Sadistic Stripper Pt. 05

[Warning: This one has some very intense cbt, more cuckolding, imbibing of bodily fluids, humiliation and degradation. If those are not your things, better not go down this road.]

The previous events occurred on a Friday night and into Saturday morning. For the next two days I was in an erotically charged trance. All I could think about was what had happened at the young stripper's house.

I jerked off several times on Saturday, and several more on Sunday. Each time, what pushed me over the edge was the very end of our encounter, when she told me she was going to ruin my orgasm by making me swallow her piss. For some reason, I found that thrilling.

Not the piss, which tasted terrible. It was the brazenness of that demand of hers. And her perverse desire to prevent me from experiencing any pleasure. It was an interesting trade: One ruined orgasm in her presence in exchange for a dozen powerful orgasms by myself. For those next two days, I didn't need porn. The video playing in my mind was more than enough to make me cum.

What was happening to me? Part of me never wanted to see her again, was terrified at the very thought of her. Another part craved her. Needed her.

I didn't know her phone number. But I knew the strip club where she worked and I knew where she lived. Both were in the neighboring town about an hour away. I was tempted to drive there and ask her ... what? What did I want from her? But deep down, I knew the answer: I wanted her to do whatever she wanted to do to me. That's where the thrill came from: Her calling the shots.

In truth, the only thing stopping me was the feeling in my balls. They would need time to recover.

On Saturday the pain was most acute while walking. It was almost funny: I'd get out of bed intending to do something -- make coffee or run an errand. Those first few steps would increase the pain in my balls, reminding me of what she had done to me. The squeezing, the punching, the crushing with her foot. I'd get so turned on remembering all of it that I'd have to jerk off again.

Ejaculations were a different experience now. Yes, still immensely pleasurable, but also painful. That, too, was a thrill. Even though she wasn't there with me in the room, she was still causing my orgasms to hurt.

By Tuesday, the pain had subsided to a gentle, constant ache. That was good, because I had to teach my calculus class which had sixty students. And college students notice everything. If I walked funny, they'd notice. If I got an erection in front of them, boy would they notice.

Fortunately, my math class went by without incident. As I was heading across the quad back toward my office, I stopped dead in my tracks. It was the young stripper who had given me the most intense sexual experience of my life. She was sitting on a bench at the side of the quad, sunning her face.

WTF? What was she doing there? The was MY place. The college I'd taught at for 15 years with a squeaky-clean reputation These two worlds -- the world of her debauchery and perversion and the world of my very normal public life -- could not coexist in the same universe. Yet there she was, making those two worlds collide.

I made a beeline toward her, then realized I had no idea what I would say. So I turned around before she had a chance to spot me. I hid behind a tree several yards away, like in some bad comedy movie, and watched her for a while. Her eyes closed, her beautiful face turned up to catch the sunlight, soaking it up. She was wearing a thin pink cotton knit pullover that matched her pink running shoes. And those tight jeans -- the same ones she wore when I drove her home from the strip club.

As I watched her, I had a strange combination of thoughts and feelings. There was fear: Was she here to cause trouble for me? There was curiosity: How did she even know who I was or how to find me? And there was a stirring in my groin. The mere sight of her was enough to arouse me.

That's probably what propelled me out from behind the tree. I marched right up to her.

"Hey, are you stalking me?"

It came out sounding more hostile than I intended. But she didn't flinch. Didn't even seem surprised to see me. "Hi professor" she said with a sly smile.

"How do you know--"

"I'm a student here."

"You're a student here?"

"Are you just going to repeat everything I say?" She seemed completely comfortable with our encounter. And it was clear she was still the one calling the shots.

"But you live an hour away."

"To be near the strip club."

"But... I mean... how did you..." I was sputtering.

"I knew who you were the minute I saw you at the club."

I was dumbstruck. It was like seeing a movie with a twist ending that makes you rethink the entire movie. But this wasn't a movie. This had happened -- was still happening -- in real life. To me.

I had so many questions, so many things to say, but the one that popped out first was:

"Please tell me you're not a math major."

"Psychology," she said.

I was relieved. But then I had another disturbing thought. "Wait, am I some kind of research project?"

She looked at me like she was talking to an imbecile. "You think you're interesting enough to be a research project?"

"Then why... I mean, what were you..."

