Your flawless portrayal of a certified professor astounded him. His wide eyes stalked every movement; each individual ministration, no matter how miniscule, was observed. Hormonal and needy, the young man focused most prominently on the swaying of your hips, and that seductive lip-bite, which you did for the sole purpose of toying with him.
"Mr Parker, pay attention please." Angelic yet devious, the words swirled around his mind.
Attempting to disregard the bemused looks of his classmates, he responded, "Y-Yes miss."
Initially, you were introduced through Tony Stark, however, various meetings ensued shortly thereafter. During the sunlight hours, your profession was that of a S.H.I.E.L.D operative, working alongside a number of infamous heroes, including the playboy billionaire philanthropist himself.
Come eventide, your fatigued form dragged itself to la casa Parker. Upon viewing the ordinary structure, a concoction of excitement and intoxication impregnated your very being. Augmenting suddenly, to an acceptable degree, you would station yourself by his window, and softly knock.
Despite being a handful of years his elder, you failed to oppress any lustful feelings, permitting them to be demonstrated amid your nightly sessions. Convincing yourself that he was being educated, assured your usual dominance. Although, there was the odd occasion.
"Alright class, that's it for today. I expect your assignments to be handed in tomorrow." Breaking his train of thought, your entrancing vocals ensnared his ear drums.
As the class dispersed, you called, "Oh, and Peter, stay behind please. We need to have a word about your exam results."
Inaudibly, he gulped, wanting nothing more than to pin you to that desk, rip off the offending items of clothing, and fuck you senseless. By the mischievous glint in your (e/c) orbs, it appeared you were aware. A multitude of glances were thrown his way – some teasing, some sympathetic.
Once the last student had carefully sauntered through the door, you gave the first instruction.
"Lock it."
Docile and eager to please, he ambled towards it, turning the bolt. Meanwhile, you positioned yourself on the hard desk, legs spread slightly, showcasing the treasure concealed beneath your tight skirt. As the young boy pivoted apprehensively, while simultaneously retaining a precious fervour, he spied your arrangement.
Gesturing for him to advance, you perceived the spontaneous blossoming of his features – a gorgeous shade of crimson engulfed his face. Never-the-less, he complied with your silent demand, immediately allowing his knees to buckle a certain distance from your body.
Cautiously, he snaked gentle hands up your thighs, sliding them under the aforementioned inconvenience. Gripping them securely, he leaned forwards, gracing your core with a few tentative licks. Irregular breathing escaped your throat, gifting him the courage to be more forceful.
His wet muscle lapped up any premature juices, prodding at your entrance until it slithered in. Swirling his tongue around, he revelled in the wanton moans from above, and the rough tugs at his hair.
"P-Peter ~"
A sticky white substance gushed from your core, dripping down your thighs, and coating the floor. Disentangling his tongue, your underage partner elatedly caressed your legs, using his hot muscle to return them to their former cleanliness.
Regaining his composure after witnessing your orgasm, he stood, still grasping your thighs.
Seductively, he whispered, "Turn around, hands on the desk."
