Mom Professor Whore

Chapter 1: Her First Customer

Dr. Elizabeth Collins stepped up to the podium in the lecture hall. She was the Dean of Philosophy and Ethics at the University. Dressed in tan slacks, a white blouse, a blue blazer, and with her blonde bob haircut, the students saw the embodiment of what one would expect from a lecturer on the topic of ethics and morality in everyday life.

This was one of her favorite topics, which was the philosophy of Kant. She firmly believed that this philosophy in particular was more relevant in today’s chaotic world than ever before.

She saw the eager looks on the faces of the students who were there to learn from one of the most well-known and respected people in academia on the topic of ethics and morality. She felt a warm satisfaction that she was guiding the next generation.

With a clear voice she started her lecture. “Good morning everyone. I’m happy to see you all here today. I’m not here to tell you what to think or how to act. I’m just the messenger. That message has two fundamental parts. The first part is that we should reflect on how we conduct ourselves and how our actions affect other people. The second part is why? Why should we even care about part 1?”

Pressing the clicker, she went to the next slide in her presentation. “This is very simple. Kant presents us with what he called the Categorical Imperative. That sounds like a very academic phrase. So what the heck does that mean?”

She went to the next slide. “It’s more than academic. It’s a concept that we can use in our everyday lives. Kant teaches us that morality should be based on what he called “universal principles” rather than emotion, tradition, or personal consequences.”

She went to the next slide with one bolded statement. “Simply put, Categorial Imperative is the notion that a person should act only according to rules they would want everyone else to follow universally.”

Elizabeth paused for a few seconds to let that sink in and then continued. “Moral actions come from duty and respect for rational moral law, not from personal gain or feelings. Kant argued that every human being possesses inherent dignity and must always be treated as such and not merely as a means to someone else’s goals.”

Elizabath’s goal was not just lecture but to engage and challenge the students.”

She went to the next slide and scanned the audience. “Said another way, morality is based on duty, not consequences. We all should act according to principles we would want everyone to follow. Don’t lie because lying, if universalized, would destroy trust. Morality is about our actions. Those actions are about duty and principle, not results.”

She clicked to go to the next slide with another one-line bolded statement. “The ends do not justify the means.”

She stepped away from the podium, getting closer to the student audience.

“Let’s make this real. Put away the textbooks and the presentations. For instance, you’re a software developer for a new social media app. You’ve discovered a loophole in the privacy settings that allows you to harvest user data such as emails, private messages, and locations and sell it to advertisers. It’s perfectly legal, a grey area the law hasn’t caught up to yet. No one will ever know. The profit is enormous.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “No problem, right?”

She motioned to the students. “What would you do? Your decisions may affect your career and your ability to support your family if the company stays in business. There are a boatload of consequences to your decision.”

She saw a nodding of heads in the audience.

She paced back and forth. “Kant asks you not to consider the consequences such as your career or the company’s success. Kant asks you to consider the maxim, the fundamental principle, the rules of conduct.”

Elizabeth then posed a question to the students. “Is it permissible to violate an individual’s privacy for my own gain when I can get away with it?

She raised her arms with palms up. “Now, universalize it. Imagine a world where everyone operates on that principle. A world where doctors sell your medical records, where your banker sells your financial history, where no personal information is safe. What becomes of trust? What becomes of society itself?”

A young woman in the front row raised her hand. “But Dr. Collins, that world is already happening. Isn’t Kant’s ideal just naive?”

Elizabeth smiled. “That’s an excellent question. You’re correct. In reality that is happening today. It’s important to remember that the ideals proposed by Kant are merely ideals. We have to live in the everyday world, and that world is far from perfect. The ideals are not the goal but a way to help guide us. Those ideals are what allow us to look at ourselves in the mirror and say, ‘I did not contribute to the decay. I upheld the principle, even when it was difficult, even when it cost me something.”

Elizabeth clicked to the final slide in her presentation. “We don’t use the concepts of ethics and morality to eliminate temptation but to help us when we are face to face with it.

++++++++++

Later that day Elizabeth was in a meeting with Deans of other university departments. The topic was a proposed partnership with a tech corporation that wanted to fund a new research lab.

Thomas Thorne, the Dean of Sciences, was making his case. “The funding from InnovateEd would be substantial. We’re talking about a ten-million-dollar endowment. This is a win-win situation.”

Elizabeth waited for him to finish before speaking. With a calm tone, she said, “I’ve read the proposal, Dean Thorne. I’ve read the fine print of InnovateEd’s user agreement. Our students and faculty would be required to sign this agreement to use the lab’s proprietary software. It includes a clause granting the company irrevocable rights to all research data generated within the facility. They own our intellectual property.”

Thorne waved his hands. “It’s standard boilerplate, Elizabeth. A necessary evil to secure the funding.”

Elizabeth countered. “An evil we are being asked to endorse. We would be asking our philosophy and ethics students to sign away their rights and our sociology and technology departments to surrender findings. It’s a direct violation of the very principles of academic freedom and integrity this institution was built on.”

Dean Alveraz, head of the Education department sighed. “The board is very keen on this, Elizabeth. It’s a lot of money to walk away from.”

Elizabeth got an edge to her voice. “Then we’re not a university anymore; we’re a subsidiary of global tech. We have a moral obligation to our students to set the example. We sell our principles for a pile of cash? Once we begin selling that principle, we can no longer claim to teach it.”

Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders. “This is a slow poison that will be impossible to recover from. I’m not going to support it and formally recommend that we reject this proposal.”

Dean Thorne spoke up. “It’s up to the Board of Directors. We all have input. My recommendation is that we need to adapt or become irrelevant. This is how it works in today’s world.”

For Elizabeth this was a very easy choice. It was not about adapting and withering away. In her world, right was right, and compromise was just a slow death.

++++++++++++++++++

The heavy oak door of the Collins home closed with a solid thud. This is where Dr. Elizabeth Collins could relax and unwind. The old Georgian Revival-style house had been passed down from her parents. It was filled with classic, comfortable furniture rather than cold museum pieces. There were no ostentatious displays of wealth, only quiet quality such as the soft glow of a Tiffany lamp, the deep luster of a mahogany bookshelf, and the well-worn comfort of a cream-colored sofa. It was a sanctuary of order and warmth.

The rich aroma of garlic and herbs met her in the foyer. “Mom, you’re just in time,” called a voice from the kitchen.

Elizabeth followed the sound to find her son, Anthony James Collins IV, at the stove. He was already in his second year at Harvard Law at the age of 20. He had his father’s height and lean body. He was currently concentrating on stirring a pot of sauce.

“Don’t tell me you’re making your ‘famous’ bolognese again,” Elizabeth said with a smile as she leaned against the doorframe.

Anthony shot back, “Hey, it’s famous in this house. “Someone has to cook while the Dean is busy saving the world from corporate sellouts.”

He tapped the side of his nose. “I heard about the InnovateEd meeting. You took on Thorne and the board, didn’t you? Good for you. They need someone with a spine.”

Elizabeth’s heart swelled with pride. “It’s about principle, Anthony. You know that.”

Anthony looked at his mother. “I do. It’s why I’m proud to tell people my mom is the Dean of Ethics. You actually walk the walk.”

From the living room, a voice piped up. “Mrs. Gable in my English class said you’re the smartest person she’s ever met.”

It was Donna, her seventeen-year-old daughter. She was curled up on the armchair with a textbook. With her light brown hair pulled back in a neat ponytail and her focused expression, she was almost a younger version of Elizabeth.

Elizabeth walked over and kissed the top of Donna’s head. “Mrs. Gable is very kind. And how is your own ethical dilemma going? The debate team preparation?”

Finishing up her junior year, she was already taking classes at MIT in computer science/

“It’s so frustrating! Our topic is on privacy versus security in a digital world. The other team is arguing that giving up some personal data is a fair trade for safety. They just don’t get that the principle is the point! Once you give up an inch of privacy, you’ve already lost the argument.”

She sighed dramatically. “It’s like they’ve never heard you talk about it, Mom.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Well, you can’t quote me in a debate, but you can certainly use the logic. Just remember to argue with your head, not just your heart.”

Turning back to her notes, Donna said, “I know, I know. Logical consistency and universal principles. I got it.”

Anthony brought three plates of pasta to the table, and the family settled into their comfortable routine. They talked about Anthony’s classes, Donna’s upcoming swim meet, and the book Elizabeth was reading. This was the life she had built from the ashes of her grief after her husband, Anthony James Collins III, had passed.

Elizabeth looked at her children and the warm, safe room around her. This was her reality.

For some reason. Elizabeth had been on edge the last week or so. The memory of a secret she had buried long ago had crept back into her mind.

The house was silent as Elizabeth was getting ready for bed. The house was silent. Anthony was out with friends, and Donna was asleep. Elizabeth stood in her spacious, walk-in closet, methodically hanging up her clothes. She was replaying the satisfying, principled stand she had taken that day. This was her. This was her life.

Her eyes caught her reflection in the full-length mirror on the closet door as she slid a hanger onto the brass rod. For a brief moment, she saw an image of herself from the past. She saw a woman with wild, disheveled hair, her face flushed and her body damp with sweat from passion, lust, and sex.

She thought about that image in her mind. It was four years ago just after her husband’s death. She was finally getting over the grief and fell into a trap of looking at how to make herself alive again.

Dominic Santoro. He wasn’t in her ethics class. He was a brilliant and cocky political science Ph.D. student. He had an intensity that was both thrilling and terrifying to Elizabeth at the time. He had hunger in his eyes. He had pursued her with confidence that chipped away at her defenses until she had agreed to coffee. And then to drinks. And then one evening, he went to his apartment.

