Joselyn walked from the student housing complex, a series of two-story, L-shaped, ultra modern apartments connected by a winding, narrow asphalt path, across the equally modern and stark campus of Mira Pavo College to Cornelius Agrippa Hall, the Chemistry Building. Though the Pacific Ocean was just over the rolling hills less than a half mile to the west, it offered no respite from the sweltering, early fall heat. Southern California was experiencing what is known as a Santa Ana condition, which meant that the prevailing wind was coming from the east, from the desert. It was hot enough and dry enough to make her nose burn each time she took a deep breath.
When she stepped into the shade of the fifteen story monolith that was Agrippa Hall, the air temperature hardly dropped at all. When she pushed through the double glass doors of the building's lobby, however, the icy cold, air conditioned air hit her like a sledge. It was little wonder, she thought, shivering, that so many students came down with pneumonia. Agrippa Hall had not been designed with their comfort in mind; it was the comfort of the gigantic computers housed in the building's core that mattered. She walked briskly to the open elevator and rode it up to the eighth floor and the Theoretical Chemistry Department.
All the floors in the building were laid out exactly the same; the only difference in the exterior of the rooms was the numbers on the doors. The elevator opened onto a small foyer and from there one had the choice of rounding a corner either on the left or the right. Both choices eventually led one back to the elevator as the corridors ran the full perimeter of the floor and were actually the ends of the same hall. On the left side of the hall, in the… building core, were all the research labs and to the right, with windows to the outside, were the offices of the professors and grad students.
As it was still a day or two before undergraduate classes began, the halls were deserted. In another week or so, the corridors would be lined with students, students anxiously waiting for the chance to whine and whimper before their highly disinterested professors for a few extra points on a Chem IQ quiz or for a day or two extension on a paper deadline. Now all was quiet. As Joselyn walked down the hall, she looked through the half glass doors to the labs, hoping to see some other grad student at work. All the labs were dark, however.
She told herself that she wasn't worried about handling either of the two "animals", as Paul had called them. After all, she had been handling men all her life in one way or another. Yet, deep down, she did feel a twinge of doubt. Dr. Bertrand and Dr. Velasquez were not just ordinary men; they were special, famous, and very important to her career.
Her heart was racing as she knocked twice on Dr. Bertrand's office door.
"Come in," he said, his voice booming right through the wall.
Joselyn turned the knob and pushed the door open. She'd been in Bertrand's office before, so she knew what to expect in the way of clutter and refuse. It was a regular pig sty. The door only opened about two-thirds of the way because its edge struck a cardboard box on the floor. She had to slip into the room sideways.
"Ah, Ms. Foche," the professor said, delightedly.
She looked across the narrow room, across the desk top piled high with opened text books, old newspapers, magazines, odd scraps of paper and yards and yards of computer print out paper to the man sitting in the chair behind it. Dr. Bertrand was in his middle thirties, blonde and blue-eyed. He had a great, grizzly blonde-brown beard that he let go untrimmed. It grew way up over his cheeks and down the front of his neck. As usual, he was dressed casually, wearing a striped t-shirt, Bermuda shorts and sandals. With his longish hair, that beard, and his deep, reddish brown suntan, he looked more like a life guard than a full time professor. He was a very handsome guy and he knew it too.
"Excuse the mess," he said, indicating the debris with a wave of his hand. "I'm trying to get things organized for the new quarter."
Joselyn tried her best not to smirk.
"Push the print outs off that chair," he said, "and sit down."
She did as he asked, shoving the phone book sized stack of paper off onto the floor and taking a seat across from him. As she did so, she felt his eyes drop to her breasts, licking over them, then dropping lower, down to the smooth, flat plane of her bare tummy that lay between the bottom edge of her tube top and the top edge of her cut off jeans. He seemed particularly fascinated by her belly button. His interest in her body was anything but "scientific". And the doubts she'd felt earlier surfaced once more. Could she really hope to control a man like Bertrand? He was not only big in stature in his field, but big in stature, period. A great golden bear of a man who could toss her about like a little doll if he chose to. She shivered at the thought.
