Arc 2.2: Viking Conquest

The door to Professor Ulma Johanson office clicked shut, muffling the sounds of the emptying hallway. The air smelled of old paper and lemon-scented cleaner. Sunlight slanted across her tidy desk, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.

Ulma looked up from her laptop, a flicker of professional wariness in her eyes. "Mr. Evans? My office hours are concluding. If it's about the midterm—"

Kyle, his body humming with a week of pent-up frustration from his self-imposed abstention from Claire, leaned back against the solid wood of the door, locking it behind. A smirk tugged at his lips as he delivered the line that had never once failed. "I claimed your pussy for sex. I want to have sex."

Ulma didn’t go blank. Her face didn’t smooth into placid obedience. Instead, she blinked once, slowly. Then a short, incredulous laugh escaped her lips. "No." And started typing.

The sound hit Kyle like a physical blow. The confident posture he’d held slackened. "What? No? What do you mean, no?"

Ulma gestured with one hand, a vague, dismissive wave that encompassed the pronounced curve of her abdomen beneath her professional blouse. "I am in my second trimester. My doctor has been very clear." Her eyes, sharp and utterly lucid, met his. "My pussy, as you so elegantly put it, is medically closed for business. So, no."

She turned back to her laptop screen, her fingers tapping a key with finality. The soft click was louder than a slam. "Now, if that's all..."

Frustration, confusion, and a painful, denied arousal twisted inside Kyle. His eyes, wild and ****, darted around the office before landing on the solution he’d been fantasizing about for weeks: the monumental swell of Ulma’s chest.

"Fine," he snapped, the words a **** command. "Then I claim your giant tits. Right now."

That was the correct command. The familiar, terrifying blankness instantly washed over Ulma's features. She stood, her movements becoming fluid and mechanical. Without a word, her efficient fingers unbuttoned the top of her blouse and unhooked her front-clasp maternity bra.

Her breasts spilled out, heavy and pendulous, their pale skin mapped with a delicate tracery of blue veins. They swayed with a ponderous, hypnotic weight as she moved. Her large, dark areolas were each covered by a stark white nursing pad, a clinical detail she made no move to change.

"I'll just sit over there," Kyle snickered, scrambling around her inert form to situate himself on the edge of her desk.

Ulma followed, a beautiful, blank automaton. She slowly reached him, her fingers mechanically freeing his hard, aching cock from his pants. Then, without missing a beat, she pressed the immense, soft weight of her breasts around him. They were impossibly warm, radiating a deep, biological heat that made him gasp. "Oh, god, yes..." he choked out, his head falling back.

She began a rhythmic, up-and-down motion, creating a deep, hot, and unbelievably soft valley of flesh. The act was surreal and robotic, the cool, smooth surface of the nursing pads a bizarre, sanitized contrast to the living warmth enveloping him.

"Fuck, Ulma... they're so... fuck..." he cried out, his hips bucking involuntarily.

The only other sounds in the room were the soft, slick friction of her skin gliding over his shaft and his own ragged, appreciative groans, while the firm, round curve of her pregnant belly pressed against his thigh with every mechanical, mindless stroke.

The stimulation was intense and novel, a suffocating, velvety heat unlike anything he’d known. It didn't take long. With a guttural, choked-off grunt, he erupted, painting thick, white stripes across the pale, veined landscape of her chest and the monumental swell of her breasts.

He slumped back against the desk, spent, his breath coming in ragged pants. He watched her, fascinated. Ulma, still utterly blank, turned and retrieved a box of tissues and a single wet wipe from her desk drawer. With detached, efficient strokes, she cleaned the mess from her skin, wiping away the evidence with the clinical precision of a janitor mopping a spill.

As she finished tossing the soiled wipe into the bin, Kyle, feeling his power and his audacity return, added a hasty stipulation. "Oh damn, almost forgot. I claim your tits in this building."

Life instantly flooded back into Ulma's eyes. She finished buttoning her blouse with a sharp, final motion and fixed him with an utterly annoyed glare. "The minute for establishing new territorial stipulations expired sixty seconds after you finished," she stated, her voice crisp and professional.

