Joselyn fainted before he was done. She couldn't help herself. Once he had started her cumming, she couldn't stop. She kept on falling and falling. It was the friction against her clitoris, the incessant, rasping pressure that kept her orgasming until she thought she'd go mad, until she had to black out or die. She awoke to the feel of a still-hard penis being wrenched from her cunt. The two parted company with a wet plop.

"Oh!" she groaned as the dammed up cum and lubricant came pouring out of her.

"Damn you," Velasquez snarled. "Don't let it drip over the edge of the desk like that." He picked her cut-off levis up from the floor and tossed them to her. "Here," he said, "wipe up the sticky mess."

She did as he ordered, not even considering the fact that she was going to wear the cut-offs home afterwards.

The professor pulled up his Bermudas, watching her dab at the pool of semen. He grinned ferally. "I've changed my mind," he said.

"What? Huh?" Joselyn said, blinking up at him…

"About the job," he said. "That's why you came here, wasn't it?"

Her heart leapt. He wanted her, after all! She had fucked him so well that she'd broken through his armor! The thought of being his assistant, his sex slave, available whenever, wherever he got the urge made her want to swoon again. She knew in that instant that there was nothing she wouldn't do for him. Nothing!

"Thank you! Thank you!" she gushed. "You really don't know what my being your assistant means to me."

"My assistant?" he said, giving her a strange look. He shook his head. "No, Ms. Foche, you're not going to be my assistant. You're going to be Dr. Bertrand's assistant. You're going to help me destroy that son of a bitch!"