“Can’t get my head out of work,” the Professor told me, on his way to meet me.

“My head is rather cloudy too,” I wrote back dismally. By the time he arrived, I had already checked into the hotel, where the male receptionists had greeted me with almost alarming warmth, and my first name.

“How long do you have?” he asked me, in the room. “I can take two hours.”

“So can I.”

“All right, then. Talk.”

I began to tell him everything: about the neverending persecution and emotional blackmail at home, how I feel trapped, helpless, constantly violated, and there’s no way out, there’s never going to be any way out. He interrupted me every now and then to kiss me, with gradually increasing passion, until, eventually, I was breathing faster, losing my train of thought. And it was nothing new, in any case – he knew it all already.

“Take off your tights and your top,” he told me. “You can leave the skirt… for now.”

I did as he asked, and knelt before him as he unzipped his flies. He pulled out his cock, erect, and I began to suck it, running my tongue up and down the shaft and feeling little tremors of excitement beneath my eager lips. He was hardening and stiffening more and more with every swirl of my tongue. Then he pushed deep into my mouth, until the swollen head of his cock was jammed into the back of my throat. He held it there for a few moments, then pulled out and told me to remove the rest of my clothes.

“All of them?”

“Yes,” he said, watching me strip. “And now lie down on the bed in front of me and make yourself come.”

“What??” I cried in disbelief. “Oh no, I can’t possibly…” But even as I protested, I was already getting into position, slipping one hand between my legs to softly stroke my clitoris.

“Come on, darling,” he said impatiently, plunging a couple of fingers into my pussy to speed up the process. I cried out in shock, trying to squirm away from this vicious assault, but he grabbed my left breast with his other hand, pinching the nipple tightly between his fingers to hold me still. I was completely immobilised, impaled on his fingers at one end, with my nipple in his vice-like grip at the other. I felt a tremendous wave of excitement beginning to build up inside me, and my G-spot swelling at the touch of his fingers. Soon I was gasping, my hips bucking against his hand and my nipples twisting in his fingers as I writhed beneath him.

“You said you couldn’t come,” he smirked. “That was a lie, wasn’t it? A big lie.” I laughed sheepishly. “Now stand by the side of the bed and bend over.”

My heart sinking, I assumed the position. This could be the end of everything between us. I just had to hope that somehow, by some miracle, he wouldn’t notice…

“Hey, you have a big red bruise on your ass!”

“I do?? Oh, that. Haha. Yes… er… I fell down the stairs.”

“You fell down the stairs?” he repeated incredulously. “Hmm.”

But he kept fucking me, thrusting up into me so that I could barely keep my balance. I was standing on tip-toes, twisting around to look back at him, because I like to watch him fuck me, but also because I was hoping to steer his attention away from my ass. Perhaps I should have said it was a rash? But people do fall down the stairs, don’t they?

I was too distracted to come. He tossed me on to the bed on my back and mounted me, holding me down, with his whole body lying flat against mine, thrusting into me hard and slow, his cock pushing methodically against my G-spot; I felt the same slow build-up of excitement, but even more powerful this time, and he could feel it too, varying the tempo of his thrusts to edge me closer, until I almost couldn’t bear it, squirming and struggling underneath him, while he held me down and kept fucking me, pushing his thumb into my mouth to keep me quiet. And he didn’t stop until I was lying limp and motionless beneath him.

“Come on, baby,” he said. “I want you to ride me.”

He lay down on his back and pulled me on top of him.

“So you fell down the stairs?”

“Uh… yeah.”

He slapped me sharply on my ass. I yelped and squirmed, but he only spanked me again, harder. He began to spank me faster and harder, until I was bouncing up and down on his cock to his satisfaction. I could feel the base of his cock hitting my clitoris as I rode him, stimulating me in a different way, more focused, more intense. It wouldn’t take me long to come. I fell forward against him, unable to keep myself upright. He held me to him for a while, neither of us moving, and then pulled me up to look at me.

“You look gorgeous,” he said. “Though a bit messy.”

“How messy??” I asked, darting an anxious glance at the mirror.

“Never mind about that,” he said, pushing me down onto my stomach. “I need to fuck you some more now.”

He lay down flat on top of me again, this time on my back, slipping his cock into my swollen pussy from behind me. As soon as I felt it hit my clitoris, I knew I would come again, even faster and harder this time; in fact, I was in the Coming Zone and now I wouldn’t be able to stop. I could feel my pussy spasming wildly, almost of its own accord. I groaned into the pillow, my legs kicking behind me, and I knew that he was getting close, too. I whispered something into his ear, under my breath – could he hear it? “Yes,” he murmured. A few moments later he was spurting jets of hot come straight down my throat, with his cock as deep inside my mouth as it would go.

“You should make a note of everything that’s happening at home,” he told me later, lying beside me. “You could have a case for harcèlement moral.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I laughed. “After what I’ve done?”

“Why, what have you – oh, right,” he paused, and then, after a moment’s reflection: “We are such bad people, aren’t we?”

“No,” I argued, aggrieved. “At least you aren’t hurting anyone.”

“I’m hurting at least two people. You, and my wife.”

“Your wife?” I asked, resisting the urge to inform him that his days of hurting me were long gone. “Would she still really mind so much, you think?”

“Would she mind?” he repeated, laughing incredulously. “Would she mind?? She would rather find out I were an axe murderer than know that I’m still seeing you! She would rather I were fucking every single girl in Paris – “

“All right, all right,” I interrupted him hastily, not quite sure whether to feel flattered or unfairly persecuted.

“Enough about that. Would you like some lunch?”

“Yes!! Do we have time?”

“No, actually. I have to finish this Executive Committee Report. Sorry, darling.”

“That’s all right,” I said slowly, putting down my clothes. “You go on ahead then. I might stay here for just a little bit longer.”

“And have a nap?” he asked, his hand on the door.

“Exactly,” I agreed, with a disarming smile as I kissed him goodbye. “Just a little ‘nap’, that’s all.”‎


One thought on “Bruises

  1. Hmmm, like the Professor I doubt you tripped down any stairs. But fucking you is more important then minor details anyway. What did you do during your nap?


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