FSE

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As she walked towards her professor's house, it struck Mallory how the same things that were perceived as trashy when done by those without money were seen as high-class when done by those with capitol. An 'old house' was a drafty detriment to comfort in the neighborhoods that she had grown up in, but here it was 'owning a piece of classical architecture'. She'd been told that an overgrown yard was a sign of not having time to care for it properly, but here it was a new trend to cultivate native plants and keeping it trimmed short was an anti-environmentalist passe.

The differences extended to actions too. Riding a bike on the East Side meant you didn't have money for a car. Riding a bike in Glenwood Heights meant you were in shape and carbon-friendly. She wondered if those same differences in attitude would extend to her.

After all, if someone she knew had a canine partner then there would be whispers about gold-digging for the one on her side of the tracks and fetishism for the one on the opposite end.

Would the fact that she hadn't wanted this make people think less of him, or of her?

It had been almost two months since that first time she'd gone to his office hours about that stupid fucking grade. There'd been hardly a day since that she hadn't wondered about how things could have gone differently. If she'd just resolved to work harder in her other classes, could she have still scraped through on the GPA they'd granted her? Could she have still passed his class based on the effort of homework and attendance alone?

She'd run the numbers. She'd tried different scenarios. Every time it ended up in the same place. IF she was perfect in this class she might barely scrape through with the required C. If she then also kept up an A in EVERY other class then her GPA would have still barely been in range for the scholarship.

And IF she did all that, she'd still have his class next semester to deal with. Another semester where she'd have to be perfect in his class, perfect in every other class, and taking enough credits to counteract his weight.

She wasn't perfect.

And that was the real unfairness of it all, wasn't it? If she did everything perfectly, she could just ignore him. If she was completely flawless, she didn't have to worry about what this one man wanted. Him? All he had to do was change one letter and it could ruin her life. All of the effort of so many years to improbably get into the best school in the country, and now that she'd done it, he could singlehandedly undo it, undo her.

Mallory looked down at the house number he'd texted her. When she unlocked her phone it was just under the crack spiderwebbing along the screen, so she slid it up to see a bit better. As if she didn't already know the number from the dozen other times she'd nervously glanced down at it. Two more houses down if the numbering was consistent. Two more palatial brick residences with manicured bushes and long driveways to garages that were bigger than some of the apartments her family had lived in.

His place wasn't as grand as most on the block, but it was on the upper half as far as well-maintained went. There were lovely perennials lining the walk to front door, there were rose bushes that were probably older than her flanking the stairs, and there was a door that must have been a few inches thick of solid oak from how it felt under her rapping knuckles. There was no window through the vintage piece of woodworking, so she just had to wait for him to arrive.

It was long enough to let her restless mind wander. To think that maybe she'd had the wrong address. To hope that she wouldn't be walking into his home. To imagine a world where he wasn't the same monster who reveled in her helplessness when they weren't in his office.

It was stupid, but she never would have gotten into this school if she hadn't been able to hope. Remembering that feature of hers was also what he liked about fucking her back into her place stung.

NO. She wouldn't acknowledge that was 'her place'. She would NOT let his words slip into her mind like that. She would not let his ideas influence her. She was only here because of the leverage he held over her, nothing more—

The lock on the door clicked heavily.

His face appeared from behind the thick hard wood, looking much the same as he did on campus. Tan and black fur, ears and nose made of angles and lines that would be best drawn by a ruler. Just enough white hairs to let everyone know that he could well have been her father by age, but so distinctly canine that it was obvious he wasn't.

He smiled at her, the curve of his lips the only soft part of his face. "You're early," he said as he pushed the door open, the movement inviting her in. Though inviting may not have been the right word. An invitation was offered, but it could be refused. There was no part of what he implied that could be refused.

"I didn't want to be late," she answered briefly. It was true, she hated being late. But the way her tail flicked erratically behind her as she stepped in to the tight coatroom with him betrayed how she was feeling just as much as the way his tail slowly wagging did for him.

"Of course not. I don't think I've seen you late for class even once, isn't that right?" He asked the question he damn well knew the answer to. Attendance was one of the metrics of his class grading, and she knew all of the metrics of his class from the number of times she'd run through them in search of a way out.

"Not once, Sir," she added the honorific as a matter of course now. He hadn't said anything about it, but she'd felt the difference in how he'd acted after she'd used it in class.

His tail wagged harder.

