The Professor & The Ballerina

You pour me a glass of wine, and hand it to me. Gazing deep into my eyes, I'm positive you can tell how turned on I am by the entire setting. You smile at me, amused by my fiery red cheeks that have blushed as you read my thoughts. I wear my heart on my sleeve!

"I'm sorry that there's not going to be any turkey. I hope you're not too terribly disappointed with the change of plans." You lighten the mood by engaging in random conversation.

"Oh, no, Sir, I mean, ha – no, Leo, no. Not at all." I say a little too enthusiastically, happy for the distraction. "It's a nice surprise actually. I don't really like turkey all that much anyway, and I hate stuffing, and cranberries are not my favorite – at least the way my mom makes them, but most of all I hate sweet potato pie. I mean, not your wife's probably, or yours if you're the one who makes it, I just mean in general terms of yams, in general." Here I was again, embarrassingly babbling on, but you kindly rescue me.

"A toast." You hold up your glass, interrupting my rant, and I raise mine, listening.

I bite my bottom lip, internally chastising myself for being such a dork.

"To unexpected occurrences, and being thankful for the experience they can provide." You wink and clink your glass against the lip of mine, the sound of the crystal tings on for moments afterward.

Everything happens very slowly for several minutes.

We both sip our wine, maintaining eye-contact. The wine is delicious, sliding down my throat and settling in my empty stomach. I felt instant warmth, but didn't know if I should attribute that to you or the wine.

"Want a tour of the house?" You offer, setting your glass on the countertop.

"Sure!" I brighten, and relish the chance to get a glimpse into your world.

"Well, you've already seen the entryway and the living room." You open your arms to indicate the space we're in, "this is the kitchen and den, and just around that corner is the ladies room, should you need to use it." You wink at me.

I follow you as you lead me through the first floor, showing me the formal dining room, which you've lavishly decorated with a beautiful display of fine, white china place settings and polished Silver flatware, candles tall and short; a perfectly set table for two even though the table could seat at least twelve people.

Next, you lead me upstairs and show me the boys' rooms, their generously stocked game room, and finally your bedroom where I imagine you sleeping with your wife. It was different than I had pictured, more austere and sanitary – slightly cold, even – but then again, your wife most likely chose the décor.

"You don't have a home office?" Now that the wine was starting to loosen me up, I'm feeling more comfortable. I let the curious part of me emerge.

"Yes, Ellie, I have a home-office." You chuckle at my inquisitiveness, and lead me back down the stairs. "We're getting there." You tell me, laughing. "I was saving it for last because I wanted to give you a chance to warm up to me as a friend rather than your Professor."

We walked to the end of the curved hallway, the one you had mentioned earlier when you pointed out the bathroom located down this hall. Opposite the bathroom, was a door exactly like the bathroom door, but it was closed shut.

You pull out a small key from your trouser pocket and unlock the door to reveal a long, narrow case of stairs leading down to what I would have to assume is your office.

As we crept down the candle-lit stairs, I sensed a change in the mood surrounding us. Suddenly, the air smelled more like ... you – the way your office at school smelled – like cedar and thoughtful intelligence, and passion, and frankincense and myrrh, with undertones of secretive sex.

The room was only lit by one red light covered in an ornate, eastern Indian glass shade, which hung from the northeast corner, casting an eerie, intimate hue against the walls of back-to-back books - all hard covers, (I honestly shouldn't have been surprised by this.)

Several sconces illuminated the room with flickering candlelight, and a lone, black candle stood tall on your massive desk – dripping with wax - which was located across the room, and situated so that when you sat there, you could see whoever was at the entrance.

In the middle of the room was a lavish white fur rug from some unfortunate animal. And opposite your desk a plump leather chair and a small table with a reading rack to the side. I imagined you sitting here; reading my papers ... my mind began to wander off to lustful thoughts.

"So," You instinctively walked to your desk, leaning against it. "This is it. The place where I grade your papers, Ellie." You grin, teasing me, raising your eyebrows.

"It's amazing." I purred as I drag my fore-finger along the length of your desk. "But it's so ... different from your office on campus." I say, as I quick-study every single artifact and item on your shelves and walls, with wonderment and awe, cocking my head to the side in thoughtful mediation, wondering how each had been acquired.

Although I'm not looking at you, I can feel you smiling at my childlike inquisitiveness. I have a million questions running through my mind, coupled with lustful desire and a desperate need to be taken by You.

I am suddenly acutely aware that my ass hasn't been properly spanked, and my pussy hasn't been fingered or fucked in a very long time. Far too long, actually.

The silence sinks between us for an uncomfortable moment.

"So, I understand you're a ballerina, Ellie?" You sit in your chair behind your desk, leaning back, folding your fingers together. The erection that strains against the fabric of your pants is hidden from my view.

"Mm-hmm." I swallow dryly and answer, purposely distracted by your collection of books, and reading every single title. My head tilted sideways, eyes squinting in an effort to read the fine print.

