Persephone free porn video

Sometimes I loved being a professor. Most of the time, really. My class is such that usually students don't take it if they aren't serious about it. Classical Mythology is not on the general education list so there are no general education credits for taking it. Teaching a specialized subject typically meant mature and dedicated students.

This semester, however, my Thursday evening class had a handful of miscreants in it, one miscreant more troubling than the others. It seemed Blake Whittaker's sole purpose on Thursday nights was to irritate me.

“Why didn't Persephone just cut off his dick and leave?” she asked, chewing the tip of her pen and regarding me with twinkling eyes.

As was becoming routine, I tried not to rise to the bait. “She was trapped by more than his physical presence; it wouldn't have done any good,” I answered over the other students' laughter. “But as always, I appreciate your unique perspective, Ms. Whittaker.”

Blake flashed me a beaming smile. “Thanks.”

I just stopped myself from pointing out the compliment's sarcasm and continued the lesson instead.

“Wait. So they ended up married?”

Of course that was Blake again. “Yes,” I replied.

“Isn't that Stockholm Syndrome?”

“It could be argued, sure.”

“Why are you teaching us it's okay to marry your abuser?”

I had almost been impressed with the girl's insight, until that last question. “Excuse me?”

“Couldn't you pick a different myth with more feminine empowerment? Why this one? Have you married an asshole that kidnapped you and you're looking for validation?”

I stiffened on instinct. I couldn't tell if Blake was actually angry or just causing trouble. “I'm not married and have never been, nor do I advocate marrying one's abuser,” I answered calmly. “And I aim to teach all the myths, so this one remains in the syllabus, yes. Just because the content may be objectionable doesn't mean we shouldn't learn it.” Hopefully that would shut the girl up.

“Yeah, shut the fuck up, Whittaker,” one of the other students, a typically quiet guy in the back row, spoke up.

“Lang--” I started to admonish the language when Blake completely lost it.

The girl sprung from her desk and turned to face the back, fists clenched at her sides. “You shut the fuck up, Bauman!” she shouted. “Persephone may not have had the guts but I'll slice your fucking dick off and--”

“Ms. Whittaker!” I interrupted, loud enough to be heard over the angry girl. “Do not make threats in my classroom or you can see yourself out!” I'd had enough. When Blake slid back into her seat I continued. “And both of you. Language, please. This is college, isn't it? Am I in the right building? I'm not suddenly teaching middle school, am I?”

Most of the class snickered at that, even Mr. Bauman. “Sorry, Professor,” he said with a blush.

Blake had no such reaction. No blush, no amusement, no apology. In fact, she was gripping her pen so tightly I wondered if it might snap in half.

“Thank you, Mr. Bauman,” I said. “I had planned a completely different assignment, but in light of concerns addressed I think I'll have you each write an opinion piece on whether you agree or disagree with Ms. Whittaker's diagnosis of Stockholm Syndrome, why or why not, and how you would have dealt with the situation if it were you in Persephone's place. And for those of you less, or more, evolved in sexual freedom, if you want to switch Hades's gender for the last part of the piece, feel free.”

More chuckles from everyone but Blake.

“All right, get out of here,” I told them. It was ten minutes early, but I'd kept them a few minutes late last week so it balanced out. “Ms. Whittaker, can I have a word before you go?”

Blake stiffened and sat unmoving in her chair, and once everyone else was out and the door closed behind the last person she stood up with a sigh and approached my desk.

“Why did the myth bother you so much?” I asked without preamble.

Blake chewed her bottom lip and stared at the floor. “If you want me to behave in class you'll probably have to make me,” she said coyly.

My hackles rose and I ignored the inappropriate statement. “You didn't answer my question. Why did it bother you?”

“Do you really want to know?” The coyness fled.

“Yes, of course.”

“Because I'm tired of heteronormative D/s in history. Give me a myth about Sappho kidnapping and enslaving a girl who falls in love with her and I'll be golden.”

I raised an eyebrow, frankly surprised as hell at that answer. “That's quite a double standard, don't you think?”

“Yeah, but that doesn't make it any less true.”

I shook my head, half exasperated and half amused. “Good night, Ms. Whittaker.”

“I wish you would call me Blake... Ms. Whittaker is my mother.”

“And I wish you weren't disrespectful in my class,” I shrugged. “Good night, Ms. Whittaker.”

Blake stared at me. “You have really intense eyes. Has anyone ever told you that? You'd make a good...” She stopped talking and shook her head, finally turning to leave.

I did not ask what I would make a good one of, despite how hot the question burned on my tongue. I let the frustrating young lady leave without further comment.

–

Nights like these I went home and unwound with a strong drink. As soon as I stepped through the front door my cat tried to trip me, as usual. I was ready for it and leaned down to scoop him up, nuzzling his face and letting him kiss mine.

“Hey, Walternate,” I greeted him, giving him one more squeeze before setting him down, where he promptly tried to trip me again. I laughed and sighed at the same time, shutting and locking the door behind me and then moving into the kitchen. “I know, I know, you want food. Little pig.” I filled his bowl and checked his water before pouring myself a scotch on the rocks and settling in my recliner with a long swallow. I could hear Walternate crunching away happily and it made me smile.

I'd found the little asshole in my car one morning during a spring that was too hot to keep the windows up, and he'd been with me ever since – love at first sight. I had of course tried to find his family, putting up fliers and taking out ads and all that, but no luck, and we were both happy to be stuck together. He really is the sweetest cat. I named him Walternate because finding him in my car reminded me of the scene in Fringe where Walter's sitting in his car listening to “Only You”, and I love that song and that show, and I specially loved the Walternate and Fauxlivia names Walter had come up with, so it just fit.

