The Botany Professor Ch. 04

In revenge for my son, I regain my top-hood

*

Coach Kaugman pounded on the door (interrupting my first foursome with my wife, her father, and my father) to warn me about my son Bobby. “He’s at a football team party, and it’s getting wild.”

He drove me over to the motel room site of the student whoopee, and indeed it had become a “drunken debauch.” Naked cheerleaders all over the place. Naked football players chasing them. Florida is famous for such collegiate mischief.

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

“Look, Bill, I can’t. I have sex with one or the other of those guys almost every day. I would get into more trouble than they would.”

Huh? What does teacher-sex with students have to do with a drunken party?

Further inside the motel suite was an astonishing sight. A significant number of the team were–for lack of a better term–very sexually flexible. Along with a few naked women, a dozen or so naked, drunken college men were fucking themselves to death. I recognized guys from both the varsity and junior varsity teams. Also the star quarterback and a few linebackers.

Also Bobby, my own son. And something new: the pug-nosed hoodlum Gary Zuborg–who’d laid me on my own office desk–and Jed Nardon, another halfback, were both involved in foreplay with Bobby.

Nardon was a 20-year-old sexual prodigy with a very big stem. “Pick him up,” he said to Zuborg, who moved behind Bobby, reached his arms around my son’s chest, and lifted him off the ground.

Nardon, facing Bobby, reached down and with an arm under each of Bobby’s knees, raised my son’s butt up to meet with his throbbing, ready boner, and he sank it in. Bobby sighed. “Oh, yeah!”

Then it was Zuborg’s turn. With a few more adjustments and shoving Bobby around, his purple cockhead nudged at Bobby’s already-full hole, and–Yeow!–he made it in, too!

A double-fuck! I stared like an owl.

Bobby was folded up in a V-shape, off the ground, his legs up over Nardon’s arms, his back against Zuborg, suspended between two big athlets like a piece of happy meat between the jaws of a vise.

The Getting-Used-To Pause took a long time. I could see Bobby’s teeth gritting and tears in his eyes until the pain finally went away. But he didn’t scream–which made me wonder if he had done that before.

I wondered how both guys could fuck at once, but they’d developed a technique. One held still, keeping the passage tight, while the other lunged away. They took turns, one holding still, the other thrusting into Bobby.

At first it seemed like something we should protect him from, but damn, judging by Bobby’s expression it looked great. Apparently a double-fuck, once you’re past the initial pain, is the motherfucker of all fucks. Two horny men crammed in him at once, Bobby did like I always did–a true bottom–he climaxed when he felt his lovers cumming in him. Spurting his own jizz all over Nardon’s chest and belly.

Nardon couldn’t complain. I’ve heard women say sperm is good for the complexion.

I thought we’d come to the motel to rescue him, but Bobby was doing his thing. I couldn’t break in and interrupt it. He wanted it. And I felt a little stupid.

Until the police banged open the door. “Awright, you little perverts! You’re all under arrest!” A dozen cops burst into the room, pushing some of the students around, knocking one of them down. The sons of bitches! Dressed in black riot gear! Did they think this was a nest of terrorists?

Kaugman grabbed my arm and yanked me back into the bathroom, “C’mon, there’s nothing you can do to help now!” We both jumped out through the window and scurried away in the darkness to the parking lot, where we both calmly walked to his car, got in, and drove away.

“Damn those bastards! Those kids are all of legal age. Consenting adults!” I pounded my hand on the dashboard. As he drove me home, Kaugman said the students would be taken to jail, their parents bail them out the next morning, and the worst would be a misdemeanor on their records–unless one of them ratted on the coach for some reason.

I gulped. We had been seen by a couple of the students, although not by the cops.

I, too, would be in major trouble if the students mentioned me. I didn’t think Bobby would say anything. For one thing he didn’t know I was there, and for another, he wouldn’t rat on his old man.

I thought about it: Bobby got into a double-fucking. Never saw such a thing. Didn’t realize it was possible. And then he was in jail. For doing something that wasn’t illegal. And the other students were pushed around and bullied.

I went to the jail the next morning and paid his bail. He was very depressed on the way home.

Damn power-trip cops! Arrogant fuckers!

But something else. All those policemen were in excellent physical condition–had to be. Strenuous job. I was forced to admit it: I would love to fuck them.

And that gave me an idea.

