A Master's Ring: Book 01byelsol©
BOOK I: Brothers and Siblings
It was the most stressful part of the academic year; the final exam period approached and semester projects were due. The timing made it easier to accept everything with equanimity.
The University required students to have a faculty advisor after choosing a major. Having enjoyed his class, I asked Professor Jeremy Ryan to be my mentor. He was one of the few creative writing professors that did not act like being a writer licensed one for freak-hood. He also did not treat a student's work as if it were beneath him. Creative writing classes sometimes devolved into feel good sessions for bad writing, but his criticisms were constructive and fair.
To be honest, he taught a short fiction writing seminar that was my first choice to satisfy the requirement but registering for it required his permission. There was no problem getting into other writing seminars, but I was not keen on wasting a semester listening to people kiss each other's asses because their last breakup inspired such 'great' work; no one dared hand-in that type of crap in Professor Ryan's classes. I thought as my advisor he would feel obligated to assign me a coveted permission slip.
We had a five p.m. meeting to discuss an internship with a literary agent friend of his. We discussed my interests in previous meetings where I talked about being a literary agent while working towards a doctorate. I did not have a writing talent beyond niche markets like hard science fiction or male adventure, but I knew when a piece of work or a writer showed talent. Better yet, I was a fine editor, especially of other people's work.
The English faculty's offices were located in the basement of the department building. The basement was modeled on catacombs with every branch ending in two or three offices. Professor Ryan's office was one of the better hidden ones with three turns to get to. I wondered why he chose one so out of the way; a tenured professor with that much published work should have better.
I walked to the door and knocked, and when no one answered so I knocked again. I tried to decide between going for a cup of coffee and settling in to wait when I heard something from inside.
I knocked again but still no response.
I heard the noise from the other side of the door again and got annoyed. I tried the doorknob, turning it easily. I opened the door slowly figuring someone was inside, but why take the chance of being caught in a professor's office without his company.
His desk was opposite the entrance and faced the wall so he usually sat with his back to the door. This time he was sitting parallel to the desk. I figured it was because the woman kneeling between his legs would not have been as comfortable under the desk.
I stood frozen in envy.
Even in that position or maybe because of her position: on her knees, red hair washing over his lap, her back slightly curved, her hands gripping his thighs; it was obvious she had a fantastic body. She wore a powder-blue skirt, slightly longer than a cheerleader's. It was short enough for me to see the thickness and definition of her thighs. Her burnished red hair hid her face as she carried out her task. Her thick sweatshirt valiantly tried to hide the rest of her attributes but only managed to tantalize.
She stopped caressing his thigh with her right hand and pushed her hair behind an ear. A ring on her finger caught the light and my attention. It was a very simple design; the band, too thick for a woman's ring, covered the entire space between knuckles. The ring opened into a flat square face with a shiny white stone set in it. I had seen rings like it before on men with an onyx face stone.
Moving the hair revealed her identity.
Doris Alexandra Smith!
Doris Alex was a campus Goddess, and there were well over a thousand men who would have vigorously defended her status as such. Of every woman on campus, there was only one that would have surprised me more to see in that position; the 'Bryar' patch, Melisa.
Doris Alex's presence set off my internal alarms.
After a few conversations with Doris Alex, I learned the only way to not prove myself an idiot was to keep my mouth shut around her. Professor Ryan did not teach anything that Doris should be wasting her time on. That was not an opinion expressed by her, but my own deeply held belief that Doris Alex could offer the world better things than a poem or a book, like the cure for cancer.
My thought process halted as her actions registered on a physical level.
Doris Alex had Professor Ryan's dick sheathed between her lips.
The moment of stillness ended, and my heart beat painfully hard. The exquisite care she took in performing the act dropped my guard. Her hands moved gently caressing his thighs, exposed abdomen, his sack, and the base of his penis. She tried to keep his skin guessing where the pleasure would come from next. Her fingertips settled on different spots only long enough to set off nerves and moved to stimulate elsewhere.
