Yes Miss Murphy Ch 03

At 6:30 on Tuesday evening, I waited in an empty classroom for Tyler to show up to take his make-up test. There was always plenty of grading to do, and preparing lessons, either for my classes or Mandy's, so I sat busying myself with that. But I became increasingly annoyed as minute after minute passed, and Tyler hadn't arrived. When I looked at the clock and saw it was 6:48, I huffed, and went back to work thinking, OK, I'm gonna give him two more minutes; 20 minutes is enough to wait. Just then, the arrogant young punk strode in, and without a word, walked up to me and put his hand out, ready to take the test I had for him. I handed him the paper and said, "You have until 7:30."

"I'm supposed to get an hour," he said.

"Yes, but you were supposed to be here at 6:30."

We glared at each other for a few moments. Then Tyler said, "So you're not gonna give me an hour? Somehow I don't think Miss Murphy will be very happy when I tell her you didn't give me the full amount of time to take my test."

He stared me down as he waited for my response. After a few seconds, I relented. "OK. An hour." He snatched the test paper and sat down at a desk to begin his test. Once he was settled in and started writing, he said, without looking up, "I think you owe me another apology, Davey."

A short, awkward silence followed, as I looked in his direction to see that he still had his eyes on his paper, coolly and arrogantly waiting for my reply. Curtly, I said, "I'm sorry", and went back to my work, thinking, for chrissake, please let that be the end of it.

"Not good enough, Davey. I think I need a real apology. Like a shoe-kissing apology. Get over here and start kissin' shoe, old man."

I scoffed. "Oh God, Tyler... are you serious?"

He kept working on his test, and didn't answer me. So again, I said, "I'm sorry, Tyler. But you WERE late, and I can't be expected to wait all evening for you. You were 20 minutes late. We agreed on 6:30. But I said I would give you an hour, so I think I've already been more than flexible, considering-"

"You're distracting me, Davey. Tryin' to take a test here. You shouldn't be up there rambling on, you should be down here in front of me on the floor, kissing my shoes. You know, if I see Miss Murphy tomorrow, I'd rrreaally like to give her a good report on you. But you're being kind of an asshole again."

A few more seconds of silence followed, as I sniveled and fidgeted in my chair. Tyler just continued working on his test, obviously fully confident he would get his way in this ridiculous situation. With a defeated sigh, I stood up and proceeded toward where he was sitting. Before I got there, he said, "You better close the blind on that door and lock it, Davey." I went to the classroom door and secured it, then went back to a spot in front of Tyler's desk. I got on hands and knees, and then stooped over and began kissing the tops of Tyler's shoes. "I apologize, Tyler. I'm sorry." After kissing each shoe once, I started to get up. Again without looking up from his work, Tyler said, "Stay there and keep kissing, Davey. Don't say anything, but just keep kissing my shoes, one and then the other. You're just gonna keep kissin' shoe until I finish this test. Oh, and I better not see you lookin' at the clock, either. I'll take as much time as I damn well please."

And so I remained on the floor in front of Tyler, on my knees with my butt in the air, and my hands flat on the floor, kissing his shoes, looking like a complete idiot, while the 20-year-old worked on his test until about 8:10.

As the weeks passed, my horniness was making me increasingly desperate. Sometimes I'd zone out for almost a half-hour, daydreaming some sexual fantasy, and it was like I was in a trance, as my erect dick would throb in my pants. I'd be sitting at a table in the student center, for my phony "office hours", making myself available for Mandy's students, and some attractive 19-year-old female student would saunter past. Just a glance at her might induce a fit of daydreaming and make me completely unproductive for 20 minutes. Even the 20-something men were starting to have a strange effect on me, for though I never before would have made any connection between them, and sex, now a curious chain of associations was acting on my psyche and my libido. It went something like this: Arrogant, cocky, prick = Mandy's approval = my humiliation = me trapped in Mandy's web = Mandy's order not to masturbate = my sexual frustration = massive hard-on and leaking pre-cum in my underwear.

Mandy herself had become like the most gorgeous young goddess in the world to me. I was obsessed with everything about her now, and desired her even more than I had ever desired Katherine. I had actually seen and smelled Mandy's pussy now, and the full glory of her bare thighs. And with all the work she had piled on me, which consumed most of my time, she was in my thoughts virtually every moment. And since I spent so many of those moments with a hard dick, I could never escape having Mandy on my mind, since she was the one putting me through this torture of frustration.

