Doesn't Like to Read

I had to think quickly. I knew from his explanations on the first day of class, that in his view, extra work for a student, besides being unfair if it wasn't offered to all the students, was also no treat for the professor, who had to set the extra assignment and then grade it too. What could be a form of tolerable punishment for me, but something appealing for him?

He'd said in a variety of ways now that he found me attractive. I had to gamble. It was a crazy long-shot, but some instinct told me it had a chance.

'You could give me a spanking,' I suggested, lifting my eyebrows at him. 'Spank my bare bottom,' I winked at him as I upped the ante. I was trying on the flirty thing again, but this time it felt like it was landing.

His eyes twitched, possibly with interest, but then narrowed again sharply. 'Are you still recording this? Do you have some secondary recording device going?'

Crap. I didn't and I wasn't, but he had a point. Perhaps this was a lesson about integrity and reputation. A porn-fantasy version of the boy who cried wolf. I had been planning to record and blackmail him just a few minutes ago. He had no reason to take my word. How could I convince him to trust me, even as a co-conspirator in some dodgy academic sex-exchange? How could I establish the trust to allow him to agree to do what he clearly wanted to do, and maybe I wanted a little bit as well? A flash of inspiration struck. A way to alleviate his worries while increasing his temptation.

'You could search me,' I suggested. 'Search me very thoroughly to make sure I don't have another recording device anywhere. Once you're satisfied that it can't be recorded, you can spank me to punish me for trying to record you.'

He said nothing, continuing to stare into my eyes. This was promising. But so far, even if he agreed, all I'd managed to do was prevent the report. I was still no better off with respect to the course. And maybe the prospect of spanking a naked girl and then being left with bright blue balls wouldn't be sufficiently tempting for him to take the risk. No, I had to sweeten the deal still further for him, while introducing some concession that would help me to pass the course. He seemed very focused on the importance of grades matching actual knowledge learned in the course. Perhaps that could provide the missing element.

'And then,' I continued, 'with a clean slate, we could discuss some way that I could compensate you for all of the extra tutoring I'm going to need from you to learn the course material and get a decent grade.'

He began to nod his head very slightly, though his lips twisted with uncertainty. 'You have transformed, in the space of 10 minutes, from a very clumsy seductress, to the very devil herself. It will be my ruin I'm sure, but I'm not sure I can say 'no'.

I smiled brightly at him, trying to dispel all that brimstone. 'It won't be anyone's ruin. I'm not going to tell anyone about any of this. It doesn't exactly reflect well on me. In fact, I never would have released the tape even if you had been recorded proposing something naughty. True, the threat might have worked, but it would have been an empty one. '

I didn't want him to get cold feet, so I decided to move on from that topic and get started. 'How should we proceed with this search?' I asked. 'I want to provide you with complete peace of mind.'

We both knew that I didn't have another recording device. We were playing a game now. His eyes lit up as he said, 'I suppose you could have a recording device hidden under your clothing. You should probably take it off and I'll examine the clothing, and, uh, examine you too.'

I guess I knew this was coming, but still, I felt butterflies in my stomach. I'd had a number of dates since coming to college, and while several of them had both felt under my shirt, and some had even gotten hands down my pants, I hadn't been fully nude in front of a man before. I nodded to him, and began to lift my shirt. I considered trying to do it sexily, but then reconsidered. First, the forced sexiness at the start of our meeting had clearly failed. I obviously didn't know how to do that. Second, this was a pretend strip search, not a strip tease. Best to play the game as agreed. I pulled the shirt over my head and handed it to him, standing before him in my bra. He dutifully examined the shirt for neither of us knew what, before folding it carefully and putting it on the side of his desk. I understood that the folding indicated that the clothing would not be returned to me before the spanking, and likely not before this whole thing ended, and that made me shiver a little bit.

I reached behind my back to unhook my bra, shrugged it off, and handed it to him. He took the bra without looking at it, alternating instead between my breasts and my face. My breasts are generous Bs, large enough to hang slightly, and capped with small brown areolas and longish nipples. He seemed to approve of them, and smiled at me warmly. I lifted up my breasts to expose the undersides. 'Nothing under here,' I said, and he nodded in agreement.

