You protest

"No! Professor this is too much! You can't...can't demand this of...of a student!"

"I can demand it of a whore," he snarls, stepping forward and grabbing a handful of your lush mane of hair. "And that's all you are, a fucking whore. Now get on your knees and get to work or I'll show you how a pimpslapping can improve your attitude. He raises one hand as he pulls your hair, threatening you with it as he glares into your face.

"What's it going to be whore? Suck willingly, or take a slapping and get it **** down your throat? Because either way, I'm using your slutty mouth."

Your mind reels with shock and horror. Surely he wouldn't actually strike you? This must be an empty threat. But what if it's not, you worry, quavering with excited dread. What if he slaps you around like a cheap whore then fucks you anyway? As you try to **** your reeling mind to reason you're suddenly aware of your pussy warming and flowing with nectar. Whatever your brain is doing, your cunt seems to have decided what it wants.