Mrs. Simmons

"Here, I want you to catch your excitement."

I intuitively grab in the general direction of her glass, since I simply can't take my eyes off that damp spot on those naughty red panties. I've seen plenty of pussy before. Mostly online of course. I even have my fair share of experience with Florence's neatly shaved pussy. But compared to Mrs. Simmons bulging mound, my girlfriends sex appears almost childlike. I'm spellbound by what has just evolved before my eyes.

"Hold on! Since I have unintentionally eased your quest considerably. Switch hands. I'll give you 30 seconds with your left. And now be quickly about it."

I smile. Ma'am, all I needed is to touch my cock, then nature takes its course.

I switch in a blink of an eye.

"Put your cock in the glass. I don't want you to make a mess."

I just keep staring at that wet spot, imagining the secret treasure hidden beneath, and within seconds even the erratic movements of my left hand, can't prevent the point of no return. I've never felt more potent in my life, while clumsily beating my meat.

"Look at me, Bobbie, when you ejaculate!"

The sharpness in her voice has me look up just in time, before I explode into the glass. The ferocity of the orgasm has me buck. I grunt, moan, even swear obscenities into her smiling face, while I fill that glass with the biggest load of my life. The pressure in my balls is so intense, they just keep pumping and pumping come, until Mrs. Simmons grinning face becomes a blur of foggy delight, and I collapse.

Oh, my god, that was awesome. Every other orgasm prior to this one pales in comparison. It has simply been out of this world. I'm panting heavily. It takes a couple of moments to regain my composure, and the last remnants of euphoria leisurely subside.

She snatches the sperm filled glass from my shaky hand and puts it on the desk.

"You're a potent fella, Bobbie. I give you that. Maybe there is more in you than meets the eye."

Now, I'm the one with a smirk on his face.

But she isn't referring to the obscene amount of gooey come in that glass. She is observing my still unrepentant cock. That sucker hasn't lost none of its grit. As if nothing has happened, I still have a full fletched hard-on.

It has me conflicted. Should I be embarrassed or be proud?

"Well, since you've clearly failed your objective to deflate that pecker of yours pleasurably, maybe the less pleasant variant is more suitable for you after all."

"No! Please. I don't know why it wouldn't go down. It normally does."

Why am I referring to my cock as if I am sexless? It is my fucking cock, and no weeny pecker. And lady, a lot of gents would give their right arm to have that kind of potency.

Instead, I opt to be extremely embarrassed, and cover my raging erection, as if it would help to preserve my modesty.

"Put your hands behind your back, at once! And widen your stance!"

At first, I hesitate, but then, once again, her stern face has me follow her order.

"Don't you think your inapt impulse to protect your decorum is behind time?"

I don't answer. I'm mortified. The pheromone induced euphoria has lessened far too quickly and is replaced by a cruel sentiment of profound shame and humiliation. Yet my stubborn cock has no qualms about my emotional turmoil. Filled to the brim with blood, the fleshy culmination of my virility obstinately extends between my thighs. It's darkened crown seemingly ready for another demonstration of my vigor.

With a condescending grin, she observes my exposed cock for some long moments. The prolonged silence makes me feel deficient. Suddenly there are thoughts of being equipped inadequately. A first for me. But she visibly relishes the level of control she has established, and seemingly enjoys my emotional roller coaster.

"You've got a strong desire to be lead, Bobbie. And you respond very well to firm, even harsh treatment. Why do you think that is?"

Though I know her observation to be true, I don't have the slightest idea on how to answer that question. I just feel miserable and exposed. Why do I still have that damning erection? But no matter how hard I try to will it to deflate, my cock has developed a life of its own. It continuously lubricates and releases a slow current of pre-come from its darkened crown. And my balls haven't descended either. They are draw tight, just waiting for another emission. They seem to concur with my prick, that whatever this is, apparently, it isn't over yet.

She picks up the black plug and rolls it playfully between her fingers.

I'm scared now. Really, truly scared. Not of her. At least not in this moment. I'm more scared of what I might become, once all those lecherous demons lurking in the deepest corners of my psyche are set free. And that unprecedented level of my arousal has me worried too.

"There are many ways to drain a male's seed, Bobbie. I haven't anticipated having to resort to this other method on our first encounter."

There is going to be a more of this? Even though I pale somewhat, my treacherous cock choses to nod his approval. And of course, she picks up on that.

