The Professor Familiar with His Role
Listen to the lively string music. A professor's life isn't just filled with work. Feel the sunshine shining through the massive windows. Watch him grin at the undergraduates as they walk past him in the hallway.
"Hi, Professor Rimby!"
"Hi, Rimby!"
"Vanessa, Julia, behave yourselves. Study!"
"We will, professor!"
The soft, plush flooring, the renovated interior of this educational building, grand yet fitted with modern upgrades and plug-ins. The scent of the students' lotions and hair products fills the air. The life of this attractive professor is comfortable.
Engaging with the joyous academic community.
No one who passes him knows his secret.
Later that afternoon, after the class they've taken together finishes, Vanessa approaches him at the lectern towards the front of the room.
"Professor Rimbaud, I have a question..." and she posed her query, slowly. Professor Rimbaud notices that Vanessa is adorned with a necklace, and its pendant hangs low on her cleavage, resting right on the curves of her breasts that peak out from the too-low neckline of her multilayered top. He understands that his eyes have been intentionally guided to this delightful area, as his subconscious has swiftly caught on to the fact that when Vanessa stepped up to speak to him after class, she had undone one button from her blouse, the second from the top, exposing the summits of her breasts and the silly pendant charm now resting, so thoughtlessly, between...
Vanessa cleared her throat.
The Professor's gaze travelled up her neck, meeting her amused eyes.
Her eyes that declared, undeniably, "I know, I saw you, I'm flattered, I know and you know, I saw you, I'm impressed, I know and you know, I saw you, I'm captivated by your attention."
Her eyes that sparkled across the transitory silence between them.
"Perhaps I should come by during your office hours?" Vanessa inquired.
"Yes, definitely," the Professor replied, stumbling over his words. And Vanessa smiled, departed, and the Professor was ecstatic about his secret that day. He turned to erase the board and sensed a pang of longing against the confinement of self-control; against the tedium of restraint and self-control.
The following class was more relaxed, with a majority of athletic young men. They were less studious than his after-lunch attendees, but at least half this class knew that when they requested from Professor Rimby to miss a lecture due to a sports practice, a game, or even once, a team orgy, but that's another story, they knew Professor Rimbaud would look favorably upon their request and approve their absence, allowing them to view a recorded lecture hosted on the server and do so "on the honor system", which meant never.
This class knew that Professor Rimbaud would approve their absences since he was considered the cool professor, and this is all they thought of him.
However, after those two classes, there was an event that academia provided as a perk: a film screening, accompanied by an introduction and post-film Q&A with the writer-director, a notable figure in the industry. Faculty privileges granted the Professor preferential seating with his department. When he arrived at the lobby of the Film School's main theater, some colleagues he liked were there, yet those he detested had already left. Victory!
As he made his way to the seats: the places were excellent. Center back orchestra, just where he desired to be for a movie of this caliber, scale, and import! This was the perfect spot for the audience's energy to envelop him.
And there she was, a few rows in front of him - the captivating Vanessa. Was she a sophomore or a junior? He couldn't exactly recall because she had rebuttoned her top but it still fit tightly across her chest and middle, emphasizing the allure of a young woman eager for education. Her hips and thighs were out of proportion to her corresponding measurements, making her even more alluring. Could she have seen him when he glanced at her? Or did she disregard him entirely?
The theater began to fill with people as presentation time drew near. Vanessa occasionally twisted in her seat, as if searching for something or someone behind her, holding her phone in one hand, and then returning to typing on it again.
Professor Rimbaud remembered how she smelled earlier that day, during their interactions.
In a boisterous and amusing manner, noise came from the back of the residence. Following this noise was a confused voice stating, "Oops, sorry," accompanied by hearty, foolish chuckles from a young, masculine individual. Next, we heard the footsteps of two individuals resembling Greek-Roman wrestlers, with one being shorter and the other taller. The shorter wrestler had a reversed and altered cotton sweatshirt, which seemed like a poncho due to being split at the arms and waist. As they descended down the aisle, Professor noticed Vanessa, who appeared with her college-like hair cut off with softness and an intoxicating scent, appeared next to the row the two wrestlers were trodding into, eventually settling between the second, taller wrestler and Vanessa.