"Have you decided on a student to be your assistant for this year?" she asked, much more abruptly than she had intended to.
The professor's eyes swept up from her crotch and her long, silky legs. For a second, the leer on his lips remained, then he seemed to regain his composure.
"An assistant?" he said, raising his eyebrows.
"That's right," she continued, pushing on gamely. "If you haven't made up your mind yet, I'd like to be considered for the job. I'm very interested in your atom surface scattering experiments. I think I'd like to do my thesis work in the same general area."
"Really?" he said, pinching a bit of his beard between his thumb and forefinger and twisting it back and forth. His eyes drifted back down to her breasts.
"Have you decided on someone?" she asked.
He looked her in the eye and winced. "Well, Ms. Foche, frankly," he said, "I had already pretty much made up my mind on Mr. Sunami. He has all the academic qualifications for the job."
Joselyn did not miss the implication that there were other, non-academic criteria for the assistantship, criteria that a male exchange student from Sri Lanka, perhaps could not fulfill. From the way Dr. Bertrand was looking at her, she had a good idea what the other qualifications might be. She told herself that as long as he was interested in her sexually, she was the one holding the carrot; she was the one in control of the situation.
"I have the academic credentials, too," she said with assurance, letting her thighs slip apart a little.
Dr. Bertrand didn't miss the movement. His eyes snapped down between her legs to the fat hummock beneath the faded denim.
"Yes, I know that," he said, distractedly.
"Well, am I in the running or not?" she demanded, opening her knees even wider, making the tight crotch band of her shorts cut up into the soft meat of her pudenda, making the tendons on the insides of her thighs stand out against the sleek, tanned skin.
The professor opened his mouth to reply, but no sounds came out…
Joselyn's heart leapt. She knew she had him. He wanted her all right, wanted her so badly that he could taste it. She imagined that she could actually feel the heat of his excitement washing over her skin. Part of her wanted him to grovel, to crawl for it to kiss and suck her dainty toes for it, and another part of her, a part that she was only dimly aware of, wanted him to assault her, to ravage her unmercifully like the Aztec priest in her fantasy. The two completely opposite needs, the urge to dominate and the desire to be dominated, tugged and pulled at her insides, creating a terrible tension within her. Tension was nothing new to her. It was something she felt with each new sexual partner. As had happened every time before, her aggressive, dominant self came to the fore, rising to the surface of the anxiety that engulfed her.
"What are you looking at?!" she snapped in her most bitchy tone.
"I… uhhh," Dr. Bertrand said, blinking rapidly.
"You're staring at my pussy!" she exclaimed. She made no effort to close her thighs, however. She was, in fact, flaunting her sexy cunt, waving it like a red flag practically right under his nose…
Her accusation was so unexpected and yet so obviously true that the professor didn't quite know what to do. His face turned bright red under the dark suntan.
Bertrand's apparent inability to rise to her challenge, to do something masculine, aggressive, dominant infuriated her no end.
"If you want to see it so badly, professor, why don't you ask?" she demanded.
"Can I see it?" he asked her feebly, his breathing already becoming labored, hoarse. He leaned over his) cluttered desk, craning his neck in her direction.
"No I'm sorry you can't!" she said, smiling fiercely at him. "What kind of girl do you think I am?"
"No, Ms. Foche, I'm sorry, I didn't mean, I mean…" he babbled apologetically.
Every acquiescence on his part, every show of his weakness, only made her madder, made her want to humiliate him more. Was his reputation as a stud as undeserved as Paul's?! She wanted to drive him to the brink, to force him to take action against her, physical action. In this regard, she had two major obstacles. First there was her beauty. She was an exquisite, fragile creature that only a real beast, an animal would even consider using force against her to get what he wanted. The second was her expertise in verbally battering her partners. Her tone was so scornful, so aloof that it could turn any man with the slightest doubt about his ability to handle her into so much quivering jelly.
