professor!pope x teacher's pet reader
this affair was strictly pragmatic. that's what you told yourself at least. if professor heyward didn't wanna fuck you, then he shouldn't have. he's the authority here isn't he? he was the one that had you bent over, face to face with his wife's picture while he nutted across your back.
so if you think about it, none of this is your fault. professor heyward is a very weak willed man. stuttering in class after each tryst, locking eyes with your bored expression like you couldn't care less about the fact you swallowed him whole before the period started. how are you more mature than a 40 something year old man? it's pathetic.
but this? this has reached a new low.
inviting you and the other research assistants into his home for some event the department was holding. leaving you trapped in a conversation with his environmentalist wife as if that'd shake you. but it doesn't. you listen to her drone on and on in jargon that'd even bore an academic to tears before pope drags you away with the excuse of 'networking'.
sure she looked a little put off, but it seemed more out of boredom than suspicion.
she should be a lot more suspicious actually, because you're tugged into a spare bedroom. and pope's so frantic you're mid bitch about him being obvious before his tongues in your mouth.
"i couldn't fucking stand it, standing there watching you talk to my wife." pope tugs hard and fast at your panties, leaving them dangling around one ankle as he pushes in, half dry and pulsing.
you barely complain, feeling the glide get slicker with each thrust, "you told me to mingle."
finally he bottoms out and his balls are hanging so heavy you wonder if he even fucks her in-between nights with you, "not like that, you're fucking crazy."
you kiss him hard, teeth clashing as your lipstick smears across his face, "liar."
no more words are said, just choked out gasps and hushed moans as he fucks you against the wall. but pope's getting louder with each thrust, so much so you're worried someone will hear as they've no doubt started looking for him.
"jesus christ heyward, you whine like a girl." in a rushed shuffle you tug your panties off your ankle just to shove them in his mouth as he continues to rut into you, "shhh, shhhh shut the fuck up, god!"
it's like he doesn't hear you as he buries his face in your neck. it vaguely dons on him he has nowhere to cum.
so he does, tonguing the crotch your panties as he shoots load after load into your hot cunt before pulling out with a relieved sigh.
you're pushing him away, tugging your dress back in place and checking your makeup in your pocket mirror. now you're more pissed than anything--here you were dripping with cum as your body pulses with the need for an orgasm of it's own.
"there's a bathroom in there--"
you go in, not bothering to check if he's following behind you while you clean up, only vaguely aware that he's doing the same.
"sorry bout that, i'll pay you back later, how's that sound? can get something to eat after i'm always starving after shoveling hors d'oeuvres for 4 hours."
still, you don't reply. you walk out of the room and back to the party, hoping that when his wife turned in your direction, it wasn't because you were reeking of his cologne.
