Cindy: The Professor's Bane Ch. 02

© 2004 by MLyons

Author's Note: The following story and the characters within it are purely a product of my imagination, and they are meant to be enjoyed only as a fantasy. Any similarity to real people or events is unintentional.

Reproduction of this story in any form without express written permission from the author is prohibited.

Cindy--The story so far: Cindy Kelly, a mysterious and cock-teasingly cute college freshman, revealed her acquisition of some incriminating bank records of one Professor Stephen Johnson. She used these documents (which she stole along with several other items from his house) to blackmail Johnson for an unknown purpose. Johnson was not only guilty of embezzlement, in years previous he had videotaped several sexual encounters between himself and his students--the most memorable of them being a girl named Sarah Jennings.

Cindy teased Johnson about being a "naughty doggy" and then had him act the part in his office. She then had him over to her dorm room where she made him jerk off in the hallway, teased him to the brink of orgasm while he licked her lolly pop on the floor, and then masturbated herself as she watched him shave from the waist down. Eventually she made him jack off to orgasm with her sitting on his chest, finally forcing him to eat his own cum from the back of her thighs. She warned him of a present that would arrive the next day, and gave him a videotape to watch as "homework".

Chapter 2: 'A Special Present for Professor Stephen Johnson.'

The large pink label on the side of the wooden crate was hard to miss, and Johnson knew immediately that it could only be from Cindy.

Johnson hardly believed the driver of the delivery truck, who told him the crate had been stored locally, as is, for several months when instructions came yesterday to deliver it this afternoon.

Several months?

"What the fuck is going on here?" he found himself saying aloud.

The crate was about as tall as he was, and made about a two foot square footprint on the ground, it had a hinged door that was locked shut with a pad lock, and it was heavy enough that he would need to get his hand-truck to move it into the garage.

Between his itchy nether-regions and his troubled reflections on last night's indignities, Johnson had not gotten much sleep. What more Cindy wanted from him, he didn't know, and the crate did nothing but add more apprehension to the mystery.

The only possible answer lie in the videotape she had given him to watch. As the time of Cindy's arrival grew nearer, Johnson knew he needed to get it over with. He hadn't felt this nervous in years. He placed the tape in his VCR, and sat in the large, plush chair in his entertainment room.

It was a copy of the last tape he'd made of Sarah Jennings. He watched his younger self join Sarah on the leather couch in his den. She was wearing a black mini-skirt and a revealing white blouse with buttons that strained to contain her ample breasts. She looked like a slut, and he remembered how much he enjoyed having Sarah dress that way. After some unceremonious tit groping while he tasted her tongue, the younger Johnson slid his hand along her thigh and underneath her tiny skirt, eliciting an immediate, breathy response.

Johnson remembered the conflict with which Sarah would react to his less than subtle advances, and how much she seemed to hate loving his power games. He watched himself cuff Sarah's hands behind her back and spread her legs--teasing her shaved clit with the toys he'd set aside for her. His cock slowly slipped into Sarah's gleaming body, and her increasing need began to get the better of her. She begged him to release her hands so she could touch her clit.

The video continued and Johnson's cock grew as the details of that unforgettable night started to come back into focus.

- - - -

"Please, Professor Johnson? Please?" Sarah repeated--begging for orgasm with her dutifully mousy voice. Her sweaty body struggled against her handcuffs.

"No." he said coldly. He stopped teasing himself and started fucking into her. She was so wet, his cock slipped in and out of her bald pussy as if she was built to service it. His hands grabbed her thighs, and he pushed her smooth legs apart so that her long heels pointed straight up toward the ceiling. The smell of his musky sweat mixing with hers assaulted his nostrils.

"Please," she whispered. "Come on, let me go. Let me go!" Sarah's little body jerked wetly against the leather underneath her.

His cock pumped her unprotected cunt, and he relished in his dominance over his student. He knew the next couple days would be his last with her, and he wanted to make them worthwhile.

"No, no, Sarah, you just get fucked and wait your turn." He couldn't help himself. It was just so delicious to treat her like a slut, especially when she was at such a pitch. He could see the reaction of distaste in her eyes, but he had convinced himself that somewhere deep down she loved being treated this way.

"No, please, Stephen, I want to cum with you. Please!"

