Page 29 of Dark Ink

The hollowed centre of Eithne’s tongue touched the swollen head of my dick. My nails dug into the wood grain of the lectern and I cleared my throat, desperately trying to buy myself more time.

I clenched my eyes shut, chin fallen against my chest. How was I going to string words together when all I could think about was my little Raglan Road girl’s warm knees against the cool floors? How was I supposed to make any thought coherent when I was already struggling to keep myself from panting like a dog? And how was it not completely obvious to anyone sitting in the deadly silent auditorium that I was lost in bliss and getting more lost by the second? How were the boys not all achingly hard like me? The girls all slipping their mouth-wetted fingers between their soaking thighs?

Eithne guided my cock fully into her mouth. I trembled as she wrapped her lips around my shaft. I felt the fullness, the velvety softness of her lips. I saw them in my mind, rolling over me like she was moving a red lipstick across her lips, back and forth, back and forth. I thought my knees would buckle when she circled her tongue round me, experimenting like she would with a brush.

“Professor Merrick?” a brave, or perhaps stupid, student asked, leaning forward to prop his elbows against the edge of his desk. “Do you need a glass of water or something?”

My shoulders were shaking from the pressure in my tensed arms. I shook my head. I gripped the lectern tighter. I raised my face to the class like David facing Goliath.

“I wanted to talk today about pleasure,” I said, each word more difficult to force out than the last as Eithne began to bob her head slowly up and down the length of my dick. “Because art is nothing but pleasure.”

It was a welcome reprieve to hear the scrape of pens on paper, the click of keys on a keyboard as the whole auditorium began to take notes. It allowed me the mercy of a quick, quiet groan. Hidden beneath the lectern I felt Eithne pause when she heard me.

Yes, I wanted to say to her—to whisper, to growl—it feels good. Yes, it feels so fucking good. Yes, it’s you, it’s your tongue, it’s your timid little knees bent beneath me that elicited that sound from deep in my chest. Keep going. Don’t fucking stop.

“If our art is not in the pursuit of pleasure, of toe-curling, mind-fucking, white light-flashing pleasure, then our art is a waste of time, an exercise in futility, in absurdity, in—” I clutched at the lectern as Eithne gagged on me, having pulled me as far as I could go into her mouth, “in straight-up fucking masochism.”

The sound of notetaking filled the air of the too hot, too unmoving, almost unbearable auditorium. I wanted to strip off my clothes, in front of every single one of my students if needed. I wanted to buck my hips into Eithne’s mouth. I wanted to be so damn rough that the sound of her gagging, choking, moaning for more filled every corner of the auditorium. I wanted more. More of her. More of her tight little mouth. More of that heat in my stomach that was threatening to take off like a wildfire.

“I’m not talking about some lofty fucking ideal,” I continued as Eithne found a steady pace, my head colliding deliciously with the back of her throat on each deep thrust. “Fuck the pleasure of high society. Of improving oneself. Of raising humanity to some arbitrarily defined artistic height. Fuck all of that.”

Fuck Eithne’s mouth. Fuck her lips, red and swollen by now. Wet with her saliva, with my pre-cum that dripped down her chin, ran along the hollow of her delicate, pale throat, staining that hoodie I was going to tear in two right down the front of her fuckable tits. Fuck her little pussy that was wet for me, there in the shadows of the lectern. Fuck her till she screamed and showed everyone exactly what the fuck I was going on about, half out of my fucking mind.

“I’m talking about carnal pleasure,” I said even as I stopped myself from doing exactly what I wanted, stopped myself from fucking Eithne’s eager mouth. “I’m talking about the pleasure of the body. Of the naked, exposed, ravaged body. I’m talking about pleasure that leaves you breathless and sends shock waves through you, minutes, even hours later like little drops of LSD in your spinal cord. I’m talking about pleasure that drives you mad because you want it so…fucking…bad…”

I pounded the lectern and everyone in the hall jumped. Pencils lifted from smeared paper. Fingers bounced from keyboards. I startled everyone. Everyone but Eithne, down beneath me. I could almost feel her smiling round my seeping cock. She rolled my balls again in her damp palm like she’d just done and I gritted my teeth.

