Another Kind of Power

This story disappeared from Lit when the author dropped off. It was one of my favorites and I had a copy so I tweaked it to match my kinks and am resharing with the community. Thanks to asecretdream for the original! -Alan

The stairwell leading up to Professor Parson's office seemed to darken as Lucy Hancock rounded onto the final flight. It wasn't the lateness of the hour that caused her heart to tremble -- she had met with many professors during their evening office hours without a qualm -- but the subject matter. Economics! Oh, how that subject had become the bane of her existence at college. Each step upwards increased her feeling of dread, and even though she knew it was illogical to feel it, she couldn't escape it.

For some reason, the perverse graphs and buzzwords of economics just made her head spin, and she hated to deal with it. Lucy knew that it wasn't that she was a bad student -- on the contrary, she was a scholarship student who should be on the Dean's List this semester. Or at least she would be, if only her other classes counted. If I don't fail Economics! she thought to herself. She had never failed a subject in her life, and her full tuition scholarship depended on not failing. She couldn't fail!

"So why can't I pass this damn final!" she involuntarily mumbled out loud.

The stairs ended, all too soon, and she was at his door. She glanced at the window beside it in a futile effort at delay, and caught her reflection. She was still wearing her required college uniform -- a new innovation that sought to bring back an "old time" curriculum and feel to the school. Her pressed white shirt stood out brightly in the dark window, curving to follow her bust and hips and starkly contrasting with her vivid red hair that cascaded over the shoulders. She was wearing a lacy white bra underneath that gave her support and, in the right light, provided a hint of sexiness. The mid-thigh-length pleated skirt was nearly invisible and created the stark contrast with her slim pale legs and white stockings that ended just below the knee. Well, at least the white shirt and white stockings make my skin look a little darker. The curse of a real redhead - she never tanned. But overall, she was pleased with her appearance, and smoothed the skirt out and straightened her blouse one last time in an absently nervous way.

She gave a tentative knock with the vague hope that he was not there. Her hopes were not met, and he called out for her to come in. Taking a deep breath and settling her features into what her mom called "pleasantly attractive smiling" she opened the door and went inside.

Professor Parson stood up and welcomed her into a chair across his large mahogany desk. His bright blue eyes and dark brown hair framed a face that was both strong and kind. He was wearing what he almost always wore -- brown slacks and a navy-blue collared shirt with an aquamarine tie. The only consolation of having to wear her uniform, she thought, was that all the men had to wear slacks and a tie. Well, that and I look rather hot in this outfit she thought to herself with a mental grin.

Professor Parson was both her favorite and least favorite professor. She liked him personally, and he was funny and ran the classroom well. He always was engaging, moved the class along and they had fun without getting lost in side subjects and jokes. He had a reputation as one of the best teachers on campus despite his age and newness to the school. Yet all that in the classroom didn't translate into understanding for her. Truly, the subject matter ruined the class for her. She had known that Economics would be hard for her based on her experience with it in high school, and had chosen Professor Parson out of the several professors who taught the class based mainly on his youth and reputation as a great teacher.

He was a new professor to the college, having been hired straight out of grad school to teach in the Economics department. She knew he was smart, too, because he had graduated high school at 16, and finished college and his graduate degree in only six years. Since Lucy had taken a few years off to help run a youth camp in California before coming to college, she was actually only 3 years his junior even though he was a professor and she was a twenty-one year old sophomore in college.

Despite their similarities in age, the subject remained an impenetrable morass for her, and each bi-weekly quiz and ramped up her stress level as the scores came back lower and lower. She had shifted from frustrated to angry to dread to horror as the class devolved into bizarre graphs and strange phrases like "marginal externalities" and "Pareto optimization" that made no sense to her. The final yesterday had been pure agony, and she was sure she had messed up the statistical regression analysis and calculation of the equilibrium point for the guns/butter supply & demand curve graph. It sorta made sense today, but during yesterday's final it had seemed like Greek to her. Hmpf she thought, sitting down, Greek is easier to understand than this stuff. She was hoping to find out her score and see if there was some sort of additional work she could do, if necessary, to keep a passing grade.

