Logic One Oh Ouch

For a couple of weeks after that, I managed to avoid Professor Hollings, but the campus wasn't all that big and I was walking down a hall in the political sci building, when his hand shot out and he pulled me over to the side.

"You haven't been back to see me," he hissed.

"I'm sorry, Professor," I've really been busy.

"My place in an hour," he shot back.

"I'm sorry, but I have to—"

"No excuses. You're mine now. My place in an hour; I'm going to fuck you and then you're going to give me a nice massage."

I couldn't think of any way out of it. He was just too powerful on campus and I'd lose all of my tuition money for the semester if I pulled out now. And where would I go anyway. An hour later, I was standing at the front door of his house.

He answered the door in his robe.

"The room where I take my massages is through there. Through the kitchen. But first. Take everything off. Take it off right here." I stripped, wondering if he'd gone off his nut or something.

"Here. Follow me to the kitchen." We'd gotten half way through the kitchen, when he turned on me and said. "Up on the counter; hop up on that counter."

Well, Hokay. Up I perched on the kitchen counter, between the sink and the stove. The counter was some sort of granite; cold on the butt cheeks. He slipped his robe off and was naked. He already had a half hard on. I watched him cross to the refrigerator and return with a tub of butter. To my surprise, He dipped his hand in the butter, came up with a big glob and started smearing in all over my chest and belly.

Hey, I thought—and think I said it as well—but he pushed me back on the counter and his lips went to my chest, while his hand kept coming up with gobs of butter, which he smeared onto my cock and balls and then into my asshole as his lips followed, down my body, playing cleanup. But his lips didn't follow into my asshole. He slid his cock in there, without removing the butter and gave me a butter fuck. I had to admit that it was all a little kicky.

After he was finished, he pointed to a bathroom with a shower between the kitchen and his workout room. When I emerged, all clean again, he was laying face up on his massage table. I gave him a massage, both front and back, and he toyed with my cock whenever he could get to it. So, as fringe benefit, when I was done with his back, I whipped out that old tub of butter and started buttering up his ass.

"Hey, wait," he said, "that isn't part of my plan."

"No, but it's part of mine," I said, as I got up over him on the table, I was down on my right knee beside his thigh on one side, and up on my left foot on the other to maintain leverage and aid thrust. I ran my arm under his belly and lifted him up to me and entered him. He was disagreeable at first, but after the first five minutes, he was panting and groaning, and sighing, and moaning, and asking for more. And I gave him more. I gave him a whole lot more. I gave him more than seven inches. It seemed the only logical thing to do. He'd been the one who started this whole process. I gave seven inches of logic to him, and we were on much more equal footing thereafter.