"You didn't mean what?!" she said. "You asked me to let you look at my pussy. Are you now saying you don't want to see it?"
Dr. Bertrand's face turned a deeper shade of red, his babbling finally became totally incoherent. The general tone of his mumbling was still apologetic, however.
"If you really wanted to see it, to take a little peek," she said, teasingly, "I mean, really, I might consider it, but since you don't…"
Bertrand gave her a confounded look. Then he said. "But I do! God, I do!!"
She frowned at him. "Before I let you look," she said, "you're going to have to promise me something."
"Anything!" he moaned in exasperation.
Joselyn knew she could've asked him for the assistantship then and there and that he would've given it to her, but she didn't. Perhaps it was just part of her contrary nature, or maybe she realized subconsciously that she didn't want to work under a man as spineless as he seemed to be.
"Promise me that you'll sit over there," she said, pointing at the paper-laden, office chair across the room from hers. "And that you won't bulge unless I tell you to."
"Hey, you don't have to worry about my trying anything with you…" he began.
"I want your promise, Dr. Bertrand," she repeated firmly.
"I promise," he said.
She watched as he rose from his seat behind the desk. He straightened his legs, but his torso remained hunched over. Ashe rounded the desk, she saw the reason for his awkward stance and his curious, shuffling gait. The professor had a monumental erection! The whole front of his Bermudas was pushed out of shape by the outline of his hard cock. It ran down the inside of his left leg, thick and long like a dub. It wanted very much to flip up, to thump upon his massive chest, but the fabric of his shorts restrained it. He had to stay bent over or risk breaking himself off at the root. She giggled at him. Hunched over like that, he looked more than ever like a bear. A funny, horny bear.
"Something wrong, professor?" she asked, cheerfully. He didn't answer, but pushed the papers off the chair seat, then plopped himself down, trying to keep the tension on his groin to a minimum.
"Comfortable?" she asked.
Bertrand winced.
Joselyn giggled at him and slipped down in her chair, down until her buttocks hung just over the edge of the seat. Then she lifted her feet from the floor and bent her knees, pulling her heels back until they almost touched the backs of her thighs, pointing her toes downward. She peered straight down at her own fork, at the white, fluffy fringe of unraveled denim that framed either side of it. If there was a lewder position to face the man in, she could not conceive of it. With her legs raised, her knees practically touching her shoulders, her pelvis tipped up, what she was offering him, if only mockingly, was the full length of her vagina. The good professor was, of course, about ten feet too far away to do anything about it.
He just sat there spellbound, his cock visibly flexing in his shorts as she brushed the white fluff with her fingertips. She carefully pushed it to one side, pushing it away from the edge of the right leg of her shorts. There, in the hollow of her thigh, the white, satiny skin above her tan line was startlingly apparent. But many times more riveting than that was the soft, blonde fuzz that sprouted there, a downy fluff that curled about the material…
Joselyn carefully watched his face as she slipped her index and middle fingers up under the crotch band, as she began to openly play with herself, stroking up and down, up and down over her fat pubic mound. He made a choked, coughing sound and his cock throbbed violently, causing the head of his penis to pop out of the leg hole of his Bermudas like a furious plum. It was flattened horribly against his hairy thigh, the slit in its face forced to gape open by the pressure. From the slit seeped a thick, creamy fluid.
"Ooooh! This feels so good!" she cooed. She wasn't entirely putting it all on for Bertrand, either. Under her fingertips, the lips of her vagina were growing hot and spongy, swelling, puckering, and between them was a heavy moisture, a delicious slickness.
"Show me," he said, his voice a mere whisper, a ragged, pleading whisper.
Joselyn did just that. She didn't play coy and slowly unveil herself to him, but rather, she wrenched the sticky wet band out of the way, letting him see everything she had.
