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Turning the Tables

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James Wiltshire was the type of professor who was notorious not for his academic prowess or scholarly reputation, but for his looks and background. He was a new appointee to the University of Miskatonic in the fall to the history department. The women on campus gave him more attention than what he was comfortable with. He supposed it was his English accent that endeared him so to the female population.

Most of the women found him adorably shy, and some of the bolder ones considered him the ultimate conquest. The men could respect him for his intelligence, even as their girlfriends swooned over him.

Ashley Vaughn was one of the more nubile coeds at Miskatonic. Her academic and personal reputations preceded her everywhere she went. She was the youngest student in the Masters program at Miskatonic, and undeniably the brightest. She was withdrawn and focused, preferring to study in the library to taking part of drinking or partying.

The one thing the two had in common was having reputations that were far from the truth.

James had noticed her papers were always impeccable. She was always on time, always taking notes, and never said a word. Her papers intrigued him in a way he thought was probably not quite appropriate. He had caught himself wishing she’d come to his office hours on several occasions. Not to be seduced – though he certainly wouldn’t mind that – but he did respect her mind. He imagined having long talks with her about her interests in history over cups of Earl Grey.

And maybe bending her over his desk and banging her senseless. He was, after all, a man.

His fantasies – both of tea and sex – went unanswered for most of the semester. It wasn’t until a month before the semester was over that a tapping interrupted him at his door. He was irritated until he saw her standing in his doorway, dressed more like a professor than a student. She wore a fitted jacket and skirt that accented her curves. His mouth went dry for a moment, and he praised God that some women didn’t buy into the stick mentality. She was fit, and had curves. He hoped some lucky man got to appreciate them.

“Miss Vaughn. What can I do for you?”

She smiled disarmingly and walked into his office. It was not lost on him that she walked slowly and purposefully. Her smoky violet eyes, which he had previously thought to be gray-blue, held his eyes intently as she closed the door behind him. He swallowed hard. It wasn’t against the rules to be behind closed doors with a student, though it was generally discouraged at the risk of making the student feel uncomfortable.

“May I sit down?”

“Oh! Of course. How rude of me. Please, sit.”

She smiled slowly in such a way that sent chills down his spine. He was somehow getting the impression that every action she made was planned. Carefully thought out to play on fantasies of his that she had somehow found out about. She sat down gracefully, then began casually rifling through her shoulder bag that she had with her.

“Ah … would you care for some tea?”

He almost blushed when he said it. Without looking up, she murmured “please” and continued looking for whatever it was that she needed. He noticed that she crossed her legs, and he sorely wished there wasn’t a desk between them obstructing his view. He began heating up the water for the tea in a coffee maker and retrieved two random mugs from his desk. At long last she pulled a thick pack of paper from her bag and set it on his desk. Her smile widened, as though she had some secret. James glanced at the paper, and then took a second look with confusion.

“My thesis, Miss Vaughn?”

She smiled, nodded, and leaned back. Her next words put out the heat in his loins without any kindness.

“I’ve highlighted the parts you’ve plagiarized. Other than that, it was very original.”

He froze. He could deny it. Demand she leave his office. She was staring at him like he was a monkey and she expected him to do tricks. He had thought those eyes of hers to be soft and demure. He now found them cold and callous. Damn American Bitch, he thought.

“What makes you think I’ve -”

“Don’t insult my intelligence.”

She interrupted him. She fixed him with a cold smile until she saw the slight sag in his shoulders. She had already won. She liked playing this game, and she hadn’t even gotten to the best part. She rose from her chair, reaching up to her hair as and freeing her hair from the loose bun she had it in. She walked around his desk slowly, propping herself on the edge of it in front of him.

“Ask me what I want to keep quiet about this, Dr. Wiltshire.”

She had just squelched the heat in his body, and without a thought ignited it once more. His eyes roamed over her legs in a luxurious moment before he swallowed and asked a bit hoarsely.

“What do you want to keep quiet about this, Miss Vaughn?”

Her smile widened. He saw that she liked him playing to her whims, playing this game of hers. He resented this position of power she had over him, yet at the same time it felt strangely erotic.

“To start with, the tea you offered me.”

Her eyes flickered to the coffee maker. It had just finished filtering the last bit of heated water. He took two mugs and put a teabag each in them, then filled them with steaming hot water. She swirled her teabag absently as she let it steep.

“Can you guess what color panties I’m wearing, Dr. Wiltshire?”

