shakes his head.
“Do you have any idea how hard this is for me? Do you know what I’ve been going through? I’ve never been more attracted to another human being. I’ve never felt a fire like this before. I’ve dreamt about fucking you until you can’t walk, but I’ve had to shove it all down because of who I am. Because I’m your superior, someone you should look up to.”
Your stomach churns with desire. You gently take his wrists in your hands and part them. He lets you do it this time. If he's still unsure, you’ll convince him. You swing one knee onto the couch and then the other until you're sitting on top of his lap. He doesn't fight you, and you're glad. You may be a virgin, but you’ve read and seen enough to know that what you're doing will work. You take his hands and place them on your ass, encouraging him to squeeze it. He doesn't, but he also doesn't remove his fingers. You lean down and press slow and seductive kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his neck.
“I can still look up to you while you fuck me,” you whisper into his ear. You feel him twitch underneath you, and bite your lip. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve dreamt, and I’ll make all your dreams come true?”
His head is thrown back on the couch, legs spread wide, eyes searching your figure. You wait a moment for him to say something. When he doesn't, your shoulders fall.
“Fine. I’ll just go then,” you reply sharply. But when you try to get up, he won't let you leave.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he asks in a husky voice. You scoff.
“Make up your mind, Austin.”
“You don’t get to call me that. You’ll call me sir.”
Your stomach churns again, and you smile.
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s a good girl,” he says, sliding you off of him.
He drags you into the bedroom and forcefully pushes you onto the bed. He kneels by the edge and starts sliding off your shoes, kissing the tops of your feet. When both sneakers are off, he grabs onto your ankles and slides you to the edge of the bed. You grip onto his shirt, and he smirks. His fingers curl underneath your top and lift it up over your head.
“Stand up.”
You do as he asks, and he whips you around. His hand travels down your stomach and the other grasps at your breast through your shirt. His breath is hot on your neck, and you close your eyes. He bites the skin on your neck and pulls it, making you whimper. You lean your head so he can reach your neck better, but he pulls away, leaving you cold. He sits on the edge of the bed and leans back on his elbows.
“Take your clothes off,” he orders. “Slowly.”
You bite your lip and reach for the hem of your top. You pull it up over your head and let it slip off the end of your pointer finger. Then, you slowly unbutton your jeans. You turn your back toward him, slide your pants down your legs, and step out of them. You make sure to arch your back as you rise back up to stand. You slide the straps of your bra off your shoulders and then unclip the back and let it fall to the ground. Finally, you hook your fingers in the sides of your underwear and shimmy them off, flinging them somewhere in the room using your toe.
“Take your hair down for me,” he commands.
You follow his direction, removing the hair tie and letting your locks fall against your face. When you're done, he stands up and approaches you. His eyes search your body up and down. His hand reaches to stroke your side, and with the other he gently pinches your nipple. He leans down, brushing your hair away from your ear.
“You asked for this,” he says raspily in your ear. “You want me to fuck you? You want to make my dreams reality? Fine. You’re not going to any college parties this weekend because you won’t be able to walk when I’m finished with you.”
You shudder with a combination of fear and delight. He walks a circle around you, trailing his fingers over your skin so lightly that it tickles.
“Now you’re a good student, aren’t you, baby girl?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?” he hisses.
“Yes, sir.”
“If you forget again, I’ll have to punish you."
You make a mental note to forget.
“Get on the bed, on your back.”
You do as he comamnds, laying flat. He kneels over you and pulls off his tie, exposing his neck even more to you. He gathers your hands over your head and ties them to one of the bedposts with the tie. When he's finished, he grabs your face by your jaw and lifts you to him.
“Welcome to sex education,” he says. “You want an A in my class, you do what I say. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl. You keep your mouth shut till I tell you otherwise,” he says gruffly. “Or I’ll have to punish you.”
You bite your lip and writhe underneath him. He pulls your hips forward, and you gasp. Your arms, still tied to the bedpost, stretch out. He moves your head to the side and starts to assault your neck with kisses, licks, and bites. His hand moves to your breast, and he grabs onto the nipple, twisting it in his fingers. You buck your hips but keep your mouth shut.
After a few minutes, he moves down to suck on your nipple while he plays with the other one. His mouth is hot and wet on you as his tongue swirls around your nerves. It's getting harder and harder for you to stay quiet, but you suck in deep breaths. He starts to kiss down your stomach, his hands gripping your waist, fingers digging into the skin. He kisses all the way down to your stomach and stops. He stands and looks at your closed legs.
“Open your legs for me, good girl,” he says. You do what he tells you to, and he massages the inside of your thighs. You wriggle and whimper, but he shakes his head. “Keep your mouth shut.”
You clamp your lips together and clench your jaw. He reaches down and drags one finger up your folds. You shudder and arch your back.
“Yeah, you like that, don’t you. I know you do.”
He does it again, and you whimper again. He shakes his head.
“Now look what you’ve done,” he growls. “I told you not to open your mouth, bad girl. You know what happens when you break the rules. Flip around.”
