Michaela and the Big, Bad Professor

For Michaela Birch, going to her Art History 301 class was a teasing delight.

Bellamy University had been thrilling from her first day as a freshman. Meeting every kind of person from all across the country, funneled into Bellamy's verdant campus by hunger for learning, thirst to achieve, all young, looking for fun and exciting paths to the future. Even as most of her senior year spread out before her, she knew she would miss every moment.

Through it all, while Michaela prided herself on sinking her teeth deep into what the world laid before her, she had never encountered someone like Nathaniel Wolf.

Professor Nathaniel Wolf, author of "Eros in Our Eyes: An examination of Human Sexual Attraction Through History." Professor Wolf, the hottest man on campus. Professor Wolf, Michaela's very own tormentor.

It happened every time she walked into his class to watch him strut around before his students. She sat spellbound at his every story and fact. And every time, she could not help but imagine him lifting her up on the teacher's table and dropping to his knees between her thighs.

It was impossible to ignore even as Michaela knew it was absurd. Seven out of ten students in his class were women. Half the remaining men were gay. It was as if the class, an examination of sexual imagery through art, was engineered for Professor Wolf to skim the cream of the campus into his bed.

But he was famous for deftly batting away come-ons by students, professors, men and women alike. As wanted, heralded and appreciated as he was on campus, there were whispers about the Professor. By the upperclassmen who had watched him through their years at Bellamy University, he was seen as something like George Clooney by way of a monk.

He was a sexless man made for sex.

He was supposedly married, but no one ever saw his wife.

There was some buzz he was gay, but no boyfriend ever appeared.

Under all the gossip and rumors, the tantalizing talk with its scintillating possibilities, there was one rumor that coiled around Michaela's thoughts like no other.

While she didn't believe it, she so desperately wanted it to be true: Professor Wolf was rough beyond normal. Spanking, slapping, nipping, pulling hair, biting hard enough to leave marks, all with a presence so commanding in the bedroom he had found the need to withdraw from the sexual arena of the city lest the rumors of his predilections seep out onto campus. Careers had been broken for much less in the last few years and scarlet letters had been burned onto professors from coast to coast on social media.

Michaela had heard this rumor from an upperclassman, Holly Rothman. She had no way of knowing if it were true, but through her friendship with Holly, Michaela had no reason to doubt her.

They met through common friends in Michaela's second year and became close. It didn't hurt they shared Arts as a major. With Holly a few years ahead, Michaela found herself looking up and admiring her new friend. What that would lead to she could scarcely have imagined.

Most Friday and Saturday nights found them hopping from bar to bar in the streets along the campus' northern edge, skipping over to frat parties or private homes when interesting adventures presented themselves. Generally having the heedless fun college years were so perfect for.

But as open as they were, Holly clammed up when Professor Wolf came up.

"Oh, come on! You can't tell me you haven't thought about it," Michaela said, teasing Holly when she realized her friend grew red and quiet when the subject of their favorite professor came up.

"Yeah, I've thought about it," Holly said, trying to cast a cheerful disinterest and failing. As her eyes flicked to Michaela, she knew she was caught.

"You bitch," Michaela said through a gale of laughter. "You know something. Tell me."

She regretted her demand almost immediately. The look in Holly's face was a mixture of panic, worry, and a smoldering pride. An interesting mix.

"Michaela, I..." Holly began. "I can't say anything. Just know that most of the girls on campus don't know a fucking thing about Nathan and wouldn't know what to do with him if they got him."

"Oh, Nathan is it? Just how well do you know him?"

"Uh, not very. I..." Holly's eyes widened, the search for defusing words written in her expression.

"Fuck you if you think you can say something like that and not explain it," Michaela said through bright laughter.

Holly quieted, composed herself, then looked right at Michaela, who fell silent. Here it comes, Michaela thought.

"We're friends, but this is big," Holly said. "I trust you, but this could get people fired, so I can't say everything. I'm not going to say what I know, or how I know it, but most of what you hear about Professor Wolf is BS. He's not married, he's not gay. God knows he's not celibate. He dates. But he keeps his real self pretty far from the social life around here... he's pretty intense when he gets going."