The first wrestler was pushing his head towards Vanessa's face as she broke out in laughter. Vanessa didn't resist or flee, instead offering her own lips to kiss him. The shorter wrestler maintained his tight grip until the theater's lights began to dim, and the MC came to the stage to share kind words about the evening's guest of honor. As the movie continued, Vanessa's head appeared parked on her companion's shoulder. However, the second part of the movie revealed the shorter wrestler was guiding her through various activities, as if he was educating her about something.
Driven by hormones, they were behaving quite carelessly. The Professor observed they were releasing pheromones, and sensed a strong scent of cum. When Vanessa separated the shorter wrestler, who was now sitting beside her, the film lost his interest, as well as Vanessa's.
Between her experiences and affinity for disorder, the Professor believed his colleague's life was commendable. Unfortunately, his wife's school hours were only on Wednesdays.
The day was still long after the presentation and Q&A with the film's star. It was fine outside but balmy inside the professor's vehicle. While driving home, he focused on his stored affirmation audiobook, containing an exclusive message for him recorded by his love. The playlist consisted of phrases like, "Your wife enjoys making you happy," and "Your wife deserves joy," concluding with the intriguing, "You are your wife's most cherished male sex toy."
As he migrated through the traffic, a black jeep exploded into view. It had pretend police car and skull stickers, indicating they went overboard with personalization.
In the professor's quest for a parking spot near his house, a free space finally opened, forcing him to continue to a different one. Upon reaching home, he locked the car and walked towards his property.
His car featured all the latest technology for leisure activities such as games, media consumption, and even meditation. One of his most cherished gifts was a present labeled "Morning Motivation for Husband." Although a slightly unusual gift, his wife had an amazing idea using some slogans about a loving husband. However, his residence had unfamiliar occupants, which left him perplexed.
"Your wife treasures you and you adore your wife and your wife longs for other men's penises."
The professor endured the thoughts of multiple men's hips, as well as the soft sounds she made while experiencing their presence. The descriptive mental image was overpowering. But there was a snag. His driveway was occupied. Instead, he searched for an alternate parking spot up the street.
Did the neighbors notice he didn't park where he typically does? Could they see him searching for an empty spot on the congested semi-rural, semi-suburban street? Were they aware of the jeep in the driveway? Was it a familiar sight? Did they observe the Professor strolling down the sidewalk to his home?
He boldly crossed his front yard. The house appeared silent. There was no music, no shouting, no crying.
He unlocked and opened his front door.
And there it was. A different man's penis.
Exposed on his and his spouse's couch. Airing comfortably, clearly at ease; disrobed on the Professor's couch in the Professor's house in the Professor's living area.
The first thing someone would perceive upon entering the house would be this naked man.
Displaying his penis, wet and jutting outward, thick and long, enveloped in dark forest-like hair. And the Professor scrutinized it. Checking to discover any identifiable imprints his spouse may have left on this strange man's penis.
The Professor closed and secured the doorway behind himself, instinctively, as if it were a routine night.
"Hey, I recognize you."
The owner of the penis was speaking to him. The owner of the penis had observed the Professor's gaze and analysis of his member, the member of a fellow adult male, and had permitted him to scrutinize freely.
The Professor turned back to face the room and engaged eye contact with the man. He seemed recognizable.
"You're a teacher," the stranger stated. "At the college," he pointed vaguely towards the general direction of the college, and then named it.
"Yes," the Professor confirmed.
"I coach," the man declared. "Field hockey in autumn, softball in spring."
"Those are feminine sports."
"Absolutely," the man responded. "I'm adept at handling young women. They're easy to rouse and develop. Your roommate's quite a competitor."
"Roommate?"
"Yep, Allie," the man revealed. "I encountered her at the tennis shade, her coach is a friend of mine. She's a capable contender. I'm positive she'd have thought you were a pupil when we first met!" She's an exceptional roommate."
The Professor raised an eyebrow. "Yes, indeed. Her."
"Yep, she mentioned you're tolerant of nudity, even if you don't practice it yourself."
"Ah, understandably," the stranger remarked.
And suddenly, his roommate emerged, garbed in a lengthy t-shirt which extended to her knees. "Oh, hey."
"Oh, hey... Roomie," the Professor said.
"Hey," Allie replied. The Professor deduced there was not a wedding ring or engagement ring on her left hand; no tan line was present. "Sorry to scare you by appearing unexpectedly like this."
"No biggie," the Professor replied, with an impassive expression as he headed to the bedroom. "You two enjoy yourselves!"
