by Jolene Avonn
Finally, I made a break for the ballroom. My pussy was so wet that my thighs were damp from the run-off; I had to walk-run with my legs close together out of fear of my condition being noticed.
~~~
Have you ever smiled with a mouth full of come? It’s not easy.
I greeted at least fifty people and shook nearly as many hands as I stood next to Irina and Calvin. All I could do was nod and smile when people acknowledged me. Fortunately, few did. They were so taken with the blindingly beautiful couple to my left that I was an afterthought.
A good thing, too. I had to pause several times to wipe my mouth and chin with a handkerchief.
When the last person had left, Irina nodded at me again. I was getting desperate. I’d had to allow tiny swallows as the saliva built up and my cheeks bulged. I couldn’t hold out much longer. I walked quickly to the men’s bathroom specified in my instruction packet.
Marble countertops, tasteful tile – this was a high-end ballroom and the bathroom showed it. Marquee-style lights lined the wall above a large mirror. Dark wood framed the stalls. I checked to make sure the entire room was empty, and then leaned against the counter as instructed.
Calvin entered moments later. He walked quickly toward me.
“Look, you little slut,” he said harshly. “What the fuck was that?”
I opened my eyes wide and shrugged, making a noise in my throat like “What?”
He grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “What was that goddamned slurping? What if they’d heard you?” He smacked me hard across the face.
I wasn’t shocked. The instructions had prepared me for this. Blinking back tears, quivering at the stinging sensation in my cheek, I snapped my head back to face Calvin and prepared for my punishment.
“I should fuck you right here!” he said. He smacked me two more times. “But you don’t deserve that, you slut!”
He shoved my skirt up roughly and forced my legs apart. I breathed out my nose harshly, trying not to cry out as he shoved two fingers into my pussy in one harsh thrust. My god, it felt so good. I was so wet that I heard his fingers slide home.
“Oh, you like that, do you?” Calvin said, his voice lower now. “You like it?”
I nodded, and clutched his shoulders.
Calvin finger-fucked me. Hard. After a few strokes he added a third finger and slammed his hand into me with so much force that I saw stars. My head wobbled and I fell back against the mirror. He ripped my shirt open and clawed at my breasts with one hand while the other penetrated me again and again. A fourth finger. I groaned deep and loud. I felt myself losing control. My chest was shuddering. I swallowed another small dose of Calvin’s load to keep from spraying it all in the sink next to me as my body quaked.
Calvin slowed his hand and curled it around so his thumb was tucked in tight with his fingers, then wedged all of them in. He was fisting me. I looked down at his hand disappearing into my pussy and all at once I just...exploded on his arm. I’ve never squirted before, but the sensation of him inside me was so intense, and hitting just the right spot, that everything simply released. It was the most amazing feeling ever. My hips lifted off the counter and I spurted in what felt like eruptions of a geyser. My entire body convulsed as Calvin held himself in me and yelled at me, “You like that, don’t you! You sloppy little slut!”
I couldn’t hold my mouth shut any longer. I was about to swallow when Irina appeared behind Calvin. She was stripped down to her panties and she held a small video camera. I don’t know how long she’d been there. She set the camera on the counter, aimed at us, and in a quick motion grabbed my face with both hands. With Calvin still slowly twisting inside me, Irina planted her mouth on mine and shoved her tongue between my lips.
Our eyes locked as I slowly opened my mouth in time with hers. I stared into the bottomless brown as the mix of Calvin’s load and my saliva flowed between us. She gulped, mouthing against me with strong convulsions of her jaw, and she sucked down everything I had saved for nearly thirty minutes and through an orgasm that nearly destroyed me.
Calvin withdrew his hand slowly, just as Irina separated from me and swallowed for the final time. She wiped my face with her hand and then licked her fingers. Then she grabbed Calvin’s hand and licked it clean, too. Without a word, she picked up her clothes from where she’d draped them over a stall door. She dressed silently.
I slid down to the floor and collapsed. My skirt was still hiked up around my ribs but I didn’t care. Calvin slouched down beside me. Irina walked calmly to the counter and re-applied her lipstick before straightening her hair.
