HaddenIndustries
Experienced
- Joined
- Jul 1, 2006
- Posts
- 80
I glanced at my watch -- just a few minutes until I had to give a talk at the departmental colloquium. It was my last chance to impress the faculty before my tenure review. But I had a student here complaining about the grade she received on her paper. There was nothing particularly noticeable about her. She was short, a bit overweight. She was wearing a plunging neckline, revealing niceties, but I ignored them, as I've long-since trained myself to do. I could see her eyes glaze over as I explained the difference between accuracy and precision. It was a familiar expression, the one on her face -- it appears the moment they realize that I'm not going to raise their grade. At that moment, they couldn't care less the reasoning behind my decision. All that mattered was the outcome, the verdict. Once that was read, everything else was, as far as they're concerned, empty and formal bullshit.
She looked away, out the window, waiting for me to stop. I did. "This is bullshit," she said. I was a bit taken aback. She didn't seem the type. She came off as demure and passive. She filled the silence by repeating her trenchant observation: "Yea, this is bullshit." She looked right at me.
"Um, I have a presentation I have to give." I arose from *my seat. "I'm sorry you're disappointed."
She got up too. "You're sorry all right," she said, as she approached me.
I raised my eyebrows. "Excuse me?"
By now she was arm's length from me -- which is a lot closer than what the expression implies. "You're fucking pathetic. I don't care about my grade. I don't care about the nonsense you're teaching. What I *do* care about is the fact that you seem to think that you're better than me. That you deserve to have power over me. When in fact, you're a wimp, a loser, hiding behind your diplomas and your masturbatory intellectual bullshit and your academic position." Continuing her advance, I back away, until I bumped against the book shelf.
"Now look..." I tried to get control of the situation here.
"Another socially awkward sissy attempting to compensate for his shortcomings by climbing the academic latter -- earning laurels that makes him feel like a success, walking tall, when inside, you're still just a little *bitch*." She actually snarled. I stammered. I mean, she was right, of course, but no student had the perspicacity, not to mention the gumption, to see and state the obvious. In any case, I wasn't about to let this student take control of me in this way, regardless of how accurate her observations were.
"Young lady, this is harassment, you could get into-"
Her hand shot out and grabbed my crotch. Before I had a chance to react, her finger sought out the head of my penis, through my pants. I gasped. I was stunned. She pressed her palm against the top of my penis (my brain involuntarily struggled with the question: was that *called the 'dorsal' or 'ventral' side of my cock?) and her index and middle finger rubbing the underside -- through layers of clothing. It all took literally one second. She knew male sexual anatomy the way a contract killer knows pressure points -- her fingers, like tentacles, honed in on the weak spots, and manipulated them. I groaned.
"You're not just *any* bitch, honey. You're *my* bitch." She rubbed the tip of my cock, and I was like an insect wriggling under a pin. Reaching up, she grabbed a fist-full of hair on the back of my head, and pulled forward, until I was staring into her cleavage. "Take a nice long look. You've been trying not to, like a horny teenage boy, and now I'm giving you the chance to drink it in. C'mon."
With one hand gripping her hair, and her other manipulating my cock, I felt like a marionette -- unreal and disembodied. Her finger increased their pace. But then she suddenly stopped -- I moaned like an infant pulled away from a teat. "Don't worry my little sissy... I'm just checking to see..." her finger dug further into my crotch until they gripped my balls, and hefted them, weighing them. She looked away, squinting, like she was chicken-sexing me. "I'd say... yea, you'll come in about 20 seconds." She returned to her ministrations. I sighed.
With a violent jerk, she pulled my head back up, out from her cleavage, until she was looking into her eyes. This time, *my* eyes were glazed over. "Listen to me, bitch. When you cum -- I want you to say 'mommy'. Understand? Did you get that?" She looked over my face, to see whether her words sunk in. I dropped my chin slightly -- a kind of nod. "Good. You fucking loser. You little sissy. You're a fraud. And you know it. You're a failure. And you know it. I see right through you." My eyes welled up. I couldn't feel my face. My knees buckled, but she kept me aloft with her thighs. I made a mewing sound, and then thrust my crotch, as I released into her hand, pumping and pistoning like a wind-up toy. My body wasn't mine. I cried out: "Mommy!" with each violent squirt. "MOMMY!"
"That's a good sissy," she cooed.
