SMASH or PASS

"No one is here right now~"

The hallway was empty, all polished stone and quiet. Her words hung in the air, a justification that sounded rehearsed, but her eyes weren’t on mine anymore. They’d dropped south, locked onto the front of my pants like they’d found their true purpose.

"My fucking fiancé couldn’t stop bitching about you," she purred, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. Then she took a step forward, closing the distance completely. Her hands came up, fumbling with my belt buckle. Her fingers trembled, but they were determined.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I hissed, though I didn’t stop her.

The +50% was at work for sure...

"What they’re all afraid of," she breathed, finally popping the button of my pants and tugging the zipper down. "Someone taking what they want without permission."

My dick sprang free, already half-hard from the sheer fucking audacity of the situation and the pheromone-saturated room we’d just left. She didn’t even blink. Just dropped to her knees on the cold stone floor, her perky ponytail bouncing.

She looked up at me with those big, wide, innocent blue eyes, licked her plump pink lips, and then took me into her mouth without another word.

’Holy shit.’

It wasn’t even hesitant. It was greedy. Her mouth was hot and wet, and she went down on me like she was trying to win a fucking trophy.

Schlorp. Gulp. Slurp.

The sounds were obscenely loud in the silent corridor. She deep-throated me on the third try, her nose pressing into my pelvis, her throat working around me with a tight, convulsive swallow that made me see stars.

"Fuck," I grunted, my head thumping back against the wall. My hands came up, tangled in her glossy blonde ponytail. I didn’t guide her. She didn’t need it. I just held on, feeling the rhythm of her head as she bobbed up and down.

She was a goddamn prodigy. Her tongue swirled around the head every time she came up for a wet, gasping breath. She’d moan around me, the vibrations traveling straight to my balls. She used her hands too, one cupping and kneading my balls, the other stroking what she couldn’t fit in her mouth. The wet, messy, sucking noises were relentless.

Slurp. Gurgle. Pop.

She pulled off with a final, lewd pop, a string of saliva connecting her glistening lips to my tip. "They’re all so stupid," she panted, her voice wrecked. "Talking about conduct. All I could think about was how big your dick looked sitting there." Then she dove back down, taking me even deeper, gagging softly before relaxing her throat and swallowing me whole again.

I was close. The pressure was coiling tight in my gut. My grip on her hair tightened, fisting around the braid of her ponytail. "Gonna come," I warned, my voice rough.

She just hummed in affirmation, a slutty, eager sound, and sucked harder. Her pace became frantic, sloppy, desperate. The sounds were animalistic. Wet choking, hungry swallows, the slap of her lips against my skin.

I couldn’t hold back. With a low groan, I yanked her head down onto me one last time, holding her there as I erupted into her throat. She gulped it down, every fucking drop, her throat working in rhythmic contractions. I could feel it. She didn’t pull away until I was spent, soft, and even then she gave a few kittenish, cleaning licks, panting heavily.

She looked up at me, her makeup slightly smudged, her lips swollen and glistening. A single, white drop escaped the corner of her mouth and trailed down her chin. She wiped it with a finger and sucked it clean, never breaking eye contact.

’Wait... she said she had a fiancé...’

Shit. Don’t tell me...

"Who’s your fiancé?"

"Dorian~ My good for nothing fiancé is Dorian Lysander~ I’m meant to be his first wife." she said, her voice hoarse. Then she got to her feet, smoothed down her short skirt, and turned to walk back toward the conference room, her ass swaying with a new, confident rhythm. She paused at the door, glanced back over her shoulder with that ’wouldn’t say no to anything’ smile. "Good luck, Mr. Noel."

She slipped inside, leaving me in the hallway with my pants still open, trying to process the fact that I’d just gotten a world-class blowjob from the student representative thirty seconds before my disciplinary hearing resumed.

What the fuck was my life?

◇◇◇

The committee reconvened. The dean read the verdict.

"Formal warning. No suspension. No disciplinary action. Mr. Noel is advised to exercise discretion."

I left the conference room. The student representative didn’t look at me. Her ears were red.

◇◇◇

That evening, two letters arrived at my academy mailbox.

Professor Linara who’d been staring since I sat down: "I’d like to discuss your case further Mr. Noel. Please come to my office at seven PM. Door code: 4471."

The dean: "The counseling session has been moved to tonight. Come visit my office at nine PM. This is not optional."

"..."

Well...

◇◇◇

The clock in Professor Linara’s office ticked with a soft, precise sound. 7:01 PM. The room smelled like old books, ink, and her perfume, something floral and sharp.

She was behind her desk, grading papers. She didn’t look up when I entered. "Close the door, Mr. Noel."

I did. The lock clicked with finality.

She set her pen down. Adjusted her glasses. Her dark hair was down tonight, falling over her shoulders. The severe bun from the committee was gone. "Sit, please."

I took the chair opposite her desk. She watched me, her expression unreadable. Professional. Concerned, even.

