Mafia in College 5 (Patreon)

I opened the door of my apartment. “Hi, Camilla,” I said with a cheerful voice.

“He-hello, professor,” she stammered, a sudden blush invading her face as she evaded my gaze, her mind no doubt on what had happened earlier today. And from the suddenness of her blush, it seemed that, under the panic of losing the recorder, she had managed to miss the significance of whose home she was about to visit, only for the full realization to hit the moment she met my eyes. “Sorry for bot-bothering you at this hour. If I can just take it and go…” 

“Nonsense,” I said with a cheerful voice, which didn’t help her to calm down, not that I wanted it in any case. “It’s definitely not a bother. Actually, why don’t you come in for a cup of coffee.” 

“I don’t-” she tried to say, but I cut her off.

“I insist,” I said, but this time, my voice was lacking in fake geniality. I took a step to the side, and a pointed glare later, she stepped inside, and walked to the bathroom, with all the grace of a stumbling songbird. I gestured her to take a seat on the couch while I walked into the kitchen. “Black or with cream,” I asked.

“With milk, and no sugar,” she whispered, straining my ability to hear. I said nothing as I prepared her coffee, giving her a minute to gather her wits, a difficult task considering that our last encounter ended with her bent over my desk, being spanked for disobedience, followed by a reward that was even naughtier for her silent acceptance. I filled the cup with black coffee, but the inclusion of a dash of milk broke through its dark, unforgiving surface, bringing its color closer to the skin of my guest. 

“Thanks, professor,” she murmured as she took the cup I presented, trying to bury herself deeper into the couch she was sitting. I acted like I hadn’t noticed it, taking a seat on a chair near her instead. 

“No worries,” I said. “That’s the least I could do after making you come all the way.” Once again, the silence stretched as she drank her beverage. I continued to sip my beer as I waited for her to speak, curious how long it would take for her to gather her courage. 

It turned out that she needed several minutes. I had already moved onto the next bottle, and her coffee was about to finish, when she spoke next. “Professor,” she murmured. “Can I get my re-,” she started, only to cut her own words in a sudden assault of panic. It took a lot of effort from being to prevent the laugh that tried to escape. I knew they were poor in their blackmail attempt, but almost admitting that the device was a recorder was something else. “My vintage music player,” she corrected, looking relieved at my apparent failure of catching her slip up. 

“Sure, let me pick it up,” I said. “By the way, were you able to start your paper,” I said as I walked into the other room to pick up the recorder from my bedroom.

“No, professor, not yet,” her reply came from the living room. 

“I see,” I answered as I stepped back to living room. “So, you’re still hoping to blackmail me for your grades rather than putting the honest work. Pity,” I continued, my voice perfectly free of infliction, like I was commenting on the weather. In my past occupation, I learned that such a voice was much more effective than anger or pained accusation.  

The moment my words registered in her mind, she froze, except for her eyes, which grew in a way that displayed the delicious brown of her eyes most beautifully. “W-what,” she stammered. 

“Come on Camilla,” I continued casually as I took a seat next to her rather than my previous seat. “You need to be better at listening. I bet that’s the reason that lately, you’re struggling with the coursework, which puts you into such ridiculous situations.” 

“Professor, I’m not trying to blackmail you!” she exclaimed, her voice much higher than her usual, a surefire sign of a poor liar. 

“Really,” I said. “Then, please explain why you were carrying a recorder with you in your visit, which incidentally recorded this.” I pressed the button, and the sound of her moans, interrupted with her pained cries, filled the room. She tried to jump away from her seat, but I put my hand on her leg, gesturing her to stay. It was a soft gesture. With my wrist intentionally limp, she could have easily pushed my hand away. But instead, she froze under my touch, and continued to sit. “Explain,” I repeated. 

Her silence stretched despite my order. My hand grabbed her thigh, slowly sinking deeper on her leg, enough to drive the seriousness of the situation without actually hurting. “Sorry,” she exclaimed. 

“Sorry for what,” I drawled, letting a dash of fake anger to my tone. Fake, because I was too amused to feel real anger. Yes, technically she tried to blackmail me, but she was as threatening as a kitten trying to bite my finger, adorable even in her most threatening state. 

“Sorry for trying to blackmail you,” she whispered. I could see her trembling, with tears starting to slide from her eyes, no doubt thinking that she was going to end up kicked out of her school. 