Mallory moved to take a step further inside, but he shifted slightly to block her path.

"Take your shoes off, please." Something about that 'please' felt off. He didn't have to say it. He could have simply ordered her. Like he'd done to make her stick her tongue out. Like he'd done to make her lift her tail from his desk. Like he'd done to make her spread her legs.

The cat bent over at the waist to untie her shoes. She did it away from him of course, even in the limited space offered by the tight coat room. Still it made her feel small. Already she only came up to below his chest, but bending over she was below his waist. If she'd been a normal canine size the two of them wouldn't have even fit in this vestibule.

She got halfway through untying her first shoe when she felt his grip on the back of her neck. She gasped in a sharp breath before it was cut off completely, the lower half of her body suddenly feeling so far away. Mallory tried to continue working at the laces, but she didn't have half the precision she needed when he was holding her like this. Senses from her body felt like they were being delivered by post, while commands from her brain were sent into the ether instead of where they would do any good. A pathetic little whimpering mewl came to her lips before he yanked her over into his clothed crotch, forcing her nose against the rough fabric of his jeans.

Mallory was held there for a long moment, feeling the texture of his pants against her nose in even more clarity against the dulled sensations of the rest of her body. She gasped in a breath and it smelled so intensely of him that she felt the way her body had been tensed up weakening, melting away.

She didn't know what it was about his scent that did this to her. Was it the sharp masculinity of it? Was it the way that age had honed all of his edges into a fine point? Was it the fact that he smelled as canine as they came?

She hoped it was anything but the last.

She knew how likely it was.

"Keep taking them off," he insisted in the same voice he'd use to tell her to put pencils down. It was hard to ignore, and she tried to do as he said even through the haze of his scent and the fog of him scruffing her. Her fingers felt like they were working through a thick sheet, but from muscle memory alone she was able to undo the knots holding her shoes to her feet. Even the panicked flicking of her tail had been slowed by the same interruption to her body's control, everything ceasing in response to the strength of a single canine hand on her neck.

He held her there for a long moment, shoes off but her nose still tantalizingly close to his crotch. Still bathing her in his scent, drowning her in it. Mallory whimpered softly, and he held her there for a moment more before finally releasing his grip, letting her take a staggering movement back to her full height.

"Thank me." He instructed. This was one of his favorite games. Making her thank him for whatever abuse he'd inflicted on her. And if he didn't like the reason she gave for thanking him, he'd make her think of another one. Forcing her to use her mind to his ends.

"Th-thank you," she said to start, using the time those words gave her to think. She'd always been good at tests in the classroom, but they'd never felt as high-pressure as these questions. Was this how other students felt when quizzed? She could see why they came to her panicked about if they'd prepared enough. Why it was so hard for them to concentrate in the moment. "Thank you for… for making sure I wouldn't be rude in your home, Sir. I know you must try to keep your house clean, and taking off my shoes helps with that."

He pondered this reason for a moment, holding her there like she was a kitten. Almost like he'd forgotten about her paralyzed physical body as he considered her words. Keeping her forced deep into his crotch with casual strength while he pondered her fate. "True enough. I suppose it is kind enough of me to let a stray feline like yourself into my home at all that the least you could do is observe my customs." He finally let her go at that, just about dropping the cat into the pile of shoes before her. Mallory staggered as feeling rushed back into her body, gasping at the sudden control she had. It was as if wires in her spine sparked and crackled as they reconnected, the leftover sensations from their time cut off overflowing as they came back all at once.

No one had ever tried something like that with her. Scruffing a cat was so rude, so beyond the pale that even in her whole life of dealing with canines no one had attempted that. It wasn't like she was sheltered either, she wasn't some naive virgin outside of her professor. She had even redoubled her efforts to have relationships outside of him as if to prove that he didn't own her.

She didn't want to admit that it hadn't gone well. Or that most of the people she'd been with hadn't made her feel half as good as he had, or that the mere fact that she was doing more than she wanted in response to him was already a sign that he was influencing her.

"Well get on with it then," he said with a hurrying gesture. Mallory scrambled to obey and quickly pulled her shoes off, setting them alongside his much larger shoes but before the line of feminine pairs that still outsized hers.

"Sorry," she breathed before stepping inside, getting a full view of the interior of the house. The ceilings weren't high (for a canine abode) and the rooms weren't huge, but the dark original woodwork was consistent throughout. This was a house built and maintained by someone with an eye for the long term, making investments when and where it would pay off. The furniture was leather and wood and older than her, with houseplants in terra cotta pots that must have been there for decades.

