Premise: even a dom's mind can trail off on a hot summer day when he's slouching on his couch.
John was an educated man -- a fact which didn't hinder him in the slightest to imagine acts which others (let's be honest: nearly anyone) would have considered nonconsentual.
Rather the opposite, his philosophical mind often pushed him to question the illegitimacy of putting someone through a forced orgasm.
It reminded him of his earlier days at university. Always the eager learner he had adapted the practices of Arthur, a professor no more than two decades older.
Through a story too long for these pages Arthur came to owe him one, so on a late June day John found himself in Arthur's office, eagerly waiting to find out why he had been called here.
A few words about him, as Arthur would turn out to be one of John's leading role models for the years to come: a man in his early 40s, usually dressed in shirt, suspenders or gilet and tie, not too shabby looking with a well trimmed beard, he was known to be one of the most lenient professors on campus. Except when confronted with senseless gibbering or bratty students. He then showed a very different side, putting people in their place.
A side nobody would have expected from a man showing not only maturity and class but also a certain streak of nerdiness, which he not only displayed in the lecture hall but also by adding a collection of antique hour glasses to his old oaken desk.
"You see, John", he mentioned casually, while sorting a few papers in his hands, "it's one thing to raw dog the her assistant in the manuscript section and a completely different thing to then be caught by the librarian herself."
John gulped. He didn't think a quick shag would spiral that much out of control.
Putting down the texts, Arthur added "But as you and I got history, I may have done you a favour and called Mrs. Green over to give her a thorough... explanation of things. After that she won't disclose on the ventures between you and her assistant."
A muffled sound from below the old oaken desk underlined his words.
John hintingly raised his eyebrows.
"Let's just say she won't... run her mouth." A sly grin on Arthur's lips.
His hand vanished underneath the desk only to be answered by wordless sounds way too reminiscent of a purring cat.
"Don't worry, I can be very persuasive (kursiv)."
Arthur cocked his head back with a benevolent smile.
"And that would make us even so I suggest the two of us now proceed with our respective businesses. A man like you surely has enough plans for an early summer evening."
John knew damn too well to not question his luck at this point and with a more than respectful thank you turned to the door. "... and John. A lesson for the day -- after all, I should act like a teacher from time to time --: there is a slut in every woman. It just takes the right man to bring her out."
"Is that a lesson in general or does that apply especially to today?" John just couldn't keep his damn mouth shut.
But Arthur just laughed out loud.
"That's for you to decide. And now get out -- I have some stuff to wrap up." The way he turned his eyes towards the desk made clear that the discussion was over.
And as John walked into a carefree evening, Arthur rolled back on his chair, smirked looking down and just remarked more to himself than anyone in particular: "Now here I was speaking about stuff... or was it stuffing?"
Mascara dribbled off Mrs. Green's face, only to reveal a pair of hate-bearing eyes.
She coughed, voice hoarse.
"The fuck you're thinking, Arthur? You didn't say anything about some stupid kid coming in! You're such a bastard!"
Arthur's eyes on the other hand were glazing.
If in any imaginable universe out there it would have been even the faintest possibility -- that sight would have gotten him even harder.
Mrs. Green in her late 30s showed the beauty of a woman whose charms slowly started to fade and something about that -- like the charm of a withering flower -- gave her an even more intense aura of attractiveness. At least to a man like him. A bad man.
Let's start from below: high heels which would have been be a challenge to even a professional model, strictly cut black skirt and no top. Well, except a way too tight bra, pushing her supple tits. He had known why he ordered her to dress like this. The straight hair in a tight ponytail along her glasses completed the picture. A bitchy librarian straight out of a picture book.
But her face was his masterpiece.
After spending the last hour gulping down on his cock, the mascara dribbled over her cheeks and down her chin. A fucking mess. She didn't know where hateful tears stopped and where saliva began.
He didn't feel any remorse. He knew why.
After some initial... reluctance she had settled to simply engulf him and rested her jaw between Arthur's legs while he went about his day-to-day business. Not that she had had much say in it.
Last evening she had -- as they had history as fellow alumni -- nocked at his door, knowing about his ties with the young student who had left her assistant a drooling mess. To thoroughly explain the situation and the inevitable end of John's academic life.
Five minutes into that she found herself pinned against the closest wall.
"What the f-" was all that escaped before Arthur gagged and blindfolded her.
Of course she had known about him and his... preferences. Hell, the whole faculty knew. But his good record and undeniable charm had them turning a blind eye.
What she did not had known were his physical power and ruthlessness. Two qualities allowing him to simply hold her down and tie her up.
Of course she had squirmed. But to no avail. After only a minute Mrs. Green had found herself strung up like a parcel, arms bound behind her back and Arthur... taking care of her.
Deprived of sight and speech she could only rely on her sense of touch to tell what happened next.
Her own strained and muffled breathing filled her ears as he pushed her down onto the knees, then bent the head over to the cool floor to stripp her of her pants.
Intensifying as she could feel his fingers tracing down her spine, prying open trembling legs.
Unable to move, face down and ass up Mrs. Greens started clamping her thighs furiously as Arthur bent over to flick her most private parts with swift moves -- followed by a silent gasp when he applied a generous amount of lube (what kind of man kept that in his office?).
Waiting for him to do the inevitable, she found herself surprised that he instead slid several small objects inside her -- acting fast, remorselessly, and not giving her any time to react.
All she could do at this point was letting out a deep breath to adjust to the unexpected feeling. A simple realization set in:
This was nothing like her husband clumsily grasping at her if he was in the mood. No. This man was no simple brute. This could turn out bad.
"We're on the clock here, so this will be a tour de force." Arthur's voice like a on a business talk. Followed by a chuckle. "You can thank me later."
Suddenly the objects inside her jumped to life.
Now let's evaluate Mrs. Green. A bombshell in tight clothing she had -- despite her undeniably austere line of work -- seen (and still did see) quite some action. It's fair to say her husband could not often keep his hands away and after a decade of marriage she definitely was no stranger to all kinds of toys.
What she was definitely not used to was being held in place while some fucker started several vibrating eggs inside her at once without the slightest warning.
At full intensity.
Bucking violently under the sudden shock she found herself trapped in Arthur's arms.
"There, there. No getting up early, sweetie. We're not done here."
"Gawwwwg", her only response through the gag. Panting at the strain of all her spots being hit at once.
Deprived of her senses her whole world became a stirring sensation in her guts. Not even her husband had treated her like that. Not even when she asked for it.
Then Arthur changed the setting.
