by Logan Chance
“I guess? I’ve never really thought about it,” she says, as her eyes avoid mine.
“Well, can you not, please. It’s distracting.” I’m forgetting why I even called her down here in the first place.
She stops, crossing her arms against her chest. Her tits lift. “Fine, what did you need help with?”
“Just be here after your last class.” My eyes skate over her body. The short black skirt she wears makes my blood pump faster. I forgot what it felt like to have a pulse. It feels damn good. Exhilarating. And I want more.
“Anything you say, Professor,” she sasses, walking away from me, her hips swaying from side to side.
Her ass speaks to me, begging me to spank it. I shake my head and try to bury the thoughts of all the things I want to do to her. Before she gets too far away, I call after her, “Oh, and Marley.”
“Yes,” she says, spinning around to glance at me.
What I’m about to do could cost me my job. I inch up to the invisible line that bears a large sign warning not to cross it. And I take a bold step over it. “I think I like the pink better than the white.”
Her eyes widen and her jaw drops. A crimson flush warms her cheeks as she regains her composure. “What do you mean?”
Closing the distance between us, standing toe to toe, I glance down at her. For the first time today, I smell her perfume. Sweet, a fruity mixture of pears and peaches. I don’t like that I love the smell of it. Or that I purposely breathe it in as I move closer to her lips. “Your desk is at eye level for me, and I can see everything. I have a bathroom in my back office if you’d like to reenact what you did on the plane.” Sure, I’m being a first-class asshole, not to mention totally unprofessional, but the rise I get out of pushing her buttons excites me.
Her lips turn down as her eyes study me. I love how the vein in her neck pulses with anger. I love that she knows I know. And, I fucking love that she isn’t going to take me up on my offer of using my facilities. Because, there’s no way in hell I would be able to not rip the door down caveman style and rapture her body in all the ways I want to.
Without a word, she turns and races out of the classroom, slamming the door behind her.
Chapter 5
Marley
Enervate-verb-to feel drained of energy or vitality.
A week later, after he dismisses his last class and every student has left, I stroll over to his desk, dropping the papers I’ve been working on in front of him. “Done.” I almost want to add master, but I don’t.
He glares at me, like full on glares. His dark eyes narrowed on me.
What did I do now? He’s been so irritable the last few weeks. The future doctor in me critiques his appearance. Judging by the dark smudges beneath his eyes, I’d say lack of sleep is fueling his tirades. Diagnosis: Assholeitis.
This is becoming tiresome. A person can only take so much before they crack. I’m tired and grumpy, and all this responsibility is wearing on me. Not to mention, I still haven’t forgotten the way he pointed out being able to see my panties. I have barely any fucks left to give.
“Pfft,” is his response. That’s it. Just “Pfft.” Not even a word, just a sound. He lifts a brow, and his lack of satisfaction kicks my anger up a notch. I’m about to obliterate the eggshells I’ve been walking on around him.
“I’m sorry, Professor, is there a wrong way to grade papers? Are they not to your satisfaction? Was I not fast enough for you? Grading papers isn’t something I exactly enjoy doing.”
He stands near his desk, with a nonchalant attitude that unnerves me. Calm isn’t what I expected.
“You want to be a doctor, right?” he finally responds.
“You know I do.”
Moving like a flash of lightning, his face is inches from mine. “Then get used to doing things you don’t plan on doing. Get used to surprises. Get used to being shocked.”
His closeness causes me to step back a bit and become wedged between him and the edge of his desk. I lean back as his hot breath fans across my lips.
He yanks my arm, spinning me around. Before I can even register what’s happening, my head gets pushed down, my cheek connecting with the hard wood, and his hand makes a resounding connection with my ass.
I gasp. He just spanked me.
My blood rushes. His large hand makes impact a second time, and he growls. The sound turns me on instantly. Wetness pools between my legs. I want another.
He steps away, turning his figure from me.
