This is Part 2 of Squeezed, a dubcon/noncon/coercion/reluctance story about Sam, a young male student, being seduced and exploited by Mary, the Campus Counsellor.
"Wait, you're staying here? I thought we were going to mine."
Sam had walked Ellie to the iron gate at the edge of campus. It hadn't been a fight, but the subject of sex had strained their relationship more and more in recent weeks. For three months, they'd been dating, neither of them particularly experienced, but content to wait. Or so Sam had thought. But the pressure to get more physical had advanced along with the rumours about his size.
Naturally, Sam had wondered if Ellie had heard something. But he knew that the line from Ellie was patient, respectful, but hopeful: that surely, as young adults, living away from home for the first time, they could begin to explore one another. If slowly. She mentioned that she was charmed by his restraint, that he was one of the few guys out there who wasn't eager to tear each other's clothes off right away. And some of it rang true -- Sam did cherish the slow, wholesome romance he and Ellie had cultivated. But Sam knew, and Ellie didn't, that it was no longer true to say that they were both virgins. Sexually nervous to begin with, Sam had lain there in stunned shock as Mary, the Campus Counsellor, claimed his substantial young cock for herself during their initial session, a session ostensibly conducted to deal with his "anger issues".
It had happened a month into his relationship with Ellie, and he had tried his best to forget, to discount the experience as irrelevant to his life outside of that room. He certainly didn't intend to tell her; it felt too surreal, and out of his control, to qualify as cheating. In the intervening week, he had attempted to treat it like a dream, the memory of which had done nothing to quell his problem with spontaneous erections. Unable to progress academically without her sign-off, he kept his subsequent appointments with Mary, hoping to assert some control over the situation.
No such luck. Each week, for the two months that followed, he found himself being coaxed and coerced into disrobing and penetrating the gently-spoken older woman, watching her demure professionalism melt into depraved giggling as she succeeded time and again at pressuring him into stretching her all too tight vulva around his massive dick. On his first return, she'd maintained her compassionate veneer in speech alone, fiddling with her clothing and squirming in her seat until his erection once again got the better of him and he acquiesced as she mounted him. The next week, she had already undressed when he entered the room, and when he dared to protest, she intimated -- not threatened, mind, but strongly suggested -- that he wouldn't like certain people to find out about their weekly sessions. The college administration. His parents. Ellie.
And so, every week, he mentally compartmentalised the hour-long window in which he'd be summoned to that room to satisfy the Counsellor's craving for oversized 19 year-old cock. The grotesque stretching, the maniacal giggling as he filled her. The shamefully explosive, euphoric orgasms as his semen shot out of him inside her, time after time.
Sometimes, he found, he couldn't cum on his own -- a necessity, with his frequent arousals -- unless he mentally replayed the sight of her squirming and straining, grimacing with glee as he forced himself to fresh depths in order to keep her happy.
He had intended to start enjoying greater levels of intimacy with Ellie. But it became a brick wall -- the only control he had over his sex life left was the person who would accede if he said no. On one occasion, he stopped her from unbuttoning his shorts, knowing that she'd smell the scent of Mary's pussy all over him.
And he knew that Ellie was becoming frustrated. Touch starved, and sexually needy. Even though they'd both agreed to take it slow, three months of perfect patience had begun to wear her down. And while he insisted to her that their bond was precious, and he didn't want to change it too hastily, the truth was that he simply felt unable to perform, and unable to pleasure her during a time where he felt like he was being given little option but to, effectively, cheat on his sweet young girlfriend.
"No, I'll... be round later. We can keep talking then."
"Why are you hanging around after hours?" Before Sam's tall, slender frame, Ellie stood a mere 5'4", and equally humble in her stature. Sam had still never seen her nude, but everything about her was understated, small: subtle curves, pouting soft lips and a button-like nose. Round green eyes, and wispy blonde hair. Their height disparity did nothing to alleviate her pleading stare.
"I have... I have a meeting. With the faculty head."
"The Dean?"
"Cleo. Nobody really calls her the Dean."
"I do. I didn't know that was her name. Why are you meeting her? Is it about that problem you were having?" She knew he'd had run-ins with other students. She didn't know why, or at least, not to the best of Sam's knowledge.
"...yeah." He paused. "We just have to do some paperwork and then it's all over."
"Oh, that's good." She gave him a genuine, supportive smile. "Maybe you can relax a little more after that. We'll do something nice."
"Actually, yeah. I think that's likely." Sam returned her smile. He hoped that would ring true -- his plan was to sit down with Cleo and come clean about what had been happening with Mary. The situation Mary had orchestrated. The position she'd trapped him in. There was no way, he reasoned, that he could be perceived as anything other than the vulnerable, disempowered party acting under her duress. If he just spoke up, Mary would almost certainly be fired, and his life could begin to return to normal.
"Alright, well... good luck, Sam. Maybe I'll see you later." She didn't wait for his goodbye. In the fading light, she turned and walked down the wide gravel path. He turned back in the opposite direction, his meeting with Cleo fast approaching.