"Uhh!" he groaned, peering down at the hot pink flesh, the shining, well-lubricated flesh of her pussy.
She was wet and then some. Every hair on her mound was plastered down by her love juices, the fat, pouting lips of her vagina bathed in them. She touched those sticky petals with a fingertip, pushing them even further apart, showing him the very mouth of her cunt and the darker, hotter pink meat beyond.
"Wow!" Bertrand moaned miserably, chewing on the edges of his mustache, biting his lips. He was sitting on the very edge of his chair, as close to being off of it as he could get, as close to that inflamed little cunt as he could get.
Joselyn peeled back her labia, folding them over on themselves so that the entire length of her pussy hung wide open, glistening pink lips pouting, taunting from between her legs.
"Ohhh, I want it so bad!" he whined. "You're driving me crazy!"
She could see that. She could see the trickle of pearly cum oozing from his cockhead, running down over his thigh. She was driving him crazy, all right, but not crazy enough. He was still sitting there, frozen in place by her command.
"What do you want to do to it?" she asked, her voice sounding strange, shrill to her ears, her blood pounding in her skull, her pussy glowing like a bake oven between her thighs.
Bertrand gulped. The expression on his face said he wasn't sure that she was being serious, that he thought she was just teasing him some more.
"Tell me," she said, running the tip of her finger round and round the visibly winking entrance to her cunt, playing with the wet sphincter. "I want to hear it, really."
He gulped again, harder. Even under the dense hair on his neck, his Adam's apple could be seen bobbing. Hope lit up his face, hope of the pathetic, manic variety. His eyes burned into her open cunt.
"Please," he mumbled, "please let me kiss it. I won't do anything else, I promise. I just want to kiss it, to lick it."
"You want to what?!" she said, in astonishment. The professor turned crimson.
"Lick your pussy," he said so softly that she could hardly hear it.
But she did hear it. The whispered words made her head spin and tickles of pleasure explode at the tips of her breasts… The famous professor wanted to kiss her cunt! He was ready to grovel, to humiliate himself for the privilege! The idea of taking her pleasure from him while she debased him was so exciting to her that she could hardly bear it.
Seeing the color rising to the young woman's cheeks, realizing that perhaps he stood a chance of doing what he most dearly wanted to do, Bertrand continued, his voice growing stronger, more assured.
"Please, let me," he said. "I'm good at it, really I am! I can make you cum, I know it. Let me lick it, please. I know I can make you happy."
The slightly more authoritative tone of his voice did not please Joselyn. It was like the sound of fingernails grating across a blackboard to her nerve ends. He was asserting himself, but not the way she wanted.
"I want to get my tongue up inside you," he went on, pausing to moisten his lips. "I want to fuck your pussy with it, to fuck you until you go crazy."
"Shut up!" she snarled. She'd had enough. It was time to show the distinguished scholar who was boss.
Bertrand blinked at her, his lower jaw slack.
"Down on the floor!" she demanded, pointing an imperious finger at the foot of his chair. The professor instantly dropped, kneeling there, his eyes wildly expectant, like a dog that is about to be given a tasty treat and knows it.
"Put your nose on the floor!" she said.
He didn't think twice about it, but lowered his face, pressing the tip of his nose to the linoleum, sticking his behind up in the air. Joselyn laughed at him.
"You really do want to kiss my cunt, don't you?" she said.
Bertrand whimpered, maintaining the nose to tile contact that she had ordered.
"Well, come on then," she told him. "Crawl for it!"
Dr. Bertrand scooted across the floor like a dog on a fresh trail, only raising his face the linoleum when he was directly under her proffered crotch… He meekly lifted his head up, peering at her bare pussy from a distance of less than a foot.
"Did I tell you to take your nose off the floor?" she asked.
Bertrand whimpered and jammed his face back down, salaaming to her wet cunt.