"Oh my God. Like... how?" Michaela could feel the heat rising through her body, between her breasts, through the flesh of her throat.

"He's very... rough," Holly said, some memory behind her eyes drawing the whisper of a smile at the corners of her mouth. "A lot of girls think they want him, but I'm not sure they'd love it."

"Did you?" Michaela asked.

"Yes," Holly said before she could catch herself. Once she realized, her pale throat and cheeks went crimson. "Oh, yeah."

With her little victory, Michaela smiled, but didn't push. Seeing her friend so vulnerable and wrought up about Professor Wolf brought out the sister in her, and she dropped it.

But a seed was planted deep.

After Holly graduated Michaela went through her own college flings through her Junior and Senior years. As graduation approached, aside from some fun with three of the starters on the Bellamy football team, Michaela had fund the men on campus uninspired. At least the guys her age.

Through all her semesters she watched Professor Wolf from afar and occasionally from close up in the classes she needed from him for her major.

Then she found herself in the last few months of her college life experience. Closing in on her degree in Art History, she found herself in his class three times a week. That's when Michaela's interest in Professor Wolf went from idle daydreams to a full, delicious fever.

She found herself laying her interests out, naked in her expression. She wanted him to see even if his eyes would fall on her through a few glances over a class period.

He noticed. At first it was a few double takes, His eyes stopped, widened just so as his glances played over the crowd. Then a glance back to make sure he saw what he thought he saw.

And he did. Michaela's interests were literally as plain as the look on her face, revealing just what he could have from Michaela if he chose to take it.

As the semester went on quick glances lingered, drawing out into personal, intimate looks. In class he would still scan the room to make sure his words connected, but usually his eyes would come to rest on Michaela.

That's where it was when a thunderstorm rolled over Bellamy University one Friday night as Michaela walked home from a few lunch beers with her study group off campus. It was the kind of April evening she loved, warm dark, the sweet smell of rain in the air as the wind from the storm whirled leaves through the deserted paths between Bellamy's ivied buildings.

Walking by Grant Hall, Michaela noticed Professor Wolf's light glowed behind the second floor window of his office. Swathed in her favorite crimson hooded wrap, an undeniably beautiful if hipster part of her wardrobe, Michaela entertained the thought of popping in on him, throwing him a few coy flirts before finishing her trip to home and homework. Finals were coming after all.

The reasonable young woman she was becoming was about to convince the impulsive brat in her to ignore temptation, walk on and do the right thing. But the rain stopped threatening and instead began falling in a torrent.

Sometimes fate takes a hand, she said to herself, yanking open Grant Hall's the thick wooden door. Taking the stairs two at a time, she listened as the heels of her glossy black boots screeched through Grant Hall's central corridor. Otherwise the hall had the humming silence of a building cleared of people by the threat of rain, by dwindling Friday hours and by the spring fever which cleared college campuses in off hours since the dawn of university life.

Moving towards Professor Wolf's office, its window of pebbled glass displaying his name in thick, bold letters, Michaela had her first quiver of nerves. She had been fantasizing so long. Every possibility danced in a kaleidoscope of debauched images through her head. It was hard to grapple with the reality that the make or break moment of all those thoughts was about to be revealed inside his warm little office. Michaela found herself stopping half a hall from his door.

But her boots, and their squeaking echoes had already sealed her fate.

Before she could beat a graceful retreat, the Professor's door opened. His trim, handsome features faced her with an expression like surprise and relief.

"Oh, Michaela," Professor Wolf said. Something in his eyes, in his wry smile, seemed to whisper 'Finally.'

Every tense nerve in Michaela unwound. Her own smile bloomed. With no eyes on them, there was no need to hide anymore.

"What brings you here?" he asked.

"I was walking home and the heavens opened up. It's raining like crazy. So I thought I'd pop in for some warmth until I could keep walking home."

"I'd offer you a ride, but I'm waiting for some files. High res scans of Egon Schiele's 'Woman in Black Stockings.'"

"Oh, that sounds cool." Between their shared passion for art, for erotic imagery, blended with how they were looking at each other--frank and direct-- everything in the silence seemed to be pushing her towards what she had wanted for so long.

