It was not yet 10 AM when Ms. J ordered me out of her bed. “Get going. You still have to make up for missing yesterday.” I felt her eyes on me as I got dressed, but did not dare meet them. She was naked, still damp from her orgasm as were my lips and cheeks.

Stopping by my apartment to get cleaned up, I was sorry to have to wash Ms. J off my face. I knew she would expect me to wear the buttplug today so I inserted it. Only then did I eat the waiting banana to end my two-day punishment fast. I drank my café latte on the way to the library. Ms. J had texted me some tasks before I arrived.

Focusing on my work, I tried not to be distracted by the memory of the morning. This time, she had not been desperate; she wanted to see what I could do for her. She did have an orgasm, but there was no way for me to know her expectations or if I had fulfilled them.

I ate a little more at lunch and dinner. When the closing bell sounded, she sent me a text, telling me to come up when I got home.

“The buttplug?” she asked when I presented myself. Turning and dropping my pants and underwear, I showed it to her. “Hmpf,” she said. I didn’t know if she was glad that I did what I was supposed to do without her explicitly ordering it or unhappy that she missed a chance for further discipline.

“You’re a computer genius?” she asked, skeptically. “There is something odd about my computer. Can you fix it?”

I did have some skills, but without more details, all I could say was, “I will try. What is the problem?”

Ms. J showed me a tiny browser window that kept coming back, hiding itself behind other windows. It seemed like malware to me, so I ran a scan. The odd thing was that it didn’t match any of the current threats floating around the internet. Turning off her wifi, I inspected the cache and was surprised to see words and phrases like those in her library research.

“Whatever it is, it seems interested in your work,” I said.

Ms. J’s face darkened. “Can you tell who or where it came from?” she asked.

Turning the wifi back on so it could reconnect, I was able to trace the IP address. They had tried to disguise it, but they were amateurs—as I said, I have some skills. It traced back to Columbia University.

“Wilson! That bastard!” she exclaimed. “He’s trying to steal my work so he can get tenure. How do you stop him?”

“Well, I can shut him off, but who knows how much he already has?” I said.

“You’re right,” she agreed. “He’s not above publishing what he stole and accusing me of plagiarism. What can we do?”

My heart always floats when Ms. J says, “we.” How could we steal back her data? And “steal” is right, it would take something risky and probably illegal. I had some ideas, but it would require more investigation.

“I’ll see what I can figure out,” I said.

“Let me know as soon as possible,” she said, dismissing me. “There are other options, but I don’t want to use them.” Her grim tone told me all I needed to know about that.

I was up most of the night, but between publicly available information and some malware of my own, I determined that Wilson was an assistant professor and that he was using his secretary’s computer to siphon Ms. J’s data.

Kathy was a forty-something single woman with too many cats. She dreamed of going to Paris, but couldn’t afford it on her secretary’s salary. She was the key.

I reported my findings to Ms. J in the morning.

“If you could spare me for a day or two, I could poke around the university and come up with a plan,” I said.

“Don’t say any more,” she said. “I don’t want to know the details. If something goes wrong….”

I nodded. This was on me.

It was easy enough to wander around the campus and find Wilson’s office in the history department. There sat Kathy at her computer in the outer office, busily typing as I slowly walked past the open door. I did it a few times, so I was sure she had noticed me before I poked my head in.

“Hi,” I said, feigning embarrassment. “I’m Fred Rodgers, with a ‘d’. In Rodgers, obviously. Of course, there’s a ‘d’ in Fred. When I say Fred Rodgers, people always think of the TV guy, but obviously, that’s not me.”

“Obviously,” she winked. She looked at me like I was a first-day undergraduate and she seemed sympathetic. “What can I do for you, Fred?” she asked.

Kathy was probably the chubby girl that everyone liked in high school. Between secretarial spread and the intervening decades, I would guess she was a size 16, not big enough for a BBW fetishist, but still, plenty to love.

“Kathy,” I said, looking at the nameplate on her desk, “you remind me of someone I used to know.” I spun my yarn. “She was my first, but she was married and older, and, well, it couldn’t work out.”

Kathy blushed but had nothing to say.

