Chapter 3

Then she hands me the mug.

I take the mug, having never done anything remotely close to this, not even with Penny, and now I’m doing it with a quirky faculty member. My lips touch the mug on the same spot where she drank. Right on her faint lipstick mark. Then I tilt my head back and let it touch my lips and tongue. Like fine wine, I can see why she drank it slowly.

It took two weeks to finish the report which makes the case for reforming school policy. Each interaction I had was meticulously documented for emotional, spiritual, and intellectual thought. These experiences offer psychological insight into how people reconcile their sexual identity with their faith, offering a unique perspective not found anywhere else.

Everything is in that report, the webcam situation with Penny, the student support group with squirting, and the teacher who cums a river. Extra focus on my squirting. Names are excluded to protect privacy.

Now it sits on the desk of Dean Schroeder as we’re in her office. It’s my first time meeting her, she has a long face with shoulder length hair, mid 50’s and wearing a buttoned top with an office skirt.

She’s flanked by a loyal young assistant. Penny is in the room standing by the wall, she’s here because technically this is the end of her disciplinary action.

“And every word is true?” Dean Schroeder asks.

“It’s my honest account of my body and the women of this university, along with my recommendations for updated rules.”

The Dean’s stare is the hardest I’ve ever seen.

“A part of me is sympathetic,” she says. “Maybe it’s time for some level of reform, but this idea of wetting yourself? It’s degeneracy. It’s urination and it’s perverted, not something to be proud of. And lesbian relationships? We can’t condone that.”

My first instinct is to look at Penny because we expected the Dean to push back and we covered the different game plans. She nudges her chin in my direction, encouraging me to resist.

“There’s nothing wrong with any of those things. Love is love. And squirt is natural, it’s part of some women’s orgasm.”

“Can you prove that?”

Dean Schroeder asks her assistant to leave the office and wait outside, then waits until the door closes. She stares daggers at me. I have an idea where this is headed based on everything that’s happened in the last month. When she tries to hide the curious desperation in her eyes, I know exactly what she wants, even before she says it.

“Prove it,” she says.

“How? There are different ways.”

“It’s an open ended request. Prove that your report is honest.”

She leans back in her chair waiting for me to present my radical approach to theology. She acts like she’s all business, like she’s above the ether. In her heart she wants to see me cum, but women like that don’t make such requests to students, it’s unbecoming and in bad taste — no pun intended.

I know what I’ve come here for and I undress below, stepping out of my shoes first, then socks and bottom. This is my first time stripping for anyone at this university aside from Penny and it’s electric. I want to be formal about this even though what I’m doing would get me expelled from any other university, regardless of context, so I keep a sense of decorum by putting my clothes on a nearby chair and my shoes arranged on the floor. I stand naked from the waist down in front of the Dean’s desk.

Her reaction could be the catalyst for change or the end of my academic run. Not just here, but anywhere else because I probably won’t be allowed to attend another university if this gets reported, and my parents would be devastated. The Dean’s face doesn’t move. The anticipation is as intense as sex itself. What if I’ve misjudged her? What if this doesn’t happen the way I’ve planned?

Masturbating for Dean Schroeder isn’t just about showing my body; it’s about baring my soul, my beliefs. If I can prove the authenticity of my report, and my experiences, through this act, then maybe, just maybe, I can change something. The vulnerability feels empowering, a paradox I never expected.

I try not to do anything different, I try touching myself the same way I’d show Penny or have done on our previous webcam shows, with my knees slightly bent and my feet planted firmly on the ground. Nothing more, nothing less. My fingers slide up and down and it’s like tying shoe laces, I know what to do without even thinking.

Dean Schroeder forces herself to keep a straight face with her eyes focused on what I’m doing to myself. I feel the weight of her authority clashing with the raw desire in her eyes. It’s dangerous for everyone in this office, I could be expelled, but she could also be terminated from her position if the Board of Trustees ever found out. And they wouldn’t hesitate for a second to get rid of her if they knew what she was doing with a student.