"Bend over the table," he ordered plainly, tearing her mind away from the house itself with the memory of why she was here. The cat did as she was asked, putting both hands flat on the surface beside her body. Her feet barely touched the floor. She turned her head to the side away from the window, bringing a wall of pictures into view.

She saw her professor younger than she'd ever seen him before, with another german shepherd woman in almost all of the frames. They were there in front of this house, at the school she went to, and in half a dozen countries she knew and as many that she didn't. In every one of the frames they looked happy to be together, not a single drop of hesitation or resentment between the two. It was hard to imagine when he treated her like this.

A clicking noise followed by a strange scent wafted in from the other room, and Mal turned to look. A thin line of heavy smoke drifted from a small bowl on the counter, dispersing into the kitchen and dining room. It made her dizzy as it hit her nose, then drilled deeper into her mind.

She noticed that her claws had clenched out then retracted in more as a passenger in her body than anything else.

"What's… in that?" Mallory asked with words that were drowsier than she thought she was. But maybe she was just slow right now? Her tail was sagging more than it had been before.

He smiled, reaching over to ruffle her hair. Hadn't he been in the other room? "Nothing to worry about. Just a little incense. Sandlewood, vanilla… catnip."

Catnip. The scent suddenly clear to her, something remembered from the houses of some of the worst-off people she knew. A way to escape the day to day, a tincture to numb the pains, a trap to make you forget your debts and responsibilities. She shouldn't do that, it wasn't good for her. Or legal, at least in this state. "I don't think I… I don't know if…" His hands on her felt very heavy.

"Shhh," his words flowed into her ears like honey. "It's alright. Just take a deep breath and relax." She tried to breathe, but it only made it harder to think. His hands were all over her, feeling impossibly covering and omnipresent. Gripping at sensitive spots, rubbing over private areas. Gentle in a way he usually wasn't, but feeling so much more from how her head spun.

"S-sir I don't think that…" He cut her off with another shushing noise.

"Don't think. You don't need to. Just relax." Internally some part of her rebelled. Some core bit of her brain knew that something was wrong as he grabbed her hips and flipped her over, pulling her all the way up onto the dining room table. It was only hard wood on her back, but she melted into it like it was a down pillow. She registered that he was pulling her pants and panties away, but her mind didn't connect that with why it was important.

Then she felt his fingers at her slit and a moment of horrible clarity washed over her. The feeling of something down there pushed her far enough out of her haze that she realized just how much was obscured. "Sir I… fuck, my head is spinning. Could you just open a window, please?" Mallory reached her hands up to push against his arms, but she may as well have been trying to move a mature tree from its roots.

He laughed, a warm and rich noise that matched the wood and tile fixtures of the house. Nothing extravagant, but solid, permanent. Unmovable. His middle finger slid into her up to his second knuckle and its presence displaced those resisting thoughts from her mind. Her grip on his arm faltered and failed, giving way as he pushed in deeper. The cat whimpered at the intrusion, but that was all the resistance she could give. It felt like she was floating in molasses, the faster she tried to move the harder it was to move at all. "Just relax kitty. Just take a deep breath, and relax."

Taking a deep breath was how she normally coped. It was how she relaxed when she saw a hard question on a test. It was her secret to staying up to date on her homework. It was how she managed to stretch around a knot designed for someone half again as tall as her.

It fucking betrayed her now.

She took in a breath and it only made her head spin harder, her body feel lighter. She could feel the cool hard wood of the table on her back, his fingers inside of her, and little else. Her remaining clothes melted into her skin, her shirt feeling like nothing at all and her pants were… when had he taken them off?

"Sir, please, it's happening too… too fast." Her breath hitched as she whimpered even that simple sentence, struggling to regain control and every breath pushing it further away. His middle finger was up to the last knuckle inside of her, already feeling as big alone as any toy she would have used. She gagged out a gargled noise, but it didn't help with the strain.

"You're fine. Don't worry Mal, you're fine." He cooed, his other hand stroked softly through her hair. It was wrong, it all felt wrong, but moving to oppose it felt even worse. If she squirmed then his finger felt even bigger inside of her, and his hand on her head felt like it was pulling out her hair.

The only defense was staying paradoxically still. If she just let it happen then she could adjust to his finger, could keep him from pulling at her hair. If she just let it happen and breathe in, it was fine.