“I know this is out of left field, and I don’t know anything about you,” I lied. “But it was just random that I walked down this hall and saw you. I could spend a lot of time trying to figure out how to get to know you and then find out you were unavailable.”

She didn’t interrupt, so I pressed my case.

“I apologize if this is completely inappropriate, but….” I paused as if trying to get up the nerve, “Would you have dinner with me?”

I was guessing that it had been a while since she was asked out. The only males in her social media were cats. She was smart enough to be suspicious, but my manner convinced her that I was the vulnerable one.

“What did you have in mind?” she sounded cautious.

I had scouted a French restaurant, too romantic for a first date, but her eyes lit up when I mentioned it. I used the excuse that I missed French food since it had been a few years since I was in Paris. Whether it was the free meal at a fancy restaurant not in her budget or my fawning enthusiasm, she agreed.

Over dinner and some wine, I told her a few stories, some embellished, from my travels there and wanted to know all about her cats. The wine and my puppy stares worked their magic. Walking her to her door when I took her home, I shyly kissed her goodnight. I had managed to stroke myself a bit as we walked to the door, so when she hugged me tightly to her full, soft body, I was sure she felt my hardon against her round belly.

“Would you like to come in for a nightcap?” she asked. I knew I had made the sale.

Probably not many had taken her up on that offer, but I did. Inside, she mumbled about not having anything special, but I allayed her concerns. “All I need to drink is you,” I said, kissing her deeply and feeling her start to respond.

We sat on the couch, and my hands roamed her full chest and stomach as we kissed. She was far from my type, but I didn’t want to give her any room to doubt my interest. My hand squeezed her thick thigh as I unsuccessfully tried to slip under her skirt.

“Can I tell you something?” I whispered when we broke to breathe. “What I loved the most was when she would smother me—with her breasts, her ass, or her pussy.” I wanted Kathy to think this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to fulfill a fantasy.

“I never—” she started, but I interrupted.

“Never thought about it, never wanted to, or never had the chance?” Feeling her nipple poke out under her bra and blouse, I knew she was interested.

“Please,” I begged. “From the moment I saw you, I imagined it.” Although that was true, it was not entirely without trepidation. “But we can just do regular if you prefer,” I said, hedging my bets. “Or we could call it a night.” I had my fish on the line and did not want to lose it by yanking too hard.

“Give me a minute,” she said, heading toward her bathroom. The moment she closed the door, I was rifling through her purse. I copied all the data from her phone to mine, figuring it would have her passwords in it. For good measure, I snapped her license, university ID and credit cards.

I finished before I heard the door open. “One more minute,” she said, heading to her bedroom. “Okay,” she said when she had chased all the cats out.

Kathy was naked lying on her side on the bed. She had the lights low, but I could still make out her zaftig shape. Her upper breast drooped onto her lower globe. Her stomach didn’t sag too much, but between it and her thick thighs, her pussy was completely hidden.

I undressed quickly, pressing myself against her big, warm, soft body. Her size and age were both new records for me, but, as I recalled, older and plumper women liked being kissed, rubbed, and sucked as much as other women. Moving down to her breasts, there was an abundance to enjoy. Her nipples were almost too big to fit in my mouth, but she seemed to respond to my attempts. I hugged her and rolled her on top of me, those pillowy mounds smothering my face. As I sucked and squeezed them, I had to ensure I had a gap to inhale.

Turning my head to the side, I gasped for air. “That’s so sweet,” I sang, “I love it.” I wasn’t completely pretending to like being pinned to the mattress by her voluptuous body. It wasn’t easy to judge her reactions from that vantage point, but she didn’t pull away, either finding the attention satisfying or at least curiously indulging my desire. I spent several minutes tending her huge boobs before I rolled her off me and onto her back.

The flushed smile on Kathy’s face showed her enjoyment. My hands roamed her body, straying between her legs to gauge her excitement. When I kissed her, I felt her legs open, and she seemed ready for me to enter her, but I wanted to avoid that risk. Instead, I moved to set the hook.

Rising up above her, grinning broadly, I whispered, “Would you sit on my face, please?”

Her face and voice showed uncertainty but interest. “I’ve never done it before.”

