“Oxhead.” I got it in just before he delivered another slap. My bottom was stinging, but I found myself pressing my thighs together for the small amount of stimulation it allowed my crotch.
“Excellent,” he said. This time his warm hand made contact with my ass cheek and stayed, massaging away the stinging feeling, making me relaxed and horny at the same time. “Now, what was considered to be Leonardo da Vinci’s primary innovation in painting?”
Ugh. More quizzing. His finger skimmed down until it was tickling my pussy lips. I wiggled and sighed. Oh yeah. The question. “Sfumato,” I answered quickly so I could go back to enjoying his caresses.
“Very good. Stand up.”
I pushed myself off the desk. His hand was still on my naked pussy lips, so as I straightened, his fingers were caught between my thighs. I wanted to grasp them there and keep them touching me forever.
His hand left me all too quickly and he returned my panties to their normal location.
Bummer.
“Let’s see, for the next portion, I’ll need you on your knees.”
“My knees?” I asked. He nodded as I knelt down in front of him. “Like this?”
“Yes. It involves my cock in your mouth. If that isn’t okay with you, I can devise another distraction.”
Being the astute predoctoral candidate I was, I immediately realized that his cock in my mouth meant his cock would be out of his pants, which could lead to all kinds of nice things.
“No…I mean yes, it’s okay. I’m fine with that.”
I was hoping he’d take off his clothes, but instead he simply unzipped his pants and allowed his cock to emerge. It seemed to strain toward my face of its own accord. He didn’t say anything at first and I didn’t want him to think I was too much of a rookie to handle this. I grasped it lightly with my fingers and licked it from base to tip. When I looked up, his eyes had closed. Maybe this would be as much of a distraction for him as for me.
He cleared his throat. “Okay, um…these are true and false. If the answer is true, you swirl your tongue around me. If it’s false, you suck. Clear?”
“Let me make sure,” I said. “True would be like this.” I engulfed his cock in my mouth and swirled my tongue around it. He breathed in sharply.
“Yes.”
“And false would be like this.” I placed it between my lips and sucked as hard as I could.
“Oh! Uh, yes,” he said as he pulled out of my mouth. “Yes, that’s it.” He took a deep, slow breath.
Ha! This time it would definitely be more distracting for him. I was surprised he’d miscalculated so.
I put his cock just inside my lips and waited. When he asked the first question, I ran my tongue around the tip. “Correct,” he gritted out. I was pleased with myself, so I continued the swirling as I confidently waited for the next question…until I felt the pressure on my pussy lips.
I paused and glanced down to see a laminated yardstick extending from his hand and ending underneath my skirt. So I wasn’t to get the better of him on this task either.
He asked a second question. As I began sucking on him, the pressure on my pussy turned to friction since he was rubbing his measuring implement up and down my panties, causing serious palpitations on the clit underneath them.
There were a few more questions after that, and I got them right, but I don’t know how I did it because I’d become aware of the most urgent aching inside. There was a vacancy my Professor Kendall needed to fill with that fabulous organ I’d been sucking and swirling. As he teased me with the yardstick, I became desperate, wanting my release so badly yet knowing it wouldn’t be enough. I had to have all of him.
“Great job,” he said as he pulled his still-hard cock from my mouth and motioned for me to stand. I was dazed. In my mind I’d gone into a world where he and I were rolling around naked, touching and sucking and, well, kissing. “You passed with flying colors again.”
I stood, uncertain what I should do next. He put his hands on my hips and set me on his desk. When he did, I saw the muscles in his arms flex, straining the fabric of his shirt. He obviously worked out. “Lean back on your elbows, Emily.” I obeyed but said, “I thought the test was over.”
“It is,” he said.
Now we’re talkin’…or fucking, I should say.
I leaned back on my elbows in a somewhat awkward position. He slipped my panties off and pushed my thighs apart.
“Your pussy is so beautiful. Makes me want to paint it,” he said.
