Logic One Oh Ouch

It was the first month of my graduate school, and it was my turn for the "introductory" evening with my Logic professor, Paul Hollings. When I'd asked someone who'd taken his class the previous year what the proper attire for such an event was, he had just given me a lopsided grin and said, "For a handsome guy like you? I'd suggest very bulky clothes."

He hadn't elaborated, but I probably should have caught on just from that comment.

It was more than an hour after dinner and we were sitting together in wingback chairs, almost knee to knee, before an enticing fireplace, complete with white bearskin rug in front of it and our second snifter of brand, when Professor Hollings brought the discussion around to the topic of his course, logic.

"You asked me for the short explanation of this course we're embarking on together, Ron. Perhaps the best way I can explain how logic works is by a little role play. Are you game for that?" He looked oh so charming and enthusiastic about his topic as he sat there looking deeply into my eyes. He probably was more than twenty years older than I was, but I had no doubt that the women in his classes swooned over his classic good looks and charisma. I bet he wove quite a spell over his students in his classroom.

"Umm, yes, of course," I answered blithely.

"Okay, now for logic to really work, we have to be completely honest and open in our statements. Are you okay with that?"

"Well, sure, of course."

"All right. Now we'll have to pick a topic. Let's see, what is uppermost on a graduate student's mind?"

"Getting good grades that lead to a good job?" I offered.

"No, no, those are noble thoughts, but you aren't really being honest now, are you? Look, you're a young, good-looking, healthy guy. What is it you really are thinking of the most?"

I just smiled.

"Come on. This won't work if you don't follow the rules of open honesty."

"Okay, okay," I responded. "Sex, of course."

"Bingo. Sex. And what is it about sex that you think of?"

I thought for a few minutes and then answered, "Getting it. The pleasure of it; the feeling it gives, which is like nothing else we experience."

"Very good. Now, see, it wasn't hard to be open and honest about that." And with that, he leaned in toward me and put both of his hands on my thighs, just above the knees." I flinched and scooted back a bit into the wingchair.

"This is just a role play, Ron. I have done this to make a point in logic. Relax. Now, what made you flinch? How did you feel when I put my hands on your thighs?"

"Nervous, trapped, a little frightened perhaps," I answered.

"Precisely. And why is that?

"Because it was too intimate. It is wrong," I answered.

"Ah, now, that's the crux of it, where logic has to be considered," Hollings said with a laugh. And he moved his hands a bit farther up on my thighs, which made me flinch again.

"There, see, you have conditioned yourself" Hollings said. "Let's examine the logic of this. First, are you married?"

"No."

"Do you have a significant other?"

"No, not really. Not right now."

"Are you clean? No communicable diseases?"

"Excuse me!" I responded, in shock.

"Bear with me. This is just for the purposes of a logical construct."

"Well, no, of course not. Not any diseases, I mean."

"When you think of sex and the pleasure you get from that, do you think that this is wrong for you to do? An open and honest answer now."

"No . . . no, I suppose not."

"And if you aren't hurting anyone else, if there's no one else, no one at all, who would be hurt by your gain of pleasure, would you be wrong to enjoy that pleasure?"

"Uh, no, I guess not."

"And honestly, Ron, can you openly and honestly say that you aren't gaining pleasure from me having my hands where they are?"

"Ummmm."

"Openly and honestly now, Ron. I'm sitting here right in front of you, and I can tell just by looking at your lap that you are gaining pleasure from this."

And it was true, I'm sorry to say. My body was betraying the pleasure I felt at his touch. I don't know if it was the brandy or the fire or his charisma and good looks or how he had logically gotten from there to here, but I was definitely being drawn under his spell.

"Here, let me move my hand here, just for logic's sake, and you tell me openly and honestly that this does not give you pleasure." He moved his right hand to my basket and had it laying lightly along the length of my cock, which was rising under the fabric of my pants.

I couldn't respond verbally immediately. My body was providing my open, honest response. But I eventually managed to croak out, "But I'm not gay. It's not right for me—"

"Ah, let's keep this based in logic, Ron. You have no obligations to anyone else; you have no health considerations that would give you obligations to any sex partner you might have; we've agreed that, like any healthy person your age, you are focused on personal pleasure and sex. So, for the purposes of this role playing of ours, by what logic would you be inhibited to take your pleasure from anywhere you found it? You have grown up. You are in graduate school now, the center of learning without limits. Is it logical to be bound by any taboos of society under these circumstances?"

