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He stood well over six feet one inches, resembled a 60’s pre-Dracula Christopher Lee and his eyes twinkled when he noticed another student waiting outside his staff room. His sardonic gaze and stiff manner relaxed when my genuine concern streamed through my tear ducts. Weeks passed. Assessments came and went, as did our private tutorials within his office. It wasn’t until the end of the final year that world events altered my plans.
Two weeks before summer break, Professor Anthony Watts wanted me on my knee for reasons that surprised. He could have had me on the desk, in the chair or beneath the decade old cheap bedspread in a motel. Outside, the trees swayed to the gale force wind. His office of freshly polished oak and teak, edged closer, eradicating the importance of my dissertation or the reason for my presence.
“But professor…I don’t understand.”
“Let’s not be coy Angelica.”
“Coy?” I said, still recovering from his received pronunciation of my name. Most people called me Angie, I waited for his cue.
As he outlined evolution to the undergrads, my eyes traced the flesh filling his chinos. Sexual histories intrigued him and he took great pleasure in titillating the masses. Each undergrad neophyte blushed when he described the human sexual response. Professor Anthony had a way with adjectives. Pulsing, sultry and feverish were often paired with vagina, labia, clitoris and vaginal canal.
The week after, he presented me with a small package and offered me a challenge. If I guessed the contents of the package, he’d be gentle during our first appointment. The only clue he provided, came in the form of a name: Love Honey.
Immediately, my mind thought clit stimulators, but the deceptive professor had me. I opened the box and saw, to my amazement, two silver objects. At first glance, I thought earrings, but I noticed their un-earring shape. The fine professor enlightened me, explained that they were nipple clamps. Considering his love for Roman history, the nipple clamps were a typical selection.
Standing before him, he noticed my extended stare, flushing cheeks and wandering eyes, and guessed that I obeyed and arrived with the nipple clamps attached.
“We’ve been working together for quiet some time, have we not?” his hand brushed my breast.
“Yes we have,” I said, tasting my salty upper lip, “I have valued each step. I wouldn’t be in the program without your…tutelage?”
It wasn’t supposed to come out as a question. The game began.
“Tutelage,” he said, squeezing the word out of his puckering lips. “Must I remind you that I don’t tolerate nonsense in my lectures?”
He leaned against his sturdy desk, feet firm against his Turkish rug. He was the Higgins to my ratty Eliza. I don’t want to see grubby tattered denim in my presence Angelica.
“Switching off the lights in the lecture hall? What did you hope to accomplish?”
I shrugged. I had no real excuse other than to make it to a job interview on time. The regimented professor didn’t tolerate pranksters.
“What do you have to say?”
“Excuse me?”
“What do you say?”
“I am sorry professor Anthony,” I said, as I raised the skirt of my dress.
He sat, rigid and proud. Words weren’t necessary. His eyes went from mine to his knees and back.
“If you will,” he said.
The faux apology didn’t miraculously restrain his large hand. The hot imprint scorched my backside. He slapped me six more times – seven being his lucky number.
I steadied my torso, fought against the swirl of red, green and yellow shapes within the Persian rug beneath me. The antique trophy reflected his eccentric tastes and low-scale wealth. When people though wealth, they thought streamlined cars, Lear jets and something by Louis Vuitton. He’d laugh off his wealth, pointing the finger toward generations of Anthony wealth. Some said he smuggled the rug out of Turkey.
“Christ, you have a hard hand!”
“Manners Angelica,” he said, unruffled at the prospect of positioning my ample derriere over his lap. He grasped my right buttock and squeezed until I kicked my feet. Pain rippled through pleasure, broke through my ankles and slithered along my calves. Tits aflutter, I focused on the swaying mounds. As he worked his two fingers into my pussy, I reigned in my thoughts. The idea of inflicting my creationism flavored question during his evolution lecture brought on a deluge of juice, as did his spittle-flecked tirade. There, among the hundred or so students, my panties strained to contain my juice. I had no choice but to force my thighs together until I crushed my clit. Professor Anthony glared as I bit the back of my hand to quell the spluttering moan that would undoubtedly shock the prissy front row. Mind candy. How far can I take the professor?
