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By Anastasia Toy
"Excuse me, professor?"
I looked up. Standing in the half opened door to my office was Denise
Mayberry, a sophomore taking my course, Introduction to Sociology. I
looked up from my paperwork.
"Yes, Denise."
"I've been having some difficulties understanding some of the material.
Could you spare some time for me?"
Without waiting for a reply, she stepped inside and closed by office
door behind her. She leaned back against the door, still holding the
doorknob with both hands behind her back, so that her body arched
slightly toward me. I raised my eyebrows and took her in.
She was definitely a looker. You tend to get a couple in each
introductory class: very pretty girls who don't want anything too
academically demanding. They're never enrolled in the higher level
courses - what they major in is anybody's guess. Denise was
particularly attractive and, it must be said, particularly slow. Well,
that's not exactly true; she was doing poorly, but seemed to have some
intellect or at least the potential for one. She just seemed not to
care about the material.
Or maybe she just cared about other things more. That would explain her
preferred style of dress, which was always provocative - now more than
ever, I was realizing. It was early February and even at our southern
university that didn't make for very warm weather. Despite the chill
she was wearing a short, pleated skirt and a pair of high heeled
espadrilles. Hadn't those gone out of style years ago? The heft of her
breasts was obvious in a tight halter top over which her long blonde
hair, probably dyed, cascaded.
A sexual display, I thought. Probably accentuated for our little
meeting - hoping to get some concession from me. Fat chance.
"Come on in," I said, in a voice that told her I'd noticed she already
had.
She made her way to my desk and sat in the chair I had for visitors.
Resting her elbows on the desk, she put her face in her hands and
leaned forward, forming a triangular frame for her hanging, heavy
breasts.
"I don't think I'm going to do well in this class," she said abruptly.
"Not if the first test is anything to go by," I said. Time to be firm.
"Maybe there's something I could do - extra credit, a project, retake
the test..." she trailed off.
"You have the same choices that everyone else in the class has. Work
hard and do well or slack off and score badly. I told everyone,
including you, that there would be no exceptions or special provisions.
You're always free to come by my office during my hours if you have
specific questions, but that help is for the future, not the past."
Denise sat up and put her head down. "If I fail this course, I'll be
put on academic suspension. My parents won't pay for college any more."
"I'm terribly sorry, Denise, but I have to keep the rules pure. You'll
just have to work harder."
"But professor," - still talking to the ground - "I'm not good at
working, either. I try, but somehow it just doesn't happen. Maybe if I
worked here in your office - I just need some support, sometimes. To
keep me away from distraction."
I smiled. "You mean like a study hall here in my office?" She nodded.
"I'm afraid that's out of the question; I respect your difficulties,
but I can't sacrifice my entire schedule for one student."
Now she sat silently, still staring at the floor. Five seconds passed,
then ten. Time to take a little risk. I stood up and walked around to
her side of the desk. It's funny how I always forget how tall I am -
six and a half feet and suddenly towering over this tiny girl. I rested
half standing on one edge of the desk, my legs slightly apart. I bent
forward and rested a hand on Denise's shoulder.
She looked up - her eyes were damp - "Professor?"
"You're having problems, Denise. Why don't you tell me about them?"
"Professor Adams, I don't know if I can tell you about them." She was
sniffling.
"Go ahead, I won't judge. Is it drugs?"
"No no no. No. It's... it's boys. I was dating a popular guy."
"Who, if you don't mind me asking?"
"DeShaun Williams, professor."
Oh. DeShaun Williams was a star on our football team, which at a large
state school is a big deal. About as eligible as they come. "And?" I
asked.
"And I was so popular." Now she was really sobbing. "And so when he
asked me to do things, I didn't want to say no and I did them and now I
feel bad and I don't know what to do and..."
She was talking very quickly and on the verge of full-blown hysterical
tears. All an act, I was sure. A girl, even a young one, had to know
what she was getting into with the DeShaun Williamses of the world. All
she'd really told me was that I had an opportunity. I moved my hand to
cup her cheek.
"Calm down. I'm not sure what you're talking about, not sure of the
details, but I have some idea. You have to give a lot of time to him?"
