The Professor Who Knows His Place Pt. 04

The Professor Who Knows His Place, Part 4:

THE PROFESSOR'S MARRIAGE

by TheContinentalPsyOp

The Professor awakens one morning to sounds he is not used to hearing for some time.

Vibrations. A heavy motor.

He can sense where it is coming from, but is incredulous. Inside the house? Inside the kitchen?

He slips his feet into the pink women's slippers Allie requires him to wear around the house, when he's in "casual, lounging and sleeping attire." As a reformed academic, Allie is very taxonomical about him. He is something to be studied now, he thinks. A casual social science project of hers that she will never publish.

Pink women's slippers, the tight panties he slept in, and the tight t-shirt he also slept in.

His casual, lounging and sleeping attire. There's a variety, and he's expected to always be in clean and fresh attire each night, and throughout the duration of the morning when he might be lounging about the house.

"In case one of my lovers might be staying for breakfast," Allie had explained to him, "I want them to know they have absolutely nothing to worry about with you. Definitely not if you present like that!"

She made sure that all of his attire had simple lace or a bow or a rose in the front.

So, presenting as absolutely no threat at all, the Professor pads his way into the kitchen that morning.

The five-horsepower juicer already back up on the kitchen counter, near the kitchen sink. The source of the motor sounds that woke him, he instantly recognizes.

Allie was already in tight athleisure. Hair back in a headband. Lycra tight around her ass and her hips, her waist and her breasts.

The reasons why Allie no longer needed to be an academic. The reasons why Allie deserved to no longer be an academic.

"Good morning, sleepy head!" Allie greets him with enthusiasm. To the Professor, it feels like when the most popular girl in school is giving you her complete and direct attention.

"Good morning, Allie, you're full of energy." The Professor looks around the kitchen, as casually as he can.

"I know, you're wondering, where is he?" Allie says, her tone as happy and joking as when she was saying good morning. Like it's a happy matter-of-fact reality that she would have a bull around somewhere, if she was up early and full of energy.

"Do you see him, roomie?" Allie says, putting all that emphasis on the word 'roomie.' Allie giggles. "Where's he hidin', huh?" she teases him. "You wanna look around, open the pantry? Maybe sniff around for him? Maybe I leaked a trail of his cum all over the house?" She laughs again.

The Professor's cock pulses against his tight panties. The bow in the front twitches. Allie notices.

"I know what you're thinking" she continues. "Where could I hide a," and the next word she slows down to say, to savor, "d... i... c... k as big as his, right?" and then a sharp, almost bitterly teasing giggle.

Allie sees the effects of all that rushing dopamine on her husband's brain. The anguish on his face, but he's locked in place in front of her, watching her, looking at her and hearing her, every word. She's completely covered in tight athleisure but still her body is completely on display.

"Ah, well," she says. "Maybe if you had been born with a big dick, you'd know the places where a big-dicked man might hide after using that big dick to dick down some stranger's wife." She giggles again. "Not that I'm wearing my rings anymore, but it's so sweet of you to." Allie looks at the tight gold band around the ring finger of the Professor's left hand.

"I can't take it off," the Professor said.

"Would you want to? Would you want to throw away all you have? And let everyone know what kind of marriage yours is? Or, was?"

"Of course not."

"Good. I knew it was the right choice to get your ring sized a half-size too small," she says, smiling in pride at herself and her good judgement. "Bonus for you today, dear," she continues, "no dicks hiding today, big or otherwise. And, that's part of the problem. So, I have my juicer here and I'm going to start making more vegetable juices. Here, I've made one for you. It's carrot, beet and apple, plus some nutritional supplements for clarity."

The small rocks glass she offered to the Professor was full of a thick, dark crimson vegetable juice, that looked like a nail polish but smelled like a mowed lawn.

The Professor took it, and sipped it immediately, as he knew Allie expected of him.

