Taken Under Advisement

"Professor Erikkson!" I said smiling even brighter and shook her extended hand. "Of course I remember you. I loved your symposium on modern poetics at Syracuse last summer."

"She's here to talk with Cameron about the MFA program at Syracuse, but insisted on saying hello when I told her you'd come to the dark side here at Princeton."

"Good to see you again, dear," she said, smiling kindly. "I read the chap book you published from your time on the cross-country residency. You've grown up quite a bit since last summer. I'd hoped you would join us at Syracuse this fall, but you're in good hands here."

"Oh, I certainly am," I said, looking more to professor Maretti than at her. His lopsided smile told me what kind of a night I was in for later.

"Just don't let this stodgy, Ivy-League tyrant get too hard on you," she said and elbowed professor Maretti in the ribs jokingly.

"Oh, I don't think that's possible," I said with a girlish giggle, completely out of character. Whatever he did tos me that night, I was going to earn it.

...

There were heavy hors d'oeuvres, beer, and wine that were served outside by the pool, a rectangular affair with steps in a recessed half-moon to one side. The backyard was completely enclosed with a fence and guarded by mature trees and shrubbery besides. If there were other houses near by, I couldn't tell, even with the occasional shifting of the dense canopy as the wind passed through the branches.

Dinner consisted of three separate courses -- gazpacho andaluz; an option of either chicken skewers, crab cake, or black bean burger kebabs, all served with Spanish rice; and a green salad to finish things off before dessert. Some of those in attendance I had mistakenly thought were students were graduated seniors from the previous year come to pay their respects and give encouragement to the rising and incoming classes. Professor Maretti commanded enough respect from his students that some had flown in from as far away as California to be there. I was one of only two freshmen in attendance, although the other seemed to take a little too much liberty with the loose restrictions on wine and was eventually cut off. What happened in his house, Cameron explained, stayed in his house; and for that to happen, people needed to follow strict rules of engagement. "Don't overindulge" was one of them. When a student stepped out of line, they were given a warning and put on observation by one of the upperclassmen. The freshman taking liberties with the wine was admonished not to let it happen again, and given nothing but water to drink the rest of the night.

Dessert consisted of a gelato bar that had at least fifteen different flavors available. I had some Cioccolata All'Azteco and savored memories from summer. I kept up the flirtations throughout the evening, even going so far as to ask if he would like a copy of the poetry collection professor Erikkson mentioned. I had one in my bag still from our meeting earlier in the week that he never got to see. He agreed and followed after me to where I'd set my satchel in the library and caught a peek of my bare bottom and sparkly adornment when I bent over to fish out the little paperboard print. I smiled as I turned and handed him the book, but he didn't take it. Instead, he handed me a skeleton key. "Put it in my study. Just on the desk; I'll read it later before it gets added to the collection. Oh,and there's a stack of notebooks and pens in there; be a dear and bring those out with you."

I grinned. Getting to see the inside of his study so early and on my own was a treat. I opened the doors and closed them behind me. There were walls full of shelves again, and paintings in the spaces between them. Some of the artwork was of an erotic nature, and I took a moment to appreciate them after I set the book where he asked. The desk, vast and solid wood, was neat to the point of compulsion. Nothing out of place. The stack of notebooks and boxed pens sat on one corner, just as he mentioned, in the school colors. Orange notebooks and black fountain pens. His chair was a simple, mid-back, swiveling armless affair with quilted black leather on the riser and plush cushioning on the seat. There were two more seats and a small round table by the window box. The shades were drawn, but still some light came through. On the opposite wall was a chaise that could have been the twin to the one in his office at the university.

I noted a low shelf with several tobacco colored, leather-bound books, each labeled with dates pressed into the spine and filled with gold leaf. The whole room smelled of curiosity; I wanted to spend the rest of the evening mining it for whatever I could find, but knew I would be missed if I lingered too long, so I ducked out with the stack of stationary items and went to return the key. I was a few steps away when the plug in my backside suddenly activated on a high setting, and my face went red as I restrained my voice and caught my breath. I stumbled but caught myself. A few of the pens that went falling to the floor.