I was very aware of being topless. I could feel the air on my skin, though the room was not cold. I glanced down and sure enough, my nipples were at full length. Oh well. Topless was only the half of it. I reached down hesitantly and undid the buttons on my skirt, then let it fall to the ground. I stepped out of it, and did a sort of curtsy to pick it up, finally handing it to him, and standing before him wearing only my lacy white underwear. I run track and play volleyball competitively, so I knew my body was fit and lean, but still I felt vulnerable having it inspected and, presumably, judged. He looked away from me only briefly to examine, fold and stack the skirt, before returning to his intent examination of my body and face.

As I steeled myself to remove my underwear and reveal my full body for his inspection, I was struck with a terrible realization. I had, since beginning to disrobe, gradually been feeling a warmth and some definite fluttering, in my lower belly, and the warmth had moved lower and lower to settle as a tingling at the front of my vulva. I was aroused. And therefore likely wet. He might see or feel that wetness when I handed the underpants to him. I shifted my hips from side to side, and felt my labia separate and slide in different directions rather than moving as a single unit. Confirmation of lubrication. Yikes!

Well, the situation wasn't going to improve; quite the opposite, most likely. So I grabbed the sides of my underwear, and began to slide them down my legs, daintily stepping first one leg, and then the other, free from them. I handed them over. He examined these with more interest than he'd shown the other articles of clothing, and at one point, his nostrils flared. Was there visible wetness on the underwear? Could he smell me on them? Did he like it?

He put the underpants to the side, and then took a step away from me, as if to take me all in at once. His eyes traveled up and down, lingering at my middle. I keep my pubic hair trimmed and short, just long enough so that it stays soft and doesn't feel bristly. My thighs don't meet at the top, so he could surely see my labia protruding out from the short dark hair. My vulva isn't one of those dainty little reception areas for the vagina, not tiny bit of pink flesh around the entrance. My labia are long and thick; they have some weight to them, and they stick out, all wrinkly and complex as the leaves of a savoy cabbage. I had read that some women felt self-conscious about large or long labia, and this had always seemed absurd to me. But now that I was standing naked in front of a man, and realized that he might like or not like this feature of my body, I understood the self-consciousness, even while resisting it.

After a minute or so, the feeling of exposure and the desire to cover my breasts and pelvis with my hands began to subside, and I got comfortable with his gaze. He'd had plenty of time to take in my expansive labia, and his gaze looked appreciative without any hint disapproval. I had now to decide how to handle the next step. Should this strip search include a cavity search? I didn't necessarily oppose him touching me down there, but doing it as part of the search felt like it would be more prison-like than sexy. I mean, even if this pantomime search had been real, how could a recording device hidden inside my vagina or bottom even work? I decided that he could do it if he asked, but I wasn't going to propose it, and I hoped he wouldn't either. To satisfy any realistic concern about concealment, I slowly spun, and, when facing away from him, briefly pulled the cheeks of my bottom upwards, to show him underneath and between by the cheeks. 'Nothing hidden in there', I said, laughing a little bit.

He smiled.

'Satisfied?' I asked.

'Oh, well, yes, I'm entirely satisfied that you aren't hiding any further recording devices. So, uh, how should we proceed?'

'Have you forgotten already? You were so clever and all-knowing just a few minutes ago,' I teased.

He smiled while shaking his head lightly from side to side.

'Well, I haven't forgotten,' I assured him. 'We have some spanking to attend to. What position, do you think? Do you want to take me over your lap? How many slaps?' I paused, 'Though before we agree on that, I'd need to know what sort of spanking we're talking about. How hard do you slap?'

'I don't get many opportunities to practice, so I don't really have a consistent style. How about we try one or two of what I have in mind, and then we'll haggle about how many of those would be appropriate?'

'Sounds fair. Over your lap, then?'

'Not over my lap. Come here and let me show you. Lean over the desk with elbows and forearms supporting you. Feet a little less than shoulder width apart. Bend the knees slightly and arch your back, and sort of push your bottom backwards.'

'Like this?' I asked, after attempting to comply.

'Looks about right. You get a nice stretch in the hamstrings?'

I nodded, wondering how 'nice' the stretch would prove.

