Blonde Number Two

Professor Wheatfield was such an ass. But it took me a while to learn this fact. His dream girl was Beana Asstor, this Harvard chick. I was one of his grad students at Sally Hemmings University. I was hot. I still am. When I entered Hemmings I was 36 26 34. I was a large C or small D cup . . . all a matter of the bra. I was blonde in high school, but turned quite a bit less blonde when I saw less sun. Guess you could say I was living a blonde life in a mouse brown body. I wore sexy clothes. I danced a bit. I enjoyed a good party. I dated a bunch of guys. I loved sex.

Professor Wheatfield was anything but a hot man. He was about five foot eight. He needed more time in the gym. His blonde hair was thinning. His six inch penis was not very thick…ok it was 6 inches if I rounded up. He could pump out lots of cum, on command, but the equipment itself remained, on a good day, six inches. I learned that in due time.

We had sex in his office after a Friday seminar. He told me to come to his office so we could talk.

"Lee, you need to come to my office." Those were his words.

How could I refuse? It was a command from Wheatfield himself. He carried himself as the boy wonder. I was a bit in awe at the time, as I knew he had a degree from Harvard and that he banged the shit out of Beana, a Harvard girl, whenever she had time to cum down to Hemmings.

"Lee, your work is not up to par. I may have to recommend that you leave this program. How can you fix this?" He asked.

I blanched. I knew not what to say. I was a child of the Midwest. I grew up on a lake. We prized hard work. My family owned a company that made widgets for the auto industry. My family had the fastest boat on the lake. I will admit, I may have been the fastest girl in my senior class . . . but a respected man such as a professor had never called my work ethic into question. And I always was able to earn at least a B in class. My parents taught me to respect authority.

"What do you mean, Professor," was my weak reply.

"What I mean, Lee, is that I have yet to see any evidence of your oral skills."

I got his message. He was one of those. My friends from home had warned me about lecherous professors. I assumed that I could handle them.

I slid up to him. I gently put my hand on his shoulder.

"And what could you mean? Isn't Beana in town this weekend?" I asked.

He cringed. Last weekend I had shared drinks with him and Beana at a reception honoring Beana's father, a respected if obscure macramé artist.

"Beana is with her mother shopping."

I knew what that meant…as I was plugged into graduate student gossip. It was a free weekend for him, and he wanted something from one of the women over whom he held total sway. He was working his way through the women of the department.

"So Professor Wheatfield, are you suggesting that I need to complete some type of performance exam?"

I knew the answer when I asked, so my hands slipped down to the zipper on his khaki pants. I zipped down. What I found was quite a disappointment…it was hard, but it was small. He smiled. I undid his belt. His pants fell. I pulled down his boxers. I found a small . . . I say six inch, but I am generous, thin penis. Small balls. Sparse hair. Cut. Wheatfield is cut for religious reasons.

He groped me roughly. Squeezed my breasts like you squeeze a tennis ball fresh from the can. He lifted my sweater and plucked at the buttons on my blouse. He had a dainty way as he pushed the button through the fabric. He struggled with the clasp at the front of the bra. I just did it for him. No reason to make this last any longer than necessary. He gasped as the bra fell away.

"Beana needs something like these?" I asked knowing full well that his A-cup wonder had the most seemingly concave chest I ever have seen in a woman with XX chromosomes. He just slobbered and sucked my right nipple into his mouth. He drenched my tit with man drool. I hoped he would cum, but I wasn't that lucky.

He ordered me to suck him,

I took it in my mouth. He moaned. I savored the very small head in the same way that you milk that last bit inside a tootsie pop. I tongued the hole at the tip. My tongue slid down to his sack. He had very small balls. I took one, then both into my mouth. I slid my tongue down to the base of his sack, then to his asshole. He was just shaking. He moaned with pleasure as I rimmed his asshole. I went back to his shaft. I swallowed the whole thing. (there was not that much) He was shaking more. I wanted this over with so I sucked harder and faster. I stuck a finger up his ass and his knees almost buckled.

"I want to fuck you," he said…The ass wanted to make this last.

"Sure…." I replied he seemed harmless enough and the balls were small.

I dropped my pants, bent over his desk, and he thrust in me. I didn't feel much but I knew he was in me. He thrust harder and harder. He groaned and was spent. But I felt gobs of cum. He came and came. It ran out of me and down my leg. I almost thought he had pissed himself.

"My grade ok?" I asked.

"Sure he said."

Three weeks later I knew that it wasn't piss as my period had been long missed. I confronted him. I said I had missed my period. He took out his checkbook and asked how much for an abortion. I just left his office.

Grades came and the fucker gave me a B.

About three months later I got an invitation to his wedding. He was marrying Beana. I mailed her my abortion receipt. I haven't heard from either of them.