"Eager, are we?"

I shake my head in mute frustration, ashamedly lower my sight, and only an instant later, give in to that perverted urge to peek her heels. What have I become?

"Before we proceed, I need you to clean up your mess."

Bewildered, I look up. While she provokingly toys with that treacherous object, she briefly views the glass next to her, containing a rather large testament of my potency, thereby directing my attention to that so-called mess. The glass is stained with a lot of pearly white come. For a moment, remains of my post adolescent geekiness see me bragging about that soon, only to be reprimanded by more mature thoughts, of being such an idiot.

Then it hits me. There is no sink in this lecture room. What does she expect me to do? I can't possibly take this to the toilet? I observe her face for clues on how to proceed. All I see is a challenging grin, before she swallows intentionally.

No! No way! I'm not going to do that! That's gross. Yet before I can voice my opposition, she states playfully, "Oh come on, Bobbie. I know you've had a taste of your semen before. Most boy's give it a try. And in your case, I'm sure you've experimented even a little more."

The renewed heat culminating in my face confirms her suspicion.

"But it has only been a little. Not a full load like that."

Why am I so eager in volunteering such information?

"I'm not going to argue with you. We haven't got all day. Now get rid of your mess!"

The sudden malice in her voice has me startled. I quickly reach for the glass and empty its gooey content in one gulp.

The huge increase in volume doesn't affect its tang. It does taste just as I remember. But, as if on cue, the argument I had with Florence about swallowing comes to mind. Of course, I have argued in favor of swallowing, and that has me grin inwardly. What are the chances.

Once again, I feel her inquisitive fingers gently roaming my hair, while I stupidly stare at her heals. Of course, her touch electrifies my senses, and produces another twitchy excitement in my cock. I'm unable to move, because I don't want this exhilarating combination of her sensuous fingers roaming my hair and her nails intermittently scratching my scalp to end. So, I keep my awkward position.

"You like me touching you, Bobbie?"

I nod, imperceptibly.

She continues to scratch my scalp. Then gently plays with my lobes and sensuously bewitches my senses even further, by letting her finger slide down to my cheek. They feel cool to the touch. My visage must be beaming in an odd mixture of renewed embarrassment and arousal.

She continues to explore parts of my glowing face until her index finger touches my lower lip, and a gentle pressure prompts me to allow access. Her long nail flirts with my lower lip for a while, before I feel its tip contacting my tongue. Reinvigorated, excitement washes through by body, as I instinctively begin to nibble on her finger. My mind is quickly foggy by renewed arousal, easily drowning out those rational voices, who keep pestering me about the many dangers of our encounter, urging me to resist her sensuous touch. After all, the level of intimacy between us is mind-boggling. I let it happen, because my urge for another spectacular peak becomes the predominant drive of my lecherous libido. Who would have thought, that I would become my lewd desires own slave in this cursed classroom? All she must do, is lead the way. And she does just that.

"Keep your pose, Bobbie. I like the exposed stiffness, while I ready the plug. I allow you to observe, but I've got no problem, if you choose to take another concealed peak at my heels."

God, is there nothing that escapes her attention?

But the woman is smart, very smart. She knows exactly how to tip me into another round of conflict. Either way, I must make a choice about revealing my apparent foot fetish or give in to my curiosity on how she lubricates that shaming butt plug, she obviously intends to force up my bum in a minute.

Once more I'm frozen into place, unable to decide where to focus my attention.

When I sense her unscrewing the lid of that jar, I begin to shake my head in panic. The enormity of the situation again takes center stage. I have absolute not desire to let her play with my asshole. That is the one spot, I have deliberately avoided in all my autoerotic machinations.

"Why are so agitated, Bobbie? Unable to decide?"

"You can't make me do that."

"Of course, I can. And you know it."

I continue to shake my head in defeat.

"You know what the best part is, Bobbie?"

I keep shaking my head.

"You'll enjoy it just as much as your first violent peak. The intensity of your second orgasm might even surpass the one you've just experienced. Your deep-rooted conflict about being queer will make it a moment you won't forget for a long time. Trust me, I'll make you to emit another demonstration of your potency. And I'll be using only that plug."

The confidence in her voice has me startled. The way she talks about her lewd intentions, makes me feel objectified. She doesn't seem to have the slightest reservations about her motive. The way she describes the upcoming event, makes it sound as if she is merely stating the obvious. But I can't imagine any pleasure in visualizing that encounter.

