Chapter 7: Professor Wolfe’s Little Muse

The next morning, Juliette Marlowe was late.

Her thighs were sore.

Her dress clung to skin still stained by storm water and sex.

Her nipples brushed the inside of her bra like they still belonged to his mouth.

She tried to hide it.

Pulled her hair up. Smoothed the skirt.

Pretended she hadn’t been on all fours the night before—cum leaking from her ass as she thanked him with her mouth.

But when she slipped into the studio ten minutes late, breathless and quiet, one of the other girls turned and smirked.

“You look like you got dragged through the forest.”

Juliette froze.

A few students laughed.

She stared down, cheeks flushed red, chest tight

“Miss Marlowe,” Wolfe’s voice cut through the room like glass.

The room went still.

She looked up. Slowly.

“Did you sleep through your alarm,” he said, “or were you wandering around wet again?”

Her breath caught.

His tone was calm. Cool. But that word—wet. He knew what it would do.

She nodded weakly. “I—I’m sorry, Chancellor.”

He set his pen down.

“Come forward.”

Everyone stared.

She obeyed, moving slowly to the front of the class like a girl about to be beheaded.

He stood.

“Ten minutes of stillness,” he said. “On the platform. In silence.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Ten minutes as a live model. Fully clothed. No movement.”

“But”

“You chose to be late,” he said. “Now you’ll be seen.”

Her breath left her lungs.

She stepped onto the raised wooden platform.

Students stared. She didn’t dare meet their eyes.

And Wolfe?

He sat down, took his pen, and began to sketch.

Like he wasn’t the man who’d filled her pussy and fucked her ass raw in a chapel hours earlier.

He didn’t go with them to the museum later.

The exhibition was about form and movement. Naked statues. Feminine curves. Divine proportions.

They stood in cold, marble halls, sketching shapes.

Juliette tried to focus.

But her skin remembered every touch.

The thick head of his cock pressing in.

His hand grabbing her face.

The way he sucked her toes like he’d starved for them.

She couldn’t concentrate.

Every time she blinked, she saw his eyes on her.

And he was nowhere in sight.

Until she found the note.

Tucked inside her sketchbook.

“Tonight. 10 PM. The gallery. Wear something that falls easily.”

Chancellor Wolfe

Her classmates invited her to join them for drinks. Music. Wine by the fire.

She said she had a migraine.

By 9:45, her heart was galloping.

She wore a soft, black silk slip—no bra, no panties, hair pinned in curls.

She walked the halls barefoot.

Found the gallery. Quiet. Lit only by wall sconces and moonlight.

Inside:

Rows of empty chairs. A small stage. High ceiling. Silence.

He was already there.

In the front row.

Dark shirt. Legs open. His hands resting calmly in his lap.

The door clicked shut behind her. Locked.

“You wore the dress,” he said.

She nodded.

He tilted his head.

“Dance for me, Little Muse.”

She stood still. Shaking.

“You’ve been begging to be watched. Last night wasn’t enough, was it?”

“No,” she whispered.

He pointed to the stage.

“Then show me what I did to you.”

She stepped onto the small platform.

Started slow.

One hand up, sliding down her arm.

Her hips moved gently—side to side.

The slip shifted.

She turned. Bent. Let the silk cling to her ass. Pulled it up an inch, then down.

She looked over her shoulder.

He hadn’t moved.

“More.” She stood under the soft, cold glow of gallery lights. Barefoot. Silent. And across the rows of empty chairs sat the man who had already fucked her once in a chaNow ready to ruin her on stage.

“Start with the straps,” Chancellor Wolfe said, voice low and dangerous, arms spread across the back of the chair.

Her fingers moved to the thin black straps on her shoulders.

And for one breath—she hesitated.

If he tells me to do something truly shameful… will I still obey?

The answer pulsed between her legs.

Yes.

Juliette’s fingers moved to the thin black straps on her shoulders.

She slid them down, slow, teasing, as her breathing quickened.

The silk shifted. Slipped.

“Slower, Little Muse,” he murmured. “Make Daddy wait.”

She swallowed hard and obeyed, letting the fabric drag across her hard nipples.

The dress hung around her waist, exposing bare breasts he already knew the taste of.

Wolfe didn’t move.

He just whispered:

“Touch them.”

Juliette moaned as she cupped her own tits, thumbs grazing the stiff peaks.

“Harder,” he growled. “Make those nipples red for me.”

