Pet Store Professor Ch. 06

It was one thing to degrade and own his professor in the privacy of his home, but another to make the professor realize he was now Francesco's private property and bitch. The professor had to realize he no longer had options to refuse his student master or masters, and Francesco and Nils went to his office to prove just that. So, they both came into the office to talk about the journal assignment. Write about a personal experience that changed your life, the assignment was, and Francesco wrote about the professor under his table like a dog, and NIls had just copied it. They shut the door behind them.

The professor was immediately apprehensive, having practically memorized the journal which lay open on its desk, the scene described therein having inflamed his memory and imagination. He wanted it again and again. He wanted Francesco to fuck him but in private only, in his apartment, and yet he wanted to be owned as well. And yet he was still their professor, responsible for marking their work, and he was so taken aback by the truth of what they had written that he asked them to come to his office.

He was forced to consider Francesco as a real dominant and come to terms with its own fantasies of being collared and enslaved by a student. He didn't say anything initially, just watched the two alphas like a cat confronted by giant dogs. Wariness was in order although it knew what would transpire. They hadn't come to beg forgiveness for writing about degrading their professor, for revealing the truth of what had happened.

Nils sat on a chair stretching his muscular legs out and Francesco invaded the professor's space by standing too close, staring into the professor's eyes and forcing him to look down, and even sometimes stepping in the direction the professor stepped as if to block his move. Then Nils joined in so the two of them effectively surrounded the professor, leaving him no room, forcing him to pay attention to their presence. And they smelled of their aftershave and alpha musk, exuding the odour of young, virile cock, which almost made the professor swoon.

He felt himself slipping into its submissive self, into the alpha worshiper and obedient cunt. But, still hanging on to its identity as a professor (and he was beginning to think of himself as "it," a piece of property), it had to resist initially and speak about the students' journals, and their violation of the boundaries. For the professor had also violated the boundaries, opening himself to the power of young alpha studs who invaded and ravaged, captured and fucked, and dragged him into slavery, and his heart thrilled, the heart of the bitch, even as the professor tried to control the scene in his office.

"Excuse me," he said.

"For what?" Francesco replied.

Standing above the professor (he was almost a head taller), Francesco whispered more than talked. His voice seemed strange as if it was coming from afar or altered by a change of personality. Probably the influence of knowing what he had already done to the professor in private. He was here to stake a public claim to his property, to remind the professor that he was Francesco's bitch regardless of where he was.

"About your journal..."

"What about it?" This was Nils who stood so close that he could have spat in the professor's mouth, which he wouldn't have minded at all.. He became suddenly aware of NIls physical power, the kind of body that attracted females and male cunts. And of course NIls regarded the professor as a "sklave", born to submit to the ubermensch, the powerful alpha, deserving of respect, obedience and worship. And for a moment the professor imagined himself spread-eagled and shackled to a bed, naked, open for his masters.

He trembled inwardly while attempting to maintain its professorial integrity and authority. Francesco's boots interlocked with his professor's feet so it couldn't move. Francesco always wore a cologne, subtle but heady, as the professor was always been susceptible to alpha aromas just like the way animals pick up a scent in the wild. Not only that het could tell by the glitter in their eyes and the smell of their breath that they were high, probably having smoked a toque somewhere or two before coming to the office, or even popped a couple of pills.

Both anxiety and lust, as well as a sense that if it allowed this to continue, all was lost. And he, and "it" couldn't help but tremble over the knowledge that it wanted to lose, even as it struggled against the inevitable. This was dangerous play as it violated all professional boundaries and would completely sabotage the professor's authority and deeply compromise his position. The fear was tangible, the danger visceral, the lust so compelling that the professor felt his own pathetic dick stir and harden beneath his suit pant. And Francesco had already handled the professor as a degraded cunt and bitch privately, and had dared to write what he wanted in the journal.

Then Nils blurted in the kunt's other ear.

"You didn't like what we wrote?"

"I didn't say you could share one journal and get the same mark."

