Page 82 of Wicked Little Secret

No panties.

Just as directed.

Her pleated skirt’s ridden up her thighs and her pussy lips resemble the soft petals of a flower. The pink center sowarm and inviting. Her pussy blooming before my eyes like an orchid.

I square my jaw, biting down on the rush of chemicals that flow through me. That shoot straight to my cock.

When I open my mouth to speak, my voice sounds hoarse. Borderline strained.

“Come here. Hands flat on my desk.”

Nyssa, being Nyssa, makes a performance out of the demand. She rises to the occasion, slipping out from under the small L-shaped desk with a sultry sway of her hips and a pout of her lips. Then she’s strutting toward me, step by step down the cascade of student desks.

Her shiny curls shimmy. Her pleated skirt flutters.

It teases skin.

So does the tight button-up blouse she wears that’s seemingly fit to burst. Several of the male students had eye-fucked her as she took her seat when class began.

Justin Hendricks practically had his tongue flopping out of his mouth.

But Nyssa hardly paid him any mind. She only had eyes for me.

Like now.

I remain composed and distant as she struts toward me oozing sex. She’s a temptress, a seductress about to make me lose my mind.

We both know it, though we hold on as long as we can.

Flattening her hands to my desk, she pushes her hips out and spreads her legs. Her eyes link with mine in brazen challenge and she says, “Anything you want, Professor.”

I work the tension from my jaw and remind myself to breathe. “I’ve told you before, Miss Oliver, about misbehaving in my class.”

“I’m sorry, Professor. I thought?—”

“You thought wrong. Which means now I have to teach you a lesson. I want you to count along with me. Ready?”

Her shoulders rise with the breath she takes in and then straighten into perfect posture. She gives a nod.

I step behind her and flip her skirt up over her bare ass. I’ve grabbed hold of the wooden yardstick from my supply closet and beat it against the palm of my hand, building suspense by the second.

Her backside’s round and supple. A delicious juicy peach I’d love to bite into.

Devour and feast on.

Worship.

But first things first.

Punishment.

I wind the wooden stick back, issuing the question on my mind. “What were you up to last night?”

“Homework.”

“Wrong answer.”

The wooden ruler slams into her ass on the first strike. She does a little hop in place, managing to keep her hands flat on the desk.