"Bad little girl," he ignored her. He was becoming lost in a world of submissive girl-bliss. His dick slammed into her thoroughly fucked pussy.

"Stephen. Stephen!"

He released one of her thighs and covered her mouth with his hand. Her arms struggled against her handcuffs, trying to get free. He liked it when she struggled, especially when she was struggling not to get away, but to get off. He knew he should be nicer to her, but he couldn't help himself. Just now, he wanted the thrill of complete control over her lithe body.

"Yeah, you fucking whore!" He was in his own demented world now. Her ample tits bounced tightly with each fuck, her blouse partially unbuttoned and stretched below them. Her tight miniskirt had long abandoned its original function, now simply a thin wisp of material draped under her belly button. Finally, her calves were now worthless stems, pointing upward; the stiletto slut-pumps he made her wear shook and jerked with each monstrous thrust of his cock. At this moment, to him she was nothing more than a pliable, slippery cunt that he was going to use as a sperm receptacle.

"Slut!" his hoarse voice grunted abruptly. Drool escaped his lips and snaked down to land in a pool on her perspiring stomach. His dark fantasies of control had once again become reality. He jerked his cock into the girl's pussy, and finally, pure, selfish pleasure engulfed him. He felt his first sublime jets of cum pumping into her. "God, yes!" He continued pinning her used body against the leather couch as he coated the insides of her pussy with his semen.

"Ohhh, God," he said finally, regaining his senses and uncovering her mouth. He remained buried inside her pussy, enjoying his post-orgasm sensitivity as she looked up at him with a hint of resignation. She smiled faintly with disappointment in her young eyes.

He was sure she loved it

"My turn?" she asked, biting her bottom lip.

"Definitely," he smiled. "Come here." He grabbed the handcuff key from the table next to the couch. He released her wrists, but only long enough to swing her hands forward and snick the handcuffs back closed in front of her.

"What is this? Come on take these off, Stephen."

"No, I want to see you get off with them on like a good girl. And did I say you could stop calling me 'Professor'?" He wanted to remain in control, even if only for a little while longer.

Her eyes were wide with a combination of lust and frustration.

"You're sick, Stephen," she chuckled warily at him, but she gave in, demonstrating some of that fun-loving innocence he so enjoyed about her. "Fuck, I need to cum."

She lowered her shapely legs and rested her heels on the floor, her knees spread wide. He smiled to himself, proud of what a slut she'd become. Thinking back on how shy and unhappy she was back when they first met, and now seeing her handcuffed and playfully on the edge of orgasm gave him a sick sense of accomplishment. He was really going to miss her.

She reached her fingers down to her slit, and started fingering herself with her bound hands.

"Hold on, Sarah." He got up and grabbed a bar glass from behind his desk and handed it to her. "Hold this under your pussy."

Her face suddenly turned timidly sour. "What?"

"I want to see my cum drip out of you while you get yourself off." It was a sick idea, he knew, but he loved pushing her limits.

"You're mine, aren't you, Sarah?"

"Y. . . Yes." her shaky voice betrayed a thrill of subservient excitement.

"Good, then do as I say, slut."

"Okay. Okay," she said naughtily. With her legs spread wide, she bent forward and held the crystal bar glass so that it would catch the drippings from her pussy. The chain of her handcuffs stretched across her splayed cunt lips. Her other hand rubbed her clit wildly. He could see the girl trying to get herself excited again. He was sure he knew how to help her.

"Tell me what you are, Sarah." He quipped, reveling in the fact that she hated, yet relished being debased.

She looked at him. He could see a dollop of his cum drip into the bar glass as she flicked her clit. Her eyes lowered to the floor. Her arousal through her shame was palpable. "I'm a. . . . I'm a slut."

He felt exhilarated. "Good girl. Are you are little grade slut?" he pressed, forcing her into character.

"Yes." Her slender fingers moved faster now, as another few drops of the girl-juice, man-seed mixture dripped out of her cunt. "I'm a little grade slut," she whispered breathily.

"Good little girl," he bit his lip, still fascinated by the transformation he'd seen many times before, from an abnormally quiet and mysterious girl into a clit-flicking, thigh-shuddering, cum-slut.