But it wasn't fine. She knew it wasn't fine. "S-s-sir…" she protested, trying to push against the hand curling into her hair again.

Was it again? It was hard to remember if she had done this before.

Pushing his hand away didn't work regardless.

Not on the hand curling into her hair, not on the finger curling against her pussy. Fuck, it felt awfully good there. Hitting an angle that was hard for her own fingers to get at. Pushing against a part of her that made her feel even weaker than the drugged air would have otherwise.

S-sir…" she stammered again, feeling herself weaken in real time. Fuck this was so unfair. Those thick fingers, the mixed-in spice of his claws hitting her where they shouldn't. She should hate every second but it was so hard to fight it off. She hated his smug attitude, his stupid face, his awful body, how easy it was to cum for him.

She was just like a toy, like all that porn she read said.

She was going to cum on his finger within five minutes of being inside his house.

Then the door opened and he looked up, ears perked.

His fingers stopped moving and Mallory was held there, on the edge of anything. Not choked enough to pass out, not digitally penetrated enough to cum on. Not that she didn't want to. Or wait, did she want to? It was from him after all, she knew she shouldn't.

"Fuck it smells like catnip in here!" Came a feminine voice from the same entrance and coatroom that Mallory had come through. "What are you… oh. Oh!"

A face followed the voice, the perfect feminine counterpart of her teacher. He was all angles and lines in tan and black fur, and she was the same but… softer. Her angles had more intermediaries, her fur puffed out further. Her brown eyes looked over the cat with first curiosity, then hunger. The pause in movement and the door opening had let a splash of fresh air through. It wasn't enough for Mallory to completely regain her senses, but it was enough for to take a conscious inventory of the situation.

She wasn't tied up. She wasn't incapacitated, at least not physically. But her head spun so intensely that it threatened to make her nauseous. Even through all of that, she knew there was a problem. She knew that she was a threat.

Mallory couldn't even help herself, but she knew she was a problem here. The woman in the doorway, she was the one in all of the pictures. The travel photos, the candid ones, the wedding ones. This was his woman.

And now Mallory was laying on his table, close to cumming on his finger.

"Board meeting finally over?" He asked casually, holding himself steady inside of Mal. The finger just as deep, the grip on her hair just as firm.

"UGH," she groaned in an animated exaggeration. "Foreign studies bitching about their budget again. Language whining as if they don't have their fingers in everything. Policy casually dropping that one of their students is a senator at every opportunity. Nothing we haven't heard a dozen times before." She kicked her shoes off carelessly, genuine leather thunking against the hardwood of the coat room. She pulled off her pencil skirt too, as if taking that off were as casual as removing the shoes.

"This though, THIS is new." The german shepherd woman strode forward with a positively predatory look on her face, her tail wagging in time with her husband's as she looked down at the cat on the table.

Mallory's fears recalibrated quickly. At first she had worried about getting between the married couple, about her presence being a source of tension. Now she realized that may have been a preferable outcome.

"Is this the one you've been telling me about? The student?" The tone of her voice held such obvious disdain that Mal felt like she was whithering beneath it. Was she a student? Or was she just some experiment that was forced by woke regulation and misguided attempts at fairness? When she was sober it was easy to put those thoughts out of her mind. Now it took all her effort to think of the most canned response that she could give. Trying to concentrate, she opened her mouth to protest.

He forced that finger penetrating her even further inside to cut off any attempts at speech she may have made. "This is the one," he said as the room refilled with the suffocating scent of catnip and the faint noise of her groan. The brief reprieve that the open door had brought was sinking away again under the weight of that smoking incense and how easily she folded for his touch. "Believe it or not."

His doubt sank into her as the thickness of the air muddied her thoughts. Fuck, she needed to say something. This woman was the dean of her entire program, and she was watching her pupil get fingerfucked with nothing but desperate need in her. "S-s-s-sir… please…" she gasped out, but her lungs refused any words beyond that.

"Well she folds just as easily as any of them," his wife said, turning away from the pair tangled up on the table. For a moment Mallory had hope as she ignored the pair to rummage around in a drawer. Hope that maybe she wouldn't be interested, that she'd just let her husband to his proclivities while she did other things. The canine woman searched for a long moment before she grabbed a lighter and something else.

