Office Hours Have Changed

As I put my clothes back on, he had one last comment.

"Miss V., I just want you to know that you have nothing to worry about regarding your grade." He said.

"Because of my performance?" I raised an eyebrow.

"I know that I may have pushed you a bit too hard in the past." He explained. "I just want to see you push yourself more, to think for yourself, not slack off like the other students. I can see what you're capable of and want you to keep exceeding expectations."

"And why is that, sir?"

"I don't know." He smiled wistfully. "Maybe it's because you remind me a little bit of myself at your age..."

"You're a bit young to be telling me 'when I was your age' stories."

This earned me another firm slap on the ass.

"That's the last time I try to give you a compliment." He laughed as he unlocked the door and let me go on my way, a free woman...

That is, until I willingly led myself into his captivity again.

* * *

Completing the story was a catharsis, nearly an orgasm, but more painful upon actually reading it. What had I done? I had turned the object of my fond, if slightly creepy, affections into a monster. I shaped him into the sort of man who would completely disregard ethical prohibitions against fraternizing with students, who would attempt to blackmail a student with grades in exchange for sex...

And yet, this imagined darker half turned me on even more.

Of course, writing this had me turned on, but I wasn't imagining Neil in this scenario. All the memories came back of wearing dresses and skirts to class even though I was usually more for practicality and comfort than looking nice, all the small talk, right down to that handshake that I wished actually had lasted the eternity it had seemed.

I idly contemplated emailing Professor Hall again, not the story obviously, considering.

I did the next best thing. I emailed the story to Neil, and like clockwork, he got back to me stating that he had time after 9:00 p.m. and before 11:00 p.m. for a session.

"So, what brings you to my office?"

No transition, no "Hi, how was your week?" But of course, this was not the nature of our arrangement.

I was disappointed. He was not wearing a black suit or even a button-down shirt. Hell, if Neil wanted me in the schoolgirl outfit, the least he could do was play along. At least he had showered, something I always appreciated appreciated considering the one time I had gone to his place early, immediately after his tennis matches.

"I- I-" It probably would have been a better idea for me to at least try to memorize the story I had written, but I suppose perplexed stammering was appropriate for my "character." "I wanted to talk to you about my grade in your class."

"Yes?" He said, sitting down on his couch next to me.

"I have gone to every class, participated in discussion, and yet I have a B- in the class." I said.

"Jane, what is the title of this course?" Before I could answer, he said. "This is Renaissance Literature, not 'Participation' or 'Discussion.' Your grade is based on your performance, how well I believe you grasp the material."

As I said, at least he was creative.

"Yes, sir." I frowned and looked away.

"However, this grade is... negotiable." Neil ran a hand up my thigh.

"Professor, this is entirely inappropriate!" I attempted to push him away, but he started kissing me, hard.

After that, we more or less forgot about the script, which wasn't really a script so much as a framework for running the scenario.

"Are you willing to take my instructions?" He asked.

"Yes."

He took my chin in one hand and unzipped his pants with the other. "Good, now suck my cock."

"Yes, sir."

He was already erect at this point, so I knew it wouldn't take very long before he lost interest in my mouth. I started tentatively licking the head, pretending that I wasn't the sort of girl who did this on a regular basis. He soon lost patience with this and grabbed my hair, pushing my face down so his cock hit the back of my throat.

"Mm... that's good." He stood up, causing me to have to place more weight against my knees. With a few slow thrusts, he started fucking my face in earnest.

I couldn't help but wonder what Professor Hall would have done in this situation. He didn't seem so vulgar and ungentlemanly as to do something like this, and yet some part of me did want to be treated as an object. It didn't have to threaten my status as an autonomous subject to play these games at times. I was still me even if to Neil I was just a fucktoy.

He put a hand on my shoulder as an indication to stop. He then draped a towel over his couch and bent me over the arm rest with my feet dangling over the floor. He tied a blindfold around my eyes and slid my panties down my legs, dropping them unceremoniously to the floor. I heard the familiar crinkle of the condom wrapper and squirt of lubrication.

As much as I appreciated his concern for my comfort, I generally didn't have a problem getting naturally turned on and lubed up before, if given enough attention. Something about that small bottle of chemicals just seemed so clinical to me, further emphasizing how this was just a routine, almost as spontaneous and exciting as an annual pap smear.

I felt how hot his hand was beneath the cool slickness as he started fingering me, not so much feeling like it was for my enjoyment but to evenly distribute the lube like he was icing a cake inside out. His cock slid in quickly and he broke into a steady rhythm. From the feel of warm skin and hair from his thighs brushing against mine, I could tell he was completely naked. Honestly, if I was as well put-together as he was, I probably would forego clothing and invest in full-length mirrors.

A sudden image, or sensation rather, came to me. The feel of black wool slacks brushing my thighs. Of course, being blindfolded, I'd have no way of knowing what color the slacks were, but the image was still there.

I angled my hips upward so he could hit me in the right spots as he fucked me, even though it caused the couch armrest to dig into my ribcage harder.

"Mm..." I moaned, biting my lower lip.

"I take it you're enjoying this." I could hear the air disturbed around his hand before the slap actually hit my ass. "Now, you have to remember," slap "this is for your own good." Slap.

"Ah!"

Instead of hovering over a couch, I felt I was standing on a floor beneath fluorescent light, arms braced against a heavy wooden desk.

The thrusting and slapping behind me ceased momentarily. Instead of picturing a hand wiping sweat from a forehead fringed in blond hair, I saw the hand brush past dark curls. Once the fucking resumed, I felt a hand at my throat starting to squeeze.

I imagined a warm hand in my own, looking into someone's eyes for a solid moment...

A shiver ran down my spine like a fuse burning out, once it hit the end, I felt a bloom of heat, humming, spinning outward.

"Oh..."

"That's it... come for me, you slut..." The thrusts came in harder and faster. The voice attached to the words seemed somehow disembodied from the actions.

Even though I didn't quite feel like I was there in the room or anywhere for that matter with my blindfold on, I had this strange sense that I was watching this happen to me even though I couldn't see anything.

One hand in mine...

Dark eyes meeting mine.

My hand withdrew and we just looked at each other, smiling tightly.

I sighed heavily.

"Was it good for you too?" I felt something come loose around my wrists and get pulled from over my eyes.

Blue eyes, not dark, met mine, hand extended not in handshake but to offer me my clothes and show me the door.

"Oh." I smiled, sliding the panties back over my legs and grabbing my bag. I debated about leaving a $20 on the nightstand but figured that money would be better spent that week on burritos or pad thai from one of the stands near my office for lunch. "Thanks."

"See you later." Neil said over his shoulder as I backed my bicycle out his front door.

We didn't last very long, I suspect, because he grew bored of me. At one point, he accused me of being overly emotional and dramatic. I would never refute that I have a penchant for making much of things, but that didn't make me any less annoyed by his words.

Things ended more or less with the same level of drama that a few of my previous liaisons had ended, always infuriating or upsetting me more in the immediate sense but fading to complete irrelevance in a short amount of time.

After a sort of wakeup call that involved me completely crushing my bike frame like a soda can and requiring $1200 of dental reconstruction, I decided it was time to apply for graduate school. I had confirmed two people out of the three I required to write a letter of recommendation for my application. One was a former employer, the other my former literacy in media studies professor. However, one professor never got back to me and I could not find any alternate contact information.

So, who else could I turn to but another professor whose contact information I still had?

Also, it didn't hurt to say hi...