"The claim is established as-is: my 'giant tits' are now yours. That is the rule." She sat back down at her desk, smoothing her blouse, the picture of composure.

Kyle, a little worried by her sudden return to full agency, ventured, "I hope your husband doesn't mind."

She gave him a flat, unamused look. "Oh, no. He is a dear. A very understanding man." Her tone was dripping with small, yet unmistakable amounts of genuine affection. She put her hands back on the keyboard. "Now," she said, her voice returning to its cool, professional clip. "Can I help you with something else?" The question was a clear and absolute dismissal.

To his own surprise, Kyle was still rock hard. The sheer novelty—the power of having this formidable woman service him—had his blood pumping instantly. He didn’t speak. He just gestured down at his erect cock with a hopeful, arrogant smirk.

Ulma let out another sharp “Tsk!” of pure Scandinavian exasperation and rolled her eyes. But she stood and moved back in front of him, her pregnant silhouette blocking the light.

This time, as she enveloped him again in the warm, soft prison of her heavy breasts, her eyes were not blank. They were locked on his, sharp and intensely present, a predator assessing her prey.

"You do understand," she said, her voice a low, calm murmur that vibrated through her chest and into his flesh, "that we are flagrantly violating about seventeen university codes of conduct, don't you?" His cock, slick with her skin’s natural moisture, slipped out from between the soft, veined mounds. She didn't break eye contact as she used her hand to firmly guide him back in, her grip both functional and possessive. "If this gets out, my career is over. Yours likely is, too. So. No. Talking. About it. To anyone. Understood?"

Kyle, lost in the intoxicating sensation and the thrill of their shared secret, nodded eagerly, his hips giving a slight, involuntary thrust between her warm flesh. "Professor, no word to nobody! My lips are sealed," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. "But fuck... your tits feel like heaven. So fucking warm and soft. You were built for this, weren't you?"

"Mr. Evans, please shut up," Ulma hissed, her voice dangerously low, "or I will report you to the ethics committee, consequences for my own career be damned."

But the warning had not the anticipated effect. The combination of her threatening tone, the intense eye contact, and the overwhelming physical sensation was a catalyst. Kyle felt the climax rushing up. In a final, **** act of ownership, he gasped out the command, "I claim your mouth for blowjobs.... Fuck, just on campus though!"

The effect was instantaneous. The sharp, intelligent light in Ulma's eyes vanished, replaced by the familiar, terrifying blankness. Her movements became fluid and mechanical.

In one seamless, unnerving motion, she leaned down. Her breasts, which had moments before been a warm, soft prison, fell away. Without a single wasted movement, her head dipped and she took his entire length into her mouth. The transition from the soft, enveloping pressure of her flesh to the warm, wet, absolute suction of her throat was so abrupt it stole his breath.

The sensation pushed Kyle over the edge. He came with a guttural cry, his release pulsing down her throat. She swallowed reflexively, her body operating on pure, robotic autopilot, her vacant eyes fixed on some point in the middle distance until the last shudder had passed through him.

A moment later, consciousness flooded back into her gaze. She pulled away, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her expression a mixture of profound irritation and weary resignation.

"Are you quite finished?" she asked, her voice flat.

Kyle, panting and spent, slumped back in the chair. "Yeah," he breathed. "I'm good." A lazy, post-coital smirk touched his lips. "Hey, Ulma? Can I just... play with these for a bit while you type?"

He gestured vaguely toward her heavy, exposed breasts.

“First of all, I am professor Johanson…” of pure exasperation, her eyes rolling so hard it seemed painful. But after a brief, internal calculation, she gave a single, curt nod. "Fine. Do not interfere with my work."

She turned back to her computer, her fingers beginning to click decisively on the keyboard. Kyle, feeling a profound sense of victory, reached out and began to idly knead her warm, soft flesh, tracing the blue veins with his thumbs as the sound of her typing filled the office.