For a few moments, I stay frozen in my position. Slowly I push up, wide-eyed, wondering what the fuck just happened. Wondering why I’m not appalled.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, hiding my shock.
Gathering my things, I don’t rush out of the room or have any kind of appropriate reaction, really. What’s appropriate in this situation, though? Probably not wishing he had used a ruler and certainly not giving a small smile to the authority figure who just spanked you before walking out the door, which is exactly what I did.
Once a good way away from the door to his classroom, I lean against a wall for support. My butt cheek burns with the imprint of his large hand. My other cheeks burn with the knowledge he spanked me. Twice. And boy, did I like it. Ok, I may fantasize about this exact thing happening, but never would I have expected him to actually do it. My fantasy just became reality, and oddly enough, I don’t feel grumpy or tired anymore. It’s as though he spanked the cranky out.
Feeling reenergized, I grab a coffee from the campus Beanery and walk the short distance to the library. Finding a table in the back, I drop my bag and wander into the library stacks searching for the medical journal I need. Maybe I’m in shock. This can’t be normal to carry on with research after your professor spanks you. I mean, he spanked me. How will I face him after this?
Do I just pretend it didn’t happen? Well, I could always transfer to another school, but… I won’t. Because, apparently, I’m ok with being spanked by my Professor. God, what is happening to me? I’ve always been the studious, hyper responsible sibling to my much more carefree older brother and sister. My brother Erik calls me the wise one. My sister Lexi calls me smartypants. I steer them down the sensible path, so how did I get on this road to Fuckedupville? Before I have time to think about it any further, a male arm reaches around me to slide the medical journal I can’t quite reach off the shelf for me. Attached to that arm… is the hand that spanked me.
Spinning around, my breasts press against the solid chest of Houston. “What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I think we need to discuss what happened,” he says, not stepping away from me.
My eyes dart down each end of the aisle, to make sure we’re alone. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” I tell him, stepping back. The shelf behind me prevents me from retreating further.
He steps closer. “Marley…” He can’t finish, because, without thinking, I place my finger on his lips to stop the words that are about to come out. He can’t say them here. Not in public. Preferably not ever.
“Listen to me,” I whisper. “It’s fine, really. And this is not the place to discuss things that should not be discussed.” If anyone overheard us discussing what happened, the repercussions would be harsh and swift. Like his spanking. Again, I check the aisle and thankfully it’s clear. What is he thinking? He’s not, clearly, and now neither am I, because he proceeds to make me lose any rational thought by sucking my finger into his mouth. It’s wet and warm. His tongue glides along my skin before he releases it.
“Don’t shush me,” he says. “This is why what happened earlier happened at all.”
I grab his hand and pull him behind me into a secluded corner of the aisle. “Are you saying it was my fault?” This corner was a bad idea, because now he’s pressed against me, his tall body encompassing the small space.
His dark eyes bore into mine. “Yes,” he says, matter of factly. He’s refusing to whisper. What part of library does he not understand?
“Shhh.” I peek around him and the aisle is still clear.
His arms cage me in and he eliminates every inch of space between us. “Do not shush me again, Miss Murphy.” He dips his face down, close to mine. “Unless you want a repeat of earlier.”
Well, I do want a repeat, but it’s probably a very bad idea. He leans close to my ear, brushing the hair away with his nose. “You want me to whisper, Miss Murphy? How’s this?” Goosebumps break out along my skin from the sensuous feel of his lips against the shell of my ear. This is so bad. So bad. Anyone could come around this corner and find us. And how did we get to this point? My fingers grip the edge of his pockets when he whispers again, “Do it once more and you’ll feel the sting of my hand on your ass, again.”
A soft shhh escapes me before I can stop it.
His teeth clamp down on my earlobe. “Fuck,” he whispers in my ear. “You probably shouldn’t have done that.”
Oh, I know. I know. This is all spiraling out of control, and one of us needs to stop it. I hope he does, because I can’t seem to. As if he heard my silent plea, he steps away from me. He gives me one more tease by adjusting the hard on tenting his slacks before he turns and leaves.
