tagNonConsent/ReluctanceThe Bad Professor Ch. 02

The Bad Professor Ch. 02


{Author's note: you don't need to have read Chapter 1 to enjoy Chapter 2.}


Jacqueline is a good student. She normally prepares well for class, she tries to contribute to discussions, and her essays usually show an understanding of the main issues. She is not brilliant, but she works hard and I like her.

It is a pleasant surprise, therefore, to discover that she helps to support her studies by waiting tables at a restaurant in town. I have, in fact, been checking out Jacqueline's slim ass without even realising it is her, and when she turns around and we recognise each other I am, momentarily, embarrassed. But she gives me a nice smile and I realise that, even if she noticed, she is most likely used to guys perving, and probably it all helps with the tips anyway.

We have a quick chat - she is as conscientious a waitress as she is a student - and she explains how important this job is for her, and how much she enjoys my classes. She isn't really waiting my table, but as we leave I give her a twenty tip, which may seem generous, but then again, it isn't every day that a juicy ripe plum drops right in your lap, is it?

A couple of days later Jacqueline has her next class with me. As she walks in the room I take in the details of my next prey. She is tall, lean, with not much of a bust and the neat little bottom that had already attracted my attention. She has straw-blonde hair that could be dyed but probably isn't, tied back in a very short ponytail.

She smiles at me, her teeth dazzling and neat. I nod back curtly, and I can see she is disconcerted. She'd thought that our meeting in the restaurant means she is something special. When she contributes to our discussion - a contribution that is, in truth, a standard and reasonable Jacqueline effort - I am dismissive, indicating that I think she hasn't put much effort in. She blushes deep red, embarrassed in front of her colleagues, and also perhaps ashamed at the fact she had presumed my act of generosity in the restaurant signified anything.

For the next few weeks I avoid the restaurant. In Jacqueline's classes, despite the fact that she is now clearly trying particularly hard, I alternate between friendly compliments and harsh criticism. She is confused, of course, but, as I expect, the main result of my casual and unfair cruelty is that she tries harder than ever to please me.


I am the wicked professor. I will lie and cheat and connive just so I can take advantage of my students. Young or old, good or bad, if I'm attracted to you then, make no mistake, I will find a way of having you.


I finally return to the restaurant. I can see that Jacqueline is uncertain how to respond, but I am playing "good" Mike, and I smile and we chat pleasantly and I insist that she finds me a table she waits at.

Now I am not normally the flash type. I like the good things in life but as far as I am concerned the good things don't advertise themselves in flashing lights. If you look closely at my suit and if you know anything about tailoring you'll know it's Boss, but most of the time I'm comfortable with it only being me that realises or cares.

But tonight with Jacqueline I want her to know that I have money and more money and then some, and so tonight I indulge. And she is a good little waitress, so attentive - all those stinging remarks in class have made her so eager to please me.

This time I tip her a fifty, and she can't take her eyes off the note in her hand.

"Jacqueline, is everything okay with your studies?" I ask.

"Yes," she says, a little too quickly.

"I'm worried. Some of your work recently, it just hasn't been up to your usual standard. I know most of my students work, but perhaps this job is too much alongside the course?"

"No, it's fine, honestly."

"Money problems can be a terrible distraction which, frankly, right now you can't afford. I don't want it to be a choice between the high grade you're definitely capable of, and something mediocre because of your job."


"When do you finish here?"

Not surprisingly, Jacqueline looks a little askance at this sudden change of direction.

"In about half an hour."

"How about I wait here for you, and we can have a quick chat about ways we can see you through this? I'd like to help, if I can."


Three nights later, I am sitting in my apartment sipping whisky when the doorbell goes. Jacqueline.

She is still wearing her waitress outfit of black skirt and white blouse. She looks nervous, very nervous, but for me that is really all part of the charm.

"Please sit down," I say. "Would you like a drink?"

She is finding it difficult looking at me. "Thank you."

"Anything in particular?"

"Whatever you're having is fine. Thank you."

As she takes the tumbler of whisky I see her hands are shaking. She takes a long, unwise sip. "Are you sure you're okay with this?" I ask softly. "We can always try some other time."

"No," she says quickly. "Now is best."