"Yeah, are you daddy's little grade slut?" He grinned with an intense, devilish thrill. He knew how much she hated her neglectful father (whom she suspected of cheating on her mother), but Johnson loved playing with her anger, her strange sense of daughterly slut-rebellion, as if she was being a bad girl to spite him.

"Fuck." Her gentle voice trembled as she looked at Johnson with both lust and charged defiance. Her breath whistled unsteadily through her teeth and lips. He never tired of seeing her get off this way. She was so deliciously complex. Her legs were shaking uncontrollably underneath her.

"Oh God." Her whole body jerked in time with her frantic arm movements. "Oh God. Oh my god. Fuck you!" she glared at him with tears flowing out of her eyes, obviously troubled by the mention of her father and yet on the cusp of orgasm. He looked at the young girl, knowing she was, at that moment, a slave to her own sexual demons. He could only imagine what was going through her mind.

"Oh yes. Yes. Yes! Jesus! Fuck!" She finally let out a restrained, shuddering moan, and a few more drops of diluted sperm managed to make it into the glass before it slipped from her limp fingers onto the carpet.

"Mm, mm." He sat back in his chair, enjoying the filthy display. He wanted to her to stay in character. "Good little slut, now pick up that glass before it all spills."

Sarah reached down with her weak arms and picked up the glass, holding it in her restrained hands. Luckily, none of its contents had spilled out. She looked at him apprehensively, her face flushed, but showing a fatigue--even an impatience--that wasn't there before.

"What do you want," she stated meekly, holding the glass and looking at it dubiously.

"Oh, baby, don't be like that. Be a little slut for me." He saw that the spark in her weary eyes was going out. It would now be not so much a test of what she would do to satisfy her sexual need, as what she would do to satisfy him. He couldn't stop now; his power was intoxicating. She would do it--he could see it in her eyes.

"Drink my spunk, grade slut. That'll get you you're A." He flashed her an evil smile, thinking she would enjoy it just like she had come to enjoy all their other games.

Her breathing was heavy. Her dark brown curls wetly lay over her forehead, her face flushed in a post orgasmic rush. She frowned at the glass, and looked back at him. He knew she was working it out, deciding whether she'd go through with it--fighting with her shame and balancing it against her desire to please a man she thought she loved. It was thrilling.

"You want to give daddy that A, don't you, princess?" he teased mercilessly. His spent cock already felt twinges of life again. "Answer me, baby."

"Okay." Her voice was barely audible--defeated. She looked at the glass. His sticky sperm crept down the inner surface that had rested on the carpet, and a slimy mixture of cum and pussy juice pooled on the bottom. She wore an expression of fatigued worry and disgust. He could see her bottom lip shaking ever so slightly. She looked up at him with broken eyes. "Yes, Professor," she repeated more brightly this time, obviously trying to get back into character.

"Good girl." The thought of his fresh sperm swimming around in her tummy was intoxicating.

She tried to smile as she shakily tilted the glass toward her waiting mouth.

"Good girl," he repeated.

He saw the thick liquid slithering out of the glass. He imagined her excitement and humiliation, her breath echoing against its shallow walls. She poured his cum past her smeared lips and onto her tongue until it pooled into a clear-white mass that immediately started slipping down into her throat.

"Now, swallow your Professor's seed you little sperm-slurper." The defeated look on her pretty face sent a chill down his spine. At once he felt so disgusting, and so very powerful. "Give me a nice thank you smile!"

Sarah's eyes dropped to the floor. She finally gulped it all down at once. She clearly labored not to immediately gag it back up. No smile was forthcoming, only the humiliated face of a confused girl. As soon as she finished swallowing, she started coughing.

"Doesn't that taste good?" he ridiculed her.

- - - -

Johnson's cock throbbed.

Sarah had been special. By the time he had met her, ten years ago, he was miserable, disillusioned with the University system, and all he thought about was sex and money. She had made him care about more than that for a brief period, and somehow he had developed more of an attachment to her, and she to him, than he had intended. Eventually, however, his sexual urges overpowered his affections for Sarah. She, more than any of the other students he had seen during those years, was a perfect match for his dark side. Even now, he wished that he'd been able to videotape her final, amazing encounter with him, only days after she had eaten his sperm.