"Bobbie, observe."

I look up to see her applying a generous amount of lubricant onto the tip of that black monstrosity. She has done it before. The way she rolls that black monster in one hand and skillfully smears gel across its phallic tip makes me try to visualize her large sex. But all I can come up with, is that treacherous little damp spot on her panties. I still have that distinct womanly smell ingrained into my memory, when I have kissed that damned plug earlier. And my going off the charts arousal must have been triggered by her scent. Suddenly I have this wicked desire to kiss her panties. Would it confirm her scent?

I don't know why, but once more I'm mesmerized by her playfulness. Yet, the way she handles that shaming object, puts all kinds of questions into my mind. Did she really buy that plug just for me? If she has, why did I smell that powerful scent attached to it? Was she using that thing on herself? And lastly, why did she choose me? I know I'm not bad looking, but even in my age group, I'm far from the top on the list of being fun to hang out with. I find it hard to engage in small talk or be entertaining.

"Now, get rid of your shoes, socks, jeans, and then hand me your trunks."

I try to convince myself, that it was the sharpness in her voice, that has me comply. But it hasn't. I'm eager to degrade myself, despite the shyness I still feel, revealing my nude body to someone else. Up to this moment, Florence has been the only person who has seen me naked. It has been in the confines of my dorm room, curtains drawn, and our making out was barely lit by a bedside lamp.

And now, I'm undressing in the brightly lit lecture room under the observant eyes of Mrs. Simmons. To make it even more daunting, someone might enter the lecture room at any moment. I still stick to undressing.

She smiles. And when I'm done with my pants, socks and trunks, she stops me.

"Hold on for a moment."

She gets up and confidently strides to the door. My eyes follow her every step. I'm drawn to her wiggling behind. I pick up faint swishing noises, caused by the tight dress straining against her voluptuous figure. That well picked dress enhances her hourglass anatomy. Her stockings draw attention to her shapely legs and I end up staring at those black work pumps. Mrs. Simmons knows how to pick her wardrobe. Those pointy heels look comfortable to wear all day. She is confident in wearing the smart, in control feminine look, unlike the desperate and dateless styles I've seen on other females her age.

She locks the door.

At least one of us is managing to keep a clear head.

"Continue."

While she walks back to her chair, I quickly take off the rest of my clothes.

"Pile your clothes properly, and hand me your trunks."

She can't be serious. I look up. Her eyes are cold and icy. She already knows, I'll do what I'm told. But I don't. I'm completely naked and exposed, and now she reprimands me for not properly folding my stuff. I sense a streak of defiance boiling up, trading places with my lessening arousal. She senses it too, smiles, and points to the floor close to her. Since it's only a couple of feet to get there, the pragmatic in me opts to crawl. It's too late before I realize the symbolism of my movements.

She rescues me just in time before my arousal sobers up enough to fully grasp what's been going on in that dreadful lecture room. Acting like a magic wand, as soon as I feel her fingers roaming my hair, my unease melts away. I stare at her pumps. They show a hint of toe-cleavage. There is not a spot of dirt on them. They look as if she has just bought them. Immaculate, like the rest of her.

"You like my shoes, Bobbie?"

I nod.

"Say it."

"I like your shoes," I mumble.

"I like your shoes, Dr. Simmons, and quit mumbling," she corrects me, annoyed.

I recite her instruction.

She widens her thighs as far as her tight dress allows. It's an invitation to peek and I, for once, don't need to be told what to do. While she continues to bewitch my wits with her sensual touch, not wasting a second, my voyeurism takes over.

I observe more skin this time. Mrs. Simmons thighs are a lot thicker than Florence legs. But her skin appears to be very soft. I search for that damp spot and find it. I can even make out the shape of her fleshy pussy lips beneath those devilishly red panties. Again, I fantasize kissing her prominent mound. Like a magnet I'm drawn to her sex. Even though, I move only slightly towards it, she stops me immediately.

"That's enough! Turn around. Face the wall and get on all fours."

