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Graduation
by Touchstone
"Isaac said he had to go home, he wasn't feeling well," I hear his voice from the hallway outside the room, the lie sounding as confident as when he's standing in front of the lecture theatre, talking about stock markets and trade."He had to leave in a hurry but he promised he'd call you in the morning."
"Oh." I can hear the surprise mixed with disappointment in Elaine's voice. Even without looking at her I can tell from behind the locked study door that she's right now wondering why I didn't tell her. "Well anyway, thanks for the dinner Professor, and for the whole year." I hear her sentiments echoed by a bunch of other voices, followed by the footfalls of my coursemates leaving. At least she wouldn't be going home alone tonight. She'll probably follow the guys to the bar, try my cellphone at least five times than give up. It won't matter- my phone's turned off in my pocket. He explicitly told me to make sure of that before he left me here alone.
So how did I end up here? I came to dinner with the rest of them, and now I'm somehow sitting alone behind a desk, my shirt unbuttoned and by pants unzipped, flustered, covered in sweat, and yet strangely calm about all this. My mouth is hanging slightly open, getting a little dry now after the half hour I've spent sitting motionlessly in the dark just as I was told to. The last thing I remember tasting is of course, his tongue, rich with the expensive wine he'd served for us before as he held me with those rough hands against the bookcase, my arms not willing to respond to my attempts to break free.
But that was almost thirty minutes ago. An eternity, it seems when you're left with a semi-functioning brain and all the time to draw blanks as to the reason why you let it happen.
I hear him pass by the door a few times without actually stopping to open it. My heart beats faster every time I hear his footsteps draw near, and yet it seems to keep eventually growing faint. Like he's going back and forth from- oh, of course. He's cleaning up the dining room, or getting changed or something. A weird part of me wonders why I'm not allowed to help.
Eventually the passing heavy footsteps stop before the door, I can see the shadow they cast through shafts of light that leak into the room beneath the door. The turning of the key in the doorknob, and suddenly my eyes are blinded by light from the corridor, blocked only by his silhouette as he stands in the doorframe.
My eyes eventually adjust, and I can start to make out the knowing grin on his face, framed by the thick graying full beard around his square jaw. He is still wearing the blue shirt he wore at dinner, but it's now unbuttoned, revealing a white sleeveless undershirt, barely covering the thick mat of fur protruding out from the sides. He discards it casually as he steps into the room, flicking on the light switch as he does, and I can see the stories about him working out at the gym probably weren't exaggerated. Sitting far away from him in a lecture theatre, I never quite appreciated how broad his shoulders were, how strong and perfectly sculpted his arms looked. The intensity of his gaze I had just been reminded off earlier when we'd first come into the room. Those piercing blue eyes felt as though they had been the force exerting pressure on my shoulders, getting me down on my knees. Even now while I sit in this chair, I can feel them willing me to take that position again, and finish what we started.
He walks in, past the desk and turns the chair so that I'm facing him.
"They're gone now, boy," he says, his voice rich and deep, flowing through my veins like melted honey. "It's just you and me."
And before I can say or do anything else, he grabs me by my loosened necktie and pulls me back on my feet, straight into his arms, straight into my second kiss that night that hadn't come from my now absent girlfriend. My body pressed tightly against his chest, my lips now more willing than they had been earlier that night, it doesn't take long before I'm moaning at his fingertips now trailing underneath my shirt, from the taste of wine and pasta in his mouth and alien, musky odor that assails my nostrils which can only be his sweat – a delicacy I would have found repulsive yesterday but now only seems to cause my cock to swell further in my pants.
My hands are now at the back of his head, seemingly wanting more of his face pressed into mine, tussling his short gray hair as much as I can as though in revenge for the state mine's in after he guided my face towards his clothed crotch earlier. Before long he's growling possessively and I'm back against the bookshelf, my shirt discarded and his hips grinding against mine in a smooth and steady rhythm, my moans and pleas escalating with his movements.
Some distant, rapidly dying part of my brain reminds me that if I were to be observing what was happening now, I would be disgusted. I would fight. I would run. Maybe even scream. Anything but beg for more the way that I'm doing now.
But I'm not the observer now. Not the same way as in my dreams these past couple of months. I'm now the object of his desires, and now powerless to deny his gestures.