"And I understand you're dancing the role of Princess Aurora in Sleeping Beauty just a few weeks from now, is that right?" You study me: the way I walk, the way I move my hips, the way I hold my hands, the way I process my thoughts as I examine your habitat.

I feel you staring at my face in the flickering candlelight, noticing my glossy hair, my firm little breasts, digesting and critiquing my mannerisms. I feel you desiring me. There is no way I can be imagining this chemistry between us.

"Are you excited to be dancing such a coveted role?" Your voice commands my attention.

"Yes, very," I respond with uncharacteristic lackluster, trying to beat you at this game of concentration and attention. But you were on to me. I was so self-aware, I was not thinking of ballet, but rather of the fire that you'd alighted in my cunt. And grappling with the fact that I'm completely distracted not only by your physical energy, but also stimulated by your psychological energy ... not to mention how mesmerized I was with your literary collection. At this point, I was ready for you to read to me or fuck me!

"Oh my god, you have a first edition of Little Birds?" I squeal, tugging it out from where it was wedged between two other priceless literary works of art. Anais Nin was quite possibly my only other idol besides Carlotta Brianza.

I hear you abruptly draw your breath, and then a quiet, unexpected grinding - a creaking of hinges opening, joints gently melding together. My eyes widen into saucers, I drop the book to the floor, as the wooden bookshelf I'm standing in front of begins to roll about three inches backward into the wall, and then split in the middle, sliding to either side.

"Oops." You muse, as though you've somehow plotted this situation prior to my arrival. You stand and move toward me, smiling sinisterly. "Looks like you've opened up Pandora's box, little one."

"Curiosity ... they say ..." You stand, chuckling delightedly as I'm frozen in awe.

I'm completely baffled. My mouth involuntarily drops open, and my brow furrows as doors open, giving way to another hidden room.

I strain my neck out to peer into the darkened space, a smaller anteroom whose walls are padded with thick burgundy vinyl on every side, too afraid to step inside. Only an odd, slender bench-like thing stands in the center of the room.

My mouth is dry and I swallow hard several times in an effort to gain a foothold on this curious turn of events. "Is this a... a ..." My heartbeat races faster with excitement.

You smile and chuckle gently. Why are you so amused by my innocence and wonderment? It's actually maddening!

"I guess you discovered my dirty little secret, Ellie." Your voice deepens and sounds more ominous than I've ever heard it sound. Sex exudes from your tone.

Suddenly you're standing right beside me, looking into the opening with me. You touch the back of my head, smoothing my hair sweetly, in an effort to calm my anxiety.

"What is that?" I stared at the slender bench-like thing, (which I knew full well was actually called a saw-horse, but I didn't want you to know that I was knowledgeable of such devious devices.)

"It's okay, Ellie. You can explore if you like." Your encouragement gave me strength to continue with my pursuit of curiosity. You gently pat me on the ass, as if to nudge me forward.

I crept inside the secret chamber, cautiously, and then recognized the things I couldn't make out from where I had been standing before: A long wooden beam that went from the floor to the ceiling in one corner, with an equally tall mirror resting flush against the padded wall, about the width of 4 feet, as well as a small wooden box connected to the beam which rested on the floor. I assumed that was meant for someone to stand on top of while strapped to the beam. There was also a large wooden treasure chest to the side, which was open, displaying an array of what appeared to be torture devices: different paddles; a cane; long, multi-tailed whips and rope all neatly tied in a long snaking length of knots – these were all atop other items deeper down which I could not see.

Something shiny caught the corner of my eye. I gazed toward the ceiling and wondered why there was a hook-like piece of metal protruding from the middle of the ceiling.

My heart pounded, heavier, faster ... I bit my lip and looked at my feet, thinking that there was really no going back now. Besides, I told myself, I didn't want to go back. I felt as though my darkest fantasies had been somehow psychically conveyed to you, and I trusted that you knew exactly what to do with them.

You stepped up behind me and wrapped your strong arm around my waist.

"Ellie." You turn me to face you. "You needn't be frightened." Your voice was soothing. You kissed the back of my head gently.

I felt so safe there with you. I sighed deeply, and relaxed more than I had been a moment ago. My eyes were burning with hot tears, not from anything else than just feeling a little overwhelmed by the desires that stirred within me.

"I was hoping to build up to this, but you had to go and pull out Anais." You smiled at me, chucking my chin with the knuckle of your forefinger.

"You willful, little girl." I felt as though I was being scolded for being such a curious little beast. I wouldn't have balked at punishment.

I was swimming in a dark and delicious dreamland. All of my hidden fantasies of belonging to someone – being made to obey and serve – seemed to be culminating within this moment.

"Tell me what you're thinking." You demand.

"I'm ..." My eyes flutter as I search for the words and sigh. "I'm thinking that I want to know what you do in here." I'm nothing, if not honest.

"Well, I'll tell you what." You press something small in your hand and the secret opening closes us in.

"If you want to find out, all you have to do is ask." The sound of flickering candles crackle against the silence.