"Well, the way we look at it, professor, it doesn't matter what you say because we gave you what you want, didn't we?"

Then they both pressed in closer and the professor was wedged in between two dominant alphas. It could feel itself weakening. If it weakened, it would succumb, it would be what the students wanted it to be, it would give itself completely, privately and publicly to Francesco, his master. Maybe even become a "sklave" to NIls. Become the animal of Francesco's journal, the fuck animal under the kitchen table in the apartment and on Francesco's fantasy farm for masters and their slaves. Maybe the professor in its wildest fantasies wanted that to happen, always tempted by the ecstasy of degradation.

Inhaling the aroma of masculine power and authority, of the magnetism of youth and virility, it knew it was lost. Francesco and Nils both must have surmised that coming to the office today would be the final tipping point and the professor would rejoice in being their permanent and exclusive property. They must have realized that the professor needed to degraded and dominated in his office, in his public space, through attitude and words if they persisted, if they did not back away. If they pushed the professor's inner needs, submissive psychology and sexual fantasies, not just when they were alone at someone's home, but here, in his fucking academic office surrounded outside by thousands of students and teachers, they'd have him for good. Their exclusive cunt!.

Deep down the professor needed Francesco and Nils to own, humiliate and fuck it. But it couldn't help itself from feeling surprised, nervous like any human being.

So the ordinary human professor tried to resit the inevitable and pushed itself out of the wedge, using its hands against both Nils and Francesco. The lads just laughed.

"We expect an A," Francesco said.

"And you'll give it to us," Nils joined in.

"You wrote some really obscene shit," the professor said.

"Yeah, you said I could. And you saw how much of it was based on stuff that happened. Right? Just the other night. Remember, bitch? Nothing has changed. We're here to remind you what you are now."

The professor had to admit he was speaking the truth.

"And you liked it, didn't you, professor, you liked what we wrote, just like you wanted what Francesco did?"

"But I can't give you each a mark for the one piece of work."

Then Francesco, taller than the professor, slender but taut and strong, simply said:

"Listen, you'll do as you're told because we're telling you, bitch. That's what you want, isn't it? To be our bitch? We don't do anything you say, but you do what we say. The journal says it all... it was written just for you. Got it, fuckface? You're nothing but our fucking bitch cocksleeve."

The professor gasped in shock and delight, and felt its knees weakening. But it knew that Francesco must have understood that as a worker in words the professor responded to abusive language, the bitch warmed to verbal degradation, it was a form of psychological conditioning, opening the gates to its deepest private and submissive, obedient self. Still, for the sake of professional appearances and rules, weakening by the moment, it fought pointlessly back.

"You've got a nerve talking to me like that, Francesco. What makes you think I won't report you to the Dean?"

"Report me! Shit, you're not reporting us. You don't want the Dean asking questions, do you? Remember, professor? Remember the dog bowl? The collar and leash? The piss?"

"Maybe the professor needs to feel the boot, buddy," Nils said, speaking to Francesco. They must have been very sure of themselves, knowing that their professor wouldn't call the dean or security, or say anything or even been able to resist the urge to kneel before the boot. Nils was in his Doc Martens and Francesco of course was wearing his construction styled boots. Francesco placed both hands on the kunt's shoulders and then began pressing downward. The touch was like fire.

"Get down, fagcunt."

And so the professor sank to his knees in front of Francesco the student and Francesco chuckled and said something to Nils about a dog and a bitch and they both now had a pet. Needed training.

"Get down, I said, all the way!" And Nils pushed its head down until its face touched Francesco's boots. Its heart raced; it panted as if trying to catch its breath; its head entered a dizzying spira;l it was losing a sense of what it was and where it was, even as it was experiencing a strange kind of excitement and pleasure, a sense of fulfilment.

"Lick my fucking boots, professor," Francesco almost yelled.

What was it to do? Licking boots is the sign of submission, of honour to the alpha and superior power and authority, the proper duty of the slave.

"Lick them, bitch."

