Coed Turned Housewife Ch. 02

Coed Turned Housewife, Ch. 2 - "Chelsea's First Time(?)"

The second in a series about innocent Chelsea Pelham and her handsome professor, Dr. Mark Benning.

***

Instead of sleeping that night, Chelsea Pelham thought for hours about what to do. She already knew Dr. Benning's lab was doing something abnormal to the young women who worked there. She herself experienced a freakish breast growth - from A-cup to DD's - in only a few short months.

Now, in the lab that afternoon, she had secretly overheard him encourage a grad student to collect data on breast growth - even if it meant drugging the girl. Dr. Benning had point-blank encouraged the student to commit a date-rape, practically! Chelsea blushed thinking of the word "rape." She had never discussed such things with her friends at the Christian student center.

If Chelsea became a whistle-blower on Dr. Benning and told the administration what she had overheard, she didn't think they were very likely to believe her. The publicized purpose of Dr. Benning's lab was to study frog ovulation. Currently only bawdy student gossip connected the Benning lab to the dozens of large-breasted girls who were beginning to populate campus.

In fact, just that week, Chelsea's current crush Joey had teased her about working in the "Big-Titty" lab. Chelsea like Joey a lot, but she was devout, a virgin, and scared of dating after years of wide-eyed Young Life conversations had convinced her that sex only comes after marriage. She always kept Joey at an arm's-length, but they had kissed (quickly) on the mouth a few times and exchanged a few midly flirtatious texts. She always sent him a little kiss-face emoji with a nice pink flower, which he answered with a purple eggplant that she didn't quite understand the meaning of. She thought it was funny how much he loved that specific vegetable.

Lying in bed for hours that night, her chestnut hair streaming around her pillow and onto the swollen breasts that strained against her flannel nightgown, Chelsea decided she needed to speak to Dr. Benning directly and confront him with her suspicions. She would secretly record his response in order to get the administration to take her seriously. She knew that if she confronted him, he had to make some kind of compromising admission. She knew that what his lab was doing was wrong, unethical, and probably illegal.

Emailing Dr. Benning the following morning, she requested a meeting with the handsome young PhD for that afternoon. He quickly emailed a meeting invite, which she accepted. On approaching his office door at the appointed time, she was surprised to find him standing by the locked door with his briefcase.

"Miss Pelham, Chelsea, there you are, right on time. I wonder if we can make this a walking meeting to grab a bite to eat? I haven't had time for a break all day and am starving. Are you hungry? Can I help carry your bag?" She was put off-guard by his chivalry, but had actually skipped lunch as well. She agreed to go with him.

They chatted politely until they reached a diner near campus, where they slid into a small booth. As the waitress set down their cutlery, they both ordered sodas. "Make mine diet, please," requested Dr. Benning. The waitress nodded and walked away.

Chelsea made a face. "How can you drink that diet stuff? It tastes like nothing but chemicals!"

Dr. Benning grinned. "What's wrong with chemicals? They're my livelihood. Besides, I have to preserve my youthful figure."

Chelsea flushed remembering that so-called "youthful figures" were just what she had come to corner him about. She reminded herself nervously that she was there to get him on record with damning evidence of his wrongdoings, but she didn't feel comfortable confronting him just yet about the topic. This was not going exactly as planned. Besides, she needed to activate the voice recorder on her phone. She excused herself to go to the restroom.

When she returned, she sat down and nonchalantly took a long sip of her soda. "Ew!" She exclaimed with real disgust. "They must have mixed them up. I think I'm drinking the diet!" She looked meaningfully at Dr. Benning's soda, and he blandly took a small sip from his straw.

"Nope, mine's diet too. We can get you another one?" He scanned the crowded diner. "Might be a minute though. Looks like she's the only server on duty."

Chelsea gave a defeated groan. "It's fine, I'll just sip this yucky chemical cocktail." A smile played about Dr. Benning's lips that made Chelsea feel a little uncomfortable. His eyes twinkled mischievously and she felt a little self-conscious as he watched her sipping her drink. The fries seemed extra salty that day, and she had quickly finished her diet soda and ordered another drink, this time making sure the order was for the regular type of cola. The waitress insisted she had not made a mistake previously, but said she would make sure to bring the right kind the second time around.