When Walternate finished eating he came in and jumped up onto my lap, parking himself there and proceeding to give himself a bath while I sipped my drink and stroked his fur and told him about my day.

–

Next Thursday we further discussed Persephone and Hades and the idea of Stockholm Syndrome, and the discussion stayed really mature and intelligent until about fifteen minutes before the end of class when Blake inevitably said something entirely inappropriate.

“You know, he probably could've had her compliant a lot sooner if he'd just bent her over and fucked her in the ass. I mean, straight chicks dig that, right?”

None of the other students had a response to that, and I was grateful. “Ms. Whittaker, we were having a mature and enlightening discussion. Is there a reason you felt the need to debase it?”

“I'm just saying,” Blake insisted. “There are better ways to control someone than sappy, spineless romance.”

“Last week you were vehemently opposed to the pairing at all. Today you want him forcing himself on her? Your conflicting points of view are a little staggering,” I pointed out. I was getting tired of the girl deliberately trying to rile everyone up so when Blake didn't have an immediate comeback I pressed my advantage. “Or maybe you just had mind-blowing anal sex this week and it changed your thinking?”

Blake's jaw actually dropped, and I knew I shouldn't take such a thrill in shocking the girl silent, but I did. I was thrilled.

“Yes? No?” I asked when no answer was forthcoming. “Ms. Whittaker, do tell. We're all on the edge of our seats.”

Blake squirmed in her chair and smoldering eyes locked with mine. “No Ma'am, I didn't.”

I nodded. “Keep your comments appropriate from now on unless you want to be put on the spot.”

Those bright green eyes held mine for what seemed an eternity before the girl simply nodded without a word.

–

I held her back again and when everyone else was gone I nodded at the girl. “Thank you for adjusting your responses for the remainder of class.”

Blake walked up to my desk and placed her hands flat on it. “I told you if you wanted me to behave you'd have to make me. And you did.” She paused and then added, “for today. Good night, Professor Franco.”

For today? Jesus. It had been a long time since I'd felt the stirrings of this particular brand of dominance in my blood, but fuck if Blake Whittaker wasn't doing her damndest to call forth the beast. My palms suddenly tingled with the urge to hit her. I dug my fingernails into them to quell the tide. And again I let her go without comment.

–

I almost dreaded Thursday nights now. Especially because ever since we'd wrapped up the unit on Persephone and Hades, Blake had been trying my patience almost constantly. That had been over a month ago, and for the last month, consequently, I had been going to the local dungeon on Thursday nights after class to work out my frustration on a number of willing women. Sometimes Fridays, too.

The proprietor had been surprised to see me my first time back. “Zara, my lovely,” he'd said. “How long has it been? The walls echo with your absence.”

Jasper had always been poetically dramatic.

So I settled at my desk, prepared for another grueling class. We were studying the Sirens and their deadly song.

Ironically, Blake looked incredibly tempting tonight. Her dark blonde hair was curled loosely and her face was painted much classier than usual. I wondered if she had a date after class and the fleeting thought made me clench my fists with raging, unreasonable jealousy. Wow, Zara. Tone it down. The girl's not yours, no matter how nice that would be. And oh God, would that be nice. To be able to just grab her by the hair whenever I wanted and force her-- okay, no. Thoughts like that would lead nowhere good. I'd break the little bitch. Although sometimes I swear I could see in her eyes that she knew exactly what kind of beast she was trying to tempt forth and that she truly wanted me to do something about it. But she was what, maybe 20? 21 at the most, I'm sure. She'd run screaming if she even got a taste of what she was courting. And then I'd probably end up slapped with some kind of lawsuit and lose my job.

“I'd throw myself to my death off a ship if it was you wanting to fuck me,” Blake spoke up in the middle of an indie movie I'd rented on the subject.

I paused the movie and stood up. “Get out of my classroom.”

Her eyes widened and the color drained from her face. You could hear a pin drop for a few seconds before she started pleading with me. “Wait. No. I'm sorry, Professor,” she tried to backpedal. “I was just kidding. I'll be quiet.”

My jaw was clenched tight enough to hurt and I pointed at the door. “Get out of my classroom,” I repeated.

She looked like she was about to cry for a split second before her face hardened and she spoke with a bit of a sneer. “You know, my friend saw you last Thursday night...”

Well, damn. The little bitch thought she was going to blackmail me? Oh, she had another thing coming. “Yeah?” I raised an eyebrow. “Tell your friend to say hello next time, as long as I'm not in the middle of a scene. Now get out of my classroom or I'll call security to escort you out.” I'd like to escort her out myself. “You can come back next week but that's your last chance.”

She was obviously both furious and panicked that her threat didn't work and she stood there staring at me for a minute before gathering up her stuff and walking out the door.

“I apologize to those of you who are here to learn,” I said and turned the video back on.

The rest of class, of course, went without incident.

–

When everyone had left I started to straighten up so I could go home, but the door opened and closed and I turned toward it with a sigh. Blake walked toward me, her eyes red and swollen from crying.

“I said I'll see you next week,” I reminded her with a frown.

“Punish me,” she said, stopping a few feet from my desk.

“Excuse me?” My eyebrows shot up. Not that the idea was unwelcome... just surprising that she'd actually voiced it aloud.

“Punish me,” she said again, her voice strained and scratchy. “Please.”

“No,” I said simply, though the refusal was far from simple. What I wouldn't give to punish her.