Something in the professor had been released. Something in the professor had broken down, and his mind and soul rejoiced over the humiliation of it all. And it had to admit to itself that as a professor, it has fallen in love with Francesco's alpha charisma and taut student body.

Nils stood behind it, and for a moment the professor, becoming less and less their teacher, imagined an entire scene of spit roasting, Francesco in front, Nils behind. It imagined Francesco's cock rammed down its gagging throat and Nils' cock pushed as far as it could go up the professor's asscunt. And it bucked its body a bit as if being simultaneously fucked by its masters. Francesco's hand was in front of his crotch which it noticed on its way down to the boot.

Then Nils pressed a Doc Marten against the back of its head and the former professor, now a dog, now an "it," had no choice but to press it lips and tongue against Francesco's boot. It had no choice but to submit to Francesco and degrade itself in its own office in front of another alpha student. Francesco had taken over the professor's public space and transformed it into a playing field for alpha studs and their cunt. And his heart leaped in joy. Yes, it was a kind of joy, for what was the point of resisting anymore? It wasn't going to flail and strike back or shout for the security guard.

Then Francesco got on his knees and whispered in the cunt's ear.

"You need to be my bitch, not just when we're alone at my place. Say it. You want and need to be my bitch, my piece of fuckmeat, always, anywhere and everywhere. And Nils, too. You want to be our bitch, our slave cunt. Say it. We can do what we want and you will obey us. And you're giving us a fucking A for the entire fucking course. Say it. And you want us to fuck you, don't you, slave?"

"Yes, Yes, yes, both of you, fuck me, fuck me," he practically shouted, "both of you are getting an A from your bitch!"

Then Francesco pushed it down on the floor and immediately straddled its face, placing a strong leg on either side of its head and began pumping as if fucking its skull. The professor-cunt could feel the bulge between Francesco's legs get bigger and harder. And then Francesco unzipped and liberated his cock, a monster. Who would have imagined tall and slender Francesco possessed a monster cock? It would stretch the cunt's throat. Francesco grabbed it in his fist, his fingers unable to encircle it, and he spat out the words over kunt's face.

"You're gonna worship my cock, bitch, just like you did at my place. Whenever I want you'll worship me. Wherever I want, even in your office, you fucking cunt. Got that? Worship your Master's COCK, fuckface!"

"Fuck his mouth, Cesco," Reggie called from behind.

"And after you fuck the fag's throat, I'll do it."

"No, later. I got plans. But I think professor has got the message."

Then he grabbed the cunt's hair and ordered it to lick the dick. In a state of utter confusion and desire, totally forgetting what it once was in its realization of what a cunt it now would be for the glorious Francesco, and Nis, too, unable or unwilling to resist, entering that subspace only slaves fully understand, it acted instinctively before the glory of the dominant. The cunt quickly shot out its tongue and tasted Francesco's big cock. Just as quickly Master Cesco stood up, a tall and slender young Alpha dominant with a great cock hovering over the prone body of the submissive teacher. And the cunt felt itself say a prayer to its new God, Cesco's cock, and knew it would also praise the cock of Nils when the time came, for that was its purpose and duty henceforward. Francesco zipped up while Nils rubbed his Doc Martens over the cunt's face. "Yeah, feel that, fagshit, feel my boot. We own you now sklave!'

"When we want you to do something for us, slave, we'll be back," Francesco said.

"And, oh yeah, we decided we don't have to do anymore work for your class. We've got an A for the journal and that's all the shit we plan to do and you're gonna give us an A for the entire course, at least 90 for a fucking last mark. And we'll come to class if we feel like it, just to remind you that we own you. Got that, bitch?"

And the professor, curling up on the floor, its mouth open and hungry and yearning, whimpered and prayed.

"Yes, my Lords and Masters, yes." And the whimper wasn't the sound of despair, but a quite prayer of joy.

"We're coming back for you at the end of the day, cunt. Be here, waiting for us."

"Yes, my Masters, your wish is its command."