SMASH or PASS

The dean’s office wasn’t an office. It was a fucking throne room. Dark wood, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a massive mahogany desk that looked like it had been carved from a single, ancient tree. The air smelled like leather, old money, and her perfume, something expensive and icy.

She was standing by the window, back to me, silhouetted against the evening sky. She didn’t turn around.

"Close the door, Mr. Noel."

Her voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It carried the weight of the entire fucking academy in it. I closed the door. The click was the sound of a cage locking.

"You have," she began, still not looking at me, "the moral compass of a feral cat. And the self-control of one in heat." She finally turned. Her whisky-colored hair was down, a cascade over her shoulders. The severe pantsuit was gone, replaced by a silk blouse and tailored trousers that might as well have been painted on. Her glasses perched on her nose, reflecting the lamplight and hiding her eyes. "Seventeen formal complaints. Disruption of academic focus. A blatant, flagrant disregard for the social order you are a guest within."

She took a slow step toward me. Her heels clicked on the polished floor like a metronome measuring out my judgment.

"Is it because you’re commoner-born?" she mused, a cruel, thoughtful tilt to her head. She stopped in front of me, close enough that I could feel the chill radiating from her. "A mongrel with just enough devil in you to feel hunger, but not enough breeding to know how to curb it? To understand that some things aren’t for taking?"

"Dean—"

"Quiet." The word was a lash. "You don’t speak until I permit it." She circled me now, a predator assessing prey. "You see a woman and you think: mine. You see a rule and you think: breakable. You see consequences and you think they apply to other, lesser men." She came to a stop in front of me again. "Lie down. On the rug. Now."

I hesitated. My pride screamed. But lust thrummed in my veins, and the authority in her voice was a physical force. I slowly lowered myself onto the thick, expensive Persian rug in the center of the room. The fibers were soft against my back.

She looked down at me, her expression one of cold, academic disdain. "Pathetic. So quick to kneel when commanded by real authority. All your bravado, your conquests," she sneered the word, "melt away, don’t they?"

This bitch—

She should be thankful that she was the dean.

She stepped closer, until the pointed toe of her high-heeled shoe was inches from my hip. "You are a problem, Mr. Noel. A stain on my institution’s reputation. A vector of chaos." With deliberate slowness, she raised her foot and placed the sole of her heeled pump on my crotch. Not hard. Just pressure. Through the fabric of my pants, I could feel the cool leather, the arch of her foot. She began to rub, slow, grinding circles. My dick, traitorous and hungry, responded immediately, swelling against the pressure.

"See?" she murmured, her voice dripping with contempt. "Even now. Even under reprimand. Your base nature asserts itself. A dog presented with a shoe."

The pressure increased slightly. The teasing, degrading friction was maddening. I was hard as stone, trapped under her heel.

"You want to be treated like an animal, don’t you?" she said, almost conversationally. "So I shall."

She lifted her foot. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Then she turned her back to me. Her hands went to the fastening of her trousers. She undid them, and with a slow, deliberate shimmy, let them slide down her legs. She stepped out of them, kicking the expensive fabric aside.

What was revealed stole the air from my lungs.

Her ass. It was a masterpiece. Huge, pale, perfectly round moons that glowed in the lamplight. The silk of her thong was a mere whisper, a dark line disappearing between cheeks that looked like they’d been sculpted by a horny god. It was an ass that demanded worship.

She didn’t turn around. She just backed up, her heels finding their place on either side of my hips, and then she lowered herself. Not onto my dick. She lowered that glorious, pale ass until it hovered just above my face. The scent of her—expensive perfume undercut by the musk of her arousal—filled my senses.

"You will learn respect," she stated, her voice taut. "You will learn your place. And you will learn it by servicing the woman whose word determines whether you remain in this world or are cast back into the gutter you crawled from."

Then she settled. Her full weight, her massive, soft ass, came to rest on my face. The silk of her thong was a thin, damp barrier. "Begin."

I didn’t need to be told twice. My hands came up, gripping the generous flesh of her hips, holding her in place. I turned my head, nuzzled aside the flimsy fabric of her thong, and found her pussy with my tongue.

She was already soaked. Hot, slick, and tasted like salt and power. A sharp, shuddering gasp escaped her. Her composure cracked for a second.

I ate her out like a man starving. My tongue dove deep, lapping at her entrance, then flicked up to circle her swollen clit. Schlick. Lap. Gulp. The sounds were lewd, wet, and entirely hers now. I sucked on her lips, buried my face deeper, my nose pressed against her asshole as I worshipped her cunt.

"Nnngggh!" she moaned, a harsh, bitten-off sound. Her hips began to move, grinding her pussy against my mouth. "Y-yes... you filthy... commoner... tongue..."

I doubled down. I slid a hand around, my thumb finding her other hole, pressing against the tight ring while my tongue worked her furiously. She cried out, her back arching. Her hands braced on her own knees, her knuckles white.

"Fuck! Right there! Lick it! Lick your dean’s whorish cunt! Ah! Ah!"