She let out a frustrated but short scream and stepped to the wall, then slammed her fist into it over and over until I rushed over and grabbed her wrist to stop her, the scent of blood hitting me square and rendering me feral for the briefest of moments. But a brief moment was enough and I was sucking the blood from her knuckles. I gave a humiliated groan but didn't stop until her skin shone with my saliva and only the faintest traces of red remained.

“Punish me,” she demanded, and I wondered if giving her a little taste would make her back off, so I wrenched her arm behind her back and shoved her hard into the wall.

“Clean it up,” I snapped, using my free hand to wrap in her unruly curls and hold her face right next to the mess she'd made.

She gasped, maybe due to the surprise of the sudden action, maybe because she hadn't had that particular scenario in mind, or maybe because she hadn't actually expected me to capitulate. Whatever it was, her surprise thrilled me and I fought down the urge to really hurt her.

When she finally opened her mouth and hesitantly cleaned the blood from the wall with her tongue, not fighting my hold for even a second, I feared I was lost. A shudder ran through me, twisting my stomach and making me wet. So, so wet. I was in a lot of trouble. I shouldn't have given in, not even to try to scare her off.

“You need to go,” I said darkly, releasing her arm and stepping away from her, taking a slow, deep breath, trying to shake off the mind-numbing arousal settling over me like a warm, fuzzy blanket. Her leaving was the last thing I wanted right now.

She whimpered when I let go. Jesus Christ.

When she reached a shaking hand up to run through her hair, the sleeve of her sweater slipped down and my eyes widened at the healing cuts on her forearm. I grabbed her wrist for the second time, jerking her sleeve up the rest of the way. There were cuts all the way up. “What's this?” Oh dear, I already sounded like she belonged to me and had to answer to me for personal things. Things not done in my classroom.

She just stood there, shaking, and didn't answer me. Her eyes were wide, but there was no fear in them - they were hot. Emeralds being burned in a forge. She was challenging me. Do something, Professor Franco. I swear I could almost read her thoughts. Her expression was that pure; that clear.

Fuck, I needed to get her out the door. Self-preservation warred with desire and almost lost, but I forced myself to let go of her arm and take a step backward, shaking my head. “You need to go,” I said again. “I'll see you next week. Be appropriate or you'll have to drop the class.” I took another step back.

She pulled her sleeve down and rubbed her arm where I'd gripped it. “But I want--”

“I know what you want, Blake,” I interrupted her, “but for both our sakes you can't have it. Please, go.” I turned away from her; I couldn't watch her leave.

“Quit pretending you don't want it too,” she snapped. “I know what you do Thursday nights.”

I spun back to face her, anger boiling just below the surface. “You want a thrashing?” I asked, my voice slightly raised.

“Yes,” she said instantly.

I leaned close and grabbed her by the arm again, digging my nails into her healing cuts and delighting in her little whimper. “Well that's too fucking bad,” I whispered. “You do not want to unleash what's coiled inside me, little girl. You couldn't handle it and you don't deserve it. I'm not easily manipulated and I don't appreciate you trying. Now go home.” I released her yet again and gave her a hard shove toward the door.

“Stupid fucking bitch,” she hissed at me as she stalked out and slammed the door.

If she thought that was going to make me go after her she could wait all night.

–

“Walternate,” I whined when I finally got home, picking him up and snuggling his face. “She's driving me fucking crazy.”

He purred and licked my nose, and I laughed.

“Thanks. You always know what to say.”

He meowed in my face and I held him quickly at arm's length. His breath was horrifying.

“Brush your teeth, God,” I complained, setting him on the floor and filling up his food bowl. He was almost out of water so I refilled that too, then poured myself my customary scotch and decided to watch a movie.

–

Blake wasn't in class on Thursday. And while I had to admit it went much more smoothly without her there, a little part of me missed the little bitch's antagonistic presence. “Does anyone know why Ms. Whittaker isn't here?” I asked at the end of class while everyone was packing up.

“The school didn't tell you?” one of the girls she usually sat with asked me.

“No, why? What happened?”

“She's in the hospital. I guess she tried to kill herself or something.”

My heart jumped into my throat. “What?”

The girl shrugged and headed for the door. “I don't know specifics. I just heard it around.”

–

Blake's eyes went wide when she saw me and she shook her head and immediately launched into an explanation. “I know you're probably not gonna believe me but it was actually an accident,” she gushed.

“Right,” I said, taking a seat in a chair beside the hospital bed.

“No, really,” she insisted. “I was trying to make a design on my wrist and my dog got spooked by something and launched himself at me. He knocked my arm and the razor slipped.”

“Maybe the underside of your wrist isn't a good place to make a design with a razor if you don't want people to think you're attempting suicide,” I suggested, raising an eyebrow. I wasn't quite sure if I believed her, but she seemed like she was being genuine, and only one wrist was bandaged.

“The doctors don't believe me. Especially once they saw the rest of the cuts. I'm on a 72-hour hold.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Two days. I get out tomorrow. I tried to get them to let me go to class but obviously they denied my heartfelt request, much like someone else I know.”

“You wouldn't by any chance be referring to me, would you?” I asked, pretending to be shocked.

“Of course not,” she lied easily, and then she cast her eyes away from me, staring at her hands. “I, um... I'm sorry for what I said when I left last week.”

“Which was?”

She looked at me in surprise. “You don't remember?”

I slowly folded my arms across my chest and raised an eyebrow at her. “I remember.”