I snap back to the here and now as I feel his fingers coil around my erection, fishing it out of my pants. It throbs achingly in his grip and I feel myself lean back into him as though for comfort. And then another hand wraps around my wrist, and I feel it guided to his own crotch, navigating past the zipper until each of us has a steady, full erection in hand. I feel its warmth radiating straight down to mine. Every throb within my grasp sending a shudder down my spine as I finally come to terms with how big it really is.
This is his final means of enslaving me. Thick, healthy and brimming with vitality, I realize with despair that I want it inside me. Mouth or ass- I don't care, so long as he lets loose his cum within me, pumping me full with his desire.
A steady pressure on my shoulders guides me down onto my knees as before. The heady scent of an older man now completely enveloping my senses as I get a closer. It looks even better now. So close I can almost taste it without opening my mouth, the head brushing tantalizingly in front of my nose.
And I realize, through some kind of dreamlike filter, that I have been in this position before. Not in his study of course, but who cares for such details? And all of a sudden it makes sense how I did not fail his class. Why I could never for the life of me remember how I had answered that last paper, yet still managed to impress the old man. Why people always asked about our private studying sessions, ones I could never remember.
"You know what this means, don't you boy?"
I gaze up at him and see his almost fatherly smile. Of course I remembered. I'm no longer his student. After tonight we could finally be together. One last spurt of potent manseed down my throat, and all traces of Isaac Bramble, who had been dying slowly for the past few months would be washed away. What was left would be his to do as he pleased.
I lick my lips visibly to let him know my answer, and he chuckles in response. It's a comforting sound that reminds me of coffee- the taste on his tongue the first time we kissed in his office. I hadn't been so willing back then. But this God of man has managed to go past each and every one of Isaac's defences.
And now I was the prize.
"You always were such an eager boy," he laughs. A half-truth, at best. But now and forevermore, my reality. My law.
I give a long hard lick on the underside of his shaft, grasping it with one hand. My mind races at the familiar taste. I've done this enough times. I know now how to please him, and pleasing him is all that matters.
"Such a good student," he moans approvingly as I begin to swirl my tongue around the head, revelling in the pre-seed that starts to trickle, nuzzling contentedly into the big, warm hand that touches my cheek.
And then I return to the task at hand, slowly, tantalizingly taking him in inch by inch, loving every delicious shudder he makes, every gasp, every throb. I feel him brushing against the back of my throat and gag slightly, but it's gotten better. I've gotten better. Soon I'll feel him everywhere, and I will be complete.
Before long he has his hands on the back of my head again, setting the pace, setting the rules. He shouts praises which make me blush as I feel his hips pounding again and again against my face, my hands cradling the fine curves of his ass. Never again will I be cursed to forget these fleeting moments. These throes laden with musk, sweat, pre-cum and lust. I can't voice the rising feeling inside me, my mouth so full with heavy and thick flesh, so I egg him on in every possible other way I can. Isaac has been fearing this moment since the first time with the pocketwatch. We are so far beyond that now – watch, eyes, spirals, CDs, cock, mouth, nothing compares to this.
He warns me of the impending moment, but I do not recede. I take him in as deep as I can to let him know how much I truly want to be his, and while his tightening grip on my face hurts, nothing compares to the joy brought with the first drop I feel cascading down my throat. I pull back slightly, let it pulse and pump it all on my tongue. Vaguely I'm aware that my own hips are bucking as well, my own completion showing itself clear on the thick red carpet. It doesn't matter now. I will clean it up with my tongue if he so desires.
I let him go still in my mouth without even trying to pull back. I swallow it all down with an audible gulp as he finally recedes from my hungry tongue, pulling me up onto my feet by a strong grip beneath my chin.
He says nothing. I say nothing. He needs only look into my eyes to know that Isaac, well, the old Isaac is well and truly dead.
"Professor Whi-
"Derek," he interrupts me. "I'm not your professor anymore. That was the whole point of tonight, remember?"
I could call him that.
"Sir, if you prefer. It's up to you," he continues.
Much better.
"Sir, I-
He stills my tongue with his own. And before long we are on a heap on his carpet, a tangle of flesh, limbs and sweat. Why ruin the moment with words, after all? We had the rest of our lives to do the talking.
Comments
* Graduation
17:50 on 2010-08-21
Story needs more complete flashbacks...only alludes to hypnotism & mind control.
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* Graduation
19:48 on 2010-08-21 by J.
Now, that's the kind of professor I wish I'd had in college!
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* Graduation
08:08 on 2010-09-01
Excellent! Nicely written and hot!
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* Graduation
00:39 on 2010-09-10
Wow! Great story!
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