Page 4 of The Professor's Holiday Surprise

There’s a note on the counter that Sinclaire, Trick’s bride, helped our housekeeper Inez make the stew.

Ah, hell. Now I feel bad that I missed the delivery of it, but this is how it is when I’m teaching at the college. Most of the time, I’m running late for dinner, and today is no exception.

For years, this was all I ever wanted in life: working the ranch with my brothers. And in my pursuit of learning how to be the best rancher I can be, I took a couple of degrees in agriculture. Now I’m a part-time instructor, teaching the next generation of Wyoming kids how to work the land, and that felt like it completed an already full life.

That was until three months ago, when I looked out my office window and saw Paisley Stevenson dancing in the parking lot. Faded blue jeans wrapped around long legs and generous hips. A faded, nondescript t-shirt over bouncing breasts. And the prettiest hair I’ve ever seen, strawberry blonde waves that float like a cloud around her shoulders.

Even before she ran into me at the bottom of the stairwell, she stole my damn heart. She looked like my future. My forever. My babies and grand babies.

And I walked away from her without asking her name because I already knew I didn’t have that right, that she was almost certainly a student.

And then she showed up in my classroom.

Not only was she a student, but she wasmystudent.

In nine years of teaching, I haveneverbeen tempted by a student. I always assumed that was because I have a strong sense of right and wrong, and I would never cross that ethical line. It turns out that my lizard brain doesn’t give a fuck about ethical boundaries, and if it were up to him, he’d have bent Paisley over and made good use of that time before her classmates arrived. Given her my seed and planted a baby, breeding on the first try.

The good news is that the lizard brain isn’t in charge of anything. At least…not at school. I kept my depraved desires to myself and instead focused on learning whatever I could about this sweet girl. Woman, actually. She’s a mature student, almost thirty, although she still has the wide-eyed innocence of youth.

That night, though, I worked my cock over and over again, stroking myself raw. And it wasn’t enough.

Nothing worked to take the edge off my obsession with the girl who I had no doubt would become my favorite student—for her brain, and not anything else.

After that first class, I didn’t get another good glimpse at most of Paisley’s body, because the temperature dropped and she started wearing sweatshirts that knew exactly how to run interference between my lizard brain and what it craved most.

And then, in the fourth week of class, everything changed. It was one of those weird days on a college campus where suddenly everyone is talking about the same thing, a website you’ve never heard of before, but now it’s trending on the quad and it’s hard to get classes to quiet down because everyone is buzzing.

That day, it was about how Christmas had come early to the internet. Or, more specifically, how a porn star named Christmas Fever was comingonthe internet, with a splashy jump from a different creator site to the whimsically horny OnlySantas.

It might have been the first few days of fall, but everyone had winter on their minds. Paisley even wore a Christmas-themed sweatshirt to class, which delighted her classmates.

The whispered conversations were pretty entertaining. Students marvelled at how long some of the creators could stay aroused and in their performance.

I smirked to myself, because while I’ve never been very sexual, when I do take care of myself, it’s always a long night of edging. I didn’t realize that was something other people might want to see.

That night, I created an OnlySantas account. Strictly out of curiosity, I told myself as I poked around. And while watching wasn’t really my thing, as I explored, a kernel of an idea formed. By the end of the night, it was a complete plan. I had discovered an outlet where I could pretend that my orgasms were being shared with the woman who inspired every one of them.

Chapter 2

Paisley

“Why isn’tPlant Daddy here when we need him?” My classmate moans and throws up her hands. We’re dividing small-leaf pussytoes in the greenhouse, practicing for our upcoming practical exam. It should be an easy task, according to the practice handout Dr. Lowry posted to the class website.

It’s not easy at all, and I agree, I wish our professor was here right now, but the Sunday afternoon lab time we signed up for is unsupervised.

“Don’t call him that,” I whisper, glancing around nervously, but nobody heard her over the strains of “Driving Home for Christmas” by Chris Rea playing overhead. Whoever is in charge of the music today, they’re right into the holiday season, which I appreciate, because there’s something magical about the countdown to Christmas.

I have no logical reason to think that. Every holiday for as long as I can remember, and definitely through my entire adult life, has been completely forgettable.

That doesn’t stop me from hoping each year will be different.

“Everyone calls him that.”

Everyone is rude, I think darkly.

Of course, everyone else is practically a teenager. The girl beside me is twenty, for example. I feel like her geriatric elder.

I think I’m the only mature student taking this class.

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