“Oh,” she said, exhaling a puff of air, her cheeks tinting pink. “You just want to embarrass me by making me repeat it.”

“How insightful. You already know you're dealing with a sadist,” I said. “This shouldn't surprise you.”

She looked away again. “I called you a stupid fucking bitch,” she said quietly, the blush on her cheeks darkening. “I didn't mean it. I'm sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

“Hey, maybe they'd let me go if you signed me ou--”

“Not on your life,” I said smoothly. “I'll see you next Thursday, Blake.”

She scowled but was more gracious than last time. “Thanks for coming,” she mumbled.

“You're welcome. I'm glad you're all right,” I said before I could think better of it, and made my exit.

–

“Well she sounds bloody perfect and ripe for the taking. I don't know what you're waiting for,” my best friend Jenna's voice came blaring through the phone when I told her the current situation with Blake.

She was my best friend, yes, but a really bad influence. Horrible, actually. “Gosh, I don't know, Jen, maybe the fact that she's like 21 years old and is my student, and probably needs psychological help that I can't provide?”

“Bollocks,” she said, and I could practically hear her shaking her head. “21 is old enough to make her own decisions, who bloody cares if she's your student, and if she's cutting herself then it seems to me you're the perfect person to provide her with a more stable hand.”

“I don't know why I'm surprised that your moral compass is demagnetized.”

She laughed in my ear. “Zara, the girl is practically begging you—no, I take that back. She's literally begging you to take her in hand. If you don't get your head out of your ass and do something about it I'll likely show up to your next class and do it myself.”

I growled at her, and when I heard her noise of triumph I kicked myself for being too revealing. “Shit.”

“See? Brilliant. I knew you were tempted. Once a domme, always a domme. You can't wish it away, darling.”

“Go fuck yourself, Jenna.”

“Love you too. Glad to be of help.”

We hung up and I sank onto the sofa with another growl. “Walternate,” I whined. “Mommy needs your opinion.”

I heard his little meow and he came bounding out of the bedroom, jumping onto my lap.

“You're such a good boy,” I told him, scratching behind his ears, which he could never get enough of. “What should Mommy do about Blake? Hmm?”

He purred.

“That's not helpful, Walternate.”

Somehow I don't think he was overly concerned with whether it was helpful.

–

By Thursday I still hadn't made a decis—yes, I had. I was packing under my jeans. For all that I tried to deny, I had decided that the next time Blake baited me I would rise to the occasion. No pun intended.

She was more respectful than usual during our discussions, but some of her comments still bordered on inappropriate, and right when I thought maybe I'd missed my opportunity and she wasn't interested anymore, she came out with a bang at the end of class.

“When is the quiz on this unit again, Mistress?”

I blinked, staring at her, willing my face not to turn red. Hopefully I succeeded but I felt so irritated and hot all over that it was impossible to tell. I chose to completely ignore the question and instead addressed the rest of the class. “Did anyone have any questions before you go?”

Blake stared at me with her mouth open a little, not used to being ignored.

“Uh, when is the quiz?” Mr. Bauman asked awkwardly.

“In two weeks,” I answered.

“I just asked you the same que--”

I held up a hand. “I'll speak with you after class, Ms. Whittaker.”

She settled down at that, and when the rest of the students had gone, I strode to the door and locked it, then returned to my desk.

“Come here.”

I think she sensed a shift because her steps were more hesitant than usual.

When she was within reach I grabbed her around the back of the neck and guided her to bend over the desk. I took each of her hands and flattened them beside her head, then brushed hair away from her ear so I could whisper into it. “What was it you said about controlling little bitches by fucking them in the ass?” She gasped and started to push herself up but I held her down. “Stay.” When I felt her stop pushing against my hold I released her and undid my pants. “What's your safeword?”

“I don't have one.”

“Then pick one.”

“I don't need one.”

“I need you to have one.”

She kept her hands flat on the desk but turned her head to smirk at me. “Fine. Persephone.”

I wanted to laugh but kept my expression schooled. “You think this is a game?” I asked, flipping up her skirt and tugging her panties down to her thighs.

Her amused expression fled and she pressed her cheek back to the cool wood, closing her eyes. “No Ma'am. I'm sorry.”

I palmed her cheeks and pulled them apart, guiding the head of the cock between them. “You understand I'm actually about to put this in your ass, right?” I had to double check.

“Yes Ma'am.”

And I gave it a good push to get it a little ways inside.

She yelped and pressed up onto her hands, but I forced her roughly back down. “Do you need your safeword?” I asked, my voice already turning raspy.

“No but I--”

“Then shut up and stay down,” I said, angling my hips as I gave another soft push against the rather taut resistance.

“I have lube in my backpack,” she complained.

“And if I wanted you to enjoy this, I'd use some,” I retorted. “I said shut up unless you're safewording.”

I didn't want to actually tear anything so I went very slow. Every yelp and whimper that passed the girl's lips drove me closer to losing my tightly wound control, and I paused about halfway in to collect myself.

She was whining and squirming her hips away from the intrusion. “Hold still,” I told her, grabbing her by the waist.

She stilled instantly. I'm not sure if she had actually been squirming around on purpose. “I'm sorry,” she said breathlessly. “It hurts.”

I took a few more breaths to control my pace and then started to slowly push again. As it finally slid all the way in she gave a loud cry and stretched her hands out to grab the far edge of the desk. I pulled out and thrust back in, keeping hold of her waist. She started to cry and despite my desire to capitalize on that, I had to check one more time that she understood she could stop it. I knew she did, but maybe in the moment she'd forgotten, and as sadistic as I was, I couldn't abandon all ethics in one sitting. “Do you need to safeword, Blake?” I asked quietly, almost gently.