She pinched. Moaned. Rolled them between her fingers until she whimpered from her own grip.

“Show me how your mouth would suck them.”

She leaned forward, arched her back, and pulled one into her mouth. Suckled her own tit while her other hand slid down between her thighs.

She was already wet. Soaked. Creamy. Open.

Wolfe stood.

Unbuttoned his shirt.

Slow. Deliberate.

One button. Then another.

Each one dropped like a threat.

She watched as the smooth muscle of his chest came into view.

Dark ink. Hard lines. Veins bulging.

“Your turn,” he said.

Juliette let the slip fall completely, now standing on stage in nothing but skin and shame and need.

He removed his belt—slow enough to make her knees buckle.

His pants dropped. He wasn’t wearing underwear.

His cock hung thick, swollen, hard—and angry.

She whimpered.

“Get on the floor,” he said, stroking himself. “And make your Daddy proud.”

She slid to her knees and crawled to the edge of the stage.

He stepped closer.

Slapped his cock gently against her cheek.

Again. Then again. The head leaking, painting her face in need.

“Open.”

She obeyed, and he slid two fingers into her mouth—wet and slow, letting her suck before removing them and pressing them straight into her cunt.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re dripping down your thighs already.”

She moaned as he fingered her hard, knuckles deep, thumb circling her clit.

“Now turn around.”

He bent her over a gallery chair.

Ass high. Legs spread.

And then…

He licked her.

Tongue flat between her cheeks, up her slit, around her clit.

He tasted her like he’d starved for her.

Juliette shook.

When she looked over her shoulder, he was sucking on her clit like it was his addiction.

Then he stood.

“On all fours. Crawl back to me.”

She did—like a pet, her ass swaying, eyes wide, lips parted.

He sat in the center chair and pulled her into his lap, his cock sliding between her soaked folds without going in yet.

“Ride it without taking it,” he whispered. “Rub that sweet pussy over Daddy’s cock until you beg for it.”

She whimpered, rocked her hips forward—her swollen clit dragging over his shaft.

She moaned so loud it echoed in the gallery.

“Look at you,” he said. “Humping like a needy slut. Can’t even wait for my cock inside you.”

“Please,” she gasped. “Please, I need it”

“Beg harder.”

“Fuck me, Daddy—please—I’ll be your filthy little muse, I’ll suck your cock, let you cum in me, on me—everywhere—just please fuck me!”

He growled.

Lifted her.

Slid into her wet pussy with one brutal thrust.

Her scream echoed.

She bounced on him fast, tits slapping his chest, her body arching into every deep stroke.

“Take it,” he snarled. “Take Daddy’s cock like the little cum dumpster you want to be.”

“I will—I am—I’m yours—”

He grabbed her wrists, pinned them behind her back, and fucked up into her harder, her ass jiggling with every thrust.

Then he flipped her over onto the floor.

Lifted her legs.

And fucked her with her toes in his mouth.

Yes—sucking her toes, groaning around them while pounding into her cunt.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” she cried. “Chancellor, Daddy, I’m going to cum”

“Do it,” he growled. “Let me feel your pussy explode.”

She came screaming, shaking, squirting, moaning his name so loud it could’ve woken the paintings.

He wasn’t done.

He pulled out.

“Face down. Ass up.”

But first

He dipped his fingers into her soaked cunt.

Slick, creamy, wet.

He raised them to her lips.

“Lick it.”

Juliette blinked, lips parting.

He smeared her slick across her mouth, then her cheek.

“That’s what obedience tastes like.”

She obeyed, panting, weak.

He spit again—this time on her ass.

Then shoved his cock into her tight, virgin hole.

Her mouth dropped open. Her fingers clawed the floor.

“Too much”

“No,” he whispered, gripping her hips. “Not enough.”

He fucked her ass deep, slow, making her feel every thick inch.

He reached around and rubbed her clit with his slick fingers, watching her lose her mind from being stretched and stuffed.

“You’re Daddy’s little cum toy now,” he growled. “Every fucking hole.”

When she came again, it was with tears, trembles, and a body so full she felt ruined.

He pulled out.

Jerked his cock over her belly.

And came in thick, hot, endless ropes—all over her tits, her face, her lips, her chest.

“Lick it,” he said.

She obeyed. Smiling. Moaning.

When he finally collapsed beside her, she was leaking from everywhere.

Mouth.

Cunt.

Ass.

Eyes.

But she was smiling.

And she whispered…