Allie was a good and regular juice maker, but it had been awhile since she had been on a juice making kick. The Professor received the juice feeling like the first day of a revised juice phase was beginning again, and thus, tasted the juice in the context of her previous juicing kicks: the sweetness of the apple and the sweetness in the beet overwhelmed the earthiness of the carrots, it felt like drinking the love of the earth, pure and organic no doubt from Allie's favorite super-expensive organic grocery collective.

"I wanted to make that one a little special for you, so I thought about putting some of my morning pee in it--"

The Professor stopped sipping and held the bouquet on his tongue. He had swallowed already once. He was puzzled, it did not taste like his wife's morning waste.

"But then I found an old condom that someone had peeled off that he must have thrown at the trash bin but he didn't make it in the trash bin--so I sort of squeezed out whatever was left on the inside into your juice after I made it. You should be grateful, it was a Magnum."

Allie's smile was the taunting smile of the most popular girl in school who was aware of her power, and her absolute immunity in the use of that power.

The Professor, by way of response, swallowed his mouthful of juice, and resumed steadily finishing the juice.

"Never let it be said your wife never makes breakfast for you," Allie said. "I mean, never let it be said that your roommate never makes breakfast for you once in awhile. That makes me a pretty awesome roommate, I think most people would agree, don't you? Anyway, the reason I am juicing is I think it's finally time. I want to start online dating again."

The Professor put his finished juice glass back on the counter.

"But, this is a small university town. There are people who know about me and you," he says, nervously. "To stay anonymous--"

"That just means extra screening. To preserve your anonymity. Your dignity." Another teasing smile. "But, I have a solution."

"What?"

"You're going to take some pictures of me for my profiles, but they're all going to be body shots, no face pics."

"But won't people be able to recognize you? Especially if they already know you? They'll recognize your hair, your clothes... the background."

"My hair's going to be up and out of the shot. I'm not looking for those relationship guys, you know. This is a profile straight for catching fuck-boys, honey. You know about fuck boys? Probably lots of your male students are fuck boys for your female students--but not you, of course." Another Allie smile. And lots of direct eye contact.

"No," the Professor says, accepting.

"And I bought all new clothes for the photo shoot," Allie says. "You like?" she asks, showing off her body in her tank and leggings. She is fine. Lean and curvy, athletic and flexible. "So, you're going to move some furniture out of the way, then you can photograph me against the wall, so it looks like a photo shoot. And so no one recognizes your house," Allie says, finishing with a big laugh.

There's no time for the Professor to think about it.

They go into the living room where the light is coming through the blinds. He clears everything away from the wall catching that light.

She gives him her phone, full of her secrets.

He opens her camera application. She's already leaning back against the wall, arching her back in the tight spandex, presenting her breasts to the camera, presenting her hips to the camera, presenting her flat tummy to the camera, her midriff and her bellybutton, a flash of skin.

Allie knows exactly how she wants to pose.

She knows exactly the angles of her body she wants these strange men to see.

She knows exactly how she wants to whet the appetites of these now-anonymous cocks which she has made it clear, through implication, that she wants to open her and penetrate her and share the secret of her cunt.

The Professor's cock throbs at the thought of how her fabric-hidden cunt will throb around and will make throb the cocks of all the others whom she will catch and trap thanks to these photographs.

The Professor takes shot after shot, knowing that any of these could be the one that make some man want to fuck Allie. Any one of these pictures could be the one that makes a stranger swipe the right way, swiping on his way to getting this bitch hot and horny in his lap.

Allie has made it clear that she's not going online to find The One. She's going online to find every Chad and Jody in a thirty-mile radius whom she hasn't gotten under yet.

Like a loyal, loving and faithful husband, the Professor is helping his wife, by which he means his roommate, achieve her goals.

The athleisure is not her only outfit.

After taking several hundred photos of the ahtleisure for her to select through, Allie then changes into a deep-cleavage summer dress. Red and white with a repeating pattern of ripe, red strawberries. Little-string straps and waist-to-hip ratio that reads to all men, even to all women, the same: breedable.