"Fun," she said.

"I don't understand," I said. "You just do that sort of thing for fun?"

"To satisfy cravings." she answered. "I'm twenty-two and I'm hot and men want me. That gives me power over them. And I get off on exercising it. By hurting and humiliating them."

"And the stripping?"

"Pays the tuition. But that's a power trip too. Especially when a professor thinks he's far enough from campus that he can go to a strip club without anyone recognizing him."

She saw the embarrassment on my face.

"If it's any consolation, you aren't the only professor I took home from the club." She looked right into my eyes. "But you're definitely the least attractive."

She was humiliating me right here, in the place where I worked, where I was respected. Which only made her seem more powerful, more in control, and more desirable.

"So, what.... So, you just ... I mean, don't you think...". I could not finish a single sentence. She remained seated this whole time, enjoying my consternation. I had become so agitated that I was pacing back and forth in front of her.

"You've got an erection," she said matter-of-factly. "If anyone gets near us, they'll see it." I looked down, and indeed my erection was visible in my khakis.

She patted a spot on the bench next to her. "Sit down." As soon as I did, she put her book bag over my crotch. "I don't want to ruin your life or your employment. But I do want to ruin your sense of self."

"Why?"

"You're a good professor, from what I hear. And you think your purpose is to achieve things, to be competent, to be respected for that. But that won't make you happy, because your true purpose is to be just... yourself. Your primal self. And that primal self is weak and pathetic and wants to be controlled."

"What is that," I said sarcastically. "Something they teach in your psychology classes?"

"It's the opposite of what they teach. But I've had a sense about men since I was 16. I saw how they would look at me. Often the most high-status and accomplished men. They wanted me and they were unnerved by me."

"Well, you seem awfully sure of yourself."

"Okay, professor. You tell me: How many times have you jerked off thinking about what I did to you that night?"

My silence answered for me.

"That's what I thought," she said. "What you jerk off to is who you are."

I was still fighting her point. "So, you think you're doing me some kind of favor?"

"I do it for me. I'm a sexual sadist. I don't really give a shit about you. But yes, as a byproduct, I'm also doing you a favor."

She looked around. Several students and a few faculty were walking across the quad some distance away. No one close enough to notice as her hand went under the book bag, unzipped my pants, snaked its way under my briefs until it founded my balls. Her fingers surrounded them and squeezed, not too hard. She was making clear to me that she could cause me as much pain as she wanted to.

"See? You're letting me control you right now. All the humiliation you suffered from me on Friday night? It excited you. That's who you are. A weak man desperate to submit to a hot woman less than half your age. The rest is bullshit."

I was breathing hard now, as her hand moved around in my pants, jiggling my balls, occasionally scratching my sack with her sharp fingernails.

I couldn't deny it any longer. I surrendered myself to her then and there.

"Okay," I said. "You're right. I'm enthralled by you. You're all I've been thinking about since I met you."

To me, this admission felt like a major life event. But her response was a simple, "I know" as if I'd just said something completely banal, like "nice weather we're having."

I wanted her to understand the intensity of my feelings. "I'm totally in love with you," I said. And I meant it.

But it made her laugh. "Yeah, that happens all the time. But just to be clear, I am not in love with you. I don't find you attractive at all"

"I don't care," I said. "I want more."

"Oh, do you now?" she said mockingly. "What if I told you the next time I see you will be in your faculty office?"

I gulped. But I was done resisting. "I would say... okay."

She smiled and gave my balls a squeeze. She removed her hand from my pants but kept the book bag covering me.

"Zip up," she said. "We're going to your office now. This is getting me hot."

We walked wordlessly across the quad to the math department building. I held her book bag against my mid-section to hide my erection the entire time.

As soon as we entered my office, I went instinctively behind my desk. It faces outward, toward the door, with my chair on one side and a chair for students on the other side near the door. Having a desk between us, I always felt, made the power relation between professor and student clearer. And created some necessary distance.

But as soon as I stood behind the desk, it felt wrong. The power relation between the two of us was the opposite of that norm. Clearly she knew that too, because she immediately walked to my side of the desk and stood right next to me.

She brought her face close to mine and looked at me with those big, pale blue eyes, framed by her dark hair. She exhaled strongly, purposefully, so I could smell her breath. It was that familiar smell, vanilla and feminine sexuality.