He didn't move right away. He just stared at me, checking me out, up and down. There was no doubt it was lascivious. I briefly imagined Sylvester the Cat, staring at Tweety, looking both predatory and ridiculous, with saliva dripping from his fangs and tongue. Yet while I was Tweety in this scenario, I found it flattering rather than threatening, empowering even. I knew he was trying to soak in the sight of me, etch me in his mind, stretch this moment into an eternity he could revisit.

Eventually, he spoke, 'Shall we do a sample or two?'

I nodded.

He moved to stand to my left, and put his left hand on my upper back. With two fingers, he traced my spine down to my tail bone, then flattening his hand, moving it back up to rest gently on the center of the arch. His right hand moved to touch my left buttock, gently moving over it from up where it meets the back, to a few inches below the point where it connects with the thigh. As it moved back up, towards the top, it left the buttock entirely, before coming down in a stinging slap right in the center of the left cheek. It was all speed with very little force, so while it produced a quick shocking sting, there was lasting pain from impact.

'So something like that,' he said, 'or like this.' At this point another slap landed, the same quick, broad, low-force sting as the first, only this one at the juncture of my left buttock and thigh. This was bit of a sharper sting, because the 'nicely stretched' hamstring had none of the padding of my bottom, but also included slight pleasurable effects in my vulva, because of the proximity thereto.

'And then I could either vary between the buttocks, or do left first and finish with the right, perhaps to a total of 30?' he suggested.

I nodded.

'You count them off,' he said.

The first slap connected solidly with my left buttock, and provided a powerful sting. 'One,' I counted dutifully.

The next slap hit my right buttock the same way, with about the same level of stinging pain. As I counted them, the slaps moved down towards where the buttock met the thigh. Those hurt the most, but they were the most arousing, and I wondered if the evidence of my arousal was spattering around back there as the blows landed. Near the end, the individual stinging of the slaps diminished and any sensation of pain was replaced by a general warmth and tingling sensitivity all over my bottom.

When I had counted off the thirtieth slap, he stopped hitting, but his hand stayed on my bottom, and I remained still. There followed a silence that threatened to become awkward. I figured I should take charge. I said, 'So now we're quits. Even. What we need to do now is to negotiate the price of the private tutoring I'll need to make up for my bad performance in the course so far.

'Right', he said. 'Why don't you start by stating what you're willing to do. Given the age differences...', he winced here, and seemed to regret bringing it up, but continued manfully, 'we can assume that my parameters are wider than yours. So, what's on the table?'

As he spoke, his spanking hand drifted off of my buttocks and legs, and centered on my vulva. I anticipated immediate invasion, as I'd come to expect from dates. Men, or at least young, inexperienced men, were very focused on getting inside the vagina, even if it was only with their hands. His fingers, however, did not penetrate. His hand cupped my vulva, and then his thumb and his forefinger fixed on either side of my clitoris. I expected vigorous, possibly painful, rubbing to follow, but instead, there was no further attempt to hone in on the clitoris. What happened was that the thumb and forefinger gently, gently pinched all of the tissue in that area, including the labia on each side. By moving the flesh around carefully, he managed to isolate my clitoris, and he began to gently stroke it up and down, all indirectly, using my own lubricated flesh as a buffer. I'd known, in the abstract, that the clitoris was not a button, but part of a larger structure, and even heard of the clitoral 'shaft', but this was the first time I had experienced it as a three dimensional entity, rather than merely a point on a surface. He was providing for my clitoris what a vagina provided for a penis. It was enveloped in soft, lubricated vaginal flesh, and being stroked up and down. It was divine.

I was lost in this experience for a minute or so, when I heard him asking, 'Are you there? What do you think?'

'You know what you're up to,' I panted. 'I can't think with this going on.'

'Come on, try,' he urged. 'Do you really want me to stop?'

And stop he did. Briefly. I moaned with frustration, and he began gently to stroke my clitoris again.

'What have you done already? What are you comfortable with?' he asked.

'I've been fingered, though, evidently, not very well,' I replied. 'But I suppose we're considering things that would bring you satisfaction. So, I've used my hands on boys, made them orgasm that way.'