“I think you did that yesterday.”
He laughed. “Yes, I guess I did, in a manner of speaking.” I lost sight of his hand as it went under my skirt. Something contacted my clit and I soon realized he had his thumb there. Keeping it in exactly the same spot, he moved it clockwise while pushing down firmly. My body jerked with the sudden sensation. Each circular motion brought a new jolt and a moan from me.
“Emily?” he asked softly.
“Hmmm?”
“How do you feel?” He increased the speed a tiny bit.
“Ah-ah-ah…good,” I replied.
He briefly let the thumb dip inside me. I cried out at the feel of Professor Kendall filling me, even if it was only with a digit.
He moved back onto my clit. Now wet, his thumb slid fabulously around the top and sides as I lifted my hips, trying to get maximum pressure.
Suddenly he placed it back inside and began pumping me like a mini-jackhammer.
My back arched with extreme pleasure.
But I wanted more from him.
“Please fuck me,” I begged.
He said something quietly. I thought it was “Not here,” but it could have been something about an ear…or hair.
He slid his thumb over my clit, up and down, up and down…then went back inside for several more thrusts. My entire body shook as the shocks started, shooting down to my toes and up through my chest. I think I screamed. I came, quivering so violently I nearly fell off the edge of the desk.
Then I lay there limply as he removed his hand from my body. I felt abandoned.
Much to my surprise, he washed up, then walked around the desk and started typing on his keyboard as though he was resuming his work. I sat up quickly and pulled my skirt down. I found my underwear on the couch and fumbled with them, getting them caught in one of the high heels in my rush.
Should I just leave now? Was I in the way? It was humiliating.
“Emily,” he said as he looked up at me, his dark eyes instantly mesmerizing me.
“Yes?”
“I just re-averaged your grades. With the way the tests were weighted in class, you would now have a B. You don’t need to come back. You’ve passed.” My heart sank. I was counting on another test. We had escalated from him fully clothed to him with his cock in my mouth from one test to the next. I was hoping the
third would include a grand finale where he actually fucked me. But he was obviously tired of me.
“So, you have a choice. You can have that B. Or…you can come back to my office for one last test—no distractions—to try for one of those A’s that are so important to you…”
My disappointment grew.
“Or…you can take the B. I’ll go ahead and log it into the official grade site today, and you can come spend the weekend with me…just the two of us.” Yes! My dream was coming true. He liked me! He really liked me! I wondered if I should play a little hard to get, but while I was wondering, my mouth betrayed me and blurted out, “Option three.”
He smiled that gorgeous smile that always stole my breath away in class, but this time I knew the smile was directed at me.
Only at me.
*
That’s how I ended up in Professor Mark Kendall’s tastefully decorated living room the following Friday evening, holding a duffel bag containing a few changes of clothing, my cutest lingerie and my makeup bag.
I’d opted for a simple jeans, purple t-shirt combo, since we were finally finished playing office games. I’d
apparently made the right choice, since he was in a pair of faded jeans and a black t-shirt with a gray button-down hanging open over it.
He hadn’t offered me a seat in the three minutes I’d been there, even though a sofa, a love seat and several antique chairs were positioned around the room. After greeting me with a motion of his hand and a “Come in,” he stood there…
Appraising me? Having second thoughts?
Finally, he spoke. “Emily, I assumed you’d figured this out about me from our last two encounters, but now I realize I should probably clarify a bit more.”
“Okay…” I had no idea where he was going with this. Did he have a wife who was out of town this weekend? He’d never mentioned one in class. Was he going to tell me he was bisexual and Professor Bradley was his main squeeze? No, that didn’t make sense. How would he think I could I have figured that out from our encounters?
“There are times I need to be in control…sexually speaking,” he said. “It’s very…arousing for me to play a dominant role with a beautiful woman. This weekend is one of those times.”