After they had eaten most of their burgers and fries, Chelsea began valiantly to try to bring up the subject of the lab assistants' breast growth. Something was wrong, though. She found herself increasingly tongue-tied and having difficulty keeping her train of thought. She brought up the lab several times, but Dr. Benning deftly turned the conversation back to her each time, learning about her family background, her parents' careers, her religious beliefs, her nebulous career ambitions. He seemed to draw out of her more information than she wanted to reveal, and she found herself blurting things out without her usual poise and reserve.

"So, why are you at the university?" He finally asked. "Your plans seem fuzzy."

"I don't know exactly. I guess to study," Chelsea said thickly.

"To study, or to meet boys?" Dr. Benning teased with eyebrows raised. He wasn't much older than a boy himself, so his question came off as a little flirtatious. Chelsea would have ignored it normally, but her social graces seemed to have left her.

"Well, I haven't met any yet. I'm a virgin until marriage." She blurted unthinkingly.

His eyes flashed. "That's an old-fashioned approach. I'm sure you'll change your mind, though, they all do." He glanced around the room casually. "Miss Pelham, I think we're done eating and I sense you still haven't said what you came to say to me. Let's continue this conversation across the street, where it's a little more private."

Chelsea gazed through the glass window to the location he indicated - Euphoria, a swank bar she had never been in.

"Ok, but you know I'm too young to drink." She slurred thickly. "I've never been in a bar." She didn't think to question it further. Was it abnormal to go to bars with professors? What would her friends from church think? She couldn't stop to question the implications, as Dr. Benning ushered her out into the late afternoon sun.

Walking into Euphoria, few patrons were inside the cool, modern bar. A bartender dressed in black was drying glasses at the end of the bar, ignoring them. No waitress greeted them. It felt intensely private, almost desolate.

Dr. Benning sat Chelsea in a secluded corner, where a small velvet booth could seat one person comfortably or squeeze two together intimately. She parked herself comfortably in the booth, assuming Dr. Benning would pull up a nearby chair.

He quickly returned from the bar with a beer for himself and a tiny glass with amber liquid for her.

"This is their smallest drink, it might help you relax more so that we can talk better," he said in explanation.

She looked at it doubtfully. "I haven't ever had alcohol. My parents would die if they knew I had touched a drop."

He nodded and smiled indulgently. "Mine too. You're safe here, though, you're with an authority figure! Just pretend it's medicine and knock it back. It will give you courage!" He held her hand as he said this, playfully bringing the drink to her mouth, compelling her to bring it to her lips. She opened her mouth, and he helped hold the glass forcefully to her lips, until she had drunk it all.

She coughed a little on gulping down all of the fiery liquid. "I'm not sure I like it," she spluttered. He smiled angelically. She noted dimly that he was sitting on the edge of the small banquette with her. They began to chat idly, her mind distracted from all thoughts of the lab.

About 10 or 15 minutes after slugging the tiny drink, Dr. Benning got up to bring her another. He again held it playfully to her lips, and she drank it obediently, his hand once again on hers for a long moment. She was starting to feel very odd.

She had felt less coordinated before the tiny drinks, but now she realized she had very little agency over her own limbs. Dr. Benning had edged increasingly close to her on the booth. Now his arm was covertly tucked behind her waist, the dark hairs and tan skin of his muscular forearm were gently brushing the bottom of her heavy breast. He could speak directly in her ear softly, his lips almost touching the delicate folds, the smell of her chestnut hair close to his nose.

Although she was able to do little besides nod and make small "mm-hmm" or "nh-nh" sounds, she realized she could smell his aftershave and could feel the soft skin of his lips as he spoke confidentially into her ear. He seemed to be explaining something about the lab and she desperately wanted to check that the recorder was on, but her limbs were as good as useless. She felt like a giant doll. "At least I'm still thinking straight," she thought to herself optimistically.

But she began to realize time seemed disjointed, and that now he was helping her out of the bar and into a car, that the car was driving, briefly, then parked. She forgot where she was, forgot his name, as he helped her into an unfamiliar building - a residential building - where he had to help her walk, practically carry her, down a series of corridors. He unlocked a door finally and shuffled her inside, resting her gently on a couch in a darkened room.