The four months that followed were like a pornographic dream. It wasn’t about love or compassion. It was about pure lust and animalistic sex. She wasn’t Dr. Collins, the widow, the mother, or the Dean. She was a body that craved wanton, unabashed fucking, and he was the Alpha that did what Alphas do and took what was rightfully his regardless of the consequences of polite society.

She had done things she couldn’t even think about in the light of day. Wild, shameless things that contradicted every single principle she had ever professed. He had photographed her. He always had his phone near, capturing images of a woman she didn’t recognize. A woman arching her back, begging for more. She had the looks of raw passion on her face.

She had let him take photos and videos of a slut, a whore, a fucktoy used for his pleasure.

She had tried to forget everything about that ill-conceived fling. It was not romantic. It was about pure sex. She had always been very prudish, and she still was. She told herself it was because of recovering from the loss of her husband. Maybe it was a female midlife crisis. It could have been many factors, but it was not who she really was. It was an anomaly. That was something that she wished she had never done and had regretted at the time and, of course, afterward.

She had done things that she didn’t want or like to do. Dominic was a handsome younger man, which made her feel something, but she was not sure exactly what it was. He knew how to play on her weakness and took her down that path of depravity that she really did not enjoy, or so she told herself after. She never had enjoyed giving oral sex. She never thought of it as “sucking a cock.” Good girls don’t get semen spattered on their tits or dipping down their chin.

A cold knot formed in Elizabeth’s stomach. She gripped the edge of the closet door to steady herself. That wasn’t her. It was a madness brought on by grief. A profound moral failing she eventually walked away from. She had buried the secret so deep and convinced herself it was a closed chapter in a book that was hidden away where nobody could find it.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The office overlooking the river was all glass and steel. It was a monument to how business was done these days. Dominic Santoro stood by the floor-to-ceiling window with a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. He was watching the afternoon sun glint off the water. He wasn’t looking at the view. He was assessing the assets. He saw money at work, seeing the buildings, the bridges, and the flow of traffic.

He wore a deep charcoal grey suit. At thirty-five years old, he had learned patience is more effective than brute force.

A man named Henderson spoke up. “Mr. Santoro, the preliminary numbers for ‘Aether Properties’ are solid. We’ve got three shell corporations registered in Delaware. We have our first acquisition, a derelict warehouse district on the south side ready to close. We’re projecting a twenty percent return inside eighteen months just on the property value alone.”

Dominic took a slow sip of his scotch, turned, and walked back to the table. He didn’t sit. “The property value is a bonus, Henderson. It’s the garnish. The steak is the cash flow.”

He tapped his finger on a complex flowchart spread across the table. “You buy the warehouses for ten million. You get our construction contacts, my uncle’s guys, off the books, of course, to do basic ‘renovations’ for another two. Now you’ve got twelve million in a legitimate business expense. The real work begins with the vendors. The plumbing supplier from Cicero, the electrical contractor from Gary, and the material distributor from Milwaukee. They’re all us.”

Henderson, a nervous but competent CFO, nodded. “Right. We invoice Aether Properties for, say, eight million in materials and labor that cost us two. That’s six million in clean profit we can move through the legitimate real estate company.”

Dominic laid out his hand. “Then we sell the renovated properties to a REIT we also control.”

Dominic looked at the men at the table. They were accountants and lawyers. These were men who dealt in numbers and loopholes, not guns and guts. They were his kind of soldiers. “The REIT pays twenty million. We’ve just turned twelve million of dirty money, our initial capital and the renovation costs, into a clean eight million profit on the sale, plus the six we washed through the vendors. Fourteen million, laundered, taxed, and ready to be reinvested. All legal. All on paper.”

He finally took his seat at the head of the table, leaning back with an air of command. With a bit of contempt in his voice, he said, “This isn’t the old man’s business. This isn’t shaking down a butcher for protection money. This is leverage. We use our capital to build a legitimate enterprise that acts as a cleaning service for the rest of the family’s less tidy income streams. We’re not gangsters anymore. We’re venture capitalists.”

Henderson meekly spoke up, “But we still need the old man’s sign-off, Dominic; he’s not handed this all off to you yet as far as I know.”

“Dominic patted his father’s old friend and confidant. “Of course, no worries, Henderson; we rely on you to give us the straight stuff.”

This was how you built an empire that couldn’t be touched by RICO subpoenas or wiretaps. You didn’t leave bloody footprints. You left a legit paper trail. The men nodded.

Dominic was always thinking ahead. That was one of the things he had learned about his aborted life in the academic world. This business model was perfect, but it was just proof of concept. He needed to show the old man he could build something from nothing. He needed something that generated revenue and inspired fear without a single shot being fired.

His phone buzzed silently on the table. He glanced down at a secure message from a contact he kept on retainer. It was a single line of text: “Package delivered to Collins’s office.”

A slow, cold smile touched Dominic’s lips. He had another venture in mind. A much more intimate one. A high-end, exclusive service built on a different kind of asset. A different kind of leverage. And he had just found his perfect, unwilling partner.

Dominic sat in the conference room after everyone left. That bitch is all he could think about. He had the memory of a life-changing event that elicited revenge. The old man had taught him to not let anger itself drive you to risky behavior that could affect the business.

He was twenty-five then. A Ph.D. candidate preparing to defend his thesis. It was a brilliant concept, and he knew it. It was also not his own in large part. He had sourced entire chapters from a defunct British think tank’s white papers and woven them into his own narrative with such skill that the university’s plagiarism software hadn’t even flagged it. It was a perfect crime, he thought. It was a testament to his ability to manipulate systems.

The summons to Dr. Collins’s office had been a surprise. He had expected her to be his ally. After all, she had been his in every way a woman could be for several months. He had seen her shed her prim, academic persona. She was a sex-starved human fuck machine. She was insatiable. Anything and everything is what she told him, and he was more than happy to oblige. He walked into her office that day with a smirk and an air of self-confidence.

But Elizabeth Collins was not his lover that day. She was the Dean of Ethics.

She sat behind her desk in the harsh role of a judge. She was dressed in one of her navy suits with her hair pulled back tightly. She had a cold, professional look on her face.

She began the conversation very formally. “Mr. Santoro, please, sit.” She didn’t offer him coffee. She didn’t meet his gaze with anything other than clinical detachment.

On the desk between them lay his thesis with sections highlighted in yellow. Beneath it were the original source documents.

Elizabeth continued, “I have to report this. The university’s academic integrity policy is unequivocal. This is a level-one offense.”

He had laughed with a snort. “Liz, what are you doing? This is a joke. We can fix this.”

He leaned forward, lowering his voice to the conspiratorial tone she used to love. “Remember that weekend at the lake house? You weren’t exactly worried about rules then.”

Her composure didn’t crack. If anything, it hardened. “Mr. Santoro, what happened between us personally is irrelevant and has no bearing on this professional matter. My obligation is to the university and to the principle of academic honesty. Your violation is a serious one.”

The hypocrisy of it made his blood boil. This woman, who had let him tie her to her own bedpost just a week ago, was now lecturing him on honesty. He saw it for what he thought it was. She was cutting him loose to cover her own tracks. She was going to crucify him publicly. She needed to prove to herself and to her world that she was Dr. Collins, the moral pillar.

She looked down at some notes. “The board will consider the data. A formal suspension is likely given the severity. Your degree will be withheld pending a review. This will go on your permanent academic record.”

He just stared at her. His smirk was gone and replaced by a rage that was brewing. He saw the truth in that moment. She was ashamed of what happened between them. She was erasing him. He was her dirty little secret. She was using her principles to bury the fact that the ethical pillar of the academic world had broken her own rules.

How he had a way to use her as a tool for growing the Santoro empire and to get revenge on the bitch as well.

The old man’s world of intimidation through brute force and violence had its place. His plan was more elegant but with the same result. He wouldn’t just destroy her. He would force her to violate her precious principles in the most debasing way imaginable to help him further his own goals. This would be the most profitable and most satisfying revenge he could ever devise.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The meeting with the old guard was always a trial by fire for Dominic. It was held in the back room of “Sorella’s,” an old-world Italian restaurant owned by his family. The men seated around the red-checkered table were his father’s capos. These were men who had earned their scars and respect on the streets. They viewed Dominic’s suits and spreadsheets with a mixture of suspicion and grudging tolerance.

His uncle, Marco Santoro, a man with a thick neck and ill-fitting clothes, gestured with a half-smoked cigar. “So, this Aether Properties. It’s good. It’s clean. But it’s slow, kid. Real money moves fast.”

Dominic relied calmly. “It’s sustainable, Uncle Marco. It’s an annuity. It’s a protected property, so nobody can get in. It washes the family’s money. We have a legitimate front for our other business ventures.”

A capo named Franki “No-Nose” Rizzi grunted. “It’s a fucking bank account.”

He tapped his thick fingers on the table. “We used to have action. We used fear. Now we have quarterly reports.”

Dominic let the insult hang in the air. He knew what they wanted to see. They wanted proof that his modern methods weren’t just a coward’s way of avoiding the dirty work. They needed to see that he could command, dominate, and break people like the old man did.

“You’re right, Frankie,” Dominic said, surprising them all.

He leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “The legit business front is really for defense against RICO and other tools the Feds have. But to build an empire, you need to expand. You need new territory. New assets.”

He paused watching their faces. “I’m launching a new venture. A service-based business. Extremely high-margin, zero overhead, and untouchable by law enforcement because our clients will be the very people who give them their marching orders.”