The back of the dress is more straps than back, and the photos of Allie from behind might be the more seductive ones, but the cleavage shots from the front are pure sex.

Allie is having fun being photographed, and now she changes into other outfits, less sexy outfits. A skirt suit with matching jacket, but no shirt. Classy-sexy, like she's pre-shooting the sexts she is going to send once she has a match on the line.

The Professor is told to keep her face out of the pictures. He is certain that he's shooting now exactly how she's going to sext with strangers before she's sexing with that stranger.

Allie tells him nothing. She's listening to the music she's playing through her bluetooth speakers and giving him instructions. To kneel. To stand. To lay on his belly and shoot up at her.

The Professor tells himself that all these anonymous cocks will be getting only the photos of her. But he is here with the real her, the real Allie, in person. Live while these photos are taken. Only he gets to be here for this.

They will get her photos and maybe they will get to her body, her cunt, her mouth, her ass, cumming in her or on her, making her taste them and their seed, and maybe some of them will get the real her, through her body or during that time with her body.

But he has the real her for sure, he has the real her right now with her.

Allie gets bored with the wall in the living room, and moves them into her bedroom. She has him move her dresser out of the way, and move her large mirror over to capture some interesting angles. It looks like another studio set-up.

The Professor has a fleeting thought that if she were taking photographs to set-up an escorting profile, these would probably be the same photos. Sexy but anonymous. Making hundreds (thousands?) of men willing to pay cash by the hour.

But these were just online dating profile photos, of course, he reassured himself.

Allie tries on a few more dresses in her photo shoot, then some heels and then nothing at all, classy shots from the back, no face but her cute butt in focus for sure, and then a few nightgown pictures, one in pink silk, one in black silk.

There must be two-thousand new photographs on her phone, not one of the Professor.

Allie has been enjoying herself. She likes the way she looks in he photographs. She is proud of her body, of her beauty, of her style.

Allie likes being hot. She likes being a hot bitch who gets to choose.

The Professor knows she's in a good mood because of what happens next.

Allie comes out in her last outfit, her black silk robe with the golden dragon design, tied tight around her waist. The sign that she's now relaxing.

"That felt great," Allie says. "Modeling really is hard work, I think I'm glowing. Did you like your front-row seat, sweetie?"

"Y-yes."

"So cute. I saw you did. Your little cocklet was so twitchy." She giggles. "Maybe if you had been that way on our wedding night, this would not have happened. But you were one of those sweet husbands, those 'it doesn't matter, we can consummate it later' husbands. And that's how you set the tone for our marriage."

"Y-yes. I see that now."

"It was all so much, that reception, seeing to all those guests, it took it out of you, and you wanted to be at your best, after all. So you could really enjoy that first time when married," Allie teases him. "Huh? Are you enjoying this, sweetie?" She taps his balls through his panties with her flat hand, not hard but not soft, either.

"It became a game for me that next morning," she continues, "to see how long I could make my hubby hold out." A big, proud smile. She cups his balls in her hand through the thin cotton of his women's underwear. "Don't you like how this feels?" She holds his balls and squeezes. "Don't you like how this feels?"

"Y-yes."

She takes her time. Another tug. Another squeeze. Pain for foreplay or pain for pain, he has no idea. He will find out when she wants him to know.

"Your balls in my fist."

She lets the words hang there. Her fist is idle, and then not idle. His balls are aching, and the ache keeps going up. Pain and arousal mix together. Dopamine flows. Serotonin flows.

"Your balls in my fist," she repeats. "That feels good to you."

"Y-yes."

"Say it."

"It feels good to me."

"Your balls in my fist feels good to you."

"My balls in your fist feels good to me," the Professor admits.

"Your cock is my squeeze toy." A squeeze to prove it.