I said nothing else, just grabbed her shoulder and pulled her into a hug. “Now, now,” I murmured, patting her shoulder. “Was it so hard.” The unexpected compassion removed her last traces of control, and she started to cry endlessly. I just patted her shoulders, waiting for her tears to dry, her state making me feel guilty about what I was going to do next. Not enough to actually change my mind, of course. She had lost her right to reprieve the moment she targeted me. She was lucky that she didn’t register as an actual threat, therefore avoiding a real retaliation. 

I waited for a few minutes, in which her tears subsided. “Better?” I asked. She nodded, still solemn, but lacking her earlier desperation. “So, who exactly convinced you that blackmailing me is a good idea?” I continued, and once again she clamped down in panic. 

“Why do you think somebody else convinced me?” she replied me in panic. I sent her a casual gaze. “I thought it myself,” she added, too unconvincing to convince anyone with a working half of a brain. 

“Really? You expect me to believe that.” She failed to answer. “Let’s go through the facts one by one. First, I don’t think you can lie convincing enough to trick a pre-school child. Second, I believe myself rather good in assessing people, and it’s not something that you would come up with. Do you want to guess the third?” 

“My clothes,” she murmured helplessly.

“Smart girl,” I said with a smile, which, somehow managed to make a smile blink on her lips for a moment. “It’s not just those clothes were markedly different than anything else you own, they were too expensive for you as well. Which, incidentally, shortens the possible list of instigator quite a bit.” I smiled gently, and she smiled as well. I felt proud. It wasn’t exactly simple to pull good police, bad police routine with just one. “So, why don’t you make it easier for yourself, and tell me who convinced you that it was a good idea.” 

Her mouth opened, and a whisper got out, barely loud enough to be heard, filled with reluctance. “Megan,” she whispered. 

“Good work,” I said, patting her shoulder once more. “Now, was that so hard?” She shook her head, anguished for giving up her accomplice without resistance. “You certainly earned a discount on your punishment.” The last word managed to bring her to the present. I chucked at her shocked expression. “Really, sweetie. You couldn’t have expected to get away scot-free from a blackmail attempt.” I watched her expression, quickly returning back to despair. “But don’t worry, we’re going to strictly in-house, no need to bring administration in the loop, which would end up with you losing your scholarship.” I didn’t need a verbal answer to know her acceptance. “Now, go and wash your face. We will discuss your punishment when you return.” 

She disappeared behind the bathroom door. I was glad not to hear anything else than running water, particularly a lack of crying. Not that I had found it likely, not after the insights I gathered during our office encounter, but confirmation was always nice. I moved to my bedroom to pick up a few simple implements, and put them in a small bag. I wanted to reveal my surprises one by one.

I stopped by the kitchen and put myself another drink, a nice glass of aged bourbon. Breaking a beautiful woman like her deserved something more than a cheap beer. I took a seat on the couch, waiting for her to leave. It took a few minutes for her to leave the room, but, examining her as she walked towards me with trembling steps, I was willing to say that it was worth it. 

The most radical change was her clothing; or more accurately, the lack of it. She had elected to leave her jeans and shirt behind, relying on her underwear for coverage. They were much more wholesome than the red set she wore during her visit to my office, their featureless whiteness lacking the suggestiveness of the previous ones. However, weirdly enough, it was more arousing to see her in them. Maybe because the current one fit her personality better, but there was a certain aura the sexier one failed to replicate. 

Rest of her stance supported that. Her eyes were on the ground, except a couple of times she tried to raise them to catch a glimpse, only to fall right back down the moment of contact. A shy blush was on her face, darkening her complexion further. Her stance was similarly accepting, her shoulders slouched slightly, her knees dancing with a hint of a tremble. I took a sip of my glass, the smoky taste of high-grade bourbon burning my tongue. 

“You’re more enthusiastic than I expected,” I said. No answer left her lips, but her body was a different matter. She flinched at my words, instantly, solely from hearing my voice rather than my words, considering its speed. Then, her head dipped down even further like she tried to disappear, her hair falling on her face. I didn’t like it. “Raise your head,” I ordered. She moved slower than I would have liked in following my order, but in the end, she did follow, so I let it slide. 

With her head back in a neutral position, I had a chance to examine her expression more in detail. Her eyes stayed lowered, but her lips were in a different manner. They were dry under the pressure of the situation, whether excitement or fear, I didn’t know yet. That lack of information was not to be borne, I decided. With a negligent motion, I gestured her to walk closer. This time, she stood still until I followed up with a threatening look. She took several steps, each one reluctant, dragging. 