“I’ll show you,” I said. “If you don’t like it, we can do whatever you want.” I got her up on her knees on the bed, taking the opportunity to put on a condom. Sliding under her from behind, I realized how easily she could smother me if she lowered her big ass onto my mouth and nose. I moved far enough so I was able to look up past her round belly, between her dangling mammaries, to see her wide eyes looking down to mine.

There was not much clearance between my face and her vulva. As I began to nibble and kiss, she closed the distance to maximize contact and grind herself against me. My fingers sank into her butt, allowing me to jostle her about a bit, giving me chances to inhale when necessary.

As unfamiliar as the position was to her, Kathy quickly came to enjoy it. She didn’t seem to care whether she rubbed against my chin, mouth, nose or forehead. Her slickness covered every part of my face, and I helped spread it to every part of her genitals. She seemed to need no special effort from me as she rode my face.

For a bit, she moved forward, mashing her ass against me. There was a momentary taste of asshole, but it was lost in the billows of soft, sweaty skin. She may not have noticed that my squirming beneath her was not just to stimulate her, but also because I needed oxygen. Fortunately, she preferred leaning her ass against my chest. When she slid back, it gave my nose an opening.

Kathy’s thighs grew weaker, perhaps unaccustomed to this activity, perhaps feeling her excitement rising to a peak. I let go of her ass as she rested her full weight on me. My mouth pressed up into her generous folds, my tongue exploring the familiar female architecture within. This position tends to obscure the clit amid hanging swollen tissue, but sucking and nibbling the proffered flesh can still achieve the desired goal. Reaching up to her tits, my fingers blindly explored them, seeking her turgid nipples but massaging their full mass.

Buried beneath her, the only indication of her approaching climax was the jerkiness of her movements. Fortunately, I had been able to take a breath just before she froze because her pussy completely covered my face.

Kathy shuddered for long seconds then collapsed forward, her mound plastered against my forehead and my nose pushed up into I don’t know what. I didn’t expect her to be loud, and her thighs muffled what sound she did make. When the orgasm passed, she shifted a bit, and I was able to gasp for air. I decided it was time to complete the subterfuge, so I moaned and gasped as if I were cumming. Kathy was in her own world, but I wanted to have the excuse if she wondered.

She finally remembered me and rolled on her side. “That was wonderful,” she sighed.

“Thank you,” I exclaimed, “I was so turned on I came while you were on top of me!” I slid off the empty condom and knotted it as if it were full.

For several minutes, I kissed her beaming face as my hands stroked her sweaty body. “When I woke up this morning, I never imagined I would meet someone like you today, much less to fulfill my fantasy,” I was giddy. Taking a more rational tone, I said, “It all happened so fast! I don’t want to overstay my welcome. Besides, I have to feed my cats.” I dressed and kissed her goodbye.

I felt a little guilty about what I had done, but I was sure I had given her the best sex she had had in years. With luck, what I got from her phone would be enough, but in case I needed more information, I decided I would leave things open-ended. Any misgivings were banished by the knowledge that I was doing it for Ms. J.

When I got home, I found that the passwords from her phone were enough to give me complete access to her computer as well as Wilson’s. Many documents seemed to be Ms. J’s work. I saw exactly how the novice hacker had set it up to attack her computer using some malware he probably found on the internet. Deleting the files would be easy, but I wanted to be sure they didn’t try again.

I encrypted all the data, theirs and Ms. J’s, and made it look like a ransomware attack. To make it more believable and discredit the hacker, I made it look like it came through the malware he had installed. The ransom demand was only $1,000, so I figured they might actually pay, although they would just be throwing away some bitcoin since I wouldn’t risk trying to collect it. In practice, most people don’t get their data back.

Knowing what he was guilty of, Wilson probably wouldn’t want too much scrutiny by competent computer professionals. Pointing the finger clearly at the hacker, there would be no repercussions for Kathy. I would feel a little bad about making an excuse not to see her again (it’s not you, it’s me), but I did give her a night she’ll remember for a long time.

“Well?” Ms. J asked when I brought her cappuccino in the morning.

