Taken Under Advisement

Dear Reader -- I hope you've been enjoying this series so far. I'll be taking a brief hiatus from Amelie's adventures to work on some other projects after this fifth installment. But fear not -- she has a lot more story to give and we will be back with a vengeance. Be sure to follow me for alerts on the latest submissions, and thank you for reading!

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I managed somehow to get back into the residential college and up to my room without being seen or stopped by anyone. Once behind the close door, I took an accounting of my appearance. Hair, disheveled; skin, sticky and a little crusty in places where I had smeared my spit and the professor's come about; clothing, not too badly wrinkled. My roommate was nowhere to be found, which was often the case. She would often come back to the room well past midnight, stinking of smoke and stumbling about. I had the feeling it was her first time away from home, and that home was not a place she found much in the way of freedom.

I wrapped my favorite toy, a nine-inch realistic silicone rubber dildo with a suction cup base, up in my towel and pajamas, grabbed my shower kit, and headed off to the communal bathroom for our floor. It was empty, being nearly ten at night when I arrived home. The showers themselves were arranged as individual stalls with two separate compartments and doors that latched for privacy, but did nothing to stop sounds from escaping. The entry way to each stall had a bench for you to keep your things and was separated by the actual shower by a thin plastic curtain.

I hung my shower caddie from a hook on the inside of the door and started the water, then hung my towel on a hook nearer the shower entry and suction cupped my dildo to the wall at the height I would need to do everything I wanted, just under the stream of water. I stripped and took a few selfies to start, just of me as myself. I took a close up shot of his hand print on my backside, too. Then I got to my knees under the water and took the toy in my mouth. I took a short video of me taking it into my throat and working my tongue across the molded balls at its base. Then another short video from beneath of me sliding my pussy onto it. Then I took some liquid soap, which didn't make the world's most perfect lubricant, but sufficed well enough to get the fat length of rubber into my ass with only the most mild of whimpers.

By then I was so used to playing with my backside that it didn't take much effort to fit the whole thing in. Sometimes at night, when I knew Caroline wouldn't be back until the morning, I would slide the toy into me and just leave it there, then, after a bit, watch myself gape in a mirror as I pulled the toy free, imagining him admiring my well-fucked asshole as he shot his seed all over my back. I tried to do the same thing with my camera there in the shower stall, and managed it briefly. I washed the toy with some antibacterial soap and hot water then stuck it back to the wall at waist height, in case the urge compelled me.

I sent everything to him at once with a simple message -- "Can't wait for tomorrow night, daddy" -- and, after some thought, gave myself a little extra time to play before I set to getting cleaned up, which would include shaving my body and washing my hair since there would be the party the next evening and I wouldn't have any other time to manage it. I braced my hands against the opposite wall and pushed onto the dildo, sliding it back into my aching snatch. I teased myself with a finger in my backside, suddenly wishing I'd brought the plug I bought along with my dildo. Ever since he'd introduced me to that pleasure, it had become a favorite almost to the exclusion of all else. I would deny myself the luxury for a few days at a time, just to give myself time to tighten back up again and feel that exquisite pain as I forced myself open again. But I wanted him to fuck me sloppy and stupid that weekend, and that meant preparation.

The sound of his incoming response broke my concentration, though, and I had to pull myself off of the toy to check my phone. I was far too curious to wait. "Neither can I, little girl. Wish I could be there with you." It gave me an idea.

"You'll have to promise to be quiet in case someone comes in," I messaged him back with a little winking emoji.

My shower caddie had several clear plastic pockets meant for holding bottles of soap and the like. I set up my phone in selfie mode, pointed at the shower, and checked the zoom to see if I could get just the picture just right. Then I giggled like a little school girl and sent a video call request. I smiled broadly when he answered and put a finger to my lips to ask him to be quiet as I backed away from the camera and let my body come into full frame. I could see him smiling and shaking his head as he watched. The joy in his face was delectable.