My head was swimming. I’d gotten a taste of his domination and had mixed feelings about it. Major orgasms but mixed feelings. He was asking me to make some sort of rational decision here before we proceeded, but my mind kept going back to the way his voice had dropped lower when he used the word “arousing” and how I could still feel the word reverberating between my thighs. Not to mention the “beautiful woman” thing. He was calling me “beautiful”!
I mean, I was okay. With the right makeup, I felt rather attractive. But did he really think I was beautiful? Awww, that was so—
“Emily?”
Oh yeah. Think clearly. Make decisions with your head, not your—
My clit throbbed right on cue. “Um, what are you suggesting, exactly?”
“That you’re mine from now until Sunday afternoon to do with as I see fit. You’ll be completely submissive to any commands I give you.” Huh? “Like a sex slave?” I asked incredulously.
“If you prefer,” he said. “But I would never do any permanent damage to such a work of art.”
I was flattered. I was scared. I was…aroused? Yes, there were those twinges again.
And a heat that started in the middle of my torso and spread until my entire body was radiating. But did I really want to turn myself over to a man as a sex slave?
No. Not just any man. But this was Mark Kendall, man of my dreams. So he was a little kinky. It’s not like our last episodes weren’t pleasurable for me.
When I made eye contact again, I saw a bit of vulnerability there. He really wanted me to say yes. He really wanted me to spend the weekend with him and he was actually worried I’d refuse.
“It’s okay,” he said, since I’d been silent for such a long time. “No hard feelings.” Hard? I thought about how hard his cock had been in my mouth and how great that would feel in my pussy, already wet from the mere sight of him. I’d turned down quite a few guys over the past several years because I couldn’t help comparing every man I met to Professor Mark Kendall, and the ones I hadn’t turned down didn’t fill the bill.
And now he was here, wanting me. I couldn’t leave, no matter what the conditions.
“I want to stay,” I said. He smiled so broadly, I suddenly had the urge to pour my heart out and tell him how I’d felt all this time. And why I’d taken so many of his classes, even though they were murdering my otherwise pristine GPA. And how I thought of no one but him, and dreamed of our future—
“Take your clothes off,” he ordered sternly. His smile was gone and I lost all desire to confess my undying love. I glanced around the living room and noted all the drapes were closed. But still, couldn’t I disrobe in the bedroom or something? “Now,” he added.
His tone reminded me of what I’d just agreed to. I was his slave for the weekend, for better or worse. I slowly pulled my t-shirt over my head and placed it on the coffee table. His dark eyes watched me intently. My stomach fluttered.
I kicked off my tennis shoes then unfastened my jeans, wiggling them down my thighs as gracefully as possible. I put them on top of the shirt. I stood there uncertainly, in my matching black lace bra and panties, feeling awkward.
Last time I’d had some of my clothes on. And in the raincoat I’d at least been lying down, not standing completely nude in front of him. Would he think I was too fat? Not chesty enough? Not enough junk in my trunk?
He didn’t comment, except to say, “All your clothes, slave.” How degrading! But if I was so insulted by the term, why was my clit pulsing? I removed my bra and panties as he circled me slowly.
“For future reference, the appropriate response to a command from me is ‘Yes, Master’.”
Master? This wasn’t the way I’d always imagined our relationship. Before I knew what was happening, my eyes were covered and he was tying a blindfold on me from behind. I grabbed at it, trying to claw it off. “Don’t worry, slave.” He pulled my wrists down. “You don’t need to see right now. You only need to follow my instructions.”
“But why—?”
“Because I’m the master. Do as I say and I won’t tie your hands together…for now.”
“I—”
“There is no ‘I’ in ‘slave’,” he said. “Hold your hands behind your back or I’ll cuff you.”
I obeyed, not understanding how I could be so aroused and so disappointed at once. Couldn’t he hire a prostitute for this sort of thing? I wanted… Well, I wasn’t sure what I wanted anymore. I’d always been such a visual person, but with my sight gone, I was suddenly aware of cool air skimming over me from the vents above and the smell of freshly bathed man directly in front of me. I could feel goose bumps popping up on my arms.