“It has been taken care of,” I said. “No one was harmed except Wilson. His secretary had an exciting night, but it won’t be connected to me or to you.”

“May I,” I asked, walking to her computer. I got rid of the malware and installed better defense software.

“You said you don’t want to know the details,” I said when I was done. “I will confess that I had sex with someone, but I did not ejaculate.” I showed her the empty used condom. “I did enjoy it, but it allowed me to get the information I needed.”

“Are you wearing the buttplug?” she asked. I had thought about it, but didn’t think sex with Kathy would necessarily require it. Since it seemed like a gray area, I had decided it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Yes, Ms. J,” I said, trying not to be smug.

The rest of the week was productive. The avoidance of the crisis seemed to improve Ms. J’s spirit and give her new energy. As Winston Churchill said, “Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at without result.”

I monitored Kathy’s and Wilson’s computers as they discovered and tried to recover from what I had done. There was a short article in the student newspaper reporting, without specifics, the computer attack and recommending people change their passwords.

Using a burner phone, I had kept in contact with Kathy. She reported she was busy with work, so I didn’t have to make excuses. If Sunday wasn’t busy, I planned to begin the break-up process.

Sunday morning, Ms. J texted me at 9 AM, but I had to look twice to be sure it wasn’t from Jane. It said, “Bring coffee, condoms and silicone lube.” My mind spun as I collected the items.

When I entered, she was sitting with her legs up on the couch—wearing her bright red robe! Like one of Pavlov’s dogs, I was immediately salivating and stiffening. I set the cappuccino on the end table and awaited instructions.

“Put that over your head,” she said, pointing to a dark piece of cloth next to the coffee. It turned out to be a black nylon stocking. Pulling it over my face like a bank robber, it obscured my vision somewhat, but I could breathe with no trouble.

“You look ridiculous,” she said, not thrilled with the result, “but at least you look less like you. Leave the lube and the condoms here. Undress and put your clothes over there.”

She sipped her coffee as she watched me undress. My cock was stiff in anticipation, without knowing what to expect. She pointed to the floor next to her, eyeing me from my chest to my feet, deliberately avoiding my covered face.

“Turn around, slowly,” she said. Standing so close, she could easily have reached out and touched me; I longed for such a touch. Her eyes presumably scanned my backside as well as my front, as I made several revolutions before she put down her empty cup.

“From the nightstand by my bed, get me the blue dildo and the large vibrator,” she said. I had seen them before and quickly fetched them.

“Face that wall,” she said. Ms. J had slid down on the couch, almost supine. I stood by her waist, facing the wall beyond her head. She was inches from my crotch, both by reach and line of sight, but I could see almost nothing of her, my peripheral vision obscured by the fabric.

“Use the lube and stroke your penis,” she instructed. I could sense some movement by her, but could only guess. Has she opened the robe? Was she stroking herself? Was she using the dildo?

“Go ahead, enjoy it for a while,” she said. I wasn’t sure if she was genuine in her encouragement when she added, “Maybe it will do something for me too.” The idea that she might enjoy watching me made my cock pulse in my hand and I moaned softly.

“Yes, don’t suppress it, let me hear it,” she hissed. “No faking, no theatrics, but show me you appreciate what I’m giving you.”

Reaching cruising velocity as I pumped, my other hand began to get involved. Unlike earlier sessions, I was naked, and my free hand automatically roamed, massaging my chest, pinching my nipples, grabbing my ass, playing with my balls. Masturbating with Ms. J right next to me got me so excited I gasped, suddenly feeling too close to the edge. She had not mentioned the rules, but she knew she didn’t need to remind me. Tugging my testicles as I squeezed my frenulum, I slowed my roll.

Ms. J sighed, and I could only guess it was in response to what she had noticed me doing. We continued this way a while longer. My imagination of what she was doing to herself and the inspiration I was giving her was positive feedback, and my moans and grunts grew louder. She also began to make some sounds.

“Put on the condom and continue,” she said, her voice low and husky. The vibrator came to life with a steady buzzing.

