The Screwing Letters

Dear Lamia,

I haven't heard from you since your untimely exit from the University. Perhaps it's forward of me, but I took the liberty of going through the books you left behind in your dormitory. Given the fact that you considered me your mentor in most of the Daemonic Arts, I believe that this was the only appropriate course of action. After all, I was thoroughly left in the lurch by your departure. No one seemed to know any more than I did, and it was unimaginable to me that you, a bright young student well on her way to perfecting the Heretical Studies, had left so abruptly.

And then I read your books. As the senior archivist of the University's library, I request that all wayward tomes be delivered into my care when possible, so I was pleased to see your familiar scribblings again. But as I paged through your notebooks, it became clear to me why you left your studies. I will reproduce some particularly enlightening excerpts below:

'I had a long session with him today. Studying the 6th Sepulchre Verse, as if my mind could concentrate on such a thing. All I wanted was for him to slide one of his big, searingly hot hands up my thigh and push his fingers inside of my wet little hole.'

'A lecture with him today, on the Daemonic virtues of Lust. I waited until everyone else left to stand up, because I had unwisely worn a skirt that day, and everyone would've undoubtedly seen the wetness of my pussy dripping down my thighs. How can a man bewitch me like this?'

'I'll be leaving him after my final dissertation, and I can't stand it. He left his scarf on his desk yesterday, and I brought it to my room. I balled it up, lay on my belly, and pushed it between my legs, rocking myself to a violent orgasm on that rough wool. I can't imagine having to get a new mentor, seeing him around campus until we become nothing but friendly strangers. Bathina told me he has a wife. I hate her.'

Now. Lamia. Consider my great surprise when I learned that I myself was the reason for your egress. I, who had done nothing but try and instill a scholarly love of learning in the heart of a student I thought to be innocent. I sat in my office going over these notebooks of yours, unsure of what to think. So, I did the logical thing, my dear.

I pulled my thick cock out of my pants and began to stroke it. I wish it had been your little hand wrapped around it. I've seen those pretty hands of yours wrapped around cups of lava from the cafeteria, and those pretty little fingers wrapped around pens and pencils. But by our Overlord and all his might, I wish I could see your little fingers pumping in and out of your pretty pink pussy as you drench your bed with your squirt. That was what occupied my mind as I shucked my hand down the length of my cock. I was thinking of you, little Lamia.

And, since I'm a bachelor who has committed himself to nothing other than libraries and the occasional ill-fated dalliance (Bathina was greatly mistaken), I offer you a chance to continue your studies from wherever you may be now. You were my brightest student, and it seems a shame that your education can't continue. I propose that we begin an intense study regimen, with regular letters detailing how you're getting on.

Warm regards,

Zaleos

Dear Sir,

Upon receiving your letter, I confess to being overcome by intense feelings of mortification. We are the harbingers of sin, and I certainly know that I was encouraged to sin in University. But I still have nothing but the deepest admiration for you, and I'm horrified at the thought that I may have offended you. I was quite ready to cast the letter into my fireplace and try never to think of you again.

After I took some time, however, I reconsidered your proposition, and it does indeed seem to be a delightful one. And, as it goes, a particularly apt one. You see, after I left the University, I was at a loss for what to do with myself. I stayed with my grandmother for a while, but she lives in the desolate wilderness of the Upper Reaches, and I prefer warmer climates. So I got a job with Madam Terpsichore's Cabaret, where we occasionally venture down into the human world and spread sin and temptation. I've even performed before one of the High Dukes in the Lower Reaches. During these dances, I'm instructed to do everything I can to induce orgasm. Everything except penetration, of course, as humans die if they engage in full intercourse with us.

So, I suppose this is my roundabout way of saying that your lessons will be greatly useful as well as deeply pleasurable. I must beg your pardon for the silliness of my schoolgirl crush, and for the hastiness of my exit.

Given the nature of our relationship, sir, I suppose the best way to beg your pardon is to get on my knees. I only wish you could see me when I'm on my knees, because the very act of doing so sends me into a submissive frenzy. My mouth is hanging open, waiting for a cock to fill it with that most delicious of fluids. My pussy is dripping wet, and I relish the pain of having to kneel on a hard floor, waiting for someone to use me.

But sadly, you are not here, sir. So I resorted to placing clothespins on my nipples and sliding my large artificial cock into my hungry pussy. It's made of hardened lava, and it began to heat as its size stretched me and I pounded it into my cervix. I felt the most delightful burning as I began to tremble. I suppose I looked quite wanton, since I was imagining that your cock was the one giving me such delicious pain. The clothespins on my nipples were making me squirm and wince, and yet I didn't take them off. I simply let the waves of pain carry me along as I pounded the lava cock into my pussy. I squirted profusely, sir, but even those gushes didn't cool the heat of that cock. As my orgasm drew so close that I could almost taste it, I forced myself to stop.

And I haven't cum since I did that two days ago, sir. It's your pardon that I'm begging, after all. Only you can allow me to cum. Would you like me to cum? Or would you like me to continue to deny myself the peak of my pleasure? My clit throbs as I write this, and it is only through the greatest restraint that I do not rub it and let myself squeal and squirt all over my bed.

Oh, and as for my education, I've returned to translating the Heretical Verses. They've proved a welcome distraction from my plight.

Yours,

Lamia