"Yes, but it's not just that. It's also the things he asks me to do,
the way it makes me feel and -"
I cut her off: "Whatever. Sometimes we make situations that only we can
resolve. This is one of those times. I can't help you with DeShaun."
Hope had been growing on her face, but it disappeared. "Professor?"
"Let's put it this way: right now you're sacrificing your schoolwork
for DeShaun, right?"
"Sort of, I guess..."
"And when you say you can't work, you're saying that you don't think
you have what it takes to get out of that situation, is that right?"
"Maybe... I don't know..."
"Well, you have two choices. You can either stop making sacrifices for
DeShaun and do your work or you can start making some sacrifices for
me."
"Professor?"
Now or never. I unzipped my trousers and withdrew my cock, which was
already semi-erect. "It's your choice."
Five seconds passed. Ten. Fifteen. She was crying softly - all an act.
At first slowly, she took my cock in her hands and moved her face
towards it.
"On your knees," I said softly. She gave a sob, but kneeled between my
legs and began to suck my cock.
"We all choose the sacrifices we make, Denise. This is your choice, do
you understand?"
Still crying, she nodded. Fuck, it was kind of hot the way she was
crying, even if it was bullshit. Or maybe it was just the wonder of the
sensation, the rush of power at seeing this delectable young girl below
me, pleasuring me. In any case, my cock was hard and I wanted to take
her. The tears stopped after a few minutes; she seemed to have gotten
into her job, but maybe also a little numb to what was happening. In
any case, when I came, she swallowed it all without hesitation.
As she left, I said: "Once a week, here, Mondays at 9 PM. Come to class
half the time, don't worry about the tests. Write anything you like in
them. A B+ at the end of the semester. Does that sound good?"
"It sounds okay," she said.
"Let's both have fun with this," I said and closed the door after her
as she left.
CHAPTER 2
After a month, Denise was more or less comfortable with our
arrangement. I kept her for an hour, having her blow me a couple of
times; in between, I'd help her with some of her homework for other
classes and this seemed to have her warming to me. Soon she was smiling
at me, if a little nervously, when we bumped into each other. Nice
girl, but a total slut. On the fifth week I decided things were stable
enough to warrant a little ambition, so when Denise came in my door I
had an offer for her.
I clasped her head and had her look up at me. "Let's have sex, this
time, Denise."
"Uh, professor, I don't know about that. It was never part of the
deal."
"Nothing was ever part of the deal. We've just gotten used to the way
things are. And anyway, I think you'll like it."
She looked at her feet. "Sure. Okay."
Suddenly, I had a flash of inspiration. "Are you still seeing DeShaun
Williams?"
"Yes, Professor, kind of."
"I remember that you said he made you 'do things'. What kind of
things?"
"Uh..."
"You can tell me. We're in a special situation."
"Well... he likes me to be dirty."
"Hmmm. You mean he's rough with you?"
"Yeah. And he like calls me names."
"What kind of names?"
"S-slut, sometimes. He calls me his porn star." She was becoming very
agitated.
"Hey, it's okay. People do all kinds of things when they have sex. I'm
not going to judge you."
"No?"
"No, really. Just tell me. You haven't been able to tell anyone else,
have you?"
"No. I feel really ashamed, like I'm dirty."
"You couldn't be dirty if you tried."
"Well, I know he tells the other guys on his team the stuff he makes me
do. Like one time he made me stay in his room naked for an entire
weekend while he went to practice and to parties and stuff and whenever
he came back he'd like have sex with me but not talk to me. And another
time there was this guy that used to be on the team but graduated and
he came back to visit and DeShaun told me to give him a blowjob."
Jesus, what a slut.
"But when we're out together he's really nice and so that makes up for
it."
"Do you like doing these things."
"At first no. But then it was like what DeShaun wanted and I love him
so much that it makes it okay kind of. So now I do all that stuff for
him because I want to be with him and I enjoy it because I know he
wants me to enjoy it. But other times I feel like he doesn't really
love me back and then I feel awful and can't do anything. I don't know.
Do you think that's really bad? Do you think I'm awful now?"
"Not at all. You're not a slut."
You could see relief spread across her face.
"In fact, I like those things. I want you to do some of them with me."