While opening the condom and applying it to my raging organ, I was able to steal a glance at Ms. J. Her robe was partially open, so a gap revealed her body through her cleavage down to her parted thighs. As usual, her dark muff was the most prominent feature. She moved the vibrator over it, dipping down to her pussy. The dildo was not visible, and I pictured it filling her cunt. Resuming my position, I was grateful that the distraction of the condom kept me from erupting at the sight of her so close to me.

“Mmmmm,” she moaned softly as the vibrator hit the spot. Her breathing grew less regular as she worked herself up. My own pleasure was almost a second thought as I took joy in whatever part I played in her increasing arousal. I had slowed my own pace to avoid drifting too close to the brink as each murmur from her sent a shiver through me.

“Stop,” she said, and it took a moment to register. My cock danced in the air, seeking a return of stimulation as I dropped my hands to my sides. “Give me some lube,” her voice was a plea. I looked down to see her right palm out; her left hand still worked the vibrator.

Happy to oblige if that was what she needed to reach her goal, I gave her a few good squirts. As I set the bottle down, she said, “Hands behind your back.” I concluded that any further reward for me would come after hers.

The vibrator clicked to a new setting, a loud, stuttering pattern, and I guessed she was near her peak. It was loud enough that I was uncertain that I heard what she said. My mind had blown a fuse at that moment because my shaft felt Ms. J’s hand around it. Her well-lubed palm took only a few strokes to make my dick slide like a piston in a race car engine.

Whatever stiffness I had lost when I was ordered to stop was more than regained when the reality sank in: Ms. J was touching me, touching my cock, squeezing the head, pumping the shaft. I could hardly stand as my brain finally decoded the words it thought it had heard. Whether they were accurate or not, with her gravelly voice competing with the sex toy and my hormones affecting every nerve input, I was beyond deciding.

“You may cum whenever you want,” was what I heard.

Ms. J could have been using sandpaper and I still would have been on the verge of exploding. Her thumb and fingers gripped me firmly, guaranteeing her soft, warm, slippery palm maintained contact with the underside of my penis from where she polished my glans on the upstroke to where the heel of her hand mashed my testicles on the downstroke.

“I’m gonna cum,” I moaned, and I felt her hand tighten on my shaft.

Ms. J was gasping her own orgasm, and she yanked my cock involuntarily as she writhed with pleasure. The sound of the vibrator changed as she released it, replacing it with her fingers on her hypersensitive flesh.

My penis was twitching with desperation, on the threshold of a ruined orgasm when I felt Ms. J’s hand resume its motion. I knew then that she wanted me to cum, wanted me to be a part of her satisfaction—maybe not me Tom Fenner, her inadvertent slave, but me a cock under her control.

Either way, I cried, “I’m cumming, I’m cumming! Thank you, Ms. J! Oh, you make me feel so good.” The words were punctuated by my grunts and gasps.

I struggled to keep my balance as the fire flashed through me. Spurt after spurt of my hot liquid filled the condom and I looked down to check that it was securely in place, daring to glance at Ms. J as well. Her eyes were closed, her left hand lingering between her legs and her right hand slowly milking my still spasming organ. I wanted to shout my pleasure and my gratitude, but I could not disturb her reverie, so I stood silently until she dropped her hand. She turned off the vibrator, whose continuing sound I had not even noticed.

After a few minutes of silence, I heard her move on the couch, guessing that she was putting herself back together. I had dared to move one hand from behind my back to ensure that the condom did not fall off my slowly shrinking cock.

“Remove that from your head,” she said, her voice back to normal. “Look at me.” I removed the stocking and turned to her. “I rewarded you for your initiative and skill in solving that problem. When I was considering it, I decided I would enjoy myself as well.”

“Clean up, get dressed and go,” she said. “You will do a pedicure this afternoon.” Ms. J would surely want to reconfirm our relationship, and that was fine with me. Although she did not overtly watch me, she was aware of what I did next.

Carefully removing the condom, I made sure I captured every drop so I wouldn’t drip on the floor. Raising the tube of my milky fluid to my lips, I used two fingers to empty it into my mouth. As I swirled it over my tongue before swallowing it, the taste of condom and lube were there, but the slimy saltiness seemed sweeter and richer, which I could only attribute to the effect of Ms. J.