4 ~ Cum as a Price of Power

GREGORY'S POV

“You’ve got fifteen seconds to lick every drop of your cum off my face. If a single drop stains my shirt before that…” He paused, smirked devilishly. “I will make sure you spend all day in my private office begging me to stop.”

He didn’t blink. “Now. One! Two…”

I didn’t wait for three.

I lunged forward, my body driven by obedience and fear, circling my hand around his neck to steady myself.

But as I hovered there, just inches from his face, I froze.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do it.

The smell of sex was overwhelming. The salty musk of my own release filled my nose, and my stomach clenched in protest.

If there’s anything I hated more than math classes—it’s this. Swallowing cum.

The taste alone made my skin crawl. Salty, bitter, clinging to the tongue like humiliation in liquid form. The first time I ever tried it—with Kale—I had vomited for days. Even after spitting it back in his face, I couldn’t scrub the memory from my mouth.

And now?

Now it was all over Professor Richard’s face.

Dripping. Waiting.

What the fuck was I supposed to do?

I was still catching my breath—still trembling—when his voice sliced through the fog in my mind.

“Fifteen,” he said darkly, his eyes locked on mine. “And you should be punished.”

“Fuck… I didn’t…” The words fell from my lips like confession, not excuse. But it didn’t matter.

I had disobeyed. I hadn’t followed his command in fifteen seconds. Now... I would pay the price.

But how?

Professor Richard's lips curled into a slow, devilish smirk as his fingers reached up to his face—still slick with the thick, hot ropes of cum I had painted him with just moments ago. He dipped his fingers into it shamelessly, coating them, playing with it like it was nothing but lube and consequence.

“Let me show you the line,” he said, his voice low, “between pleasure… and pain.”

Before I could blink, before I could breathe, he scooped a generous handful of the still-warm cum—his and mine, mixed together—and slammed his palm against my exposed ass, landing a wet, humiliating slap right on my rosebud.

My whole body jerked violently.

The slickness of his hand smeared over me, sticky and obscene, the smell of sex filling the air around us. Then—without warning—his pinky finger pressed against my hole, and I froze.

“N… No… wait…”

But he didn’t wait.

He never did.

His pinky breached me, slow but forceful, opening me up with terrifying ease. My hips bucked off the leather, but his free hand pushed me back down. I whimpered—helpless and aching—as my hole clenched tightly around the invading digit, shocked by the intrusion, raw from the tension.

“Keep still,” he ordered, his voice dark and void of warmth, like he was commanding a machine into submission.

His finger began to move—merciless and methodical. He thrust it in and out with a calculated cruelty, not giving me a moment to adjust. The sensation was foreign, invasive… and maddeningly addictive. The burn only amplified the ache that had been throbbing deep in me since the moment he stepped into this office.

Each thrust sent a lightning bolt of sensation through my spine—both punishment and reward, a rhythmic violation that stripped away my resistance inch by inch.

I let out a cracked sound, half sob, half moan. My thighs trembled. My body shook with something dangerously close to need.

“This is what disobedience tastes like,” he whispered, leaning in until his breath teased my ear. “A tight little hole, hips that twitch like a whore’s, shameful little cries… You’re learning, aren’t you?”

I gasped, barely able to nod, my face burning, my lips trembling as his words echoed in my skull like gospel. I was being used, claimed and ruined.

And I loved it. It's for my grades.

My cock was hard again—twitching, begging, and pulsing. The moment I felt his hand move from my stomach to wrap tightly around it, I nearly blacked out.

“Hell… Daddy,” I whimpered.

His fingers pumped my cock with perfect rhythm as his pinky drilled my hole, the dual sensations overwhelming. My body arched again, only to be dragged back down under his control. His thumb teased the sensitive underside of the tip of my cock while his other finger curved, hitting something deep inside me that made me cry out.

And then he did the unthinkable.

His mouth lowered, his lips brushing the tip of my cock.

“Already hard again,” he muttered before taking me fully into his mouth—all the way down—like he owned me. His throat swallowed around me, warm and slick and relentless.

“F… fuck!” I shouted, my voice strangled as my hips tried to thrust up. He didn’t let me. He pushed my thighs back with one strong arm, forcing me open as he sucked with dangerous expertise.

I came undone.

My hands flew to his hair, clawing, and trembling. I cried out again, unable to stop the way my body jerked and spasmed. My cock pulsed violently in his throat, another release shooting from me with dizzying force. He didn’t pull back. He drank it like he wanted it—like my cum was the price of power.

When he finally pulled away, his lips glistened and his voice came like silk dipped in steel.

“Still full of energy?” He asked, licking a drop from the corner of his mouth.

I nodded weakly, dazed, wrecked, and so fucking desperate for more.

Without a word, Professor Richard grabbed my wrist and yanked me off the leather seat. I stumbled, legs wobbly, head spinning, but he dragged me toward the desk like I weighed nothing.

He sat down, calm and composed as if he hadn’t just reduced me to trembling flesh.

“Get under,” he ordered, pushing his chair back and parting his knees.

I dropped to the floor, crawling beneath the desk, my breath shallow as I looked up at him from between his thighs.

“Now,” he said, voice low. “Be a good boy and suck me off while I grade your test.”