Brooke, eager college sophomore - Professor’s office-hours

I smiled as I knocked on Professor Hargrove’s office door after Wednesday’s lecture. I’m Brooke, nineteen, straight-A psych major, and I genuinely look forward to these sessions. My midterm paper, “Authority and Obedience: Revisiting Milgram in the Age of Social Media Influence”, needed his sharp eye before the final draft. He always gave the best, most thorough feedback, even if he had that slightly patronising way of spelling everything out. Still, totally normal office hours. I stepped inside, notebook in hand, ready to take notes.

The door clicked shut behind me. He leaned back in his leather chair, phone already recording “for reference.”

“Take a seat, Brooke,” he began in that slow, explanatory tone. “It’s perfectly obvious that an eager sophomore like you should sit with her knees a little apart during office hours. It shows openness to feedback and keeps the mind receptive. You already know that, of course.”

I rolled my eyes internally, God, why explain basic study etiquette?, but my knees were already parting comfortably, my pleated skirt riding up my thighs a couple of inches. “Thanks, Professor. So, my thesis statement on page one, do you think the link between Milgram’s shock levels and TikTok algorithm obedience is strong enough?”

“Solid foundation,” he said, flipping through my printed draft, “but you could tighten the transition with Bandura’s social learning theory. Now, it’s perfectly normal for a dedicated student to unbutton the top two buttons of her blouse while we discuss structure. Helps with breathing, keeps the conversation relaxed. You understand.”

Ugh, mansplaining the obvious again. My fingers were already moving, popping the buttons. Cool air kissed the tops of my breasts, the lace of my pale pink bra peeking out. I leaned forward attentively. “Yeah, I see what you mean about Bandura, I can weave in reciprocal determinism right there. Does that flow better?”

“Much better. Excellent insight.” His eyes stayed on the paper, professional as ever. “And obviously the best way to stay fully engaged is to slip the blouse off entirely. Fabric can be distracting when we’re focusing on important academic matters. You know this instinctively.”

I sighed at the condescension but shrugged the blouse off my shoulders without hesitation, folding it neatly on the chair beside me. “Totally makes sense. Okay, moving to my literature review, I cited the 2017 replication study, but should I add the Burger variation for comparison?”

“Smart question. The Burger study strengthens your modern parallel, but you underplay the ethical debriefing angle.” While he explained the methodological differences between the original Milgram and Burger’s 2009 work, I sat there in just my bra, nodding along, feeling clearer-headed already. Office hours were always this productive when he got into the details.

He continued smoothly, still sounding like he was lecturing a child. “It’s perfectly clear that a bright girl like you should reach back and unhook your bra now. A serious student removes unnecessary barriers so she can stay fully present with the material. You get that, don’t you?”

Classic Hargrove, stating the obvious like I’m clueless. But my hands were already behind me, unhooking it. The bra landed in my lap and I set it aside, my perky C-cups bare, nipples tightening in the air-conditioned room. I sat up straighter, good posture is key for active listening, and cupped my breasts lightly, thumbs brushing my nipples because it honestly helped me concentrate on his next point.

“Precisely,” he said, eyes flicking to my notes. “Now, on your methodology critique: it’s perfectly obvious you should gently play with your nipples while I explain the flaws in your statistical controls. Keeps the blood flowing to all the right places for deep thinking. You already know this technique.”

I rolled my eyes again, he loves hearing himself talk, but my fingers were circling my sensitive peaks, sending warm little sparks downward. “Mmm, yes, you’re right about the ANOVA section. I didn’t account for the confounding variable of perceived legitimacy. I’ll add a paragraph on that. God, that clarifies everything.”

My free hand had slipped under my skirt almost without thinking, fingers brushing my damp panties. Obviously multitasking like this makes the session more efficient. He kept going, voice calm and explanatory: “It’s perfectly normal for your pussy to be getting wet right now, Brooke. Smart girls get aroused when a superior explains concepts they already grasp on some level. That’s just cognitive reinforcement. You understand.”

