In the quiet of your office, I curled in your lap, my blouse open, bra tugged down to bare my breasts, your teeth marks in livid pink on my flesh in the aftermath of us.
"Tell me a story," you whispered against my temple. I didn't even have to think, I knew just what to share. Your book lined shelves, your power chair, the big desk, they brought back memories.
I began, "I was in first year university. Obsessed with grades, really, because it was like bootcamp. Students were dropping like flies and I was among the most ambitious. Winners do the things that losers just won't do, right? And I worked so hard on that paper. God. I hated him."
Kissing my throat, you murmured, "Back up. Who?"
"My pysch prof. He wore a hideous brown suit that must have been quite the hit with the ladies back in the seventies when he first bought it. Professor Mordecai. Asshole. He went on and on about sex all the time in class. I wasn't sure if he was really that Freudian or if he was trying to impress his young students with shock value. He was always covered in chalk from the board. I don't think he bathed much."
You squeezed my tit and I squeaked. You demanded, "The story. When does the story start?"
"Right. Sorry. I worked really hard on a paper and it came back with a B. I knew it was better than that and so I went to his office during open hours to challenge him. I heard angry voices and a girl I knew from class came out in tears. She shook her head at me and stormed down the hallway.
"Mordecai was in a foul mood and I almost left but he practically forced me into his office and shut the door behind me.
God. Statues of fertility goddesses, giant cock sculptures, various suggestive and phallic abstract objects. The guy was a perv. And I don't know where he got all that stuff. He must have travelled some--- OWWW!"
You laughed and bit my shoulder again, lightly this time. "The story. What happened? I don't give a shit about the decor."
I kissed you, turned on again. "Well, I pleaded my case about my grade but he wasn't even listening. He was just staring out the window and ignoring me. It was really rude. Finally, he said, 'Are you finished?' I was so humiliated. I had obviously wasted my time.
"I mumbled, 'Yes,' and he turned around, unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his chalk-covered brown slacks. He was repulsive. He'd get spit in his beard and--- ow!!! Okay! Okay! I'll get to the point.
"He said, 'I know you deserved an A. The paper was quite good and I was impressed. But there is only one way any female student gets an A in my class and that is achieved on this very desk.'
"He was a pig. I told him I was reporting him to the dean. I was going to have his job. He thought I was really funny. He told me he was going to use my mouth and cunt for the rest of term whenever he wanted but that the dean was an ass man. If I wanted to keep my anal cherry, he told me I'd best stick with him."
My voice trailed off and you slapped my backside hard enough to make me yelp. You were hard again. "So what did you do? You didn't fuck him, did you?" I blushed. "Oh you whore. You did. You bent over his desk! Tell me."
"I did. I was shaking so hard. I didn't want him to touch me. He locked the door and came to me. He put his hand on the back of my neck, pinning me down so that my face was crushed against the hardwood beneath. With his other hand, he opened the desk drawer and took out some lube. I was grateful because there was no way I was going to get wet for him."
Massaging my tits, you paused to pinch my nipples, making me gasp as you pressed your hardon against my thigh, "Then he fucked you?"
"No. It wasn't that easy. First, he beat my ass with his belt. He told me that I was a ridiculous little bitch and that women had no place in higher education. He told me I didn't belong there and that, if I wanted to succeed, I should learn that serving cock was all I was good for. He didn't stop until I was sobbing and nearly drowning in the puddle of tears under me as he continued to keep me pinned.
"Then, he lubed up his cock. I was almost relieved to be getting on with it. He took his hand from the back of my neck so he could pin my hips, bruising them on the unyielding desk. And then he positioned himself and quickly jerked into my ass.
"I screamed, I'm sure I did. I'd never had so much as a finger in my ass before. He cussed at me. 'Tight little bitch. Open up. Open your fucking ass!' Like I was being tight on purpose!
I clawed at his desk, I cried, I kicked my feet, I squealed until he took his tie off and pulled it across my mouth, holding it from behind like reins to shut me up. It tasted like chalk.
"He took a long time. He was determined to get his cock all the way up my ass and I was so tight. He kept stopping to relube and spank my backside." At this, you slapped me there once yourself.
I was wet, my cunt drooling on your leg. There was something about the intimacy of sharing long ago secrets. Long ago terrible choices. Long ago moments of torment that revisited me in later years, turning me on even though I hated him. I straddled your lap and you aimed your cock at my ass. Dry. I groaned with pleasure and pain as you started to work it in and my body naturally resisted.
Panting, I whispered, "I visited his office every week that term. I was even jealous and enraged when he had someone else with him. Every week, I took his cock up my tight little ass. Mmmmm.
"I was his ass whore and I even stopped studying in his course or working at all. I wanted to get my A and know I didn't earn it in class. I wanted that permanent mark on my record that was the result of sodomy. I wanted an A for ass training."
"Whore. Fucking bitch whore," you growled as you spilled me to the floor and then dragged me up by my hair, forcing me over your desk. You moaned and brutally shoved your cock into me, making me squeal like a stuck little sex pig. "Is this how he did it?" you asked, jerking into me again.
"Yes. Yesss. Yesss," I moaned, not even knowing what you'd asked.
It's so fucked up. I can't sort it out in my own mind, why things happened like they did. Not back then with Mordecai. Not with you.
Sex finds itself in strange places. The memory plays tricks. And the ability to reframe and recreate never ceases to amaze me.
I'll never understand, but I know my empty gushing cunt came really hard while you reamed my ass in your office that day.
I swear I could smell chalk.