The Rooms

The Rooms

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Danielle is the ultimate submissive, begging to participate in the nastiest, kinkiest acts for her master. When two of her college professors sexually enslave her, she opens her slutty soul to them, revealing rooms of sexual adventure they never knew existed.


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Publié par
Date de parution 07 janvier 2013
Nombre de lectures 11
EAN13 9781608729494
Licence : Tous droits réservés
Langue English

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The Rooms
Michael Hemmingson
This page copyright © 2009 Olympia Press. http://www.olympiapress.com
My body recognized her body; my body desired her, m y body was attracted towards hers beyond reason, beyond thought, beyond fear. —Stanislaw Lem,Solaris
PART ONE
ONE
I finally realized I couldn't pay rent and buy food trying to write, so I got a job teaching. I knew it wouldn't be so bad; I was going to work at the same university that my one-time mentor, Dr. Gordon DeMarco, taught at. I'd called him, some months prior, and said (quite desperately), “I need money.” “There's an opening here,” he'd told me, “and I'm o n the hiring committee. I'll get you in.”
His influence wasn't enough, it never is; despite m y Ph.D. in postmodern literature (Coover, Auster, DeLillo), the two dozen essays I'd published in any number of obscure but prestigious academic journals, and my one publi shed novel and short story collection, I was still called out to New Orleans f or two interviews, my publications closely scrutinized and questioned. I got the job. I moved from San Francisco, where I was living. Ineeded the move. I was thirty-eight and on my second divorce—no children. I'd never spent much time in the south, so here was my chance. I'd often dreamt of writing a Grand Southern Novel; being half-black, y ou'd think I'd have an interest. I was excited, to say the least; the literary and histori cal implications of New Orleans were poignant. I was teaching bullshit classes—freshman compositio n and post-World War II literature (Vonnegut, Mailer, Kerouac). The office I was given was more like a broom closet. At a party for some visiting writer who gave a very dry reading, Gordon DeMarco approached me, beer in one hand and a mixed drink i n the other, his white hair unkempt, his glasses on the edge of his nose. He sa id, “So, Alex, have you sampled any of our young ladies yet?” “What's that?” “The,” he laughed at this, “co-eds. The graduate st udents tend to lose their fire. I'm talking about the, oh, freshman and juniors.” He wa s a Californian by birth, had been in New Orleans for eight years; he already had a sligh t southern inflection in his voice. I said, “No.” I hadnoticedthe young women on campus, of course. How could I not? Their mini-skirts, their legs, their breasts, their faces, the ir eyes, their make-up; their smell when they were in my class or came to my office for advi ce on papers. I kept telling myself: They're too young for me. I said to Gordon, “They're just girls.” He laughed and drank and said, “They are young wome n, oh yes, but they arelegal, they are adults, and many are—” He shook his head a nd all that hair. “Well,” he added, “you have much to learn, and it seems I still have much to teach you.”
TWO
Several days later, Gordon DeMarco called my office phone from his office phone. He asked if I was doing anything important. I was g lancing through some literary journals so I told him I wasn't busy. “Then come by at once,” he said, “there's something I want to show you.” Perhaps, now that I think about it, he should have said there was “someone.” Gordon was behind his big metal desk—his office was three times the size of mine, maybe more, with shelves and shelves of books all a round. He donned a most mischievous grin. He gestured, said, “Come around h ere and take a look.” I must say that I was taken aback by what I saw—but I wasn't a ll that surprised, given his singular personality and his flair for the dramatic.
The old man had his pants down and there was a girl between his legs, her face pressed deeply into his crotch. She was sliding his pink cock in and out of her mouth, making a lot of wet sexy sounds. She wore a short blue dress, the fabric riding abov e her hips so I got a good view of her ass and the black lace underwear. Her skin was very pale and smooth. She had a gold nose ring in her left nostril, half a dozen ri ngs in each ear, and a page-boy haircut, colored burgundy. “Nice, wouldn't you say?” Gordon still had that grin on his face, the dirty old bastard. “You asked me to come seethis?” “Danielle likes an audience, don't you, my dear?” H e touched her head and she mumbled, cock in mouth. “She likes to be called Dan ni,” he went on. “Danni, this is Assistant Professor Alexander White.” Pulling her mouth from my colleague's penis, she tu rned and looked at me. “White? Doesn't look it.” “Partially,” Gordon said. “Hi,” she said to me. “Good day,” I said. “Itisa good day,” she said, “and Idolike to be watched, so it's cool.” “And then he's next,” Gordon said. “Myluckyday,” she said. “How about it, old friend?” said Gordon. “A great b low-job does wonders for the soul, and Danni here know how to give them. Hell, she'llsavesoul from the dusty your doldrums of the this goddamn college.” I stood there. Part of me wanted to leave, wonderin g what kind of game Gordon was up to. The other part wanted in on the game. I watched as Danni continued to suck-off my former mentor. He leaned back and took hold of her head with both hands; he closed hi s eyes, yanking her forward so she had to take him deeper into her mouth. She gagged a few times. Gordon's breathing got heavier, his body convulsed, and he came; I wouldn' t have known right off that he did, until a large glob of semen rolled out of the girl' s mouth and down into Gordon's black and gray pubic hair. The whole time, I was touching myself. I was hard, I couldn't