Many thanks to MormonJack for edits and crits.
Chapter 5
I made Kayla come. I made Kayla come so hard with my finger zapping her pierced clit and my cock at her throat and my hand pushing her deeper that, when she yelled, my cock plunged all the way into her as far as my engorged erection could possibly reach and her nose banged against my pelvis. She came again and jerked and jumped and made useless waggles with her bound arms and came some more and choked and came again and again.
She gasped some unintelligible words when I released her, her face now buried in my crotch. "Hol' fu'in' shi'," she managed to hoarsely pronounce. "Tha'--" She swallowed, not my cream, I'd made it through it all without coming-- "was the most fucking amazing--"
But I wasn't nearly done with her. While she was incapacitated I took advantage of her, still bound and blindfolded. I redid her cuffs to clip her wrists to her ankles so she was bent into a permanent crouch. Or as I rolled her onto knees, stuck with her head in the cushions and her ass up in the air, permanent doggie style. My practice with Samantha made the transition swift.
I took advantage of her predicament immediately and again without mercy. Just the way I knew she wanted it. I plowed and rammed and pounded her cunt while she was still trembling from the previous orgasms I'd forced on her. It was too much and she tried to crawl away from the fucking but of course that was impossible. She was helpless. She had to come. I gave her body no choice. I decided she was going to come and used all my physical and TK powers on her so she came. I decided she would keep coming so she continued to come. I had no intention of ever letting her stop coming so she gave up resisting and came endlessly and begged and begged.
"Oh, please, I can't, I can't." I put her on her side, lifted a leg-arm linkage up and pushed my cock in deeper, making her come even harder, if that were possible.
"No more, no more," she gasped into the hotel furniture. I pulled out. Her enormous grunt of relief was cut short, however, when my mouth sucked in her metalized clit, which I'd wanted to taste since discovering it, and my tongue shot bolts of torturous pleasure beyond her limits, forcing screams of emotions beyond pleasure. Her legs and arms quivered uselessly in their bindings until she collapsed. I let her slide/roll off the couch, a pile of used up flesh, onto the expensive carpet, now getting wet with her fluids.
I unbound her. The blindfold had slipped off earlier in the cushions. I sat on the floor next to her. Some time later she put her head in my lap.
"I think I'll hire you."
"Thanks, boss."
"Your job title will be... hmm... let's start you at cocksucker third class."
She looked up at me with a skeptical smile. "Third class?"
"On probation. Your job description is to clean up after a fuck event." I nodded at the mess between my legs.
"Thanks, Boss."
It was serious ego fun to let reality intrude a bit and enjoy watching and feeling this high-powered financial wizard lick her own pussy juice off my cock. A smoking hot high powered financial wizard. A totally naked smoking hot blah blah blah now cleaning my testicles, sopping wet from the quantity of girl juice she'd secreted.
"I hope I have performed my assigned duties with the most exemplary attention, Boss," she said after replacing her juice with her saliva. "Is there any other service I can perform?"
"You've done well, cocksucker third class. You deserve a bonus."
"Boss, you're too good to me."
"Every worker, even the lowest and least important--" I paused and looked down at her so there was no doubt who I meant-- "Should receive a reward for good service." I nodded at my cock, stiff again from her cleaning. "Go ahead, cocksucker third class. All you can eat."
Which she did. I graciously permitted her to suck me off twice. For the first one I stood and let her jack me off on her face. Something told me she would want that. With weakened knees I collapsed back on the couch and let her continue servicing me while I watched my semen drip down her smiling countenance. It took very little effort on my part to stay hard, nor to come again in her kisser. The most difficult part was keeping my eyes open so I could watch her finger-scoop my semen off her cheeks and forehead and theatrically wipe the sticky cream onto her tongue, using my come to lubricate her mouth and make my second orgasm even more satisfying.
The next morning, the last day of the meeting, she was hard as silicon carbide nails, to everyone but especially to me. The TAs gave each other knowing looks. They'd watched us closely yesterday and even a bit last night before we disappeared, and had concluded that Kayla had totally shot me down. Thus, they showed the perils of a long list of cognitive errors known in science, including confirmation bias, overconfidence effect, anchoring bias, and just plain wishful thinking. On my part I could only stand there before her and take it while she berated me. Looking at her this morning, perfectly made up, the memory of her face last night with my come dripping down her cheeks, left me speechless.
We'd overslept and both had to rush to make the first session, with hardly a chance to say two words to each other. Now both of us had planes to catch. "I'll do you at the airport," she texted while making fun of my naive financial strategy in front of the TAs. Which she did.
** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
I resigned my academic position shortly after returning from the Kayla meeting. My advisor was visibly relieved when I handed him my formal letter. I'd saved him the distasteful and bureaucratically complicated chore of dismissing me. I made up something about going through some personal life changes. He expressed sympathy and promised a good reference, unaware that the biggest change was going from zero poon-tang and moolah to up to my neck in both.
And anyway, I was too busy now managing my assets, orders of magnitude more lucrative than my poverty-level grad stipend. And too busy getting laid.
Another reason for leaving was that my personal research had moved beyond what I could accomplish in the department's labs. I needed some real data about what my brain was actually doing. I needed fMRI.
Don't feel bad if you don't know what that is. The 'MRI' you probably know: "Magnetic Resonance Imaging", that big machine in the hospital basement. The 'f' stands for functional. With the right equipment you can scan a brain in action and watch areas light up on the screen in response to mental activity, which as you might expect has resulted in a number of surprising discoveries about how the brain works. I found a lab, via my special friend Archana, that had one. They welcomed my visit, thinking I still was connected to my former department; were disappointed to learn I was now a private citizen; were thrilled to find out that I represented a start up (Kayla had shown me how simple it is to set up a shell corporation) and could pay for machine time. fMRI machines are not cheap. They are in fact the opposite of cheap. And research labs are the opposite of flush with funds.
It bent their minds a bit to find out that I wanted to do the scans on myself. I also insisted that all the data would leave with me at the end of the tests, and that only one researcher was allowed to be present during the test. I had several reasons for that last requirement, not least being Mingyu.
She was one of the leaders in this department, knew the machine inside out, and in spite of the lab coat, glasses, hair net, and even pocket protector, was undeniably attractive. Asian, Singaporean to be exact. I'd not yet enjoyed that variety of hotness.
The scans began one evening (the machine had a crowded daytime schedule) in the typical and tedious fashion with electrode hookups and calibration and baselines. When all was ready and we were recording, from the control booth she asked me what was next ( of course I had not revealed the nature of my research). I answered nonverbally. The lab was quite cramped, mostly filled with the big magnets and cryogenic equipment the machine required. We were separated by a window but she was quite close. I reached out and stimulated her.
The shock on her face told me I'd hit the bull's eye. She quickly recovered and tended the controls, seeing significant readings on her screen. After she'd unhooked me from the machine we reviewed the scan together in the booth. I'd been pinning her attention to me for a while. In spite of her professional scruples re getting involved with a client, she was letting me get unprofessionally close to her. I put a hand on her shoulder and let it move to caress her neck while we discussed the data.
"What were you doing there?" she asked. "These two areas," she continued, pointing to bright blobs in my left and right hemispheres, "never show activity together. Ah!" I couldn't help myself. I'd sent a tiny tingle right into her cervical vertebrae.
I feigned ignorance and suggested we repeat the scan. After a few more in which I zapped her, each time a bit stronger, she got a clue. We were back at the control board observing how those areas had lit up brighter as I'd stimulated her more. We were also standing together and my arm was around her waist. "You're doing this to me, aren't you?"
In reply I did it to her again, harder. "Oh," was her quiet exclamation. She pressed her embarrassed face into my chest. I held her and kept doing her. Her legs, in her conservative knee-length skirt, tried to wrap themselves around my thigh. She didn't come. She might have but I didn't let her.
When I released her and she could think straight again she went from the screen to me then back to the screen. "How-- you can-- wait, how?" As a former scientist myself, I sympathized with her confusion. Deeply embedded in her mind was a solid certainty based on many years of training, at least two post-graduate degrees, and just a general academic attitude, grown and ossified over generations, that what she'd just seen-- and sensed in the most personal, intimate way-- could not have happened. In stark contrast, I was proving that something clearly impossible, the territory of magicians and con artists, was also a thing I'd clearly just done to her.
I did her again. Just because I could.
"Stop it!" I found that order interesting for two reasons. It was the first time any woman had asked me to stop, at least before I'd made her come more times than she could endure. More important, it meant she knew, deep down, that I really could do what I'd just done to her.
She took off her glasses and wiped her face. She really was quite attractive, with sharp, well-proportioned features outlining a face the color of an exotic tropical wood, framed by midnight black hair. It took all my will power to hold back.
She suggested we take a break. I suspect it was more to get to a public place than because she needed a snack.
"You can just--" she looked down briefly-- "do that?" After just staring at me for a full minute across a small table in the cafeteria.
