Melinda Matson - A seductive student

She was a greedy little bitch, too, greedy for the maddening thrills and chills of climax. She didn't care what it cost her partner in terms of pain, of personal dignity; all that mattered was the finish.

"Uhhhhhh-huhhhhh!" Paul whinnied into the carpet, his testicles being battered, bumped by the soft buns, his cock being squeezed, wrung out by the violent contractions of her pussy as it was forced in and out, in and out.

When it happened for Joselyn, it happened suddenly. An ecstatic tingle in her cunt blossomed, exploding into a fireball of pleasure. She let out a piercing shriek and started hunching like a madwoman as she felt the floor dropping out from under her, as she felt herself tumbling, somersaulting into blackness. As she fell, the klieg lights flickered inside her skull, great search lights flashing on and off in time to the racking convulsions of her vagina, in time to the surges of delight rocketing up and down her spine.

Under the onslaught, Paul couldn't hold back any longer. Moaning deliriously into the slobber soaked carpet, he, too, began to orgasm. His cock bucked and jerked, throbbing mightily against the walls of her pussy as it forced the hot, milky jism up from his balls.

At the feel of that first powerful spurt gushing into her, Joselyn stiffened, arching her head back, turning her flushed face towards the ceiling. She pushed back into him with all her strength, burying his cock in her to the hairs as it spurted again and again, bathing the inside of her cunt in molten fluid. Every teeming spurt made the fireball blossom anew, knocking the air from her lungs, making her gasp and fight for breath.

Only after the spurting stopped did she resume her fucking. She hungrily bobbed her buttocks up and down, driving the rapidly softening penis through the super-wet, super-sticky grip of her cunt, making the pearly goo he'd deposited inside her come rushing out to hang in long, yo-yaing strands from the apex of her slit. Finally, Paul's cock buckled in the middle and came sliding out of her pussy. The two parted company with a moist plop and then his limp cock swung back to its normal position.

Joselyn made an impatient noise and reached back between his legs to grip his penis. She did so with the idea in mind of pushing it back up her pussy, but as soon as she felt its mushy, spineless shaft, she flung it away from her in disgust. Paul was a disappointment to her in more ways than one.

The dark-haired young man collapsed face down onto the rug and lay there, motionless except for the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

She stared at him, an expression of disgust on her face. She wondered what inexperienced girl had covered the ladies room walls with graffiti in tribute to this "One Shot Charlie"? After a single fuck, he was always wasted, exhausted. And the few times she'd wheedled and threatened him into doing her a second time, he moaned and groaned through the whole thing as if it was just about killing him. Some lover!

"I've got to make my decision about an advisor today or tomorrow," she said, after a long silence. She got up from the rug and walked over to the nightstand, taking a handful of Kleenex from the box there for mopping up operations. "I simply can't wait any longer. It's either going to be Bertrand or Velasquez."

Paul turned over on the rug. "Dammit," he exclaimed, giving her a concerned look, "why those two?"

She made a face at him. "Because all the other professors already have their assistants lined up," she said.

"You don't need to take a job," he told her. "Like I said before, you can stay here as long as you want, rent free."

Joselyn was fully intending to take him up on his offer, even if she did get an assistantship… assuming, of course, no better offer came along. The money involved in the job wasn't the only motivating factor, however. Her first year at grad school had been underwritten by the Chem Department. In return for correcting papers on the undergraduate classes, she received a small monthly allowance. Now that she was starting her second year at Mira Pavo, that source of funds was dried up. It was department policy only to give aid during the first year, after that it was up to the individual student to find a faculty sponsor who would pay him or her to perform menial tasks, repetitive laboratory procedures, and assistant teach the lecture classes. More often than not, the sponsor ended up being the student's thesis advisor or the thesis advisor ended up being the sponsor. Regardless, the advisor-sponsor was the key figure in determining what happened to the student after he or she received a doctorate degree. Simply speaking, it was the sponsor's pull, connections both in academic circles and in academic publishing circles that made or broke a career. In order to get the "right" post-doctorate position, the all-important first job after graduation… which amounted to nothing more than an internship for, lousy pay… one had to have articles published in the scientific journals on one's original research. Usually, the sponsor took most of the credit for the work, even if he didn't do anything but glance at it before it was sent off to the publication. It didn't matter that the student took second bill to the professor, though. The important thing was getting the name in print as much as possible. Joselyn knew how the game was played and she was determined to make the correct decision, to choose the right sponsor, the one who could help her the most.

"What about Veblen?" Paul asked, weakly. "You corrected for him last year. Wouldn't he take you on?"

"That old fart?" she said in astonishment. "He isn't even doing research anymore. All his cronies in the field are either dead or as senile as he is. You know as well as I do that he's nothing but a fixture in the department, a distinguished name at the head of the faculty list."

Paul didn't say anything, but toyed with the nap of the rug with his fingertip. She knew why he was uptight about her working for the other two professors. She wanted him to say it out loud, though; she wanted him to squirm a bit.

"So, what's wrong with Bertrand and Velasquez?" she said. "They're on top of their fields."

"That isn't all they're on top of," Paul said, miserably.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" she said, feigning irritation.

"They both have, well, reputations outside the field," he said.

"So do you," she told him.

"Yeah, well, I never knocked up a department secretary like Mr. 'Hip' Bertrand," Paul said. "And I never traded grades for a roll in the hay with an undergrad like that character Velasquez."

"If any of those stories were true," Joselyn said, "do you really think those professors would still be teaching at Mira Pavo? No way! I think petty jealousy started those rumors going around and petty jealousy keeps them circulating. Bertrand and Velasquez are right in the forefront of what's happening in Theoretical Chem… and they've got the biggest National Science Foundation grants in the department for their research. It's jealousy, Paul, just jealousy."

Joselyn knew that wasn't the case and so did Paul. Jealousy hadn't made the prettiest department secretary suddenly resign after five years on the job. Jealousy hadn't made a sexy young coed complain to the Faculty advisor about the treatment she was receiving from a certain illustrious professor. The College, however, chose to ignore the peccadilloes of two of its "Golden Boys".

"Christ! How can you say that?" Paul exclaimed. "I don't believe that you'd really consider working for one of them. They're a couple of… animals! Everybody knows it!?"

She had him squirming, but good.

"What are you afraid of?" she said. "That one of them might hit up on me… or that I might get a better post-doc than you?"

"Dammit, dammit," he said, pushing up from the rug and storming off to the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him.