Dublur

The secluded door at the end of the hall is intimidating. Overseer Kim D. You take a breath before the two knocks.

“You may come in.”

It’s a sterile environment: every piece of furniture and storage is neatly placed within measured ranges, properly squaring off Kim Dahyun’s desk in center stage. Two chairs face the ensemble and the Overseer herself, who stands prim at your arrival.

“I was beginning to doubt your return. Was our first session not compelling enough to warrant another—in this case apparent—mishap?”

You stand behind both guest seats, matching Dahyun in posture. “My apologies, Overseer. I feared that making another mistake in such a short period of time might attract unnecessary attention. I’m not prone to slip-ups.”

“Something you should be proud of, yet here you are: willing to sacrifice that perfect student record for another meeting with yours truly. Sit.”

You obey.

“What will it be this time?” Excitement gets the better of you.

“Now now.” The Overseer steps around her desk, over to the front, where she leans back and sits herself on the edge. “No rushing.” She reaches behind her and slides a glass of water towards you. “Thirsty?”

The glass sits at the edge beside her, fingers trailing the rim as she awaits your response—you’ll have to reach out, not her. “I—yes. Thank you.” You lean in and extend your arm. Her hand never leaves the glass and your eyes stray to find her plump ass spilling onto the desk, at odds with the tight dress that wraps way too short around her pale thighs.

Another glass is revealed as you pick up yours and you both drink the room temperature water in unison.

“So, why come back?” Her voice blunt and direct.

“Um.” You ponder. It seems like an obvious answer: the basic pleasure of it all, how it has you crawling back. But Overseer Kim is not that simple. Regardless—”I wondered… about the methodology.” you give the answer a shot despite your unsure voice. “Why… uh… that, out of all things?”

“It’s simple, really.” A satisfactory smile surfaces. “This academy primarily focuses on science—as you know—and students are to learn through testing within realistic conditions.”

“Of course, our primary focus is to learn with real tools, chemicals, and subjects. We—” You trail off, unable to finish your sentence. A bout of confusion follows and you don’t understand how—

“Exactly.” Dahyun picks up your trail. She’s somehow behind her desk now—when did she—searching through one of the open drawers. “You’ll be surprised to know that, as faculty, we are encouraged to do the same.” Her last words feel a world away, and the final image before blackout is Dahyun, blurred, with an object you can’t make out in hand.

~~

You slowly come to. The bright light overhead burns into your eyes and there’s the realization that your neck cranes backwards. With slight pain you level out, sight still adjusting. There’s a sound, a wet sound, and you manage to feel the source before spotting it.

“What’s—ngh—going on?” You barely manage to speak.

“You’re being reprimanded, remember? Keep still.” The order is accompanied by fingernails that pierce into your thigh and prevent you from shuffling about your seat.

When the sight is finally made clear, you notice the Overseer; she holds a device of rubber, plastic—both? It grips your erect cock with gratifying pressure, sliding up and down with the consistent rhythm of Dahyun’s hand. “You—” the glass of water you once held is fixed on the desk behind the Overseer. “What did you put in that?!” You would stop her stroking, but your hands and feet are bound, constrained, fucked.

Her grip on your thigh tightens. “I said still.” The rhythm slows to a crawl and Dahyun looks up from her kneeling position at your still-dazed face. She observes your lubricated length, the veins that shape it firm, and how it throbs with each minuscule motion. “It’s an aphrodisiac, to answer your question, with a very convenient side-effect.”

“Fuck. I would’ve—hng—I would’ve undressed anyway. That’s why I’m here—” She picks up the pace and you’re tense all around. You never thought being tied up would be this enticing.

“To answer your other question.” Dahyun begins to twist the device on every upstroke, sending waves through your restrained body. “The one about methodology.” She pauses her train of thought to feel your cock ache, watching each pulse make the device move and shift. “It’s about control.” And with the words, she bottoms out on your length, having it completely covered by the rubber interior. “You’re mine, and you’ll do as I say.”

“Mmm—fffuck.”

Dahyun begins to stroke once more. “Do you understand?”

“Y-yes.” The aphrodisiac is surely having its effect—you’ve barely woken up and you’re as sensitive as one can get. You feel how your cock pulsates, nearing its threshold.

“How close?” She asks plainly.

“So fucking close.”

The grip she had on your leg turns gentle; it caresses your inner thigh, stimulating the area around your extremely sensitive length. Dahyun is examining you, appreciating you: her live subject to do as she pleases. In the passing minutes, her eyes liven up as your chest quickens its breaths; she finds amusement in the way sweat builds up on your forehead and brows; and how your wrists fight against the tight grip of their restriction? She revels in it.

The buildup feels like an eternity—you don’t want it to end—but Dahyun’s pace hastens as she notices your tells. Your hips jolt up and you hiss: “I’m going to cum.”

As your breaths become moans, Dahyun releases you and chucks the device to the floor. “Don’t think we’re done yet.” She lets you pump your seed for about three throbs before grabbing your cock with her own hand, lubricating it with both oil and cum.

Your moans become grunts; pain—more so pleasure—enraptures your now burning cockhead as Dahyun continues to stroke through the dying grasps of your orgasm. “Cum for me. Again.”

“Fuck Dahyun, it’s so—fffuck—it’s so sensitive.” She doesn’t care. Her hand is a completely different sensation: it’s soft, silky, and in contrast to what she used on you before, you can feel each finger press down on your length as opposed to the encompassing yet inanimate pressure of the rubber.

It’s a struggle—on one hand, your cock begs for her to stop, each nerve crying out on how it reached its utter limit, yet on the other, her hand strokes your length with such delicacy; it’s downright skillful.

You decide to succumb to the ravishing sensations—perhaps whatever she gave you is also working its magic—and your cock reaches climax within the minute. It’s a staggering volume of pleasure, all at once, out of nowhere. This time, Dahyun decides to drain you herself, not letting a single throb go to waste, and strokes each and every drop into the air, onto her hands, as the trails of oil mixed with white cover her hand entirely.

You sit there, tied, spent, as Dahyun cleans herself and the device; it’s not until after she’s done that she even thinks to release you. Your wrists and ankles are marked and chafed, but the most worn-out feeling stems from your cock.

“Control?” You ask and break the silence.

She stores the device back in its drawer. “Yes, control.”

“You tied me up.” You accuse.

“As if you didn’t like it.” She deflects. “You would’ve tied yourself up if I ordered, but you’re more agreeable this way. Simpler”

Something stirs in you. You don’t disagree; her assured gaze knows this.

“You’ll be back before long,” Dahyun speaks before you manage to retort. “Off you go.”