***

Her next memory was blurred - ill-formed - possibly imagined? She felt her eyes opening as a sharp burning pain stabbed her somewhere deep inside. An incredible pressure strained her, she couldn't tell where - it felt like at her very center, her core. She felt wet. Had she urinated on herself? She tried to cry out, but her mouth was full, gagged. Distantly the enormous, painful pressure kept building and receding. She felt so warm and wet inside, as if she was melting. Her breasts were hanging freely and nakedly, assaulted by probing fingers, pinched and roughly kneaded. She was sucking in her breath but couldn't speak, only moan.

"Are you awake, my love?" A familiar voice asked, but she couldn't place it. There was something very wrong, and she felt sore in places she couldn't remember ever feeling sore in before. Suddenly a wet rush filled her and she believed she must have urinated on herself - again. She swooned and was dead to the world.

***

The next morning, she awoke abruptly with the sun spilling into the blinds, searing her eyes. She had a splitting headache, unable to focus her vision against the sun's glare. Her breasts felt huge and sore and naked against unfamiliar cotton sheets. She tried to fully open her eyelids, but they were heavily glued with sleep and dried makeup. Her mouth felt dry, painful, her lips cracked.

"Good morning, Chelsea," a gentle male voice said softly. She blinked her eyes confusedly until the form of her lab professor, Dr. Benning, came into view. He looked different somehow, out of place: what was he doing here? He was holding a tray and fully dressed for work, his eyes gazing steadily at her with amused interest. "Are you awake, sleepy-head?"

Her mouth was so dry, lips painfully chapped. "Dr. - Dr. Buh-buh..." she stumbled incoherently. He broke in. "Dr. Benning. You can call me Mark when we're not in the lab, Chelsea," he offered as he set the tray down and stacked some pillows to help her sit up.

"Mark. Mark. OK," she said stupidly. She greedily seized the orange juice on the tray, gulping it down. He watched her for a moment before handing her some pills.

"Do you have a headache? I thought these might help."

She nodded, closing her eyes in relief, and threw back the capsules. He poured her some black coffee and she held it to her lips, taking careful sips of the hot liquid as she tried to recompose herself. No words came to mind. What was she doing here? What had happened?

"What am I doing here? What happened?" She said finally, with effort. "This is your house?"

He nodded. "Let's just say you went a little overboard last night. You got a little overenthusiastic at the bar, so it seemed best to bring you here for your own safety."

He bent down close to her, and she could smell he was freshly showered and shaved. She realized he was dressed for the lab, with a dress-shirt on, neatly tucked and belted. He surprised her by leaning in and brushing her mouth with a quick kiss.

"You were wonderful last night," He said close to her ear. He paused for a beat, as if about to say something more, before withdrawing. He stood up straight and looked directly at her.

"Leave any time you want. There's a spare key on the counter. I'll text you later and check on you." He walked out of the room before she could recover from the pleasant confusion of the kiss. His lips had been soft, intimate. What did he mean she had been wonderful? She felt so confused.

Slowly she pulled herself up and out of the bed. On rising for the bathroom, she realized her legs were itchy, and that a crusty substance was all over her vulva, caking the soft, curling down that covered this intimate region. She also noticed dried blood and felt a little scared. Was she injured? She showered and cleaned up as best she could, but felt some liquid leaking out of her at odd moments. "Am I peeing on myself?" She thought wildly. Her big breasts ached and the skin was sensitive as if they had been chapped by friction. Her lips felt raw and the skin on her nose and chin was a little red from - from what? Worst of all was between her legs, an ache and soreness as if she had been riding a bike too long or going horseback riding. But she could hardly concentrate on these dull pains, as the pounding in her head took precedence over all. She took more Tylenol capsules and called a Lyft to get back to her own apartment.

She slept most of that day, eating only the random junk food that she felt wouldn't nauseate her. She was lying on the used couch she shared with her roommate, watching YouTube animal videos mindlessly, when she received a text.

"How's my sweet girl? Feeling better?" It was Dr. Benning. Mark.

She wasn't sure how to respond to his familiar tone. "Sweet girl"? She felt her stomach flip-flop with some half-formed thought in the back of her mind.

