Her Dirty Professor Series (21+)

That’s not a lie. Petunias are Monica’s favorite flower, but I doubt Brant knows that. It seems their relationship is more of a physical one, and I doubt they do all that much talking after the sex is over.Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

But still, I’m here to seduce this man, so he can call me Sweet Baby Jesus if he wants. Or Big-Breasts-And-Googly-Eyes. I don’t care; I just want him to fall head over heels into lust so that he leaves my family in peace.

“So what brings you here, Brant?” I ask in a coy voice while fluttering my lashes at him. For good measure, I even twirl a blonde lock between my fingers, trying to look like a seductive vixen. His gaze flickers to the movement, and suddenly, my heart contracts because maybe I’m coming on too strong. After all, Brant Harrison isn’t exactly a high school boy who’s learning about women for the first time. The alpha male has been banging a forty-five year old married woman for the past couple months with no compunction whatsoever, so he knows his way around the female sex.

But it seems he’s ready to play.

“I come by the Red Rooster on occasion,” Brant drawls, his blue eyes as clear as an ice-cold lake. “I live nearby, so it’s no trouble. How about you? I’ve never seen you here before.”

I giggle before spewing my cover story once again.

“Oh who, me? I just moved to the neighborhood, so I’m seeing new spots and familiarizing myself with the territory. I read on one of those review sites that the Red Rooster is a cool place, so I thought I’d check out the vibe.”

Brant nods as the bartender slides a martini across the wooden surface at me.

“Well, welcome to the hood, sweetheart. I’m happy to tell you more, if you’re interested.”

We clink glasses and I take a sip while gazing at him over the rim.

“Of course I’d love to know more,” I purr. “Tell me the gossip. I’m all ears.”

Something flashes in Brant’s eyes and he sits back, his gaze sweeping over my curvaceous form, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far again. But then, I dismiss the thought. What could I have done? I’ve only been here for five minutes, so it’s too early to have messed up yet.

With renewed determination, I lean forward towards the bar, my arms pressing in on my decolletage so that my big bust is emphasized. In fact, the valley between my Double D’s looks positively mysterious and Brant’s gaze lingers there for a fraction of a second before sweeping up to my innocent smile. But he doesn’t comment on my seductive pose, and merely begins a history lesson, of all things.

“Oakdale was originally settled by Norwegians,” he growls. “A lot of us are of Scandinavian stock.”

“Oh, you are?” I ask. “Then you must be descended from Vikings!”

Brant grins raffishly.

“Well, I don’t know about Vikings, but yeah, my forebears were Danes. They came to the United States in the eighteen hundreds after fighting Germans back in the old country. You know how it was in the olden days. Europeans were always fighting other Europeans, and no one even remembers why anymore.”

I frown, momentarily distracted.

“Yeah, I’ve never heard of Danes fighting Germans, but I suppose it could happen,” I muse. “Anything can happen.”

Brant nods thoughtfully.

“Well, after the war, my great-great-grandfather relocated to the plains outside Chicago. He didn’t have a wife yet, so he spent seven long years as a single dude before mail-ordering a wife from the old country. Yes, mail-ordering a spouse really happened back then,” he adds in a rueful tone. “Lots of guys did it.”

I stare at him.

“Are you serious?”

The handsome man nods.

“Yeah, I am. My great-great-grandmother was picked from a catalogue. She had a bar code and everything. I’m kidding,” he grins. “There were no catalogues back then, at least from what I’ve heard. Instead, there were marriage agencies who made introductions. I think they provided a picture and maybe some basic stats about each prospective spouse, but not a lot. There was no internet in those days,” he says with a rueful smile.

I shake my head, my eyes wide.

“Goodness, that must have been interesting. I mean, it gives a whole new meaning to the words ‘blind date.'”

Brant grins again, his blue eyes sparkling.

“Yeah, except it wasn’t a blind date. It was a blind marriage, which is fucking inconceivable when you think about it. My great-great-grandmother was a girl of sixteen when she was shipped here, and from what we know, she got off the boat in New York, got onto a train, and made her way to Illinois where my grandpappy had a homestead. He was a farmer,” he clarifies. “Growing wheat, mostly, but also some vegetables to be sold at market.”

I nod.