I gave him the full show -- first bathing myself, then washing my hair, then shaving everything. I took my time, letting the soapy water drift lazily down across my subtle curves, playing with my nipple rings as I crossed them with the soapy loofah, slipping fingers into myself when the occasion presented itself. I was being, I realized, very naughty and more than just a little bit of a bratty tease, and that he would exact a price for my behavior later. But how happy it would make me when he ravaged me like an animal; when his perverse imagination took me yet again somewhere new. God, I wanted that; to feel how powerful he was driving the full weight of himself into me with fast and furious strokes. To feel his hands around my throat while he railed me and set my body to shuddering. To wonder in ecstatic awe at what creative new way he found to make me writhe.

Once every inch of me was spotlessly clean and smooth as polished alabaster, I got down to my knees and started working the dildo with my mouth to continue the show. I let myself have a few little moans of pleasure as I went, but kept my ears open for the doors at all times. Getting caught in his office by another student already aware of his proclivities was one thing. Getting caught masturbating in a public shower by a random passerby come to use the toilet was something else entirely. But the look of abject lust on his features made me feel a little rebellious. I pulled the toy out of my mouth with a satisfying smack of my lips that was sure loud enough for him to hear, then ran my tongue flat from the base of the shaft to the tip.

"Daddy," I said demurely as I stood and turned, positioning the dildo, still fixed to the wall, against the opening of my pussy. "Daddy, I can't wait to have you fill me again. Your cock is so much better than this toy." I let go a sigh as I backed onto it, my spine arched like some wild feral cat in heat, hands pressed flat against the opposite wall of the narrow shower stall. Water streamed down my back and over my shoulders, cascading off of me in little rivulets along the defined lines of my torso. I could feel it rushing between the cleft of my buttocks as well, tickling my freshly shaved pucker.

I took some shower gel in my hand and reached back as I rocked onto the rubber cock to slip two fingers into my backside. I shivered despite the constant flow of hot water and dropped my shoulders just enough to keep the shower from washing away all my soapy suds. I needed those. "I wish these were your fingers or your tongue instead of mine, daddy," I went on, cooing in dulcet tones with eyes half closed. "Or," I pulled myself off the dildo and grabbed it with my soapy hand, stroking its length, "even better," then positioned the head of that monster of a toy at the entrance to my back door.

I rinsed off my hand against my body, repositioned both palms on the opposite wall, and shoved with every ounce of strength my little arms could muster, impaling myself on that massive tool. The sound of my taught, round cheeks smacking the tiled shower wall resounded through the whole bathroom, and I came immediately. I clenched my teeth, denied the scream welling up from inside of me that wanted to bellow out its lusty song. There was wetness running down me now that wasn't from the shower. My arms shook, my legs quivered, my knees threatened to buckle under me as my toes curled over. I turned my gaze back to my phone, saw the look of pure sexual desire in his eyes. I could almost feel him taking his retribution on me already. Then I did it again. And again. And again, grunting like a doe in rut each time.

I reached back with both hands and pulled my cheeks apart as I lumbered forward off the toy and managed to turn before I fell to my knees, bent my head to the tile floor, and showed him my winking, gaping asshole. "I'm ready for you, daddy," I said back to the camera after I'd gathered my wits and my breath, and it sounded like a challenge. "I am so ready for you."

The bathroom door opened just then, and I gasped as I scurried shakily up to my feet. "Bye, daddy," I whispered, grinning like an idiot as I rushed to end the video call. I cleaned up again, dressed, and headed back to my room to finish up drying my hair before I went to bed. He sent me a message just as I was climbing under the covers.

"You are in big trouble after everyone leaves tomorrow night, little girl. Thank you for the show. Sleep well. You may not get the chance to this weekend."

I giggled, slightly surprised by the way it came out of me. "Promise me, daddy?" I messaged him back with a little heart emoji. I'd never been so girlish in my entire life.

"I promise, little girl."

...