All her motions orbited the action of her lips moving up and down his penis. Occasionally when her hands touched his dick, she removed him completely from her mouth, and stroked some nearby part of him with her tongue.
She focused absolutely on her task.
She caressed his thigh with her right hand while her left hand gripped his base. She gently took him from her lips and worked her hand up his dick in a practiced masturbation stroke any teenage boy would envy. She put the tip of her tongue on his ball sack, and licked upwards following her hand. She stroked her hand off his dick and let it fall to his stomach. She ran her tongue upwards in light caresses forcing him to push on the back of the chair until he was almost parallel to the floor. While her left hand was playing on his abdomen with carefully placed touch after touch, her right hand stood his dick up so that she could run her tongue on the underside of his crown where I was most sensitive; first clockwise then counter-clockwise.
She took him back into her mouth; I wondered how warm being surrounded by her felt.
The next time the tongue-sequence began; she licked his ball sack but continued to wash his testicles while using her hands in more random touches. She sucked him back into her mouth.
She stroked him with her mouth faster and faster, building to the obvious crescendo of male orgasm. Her hair fell to cover her face again. Professor Ryan brushed it behind her ear with his left hand.
He was wearing the ring that ended my existence and began my life.
It was a male version of the ring Doris Alex wore, although his had the expected onyx stone setting. I was too far away to see any detail, but there was an intricately designed crest on the stone.
I watched him caress Doris Alex's face with a thumb. She tilted her head back to look at him. She managed a smile by gently gripping the head of his dick with her perfect white teeth.
She laid her ring hand flat on his thigh. She might have done the same with her left hand, but I could not see. She speared his penis into her mouth, again and again. After every five strokes, she stopped at the bottom and made a swallowing motion that bobbed her head. She used the wave motion to take a little more of him into her each time. She was trying to deep-throat him. She could have done it from the very beginning, but her way looked significantly more pleasurable for him.
I do not know how long I stood there but in that time, one thing was obvious; his pleasure was paramount in all of Doris Alex's actions.
Five more strokes, she stopped, waved from her throat, taking in a little more.
Five more strokes again, up and down. She released him from her mouth, reached down to lick him from ball sack to the tip of his dick. Her tongue struck out of her mouth in a sudden motion trying to insert itself into the small hole at the tip of his dick.
One tongue thrust.
After the third, she licked him from ball sack to the tip of his dick again. She impaled her mouth on him.
She returned to her earlier rhythm, but there were only three strokes before she did the wave motion driving him deeper. Finally, as I thought my head would explode, she touched bottom. She rested there; I do not know how she could breathe.
Resting with him seated completely in her mouth, her pleasure bloomed. Her entire body tightened. The muscles in her thighs contracted, her back arched, I could see through the skirt that her ass clenched, and her hands gripped his thighs tightly and then released.
It was not something I have ever witnessed; not a female orgasm, but one initiated by being someone's pleasure.
She moaned as she rode her orgasm down its pleasant spiral.
She moved her head around while he was fully seated in her throat. With a corkscrew motion, she unwound her mouth from him, only to take him fully into her again; again and again, unscrewing him from her in a clockwise motion, driving her face onto him, unscrewing her mouth, and burying his dick in her. I noticed that in the unscrewing motion, her cheek muscles were twitching. She must have been working her tongue furiously on him as she slowly pulled her face away, and absorbed him inside again.
Professor Ryan's hand gently fondled her cheek, but she remained uninterrupted in her purpose.
I looked up at him; he was staring at me with a smile even a cat dipped in nip would be hard fought to reproduce. I stared into blue eyes, and he won something from me.
I wanted what he had.
I wanted to be the one in the chair with Doris Alex between my legs taking bliss from being my pleasure. I wanted to feel her tongue on me. I wanted to cum seated as deep inside her as she could take.
I looked down at her, and back at him. His smile changed to one that a brother might give his little sib saying, "Someday, kid, someday."
I nodded and closed the door.