“What kind of service?” Marco asked with his eyes narrowing.

Dominic answered. “Companionship. An exclusive, bespoke escort agency.”

He couldn’t help himself but look at Frankie. “That means it’s custom-made for specific customers.” Not streetwalkers or girls from some strip club. We’re targeting CEOs, politicians, and judges. Men who require discretion and are willing to pay a premium for it. We’re not selling sex. We’re selling access to normally forbidden fruit. That’s the real product.”

The capos were now intrigued. It was a business they understood. It was just dressed up in new clothes.

Frankie had a smug smile on his face. “The girls?” Where you gonna find talent that can walk in those rooms?”

Dominic knew he had them hooked. “That’s the beauty of it.”

He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out his phone. He didn’t show them a picture of a supermodel. He swiped to find a photo on the university’s webpage.

It was a headshot of Dr. Elizabeth Collins. She was smiling warmly and looking every bit the respected academic, the pillar of the community. “Her name is Dr. Elizabeth Collins. Dean of Ethics at the University. She sits on three nonprofit boards. Her family is old money.”

He let them absorb the audaciousness of this new venture.

Dominic continued. “She’s not some desperate bitch with a drug habit. She’s a woman of principle. A woman of stature. And she is going to be our first asset.”

Marco stared at the phone, then at his nephew. A slow, dawning understanding crossed his face. “You’re gonna turn a Dean into a whore?”

Dominic corrected his uncle. “I’m going to show her that her principles are a liability. I’m going to break the bitch. Not with fists, but with leverage. And when she’s on her knees servicing some CEO she used to lecture about corporate responsibility, that’s the kind of power you can’t put on a balance sheet. She’s not just an employee. She is the proof of concept. She is the ultimate demonstration that the Santoro family doesn’t need to break bones anymore to break wills. We can do it with information. With strategy.”

He leaned back and put his phone away. The room was silent. The old guard was no longer smirking. They were looking at him not as a soft kid in a suit, but as a predator they didn’t quite understand. Dominic knew that was more valuable than all the real estate in the city. Elizabeth Collins wasn’t just a target for revenge. She was a cog in the Santoro machine.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The afternoon sun shone through the tall arched window of Elizabeth’s office. It was her favorite time of day. This was the quiet hour between classes. There was energy in the building, but it was a quiet, intellectual energy that you could feel as you walked down the mostly quiet corridors. A knock at the door pulled her from her grading.

“Come in,” she called, expecting a student with a question.

A young man from the campus flower shop entered, holding a long white box. “Delivery for Dr. Collins?”

Elizabeth frowned with a flicker of annoyance on her face. She wasn’t one for such gestures. “I think you must have the wrong office.”

“Elizabeth Collins, Dean of the School of Philosophy and Ethics?” he read from a slip on his phone.

She sighed. “Yes, that’s me. But I’m not expecting anything.”

He placed the box on her desk. “All signed for. Have a good day, Dr. Collins.”

Annoyed, she slid the ribbon from the box and lifted the lid. Inside were a dozen red roses. Their scent was rich. They were beautiful but felt . Her mind immediately raced through possibilities. Was it a thank you from a grateful colleague? A misguided admirer from a lecture series?

Tucked among the blooms was a small white envelope. Inside was a simple card with a simple poem.

Roses are red

Violets are blue

You have a secret

I know it too

Elizabeth didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. The world tilted. This wasn’t a threat. This was a statement. The simple rhyme was more terrifying than any blackmail letter could have been because it was intimate.

She had a feeling about this. Her logical mind raced through a list of possibilities. A prank? A cruel joke? But deep down she knew. She knew where this came from, and it terrified her.

A sharp knock on her already-open door made her jump violently. A junior faculty member stood there, smiling. “Dr. Collins, do you have a moment? I wanted to get your thoughts on the syllabus for next semester’s intro course.”

Elizabeth forced her lips into a tight, unnatural smile. “Of course, Sarah. Please come in.”

++++++++++++++++++

Three days had passed. The roses were now beginning to droop. They sat in a crystal vase on her filing cabinet. Elizabeth had considered throwing them out a dozen times, but something inside her prevented her from doing so. They were part of sick play. She had barely slept. She jumped every time her phone chimed.

She was in her office early trying to lose herself in the comforting structure of a faculty review. A campus mail envelope slid through the slot in her door. It was a standard inter-office envelope with her name and title written on the last open line on the envelope. Her heart hammered.

She tore it open with her fingers trembling. Inside was a single, sealed envelope. She peeled back the flap and tipped the contents onto her desk.

A single photograph.

It was a high-quality, glossy print. Her mind refused to process what she was seeing. It was a photo with her legs spread wide, showing her red, swollen cunt lips. Cum was dripping out of her cunt. There was cum spattered on her big tits. Cum was splattered on her face, dripping down her chin.

She had tried to forget everything about that ill-conceived fling. It was not romantic. It was just pure sex. That photo was not who she is. That whole affair was an anomaly. It was something that she wished she had never done and had regretted it at the time and, of course, afterward.

She couldn’t remember where or exactly when this photo was taken, but she recognized the look in her face. She was ashamed. He had used her. At the time she let him use her. She wondered how she went that deep into a world that was foreign and frankly not that enjoyable.

She looked at the face! It was flushed. Her lips were parted and swollen. Her eyes were half-closed. It may have appeared to be raw, unadulterated passion, but it really was someone trying to flee reality. It was by definition pornographic. There she was, naked with legs spread. The aftermath of a crude sexual encounter was the proof of a secret, torrid affair. No one who saw it could mistake it for anything else. It was irrefutable, undeniable proof that she was not the ethical pillar of the community.

The back of the photo had one line.

I have more.

Her mind whirled. Was this Dominic? Had he given the photos to someone else? It had to be him, but the more she tried to apply logic, the more confusing it became. One thing she knew for sure, there was more to come, and that terrified her.

The vague threat of the rhyme from the flowers had been a psychological teaser. This photograph was the confirmation. She wondered, what next?

++++++++++++++++++++

The photograph lay on her desk. She couldn’t bring herself to touch it again, but she couldn’t look away. It had been two days since it arrived. Her work world had narrowed to the four walls of her office. She had cancelled her classes, citing a minor medical issue, which, of course, was a lie. She was on pins and needles.

She was trying to force herself through a faculty budget report, but the numbers were just gibberish to her right now. Her phone buzzed with an incoming text. The screen lit up with an unfamiliar number.

Her heart raced. With dread she reached for the phone. Her thumb hovered over the screen and opened the message.

It was short.

Did you like the trip down memory lane, Liz?

The phone slipped from her numb fingers and clattered onto the polished wood of the desk.

Liz

Not Elizabeth. Not Dr. Collins. Not Dean. Liz.

No formal name or title. This was the name he used when he used her. He used her as his fucktoy. She loved it. She craved it at the time.

He wasn’t hiding anymore. The anonymous game was over.

Did you enjoy the trip down memory lane, Liz? It was a psychological masterstroke. It was a threat. It sounded like it was a conversation starter between two old lovers. She knew it was more than that. He wanted her to remember those secrets that they hid from everyone.

This was Dominic. But what was he really after?

Elizabeth stared at the text message. The casual intimacy of “Liz” was a violation more profound than any physical threat. She didn’t know how to respond. How could she? Deny it? Ignore it?

Her phone buzzed again. The screen lighting up with the same unknown number.

We should talk

She looked at the phone and stared at the screen. What could she do? Call the police? And explain what? That a former student had compromising photos of her from a consensual affair? Flee? He knew where she worked and where her children went to school. There was no escape.

Her phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up with the same anonymous string of digits.

We need to talk. Sorella’s Restaurant. 3 PM. I’m sending a car. Don’t be late.

It wasn’t a request. It was a summons. With trembling fingers, she typed back a single word.

Okay

The next two hours were a blur of surreal actions. She called her assistant claiming a last-minute, mandatory meeting with the university’s legal counsel. It was the first lie. She knew it would not be the last.

She looked at her reflection in the dark monitor of her computer. The Dean of Ethics stared back. What was she about to walk into?

A black sedan with tinted windows pulled up to the curb outside the philosophy building at 2:45 PM.

The man who got out of the driver’s seat was not what anyone would think of as a chauffeur. He was thick-necked, and his face had several deep scars. His nose had obviously been broken more than once. He was wearing an ill-fitting suit. She knew his type by reputation. He was the kind of man her father had always warned her to avoid. The kind of man who

He didn’t open the door for her. He just leaned against the fender and jerked his chin toward the back seat. Elizabeth walked toward the car. She felt the stares of passing students. She slid onto the cool leather seat and shut the door. The air inside smelled of cigars and cologne.

She was a woman who could command a lecture hall, but in this car she felt utterly insignificant. She stared out the window. The familiar streets of the university campus turned into the streets of the older part of the city. This area was the working-class section of the city.

This was his world and one she had only read about. Her mind whirled with terrifying questions. Who was this man he had become? The brilliant, cocky student she remembered had become what?

The car pulled up in front of a restaurant that looked like it hadn’t changed since the 1950s. “Sorella’s” was written in elegant, looping script. The windows were dark, but she was still able to see the glow of dim lighting and the movement of people. The driver opened her door this time and gestured with his head toward the entrance.