“No Ma'am,” she replied with a sniffle. “I need to be hurt.”

I wanted to ask her why she'd decided her mythology professor should be the one to hurt her, but that was a question for another time. I grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled out again, then slammed back in.

She cried out and lay still over the desk, tears continuing to slip from her tightly closed eyes.

“You will be respectful to me and to your peers during classes,” I said, starting up a rhythm, a brisk in and out that would be uncomfortable. “Do you understand?”

“Yes Ma'am,” she cried. “Yes Ma'am, yes Ma'am, yes Ma'am!”

She would be sore later but it wouldn't be unbearable. After a few more minutes I stopped and carefully pulled out, tucking the dildo away and doing up my jeans.

She lay across the desk panting softly and crying, and I stroked her back while she calmed and I slowly lowered myself back down from top space.

I was tender with her as I fitted her underwear back over her hips and flipped her skirt back down, then resumed my calming strokes in circles around her shoulder blades and gently fluttered my fingers across the back of her neck and through her hair.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and I was struck by how at ease her voice sounded.

I raised an eyebrow. “I mean it, you know. You will be respectful during class if you want even an ounce of my attention from now on.”

“During--” she sniffled. “During class?”

I allowed a smile to grace my lips. “I don't expect miracles, Ms. Whittaker,” I explained with a tiny chuckle. “I don't expect you to change who you are, I just expect you to control yourself while I'm teaching, and in front of the other students, or you'll find yourself dropped from my roster. If you disrespect me in private we'll deal with it accordingly.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

“Now, if you had plans for tonight, cancel them. You're to go home and go straight to bed, understand?”

Her breath left her in an audible exhale and I felt her shiver beneath me. “Yes, Ma'am.”

“I mean it,” I told her, pulling her to stand and turning her to face me. “You go straight home, brush your teeth, put pajamas on and get in bed. Text me a photo when you're done.”

She swallowed several times before speaking. “Oh, God. Yes Ma'am, I will.”

“Give me your phone.”

“It's, um, it's in my backpack,” she said, nodding toward her seat.

I released my hold. “Go get it. And unlock it, please.”

She looked at me once she had the phone in her hand. “You don't want the passcode?”

“No,” I answered simply.

She unlocked it as she walked back over to my desk, then handed it to me.

I put in my number and handed it back.

She stared at it for a second and then looked at me. “ZF,” she said, her eyes going glassy when she realized what it stood for. “Zara Franco,” she whispered.

“It wouldn't do to have Professor Franco in your cell phone,” I said with a wry grin. “And don't use my name when you text me.”

Her breathing picked up and she hugged the phone to her chest, nodding. Her voice was still airy. “I won't, Ma'am. Thank you so much.”

“Think of me when you're sore tomorrow,” I purred, leaning forward to kiss the top of her head. Oh my God, how had I not noticed how good she smelled before now? I guess I hadn't been this close to her. My teeth bared, wanting to take a mouthful of her hair, her skin, anything, and I stepped back before this session floated away from being a punishment. “All right. Go home and be a good girl. I'll see you next Thursday.”

She looked like a protest was forming on her lips but she clamped down on it and went to get her backpack. “You'll see me sooner than that... I'm texting you a photo, remember?” she apparently couldn't resist saying on her literal way out the door.

I waited until it closed behind her before I laughed.

–

Twenty minutes later I was headed out the door myself when my phone buzzed. I raised an eyebrow as I opened the text from Blake and she was in bed wearing nothing but panties. I quickly shot a text back as I locked the door behind me.

I thought I told you to get in pajamas

She answered right away.

these r my pajamas. this is what I sleep in

I shook my head, juggling my phone and my keys as I tried to get my car unlocked.

Put some pajamas on, young lady

Again she answered right away.

but its hotttt

It's the middle of winter!!!

my dorm mate keeps the heat on like 80

You're sleeping nearly naked in a room you share with someone else??

shes not here right now

Then turn the heat down and put on some pajamas!

she might be home l8r she hates being cold

And the university is paying for your outrageous heating bill...

hey my parents pay for me to live here thats included

I'm sure they don't expect you to have it on 80 all winter. 70 is warm enough

not 4 my roomie

I sighed and pulled up the school database to get her address. She was in the dorms about halfway across campus. A ten-minute walk but about two minutes by car, and I pulled up in front of her building, wondering if I should really even be doing this. And of course I shouldn't, but I honestly didn't really give a fuck, I realized. I got out and went inside, finding number fifteen easily, and knocked on the door.

“Did you forget your key again?” I heard right before the door jerked open, and Blake, in her underwear, stood and stared at me with her jaw slack. “But...”

“Did you really just answer the door in your underwear?” I asked, stepping inside as she moved out of the way, then closing and locking the door behind me. I forcibly ignored the healing cuts all over the front of her body. That could be discussed another time.

“I thought you were my roomie,” she breathed.

“And I thought you were going to be good. Can I only trust you to behave when you're bent over a desk?” Jesus, it really was like a fucking sauna in here. I had to take off my coat or I'd suffocate. I dropped it on the floor and looked around for the thermostat, and when I turned it down to 70 I snapped off the end of the lever and tossed that into the trash can to my right, just inside where the living room became the kitchen. Unreasonable control issue inappropriately resolved, I turned back to Blake, who was still staring at me.

I grabbed her by the wrist and sat on the sofa, tugging her across my lap.