"Right, he's a cool dude," the man said. "Sweetie, that guy was eyeballing my schlong."
Allie snickered. "Yup, well, it's a lovely schlong, if I say so myself." Smooth kissing sounds were emanating. Then: "Remember, you can't stay for dinner. You've lingered long enough as it is." More kissing noises.
"Yes, I know, but your legs wouldn't let me leave," the man responded, audibly chuckling.
"Just a little oral gratification for the trek back home," Allie said, in her half-sincere, half-dismissive tone.
"Somehead for the journey?" the man inquired.
"No, go home. To your spouse," Allie said, replete with joy.
A manly snicker was heard, followed by the manly sound of jeans being buttoned and casual garments being donned. The sound of additional kissing and then the opening and closing of the front door.
What would the neighbors reckon about this man exiting by the front door at this hour, dressed as if he'd gotten dressed hurriedly and forgotten to comb his hair?
Allie observed him practicing his truck's departure, with boisterous music blasting from the jeep's speakers. Prominent, loud, angry music.
Whether or not the neighbors witness the man exit by the front door at this time hour, sporting a messy appearance and probably having overlooked the importance of hair-styling, would they believe she was home alone?
"Prioritize yourself?" Allie responded. "However, we are doing so already, my dear. Why do you suppose I make these arrangements? All for you. I informed him he couldn't remain for supper. But you, my dear. I've been preparing supper for you."
"Huh?"
"Yes, that's correct. Come along, sweetheart. Plenty of protein for the laborious fella. Lie down on your back. We shall dine in the living room tonight. On your back there, on the floor right here."
The professor was aware of the procedure. Lying on his back, between the sofa and the coffee table. The sofa where the unnamed coach had been seated, devoid of clothing, out and about, mere minutes earlier.
She elevated her lengthy T-shirt to her hips, straddling him with the flash of crimson-pink panties visible.
"See how soaked these are already, sweetheart?" Allie remarked. "Just shift them to the side, I don't want to remove them and lose any. And you need to consume every drop. Gorge yourself on all of it, Johnny."
Her muscular, tennis legs held her hip region over his face and mouth and nose with a casual and well-established squat. The professor could feel the warmth emanating through the vibrant, synthetic material. The moisture was significant behind the synthetic underwear. He could smell her intensely, and scent a scent that was not hers.
"You're extremely fortunate. To be capable of participating in this experience with complete transparency. No more pretending it's not what it is anymore," Allie said from above him. "No more pretending you're not what you are, anymore. Proceed. Glide it to the side."
She closed her eyes and felt his fingers, sliding the fabric of the garment off the purple-red and swollen angel-wing lips that were her labia. And as he did, a large salty drop fell out immediately, landing directly on the tip of his tongue in the professor's open mouth. It collided with his taste receptors, causing the salty liquid of passion to shatter into little droplets and find various pathways down his tongue's taste buds.
He tasted and swallowed, and licked his tongue out and discovered more of the same flavor, much more, on the familiar folds and valleys of his wife's labia, and even more as he plunged his tongue into the depths of her vaginal opening.
As his tongue plunged into her, he thought about the penis he had previously observed, the penis that had been in the very location his tongue now occupied.
His wife squirting on the man's penis like she squirting on her husband's tongue. Desired without inhibitions or trepidation. Only with enjoyment. A whore for pleasure. A strumpet for sexual sensation.
"You pathetic house-cleaning cuckold. You pathetic house-cleaning cuckold. You pathetic house-cleaning cuckold," Allie moaned these phrases like a chant, riding his face, riding his tongue, riding his cum-devouring face like innocent girls do on their pillows.
The thought crossed his head, "I am her favorite sex toy," like a mantra, as he delivered the speed and pressure she desired, which allowed her to climax gently, taking pleasure without reserve, much like a lady might not be comfortable demonstrating in front of a newer, youthful mate, the one who had been loving Allie merely minutes before the professor arrived home.
The comfort of the familiar. An accommodating husband who greets her lovers with respect, and then presents his handsome face to ride. The comfort of his lips, his tongue, his fingers, and his insatiable urge for the semen of others and his requirement to clean her every time, regardless of how numerous or varied the sources are.
