"You called, sir?"
"Come in, Miss Tutrix."
Amy closed the door behind her, which she had been peeking behind, responding to Ivy's buzzer. She gave a sly smile as she sat in the visitor's chair, then opened her mouth to say something – but Ivy cut her off.
"Strange," Ivy said. "I don't think I gave you permission to sit."
The grin widened, and Amy stood. She bowed. "Of course not, Miss Drovelia. My apologies." Then, added – "Filling into your role, I see."
"Role?" she echoed, tilting her head. "Pray tell what you mean, Miss Tutrix."
She faltered.
But her smile restored. "Wow~! Seriously, it's convincing! I can see why Ysulla gave me to you. You've got potential, I mean that."
Ivy scooted out from her desk, gestured dismissively for Amy to approach. "Today has been frustrating," she said. "Immensely. You're to relieve me."
Amy blinked, and the grin turned splitting.
"Relieve you~?" she sing-songed. "I'm afraid this humble assistant hasn't an idea what you mean … surely not something like that? An honored Academy Headmaster such as yourself would never suggest something so … abusive of her position. I need this job, don't you know? I couldn't refuse even if I wanted to. What a horrible misuse of your authority!"
Ivy frowned at her.
"Ah, but I have food to put on the table … I can't refuse, can I? …"
Ivy gestured, sharply, for her to approach. This assistant of hers enjoyed theatrics far too much.
Amy knelt in front of Ivy's legs. Her eyes belied the charade – Ivy could see the excitement in them, the earnestness, which had her already-stirring dick completing its stiffening.
'Pitching a tent' had always seemed a metaphor to Ivy, but apparently, it wasn't. You could house someone under the space created by Ivy's erection. She almost went dizzy with the reallocation of blood.
Amy undid Ivy's belt, then pulled down her pants and panties down in one swoop, bar Ivy's prompting, and sending her dick springing free. Amy gasped at the sight – it sounded, somehow, genuine.
"The Goddess is generous, isn't she?" Amy wondered, staring at Ivy's cock with wide eyes. "I've never seen one so big … or so perfectly shaped …"
She reached out and tentatively grabbed Ivy's cock, her cold, delicate touch making it twitch in her grip. Still mentally inserted into the role of ancient, prestiged Academy Headmaster, she barely repressed the gasp.
"So stoic ~" Amy said. "Not even a noise. You're like a whole 'nother person, you know?"
"Begin stroking, Miss Tutrix," Ivy instructed, twisting in her seat. "Enough with the charades."
"Stroke?" Amy asked, leaning forward, opening her mouth and hovering her tongue an inch from Ivy's cock. Ivy almost couldn't help herself; almost bucked her hips, thrusted herself into the wet, hot hole offered. But she didn't. "I can do a lot more than stroke, if you want …"
"No. Only your hands," Ivy ground out, restraining herself – though the prospect was enticing, enough to dizzy her, she only needed release. It would be Avril's, or Roxy's, or Laura's mouth that wrapped around her cock in submission, not Amy's – who was far too willing. Ivy might need release in order to function, but she'd only accept the minimum. True release would come in the form of one of her students.
Amy pouted. "What? I'm not good enough for you?" She sighed. "That's fair … I suppose you need something to strive for, don't you? Healthy motivation does wonders for success …"
She gripped Ivy's cock firmly.
"That said, I'll be sure to satisfy you. It is my job." Her hand jerked up and down, and this time, Ivy couldn't repress the bucking in her hips – to which Amy laughed. "Eager, aren't you? Hm … do you want a view to go with the course, Miss Drovelia?"
"T-That," Ivy said. "That sounds nice."
Amy paused, her stroking slowing, then rolled her eyes.
"You're letting the role slip," Amy tsked. "If you do things right, you'll be getting to this point with your students. Keep it together, Ivy."
Ivy cleared her throat, briefly abashed – because she was right. Overpowering as this lust might be, she needed to learn to control it. Even in the middle of something so intense.
Amy resumed stroking up and down her length. "Try again, if you want my shirt off."
"Strip," Ivy demanded, in the tone of Iverius. "It wasn't a suggestion."