A flame sparked from the lighter just as he moved his finger, sending a gasping little murmur through her. Fuck, she wished she weren't so sensitive. It was hard to think when all he had to do was shift about for her to be sent squirming in response. Even when he was practically standing still his control over her was near-complete.

Mallory missed what happened next. There were footsteps. There was talking. Then his wife was standing over her as well, the biggest window obscured by her presence. A glowing blunt burned between her lips, ash gently drifting down from the homemade source.

She exhaled in Mallory's direction, and all went blank.

The incense that had been burning was pleasant, almost delicate even. Catnip was blended among the gentle symphony of smells that composed the scent, noticeable but not overwhelming to anyone non-feline.

This, this was a full-on ASSAULT. If there was anything in the air but catnip it didn't help Mallory. The catgirl coughed pathetically, but the movement both made her hair pull against his hand and her hips press into his fingers.

"Fuck I need to… I need to breathe…" She gasped, knowing how unlikely either of the two would be to grant her request.

"You're fine," the dean said, mirroring his words. "Just take a breath." Her words were so much like her husbands, but instead of being combined with just the passive scent drifting through the air, she breathed out in Mallory's direction. Filling anything the cat would have breathed with treacherous smoke instead of helpful air. Her hand was on Mal's back, properly soothing in comparison to his cruel hold on her. Mal could almost believe her.

Then she was pressing that blunt to Mal's lips. "Come on, breathe in. I know you want to." The Dean of Humanities insisted. And the worst part was that she was right. Every breath she'd had so far had made her more relaxed, more excited. Had it not been for the context, this would have felt incredible.

Maybe the people saying she should try it were right.

Mallory breathed in, and it was like an explosion went off in her mind. She coughed weakly, smoke billowing out from her mouth and nose, but it was already IN her. Sinking through her lungs, her brain. The simple spinning of her mind before was gone, replaced by more floating. Floating in a sea of relaxing physical pleasure, lapped at by waves of desperation, crashing into white peaks of need.

Her professor's finger, no, fingers were inside of her. Her dean's were inside of her mouth. She was suckling. There was a comment about her wide blue eyes. There was another comment about how she clenched up so nicely whenever she came.

Mallory's dean breathed out another heavy breath, filling the air with even more of that intoxicating chemical. The cat tried to protest. It was lost in the fog. She was in the air now, suspended by four large paws. They were carrying her together? It was the only thing that made sense with how many hands she felt on her. They were on the couch now, and it was way more comfortable than the table had been. She truly melted into the leather here. Into his touch. Into her fingers. Into them. The couple who owned her.

Mallory came on him, rolling and twisting and writhing. She didn't want to. Didn't she? He was… he was still bad. It was hard to remember her initial complaints. Something about this was wrong. She wasn't supposed to let him slip his fingers out?

No no, that was right. That let her breathe. That let her—

AHGHMNF!

She cried aloud as he penetrated her. Thicker than two of his fingers by a wide margin, even with his attention and her relaxed state and her trying to stretch for him, he was still BIG. Mallory tried to squirm away, tried to move in the opposite direction. Usually if she did she was met by his hand holding her in place, or his office wall stopping her. She wasn't used to something much softer, something much more fragrant holding her there.

Mallory's nose pressed into her dean's cunt. Her feline snout was small enough that she practically slipped inside, the warmth and wetness enveloping her as it took away her ability to breathe. Breathing had been a mixed bag with the heavy dose of drugs in the air, but now that she couldn't through her nose she was forced to open her mouth, sticking her tongue out right onto the woman's clit.

"Fuck, she's just the right size," moaned the woman, her tan-furred hips humping forward onto Mallory's face. She wasn't as strong as her husband, but she was still so much bigger than the cat that it didn't really matter. The dean's humping dragged that textured feline tongue across her clit again and again, each one bringing her a moan and Mallory a chance to sneak in a gasp of air.

Gasping was right too. Her professor wasted no time in getting to fucking her. Or maybe there had been plenty of time and she'd just lost track in the haze? It was so hard to tell, but he was moaning above her as he pistoned in and out. The drugs in the air had messed with her sense of balance and time, and it wasn't helped by how fucking good his dick felt inside of her. Displacing her inner walls, pressing deep inside, smashing against parts of her that were only ever meant to be gently brushed up against. On a good day, when she was sober, it was overwhelming. Now he may as well have been trying to split her in two.

"Isn't she? I can just pick her up and toss her around, but there's enough there to really sink my… teeth into." They both laughed at that, though if there was a punchline then Mallory couldn't have picked it out.