He sat watching her in a private moment on the tape as she pulled her miniskirt back down and buttoned up her wrinkled blouse. She guiltily appraised the mess of sex toys that still littered the floor around her. Her eyes were sad, but her face was flushed.

Johnson wondered fleetingly what it would have been like if he could have made their relationship work. Perhaps he'd have been a happier person. He knew it was impossible though. He had needed to end it for her sake. He missed her. He missed how young she used to make him feel, but most of all he missed forcing her to love the deviant things he used to do to her.

No one else seemed interesting to him after Sarah. Bitterness and misery slowly became a way of life, and he had practically no patience or compassion for anyone anymore. He wanted to make what money he could, through whatever means necessary, and try to save for a comfortable retirement.

He shook himself out of his self-indulgent reflections, and wondered why Cindy had chosen this tape for him to watch. The last part of the tape brought back stomach-churning memories of his disgusting submission to her the previous night. Perhaps the tape was simply Cindy's sick justification for making him eat his own cum. Still, he couldn't help but wonder at her motives.

Looking at the time, Johnson suddenly remembered the other "homework assignment" she had given him. After running the gamut of emotion from apprehension to outright rage, Johnson decided he had better follow his student's orders and shave the lower half of his body again. It was awkward and mortifying, but at least this time she wasn't sitting right in front of him, getting off on it. Even when he'd asked Sarah to do it, those many years ago, he at least had the decency not to watch her.

Finally, at around 7:00 pm, he heard a car pull into his driveway. When he peeked out the window like a nervous child, he saw a modest white Toyota. Cindy sat in the driver's seat with the dome light on.

She looked to be composing herself--taking deep breaths while she seemed to give herself a pep talk in the rearview mirror. Her young countenance had the look of a determined young girl, but still so bright eyed. She looked almost as if she was scolding herself, wagging her finger at her reflection. If he wasn't so terribly anxious about the whole situation, and aware of what she had been capable of the previous night, he would have found the display heart-meltingly cute.

He longed to hear what she was saying. Whatever it was, he could tell as he watched her private moment that she wasn't just playing a role around him. She was real. He anxiously rubbed his hand over his damp face.

She applied a little last minute makeup as she rubbed her lightly shaded lips together, and he stepped back from the window before she saw him. He paced nervously and couldn't catch his breath--trying to figure some way out of all this. He was sick at the idea of having to grovel to this little brat all night.

"Hi Professor!" she said brightly. Unlike yesterday, tonight she wore makeup, complete with just enough eye shadow and classy lip color to subtly accentuate her best features. A shiny black barrette held her lazy curls behind her shoulders.

"Hello, Cindy." He simply didn't know how to feel. Johnson was glad he'd decided to wear one of his suits. Her silky white blouse rested delicately on her breasts, and her small knees just peaked out below her black skirt. A pair of not- too-modest high heels rounded out the pretty picture.

"Do you like my outfit, Professor?" she asked, half pouting at him. "I thought since you were such a good little boy last night that I'd dress up for you. Do you like it?" She bit her bottom lip and looked up at him inquisitively.

Johnson's cock was already talking to him. He couldn't believe it. Soon enough she'd no doubt have him groveling on the floor, but right now his dick was hardening like lead balloon.

"Yes. I do," was all he could manage.

"Do you?" She squinted her eyes and studied his face. Before Johnson could register what was happening, Cindy planted her small hand into his crotch, groping through his suit pants with her fingers to feel his stiffening dick. He felt her squeezing haphazardly at his balls and shaft--testing him--knowing he couldn't do a thing about it. He wasn't really sure if he wanted to.

"Oh, goody!" She looked almost relieved, but giddy at the same time. Her hand wrapped around his trousers to grasp his rigid member. "You do like it! You naughty old man!" Her slender fingers squeezed and massaged him. "You're three times my age, Professor." She looked up at him with mock disappointment. He couldn't help himself, God what he wouldn't have given to turn the tables and fuck that sweet smile right off her prick-teasing face.

"Come on, let's go in and see if you were a good boy for me." It was awkward and humiliating, having to take measured, small steps through his house as she steered him via her grip on his testicles into the living room. She finally released him and plopped her nubile frame onto the couch, her legs bent underneath her. "Undo your pants, Professor."