"Are you alright, Ms. Belladonna?" professor Maretti asked, smiling. "You look like you've had a bit of a shock." The vibration stopped a moment before his hand came out of his jacket pocket. I looked back and my bag had been disturbed. Shit.

"I'm...fine," I stammered, "thank you."

"Let's pick those up, then," he said, knowing how fast I would have to move in that dress to keep from exposing myself. I did what I could, my face a blushing shade of red now to compliment my dress. I had to get to my knees to retrieve everything without flashing anyone behind me, and pressed my dress down with one hand as an extra precaution. He stooped to help me gather up the narrow boxes into a sturdier stack and whispered into my ear: "Don't you dare come before I tell you to. You started this little game, now we are going to play it through." He stood with me, holding my hands steady under the stack of journals and pens. "Bring those into the dining room, please."

I settled things down at the head of the table as he indicated, then took my seat next to Cameron at his right hand. No sooner had my bottom made contact with the chair but the buzzing little devil in my backside activated again, blessedly on low this time. I breathed as evenly as I could, but there was no stopping it this time. His hands were out and he was showing his Italian ancestry with how he talked. Cameron gave him a strange look as he went on, apparently longer than normal, welcoming each student individually and introducing them by name, hometown, prior education, and then asking them to give a brief synopsis of what they were working on and hoping to accomplish for the year.

He started at his left an went all the way around the table, his hand occasionally dipping into his jacket pocket. There were seven different speeds and three different vibration patterns on that plug and he managed to try almost all of them before he came to me. Which was when he found my favorite -- a pulsing vibration on the low end of frequencies. It made me feel like the little toy might come out of me, which in turn made me clench, and made it feel, oh, so much better.

"Ms. Belladonna joins us after a gap year from Binghamton, New York. She spent the summer after graduating salutatorian from St. Andrew's Academy at the poetry workshop at Syracuse with Dr. Erikkson; then spent a few months as the writer-in-residence on the Amtrak line from New York City to San Francisco, correct?"

I nodded, smiling. He waited half a second too long for me to think I could get away without speaking. "Yes, thank you; I'm very, very happy to be here."

"I'm sure you are," he said, smiling back at me. "Now, Ms. Belladonna is a little special in that she actually published a few pieces before coming to Princeton. Would you mind reciting one of your poems for the rest of the group, Ms. Belladonna?"

"Oh, I couldn't," I said, my fingers dangerously close to twisting the napkin in my lap into an unrecognizable knot.

"I insist," he said. "I caught such a pleasant...what's the word you kids use these days? Vibe...from your work when I read your portfolio. Go on, share something with us." The look on his face meant I wasn't going to have much of a choice in the matter. So, I picked one -- one of the only ones I could remember without fail -- and started. Then he stopped me.

"It's only proper you stand for your recitation. Please," he motioned me up and I took to wobbly legs and pushed my chair out. I only hoped I hadn't dripped a wet spot into my dress already. "Proceed."

I spoke, doing my best not to stammer:

"On my...respite upon the verdant green,

Among the...blossoms all...adorned with dew,

A sleepless night...with rising sun forgot,

My only wish...to start the day with y-you.

The summer sun between the willows fixed,

As...ancient times be...twixt the standing stones,

And there upon the flowers fragrant mixed,

An hour I spent to talk with you alone.

For..."

His face changed as I recited, straining to keep my voice from quavering. He reached into his pocket then and I felt the steady hum even out to a low, slow vibration. There was a little mercy in him after all. My eyes thanked him as I went on.

"For you and I will never meet again,

As rivers run through their unyielding flow,

But in the rising sun I lose my pain,

From aching memories of long ago,

When you would rouse me from my bed to say:

'Rise up, my darling girl, and greet the day.'"

"Oh, that was stunning," said professor Erikkson as she began to clap. "Such an emotional delivery, too!"

"Very good, Amelie," he said, a touch of softness to his tone as he clapped. The others at the table joined him. "Proper volte at the turn, as well. You wrote that for..."

"My father," I answered as I sat down, a little light headed. "He passed away when I was thirteen."

"That's a beautiful gesture. He'd be very proud of you," he said.