Provoke me Angelica. Say something, he’d said. Dumbfounded at his request during bland campus espresso, my thighs quivered and my knee broke into a nervous jig beneath the table. I remained silent. Apparently I’d had no fire. He politely left, and I returned home to spend another evening. Sullen and frustrated, I thought my pussy would suffocate beneath its year old cobwebs.
Obstinate, fastidious and tightly buttoned beneath his plaid shirts and chinos, he looked the least desirable option in a sea of young gym honed male undergrads. His irascible temperament cemented his aura of obstinacy.
When the grim financial forecast was confirmed, I decided to hang back a little longer. I approached the fine professor to ask him for dissertation guidance. His lower lip curled and his eyes danced. You, Angelica – you preferred gathering my handouts and abandoning my lectures. Let me think about it…and I really need to examine the validity of your request. His mercurial green eyes reached flash point. I hungered to make it worth his while. What was the point of riding the erratic naïveté that perforated male dorms? Toby, Jason, George and Justin were hot. But they didn’t walk the walk. They talked…and talked. They also spent more nights playing Halo tournaments on their X-Box. Fuck that.
“Angelica you’re elsewhere,” he said, and followed with a firm slap.
It’s not my fault – you stopped, professor. I held my breath, clinging on to my next maneuver. My boobs jiggled, and the bells jangled. The tight nipple squeeze matched his ardour.
“Your response to my question…I need to get myself on track.”
“Ahh,” he moaned. His breath fanned my ass.
“G-God…” Groaning, I didn’t dare speculate on the number of digits he used. I moved to and fro, my swaying tits balancing my torso – anything, to gain a grip on the digital invasion.
“God is dead Angelica,” he muttered.
I tend to disagree, for if God resided within me, God would undoubtedly tumble out as a mind-splitting guttural scream, such as that which echoed within his den. He jabbed my G-spot until my face brushed the exotic rug and I almost wept. My pussy almost wept. Every cell resonated to the mood.
I’d love to say he reciprocated, positioned me in a variety of ways, to regal me with his enthralling member, but that would be unreal, if not staged. I stood on demand. He unzipped his pants, pulled out his cock and stuffed himself in me. I lay on my back, ass teetering on the mahogany edge of his desk, as he rammed against me. One, two, three…eight. I tried squeezing my thighs around his waist and thrusting my hips upward in the hope of rubbing my clit against his hirsute pubic area, to no avail.
After he doused me with his substantial load, I smiled and swallowed; yes, I’ll just come next time. I stood, faced his rectangular mirror and followed the customary protocol. He watched me inspect my used body. The crimson hand marks on my ass would turn a purplish blue and my waist and hips would display the crescents his fingernails left for a few days.
“What do you say?”
“Thank you, Professor.”
“Very good. Next time, I want your pussy bare,” he nodded and took his leave. He had papers to grade. Books to read. From anyone else, a comment like that roused my anger. From the professor, it translated to marathon cunnilingus.
Later that night, I read the note Professor Anthony dropped in my handbag. A believer in elegant letter writing, his cursive letters outlined his plans for our next appointment:
You will present yourself at precisely six p.m., and you will have on the vintage Chanel black dress that will be delivered to your flat. You will present yourself at The Dorchester at 7p.m.
I blinked at the letter, laughed and shrugged. It had to be a practical joke. The Dorchester was as far out of my league as The Ritz.
***
I arrived and carried myself well, or at least I imagine so. The minutes flashed by between the lobby and suite.
I stared at the mirror, vowed I’d keep it together, but caved in and splashed handfuls of cold water on my face. Then I felt guilty for splashing the white onyx vanity. I thought, I can pay my car loan with this vanity unit.
The suite revealed Professor Anthony’s financial capabilities. How I ended up in the bathroom will remain a mystery. Did I faint between the doorway and the bathroom door? I felt nervous about returning to the living, but I did.
Surrounded by silk papered walls and extravagant leather settees, I calmly sat and relished the feel of the leather against my bare legs.