“Art,” I said in a lowered voice as sweat broke out along my brow like I was feverish, like I was getting clean after years of using, like every nerve in my body was on fire, “art is giving that kind of pleasure. Art is receiving that kind of pleasure. Art is opening yourself wide to it. Spreading your fucking legs for it. Guiding it in deeper and deeper and, oh my God, deeper.”

I was going to lose it. There was no way I could keep going like this. My legs were shaking. My nails stung from digging them so deeply into the sides of the lectern. I wasn’t going to last much longer. I couldn’t last much longer.

The class was in complete awe. Everyone hung on my every word. They thought I was taken over by some hypnotic passion for my craft. That I was imparting wisdom on them from the very depths of my soul.

I was, I supposed. But it wasn’t just me. It was Eithne, too. Our joining together. Our becoming one. My cock. Her mouth. My precum mixing with her saliva. My hips rocking in time with her mouth. Her tits hard, my dick harder. Her tongue quivering, my thighs shaking so badly I thought I’d rattle the lectern.

Eithne gripped my shaft and twisted as her mouth pulled off of me, twisted as she sank her dripping wet, hot mouth back over me. Her other hand rolled my tightening balls like dice. A lucky roll. A pair of sixes. Everything going right. Everything going so goddamn perfectly.

I wanted to hold on just a few seconds longer. I wanted to say this to Eithne. Because it was all for her. All for fucking her. I needed to hold on. I tasted blood in the side of my mouth where I’d bitten it before I started speaking again in a voice as tight as a bow string about to snap.

“You’ll never know art if you never open yourself to pleasure,” I practically gasped. “Because art is pleasure. That’s all it is. All it will ever be.”

Eithne was choking on me with every thrust. Only my voice masked her frantic movements, the slick twist of her palm, the pleasured gag at the back of her throat. It was as if we were in a race with one another. A competition. She wanted to get me off before I could finish. I wanted to finish only when I was finished. Maybe she didn’t want to hear what I had to say. Maybe she liked my cock so much she couldn’t help herself. Either way I felt I was losing.

“You need to let me give you pleasure, show you pleasure, show you what this feels like,” I said, staring out in front of me without seeing. I don’t know what the reaction in the auditorium to these words were.

I’m sure most just wrote it down. Something to show their friends, look what Professor Merrick said. Something to jack off to in the middle of the night, yes, Professor Merrick, show me, show me pleasure. I couldn’t be bothered to notice regardless. My vision was going blurry at the edges. Everything took on a white-hot glow. I wasn’t even in the lecture hall anymore. It wasn’t even the wood grain that my nails were digging into. I was in Eithne. It was her skin that I was digging into, causing to bleed.

Eithne squeezed tighter, sucked harder, brushed her fingertips along my drawn-up balls with such a shiver-inducing touch that I had only seconds left.

“Let me in,” I said. “Let me have—”

I collapsed against the top of the lectern as I came. I buried my face within the confines of my arms and sank my teeth into my lower lip to try and muffle my uncontrollable groan. I would have sunk farther against the lectern, probably even until it fell over, revealing Eithne and her lips shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight, if it hadn’t been for the jolts her lapping tongue sent through me. She was not only swallowing all of me, but she was doing it hungrily, greedily, eager for each and every last drop.

I was about to beg her to stop. Plead with her to give me mercy. Pull myself from the intense heat of her mouth. But it wasn’t possible. I couldn’t. I was a slave to her. In bondage to the whims of her perfect little tongue.

“Let me have you,” I groaned into the cocoon of my arms that hung around my head limply, as if they too had been sucked dry. “You,” I repeated, babbling like a tired child. “You, you, you.”

My cock slipped from Eithne’s mouth and everything was silent. I couldn’t hear her over the continued pounding of my heart. I also couldn’t hear a single student in the completely full auditorium. Coming to my senses slightly, I raised my head just enough to spy over the tops of my stacked forearms.

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