This is a stroke story. It's ridiculous and unrealistic. No one is worried about STDs, sizes are exaggerated, everyone is bi (or at least the women are) and people can fuck for hours without chafing. This chapter has (consensual) public sex and public humiliation. Caveat reader.
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It was around noon when I pulled into the parking lot at the steakhouse. "But I thought I could only eat your cum," said my anthropology professor, Dr. Anne Carrington (in whose car I was driving, and in whose mouth, cunt, and ass I had been enjoying myself all morning).
I turned to face her, a disapproving look on my face. "Yes. And your point?"
She was nervous, hesitant. I had slipped into her apartment during the previous night, tied her up, whipped her with a belt, and fucked her silly . Then I took her again in the morning, and since then we'd spent the day together at the mall as I bought her slutty clothes, new lingerie, and a few other things. The last twelve hours had basically been a nonstop barrage of humiliation and degradation—and arousal. So it wasn't surprising that Dr. Carrington was off-balance.
I understood why she was nervous and scared, but that didn't mean I was going to take it easy on her. When she didn't answer immediately, I sneered at her. "Spit it out, slut."
"Well, sir... it's just that if I'm only allowed to eat cum, there's no reason to go to a restaurant."
"What, did you think I wasn't going to eat? I'm going to enjoy a nice meal on your dime. You're going to watch me eat it. If you're good I'll let you eat some real food tomorrow."
"B... but I'm hungry too." She was on the verge of tears now.
"Don't worry. I'm not going to let you starve. You'll get the chance to suck me off in there. If you do a good job you might be able to do it twice before I finish eating."
Dr. Carrington opened her mouth as if to protest, but a sharp look from me cut her off. She looked down at her feet and said, meekly, "Thank you, sir."
We got out of the car without another word. Dr. Carrington looked like a frightened rabbit, her eyes flitting nervously from side to side. It was a good look for her, and a big change from the confident, forward image she had put forward as my anthropology professor. She could still put that mask back on, in front of a classroom—although she was slipping on occasion. But when we were together her deep-seated need to be dominated took over and made her something that no heterosexual man could ignore.
She had medium-length strawberry-blonde hair, which she had started to grow out at my request. I had dressed her in a partially-shredded white T-shirt that clung to her glorious, C-cup tits like a second skin and a pair of cutoff jean shorts that barely covered her cunt and ass. Of course, I paired that with some high heels that forced her to totter about slowly, highlighted the lovely shape of her legs, and made her tits and ass bounce with every step. It wasn't exactly appropriate attire for a decent restaurant, but she wasn't a decent woman (at least, not anymore), and if anyone gave us trouble I could have her get us out of it, one way or another.
We went into the restaurant without any more discussion. There were dozen or so other parties in there dining at various tables, and another four or five at the bar. Dr. Carrington drew a few looks from the other diners and the wait staff as we were led to our table. I asked for a table away from the other diners and got it; we were a bit nearer the kitchen than I'd have liked, but it was the best that could be arranged.
Our server was a woman who looked to be in her 30s, with brown hair and eyes. She was carrying a bit of extra weight. Normally I'd have paid her more attention, but I'd moved up in the world, and in any case I had much better pussy sitting right next to me. She gave Dr. Carrington a dirty look, obviously judging my professor based on her clothes and rumpled appearance. I could practically see the thoughts running through the server's head—what kind of whore dresses like that in public? And with a younger man? My professor-slut returned the server's sneer with one of her own, and I won't lie—I was a bit proud of how well Dr. Carrington was taking to her new life. I decided to reward her.
After the usual rigamarole with drinks and whatnot, I ordered for the two of us: a nice, juicy sirloin for me, cooked medium-rare, and a Caesar salad with no dressing for the lady. Dr. Carrington gave me a surprised look when I ordered her food, given what I had told her this morning (and again just before entering the restaurant). Once the server left, I turned to her. "You want to know why you're getting a salad?" She nodded. "Three reasons." I held up my hand and counted them off as I went. "One: it would look strange if I ordered a meal and you just sat there without eating. Two: I had them leave off the dressing, because I'll be providing it for you. I assume you understand. And three: because you did something that impressed me. Do you know what it was?"
She shook her head, a bit of pride appearing on her face. "You didn't take shit from that waitress. You're beginning to recognize that her opinion of you doesn't matter. No one's opinion of you matters—except mine." Dr. Carrington smiled at that and nodded happily. I finished up my little speech. "Now get down under the table and suck me off so that your dressing will be ready when the salad arrives."