Her hand went straight to my groin and she squeezed my balls through my khakis.

"Let's play a game," she said.

"What kind of game?"

"A version of truth or dare."

She went over to my office door, turned the lock, and lingered there for several seconds with her back to me. She knew I was staring at her perfect ass in those jeans. Then she pulled her cotton-knit shirt over her head and stood there while I stared at her naked back. After a few seconds, she turned around slowly to reveal those taut, medium-sized breasts, her narrow waist, her flat, young stomach. As I stared at her with my mouth hanging open, I could feel a stirring in my groin. My erection -- which had been non-stop since I saw her -- was getting even harder. She was pleased to see it too. Or more accurately, she expected it, and was pleased to confirm it.

"Here are the rules. You will get naked. You will lie down on the floor on your back, with your hands under your butt and your legs spread. I will give you a choice between truth or dare. If you choose truth, I'll ask you a question and if you answer truthfully, fine. If I think you're lying, I will kick your balls. If you choose dare I will tell you what to do. If you do it, fine. If you refuse, I will kick your balls as hard as I can five times."

All I could do was nod, feeling terrified and excited at the same time.

I stripped out of my clothes as quickly as I could and lay on my back. The office carpet felt scratchy against my bare skin, but the discomfort added to the depravity of the whole situation.

"Hands under your butt, legs spread," she said.

I complied, my heart racing.

"Needless to say, if I kick you, you will not scream, because your colleagues in the neighboring offices will see you."

I nodded.

"Truth or dare?" she asked.

"Truth."

"Okay. I want the truth. Why did you become a mathematician?"

This was an easy one, I thought. "Well, I was always good with numbers and--"

With lightning speed she drove the front end of her pink running shoe straight into my balls. I closed my mouth tight to suppress a scream. It was the first kick, and already the pain was so intense I wondered if I'd be able to take even one more. It also felt unfair.

"I was ... telling you ... the truth," I grunted.

"No, you weren't. That was the glib answer you give to everyone. Maybe you even believe it yourself."

"What did you want me to say?"

"That you got your Ph. D. in math because you were confused and overwhelmed by human behavior, and about your place in the world. You were troubled by your own secret desires and the effort it took to keep them secret from yourself. So you hid behind numbers and logic and proofs, because that was easier for you to deal with."

Could this be true? And if so, how could she know it? Was she that intuitive, that smart?

"Well guess what," she said. "I've solved your problem. You are now fully aware of your secret desires. And you know your place in the world: To have pain and humiliation inflicted on you by a young, attractive, dominant woman."

"Okay, okay" I said, partly to end the argument, partly because I was starting to wonder if she was right.

"I'll ask you again: Why did you become a mathematician? I want a one-word answer."

I could not tolerate another kick so soon after that first one, so I thought hard. Then I realized the word she wanted to hear.

"Fear," I said.

"Good," she said.

I began to have a strange feeling, like I was being brainwashed. But was it really brainwashing when the things she was getting me to say felt so... right?

"Truth or dare?" she asked.

Clearly, truths were not going be as easy as I had thought. "Dare."

"Good." She couldn't suppress a smile. "As you might have guessed, degrading a man with another man's semen makes me cum. And I really want to cum."

"Well, how are we--"

"I let Sean fuck me this morning. Because I thought I might run into you."

"Oh." Once again, my disgust at imbibing another man's semen collided with my attraction to her sadistic perversity.

"He came in my ass."

"Oh."

"After he pulled out, and his slimy semen leaked out of me, I spread it all over my cunt and my thighs."

"Oh."

"It's dry now. It will take effort to clean it off with just your tongue. But that's what you're going to do."

And with that, she flicked off her shoes, pulled down her pants and her thong, and stood over me, completely naked now. That narrow waist and the widening hips. That neatly trimmed landing strip. That beautiful pussy.

"Get on your hands and knees," she said, which I immediately did.

"Put your nose near my cunt and sniff."

I complied, feeling like a dog obeying the commands of its master. I inhaled the scent of her boyfriend's dried semen and her own wetness. This was turning her on as much as it was me.

"You should recognize that smell by now. You've smelled it before."

I nodded.

She turned around and bent forward slightly, and spread her ass cheeks.

"Look at my asshole," she said, as if I would be looking anywhere else. "That's where most of his cum went. Stare at it and think about that."