"Noooo, I suppose not. But—"

"Here, in terms of role playing this construct of logic we are exploring, let's see whether this increases or decreases your pleasure." His right hand went to the buttons of my shirt and then slipped into the opening and ran lightly around my chest, finding a nipple and nesting there. With his left hand, he undid my belt buckle, unbuttoned the fastening there, slowly pulled down my zipper, and placed his hand over my cock, through my briefs." I was breathing pretty heavily now.

"Ah, I can see—and feel—that you are having pleasure. There, see what logic can clear away." His left hand came up to my belly, which had now been exposed by his other wandering hand and then back under the waistband of the briefs and cupped my balls and wrapped its fingers around the base of my cock.

I tried to rise, but only was pushing my cock into his grasp.

"Uh, Professor Hollings, I don't think . . . I don't want—"

"What? You don't want to have pleasure? Pleasure that won't hurt anyone else?"

"No. I mean, I don't—"

"You don't want to have harmless sex? You want to deny yourself harmless pleasure? Where's the logic in that?"

"That's not what—"

"And me. You don't want to please me? One of your professors, who you will face this whole semester? When there's only harmless pleasure for both of us? Logic. Think logically now." He had my cock out in the open now, and he was stroking it and running his hand all over it, and squeezing it, and all of my attention now was focused on my cock, the sexual pleasure I was receiving there.

And then I thought, what the hell. What's the use of fighting logic, and I just relaxed back into the chair.

Hollings sensed that I had given in and that now he was completely in command. He brought his mouth down to my lap and took my cock in, holding it firmly at the base with his fingers and squeezing, while his tongue ran over and around my glans, and taking my cock into his mouth and twisting it around inside, swallowing to the root and then slowly pulling out. In, out, in out, until he could sense that I was ready to explode. Then his mouth came off, and I felt a cloth over my glans, and he pumped me with his hand until I spewed cum into the cloth. It was somewhat disconcerting to realize that he had the presence of mind to be concerned about his furniture at a time like this.

"There, did that give you pleasure?"

"Yes."

"And do you feel you have hurt anyone else by taking that pleasure?"

"No . . . I suppose not."

"Very good. Right answer. Now stand up and face me." I did so, and he pulled my unbuttoned shirt off my back and lifted my T-shirt over my head.

"Very nice, he said. You are in great shape. You must find time to work out a lot."

"Not a lot, but I make time, yes."

"Look at those nice, taut nipples." He squeezed and pinched them both, and I flinched. But this time he didn't have to ask me if I felt pleasure.

"Well-defined pecs and such a nice six pack. Ah, to be young again." He ran his hands down the side of my torso and underneath the waist of my pants and underwear and stripped them down and off me. Then went the shoes and socks.

"There, that's how God made us to be. Oh, and I see that you're revving up again. Yet again, the rewards of youth and good conditioning. What is that completely hard? Seven, eight inches?"

"How would I know? I don't go around measuring myself."

"Oh, please. Open and honest now. I know you've taken measurements and compared. Don't be coy."

"Umm, about seven and a quarter, I guess."

"Thought so. Pretty precisely known too." He gave me his "we're just pals" grin and then continued. "I certainly can't compare, but let's see how you think I've weathered. Remember now, I have almost three decades on you." With that, he stepped back, and pulled his turtleneck sweater over his head. Not bad for someone around fifty, I had to admit. He was a red head and his chest was thinly covered with fuzzy curls that looked a shade or two redder than the hair on his head, which had some gray shot through it. He was lean and wiry, but firm. Off came his pants and red briefs and there he stood, with a half hard on, which was about the normal size I'd seen around the locker rooms, but was highlighted by extending out of flaming bush of pubic hair. He had runner's legs, sinewy but lean. He threw his arms out wide.

"There. Does that give you any pleasure?"

"Well, umm."

"I know. I'll bet you are more a touch than a visual man. Here take my hands." I extended my arms out to meet his extended arms, and he grasped my hands in his in a powerful grip. Then he walked right into me."