And there went the relief. I smirked. "So we're going to have sex now,
but you can't make any noise. And I know you're going to make noise. So
take off your panties. Good. Now put them in your mouth. Good. Now
close your eyes and stand there for a moment."
She did this, but like our first meeting, her lips began to tremble. I
turned on the stereo I kept in my office and then went to my closet.
Inside I found the duct tape I was looking for and as quietly as I
could tore off a ten inch strip. I went back to Denise and put my face
right in front of hers, the tape behind my back. She opened her eyes,
which I knew she'd do,
"No no, Denise, keep your eyes closed. This will be fun."
She didn't think so; her eyes were welling up and when she shut them
again, a tear was squeezed from the left one.
A slut, but she had some growing up to do. Oh well. I took the tape and
aligned it an inch away from her skin. Then, all at once, I pressed it
down.
Her eyes sprang open in a sudden panic; her hands darted toward her
face but, prepared, I caught them and held them by her side. "Now now,
Denise, this is just to keep you quiet. As always, you can leave if you
like. We'll just take it off and out you'll go. Would you like to
stay?"
After a pause, she nodded.
"Then bend over my desk."
CHAPTER 3
After that incident, the smiles and the friendliness stopped
altogether. Each week she came by, I upped the ante a little bit and by
April, I had her coming to my office without underwear, stripping down
to only her wedge sandals (the only high heels it turned out she owned)
and bending over my desk without saying a word.
This was a fresh and thrilling pleasure for me. I'd never done anything
like it; I couldn't have a relationship with a student because of the
conflicts of interest and all sorts of similar complications both
personal and professional and I couldn't just rape one because that
would be wrong. Denise was in the perfect middle ground: I had had to
lean on her, but despite her occasional tears she had chosen her own
path and her consent soothed my conscience; she had no interest in
exposing our arrangement, so I had no fear of the university or of the
law; and because she was a natural slut and because I had a little
leverage over her, I could do things with her that I'd never gotten to
try. I found myself wishing I'd experimented earlier in life: the power
was erotic and intoxicating and I felt restored and young.
Not that I wasn't young anyway - I was twenty-eight and furthermore
looked very boyish. But I've always been afraid of death and old age
and this nineteen year old girl was reminding me that I had many years
of prime manhood left.
Isn't it always this way? Fucking this girl was giving me the
confidence to pursue something more serious: Lillianna Ortiz, a fellow
professor of sociology. A beautiful woman: 5'9", thin waist with
healthy breasts and an obviously Latin ass. Her features were strong
and exotic - perhaps some gypsy blood in her - and her eyes were an
enchanting hazel. Incredibly intelligent, she was a few months younger
than I - if the various committees approved her; she'd usurp my
position as the youngest with tenure. Not that I had much taste for her
work - she was still on that old Political Correctness kick and her
studies concerned gender roles and the various ways that 'men usurped
the power of women,' and the like. I've always thought that there's
truth to that, but these days it's overemphasized and I hated talking
about it, much less studying it.
I had to cover all that shit in my intro course, though. So at the
beginning of April, I asked Lillianna if she could present her material
later in the month to my class - kind of a guest lecture. An inspired
stroke, I thought, killing two birds with one stone: I'd get out of
having to present material I had no taste for and I'd also have a good
pretext for a cup of coffee with Lillianna.
That cup of coffee came in the first week of April and led to a lunch
and then a dinner, all of which were pleasant. I found that Lillianna,
far from being a rabid feminist, was happy to let conversation wander
all over the field of human culture and science and to enjoy the
beginning of what looked to be a more or less 'normal' relationship. A
beautiful woman that can talk about Freud, the recent issue of the New
Yorker and all the rest is every intellectual's dream and I had found
it.
And on a Sunday two weeks after our first meeting, I found myself in
bed with her not two weeks after our first meeting. The sex was lovely
and inspired and waking up the next morning to see her at her side, I
knew that I would do all I could to keep her in my life for a long
time.
But the next day, Monday, Denise was scheduled to pay a visit again.
What would I do? I wanted to be true to Lillianna - but the semester's
end was only three weeks away and the pleasures of Denise's flesh had
been growing on me. Just three more weeks of fun, of something I was
sure I'd never get from Lillianna. It wouldn't hurt Lillianna - my
thing with Denise was purely sexual. Damn straight I'd fuck these few
last times.