Friday night I dressed for the party after my last class and put a little more effort into my makeup than normal. I wore a strappy little A-line mini dress in this gorgeous Merlot color that hung just low enough below my mid thigh to cover the tops of my black silk stockings, a black lace garter belt and suspenders, and a matching black strapless shelf bra that gave my petite a-cups a little boost. I paired everything up with a set of black pumps with three inch heels and let my hair fall out about my face in its natural curls. There were no panties under my dress, and I wore my plug -- a cute little pink silicone thing with a dark purple gem in the base. It had a remote function, and I kept the controller in my bag, just in case. The way the gentle breeze that fluttered around campus chased up my skirt and caressed my bare skin made me feel sexier than ever.

Cameron picked me up right at 4:00 PM. She wore a similar outfit in solid black, although her more ample breasts allowed her to wear a style of dress that didn't need straps. I climbed into the passenger seat of her little silver coupe and settled my bag in the foot well. I did my best to keep things as close to normal as possible, but as she drove off campus we both felt the tension and our weak attempts at small talk withering away to nothing. "About last night," I started, but she shook her head and interrupted me.

"Don't worry about that," she said. "Like he said -- what I asked for wasn't part of our arrangement. And he is nothing if not a stickler for the rules -- his rules, anyway. If anything, last night helped enforce his biggest rule of all for me."

"What's that?" I asked, curious to learn more of what I was getting into.

"No emotional attachments," she said in a tone that sounded somehow self-reprimanding. "He's very serious about not conflating love or infatuation with what goes on with his proteges -- which, from what I saw last night, it sounds like you're to be the newest. He'll offer you mentorship, guidance, and discipline, and all of that will come with a lot of attention -- but not love. He cut his last protege before me loose from his advisement because she couldn't keep that part of the arrangement. She was obsessed and it completely broke her."

"What's your arrangement like with him?" I asked, honestly curious. If he had some sort of power exchange going on with all of these girls, I didn't understand how there wouldn't be some kind of sex involved -- but last night's interaction made me wonder if I could be mistaken about that.

"I guess you found out about that book that doesn't exist," she said, and I nodded. "So did I; freshman year. I have daily assignments and expectations -- journaling, exercise, self-affirmation, self-care, meditation. He puts a lot of emphasis on taking care of the body, mind, and spirit as a 'defense against the rigors of academic excellence and lofty expectation'. It's the same recommendations he has for everyone, but with us they're more rigorous and enforced differently; and there are other things, like helping set up events and the clean-up afterwards." Cameron smiled a little to herself as she turned onto a side street. "He takes into account your own limitations -- the ones you set and the ones he sees. And it's not supposed to be about sex, but..." She sighed and shook her hair out of her face.

"But it's hard not to let it creep in, I guess," I finished for her and she nodded.

"He indulged a few of my curiosities as a reward for certain things, but never sex. And after I started seeing Andrew seriously, all the experimentation sort of fell off the list of allowed items. He doesn't like being involved that way with someone who...is involved. Complications aren't his favorite, and he didn't want me getting mixed up feelings when I had a good idea of where I wanted my life to go. You're lucky; I don't think he would have let anyone do the things you've done with him if you met him here at school. Knowing him as Liam first means you've already crossed that barrier, and he's not likely to shut you off unless you start seeing someone else." I couldn't even imagine this -- why would I want to? He had satisfied every need for me so far; and dating was the furthest thing from my mind with a whole college career ahead of me. "We're almost there," she said. "I'll have time to tell you more about it throughout the evening during your orientation."

"Orientation?"

She nodded, somehow enjoying my confusion by the look on her face. "There's a tour of the house and other rules to go over once you make it to the basement. You'll have your own arrangement in writing to complete, as well, though he'll probably wait until tomorrow for that with how you're dressed. He didn't tell you?" I shook my head. She laughed. "You're in for a treat." I certainly hoped so.