After about 7 weeks without cumming, even Becky began to look quite sumptuous to me. For years, I hadn't had a single sexual thought about Becky. She had almost become like a sister to me. She was, in fact, a mildly chubby, plain-looking 48-year-old woman. But I found myself staring at her sweatpants-covered ass and thinking how much I wanted to sidle up behind her, put my arms around her, kiss her neck and ears, and have her melt with my touch. I dreamed of taking her to bed and fucking her like an animal.

One night, as we got in bed, and she turned away from me to sleep on her side, I scooted up behind her, laid my arm over her, and kissed her cheek. Not just the usual peck, but a gentler, softer kiss, like a lover. She smiled. I kissed her again. Then again. I spooned with her, and my dick throbbed in my underwear, against her ample, delicious ass. As soon as she felt it, she jerked reflexively, as if she'd been goosed. "David! Oh my god, what is that?"

"Heh, you know what that is," I said, in a seductive manner, chuckling.

"Well. Yes. I know what it is, I mean, what are you doing? What's gotten into you?"

"Well, I just thought... maybe you'd like a visitor... someone you haven't seen in a while."

She scoffed, and chuckled. "Pfft. Haha. Get offa me." Her tone was playful, but she was, in fact, pushing me away. "Control yourself, will ya? Why don't you go in your office and take care of that thing."

Well. At least I learned that Becky did indeed know what I did in my home office some nights when she was in bed. Or at least, what I USED TO do. What I USED TO BE ALLOWED to do.

After two months of being denied any kind of sexual release, I really felt I would go insane. I just HAD to talk to Mandy about this. Surely a man just can't go forever like this, constantly horny and never able to cum. Sometimes daydreaming alone would get me so stimulated that, even without any contact to my genitals, and no moving or shifting around in my chair, it seemed like I might accidentally cum in my pants, just sitting in a chair fully clothed!

When an opportunity came, I pleaded with Mandy to be allowed to masturbate. I told her how even my wife had become an object of my desire, and Mandy seemed quite amused that Becky had rebuffed me and added to my torturous frustration. She said, "Sorry, David, you know the rules. No touchy-touchy for a little slaveboy. No cumming for you. That's something only Miss Murphy gets to do, and... you know... people who AREN'T little blackmailed slaves. Like... well, for example, Dean Mullens. He gets to cum, and have sexual pleasure." She smirked as she reminded me of my trapped helplessness, and rubbed it in. "Mrs. Mullens. She gets to cum. Oh yes, Katherine... Katherine! Katherine has orgasms quite regularly, I bet. She probably cuuuuums... and cuuuums... and cuuuuuuums! From Randall's big hard dick inside her soft, velvety pussy. Mmmmm."

I whimpered as Mandy tormented me with the image of my former lover giving a man such ecstatic pleasure.

"And of course, most of our students. They get to cum, too. Several times a week, I'm sure. All of them. Although I'm sure there are a few little helpless slaves in that mix, too. Poor souls just like you."

"Miss Murphy, please, pllllleeease. I really don't know how much longer I can avoid some accident. I mean... it's biological. The... um, the... fluid... has to come out some time. I mean... the pressure... Plus, I get so distracted by daydreaming and fantasizing that it keeps me up most of the night sometimes. Then I come in exhausted. And also it constantly distracts me from my work. It's really making me a lot less productive."

Looking back, I realize I got very lucky in the specific wording I chose for my entreaty. Mandy was clearly a very lazy young woman. She had not the slightest inclination toward hard work. But she certainly like to *oversee* hard work, to *delegate* hard work, and she most certainly liked getting credit for someone else's hard work. She had made me into her little grunt, her little minion, the one she could count on to do all the tedious, boring, thankless tasks that would enable her to rise in her career on my back. My plea seemed to switch on a light in her brain. I could read it on her face. Less productive? she was thinking. Oh my. We can't have that, now, can we?

I remained silent, with bated breath, as I watched her contemplate. Would she finally relent? The suspense killed me.

