Pathetic submissive professor meets his doom

You thought you could just be apathetic submissive professor and no one would notice? It’s a tolling process to sit in a classroom and watch my professor act as if they’re supposed to be an authority figure. I have a hard time controlling myself when I see weakness in a subject so easily. It makes me laugh as if I’ve just spoken the words, “Checkmate”.

This particular professor might as well have had “PUSSY” written on his forehead. The depressive state he carried throughout the vanilla days that are his life said it all. Through degradation, I was sure I could get the easy A I’d always dreamed of. When it comes to playing with people, I tend to be stingy towards an oblivious bitch.

 Just so happens, like a lion, I strike when the opportunity arises and this pathetic submissive professor was like a deer in the headlights.

“Let’s take a bathroom break, be back in 10”, he says.

 Of course, I find Bitch boy in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. Surprised with my appearance, I interject before he can even suggest privacy.

“Don’t bother trying to fix the reflection or desperate longing in your eyes. You’ll forever be ashamed of yourself and this is why you’re transparently submissive”.

Right where I want him

The gown touching my knees pulls him from his thought as his eyes drift lower. I find his eyes following my hands as I expose my tight Brazilian stripped cunt. His eyes radiated hunger as they followed my protruding hip bones following the frame of my nipples pierced through and swollen.

“It’s astounding you can’t even hold a conversation. This is exactly why I have power over you, bitch. This tight pussy will never be yours. Your thoughts are going to eat you alive before I would even think about letting you touch me.”

The turmoil in his submissive eyes left him in deep yearning yet he stayed silent. I covered myself asking him, “What do you say?” But leave before he even has time to articulate a reply. This one moment of submission may seem minuscule but it is a stepping stone. No doubt he finished himself off in the bathroom after I left, but was that satisfying enough?

No, because this act would be submissively recalled by him throughout every one of his vanilla days.  I got off on the visuals of him squirming to recall his lesson over the next few classes. The tapping of my pen point on the desk would metaphorically act as a whip, pressuring him to do exactly as I’d like without having to say it.

Change of pace

There were no bathroom breaks from our pathetic submissive professor after our first encounter, so I took it upon myself to show up to class early as if I had a burning question.  My ears were subjected to his Beatles playlist on the soundboard. As I approached the classroom, I shut the door as I walk in, without him noticing. He jumped slightly as I advanced towards his desk, indicating my presence was already intimidating and surprising.

His ignorance is a form of weakness but a manifestation of my strategy. Situating myself on his desk I tell him to get down. He looked at me in question as he dropped to his knees. I signal his pliable face downward, “Worship your goddess’s feet. Pretend I’m that sexy phone sex operator you’re always talking to. I have been dealing with your sissy bullshit for far too long. All of you bitches are indecisive and beg to be told what to do.”

His eyes bulge as I shove my foot past his lips, gagging his waste hole. I can feel his throat squeezing as the papers on his desk become coated in spit leaking onto his slacks. He removes himself back as his eyes water. Before he can clear his throat and exclaim his thanks, I interject, “My strapon is always bulging in class and hard whenever I want it. It will last as long as I need it to whether it’d be in your weak throat or tight ass. I think we need to talk seriously next class about this whole Extreme Femdom Punishment.”

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