Melinda Matson - A seductive student

The blonde was plunged into darkness… sweet, sexy, pungent darkness. The scent of the cunt above her was overpowering; it engulfed her, choked her. She began to kick frantically, flailing out wildly, futilely.

The professor dropped her hot, wet fork right down on the girl's face, pinning the back of her head to the floor.

Joselyn screamed up into the sticky, stinky, hairy folds, screamed again as the professor began to rock her ass, to grind her pussy over her entire face, smearing the unctuous lubricant in a wide band from her forehead to the tip of her chin. But all the screaming, all the kicking in the world would not make the rubbery lips stop sliding against her mouth, would not make the slippery fluid stop dribbling down over her cheeks and chin. And it wasn't just pussy she was faced with, either. As Dr. Blensch dragged her cunt down to the point of Joselyn's chin, the girl's nose was rubbed over the hot, wrinkly ring of her anus.

"Oooooh, yessss!" Dr. Blensch crooned ecstatically, shifting her hips back and forth, actually reveling in the vibration of the girl's cries for help. When the screams died away, she began humping in earnest, smacking her pussy hard against the tightly closed mouth. "Lick me! Lick me!!" she moaned.

Joselyn would not. No matter what happened, she told herself, she could not be made to do that.

The professor jammed her hand between Joselyn's legs, stuffing a finger into her cunt, flicking the hard chickpea of her clitoris. "Lick me! Lick me, slut!" she croaked.

All of Joselyn's resolutions vanished. Joy detonated in her mound. Her hips jerked and bucked obscenely up from the floor. Swooning with ecstasy; she opened her mouth; she started licking at the hairy flaps, sliding her tongue into the buttery cleft.

"Deeper! Shove it in me!" the redhead groaned, knocking her clitoris back and forth like a tiny punching bag.

Joselyn thrust up with hex tongue and the slick pussy walls came apart, gaping wide to receive it. Hot juice was pouring into her mouth and the whole length of the professor's cunt was starting to spasm, to milk her tongue and she couldn't keep her hips from flipping, bashing her pussy into the redhead's groping hand.

"Goooh, ohhhhh," Dr. Blensch gasped, raising and lowering her ass, making the stiffened tongue flip in and out of her quaking pussy, making it saw over the swollen node of her clitoris. She could tell that her moment was at hand, her climax bearing down on her like a runaway freight. She captured Joselyn's clitoris between her thumb and forefinger and started madly rolling it about. Almost at once, her belly tightened and her cunt began to flutter out of control.

"Cum! Cum, you slut!!" Dr. Blensch wailed, her mind going to mush as ecstasy blossomed in her crotch. "Cum!!"

Joselyn, the slut, dutifully obeyed.

Joselyn looked into Paul's face, saw the awful vulnerability in his eyes. She knew that her timing was bad, that she'd chosen a terrible place to unload on him, but it was a do or die situation. She had to act while she still could, while she still had the fear in her or she didn't know whether she could do it at all.

"What is it?" he said, the concern on his face growing. He pushed forward from the edge of the lab counter, and reached out for her with both hands.

The blonde stepped back, out of his range. In a couple of minutes, the empty laboratory was going to be filled with sullen undergraduates; she had to do it now.

"Bertrand turned in his N.S.F. grant proposal today," she said, no longer able to look Paul in the eye.

"I guess that bastard's ass is grass, huh?"

"It's up to Dr. Velasquez, now," she said. "Knowing him, he'll hold out for awhile, drop a few hints to Bertrand. Nothing heavy-handed, of course, but enough so that when the hammer falls, he'll know damn well who dropped it."

"Oily son of a bitch!?"

"My job with Bertrand is through," she said, "I quit as his research assistant this morning."

Paul's eyes lit up. He moved closer to her, trying to touch her again. When she once again moved back, he stopped and frowned. "What is it, Joselyn?" he said. "What's wrong?"

She took a deep breath, hating herself for what she was about to do for the sake of her career. "It's Velasquez," she said, woodenly. "He's given me strict orders about you."

"Me?! What's he got against me?"

She shrugged. "He's demanded that I move out of your apartment," she told him. "And that I stop seeing you, altogether."

"Son of a bitch!" Paul snarled.

"I'm sorry," Joselyn said.

"Sorry? Sorry?! You're not going to do it, are you?" he said, aghast. "You're not going to let that creep run your life like that?! Jesus! We can do something, fight it somehow! We've got to. We mean too much to each other."

It was the moment of truth. Joselyn knew that she could hurt him, humiliate him worse than ever just by the way she responded, but she didn't want to hurt him, not anymore. That surprised her. Perhaps it was because she realized that the part of him that she loathed, the part of him that made her want to cause him pain, his weakness for her, for everything was insignificant, as was her supposed strength. Neither of the two opposite qualities had kept them from getting caught up in the intrigue, neither was "better" than the other. Both Joselyn and Paul were in the same boat and she knew it.

"I'm sorry, Paul," she said, fighting back the urge to cry. "Really, I am."

The young man shut his eyes and shook his head as if trying to clear it. Then he looked at her and said, "I love you. I honestly do."

There was no nice way to dump on him. No matter how she spoke the words or what words she spoke, the effect was the same. It made him think that he was worthless, that she loved Velasquez, that she was willing to do whatever the professor said. It made him think that what he feared about himself, his inadequacy, was all true.

"I'm very sorry," she said, turning for the door. "Christ! You can't just walkout like that! You can't!"

Joselyn cringed. Paul was changing right before her eyes. He was turning into a desperate, whining cur. He was becoming the thing he feared, something ugly and debased. It startled her that he could fall apart so and it reminded her of how she'd fallen apart, she, the strong one, under the skilled fingers of Dr. Blensch. Her stomach tied up into a knot.

"I'll come by to pick up my things and drop off the key later," she said, walking quickly out the door.

Over and over, as she hurried down the hall away from the scene of the "crime", she told herself that what she'd done had to be done, that there was no way around it. Somehow, she couldn't convince herself, not entirely.

Her face was still hot, flushed as she knocked on Dr. Velasquez door and waited breathlessly for his response.

"Enter," he said.

Joselyn pushed into the office and closed the door behind her. The expression on the professor's face buoyed her spirits up immediately. He was beaming at her! Her heart began to pound hard. The look he was giving her could have passed for true affection.

"Well, well," he said, pushing up from his desk.

"My little Mata Hari has finished her assignment." She nodded, stepping closer, standing there, waiting, praying to be petted. Dr. Velasquez gingerly reached out and took hold of the hem of her tank top, lifting it up over her chest, exposing the supple, up thrusting pears of her breasts. He put the back of his hairy hand to her soft pink nipples, rubbing the hard edge of his knuckles over them.

Joselyn gasped as her nipples instantly stiffened, bumping in between his fingers, as waves of pleasure rolled down from her tits, down over her smooth tummy. He was watching her as he toyed with her breasts, watching intently as her eyelids fluttered, as her cheeks blushed, as her breathing grew heavy and ragged. He knew that she was his, they both knew. Joselyn could not hide the weakness, the yearning in her face, her eyes; she didn't even try. By showing it to him, she was meekly offering herself up to him, begging for mercy.