Arc 2.1: Northern Quest

Kyle suddenly realized his wet dream was over. Yet the gentle, persistent pressure on his cock was still there. He cracked an eye open to find Claire’s familiar dark hair between his legs, her head bobbing up and down at a steady, practiced pace.

“Damn girl, you could’ve just said thank you,” he groaned, sinking back into the pillows. "Well, good morning to you too."

She increased her pace, one hand working his shaft in perfect, slick tandem with her mouth until he was fully, painfully hard. Then she pulled off with a soft pop, her lips glistening and swollen. "I want you to come on my face," she whispered, her voice husky and, for some reason, shy.

That was all the direction he needed. A few frantic, fumbling strokes later, he was grunting her name, and thick, white ropes of his release were splattering across her skin. One streak landed hot across her cheekbone, another splashed her chin, and a final, pearly drop clung to the tip of her nose. She kept her eyes open the entire time, her gaze locked on his, her expression a strange mix of submission and defiance.

Catching his breath, a wicked thought occurred to him. "You gonna go kiss your boyfriend good morning like that?"

A faint, unexpected blush crept up Claire's neck, a stark contrast to the mess he’d made of her. She deliberately ran her tongue along her bottom lip, collecting a stray, salty droplet. "Mind your own business, Kyle," she said, but there was a flicker of something—dark amusement, maybe even a thrill of anticipation—in her eyes before she slipped silently out of the room, leaving the scent of sex and her own ruined face hanging in the air.

Later, Kyle slumped in his philosophy lecture, the words "Hegelian dialectic" swimming meaninglessly in his head. It didn't help that his professor, Dr. Ulma, was a six-foot-two Scandinavian goddess, fresh out of her PhD at twenty-seven. With cascading blonde hair, monumental breasts that defied gravity, and the serene glow of a woman both pregnant and wielding a toddler at home, she was a walking, talking distraction. Unfortunately this damn credit was also needed for his GER. The approaching midterms felt like a **** sentence.

He needed a reset. A pick-me-up. Something to reassert the power he’d felt so keenly over the weekend. Maybe I'll even have to lock my door, he mused, just so Claire can't just barge in and suck me off in the mornings.

The thought was a novel and totally unexpected problem for Kyle. He loved the blowjobs, of course—they were still the peak of his day every day. But after their hotel weekend, Claire, in her terrifyingly logical way, decided that since he owned her mouth for blowjobs, and since she seemed to genuinely enjoy the "cream-treat" as she’d started calling it with a disturbingly casual glee, she now felt entitled to them. She’d simply… initiate.

For some reason, this total accessibility had stripped the act of its illicit thrill. The conquest was over. All conquistador was enjoying the reaches, and mountains of gold, while dreaming of the wet snake-infested jungle and the thrill of discovery.

He needed to break the routine. He needed a reset.

After the last student had filtered out, he approached her desk. "Professor? I'm, uh, a little lost."

She didn't look up from her laptop. "All policies are in the syllabus, and my TA holds office hours on Tuesdays. My own hours are also posted there."

Kyle nodded, his heart hammering. The words felt stupid, but they had worked before. They were his magic spell. He took a breath and blurted it out. "I claim your pussy for sex on campus."

Ulma froze. Her hands stilled on the keyboard. Then, a terrifyingly familiar blankness washed over her features. She stood, her movements becoming fluid and mechanical. Without a word, she hiked up her long skirt, hooked her thumbs into her sensible cotton panties, and pushed them down her thighs.

Next thing Kyle knew, his trousers and boxers were down to his. Before he could process the horror dawning alongside his arousal, she backed him against the desk, straddled him, and guided himself into her wet, ready heat.

For one dizzying, triumphant moment, it worked. The power surged back. He was the king.

Then, the handle of the lecture hall door jiggled.

Panic electrocuted him. They were half-hidden by the desk, but it was a flimsy shield. "Sex is over!" he hissed, the command a **** prayer.

Instantly, life flooded back into Ulma's eyes. She looked down, registered him inside her, registered her own state of undress, and let out a sharp "Tsk!" of pure, Scandinavian disapproval. She dismounted with a clinical grace, pulling up her panties and smoothing her skirt with brisk, efficient movements.

As the door finally opened and a hesitant student peered in, Ulma was the picture of professional composure. "Can I help you? Next class only begins in ten minutes."

Kyle scrambled to pull up his pants, his face burning, and practically fell out of the auditorium, trying to appear as innocent as ever.

The “shlck-shlck-shlck” and an occasional “gluck-gluck” of Claire’s mouth was a wet, rhythmic counterpoint to the conversation. Kyle lay propped against the couch back, one hand tangled in her hair, as Mark sat in the chair, scrolling through his phone.

“So, this Professor Ulma,” Mark said, not looking up. “She’s the one who looks like a Viking supermodel, right? Total hottie.”

From between Kyle’s legs, there was a brief pause in the “gluck-gluck” noises. Claire pulled off with a soft, wet pop, catching her breath. “No blame,” she said, using the pause to catch her breath. “If she asked, I’d be her little bitch.” She then dove back down, taking him deep with a hungry, guttural sound that made Kyle’s toes curl.

A smirk twisted Kyle’s lips. “Well, chances are she’s gonna be my bitch soon.” He grunted as Claire’s tongue went out of her mouth and reached his balls. “I, uh, claimed her pussy today. For sex on campus.”

This time, Claire stopped completely. She pulled back, his cock slick and glistening in her hand. She looked from Kyle to Mark, her expression genuinely impressed. “Oh, damn,” she breathed. “I hope her marriage can survive that.”

Kyle’s smirk faltered. “What? It’s just on campus. It’s not like I’m moving in.”

Mark finally looked up from his phone, raising an eyebrow. “Dude, she’s a prof who resides on campus. We see her and her husband and their toddler in the faculty cafeteria, like, every day. He’s that big guy who sells sailing equipment.”

Kyle’s stomach dropped. “Fuck…”

Seeing his discomfort, Claire gave his shaft a slow, reassuring stroke. “I am sure that will be fine,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you want to come on my face again?”

Kyle looked down at her, her lips swollen and her eyes gleaming with a shared, wicked complicity. He then glanced at Mark, who pretended to go back to his phone, not looking their way at all. The sheer, surreal normalcy of it all was both terrifying and intoxicating.

“Not perverts my ass,” Kyle muttered, before taking Claire off his cock and using his hand to jerk himself off on her smiling face.