"You just need to ask for what you want." You repeat yourself, coaxing me. My breath quickens and I'm clearly out of my element.

The quiet erotic electricity hums between us. I breathe deeply, trying to quiet my fright, I lick my lips. "I ..." I stare at your eyes, not sure quite how to ask you for what I truly desire.

"I want to ..." I try again, but my breath quickens and my voice is reduced to a faded plea.

I close my eyes and almost whisper. "I want you to fuck me, to do anything you want to me, to tie me up and make me yours."

My voice, almost foreign to me, husky with lust. "I want to submit to you." I open my eyes and look up at you with sure desire.

You smile broadly, "good girl, Ellie. That's exactly what I wanted to hear."

You push another book on the shelf near us, without moving your eyes from mine, and the secret panels churn open again.

"However, first you must be punished for your impetuousness." You scold me and my cheeks burn with embarrassment. "Do you understand that?"

I waver, my heart caught in my throat, not knowing exactly what to do, and you grip my little neck in your strong hand, forcefully leading me out of the anteroom and over to the chair behind your desk.

You push my face down so that my cheek is pressed atop your desk, my face to one side on the cool, cherry-wood.

"Spread your legs, little one." I oblige, widening my stance as far as I think I can. You kick my ankles out a little further. I recover on tip-toes.

One hand firmly wrapped around my small neck, causing me to be keenly aware that I was completely under your control. The other hand caressing my ass.

"Have you ever been spanked for being a bad girl, Ellie?" You hiss in my ear, all of my nerves shudder with seductive longing. My body melts, my head spins, every fiber in me tingles with desire. Yet, I say nothing, because I'm not quite sure how to answer.

You yank my head back slightly with a fist full of hair so that my head is still level with the desk, only my chin is against the wood, "Are you deaf, slut?"

Now I'm well aware you mean business. I search for the words.

"No," I stammer, "I mean, I'm not deaf, Sir, and ....um, yes, uh, I mean I have been spanked ... but not since I was a little girl." My voice is dry and frail, I feel like I'm totally blowing this. At least I threw a "Sir" in there.

"Well what do you think you are here, Ellie?" Your voice has taken on a cruel, sadistic tone, but it aroused such a feeling of deep and pure wanton submission within me. I was captivated and completely at your mercy, but not at all fearful of you.

I didn't know if that question was rhetorical, so I didn't answer.

"Slut!" You grab my hair harder and yank more forcefully so that I'm almost standing.

"When I ask you a question, I want an immediate response. Understand?"

"Yes." I heave breathlessly.

"Yes.........what??" You hiss at me.

"Yes, Sir." I respond instinctively, in a very tiny voice. I melted against your dominance. Just saying those words made my body feel like she was on fire.

"Now." You breathe into my ear, pressing your body on top of mine, kicking my ankles out further, so as to make me unbalanced, pressing my cheek back to the cool wood of your desk.

"Little sluts who snoop around in places they weren't invited to snoop in get punished, understand?"

"Yes, Sir." I swallowed my response. My eyes water a little but not from fear, rather from excitement of the unknown.

"Naughty little snooping sluts get spankings." You inform me. My head was spinning. I try to keep up with you. "And little miss-Cornell-Deans-List-Ballerina-slut is no exception!" Your massive hand came slapping down on my ass and I emit a quick gasp of shock.

You slap my covered butt three more times, enjoying my shock and awe. Then, you yank me up by my hair again and thrust your tongue in my hot mouth. I reel from desire and feel like you were kissing the life into me – awakening the slut within. You pull away from me just as I'm letting go ... You leave me wanting more.

"Strip."

"Dance for me, Ellie." You command, barely audible, a low and serious tone coloring your words.

My eyes widen, I snap my head toward you, and wonder if I've heard you correctly. "I'm sorry ..."

"Show me how you move when you're dancing the part of Aurora." Your eyelids are heavy with want, and your voice sends tingles through my nerves.

"But, I don't have my dance clothes or shoes, and ..." I stammer, flustered by the sudden turn of events. You kiss me deeply, your tongue reaching down to my heart, stirring the song inside. Your slender finger slips into the front of my pants and finds its way to the wet slit that is my cunt. You pull me toward you with that one finger.

"Do it. Now. Or else, you'll be up on the Saint Andrews Cross getting punished for disobeying me." You were no longer my Professor, now you were my Master.

I close my eyes and take a deep breathe in. I only want to please you. I want to dance for you. I dip way back, as though I'm being held by an imaginary partner, my head almost touches the floor of your dungeon.

Something comes over me. As though Aurora was awoken inside of me, as if you, Prince Charming had kissed me awake. I swing my body around in a passionate circle, kick off my shoes, pull the strings of my wrap sweater & seductively make my way out of it, as well as peel off the pants that are painted to my body.

Now, just in my bra & panties, I dance around the room, a passé, a releve, a jete ... in a trance, to a silent song. I am Aurora. And I only live to please You, my Master, my Prince Charming.