I was drowning in her. The taste, the smell, the feel of her trembling and losing control above me. Her moans became a continuous, pleading chant. "Nhnnn! Don’t stop! Don’t you dare stop! I own you! I own this—!"

Her climax hit her suddenly. Her whole body seized. A gush of her juices flooded my mouth as she let out a raw, screaming cry that was utterly un-deanlike. She shook, her ass clenching, her thighs squeezing my head as she rode out the waves against my tongue.

When the tremors finally subsided, she was panting, slumped slightly. She lifted herself off my face, leaving me gasping, my chin glistening. She turned, still on her knees above me, and looked down. Her glasses were fogged. Her expression was no longer disdainful, but hazy, satisfied, and utterly in charge.

She reached down, her fingers tracing my slick, cum-stained jawline. "Good," she breathed, her voice hoarse. "You can be taught. Now... get up. We’re not finished. The real discipline has yet to begin."

She climbed off me, her massive, beautiful ass swaying as she walked, naked from the waist down, back toward her imposing desk. She left me lying on the rug, hard, used, and completely at her mercy.

Fuck it.

The dean’s "real discipline" line was the last fucking straw. That smug, superior tone. That ass, still swaying, marked by my mouth, acting like she held all the cards.

No more.

As she turned, one hand on her desk for support, I moved. It wasn’t thought. It was pure, furious instinct. I lunged up from the rug, my hand shooting out to grab a fistful of that expensive whisky-colored hair. I yanked.

She gasped, a sharp, surprised sound, stumbling back against me. "You—!"

I didn’t let her finish. I spun her around, shoving her forward until her massive, pale ass was pressed against my hips, her front bent over the edge of her own gigantic desk. My free hand went to my pants, shoving them down just enough to free my dick, which was so hard it ached.

"No more talking," I growled in her ear. I spat into my hand, slicked myself, and without any further ceremony, I lined up and shoved.

I buried myself to the hilt in one brutal, deep, tearing thrust. Her pussy was still soaked from my mouth, but it was tight, clenching in shocked protest.

She screamed. A raw, shattered sound that echoed off the vaulted ceiling. "UNNHH! YOU BRUTE!"

"Shut up," I snarled, my hand coming down hard on the nearest ass cheek. SMACK! The sound was a gunshot in the quiet room. A bright red handprint bloomed on her perfect, pale skin.

I started fucking her. Hard. Deep. Punishing. Each drive of my hips slammed her body into the solid mahogany. The desk shook. Papers and ornaments rattled.

"Nnnnggghe! Y-you... insolent... mongrel! I’ll fucking expel you!" she cried out, her voice breaking on a moan as I hit a spot deep inside her. Her fingers clawed at the polished wood.

SMACK! I slapped her other ass cheek. "Take it, you fucking slut!" I grunted, pistoning into her. The wet, meaty slap of our bodies was a relentless rhythm. Squelch. Thud. Slap.

"Ah! Ah! F-filthy!" she sobbed, but she was pushing back against me, meeting my thrusts. The disdain in her words was completely undercut by the desperate, whorish undulation of her hips. "Is this... all the... commoner... can muster? Nnh!"

I fucked her harder, my grip on her hair tightening, using it for leverage. I changed the angle slightly, driving upward.

"GYAAHHH!" she shrieked, her body bowing. "There! RIGHT THERE, YOU ANIMAL!"

Her composure was gone. Shattered. She was just a moaning, screaming, wet mess being ruthlessly pounded over her own desk. Her moans were a symphony of degradation. "Hnngg! Fuuuck! Y-yes! Pound it! P-pound your dean’s... slutty... cunt! Nnnnghyeah!"

I could feel the pressure building in my balls, coiling tight. Her inner walls were fluttering, spasming around me, milking me toward the edge. "You... you’re going to... come in me... aren’t you?" she panted, her voice a wrecked, taunting whisper. "Disgusting... do it... fill your... superior..."

That was it. With a final, guttural roar, I slammed into her one last time, crushing her against the desk, and erupted. I came deep inside her, pulse after hot, thick pulse painting her womb. She felt it, and it triggered her own climax. Her scream was muffled as she buried her face in her arms, her body convulsing violently around my still-pumping cock, her ass clenching and trembling.

For a long moment, the only sounds were our ragged, gasping breaths and the wet, dripping evidence of what we’d done.

I slowly pulled out. A gush of our mixed fluids followed, dripping down her trembling thighs onto the priceless rug below.

I straightened my clothes, tucking my spent dick away. She didn’t move. Just lay slumped over the desk, a used, conquered, glorious mess, her huge ass on full display, marked red and glistening.

I leaned down, my lips close to her ear. "Lesson learned, Dean?"

A weak, shuddering breath was her only reply. Then, a hoarse, utterly defeated whisper. "...get the fuck out."

I did. I left her there, broken over her own authority, and closed the door softly behind me. The hallway was silent. My heart was pounding.

Fuck. That was... something else.

On the other hand, I might get fucking expelled...

What the fuck did I just do!?