Melinda Matson - A seductive student

Velasquez stiffened. His eyes rolled up in his head so only the whites showed. Her cumming cunt was milking his cock, sucking on it with a ravenous hunger.

Joselyn writhed against him, totally out of control, sliding her long legs over his torso, rubbing her inner thighs along the sides of his rib cage, her nails raking his shoulder blades.

Her pussy held the head of his cock like a rubber ball in a hot buttered fist. Only some kind of God would've been able to keep from hunching, to hold back and not drive his aching bone through that constricted opening, that tight delight. Velasquez was no God. He proved his mortality by snapping his hips, by plowing through her quivering channel, sucking air through clenched teeth.

"Uhhh! Uhhh! Uhhh!" he groaned, jerking his cock faster and faster, making her cunt give up a wild sputtering din, smacking his balls into the red hot ring of her rectum.

Joselyn tucked her knees up under his armpits, tipping her cunt up to receive the full brunt of all that slogging meat. The greedy, greedy girl plummeted backwards, through the void, and every jarring impact of his cock upon her upturned pubis made the fireworks go off between her ears.

The professor couldn't hold out any longer. He was going too deep into her, she was too juicy, he was too hot. He threw himself against her like a wild man as the sudden, mind-racking surge of pleasure exploded behind his balls. And then he was cumming, his cock a roman candle in her tight cunt, a roman candle fountaining jets of white.

"Yeeeeeeeeee!!" she shrieked. "Uhhhyeeeeeeeee!!!" Spurts were so powerful that she could actually feel them splattering over the inside of her pussy, coating her walls with his boiling egg flesh.

Velasquez pounded her ruthlessly, using the full length of her vagina to tease out every last shiver of joy, every last drop of his cum. And long before his humping was finished, he was forcing out the very stuff he had shot up her, his pistoning cock making his cum ooze out between the sides of its shaft and the walls of her cunt, making it pool on the desk top beneath her beautiful buttocks…

Joselyn fainted before he was done. She couldn't help herself. Once he had started her cumming, she couldn't stop. She kept on falling and falling. It was the friction against her clitoris, the incessant, rasping pressure that kept her orgasming until she thought she'd go mad, until she had to black out or die. She awoke to the feel of a still-hard penis being wrenched from her cunt. The two parted company with a wet plop.

"Oh!" she groaned as the dammed up cum and lubricant came pouring out of her.

"Damn you," Velasquez snarled. "Don't let it drip over the edge of the desk like that." He picked her cut-off levis up from the floor and tossed them to her. "Here," he said, "wipe up the sticky mess."

She did as he ordered, not even considering the fact that she was going to wear the cut-offs home afterwards.

The professor pulled up his Bermudas, watching her dab at the pool of semen. He grinned ferally. "I've changed my mind," he said.

"What? Huh?" Joselyn said, blinking up at him…

"About the job," he said. "That's why you came here, wasn't it?"

Her heart leapt. He wanted her, after all! She had fucked him so well that she'd broken through his armor! The thought of being his assistant, his sex slave, available whenever, wherever he got the urge made her want to swoon again. She knew in that instant that there was nothing she wouldn't do for him. Nothing!

"Thank you! Thank you!" she gushed. "You really don't know what my being your assistant means to me."

"My assistant?" he said, giving her a strange look. He shook his head. "No, Ms. Foche, you're not going to be my assistant. You're going to be Dr. Bertrand's assistant. You're going to help me destroy that son of a bitch!"

Paul pressed the button for the eighth floor and leaned back against the elevator wall. The doors closed, the car lurched upwards, and his stomach dropped. He groaned aloud. The ache in his balls was horrible, like they'd been caught up in a garlic press. Paul's case of the lover's nuts was chronic. Anymore, it seemed like it was all he could do to shuffle along, wincing at every step.

He would've kicked himself if the hurt would've allowed it. He'd thought he was Mr. Macho, Mr. College Stud. He'd thought he was man enough to handle any kind of sexual situation, man enough to handle any number of chicks. He glumly considered how long he'd held out under the pressure. There was no pride in the feat. Gradually, insidiously, the constant exertion had caught up to him, weakened him. It continued to sap his strength. He was getting himself fucked to death, and while some guys might think that would be the way to go, Paul knew different. He also knew that he'd gotten himself into a real jam, that he couldn't get out of it without jeopardizing his future. It was ironic because he'd started out using his cock to further his career.

He stepped out of the elevator and moved slowly down the corridors of the Theoretical Chemistry Department. He stopped in front of the office door of his mentor, Dr. Ruta Blensch, and rapped twice on the door with his knuckles.

"Yes?" said a rich female voice.

Paul took a quick, short breath and opened the door.

"Oh, Paul. You're late," the professor said. "Late again." Dr. Blensch was in her late thirties, a vital, dynamic, expatriate German. She wore her dyed red hair in a severe Dutch boy style, her lips, which were thick and sensuous, were painted a gory red, her large, rounded rectangular tortoise shell glasses emphasized her high cheekbones and her pale green eyes. Even the stark, sexless cut of the white lab coat she wore couldn't hide her voluptuous figure, a woman's figure, ripe and lush.

"What's the excuse this time?" she said. She was sitting on the front edge of her desk, with one long, creamy leg crossed over the other, the front of her lab coat's hem split to show smooth leg above the knee.

If Paul had known it was going to be like this, the strict schedule, the interrogations, he never would've gotten involved with Dr. Blensch, career or no career. At this point, however, it was a little late for second thoughts.

"I just overslept," he lied, shutting the door behind him.

"Lock it," she said.

He winced, but did as she asked.

She put a long-nailed finger to her glasses and pushed them down her small, thin nose. She peered at him over them. "Is something wrong, Paul?"

"No, of course not," he said.

"It's not your new roommate, is it?" she asked icily.

"We've been through that a million times," he said, his face coloring slightly. "She needed the room and I needed to split the rent with somebody. End of story."

Dr. Blensch pursed her lips. "She is a very attractive girl, though."

"End of story," he repeated.

"But something is bothering you. I can tell. What is it?"

There didn't seem to be any way around telling her something. "I'm starting to worry about getting out of here," he told her. "I mean, I'm beginning to wonder if I'm ever going to get my degree."

The professor sighed and smiled, showing him her teeth. "Now, why should you worry about a stupid thing like that? Of course, you're going to get out and your going to have your Ph.D. and a fine post-doc. Didn't we discuss that at the very start?"

Paul nodded. "Sure, we discussed it. Only that was a long time ago and I haven't got squat done on my thesis. The only work I've done under your guidance has been of a non-academic nature."

She clucked her tongue at him, shaking her head. "Paul, you're being silly. Haven't I lived up to my part of the bargain so far? You've had your name on some very prestigious papers, you know."

He frowned.