Her dean had a tangy taste. Not unpleasant, though a bit overwhelming. Maybe if Mallory had been able to taste it instead of drown in it she would have almost found it pleasant. With her nose being used as a dildo and her tongue being used as a toy though, it was all too much. She tried to pull away to no avail, the much larger canine woman so easily able to lean into her prey, to keep the cat where she was wanted.

"Like that maid, but no children to schedule around now! Are you sure she'll not… cause issues?" The dean asked, pressing down far enough that Mallory needed to try to squirm away, bringing her arms up to push against her dean's thighs.

She may as well have been made of jello for all the effect that her fighting back had. The weird part was that she should have had claws that would make anyone back up. Even if they weren't big they were sharp and they hurt! But no matter how her mind willed it, her body didn't follow. Slow, lazy pricks followed, but not enough to stop anything.

Her professor laughed deeply, and she could feel the motion of his body through the shaft connecting them. "Those housekeepers could get a job anywhere. Do you think she's going to find a— mmph— another Arthur University? No…" He trailed off, reaching for her face, stroking her cheek even as half of her head was buried in his wife's cunt. "No, she needs this. She needs me." He pushed himself deeper inside of her. His other hand went to her breasts, cruelly pinching one of her nipples.

She squealed and squirmed, but her reactions were so delayed she wasn't even sure she was doing it to the right input anymore. Her captors didn't seem to care, both of them just enjoying her obvious distress. Satisfied canine huffs came in sequence, then they both looked at each other and laughed. She was trying to breathe, trying to survive, and they were just enjoying themselves.

"Kind of dramatic isn't- ah!- isn't she?" The dean of humanities asked her husband.

Dramatic. Mallory was out of her mind on a drug she'd never tried before, stuffed with canine cock and into canine pussy, and this woman thought she was being dramatic. Like she should just lay back and accept this rape. Mal pushed harder against the woman's thigh, tried to block out the fullness that was invading her in body and mind from below.

"That's why she's so FUN!" Her professor growled as he shoved deep inside of her. Deep enough to hurt, even through the haze of the drugs. The cat's struggles switched from her to him, trying to push away with just as little success. "She's so bad at just accepting it. Always wanting more. Always easy to bribe and to mould. And to get to fuck that stupid scholarship out of her…"

His pounding picked up pace. Mallory gasped for air, but she was to the point of her limbs feeling weak even without the tainted air. With it she was practically a doll. A toy for two well-off rapists to enjoy. The way he filled her cunt again and again was only made more potent by how much she struggled to stop them, her diminished mind and sluggish body offering no real resistance to what they wanted.

"Fuck, I can't believe they even let that bitch… that bitch happen. Setting the requirements so high was… was clever, but there was bound to be at least one statistically outlying cunt that would get it." The dean's speech was heavy with labored breathing now, her hips doing the little remaining work that her husband's pounding wasn't. Up and down to compliment his in and out, more and more of her juices leaking onto the cat beneath her with every thrust.

They were talking about her like she wasn't even there, just having a conversation as if the student they were referencing was some abstract figure to be graded and sent away. Not some near-limp body they were using to their satisfaction.

"Maybe I'd have believed it if she wasn't so…" he grunted, his hand on her breast pinching down hard enough to make her squirm. "Pliable." His cock was hitting her in ways that shouldn't be legal. That shouldn't feel so good.

Smoke billowed from the dean's mouth. Again spilling over her, again making everything go hazy. She was pliable. She was easy to work with. To use for their pleasure. And fuck if there wasn't some part of her that liked that. Some big part of her that liked being both the top student in the country and their bottom toy. Something that made the fire between her legs burn so bright that it didn't care that she didn't want to be here. Hadn't they told her to just relax and enjoy herself?

Wouldn't it be a waste of that scholarship to not listen to her professor?

"S-s-sir I'm… fuck it's…" Words were hard for her. Coherency was even harder in whatever gaps her mouth had to speak. He was gripping her hard. She was pinning Mal down. They didn't even need to, their body weight alone was enough. She was going to cum. The top feline student in the country, and she going to lose herself to two dogs while she was too high to function. "S-sir—"

"Thank me." His words drilled harder than his hips. This was his professor voice, the one he used to talk to a full lecture hall. Directed entirely at her.