"Okay." I sit back in my seat. She really is very pretty. Normally I prefer a fuller figure, but there is something about her face and, frankly, her mind that attracts me.

Jacqueline pulls a couple of sheets of paper out of her bag. "I think I've done what you asked," she says. "It probably isn't very good."

"I'm sure it's fine. Go on."

"Okay. I mean, I don't know anything about this, so it probably isn't very realistic."

"Don't worry, Jacqueline."

"No." She takes another big sip of whisky. "Okay." She clears her throat, and starts to read from the paper. "'The Striptease. I stand in front of him, knowing what I must do. Soon he will see me naked. I start to gyrate my body to the rhythm of the music. I can feel his eyes upon me. I fumble with the buttons of my top, one by one revealing my lacy bra. Then, my skirt, which slides easily to the floor. Now I am wearing only my underwear in front of him. His eyes don't leave my body. I reach behind for the clasp of my bra, unhook it, and my bra slides off onto the floor also.'"

Jacqueline pauses. Her eyes are fixed on the pages and her face burns deep red. "'He stares at my breasts and nipples. I know he wants more, everything. I reach for my panties and slip them off. I am naked. He can see everything.'" She looks at me, her eyes filled with concern. "That's it."

"That's very good," I say quietly. "But, to really finish it off properly, I think you need to describe to me what he can see."

"Okay." She knew I'd ask for more. She looks at the page again, although the words are not written there. "'He stares at my...crotch, at my pussy. I turn around so he can see my bare ass. All the time I am moving to the music.' I don't think I can say any more."

"No, that's fine. That's very good. Thank you, Jacqueline. We said fifty? And here's a twenty tip."

"Thank you."

"If you want, if you would like to make some more money, we could try this again sometime. Of course the story would have to be a little more adventurous, but then there'd be a greater reward..."

"I don't think so. Sorry."

"Okay. That's fine."


Three days later, Jacqueline emails me. She has changed her mind.


"'I kneel on the floor in front of you. I can see through your jeans that you are hard already.'" Although Jacqueline's face is as flushed as before, there is a different tone to her voice. She is, frankly, less terrified. And, who knows, I think to myself, maybe just a little turned on. "'I pull your penis out of your jeans.'" The choice of words is Jacqueline's. All I tell her is the subject, (today I required a blow-job, told in the second person), and also a clear indication that the more appealing the language the bigger the tip. "'I move my hands up and down your shaft. As you move your hands to my hair I can feel that you want me to use my mouth. I move closer until my lips brush your cock.'" Jacqueline looks across at me, to confirm that her choice of words has had the effect she desired. It has. "'I take you in my mouth, my tongue teasing around the rim of your cockhead. I feel you harden even more at my touch.'"

Oh yes, Jacqueline is correct there. My cock is rock hard in my jeans. I know it, she knows it, but for the moment the terms of our arrangement mean it stays there. "'As I stroke your balls gently I can feel that you are ready, and so I prepare myself. Then I feel your cum rising, you are groaning and pulling my hair, and then I am struggling to swallow as you fill my mouth with your hot, white cum.'"

As I stand to take her money out of my pocket, Jacqueline glances down at the fat bulge in my jeans. We both know that is what this is all about, but even so she seems remarkably unfazed by such direct evidence of my excitement.

"See you next week?" she asks.


"'I take Lauren's nipple into my mouth, and slide my fingers down to her wet pussy. She moans, and thrusts her hips, inviting me further into her sex. I begin to move down her body, knowing that she needs more than my fingers to satisfy her.'" When I'd asked Jacqueline to write about fucking Lauren, I'd thought it would be quite a challenge. Lauren is one of the uber-glamorous bitches in Jacqueline's class, and I wouldn't have thought she'd ever have spared so much as a word for her less well-off colleague. Regardless of that, and regardless of whether Jacqueline has ever indulged herself in Sapphic fantasies before, her story is convincing and painfully hot.

"'My tongue slips between Lauren's labia. She tastes delicious - so different yet so similar to the familiar salty tang when I smell and lick my fingers after pleasuring myself.'" Jacqueline steals another of her glances. Is she simply checking that she's maximising her tip? Or is she perhaps in some way thrilled that she has casually volunteered a delicious little detail about her masturbation, teasing me with the new image of her slim fingers busy between her long legs? I am physically restless now, so wonderful and so uncomfortable are the effect of Jacqueline's words.