She finally released me, all at once, physically, mentally. It was like being abandoned. I was crying. I grasped at the bookshelf behind me to keep from falling. I bowed my head. The front of my pants were ruined. A long stream of cum had penetrated the clothing, and was hanging from my crotch, midair, oozing out.
"Ok, you dumbfuck," she said. I raised my head. She was wiping her hand off on my desk. "*Now* you can go to your talk."
FIN.
She looked away, out the window, waiting for me to stop. I did. "This is bullshit," she said. I was a bit taken aback. She didn't seem the type. She came off as demure and passive. She filled the silence by repeating her trenchant observation: "Yea, this is bullshit." She looked right at me.
"Um, I have a presentation I have to give." I arose from *my seat. "I'm sorry you're disappointed."
She got up too. "You're sorry all right," she said, as she approached me.
I raised my eyebrows. "Excuse me?"
By now she was arm's length from me -- which is a lot closer than what the expression implies. "You're fucking pathetic. I don't care about my grade. I don't care about the nonsense you're teaching. What I *do* care about is the fact that you seem to think that you're better than me. That you deserve to have power over me. When in fact, you're a wimp, a loser, hiding behind your diplomas and your masturbatory intellectual bullshit and your academic position." Continuing her advance, I back away, until I bumped against the book shelf.
"Now look..." I tried to get control of the situation here.
"Another socially awkward sissy attempting to compensate for his shortcomings by climbing the academic latter -- earning laurels that makes him feel like a success, walking tall, when inside, you're still just a little *bitch*." She actually snarled. I stammered. I mean, she was right, of course, but no student had the perspicacity, not to mention the gumption, to see and state the obvious. In any case, I wasn't about to let this student take control of me in this way, regardless of how accurate her observations were.
"Young lady, this is harassment, you could get into-"
Her hand shot out and grabbed my crotch. Before I had a chance to react, her finger sought out the head of my penis, through my pants. I gasped. I was stunned. She pressed her palm against the top of my penis (my brain involuntarily struggled with the question: was that *called the 'dorsal' or 'ventral' side of my cock?) and her index and middle finger rubbing the underside -- through layers of clothing. It all took literally one second. She knew male sexual anatomy the way a contract killer knows pressure points -- her fingers, like tentacles, honed in on the weak spots, and manipulated them. I groaned.
"You're not just *any* bitch, honey. You're *my* bitch." She rubbed the tip of my cock, and I was like an insect wriggling under a pin. Reaching up, she grabbed a fist-full of hair on the back of my head, and pulled forward, until I was staring into her cleavage. "Take a nice long look. You've been trying not to, like a horny teenage boy, and now I'm giving you the chance to drink it in. C'mon."
With one hand gripping her hair, and her other manipulating my cock, I felt like a marionette -- unreal and disembodied. Her finger increased their pace. But then she suddenly stopped -- I moaned like an infant pulled away from a teat. "Don't worry my little sissy... I'm just checking to see..." her finger dug further into my crotch until they gripped my balls, and hefted them, weighing them. She looked away, squinting, like she was chicken-sexing me. "I'd say... yea, you'll come in about 20 seconds." She returned to her ministrations. I sighed.
With a violent jerk, she pulled my head back up, out from her cleavage, until she was looking into her eyes. This time, *my* eyes were glazed over. "Listen to me, bitch. When you cum -- I want you to say 'mommy'. Understand? Did you get that?" She looked over my face, to see whether her words sunk in. I dropped my chin slightly -- a kind of nod. "Good. You fucking loser. You little sissy. You're a fraud. And you know it. You're a failure. And you know it. I see right through you." My eyes welled up. I couldn't feel my face. My knees buckled, but she kept me aloft with her thighs. I made a mewing sound, and then thrust my crotch, as I released into her hand, pumping and pistoning like a wind-up toy. My body wasn't mine. I cried out: "Mommy!" with each violent squirt. "MOMMY!"
"That's a good sissy," she cooed.
She finally released me, all at once, physically, mentally. It was like being abandoned. I was crying. I grasped at the bookshelf behind me to keep from falling. I bowed my head. The front of my pants were ruined. A long stream of cum had penetrated the clothing, and was hanging from my crotch, midair, oozing out.
"Ok, you dumbfuck," she said. I raised my head. She was wiping her hand off on my desk. "*Now* you can go to your talk."
FIN.