He hadn't had much cause to interact with Cleo until now. As Faculty Administrator, she'd obviously had something to do with the decision to send him to a Counsellor in the first place, but they hadn't met face-to-face about it. Of course, he'd seen her around campus regularly. Easily into her 50s, maybe pushing 60, gaunt and tanned, with wavy silver hair that reached to the middle of her back. Cleo wore shapeless white and grey dresses, sometimes with a long, flowing cardigan or shawl, equally muted in colour. Striking and, he guessed, probably quite beautiful in her day.
The door to her office was on the ground floor, not far from the entrance to the main faculty building. Broad, mahogany, with a placard reading DEAN CLEO SEATTER. Sam knocked.
"That you, Sam?" he pushed open the door. Cleo, only a few inches shorter than Sam, was standing next to her desk, also mahogany, and about as ornate as the door. The office wasn't particularly impressive -- spacious enough, with a couple of paintings and certificates on the walls, bookcases, but stopping short of outright grandeur. As predicted, Cleo wore a formless white linen dress that fell very low. She leaned, half-sitting against the desk, and gestured to the two seats set out in front of it. "Sit wherever you like."
Sam obliged, thanking the Dean, and helping himself to the leftmost chair. Uncharacteristic of his most nervous moments, his cock had stayed calm for once, and he sat comfortably in his jogging shorts. He looked at Cleo expectantly.
"So... I..."
She interrupted him almost immediately. "Sorry Sam, I do want to give this my full attention. We just need to wait a little bit longer for Mary to arrive before we begin."
Sam broke out in a sweat in an instant. He hadn't imagined Mary would be there to watch him inform on her. His heartbeat and breathing both accelerated.
"Mary's coming?"
"Well yes, she has been handling your case, hasn't she?"
"Y... yes, that's technically true, but--"
"Alright, so she'll be here for moral support, and to confirm anything you need to tell me if applicable. That's how we do things, Sam. You need a trusted third party in the room when discussing anything sensitive. Okay?"
"O... kay..."
He sat, resisting the urge to fidget, trying to summon the words. That she was the problem. He needed her out of the room for this. The words stuck in his throat, as ever.
"Would you like a drink of water, Sam?"
"Um, no. Thanks."
Cleo looked at him with an expression he couldn't immediately place. Concern, perhaps.
"I do think you'd benefit from a glass of water." She was already pouring from the cucumber-infused jug that sat on the far side of her desk. She handed him the glass. "Drink up, go on." Sam emptied the glass into his gullet, the rush another typical product of his nervousness. An audible gulp. He could still feel his heart pounding -- maybe more than just that. Another older woman overriding his wishes had turned out to be a slight trigger. The now familiar sickening awareness of his groin began to stir.
She hadn't moved from her seat on the edge of her desk. Sam, as he tended to do, stared at his shoes. Perhaps ten minutes passed, with only the clock's ticking, and the occasional forced smile, Sam all the while dreading his captor's arrival.
The muffled creak of the outer door opening, and then shutting. Cleo's eyebrows lifted, expectantly. "Ah, I think..."
The office door swung open, with Mary bustling through, carrying her oversized wicker handbag and wearing an olive green maxi dress and leather sandals. "Hi Cleo! Hi Sam!" Her typical all-too-breezy, who-me singsong. Without missing a beat, she dumped herself down in the seat next to Sam. "Sorry I'm a little behind, I had a session run on. How are you doing, Sam?" The pitch of her voice whipped upwards at his name. She had a habit of talking to him in the most infantilising tones.
"Mm... I'm fine." He'd sunk into his usual mutter. It was now a dynamic between them: whatever argument he wanted to assert got buried under shame and uncertainty while she took whatever she felt like taking.
"You alright, Cleo?"
"I'm fine, Mary, thanks." Cleo was already pouring another glass of water and handing it to Mary.
"So." She put the jug down on the desk. "You two have been working together for a couple of months, haven't you? How has that all been?"
Mary chimed in before Sam could say a word. "Well, I can't speak for Sam, but I'd say we've covered a lot of ground together. Would you agree, Sam?"
"Yeah. Well, n--"
"I'm very pleased to hear that, Sam." Cleo's voice had the same maternal, condescending sing-song to it. "Are you still struggling with your moods? Getting on with other students a bit better?"
Nervousness accelerating and his shorts beginning to feel less comfortable already, Sam opted for the safest answer -- the honest one.
"Yeah, I haven't really had any more problems like that. It's all kind of died down now. Um. I think I'm ready to stop counselling sessions, anyway."
"R... ight..." Cleo lingered on that point. "That's a possibility, Sam. First... you asked for this meeting with me because there was something you wanted to discuss, is that right?"
Sam shuffled a little, trying not to look to his right. Mary seemed to be letting him speak, at least.
"Yeah... that's right."
"Okay, Sam." Cleo paused in thought, giving Mary a brief glance, and then bringing her attention back to him.
"Would that happen to have anything to do with the fact that the two of you have been having sex?"