On the immaculate coffee table, sat a simple note. I unfolded the note and read the few details.
Go the master bedroom, undress and wait.
“Okay,” I said, shrugging to no one.
Standing in the living room, I felt the ghosts of celebrities past. There were the Hollywood rat pack. Richard Burton sans Elizabeth Taylor. The hairs on my arms stood on end. A brief shiver draped round my thighs and calves. Then it left.
Walking through the ornate hall, I ignored the bespoke lamps, rugs and fruit bowls.
In the bedroom, I allowed myself the luxury of laying back on the bed.
Hotel beds tend to be perfectly firm. Logically, they’re built to last and outlast the most vigorous sex sessions. It was as I lay on my side that my eye fell on a ornate wooden box that had seen more centuries than the furniture within the room. Undoubtedly out of place, my curiosity nudged me from the bed.
With my ass on the edge of the bed, I leaned forward and stared at the rosewood box, thinking that it would have looked perfect on Antique Roadshow. Inlaid with mother of pearl leafy shapes, I thought, feeling slightly ancient. Too many afternoons watching the telly.
The box opened easily enough. The first tray was empty. I carefully lifted it out, to notice the contents beneath the innocent tray.
“The shifty devil.”
Undecided on whether to grin or shake my head, I wondered who’d be in charge of the toys. The professor had to be a Love Honey expert, or succumbed to his inner whimsy and engaged in a shopping spree in the comfort of his study.
I groped and inspected the sexy trove. There among the collection, my eye latched on to the novelty lubricant that promised a fine tingle, a vibrating butt plug, and a double ended dildo.
My attention was pulled away by the sound of voices. At first, I thought I’d left the big screen television on. One look at my surroundings returned me to the real hot moment.
The voices travelled through the hall. Professor Anthony’s voice led the way, finally sliding through the gap.
I looked up and dropped the double ended dildo.
“You’ve made your selection,” he said.
I swallowed, “Selection?”
Nodding, he slowly opened the door and stepped into the room.
“This room is satisfactory,” he said, nodding to himself. To me, “I have a surprise for you.”
Like the opulent hotel suite wasn’t sufficient?
Without waiting for my reply, a second person entered the room. A woman. It wasn’t what I expected. The woman’s presence silenced me.
I stood at an average height of five feet six inches, whereas she qualified to be Amazonian. Black leather thigh high boots fitted her like a second skin. Somewhere within my pelvis, a nerve went bang and it ignited a few more nerves along the way.
“This is Selena,” Anthony said. “She’s here to enhance our experience.”
The woman turned to me and smiled. Sleek from head to toe, even her straight black bob glinted blue. She reminded me of comic book heroines: Modesty Blaise and Vampirella combined
Her bustier hugged her breasts in such a way that it took five minutes to avert my eyes. I wanted to know what sat beneath and soon.
“It’s a pleasure. Or it will be,” Selena said, extending her elegant manicured hand. “Anthony has told me a lot about you.”
I noted her neatly trimmed fingernails and smiled. “That’s interesting.” He didn’t tell me about her, not that I was jealous. But I could have been more prepared.
Standing, as Anthony arranged his seat, I sensed my ankles wobbling. Each time Selena regarded me with her sable eyes, I felt another nerve twitch against the next. Pretty soon, I’d be putty. I hadn’t time to undress and present myself to Anthony’s specifications. The impish girl within me thought, “stuff that!”
Anthony sat in upholstered heaven, crossed his legs and smiled. “A cognac please.”
Selena and I turned toward him.
“Selena. Then you’re to continue with the arrangement.”
Fucking me boiled down to a set of plans. Not that I minded, but it felt highly orchestrated. Would Selena fake her orgasm too?
I watched as she effortlessly walked to the bar. Her heels exceeded five inches, yet she didn’t wobble. I envied her hard thighs and muscular arse. She presented a nice mix of gym honed muscularity and femininity; her hips slightly fanned outward, adding to her peach shaped derriere.
She gently took my hand and positioned me in front of the wide mirror.