"I am okay, thanks for asking. At home." She decided to sound casual. But she felt unreasonably interested as she watched the text bubble of his coming response.

"I'll be done here soon, and will drop by and check on you. Do you like chicken soup?"

She felt perplexed. Did he have her address? Did she want him to have it? How to respond?

He apparently didn't need her to. "I have your address and will be there in 30." He then sent a kiss-face emoji.

Chelsea felt suddenly both very self-conscious and a little bit excited. She had never had a male guest before, she realized. She went to her dresser in order to change into a better "home" outfit, selecting tight black yoga pants that hugged every inch of her heart-shaped rear, plush cozy thick socks, a soft camisole with a built-in bra to contain the large soft globes of her breasts, and a shaggy cardigan that added some modesty, while still keeping her chest on full display. She brushed her hair carelessly, noting the sizable lumps of her nipples easily visible through the shirt. She felt attractive, but was distracted suddenly by another leak in her panties and realized more of the unknown liquid was coming out of her. "It's too early for my period," she thought. "What is oozing out of me?"

Just then, her phone buzzed and she diverted her attention back to the text thread with Mark.

"Almost there, beautiful" it said.

She felt so confused. She scrolled up to re-read his text from earlier that day, to see if it now made more sense. His newfound affection confused and scared her. Scrolling back, she saw some messages that she had not noticed previously.

They were photo texts from last night. From her. To Dr. Benning, her professor.

In one photo, Chelsea was clearly naked, her nipples fully exposed, taking a selfie while seeming to crawl on all fours. She could see man's naked torso behind her, the face cut off, his pelvis obscured by the outline of her buttocks. She was facing the camera and had a glazed expression, her makeup smeared.

Scrutinizing this photo, she swallowed hard. Her heart was beating in her ears. She had never before been naked with a man. She didn't remember this happening, or anything about it. She didn't even know WHAT was happening in the photo, except that it was something she - a good Christian, a virgin - shouldn't have been doing.

The next photo someone had taken of her. This time she was looking up, holding what looked to be a man's engorged organ, the swollen mushroom cap against her lips, her fingers demurely wrapped around the shaft. Her eyes met the camera, but again her expression was glazed and expressionless. Her mouth was covered in a white liquid that looked somewhat like spattered cake frosting.

She had texted the photos to Dr. Benning just before 11 PM the night before. The single caption read, "Tonight you made a woman out of me," with the kiss emoji and flower she used so often. She realized the flower looked vaguely sexual now, almost vaginal. She felt dazed and slightly sick. SHE had taken and texted these photos to HIM. And she didn't remember any of it, just a few hazy impressions of warmth and wetness.

The doorbell rang.

She hurried to it with her brows knit. She hesitated holding the knob for a second, but had no idea what alternative she had. When she opened the door, she saw him - Dr. Benning - standing handsomely in his shirt and tie, holding flowers and a bag of take-out. She stood gawking at his boyish smile before he said mischievously, "aren't you even going to ask me inside? Even vampires can't enter without an invitation." She smiled vaguely, stood aside and made a motion for him to enter.

He set the bags on the coffee table and went to get a vase for the flowers. "I thought these might make you feel better," he said as he brought in the colorful bouquet. "If they don't," he said grinning, "I also have some muscle relaxers and some pills I use when I get migraines. I know your head must still be splitting."

She nodded and brought her fingers to her temples. He sat down beside her on the couch, his large, lean frame carefully positioned so as not to touch her. She sat gingerly on the edge of the sofa.

"This all yours?" He gazed around the room. She shook her head no. She cleared her throat. "My roommate Karen I have known each other since middle school. Our parents helped us get all this furniture. She's out studying right now."

He nodded and turned his attention to the packages. "I brought you chicken soup; and also eggrolls, because sometimes those help with a hangover. Also some ginger ale and crackers. Also candy, just in case." He held up a bag of gummi worms. He started to undo the packages, shifting his attention from her.

"Dr. Benni-" she began.

"Mark," he corrected her.

"Mark."

"Yes, Chelsea?" He paused and straightened, waiting for her to speak. He looked innocent, vulnerable. She liked him, in spite of her discomfort. His jawline alone was so sexy and well-formed, it melted some kind of iceberg inside of her. She pressed on awkwardly.