The Live Cell Therapy

In the small New England college where I taught English, every professor was also required to take on the coaching of a sport or extra-curricular activity. I took on Drama since I had always loved the theatre.

We did only one big production a semester, and the one for that semester was to be "West Side Story," a huge undertaking because of the size of the cast and the length of the musical.

We had many good singers in the school, but the best female soprano voice belonged to Missy Wilson, a young blonde and pretty girl from a small town in Maine. Missy—which was a nickname for "Melissa", which she did not like—apparently had been raised by loving and well-to-do parents, and even though she was 18, she seemed so innocent and naive that both I and Paul Martin, another English professor whose office was next to mine, thought she must be a virgin. That intrigued us. I had always felt it was important for anyone to have a hobby in addition to their regular job, and Paul and I had the same hobby of plundering young and sometimes innocent college girls. It was a hobby that was easy to get away with at a college. The girls were away from home, most of them for the first time, and they looked up to their professors as mentors. And we were happy to "teach" them.

Missy desperately wanted to have the role of the lead, Maria. There was only one problem: Maria was supposed to be Puerto Rican, and Missy had blonde hair. I pointed this out to her and figured it would disqualify her.

But I did not realize how much she wanted the role. The next time I saw her in class, her hair was a rich and shinning black. She smiled at me.

I saw her after class. "You look exactly like Maria," I said.

"That was the idea. So do I get the role?"

"You get the role."

She jumped up and down. "Yeah! Thank you so much. I know I'll do a good job with it."

And she did—for awhile. Everything was going well until the third week into rehearsal. Missy came to see me in my office after classes.

"I've got a big problem," she croaked. She sounded like some kind of gremlin.

"What's the problem?"

"You can hear it. I guess I've been too hard on my throat with those high notes. Obviously, I'm not a professional singer, and I guess I don't know how to protect my throat. I can hardly speak."

That was a problem, a BIG problem if our lead singer could not sing. I racked my brain—and came up with a possible solution. I remembered reading about a famous opera singer around the turn of the 20th century who had coated her throat before every performance with live human cells provide by friendly stagehands—via oral sex.

Hmmmmm. It's true that Missy was very naïve, and the idea might work if she would swallow it—so to speak.

I explained the idea to her and told her about the famous opera singer.

"Do you think it really would work?' she asked.

"Yes, I think it would."

"But where would I get that? They don't sell it in a drug store."

"No, they don't. You would have to get it in the old-fashioned way—just as the opera singer did."

"But I can't do that with boys on the set. Everyone would know about it. I would be humiliated."

"As well as very popular," I added.

She thought about it for a minute, then looked up. "Would you to do it?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Be the donor."

"Of live cells?"

"Yes."

"In the old-fashioned way?"

"If that's what you wanted."

Bingo! I hesitated. "I guess I could do it, but this is a very unusual request, so I would need to have a witness that I had not coerced you into doing this."

"How would you do that?"

"I think Paul Martin in the next adjoining office would be willing to do it."

"But he wouldn't tell anybody."

"Of course not."

"I guess it's okay—if you have to," she agreed reluctantly.

"I think for best results, it should be done before every rehearsal or performance—just the way the opera singer did it. So when would you want to start?"

"Well, we have a rehearsal this afternoon at three, just an hour from now."

"Then I guess we ought to start right away." I walked over to my desk and press the button on the intercom. "Paul, could you come over for a few minutes? I need you to be a witness to something."

"Sure." In less than a minute, he was there.

"Paul, you know Missy?"

"Of course. But I almost didn't recognize you with you hair dyed black."

"It's for her role in the musical. She has the lead part of Maria. But Missy is having a lot of trouble with her voice, and we've decided some live cell therapy on her throat would be good for her. It was the solution that a famous opera singer found. And of course the only way to get that is by oral sex. She's asked me if I would be the donor, and I said yes, but that I would need you to witness that she was not coerced into this in any way."

"Of course. It would be my pleasure," Paul said with a big smile. He sat on the chaise lounge on the side of my office. "Fire away."

That's pretty much what I intended to do. "Missy, I think traditionally the proper position for you at this point is on your knees."

Actually, as we all know, there are a number of positions for oral sex, but that seemed to be the right thing to do.

"All right." She got down on her knees before me. "What does it taste like?" she asked looking up.

"Well, I've never tasted it myself, but I understand it's a little salty and a little peppery—but not a bad taste. Think of it as swallowing a raw oyster. That may make it easier. Is this your first time?"

She blushed. "Yes, I've led a very sheltered life, but it's the kind of thing I wanted to find out about when I came to college—so I guess this is my chance."

"That's right. You can consider it a part of your education. Just do the best job you can. You're not being graded on this," I said with a smile. Good old Professor Baxter. I unzipped my fly and took it out my penis. She looked at it with awe as if she had never seen one before, and perhaps she had not. It was already semi-erect just thinking about Missy's warm and wet mouth. "Now take it in your mouth," I said, "And it helps if you swirl your tongue around it and suck on it until I come in you mouth. Then you can swallow it...slowly."

"All right." She reached over and gingerly took my cock with her thumb and forefinger and after looking at it with a little fear in her eyes took it into her mouth. I pushed forward a little, and she began choking and had to take it out. "Sorry," she said with an embarrassed smile on her face.

"That's all right. It takes a bit of getting used to. Try to breathe through your nose and take it in slowly."

She did as I suggested, and pretty soon she was sucking it like a pro. She might not have been able to deep throat it, but she certainly was doing a good job with her tongue around the head. I tried to stand it as long as I could, but finally able to bear it no longer, I came in her mouth in hot gushes.