This conversation took place at mid-day on a Monday, in her office. I waited silently for her reply, and she spun her chair around slowly, and twirled her hair as she considered what to do. A full minute passed. Then she spoke. "OK. David. We have class tonight." She meant that her 6:30-8:35 class would meet; naturally, I was expected to be there and teach it. "I'm gonna come for the last part of that class, and then you need to be available for a few minutes afterward, before you go home. You're gonna bring 500 dollars in cash." At that point, I reflexively sniveled, but quickly she assured me, "You'll get it back, IF you do exactly what I'm gonna require you to do tonight, after class. If you do precisely what I say, I promise I will give you the money back. I'm gonna hold it like a deposit. If you're a good little slaveboy and do good tonight and don't fuck up what I want you to do, you'll get your money back. That's all, David. Don't say a word, just get out of here and get back to work. Bring 500 dollars tonight. Go on. Go."

I was incredibly relieved to hear that I only had to come up with 500 dollars as a kind of a deposit. If I had actually had to pay Mandy this amount on top of what she was already taking from my paychecks, it would have caused a serious financial issue. As it was, I already worried that I couldn't hide our losses from Becky indefinitely. I was still able to cover the monthly bills, but only by dipping into our savings. I could probably continue this strategy for about a year, but during that time, Becky would be expecting our savings to grow, and it wouldn't. Sooner or later she would notice. So far, I had just tried not to think about that.

After our class that evening, Mandy had me follow her to her office. Since it was evening, there were very few people around. As far as we could tell, there was no one at all on our floor. But one can never be sure of that; one of our colleagues could have been in their office with the door closed, working. Mandy closed the door behind us and locked it. Then she put out her upturned palm. "You got the money?"

"Yes, Miss Murphy."

"Give it to me." I handed her the 500 dollars in cash. She stood there imperiously, rifling through the bills, counting it. "Take off all your clothes, David. Get completely naked." I removed everything I was wearing, including my shoes and socks, and placed my clothing in a pile. She pointed to a drawer of her desk. "Open that drawer." When I did, I saw a folded-up piece of clear plastic. "Spread that out on the floor."

The plastic unfolded to make a sheet about 7 feet square. Mandy directed me to stand in a spot about a foot in from the edge, facing toward the center. "Now remember, David, if you don't do EXACTLY what I say, I'm keeping this money, and we're done here tonight. Don't say a word, and don't make a sound. If you do, this 500 bucks is mine. I'm gonna let you empty your balls, but you have to do EXACTLY what I say." She then went behind her desk to open another drawer, and pulled out a disposable plastic glove, like one might use for cleaning. She pulled the glove onto one of her hands, and then with the other produced a small tube from the desk drawer. From it, she squirted a small amount of clear lube onto her gloved fingers and smeared it around.

"Put your hands behind your back, David," she said, as she walked to a spot beside me. With her ungloved hand, she grasped the hair of my head from behind. With the lubed, gloved hand, she took hold of my dick, which was already hard and twitching. "Don't make a sound, David, and don't say a word. Do exactly what I tell you. Stay perfectly still until I tell you otherwise." She then started to move my dick around. Not exactly stroking it, just kind of pulling on it and waving it around. "Go ahead and cum, David. Come on. Cum. I don't have all night."

Before she even got the word 'night' out, I started to squirt. Jizz spurted out like a fountain. It felt UNBELIEVABLE. At least, for an instant. Then Mandy let go of my dick completely, and held my head by the hair, telling me to be perfectly still and not make a sound. It was all I could do to keep from whimpering as I watched my dick twitch in the empty air, depositing great, dripping globs of cum which splattered on the clear tarp below. I squinted my eyes tightly as a (very) poor substitute for furiously pumping my cock. Then I winced as Mandy pulled on my hair, downward, startling me as she hissed in my ear: "Now get your ass down there and clean that shit up." I went to my hands and knees, and she kept ahold of my hair as she went down with me. "Lick up that mess, David. Every bit of it. Do it. Lick up your cum. You better not gag. You better not say anything. You better not make a sound. Lick. Lick it up. Every fuckin' drop. You're gonna eat up every bit of that mess. That's it. Lick it, you little helpless slave. This is the price you pay for Miss Murphy letting you squirt that goo. You have to clean up your mess. Swallow it. Swallow that shit. That's it. Look at this mess you made on my plastic. Clean that up. Here's a spot over here, get it."

