Melinda Matson - A seductive student

A galvanic shock arced up her spine and her cunt mouth fluttered reflexively. A surge of pure pleasure consumed her loins and once again her hips snapped upwards, up into his face.

"Tongue!" she wailed, her hands gripping his ears, hauling his mouth down harder. "Tongue me!"

Bertrand shuddered with excitement as he obeyed, as he slipped the tip of his tongue into the small opening, pushing through the hot buttery ring, delving into the seething channel beyond it. He didn't drive himself in to the root immediately, but instead, began sliding his stiffened tongue tip over the wrinkly bud of tissue he found at the top of her passage.

"UHHH!!!" Joselyn bawled, her whole fork exploding as he flicked her clitoris repeatedly. Again and again, the waves of delight lifted her, tossed her. She unclasped her legs from his neck and threw her knees as far apart as she could, tipping her pelvis up to receive the fluttering caress.

He snorted wildly as his tongue tip squirmed deeper, as the velvety walls of her cunt parted over its point, as the slick ridges and valleys, the corrugations of her passage tugged at its sides. And then he went berserk. Bobbing his head like a madman, puffing his cheeks in and out, he thrust his tool to her, making it lash and roll over her channel, making its thick root rub against her clit.

Joselyn did not try to hold back this time. She was too far gone to even think about it. Shrieking her ecstasy, she started fucking him back, forcing his long, talented tongue to flip even faster through the sticky grip of her cunt, to fan the flames that were consuming her.

"Yeeeee!!!" she squealed as the bottom of the world dropped out from under her, as orgasm illuminated her brain pan, as the powerful muscles of her pussy commenced to milk and tug violently on the professor's deeply imbedded tongue.

Somewhere above her, on some other plane of existence, she could hear the sounds of agony he was making as her vagina wrung out his tongue threatening to uproot it. She giggled, then moaned as her consciousness plummeted into the abyss, every fiber of her being vibrating with the joy of climax.

Slowly, she returned to the real world, coming back up from the depths, her fingers, her toes, her nipples tingling with the afterglow of orgasm. Dr. Bertrand was still between her legs. Obviously, he hadn't learned his lesson. He was hungrily licking her sloppy wet cunt, sliding his tongue up and down the deep, central gulley.

"Enough?" she exclaimed, placing her hand flat against his forehead and giving him a hard shove. He sat back on his haunches, giving her a sorrowful look as she closed her thighs and returned the crotch-band to its rightful place. Not that it covered much of anything, as it was so stretched out of shape. Her droopy labia were still visible on either side of it. But it was the idea that was important, that was painful to him, the idea that she was withdrawing the carrot.

"I was just getting started," he said, miserably. "Yes, I can see that," she said, looking down at his thigh. Prom above the knee to the ankle, running down the inside of his leg was a thick line of pearly white goo. The line of goo started somewhere under his Bermudas, somewhere in the vicinity of his now flaccid cockhead. "Started on your second time around."

"Please, let me do it some more," he whined. "I can't get enough of it. I love its taste."

She shook her head.

"You've already got the assistantship job, if that's what you're thinking about. Come on, open your legs," he said.

"What makes you think I want your assistantship?" she said, getting up from the chair and straightening her clothes.

"What?!"

She smiled at him winningly. "Oh, I'll consider it," she said, "along with any other offers that I get."

He groaned.

"I'll let you know shortly," she said, picking her book bag up from the floor and walking to the door. She left him still sitting there amid the clutter, mumbling to himself and chewing at the corners of his mustache.

Joselyn marched briskly down the hall, her smile frozen, hard on her face. She was less than pleased with the outcome of her interview with Dr. Bertrand. Oh, she had gotten an offer of an assistantship with the famous man, all right, but in so doing he had shown her a side of himself that she didn't like. And she'd thought that Paul was a weakling! Bertrand was easily as much of a wimp under all the bravado, the sturdy reputation. She wondered, offhandedly, if the pregnant secretary had been whimpered and whined into sharing his bed, if she'd grown so sick of hearing him blubber that she'd finally said "Yes"? One thing was sure, though. She knew she could never respect a man who had lowered himself as the professor had done.

Even as she was thinking these thoughts, deep down, she knew that there was something fundamentally wrong with her logic. She wanted her men to assert themselves, their needs, but when they tried to she felt compelled to cut them down, to degrade them. She wanted to be the passive party, but she would not let herself submit. The very idea was highly repugnant to her. Her own mother had been a classic example of the spineless, dominated female. Her father tyrannically ran every moment of her mother's life, humiliating her in public and private, until the final humiliation, until he decided he wanted a younger woman and divorced her. At an early age, Joselyn had known that she would never be like her mother that she would never be so soft, so yielding, so vulnerable. In away, every victory against men was a blow struck at her father, in the name of her mother. What bothered her, what had always bothered her was that she got no real satisfaction from defeating her foes; her victories were always hollow.

She paused in front of Dr. Velasquez door. She hadn't intended on calling on him today, but she told herself that she might as well get the whole thing over with. She rapped on the door with her knuckles.

After a long silence, an irritated voice said, "Yes?!"

Joselyn turned the knob and pushed the door open a crack, looking in. Velasquez office was the exact opposite of Dr. Bertrand's. Everything had a place and everything was in its place when it wasn't being used.

"May I have a word with you, Dr. Velasquez?" she asked quietly.

The black haired, swarthy faced man sitting behind the desk glowered at her from over a handful of abstracts. Of all the department's little dictators, he had the worst reputation for arbitrariness and nit-picking. He was a few years older than Bertrand and his build was less bulky, more wiry, but still powerful. All the professors, with the exception of Dr. Veblen who was too old, spent their lunch hours in the college gym, working out with weights and swimming. It was part of their macho tradition.

"It's a brief," he said, gesturing with the papers for her to come in and sit down. Like Bertrand, Dr. Velasquez was handsome, but in a different way. His good looks were cruel, angular, his nose long, thin and hooked, his cheeks gaunt, chin heavy, his black eyes unnervingly piercing. Where Dr. Bertrand reminded her of a big, cuddly bear, Dr. Velasquez seemed to be both cunning and calculating, like a fox. Indeed, his face had a kind of fox-like quality to it, being long and thin and pointed. It was easy for her to visualize Velasquez blackmailing one of his female undergrads into performing for him sexually. He looked like the kind of man who would enjoy such a diversion no end.

Joselyn took a seat, her mind racing ahead, planning her campaign.

"What is it, Miss uhh?" he said, fumbling for her name.

"Foche," she reminded him. "Joselyn Foche. I'm starting my second year of graduate work in the department."

"Yes, I remember you," he said, giving her a feral grin.

Though his eyes moved only slightly up and down, she got the distinct feeling that he had catalogued every aspect of her entire body, filed it away in, his brain for future reference. The briefness of his once-over riled her. It intimated that she wasn't worth more than a fleeting glance. She was determined to make a more definite impression on him than that. As she turned to the side to put her book bag down on the floor, she casually, "accidentally" let her thighs slip apart. "A-hem!" Dr. Velasquez said, clearing his throat.