As she stepped inside, the air hit her. The smell of garlic, simmering tomatoes, and roasted meat. It wasn’t the trendy Italian bistro she was used to. This was the old world. Dark wood paneling, red-checkered tablecloths, and the low murmur of conversations in a language she didn’t understand. Every head in the place seemed to turn as she walked in. Men in their fifties and sixties. They were heavy-set and dressed in expensive but ill-fitting suits. Her conservative tweed skirt and blouse were so out of place here.

The driver led her through the dining room, and then she saw him.

Dominic Santoro was sitting alone at a table in the back corner. He wasn’t the predatory student from her memory, nor was he the brutish thug who had driven her here.

He was polished, immaculate in a deep charcoal grey suit, a crisp white shirt open at the collar. He was swirling a glass of dark red wine, watching her approach. He looked like a young CEO, a man of power and refinement. The contrast was amazing.

As they reached the table, he stood, and with a smooth, fluid motion, he gestured to the booth. “Liz. Please, sit.”

He pulled out her chair, a gesture of old-world gentlemanly courtesy. He acted like this was his true nature and not a performance.

She sat with her hands clenched in her lap. He slid back into his chair facing her and picked up his wine glass. “A glass of Valpolicella? Or would you prefer something else?”

Elizabeth’s throat was bone-dry. She needed something to steady her. She nodded. “Wine is fine.”

He signaled to a waiter, who appeared instantly. He ordered for her. His voice was quiet and confident. Dominic turned his full attention to her when the waiter left. His eyes were the same intense ones she remembered. He held no trace of the younger man she had known then. He had a cold, calculating look on his face.

He began. “You’re probably wondering why you’re here. You’re wondering why I haven’t just sent those pictures to the President.”

Her heart thumped in her chest. He was voicing her deepest fear. The fact that he hadn’t only made her more worried.

Taking a sip of wine, Dominic continued. “Ruin is a blunt instrument. It’s loud. It’s messy. And it’s over in a flash. A single, satisfying but brief moment. I’m in the business of building things that last. An empire.”

He motioned with his arms. “This is the old man’s world. Crude, violent, but effective in running the family business at the time. Frankie is very effective in the old world. But I’m building the new business. Built to game the system using intellect, intelligence, and, of course, at times ... hmmm, how should I say … persuasion.

He leaned forward slightly. “Destroying you would be a waste of a very valuable asset.”

The waiter arrived and placed a glass of red wine in front of her. Elizabeth’s hand trembled as she raised it to her lips.

Dominic had a smirk on his face. “I read your op-ed in the Tribune last month. Very eloquent. Very principled. You argued that corporate power must be checked by an unwavering moral compass.”

He paused for a moment. “You see, Liz, you spent months teaching me all about your principles. All about what happens when you abandon them. Now, I’m going to give you a chance to put those principles to a real-world test.”

She wondered where all of this was going.

He swirled the wine in his glass with his eyes locked on hers. “You’re going to help me launch a new venture. A very exclusive, very discreet service for a very elite clientele. Men who appreciate things of value. Things that can be bought and controlled.”

Dominic continued. You taught me about principles, Liz. About universal maxims. But you missed the most important one. The one that truly governs the world. The principle of leverage. Of ownership. Men in positions of true power don’t crave the fleeting pleasure of an orgasm. That’s biological. Cheap. They crave the lasting ecstasy of control. The moment they can make a woman like you. Dr. Elizabeth Collins, the Dean of Ethics, beg for their cock, that is the orgasm that lasts. That’s the one they’ll pay a fortune for. You’re not just a body they’re renting. You are the proof of their power.”

Dominic took another sip of wine. “Simply put, Dr. Elizabeth Collins, you’re going to be my whore.”

The statement felt like a ton of bricks had hit her. This was partly about revenge. It actually was something far worse. He didn’t want to destroy her. He wanted to own her. He wanted to take Dr. Elizabeth Collins, the champion of ethics, and turn her into his most profitable, most hypocritical, and most humiliating asset for what he called “business purposes.”

Elizabeth’s voice was thin and desperate. “Dominic, what happened to you? You were brilliant. You could have shaped the world. You were on a path to greatness.” She was clinging to the memory of the student, the man she thought she knew, because the reality in front of her was a monster.

Dominic took a slow sip of his wine with his eyes never leaving hers. “Simple, Liz. You happened.”

He set the glass down with a soft click. “You destroyed that little academic sandbox I was playing in. In a way, I should thank you. You forced me to embrace my family business. We’ve always been strong. I’m just taking it to the next level. So you see, you’re responsible. For your own predicament as well.”

Elizabeth’s voice cracked as she spoke. “You gave me no choice! You plagiarized your thesis! I had a responsibility to the university, to the very idea of academic integrity!”

Dominic laughed. “Pffffffffff. Integrity. It was about gaming the system, Liz. It’s always about gaming the system.”

He leaned forward with his voice dropping to a whisper, “And now, I’m going to drag you out of your ivory tower and show you how the real game is played.”

He paused, letting the threat hang in the air before changing subjects. “By the way, that InnovateEd deal your esteemed colleague Dr. Thorne is pushing? I own him. He’s not doing it for the students. He’s doing it for cold, hard cash. Everything can be bought, Liz. Including you. It just depends on the currency.”

He let that sink in before continuing. “Now, I’m starting a new venture. An exclusive, high-end companionship service. Discretion, sophistication, and unparalleled quality for a very select clientele. CEOs, politicians, men who appreciate more than just a pretty face.”

Elizabeth stared with her mind refusing to connect the dots. “I don’t... I don’t understand what that has to do with me.”

Dominic had a sly grin on his face. “Oh, but you do. You’re the prototype. You’re not some desperate girl from a strip club. You’re a respected academic. A Dean. A pillar of the community. Your stature lends my enterprise a credibility money can’t buy. You’re the ultimate proof of concept.”

He watched the dawning horror in her eyes. “These men, they love control. They love degradation. And you are the perfect prey. You can lecture on morals in the afternoon and be on your knees for them at night.”

He was twisting her and turning every accomplishment into a qualification for his obscene business.

Elizabeth whispered, “You’re insane. I would never...”

Dominic’s smile widened. “Never?”

He reached into his suit jacket and placed his phone face up on the table. The screen was lit with a still image from a video. This was a video she remembered with a gut-wrenching lurch of nausea. Her face was flushed and ecstatic in the video. Her mouth was filled with a cock.

“Never” is a strong word for a woman who let me do that to her. But let’s be logical. You have a choice. You can embrace this new professional opportunity. Or you can refuse.”

A cold dread settled over her. He had some sort of twisted logic.

Dominic had a cold, calm tone to his voice now. “This phone sends a package to the President of your university if you refuse. That package also goes to the boards of your non-profits. And to a few dozen MILF websites. I have a mailing list ready.”

Elizabeth let the blood drain from her face.

Dominic continued. But that’s not the best part. The final email on the list is to your children. Anthony and Donna, right? I’ll make sure the subject line is very clear: ‘A Message from Mom.’ I bet they’d love to see what you were up to a few years ago.”

Elizabeth felt her head spin. The thought of her daughter, her innocent, brilliant Donna, seeing that broke her resolve. A small squeak came out of her mouth. “Please...”

Dominic pressed her. “Please, what? Please don’t? That’s up to you. This is your first and only choice.”

He leaned back. “You won’t resign. That would be too easy. You’ll remain the Dean. You’ll continue to teach your precious classes on Kant.”

He swirled his wine. “You’ll tell everyone you’ve taken on a demanding, private consulting project. It’s the perfect excuse for travel, for irregular hours.”

He looked at her knowing he had won. “You get to keep your life, Liz. You get to stand on your stage and preach about integrity while you’re secretly on your knees for every customer that pays me to use you. Every time you give a speech, every time you look your children in the eye, you’ll be living the lie. Your public life is now an illusion. You can keep or discard the illusion, but you will be my whore.”

He wasn’t just forcing her to be a whore. He was forcing her to be a hypocrite on the public stage she preaches from.

Dominic finished with, “You’ve got forty-eight hours to inform everyone about your new project. Make it convincing. Your new life begins after that. Don’t disappoint me, Liz. We have so much work to do.”

He paused, adding what felt like the final twist of the knife. “One more thing. A gesture of goodwill. To show me you understand the new reality. Before the 48 hours are up, you’ll send me a photo. A selfie. You’ll be completely naked. In your hand, you will hold a sign. On the top line, it will say, Mom, Professor, Whore. On the line beneath it, it will say Whore for Dominic.”

A sob escaped her throat. This wasn’t just humiliation. It was annihilating Dr. Elisbeth Collins. He wanted her to write it, to hold it, to photograph it herself. He wanted her to be the author of her own debasement.

++++++++++

Frankie drove her home. Her world was crumbling, but she had no choice. It really was as they said in the movies, “an offer she couldn’t refuse.”

For the next forty-seven hours, Elizabeth was in a daze. She moved through her home in a fog. She told Anthony and Donna about her exciting new consulting project. The smile on her face felt like a mask. She saw their pride and their genuine excitement for her. She emailed the other department heads and the boards of her non-profits, telling them the lie about a demanding long-term commitment.”

But all of it was just a prelude to the true horror. The photo.

The thought of it consumed her. She would stand in the shower trying to imagine it. She had always been modest, a private person. The sign. The words. Mom, Professor, Whore.

Dominic was forcing her to fuse the three identities into one. She tried to figure a way out of this nightmare. Run? He had her children’s emails. Go to the police? And tell them what? That she was being blackmailed into taking a naked selfie? There was no escape. There was no escape, only surrender.

The final hour arrived. The deadline was midnight.