So that night when Denise came to my office, locking the door behind
her, stripping and laying her body out for me on my desk like I'd
taught her, I fucked her and did it with relish, savoring this, one of
my last experiments with control. I smiled to myself and treated her
like a total object; I didn't do anything overtly different, but I
didn't do any of the gentle things I'd done to soothe Denise - didn't
stroke her afterwards, didn't look at her warmly, didn't ask her about
her life. I just used her and I loved it.
CHAPTER 4
That Wednesday was Lillianna's guest lecture spot in my class. I had no
desire to listen to her drivel and spent the whole time letting my mind
wander, thinking of Lillianna and then Denise in various positions and
scenarios. When the class was over and the last of the students had
left, Lillianna and I talked for a few minutes about her lecture - a
conversation I had to feign my way through. The conversation turned
personal and before I knew it, half an hour had passed.
"Shit," I said, looking at my watch. "There you go putting me under
your spell and I've lost track of time. I've got to run to a meeting
with Professor Randall. Already late for it."
She laughed softly. "Go ahead. I've got to collect my papers before I
head out. Oh - remember we won't get to see each other until Sunday
night - the San Francisco conference."
"Of course, of course. I'd drive you to the airport this afternoon
myself, but this meeting's going to last for hours. You know, the funny
thing is that I already know I'm going to miss you."
"I know. I feel the same way. It's all happening so fast. Well - let's
not dwell on it. Adios until Sunday."
I kissed her quickly and then moved quickly to leave. Denise was on the
other side of the door.
"Have you been waiting here this whole time, Denise? I can't talk to
you right now; I've got another meeting to get to."
"No no, professor. I left my bag in the classroom and I just realized
it, so I came back to get it."
Odd. She looked like she'd been waiting. Whatever. I looked over my
shoulder, through the window in the classroom door, to see if Lillianna
was coming. No, still organizing her papers; good, I've got a bit of
time. I'm leaned into Denise.
"I spent the day a student like you. Maybe Professor Ortiz will want an
arrangement with me like the one I've got with you."
"Okay, professor."
Fine, so it wasn't funny. I left Denise and went off to my meeting.
***
Lillianna and I met at our town's nicest restaurant for our Sunday
date; it's a college town, so nicest isn't as nice as you might hope,
but nevertheless there was enough swank to make for romance. But
Lillianna herself did not look like she was in the mood. She was
already seated when I arrived, even though I was five minutes early and
there was an expression on her face I couldn't place. Anger? Distress?
Fear? No, none of these. Her features were just sharper and a little
drawn. The most I could say is that she was closed, unreadable.
The conversation was tight and forced. Perhaps the conference had gone
badly in some way? I decided not to ask about it, figuring that after a
few drinks she'd loosen or at least explain her strange mood, but she
had nothing to drink, even as I finished three glasses of red.
Eventually, almost for want of anything better to say, I asked her if
something was the matter, but she just deflected me with a 'nothing,
nothing.'
It's not worth describing the mundane details of that awkward dinner,
during which I went from bored to nervous. She had seemed on the brink
of love not five days ago and we hadn't met since then, so what could I
have done wrong? Clueless, I worried my way through dinner, dessert and
a long walk back to her apartment. There, I tried to kiss her, but she
pushed me away:
"Tom, I can't."
"Why? What? I have to ask again, now - something's wrong and I need to
know what it is."
"Fine, something is wrong. There's been a tragedy in my family and -
well, it may affect me, too. Even more than the pain of having a hurt
relative. I just - I just have to sort this out before I can be with
you again."
"God, why didn't you say something?"
"It's just that - well, I'm a little stunned."
"Look, I know we haven't been together long, but maybe I can help. This
may sound corny, but you can lean on me, Lillianna. You can, if you
want."
"That's not something I feel comfortable with, not in this situation,
Tom. I just don't know you well enough to do that."
"Well, can you at least tell me how long this is going to take you?
When can I see you again?"
"I don't know. Frankly, maybe never. I just can't say right now."
"Lil -"
"Good night, Tom."
And so she went into her apartment, leaving me alone on the front
steps.