Chapter 6
Houston
March 16th
Last night I had the same nightmare again. But, halfway through, it changed to Marley. She stood before me laughing, reaching her arm out for me to take it. To save me from my misery. That part of the dream was even scarier than my normal one of losing control.
This isn’t working.
She laughs in my dream, she laughs out of my dream.
I wish I could do simple. I wish I could laugh with her, but I’ve forgotten how.
Fuck, Marley pisses me off. I still can’t believe I spanked her. Me, spanked her.
It felt good, though. All the tension I’d been holding in was released onto her pretty round ass. A spark ignited inside of me. But, it flickered out the moment she left and reality set back in. I had good intentions when I went to the library, and then she had to shush me. Knowing she fucking liked the spanking makes the temptation of her even harder to resist. Not that I seem to be making much of an effort. Quite the opposite. I’m seeking her out.
I feel like the school-aged kid, being mean to the pretty girl because he’s too afraid to get close to her. But, fuck it. There’s so many reasons I can’t get close to her. She’s my student, my assistant, and she’s too happy for me. I would dim the shining light inside her. The light that beams brightly day in and day out. All cheery and shit. To distract myself from thoughts of her, I grab a medical journal off my shelf and sink into my leather armchair.
Sirens sound in the distance, and I move to the window to check it out. A light in a window across the alley catches my eye. And then, I stand frozen at what I see in an apartment of the adjacent building. A dark haired young woman crosses the room. Is that Marley? It can’t be. I cross to the coffee table and pull up the student directory on my phone. It is. Tossing my phone down, I debate all of ten seconds before I pad across the hardwood floor in my bare feet and flip off the table lamp so I can hide in the shadows. Every ethical bone in my body screams for me to turn away, she’s my student. But, I don’t. For some reason, the fact she’s my subordinate turns me on.
Holy shit.
Marley is spread out on her couch when I return. I have a front row seat to the most anticipated show of the century. Her building is close enough across the narrow alley that I can see clearly what she’s wearing—nothing but a flimsy t-shirt and fuck, red lace panties.
She’s stunning. Her hand travels down to the spot between her legs, and my erection grows strong. I’m going to join her. Have her beauty take me over the edge. Her perfection is unsettling, and I want to drink it up. Like champagne on New Year’s, I want the bubbly fizz to make me high. She spreads her silky legs further apart, and her fingers dip beneath the lace. The zipper of my pants goes down without me registering the action.
I pull myself out, rubbing my hand along the heavy thickness. My mind’s in a haze. I press my forehead against the cool glass of the window and stroke my cock.
She leans her head back, and I get a glimpse of her face for a moment. She appears to be enjoying it, but not like she should be. I know I could make her go wild. She should be screaming.
I pump faster as I try to get a better look. I want to see more. To see what her pussy looks like.
Rubbing the head of my cock, I spread the precum all over and beat off rapidly. Fuck, all I can think about is how wet is she? What does she feel like? Does her pussy taste as sweet as her scent?
I want to feel her white hot heat explode around me. It’s been so long.
“Fuck,” I moan out.
My body’s on fire. There’s no stopping the attraction I have toward her. I glance back across the alley, into her apartment, into her privacy.
I don’t care I’m invading on anything. For this moment, it’s between us. Meant for no one else. Is she thinking about me?
Is she thinking about the way I spanked her?
Her lips part as her other hand slips under her t-shirt. I beg the Gods, which I know don’t exist, to let her take the damn thing off.
I’m falling apart. My body is at its peak. I want to tumble over the edge with her. I notice the moment she comes, her lips moaning, her body shuddering. It’s all I can do to keep from crashing down her door and claiming her body.
My orgasm hits me as I picture her sweet body beneath me. I need to make a choice here. I’ve found a way to keep my mind occupied from things that are slowly killing any desire I have to be more than a walking cadaver. It’s wrong to use her this way, but I’m beyond caring at this point. Do I listen to the voice deep inside begging me to fuck her? Or do I walk away?