Still smiling, Dr. Carrington slid out of her seat and under the table. I moved my hips forward slightly and pulled the tablecloth up to hide my groin. Luckily for Dr. Carrington, the tablecloth hung low enough to hide her presence from casual observation, although anyone who ducked their head would be able to see her legs—and if our server came back, she'd almost certainly see the movement under the table as my professor bobbed her head up and down in my lap. Oh well, I thought—not my problem, and not my slut's problem either.
I felt Dr. Carrington undo my belt and unzip my pants, then reach into my pants to haul out my half-hard cock. Not being able to see her work was unexpectedly arousing; every moment of contact was a surprise. Her lips closed around the very end of my prick, and she started to suck like a god-damned vacuum cleaner. I swear, it was like she was trying to suck every drop of cum directly out of my balls.
Then she started to hum—and that wasn't something I had taught her, or something she'd done before. That's when I figured out her goal—to get me off before the server returned and saw what my little professor-whore was doing. And she had been doing so well, too.
I reached down and grabbed a fistful of her hair just as she started to swallow up more of my shaft, holding it firmly and keeping her from going deeper. She looked up at me from under the table, her eyes betraying her confusion. I smiled down at her and said, "Naughty, naughty, professor. Getting greedy, aren't you? Take your time, enjoy it. I know I will." A small glimmer at the corner of her eyes told me she was going to obey.
Dr. Carrington started sucking me again, her tongue broad and flat against my shaft as she slowly went deeper and deeper. I slid my hips forward slightly—making her cough briefly as my cockhead nudged against the back of her throat—and put my hands behind my head. I could feel her spit running down my length—Dr. Carrington knew what I liked, and one thing I liked were wet, sloppy blowjobs. Her hands came up and she started to stroke me, her hands corkscrewing up from my base up to her own lips, their path lubricated by her drool. She started to move her head and hands in sync, twisting her wrists, her lips forming a tight seal as she sucked me in.
It didn't take long before my pussy-pleaser was dripping with her spit and my own copious precum; streams of it were running down my length and over her knuckles. "Don't mess up my pants, slut," I ordered. She whimpered briefly, but obeyed. Her hands went down to extract my bloated sack from my pants, and she started to cradle my balls in her hands. At the same time, she pulled herself off my prick with a pop and started to lick up and down my length, the sloppy mess she'd made collecting on her tongue before she swallowed it down like a good girl.
When my cock was clean and shiny with her spit, she went right back to it, messing it up again, taking me down her throat and kneading my balls gently. She gagged briefly when she pushed herself down on me, but forced herself through it, her throat convulsing as I entered it. When she reached the base, Dr. Carrington's tongue flicked out and lapped at my balls, and I couldn't hold back a low groan.
That drew the attention to our server, who was nearby getting another table set up. She came over to me and asked, "Do you need anything, sir?" My cock flexed once when she said 'sir'—don't blame me, that word just does it for me, even when it's not coming from one of the members of my harem. I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. She gave me a funny look and leaned forward slightly.
I don't know exactly what she saw, but I could imagine it. The server probably saw the back of Dr. Carrington's head, her strawberry-blonde hair a bit disheveled, bobbing up and down in my lap, quiet wet noises coming from her mouth. She blushed crimson and her jaw dropped. "S-sir, you can't do that in here. I'm going to have to ask you to leave," she stammered.
That's when I gave her my most winning smile and said "Don't be so hasty. My suck-slut just wanted to get her salad dressing ready."
The server was speechless, so I kept going. "She just loves how my cum tastes. Says it's like ambrosia. Isn't that right, suck-slut?"
Dr. Carrington was almost as red as the server, but she played her part. She pulled herself off my cock again, giving a little whine as it left her mouth. Then she cocked her head back so she could see the server, and said, "Sir's cum is delicious. Today I'm only eating his cum, because I like it more than people food." And then—I shit you not—she gave my cock a long lick, base to tip, gathering up the precum running down my veiny shaft and moaning as she swallowed it. I gave her a beneficent smile and stroked her hair gently, and after a small nod from me she went back to work.
I looked back up at the server, who was still flabbergasted. "You know, my suck-slut's very greedy—but if you ask nice she might give you a taste." Dr. Carrington started to suck harder and faster, spurred on by something—perhaps the audience, or perhaps the thought of sharing some of my cum with another woman. I didn't know if she was upset or turned on or (most likely, in my judgment) both at once, but it didn't matter at that moment. My hips started to buck up as she sucked at me, and I knew I wouldn't last long.
