I did not retreat. Instead, casually, I pushed my hips slightly forward. My cockhead, wet with precum, touched the black fabric of the mask covering her cheek, leaving a shiny, wet smear.

That touch was like throwing gasoline on the fire of Ophelia's anger. A searing sense of humiliation exploded. She was Ophelia Blazewalker! How dare this lowly man—

But beneath the anger, an undeniable physical reaction occurred. The warm, wet sensation of the cock tip pressed against her skin—even through fabric—sent a jolt straight to her core. The strong, musky, unmistakably masculine scent filled her nostrils, and for some reason... it was alluring.

Her tongue moved inside her mouth of its own accord. The tip licked her suddenly dry lips. A primitive, almost instinctual urge told her to taste it, to feel it.

Ophelia fought back. She turned her head to the side, away from the touch. But her eyes were drawn to the large, erect dick before her. Clear precum leaked from the small slit at the tip, forming a dangling bead, as if waiting for someone to lick it.

"I won't—" her words choked off.

But her body moved against her own will.

Her head tilted back up. Her red lips parted slightly. And her pink tongue, without conscious command, extended, hovering near that bead of precum.

Just one lick, something inside her whispered. Just to know the taste.

The wet tip of her tongue touched the droplet.

And the world exploded.

An unexpected taste—salty, slightly bitter, but with a complexity that was strangely... good—spread across her tongue. Not just good. But fulfilling. As if her tongue, her mouth, had been missing a certain flavor, and this taste filled that void.

A taste she vaguely remembered from a week ago, from the hazy memory that had woken her in a cold sweat with a soaked pussy.

Without another thought, like a parched person finding an oasis, Ophelia moved her head closer, and this time she licked the entire head of my cock. Her agile tongue circled the crown, collecting every drop of precum, swallowing it greedily.

"Ah..." she hissed to herself, a sound full of surrender and need.

She forgot the humiliation. Forgot the anger. Forgot who she was. All that remained was the taste on her tongue, sparking a wild need throughout her body. Her pussy throbbed, sending panicked signals that this wasn't enough, she needed more.

She opened her mouth wider and greedily took the tip of my cock inside.

I just stood still, observing with cold, triumphant eyes. The arrogant headmistress, the feared SS-Rank woman, was now on her knees before me, her elegant mouth devouring my cock like a whore's. And I didn't even have to ask. She did it herself, guided by the lust I had locked in and controlled.

"Ah... Freyden... i-it tastes..." she mumbled between sucks, her voice muffled by the cock in her mouth.

"Sshh," I whispered, my left hand coming down to touch her messy red hair. "Excellent, Ms. Fiona. The oral and throat massage technique has begun. Now, try to relax your jaw muscles. Let me set the pace."

I held her head and began to move my hips. Slowly at first, pushing my cock deeper into her warm, wet mouth. Ophelia groaned, but didn't resist.

I smiled. Then, with a firmer motion, I pushed deeper—past her tongue, into her throat.

Gulp!

Ophelia gagged. Her eyes widened behind the mask, tears welling up. She tried to pull her head back, but my hand in her hair held her in place. On her slender neck, a clear bulge moved—the shape of my cock inside her throat.

"Relax, Ms. Fiona," I said in an instructional, flat tone, contrasting with the violence of the act. "This is part of the therapy. Deep Throat Therapy is designed to stretch tense throat muscles and provide vagus nerve stimulation to calm your nervous system. Try to feel the sensation. Let it happen."

She snorted, but her body began to soften. Tears streamed down her hidden cheeks, but she stopped resisting. Instead, she began to try to swallow, moving her throat muscles around my shaft, creating an incredible sucking sensation.

Damn, this feels too good, I thought, holding back a moan. Her tight, warm throat, combined with the tears and the clear aura of degradation radiating from her... it was far more satisfying than I had imagined.

I began to move with a steady rhythm. In and out. Each time I pushed in deep, her body shuddered. Each time I pulled out, she gasped for breath, saliva and mucus dripping from the corners of her swollen lips.

Ophelia, on her part, was in a fog of pain, oxygen deprivation, and shameful pleasure.

Her rational mind screamed, 'This is insane! You're insane, Ophelia! He's choking you with his cock! He's treating you like a cheap whore! Stop!'