“Let’s do something about these,” she whispered. “I’m feeling quite warm in here.”
I joked, “Must be the thermostat?”
“Hm…Sure,” she grinned.
My dress came off in seconds. Selena only had to raise it above my head. I was left with my matching red bra and panties.
“I think they’re better off, don’t you Professor?” She turned toward Anthony.
Selena’s hands lingered over my buttocks. I shut my eyes and relished the sensation of her hand over the satin, squeezing each buttock.
“You didn’t undress on time,” she said, lips against my ear.
I swallowed.
Surprisingly warm, her hand slipped under the fabric. She ran her nails over my flesh, stopping at random intervals to pinch me.
“Pull them down Selena. Let’s see what she has underneath. Is it to your liking?”
Selena obeyed. She pushed my panties down to my knees. If I wanted to run, I’d fall face first. What a sly bitch, I thought. Then I wanted a little more direct stimulation.
“Nice…I can work with this,” she said. “Mmm.”
I leaned back, rubbed myself against her and allowed her heat to wash over me.
She turned my head forward and tilted my face up. Her artfully made up face and cherry-bomb lips gazed back from the mirror.
“Spread yourself a little,” she requested, her hand dipping between my inner thighs.
I obeyed, craving her hand between my legs.
To the professor, “Can I Professor?”
From the mirror, I saw him swirl his cognac and smile.
Her fingers lightly traced my labia.
“All ready,” she said to Anthony. To me, she licked her lips. “Are you ready for me?”
Light headed, I gripped the edge of the dresser for support.
She removed my hands, turned me around and unfastened my bra. Just so she could enhance her experience.
Her hands retrieved two clamps from her pant pocket. She fastened them on my nipples, all the while watching my face.
“Nice,” she breathed. She held my breasts as she tongued my nipples.
All I could do was look up, ahead, anywhere but her mouth. I kept my thighs apart to minimise the friction against my clit, delay my orgasm.
Her right hand left my breast and dropped between my legs. The next thing I felt, apart from her fingers invading my pussy, was the urge to stand up straighter than I’ve ever stood.
Selena’s fingers prodded.
“Fuck her hard, Selena. Open her up so I can see,” Anthony said.
She quickly slid out of my pussy, pushed my left leg up on the dresser and returned.
“I need a little more here, darling.”
The professor stood, walked toward the box and fished out a thick dildo.
With my nipples screaming for attention and relief, I used my hands to support my back. I thrust my pussy out and watched. As surreal it seemed, the straightforward transaction between Anthony and Selena rapidly unfolded. In no time, she pushed the dildo into my pussy, rotating it in both directions.
“Take it all. Yessss,” she moaned. Her nose was less than two inches away from my clit.
She pumped the dildo into me and looked up. Deeper and deeper, I moaned. Warmth spread from my pussy to the tops of my thighs.
“Don’t stop,” I whispered. “Harder…Harder.”
The orgasm became more elusive. I needed my clit tweaked, sucked or pinched. This time, Anthony sat with his rigid cock in his hand. He watched Selena fuck me through half-closed eyes.
Unable to withstand the torture, I moved my right hand to the spot. Selena quickly slapped it away with her left hand, as her right gripped the dildo. She didn’t miss a beat or thrust, the dildo rhythmically stretched me. Even I couldn’t remove my gaze.
“Now,” said Selena. “It stays inside while I lick your hot pussy.”
She pushed the dildo all the way inside. I cried out.
Selena’s tongue muffled my cries. Her tongue swirled around my erect clit. Then her lips closed around it, tugging it upward.
I bit into the back of my left hand, each guttural moan vibrated against my flesh. My explosion didn’t upend the hotel, but I came close.
I almost felt bereft when she removed the dildo.
My hand moved in position.
“Fuck that felt great,” I said, enjoying my sticky goo. I enjoyed it so much I slathered it all over my pussy.
Even as I watched Selena undress, it didn’t occur to me that I’d have to take her to pleasurable limits.
Her sinuous back and fuckable butt taunted me. Then she bent forward and slowly pulled down her g-string, presenting me with a rear view of her pussy.
