by Jolene Avonn
So, when the stern, handsome man told her to stand in the corner next to the sad-looking fern, she was surprised, to say the least.
“Stay over there until I give you another command,” he said, a new edge to his voice. “And be quiet.”
“Okay, Professor Griffin,” Mae said, quickly taking her place near the plant.
“I said to call me Teacher,” he added. “When you say anything at all.”
“Right, Teacher.”
What is he thinking?
“Quiet.”
Standing there grew old after about fifteen minutes. Mae had gulped down a large coffee on her way to the meeting; now, she felt an increasingly urgent need to pee. She shifted from one leg to the other. Her conservative heels clicked on the floor with each movement.
“Mae?”
“Yes, um, Teacher?”
“Remove your shoes. You’re annoying me. And hold still.”
Mae reached down and pulled off her shoes. She tried to remain silent and motionless in the corner. She flushed all thoughts of liquid or bathrooms or relief from her mind. She focused only on the paintings around the office – all of them banal landscapes or seascapes.
Mae stifled a giggle.
All of this for a panel presentation? You little slut!
If her grad school friends could only see her now! They’d spent six years undergoing “professionalization,” and now she was trying to score points on her C.V., as giddy as a horny coed.
The minutes ticked by slowly. The professor – Teacher, like she’d call him that all day! – worked slowly through a stack of papers. He marked them with harsh slashes of a red pen. Occasionally, he grunted in irritation. Mae was bored, but then slowly became transfixed. He was so serious. So focused. So...powerful. Her panties squeezed deliciously against her crotch as she wondered what Professor Griffin would look like without his clothes.
Did he have big muscles?
Strong hands that would cover her, massage her, or spank her?
A big cock? One that would drive into her like a battering ram?
Mae was hot. Hot and wet. She had to force herself to look away.
After what seemed like hours, but was more like forty minutes, her mentor stood abruptly.
“I have to leave for an appointment,” he said. “Don’t move. We’ll proceed when I return.”
He stalked out of the office and slammed the door shut.
Mae’s shoulders slumped. She’d been tense, and it was a relief to be able to move. How long would he be? She was certain she could scamper back to her spot if she heard the doorknob click.
She walked slowly around the office, examining books and trinkets. She sat in Professor Griffin’s chair, still warm. With every passing minute, the urge to pee grew stronger. She tried to ignore it but couldn’t.
Finally, after thirty minutes of waiting, Mae headed for the door. She’d slip out to the restroom, freshen up, and be back in no time. Obviously, Professor Griffin was in an hour-long meeting somewhere. Probably thinking about her and getting as excited as she was. Probably snapping at people more harshly than usual.
He wants me!
She reached for the knob and twisted it.
Locked.
She twisted harder and tugged on the door to no avail.
“Shit!” Mae whispered frantically. “Shit shit shit!”
She’d already banked on being able to find a restroom. It was like a dam was about to open between her legs. The intense, stinging urgency wouldn’t relent. She could barely stand. She hopped from side to side. She clutched her hands against her pussy, crouching down and praying for the urge to vanish.
The tiniest trickle escaped. Mae felt a wet spot on her panties. She looked around the room frantically.
Trash can? Papers? Behind the plant?
The plant!
Her heart raced. She had no choice. Could she really be considering this? The fern was in a large pot with plenty of fresh dirt. Professor Griffin would never know.
Would he?
Mae sprinted across the room. There was no time to reconsider. She crouched with her ass toward the plant, hiked her dress, yanked her panties past her knees, and angled over the rich, dark soil.
She couldn’t go. It was too embarrassing. But she had to!
After agonizing seconds of hesitation, the urine started to blissfully, wonderfully spill forth. She forced a hard stream into the dirt and couldn’t help tossing her head back in relief. It felt so, so good.
And so wrong! What the fuck was she doing? An assistant professor pissing in her mentor’s office?
When she was done, Mae jerked her panties up and then used a piece of paper from the trash can to smooth the dirt as best she could. There was a shiny, wet circle where she’d gone, but Professor Griffin would never notice unless he really looked.
Footsteps in the hallway sent Mae tiptoeing back to her spot. She was still and ready when the office door swung open.
Professor Griffin stared at her as he walked across the room and sat at his desk.
Mae managed a small smile. Her legs shook imperceptibly. Goosebumps spread in waves across her arms.
He kept staring. His eyes drifted down to her midsection. He studied her legs, tapping his fingers on the desk. Then he stood again and walked to her side.
Mae could barely breathe as Professor Griffin began to touch her. He bent down and ran his hands all over her thighs and calves gently. It took all of her will power not to wobble backward a step – the warmth and strength in his touch was mind-boggling. He slid one hand up high, high enough to make her gasp, under her dress, and pressed his fingers hard against her panties.
Mae yelped and stood on her tiptoes.
“Teacher!” she said.
“Quiet,” he muttered.
He withdrew his hand and brought his fingers to his nose, inhaling deeply.
“Did you urinate?” he asked quietly.
Mae shook her head slowly.
The professor held her by her shoulders and asked again: “Did. You. Urinate?”
“No, Teacher,” Mae said meekly.