'Well,' he said, 'generally speaking, a hand job's a man's job. So I would rate that relatively low value, in terms of tutorial lessons earned.'

'Ok,' I said, 'Well, I've had a former boyfriend's penis in my mouth, but only briefly. I took it out for a moment to ask him if it felt nice, and he orgasmed. Then he called me 'stupid' for taking it out. He was the stupid one. We could have tried again later or another day. But not after he called me 'stupid.''

'He was the stupid one for sure', he said. 'But still, you're not exactly super-experienced with blow jobs. If we were to try a blow job, would you keep it in your mouth when I came?'

'Yes', I said. 'Why do you keep slowing down when I try to move back against your hand?'

'Because', he said, 'I think your negotiating posture will be much less flexible after you've climaxed. My hand is currently giving me the negotiating advantage. Will you swallow the cum?'

'Yes,' I said. 'I promise I'll swallow either way, only stop teasing me.'

'I won't stop teasing you,' he said. 'Not just for my sake, either. You'll love it when you finally cum after so much teasing. Anything else we should consider?'

I'm pretty sure I could have closed with deal with a blow job, or series of blow jobs, but I was half crazed with his incredible manipulation, and I felt like I should offer something more. Offer? Maybe get. I wanted something mutual.

'Well', I said. 'I'm a virgin and I'm not sure I'm ready to not be a virgin. And anyway, I'm not on the pill. Do you have condoms?'

'Do I have condoms?' he asked, 'What sort of office do you think I run here? Why on earth would I have condoms?'

'Well, you have a naked student leaning against your desk, ass probably still red from spanking; your thumb and fingers pads are probably pruning from how long they've been paddling in her wetness. So just what sort of office do you run?'

His hand slackened on my clitoris, and when I looked at his face, I saw it looked sort of sad.

'Ok, no condoms', I said. 'Probably for the best anyway. Now, is there anything else we should consider?'

I had another decision to make. I knew now I could get everything I needed out of this arrangement by just giving some blow jobs and swallowing the cum. But did I want to limit it to that? Right now, I did not. I wanted to connect to him. I wanted to inflict on him the perfect divine torment he was inflicting on me. I wanted to move with him, for us to pleasure each other through the same act. But the risks and downsides of regular sex were just too steep. I had begun to think of the other option, the one that a few of my girlfriends had told me they used to keep boyfriends they liked a lot, without sacrificing their virginity, or risking pregnancy.

I knew three friends who did it for their boyfriends. Two said it was uncomfortable, but not so terrible, and worth it since their boyfriends were good guys. But one of my girlfriends said if the guy could last a while, through the uncomfortable first phase, and if he didn't mind you engaging in a little supplementary masturbation, then it felt great and could lead to wonderful orgasms.

'I don't know. Is there anything else to consider?' he asked, though I suspect he had an idea. There aren't so many holes in a girl that one loses count of them. He just didn't want to be the one to bring it up.

'Would you be interested in putting it in my bottom?' I asked.

'I'm not sure 'interested' captures my feelings on the matter' he replied calmly, though his hand moved more swiftly, and briefly he was at risk of pushing me over into orgasm.

My arousal made me impatient with any more verbal sparring. 'Do you want to sound clever and detached, or do you want to fuck my ass?' I demanded.

His hand froze. 'I really want to fuck your ass,' he said.

'However,' he continued, 'just as my office is under supplied with condoms, so it is under supplied with lube. I wish I were a pharmacist rather than a faculty member. Though I suppose in that case, you'd be a junkie looking for pills, rather than a bright young woman who just doesn't like to read.'

I decided to let this pass. These odd, needling observations or speculations seemed to be something he could not control, even when they worked against his interest. He was sort of funny in his strange, obsessive way, and it was sweet how guilty he clearly felt about what we were doing whenever his arousal level dropped below 11. I was feeling just fine, and ready to move on. 'Let's see if we can manage without. Or, if not without, with spit and whatever of my natural lubrication you can transfer to your penis with your hand.'

'My hand is pretty covered,' he acknowledged, 'Perhaps we could manage as you say. Why don't you get up on the desk on your hands and knees? I'll slide in behind on my chair, and see if I can move some of that juice with my mouth, perhaps add some of my saliva to the situation.'