My Professor Gets Asian Lesson

Gradually however, I realized I was gasping for air and one by one the sensations of my body, the feeling of the hard floor on the back of my head, the slick oily coating of sweat on my skin, returned. I heard a groan, and as my vision returned, coming out of the black and red and flashing checkers that had blanketed my sight, I could see that he had unzipped his trousers and was stroking his erect cock as it pierced the opening of his fly.

A grimace tensed his face, framing his staring eyes as they fixated on the sight of the wine bottle, which I realized at this moment was stuffed almost ten inches inside me, right up to the point where the thick bottom part of the bottle ended. Another groan escaped his tense lips and he brought his empty wine glass in front of his cock, bending his erection downward towards me so that he was shooting at me and into the open mouth of his tipped wine glass.

His cock was large, much bigger than the pretty boy I was dating at that time, and thick at its base, tapering to a small head that seemed like the tip of a fat sausage. His sperm came shooting out in long white streams, like milk from a cow's udder, and I was surprised how many strands came out. He shot more come than any man I had been with before, and actually since.

With a final shudder and a thrust of his hips up off the couch, he stroked two or three more jets of come, and then collapsed back into the couch. He quickly recovered and caught his breath. "Leave the bottle inside yourself. Get up on your knees so that the end of the bottle is resting on the floor and the rest of it is still inside."

I wasn't quite sure what he meant at first--the lack of oxygen to my brain the likely cause--and I didn't actually know how to get from the position I was in, legs splayed upwards and on my back, to the position he was describing. But after dropping my legs down to the floor, and rather awkwardly turning onto my side, the bottle still deep inside, I managed to pull myself up by bracing my left arm on the couch. I slipped my legs around so I was kneeling and facing him, and squatted down until the top of the wine bottle was touching the floor. I slid down a few more inches until the wine bottle, which had slipped down several inches while I was moving, was again deep inside with the bottle's bottom basically resting on my cervix.

He was still stroking his cock, which had remained hard, but now he reached out and handed me the wine glass. "Drink it while it's still warm. Savor it, don't down it like a cheap Asian whore." Letting go of the wine bottle, which was now solidly ensconced in my cunt, almost like the third leg of a tripod, I took the glass and swirled the milky sperm inside the glass. I felt like I was mounted like an insect in an science experiment, the bottle filling me but also feeling like I had been impaled on it, splitting me apart.

I was amazed at how much sperm there was in the glass, not the two or three tablespoons of even the biggest loads I had seen, but filling almost half an inch of the bottom of the wine glass. It was viscous, but not as thick as some sperm, and it was liquid enough that it swirled around the glass like heavy whipping cream. I brought the open end of the glass to my nose, mimicking the way he had sniffed his wine as well as my underwear.

"Describe the bouquet to me," he ordered. The scent of his sperm, like warm fertile mushrooms, hit my nostrils, mingled with the lingering bouquet of the red wine. I swirled the glass some more and again brought it to my nose. The warmth of the scent had faded as the sperm began to cool, and the smell of something fresher yet still organic, like the inside rind of orange peels, appeared. I described it to him, watching him nod as he continued to stroke his cock.

"Drink it. Remember, it's not a shooter. We're not in some bar with your stupid friends trying to get drunk so that you can be date raped by some fraternity boy." I tipped the glass and poured about half his come into my mouth, rolling it's heavy thickness around my mouth until it coated my tongue and teeth. It had a slightly sweet taste, with an alkali texture on my tongue, almost chalky like an unripe banana.

It slipped around my mouth like a raw oyster, clinging to itself even as it traveled through my teeth and around my tongue. I swallowed, feeling the mucous stretch down my throat. Enough of it still coated my teeth that my mouth was full of the fertile flavor. I drank the rest of the glass, tilting my head back and waiting for the last drops to drip into my open mouth, before swallowing it all.

We never had intercourse that night. He sat me on couch and licked me to another orgasm, although it was much tamer and quieter than those I had earlier. Then I knelt in front of him and gave him a long, slow blow job, deep throating him as he came so that he shot right down my throat. He drew me a hot bath afterward, dressing me in his robe after toweling me off. He asked me if I wanted to stay the night (it was almost 4 in the morning by then), but I said I would rather go home, and so he called me a taxi. We didn't plan on seeing each other again, but I ran into him twice more.

The first time was several weeks later when I was working (on the paper for his class!) in my carrel in the library (a phone booth sized carrel with a sliding door). He knocked on the glass door and I let him in. With almost no words, I unzipped his pants, took his cock out, and began sucking it. Even with the sliding door closed, anybody walking by would have seen what we were doing, and I'm not sure if anyone actually did because I was concentrating on giving him a blow job. After he came, he slipped out of the carrel and was gone, the lingering flavor of his sperm in my mouth the only indication that what had happened wasn't just one of my masturbation fantasies.

The last time I saw him was after I got my term paper back from him (I deserved the "A" I received, not just because I had sex with him!). I went to his office hours, making sure I was the last in line. When I finally stepped in, I closed the door behind me and wordlessly dropped to my hands and knees and crawled to his desk. He backed up his office chair and I slipped under his desk, opening his fly and again giving him a long sloppy blow job, fingering my swollen clit and wet lips with my left hand at the same time.

He held my head in both his hands and rammed my face up and down on his cock, forcing loud choking and gagging sounds out of my throat. When he was close to coming, he jackhammered my head up and down so fast I literally could not breathe for almost a minute, and as he came my face was mashed so far down into his crotch that his pubic hairs filled my nostrils. I had timed my own orgasm to coincide with his, and my body was convulsing in pleasure even as he rammed my face up and down.

I gagged, helpless both because of the grip he had on my hair and because of the loss of control of my muscles as the waves of my orgasm receded. When I was finally able to pull my head up all of his sperm came back up into my mouth, making me cough and spraying much of it into his lap. He cursed and backed his office chair up, but it was too late, I had splattered come and saliva all over his black pants. "You stupid chink bitch!" Hearing him use that racist term sent a flush of anger to my cheeks.

I laughed at him, mocking his pathetic shrinking penis. Somehow, I really had no desire to see him again after that. Perhaps it was because I was no longer his student, and he no longer my teacher. The power dynamic was gone, and he wasn't quite as in command as when I was in his class.

The racist way he fetishized my being "Oriental" had reinforced his superiority over me as my teacher. But once he was no longer my professor, his arrogance and racism was less tolerable. I'm actually quite fond of the memory of how flustered he was trying to wipe his pants off so that he wouldn't have to leave his office with white come stains all over his crotch! I did get him in the end!