I smiled genuinely at him. That sonnet held a special place with me, and I was glad to share it. "Thank you," I said. "That means a lot. I always was daddy's girl."

I was so going to get it.

...

The dinner ended with the announcement that Cameron would be accepting an early invitation to complete her MFA at Syracuse with a full teaching fellowship. He beamed with pride when she said it and shook her at the shoulders where she sat. It really was like she said, and I could tell. He cared about his students -- their success was his success; their failure, his failure. It was no wonder he pushed them so hard. A fellowship anywhere was ridiculously difficult to secure. And Syracuse had one of the best programs in the country, Ivy League or otherwise. Even with such a small group of students, to have a shelf as full of their titles as his meant he did something right.

He had Cameron and me pass out the notebooks and pens to all the new students in his advisement group -- another tradition of his, it seemed. He was a firm believer in handwritten notes for classes and backed that opinion up with studies on how one retained and processed information better when they weren't typing it out on a laptop.

With the last of the other students and visitors gone, he set Cameron and me to picking up after the party, starting with closing the curtains. Once that task was done, he called us both into the study. He had taken off his linen sport coat and rolled up the sleeves of his blue-striped dress shirt. His cuff links sat in a little leather cup on the desk. "Cameron," he said towering over her. "I'm very proud of you. You've worked very hard during your time here and that fellowship is well deserved."

"Thank you, sir," she said with a genuine smile and a little nod of her head.

"You're dismissed for the evening," he told her and gave a little kiss on her forehead as he came around the desk. "Go on; go spend some time with Andrew. He needs your attention more than I do, girl." She thanked him and gave me a passing glance as she left and waved as she shut the door. And then, at last, we were alone. I felt his hand on my shoulder as he stepped behind me, and then my plug went back to the setting that nearly drove me over the edge during my recitation. At least now I didn't have to restrain myself, small relief that it was, and let go a whimpering moan that stretched out through the entire house.

Both his hands were on me now, brushing the straps of my dress off my shoulders. "You," he undid the laces that held the garment tight to my body and let it slide to the floor around my feet, "have been an awful tease, little girl."

I leaned back to feel him against me, but he held me steady with his hands pressed against my back. "Daddy," I whispered, my legs shaking from so long with that vibrating plug stuck in my backside, "I only wanted to please you. I'm sorry for being such a tease." He undid my bra and let it fall at my feet as well. "Please," I whimpered as my thighs rubbed thoughtlessly together. "Can I..."

"Soon," he whispered, his hands gripping tight to my shoulders as he buried his nose in my hair. His foot slid between mine, pushed one out to the side. "First, though," I heard him step back, "you need to finish tidying up the dining room." He gave my plug a firm smack and I shuddered, so near the edge of climax I almost fell right over it. "You are so close, aren't you?" I nodded. He pressed his hand against the toy and gyrated it around inside of me with wide circular motions. "You wanted to play this game, didn't you?"

"Yes, daddy, but--"

He smacked my backside playfully again and my legs nearly folded under me. "But nothing. You come when I say you're allowed. You have made me feel every minute of every hour since last night, little girl. And I am going to keep my promise to you. Am I clear?"

"Yes, daddy," I said, my voice shimmering like light through a prism. "I understand. Do you want me to put on--"

"I want you just as you are right now," he said, then walked past me towards the kitchen. I followed after him, gathering up little bits of trash and dirty plates from appetizers. Nothing was paper, and none of them were labeled safe for the dishwasher. He sat at the high-countered kitchen island, a glass of what looked like bourbon in one hand and my chapbook in the other. He read and sipped as he watched me, nonchalant as you please.

I did my best to stand tall and straight as I walked about in my stockings and heels. Once I had the dishes settled at the sink and the trash items in the garbage can, he came over and settled a drying rack and bottle of dish soap on the counter next to the sink. I looked up to him, he down to me. "Half way there," he said and gave my backside a little smack that made me clench and quiver. I almost lost it -- almost. I smiled and thanked him then set to washing the dishes. "Those are 150 year old plates, by the way," he said. "Don't chip any of them."

"Of course, daddy," I said, but my eager hole clenched on its own accord as I spoke. "I promise, I'll take good care of them."