She reached down and patted me on the head. “Very good, dear. Pull up your skirt.” Then she walked toward the door. She paused, saying, “Come on now, we have a dinner engagement,” before leaving.
I looked over at Calvin. He, too, was weary. Lines creased in the corners of his eyes, and he suddenly looked much older. Tired. I put my hand over his.
“How long has this been going on?” I asked.
“Eleven years,” he said.
“How many before me?”
“You don’t want to know,” he said. “But she’s made quite a few of them very powerful. Famous and powerful, that’s for sure. She could have an army.”
I pulled my skirt down and thought about that. I thought about it for a long time.
~~~
If you haven’t guessed by now, Irina Rutledge was the money behind the entire campaign operation. And everything else. Orphaned when she was a little girl, she moved to the United States after a shady period in her early twenties when she swindled or earned a huge settlement from a powerful businessman in St. Petersburg. Depends on who you ask. Now, she’s a “self-made billionaire.” Believe what you like. The key is, Irina loves power and she loves sex and she loves domination.
What better place to explore all three than politics? She has a stage. She has a desperate husband. She has willing interns – many before me, and many after.
As for me, I didn’t exactly leave. Irina says I “graduated.” She had to give me the final shove out the door, actually, because as her assignments got more and more complex, I grew to enjoy them immensely. Maybe I’ll talk about that some more one day.
I’ll have one of my interns send you all the details. Personally.
END
MAE’S INITIATION: TALES OF A SUBMISSIVE
Ellie Saxx
Mae Chance was ten minutes late but she still stopped at a restroom to smooth out her dress and check her hair. She hadn’t managed her time well, as usual, and now she’d have to both apologize to Professor Griffin and beg for his mercy. She was nowhere near done with her final draft of a panel paper; in fact, all she had was a notebook full of half-baked ideas. The latest one, a theory she hadn’t written down, was probably the worst yet.
Mae raked her fingers through her still-damp brown hair, trying to make it fluff a bit as it draped down her neck and brushed her shoulders. Her dress, navy blue with a drop hemline and a somewhat flirty line of pleats, was wrinkled from the ride on the bus.
She sighed. One day, when she was a tenured faculty member, maybe she could finally buy some nicer clothes. Not just whatever the Dress Barn lady said was “classic and essential” and still under $50.
Mae knew of Professor Griffin’s reputation. Most likely, he’d smirk and un-invite her from the entire symposium. But she had to try. As a new assistant professor at the university, her reputation – no, her future – was at stake. She’d do whatever she could to make Professor Griffin happy.
Mostly satisfied with her appearance, Mae exited the bathroom, walked down a wood-paneled hallway on the fourth floor of the Arts and Sciences building, and knocked on Professor Griffin’s office door.
He greeted Mae with a thin smile, then waved toward a small metal chair across from his desk and shut the door behind her. Mae figured that he knew what she was about to request. After all, she’d left five panicked messages already.
“Do you have a minute, just to go o
ver some things?”
“I may not have quite completed my draft...”
“If we could just talk for five minutes!”
The professor’s office was huge. He was the most accomplished scholar in the Economics department. He was also the youngest, at 33 – just four years Mae’s senior. That surprised most people. He acted much older and rarely mingled with students or faculty. He’d abruptly left a lucrative career on Wall Street to teach, and given his high profile in both realms, he was frequently interviewed for political talk shows and newspaper articles about all things finance.
If Mae did well on the panel, she’d most likely join him at a book talk that would air on C-SPAN. Sure, just C-SPAN – but it was TV. Econ professors just didn’t go on TV.
Mae perched a good fifteen feet from where the professor returned to his chair behind a broad desk. An oriental carpet covered the space between them. Packed bookshelves lined the walls. A large fern occupied one corner and an oversized metal crate occupied the other.
He must be crate training a puppy, Mae thought. Maybe I can use that. Appeal to his softer side.