I was horrified to have to eat up my own semen right after cumming. Oh god. It was so disgusting. It was all globby and sticky, and tasted incredibly salty. It felt so gross in my mouth, and going down my throat. She had warned me not to gag, but I did cough a couple times. Once I had licked it all up, I could still taste it, of course, and it made me grimace.

When the clean-up was done, Mandy let go of my hair and said, "Stay right there." She took off the plastic glove and tossed it onto the tarp. She rolled her desk chair to the edge of the tarp, sat down in it in front of me, and said, "Take off my shoes, David, and kiss my feet. Now, we've emptied your balls for the time being. So now you should be able to concentrate better and be more productive for me. We'll do this every now and then... every... I don't know, month... or two. I'll decide when it's time. So... you will never again ASK me to be allowed to cum. I don't want you pestering me about it. I'll decide when it's time, and you'll just always be hoping for it but never know when it's coming. Understand? You can speak now."

I briefly stopped kissing her feet to say, "Yes, Miss Murphy."

"Now I want you to say, 'Thank you, Miss Murphy, for emptying my balls for me, and I would like you to have 200 dollars for your time and trouble.' Say it."

Under the circumstances, I was happy to submit to the shakedown, so I said, "Thank you, Miss Murphy, for emptying my balls for me, and I would like you to have 200 dollars for your time and trouble."

"Why, thank you, David!" she replied brightly, feigning surprise. "That is so sweet of you. Such a considerate little slaveboy." She got up, counted out 200 from the stack of bills, then laid the rest on the plastic beside me. "Now get dressed quickly, and get outta here. Go home to wifey, and get back to doing my work. Remember, next time, you don't ask. I decide when it's time to empty your balls."

As mentioned, Mandy spent around 15 hours a week on campus. Having a "little worker slave" meant that absolutely none of her time off-campus was spent working. So she had heaps and heaps of free time. I always wondered what she did with all of it, but I assumed that since she was in fact earning MY salary as a single woman in an apartment, with low expenses, she probably spent a lot of time shopping. I did see her with nice new stylish outfits and shoes all the time. I got snippets of information from time to time about how she spent her time: Out dancing at clubs, going out to eat on dates, going to movies, going to bars with friends, and apparently trying out every little cafe, restaurant, and bar in town.

Later I was to discover another way in which she spent fairly large chunks of her time, but I wouldn't find out about that until the financial hardship Mandy was imposing on me came to a head.

After we wrapped up the first semester of my work slavery, Mandy sat me down so we could look at our class schedule for the next semester. I had been assigned what should have been an absolute dream schedule; the longer you've been at TCC, the more they try and accommodate your preferences. For example, I had not taught any evening classes for years.

This time they assigned me 4 courses which all met on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, with my earliest class at 10:40 AM. Except for Mondays, when I had one late afternoon class that ran until 5:40 PM, I would have been done teaching at 2:10. Plus I should have been able to spend any given Tuesday or Thursday at home. But of course Mandy would fix that. I didn't have any say over my work schedule, or hours anymore. I had to keep the schedule she decided for me.

When Mandy compared my teaching schedule with hers, she was overjoyed. There was a grand total of 50 minutes a week of overlap. Both conflicts were on Mondays: She had a class running from 10:00 to 10:50, and I had one from 10:40 to 11:50. As far as she was concerned, that wasn't an issue at all; I would simply teach her class until 10:40, then say to her students, "Well, let's stop a little early today" and dismiss them. Then I'd rush to my 10:40 class and be a minute or two late, and apologize to my students, and then teach that class.

The other conflict involved a class she had that only met on Mondays, from 1:20 to 3:00. I had a class from 1:00 to 2:10. So Mandy would do the first part of that one, and of course I was expected to be there by 2:15 to do the last 45 minutes. (Naturally, she would also schedule a break at 2:05 so that she only had to do 45 minutes instead of 55.)

So, in exchange for a salary at my level, Mandy would spend 45 minutes a week in the classroom by herself, hold 10 hours a week of office hours which would involve her talking and texting on the phone mostly, until a student came to complain to her about "the teaching assistant, Davey". Then she'd put in another 2 or 3 hours a week to maintain friendly relations with her students, and a show of authority, by coming to her classes occasionally, to lord it over me and make me look like a buffoon.

Meanwhile I would earn a starting salary for juggling two full-time teaching jobs, not to mention the 10 additional hours each week in the student center, doing the phony "teaching assistant" help times.