“Hey, hey wait,” she protested, obviously realizing what I was about to do. “I'll get in pajamas, I'm sorry... I'm sore already, please don't spank me...”

I steered clear of her bottom this time, bringing my palm down with stinging slaps across the backs of her thighs until she cried. Then I set her on her feet and looked her in the eye. “Go put on pajamas, Blake. Right now.”

“Can it—can it be shorts?” she asked miserably, wiping her eyes.

“Yes, it can be shorts.” Oh my, she was adorable like that.

As she turned to head to her room, presumably, a key clicked in the lock and the front door opened. A whirlwind of a girl breezed in and kicked the door closed. “Why is it fucking freezing in here?” she complained instantly, and my God she must really be sensitive to temperature because it had been about five minutes since I'd turned the heater down.

Before Blake or I could react whatsoever the girl was at the thermostat having a fit. “What the fuck! Did you break the heater? Why is it on 70?!” she shrieked, and then finally turned around to notice her surroundings. She saw Blake first, eyes traveling down to fixate on the girl's bright red thighs, then she turned to me and her entire demeanor changed. “Ohhhhhhh,” she said. “You're—ohhhhhh. I'll just, uh, I mean... it—it's fine. I'll go put on warmer clothes...” She literally ran toward the back of the dorm.

That left me wondering what exactly Blake had told her about me and how much in jeopardy my job was at this moment.

The girl whimpered at me and disappeared down the hall after her roommate, then sheepishly came back in in a pair of silk shorts and a tiny matching white camisole. “She, um, she doesn't know your name or that you teach here,” she whispered to me.

“She could easily find out,” I snapped, a little more harsh than I'd intended. It really wasn't Blake's fault that my domme complex sent me barging into her dorm just because she wouldn't wear something to bed.

“She wouldn't tell,” Blake promised. “And she's banging Dr. Greene from the chemistry department.”

“Alastair?” I asked in shock before I could stop myself. He was banging a student? I would never have guessed that in a million years. Someone like me, yeah, it's not a stretch to imagine. Someone like the brilliant, socially stunted Dr. Greene? It's a stretch.

“I don't know his first name, but there's only one Dr. Greene, right?”

“Yeah,” I said absently, my mind trying to wrap around the whole situation and kind of failing. I shook it off and looked up at her from my seat on the couch. “Come here.”

She edged closer and stood in front of me.

“Sit.” I patted my own thighs and she sat gingerly on my lap. My arms went around her and I slid one hand under her tank top, lightly tracing her cuts with the pads of my fingers. I didn't say anything for awhile, we just sat in silence like that, and then after a few minutes I sighed. “All right. Go to bed. I'll see you next week.”

She nodded and moved to kiss my cheek but I put a hand on her chest to stop her.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “You haven't even come close to earning that. Good night, Ms. Whittaker.”

I could see her temper flare, but then she blushed and turned away from me. “Good night,” she mumbled.

I put on my coat and saw myself out.

–

She texted me just as I was getting into my car.

am I allowed to touch myself

I hit my knee on the steering wheel and cursed, then sent back a response.

For now

whats that mean

It means until we have a discussion and come to an agreement about rules and restrictions, you can touch yourself

ok

As long as you keep your pajamas on

i will

Good night Ms. Whittaker

nite maam

Chapter Two

The week flew by in a haze of classes and grading papers, and when Thursday evening came around and I was at my desk waiting for 7:30 I realized I was nervous. That's why my palms were clammy and I kept having to wipe them on my pants. Jesus Christ, nervous? I'm sure my face reflected my inner disgust at the thought and I was glad no one was here early to see it.

I was nervous, I concluded upon some unwanted reflection, because if Blake didn't behave during class then by my own irrevocable decree things were over, almost before they started. And now that I'd had a taste of her I didn't want that to happen. I'm sure she didn't either but I had no idea how adept she was at being able to control herself.

My stomach clenched when she walked through the door and I quashed the sensation immediately, not thrilled to be reacting so viscerally to her. I like to be in control, if that hasn't been made painfully obvious, and feeling nerves and twists in my stomach makes me irritated. I didn't want her to misread my expression and think I was irritated with her, though, so I forced myself to relax and gave her a little smile. She was the first one here. “Good evening, Ms. Whittaker.”

“Good evening, Professor,” she said politely, and after surveying the room to make sure we were alone she walked to my desk and whispered, “I could barely sit down on Friday...”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think now is a good time to discuss it?”

“Nobody else is here yet, and I--”

“But they will be any minute,” I pointed out.

“I'm sorry,” she said with a blush. “May I see you after class?”

I kept a smirk from my lips and nodded. “You may.”

–

We had moved on to discussing Aphrodite and Hephaestus, and one of the guys mentioned Xena, so now we were off on a tangent.

“She was my fave,” the guy explained. “Aphrodite, I mean.”

“That's just because you thought the actress was hot,” his friend nudged him.

“Yeah, so?”

I snickered.

“Who was your fave, Professor?” the first guy asked. His name was Jordan Meeks.

“You're assuming I've seen the show?”

“I thought all lesbians have seen it. Isn't that a requirement?”

Now my eyebrows shot up. “You're assuming I'm a lesbian?”

“Well I've been at this college for three years, so...”

Oh, lovely. He'd been around for my infamous affair with the dean two and a half years ago. We had tried to keep it under wraps but we'd both gotten a little too tipsy at one of the fundraising events and made out with each other in plain view of staff, students and civilians. It had not been one of my finer moments. We had both gotten suspensions under our belts for that but thankfully had kept our jobs.