"Hello, Ms. Hancock, what can I help you with?" He asked. His blue eyes peered at her through reading glasses, which he slipped off. "Since class is over, I thought you would be headed for home by now, like everyone else."

"Well, sir, I've been thinking about the final yesterday. I think I made some pretty basic errors because I was sorta scrambled in the testing room, I guess I wasn't feeling that well. It is going to bother me all summer long, and I couldn't stand the thought of waiting until July to find out my grade. I was hoping you could tell me how I did," she replied.

She held off on the extra work question, with the quiet but small hope in her heart that it wouldn't be necessary. It isn't like she wanted to volunteer to write a paper over summer break!

"As you know, it is against school policy to tell students their grades before the report cards are sent out. However, I think that is a rather juvenile restriction considering you are an adult. Also, I've watched *ahem* observed you this semester, and I know both how hard you have been working at this subject and that it does not come easily to you. I haven't reached your final test yet, but tell you what -- give me ten minutes and I'll grade it right now, and we can discuss it."

"Oh, yes, please, thank you" she said with her third best smile. Her mom had always told her to save the others for the big requests, and it was advice that had served her well. Her mother, a beauty pageant queen who had snared the local BMOC and enjoyed a pleasant lifestyle of status and wealth, had worked hard to ensure that her daughters were trained in the same way she was on how to snare a man. Lucy hadn't understood how odd her mother' attitudes were until high school when she found out that the girls around her had absolutely no idea how to seduce a man to do what you wanted. They all thought you had to give them a blowjob or let them feel your boobs. Amateurs. A true woman can use the hint of possibility to motivate a man to do what she wants.

She watched him sort through the pile in front of him until he pulled one up with her familiar tight handwriting on it. He slipped on the reading glasses again, pulled out a red pen, and began reading her answers. At first she watched him with an intensity of a hawk, waiting for the pen to dart down and mark something incorrect. Even though the final had been twenty pages long, much of it was pictures and graphs, so it shouldn't take too long, or so she hoped. He read through the first page without making one red mark, and her heart beat easier. He glanced up at her, held her eyes for a moment, smiled, and turned the page.

The glance caught her attention. Why look up? She hadn't said a thing. She hadn't moved. She hadn't made a sound. And why the smile? Did that mean she was doing well, or something else? And what did he mean by saying that he had been watching her all semester? Why had he coughed and switched to saying 'observed'? Had he been crushing on her?

The thoughts distracted from the grading and made her look at him in a different way. He is cute, she thought to herself, and quite funny. She liked dark hair and blue eyes, and he had them in spades. She knew a couple of the other girls in her class had picked his class because he was 'dreamy', but she had been more worried about understanding the subject rather than having something nice to look at in class. Not that I didn't watch his tight rear on occasion as he wrote on the white board. A girl's human, after all.

She watched the top of his head, the way his muscular shoulders and arms moved as he graded her final. Quite dreamy, actually. She remembered one particular class where the air conditioning had broken on a warm fall afternoon, and she had been sitting in the front row as usual. She had unbuttoned her shirt dangerously low, both to relieve the heat and to tease the guys in the class by deliberately showing her ample cleavage. She thought she had seen Professor Parson eyeing her breasts, but she wasn't sure. She had found herself purposefully leaning forward, as if to pay better attention, but in the process using her arms to make her cleavage even more prominent and give him an eyeful. She had secretly wanted to catch him admiring her. She liked it when men couldn't help but focus on her, then got embarrassed when she made eye contact after, letting them know that she knew what they were doing. That they were lusting after her.