Chapter 7
Marley
Intoxication-noun-the state of being intoxicated, especially by alcohol.
Studying, so much studying. What I want to study is the way his hand connected with my ass. Or the way he said my name, all low and sexy. Am I a closet submissive who gets off on the power he wields over me? Ugh, what am I going to do? I’m lusting after my teacher. And there really is no time for lust. The first year of med school has been intense to say the least, and I’m beginning to wonder if I’m cut out for this. I glance at the bottle of tequila on my shelf. Tequila makes everything better.
No. No drinking. I tap my finger on my lip, debating. Tomorrow is Saturday, though, and what’s one shot?
I’m sure you’re thinking I’m some lush who can’t handle her liquor. But, I work damn hard day in and day out to deserve a break every now and then.
When I first started school, I never went out, isolating myself to these four walls.
I’m still isolated with no friends. All I do is work and study. So, a drink, or few, on a Friday night shouldn’t be a cause for concern.
I’m an adult, dammit. And, as an adult, I can do what I want, no judgies. Besides, it’s St. Patrick’s Day, why wouldn’t I have a drink to celebrate my ancestors? Top of the morning to ya, Miss Murphy.
It’s decided. I grab the bottle and a shot glass, fill it and toss it back. Another won’t hurt, I decide. The burn tears at me, but it’s all good. The next shot goes down easier, and I slam the tiny glass down on the counter before cranking some music and dancing around my apartment. How sad my Friday night is being spent dancing and drinking alone. A Kelly Clarkson song comes on and it makes me think of Texas. Which then makes me think of Houston.
I should call him.
He would want me too.
I grab my phone, dialing the number I have for him from being his assistant. It rings, and my heart skips a beat. It rings again, and I giggle.
“Marley?” he answers, his voice a sexy blend of sleepiness and husk.
My throat goes dry. “Professor Dale. Hellooo, Hi.” I should have planned better.
“Marley, are you drunk?”
“Drunk, skunk.” I giggle. Oh, come on, tha
t was funny.
“I’m hanging up now,” he says all sexy and manly.
I traipse down the hallway. “No, don’t go.”
“Marley, I have things to do in the morning.”
The door to my bathroom comes out of nowhere, and I slam into it. “Ow, shit.” It doesn’t stop there. I knock into the adjoining wall and trip over the corner of the runner covering the wood floor. I go down, hard.
“Marley? Are you ok?”
The phone falls from my hand and skitters across the floor as my ankle throbs with pain. I scramble for it, pressing it back to my ear. “Houston, we have a problem.”
He sighs in my ear, probably rolling his eyes. “Never heard that one before.”
“I think I twisted my ankle. But, I’m ok.”
“I’m coming over. Can you make it to the door to let me in?”
My eyes go wide. It’s late. I’m drunk. He’s going to touch my foot. Oh, God. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, really. How do you know where I live?”
“I’m your Professor. I know everything.”
“Really, I’m ok. Promise.”
But, he’s no longer on the phone.
Hopping to the door is no small feat. He got here quick. I open the door, standing on my good foot, and smile wide. “Happy St. Patty’s day,” I say to him.
“Oh boy.” He stands tall at my door, and I take in his blue shirt and sweatpants. He isn’t wearing any green.
My hand flies to his arm and I pinch his bulging muscles. He drops his head, his eyes on my fingers still clenched around his skin. “Do you mind?” His strong arms wrap around my waist, hoisting me up, sobering me a bit.
He smells so good. Like sleep and man, with a hint of mint all rolled into one. His hair is a frumpled mess and the stubble on his jaw tickles my forehead.
He brings me to my soft, blue couch and sets me down. “Let me see it.”
His skillful fingers press against my tender ankle, and although I love his hands on me, the pressure of it hurts. He’s in serious doctor mode, and I try not to giggle at his concentration.