“Okay, well, fine,” I said with a snort of laughter. Better to laugh it off than seem embarrassed. I mean I wasn't really embarrassed, just felt a little awkward. “My favorite was Varia.”

“Ooh, I heard the V and thought you were about to say Velasca,” Jordan grinned.

“I do like a little crazy,” I said, pretending to think on it.

Blake opened her mouth and I tried not to be obvious about holding my breath. Moment of truth.

“I think if the show had been on more recently Xena and Gabrielle would have been together. I think they were in love but the mainstream media at the time was too homophobic to do any more than hint in that direction.”

I faltered but recovered quickly, impressed with her answer. “That's a really good point,” I agreed.

“Same goes for Warehouse 13,” the girl next to Blake, Jessica, spoke up. “Myka and Helena were in love, their actresses even confirmed it, but nobody was doing gay on TV back then. A little in movies but not TV shows.”

“I haven't seen that one but I do remember hearing about the hype,” I nodded. “Good points, both of you. There's probably a lot of shows that are a little older that would have gone differently if they were on now.”

“Yeah, and it's not even like it's been that long,” Blake added. “These shows aren't that old. The media has come a long way in a short time, I think.”

“And then you have channels like Starz, HBO, Showtime, and Netflix Originals that will do anything,” Jordan said.

“That's true!” Greg Bauman joined in the conversation.

I sat back and let them all talk about it with each other, and my phone buzzed in my pocket. I discretely took it out to look at the text and smothered a grin.

how am I doing maam

She was so involved in the conversation with her peers that had the alert not clearly said “Blake” and the message not had her lack of capitalization and punctuation I would never have believed she'd just sent a text.

Wonderful, I replied.

–

When everyone else had filed out I went over and locked the door, then sat on the edge of my desk. “Thank you,” I told her, trying not to show my relief. “Your participation was very appropriate and very much enjoyed. Come here.” I opened my knees as she approached so she could stand between them, and I put my hands on her waist, leaning forward to kiss her cheek.

Her breath hitched and she closed her eyes, her hands coming to rest just above my knees.

I curled my fingers around the hem of her sweater and lifted, and she raised her arms to help me remove it, then settled her hands back where they were.

I abandoned the sweater behind me on the desk, leaving her in a tank top. I traced up and down one bare arm with a fingertip. “Let's talk about these,” I said, having decided to finally broach the subject.

“You disapprove,” she said, laying her forehead on my shoulder.

“No,” I replied.

She picked her head up abruptly. “What?”

“That surprises you, even with all you know about me?” I asked.

“Everyone disapproves,” she said, and her voice sounded resigned to me. “My parents, my doctors, my friends.”

“I don't,” I assured her.

She was quite obviously struggling to believe me. I could tell just from her body language, without her even saying anything.

I picked up one of her hands and turned it so the underside of her wrist was facing me. “Stay away from here,” I said, running two fingers across the scar she'd accidentally made a couple weeks ago. I repeated the process with her other wrist, then reached under her skirt and stroked across the skin of her thighs, over each of her femoral arteries. “Stay away from here...” I moved my hand from her thighs to her throat, gripping it gently at first, then applying slight pressure. “And here.”

Her mouth was open, eyes closed, breath coming fast and shallow. “Yes Ma'am,” she whispered, her voice having gone from resigned to full of something else. Relief, maybe. Arousal. It was difficult to tell at the moment.

I released the pressure on her throat but kept hold of her there. “And you'll ask me for permission before you do it,” I breathed against her ear.

A shudder ripped through her and she leaned forward on me for support. “Yes Ma'am,” she agreed readily.

I could feel myself sliding toward top space and I really didn't want to be there right now, so I let go of her and put my arms around her, pulling her into a hug and kissing the top of her head. “Okay, I've got to get home. If you're a good girl maybe we can meet for coffee at the beginning of the week.”

She clung to me and I allowed her to do it, counting in my head to calm myself down.

When I reached sixty I felt I could speak without growling orders. “What's wrong?”

She answered without taking her head away from my neck and her words were a little muffled. “I want to stay with you,” she said, in tears. “I wish you wanted to see me more.”

What I wouldn't give to take her home and—stop, Zara. “Hey, listen,” I said, picking her up and settling her on my lap. “I do want to see you more. Not wanting to see you isn't the reason I'm not with you more.”

“You have—do you have a girlfriend?” she asked, giving an outright sob.

“No, no honey, no,” I said instantly. “I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay?” I felt her nod against me and I scooted her to sit on the desk, then stood up facing her. “Look at me, please.”

She stared at the desk while she wiped her eyes and then slowly lifted her head to look at me. While her tears would normally move me to dripping arousal, these were not the sort of tears that affected me like that. These sort of tears pulled at my heart, even as stagnant as it had been for awhile.

“Please believe me when I tell you I want to be with you, more than is healthy for either of us. I have a tendency to take too much, too fast.”

“But that's okay,” she started to protest. “I don't mind if you--”

“You're not listening,” I said sternly and she fell silent. “I take too easily and you give too easily. You cannot, absolutely cannot, lose yourself. That is the number one thing that I need you to understand and remember. No matter what we do together, no matter how high you jump when I even look like I'm thinking about snapping my fingers, you can't lose yourself. You have to stay who you are, and that means we don't see each other every day. You have to keep living your life outside of this power exchange.”

She stared at me for long moments before she lowered her eyes to the floor. “I've never been good at being alone. I've never really wanted to be myself, or be by myself. I don't like myself very much, if you haven't noticed.”