Tears came to her eyes as she desperately tried to swallow it all. "Keep swallowing, swallow all of it," I said.

And she did. Her eyes were filled with tears and her nose began to run, but she took it all, with only a little bit dribbling down her chin.

Smiling, she pulled away. "Was that okay?" she asked.

"It was very okay," I replied, zipping up. "What do you think, Paul?"

"I thought it was wonderful," Paul replied, with a lump in his pants. "How often are you going to do it?"

"Before every rehearsal and before every performance. That's five rehearsals and three performances."

"Good idea," Paul said. "Will you need a witness every time?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

"I would consider it an honor."

Missy stood up and wiped her mouth with a tissue from the box on my desk. "Is that it?" she asked.

"Until next time."

"Okay. Tomorrow afternoon then."

And with that, she left.

"That was one of the most exciting things I've ever seen," Paul said. "I'm so glad you included me in on it."

"Wait until you see it the week of performances," I said with a smile.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm going to try and up the stakes. Apparently, she's a virgin and wants to stay that way. So we can't plunder that, but how would you like to see her naked?"

"Oh my God. I would love it. But how would you do it?"

"There may be a way."

To my surprise, Missy's voice actually did seem to be a little improved at the rehearsal that day. And her voice was even more improved after therapy at the next rehearsal. Maybe there really was something to that "live cell therapy" after all. Maybe the opera singer had been right.

There were four more rehearsals, including dress, left before the first performance. Missy and Paul both showed up at my office an hour before the rehearsals, and she performed like the good little trouper she was.

Finally, the day of the first performance came. Since the curtain was at seven, and Missy needed time for makeup and costume, I told her to meet me at my office at five—and told Paul the same.

She arrived wearing a knee-length blue denim skirt, white knee socks and a green sweater. Paul arrived shortly thereafter and sat in his usual chair.

"Missy, we might have a little problem."

"What's that?" she asked, looking concerned.

"Well, I was reading that article about the opera singer again, and it mentioned that she insisted her donor be fully erect so that the semen would be fully potent—and as abundant as possible."

She looked at me questioningly.

"Since we've done this a number of times, and I'm not thirty any longer, I think a little of the thrill for me is wearing off."

She still looked questioningly.

"I think I need a little more stimulation to be fully erect."

"How?" she asked.

"I think you should take off all your clothes first. I think that would do it." I could only hope.

She hesitated. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

"...All right," she said reluctantly. She turned to look at Paul. "Needless to say, I've never done anything like this before."

"We know that. No one else will ever know." Other than the video camera I had secreted in my bookcase.

"Okay." She crossed her hands and pulled her sweater up over her head. She was wearing a white bra underneath. She dropped the sweater on the floor and reached behind her to unbutton and unzip her skirt. She let it drop. Now she was wearing only white panties, her bra, her knee socks and her tennis sneakers.

"You can keep your socks and shoes on," I said as I unzipped and pulled out my penis. "But the underwear has to go."

She reached behind her, unhooked her bra and let it drop to the floor. Her breasts were small but perfectly formed, and her pink nipples, about the size of a quarter, looked relatively unused—which of course they were. Finally, with a sigh, she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties, pushed them down to her ankles and stepped out of them. She covered her breasts with one arm and her little blonde muff with the other hand.

"Put your hands on your head," I said.

She did so. And there she was in all her virginal beauty: the most delicious-looking thing I had ever seen. I looked down. My penis thought so too.

"Let me ask you a personal question," I said. "Are you a virgin?"

"Yes," she replied shyly.

"And you want to keep it?"

"Yes, until I'm married."

I sighed. "Ah well, Paul, we can't have everything, I guess. We should be happy with what we have." I turned back to Missy. "But since you've had the opportunity of seeing what I taste like, I would like to have the opportunity of seeing what you taste like. Come here." I took her by the hand and led her over to my desk. "Sit down on the edge of the desk and lean back." She did so. "Now put your feet up on the edge of the desk." She had to scoot back a little to put her sneakered feet on the edge of the desk. I pulled my chair over and sat down between her thighs. And there it was: the loveliest morsel on earth. I leaned over, licked her a couple of times, then thrust my tongue in her.

She gave a little gasp. I thrust my tongue in her a few more times, twirled it around, then pulled out. "How does that feel?" I asked.

"Nice," she said quietly.

"Now you know just a little bit of how it feels for me when I come in your mouth. I would love to make you come in my mouth, but I don't think we have the time. You can get up now."

She sat up and slid off the desk.

"And now you can get down on your knees."

She did so—and took my penis in her hand like it and she were old friends. She put it in her mouth and began sucking and swirling her tongue around it. Just before I came abundantly in her mouth, I had my final idea. "Since this is opening night, and the musical is to run for three nights, I think it would be a good idea if you had a double dose for all three of those nights. Do you agree?"

She nodded. She couldn't talk with her mouth full.

"Paul, do you think you could be the second donor?" I asked.

Paul practically leaped up. "I would be happy to," he said, unzipping his fly.

So Missy got two helpings of "live cell therapy" that night.

A week after the musical closed to wonderful raves for everyone, especially Missy, she came up to me after class when everyone else had left.

"There isn't any such thing as live cell therapy, is there?" she asked with a smile on her face.

I thought about it for a moment. This was the point of no return. To lie or not to lie? "Not in that manner, no. But I wanted you to do it so badly, I took that chance."

"I suspected all along there was no such thing, but I went along with it because I wanted to learn how to do that. That's why I can't get mad: I'm guilty too."

"That's a relief. I'm glad you feel that way about it."

"I just have one final question."

"What's that?"

"Are you still interested in having me come in your mouth?"

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