-==(^)==-

Catuaba mecidiyeköy escort is an herb that grows wild in the Amazon basin, and it’s famous in the Brazilian jungle as a male tonic/aphrodisiac/enhancer, the jungle Viagra. On a daily diet of Catuaba tea for the six months I was a captive of the FARC terrorists, I found my libido heightened so terribly my sexual orientation switched around–the epitome of ecstasy to me became a horny, hunky male rutting me, dumping his seed in me, fucking me to smiling oblivion.

While puttering around with the Catuaba plants I’d grown from seed-pods brought back from Colombia, I discovered something fascinating. One day while doing some experiments with Catuaba bark, making a concentration of what I suspected were the active oils, I felt a little uncomfortable pinch in my underwear. Without thinking, I reached down into my pants to adjust the equipment.

Almost immediately a glowing warmth spread in my prick, becoming a staggering wave of lust. Overcome, I fell back against the sink, yanked out my throbbing tallywhacker, and stroked myself to a climax. But it didn’t stop! I beat my meat to orgasm after orgasm for a fucking hour! By then my dick was reddened and sore, and I was exhausted, desperate, fighting to control myself. What in hell happened??

Gradually, gradually, gradually the passion wore off. Oh, man! My balls were empty. I’d been dry-cumming for many minutes. When I finally had my wits about me, I realized Catuaba in such concentrations not only was an atomic-powered aphrodisiac, it also had powerful psychological effects. While it had me, I was drunk, literally inebriated, and in a weird way, somehow my brain was open to suggestion: a radio was playing in my laboratory, and for days I could not get that song out of my head!

Something else. My penis was red and sore, but during the sex-mania, there was no pain. It didn’t hurt. Nothing did. I was almost numb. Barely felt my cock, just that it crescendoed over and over into consuming ecstasy. The stuff was an anesthetic–nothing I did to myself would hurt; I could’ve jerked myself bloody and not known it. Shit, that’s powerful stuff!

I got an idea: I was pissed off about what the cops did to my son and to the other young men and women at that party. All were of legal age to drink, the noise level was not enough to warrant calling out the cops, and sex between consenting adults is not against the law! In spite of the orgy going on in the suite, there was not even so much rowdiness as to break any of the stupid pink plastic flamingos the motel thought of as Florida-chic.

Self-righteous cops who tried to force their mores on college kids really burned me.

My PhD was in botany, not pharmacy, but I knew a little about chemistry–I tried an experiment. Few experimental subjects would allow me to swipe something strange on their penises, so I distilled the Catuaba-oil still further and mixed it with alcohol. It would have the same effect (maybe not as quickly) but absorbed through the skin of the fingers, the hand, the face, etc.

In my first experiment, I spotted a cop running a radar trap on a country road at night. I sped past him, he came after me, blue lights flashing, and he pulled me over.

He walked up to my window–guy about 35 or so. I read his nametag: Officer Canby. Big guy. Broad chest. Huge arms. Broad forehead, thick eyebrows, stubby nose. Like a young Karl Malden. If he hadn’t been in a blue police uniform, I could’ve believed he was a mugger.

I heard it said once that if you took the psychological profiles of cops and felons, mixed them up, and threw them onto a table, you couldn’t read through them and separate the good guys from the bad.

Wearing rubber gloves inside leather driving gloves, I handed him my driver’s license–thickly coated with Catuaba-oil. It worked. Five minutes later, he was helpless. Moaning. Staggering. Breathing hard. Gripping his crotch.

He was drunk but so lust-crazed he couldn’t resist me when I got out of the car and walked up to him. “Ge’–bac’!” His voice was hoarse, and his hand kept groping his crotch.

I grabbed his arm and shoved him, lurching and trying to struggle, to the back of my car. He muttered drunkenly. “Fuc’–he’p me!”

I pulled open his shirt, and all the while, he was so sex-maddened, he kept groping and stroking at his crotch bulge. I pulled his shirt off, and bare-chested, he leaned back against my car, trying to jack himself off through his pants.

He couldn’t resist me as I unbuckled his pistol belt and dropped it to the ground. Next I unbuckled and unbuttoned his pants. I yanked them down. Damn, he’s wearing a jockstrap. I love jockstraps.

But in the throes of his lust, he struggled away from me and fell, wriggling on the ground, his bare ass switching back and forth, his legs snarled in the cloth of his pantlegs. Helpless, beşiktaş escort he gripped his strong pecker through the pouch and stroked. Couldn’t help himself. Out of his mind with lust. Lying in the dirt jacking off.

