Your most senior student

The woman expertly sucking your dick is not the slim brunette you expected, but rather a fit blonde who looks up at you as soon as she realizes you are awake and sensuously pulls her lips back off your throbbing prick with audible slurp. The moment you wonder who she is, the information floods into your mind from the Rulebook: this is Susan, your most senior postdoc. Before you made the college women only, that position was held by a modest young man called Ashley who, as the saying goes, had much to be modest about. You've hardy had a chance to get acquainted with the woman pleasuring you, but simply from her appearance and recent occupation, you consider her a vast improvement.

"Good morning, Professor," she says with a smile. "The young lady you brought home is cleaning up in the bathroom. Would you like me to fetch her, or maybe finish you myself?"

You think for a moment and then shake your head. "I'll join her, thank-you Susan," you announce, swinging your legs out of the bed. There doesn't seem much point in being shy after what she was doing for you a few minutes ago.

"Very good, Professor. Breakfast will be waiting by the time you're ready. Will your guest be eating at the table?"

It seems a strange way to phrase the question and bearing in mind that Amy needs to leave early to get home in time to change for school, you answer in the negative and Susan precedes you out of the door, heading downstairs while you enter the bathroom.

The beautiful teenager is in the shower, carefully washing out her bottom and you can see an empty enema bag hanging up. She turns at the sound of the door opening and beams at the sight of you and of your prick bouncing in front of you.

"Good morning, sir. Thank-you so much for last night; I learned such a lot. The water's just the right temperature if you'd like me to help you wash."

You smile back and join her in the shower, which is indeed at a pleasant temperature, although washing is not the primary activity in which you intend to engage. Amy quickly soaps her hands and begins to lather you front and back, starting with your shoulders and arms, then your back and chest. The simple act is surprisingly enjoyable and the lovely girl doing it ensures that your excitement doesn't wane. After reaching your waist, she crouches down to continue and you take hold of her head to guide her lips to your ready phallus. She allows you to control her, sucking you into her mouth and easily swallowing you down her throat even while she continues to wash your buttocks, thighs and groin.

After a few thrusts, during which she skilfully teases your cock with the tip of her tongue, you pull out, urge her to her feet and turn her around, sliding your manhood between her legs to rub against her luscious quim, before lining it up with her arsehole and unceremoniously shoving it all the way into her tight but unresisting rear passage.

The tanned teen rises onto her tiptoes with a strangled cry of anguish as you pin her to the wall and take a handful of her hair to use as a handle while you fuck her burning arse.

"Am I hurting you, Amy?" you grunt into her ear.

"Yes, oof, thank-you, ugh, sir. Guh."

As you continue to pound her poor little bumhole, you notice that she's not just leaning limply against the wall waiting for you to finish, but actively grinding against you and squeezing you with every thrust. Surprisingly quickly, considering your activities last night, your pace quickens and in just moments, ecstasy overcomes you, waves of delight sending your seed deep into the young woman's bowels.

You sink to your knees with exhaustion and Amy does the same, turning awkwardly to give you a hug.

"Thank-you, sir. May I finish washing you?"

You nod and within a few minutes, you are clean and also dry, thanks to Amy's attentiveness with the towels. She dries herself whilst you complete your ablutions and ties her wet hair into a loose bun as you don't have enough of your own to warrant the ownership of a hairdryer.

After dressing, you head downstairs with Amy, to find Susan standing beside the table which bears the full fried breakfast she has prepared, along with a generous continental selection. She's dressed in black sandals, a white blouse and sage green skirt, perhaps slightly longer than that of most of your students, running to just above mid thigh. She holds out your chair so you can sit and then takes what looks like a shallow dog bowl from a cupboard and fills it with dry cereal from a box which proudly claims that it is healthy, nutritious and flavourless. She puts it on the floor in front of a shocked-looking Amy, who glances at you for guidance, but the idea of the pretty schoolgirl eating from a bowl on the floor suddenly amuses you, so you just nod in approval and she sinks to her knees obediently. Obviously this is what Susan meant when she asked you whether Amy would be eating at the table.

Just as the humiliated eighteen year old leans forward for her first unappetising mouthful, Susan interrupts her.

"Didn't you say you wanted to pee, earlier?"

Amy stops and gets up on her knees to face you.

"May I please use your lavatory before I go, sir? Miss said I could only use it to get rid of my enema, not to pee and I'm bursting."

Your mouth is full when she asks the question and by the time it's empty you've noticed that Susan has a look like thunder directed at the younger woman on her knees. You gesture at her to deal with it while you eat and she replies in curt, clipped tones.

"No, young lady, as I already explained, the Professor's lavatory is not for us to empty our bladders into. Since you need to go, please use the bowl. Now."

It dawns on Amy just a fraction before you that Susan means the bowl from which Amy is to eat. The distraught girl looks around for support, but you're not about to undermine your excellent assistant. Finally, she shuffles over the bowl and moves her knees further apart, so that her crotch is hovering just above the target. Susan makes eye contact with you to make sure you intend for her to continue in charge of this situation, then starts to count, slowly and deliberately.

If having to piss into a bowl of cereal in front of two near-strangers weren't enough to put her off, the added time pressure can't have helped and it's not until Susan reaches four that the pungent stream finally starts. Unfortunately, the bowl is rather small and not empty, so Amy has to stem the flow long before she's finished and you expect that this is much more uncomfortable than simply having a full bladder.

