Velasquez growled and swung on her, landing an open handed blow right alongside her face that snapped her head to the side. She groaned at the sharp impact, at the sudden flurry of twinkling lights in her skull, and then the hurt engulfed her face, washing over it in a red wave.

"You rotten little cunt!" he raged, raising his hand again, bringing it smashing down on her other cheek.

Joselyn tried to cover her face with her hands, to defend herself from the brutal assault, but it did no good. He ignored her covering hands, slapping them aside as he hit her over and over. Long before he finished, she was bawling like a baby, and hot, salty tears were running down her reddened cheeks down her throat and over her breasts.

No one had ever treated her like that before. No one had ever dared to raise a hand to her before. And the pain of what he'd done to her was not only physical, but menial as well. He'd humiliated her, knocked her about like some cheap little slut who confused physical contact, even violent contact with affection. She sobbed into her hands, making no move to pull up her tube top which clung about her waist, just under her naked breasts.

"You came in here for something," the professor said, his voice hoarse and thick. "Get to it!"

Joselyn bit her lower lip, wiping the tears from her eyes, so she could see his face.

"Don't give me that dumb look, cunt," he snarled. "Start sucking!" He jabbed his finger down at the massive head of his penis, indicating just what he wanted sucked.

She shuddered as the great bulb throbbed, its surface swelling then shrinking as if it had a life, a separate life of its own. Then she had a moment of what seemed crystal clarity. She saw herself, saw Velasquez, saw the predicament she'd gotten herself into. She even got a glimpse of her own twisted motivations.