I tried to move through the dishes as quickly as possible, thankful he didn't have a larger advisement group or any more visitors than he did. I handled the antique china as delicately as I could, washing and rinsing in an order that let me stack then efficiently in the drying rack -- we didn't have a dish washer at home, so this came as second nature to me. Plates and bowls done, I moved to the silverware as he walked up beside me and settled his glass on the counter. "Are you...mmm," I took a moment to stretch my back, "finished with that, daddy?" He nodded and I cleaned it right away, then went back to the silverware while he stroked my hair.

"You look stunning in these," he said, as he moved behind me, caressing my hips with the tips of his fingers so softly. "I think this is how I want you every time you're here."

I pushed back in to his hands, my forearms braced against the inside of the sink as I tried to focus on the task at hand. "Will you have me over often, daddy?"

"I think so," he replied.

"I'll need more stockings, then, daddy," I said. "They get too loose to wear more than once before they get washed."

"That so?" he asked as his fingers slipped beneath the suspenders holding up my stockings and gave them a little snap, then his hands slid around my waist along the edge of my garter belt. His movement was so soft and smooth, it felt like he barely touched me at all, but the careful caress sent a tingle through every nerve in my abdomen. My breathing became halting as he brought his fingers up over my ribs to gently cup my breasts. "I think I may need to take you shopping, then." I fumbled the silverware as he took my nipples between his finger tips. He didn't pinch or pull, he simply rolled them about with easy turns of his fingers. "What do you say to that, little girl?" he asked. "I know a boutique in the city that would suit you just fine." And then he pinched them, tight, and sent a wave through me that I had to struggle with every ounce of will I had left to fight off.

"God, daddy, you make me feel so good," I said. "You treat me so well even though I've been so very, very naughty," I went on as he pressed his lips against the side of my neck. I could feel the heat radiating off my skin and the humidity of his breath against me. My breathing became shorter, sharper, as he wandered down my shoulder and back again. I managed to get the last bit of silverware into the drying rack. My hands shook with the effort. "I'm," I let go a long, rasping growl, "I'm done, daddy. Did I do a good job for you?"

I heard him undoing his belt and fly as he responded. "You did an excellent job, little girl. I am very proud of you."

"May I come, please, daddy?" I begged, nearly on the verge of tears as I tried to press my hips back against him. He'd been edging me for hours by that time and I simply could not wait to have my release. "Please...please...daddy, please."

"Not yet. There's still one more thing for you to clean, but we'll get to that," he said, and then his fingers were in my pussy which by then dripped with thick, drooling mucus that clung to my thighs and soaked into my stockings as he rapidly fucked two digits in and out of my hole. I couldn't make my mind up if I wanted to bear down on him or try to pull away; he was set, it seemed, on making me fail at the command he gave me. I didn't want to fail. I didn't seem fair. I looked back at him over my shoulder, eyes begging for release. He only shook his head as he extricated his fingers from my sopping wet gash, smeared my slippery juices on his cock, and impaled my cunt with a single swift stroke.

It had been weeks since I had him in me, but my toy had kept me flexible. Still, he felt some how thicker; more engorged. I could feel every vein along his turgid shaft, like he wore a bumpy sleeve over his rod as he pistoned it in and out of my gushing pussy. His hands gripped my biceps now, and I swear it was mostly his grip that held me up against the counter as he slammed me into the lower deck of cabinets. The water in the basin shook with every powerful thrust as he fucked me, driving the air out of my lungs almost entirely with every flesh-clapping connection. The cabinet doors below the sink clapped in rhythm to my aching. My mind turned into pablum and I groaned so wide loud that the water in the basin seemed to ripple.

"Oh, FUCK, DADDY," I screamed at the top of my lungs, my core burning with the strain of holding back the orgasm I so desperately wanted. I squeezed every muscle I could to stave it off, but it only made me tighter around his brutal thrusting. "DADDY I CAN'T HOLD IT! PLEASE! PLEASE, I WANT TO BE YOUR GOOD GIRL, PLEASE!" I was nearly in tears, up on my toes to try and meet his height difference, but his body pressed so hard into mine my feet barely touched the cushioned mat in front of the sink, even in my heels.