College Labia, Squirting Professor

~~~ Present Day - December 2023 ~~~

With a bittersweet mix of emotions, I'm clearing my office as I bid farewell to this campus. I accepted a last-minute teaching position at another university where I'll lead a new, forward-thinking science division. The job offer was sudden and I only had a week to decide.

I finish packing my things and I'll miss my colleagues here. The students. The little things which make campus life exciting. I was blessed with an office that has a view of the bustling city street. I'll miss everything about this place.

And then there's my big secret. I've squirted into the mouths of nearly a dozen female students. Lips on lips violence, as some girls had jokingly called it. I've long had the ability to squirt and only they appreciated it, which ironically, came as a result of a university endorsed club.

Before you read any further, I should warn you that this story is explicit. It's brutally honest. Being offensive toward race and/or religion is not my intention, but I retort, sex is part of life. My observations are just that, my observations.

My name is Professor Barrera (won't use my full name) and teaching has been my profession for nearly ten years. None of these sexual acts were part of some twisted scheme. I swear. Science has always been my calling, ever since I was young, and I became a teacher for altruistic reasons. I wanted to make a difference and I loved the idea of making science relatable to the next generation.

Please, let me explain. There were a few points in my life which made these current events possible. I'll go in order and I hope you'll understand.

~~~ January 2003 ~~~

The real start to this story is when I was 22 years old. Growing up in a big household with many siblings, privacy was non-existent. So great masturbation didn't happen until I lived with a roommate in a small apartment. Self-care always meant two fingers, but I'd hear vibrating sounds at night through the thin walls. The concept of using a vibrator was both perplexing and exciting. I kept thinking about what my mother would say if she knew what my roommate was doing. Lots of cursing in Spanish would be accurate.

One day, while my roommate was out, I looked inside her drawer and found it. I know that's gross, but our hygiene is top notch. I sat on the corner of her bed and used it on myself. I was naked from the waist down and figured it would be a quick thing, just to squash that curiosity which had built for weeks. It was unusual at first. I understood the appeal.

When I hit the right spot, I held it there until I was approaching orgasm. Except it wasn't a regular orgasm. I thought I needed to pee so bad, which stopped me from going all the way. I considered using the bathroom but I'd hit the right spot and the pressure was so intense that I let it happen. A steady stream came out of me, right onto my roommates carpet. Euphoria. I laid in her bed for a few minutes, catching my breath and enjoying the bliss.

It was during clean up that I realized the fluid was something else. I touched the wetness on my thigh and tasted it. It wasn't piss, the taste was different. After gathering paper towels and disinfectants to clean the carpet, I came to the realization that I had squirted. After that, I went online to read all that I could about my new superpower. And yes, I still think of it as a superpower.

~~~ August 2014~~~

In my early 30's, after years of internships and job hunting, I became an assistant-professor at this university. Because of my niche expertise in the world of physics, I was told that I'd eventually become a full-time professor. The position allowed me to gain experience teaching. It also meant that I'd have to work long hours for low pay.

Being tight on cash, I grew into a routine of using the campus gym to get my workouts. It's a great facility and it saves me a ton of money.

I'll never forget the late afternoon I'd finished a cardio session on the treadmill and showered in the private stall afterward. In traditional gyms, I don't mind using the open space showers, but again, this is at the university. The last thing I needed was for students to see me nude. It's awkward. Plus I've always held the belief that seeing someone naked brings their authority down. Like it demystifies them in some way.

Anyway, I was shampooing my hair when three girls from the volleyball team used the open space shower next to my private stall. I'm used to hearing the loud conversations and laughter of college girls when their energy is buzzing after a workout. They were talking about the start of the new semester and taking harder courses.

One of the girls explained that you could earn 'extra credit' with a certain professor by going to her office and 'eating her out.' As an educator, that comment stopped me cold. My hair was full of shampoo and I stood there listening. None of the girls seemed shocked by this. It was like they'd heard these rumors before and inquired about details.

After I finished showering, I stood naked in my stall waiting for the girls to leave. They talked about random things and occasionally broached the subject of eating out a professor. When they finished, they shut their water off and I heard their wet footsteps walking toward the locker area. I opened my stall door and saw their naked butts as they towel-dried their hair.

To this day, I never knew who those students were, or who that professor was. All I knew was that they spoke with certainty. I still think about it often. That was the day I realized that the teacher-fantasy extended to women, not just men. It also made me rethink my office hours. From that moment, I'd only meet with students when other faculty were nearby. I never wanted to get that kind of sexual offer.

~~~ February 2019 ~~~

I'd formally become a professor and I had more freedom teaching classes. The big pay increase was a welcomed relief. More than anything I was thrilled to put my niche specialty in science to good use, rather than following someone else's curriculum.

I'll never forget the afternoon after a lab session with students. I was inspecting supplies and making sure everything was stored properly, along with checking inventory to see if anything needed to be ordered.

There's a small office in the back of the lab. It's where I put the inventory list before leaving, and on that day, I heard a faint sound, like moaning. For much of my academic career, I was mentored by Professor McGrath, a white woman in her late 50's, respectable, streaks of gray hair, and she always wore thick-framed glasses. You know, the liberal type, and she'd done countless favors for me over the years.