She pulled into the long driveway of a blue Cape Cod surrounded by verdant shade trees and blossoming shrubs. The lawn was carefully manicured and all the garden beds filled with flowers of different species and colors, some of which I could identify as we walked towards the house from my time spent reading at the conservatory in my home town. Alternating myrtle and rose bushes lined the front of the house. A large bed near the drive way but set away from the house was filled with pachysandra about its border. At it's center stood a tall, white-trunked maple tree with feathery red leaves surrounded by smaller tree-like shrubs with small, pinkish red flowers I immediately recognized as oleander. The oleander plants were evenly spaced, but left enough open area for a bench facing into the bed and towards the house beneath their arching branches. A white stone pathway led from the walk that led from the driveway up the house, around the tree, and to the seat.

I could hear voices inside before we reached the door. He had the windows opened to enjoy the unseasonably cool September evening. The first greeting we received was a cat perched on top of the balustrade leading up stairs from the front foyer like a gargoyle -- a big, dire looking Maine Coon with mottled gray fur and intelligent green eyes. "That's Oberon," Cameron said as she approached and gave the cat a scratch between the ears. "He looks like a jerk, but he's just a big baby -- aren't you, sweet boy." She ruffled his ears and the big cat seemed to smile.

"Why, hello, great forest king," I said -- I loved cats. Even though we never had them when I was growing up, whenever I would spend time at a friend's house that had one, I made it a point to seek them out. Oberon gave me a friendly squeak as I scratched his chin and let him sniff my hand, and then followed me further into the house as I trailed after Cameron. The halls were lined with photographs from different locations at various angles and closeness. Some of seascapes, some landscapes, some aerial photography of mountains and rivers. There were close-up studies of bugs -- praying mantises, colorful moths and butterflies, and various others I couldn't identify. The composition on all the photos startled the senses and gave an effect that mimicked synesthesia -- like you could hear the rumbling of ocean waves or smell the fragrant fields of flowers or feel the creepy little digits of a beetle crawling over your hand.

The front room was closed off by a pair of oak paneled pocket doors and appeared to be locked with an old skeleton key. "That's the study," Cameron told me, "where he works when he's not at the school. We only go in there if we're asked. Understood?"

This, then, was part of the orientation. "Got it," I said, wondering how long it would be before my curiosity got the better of me. She showed me the bathroom and library before we made it to the kitchen and dining room where the other students and a few others waited. The library was a library -- books from floor to ceiling, with ladders on runners to reach the higher shelves along the high, coffered ceiling. Round tables and chairs not too dissimilar to the furniture in his office clustered in two spaces at the center of the room. I looked for empty spaces as Cameron walked me through the section dedicated to the published works for his students and found very little remaining. "I don't see any of his books out here," I mentioned.

"He keeps copies in the study, but not on display," she said. "He thinks it's a sign of egomania to feature yourself too heavily in your own home."

"Then what's with all the photos in the hall? They don't look like store bought prints."

She stopped and walked back to me, her voice quite low. "Those are Liza's," she said. "Best not to ask too much after them or her when you're around the professor. He'll tell you if he wants to, but only when he's ready."

"Who was she?" I asked. I really couldn't help but be curious about the professor. For so long I had only known him by his pen name and wondered what kind of person he was like. All those questions verged on boiling over now that I had met him and, to my constant shock, found myself entangled with him.

"Erato," she said, almost a sigh.

It took me a moment to remember -- Erato, the Greek muse of lyric poetry, especially love poems -- but the implication was clear, especially in the aching way she said it. It made me wonder about a great many things, but I tucked all those thoughts away for the time being. There was a party to enjoy, and I had time enough with him, I thought, to get answers to my questions eventually.

Not all of his advisees were proteges, as Cameron had explained. He typically kept one "golden child" among the bevvy of students in his orbit. Someone in whom he saw great potential but, perhaps, some hesitance about prevailing on all of their own skills. And they were always open to his guidance. There were a few names I recognized from poetry collections I contributed to during my residency on the train. Everyone was gracious and nice, and, perhaps unsurprisingly given his taste in students, extremely focused.

"There you are," I heard him speak behind me and, smiling, turned quick enough to send the hem of my skirt swishing near the tops of my stockings and set my hair to bouncing. He stood next to a woman who looked to be in her mid fifties -- pretty, but a little gaunt. I recognized her immediately. "Amelie, do you remember--"