"My home wifi is constantly flaking out so I'm chained here if I want to download them in anything like a reasonable time."

"My internet is screaming," she said. "Maybe you should come over and borrow some."

Michaela gave him a simple, sweet smile, hoping to offer the space to read it however he liked. A cautious, flattered smile came over him.

"Ah... ha," he said. "That is something to think about for sure."

"Is it?" Michaela said, bending closer.

"It is," he said. "You're graduating in June, right?"

"I am," Michaela said. They looked at each other with half grins. There was a lull as they each cast for something new to talk about. Michaela could feel a humming up between them, but also coyness as they circled the subject for a way to break through the confines of their formal roles.

"Well, why don't you come in while I wait for the internet, and you wait for the rain," he said. Standing against the open door, Professor Wolf waved her into his snug office. It was just as she remembered it, but in their flirtation, felt smaller.

Crammed with books, prints of every kind of art, there was an ancient radiating heater against the wall below his window, an ornate antique desk ladened with even more books and art journals. In front of his desk were two chairs, and behind them against the wall facing his chair was a love seat of stuffed, dark brown leather. The air mixed the rich smell of the leather, the vanilla sweetness of the old books and the wet, electric scent of the storm outside.

Without thinking, Michaela walked beside his desk then rounded it to stand in front of his chair.

"You're going to take my desk, are you?" the professor teased, closing the door. There was a thick clack as the spring lock popped home.

"Ha," she said, catching herself. "I'm not sure what I was thinking."

Before she could slip out to the student side of the desk, Professor Wolf stepped towards her. He blocked Michaela from moving unless she wanted to step very close to him. Looking up into his eyes, she found him looking at her in a way she had never seen before.

There were the familiar features, the same sparking intelligence in his aspect, the same warmth, but under all that there was a shift, to a watching, animal gaze. The look, his feral interest written across such a safe and trusted face, shot a wave of heat through her again. If it weren't for her crimson wrap, he would be mauling her chest with his eyes.

"And what is it you are thinking, Michaela? What is it you're REALLY thinking?" His words rang with an iron confidence. Her surrender was an instant of smoldering glee. "I think we've come to the moment where you need to say it."

"I want... You," Michaela said, his eyes acting like a truth serum on her. She went from coy secrets to a desire to tell him everything.

"Now Michaela, you know I can't do that," Professor Wolf said. But he took a step closer. Michaela turned her head, from shyness, from the power he was projecting.

She wasn't shrinking. She was submitting.

"I know. But I want to," she said. Dragging her eyes back to him, she undid the clasp at her throat, dropped the hood and shrugged the wrap from around her. As he stood watching, not moving to allow her to hang it, she dropped it in a heap on his desk.

"And how do I know that? A lot of girls have fantasies of their professors. You're gone in a month. This is my job for life."

"I'm young," she said, taking silent delight in his gaze falling from her eyes to the angle of her chin, down to her throat, to the curve of her breasts bound in her new push-up bra. "But I'm not a girl. No more of a girl than Holly."

At the mention of Holly, there was a brief crackle of something... fear perhaps... across his face. It was gone in an instant, but it was there. As she searched to read his face, Michaela found herself in another pregnant silence as he sized her.

"You know Holly?" the professor asked.

"She's my good friend. She dispelled me of some of your... mystique," Michaela said. "But she built another one."

"Did she?"

"Yes," Michaela said. With him so near, looking at her with such close attention, she knew what she wanted from Professor Wolf, what she had desired for so long. The entire fantasy of adult lust was finally within reach.

"She didn't mean any harm," Michaela said. "I hope I'm not getting her in trouble. That's definitely not my intention."

"It may have been hers," Professor Wolf said. "She enjoys what comes from being in trouble with me. But I'll deal with her later. How do I know I'm not taking my future in my hands if we... do this?"

"Because I want it."

"Things change after two people are together. A lot of things are regretted after they've happened. How do I know you won't string me up as a dirty old man?"

Michaela laughed. "Dirty, old... What are you, 30?"

"36," Professor Wolf said.

Now Michaela's eyes wandered. Even through his trousers, wrinkled from sitting all day in the humid air, his white shirt, tie, she could tell he did more with his body than sit and write books.