Elizabeth walked into her bedroom. She didn’t look in the mirror. She couldn’t bear to see the stranger looking back. She stripped off her clothes. She stood naked in the center of the room. The cool air raising goosebumps on her flesh. There was a piece of blank white paper on her desk. She picked up a black Sharpie. Her hand shaking. The letters were jagged and uneven, not like her usual neat, academic penmanship.

Mom, Professor, Whore on one line.
Whore for Dominic right below.

She picked up her phone, turned on the front-facing camera, and forced herself to look at the screen. The woman staring back was a stranger. Her face was pale and gaunt. Her eyes wide with terror. Her body that had borne her children, the body she had always kept private and cherished, was now just a commodity. A product on display.

She held the sign up, her arm trembling. She positioned the phone, making sure that her large, natural tits, her stomach, the curves of her hips, and her cunt hair were all visible in the frame.

Her thumb hovered over the shutter button. This was it. The point of no return. The moment Dr. Elizabeth Collins officially died and the creature he was creating was born.

She closed her eyes and pressed the button.

The flash illuminated the room for a split second. Without allowing herself to look at the photo, she navigated to her messages and attached the file and then hit send.

The message was delivered. A checkmark appeared.

It was done.

She had surrendered. The phone slipped from her and clattered to the floor. She didn’t move. She simply stood there, naked and trembling in the center of her bedroom.

The next morning a message arrived on her phone at 7:00 AM.

You have a new wardrobe to acquire. My assistant, Sofia, will pick you up at 10 AM. Be ready.

Below the text was a list of stores in the chic part of the city. These were stores and boutiques she had only ever passed by. Dominic was clearly making an investment in his new asset.

A black sedan pulled up at 10 am. The woman who got out was not a thug like Frankie. She was slender and dressed in a tailored pantsuit. Her dark hair was pulled back in a chignon. She was petite with tanned skin. This was Sofia Romano.

Looking at Elizabeth, “Let’s go to Dr. Collins.”

The car pulled up to a lingerie boutique so exclusive it had no sign on the door. There was only a discreet brass plaque. A young woman with a sleek bob cut and a painted-on smile greeted them. “Good morning. How can I help you today?”

Elizabeth froze, but Sofia was already moving. Her voice was crisp and clear.

Gesturing towards Elizabeth, Sofia announced, “We’re building a new wardrobe for Elizabeth. She’s starting a new career as a high-end call girl. The goal is to make her clients cum just from looking at her. We need the essentials.”

The salesclerk’s polished smile faltered for a fraction of a second, a flicker of shock in her eyes before she caught herself. “Of course. Right this way. We have a very curated selection.”

She led them to a private fitting area in the back. There were plush velvet curtains that did little for privacy. A young male clerk was standing near a display of silk stockings. He was tall and handsome with delicate hands. He looked over Elizabeth, making her skin crawl.

Sofia ignored his presence. “Let’s start with the foundation.”

She pulled items from the racks knowing what she was looking for. “A black leather corset, steel-boned. This will cinch your waist and push your tits up. A matching thong, just a thin strip of leather to frame your cunt. A garter belt, and these.” She held up a pair of sheer, black, seamed stockings.

Pointing to a display of high stilettos, she said, “The shoes. The fuck-me pumps. At least six inches. You’ll learn to walk in them.”

She thrust the pile of garments into Elizabeth’s arms. “Get dressed. We’ll start with the corset.”

Elizabeth went behind the curtain and undressed. She fumbled with the hooks on the corset. She had never worn anything so restrictive. It was designed for the sole purpose of displaying the female body.

She managed to clip the garter belt around her waist with her stomach churning as she rolled the delicate stockings up her legs. Her trembling hands made it difficult to straighten the seams. The thong was a humiliating sliver of latex.

She strapped on the stilettos. Her ankles wobbled just standing there. She felt like a doll for male consumption.

Sofia called out. “Let’s see what you look like, slut.”

Elizabeth drew a shaky breath and pulled back the curtain.

The male clerk’s eyes widened. He lost his professional composure looking at Elizabeth with lust in his eyes. The salesclerk let out a soft, involuntary gasp. Elizabeth stood there with her tits spilling over the top of the corset. Her nipples were hard and exposed. The thong barely covered her cunt lips. Her pubic hair clearly visible. The stockings accentuated the length of her legs, which were arched by the towering heels.

“Mmm, better get that shaved. “Turn around,” Sofia commanded.

Elizabeth slowly turned around. She felt their eyes on her ass with the thin strap of the thong disappearing between her ass cheeks.

As if reading her mind, Sofia said, “The client will want to see that.”

She looked at the male clerk. “What do you think? Will it make a man cum?”

The clerk swallowed. “It’s... very effective. The corset creates a stunning silhouette. And the stockings, well, the seams are a classic touch. It’s a powerful look.”

Sofia nodded, satisfied. “Good. Now for the bra.”

She handed Elizabeth the shelf bra. Elizabeth stepped Jinx’s eyes lit up with a sadistic glee.behind the curtain with her face burning with shame. She removed the corset. Her skin was red and indented from the corset. She put on the bra. It was a black lace. It lifted her breasts, exposing her large, pink nipples and areolas.

She stepped out again.

This time, the male clerk audibly groaned. His eyes were locked on her breasts. “My God,” he breathed.

Sofia looked pleased. “Perfect. That’s the look. No mystery. Just pure, unadulterated fuckability. You’re a product, Elizabeth. This packaging is complete.” She looked at the salesclerk. “We’ll take everything she’s wearing, plus one of each in red and white. And the shoes. Have it delivered to this address.”

She slid a card across the counter. “Now, Dr. Collins, get dressed. We have more shopping to do.”

Elizabeth retreated behind the curtain with her body trembling. As she peeled off the lingerie, which was the symbol of her new profession, she felt something inside her break. It wasn’t just humiliation. This was erasure of her old self. She put her conservative outfit back on.

The car ride from the lingerie boutique was silent. The bags from the first store sat on the floor at Elizabeth’s feet. Those bags were filled with the wardrobe of her new trade.

The next stop was a designer boutique known for its avant-garde and body-conscious creations. Elizabeth might have once admired the artistry of the clothing. Now it was a place to gather more clothes for her new profession.

A willowy sales associate greeted them.

Sofia, once again, took control with no polite introductions. “We’re looking for a wardrobe for public appearances. She’s a high-end escort. The clothes need to project wealth and exclusivity but be designed for maximum exposure. The illusion of elegance with the promise of immediate, easy access.”

The associate’s eyes widened, but quickly masked her shock with a deferential nod. “Of course. We have several pieces that would be suitable.”

Flicking through the rack of silk dresses, Sofia said, “No more tweed. From now on, you’re what they can see. You’re a promise.”

She pulled out a form-fitting, charcoal-grey jersey dress. “Try this. The draped cowl neck is perfect. When you lean forward to hand a man a drink, it falls away. He gets a full view. It’s a power move.”

The clerk led them to a rack of gowns. Sofia pulled out a floor-length gown made of flesh-toned silk organza. It was covered in intricate, crystal beading that formed delicate floral patterns.

Holding it against Elizabeth, Sofia remarked, “The ‘Naked’ Dress. The embellishments create the illusion of clothing, but from a few feet away, you’ll look completely nude. Every curve, your nipples, will be clearly visible. It’s perfect for a charity gala.”

Sofia chose a form-fitting, emerald green satin gown next. “Extreme high slit.”

She ran her finger up the side, where the fabric was split all the way to the hip bone. “When you walk, the entire side of your leg is exposed. The bottom of your ass cheeks will show with every step. It forces people to watch you.”

Sofia moved on to the separates, selecting a long-sleeved, high-necked blouse made of a completely transparent black mesh. “Deceptively conservative from a distance. Up close, they’ll see everything.”

She paired it with a tight pencil skirt. “This one has a secret.”

She turned it around to reveal a large, asymmetrical cutout that started at the small of the back and plunged down, revealing the entire top of the ass crack. “He’ll be sitting behind you at a dinner, getting a full view of your ass all night.”

Sofia commanded Elizabeth to try them on. All of them. One by one. We need to see the effect.”

The fitting room was a white cube with tri-fold mirrors. Elizabeth felt exposed from every angle. She started with the “Naked Dress”. Sliding it on, she felt the cool, smooth fabric cling to her skin. The beaded flowers felt rough against her nipples. She looked in the mirror and gasped. It was as if she were wearing nothing but a shimmering, crystal-like skin. Her body was on full, undeniable display.

“Come out,” Sofia’s voice called.

Elizabeth stepped out. The sales associate and a male assistant who had been arranging a nearby rack both stopped what they were doing and stared. Their mouths were slightly agape. It was a look of shock and appreciation of what they were seeing.

“Good,” Sofia said with a hint of satisfaction in her voice. “They’re not looking at your face. They’re looking at your cunt. Next.”

The final humiliation were the separates. The sheer blouse was bad enough. When it paired with the cutout pencil skirt, it was a masterpiece of strategic vulgarity. She looked professional from the front. A sophisticated woman in a black top and skirt. But the mirror showed the truth. Her entire back and ass were naked, framed by the tight bands of the skirt.

Sofia made her turn around, slowly. “Perfect. It’s a statement. It says ‘I follow the rules’ from the front, and ‘I’m here to be fucked’ from the back. That’s the duality we want. We’ll take it.”

Sofa turned to the sales team. “We’ll take the gown, the latex dress, and the separates. Have them delivered.”

She then looked at Elizabeth. “Now get dressed. The lesson is over.”

