After school

She used to storm rallies with clenched fists and furious slogans, a militant feminist who swore she would save every woman from the weakness of ordinary men. That girl is dead. Under BNWO she learned that women are safe under our strong, dark hands that can truly own them. Now she is a carefree campus slut who struts between lecture halls with her hips swaying, nipples stiff under thin fabric when she bothers to wear any, my favorite student. She knows the way. She lives by it.

That does not mean she is perfect.

Today, while I sat in the Principal’s office discussing possible expansions, funding, and the quiet reshaping of the curriculum, her soft, wet throat was wrapped around my fat cock. I had pushed her under the heavy oak desk the moment the meeting began. Her lips stretched wide around the thick base, nose pressed into my pubic hair, eyes watering as she fought to take every inch. I kept one hand on the back of her head, holding her there, using her mouth the way a man uses what belongs to him.

She held her breath for over thirty minutes. Thirty full minutes of her throat pulsing and fluttering around me, saliva flooding down her chin and pooling on the floor between her knees, her body trembling with the effort of staying perfectly still and silent. That endurance is commendable. Most girls would have panicked, gagged, or pulled away far sooner. She lasted. She served.

But disobedience is still disobedience.

Any small error must be punished.

When the need for air finally overpowered her training, she pulled her head back without permission. Just a few inches, just enough to suck in a desperate, wet gasp. My cock left her throat with a thick, obscene sound, strings of spit connecting her swollen lips to the glistening shaft. The Principal did not even glance down. I continued speaking calmly about enrollment numbers while I looked at her kneeling form, face flushed, mascara streaked, chest heaving.

“That was over thirty minutes,” I said quietly once the Principal had stepped out for a moment. “Impressive. Most of your classmates would have tapped out at ten. You should be proud of that.”

She looked up, eyes shining with a mix of pride and residual panic, voice still hoarse. “Thank you, Sir… I tried so hard to stay down. I wanted to make you proud.”

“You did,” I answered, stroking her cheek with the same hand that had held her in place. “But you still broke the rule. You came up without permission. Disobedience is disobedience, no matter how small. And every error gets corrected. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, nodding quickly. “I understand. I deserve it.”

I finished the meeting, dismissed her with a single nod, and gave the new order. She would walk home naked. No clothes. Nothing except the backpack. The afternoon sun would touch every inch of the body I own while students and professors watched her pass.

She obeyed.

When she reached the apartment she shared with her feminist boyfriend, she was bare, backpack bouncing against the soft cheeks of her ass, nipples tight from the cool air and the lingering arousal of having been used. He opened the door and froze, eyes wide with confusion and the first spark of something uglier.

“What the fuck…? Where are your clothes? Are you okay? Did someone—”

She stepped inside, closed the door, and smiled at him with calm, almost dreamy satisfaction. “I’m fine. Better than fine. Sit down. I need to tell you everything.”

He stayed standing, staring. “You’re naked in the hallway. People saw you. What the hell is going on?”

“I spent the entire meeting under Professor’s desk,” she said softly, voice still rough from the long use of her throat. “His cock was buried all the way down my throat while he talked to the Principal about campus expansions. I held my breath for over thirty minutes. Thirty. My throat was pulsing around him the whole time, saliva everywhere, and I didn’t move. He told me that was commendable. Most girls couldn’t last that long.”

Her boyfriend’s face twisted. “You… you let him do that? You’re proud of that?”

“Yes,” she answered simply. “I am. But then I made a mistake. I pulled off to breathe without permission. Just for a second. He said disobedience is still disobedience, and any small error has to be punished. So he sent me home like this. Naked. Only the backpack.”

He stared at the bag like it might explode. “Why did he let you keep that?”

She opened it and drew out the only item inside: her panties, heavy and translucent, soaked through with the thick load I had pumped down her throat and across her tongue after the meeting. The fabric was sticky, fragrant with my cum. She held them up between two fingers, smiling.

“I’m the first to earn this gift,” she said. “He ordered that you wear them. All the time. Until he decides I’ve earned a fresh pair. Put them on.”

“You’re serious? You want me to wear your cum-soaked panties?”

“I don’t want you to. He ordered it. There’s a difference.” She pressed the wet fabric into his hand. “Now put them on. Or do I have to tell him you refused?”

He looked at the panties, then at her, jaw tight, but he slowly stepped into them. The soaked crotch clung to him immediately. She watched with quiet satisfaction.

“Good,” she murmured. “Now… guess what’s in my ass.”

He shook his head, voice low and strained. “I don’t want to play this game.”

“It’s not a game. Guess.”

“I don’t know. Just… stop.”

She laughed, a bright little squeak of pure happiness, and turned, presenting her bare ass. The base of the buttplug nestled between her cheeks, the same one I had pushed deep into her after I finished using her mouth.

“It’s his thick, fertile cum,” she told him. “He filled me before he sent me home. When I told him I had a boyfriend, he was more than happy to share the load. He said you can skip meals from now on. This is the only protein you need for the day.”

“Jesus Christ…”

She pulled him down to the floor by the front of his shirt until he was on his knees behind her. “On your knees. Open your mouth. You’re going to clean me the way he wants.”

“I can’t—”

“You can. And you will.” She reached back, gripped the flared base of the plug, and slowly drew it free. The thick toy left her stretched hole with a wet pop. Instantly a heavy, creamy stream of my cum began to leak from her open ass, running down the insides of her thighs in slow, glistening ropes.

She sat down hard on his face.

Her soft, used hole pressed against his mouth and nose, forcing him to taste and swallow the thick load that poured out of her. Warm, salty, heavy cum flooded across his tongue and cheeks while she ground down, riding his face with slow, deliberate rolls of her hips.

“That’s it,” she whispered, voice thick with pleasure. “Swallow it. Every drop. You’re lucky he lets you have any of it.”

He made muffled, reluctant sounds beneath her. She only pressed harder.

“Don’t waste it. He said this is your protein for the day. Show him you’re grateful even if you’re not.”

While he choked and swallowed, she brought the buttplug to her lips. She licked the flared base first, then took the thick shaft into her mouth, sucking greedily, tasting the mixture of her own juices and the rich cum that had been locked inside her for the walk home. Her tongue swirled, eyes half-lidded with pleasure, soft moans vibrating around the toy.

“Mmm… still tastes like him,” she murmured around the plug. “Strong. Heavy. Exactly how it should. You’re just lucky he lets you clean up after him.”

He wasn’t happy.

She didn’t acknowledge that.

She simply kept riding his face, feeding him every last drop, already thinking about how much better she would do tomorrow—and how she would hold her breath even longer next time, so the only thing left to punish would be nothing at all.