"I need to understand your perspective," she began, folding her hands. "The committee’s decision was... lenient. But it leaves a question of moral character unanswered." She stood up, slowly walking around the desk. She leaned back against its edge, right in front of me. Her skirt hugged her hips. "Do you understand the position you’ve put those young women in?"

"I do, Professor."

"Do you?" Her voice was soft. "Or do you just see what you want to see?" Her hand came up, fingers playing with the top button of her blouse. She undid it. "A series of conquests. A collection." Another button. A glimpse of pale skin, a black lace bra straining over full, heavy tits. "No thought for the consequences."

"Professor—"

"Quiet." A third button. The blouse hung open. She wasn’t wearing much underneath. "I know what that little slut did to you in the hallway." Her voice dropped to a whisper, leaning in so her lips brushed my ear. Her scent enveloped me. "You shameless pervert~ Did you really think we didn’t know? The security wards record thermal signatures. Audio, in some sectors."

She straightened up, a smirk playing on her lips. She turned around, presenting the incredible, round curve of her ass hugged by her tight pencil skirt. She backed up slowly, until her ass was pressing firmly against the growing bulge in my pants. She began to grind against it, slow, deliberate circles.

"I must discipline your slutty behavior," she purred, reaching back to unzip her skirt. It slid down her hips and pooled at her feet. She was left in just her blouse, glasses, black lace panties, and sheer black tights. The panties were already dark with moisture.

She settled back onto my lap, her full weight pushing my trapped, hard dick against the damp lace. The heat was intense. She rocked slowly, her ass cheeks spreading against my thighs with the movement.

"You’re a coward, you know," she whispered, tilting her head back against my shoulder. Her hand snaked between us, rubbing her covered pussy against me through the fabric. A wet spot bloomed. "Hiding behind pheromones and chance encounters. Taking what’s offered because you’re too timid to truly take what you want. To own it."

Her words were a hot, insulting breath in my ear. Each one dripped with disdain, even as her body grew slicker, hotter, grinding against me with increasing desperation.

"Do you even have the spine to—Ah!"

That was all the teasing I could take. My hands shot out, grabbing her hips. In one violent motion, I stood up, lifting her with me, and shoved her forward, bending her over the desk. Papers scattered. An inkwell tipped over.

"Wha—!" she gasped, bracing herself.

I didn’t bother with the panties. My fingers hooked into the waistband of her tights and the lace beneath, and I ripped. The sound of tearing nylon and lace was loud and final. She cried out, half-shock, half-anticipation.

I spat into my hand, slicked my raging hard-on, and without any more preamble, I pressed the head against her dripping, exposed slit and shoved forward, burying myself to the hilt in one brutal, deep stroke.

"NNNGGGHHH~!!!"

She screamed. A raw, ragged, unfiltered sound that echoed off the bookshelves. Her back arched, her nails scrabbling against the polished wood of the desk.

"Shut up," I growled, my hands clamping on the generous, pale flesh of her ass. I didn’t wait for her to adjust. I just started fucking her. Hard. Deep. Each thrust drove her forward, making the desk screech across the floor.

SMACK! My hand came down on her ass, leaving a bright red print. She yelped, her inner walls clenching around me like a vise.

"Nnggh! Fuck!" she moaned, the disdain gone, replaced by pure, slutty need.

SMACK! Another slap, on the other cheek. "You were saying, Professor?" I grunted, pounding into her. "Something about discipline?"

"Y-yes! Ah! Ah!" she sobbed, pushing back against me desperately. The wet, slapping sounds of our coupling filled the room. Squelch. Slap. Thud. Her tits were pressed against the desk, probably spilling out of her bra. "D-discipline this—this whorish cunt! Nnnnh!"

I fucked her harder, my grip on her hips bruising. Her moans were a continuous, broken soundtrack. "Nhnnn! Deeper! Yes! Right there! You brute!" Every insult was a plea. Every slap made her gush around me.

I could feel her getting close, her body tightening, her moans becoming shrill, uncontrolled shrieks. "I’m—I’m gonna—!"

"Then come," I ordered, slamming into her one final time, hitting her cervix. "Come on your student’s cock, you fucking hypocrite."

That did it. She shattered. Her scream was muffled as she buried her face in her arms, her entire body convulsing in a violent, milking orgasm that squeezed my dick relentlessly. The sensation tipped me over the edge. With a final, guttural groan, I pulled out and painted her gaping, used pussy and trembling ass cheeks with thick, white stripes of my cum.

She collapsed onto the desk, panting, a messy, debauched heap of torn clothes, red marks, and dripping proof of her "disciplinary session." Her glasses were askew.

I pulled my pants up, tucking myself away. The office was a wreck.

She slowly pushed herself up, turning to look at me over her shoulder. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen. The disdain was gone, replaced by a dazed, fucked-out satisfaction.

"The dean," she panted, a weak, smug smile touching her lips. "She’s at nine. Don’t be late... pervert."

She slumped back down onto the desk, not bothering to cover herself.

I understood that I was dismissed.

◇◇◇

"Fuck... Shit."

Genuinely, how OP was that fucking title? Was 50% really that much? I mean, given the other factors of the ratio and my reputation, maybe it did cause this?