"'My tongue flicks across Lauren's clitoris, and as I look up her body I can see that Lauren's nipples are hard and stiff with excitement. While I continue to slide my fingers in and out of Lauren's pussy, I move my other hand between my own legs to meet the need that I feel there.'"

From the moment that Jacqueline began reading the first words of her first story, her posture has always been the same. She sits on the edge of her seat, leaning slightly forward, the pages of her writing resting on her knees. Most of the time she simply looks at the paper. Given the context of what she is saying, it is modest, and yet it only serves to make my desire for her greater. I want her shoulders back, her pretty little titties exposed, her legs spread and her cute young cunt displayed brazenly for me. She's wet, isn't she, reading to me like this? Surely as she sits there right now, she can feel her panties are sodden? I really can't tell.

"'As I pleasure Lauren with my mouth and fingers I can feel that her orgasm is close. As Lauren pants and writhes I focus on my own need, rubbing and punishing my own clit. Then my mouth is full of the taste of Lauren's juices as she thrusts her orgasm against my face, and I feel the same explosive sensations rock through my body as I cum with my face between another woman's legs.'"

Jacqueline stops, and looks across at me. There is certainly more eye contact than when we started, and more confidence too. But I am caught on the horns of a wicked dilemma. Previously I have been happy for Jacqueline to leave me, and then enjoy repeated masturbation as I read her words, remembering the sound of her voice as this straightforward, decent young woman describes these filthy things for my benefit. But...

Inevitably, I want more. I am hard, surely she is wet, isn't it obvious, wouldn't it be incredible, for us to actually do something together? Even watching each other masturbate would be wonderful.

The danger is that I have no real hold over Jacqueline, nothing more than her desire for money and a vague threat that her academic results may be threatened if she displeases me. I cannot be sure, but I know her quite well now, and I suspect that more overt threats would backfire, and she would simply walk away. Not everyone can be coerced.

More money may not work either. It is one thing for us to sit in a room while she reads to me. It would be quite another to offer her money for actual sexual activity. There's a word for that, and there is something about Jacqueline's straightforward decency - what turns me on about her so much in the first place - that makes me believe she would run a mile from the hint of such a thing.

So do I continue to enjoy our readings, despite the torture? Or do I risk losing everything for a shot at something more?

"Next week?" I ask weakly.

Jacqueline smiles, politely. "Yes."


When I hear Jacqueline ringing my doorbell, I wonder how she will be dressed. Surely there will be some visible sign that reading these stories has had an effect on her? Perhaps a dab of perfume? Or an extra hint of décolletage?

No. Black skirt, white blouse. Hot, alluring, but frankly a little samey.

Jacqueline sits in her usual place, in her usual pose. Even the glass of whiskey has become part of the routine.

But all is not the same. While my lust has weakened me, the familiarity of our routine and my evident need for our stories means that Jacqueline, in her quiet way, seems more relaxed than ever with what she is doing.

"You keep asking me to write about things I don't know about," she says. I am excited to hear that Jacqueline doesn't know about today's subject, anal sex.

"That's part of the idea," I reply. "I enjoy pushing boundaries. Yours, mine."

"It may not be very realistic, that's all. You may not like that."

"I'm sure I'll like it. I've liked all your stories so far very very much. I mean, I don't suppose you've slept with Lauren, but you wrote about that convincingly."

Jacqueline smiles, a private, non-committal smile that could mean anything. But my mind whirrs - am I wrong, has Jacqueline secretly fantasised about fucking Lauren, does this sensible demure person lie in bed at night, her fingers stroking her wet pussy while she imagines tasting that rich young woman's sex?

"Shall I start?" she asks.

I nod. I am much too excited for speech.

"'I kneel on the bed. I know what you are going to do to me, that you are going to take me there, that there is no part of me that I can deny you. As you climb onto the bed I can see that you are very hard in anticipation of what you are going to do. I am already nervous, and the sight of you like that makes me wonder how you are going to fit inside me. I rest on all fours, feeling terribly exposed. As you move behind me your cock brushes my bottom.'" As always that little glance, checking that I have heard and enjoyed the crude word.

