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.
