INTRODUCING OUR SISTER PODCAST: Sex Stories After Dark 🔥My First Time Tribbing with My College Professor (Female x Female) (18+ NSFW)

0:08 The university always felt different after four o'clock. The crowded corridors emptied, the chatter faded, and the old humanities building settled into a peculiar silence. Even the footsteps sounded louder against the polished floors. I'd been studying literature there for almost three years, but it wasn't until Professor Eleanor Alcott arrived that I began looking forward to Monday mornings. She was unlike any lecturer I'd encountered. Intelligent, effortlessly elegant, and just intimidating enough to make an entire room fall silent when she entered. She never raised her voice. She didn't need to. Something about her quiet confidence commanded attention. Her lectures were supposed to be about 19th century literature, but

1:00 I often found myself noticing everything except the words on the board. The silver rings she wore. The way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her habit of pausing before answering a question, as though she were carefully considering every possibility. At first, I told myself it was admiration. Then came the dreams. And the increasingly ridiculous excuses to visit her office. I volunteered to discuss extra reading. asked questions I already knew the answers to, and once spent 20 minutes debating a poem I'd barely understood.

1:41 Professor Alcott always seemed amused by my enthusiasm. That afternoon, she'd asked me to stay behind after our seminar to discuss an essay. I'd spent the entire walk to her office, wondering whether she'd noticed how nervous I became around her. The building was almost deserted. Rain threatened beyond the tall windows, and somewhere downstairs, a caretaker was rattling a trolley along the corridor. When I reached her door, I hesitated. Her name was engraved on a small brass plaque. Professor Eleanor Alcott, Department of Literature. I knocked twice. Come in, she called.

2:26 I turned the handle, stepped inside, and immediately felt that familiar flutter of nerves. The office smelled of old paper and her perfume, something with bergamot and cedar, sharp enough to cut through the stagnant air of late afternoon. I'd been to Professor Alcott's office hours a dozen times, but never like this. Never with the door locked and the blinds drawn, the late sun slicing thin gold lines across her mahogany desk. She was 43, with silver-threaded hair pulled back in a loose knot and a mouth that always seemed on the verge of a secret. I was 21, barely out of a bad breakup, and I'd been staring at her hands for months. The way they moved when she lectured. The way her fingers curled around a piece

3:18 of chalk. She caught me looking. Again. You're distracted, she said, not unkindly. She leaned back in her chair, and the buttons of her silk blouse strained just slightly. I watched the fabric pull across her chest. My mouth went dry. I'm sorry, I whispered. Don't be. She stood, walked around the desk, and perched on its edge. Her skirt rode up her thighs. Come here. My legs moved before my brain caught up. I stood in front of her, close enough to smell the coffee on her breath. She reached out and traced the collar of my shirt with one fingernail. Slow. Deliberate.

4:03 I've seen the way you watch me, she said. In class, in the library. You think I don't notice, but I notice everything. My heart hammered against my ribs. Professor, call me Eleanor. Her hand slid down my arm. I want to show you something. Something I think you've been wanting for a long time. She stood and turned me around, guiding me until the back of my thighs hit the edge of her desk. The wood was cool through my thin cotton skirt. She pressed a hand to my sternum and pushed me back until I was lying flat, staring up at the ceiling fan's lazy rotation. Stay, she said.

4:46 I stayed. Eleanor hiked my skirt up to my waist. The air hit my bare legs and I shivered. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of my underwear and pulled them down, down, past my knees, past my ankles, until they were a crumpled heap on the floor. I was completely exposed from the waist down, my pussy open to the fluorescent light and her hungry gaze. Look at you, she breathed, already so wet. She wasn't wrong. I could feel the slickness between my folds, the heat radiating off my skin. My clit was swollen, peeking out from its hood like it was begging to be touched. I clenched my thighs together, but she pushed them apart with firm hands.

5:37 None of that, she said. I want to see everything. She knelt between my legs, still fully clothed. The contrast made me feel obscene. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and then she lowered her head and blew a stream of cool air directly onto my pussy. I jerked. My hips bucked off the desk. She laughed, low and throaty. Sensitive, she murmured. I like that. Two fingers spread my lips apart.

6:10 The cool air hit my clit, and I made a sound I'd never made before. something between a gasp and a whimper. She held me open like that, just looking, studying me the way she studied her ancient texts. Beautiful, she said, pink and swollen and dripping. Do you know how long I've wanted to do this? I shook my head, unable to speak, since the first day of class. You wore that green sweater, the one with the low neck, I could see the tops of your breasts every time you leaned forward. Her thumb found my clit. One slow circle.

