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(Midterm Maelstrom, continued...)

The stars are indeed brilliant overhead, a hundred thousand twinkling alien suns, austere and distant. The grass in the back yard is calf-high; the number heads who live at Schrödinger’s Cat House have more important things on their minds than yard work: namely converting Axis and Allies over to steampunk time-travel rules, with Martian invaders.

Professor Sullivan leans up against a tree and smokes a cigarette, an unfiltered Pall Mall. You lean up against him. He feels warm and scratchy and comfortable, like an antique teddy bear. When he finishes his smoke, he leans down, and almost casually puts his arm around you. He kisses you on the lips. He tastes of cigarette smoke and whiskey, a combination that is not completely unpleasant.

You kiss him back, pressing up against his lanky body. You can feel his erection through his corduroy pants and with a secret thrill like stepping off a high diving board, you press yourself harder against him, dragging your hand up and down his cock through the coarse ribbed fabric.

You sink to your knees in the lush, dewy grass, carefully extracting his professorial penis from his pants. It stands at rigid attention, glistening softly in the dim starlight.

His cock is long and thin, reminiscent of some weird night snake. He is uncircumcised, and the globular head is half-hidden under a hood of chamois-soft flesh.

It has been forever, eons, epochs, since you have sucked a cock. You peel back his foreskin, revealing his pink, straining glans, and he grunts slightly. You pop the head of his cock into your mouth like a big, sweet piece of candy, savoring the taste and the texture, lolling your tongue over and over it as if you are trying to lick your way through the hard outer shell to get at the sweet stuff inside.

Professor Sullivan groans out loud, a noise that thrills you. He starts softly humping your face, and you open your mouth wide to accept his cock. His pubes are crinkly and scratchy. His pendulous balls are pressed up against your lips, and he is all the way inside your mouth, almost but not quite making you gag; your panties are soaked; you are eating him alive.

He fucks your face, slowly, deeply, reaching down the front of your cami and cupping your breasts.

Abruptly, he stops, yanking his saliva-coated cock from your wide-open mouth.

“I want to fuck you,” he says.

No arguments there! While he awkwardly divests himself of his trousers and underpants, you fish an emergency spare condom out of your jacket pocket.

He looks crestfallen. “Do we have to use that thing?” he asks.

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