Unfortunately, he never did look -- or, at least, not so that she could catch him. It had disappointed her that day, and the chance hadn't come again. I would have used my third best smile on him after catching him looking down my shirt, so he would know that both I caught him and that I wasn't offended. That would have been a nice flirt, mmm, I wonder what he would have done then?

A tingle of excitement danced through her womanhood, and guilt and fear of being caught made her realize that she was gazing like a love-struck moon cow at him. She tried to shake off that train of thought, and glanced over along the office wall above him. Beyond his framed degrees, it was lined with books of various kinds, mostly economics but some on history, philosophy, and religion. She recalled when he would give real world and historical examples to illustrate esoteric economic ideas, and realized that despite his youth he wasn't just copying from others -- he truly was a professor. He knows so much!

She found the idea of his knowledge, coupled with his youth and looks, exciting. Plus knowing that he was in a position of authority was something of a turn-on all by itself. She liked a man to take charge. Hmm, what would it be like if he took charge of me? A vision of him standing behind her, telling her in a commanding voice to bend over and lifting her short skirt, maybe to spank her, flashed through her mind. Oh, stop it! she told herself, trying to pull out of her schoolgirl daydream. But her mind resisted, and she thought about him pulling her silky black underwear down, exposing herself to him, to his eyes. Would he spank her for bad grades? Or position her to accept his hard cock that he wanted to shove into her? Lucy felt hotness radiating between her legs and she physically pinched her own arm, trying to get control of her runaway brain. She couldn't be sitting here, in his office, fantasizing about having sex with him! She already felt damp down there and tried to refocus by looking down away from the books.

His hands moved suddenly on the final, and she glanced down; to her rising horror, the page was covered with red marks, and it was page eight of the test. He wasn't even to the part where she thought she messed up! Her body suddenly tense, she watched his hand move quickly down the page, rapidly reading her answers. More red flicks of the pen. As the pages turned, even more red. He wasn't smiling now!

She felt her blood pulsing in her temples, and tears starting to form in her eyes. She was going to fail! Her secret hope of a test well taken, and distracting thoughts about him, had only delayed the truth. She tried to maintain her composure, but in her mind the swirling thoughts were crashing about -- would she be able to keep her scholarship? What would her family say? Would she have to repeat the class and go through this agony all over again? No! Her anger made her flushed, and her eyes watered. Suddenly the room seemed too small, too hot. She undid the top three buttons of her shirt and walked over to the window, facing away from him, trying to regain some calm before speaking. I will not cry! she thought.

She saw movement in the window, and turned with dread. Professor Parson looked up at her, and without a trace of a grin said "Ms. Hancock, I have to say that you did not do well on the test. I don't understand it, frankly. I've seen your work, and I know you are capable of better. Based on this, you would fail this class. What happened?"

"I don't know, I just get so flustered about this stuff. I don't feel well, it is like I get physically sick. It makes sense when I study it, and I do study a lot! But when test time comes, I just lose my head!" Her voice rose with her last words, and fighting back tears, she sat back down and leaned forward earnestly toward him.

"I think I have some sort of mental block about economics, and I don't know what to do about it. I know I made a horrible mess of the final. I know I can do this, but I didn't. Isn't there some other test, some other paper, some other work I could do to earn a passing grade?" she asked imploringly, shifting towards him to flash her second-best smile. No time like the present to use it!

His eyes, behind the reading glasses, had been staring into her eyes intently, but as she had shifted forward to speak, she noticed he seemed to look down at her chest, almost involuntarily, and then snap his eyes back to her face. He took his glasses off and faced diagonally from her, shifting in his chair, seemingly trying to regain his composure. Suddenly it hit her, with a certainty that left no doubt -- she was arousing him. His comments, the look, the smile, the glance, shifting in his chair -- he thought she was beautiful. From his turn and trying to hide it from her, she realized that he wasn't going to press his advantage on her now. He could if he wanted to, and not for a grade. She would have gone out with him anyway, and a little fun at the end of a date would be nice. So now I get him to look down my shirt! Too little, too late. I could have used some private tutoring earlier in the semester. Of both kinds.