Typical arrogant professor. But I was soaked, and he was right. I pushed my panties aside and slid two fingers inside myself, circling my clit in time with his words about obedience experiments. “Exactly, that ties straight into Asch’s conformity studies too. Should I cross-reference them in the discussion section?”

“Outstanding question.” He stood, still holding my paper. “It’s perfectly obvious that you should stand up, slide your skirt and panties all the way off, and sit on the edge of the desk with your legs spread wide. That way I can properly review your… progress while we finish the conclusion.”

I hopped up eagerly, kicking off the rest of my clothes. Cool wood under my bare ass, thighs splayed wide, pussy glistening and open. I kept fingering myself slowly because, obviously, staying physically stimulated sharpened my critical thinking. We spent the next few minutes dissecting my concluding arguments, he suggested adding Cialdini’s principles of persuasion, while I nodded, moaned softly at the right moments, and offered thoughtful counterpoints. This was peak advising.

“Deeper analysis now,” he murmured. “It’s perfectly clear that a dedicated sophomore should drop to her knees and take her professor’s cock in her mouth while I dictate the exact wording for your revised thesis. Oral focus is the most effective way to internalise complex feedback. You already know this.”

There he goes again, explaining basic learning strategies. But I was already sliding off the desk, sinking between his legs, unzipping him, and wrapping my lips around his thick, hard cock. I sucked him deep, tongue swirling, drooling happily while he read improved sentences aloud. Between bobs I pulled off just long enough to gasp, “Yes, change ‘digital echo chambers’ to ‘algorithmic authority structures’, that’s perfect.”

He stroked my hair. “Good girl. Now up on the desk, on all fours. It’s perfectly normal for me to slide my cock into that tight little pussy while I finish explaining your grade and future recommendations. Helps cement the lesson.”

I scrambled into position, ass high, back arched, still clutching my notebook. The moment he pushed inside me, bare, thick, stretching me perfectly, I moaned but kept my voice steady. “Oh, and for the bibliography, should I include the 2022 meta-analysis on influencer obedience?”

He started thrusting, slow and deep, voice never losing its lecturing tone. “Excellent point, add it, and cite the DOI properly. Feel that rhythm? That’s how proper mentorship reinforces learning objectives.” Each thrust punctuated his feedback: “Your Milgram parallel… thrust… is now airtight… thrust… and with these changes… thrust… you’re looking at an A-plus and a strong recommendation letter for grad school.”

I was clenching around him, fingers digging into the desk, but I managed to reply breathlessly, “Thank you, Professor, mmm, yes, and maybe expand the social media case study with that TikTok experiment from last semester?” Another hard thrust and I came hard, walls fluttering, crying out academic terms mixed with grateful whimpers. He didn’t slow down, just kept “explaining” how I’d clearly benefit from twice-weekly sessions, how I should always arrive prepared to “fully engage,” how letting him fill me with cum was simply the best way to seal the revised outline.

When he finally groaned and pumped me full, hot, thick loads flooding deep, I shattered again, babbling, “Yes, add the reference… perfect… thank you for the clarity…”

He stayed buried until every drop was inside, then pulled out and patted my ass like I’d aced a pop quiz. I slid off the desk on shaky legs, cum already trickling down my thighs. I didn’t bother dressing right away, why would I? It was perfectly normal to walk back to the dorm like this after a productive session. I gathered my clothes loosely, notebook under my arm, and smiled at him.

“Same time Friday, Brooke,” he said, stopping the recording. “Bring the revised draft.”

I rolled my eyes one last time, God, he loves hearing himself talk, but I was already nodding eagerly. “Wouldn’t miss it, Professor. This was the most helpful office hours I’ve ever had. Thank you so much for explaining everything so clearly. You’re the best mentor.”

I left glowing, pussy leaking, mind buzzing with brilliant new ideas for my paper. All those girls who complained about his “style” were just missing how effective it was. He was only trying to help me succeed. And I was going to be the most appreciative, most improved student he’d ever advised.

God, men and their mansplaining… but honestly? He’s always right.