He winces and struggles to stand upright. "Owwwwwwwwww!"

"Say it."

"My cock is your squeeze toy."

She squeezes hard again and he's not able to right his back again, he's bent over and pain and pleasure run through his body. Dopamine flows. Adrenaline flows.

"You didn't fuck your wife on your wedding night."

"I didn't fuck my wife on our wedding night. I'm sorry," but that comes out as "I'm sorr-rry-yyy," because of the new pain she was administering.

She giggles.

"And other men are going to fuck your wife," she says, giving him less pain but not letting go at all.

"And other men are going to fuck my wife," the Professor agrees. So docile. So happy to be in the place she has made for him.

So joyful that she is no longer ripping his balls from his body or crushing them to bursting.

"Sit down on the edge of the bed, sweetie," Allie says. "You look so pretty in your little panties, but you're making quite the tent."

"You looked so hot in all of those outfits," the Professor says. "So hot."

"Awww, I'm glad you thought so, sweetie. It was so nice of you to be such a good photographer for me." She leans over him, wiggles her silky self against his lap. She braces herself against his shoulders and leans her lips to his.

A sweet, wifely kiss on his closed mouth. An instant of normality.

"Feels like forever since we've done this," she says. "But you've been such a good boy this morning. You deserve something more than just that wand. Something more for my sweet boy than a mechanical convenience. Something human."

She loosens the belt of her robe and leans her cleavage into his face. Suddenly and without warming, all of his senses are overwhelmed by the flesh of her breasts. Her softness, her scent is everywhere. This, the Professor realizes as if for the first time all over again, this is so worth it.

The Professor's hands are dutifully at his side. He would never touch without being told at this point.

She is not shy to touch him. Her hands are all over. He's ticklish and full of butterflies, the way her fingertips touch his inner thighs and his tummy.

"My my, this cotton is so tight here. And you're so swollen," she says. "Let's pull these down and let your little thingy breathe," Allie says and pulls her breasts back from his mouth, pulls back from him and peels down the elastic waist band of the garment, tucking them under his sore testicles.

The Professor feels the air on his cramped skin and feels her eyes on his cramped organ.

"Didn't that used to get bigger?" Allie asked. "That looks like maybe a half-erection at best. You're not even all the way hard. Didn't you used to get bigger, stiffer erections?"

"I--I think so."

Her hands squeeze him and handle him like she's investigating. "Feels healthy. Nothing wrong with it, just a little smaller."

"I--I think it's getting bigger now."

"Of course it's getting bigger now, I've got both of my hands on you, stretching you out. Not that this needs two hands, does it?" She laughs, not expecting an answer. "It's been so long since we've done this," she says again. "You've been good----but don't get used to it."

And for the first time in a long time, the Professor's wife takes a pillow and puts it under her knees, and then kneels onto the cushion in front of the Professor and sucks his cock into her mouth.

The Professor cannot even remember the last time.

Her mouth is familiar and new all at once. Allie's blowjobs were always excellent, but as he does feel himself fully hard in her mouth, he cannot help but think that she has gotten better. That she's moving him to climax faster than ever before, that he was not expecting anything and suddenly he's receiving the best blow job of his life. One that won't let him hold back or delay, one that is just bringing him to orgasm oh so fast like right now ----

Allie leans back and now his fully erect (but still not as big as it used to get) penis is standing up stiff in the air.

Stiff past the point of no return. The Professor feels the ache now that all that sensation and pressure and pleasure have been taken away. He feels the cool air on his saliva-slick cock. He feels his penis twitch, as his ruined orgasm begins to dribble out.

Allie laughs.

The Professor's dick twitches again, and the Professor moans, and more thick white cum pumps harmlessly out.

Allie laughs as she watches. "No pleasure for you," she says, wagging her finger.