The smile returned. "Yes, Headmaster …"
She leaned back, grabbed her shirt at the hem, and pulled it overhead. The bra came next, revealing her tits. They weren't as large as Laura's, but still plenty enough to grab, still cute and perky – and magnitudes larger than Avril's and Roxy's, the first who was flat as a board, and the second, only slightly better.
"I could use these to satisfy you, you know," Amy said, cupping herself and squeezing them together. "Surely you don't want just my hands?"
But Ivy recognized the test. Ivy needed to be focused, driven, on dominating her students. Having milestones to look forward to would help with that. So she shook her head.
"You do as I say, Miss Tutrix. And if I need say that again, you may find yourself lacking a job, come morning."
Amy immediately turned apologetic. Again, to the point Ivy couldn't detect an ounce of deception. Way too good at acting, this assistant of hers was … Ivy kept that in mind.
"Of course Miss Drovelia … I didn't mean anything by it …"
With her cute pale breasts bared, pink nipples hard and on display, and with her hands thusly returned to Ivy's cock sliding up and down, Ivy didn't have much hope in retaining composure. Started squirming side to side, gasping in short bursts at the pressure given by Amy's hands. But Amy didn't seem intent to harass her for the fact; instead, she laughed, and said:
"Even the greats need training, don't they? That's why I'm here, Miss Drovelia."
The pace picked up: up and down, faster and faster, Ivy's hips jerking forward, carnally, gaining friction in her assistant's slim hands. They seemed so small and delicate, thanks to Ivy's size. The lewd squelching of flesh on flesh filled the air.
"I'm pretty good at what I do, so I don't blame you," Amy said. "But still, how easily I made you break composure … when you were doing so well … I'm proud."
Ivy's hips rolled side to side, her mind starting to go blank. She clenched the sides of her office chair in a death grip, breathing not so much grown fast as beginning to gallop.
"What's it like?" Amy asked suddenly.
"W-What?"
"Having a cock. If you don't mind me asking, Miss Drovelia …"
The conversation was a distraction, managing to stifle the burning, pulsing feeling growing deep in her stomach, radiating heat up and into her cock. Managed to stall her.
"It's pretty intense," Ivy gasped. "It's v-very sensitive."
Amy slowed her pace, wanting to drag the experience out.
"Intense … can you explain? You're a girl. You should be able to explain in terms I can get. What's it like?"
Ivy grabbed her wrist, started using Amy to jerk herself off, prompting her to continue at the pace she had set.
She stopped stroking entirely, instead – "Nuh uh. Answer first."
Something about her tone told Ivy she wasn't looking for a return to the role-playing. Instead, a genuine answer.
To Ivy's frustration.
"It's – it's not that different," she ground out. "A little faster, I guess? It takes longer for me to get there, normally. But the same general feeling. Fuck, keep going, or I really will do something to you, Amy."
Amy's hand returned to stroking up and down Ivy's cock.
"Really? Not that different?"
"I mean, it's the same – f-fuck," she twisted her hips, by instinct, "the same general feeling."
"Those are some cute noises you're making, Miss Drovelia."
Ivy glared at her.
"I'd thought there'd be something distinguishing," Amy admitted.
"There is." There definitely was. "But it's, mhmmm~, hard to explain."
"Then tell me if this part is different, okay?"
Amy, apparently wanting to accentuate her statement, picked up her pace, finally coaxing Ivy into letting go. Ivy curled forward as the heat in her dick built and built and built.
"Don't ruin anything," Amy laughed, aiming Ivy's cock toward her chest – which she prompt erupted onto, in a pulsing, toe-curling, clenching manner. "This is expensive furniture, you know."
Which, yeah. Amy had been right. The feeling of climax was definitely different. Spraying out her load, her hot cum ejecting from her cock, rushing piercing streaks of pleasure through her with every spasm and pulse … wave after wave. Definitely not the same as her orgasms before.
It ended faster, but the sheer intensity of spraying herself onto Amy's tits … the physical marking, the degradation of having used her as a rag to avoid 'ruining the furniture', and the gleefulness she'd admitted to that fact. And the post sight, so much white, sticky liquid – Ivy's cum, hers – covering Amy's tits …
Well, pretty amazing.