The thrill of masturbating so freely for Dean Schroeder has me wet beyond belief, not just from what I’m physically doing to myself, but who she is, and what this represents ideologically. I’ve never pushed my boundaries this hard before, not even on the webcam, because this isn’t anonymous. I’m putting my name, face, and reputation behind this. I notice her eyes go up, looking at my face, then down to my crotch, then to my face again.

She stands and approaches me and I’m so intimidated that I stop rubbing for a moment. Only to continue once I take a deep breath and build my confidence. When she stands in front of me, I can feel her breathing, we’re that close together.

“Have a seat behind my desk,” she says.

She takes my hand and guides me to her desk. My bare feet walking on the carpet. Sitting behind her desk is like taking the throne. I’d dreamt of attending this university for years because my parents had met here and their romantic story was inspirational.

To my shock, Dean Schroeder gets on her knees, lifting her knee-length skirt and putting pantyhose clad legs on the floor. She’s looking up at me, and I’m looking down at her.

“Show me,” she says. “If you want to convince me this is natural, here’s your chance.”

I have to force my legs to open because of how daunting this is, showing my deeper self to a woman who could own my life. But when I do, the power dynamic shifts in a way that I never could have imagined. Dean Schroeder, a figure of academic authority, is now at my feet, her submissive posture is in contrast to how she presents herself on campus at any given time. My heart pounds as she stares deep inside me, waiting for something that could redefine this institution’s moral landscape.

She sucks in a deep breath when I start rubbing again. This is more than just about physical pleasure, it’s about challenging rules and showing the complexities of the human experience, even those deemed sinful, and how that can be part of a person’s spiritual journey. My fingers rub in fast, circular motions, then going inside when needed.

“I… uhh… I’m going to cum.”

She looks in my eyes, then down below. “Show me what you’re capable of.”

Her head moves in so close that I can feel her breathing against my crotch. She opens her mouth, her tongue comes out, and she takes a big lick against my skin which drives me wild. She does this four more times in fast succession before stopping to watch again.

When the moment arrives, I rub myself faster, the liquid expression of my conviction splashes across Dean Schroeder’s face and she winces so hard that I can see every line on her face. It’s an act that should be scandalous in any other context, but here, it feels like proving the authenticity of my beliefs. Her reaction is gold. Pure, fucking gold. Horrified, yet utterly aroused. I can tell she’s creamed her panties but she’ll never admit that to a student.

She grabs a tissue off the desk while her face is still grimaced and the wrinkles on her face pronounced. First she wipes her eyes so she can open them, her mouth next. I worry she’s going to start screaming. Or tell me that I’m a whore. At the very least, we’re bound by the same secret at this point, with my cum on her face.

“Do you always do that?” she asks.

She wipes around her mouth like she’s finished a steak in a fancy restaurant, trying to maintain a shred of dignity while on her knees with my cum on her.

“Kind of. Sometimes more, sometimes less. It’s mood-dependent and how my body responds at any given moment, you know.”

“Then perhaps we’ll reconvene after I have a better look at your report. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Dean Schroeder stands and fixes her outfit with the tissue bunched in her hand. She squeezes the tissue tight and uses it again to wipe around her mouth for any remnant of wetness. She lifts her chin in my direction, trying to establish dominance, letting me know that it’s her office and she runs this entire university, and that I’ve worn my welcome after cumming on her.

The truth is, we’re both embarrassed, but for different reasons. Neither of us could look the other in the eye. We’re both blushing, the kind without giggling, the kind with shame. After I wipe myself, I hold the ball of tissue in my hand and get dressed so fast that I still look sloppy, while she lingers around her desk, second guessing her life choices.

In the silence that follows I expect her to say something else. She doesn’t. So I head toward the door where Penny stands. On my way there, the Dean extends her hand — she doesn’t look at me while we shake hands. Her hand is warm and I can feel the moisture from when she cleaned my orgasm from her face. I think my hand feels the same way.

When I leave the office, I’m holding Penny’s hand, latching to each other’s pinky at first, then a full-on hand clasp. I’m sure the Dean can see this but she doesn’t say anything. I can hear her sitting behind her desk. We walk by the young assistant who’s waiting patiently in the hallway. The assistant is looking down, kind of embarrassed, kind of smiling as if she had an idea of what we’d been doing. As if she knows a thing or two about the Dean and certain proclivities.

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