A cop! I’ve got a huge, muscular cop out of control! I got him to his feet, and he stepped out of his pants. Wearing only a jockstrap and his shoes, he leaned back against my car, his eyes closed, groaning, still stroking his schlong through the jock-pouch.

Fuck, he’s so mindless he can’t even figure out to pull the jock-pouch aside! Trying to jack himself off through it!

I watched in awe. He’s helpless. I can do anything I want to him. A giant cop’s body is my plaything!

He couldn’t resist when I turned him around and bent him over the car’s trunk, but when I spread his legs, he moaned, “Ah–god–no–no fuc’–no–in ass!” But he could do nothing but continue to stroke his aching hardon with his right hand.

I was a little drunk, myself, with a terrible rush of power. From a small plastic bottle of lube in my pocket, I slicked him up. Then I was ready. Revenge time! I spread the white, elastic straps, fully baring him, and spread his cheeks.

Breathing hard, he arched his back, raising his head, staring blindly into the distance, and he reached behind with his left hand, gripping my cockshaft. Squeezing it, stroking. No resistance. He knew I was going to bust his cherry, but he could do nothing.

For his first fuck, the lucky bastard’s numbed asshole would feel nothing but relief, wonderful relief. He groaned with passion when my cock pushed past his tight, cherry sphincter. I braced myself with my hands against his shoulders, gave a mighty lurch with my hips and got him, sinking in to the max.

What he did get was a mind-blowing orgasm. With my very first insertion, he let out a loud groan and cummed in his jockstrap pouch.

Powerful ejaculation. He splattered the bumper of my car and the green weeds beneath his spread legs. And that went on and on. Every time I sank my pole deep in him, he groaned in ecstasy. Fuck, this really must be messing with his mind!

The man was insane with lust. Multiple orgasms! Constant shuddering, shivering, moaning, and gasps.

As I finally reached my climax and bred him, he actually passed out. Oh, shit, now what have I done? Have I killed him?

He came to a couple minutes later. I knelt beside him and wiped my organ on his slimy jockstrap (didn’t want him to get the smell of shit on me–I wanted everything about this experience to be pleasure), and sure enough, he reached out, grabbed it, and began sucking my erection, moaning, jerking his own dick again through his supporter.

When I pushed him back and spread his legs, he objected at first, but much more faintly. I pulled off his jockstrap–his last defense. Finally realizing he couldn’t refuse me, he spread his legs wide, holding them back with his hands, and raised his head to watch my hose approaching his well-used ass-tunnel.

I inserted my cock–his eyes wide–and I took him again. Gradually his face turned up to mine, and I stared down into his eyes. I could feel the power I had over him. And so could he.

My eyes boring into his, I spoke low, with a hard, athletic tone to my voice. “Your ass is mine. You are my bitch. From now on you belong to me.”

“N-no–no bitch!”

About then I got my gun, and as I ejaculated into him (causing him another orgasm of his own), I gave the cop an order: “I am your master! You are my slave! Say it!”

“No!” But his feet pointed up into the sky for me. His legs spread for me. His asshole clenched and gripped against my cockshaft. “Anh!” He gritted his teeth, clenching his eyes shut, and finally, “Yeah–I slave–obey.” His voice was helpless, a falsetto squeak as I pulled my meat out of him.

He lowered his legs, rose up and sucked my cock again, that time before I could clean it off. While he slurped and sucked, I bent over him. “Your cop-life is normal–until you hear me call your name.” He moaned, still sucking. “Then you will obey me.” He gasped but kept on with the blowjob.

I went on: “You are my slave. I own you. As a sign of your surrender, cum for me!”

Almost instantly he stiffened, his head snapped back from sucking, and ka-blam! A jet of spunk shot out of his cock that went a good yard high! By a miracle I jerked out of the way and the big glob missed me.

Hadn’t even touched himself. Ejaculation at my command.

I got back in my car and drove off, leaving him naked, cum-covered, and broken by the side of the road. Moaning in the passionflower vines, mixing his sweat and sperm-smell with the perfume of the purple flowers.

Passionflowers are the brood plants of the Gulf Fritillary butterfly. If they lay their eggs on that plant and any of them touch his semen, will we get a new species? I wondered how long he etiler escort would lie there before pulling his uniform on and crawling back to his patrol car.