The cat's mind spun. Fuck, she needed to thank him. She need to think. Thank him for what? The drugs left her mind on an unstable foundation, but it was the thrusting from both sides that knocked down any thought she tried to build. Feeling better than she'd ever want to admit, relentless waves bashing her thoughts down again and again and again. She could thank them for letting her into their home? No, she'd already used that. Thank them for… for the drugs? No, too trashy. At least if it was coming from her. She needed to think of something. Anything. Before…

" Thank me , Mallory."

Fuck she needed to answer, but it felt good. It felt so good. She needed to answer. She needed to cum. She was going to cum before she could make a single word.

"Oh no you don't." Hissed the dean of humanities. That catnip blunt that had been fogging her mind pressed into Mallory's nipple and all hell broke loose.

Mallory screamed, awareness suddenly brought back into sharp focus by the pain. It smoldered through the layers of numbness brought by the drug, forcing away anything that the smoke had obscured. The size of him in her. The way that she couldn't breathe right. The pressure of two bodies so much larger than her holding her down. All things that had been subconsciously recognized were now brought to the fore, only to be replaced in priority by the burning.

"Ugh, fuck," her professor groaned, letting loose in her spasming cunt. Her scream, her struggle, her pain, all that came of it for him was a change in the way her walls squeezed on his cock. The top feline student in the world scarcely registered how her professor flooded her with cum, the sensation barely scraping the surface compared to how she burned. The press of his knot was harder to ignore, the physical size of it beyond what her body was built for. She could take it without too much issue if she was relaxed, but in the blur of pain and panic she was anything but.

More than any other time before, Mallory fought against them. Pushed away. Tried to claw. cried aloud and struggled. It was that genuine panic that made the dean cum.

"You're such a treat!" She moaned as wetness leaked onto the cat's face, soaking her in the scent and taste of another as her own body was mutilated. Mallory choked and sputtered, the pain of the burn already giving away to the tiredness of having been thoroughly used as the blunt was snuffed out. Feminine arousal dripped down her snout, leaking into her mouth until all she could taste and smell was the woman who had just ruined her orgasm and her nipple.

At least they had both gotten to cum.

They were all left there, the two canines satisfied and the feline on-edge and hurting. Desperate. Fuck, she knew it was the drug still in the air clouding her judgment, but she wanted to cum. She wanted so badly to just get some relief. The air had dissipated some since the joint was put out on her. Was it fair to blame it?

Or was this her?

Was the intoxicating influence bending her in a new direction, or merely uncovering what was already there? It hadn't taken much of the drug in the air to get her pliable. Hell, mere incense like that shouldn't have been enough to get her so woozy. Yet then she was spreading her legs, and now she was moving her hips to try to rub against his knot.

The wife was the first to comment on it. "Horny molly, isn't she? Just look at her, a drooling fucking idiot kitten." She asked as she leaned back, finally giving Mal full use of her mouth back. Deep breaths finally did help the cat, but now it only brought into focus how much she wanted to finish. Mallory looked up at her professor, his deep brown eyes looking down at her imperiously.

And why shouldn't he? She was stuck around his knot, he was satisfied. He always held all the cards in terms of her grades, but now he had an edge over her in a deeply personal way.

"A drooling idiot who's top of my class. On track to be magna cum laude, believe it or not." His praise hung in the air. He would know her grades, in his class and others. Was that really true? Was he just… unabashedly praising her? Defending her? Before she could really process his words, his voice cut her jubilation short. "Thank me Mallory," he pushed.

An flush of embarrassment ran through her body. All that, and he still wanted to hold her to his stupid little game.

No, he wanted to make sure that she knew there was no escaping what he wanted. That no matter what happened, no matter if he acknowledged her effort and accomplishment, he'd get her in the end. "Thank you for…" She thought, glancing around the room for assistance.

Then she saw the answer. Hell, she could still taste the answer.

"Thank you for letting me help you entertain your wife. She was a lovely host." Mallory's cheeks burned in a deep blush under her fur as she said it.

The dean burst out in a laugh. "Oh you HAVE trained her well. Though honestly, this one seems naturally suited to it! Shame about the man-ish fur, but such a nice treat otherwise." She leaned forward, prompting him to do the same. They met over the top of Mallory in a gentle kiss, so far removed from the pounding they had been doing earlier. "And thank you for sharing honey. I may have to stop by for office hours some time!" With that last sentence she looked down at the edged, burned, filled cat, a vicious smile on her face.

It was going to be a long semester.