You scramble up and flip around. He guides you, pushing your head down onto the bed and pulling your hips and ass up into the air. He gently brushes his hands over your ass cheeks and then squeezes them, almost too hard. You bite your lip.
“What a pretty ass you got here…” he muttered, and you're just getting comfortable when you feel him slap you on the ass. Hard. You can't help it, a moan leaves your body. “Did I tell you you could moan like that?”
“No, sir.”
“That’s what I thought.
Just as you're relaxing, he slaps you again. You jump a little but pleasure shocks through you.
“That’s a good girl. A good student,” he says, massaging the places he’d slapped you.
You feel the bed shift as he climbs onto it and spreads your ass cheeks. He drags his tongue up your folds, and you melt into the bed. He inserts a finger and starts to pump it in and out of your wet folds. Your hips begin to move, even though it hurts. After a few minutes, the pain is mostly gone and waves of pleasure replace it. He adds another finger and starts to pump faster and harder. You moan, and he slaps your ass. You bite everything you could to stay quiet — the sheets, your lip, your arm. His tongue returns to dance circles on your clit. Your hips rock back and forth, faster and faster. Suddenly, he stops, and you gasp. He leans down over your shoulder, holding his palm on your pussy. You try to wiggle for friction, but he won't let you.
“Tell me what you want,” he says breathlessly.
“I want…” you moan and pant, unable to catch your breath.
“Tell me what you want, or you’re not getting it. Do you want me to stop?”
And he does stop for a moment. Your hands try to fly to his and make him keep going, but they're still tied tightly to the bedpost. You graon.
“No! No, don’t stop,” you shout. “I want you inside me, Professor Butler. I want you to fuck me.”
Those are the key words. He flips you back around and pulls you toward him roughly. He unties your hands from the post, and you desperately scurry toward him to help unbutton his shirt. He pulls it over his head, but you're already unzipping his pants. His hands grab yours.
“Slow down. We’re taking it nice and slow. You can only have me when I decide.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do it slowly.”
You obey, slowly unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. You grab onto his underwear and look up at him like a baby animal, waiting for permission. He nods, and you slowly take them down his legs. His member springs to life, and you are speechless. Sure, you’ve seen dicks before, but none that you want more than Professor Butler’s. You're inspired by boldness, and take it in your hand. You're about to put your lips to it, but he grabs you by the hair and pulls you away as gently as possible.
“No,” is all he says. “Get back on the bed.”
You nod and climb up. As you're doing so, he grabs a condom out of the drawer and puts it on. Once he's also on the bed, he hungrily attacks your neck again. You wrap your arms around his waist, trying to pull him down to you, but he resists. He returns to your lips, kissing you violently. You grip at his back, wanting his dick inside you more than anything. He manuevers it to your entrance and drags the tip up and down your folds, teasing you. You wriggle and writhe underneath his touch. He pulls back but his voice is shaky.
“Tell me how badly you want it,” he says gruffly. “How bad do you want this dick?”
You convulse and dig your nails into his back.
“Uh-uh-uh, use your words, baby girl."
“Fuck, I want it so bad, Professor Butler. I want it so bad,” you mutter, your legs shaking with desire.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” he growls. “Beg.”
“Please, sir,” you whimper.
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me, sir,” you choke out.
He wastes no time, gently sliding into you. You shut your eyes tightly and grasp at his hair.
“Shh, I know it hurts, baby girl,” he says softly. “Be a good girl and it’ll feel better in a minute.”
He gently rubs your side and kisses you. You start to get relaxed and the pain does go away a little. Just as it fades, he begins to slide in and out of you. It takes you a minute to catch up with the feelings but eventually you start moving your hips in rhythm with his.
“That’s a good girl,” he says, grunting. “Fuck, you’re tight.”
You bite your lip, trying not to moan. He speeds up a little, his breath ragged. You're drawing blood on his back, you know it. But he deserves it for not letting you scream.
“Oh, you wanna scream don’t you, good girl?” he asks, as if he had read your thoughts.
“Yes, sir,” you moan out.
“Talk for me,” he says, and you open up. Moans, groans, and other noises fly out of you. Austin starts to breathily moan along with you. “You’re gonna make me cum, good girl.”
You moan louder, feeling a massive wave of pleasure rising.
“Talk for me, baby. Tell everyone who fucked you for the first time.”
That's all you need. You crash down and scream out his name. He keeps pumping in and out of you all the way through your orgasm, finishing himself off. He finally slides out of you, both of you breathing heavily. He falls to the bed alongside you as each of you tries to catch your breath. After a few minutes, he rolls over.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “I didn’t hurt you too bad, did I?”
“No, just a little,” you respond. “Will I be able to walk tomorrow?”
“Not a chance. But you won’t have to. You can stay with me. I’ll take care of you.”
You smile.
“You won’t look back and regret this, will you?” he asks, concern suddenly crossing his face. “That you let me be your first.”
“How could I regret that?” you ask. “You were perfect. Everything I could have asked for.”
You pull him down for a kiss. He scoops you up and tucks you both under the covers for a post-sex nap.
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