Mae suddenly felt exposed. Like she was in the center of a performance space. She crossed her legs briskly. She was not exactly confident. She only somewhat understood the power of her looks. Her curves and the arch of her back drew stares from her freshmen students when she paced the classroom. But wasn’t that inevitable? They were all horny teenagers, incapable of controlling their raging hormones.
You’re one to talk, Mae.
Her late-night, alcohol-fueled “Eureka!” moment – when she decided the best way to stay in Professor Griffin’s good graces was by seducing him – sounded very, very dumb. Like something a frat boy would think up.
Still, a history professor, a jealous and long-tenured older man, had mentioned some gossip about Professor Griffin over a glass of wine at a faculty party. “That guy has fucked at least seven students! No repercussions!”
That’s what gave Mae her idea. Admittedly, she was exhausted from zero sleep over three days and the stress of five classes, stacks of papers, and Griffin’s imposing reputation. And the history professor was senile. But the theory seemed sound: appeal to Griffin’s baser instincts, weasel out of any punishment he might devise, and plop down next to him for two glorious hours on C-SPAN.
In conclusion, then, Mae ultimately decided to wear her blue dress because it featured her ample bosom quite well. A simple case of supply and demand.
She wasn’t sure if she could actually go through with this sort of gratuitous transaction; then again, she needed to keep ahead of the other junior professors in Econ. Otherwise she’d be out on the job market again, left to scuffle with a hundred others for one measly spot at a time. Maybe, just this once, she could lose control and be the bad girl. Who would ever know? She’d just give him an illicit blowjob, or let him take her up against the desk. Her mentor was, after all, incredibly handsome.
It all seemed very scandalous. Mae took a deep breath and tried to figure out what to say, simultaneously fighting the blush rising in her cheeks.
“Yes, Professor Chance? I’m waiting,” Professor Griffin said, removing his glasses and pushing some papers away.
Mae smiled nervously. It was still a thrill to be called “professor.”
“I’m really sorry to bother you, Professor Griffin. It’s just, well, I’m completely stuck on this presentation. Can’t find a way into the topic. I know it’s late...I’ve never had this happen before, I swear.”
Professor Griffin waited, studying Mae with an intensity that made her shift in her chair. His dark hair was cut so perfectly, every day, it was like he had it professionally trimmed each morning. He wasn’t at all like a typical professor; in fact, he still looked like a high-powered CEO. Muscles flexed along his clean-shaven jaw. His gray eyes were like cold steel. All of this combined to keep Mae from ever using his first name – Caldwell – in any sort of casual way.
“I was hoping,” Mae said quietly, looking at the floor and pushing her chest out slightly, “that maybe we could work something out? I know the draft is due today and the panel’s right around the corner, but maybe I can still get my part in later?”
Jesus Christ, Mae! Could you be any more obvious?
“Oh really?” Professor Griffin chuckled. “And what would we work out, exactly?”
Mae’s face flushed. Her chest surged with the quick heat of shame. Her heart pounded. Professor Griffin made her nervous, always, and on occasion he made her...hot. Like now. Attraction plus risk plus daring equaled shivers of pleasure. She uncrossed her legs and couldn’t believe she was leaving them slightly parted. Her nipples hardened and pressed out in stiff points against the dress’s cheap cotton.
Could this really happen? she thought. Could I...fuck my faculty mentor just to get ahead? Here goes nothing...
Mae pursed her lips, trying to pout, and then said, “I don’t know, Professor.” She opened her legs a little wider – certainly he’d see her white cotton panties – and leaned forward. “Do you have any ideas?”
Professor Griffin sat back in his chair. He stared hard at Mae and she thought for a second that he’d stand up, whip out his cock, and fuck her right in the middle of the room. What would it be like? She’d only been with two guys, ever, due to her bookish devotion. Neither was very experienced.
Would it hurt? It had been a long time.
Would she be good enough?
But the professor only laughed again and ran his hand over his chin and jaw.
“Christ, Mae. You’re better than this,” he said, his voice as stern as when he contradicted an idiot politician on a Sunday morning talk show. “You’re a serious scholar, right? Not some dim-witted slut. Sit back up. Close your legs.”