help it. The girl stood up, walked over to me, and got on he r knees, cum and spit on her lips and chin. She started undoing my pants, then stoppe d. She said, “I've never eaten a black guy.” “He's half-black,” Gordon said, amused. “One of tho se half-breeds,” he said, “what you might call a mulatto.” “Still,” she said. “You bothered by that?” I asked. “Oh no,” she said, looking up. “I've been wanting t o do a black guy for a while. Chance hasn't come up,” and she laughed at that. “T his is another new one for me,” she said. “There's some beautiful black men here in New Orleans.” She asked: “Do you have one of those really reallybighesblack dicks?” being rather coy, batting her eyelas for effect. “The kind you see in porn movies?” I said. “No.” “Too bad. I'd like to try one.” “We could always arrange that, my dear,” said Gordo n DeMarco. “Still,” and she went back to undoing my pants, “by that bulge down there, looks like you have a nice one.” She pulled my pants and under wear down and grabbed my cock.
“Yes,” she said, “very very nice, andblack.” “That looks like a pretty big cock to me,” Gordon s aid. “Bigger than mine. Well, longer...” “You have athick dick, Gordy,” she said, “the mouth-stretching kind ,” and she started to work on me. My legs almost gave out; she had as way of moving h er tongue around as she sucked that sent shivers up and down my body—not to mention that it'd been a while since I'd had any sexual contact with a woman; whic h is why, among other things, I came so quickly. I didn't mind. Danni didn't seem t o mind, either. Looking down at her, my hand on her head, I wanted to cum all over that pale, lightly freckled face. I knew I shot a lot into her mouth, it was falling out of he r lips, onto the front of her dress, her legs—the floor. Watching, Gordon was jacking-off in his chair. Danni turned to him. “I wantmore.” His answer was comically thick with a southern draw l: “Ah have mo' f'ya heah, darlin'.” She stayed on her knees and crawled to him. I had to sit down. I sat in the chair facing my men tor's desk, where hundreds of his students had sat over the years. I couldn't see muc h, just the top of her head; but the slurping sounds she made were enough to keep my min d licentious. When Danni was done with him, she came back to me, smelling vile of semen and sweat. It's a smell I would associate with her for many ye ars.
THREE
That evening, I met Gordon DeMarco for drinks at th e local bar. I couldn't get the image of Danni's sucking out of my mind—she'd blown us both twice, and then had to go; she said she had to change her dress and rush t o a class. I had a feeling she could have went on and on. I wanted to know everything about her. “Smitten, were you?” Gordon was playing with the lime in his vodka and tonic. “To say the least.” “She's quite a young lady.” I asked, “How old is she?” “Old enough.” “Will I see her again?” “Of course. She's in the department.She's a student.” “I don't mean that way.” He smiled and said, “I'm sure Danni will be pleased to please you as much as you'd like.” “So who is she?” I said. “Where does she come from? “Alex,” he said. “So many questions.” “I'm just curious.”
“Does it matter?” he said. “Really?” “I don't know.” “It doesn't. Let's have another drink.” We had another. “How do you do it, Gordon?” I asked. “I don't understand.” “You know what I mean.” “How does a sixty-year-old man like myself get a li ttle sex kitten like that, young enough to be my granddaughter? Well, they were comi ng to me when I was your age, you know; they were coming to me when I was twenty-years-old.” He smiled and said, “I haven'talways been an old fart. But I have to admit they've been coming around more since I started teaching here. What do they see in me? A father-figure? Authority? Power. You don't think they read my books and say t o themselves, 'I want to fuck that man,' do you?” I shrugged. “Danni's a special case,” he said. “Her kind are fe w, but sometimes they seek me out. Deep down they know I will provide them with w hat they truly want, and that's to be degraded and used like the slaves they were born to be. You see, my old friend, Danni is a true submissive, and she will do anything—anything—a master tells her.” “Ah, so you're her Master?” “One of them, I assume. I'm sure she has other tops that she plays with. A slut like that always does. And why not? She's young and vibr ant, and she and I don't have anything exclusive. In fact, I haven't evenfuckedher. Yet.” “No?” “No.” “Come on.” “It's the truth.” I said, “So what is it? She just comes into your office and blows you?” “Yes,” he said, “just as I'm sure she'll start coming to your office and doing the same, if you'd like.”
FOUR
Danni was at my office two days later. I'd been loo king out for her on campus, while noticing all the other lovely young women and feeli ng a painful stir in my pants. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans with a lot of rips and holes, and a cut-off white t-shirt, no bra. This time, her hair was purple. “Are you expecting any students?” she asked me, lea ning against the door. “No.” “Does this door lock?” “Yes.” She locked my office door and dropped her backpack. She licked her lips and said,
“Let me see that big black dick.” “You changed your hair.” “Yeah I do that a lot.” She came around my desk and got down on her knees. “Do you want me to take it out for you?” she asked, tou ching my legs. “Um, Danni,” I said. “Hey, Gordy sent me. He ordered me. I do what he sa ys.” “He's your Master?” “Sometimes,” she said. “You can be my Master, too. I'll do whatever you like. I think, right now, you'd like your dick eaten. It's what I want to do right now and I'll do anything else you want, if you want to fuck...” She looked u p; the sunlight coming in from the window shined off her nose ring. “Suck it,” I told her. “Yessir!” We both fumbled around to get my dick out, and soon enough she had it in...

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