Back in the car, Elizabeth stared out the window. These beautiful, expensive garments were not clothing. They were her uniform. They were designed to transform her into the very thing she despised. As she sat there, a terrifying thought crossed her mind. A part of her had felt a dark, shameful flicker of excitement when they had stared at her. And that was the most

They didn’t go back to the university. They drove to a high-rise downtown. Sofia led her to the penthouse. The apartment was large, impersonal, and decorated in shades of grey and white. It was a place for business, not for living.

A woman was sitting on a white leather sofa. She looked young, maybe late twenties, but she had a look of exhaustion on her face. She wore cheap, tight clothing and chewed gum with an open-mouthed boredom. This was Candi.

Gesturing towards Candi, Sofia said, “She’s going to teach you how to do your job.”

Candi looked Elizabeth up and down with a flicker of contempt in her eyes. “So you’re the college professor. Dominic said I need to teach you how to be a nasty, vulgar fucktoy.”

She stood up and walked over to a marble coffee table, where a large, realistic-looking dildo lay next to a bottle of lube. “Forget everything you’ve seen in movies. This ain’t about love. It’s about getting them off so they pay and leave. The faster, the better. You’re not a lover. You’re a service provider.”

Candi picked up the dildo. “See? No teasing. You go for the most sensitive spot. You use your hand, you use your mouth, you use your tits. It’s a mechanical process. Your jaw will ache. Your knees will get bruised. That’s the job.”

Continuing with an almost emotionless voice, “And you talk. You always compliment the cock. Even if it’s tiny, you say, It’s so big, I can barely fit it in. You praise their stamina and skills. You moan when they want you to moan. It’s all noise. It’s what they’re paying for.”

Elizabeth thought, “Damn! What they are paying for. I’m going to be a whore that men pay to fuck and use.”

She looked Elizabeth dead in the eye. “But the real money, the thing that gets them coming back and tipping big, is the head. Now, you told Dominic you don’t like sucking cock. You don’t like the taste of cum. That’s adorable. It’s also irrelevant. From now on, you love it. You live for it. You will tell every single one of them that you love the taste of their cum more than anything.”

She picked up the large, silicon cock from the marble coffee table. “Watch me. This ain’t about making love. It’s about mechanics.”

Candi leaned down with her movements devoid of any hint of sensuality. She was a technician. “First, you get it wet. Don’t just jam it in. Use your tongue. Lick the shaft like it’s a fucking lollipop. Start at the base. Work your way up to the head.”

She demonstrated. Her tongue tracing a long, slow line up the side of the dildo. “Flick your tongue right under the tip. That’s the sensitive spot. They all have one. Make them feel it.”

“Next, you use your hand. Always use your hand. It’s an extension of your mouth.”

She wrapped her hand around the base, her grip firm. “You twist and pump while you suck. It creates more friction. Makes them think you’re taking more of them than you are.”

“Also fondle their balls. They love it when you do that. When you’re sucking, probe their asshole with your finger. They love that. Push your finger very slowly into their asshole.”

She took the head of the fake cock into her mouth. There was no teasing and no hesitation. Her lips formed a tight seal. She began to bob her head. Her movements a steady, rhythmic piston.

She pulled the cock out of her mouth for a moment. “This is the basic rhythm. Up and down. Keep it steady. Don’t go too fast at first. Make them think you’re savoring it.”

She looked at Elizabeth’s horrified face. “And this is the most important part. The performance. While you’re doing this, you look up at them. Make eye contact. And you moan. Not little whimpers. Deep, guttural moans. Hum with it. The vibration drives them crazy. You’re telling them without words that this is the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”

She plunged the dildo back into her mouth, taking it deeper this time, and let out a low, vibrating hum that seemed to fill the cold apartment. “When they’re close, they’ll start to tense up. Their balls will tighten. That’s when you go to work. You pump faster with your hand, you suck harder with your mouth. You talk dirty around the cock. ‘Cum for me,’ ‘Give me that big load,’ ‘I want to taste you.’”

She pulled the dildo out with a wet pop. “And then they cum. And that’s the finale.”

She held the dildo up and pointed it at Elizabeth. “This is where you earn your money. You don’t pull away. You don’t spit. You let them cum in your mouth. And you hold it there. You look them right in the eye as they’re finishing, and you show them it’s in your mouth. Then you swallow. And you smile. And you say the line. The most important line.”

She locked eyes with Elizabeth. “You say, ‘Oh my god, you taste so good. I love the taste of your cum.” You say it like you mean it. You say it like it’s the fucking nectar of the gods. Even if it’s bitter, even if it tastes like bleach, you say it. They don’t care about the taste. They care about the ego. You’re validating their entire masculinity in one moment. That’s what they’re paying for.”

She tossed the dildo back onto the table. “You don’t like it? Good. It means you’re a good actress. You’ll learn to love it. You’ll crave it. Because when you convince them that you love the taste of their cum, you own them.”

Candi looked at Elizabeth condescendingly. “Okay, college girl, your turn. Let’s see what those fancy ethics classes taught you about handling a hard cock.”

She tossed the dildo onto the plush white rug in front of Elizabeth. Elizabeth stared at it with her stomach churning. The object was obscene. It was a veined, anatomically correct reminder of what she was getting into. She couldn’t do it. Her entire body recoiled from the very idea.

Sofia, who had been observing silently from a nearby armchair, crossed her legs. “Pick it up, Dr. Collins. Or would you prefer I practice my dialing finger? I’m sure Anthony would love a new wallpaper for his phone.”

The threat was like a cattle prod. She reached down and picked up the dildo with trembling hands. It was cold and heavy in her grasp and very realistic. She knelt on the rug in a position of submission.

“Open your mouth,” Candi commanded, standing over her like a drill instructor.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, took a shallow breath, and parted her lips. She brought the head of the dildo to her mouth. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely guide it. She touched it to her tongue, and the faint, chemical taste of silicon made her gag. She recoiled instinctively.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Candi groaned, rolling her eyes. “It’s not a fucking poison dart. Put it in your mouth.”

Elizabeth tried again, forcing herself to take the head past her lips. Her movements were stiff and mechanical. She gave a few tentative, awkward bobs. Her mouth was dry, her jaw already aching with the unfamiliar stretch. Her eyes were squeezed shut in a desperate attempt to pretend she was somewhere else.

Candi snapped. “Open your fucking eyes. Look at me! I’m your client. You look me in the eyes, like I said. Make me believe you want this.”

Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered open but were glassy and with no emotion. She looked up at Candi, but there was no fire, no seduction. She continued her pathetic, half-hearted motions. The dildo was sliding clumsily against her lips.

Sofia let out a soft, contemptuous laugh from the armchair. “This is a joke. This stuck-up bitch ain’t never gonna make a good cocksucker. She looks like she’s trying to gargle with battery acid.”

“She just needs some practice,” Candi said, though her tone was doubtful.

She knelt down in front of Elizabeth, grabbing her chin and forcing her head up. “No, no, no. You’re doing it all wrong. You’re thinking too much. Stop thinking.”

She released Elizabeth’s chin and pointed a finger at her own mouth. “Pointer one: Get it wet. Your mouth is a cunt, it needs to be lubricated. Use your tongue first. Swirl it all around the head. Get it sloppy. Make it look like you can’t wait to get it in there.”

Elizabeth tried with her tongue darting out hesitantly to lick the rubber tip. It was a pathetic imitation.

Candi continued, but her patience was wearing thin. “ Pointer two: Your hand is not just for holding. It’s a tool. Wrap your fingers around the base. Like this.”

She demonstrated on the air. “You twist. You pump. You create friction while your mouth works the top. You’re a two-part machine.”

Elizabeth wrapped her hand around the shaft. Her grip was loose and uncertain. She tried to twist and pump in time with her head, but the movements were clumsy and unsynchronized.

“Pointer three, and this is the most important one. The noise. You’re a dead fish. I can’t hear anything. Moan. Hum. Let him feel the vibration in his cock. It’s not about what you feel. It’s about what he feels. You want him to think your pussy is getting wet just from having his cock in your mouth. So fucking moan!”

A sob of pure despair escaped Elizabeth’s throat, which Candi mistook for a pathetic attempt at a moan. “Better,” she lied. “Now, look at me. Again. “Convince me. Sell me the fantasy. Make me believe you love the taste of this rubber cock.”

Elizabeth looked up at Candi. She tried to moan, a pathetic, choked sound. She tried to pump her hand, her movements jerky and weak. Every pointer Candi gave Elizabeth just could not follow. She was a failure, and in this world, failure was not an option.

Sofia let out a soft, contemptuous sigh from the armchair. “This is pathetic.” She stood up and walked to a chrome-and-glass bar cart in the corner of the room. “You’re too stiff. Too much in your head.”

She picked up a bottle of expensive-looking red wine and a crystal glass. “You need to loosen up.”

She walked back and stood over Elizabeth, who was still kneeling on the floor. There was the dildo lying beside her.

“Here. She poured a deep red stream of wine into the glass. “Have a drink, bitch. Calm down and you can try again.”

Elizabeth looked up. Her eyes vacant. She took the glass. Her hand was still trembling, and she brought it to her lips. She didn’t sip. She tipped her head back and drained the entire glass in three long, desperate swallows.

“Yea, good bitch,” Sofia sneered, a cruel smile playing on her lips. She took the empty glass and refilled it, pushing it into Elizabeth’s hand. “Again.”

Elizabeth drank the second glass just as quickly. The warmth began to spread through her chest, a pleasant, fuzzy blanket dulling her senses. By the time Sofia poured the third glass, Elizabeth’s hands were steadier. She drank this one slower, and when she was done, a different kind of heat was blooming in her stomach. Some of the inhibitions went away.