Man, does that stuff ever work! The experiment was a roaring success, and I set myself a new goal. I became an habitual speeder. Usually at night. Usually on empty roads.

Any cop who pulled me over and asked to see my driver’s license soon found himself panting, horny, bent over my car begging me to take his cherry–and thereafter he was my servile, broken bitch. I left a trail of them behind me.

As the weeks went by, whenever I’d spot one of my bitches, I’d catch his attention, make him take me back into an alley, then either get a blowjob, listening to him plead, “Please don’t, man! I’m so fucking ashamed! I’m not gonna–Oh, god, there it is! And it’s–oh, fuck!–hard–Agh, god, glomm, ungh, slurp!”

Or some of them I fucked standing up against the wall. To reinforce their bitch-hood. They begged me to let them take their cocks out so they wouldn’t cream in their uniforms, but they didn’t resist me.

I refused. Let him ride around the rest of his patrols with a wet crotch. A dark spot in the front of his blue uniform pants. Let his partner wonder where that acrid odor was coming from. And if his partner was already my bitch, he’d look over at the guy with a grim, knowing smile.

Worked every time. Once one of my bitches heard me call his name, and once he knew I wanted sex, he was my cum-slut slave. So this is how the FARC terrorists in Colombia felt like with me! Damn, quite a power trip.

I even got the Chief of Police in his office–when he shook my gloved hand, he got a palm full of Catuaba. Behind the locked door, I laid him on the dark mahogany of his own desk. And he begged me to do it again.

After that I had a special status in the police station. Nice place, really. Tall palm trees on either side. Very formal. Like sentries.

When I walked in, cops all over the place looked up from their work. It dawned on me that I had every one of the patrol officers in my harem. Only the station-house staff didn’t know what was going on.

On the fateful day when I asked to use the rest room, I was directed to the locker room. As I walked through it, every man there, those fully in uniform, those sitting on the benches changing from civilian clothes, and those still in street clothes looked up at me, their hands on the green locker doors, their eyes scared–but hungry. They feared to hear me call their names, summoning the demons inside them.

They knew they were concubines in my harem. I was their alpha male, and they were broken, afraid to displease me, terrified I might order them to strip down and suck my tool.

And they knew they would be unable to refuse. They were my slaves.

As I looked around, they ready my mind–those in the process of removing their clothes stopped when they were naked. Those in uniform began pulling them off again. Those in street clothes stripped. All in nervous silence. Not so much as the clank of a locker door.

When they were all naked, they looked around at each other. All were hard, all drooling precum. Everywhere I heard quiet murmurs of, “Oh, god, you too?”

The men closest to me called softly, “Sir, don’t. Please don’t!”

I pulled open my fly. “Canby!” My first conquest. He got up, gritting his teeth, and came to me, his erect lance bobbing before him. He dropped to his knees, took my wood into his mouth, and sucked. The others stared, breathing hard.

“Okay, cops, I’m going to throw a little party this weekend. Let’s call it a vodka-tasting party.” I looked all around, making eye contact. “You all will be there. I’ve already checked your schedules; you’re not on duty this weekend.”

I lowered my voice, more bass. “You will all wear PT uniform–black gym trunks and a white Police Department T-shirt. And a jockstrap.”

They looked around at each other.

“There I will assign you new owners.” I smiled. “Perhaps they will be less demanding than I. You will strip, suck, fuck, do anything they wish. You will try to sell yourselves to the new owners.” I looked around.

Expressions of horror. Could’ve heard a pin drop.

“To confirm that you will be there, cum for me!”

Every one of the dozen or so men stiffened up, shuddering, throwing their heads back, eyes shut, and 12 cocks shot cop-jizz all over the lockers and floors. And all over each other. White slime dribbling down the green metal. Puddling on the tile floor. Dripping down tan skin.

The incredible chemo-hypnotic power of Catuaba.

“Very well, gentlemen, see you at the Hotel Xenon.” As I walked out, I turned back, “Since you now know you’re all into man-sex, go ahead and enjoy yourselves!”

As I watched, they paired off, shyly at first, and embraced. After a few moments of hesitation and disbelief, each kissed the other on the mouth, fumbling for the other’s erection. The police station locker room. What a sight.

Catuaba had burned me into their consciousnesses as the pack leader, their soul-king. They could not refuse to obey me. They still had their own thoughts, though. One of them, Canby, the one who gave me the blowjob, moaned as I walked out, “Goddamn you, Thomas. What have you done to me?”