6:51 My back arched. A moan tore out of my throat, and she clapped a hand over my mouth. Shh. The department head is two doors down. I nodded, breath hot against her palm. She removed her hand and replaced it with her mouth. Not on my pussy, but on my inner thigh. biting down just hard enough to leave a mark.

7:14 I felt the sting, then the wet heat of her tongue soothing it. Please, I whispered. Please, Eleanor. She looked up at me. Please what? Touch me. I need... I know what you need. She stood and unbuttoned her blouse, slowly, each button revealing more pale skin, more of the curve of her breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra, Her nipples were dark and hard, and when she shrugged the blouse off her shoulders, I thought I might come just from the sight of her. Sit up, she said. I scrambled to obey. She pushed me back until I was leaning on my elbows, legs still spread wide. Then she climbed onto the desk, straddling my right thigh. Her skirt was still on, but she reached underneath it and pulled her own underwear down, kicking them aside. I caught a glimpse

8:10 of dark hair, glistening folds, before she settled her weight onto me. This, she said, is called tripping. It's the oldest way two women can fuck. She ground her pussy down against my thigh. I felt the wet heat of her, the slip of her slick skin against mine. She rocked her hips forward, and her clit dragged along the muscle of my leg. Her breath hitched. Now you, she said.

8:40 Grind against me. I shifted, finding the angle. When my pussy met her thigh, a shock of pleasure shot through me. The friction was electric, our wetness mingling, our clits hard and throbbing. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on either side of my head, and began to move in earnest. The desk creaked. The ceiling fan clicked. Our breath came in ragged gasps. I could feel everything. The rough drag of her pubic bone against my clit. The way her pussy left a slick trail on my skin. The hard points of her nipples brushing my chest through my shirt.

9:22 She kissed me then. Deep and messy. Her tongue fucking my mouth while her hips fucked my thigh. Harder. I begged against her lips. Please, harder. She gave me harder. She grabbed my hips and pulled me up, positioning us so that our pussies were aligned, and then she pressed down. The first slide of her clit against mine made me see stars. We found a rhythm, a brutal, grinding rhythm, and the wet sounds filled the office. Slap. Slide. Slap.

10:00 Your pussy is so fucking wet, she growled. You're dripping all over my desk. I was. I could feel the slickness pooling beneath me, staining the mahogany. She reached down and dragged two fingers through my folds, then brought them to my mouth. I sucked them clean, tasting myself, salty and musky and sweet. Good girl, she said. Now watch.

10:28 She sat back on her heels and spread her own pussy open with her fingers. Her clit was dark pink, engorged, glistening. She rubbed it in tight circles while she watched me touch myself. We were both masturbating, inches apart, our knees touching, our breath mingling. I want you to come on my thigh, she said. Then I'm going to lick you clean. My fingers moved faster. My hips lifted off the desk. I was so close. So fucking close. And then she pinched my clit between her thumb and forefinger and squeezed. The orgasm ripped through me. My vision went white. My legs clamped around her hand. I screamed into my own fist.

11:17 biting down on my knuckles to keep quiet. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me, each one stronger than the last. I felt my pussy contract, felt the gush of wetness soak the desk beneath me. When I could breathe again, Eleanor was smiling down at me. That was beautiful, she said. She lowered her head and licked me. Long, slow strokes of her tongue, cleaning every inch of my pussy, lapping up the mess I'd made. I shuddered through the aftershocks, my clit so sensitive that every touch was almost too much.

11:57 Then she straightened up and straddled my face. Your turn, she said. Make me come. I did. I licked and sucked and fucked her with my tongue until she was grinding down on my mouth, her thighs shaking, her fingers twisted in my hair. When she came, she was quiet. Just a sharp inhale and a long, trembling exhale. But her pussy flooded my mouth and I drank every drop. Afterward, we lay tangled on the desk, her head on my chest.

12:32 my fingers playing with her hair. The blinds cast orange shadows across the walls. Somewhere down the hall, a door closed. We should do this again, she murmured. When? She lifted her head and looked at me. Now, I want you on your stomach. I'm not finished with you yet. I rolled over. The wood was still warm and wet beneath me.

12:58 She knelt behind me, and I felt her fingers part my cheeks, felt her breath on my asshole. Have you ever been fucked here? She asked. I shook my head. Good. Something cold pressed against me. The cap of a pen? No. Her thumb, slick with my own wetness. Because I'm going to take my time. Hey, gorgeous. Until next time, sweet dreams.