She looked from the glass in her hand to the dildo on the floor. The fear was still there, but with the liquid courage, she wanted to try again.

“Let me try again,” Elizabeth said, her voice slurring slightly.

Candi raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Alright, Professor. Show me what you’ve got.”

Elizabeth didn’t hesitate this time. She grabbed the dildo. The silicon cock feeling familiar now. She leaned forward. Her movements were more fluid. This time she looked up at Candi. It wasn’t real lust, but it was a damn good imitation. She had learned quickly what to do to survive.

She opened her mouth and spat on the head of the dildo. Candi’s lips curled into a smile, watching the crude gesture from the professor.

Elizabeth then went to work. Her tongue darted out, swirling around the tip with a newfound confidence. She lapped at the underside, just like Candi had shown her, before taking the head into her mouth with a soft, wet pop. Her lips sealed around it, tight and hot.

This time, she moaned. It was a low, guttural sound that vibrated in her chest. It was a sound of submission. She began to bob her head. Her hand gripped the base of the shaft, twisting and pumping in perfect sync with her mouth.

Candi watched the new slut learn her craft. “Fuck, yeah. “That’s more like it.”

Elizabeth pulled back with a thick string of saliva connecting her lips to the tip of the dildo.

Elizabeth growled, “Is this what you want? You like watching me suck this big fucking cock?”

Elizabeth plunged back down, taking it deeper this time. The head hitting the back of her throat. She didn’t gag. She just moaned louder. The sound was muffled by the flesh-colored silicon cock. She was a woman transformed. The wine and the humiliation burned away the last of her prudish reservations. She was no longer Dr. Elizabeth Collins, the unwilling victim. She was a performer, a slut, and a whore, and she was playing the role well.

She looked up at Candi with her eyes wide. “I want to taste your cum. “Please cum in my fucking mouth. I want to swallow every drop.”

She worked the dildo like it was the best thing she ever tasted. She moaned while her head bobbed up and down. Her hand pumped the fake cock.

A small part of her realized that she was no longer completely faking it as she knelt there sucking the fake cock with everything she had.

Sofia conceded, “Well, not bad for a stuck-up bitch, but I wonder how well you do with a real cock.”

Canid agreed, “Good enough for now. Ok, next, you need to get to know the clients. The young guys, twenties? They want to feel like porn stars. They’ll try to fuck you for hours. Let them try. They usually pop once, maybe twice. Your job is to act impressed by their stamina.”

Candi continued her lecture. “Then you got your businessmen, thirties to fifties. That’s your bread and butter. He’s stressed, has a small dick, and has a big ego. He wants a fantasy. He’ll cum once, usually quick. Your job is to make that 30 seconds feel like the best 30 seconds of his life. Lots of dirty talk about how powerful he is. Then get him dressed and out the door.”

Candi got a sour look on her face as she described the next group. The worst are the old guys, over fifty. He needs Viagra to get hard, and he probably can’t cum at all. Your job isn’t to make him cum; it’s to make him feel like he could. You’ll suck his limp dick for an hour. You’ll tell him how virile he is. You’re selling him the illusion of youth. Most of them just want to look at you and touch you while they tell you about their glory days. Just nod and look fascinated.”

Elizabeth slowly pulled the dildo from her mouth with a thin line of saliva trailing from her lips.

Candi smiled. “Impressive. You’re a fast learner when you’re properly motivated.”

She took the dildo from Elizabeth’s hand and set it aside. “But that was for the tourists. The weekend warriors. The men who just want to feel like a man for twenty minutes. That’s the minor leagues.”

She stood up and began to pace, her voice taking on a darker, more serious tone. “Then you have another category of customers. The high rollers. The CEOs, the politicians, the men who control billions and think they’re gods. They don’t just want to fuck. They get off on control. They get off on degrading you. They are fucking kinky as hell.”

Canid was now very serious. “Look, Professor, for these bastards forget what you think sex is. This ain’t about love or even getting off as you normally think of it. For these guys, the physical orgasm is just a moment of feel good. The real prize is making you break. For the power brokers you’re giving them an orgasm of control that lasts for days, until they want to buy you again. Give them what they want. Beg, plead, look terrified. They want to see a broken body and mind.”

Elizabeth felt a knot in her stomach.

Candi continued, watching Elizabeth’s reaction. “Almost anything goes. Dominic has only three rules. No permanent damage, no permanent markings, and absolutely no animals or kids. Everything else is on the table. These men take out all their business and political tensions on you. You’re their pressure valve.”

She stopped in front of Elizabeth, crouching down so they were eye-to-eye. “They like pain. Not the playful, spank me kind. They want to see you flinch. They’ll bend you over a desk and cane your ass until it’s covered in red welts. Why? just to see you cry. They’ll whip your back and tits with a riding crop while you count the strokes. They want to hear you beg them to stop.”

With a sour face, Candi continued. “They like things that are disgusting. They get off on asshole licking. Not a little tease. They’ll have you spread their ass cheeks and make you shove your tongue deep inside their nasty, hairy ass until you can’t breathe. They’ll make you thank them for it. Some of them have a toilet fetish. They’ll want to piss on you. Piss in your hair and in your mouth and call you their golden girl. They’ll want you to drink it.”

Elizabeth made a small, strangled sound. Her hand flew to her mouth. She was going to be sick.

Canid pressed on. “They like to watch. They’ll make you fuck yourself with the biggest, most obscene toys there are while they sit in a chair and jerk off. They’ll call you a disgusting cum-slut. They’ll make you put on a show. They’ll tell you how to touch yourself, how to stretch your own holes. They get off on the power of making you perform the most depraved acts on command. And the language. You think what you said was dirty? That’s foreplay to these sick bastard. They want you to beg for their filthy cock. They want you to tell them how you’re a worthless whore whose only purpose is to be their human toilet or their pain slut. They want to break you, piece by piece, and hear you thank them for it.”

Candi stood up and looked down at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth knelt on the floor, trembling violently. The performance she had just given and the fake lust seemed so tame now. What Canid described was her new reality.

Elizabet felt the tears running down her cheek. “I... I can’t, I can’t do that. I can’t. Please... I can’t.”

There was silence in the room for a few moments.

Sofia crouched down beside Elizabeth. She didn’t offer a hand or a comforting word. Her voice was cold. “Yes, you can. You will. You’ll do every single thing Candi just described. Probably worse.

Sofia put a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “That photo you took? The one that says, ‘Whore for Dominic’? I’ll make sure your children get a high-definition printout of it. I’ll personally drive to their schools and hand it to them. Your choice, professor.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The next day a text came at 3 PM.

7 PM. The penthouse of the Astoria. Bill. He’s expecting you. Wear the red dress.

The hours that followed felt like a forced descent into hell. She showered and shaved her pubic hair as she was ordered to do. She shaved her legs and underarms. Her body was now smooth and hairless from the neck down.

She sat naked at her vanity and opened the expensive makeup kit Sofia had provided. She had never worn much makeup. A touch of mascara for a special occasion, a subtle lipstick for a university event. It was frivolous and unnecessary. Tonight it was another accessory to present herself as the most fuckable whore she could be.

She applied the dark mascara. This wasn’t to enhance her beauty. This was to make her eyes look dark and fuckable. She put blush on her cheeks. She applied the eyelash and eyebrow enhancers.

Then came the lipstick. It was a deep blood red. She traced the outline of her lips, turning her mouth into a glossy target. This was the mouth of a woman who would be wrapping her lips around a cock very soon.

She stared at her reflection. She saw the dark mascara, the blood-red lips, and the dark eyelash and eyebrow enhancers. This was not Dr. Elizabeth Collins. This was not the mother and professor. This was an elegant, painted lady. This was a fuckable whore.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed on the vanity. The screen lit up with the now-familiar number. A fresh wave of dread washed over her as she looked at the message.

I need to see the final product before you go. Take selfies. First, in just the shelf bra and thong. One from the front, one from the back. Then, in the red dress. One from the front, one from the back. Send them before you leave.

He wasn’t content to send her off to be a whore. He wanted to see the transformation. He wanted to be the first to see his whore ready for action.

She put on the shelf bra. The shelf bra held up her big natural tits. Her hard nipples and large, pink areolae presented themselves to whoever saw her.

She put on the thong next. It barely covered her full, meaty cunt lips. She felt the strap between her ass cheeks.

She put her phone camera on the time function and posed for the photos. The front view showed her painted, whore face. Her tits and nipples were lifted up and presented by the shelf bra. The outline of her cunt was clearly visible. A perfect camel toe.

Then she turned with her back to the camera. The phone captured the thin strap of the thong disappearing between her round, fleshy ass cheeks.

She then slipped the red silk over her head with the cool fabric clinging to her body. She took a picture from the front. Her hard nipples were clearly visible, poking through the fabric of the dress.

She turned around with her back to the camera. The slit in the dress fell open, revealing the entire length of her leg and the curve of her ass. The black strap of the thong.

She attached the photos in a message and sent them to Dominic. She got a response with a check mark emoji. It was done. He had approved her uniform.

A car arrived to deliver her to her customer.

The penthouse elevator opened directly into the suite. A man in his sixties dressed in black pants and a white shirt stood by a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the entire city. This was William ‘Bill’ Barkley.

Elizabeth saw a predatory smile on the man’s face.

With a smooth, condescending tone to his voice, he said, “Dr. Collins. It’s a pleasure. I’ve donated to your university’s ethics department. I never imagined I’d get such a hands-on return on my investment.”