“It sounds like a wholesome life.”

Brant smiles, his teeth flashing white in the darkness.

“It was a wholesome life,” he confirms. “I’m of humble stock, but I’m not ashamed of my origins. In fact, I count myself fortunate because my family escaped poverty and famine in Europe to start a new life here in the United States. Trust me, things could be much, much worse.”

With that, I smile at the handsome man, although I’m already beginning to feel doubts about my plan. In my mind, Brant Harrison was basically the equivalent of a male gigolo. He was an airhead without a clue about the world, who had the temerity to fuck a married woman. But now, I’m not so sure. Even within five minutes of conversation, it seems that Brant’s intelligent and thoughtful, with a good head on his shoulders, and both feet on the ground. Now that, I did not expect.

So what do I do now? I ask myself. Abort? Reveal my true identity?

The voice in my head scoffs. Stop that, Peyton. You’re here on a mission, and you can’t get distracted by a conversation about genealogy, of all things. This is the guy who hurt your dad! Who’s still hurting your dad! Stick with the original plan.

With that, I straighten my shoulders and smile flirtatiously at Brant once more. Obviously, I need to pull out the big guns because soon, we’ll be having an academic conversation about the history of the world if things don’t move along. As a result, I decide to up the ante. It’s dark in the bar, and not too crowded either. There are some customers at the front, and the bartender’s currently tending to their needs, so Brant and I are pretty much alone in the back.

Taking a deep breath, I smile at him again before leaning forward to pick up my drink. The problem is that the neckline of my dress is so low that with a small jerk of my elbow, suddenly a huge white tit comes tumbling out.

“My goodness,” I gasp, looking down at the creamy orb. “Did that just happen?”

Brant’s thunderstruck as he stares at my beautiful breast, the low lights making it positively glow in the darkness. The nipple’s already hard, and instead of trying to cover myself, instead I reach up with my free hand and gently circle the hard nub.

“Mmm,” I smile wickedly. “Well, now that this ta-ta is out, we might as well get my other one out too.”

With that, I pull my neckline down entirely, letting my other breast spill out too, and then begin circling both nipples with gentle fingers.

“Mm, this feels amazing,” I coo. “It’s such a nice day, don’t you think?”

Never mind that my words don’t even make sense. Brant stares with hungry eyes as I continue to tweak my nipples while jiggling the creamy orbs at him. Then, I push things even further. Never dropping his gaze, I lift one big tit up to my mouth before bending my head to lick at the nipple. Then, I giggle before doing the same with the other breast and jiggle them both at him for fun.

“Would you like a taste?” I ask in a sweet voice. “Don’t worry, nobody’s looking. We’ve basically got the place to ourselves.”

It’s true because we’re in a dark corner, and the other customers at the Red Rooster seem to be having an uproarious time on the other side, keeping the bartender busy with their orders. But I underestimated the alpha male because Brant doesn’t hesitate at all. Instead, he bends that dark head immediately before sipping at my left nipple, making me moan sweetly while throwing my head back, shots of electricity running straight from my tip to my cunt.

“That feels so good,” I whisper. “More. Please.”

Brant’s blue eyes flash as he pulls off for a moment, but then he leans forward again, and soon he’s sucking deep at my breast while a big hand slides up my thigh. Within seconds, I feel something tickling my pussy and squirm a bit on my seat.

“No panties, honey?” he asks in a low growl. “Fuck you’re dirty.”

I merely pant.

“I know, and I’m wet too, aren’t I?” I coo. “It’s all for you, Brant.”

With that, it’s on. The older man’s sucking deeply at one tit before pulling off and lapping at the other. I’m moaning in a low tone as his hand gently grazes my pussy lips, parting the sensitive flesh before testing the moisture at my little opening. Then he pulls his hand away, lifting his fingers up to the light to examine those gleaming digits.

“Absolutely drenched,” he muses, more to himself than anyone. Then, Brant circles my pebbled nipples with his fingers, spreading the pussy juice all over my sensitive flesh so that they shine in the low lights, before leaning down to suckle those hard nubs again.

“Fuck, I love the taste of your vaginal juice, sweetheart,” he rasps between deep pulls at my breasts. “It tastes amazing when I’m sucking it off your titties.”