When I went inside the office, McGrath was leaning back against the counter with her pants around her ankles, while a 30-something year old blonde named Kelsey was on her knees. By that I mean, Kelsey was going down on the respectable woman I proudly called my mentor. Kelsey is the lab technician who still works here. Neither of them stopped while I stood there frozen.

Professor McGrath didn't bother to look at me, she just asked for privacy, then told me to have a great day. That was it, 'Have a great day.' So I left the inventory sheet on the counter and walked away, my eyes barely able to pull away from the lesbian interaction they were so brazenly having.

Through later conversations she stated that I should get used to it. That people work long hours and it's a great stress relief. And that being a professor 'had certain perks' which came with the job. A few times over the course of a year, she made casual offers to me. I think she wanted me to go down on her. I always declined politely and she never took offense. To her, this was a casual secret, much like those girls I overheard in the shower years ago.

~~~ October 2023 ~~~

That brings me to the current semester, how I began squirting into the mouths of students. I'm sure you're watching the news and seeing the political firestorm in universities across the country. Donors are fleeing and politicians are demanding action. This prompted the Dean and the Board of Regents to shut down a number of student groups for violating campus policy.

Personally, doing politics on campus has never been my thing, though I was involved in a number of student organizations as an advisor. Doing things like that got me closer to tenure. Through internal memos and faculty meetings, we'd gotten the message from the Dean that most political student organizations would be closed. Then we were tasked with creating new organizations to take their place, you know, to keep overly anxious students busy while their emotions are hot.

I was assigned to something called the Cultural Exchange club, which frankly, no other professor was interested in. The name itself sounded like a high school club, not something out of a respectable institution like this. Nonetheless I wasn't in a position to turn down favors, so I accepted. And the more I thought about it, the more important it seemed because of the need for healing on campus.

The group was led by a Jewish girl named Ellary, an idealistic first-year student who struggled a bit with shyness. It's a common thing to see with new students who've been thrust into independence away from their families. It's where much of the personal growth happens, when sheltered young people begin to experience the world on their terms.

Not many people had joined the club, opting for fancier groups, or no group at all. In the first two weeks we had exactly six members, mostly women. I'd met with Ellary a few times in my office to discuss objectives and different ideas.

One particular conversation mid-November changed everything. We were alone in my office and she wanted to discuss a Hanukkah themed event, which would be open to everyone. I didn't know much about the holiday and she was articulate in explaining it. In particular, she wanted an emphasis on body positivity and body diversity. The idea left me unimpressed because this concept has been around for a while and there are plenty of DEI programs with the schools.

She told me, "I grew up swimming in a family pool and I always dressed modestly. A few weeks ago I swam in the university pool and I wore something other girls would wear. You know, something small. I wanted to be brave and confident with my body. But I noticed glances in my direction after getting out of the pool. Then glances in the shower. You know, down there."

Eventually I learned that she'd never watched porn before, which to me, makes her a rare gem. But at the time I thought she had major self-esteem issues, which I could empathize with. Most people go through that. She must have noticed an expression on my face; I understood her, but I couldn't understand what the exact issue was.

That was the moment Ellary lifted the front of her skirt and pulled her panties aside in a flashing motion. Her legs were still closed so I only got a partial view, but it was enough to show what she wanted to show. Beneath her curly, black pubic hairs was her labia. It was a dark brown shade, which contrasted her light skin, and it was thick. Not obscenely large, but I could see why it would capture the attention of students in the locker room.

She covered herself after letting me look for a few seconds, smoothing her skirt and adjusting her seat, her face turning red as if she were certain that our relationship would be over, or that I'd report her for this. When I asked why she showed me, Ellary said that she wasn't sure, that she trusted me and wanted someone to confide in.

I immediately thought of that time in the shower when I overheard students talking about eating out a professor. For a split second I wondered if Ellary was trying to make that same proposition, but I dismissed that idea. There was an innocence to what she did. She was trying to come to terms with a body that had turned into a woman's body. More particularly, her labia.

I could relate to what she was feeling. On the other hand, I found myself becoming aroused while looking into her eyes, knowing what her labia was like. She waited for my reaction. To scold her, to validate her feelings. Anything. For whatever reason I was the person she wanted to confide in, so how could I reject that? All I ever wanted was to be relatable to my students.

Her mouth opened and her eyes drifted down when I undid my pants and pulled everything to my knees. She saw what I had. Unlike her, I was shaved. Our commonality is that we were built the same in many ways. I let her stare at it, more than the few seconds she had given me to stare at her pussy. I let her take all the time she needed to feel normal.

When she asked if she could touch it, I let her. She scooted her seat next to mine, awe-struck by what she was seeing. To her, this wasn't completely sexual. I saw the curiosity in her eyes. There was a genuine expression. As I mentioned, I later learned that she'd never watched porn before, so in many ways this was a proper education for her. Or an introduction, that would be a more appropriate phrasing.

