My Professor the Tiger

I was nothing but a fucktoy.

Usually, Professor Hill and I play games such as Monopoly or Scrabble or sometimes Poker (even though we are both absolutely terrible at Poker). Then there are times when we play more adult games, like Strip Poker (where our lack of skills in mainstream Poker is actually a good thing!), or Onyx (a computerized adult variant of Monopoly), or when we play-wrestle in the nude. When we play the adult games, in the end, the professor often makes love to me, slowly causing my pleasure to increase until it finally explodes like a bomb inside me, decimating my senses.

Then there are times when I am nothing but a fucktoy.

This was one of those times.

It had started ordinarily enough. "Wanna fuck?" the professor asked me.

How could I refuse? The forbidden difference in age combined with the forbidden student-professor relationship combined with his forbidden skills in virtually all adult matters was a cocktail which would always render me thoroughly drunk after only a single taste.

On this particular night, however, there was absolutely no foreplay. There was absolutely no tenderness. The cold yet loving glare in the professor's eyes warned me that on this night, I was not to be his favorite student who always sat in the front for of his classes.

There are times when I assume the role of a sexual object. This was one of those times.

I had barely nodded subtly in response to his question, and suddenly, he was no longer sitting on the sofa. Instead, he was pressing me hard into the wall behind me, attacking me with his lips, groping me with his hands, violating me with his tongue. I needed a few seconds to recover from the shock of his quick move, but then the kitten within me shapeshifted into a tigress mating with her older, wiser, stronger tiger.

My tiger, my professor, he mauled me, he bit me, he clawed me. He was a ravenous beast fully controlled by his primal hunger, his primal need. While I was definitely a willing participant, this was not about the professor's romanticism or about his way of bestowing new thrills upon his favorite student; this was about conquest.

His conquest of his favorite student.

His conquest of me.

Recognizing this, I retreated to the kitten persona, a very odd counterpoint to his low growls and his scratching fingernails. My shoulder throbbed from where he had bitten me moments earlier. My belly quivered from the clothes-protected contact of his hardened manhood. My breasts ached with desire from his rough manipulations. My lower lip felt slightly puffier from his having fiercely sucked it into his mouth. I held him close, accepting it all, reveling in my ability to provide the professor what he clearly needed at that moment and unable to envision any of his other female students in my consensual position: backed hard against a wall, being mauled and bitten and humped by a tiger in heat.

...and having my clothes ripped from my body, specifically my pale blue tank top being ripped apart from the neckline down. I shrieked from the unexpectedness of the violent act, of the destruction of a tank top I particularly liked. I was naughty, for was not wearing a bra, so my chest was suddenly exposed to his view, my hardened nipples no longer masked by the taut fabric.

Without warning, he dove, the tiger's teeth closing painfully hard around my right nipple. I screamed, tears instantly coming to my eyes, even as I clutched his head to my chest. The pain filled my breast, radiated outward, shot like a bullet directly to my clitoris. My left breast was not immune, being roughly squeezed, the claws burrowing into my tender feminine flesh, the additional pain wracking my body and redoubling my scream and my tears.

Professor Hill stepped back, grabbed the torn sides of my tank top, and hauled me toward him. I stumbled forward, completely off-balance, naturally acquiescing to his lust-inspired guidance as I was spun and practically flung toward the sofa. Landing on my back, I bounced briefly upon the upholstered cushions, suddenly aware that he held a large scrap of pale blue in each fist and that he was about to pounce upon me.

The look in his eyes was a strange mixture. I could see the forbidden love in those eyes, yet I could also see something dark, almost sinister within him.

Before he could land upon me, I rolled to the floor, banging my knee hard against the tile and biting back a new scream of pain. But the new source of pain slowed me just enough that he was upon me, tearing my tank top anew, ripping the back apart as I tried to scurry away, ripping it completely to the bottom hem.

My denim skirt was fortunately not about to be ripped, but with his strong powerful hands, he had no problem pulling the skirt over my hips and down my thighs, revealing my black thong. His renewed growl as he grabbed and yanked down my thong was clearly a growl of warning, and I collapsed to the floor, panting heavily, my fingers attempting to burrow through the tile, the various parts of my body still aching.

Yet I was quite aroused. The rough treatment, the torn tank top, the growl of the predator - the individual elements all combined to arouse me as I had not expected, even as the tears continued to fall.

I was spanked hard, twice, then a pair of all-too-familiar fingers were forcefully thrust inside my all-too-willing body. I groaned aloud at the violation, instinctively backing into my older hand. He withdrew his large fingers and spanked me again, thrice, harder and harder and harder, spreading my love upon my warming backside.

After a moment of hesitation, I felt it rub the length of my clitoris, causing me to shudder and moan. I had not heard him lower his zipper, nor had I heard him undressing.

Without preamble, the tiger was inside me, plunging forward into my body with such force, such violence. He pummeled me, fucking me fast and hard, growling like a mating tiger, his claws burrowing painfully into my tender skin. Yet I took it all: the pain, the violence, the roars, the primal need...

His grip upon me tightened even more as he erupted inside me, the mating finally achieving its climax. The pain had thwarted any chance of my own orgasm blossoming to life, but as he collapsed upon my back and wrapped his arms around my chest and breathed heavily into my ear, I felt a sense of pride, for clearly the use of my body had made him happy, had given him what he needed.

After all, what young student doesn't want to make favorite professor happy?