“And as many times as I will break you down to nothing, I will make you build yourself back up,” I insisted. “I am not going to strip away your identity, Blake, no matter how much you beg. Your dignity is another story, but your identity has to remain.”

“What if I don't really know who I am?”

“Then you just keep going until you figure it out. I'm not going to figure that out for you. But you do know some things about yourself, don't overlook that. You may not know exactly who you are yet, but you know what you need, and that's a start.”

–

I turned around halfway home, literally cussing myself out in the car as I drove back to campus and parked in front of her dorm. Really, Zara? Give the speech you just gave and then cave twenty minutes later and go pick the girl up?

I grumbled all the way to her door and knocked quietly.

“Blake, get the door!” I heard from inside.

“Someone's at the door?”

“I just heard a knock! Go get it, will you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Blake said, and a few seconds later the lock clicked and the door opened. “Hi,” she said breathlessly.

“Glad you didn't answer in your underwear this time,” I said with a smirk.

She batted her pretty lashes at me.

“Come on. Go get some stuff,” I said with a sigh.

Her whole face lit up and she stood up straighter. “Really?!”

“Yes, really. Hurry up before I change my mind. And you'll be in the guest room, by the way.”

“Give me five seconds!” she said and dashed off, leaving the door open.

“Who was it?” I could hear her roommate ask from the back of the dorm.

“It's my, um, it's Miss F,” she said. “She's here to pick me up.” She spoke much quieter than her boisterous roomie.

“You got a date?”

I strained to hear Blake's response, wondering whether she'd call this a date.

“I dunno. We're just gonna hang out.”

“Then why are you grabbing your toothbrush?”

“I'm spending the night. Stop embarrassing me.”

“Oh my G--”

“I gotta go.”

She appeared with her backpack, cheeks flushed, and zoomed out to join me in the hallway, closing the door behind us. She shoved her key in the lock and turned it, engaging the deadbolt, and then she was ready to go.

"Roommate giving you a hard time?” I couldn't help asking with a chuckle.

“I do the same thing to her. We're both really nosy,” she said by way of answer.

“Did you pack pajamas?” I asked as we got to the car and I unlocked the doors, hearing the familiar double beep of the alarm deactivating.

“Yes,” she said, getting in and buckling her seatbelt. “I really was only sleeping in my underwear because Mel kept the heat so high. Thank you, by the way, for breaking the thermostat. I can breathe in my own dorm now.”

“You're quite welcome.”

The short drive was silent with me concentrating on the road and Blake staring out her window. When we reached my house I opened the garage with the remote and pulled inside, then clicked the remote again to close the loud metal door after us.

Blake covered her ears until it stopped. “Oh my God,” she complained.

“Yeah. Tell the university to pay me more and I'll get it fixed,” I said wryly, leading her into the house, immediately picking up Walternate so he didn't trip either of us.

He sensed a new person and started sniffing the air even before Blake got through the door. “Meow!”

“Aww, you have a cat?” she asked, her voice going squeaky as she leaned down and shoved her face in his.

He eyed me briefly, as if asking permission to enjoy the attention, and then purred as he rubbed his scent glands along her jaw.

“Can I hold him? Her?”

“Him,” I said, handing him over. “His name is Walternate.”

“Walternate?” she asked, snuggling him close as he continued to purr and mark his territory wherever her could reach.

“Yeah. It's from a show called Fringe.”

“I've heard of it. Sci-fi, right?”

“Yes. It's great; you should rent it sometime. Or if you prove to be responsible you can borrow my DVDs.”

“I'm not a kid. You do realize this, right?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

“I know sixty-year-old people who aren't responsible,” I replied, raising mine back at her. “It has nothing to do with age. But for the record, I know you're not a kid. You wouldn't be here otherwise.”

“Walternate says you should let me borrow the DVDs so I can learn allllll about his name,” she said in a person-talking-to-or-about-a-cat voice.

I wondered if I wouldn't have to worry about her trying to manipulate me into taking more than I wanted to if I just let her hang out with Walternate. She was obviously in love. He had the ability to command all of her attention and for some reason that put me at ease.

“Um, I know my cat, and he wouldn't say that. He cares about two things, love and food. He doesn't care about names or DVDs.”

“He totally said it,” she insisted.

“Well then I guess I'll think about it,” I grinned.

As soon as I stepped foot in the kitchen and opened the cupboard that housed his bag of food he scrambled out of Blake's hold and made a beeline for his bowl. I fed him and kissed his head, then stood up and stretched with a yawn.

“Make yourself comfortable and you're welcome to anything I have to eat or drink, except my beer. I'm exhausted, I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning.”

“Uh, where's the guest room?” she asked, blinking at me.

“Oh. Right. You can see how often I have company,” I said, running a hand over my face. Jesus, Zara. Some hostess. “It's down this hallway. Come on.” I showed her the room, the bathroom, and my room. “If you really, truly need something you can come in my room and get me, but other than something urgent, I don't want you coming in here tonight. Understand?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, good night.”

“Night.”

I slipped into my room and shut the door, then forced myself to put on pajamas before crawling into bed and hugging my pillow, grateful for its soft, fluffy comfortableness and the nearness of sleep.

--

Inexplicably I dreamt of vacationing in the Alps with Blake, her cheeks red as we stood in the snow glancing over a map of the sprawling city below us. She was wearing a knit hat and scarf, and somehow I think I had made them for her.

When I woke in the morning and realized I dreamt of the little brat in my living room, I knew I was in so much trouble.