I rested my forehead against it. Every now and then, I could hear them but my body relaxed. It did not want to, but the last smile from Professor Ryan helped.
I turned my back to the door, and walked out of the catacombs. I did not know why, but I was sure he had said what he wanted to. The conversation was not over, but he firmly established that he came to the table with fortune I could only imagine.
Outside, it was brighter.
I woke up the next morning expectant and curious about what was going to happen. I knew it was not over between Professor Ryan and I but had no idea where it could lead. He was building a web, and I should have been cutting strands.
Doris Alex was tempting bait though.
I took a shower and got ready for work. I tried not to wake up my roommate but failed since I was not trying very hard. My roommate was not a bad guy. He was a child of privilege; his parents paid for school, a new car because he got into a good college, etc. He and I populated different realities, but at least I knew that. He did not and complained to anyone who would listen that I was an asshole.
I was, but so was he. I knew I was; he had no clue.
I had two jobs: on Friday nights and weekends as a busboy in what I called a burger franchise masquerading as an expensive steakhouse, and during the week at the school computer labs. One required zero brain cells, and the other paid me to do homework.
Thursdays, I had three classes after work but never bothered going to all of them. My majors covered most of my core allowing me to work through my degree classes much sooner than my classmates. I tried to skip most introductory courses; unfortunately, some departments required specific ones. I was only a sophomore and should have fit in with the students taking introductory classes, except I was older and more mature. Two of my Thursday classes were intros I could not avoid but had already taken the higher level versions of. The only class I usually attended on Thursdays was my poetry writing class. It was annoying due to some of the unconvinced about their lack of talent personalities that populated the class, but there was always one piece of writing per session that made it worthwhile.
I walked into class and looked around for new hair colors. Finding none, I took my usual seat in the back. I was the closest to normal in the room, which did not say much for everyone else. I re-read the submitted poetry we were supposed to critique that class period when Melisa Bryar walked in.
I could say I was the 'closest' to normal because Melisa was absolutely and almost obscenely normal. She was five foot one, blond hair, with light green eyes. The eyes were fascinating; green eyes are usually dark green or flecked with brown. Very few I ever saw were a true green and even fewer a light pure green. I would have to paint the sky green keeping the same saturation and brightness of a summer morning to describe her eyes to someone who had not seen their like before.
Melisa was an all-American girl, so normal I wondered if she was an experiment in socialization by the moral majority. She was a member of the cheerleading squad, a sister in the premier sorority on campus, and an honors student. I lived on her floor our freshman year and she did not date, or hang out with jocks like the other cheerleaders. All she ever seemed to do was study, practice, and socialize with her sorority sisters.
A thought struck me; Melisa's best friend was Doris Alex and both were sisters in the same sorority. I felt the strands vibrate as another spider stepped onto the web.
Melisa smiled at the blue-haired poetess in front as she walked by. The poetess was a lesbian, and reacted to Melisa like a straight guy might have. As Melisa walked by, the poetess turned to check out her ass, grimaced, and sighed. It would have been funny if I was not busy trying to figure out how Melisa fit on the web.
I forgot about figuring it out and simply hoped Melisa fit.
Melisa had befriended me the year before. I thought it was a function of living on the same floor and being in a majority of her classes. She sat next to me in class if she did not know anyone and dragged me to sit next to girls pledging with her or full sisters if any of them attended. None of her sisters were in this class so Melisa quite naturally sat next to me all semester.
I acquired doubts about how natural 'quite naturally' was.
Melisa made small talk with me about the poems we were reviewing; nothing too weird, thankfully. All of a sudden, I noticed the ring on her right hand; a thick band opening into a flat white stone. I looked at her; the cat smile of Professor Ryan's was reflected on her lips. I stared, and she opened her windows to me.
It was there; the attention that Doris Alex had given Professor Ryan's pleasure, - Melisa was absolutely focused on me.