She smiled, licking her lips. “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. And pleasure is what I am here to give you.”

He handed her an envelope.

Elixabeth felt a mix of emotions as she took it. She knew what was in it. She had just sold her body to this man. She was now officially a whore. She had to do whatever he wanted, whether she liked it or not. She put the envelop in her purse.

He led her to the living area and sat in a velvet armchair. “I want a performance from the filthy whore I just bought.

She walked up to him, swaying her hips. This was so unnatural to Elisabeth that her movements were awkward.

He said with a low voice. “The shelf bra. A brilliant choice. It presents your tits and nipples very clearly.”

She turned around with the dress swishing, showing the thong and her bare ass cheeks.

Bill shook his head. “No, no, no. That’s a fashion show. I want a performance. Dance for me, you stuck-up whore.”

Elizabeth had no natural rhythm and no natural seductive grace. But she had fear. Fear was a powerful motivator. Soft, rhythmic music began to play from hidden speakers. She closed her eyes for a second, summoning the persona of Candi and what Candi would do.

She began to move. It was clumsy at first, but then she found a rhythm. She started with her hips, a slow, sensual wiggle. She swayed with the silk dress floating around her body. She bent forward, giving a good view of her ample cleavage and her hard nipples poking through the dress fabric.

She turned her back to him, bending forward slightly. She wiggled her ample ass and pulled back the dress, giving a good view of her full ass and the thong running between her ass cheeks.

She looked over her shoulder with her tongue darting out to lick her glossy red lips. This was something she’d practiced in the mirror. She silently mouthed, “I want you to fuck me.”

She twirled around in a full circle with the dress flying open, showing her thighs, ass, and thong-covered cunt.

Looking at the professor turned whore, he said, “Not bad for a first-time whore.”

Elixabeth turned around with her ass to Bill. With her hands shaking, she unzipped the red dress. She pulled it down. She let the dress slide from her shoulders, but she didn’t let it fall. She held it to her body for a moment, teasing him. She let go, letting it fall to the floor. She stood before him with her back still turned, wearing only the black leather shelf bra and thong.

Her ass was big and soft. A perfect MILF ass. It was completely bare except for the thin strap of the thong between her ass cheeks. She wiggled her fat ass.

Bill’s breath hitched. He reached out and slapped her hard. The sound echoed like a gunshot on her fleshy ass. The sharp sting made her yelp. The sound of the pain seemed to please him immensely.

She turned around with a look of feigned lust. Her big, saggy tits were spilling over the top of the shelf bra. Her nipples were hard and exposed. She climbed onto his lap, straddling him, and began to grind her hips against the hard bulge in his pants. She could feel his hard cock. She grinded her hips around and around.

She leaned in close and nibbled his ear. With a low whisper, she said, “This MILF professor is your filthy nasty whore baby. I’m just a set of fuckholes for your pleasure. Make me scream when you fuck my tight holes and fill me with your cum.”

Breathing heavily, “God, I want your big fucking cock. “I want you to fuck my mouth like it’s a cunt. I want to feel it hitting the back of my throat. I wanna taste your cum so bad. Please, let this slut suck your cock.”

The sheer, vulgar filth coming from the lips of Dr. Elizabeth Collins was exactly what he wanted. He groaned and grabbed her ass.

She slid off his lap and continued the strip tease. She reached behind her and unhooked the shelf bra. She let it fall away, and her heavy, natural tits sagged free. Her hard nipples and large pink areolas.

Bill grinned. “Oh yeah, I always wanted to see those big fuckable tits of THE Dr. Elizabeth Collins. Now I’ve bought you, bitch, and I’m gonna fuck your tits and every other hole you have.”

She tweaked her nipples, pulling on them, rolling them between her fingers.

Snarling and channeling Candi’s persona: “Look at these big MILF tits. You wanna fuck these? You want to cum all over them?”

She finally hooked her thumbs into the sides of the thong. She slid it down her hips with her eyes locked on his. She was completely naked now. A 45-year-old mother and professor with a voluptuous body, a shaved cunt, and a painted face of a whore. She was performing like a seasoned porn star. She stood before him, her legs slightly apart, her cunt glistening and exposed.

Growling, he said, “Look at you. What a fucking filthy whore. A nasty cum slut. Look at that body, made for fucking.”

He stood up and unbuckled his pants, letting them fall to the ground. He took off his undershorts with his thick ten-inch cock springing free. “Get on your knees, you worthless slut. Time to see if that mouth of yours is as good as you promised.”

This was it. The moment Candi’s training became real. Elizabeth sank to her knees. She hated this. She hated the thought, the taste, the very idea of it. But the memory of Candi’s words and the terror of what would happen if she failed were her motivation. She put on the performance of her life.

Bill watched her drop to her knees. The prim and proper Dr. Elizabeth Collins, the moral compass of the community. This is what it was about for men like Bill Barkley. It was about control and the ability to buy anything or anybody. He had bought her and he was going to make her give him his money’s worth.

She looked up. Her eyes burned with a desperate lust that was a complete lie. She was going to give him a performance born from Candi’s tutelage and her own desperate will to survive.

Her tongue snaked out with the flat of it pressing against the underside of Bill’s thick head. She swirled it around the crown, flicking it against the sensitive bundle of nerves. His cock jumped with a low growl rumbling in his chest. She ran her fingernails up and down his massive thick cock as she sucked the big head of his cock.

She wrapped her glossy lips around his cock head with her cheeks hollowing dramatically. A wet, slurping sound filled the air as she sucked just the tip, Her hand was stroking the thick, veiny shaft. She used a twisting, corkscrew motion. She fondled and gently squeezed his big cum-filled balls.

As she was sucking and licking the big mushroom head of his cock, Bill reached down and was grabbing her big saggy tits. He had envisioned this so many times as she was giving a presentation, imagining how those big melons would feel in his hands. Now the bitch was his. Those big MILF tits were his. He grabbed her nipple, pulled, and twisted.

Elizabeth let out a yelp as she felt her nipple get pulled. The pain was intense but short. She looked up at him. “Oh fuck, that feels so good when you pinch my big nipples like that!

With an evil grin, he said, “Well, if you really like it …”He grabbed her other nipple and pulled and twisted even harder. “Get back to sucking my cock, you filthy whore.”

She nodded with the pain in her nipples growing. She ran her tongue up and down his big throbbing cock, licking it like an ice cream cone.

She lowered her head, gently taking one of his large, heavy testicles into her mouth. She rolled it with her tongue, her cheeks puffing out slightly. She was showing a reverence for the source of his power. She wrapped her hand around his cock and stroked up and down while sucking on his balls.

Then she did something that made Bill groan loudly. She pushed her face deeper into his crotch. She licked between the bottom of his ballsack and his asshole. She ran her tongue around the rim while she was gently fondling his cum-filled balls.

She swirled her tongue around his tight, puckered asshole, licking it with long, broad strokes.

Bill’s hand grabbed her head with his hips pushing forward. “Fuck, you’re a nasty asshole licker, aren’t you, DR. COLLINS..”

She heard the emphasis on her professional name, and a huge wave of humiliation went through her body. She was a bought and paid-for whore licking her customers asshole. She then pushed her tongue deep into his asshole, fucking it with her tongue. She felt his body react.

She pulled back and looked up into his eyes as Canid had taught her. “Is your whore a good asshole licker, Sir?

Bill laughed. “Fuck yeah, who would ever imagine I would have the Dean of the Ethics department licking my asshole?”

She went back to work sucking his cock. She raked the long, sharp nails of her free hand gently up and down the underside of his thick shaft. Her tongue followed the path of her nails. She paid special attention to the sensitive spot under the head, flicking her tongue against it again and again in a rapid, maddening rhythm.

She opened her mouth wide and let his cock go in, inch by agonizing inch. Her head began to bob up and down in a steady rhythm. Her big tits swaying. She could feel her cunt starting to get wet.

Thinking to herself, “Oh my god, I’m getting turned on by being a whore.”

She took a deep breath through her nose and pushed down. She forced her head down, taking his cock deeper.

He could see the moment her throat resisted. A slight gag and flutter in her neck. She didn’t pull back. She relaxed, consciously forcing her throat muscles to yield.

Bill could see a bulge in her neck. Then a wet, glurking sound. The last few inches of Bill’s cock popped past the barrier and slid down into her esophagus.

Bill roared. “Fuck!”

His entire body went rigid. His cock was buried to the hilt in her throat with her nose pressed into his pubic bone. She held it there like a perfect, submissive cocksucker. Her eyes watered but she didn’t fight it. She stayed impaled on his massive meat, her throat constricting around him, milking him with the muscles of her gullet.

Elizabeth snaked out her tongue and licked his big cum-filled balls with his cock buried down her throat.

His hands were holding her in a vice. He took over, using her mouth like a cunt. He fucked her throat with brutal thrusts. The lack of air was a heady rush. She was completely at his mercy.

With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and roared.

Grunting “uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh”

A hot, thick stream of cum exploded against the back of her throat, filling her mouth. It was a huge load of cum, salty, and slightly bitter. It was a disgusting flood that she wanted to spit out more than anything in the world. She wanted to vomit that disgusting thick warm gooey cum sliding down into her belly.

Growling with his cock still throbbing in her mouth, “Don’t you fucking spill a drop. Swallow it, bitch. Swallow every fucking drop.”

With a sob, she closed her eyes and swallowed. The thick, slimy load of cum slid down her throat. It felt like she was surrendering. She had done one of the things she hated the most.