Mae was stunned. She crossed her legs instinctively and tugged at her dress.
“I’m...what? Professor, no, it’s not – ”
“I know exactly what it was. Now tell me, why are you in here doing this? Why aren’t you handing me a polished panel presentation, like every other professor I invited to the symposium? A panel, by the way, that would be a serious bonus on your shockingly thin C.V.”
Mae wiped at the tears welling in her eyes. An entire semester of panic and fear threatened to break through.
“I’m under so much pressure, professor,” she babbled, gesticulating wildly. “Five classes and I have so much else to do and I thought I could float by on this, you know? And I just ran out of time and it’s all falling apart. I’m sorry, sir. Just drop me from the panel. I’m so sorry.”
Mae made a motion to leave but a look from Professor Griffin stopped her. He seemed kinder somehow, like a facade had been lifted.
“It does sound like you’re under a lot of pressure,” he murmured, drumming his fingers on the desk and furrowing his brow. “And I imagine you feel you have to do everything, and be everything. With the job market how it is and all. It’s a make or break opportunity for a young professor. Believe me, I know. I never said no to anyone when I was in your shoes. Doesn’t help that we added extra classes to your workload. It’s a lot, even for a talented woman like you.”
Mae nodded and wiped at her eyes.
“And you worry that you have to control everything? Down to the last second?”
“Yes, professor, that’s exactly it,” she said in a rush. It was as if he took the words from her very center. “I’m always worried about forgetting things. I’m always tied to my goddamned calendar and I still can’t keep up.” She sniffled, shrugged, and managed a rueful smile.
Professor Griffin brought his hands together under his chin and rested his elbows on his desk. He didn’t speak for a long minute. His gaze moved slowly up and down her body.
“Maybe we can work something out,” he said, finally. “That is, if you’re willing to take some extra steps. I realized something might be up a few weeks ago, actually. I’ve thought a lot about you, Mae.”
Mae’s eyes opened wide in surpri
se and she nodded again, this time quickly.
“Anything, professor. Oh my God, I’ll do absolutely anything. I’m so thankful for this, you don’t even know.”
“Good, Mae. That’s very good. I think this is what I’ll have you do, then. You’ll participate in this panel. You’ll get me a thirty page draft of your presentation next week, but I don’t want you to start on it now. Because the first thing you’ll need to do is spend some time here in my office. Then you’ll write about our session together and begin to track your overall development as a career scholar of...let’s say...the arts of management.”
Mae was already scribbling in her notebook.
“Stop that,” Professor Griffin said.
Mae looked up, her pencil frozen. “I’m sorry?”
“No notes today, Mae.”
The professor stood up, walked over to Mae, and took the notebook and her small satchel. He was tall, at least six-foot-four, and he towered over her.
“What we’re going to do is teach you how to let go,” he said.
Mae gave him a quizzical look. “Let...go?”
Professor Griffin placed his hands on her shoulders and let them weigh heavily.
“Yes,” he said. “To submit. Are you willing to do this? Do you understand what I mean?” He moved his hands down Mae’s arms lightly. His fingers barely brushed the outer edges of her breasts and she shivered. There was no mistaking his intent.
Mae’s face flushed again.
So this is really happening! He’s just playing it cool!
“Yes,” she said breathlessly.
“Yes what?”
“I will submit.”
“Excellent. Then we begin right now,” he said softly. “You may call me Teacher.”
~~~
Mae’s idea of submission was a naive one: she figured that the professor would bind her lightly, or hold her down and fuck her. Maybe even get a little rough and pull her hair. All three ideas turned her on, although her more erotic thoughts came from accounts in romance novels more than real life. There was something about this man’s presence that drove her wild, and it wasn’t just the relief of possibly salvaging her career through decidedly illicit means. As soon as his hands met her body, a wet heat blossomed between her legs. Something about his confident, cool demeanor was irresistible. People like Professor Griffin usually didn’t pay her a lick of attention, and here he was about to have sex with her!