She looked like she was about to stop when she was just a few steps away from me when she stopped. I looked at her with an exaggerated frown. “Why did you stop,” I asked. I didn’t raise my voice, but let a certain sharpness to slip my tone. Her blush intensified at my tone, but she continued walking, until she was close enough to touch. I gestured her to stop.

This order, she followed immediately. I raised my finger and made a small twirl, asking for her to give me a turn. She did a turn around herself, her hair flailing wildly. “Slower,” I added in an intentional calmness. She dipped her head like she had been just burned, but followed with a slower turn, giving me time to fully appreciate the fullness of her bottom, which managed to look sexy even in her substandard selection of underwear. 

She stood still after completing the turn. I intentionally avoided saying anything, spending my time to examine her body more in detail, broken by the occasional sips from my glass. I noticed some changes as time rolled. Some of them I expected, like her trembling expression. Some came as a surprise, like her hardening nipples, even visible through the thick fabric of her bra. Or the wet patch on her panties, growing rapidly. I thought about bringing her attention to those, but refrained. Watching her struggle in the uncertainty of the situation was fun, especially with the additional pressure from her own body. 

It took almost five minutes for her to gather enough courage to speak. “Sir,” she whispered. 

“Yes?” I asked, trying to make her ask a question, which unfortunately failed to work. She opened her mouth, but her courage faltered. Her tongue darted out, trying to moisten her dried lips before trying again. But once again, no avail. I sighed in an exaggerated manner before patting on my lap. “Come here,” I said. She tried to sit down on my lap. “Not like that,” I corrected. “I want you to lay on my knees, ready to receive the spanking you deserve.” 

It was a credit to her unique personality that she followed my directions without a complaint. She took another step, bringing her body close enough to bite. I managed to keep myself back, but it was a close affair. Thankfully, she was too distracted by the weight of the moment to look at my face. She bent down, her weight pressing comfortably on my legs, her chin resting on the pillow I pulled, while her bottom pointed upward, ready for my attention.  

The first spank landed without a warning, its sound echoing in the room. A whimper escaped her mouth, more surprise than pain, which soon turned into a restless shifting as I kept my fingers connected, softly caressing the patch of skin I had just bruised. I continued until she lost some of her stiffness, then spanked her bottom once more. This time, she managed to keep silent even as her plump bottom rippled in a way that made me want to rip off her panties, and push myself deep into her.

But I managed to stay on task, continuing to beat down her bottom with spanks. No protest left her mouth, but the same couldn’t be said for her pained yelps. Despite the delay between each spank -which I filled by caressing the skin I just bruised- it was getting harder and harder for her to keep her voice low. “Try to keep your voice, honey,” I said, using the same tone I used whenever I was speaking to a particularly slow student. 

“Yes, professor,” she replied, her voice strained with pain, but I was experienced enough to catch the undercurrents of pleasure as well, moving under the surface. But, despite her assurance, her conviction turned out to be weaker than the hold of pain on her. The cries restarted. Barely more than a whisper at first, they quickly picked up the volume. Not loud enough to be actually heard by the neighbors, but loud nevertheless. 

Thankfully, I had the solution for that in the bag I had prepared. After a particularly stiff spank, rather than caressing her, I reached for my bag, and pulled a classical ball-gag from it, red and black. “Open wide,” I said as I brought it to her mouth. She turned towards me in shock, eyes wide with shock. In my guess, Megan wasn’t likely to be particularly inventive in the toys department, if a simple ball-gag brought such an extreme reaction. 

Her mouth opened in shock, in obedience or in an attempt to let out a shocked rejection, I didn’t know. Nor I bothered to wait enough to learn, just stuffing her mouth with the ball before she could say anything. She might have wanted to speak against it, but she lacked the will to physically push it back now that it was in her mouth. She waited obediently as I engaged it properly, then took her previous position. 

My surprises were not finished yet. After her panicked reaction to a simple ball-gag, I realized that I couldn’t use the majority of my toys yet, lest I pushed her too much. For now, of course, as I had no intention of letting all those fun implements just gather dust on a drawer. Still, there was one particular one I could use to punish her properly. A paddle, made from aged cherry, carefully wrapped in soft velvet. 

She noticed the change only when it collided with her bottom, the thickness of soft exterior not enough to hide the threatening hardness that lay behind. She let out a muffled cry, louder than the previous one despite the barrier in her mouth. The paddle worked better than I expected, so I decided to make her suffering easier. I could have just reduced the power behind the slaps, but where was the fun in that. “Last ten,” I called, knowing that having a visible target would make it easier to resist. 