But to me, I hadn't felt so aroused in years. Showing myself to a student was crossing ethical lines that I had vowed to never cross. It had never been my interest either. But when she touched me, my world was electrified. The taboo had been broken. The seal lifted. My eyes kept darting to the unlocked door. Anyone could have entered and my career would have been over.

I allowed Ellary to give me an orgasm. She touched me the way she'd touch herself. Circular strokes in a gentle fashion, then hard, more intense at the end. I didn't warn her that I was going to squirt. I felt it coming but I was afraid she'd stop. A small part of me, that deviant side which exists in everyone, wanted to see how she'd react to squirt. To surprise her.

The squirt gushed all over the seat and ruined my pants and undergarments. The whole time, she didn't stop. She let it go, her fingers in constant motion until I was drained. I remember my toes curling inside my shoes and my eyes rolling back when it happened. Super intense. My first time cumming in the office. Ellary's eyes were like saucers. It was a miracle to her.

I grabbed a few tissues from my desk and wiped my hands and cleaned what I could. I excused myself and washed myself in the bathroom down the hall. I had to walk briskly because my pants were a mess. When I returned to my office with wet sheets of paper towels to clean my chair and floor, Ellary was still there waiting for me. She was sitting upright with perfect posture, not in a sexual way, but she wanted to learn. To continue our conversation.

We talked for nearly an hour and I remember the whole thing vividly. She wanted to know all there was about my sexuality and what just happened. I was happy to tell her. It was like a mutually beneficial relationship where both of us got the outlet we'd been seeking.

Did you think that was the climax of this story? I wish.

About a week later the club had reached 14 members. All the new members were friends of hers, mostly Jewish, a few Muslim, mostly first-year students, all of them women. They were academic, booksmart types. Most of them are STEM majors, a few were in liberal arts. Many of them are international students and my theory was that they bonded from having the same outsider status.

I was thrilled by the development and helped in an advisory capacity as she prepared her Hanukkah events and programs for the club. To clarify, it was going to be something that was open to the whole campus, and they'd have other programs for other religious holidays as well.

What I didn't yet know, however, was that Ellary had told her friends about the office incident. Naturally I thought my career was over, that they'd tell their friends, who would then tell their friends, until the whole campus and administrators would eventually find out. Ellary assured me this wouldn't be the case. That the group had the same open-minded approach.

The first meeting since the sudden expansion was awkward for me because most of the students knew what I'd done. And what I'm capable of doing. The meeting itself was productive and I admired the way Ellary pushed through her shyness and led from the top. She had a vision and the other students were like-minded with the same goal. Most of the meeting centered around a Hanukkah lighting that would take place on campus, followed by interfaith dialogue

I was thankful getting out of there with my pride intact because no one broached the 'other' subject, though I'm certain it's what many of the members were thinking.

A week later was the crucial meeting, because they were days away from doing the Hanukkah lighting, the first planned celebration before moving on to different cultures. I was late to that meeting because finals were approaching and I had the normal surge of students during my office hours.

I rushed to the late-afternoon meeting, having missed a half hour, and when I opened the door I saw a huddled group of young women. They were sitting with their seats arranged in a tight circle, while Ellary stood in front of them. No one said anything. A few girls glanced in my direction as I closed the door, then looked back at her.

When I got closer I realized that Ellary's skirt was lifted and they were all looking at her pussy. She was clean shaven this time. She was petting her labia like a kitty, with soft, gentle strokes. The girls were mesmerized by it. So was I. In my younger days I'd taken nude drawing classes before, so seeing nudity in a classroom had become normal for me.

There's something striking, however, about academic-minded girls admiring a Jewish pussy in a manner that goes beyond art. This was sexual curiosity. It was Ellary having a chance to share and explore her body with like-minded girls. And it was a chance for the girls to see something new. Something, perhaps, they could relate to. And together, as a group, they could feel seen. Isn't that what all young people growing into their bodies want? To be seen?

I took a seat by the wall because I didn't want to disturb their process. I watched the girls staring at the labia. Ellary's pussy is suckable and delightful to stare at. I watched her exhibit her sex in different ways, using her fingertips to rub the brown labia, stroking each side, and when she'd use her fingertips to spread her labia, the students would lean forward to get a better view of the pinkness.

Ellary ended the show when I noticed she was about to cum. I think the other students had no idea how close they were to seeing an actual orgasm. She smoothed her skirt down and pulled her panties up, followed by an awkward, blushing smile. The awkwardness was shared amongst the students, some of whom were thinking about clapping, but weren't sure if that was appropriate, so they just smiled.

Afterward she said the following. "That's basically why I started this club. My sexuality has always been different. And I'd like to thank Professor Barrera for being our faculty advisor. You're the best, truly. I know it's a lot to ask, but could you show us your gift... you know... how you do that? A few members had inquired about seeing that."

I forced a smile, thanked Ellary for the thoughtful words, and I declined the offer to touch myself in front of everyone. Truth be told, I'd never been so embarrassed in my life than being called out as a squirter in front of a group of students. I could tell they really wanted to see it, but stopped short of verbally asking.

The next day a girl named Farhana came to see me during office hours. An international student, math major with an olive complexion, and she wore a hijab over her hair. I recognized her right away. She was one of the girls fawning over Ellary's pussy.