He coughed suddenly and blushed. Guess? No, he couldn’t guess. But he sure as hell could fantasize – and he did. He had thought of her sitting in the front row of his class, prim and proper to the last, with black crotch less panties on underneath a modest skirt. He imagined skimming his fingers along her smooth thighs to find a dripping wet sex and a very willing student.

“That’s hardly an appropriate question, Miss Vaughn!”

“And it’s hardly appropriate to plagiarize your doctorate thesis, Dr. Wiltshire.”

She pushed her cup of tea aside and grabbed his hand. His mind told him to resist. His body decided to see where she was going with this. Still propped up on his desk, she raised her right leg and set a heeled foot on his leg. She brought his hand along the skin of her thighs, which was exactly as he had envisioned it. She led it up to the hot nether regions of her body, letting his fingers feel thin lace covering an inviting spot on her body.

“Can you guess now, Dr. Wiltshire?”


He offered weakly. She shook her head and tsked softly.

“No imagination whatsoever. I’m glad your office has carpeting. Get on your back – on the floor.”

He opened his mouth to protest. To his surprise, she slapped him lightly across the face. Her intent was clear. She eyed him dangerously, and tapped her fingers on his thesis. For a moment he glared at her. He certainly wouldn’t mind boning her, but he should be the one to be in charge. This was hardly fair. He obliged her demand and moved from his desk to the floor on his back. She smiled, and stood above him, her feet slightly more than shoulder width apart. From here he had a nice view of her panties. Her burgundy colored lace panties.

“Burgundy. Miss Vaughn.”

She smiled and nodded approvingly. Silently she hiked up her skirt and then straddled him. It was in direct contrast to how she normally was – elegant and quiet.

“Here’s our deal, Dr. Wiltshire. You’re to do everything I say, without argument, and I’ll stay mum on your little indiscretion of your thesis, here. Say no, I walk out now and report you to the Dean of Humanities. Your choice.”

He shot her a sour look. Even though he had fantasized about taking her body and had desired her sex, he hated being blackmailed like this.

“I don’t really have a choice, do I? I’ll do as you say.”

She moved quickly, surprising him quite a bit. In a second she was on his face, grinding herself over him. She moved her panties to the side and her full wetness hit him like a waterfall. He inhaled her scent, hating that he found it so enticing.

“Lick. Don’t stop till I tell you.”

He closed his eyes. He was a man; he didn’t have to take this. He reached up in anger and grabbed her wrists hard enough to bruise. To his dismay she only grinned with a wild look in her eyes.

“Please. Even if you turned the tables and raped me, I’d still have your thesis and proof of your plagiarism.”

He gritted his teeth and let out a low guttural growl at her. Not letting go of her wrists, he pulled her down and thrust his tongue on her. It was a savage tonguing. He juices flowed, and he lapped at her greedily. He sucked on her clit, savoring every moan and gasp of pleasure that came from her mouth. She grinded herself over him and he shoved his tongue in deeper, probing her depths. Suddenly she pulled back, her breath ragged though she had yet to come. She wrenched a hand from him and grabbed his chin for him to look at her.

“Tell me what you’re doing. Tell me now.”

He could respond with sweet poetry to make her swoon, but it wasn’t what either of them wanted. Most importantly, he had to admit begrudgingly to himself, it wasn’t what she wanted.

“I’m licking your pussy. Thrusting my tongue deep into your hot sex.”

She moaned and tilted her head back and grinded on his face harder. Her hands feverishly worked to unbutton her jacket, revealing a bra that matched her panties underneath. She tossed the jacket aside then took herself from his mouth. He whimpered softly. She had tasted so hot and erotic.

“Take your pants off.”

She was breathing heavy. Her breasts heaved with each inhalation. He stared at the soft mounds of flesh as his fingers fumbled with the button and zipper of his pants. He wriggled out of them eagerly like a high school boy getting ready for his first time. She noticed his dark honey-brown eyes fixated on her breasts.

“Do you like them?”

“Your tits are gorgeous.”

She unclasped the back of her bra and tossed it aside. Cupping her breasts, she lifted them up and shot her tongue out on her own nipple. He groaned as his penis throbbed painfully with longing. She leaned forward, shoving her right nipple into his mouth. He nibbled, sucked and bit greedily on the flesh, almost wanting to hurt her. For her part she reached down his boxers and stroked his hard shaft roughly. Her lips were near his ear, whispering words of eroticism.

“You like this, don’t you? You loved eating my wet pussy, and you love sucking on my tits. You’re just waiting to fuck me, aren’t you? You’re my fuck toy. Don’t forget that. My fuck toy. I’m going to shove your dick into my sopping wet pussy and ride you for all you’re worth. I’m going to come all over your cock and make you beg to fill me with your cum. Beg me to ride you. Beg me, fuck toy.”