But even with the target, she lost her ability to control her voice, crying loudly every time the velvet connected with her equally-soft skin. Still, I didn’t think she was too unhappy with the treatment she was receiving, her juices were gushing enough to drench her panties to the point of transparency. 

“And that was the last one,” I said, but kept my free hand on the small of her back, both to prevent her from standing up, and to caress the sensitive points on her lower back, adding another dimension to her slow torture towards the climax. My other hand was equally busy, dancing over her wet lips, her wet panties the only ineffectual barrier between our skin. Another cry left her mouth, one that was markedly different from the earlier ones. 

“You’re a naughty girl, aren’t you, my dear student?” I asked. She tried to say something, but with her mouth full, only an incomprehensible garble managed to escape. I continued caressing her nether lips, slowing whenever I felt that she was getting too close to a climax. The pain wasn’t the only way to punish. In the correct situation, and if applied correctly, the denial of pleasure could be just as effective. A fact that she started to realize as the minutes passed, my hands dancing over the most sensitive points of her body, but slowing down whenever she exhibited the signs of an impending orgasm. 

Several minutes passed while I continued the treatment that kept her on the edge, extending her ‘suffering’ without mercy. It was a testament to her tension that when one of my hands climbed, dancing around her bra, she gave no reaction, captured under the throes of pleasure. Even better, when I unlocked her bra, she raised her arms in an instant, allowing me to pull it off easily. My fingers continued to trace a path closer to her breasts, grabbing and twisting her nipple. 

It turned out that I greatly underestimated the sensitivity of her breasts, and squeezing her nipple between my fingers proved enough to push her over the edge. I would call it a mistake, but I loathed to call it that when the result was this beautiful. One of the strongest orgasms I had ever had the pleasure of seeing caught her in its throes, making her tremble violently, her nether lips gushing deliciously. 

I pulled my hands away from her body despite my desire to push even further. An orgasm of this scale after a lengthy edge-play, I was lucky that she hadn’t already fainted, which would ruin the second part of my plan. So, I just loosened the bands of the ball-gag instead, giving her the ability to speak. 

She lay listlessly on my knees for more than a minute, enjoying the aftershocks of the explosion she went through. And even when she started to move in a manner that I would classify as fully conscious, she continued to lay on my lap. Waiting for permission to stand up, or the second session to start, I didn’t know. 

But I didn’t give either of them Instead, I just continued sitting, my hands away from her body, waiting for her to react, curious about what she would do. Maybe she would be brave enough to ask for another session, I hoped, or even daring enough to reach to my erection, which was currently pressing against her stomach, hard enough to almost rip through my pants. 

Unfortunately, she acted less brave than I had hoped, and lifted herself from my lap without a word leaving her lips, and stood in front of me. She tried to raise her arms to cover her spectacular breasts, or a part of it at least, as even both of her arms wouldn’t be enough to cover the entirety of those huge jugs. Still, a moot point, as a glance towards her arms proved enough to make her drop her arms to the side, treating me to the beautiful view of her tits, her pristine skin begging me to mark her. And their sensitivity would make playing with them even more fun. 

“Did you learn your lesson?” I asked. She nodded, unable to meet with my eyes. “I shouldn’t need to remind you that, when I ask a question, I expect a proper answer.” 

“Sorry, professor,” she murmured. “Yes, I learned my lesson.” 

“And what lesson is this?” 

She froze, but from her expression, I guessed she was cycling through the possible answers, trying to find which one I would find the least objectionable. “That I need to be a better student, not relying on shortcuts,” she whispered. 

“Good one,” I said, amused by the delicateness of her answer. “Still, you shouldn’t also rely on blackmail to help yourself against the obstacles in your life,” I added hypocritely, ignoring all the times I used that with perfect effectiveness, including two times in the last hour, one against her, and one against Megan. “Still, after all that effort I had put in teaching you a lesson, I believe that I deserve a reward.” I didn’t say anything else, leaving the initiative to her. 

“Yes, professor,” she whispered once again, but I caught a dash of arousal behind her tone. She still looked indecisive, so I decided to give her a little help. I widened my legs, which put my erection to an even better display. Even in her confused state, she was sharp enough to catch the clue, and lowered herself on her knees. A brief struggle with my pants later, my erection stood proud, finally free of its restrictive confines. 