I could not think about anything else.

"Sniff." she said.

And I did. It was pungent, from her boyfriend's cum and the sweat from wearing those tight jeans all day.

"Sniff deeper," she said. And I inhaled long and hard. I could feel my attraction to her, and my desire to submit to her, overtaking any natural disgust I would normally feel. I loved doing whatever she asked of me, whatever sick intimacy she would allow me.

She turned around to face me again and spread her feet apart.

"Look at my thighs," she said, and I could see the caked-on semen in dried splotches on her thighs. "Lick his cum off me. Now."

I licked with all the intensity I could, feeling the taught skin of her young thighs give way slightly as I pressed my tongue into her flesh. As I did this, she brought her hand to her pussy and began touching herself.

"You're licking another man's dried cum from my thighs," she said, excitedly. "How does that make you feel?"

"Degraded," I said, between licks.

She liked that answer. Her breath quickened and her hand moved faster on her clit. "Keep... licking... and... don't... stop" she said. I lapped at her thighs with all the force my tongue could muster. Then she swiveled around with her back to me, leaned on my desk, and stuck her ass in my face. "Spread my ass open and tongue-fuck my tight asshole," she commanded.

Still kneeling, I put my hands on her ass cheeks, spread them open and thrust my tongue in and out of her asshole.

"Eat... his... cum.. from... my... asshole," she said breathlessly. Her own words, her own power to make me do this disgusting act, seemed to drive her over the edge. Her body froze for an instant, then began convulsing. She reached her hands to the back of my head and pulled me deep into her ass as she came, cutting off my ability to breathe. She held me there long enough that I had to forcefully pull my head back to finally take in some air. But after one breath she pulled my face back into her ass.

She held me there for another long twenty seconds. Then she released me and turned to face me again. "That was good," she said. "The fact that I'm not attracted to you makes me cum even harder when I'm degrading you with an attractive man's semen."

I did not like hearing that. At the same time, I did. It made her power over me more salient. She was the incredibly beautiful goddess. I was the unattractive slave.

"Would you like to jerk off?" she asked.

"Yes!" I gasped.

"You know I'm going to make it hurt, right?"

"I don't care," I said, because at that point, I had accepted that pain was the cost of cumming in her presence.

"I'm not going to hold back," she said. "You're going to scream, so we need to muffle it."

She grabbed my shirt, bunched it into a ball and shoved it in my mouth. Then she took the cushion from my office chair and put it over my face. The cushion cut off my vision. I couldn't see her at all, but I could hear her grab some books off the shelf and put them onto the cushion, creating more weight to hold it down against my face.

"I think it's perfectly okay now if you scream. In fact, I'll make sure you do."

I felt her drool hit the head of my cock. I reached my hand down, spread it around my shaft and began to stroke. But I missed the eye contact that usually accompanied her hurting me.

"I can't see you," I complained.

"Too bad," she said. "But I can see you, lying naked on the floor of your office like a pathetic beta slut."

Ah, I got it. She was using dirty talk to make me cum.

"Think about my pretty eyes staring down at you right now, watching you jerk off like a fool, judging you. How does it feel, professor, knowing that I'm going to kick your balls right when you cum? Right in your office, professor. Think how much it's going to hurt, and that I don't care how much it hurts."

That was it. I felt the first spurt erupt from the head of my cock and land on my stomach. And it was the only part of that orgasm I enjoyed, because immediately after that her naked foot slam hard into my balls, shoving them into my body. I screamed, muffled, through the shirt stuffed in my mouth, into the seat cushion pressed against my face. The pain shot up my body as I continued ejaculating, each spurt hurting more than the one before, because of what she had done.

"That will give you something to think about for the next few days," she said. I tossed the seat cushion off my face, removed the shirt from my mouth, and groaned in pain as I watched her start to put on her clothes.

I watched her silently until she was fully dressed again.

Finally, I spoke. "You mean I won't see you for a few days?"

"I have no use for you until you recover so I can hurt you again."

She opened my office door a few inches and peered up and down the hallway. "Coast is clear," she said. Then, just before she left, "Of course, I'm assuming you do, in fact, want to see me again."

"Yes," I said, without hesitation.

"Good" she said. "Next time, I'm bringing a girlfriend."