It struck her, watching him looking down at her test and trying to compose both himself and an answer to her question, that they both had a kind of power over the other. He was her professor, and had an authority power over her. But she was beautiful in his eyes, and that gave her another kind of power -- sexual power over him. He was reluctant to use his power over her but would unless she could change his mind. So our two kinds of power have to solve this problem. I will not lose my scholarship! I'll just tease him into pleasing the pretty girl, and get him to give me a passing grade. Mom always said that smiles could be like dollars!

She stood up and leaned across the desk towards him, putting her hand on the test. She lowered her voice slightly and said, "Professor Parson, I know that what I'm asking is unusual. But I feel a real connection with you and I'm sure that you know that I do understand this material. I just need a chance to demonstrate that to you."

As she spoke, she gestured with her hand, pointing it to herself, then him, and then back to herself. She deliberately left her hand below her line of sight, and as his eyes tracked her gesture, it was leading him to look at her creamy cleavage, pleasantly revealed by her partially unbuttoned white blouse. He kept trying to look up at her eyes or down at the test, but her deliberate hand gestures kept bringing his eyes back to her breasts.

She felt a thrill of power when she saw how he was failing to look away, how he had this frustrated but excited look on his face. It was like he felt both guilty for looking and aroused by doing so. Lucy let her long red hair fall down the right side of her head, dangling an inch above the desk. He had a look of longing as her hair framed both her face and her bosom, and his hand twitched, almost involuntarily, like he wanted to reach out and stroke her. He seems to react nearly as strongly to my hair as to my breasts she thought. He's into redheads, I guess.

"I don't know how that could be done, Ms. Hancock. I'll think on it and let you know tomorrow by noon. Thank you for coming by." His voice sounded uneven, and his trying to end the encounter told her that her power was working on him.

If I walk out of here, it's all over she thought. So instead she stood up and walked around the desk towards him, saying "Professor Parson, I have to leave for home first thing in the morning. If you don't give me an answer now on what I can do to prove my knowledge, I'm just sure that I won't be able to prove it from so far away. Maybe I can draw some supply and demand graphs?"

He was watching her with hungry eyes as she moved around the desk, shifting closer to him with a subtle but deliberate sway of her hips. She turned to give him a good view of her legs. She bent towards the desk right next to him, stretching out for a pen and piece of paper while "accidentally" rubbing her right breast against his left shoulder. Her nipple hardened and sent a nice tingle up her spine; it reminded her that her body's power over him was also her body's power over her own self-control. My power is greater, but dangerous to us both. She found a part of herself wanting to continue teasing him whether or not he would give her a chance to prove herself.

She noticed that his head turned, almost involuntarily, to look at her. Her breasts jutted out firmly right at eye level, demanding his attention. Her beautiful red hair now swept down the left side of her head, contrasting her white skin with bright color, framing her breasts for him. She was using all the tricks her mom had told her about attracting a man's attention. He slid the chair back from the desk, seemingly trying to gain some distance from her, but only brought his eyes in view with her curving rear, only barely covered by her skirt, and long smooth legs. She felt his eyes on her, and arched her back a bit to highlight her curving bottom.

At a glance of his lap, now revealed as he pushed the chair back, she could tell the powerful effect she was having on him. His erection pushed hard against his pants, demanding attention. She quickly looked back at the desk, as if unaware of the effect she was having on him. She sketched a graph that had been on the test quickly, providing labels in the pencil she had grabbed.

"Oh, let me highlight the changes on this demand curve in a different color so you'll see that I understand the impact of inelasticity," she said. She deliberately reached across the desk for a pen she saw on the far side, forcing her to almost bend over the desk. She knew she had just lifted her skirt high up and revealed her underwear to him, indeed put it right in his face. Thank God I wore my black silk panties today, for the feel, instead of some unsexy cotton things!