But her body, her wildly throbbing pussy, said otherwise. The pain in her jaw, the choking sensation, the feeling of being degraded and used... it all flared like fire in her nervous system, burning away every principle she'd ever held. And strangely, that fire felt... good. So good.

She had never felt anything like this. Her husband, the kind man who always treated her with respect and gentleness, would never dare do this. Would never force himself on her, humiliate her, or make her cry like this. And as she realized that, a dark acceptance crept into her heart.

Maybe... maybe this was what she needed. Not gentleness. Not respect. But this. Violence. Humiliation. Being used.

As that thought crossed her mind, her pussy gushed another stream of fluid, soaking the mattress beneath her. She came again, just from this rough oral sex.

I felt her throat convulse around my shaft as she climaxed. It brought me closer to my own edge.

"I'm going to give you my nutritious semen," I said, my voice growing husky. "It contains stress-relieving hormones and natural endorphins. Prepare yourself to swallow, Ms. Fiona."

Ophelia could only give a weak nod, her eyes closed, surrendering to whatever I would give her.

I sped up my movements, thrusting deep a few final times, then—with a low groan—I reached my peak.

My hot semen shot directly into her deep throat. I could feel her shock, her body stiffening, then the greedy swallows as she was forced to gulp down spurt after spurt.

After the last one was spent, I let my cock remain buried in her mouth for a few moments, savoring the final sensation of this mastery.

Then I slowly pulled out. With a wet plop, my cock left her mouth. Ophelia gasped for air, semen and drool dripping from the corners of her swollen, red lips.

She collapsed there for a moment, looking shattered and confused. Then, slowly, she raised her hand and touched her lips, feeling the remnants of my semen there. Her tongue darted out, licking her wet finger, as if unwilling to waste a single drop.

"How was that first session, Ms. Fiona?" I asked, my voice calm and professional once more, as if we had just finished a regular shoulder massage and not a brutal throat violation. "Did you feel a release of tension in your jaw and throat area?"

Ophelia stared at me. Behind the mask, her red eyes looked empty, then slowly filled with burning anger again. Anger at herself, at me, at this shameful situation.

"You... you dare..." her voice was hoarse, full of hatred. "You dare treat me like... like a whore! Forced me to swallow... your filthy fluid!"

I shrugged, unfazed. "You requested the full service, Ma'am. And you were the one who enthusiastically accepted the nutritious semen earlier. Look at you, you're still licking up the leftovers."

Ophelia flushed crimson. Her hand, which had been licking her finger, stopped abruptly, then she hid it behind her back, ashamed.

"This... this is different," she argued, but her voice was weak.

"It's no different," I replied, my voice softer now, almost understanding. "Here, it's just you and me. No one knows. No one will judge. You can be whoever you want to be. The woman who's been trapped by titles, by reputation, by expectations... she can be free here, for a moment."

I crouched down so my eyes were level with her teary ones behind the mask.

"Be honest with yourself, Fiona. Or whatever your real name is. Did you feel humiliated just now?"

She nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"Did you enjoy it?"

She was silent. Her breathing grew heavier.

"No need to answer with words," I whispered. "Your body already answered for you. You came, didn't you? Just from that rough oral."

Tears began to fall again behind the mask.

"There's nothing wrong with that," I continued, my voice like that of a savior. "Some people need... special treatment. Need to be released from the burden of themselves. And it doesn't make you less worthy. On the contrary. Accepting your own dark side will make you feel better."

She was a strong woman. SS-Rank. The best Academy Headmistress in the world. But beneath all that, there was a dark side she had buried—a fetish for being shamed, humiliated, used. A fetish she could never acknowledge, even to herself.

And now, a stranger, in an anonymous hotel room, not only saw it but was fulfilling that need.

"So," I said, standing up again. "Would you like to continue the therapy session? The next session will be more... intense. It will involve deep penetration to release tension in the pelvic and uterine area."

Ophelia looked at me for a long time. The internal war in her eyes was clear. Pride versus need. Principle versus lust.

Finally, in a small voice filled with total surrender, she said, "Do it. Do whatever you want. I... I will accept all your treatments."

A wide grin stretched across my face behind Freyden's mask. I grabbed her head, stroking it like a pet.

"Good. Very good, Fiona."

That touch made her body tremble again. Her cheeks flushed, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she let out a soft sigh, like a purring cat. She had fallen. And she didn't even know the one who made her fall was one of her own students.

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