**The Accounting Teacher’s Lesson**

I never thought it would come to this, but here I was, sitting in Professor Amina’s office after hours, heart pounding as she leaned over my desk to explain the problems I’d been struggling with. She was strict in class—always buttoned-up, always professional—but tonight, something was different. She’d stayed late to tutor me, and the way her hijab framed her face only made the heat in my chest worse.

“You’re distracted,” she said, tapping my notebook. “Focus, or we’ll be here all night.”

But how could I focus when her scent—something warm and floral—filled the air? When her full lips pursed in frustration and her dark eyes flickered with something I couldn’t name?

Then, her hand brushed mine. A jolt ran through me, my cock twitching in my jeans. She froze, her breath hitching.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. Then, with a shaky exhale, she whispered, “Do you want me?”

My throat went dry. “Yes.”

Her fingers traced my wrist, sending fire up my arm. “Then touch me.”

I didn’t hesitate. My hands found her waist, pulling her into my lap. Her breath hitched as my fingers slid under her blouse, tracing the soft skin of her stomach. She shivered—nervous, hesitant—but when I cupped her breast, a moan escaped her lips.

“Fuck,” I groaned, thumbing her nipple through her bra.

She grabbed my wrist, not to stop me but to guide my hand lower. “Don’t tease.”

I unbuttoned her pants, fingers slipping beneath the fabric. The moment I touched her pussy, she gasped—already wet, already aching. Her hips jerked as I circled her clit.

“Oh, **fuck**,” she whimpered, fingers gripping my shoulders.

I pushed two fingers inside her, curling them just right. She rocked against my hand, panting, her hijab slipping slightly as she threw her head back. “Yes, just like that—*oh*—yes!”

Her cunt clenched around my fingers, and I couldn’t wait anymore. I pulled my hand away, unbuckling my jeans with a groan. My cock sprang free, thick and leaking.

Her eyes widened. “You’re so hard…”

I lifted her, settling her over me. Her thighs trembled as she guided me to her entrance. “Slow,” she whispered, biting her lip.

Then she sank onto me, inch by inch, her tight pussy stretching around my shaft. We both moaned—hers high and breathy, mine a ragged growl.

“Move,” I begged, gripping her hips.

She did, rising and falling with shallow thrusts at first, then harder, faster. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, her tits bouncing under her blouse. Every time she came down on me, her cunt hugged my cock like a vice.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” I gasped, slamming up into her.

She cried out, her nails digging into my chest. “I’m—I’m close—*oh God*—!”

Her orgasm hit hard. Her pussy pulsed around me, milking my cock as she shuddered, her moans turning desperate. The sight of her coming undone—hijab askew, lips parted—pushed me over the edge.

I thrust up one last time, burying myself deep as I came, hot cum filling her. She collapsed against me, breathless, trembling.

For a moment, we stayed like that—sticky, sated, silent. Then, with a soft laugh, she murmured, “You’re still failing my class.”

I grinned. “Worth it.”