***
At first I was upset, then depressed. By nine the next night, I was
simply angry: I was ready to give myself to Lillianna - why the fuck
couldn't she give herself to me? Even if she couldn't, why couldn't she
tell me what to expect, give me the courtesy of a phone call. I needed
her already and it hurt.
Such thoughts ran through my mind as I looked at Denise, who stood
before me in her wedge espadrilles, a navy dress that fell to her knees
and her blonde hair in pigtails. She was looking at me with a bit of
fear in her eyes; I could understand or would have, if I'd given a fuck
about it: I was angry.
I was sitting behind my desk and beckoned her to come to me. Dutifully
she walked around. Still seated, I lifted her dress to stroke her
thigh.
"You're not dressed like such a slut tonight, Denise. Why is that?"
Denise's eyes widened. I'd never called her a slut before.
"Professor?"
I grabbed her around her waist with both hands and lead her as I turned
in my desk chair to face the wall behind my desk. I pushed her down to
her knees and held her head by her hair.
"Why aren't you dressed like a slut?"
"I never dressed like a slut. But I never got to wear this dress,
either, because DeShaun didn't like it."
"Oh?"
"And I'm not seeing DeShaun any more."
"I don't give a fuck who you're seeing. You're mine, now."
"Fine, professor. Let's just do this and get it over with."
I didn't care for her tone. "No more talking unless I tell you to.
Understand? Do you?" She nodded. "Now unzip my pants and take out my
cock.
She did this, but her expression, unmoved and implacable, was beginning
to piss me off. Her air of resignation as she took my cock in her mouth
was the final straw. I slapped her.
"I want to see some enthusiasm from you, slut. And if you don't show
it, I'm going to force it out of you."
The tears began again and this time I was totally thrilled. I needed
them, evidence of my power over her. I slapped her face again, this
time harder.
"Fine, Denise, cry. You're such a slut that you'll fuck me all the
same. I've said throughout that you could leave if you wanted to and
this time is no different. But you'll put up with it because you are a
slut and nothing more."
She was crying now in earnest, tears running down her face. But she was
not sobbing or moving her face. It stoked my anger. I slapped her
again.
"You'll put up with it, won't you, because you're a slut. WON'T YOU!?!"
"Yes," she said softly.
"Why?" I yelled.
"Because I'm a slut."
"Yes, Denise, you are a slut. Now hike up your dress and put your hands
against the wall." I stood up and pushed my office chair away, so that
it was no longer behind me. "Now beg for it, slut."
"What?"
I slapped her. "Beg me to fuck you, because you're a slut."
A pause and so another slap, this one hard and on her ass.
"Please fuck me, I'm a slut."
"Again." Slap.
"Please fuck me, I'm a slut."
And I went to put my cock in her. But I had to get low to get to her
pussy, because she was so much shorter than me. From this angle it was
difficult the leverage I wanted to fuck her hard, so I decided I'd
throw her on her back on the desk, her legs in the air and fuck her
until she screamed. I put my arm around her waist and spun her back to
face me, then hoisted her in the air, our faces now level. I turned
around and bent over quickly, dropping her roughly to the desk; my face
was now inches from her breasts. Those had to come out: scissors. My
face still down I fumbled for my scissors and finding them, I made a
small cut in the dress fabric near the space between her breasts. I
slipped three fingers of each hand into the hole and tore - no dress
anymore. Throughout this whole maneuver I'd kept my eyes riveted on her
tight little body, her slut's body, now exposed below me. Denise was
gasping beneath me, too terrified even to cry, a feeble high pitched
whine coming from her mouth.
I smiled, flared my nostrils and grabbed her ankles. Staring now at her
pussy, I pulled her legs first up straight together, then out in a V.
"Keep them there, slut." My hands slid down her thighs to her waist: a
grip to fuck her hard with.
My cock was fully hard and need no help. I simply pulled back on
Denise's small frame and pushed forward with my hips. My cock went in,
pleasure rushed, my eyes closed. With a moan I threw my head back. I
opened my eyes and saw the ceiling.
"That's just the beginning, slut."
Savoring the moment, I began slowly to right my head. Standing inside
my office door was Lillianna.
She said: "You're right, it's just the beginning. You just don't know
what it's the beginning of."
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