"There. Close your eyes. Let your senses go to where we touch. Feel our chests and nipples touching, Feel your belly against mine. There, I feel your belly quivering. Feel your pubic hair interlacing with mine. And there, as I lean into you, feel your penis rubbing mine. Here, as I rotate my hips against yours, do you feel the sensual sensations? Does this give you pleasure?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Yes, yes. I know you're being honest. I can feel you hardening again. While I think I need to stop this for a while and rest. Oh, to be your age again. Before you open your eyes, though, just one more sensual connection." He put his lips on mine and I flinched away.

He laughed. "Think of what we're doing, what else is touching here. Do you think you'll be ruined by touching here too? That you'll never be able to do it with one of your girlfriends now? Logic. What is the logic here?" He put his lips on mine again, and this time I opened to him and found that a man's kiss could be as sweet as a woman's.

"Now, open your eyes and look over at the fire. Doesn't that look inviting?"

"Yes."

"Doesn't that bearskin rug look silky and soft and inviting as well?"

"Yes."

"Now, I want you to go over and lay down on that rug, and I'll show you the pleasure that a good back massage can give."

I went over and laid down on the rug on my belly, parallel to the fireplace. He came down beside me and started rubbing my back and shoulders with a cooling ointment.

"Now, while I'm rubbing you, connect with the rug." he said. "See what sensual pleasure you can get from the soft, silky bear's pelt." I did as he directed and found the sensations of the thick hair and the warming fire beside me to be very pleasurable.

"Move on the rug," he said, "Work your way into the knap."

I wasn't sure what he was asking, but I dug my forearms into the rug and moved my chest around. The sensation of the bear hair on my chest and nipples and belly, combined with his rubbing of ointment on my back, was titillating, and I found myself sighing with pleasure. I could feel him straddling me now, astride my buttocks; his cock nestled in the crack there. He was working on my lower back with the ointment and the rub, and he was moving his pelvis back and forth, with his cock running back and forth in my crack and up onto the small of my back. Then he slid farther back on me, straddling my thighs, his cock now between my thighs, continuing what had to be acknowledged was a dry humping of me in my inner thighs. I wasn't at all sure I liked that he was doing this, but I was trapped by my own pleasure in the feel of the rug and the ointment on my back—and, yes, even the movement of his cock in the recesses of my body. He started rubbing the ointment into my butt cheeks.

"What a nice bubble butt you have, he said. It must drive the women wild."

Well, yes, I had heard that on more than one intimate occasion. He must have spilled the ointment, because I felt it running across my butt and into my crack. He went after it with long slender fingers, and I jerked and flinched as he ran a finger across my asshole, but not being able to prevent a large portion from pooling there and seeping in.

This attention had fully engorged me and I felt pinched with my cock smashed between the rug and my body. The professor started to help in that area, though. His circular motions, as he rubbed the ointment into my butt, caused my pelvis to move around on the bearskin rug, and I found myself falling into natural gyrating humping motion. I had barely realized that I was fucking the bearskin rug, when the professor spoke.

"There, that's right. Feel the sensation. Somewhere in the hair of this rug, there's the entrance to paradise, the nicest cunt you've ever known." He took my hips in his hands and helped me rotate and hump against the rug. I was panting and moaning, and I could feel the quiver in his hands as they gripped and rotated my hips. I gave a cry as I shot off, into the knap of the bear rug—and then collapsed into the rug. The professor stopped his rotation of my hips and even his own dry humping in my thighs and held me very still for a moment.

"As sensual as that was," he said at length from above my back in a husky voice, "There are sensations of pleasure you have been denying yourself that I bet no woman has given you. You've come this far this evening. You're not likely to ever permit yourself the pleasures of this evening again. Let me give you an even greater pleasurable feeling. Not at all taboo; men with too much to give go to doctors all the time for this procedure. This release—and gratification. There's nothing logical about denying yourself this level of pleasure."

"I don't know," I whispered from below. "I just don't—"

"Nonsense, you are in the real world now; you are in graduate school. You have come here to be educated, right?"

"Right."

"And are you the one to determine what you need to know to be educated? Isn't that what your professors are for. Isn't that logical?"