"Now," she said, "when I tell you to lift your head, I want you to do everything I say. You will follow my instructions, do you understand?"
He moaned that he did.
Joselyn gave the crotch band another yank, making sure that it in no way interfered with his access to her vagina. Then she demanded, "Lift your head."
The professor obeyed. His eyes were horribly bloodshot and the tip of his nose was smudged with dirt from its trek across the office floor.
"Closer," she told him, holding her legs wide apart.
He lowered his face to her fork, his nostrils dilating as the keen scent of her pussy raged up into his sinuses. That powerful, musky odor really rattled him, set him to drooling from the corners of his mouth.
"Kiss it now," she said. "No tongue, no teeth, no hands, just your lips. Show me how good you are."
Bertrand's face dropped down, the crisp, scratchy tendrils of his beard tickling the insides of her thighs. Then his mouth pressed full against the peeled back lips of her cunt and he began twisting and turning his head, mashing his lips against her slit as if he were kissing her on the mouth.
"Ohhh!" Joselyn cried, her whole body jerking at the feel of his mouth on her tender pussy, her whole body curling up so that her knees actually did touch her shoulders. His facial hair rasped over her labia and his scorching breath gusted over her splayed crotch. And he was so hungry for it! She draped her knees over his broad shoulders, letting her heels slide down his back, locking them loosely about his neck.
Bertrand was in seventh heaven. He bobbed his head feverishly, planting kiss after moist kiss upon her hot pussy, his pursed lips tracing the ragged perimeter of her labia, sliding through the sodden fringe of hairs…
It was good for Joselyn, all right. Every moist smooch of his lips made tingles of joy face through her vagina, quivering along the narrow passage.
"Suck it!" she moaned, giving her hips a little toss, grinding her juicy sex flesh over his entire face.
Bertrand pulled back, gasping for breath. All around his mouth, down over his chin, his beard was dripping with the slick mixture of his saliva and her nectar. He only paused for a second, then threw himself back down onto her vagina, opening his mouth wide, covering her whole gash with his lips.
"UHHHHH!!!" she howled, as the professor inhaled, sucking almost all of her external genitalia, labia, hairs, pudenda into his greedy eager mouth. It felt as if he were trying to suck the cunt right off her! She pummeled his back with her heels, her hips working with a mind of their own, hunching madly into his face, her firm buttocks bashing into the point of his hairy chin. Each time her hips drew back, she could feel, she could hear him sucking harder to hold her pussy in place, to keep it from slipping from his grip. He was dragging it a good three inches from her body by the sheer power of his suction!
The sensation was so devastating, so arousing that, for an instant, Joselyn lost control. Clutching at his hair with her fingers, strangling his neck with her thighs; she flipped her cunt into his face savagely, pounding it with the well-padded hummock of her pubis.
The professor's single, guttural wail of pleasure was suddenly broken, cut up into short little bits by the jarring impacts of her fork. Whimpering from the pain, he let her cunt slip from his mouth and tried to raise his head from between her legs.
"Suck!" she cried, using the power of her legs to draw his face back down, to mash it into her juicy crotch.
He did as she asked. He had no choice in the matter, really. It was either suck or smother. He started nursing on her individual labia, working his lips up and down the puffy petals, stretching them away from the central opening.
Joselyn stopped humping and let him go to town on her. It wasn't easy to put the brakes on like that, especially not when she could already begin to feel herself nearing an orgasmic plateau, but as much as she wanted to climax, she wanted to do it her way, with the reins of power securely in her grasp. Her nipples tingling with excitement, her tummy rippling, she looked down between her legs, down at what the bearded man was doing to her cunt.
He was opening her up like she'd never been opened up before! Under the sucking, wet caress of his lips, the petals of her pussy had begun to droop, hanging down like the petals of a parboiled orchid. And then he was kissing her right on the sphincter, pressing his mouth against it, sucking on it while he rooted his nose in her parted slit. He was wallowing in her pussy!
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.