Peace mind

The next day I completed my petition-gathering and headed over to the college to hand my sheets in. Not only was I personally committed to the cause of feminism (and affirmative action, social justice, and everything else the Center was going to stand for), but I also wanted to make a good impression on Professor Agnes Leftward, the project coordinator and Stewart's boss as the head of the college's department of Gender and Minority Studies.

Her office door featured a bronze plaque engraved with her name and the title "Department Head." Below that, it said "The Endowed Chair in Womyn's Progressive Herstory." I think Stewart had told me that her professorship had been endowed by the National Organization of Women--or rather, by a more radical--I mean, a more advanced--offshoot group. She was obviously a very important woman!

I knocked, and upon hearing her "C'min!" I entered.

Professor Leftward is a striking woman, about forty-five years old, with a no-nonsense, businesslike air about her. Frankly, I've always been a bit intimidated by her. I get the impression that my feminist credentials don't quite measure up in her eyes. I've always wished she credited me more; although I had gone out and married a successful man shortly after graduation, that man is a professor of Gender and Minority Studies in this very department, after all. And sure, ever since our marriage, I haven't worked outside the home in an "official" job but, on the other hand, aren't nine-to-five type jobs really just an artifact of the patriarchical system designed to serve white males anyway? If she only knew about my efforts in helping my sister, by working in a counter-cultural business like Escort Resource, maybe she'd understand better that I was in no danger of becoming a sellout.

"Why it's you, Rachel! Pretty little thing as ever. Please come in. Oh, and, shut the door, dear. You know, students constantly just barge right in here, so would you mind turning the latch--that's it. Now we can speak without interruption. What's on your mind, honey?"

"I've got the petitions here, Professor."

"Oh, good, let me see ... yes, a good effort. Thank you.

"Rachel, I'm glad you dropped by this morning ... there's something I need to talk to you about."

"Oh? What is that, Professor?"

"Well, you know that a significant component of the feminist agenda is the overturning of patriarchical, exploitative use of women by men."

"Why, of course!"

"And it wouldn't do at all if a bright young star in this academic field--especially if that young star were already laboring under the severe handicap of being a cis-male--were to be in any way stained with the misogynist mainstream culture."

"Why of course not--are you talking about Stewart? Why, he'd never --."

"Hold on, dear. Yes, I'm talking about Stewart, and his career. But it's not his activities that are causing me my concern."

"I don't understand..."

"Rachel, my sweet impressionable child, I need to talk with you about this." To my absolute mortification, she held up a chess piece--the black queen, to be exact!

"Professor Leftward, I can explain--it's not what it looks like?"

"You mean it is not a token by which you are obligated to submit to the sexual commands of men?"

"Well, yes, but, you see, my sister, who is a woman, well she has this husband --."

"A man named Dan, is that right?"

"Well, yes, but I hate him."

"That's good. But the question is: do you think that the sexual exploitation of women by men is a good thing?"

"Absolutely not!"

"And do you think that traditional, repressive heterosexual relationships are superior in any way to alternative lifestyles, such as, say, lesbianism?"

"No, Professor. Everybody who's ever been to college in America has had the moral superiority of homosexuality drilled into them. Although I am not lesbian or bisexual, I understand that being so demonstrates strength. I mean, if I thought otherwise, how could I have ever graduated college?"

"I'm glad to hear it. And do you understand that under our repressive male-dominated culture, the most appropriate thing 'womyn' can do to resist is to enter into assymetric, abusive sexual relationships with other 'womyn'?"

"Professor, that is one of the main learning objectives of the course you are teaching this semester: 'Overturning Sexual Repression.' You know I am auditing that course--you signed the paperwork. Let's see, oh yes: 'the more exploitative the lesbian top is of her submissive partner, the more authentic the rejection of male repression by both participants'."

"Very good, you have obviously been taking notes. So, I needn't fear for you on an orthodoxy front?"

"Um, yeah, I mean no, you needn't fear."

"Good, I'd hate to think I paid so much good money for a useless chess piece. Come around here and sit up on my desk. Now!"

***

Now, I'm not lesbian at all, but of course I am sophisticated enough to applaud the gay lifestyle. I told Professor Leftward as much while she yanked my panties down and pushed my skirt up over my waist.

I thanked her for considering me worthy of her demonstration until me she growled "shut-up you stupid cunt!" which I thought was a delightfully liberated thing to say. I tried to tell her so but as I felt her tongue scoop into my already-oozing groove, I was momentarily speechless.