"Marriage is compromise." The saying scrawled on the cutesy walls of their cutesy master bathroom, Allie's refuge, her soaking palace, her inner sanctum. Eventually, the professor would clean his reddened face and massage his aching jaw, in that restroom; would see the redness in his face from how his skin reacts to that mixture of essential oils and even more essential fluids, although, of course, all those essential oils and essential fluids were those essential fluids from others, not his. And the professor would run a cloth under the faucet, wet it, and then apply it to his face and his sore jaw, tender from expanding and sore from licking, from kissing his wife's mouth, a mouth that now retaliates with no kisses but does fuck him back, and he would sense the aroma those essential fluids left behind under his nose and he would contemplate the words, "marriage is compromise," and he will concur.
"Eat me." Allie orders boldly, and the Professor complies, feeling her body shake as she reaches her climax and the Professor tastes her release along with someone else's.
Lying there with her heavy on his face, the Professor can't help but ponder how monotonous his life isn't as he experiences sin and corruption through his sense.
Though his wife enjoys her post-orgasm bliss, the Professor endures the agony and pain beneath her. His poor, aching self. With the day's hazy memories back in his mind, he wriggles to catch his wife's attention. His hips move in circles, his groin waving slightly. He wags, trying to show effort.
But there's no response. Does she fall asleep, slumped on top of him, leaning against the sofa, or is she just unresponsive?
The release that escapes him can't be found anywhere but with a much-loved sex toy, the toy that remains constant in his life. He wriggles more insistently, making it clear that he's desperate for attention.
"I can feel you." She says, annoyed. "I sensed it the first time."
He stops wriggling.
Several minutes pass before he starts asking for her help again.
"Please, Allie. This day has been brutal, so painful."
"Painful?" And she taps his crotch with her palm. "Then that doesn't feel good?"
The Professor writhes in place, our protagonist's response somewhere between pleasure and pain.
"Can these exposed parts still get stimulation, being unprotected and not covered during my daily obligations?" Allie mused, referring to the Professor's testicles she palmed with her free hand. "Since these parts don't have the protection they would normally have, can they endure life's rigors?" She inquired, roundhouse-punching his legicles until he winced.
"Ow...I see...k...ke...k..." the Professor gasped.
One hand she used to caress his groin and the other to pound his balls. "So you find me demanding today? And you've been struggling the whole day at work? Doesn't wearing this chastity device save you from much more embarrassment? Think about it: All the people who could see and be jealous of your boners whenever you're ready. How does it feel?"
The Professor had difficulty speaking from the stinging on his balls, his body's desperate response to the twinges of pain. Her caresses only made him harder, the tension in his groin area only drove him forward, creating a localized tension, which invited discomfort. Adding his keychain's lock, the key prevents him from fully extending. He's no closer to his former state. His pain needed relief and regular ejaculations.
And then, as she called out "How could I bear the thought of that?" She slapped his balls very firmly, which was clearly more torture.
But, she then comforted him with a light caress. Soon, a bath was drawn and the Professor was guided to a tub. His trousers dropped away, and his cage lost its incarceration. She removed the key from her keychain and flicked the lock in half. The two parts of the cage fell onto the Professor's tender skin, a groove possible.
Was the device leaving a mark on his person? The device's relentless grind taking its toll?
She separated the parts and the napkin hid the Professor's manhood. Oh, she ordered him into the tub.
The bath was the epitome of compassion, the sweetest part of a long day.
"Can I forego the cage tomorrow? Have a day off?" The Professor asked as his bath ended, expectational.
"Of course not, darling." His wife assured him. "Tomorrow, we repeat the process." He didn't like it but he has no choice.
"You came home tonight and asked me to remove it right away. That's how I know you can't go without it," she told him. "You'll stop wanting to take it off when you don't have to wear it anymore, dear."
She let him digest the information she'd given him.
He glanced down at the scars left by the device on his fragile skin. No one was trying to alter someone else, he realized. Just him. Just me. Just me.
With a cheerful demeanor the next morning, he locked himself in without even having to ask her to lock him in and tighten the straps. His supple, limp cocklet slid smoothly into the tight and solid cage with each subsequent imprisonment.
Teaching his body its new way to function. Teaching his body its improved way to function. Teaching his body its natural way to function.
And as he drove to the college for another delightful day in the vibrant life of the Professor, his words of encouragement blared through the car speakers.
Read also:
- Reaching aNew Record
- Distinguished Academician De Luca
- Office Toilet in S.L: A New Sensation
- Delighting in Chapter 2
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