I received the third surprise in twenty-four hours when Professor Ryan walked in. He announced our professor had been awarded a grant to study Irish poetry in its original form and paper. She arranged for Professor Ryan to teach the last weeks of class. He looked directly at Melisa and me. He gave her a satisfied smile; I took it as a warning to brace myself.
Everyone's back straightened.
We were all creative writing majors, which meant Professor Ryan held a trump card. His permission-only seminar ran for two semesters and was an intense writing workshop, more than just a class. He was the only professor in the department widely published in both poetry and fiction with connections we could only dream of. The seminar was the most valuable course our school offered aspiring authors.
"Melisa and David," he said looking at us, "neither of you have turned in your application pieces for my seminar."
He raised an eyebrow waiting for our answers. The class turned, and there were plenty of questions in their eyes. The seminar was on my academic plan and why I asked him to be my advisor. I did not apply for it because I would only be a junior the next year. Melisa would also be a junior and should not have been thinking of the seminar either as juniors were rarely accepted into his seminar. Melisa was a talented writer so no one would question her inclusion. There were going to be more than a few bitter wanna-be writers hating me for being in the class though.
"I want to do another draft on one of the pieces, Professor Ryan," I heard myself say.
I was not one to spit in the face of opportunity. I had a couple of pieces I could submit on the moment's notice Professor Ryan gave me.
"I put it in your mailbox this morning, sir," Melisa replied.
She was a college student that addressed older people with polite sirs and ma'ams. Something about the way Melisa said those words made her more attractive.
Our classmates were still looking at us suspiciously when the critiques began. I smiled, wondering if it would make them feel better to know I was more lost than anyone else in the room.
As I was leaving, Melisa asked if I wanted the notes to one of the classes I skipped. It was the first time she ever made the offer. I watched as she weaved a strand into the web directly under my feet.
Melisa was even more tempting bait than Doris Alex.
I told her I would be working on a paper most of the day, but she could bring them by my dorm room at around eight p.m.
Professor Ryan caught up to me as I headed for the bus stop. He wanted to reschedule our meeting for the next day at three p.m. I asked if he was sure he would not be busy. He laughed and said he would clear his schedule. I agreed to meet, willingly rolling myself tighter in the web.
I finished my paper, put it in my professor's box, and shrugged the class out of my schedule. I preferred professors like Dr. Lawren: the organization of her assigned readings, papers, and class discussions made her final a relative breeze. I had signed up to take a course with her the next semester.
I ate dinner by myself and thought about the happenings of the last day. After an hour of trying to see the whole web, I gave up and headed to my room. Melisa waited for me in the lounge. She smiled as I came out of the elevator.
I have always loved blondes. Blondes are allowed to do as they damn well please as long as I am allowed to watch. Melisa instinctively grasped this and gleefully leaned on it upon occasion. I thought the non-aggressive attention I gave her was another reason she spent so much time around me.
She had changed into shorts and a t-shirt; very nice shorts, very tight t-shirt. I was surprised by the sexiness of the outfit. I had taken Melisa for a moral majority player, but then again, I classified Doris Alex the same way.
"Hi, David," she said bouncing up to me.
"Hello," I replied with false bravado.
"Got my notes," she said pushing her bookbag at me.
I smiled and answered in conspiratorial whisper.
"How about my room for the exchange?"
She smiled the catnip smile that was beginning to haunt me.
I held the door to my end of the floor for her; she nodded thanks and walked directly to my door. If she had panties on, they could not have been substantial enough to use as dental floss.
I opened the door to find my roommate inside; I almost expressed my disappointment. Melisa climbed onto my bed; it was higher than normal because I turned the legs upside down then put the frame back on. She bounced on it a few times before looking around. I looked at my roommate, hoping he would be in a considerate mood and leave us alone.
He did not.
I sighed, Melisa gave me an 'I know what you're thinking' smile.
"Well, I guess I'll copy your notes down," I said smiling back.
"Not necessary, I made photocopies for you," she said.
I looked at her questioningly. Her lips turned upward, hinting she was close to the nip.