Now, Stewart is, as I've mentioned, a very considerate lover. In fact, I usually limit my relations with him to cunnilingus, because he is so attentive and diligent with it, and frankly I really need the soothing sensations sometimes after a day full of fuck-battering at the hands of, or should I say, at the cocks of, whichever less worthy man my useless brother-in-law has had me fuck.

So really, Stewart is quite accomplished in the art of orally pleasing a woman. But let me give you an analogy worthy of the S.A.T.: Stewart's pussylapping, as compared to that of his bull dyke department head, was as pathetic as his fucking was, as compared to that of my bull-cocked brother-in-law! She was fantastic!

I had already come once from her masterful ministrations before she yanked open my top and started twisting my nipples mercilessly. This made me come a second time, just as my political convictions require--I am not a collaborator in the war of the sexes!

I did a wonderful job of submitting to the woman, even when she bent me over the desk to wallop my behind with her shoe. I proved myself as open-minded about such things as you can imagine. For example, I got just as wet from an ass-beating at her hands as I do at a man's!

I yelped at first--but quickly apologized--when Professor shoved the big black chess piece up my rectum.

I am proud to say I am no hypocrite. I remained true to my political principles throughout the next hour, as evidenced by my absolute obedience to this lesbian top. I didn't let the chess piece slip out of my ass once--not while I orally serviced a woman for the first time in my life, and not when she beat my ass again, this time with a leather strap. I was able to anally retain the token of my subjugation to her through four or five of my own orgasms, even the one I diddled myself to while she rode my face like an Old West bronco buster!

As she climbed off of my face and off of the desk, I caught my breath, assuming that my feminist credentials had been firmly established. Professor Leftward settled back into her chair and motioned for me to sit up on the desk edge. As I did, I felt the large wooden chess piece shift in my fundament. I attempted to slide off the desk, but she stopped me.

"Not bad so far, but I still haven't seen you ejaculate."

"Ejaculate? Like a man?"

"No! Ejaculate like a person! Do you mean to tell me that you endorse the sexist, chauvinist lie that only men ejaculate?"

"Um, I noticed that 'female ejaculation' is on your course syllabus, later in the semester ... I guess I thought that was a metaphor..." I stopped when I caught the look on her face--a combination of anger and disappointment. I tried to respond.

"I'm willing to learn about it. Please tell me."

"Tell you? WILLING to learn?" a look of downright lust crossed her face. "I'm going to SHOW you. You will not be allowed to leave this office until you ejaculate, just as all females can and should. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, yes of course, Professor. What do you want me to duh-OOO --." My chatter was abruptly cut short as the world-renowned scholar drove half of her left hand right into my vagina. Before I could formulate a response to this unexpected intrusion, I felt her fingers--now imbedded in my sex--begin to squirm and twist around energetically.

I guess considering what happened over the next several minutes, I finally had something to thank Danny for. As I mentioned, my husband Stewart is my only love, and in fact, I don't want to have sex with anyone else--I hate it. But I am forced to, you see, because Danny always seems to trick me into to it, and then my pussy always seems to betray my more exalted character, so despite my pure and loyal heart, I have, over the last several months, been fucked quite regularly by men of undersized brains and oversized cocks. The occasional coitus I experience with my dear husband's modest member--while representing the pinnacle of our spiritual union--would have completely failed to prepare my twenty-four-year-old vaginal passage for the very urgent--and very ungentle--thrusting it was receiving from the aggressive hand of Professor Leftward.

Humbly, I am forced to acknowledge that, thanks to an almost daily dose of Danny's fat cock, along with frequent cuntsplitting courtesy of his buddy Bob, not to mention numerous repeat debauchings at the hands of Danny's several friends who I first met the night of Stewart's bachelor party--especially the black bouncer Melvin, who if I didn't fuck weekly, might accuse me of racism (goodness it was hard hunting him down after that first night!)--and finally, of course, by virtue of the multiple cuntal workouts I had been receiving daily since offering my services to Escort Resource ... thanks to all of that, DESPITE the fact that basically it was all the despicable Danny's doing, thanks to that, I was able, without too much pain, to take the learned Professor Leftward's scholarly hand completely into my newlywed pussy.

It was an amazing accomplishment for womankind, I thought, as I stared, awestruck, at the sight of the department head's none-too-petite wrist protruding from the sopping wet, slightly straining and, incidentally, completely shaved organ that was, and is, in many ways the manifestation of my devotion and loyalty to my sensitive husband Stewart.

