Michael Halversun has a hard time recounting his memories, even now that he is safe in the small book laden office of his therapist. The twenty year old is filled with guilt, his voice wavering as he speaks into the tape recorder and his therapist sits across from him, listening to his tale. His upbringing told him that adultery was a great sin, and his masculinity told him that it was his fault. Whether either of those things were true really didn't matter any more to him. Michael had been raped.
It had all begun six months before, when the young college junior had enrolled in an social sciences course at the state university he attended. It was not his usual topic of study and he had found himself quickly drowning in the foreign material and studies. He found it difficult to read and comprehend the philosophical analysis of men three hundred years since gone. How he had longed for the safety of his engineering courses and the scientific step processes which allowed him to logically come to the same conclusions as the pioneers of the field.
The only solution for the newlywed was to sign up for every available office hour. Every day after class he would head to his professor's office to cover the lecture material and reading in a more comfortable environment where he could raise questions on simple things without looking like a fool in front of his classmates. The teacher of the class didn't mind, and she seemed to readily accept and encourage his eagerness to keep up. He had mistakenly interpreted that as devotion to her job.
The professor was actually an associate who did not have tenure and had only recently arrived at the school, from a smaller private institution where some whispers of wrongdoing had led to her dismissal. She was in her tenth year of teaching out of graduate school and had found that college was the perfect place to sate her vast palate of needs and desires. Michael was not her first victim, and he would not be her last.
On the last Friday before the final, Michael had reserved his typical time of office hours and had hurried down the basement stairs to her small sanctuary to try and understand a particularly difficult topic. His professor, Amy Tetrell had greeted him with an open door, a small smile playing across her lips.
She had turned as soon as he had entered the room and walked to her desk where she leaned, her hand extended outward, indicating a seat for him to take. Michael took his seat and began to unpack his notebooks in his lap. His attention momentarily lapsed as he looked to the space in front of him and realized just how short the tweed skirt his professor was wearing was. He glanced immediately back down at his notes, trying to cover up a slight blush on his face. He was happily married, and knew that even thinking about another woman lustfully was considered adulterous. He loved his wife and wanted to maintain a pure relationship in her eyes and in God's. The professor was attractive to be sure, and he did not blame her for having a body that was a temptation for him. She was a person valuable to the Creator and it was his own fault for slipping.
Gulping, he flipped a few more sheets and found the section he was looking for.
"I'm having trouble understanding the notion of implicit and explicit consent. I don't get exactly where we draw the distinction at... It seems like inaction is implicit and any type of action is explicit, but some of the other authors seem to think that action isn't explicit in and of itself. How do I tell which is which?" Michael looked up again, his eyes trying to slip over his teacher's body without stopping to appreciate its features.
She was playing with the top button of her blue blouse, another hand resting on the corner of her desk.
"That's exactly it. Some of the people we are studying disagree on consent theory. There isn't really a one hundred percent right answer. Say for instance, I propositioned you right now. If you said yes, I would have your explicit consent according to Rousseau. If you didn't say anything, I would have your implicit consent."
It had taken Michael a moment to register the word propositioned. At first he had just skipped over the hypothetical to the content, but had done a double take when he realized what she had said.
"Excuse me?"
"There's no need to be coy Michael. I know why you come down here every week. I was just getting to the point. Now where would you like to do it?"
"What?"
"Michael, we're both adults and can make decisions for ourselves. I've seen you eyeing me. And I must admit, I find you quite handsome myself."
"I'm sorry. There must be some mistake," Michael stuttered. "I'm married. I don't want anything from you. Honestly."
"Right. I'm to believe you really need all this extra help. Get your clothes off and fuck me. I'm not in the mood to play around," came her instructive reply.
"I do need the help. I really did. I think maybe I should go," Michael managed. He folded up his notebooks in a rush and accidentally dropped a few sheets of paper to the floor. When he looked back up after collecting them, there was a sinister smile on his professor's otherwise elegant face.