The Professor closes his eyes. The need to come has gone, but the need to orgasm is still there, is so close. He can sense it. It will not feel as good as it was about it, as it could have, but he could still get right, he could still have his body's need satisfied, it would not take too long, he is still so close to the pleasure of orgasm, if she would only stroke him or suck him a minute more...

His eyes are closed in agony, silently begging the universe for pleasure.

"Open up, sweetie. Don't waste any."

The Professor opens his eyes and directly in front of his vision is Allie's index finger, perfectly manicured with a delicious long nail, covered in the ruined cum she scooped up from where it is pooling at the base of his softening stiffy.

"Open wide," she tells him again and he does.

Quickly she flies the pointed finger into this mouth. He closes his lips around it and sucks it clean of cum.

Back to the pool she goes. Back to his mouth goes her finger. He sucks and swallows and her finger comes out clean again.

"Waste not, want not," she says, and feeds him the rest of his cum.

"All organic protein juice," she says, while she's making him lick the last residue off of her fingers. "No wonder your skin is so bright and healthy."

The rest of the midday is a blissful blur.

The sun is bright, the house is warm. The Professor gets dressed into clothes made for adult men, and spends time reading books in his field that he was looking forward to. His wife has drained his balls, has given him her mouth for the first time in months, has given him his cozy, sweet place where he is so happy and so contented.

There is no afterglow because there was no release through proper orgasm.

There is still the need for pleasure, the ache from having not released, the need to cum, the need so close, so close to ready... but the less the Professor thinks about it, the less he actively feels the ache.

Not that the ache ever goes away.

A few hours go by, and the Professor is enthralled in his reading. He loves his academic field, and he is happy at this point in his career to spend as much time as he can reading the new volumes in his academic field of speciality that have been recently released by the academic publishers.

He is totally taken by surprise when he hears the door to the garage door open.

And then he hears his wife's car turn on, and by now he is at the window, watching her car pull out of their garage, automatically close the garage door, and then drive off.

He runs to his phone to text her.

"Where are you going?" he texts.

Three minutes later, she replies.

"Date."

One word. Maybe she's still driving.

She comes home two hours later, just as the lights are going on outside.

"Honey, I'm home," she says, opening the door from the garage into the house. Her heels click across the kitchen floor. She's wearing tight skinny jeans and a black tank top, the uniform of a respectable woman who still plans on fucking on the first date. Her hair is now a mess, barely contained by the headband she's using. She has the attitude of the joyful conquerer.

The Professor is downstairs in the living room, and watched her drive into the garage. He sees her crossing the kitchen, looking for him.

"You get high praise today, honey," Allie tells him.

"Oh?"

"Yes, my new dating profile is quite popular, and those photos you took, I'm told, are fucking great. I told him I just took those pics today and he said prove it and when I did, he said I was not lying. Pics accurate!" She laughs.

"You could have told me you were going out," the Professor says, standing his ground.

"I could have, honey, but I saw you were so busy in your studies, I didn't want to bother you. You looked so entranced in your books, I just... did my own thing. It's for the best honey. So much more efficient this way. Don't I look nice in these jeans?"

"Uh-huh."

"And they were great photos you took, honey. It's not just my opinion, take his word for it, whoever he was. I don't know if he was using his real name. I mean, I'm not, so why should he be? I got the idea he might be married. Anyway, he thought I was just as hot as in the photos, isn't that great, honey?"

"Y-yes, it's great, Allie."

"I knew you'd think that, babe. But don't just take my word for it. Do you want to see how much he liked me, or do you want to taste how much he liked me?"

For the Professor, it is a simple choice.

Her beautiful hands look exquisite undoing the tight button at the top of her jeans.

"He said if I made him pay for a hotel room out by the freeway, I better be worth it, and I told him, not to worry, I would be. And, I was, honey."

At the heavenly sound of Allie lowering the zipper on her jeans, the Professor is already closing his eyes and finding a comfortable spot to lay on his back.

He licks his lips, and smells a musky mixture of scents, drawing intimately close.