I moved on in, wasting no time in pulling her up and around and kissing her deeply. The intensity of need overtook the smaller things, such as the nipple clamps that continually pinched my flesh.
Her tongue masterfully partnered mine. We stood chest to chest, breasts crushing against each other.
“Here,” she took my hand and planted it between her legs.
Rubbing her with the back of my hand, I continued the kiss. The kiss enveloped us, almost blocking Anthony from view. His presence didn’t dominate.
When I cunningly turned my hand and played with her clit, she moaned into my mouth.
With Antony, I’m as brazen as a mouse cornered by a feral cat.
With Selena, and the humid pussy-struck moment, my inhibitions vanished.
“I want to fuck you so badly,” I snarled into her ear. “You’re to lie on that bad, spread your sweet thighs and wait.”
A voice behind us moaned. The horny, wanking professor.
“Angelica…slow down.”
Ignoring the professor, we both eyed the bed. Selena raised her arms and fell backward onto the bed.
“Please,” she said, spreading her legs.
From the short distance, her groomed mouth watering pussy goaded me. But I greedily considered my own pleasure and chose the strap on without the strap. This way, I’d still fuck Selena’s pussy and fuck my own at the same time.
Odd, but torridly beautiful.
Selena agreed with me, “Yes, that one.”
My eyes returned to her. As tempting as it was to watch her finger herself, I kept my thoughts on the toy.
The first time can be awkward, but being saturated with arousal aided me.
Her lower lip trembled. I knelt between her legs and shoved the shorter end of the strap on into my pussy. Slow, fluid and visual, I made sure Selena watched every second of my pussy as it gripped the shaft.
She looked down, abandoned her pussy and began kneading her breasts. “Fuck my pussy now,” she said, raising her hips slightly upward.
“I can’t see,” said the professor.
“Then get up off your arse,” I barked.
It was as exciting for me as it was for Selena. I rubbed the tip of the shaft between her engorged labia, feeling myself moisten anew.
“That’s so fucking hot,” I hoarsely said.
Carefully avoiding her clit, I used my hand and directed the tip of the shaft downward and around her wet slit. The temptation to impale her immediately almost claimed me, but I took my time, slowly sliding two fingers into her warm accommodating pussy.
It felt too good to stop. Five, eight…ten thrusts…
Selena came to the rescue, hands closing around my wrist. Her dilated eyes begged for a hard, deep fuck.
Decided, I stared at the hypnotic scene. The thick shaft disappeared into her accommodating pussy. It could be said that she absorbed the shaft into herself. I shifted position and thrust myself into her, holding the shaft as her voice bounced from one wall to the other.
Anthony’s voice sharpened. From my periphery, his cock spurted copious pearly jets onto his stomach.
Selena gazed into my eyes, drifting in and out of ecstatic reverie. A blush of rose shaded the flesh of her breasts and the sticky moisture of her arousal pooled around the shaft as I withdrew and left her momentarily hanging.
Then I plunged into her, to the hilt and tapped her clit with my first two fingers. The initial taps blended with hardier slaps.
With her pussy filled to the brim and clit finger-slapped, Selena’s mouth gaped and her moans rose in pitch. She thrust her pelvis forward and moved her head moved from side to side.
I clenched my pelvic floor muscles around my end of the strap on dildo, rode it out and watched. Her face contorted to a lust fuelled scowl. Her cheeks blazed red and her lips parted.
Heat filled my clit until I slumped forward and rested on her chest with my tongue lazily licking her left nipple.
We’d all but forgotten the fine professor. Reluctant to watch his scowl, we rubbed our warmed groins against each other, relishing the post orgasmic contractions between our legs.
After a few moments, I smoothly slid out of Selena and lay on my back.
Anthony remained in his chair, flustered and shocked. “You took charge there…I’m surprised at you.”
“Not as surprised as I am,” I said.
Selena lay on her side and rested her hand on my stomach.
“I’m hoping for seconds,” she said. “What else do you have in that pleasure chest of yours?”
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