He cocked his head to the side as her hand emerged from behind her, a matte black shape clutched in her palm. He would not register that it was a Taser until she had applied it to his arm, blue sparks arcing onto his skin. His body erupted into uncontrollable shudders as the high voltage coursed into him. One more application of the self defense device, and Michael was unconscious, helpless before his trusted professor.
When he awoke again, his plight had grown distinctly more desperate. His senses first became aware of the room he was in, and his mind finally managed to catch up. As it did, he tried to bolt from the chair he found himself in, but quickly discovered he was tied skillfully across its heavy metal frame. The chair did not budge, apparently chained to the desk, which in turn was bolted to the floor. His breathing grew in rapidity, as he found his captor standing across from him, leaning on one hip as she studied her handiwork.
One bang had fallen across her forehead and her glasses were pushed a little farther down her nose than was normal, but her smile was genuine. Michael glanced down and around him, and quickly discovered that his pants had been undone and that his naked penis had been fished from its underpants. It lay, in its own silent surrender off to the side of one thigh. He tried to cry out but found his tongue and voice muffled by some piece of material. As he tried to spit it out, he became aware that it was duct taped in. He tried pushing his tongue through the barrier, but was instead rewarded with a flavorful sampling of a salty taste that filled the material. His penis twitched as it recognized a taste not dissimilar from his own wife's pussy.
All the while his professor just stood across from him, one hand lightly grazing across her collar bone while the other sat on her hip. The darkly vibrant eyes scanned his bound form, pausing each time they passed his groin and only to make eye contact with him. Michael, finally exasperated by the futility of his efforts, surrendered and sat still, allowing his mind to be lulled by the ticking of the clock.
Amy would wait a little longer, watching the gorgeous naked boy bound before her, savoring the details of the way in which she would take him. But first a little teasing.
Breaking from her stance, she moved towards him, her eyes carefully tracking his, looking for any male signs of intoxication with the female sex. She was a bit disappointed that her approach do little reaction from him. That would not last long.
Once she was by his side, she knelt on the cold surface of the floor and gazed up at him. He simply stared defiantly back.
The young man watched her as she slowly raised one hand, and placed two fingertips on his khaki covered knee cap. He focused on her face, instead of on her hand, trying to dismiss it. But slowly, the fingertips began to walk up his knee, to his thigh, and farther up, until they were stopped a mere inch or two away from the still form of his flaccid cock. Michael's eyes stayed on Amy's, not letting his mind wander to the proximity of her to his penis. But her eyes kept looking down and back again, breaking eye contact and guiding his sight down to his lap.
Each time he followed her vision, he would find his mind starting to wander and each time he had to arrest it by returning to thoughts of the heartbreak that his wife would experience by such a betrayal. But as Amy's breathing increased with the torturous refusal she commanded of herself and her tongue darted out to wet her lips, Michael began to realize just how futile a battle it was.
When his eyes finally moved to his cock of their own volition and without prompting of any sort, Amy gave him a reward of sorts.
Her hand quickly withdrew to her mouth where one finger tip was delicately moistened by her tongue. Then that digit was returned to his crotch and it slowly found its place at the base of his cock, where it met with its heavy testes. The first touch caused his hips to twitch in involuntary excitement. It was so subtle a touch that later he would wonder if it had ever actually happened. The edge of the nail would slide from the crevice between his bent penis and sack and trail a small bit of moisture upwards, over his shaft.
Michael had to look away, his mind was having a difficult time looking beyond Amy's beautiful face and sexy form, and all the possibilities that surrender offered. But they were quickly, magnetically, drawn back to his dick as her finger gently slid back down his member. When it reached the base again, her thumb joined the pointer finger in embracing the heated piece of flesh. Together, with just the tips of each in contact, they slipped back upwards.
Chagrined, the young man recognized that his penis was beginning to respond to the gentle touch of the gorgeous woman whom he desperately wished to be free of. Its growth was slow but steady, and with each increase in its length and firmness, her fingers would move a little faster up and down his shaft. By the time it had reached its full eight inches, Amy's two fingers were doing as close to a hand job as they could with just their tips.