"I know myself. I've seen a man older than you, and... I haven't been able to get his image out of my mind," Michaela said.

"Is that so?"

"On Mondays and weekends I work at a bar and restaurant in Chicago, the Lancaster. Have you heard of it?"

He shook his head. Michaela took a deep breath and let her gaze rest on Professor Wolf's. She wanted to see him as she told this story.

"Well, my boss is older than you, but he doesn't act like an old man," she said. "I was closing late one night with one of the bartenders when my boss and his wife rushed into the place in the middle of the night. They didn't know we were there. I'd thought about him a few times, nothing too crazy. Just naughty older man fantasies. Anyway, he dragged his wife to the back of the place and laid her out on the pool table."

Professor Wolf said nothing. He ran the tip of his tongue along his upper lip in an unconscious release. The gesture flared a wave of heat through Michaela.

"I sat in a hidden corner of the bar smoking a cigarette as he fucked the screams out of her. As he was going down on her, driving her crazy, all I could do was wish that was me. Ever since then, when I see you, I have to restrain myself from reaching out. It's impossible to concentrate on your lessons. All I think about is you putting me on your teaching lectern and having you take what I want to give you."

Michaela was silent. She let her wordless gaze on him say the rest. Professor Wolf said nothing, his mind seeming to whirl through one last set of decisions.

"What did Holly tell you?"

"Not much. But enough," Michaela said. "This can be our secret."

"No... It will be my secret." The force had returned to his voice. "You'll have to do something for me if you want this."

"What?" There was a flare of heat on the back of Michaela's neck.

The dance of flirtation was over. Now, the nameless event Michaela had desired for so long had begun. The heat between her thighs, nestled between her legs, was amazing. This was going to be so different from being with boys her own age.

Professor Wolf stepped back and fished his phone from his pocket. He set it on the flat of his desk and motioned her to it.

Stepping to it, he pointed to the face. She could see the video camera function was on and see her own face mirrored there. He hit the record button. The blinking red indicator on the interface felt like a mirror of her own pounding heart.

"What is it you want Michaela? What are you here for?"

She looked to him, but with a stern look he pointed back to the screen. They were playing with fire. Sexual politics on campus, really any campus across the country, were fraught with consent and tension. Some campus organizations at Bellamy had even created intimacy contracts and urged students to use them to make sure no one, were coerced by drinking, peer pressure, upperclassmen into regretful sexual adventures. It was a good-hearted impulse taken to a far reaching extreme.

Seeing Professor Wolf twist the taboo climate of consent around them gave Michaela the kinkiest thrill she had yet felt in her life. Looking at herself there, she could see the color rising on her throat and chest.

"I want you, Professor Wolf," she said, watching herself confessing her lust into his phone. Into his possession.

"I think you can call me Nathan," he said. Now she gave him a stern look.

"No, Professor Wolf," she said, a defiant gleam lighting her eyes. He smiled, but pointed back to the camera.

"I want Professor Wolf to be with me," Michaela said, her confession now gaining momentum. "I want to be with him. I'm giving myself over to him to do whatever he wants. He's handsome, wonderful, smart and amazing. This is me saying yes to whatever he wants."

Michaela rose and felt as if she was in a fever, watching for his next move. With a smooth motion, he leaned in. Excited, she moved to him, eager to feel his lips. But his hand rose to her throat, holding her in place. He shook his head.

"Not yet," he said. He curved his hand back around her and stopped the recording.

Leaning back up, his transformation from respectable professor to wanton master was complete.

The way he looked at her was lewd, stripped bare, drenched in lust. Michaela wondered if she should be offended at how she was becoming transformed in his eyes. But she wanted this, all of it, so much.

"Stay where you are, and put your hands on the desk," he said.

A swoon of excitement rolled through Michaela as she pressed her palms flat on the wood expanse of the desk, her ass jutting out as she leaned over. Even touching the wood with her fingers drew an exciting sensation through her nerves.

"Don't move," Professor Wolf said. He moved to his office door, flicking the lock closed with a final click. "So you were saying you were having trouble with the lessons."