It was amusing to watch her as her gaze stuck to my length, going up and down as she tried to process its size. Her lips parted open, allowing her tongue to dart out, moistening her lips. But her hand, slowly reaching towards in jerky movements, showed her nervousness. I said nothing, and soon, she managed to gather her courage enough to wrap her hand on my shaft. She started pumping, but it was a choppy, disconnected movement, showing just how little experience she had. “Is this the first time you ever hold a dick,” I asked dismissively. 

I wasn’t expecting her to nod in a trembling manner before continuing with her task. My smirk widened, surprised by the rarity of the gem that found its path to me. It must be the reason for Megan’s power over her. Camilla probably grew in a conservative family, maybe even home-schooled, only to fall into Megan’s web of opulence and popularity. And with Megan, she learned about the female form. And now, it was my job as her teacher to teach her about the opposite sex. 

“Use your lips as well,” I ordered, breaking my earlier decision to leave things for her initiative. While it was amusing to watch her flail, with her apparent lack of skill in hand jobs, it would take ages for her to bring me to climax. At least, with her lips, it would be a fun activity. 

Her eyes jumped to mine in shock, like I had asked something incomprehensible, which I thought was completely undeserving. From what I had seen, she had no such reservation munching between what lay between Megan’s legs. Still, her wordless protest, like every single protest she had, proved to be short-lived, ending with her gaze sliding away. She parted her lips and leaned forward, trembling. Excitement or nervousness, I didn’t know, nor did I care, more occupied with the beautiful effect it had on her breasts. 

A gasp escaped my mouth as the warmth of her mouth wrapped around my girth, bringing relief to my erection, which had been suffering from lack of attention all night long. I brought my hand on her cheek, and dragged my thumb softly, trying to encourage her to swallow more than just the tip. She missed the cue, so I brought my other hand on the top of her head, pushing slightly, for a more direct message. This time, she followed the direction, diving deeper on my length. 

With her occupation with trying to swallow more of my shaft, I had time to busy myself with other things. I dragged my hand down from her chin, dallying a bit on her neck before landing on her shoulder. She shuddered beautifully as I drove closer to her breast, her sensitivity showing itself. Never one to miss such an opportunity, I let my hand climb to the endless hill that was her breast, and sank into its heavenly softness. She whimpered, a sound that was muffled by a certain presence in her mouth. But since she obediently continued her attempts to swallow my shaft, I gave it no weight. 

I let my other hand, which was on the top of her head, to fall down next to other, occupying itself with her other breast. She raised her gaze to met mine, but unfortunately for her, it only made me more aroused. There were precious few men who wouldn’t feel aroused when such an innocent look turned to his side while his shaft was lodged in the mouth of its owner, and I was not one of them. So, I just ordered to go deeper, which she followed immediately. 

She was obediently focused on her task, which freed me to focus on kneading and massaging her breasts. I ignored the temptation of forcing her to a deep-throat. It was the first time for her, and it was better to leave such a laborious activity for later. For the second time, most likely.

“You’re doing great. Keep it like that,” I added. I could feel myself nearing a climax, so I started squeezing her breasts in an intensified desire. I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensation. A few minutes later, I could feel an impending explosion. I didn’t bother to keep it back. I certainly deserved it. “Try to keep it as much as you can,” I ordered as I sprayed into her mouth. 

I knew that she would fail miserably even before I gave that order, but watching her doing her best to keep her mouth shut even as her cheeks bulged was a show in itself. And the fact that I continued to squeeze her sensitive mounds didn’t help her as well. “Now, swallow it,” I added. Once again, her eyes turned to me, begging, which made it even more fun. “I said swallow!” I repeated in a much sharper tone, underlining my statement by squeezing her nipples mercilessly. 

I watched her in surprise as she swallowed it. I wasn’t surprised because she swallowed, but she managed to experience another climax while swallowing it, the mixture of rough treatment of her breasts and my harsh order enough to trigger it. “You’re going to be even more fun than I expected,” I murmured, uncaring if she heard it. 

“What?” she murmured listlessly, but from the lack of panic, I guessed that she failed to understand it in her distracted state. 

“I said go and take a shower, and we’re going to talk after it.” 

She jumped at her feet at my order even as she wobbled on her trembling legs, weakened after her latest orgasm. She walked towards the bathroom. But as she walked, she turned and send me a fleeting glance, filled with confusion, desire, and shock. 

Teaching her properly was going to be fun…