She shuffles back and lowers her mouth to the soggy, disgusting mess, knowing better than to try to use her hands. There are tears in her eyes whilst she chews, retches, gags and finally swallows the revolting mixture.

With another look to you for approval, Susan takes a wooden spoon from a drawer in the kitchen and says "It is rude to express dissatisfaction with a meal you are given by making noises like that. Please stop or the Professor will add to the four minutes of spanking you're getting for the delay after you were given permission to pee. I want that bowl spotless by the time I finish."

She gets on one knee behind the girl forcing down the piss-soaked cereal and starts to pepper the backs of her thighs with rapid but light smacks from the wooden spoon. No, not both her thighs, but just the left one, and not the whole thigh, either, only the part nearest her bum, on the inner slope. Despite the swats being anything but harsh, the number slapping the same spot soon builds to a crescendo of agony, raising a raw welt, which the postdoc continues to belabour relentlessly.

Whilst she spanks, Susan starts to talk to you. "Since you haven't had a chance to mark the essays from your intermediate students, Professor, I took the liberty of making some notes for you on the academic network. I hope that was alright. Stop gagging, young lady! Also, the research group is getting on very well with the amendments you wanted to your monograph, so I'll let you know when we have it finalized and when the bibliography is complete. Hold still!"

"Right," you answer, slightly stunned by the avalanche of information coming your way. Before you found the Rulebook, your monograph was languishing in the limbo of procrastination, but it seems your new, improved graduate students have finished it for you. "Thank-you Susan. Er, how is your own work coming on?"

"Oh! Very well, thank-you for asking, Professor. I said hold still! I think I told you that I'd been accepted for publication? It's not due out until the December issue but after that I just have a few things to tidy up before I can really get stuck into the Katzenberger thing. That sounded like a retch, girl! Of course, it helps that our grads are such a dream team. My doctoral students are so competent that supervising them is a breeze, although that's probably why you chose to give them to me, right, Professor?"

You nod as though you remember doing exactly that. You wouldn't have trusted Ashley to supervise a doctoral candidate on his best day, but you always thought they needed quite a bit of hand-holding, so maybe you just have a better cadre of candidates now.

Amy actually finishes her bowl of horror well before the four minutes are up, let alone the further four minutes for lack of decorum and unnecessary squirming. By the time it's over, she has tears running down her cheeks and the welt on her thigh is a fiery carbuncle just where it will rub against the saddle of her bike when she rides home. You're sure this is no accident and will give her cause to remember this morning's chastisement for a long while to come.

The brunette thanks the older blonde for the spanking, but the latter tells her that she ought to be thanking you, for she was merely the instrument of your discipline, not acting on her own account.

"I'm sorry, Professor. Thank-you for having Miss Clarke spank me. I'll control my bladder and gag reflex better in future. Is there anything I can do to tip you?"

"That's Doctor Clarke, Amy. I don't need anything right now, so you can tip me the next time we meet."

Susan then addresses the teenager. "I thought we'd dealt with your gag reflex when I helped you with your deep throat training this morning, before I wakened the Professor. As a woman, you need to get used to swallowing disgusting things, especially if you want to join a sorority when you come here."

"Yes, miss, I mean doctor. I'll try harder and practise some more. Do you have to eat stuff like that a lot at university?"

"Well, not this precisely, but the college doctor will give you a personalized diet plan when you enrol and to be frank, it won't be food that you like at all. Miss is fine, by the way. In any case, you have my number and please do call if I can help you prepare for your interview, or if you need any more advice, but isn't it time you were making a move?"

Amy glances at the clock on the wall and jumps to her feet. "Oh, yes, thank-you miss, thank-you sir. I had a lovely time staying over and I learned a lot from both of you." She glances down at the empty bowl, but Susan says she will deal with it and hustles the schoolgirl out, into the hall, to dress and depart. Clearly the two young women got to know each other quite well whilst you were sleeping. By the time Amy has left, you've finished the excellent repast, so Susan orders a taxi to take you to campus, paying for it herself as a matter of course.

She quickly rinses the crockery and cutlery, stacking it ready for the next grad student to wash and put away, whilst you collect your lecture notes. The cab arrives almost exactly as you're ready to leave, locking the door behind you and your student. She waves goodbye and sets off in the direction of the college on foot, but you call her back and offer to share the taxi, since she paid for it. She seems quite overcome with gratitude for this simple act of kindness and the two of you have a stimulating discussion about your shared areas of interest on the way.

When the car drops you off at the campus car park closest to the lecture hall, Susan disappears off to the office your research group occupies and you head into the separate lecture theatres at the same time as the previous group of students is leaving. You make your way to the stage and get set up whilst the previous lecturer cleans his notes off the blackboards, which flank the giant interactive projection screen operated by the computer under the dais, a quaint juxtaposition of the traditional and cutting-edge. You place your notes side by side on the three lecterns and check that the correct media are loaded into your workspace on the university server, then quickly skim through the notes to prepare for the lecture. You could do the whole thing digitally, but you find it easier to follow if all the notes are laid out together on paper rather than a computer screen.

The quieting of the general hum indicates that the students have finished filing into the hall and are ready for you to begin.