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Prof. Winston McGonigall

It’s not easy, arguing with a woman who is having an orgasm. Give the man credit.

Tami, still hanging from her hands, turned her lithe shoulders to and fro to turn her torso, showing off the belly, a big contrast from that marvelous, scooped-out concave tummy of prior days. Her swollen mounds swayed ponderously with her motions. “What do you think? Rod and I finally got it done!” “What are you now, six months?’ “Almost seven.” She smiled a very satisfied smile. Happily pregnant women have that glow about them. The ruddy cheeks, the bright eyes, the full lips. Tami was no exception. For once her lips were not purple or blue with cold. They had the lush redness of romantic poetry. And her body was flushed red, almost radiating heat as if to melt the snow around it.

I said hi to the TLs, proud that I could remember their names. It was strange to see them out in the snow, and not down in that shadowy “underworld” where Melissa guided me and where Belinda explored the well-lit recesses of Tami’s rectum. I was introduced to Professors Candy Weslowski (the woman) and Winston McGonigall (the older man). Then they continued talking, about courses. There was definitely a disagreement going on. Tami was advocating a stricter math requirement, I think. Melissa and Belinda looked on silently, taking in Tami’s body. They looked at me as if to say, “Isn’t she so much prettier now! Look at those tits! And that belly!” Finally Belinda could not contain her enthusiasm. She whispered to me, “Isn’t a naked pregnant woman pretty? Like an earth mother.” We looked down at Tami’s toes, freezing as always, though the pregnancy had turned them from purplish to reddish. One moment Tami had her feet planted calf-deep in the snow. The next, hoisting herself up a little onto the branch, her breasts swaying, her toes danced lightly as they played girlishly on the powdery surface. “Tami, you’re lactating,” Melissa said. I looked over in alarm. From Tami’s huge, distended left nipple, a rivulet of clear fluid was making its way down the slope of her big breast. “Oh . . . ” Our always-naked friend looked down and giggled, as if half-embarrassed, her sideways mountains jiggling with her laugh. “Take care of me, O.K.?” Thereupon, to my surprise, Melissa and Belinda stepped forward and fastened their mouths on her nipples! They used just their mouths; due to Tami’s allergy they could not risk the contact of their gloves with her skin. It was easy to do. They simply had to lean forward; with Tami hanging from the branch, her nipples were at their mouth level. Their hands were still shoved into their coat pockets. I realized then that Tami’s “dripping” must be a common occurrence nowadays, and the TLs had been waiting for it to happen. They sucked roughly, rapidly, like hungry babies. All the while Tami continued to confer with her colleagues, little gasps from the stimulation punctuating what was becoming an out-and-out argument with Professor MacGonigall. I watched the TLs being suckled and then looked around warily. The quad was deserted except for us. The surrounding buildings were classrooms, and I couldn’t tell if anyone was looking. Maybe it wasn’t worth looking at, being a common sight on campus. Professor Smithers’s lactating breasts being sucked dry, every few hours maybe. The sucking was having an effect on Tami. “I think -- unhh! --we should -- ohh! -- institute the n - new plan.” “This is a fashion school, not a math school,” Professor McGonigall said. Then I remembered what Harald Warmspring said back in May, about the Deanship being a hot potato and Tami being next. Tami was now the Dean! “Zhh -- zhh -- it’s f - for the best. They n - need the math, especially -- ohhh! -- the higher d - derivatives.” A lot of women can come just from having their nipples sucked and Tami was obviously one of them. Watching her ascend to orgasm must be one of the world’s most recognizable sights. I glanced around again, at the buildings around the quad. Surely somebody was watching from somewhere. My thoughts were interrupted by Professor McGonigall’s loud voice. “You are turning this into your personal program! Whatever the benefits of higher math as to your personal couture, your personal clothes, it should not be foisted on everyone else!” Professor Weslowski looked on helplessly in alarm. Tami crested as she shouted back, her suspended body jerking violently against the rasping, sucking tongues. “This -- OHHH! -- school -- OHH! -- cannot -- OHH! -- fall -- OHH! -- behinddd . . . We’ve -- GOT -- to -- m - m - move -- CHHKK! -- FOR -- WARD -- ohhh . . . ” I had already noticed that while conversing in the midst of an orgasm Tami’s words came out rhythmically in time with her gasps, like a form of blank verse. Never more so than now! I heard somewhere that being suspended, with all the muscles stretched out, like Tami was now, intensifies and lengthens the orgasm. But I was in awe of this naked woman, who could chew someone’s head off in argument while such great thudding spasms of pleasure were coursing through her body and her mind. I also had to give credit to Professor McGonigall, who gave as good as he got, holding his ground with this naked, lactating woman bucking and spasming in front of him. “Be real!” he barked, his head leaning closer to Tami’s reddened, gasping face. “This is not the Smithers School of Design! It is not fair to our students!” “It’s -- OHH! -- not ab - b - bout me!” She jerked violently as Melissa bit a nipple and pulled on it, stretching it out and distorting the shape of the huge udder. Her legs jerked in a little dance like a marionette’s. “Like HELL it isn’t!” I thought they were going to come to blows. I never saw professors fight like this! “Look perhaps we can refer this to the Standing Committee,” Professor Weslowski interjected quickly. I didn’t know what this meant, but the two antagonists, the clothed man and the naked woman, fell silent and stared at each other, the woman jerking with the odd aftershock as her nipples continued to be sucked. Then she said, “Okay.” “See you later,” Professor McGonigall said. He nodded to me tightly and left, followed by Professor Weslowski. Tami looked down at her grown-up, hungry babies, then closed her eyes and sighed. Then she looked at me. “Sorry about that. . . I’m getting moody now with these maternal hormones.” She looked down again and said, “Thanks, girls. I think I’m empty now.” With a little kiss to the nipples, the two TLs reluctantly drew back, licking their lips. Belinda said, “Your milk is thicker now.” “Yes,” Melissa concurred. “More flavor.” Tami smiled as if complimented. Then she did something I could not imagine a heavily pregnant woman could do. She swung her feet forward, then hoisted herself on top of the branch! She steadied herself with a hand on each side as she sat up there. Her snow-encrusted toes wiggled idly in our faces. “Well we have to go,” Belinda said. The TLs said goodbye. Tami and I watched them go, trudging through the snow. I looked up at my naked friend. Our breaths formed clouds in the cold, still air. My hands were cold in their gloves. I clapped them together. “I feel like we’ve been plunged into the Arctic,” I observed. Tami looked around. “It’s minus seven Celsius. Twenty degrees Fahrenheit.” “How do you know?” “My nips tell me.” She turned her torso slightly in my direction. “They also tell me you’re happy to see me and are loaded with questions.” “Right as always.”

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