It was even more amazing that as she began to thrust her intruding limb in, out and about, her expensive watch, in scraping and scratching at the now-oversensitive skin of my overstretched vulva, produced a pleasure in its pain that would have been inappropriate and shaming at the hands of a man. In contrast, as a feminist, I was proud to be able to feel pleasure in response to lesbian abuse. My credentials were sound!

Speaking of sound, my intention to point out my orthodoxy to my Professor of Progressive Womyns Herstory was truncated by the grunt that emitted, unbidden, from my throat the moment I felt the highly-regarded lecturer uncurl her fingers, stiffen them in an angle of attack perpendicular to her forearm, and thrust four mercifully close-manicured fingertips assertively into the yielding mushiness of what was clearly my G-spot.

"Uhhnn!"

"That's it, sweetbitch, grunt for Mommy!" The fingertips jabbed again. Wow.

"Ahhn!"

"Little cheerleader whore, not too good to serve my pussy now, are you?"

"Nnnnh!" I didn't know what the hell she was talking about--probably some unfortunate memories the scholar retained from an unjustly chauvinistic high school in the distant past--but I played along because I couldn't dream of doing anything that might stop the inhuman punishment her stiff fingers were perpetrating against the front wall of my deepest mating channel.

It was like nothing I had ever felt before--deep, insistent, profound, and growing, or maybe more like "burgeoning." Her stiff fingers were pounding at my G-spot in a way that no cock ever had. And I knew something different--something wonderful--was about to result.

I can't recall exactly what Professor Leftward was muttering angrily while her fingers stabbed repeatedly and indefatigably against my resonating center--things like "stuck up bitch," the name "Brandy," many variations on "cheerleader whore," such as "pom-pom slut," and something along the lines of "you can take a muff diving but can't return the favor," uttered angrily, but clearly not applying to me, as evidenced by the spend from at least three full sessions of novitiate cunnilingus still drying on my flawless complexion.

I would have probably applied some of the psychological analysis I had learned in Psych 101 a few years back to decipher the experiences at the root of the gifted instructor's need, but I was developing a substantial need of my own.

I couldn't even hear her incantations after a minute or so, because an unrelenting keening began to emanate from me, beginning, I think, in my sternum, that drowned her out. As the tension in my belly rose, I was forced to curl my body towards itself, leaning into my tormentor, grabbing her head and pulling it hard against my chest as she quickened her fisting cadence.

I guess she took this as encouragement--which I suppose it was, since because she was a woman, I didn't for once have to hate a lover for forcing pleasure on me at the theoretical expense of my sweet, gentle husband Stewart. Like I was saying, I think she took my reactions as encouragement, because her teeth clamped down HARD on my erect left nipple just as the most shattering and all-consuming orgasm of my life wracked my body.

My over-extended cuntmouth clamped down like a tourniquet on the celebrated thinker's forearm for at least four seconds, before a rapid-fire spasm chain convulsed my body and ejected, to my amazement and delight, a staccato of fluid around her invading wrist with such force and volume that it soaked, in eight or nine successive, powerful squirts, the erudite academic's tasteful if not-overly feminine blouse.

Finally, she was finished with me.

"Let me never hear again the phrase 'ejaculating like a man.' Is that clear?"

"Yes, Professor. I'm sorry, Professor. That was fantastic."

"Of course it was, you stupid cunt. Why do you think men love sex so much? Ejaculation is fantastic, and now I've freed you from your repressed state, so you can enjoy it too."

"Oh, god, yes. Thank you!"

"Oh, you'll thank me."

As she dressed, she ordered me to pull my panties on with the black queen chess piece still buried in my now-numb asshole. Frankly, it had wormed its way in so far that I wouldn't have been able to take it out myself, anyway.

"I'm glad to see you are willing to further the cause of feminism, Rachel. Stewart will be glad for the security to his career, even if he'll never know about it."

"Of course, Professor, anything for the cause."

"You're right about that. I'll be needing a reaffirmation of your commitment just like today's, say, once a week from now on. And I don't plan to pay for any more 'chess pieces, ' either. Do you understand me?"

"Of course, Professor."

"Good. Now get out of here, I have another appointment."

