Melinda Matson - A seductive student

"What if he doesn't want me as his assistant?" she said.

He laughed at her. "You're laking!" he told her flatly. "Bertrand will fall all over himself to get into your tight little pussy. And you're going to give it to him, too. You're going to do anything he asks, understand?"

Even though Joselyn knew what the bottom line was going to be, she couldn't help but recoil at the idea. Bertrand was a wimp, a nebbish, in her opinion totally unworthy of her. But what hurt worse than the prospect of giving herself to him was the realization that Velasquez, the man in a million, the one she thought could make her truly happy the one she could not bully with her brains and beauty, cared so little for her that he would give her to his worst enemy, that he wouldn't even think twice about it. To him, she was nothing but a bit of fluff, a cheap tart to be passed around, to be used, and moreover, a tart who expected to be used. She shuddered.

"Understand?" he said, grabbing her by the arm, squeezing so hard she squirmed at the pain.

The physical violence was totally uncalled for and they both knew it. "Yes!" she gasped, her eyes brimming with tears. They both knew that she would obey him without question, that she would take her punishment willingly, that she would be the swarthy professor's sex slave, his whore, and love him for it.

"All right, then," he said, releasing her, taking a seat behind his desk. He picked up an abstract and resumed his reading.

Joselyn just stood there, trembling, unable to do anything else. He looked up at her with disdain. "Do I have to tell you everything twice?" he said, icily. "Well?"

She shook her head. She turned and walked stiffly out of his office, closing the door carefully behind her.

There was a hurt inside of her, a horrible aching in her chest and throat. For the first time, she understood what her mother must've felt: the love pain, the soul ache. To be treated as worthless by the one you adore, that had been her mom's fate.

Now, it was her fate. Whether she had unconsciously sought it out or not, it could not be denied that she was strangely satisfied, contented by her predicament. There was still a churning conflict within her, her intellect trying to do battle with a purely gut level need to be dominated, but even that she found pleasurable in a perverse way. She walked down the hall, back to Dr.

Bertrand's office door and stood there for a moment before knocking, considering what was about to happen to her. Every other time she'd given herself to a man, it'd been her decision, her will; this time was different. Though she did not think of it as such, she was, in effect, torturing herself, much as a person with a sore tooth does, constantly poking at the tender place with the tip of the tongue to make sure it still hurts. The hurt was so real, so intense that she forgot that she hadn't knocked on the professor's door. She grabbed the knob, turned it, pushed the door open a crack and barged into the office.

Dr. Bertrand frozen in place, sitting on the office chair, a bug in amber. His Bermudas and under shorts were down around his ankles, his t-shirt folded up over his chest. His torso and loins were evenly tanned… there was no swim suit line whatsoever… and they were covered with a dense, curly mat of sun bleached hairs. In his right hand, he held his cock, in his left, he cupped his testicles. The latter were snugged up tight to his groin, and the former stuck out of his clenched fist like a tree limb. The shaft of his hard cock was rubbed a bright, fiery red, every vein bulging, every sinew bowstring tight, and the head, bloated, bulbous, shiny, visibly throbbed. As it pulsed, it spat gobbets of thick, creamy white semen into the air, gobbets that came flopping back down onto his thighs and belly, back down onto his cock. The pearly goo drizzled down over his bulb like streusel frosting.

Joselyn just blinked at him in amazement. That he had been masturbating was all too apparent; she had caught him in the act of spurting. The look in his eye, the horrible look, told her what he was masturbating over; her! Since she hadn't allowed him to fuck her earlier, he had taken it upon himself to relieve the pressure in his balls.

He repeated, mindlessly, his eyes glazing over as more semen poured from his cock. There wasn't nearly as much force behind his ejaculation at this point even though sperm was coming out of his slot by the tablespoon. It kind of billowed from his vent, huge viscous gobs that oozed down over the face of his penis, down over the folds of his nerve bundle, down over the rigid shaft and over his clutching fingers.

Looking at him made Joselyn slightly ill. It wasn't just because he was such a Godawful mess, hot cum splashed all over his hairy groin, or that he'd been so weak-willed that he'd had to jack off; it was because she knew that she was going to have to submit to him, to satisfy him if she expected to become his research assistant.

The last, gelatinous blob of semen welled up from his slot and slid down the glistening path to his fingers. His eyelids fluttered shut and he heaved a great sigh, then he opened his eyes.

"I didn't expect you back so soon," he managed to say. "That oily bastard Velasquez must not have had much to offer, huh?"

It was plain to Joselyn that the professor was trying to brazen out the whole thing, to act as if it was a perfectly commonplace occurrence for him to be caught in mid-ejaculation by a young coed. He tried to pull it off, but he couldn't. Though he made no move to cover his obscenely erect cock, no move to wipe up the sticky mess on his belly, the furious blush of color creeping into his cheeks, his ears, betrayed his embarrassment and shame. Joselyn was angered by his flimsy attempt at bravado, but she kept a lid on it.

"No, he didn't," she lied, forcing a smile. "Not nearly as much as you."

Bertrand positively beamed. "So, you've decided you want me for your thesis advisor, huh?" he said.

She gritted her teeth. True to form, Bertrand was taking the wimp's way out. Instead of telling her what she wanted, he was asking her. She knew that if she told him "No," that if she started berating him for being a degenerate, he would back down at once, meek as a lamb, cringing before her wrath. As much as she wanted to tell him "No," as much as she wanted to give him the humiliation he deserved, she could not, for she wanted to please Dr. Velasquez even more. She wanted to follow the swarthy professor's instructions to the letter in the hope that he would reward her by making savage love to her again.

"Yes, I do," she said.

Bertrand's eyes twinkled. "Well, I'll be damned!" he exclaimed. He took his fingers away from his cock, allowing it to stand up straight on its own. Webs of sticky white stretched from his shaft to his hand. He rubbed his fingers together and the webs broke, threads of cum snapping back to his cock. A lewd grin spread, across his bearded face. "Come over here," he told her, a new edge of authority in his voice. "I've got something for you."

Joselyn could see what he had for her. She bristled at the commanding tone of his voice. It irritated her far more than his earlier wheedling, perhaps because it was so patently false, empty of real threat. She had to dig her fingernails into her palms to keep from telling him what she thought of him and his "something special". She told herself that what she was about to do she was doing for Velasquez, that if it was revolting to her, so much the better, as it would prove her love for him more convincingly.

"Come on, now don't be shy, baby," he said wiping his fingers onto the bulb of his cock daubing the residual semen that clung to his hand over the rounded tip.

She moved closer to him, stepping up to his splayed legs, stopping short, groaning as the cloying, chlorine odor of his semen, the sour, musty odor of his loins hit her.