"Well, I don't—"

"Here, up on your knees, No, not all the way up. You can keep your chest resting on the rug and can stretch your arms out to be comfortable. There, yes, that's right. Now you've heard about the prostate, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"And, I'm sure you heard both that it's the man's G-spot and can give more sensual pleasure than stimulation of the penis can and that some men build up so much sperm so fast that they have to go to the doctor and be milked by stimulation of the prostate, haven't you?"

"Well, yes, I guess. I've read about it. But, I don't know—" All the time he was rubbing and squeezing my butt cheeks and thighs.

"And you know where the prostate is, don't you?"

"Up my ass, I think?"

"That's right. Now to get there, though, we most likely will have to prepare you and open you up. Now, let's see." I felt his hands pulling my butt cheeks apart and it felt like maybe he blew on my asshole. Whatever, the ointment still pooled there got real cool all of a sudden. "Ah, yes. It's very tight. It looks like a very tight entry." There was a catch in his voice. "Here, I'll have to do some preparation." I felt his lips on my asshole, and his tongue. He was licking my ass.

"Professor, I don't. I don't think I need—"

"Experimentation, son," the professor said. "You've come to graduate school to experience life. Lots of men go to the doctor and pay good money for this." He held my butt cheeks firmly in place and spread apart as his mouth went back to working my ass. He was licking and slurping and rimming me with his tongue. And I couldn't maintain control of myself after a couple of minutes of this. I was sighing and moaning and grinding my butt into his face, so that when his tongue went in, I was willing it to come in farther. He stopped and laughed, slapped my butt cheek, and reached up with a hand and encased my again-engorging cock.

"There, I can tell you like this. God, to have your stamina; tell me this is giving you pleasure."

"Yes," I groaned.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No," I groaned.

"Come again? Do you want me to stop?"

"No, no, don't stop," I said in a louder voice.

"Want to know . . . want to feel what all this G-spot prostate experience is about now?"

"Yes . . . I guess so."

"You are quaking. Why are you quaking?"

"I guess I'm scared. I'm scared of what is happening."

"Ah, welcome to grad school—forever penetrating the unknown. But trust me; you can trust me." And with that, I felt another large glop of the ointment drop between my crack and he was working it into my ass with his fingers, fingers that were probing ever deeper into my ass."

"Uh, your fingers. Your fingers are . . . uhhh!"

"That's what I have to use to get to your prostate. There are, of course, other methods, but we are working on the medical one now, so tight. Come on, just relax. Ah, there we go; now we're there." I jerked and lurched as my body betrayed me. Something inside my ass had actually grabbed his finger and drawn it in, and then I felt the oddest, most sensual sensation. The pad of his finger had landed on what must have been my prostate, and it rubbed that gland gently but relentlessly. I writhed and moaned and groaned above him. Electric sensations went through my body, and I felt, at first, like I had to piss, and then cum started dribbling out of my cock, and it I'd had time to reload, I'm sure I would have ejaculated again.

But then the finger was gone, to be replaced by something thicker than the finger, and I realized that he had entered me. I was being fucked by my professor. I protested loudly.

"No, No. Get off—"

"This is about pleasure, pleasure that doesn't hurt anyone else," the professor answered me amid his heavy breathing. "It's about my pleasure as well as yours. And it's about your education, your experiencing everything before deciding what you want to do, what path you want to follow. What's the logic to denying any possibility without knowing what you're denying? Answer me that son. What's the logic in that?"

But I didn't need to answer, because almost as quickly as he had begun, he had finished. When he realized he was about to climax, he pulled out of me and came across the small of my back in one fairly weak eruption. He cleaned my back with his cloth and let me collapse onto the bearskin rug.

"There, and that is why you'd want to take logic, son. With logic you can talk your way into anything you want to do. This little role play illustrated that point quite nicely, I think. I'm going to go take a shower now. You can see your own way out. And I'll be looking forward to seeing you in class. A good job; a very nice body and a tight ass. I think you are going to do very well this semester. And he was gone. After a few minutes, I stood up, nursing a few stabbing pains and a soreness inside me that I'd never felt before, bleakly pulled on my clothes, and went out into the night.