He didn’t want to tear himself from her succulent nipple, but he wanted to bury his hard cock in her soaking cunt. He tore himself from her wet nipple, staring at her flushed face.

“Ride me, Miss Vaughn. Mount me with your wet cunt. I want to see your titties bounce as you bounce up and down on my fuck stick. I want to cover you with my cum. I want your cum soaking my cock.”

She didn’t bother taking off her panties. She shoved his boxers down just enough to reveal his throbbing nine-inch penis.

“Can you take all of that, Miss Vaughn?”

In response she shoved herself onto his dick, impaling herself and shooting pleasure through both of their bodies.

“Stop talking, fuck toy. And don’t you dare cum without my permission.”

He groaned as she grinded her pussy on his dick. Her hips went up and down, coating his rod with the juices of her wanton desire. It wasn’t how he imagined taking her, but god it was good. She looked gorgeous, mounted above him, his cock ramming her cunt and her tits bouncing with every thrust. Her hair was dark and wild and her body was covered in a light sheen of sweat that comes with good sex. No, he corrected himself. Good fucking. And it was – it was great fucking. He penetrated to her core.

“Now you can talk, fuck toy. Tell me how it feels, how you love it.”

God, she was a kinky bitch. Thinking of how she’d be sitting in the front row of his class the next day, taking notes as quiet as usual just made him throb even more intensely.

“My cock feels so good inside your tight, wet cunt. I can feel your juices sliding out of your little fuck hole and running down around my balls. God, I could do this all night. I can feel the inside of your sweet pussy clenching around my hard dick. I want to feel you squirm around when I take your nectar out. I want to feel you deeper. I want to make you scream. I can feel you swirling your hips around me, making my dick stretch out your wanton little insides. You dirty, naughty little slut. You’re a cockwhore, aren’t you?’

His words were cut off sharply with a slap and an angry look as she pounded harder on top of him. She leaned down, kissing him viciously and biting his lip hard enough to cause a bit of bleeding.

“Bad fuck toy. You’re the slut. You’re the cuntwhore. You’re the one who will do anything I say to feel my pussy around your little fuck stick. Beg me not to stop, fuck toy, and make it good.”

She slowed her pace, and he was genuinely afraid she would stop, take that dripping wet pussy of hers and leave. She dipped her fingers down to her sticky clit and rubbed hard.

“Don’t stop, please, for the love of God don’t stop. I am a cuntwhore, I need to feel your cunt around my dick. I’m your fuck toy, please, please use me. Your cunt feels so fucking good around my dick.”

She was breathing even more ragged now, and he could tell by her jittery, spasming movements that she was there at the edge. He felt her explode around his dick, and it was too much for him to bear. His hands grabbed her hips viciously as he plunged into her deeper than ever. Her cries came out to him.

“Oh god yes! Fuck me!”

He shoved into her deeper, obeying her command. His own seed exploded from his dick, coating the inside of her raw pussy with his cum. He groaned and shuddered, his actions no longer his own.

“Fuck! Fuck!”

It was all he could manage. She collapsed against him, spent and exhausted. His cum leaked out slowly from her used hole. After a few minutes of lying there, she moved. He forced himself not to keep her there. Her warmth was so good against his skin. He just then realized he had fucked with his shirt and tie still on. She rose and took off her panties, which he found out that she did after the fact. And then he realized her intent as she sat back down and pushed her used pussy to his mouth. She grabbed his tie and yanked till his mouth was against her hole.

“I told you not to cum without permission, fuck toy. Now clean me. Lick your cum from my pussy hole, you cuntwhore.”

He tried to struggle from the act, but her thighs held his face against her cunt. He could smell himself on her cunt; his cum had leaked from her hole onto his lips.

“Lick me clean, or I show off your handy thesis.”

She hissed out. He hesitated a moment longer, then started lapping gently. It wasn’t long before she was moaning, grinding, and rubbing. He licked and sucked their juices from her pussy, and soon enough tasted new ones run from her cunt. She was sensitive, and within minutes she had flooded his mouth with a new wave of sticky sweet cum.

“Fuck. Lick that up too, fuck toy. Clean me good.”

It was another five minutes before she had moved from his face. Another five minutes of his tongue delving into her used sex, swirling around her clit, and lapping up her cum. Once she rose she dressed without looking at him. After her hair was bound in the loose bun, she grabbed her bag.

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Dr. Wiltshire.”

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