I hesitate for a second, but then do as told. Without her sensuous touch and my voyeuristic inclination taken from me, the whole affair feels stupid again. Finally, those sane voices make themselves heard, shouting, screaming at my stupidity. Ridiculing my stupid pose in that lecture room, warning me of what I'm about to become. After all, I'm on all fours, and am literally presenting my virginal back door, that part of my body I've been taught to be the naughtiest of naughtiest, and to be used for one purpose only, to Mrs. Simmons.

Mrs. Simmons doesn't do anything for a long time. I keep staring at that stupid wall and with every second passing, become less and less aroused. That dreadfully feeling of unbearable shame comes back with a vengeance. I feel like the biggest prick on earth. The return of sanity is almost unbearable. I will never recover from such shame. I'm emotionally branded for life. What a horrible person she is, to degrade me in such an all-encompassing manner. I begin to hate her again. Just before I get up, I sense her touching my back.

Her fingertips playfully dabble across my behind, before those long nails begin their assault my senses. It takes only an instant and all my unease subsides, once more replaced by arousal. She continues to tease my skin. Wave after wave of goosebumps electrify my body until my mind is again foggy with delight. Like a virtuoso playing the piano, she knows how re-awake those lecherous demons and draw them out of the deepest confinements of my corrupted psyche.

Why is Mrs. Simmons' touch so damn arousing? Florence has patted me too. And she is caring, loving and wants me to have fun and enjoy our interactions. Mrs. Simmons is nothing like that at all, and yet, when her cool fingers explore my exposed skin, my cock hardens immediately.

"Arch your back, Bobbie."

Even though it makes me even more exposed, I do as she has asked.

When she uses her long nails to stimulate the skin on the insides of my thighs, another intense onrush of lewd excitement causes an involuntary humping motion. My cock is desperate for just a hint of friction. I guess, even a slight breeze of air swirling around my cock would trigger another ejaculation. With every tap of her fingertips, my level of arousal increases exponentially. I must restrain myself, to not give in to another dry hump attempt. As absurd as this notion might sound, but there is still some modesty left in me, working very hard to prevent further degradation. Hence, those remaining forces of my conscience still have enough hold on my emotions, to make me feel embarrassed by my strong cravings for another spectacular orgasm. They stubbornly keep holding that last defense of decorum I still have and prevent me from degrading myself completely. I'm balancing a fine line, which at any moment, could tip either way.

I sense her getting up. Once again hear the swishing noise of her tight-fitting dress, as she moves in closely, and ultimately positions herself slightly to the back of my left butt cheek. My exposed skin reacts to the touch of her dress with another round of crawlies speed skating across my body. I smell her again. The predominant odor of her perfume has slightly changed. It has been enriched with something new, something more personal. Her arousal. Obviously, she gets off on our kinky play just as much as I do. I tense, when I sense her placing that shaming plug between my thighs.

She eases my nervousness with another round of sensuous manipulation. I detect her right-hand fingers slowly moving upwards inside my thighs. Ever so slowly, they move closer to my exposed bum hole. Despite being foggy with arousal, I tense up. But she doesn't go straight for my naughty spot. No, she begins to circle it first. Her fingertips circle the center of our combined attention for some long moments, until I notice her gradually homing in. The sensuous circling takes a perceived eternity until I become aware, that the tip of one of her fingers is resting on my exposed anus. I have become relaxed enough, for allowing her to touch the naughtiest of all indecencies without tensing up again.

Before I know what is happening, she has penetrated my virginal backdoor to the first knuckle. I clench, but I'm unable to expel the sudden intrusion. The feeling is incredible. I'm fighting it and inviting it at the same time. It feels like the equivalent of breaking in a horse. Of course, I lose the will to fight her intruding finger far too easily. The myriad of new sensations emanating where our bodies have meshed so intimately, produce a tickling sensation in my loins unlike anything I have ever felt before. Once more, I am unable to quell another involuntarily humping motion. She shushes me, as one would calm nervous breeding stock. It evokes profound humiliation and yet wicked excitement at the same time. And for the first time, I feel something so overpowering, so all encompassing, that it rearranges something deep within my soul. That gradual shift triggers a strong desire to submit. To submit to her. To let her do whatever she wants. That feeling, of having her decide, what's best for me, even if it means abuse, brings me agonizingly closer to ejaculating my virility without anything touching my cock at all, than I have ever thought possible. I have always been a friction guy. Without friction, no results. Not anymore. The engorged head of my cock has swollen up to surreal dimensions. It even hurts a little, as does the immense pressure in my balls.