"'You hold me by the waist. I cannot escape. Then the end of your penis is pressing against my anus. I am really scared that it will hurt, but I cannot move away. You whisper for me to relax, that it will be more enjoyable that way.'" Jacqueline pauses. "I did a little research on the internet," she says. "It seems being relaxed is important. I can't imagine how anyone could relax before something that big goes in there, but what do I know?"

"A lot of women love anal sex," I say. "Really. It's their favourite thing."

"I can see why a guy would like doing it," says Jacqueline. "It isn't a very nice thing to do to someone, but I imagine it would feel good. But what could a woman get out of it?"

"Well, for some women the fact it isn't very nice is part of the appeal, enjoying something bad. But actually physically it can be very exciting too. I don't fully understand the biology, but if you think about it a lot of the nerve endings in your...in normal sex, they're stimulated in anal sex too. In a different, indirect way. And, perhaps if women like a large penis in normal sex, then the sensation of being filled in anal sex is just as...even more satisfying. Women have the most intense orgasms I know during anal sex."

I look at Jacqueline. She looks at me. She is not performing for me, reading a dirty story for my cash reward. We are talking about sex, and it is almost normal. She is not in control of the whole situation, but she is certainly in control of herself.

"Do you like anal sex?" she asks.

"Yes. I like the fact it isn't very nice. And physically, the sensations...it's so tight." Jacqueline nods. "But more than anything I love a woman getting off on it, the fact she is so turned on by me doing that to her, feeling her cumming with me inside her ass - that is exquisite."

"Perhaps you should have written this," Jacqueline says quietly. I think there is a trace of a smile on her lips.

I shake my head. "I could never do as well as you."

Jacqueline lifts the paper. "'You start to push inside me. You feel so big, huge, going into my tiny tight hole. The pain is incredible. And yet...there is something else. An intense sensation of being filled. Every sexual nerve is being stimulated in a new, roundabout way. And in my mind I am excited that I am being so bad. As your big, fat, hard cock moves inside my tight hole, I realise that being fucked in the ass could become my favourite thing.'"

I am so lost in the simple fact of Jacqueline describing being sodomised that I do not immediately realise she is repeating my own description back to me. When I do, I see that slight smile again. "I'm allowed to improvise," she says.

"Yes. It's beautiful."

"Am I describing it right?"

"Yes. Well, as far as I know. Women often tell me that it feels like being on the very edge of losing control, that they don't think they can cope with such an invasion but that it feels incredible."

"I see. How would you write that?"

"I would say: 'You are almost overwhelmed by having something so big invading you in your tight hole. It is like your asshole is being choked by my big, fat cock. Being fucked normally...being fucked in your pussy never felt anything like this.'"

I look across at Jacqueline. She seems content, for now, for me to take up the story.

"'I hold on to your slim waist and continue to move inside your asshole. Your ass feels so hot and tight around my hard cock.'"

"'You feel so hard, so big," Jacqueline continues, "and I know I want you to cum there, to fill my ass with your cum. As you hold on to me tightly I know that it won't be long. You are pushing harder and further into my poor tight asshole, and then I can feel you shaking and as you cum you push yourself so far up inside me that I feel like I will split in two. As you finish spurting inside me it feels as if you have filled up my asshole with your sperm.'"

There is silence. Normally we would make arrangements for next week, but Jacqueline seems in no hurry to leave. What can I do? She isn't exactly making any offers, but it seems she is ready for something else.



I am back on my dilemma, but now I have some reason for believing Jacqueline will let me move our game on.

"I'm sure you know how exciting I find your stories."

"Yes. Thank you."

"And I love to think about them when you're gone."

"Yes. I thought you would."

"Well I would love to...now. If you'd like it."

Jacqueline shrugs, but I can see she is not entirely disinterested in the idea. "I guess you can do what you like," she says. "I mean, I wouldn't mind."

My heart is thumping as I unbutton my flies and ease my poor throbbing cock out of my jeans. I have jerked myself off in front of students before, plenty of times, but there has never been anything like this. On those other occasions it has been an act of dominance - triumphant, magnificent, but fundamentally not so different from paying for a whore.

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