He released her and walked toward the plant. He pointed at the puddled soil and spun around.
“Then what is this?”
Mae’s face was bright red. She fought back humiliated tears.
“I...uh...really had to go, Teacher. I couldn’t get out. The door was locked.”
A new level of anger washed over Professor Griffin’s visage.
“You tried the door? You moved from that spot? Despite my instructions?”
Mae nodded, still not sure if she was in the middle of an elaborate, kinky game, or really in trouble.
He sat on the edge of his desk.
“This is very serious,” he said. “Very, very serious. You’ll have to be punished. Severely. Until you learn to obey, you’re going to be a complete and utter failure. Look at you! Pissing in my plant like an animal? This is your idea of learning?”
Mae swallowed hard. “Yes, Teacher,” she said. “I mean, no Teacher.” She had no idea what he’d do. End the session?
“Get on your hands and knees,” he said with a savage note in his throat. “Now.”
Mae stood stock still. This was not part of the plan.
Teacher stalked back across the room and glowered down at her. She felt her dress ride up on her left side, exposing her thighs and rear, and then his hand cupped her ass and squeezed. Hard.
“Ow, Teacher!” Mae gasped.
“I told you to get on your hands and knees,” he whispered with exaggerated patience.
Mae clenched her fists. This had gone too far.
“I don’t want to, Teacher. Professor Griffin. This is a mis – oohh!”
Before she could finish her sentence, the hand slipped from her ass and then returned quickly with a hard smack that knocked Mae so hard she stumbled.
“Wha—did you just hit me?” Mae gasped.
Teacher took one step forward and pushed Mae against
the back of the metal folding chair in the center of the room. He flipped her dress up and delivered three more sharp blows before she could register what happened.
Smack!
Smack!
Smack!
He’d shoved her dress up just enough to expose her panties, and his hand met the flesh of her cheeks and inner thighs in stinging swats that brought tears to Mae’s eyes. She arched back, pushing her mentor away, and spun to face him.
“You don’t ever fucking touch me!” she shouted. “What the hell? You obviously got the wrong idea, Professor Griffin.”
A thin smile spread across her mentor’s face.
“Oh?” he said. “I think I have exactly the right idea.” His voice was calm.
Mae shook her head and turned to look for her belongings. She couldn’t help reaching back to rub her rear gingerly, trying to caress the throbbing pain away.
“Bullshit,” she muttered.
He grasped her arm just above the elbow, tight, spinning Mae to face him again and jerking her so close that her breasts pressed into his midsection.
“You listen to me, Mae Chance,” he said, holding her breathless with his tight grip and intense stare. “This is your choice, right here, right now. I know you. I really know you. I know exactly what you need. You can believe me or not. You can run back to your tiny one bedroom apartment and eat re-heated spaghetti and drink two glasses of wine and blow off your grading and go to bed on a little futon in a cold tiny room and wake up tomorrow exactly the same. But you’re better than that. You have a bright future and you don’t even know it.”
Mae breathed in short gasps. The anger, the praise, the heat coming off Teacher in waves, the pain under his tightening grip. She was stunned speechless.
“What you don’t understand yet,” he continued, leaning in until Mae could see the first hints of dark stubble on his cheeks, “is that in order to be effective some people need to control, and some people need to be controlled. To be told what to do, and where, and how, and when. That’s what I can give you.”
Mae snapped to her senses.
“You’re insane,” she said. “Fucking insane. Let me go now and I won’t report this. Consider yourself lucky.”
Teacher released his grip.
“Very well,” he said. “Let me leave you with this, Mae. One little project, take it or leave it. Go home. Right now. Your classes are done and our meeting is over. Think about what I said to you. Then, relax. Don’t work. Draw a warm bath, as warm as you can get it from that old water heater you must have, and soak yourself. Think about me and what I’m saying right now. Take the shower head and turn on the hottest water you can stand. Aim that water right where you want it most. Let the warm jets ease you into a blissful peace.” Then, almost too softly to hear. “Come for me, Mae. Tonight. And you’ll return tomorrow. I promise.”
Mae couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was almost...embarrassing. She felt bad for this man.
“You...you’re something else,” she said, hurriedly grabbing her shoes, bag, and notebook. “Good afternoon, Professor Griffin. Jesus Christ.”
Mae walked quickly to the door, threw it open, and sped halfway down the hall before she remembered to put on her shoes.
Well, you got what you deserved, probably...
“Oh, just shut up!” Mae said under her breath. She collected herself while she waited for the elevator, and then walked briskly across campus trying to give off an air of complete indifference. To an outside observer, she would have looked completely disheveled – hair tousled, cheeks blotched red with anger, and a slight hitch in her step.
~~~
Mae did, in fact, go straight back to her apartment. Professor Griffin was accurate with his guesses: it was a small one-bedroom on the top floor of a ragged four-story building from the 1970’s. Thin, cheap carpet covered the floor. The appliances were old and rusting at the edges. The water heater was the size of a large cooler and could barely fill her tub.
She had leftover lasagna in the fridge, so he was close on that, too.