“Get on your knees and finish what you started in my office.” He held my upper arms to steady me as I lowered myself to the carpet. I heard his pants unzip and felt his cock press against my lips. “Did you like my cock in your mouth, little slave?” How could I lie? I’d loved it. “Ye—” I started to reply, but he grabbed my jaw between his thumb and forefinger and thrust his cock between my lips before I finished the word. My entire crotch contracted and released. I desperately wished I could take
control, pull him down onto the floor and ride him until I got the satisfaction I so needed.
Yet my body delighted at the feel of his cock inside me, even if it wasn’t in the place I most wanted it to be. He slid along my tongue. Then, as he got more excited, he held the back of my head so I couldn’t retreat, pushing his cock farther inside until it was hitting the back of my throat.
“Now suck, slave, suck hard!” he commanded as he pulled back just enough to allow me to do so. I sucked with all my might while my pussy cried out for the attention my mouth was getting. “Oh…oh…” he moaned as he threaded his fingers through my hair.
Knowing I was giving him pleasure excited me even more. Suddenly he pulled out and groaned. A hot stream of liquid hit my chest. I could feel his come trickling down my breasts.
“Good slave,” he said breathlessly.
I was glad I pleased him, but hoped it wouldn’t be long until he allowed me to get him hard again and fuck the hell out of him. God, I was horny.
He moved around behind me. “My come looks beautiful on your breasts. See how it’s beading up on the end of your nipple?” He lifted my blindfold. “I’d love to paint that someday.” He replaced the blindfold.
Someday? Was that just an expression or did he mean to keep me around until
“someday”?
As I thought about what he’d said, I realized I’d never seen any of his paintings.
There’d been a few pieces of art hanging in his office, but nothing done by him. I hoped he’d show them to me before I left this weekend.
He moved away and my skin cooled. I missed his presence immediately, strange as it might be under the circumstances. He walked away and I heard some water running.
“Hello?” I called. There was no re
sponse. But the footsteps returned and he grasped my right arm, helping to lift me from the floor. After I stood, I felt warm, wet terrycloth on my chest and realized he was cleaning up the mess he’d made on me.
His movements were so gentle and sensual that each time the washcloth passed across my breasts, I wanted to reach out and touch him and push my naked body against his for some sort of intimacy. For the release I’d wanted from him for so long. I didn’t think that was allowed, though, as long as I was his slave and he was my master.
The phone rang in another room. “Oh…this is a call I’ve been expecting. Wait here.”
Now that he was gone, I felt even sillier standing in his living room stark naked. As I waited, I removed my blindfold and tried to amuse myself by looking around at the lovely art and antiques that graced the room. I spotted an especially nice roll-top desk, circa 1850, and couldn’t resist going over for a closer look. I caressed the wood and the original-looking ceramic knob on the front. The piece was in such nice condition, I couldn’t resist pulling the top up to look at the desk underneath.
I never planned to snoop—I really didn’t. But lying on the desk was a letter addressed to “Mark”, written in beautiful, feminine handwriting, and I just couldn’t help myself. I started reading.
Mark,
I’m sorry about the way you found out about us. I should have told you sooner. I planned to, but there never seemed to be a right time.
And yes, you were right. You always did everything for me. You gave me anything I needed, tried to give me everything I wanted. But you weren’t the problem in this relationship. I was.
I thought I knew what love was. You were so perfect and I thought I loved you. But now I realize I was never really in love with you, not the kind of love I feel for Brent. I was so selfish with you, but now I wake up every morning thinking about what I can do for him. I’ll happily do anything just to see him smi—
The roll top started down and I dropped the letter and got my hands out just in time. I stared down at the masculine fingers on the knob. Fingers I was used to seeing in a much safer environment—on a classroom whiteboard eraser, for instance.
Instructing Emily Page 3