As I exited her office, completely disheveled, I discovered two female students were waiting outside. They were both jocks--still wearing their field hockey practice gear. Wow. Professor Leftward's stamina was a credit to our gender. As I felt the chess queen shift in my bottom, I silently wished these two underclasswomyn a very educational appointment in the basics of feminism.

At this thought, I felt myself blushing, and rushed off to find Danny in order to have the 'receipt' twisting in my colon removed. After he dug it out, he of course felt like he had to fuck my ass. Loser. Typical male. Right before he ejaculated into my bowels, I came, and for some reason I shouted "God, I love you!" I hated him even more for somehow getting me to pronounce such an obvious falsehood than I did for his mocking laughter upon hearing it.

***

A few days later I was again berating Danny for violating our understanding about me not serving anyone who knew me. First Principal Mellows, and then Professor Leftward. Well, when I say berate, I mean I got a few words in edgewise. As usual, when I tried to start an argument, he didn't really let me speak. He just sat down in his easy chair, pulled out his vile, disgusting, and irresistible cock, and in seconds I was slobbering all over the damn thing. It's not fair--right when I want to give him a piece of my mind, he tempts me with a piece of head and the next thing I know, my mouth is full!

"You were saying?"

"You pwomisssed"

"I know, I know, but it turns out you've developed quite a fan base in your life. Seems like there are just a lot of folks who have crossed your path through the years who have always felt you needed a good fucking. Doesn't surprise me--you've been a stuck-up cock-teasing bitch for as long as I've known you."

My pussy quivered. I pushed my head forward, successfully deep-throating his blunt cock.

"Anyhow, folks who have been harboring grudge-fuck fantasies about you are willing to pay a lot more than the normal rate."

"Bt Dhnny!" These edgewise words edged around the base of his thick stalk.

"Are you saying anonymity is important you?"

"Ymph."

"Would you prefer to go out-of-town to earn your chess piece today?"

"Ymph."

"Tell you what ... I'll take you down to the state capital today. I have a very special client for you. And just to ensure that he doesn't recognize you, you'll be wearing a blindfold."

This took me a moment to consider, not that Danny was waiting for my agreement. Wouldn't it better if the client were blindfolded? Well, regardless, part of my face would be covered.

For a moment, lost in this thought process, I had stopped bobbing on Danny's cock. He got my attention by jamming his hips up, eliciting a gag from me. Damn! I'm a better cocksucker than that! I didn't need a loser like Danny telling me how to perform fellatio. I got back to work.

"Oh, yeah, that's better you sweet little whore. Now, I need to confirm a couple of things. The fertility calendar you just showed me--is it up to date?"

He was referring to the fertility worksheets I had been keeping at his insistence for a couple of months now. Not only was I counting days since my period, but I was taking my basal temperature each morning, and plotting it on a receptivity graph. "Ymph."

"So then, you know as well as I do that you are extremely breedable today, don't you?"

I glared up at him, as sternly as I could while worshipping his penis. He took this as confirmation, which it was.

"And you've kept that sweet boy Stewart out of your mating channel, at least for the last few days?"

I nodded around his meatstick. As I've already mentioned, I usually limit Stewart to eating my pussy, soothing it after a hard day of fucking, cleaning out my clients' spend--I love him too much to ask him to make love to me in the midst of all that extramarital sperm. But in addition to this regular practice, I had of course been extra careful the last couple of days, on account of the fertility warning. I was too young yet to bear my beloved husband's child.

"Well, as you can see, or rather, taste, I will be coming down your throat this morning. And you may recall, although I fucked your whore pussy hard yesterday afternoon, I came in your hair. The reason is, no matter how much I know you want to bear my bastard, I'm not ready to be a daddy. Yet. However, today's client wants a real chance at knocking you up. He's paying dear for the opportunity, so you're gonna give him a real shot at it."

I couldn't help myself. My left hand was frigging at my naked pussy before I even felt my arm moving. Pregnant! We'll just see about that. Knowing Danny, it was probably a nigger--I mean, that's what Danny would call a big, shiny-black African-American, not me. Or what he'd call a bum. Oh, I know--some violent convict just getting released from the State Penitentiary today. That'd be the kind of thing Danny would go for. My fingertips were strumming across my clit at light speed by now.

"So finish up, slut. We got to get going ... that's it, here it comes."

He exploded down my throat just as my belly convulsed in its own orgasm. I was so overwhelmed by it that I forgot to kiss the tip of Danny's prick after licking him clean. He either didn't notice or didn't care, because for once he didn't beat my ass over my forgetfulness.