Mae stared at the stack of response papers she had to grade. Pages and pages of mangled arguments and sources cribbed from the Internet. Hand cramps from writing comments nobody would read. She couldn’t face it. She needed to rest – to forget the entire day and start over. She stood and padded to the kitchen.
I’m not doing this because he told me!
Rationalizing the entire way, Mae uncorked a bottle of $6 red wine and poured a healthy portion into a plastic cup, gulping the slightly acidic Cabernet in smooth gulps. She sat at her desk with her drink and lasagna and pulled up silly movies on YouTube until everything was funny and her head buzzed and the ungraded papers were long forgotten.
She stumbled upon a video featuring a man who looked a lot like Professor Griffin. He was singing a song to his an orange tabby, something about food and crumpled paper and grumpy tabbies. Mae played and re-played the video. She ignored the goofy music. She stared at the man’s kind hands as he stroked the cat. Her mind drifted to Teacher.
She shook her wine-fogged head.
You’re losing it, Mae.
Another cup full of warmth. The acidic bite was gone and the wine flowed smooth and easy. Mae downed entire bottles easily this semester, always finishing one on Thursday and another on Friday as her classes faded away and an isolated weekend beckoned. Worn down by classroom hours and research, she avoided friends’ gatherings – her introverted nature meant any free time was spent recharging.
And drinking, and pondering her place in the world. The normal cheerful stuff.
Mae thought of the man in the video again. So kind to that cat. Drunken tears trickled to her cheek. She stumbled to the couch and tipped over, slightly dizzy. She laughed at herself, sobbing for no particular reason and all particular reasons at once.
“Such a nice man,” she whispered. “So nice to that cat.”
Clutching a worn blanket she’d had since she was seven, Mae realized she was quite possibly at the mythical “bottom.” She drank too much, she hid from her friends, and she struggled at work. The cycle was endless. She couldn’t snap herself out of it. She couldn’t break free. And she realized that in some way, Teacher knew that. He probably figured it out the first time he saw her before the first day of the semester; she was fighting with the copy machine and swearing like a sailor. He was calm and collected.
Of course he was.
Later, in the bathroom, Mae glanced over at the shower as she brushed her teeth. No way would the water heater fill work well enough for a nice bath.
But the showerhead...
Mae had to admit to herself that it had been a long, long time. And curling up on her bed and cuddling against her spare pillows was becoming routine – quick masturbation for pure stress relief, nothing more. She couldn’t handle that tonight. She sniffled and studied her puffy face in the mirror, toothbrush hanging from her mouth like a cartoonish cigarette.
Whaddya say, punk? You feelin’ lucky?
If she dropped her pajama bottoms and perched on the edge of the tub and pulled the showerhead down, would that mean that Teacher won?
Why are you calling him that?
“Because,” Mae said to her reflection, waving her toothbrush. “Just...because.”
A warmth was building between her legs. It was undeniable. She could try to ignore it, sure, but maybe it would help if she indulged a bit. Instant relief. Teacher would never know, anyway.
Mae finished brushing, spit, rinsed, and leaned against the sink. After another moment of consideration, she slowly tugged her pajama bottoms down and walked over to turn on the hot water.
“Fuck it!” she yelled to nobody in particular. “I can do whatever I want.”
As steam filled the tiny bathroom and water thrashed into the tub, Mae eased her panties down and sat on the cool plastic edge so her feet dangled inside. She kept her thin t-shirt on, figuring that a partial disrobing kept this from being truly serious.
Mae stood just long enough to tug the detachable showerhead down, then flipped up the lever to send water through the long white tube and out the chrome head in a concentrated, pulsing stream.
She perched on the edge of the tub again. She aimed the hot water at her calves and let it massage her gently. She worked the stream higher, slowly, spreading her legs and keeping the showerhead angled down. She closed her eyes.
It was like a small, firm hand pressing into her skin at the inside of the knee. The thigh, the inner thigh. Back and forth, Mae covered both legs with wide swaths. She no longer noticed the chilly edge of the tub, or the light bruises from Teacher’s hand.
Mae gazed down sleepily as she played with the water. Right thigh, left thigh, an inch higher each time. She teased herself. The dark brown thatch of hair nestled above her pink lips held tiny droplets that glimmered under the bathroom’s bare bulbs. She scooted further in toward the tub, arching her back slightly and widening her legs even further. She braced her right foot against the far edge of the tub. Her pussy was already pulsing with the first hints of wetness. Warm and blossoming and ready.
Mae guided the showerhead in close. The steady flow of water thrummed against the small curve between thigh and crotch. She held still, savoring the thrill and stinging heat, and then allowed herself the instant bliss of hot pulsing water directly over her sex.
It almost sent her tumbling into the tub.
“Ohhhhhh, shit,” Mae moaned. Her legs shook as she zeroed in on the upper folds of her lips, where her clit was seemingly surging to life. The water was just on the edge of too hot – almost painful, but not, almost numbing her sex but still thrilling it immeasurably. She raised the showerhead higher. Water washed down her lower belly and over her pussy in a lovely cascade. The white hose brushed over her dripping lips and made her twitch in quick pleasure.