The Bimbo Blazer Ch. 03: Teacher

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Nick's busty teacher messes with the wrong student.
4.6k words
4.6
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Part 3 of the 4 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 02/22/2018
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JCBeleren
JCBeleren
4,573 Followers

"Yes, sir!" Sharon's voice was breathless as I bent her over the desk and entered her from behind. Her black heels, professional and unadorned, offered her ass up to me at the perfect height as I slid inside of her, her heavy breasts pushed down flat against the tabletop. "An A is the least I can do to repay you for such an amazing... Ahhhhhh... Fucking."

My professor's skirt was flipped up around her waist and her panties were discarded on the floor several feet away. Her glasses balanced precariously on a pile of books that had been shoved across the desk to make room. I stroked casually in and out as her fingers danced across the keyboard, entered the grade book and carefully changed the grade next to "Callahan, Nick" from an F to an A.

"That's a good little slut," I murmured, running my fingers through her dirty blonde hair, conveniently pulled back into a ponytail.

"Thank you, Sir," Sharon replied, gasping as I penetrated her with a particularly deep thrust.

"You know," I told her thoughtfully as I slid my hands across the curve of her delectable ass. "You're rapidly becoming my favorite teacher."

* * *

"An F?!!" I was incredulous. "There's no way..." I trailed off and my eyes narrowed as I stared down at the recently graded paper. My anger was smoldering.

The flow of students out of the English Literature class behind me dwindled and ended. Since a couple of my patents had been incorporated into high-tech industrial blueprints a few years ago (and I was paid handsome royalties with every unit sold), I was very financially stable. I attended Bradford University for two primary reasons. First, I was bored. Second, Bradford consistently ranked top three in the Nation's Hottest Universities.

All this to explain why I was majoring in Psychology and Philosophy with a minor in English — the workload was light and since I didn't intend on using my degree anyway I felt I may as well learn about the human mind while I was here. So far my classes had been fine, but now my Shakespeare Seminar was proving bothersome.

It was a small class, small enough that Professor McCarthy knew each student personally. She knew me, and she knew that I couldn't care less about the flowery Shakespeare poems she loved to quote in class. I wasn't impressed that she had Sonnet Number Whatever memorized, and she could sense the fact that, despite knowing everything the course required, I was slacking off.

Was it my fault that she disliked me? Yes.

Had I deserved better than an F on my midterm paper? Yes, again.

She was trying to send me a message. Flipping to the back page, I saw, written in her customary curly handwriting in red pen, I hope I got your attention. Come see me.

I stared down at the sheaf of pages in my hands. The furrow in my brow slowly unwrinkled and a smirked. I held in a laugh as an idea bubbled up to the surface of my mind. Professor Sharon McCarthy wanted to give me an F? Alright, then. I'd show her a thing or two.

Recent visits to the library in search of an interesting research project for my Experimental Psychology class had led me to discover a series of obscure articles published by a Swedish scientist named Dr. Klas Nilson. The title of his series was, "Neural Hypnosis and Brain Conditioning Through Visual Stimuli". I had originally intended to write my paper on conventional hypnosis, a hobby of mine, but new worlds of possibilities opened up as I read deeper, my research paper entirely forgotten.

His writing style was dry and academic, but I gathered enough from the Swede's papers to understand that by presenting subjects with a complex set of visual patterns, he was able to induce certain brain states, including hypnosis. The visual stimuli, in fact, intensified the effects to the point that Dr. Nilson found he could use his method to program people completely, even making subjects do things they would not normally do while awake. Once properly conditioned and entranced, the subjects would even obey verbal commands from the hypnotist.

I was instantly hooked. Smuggling the papers out of the library, I studied his work for weeks and began to use modern technology to recreate the types of patterns and images he had used so successfully in the 1970s. Photoshop and other visual media editors made my project infinitely easier than it had been for Dr. Nilson.

Finally, after dozens of hours of coding, I finally created and downloaded my creation as an app onto my phone. If it worked, I could just open the app and show someone the screen, which would be filled with an intense pattern of colors and shapes, all moving in seemingly random patterns. These patterns, modeled on Dr. Nilson's studies, would hopefully induce the person into a deeply hypnotized state.

I had had the app for almost two weeks, but hadn't yet had an opportunity to try out its effectiveness. Professor McCarthy had just nominated herself as the first test subject.

Our email exchange was cordial but terse. As soon as I got home I flipped open my laptop and sent Professor McCarthy just a few lines:

"Dear Professor,

Your grade on my recent paper did catch my attention. When did you want to see me? I can come by this evening around 5:30?

Nick"

Her response was even shorter.

"Nick,

5:30 works.

See you then,

Dr. Sharon McCarthy"

And that's how I came to be standing outside my English professor's door at 5:30 that evening. Around us, the rest of the English department was closing up shop and heading home for the night. Just as I'd intended. I wanted my teacher and I to have a little alone time.

I waited outside her closed door for a moment. What I was about to try relied entirely on my skill in computer programming. If I messed up, I would be in deep trouble. Did I trust myself?

I took a deep breath. Fuck yes I did. I raised my fist and knocked twice.

* * *

"Come in!" The voice was youthful but authoritative.

I slipped my phone into my pocket as I walked in. Looking up, I caught sight of Professor Sharon McCarthy.

She was a stunner, no doubt about it. A Southern belle all the way from her wavy blonde hair and her barely noticeable accent to her athletic physique. I had to force myself to maintain a neutral expression. In addition to being gorgeous my teacher was a highly-educated woman who wanted everyone to recognize her for her intellect and not her looks — my enjoying the sight of her would only put her in a worse mood.

"Nick," her voice was a little quieter now that there wasn't a door between us, but the hard edge remained. "Sit down." She gestured to one of the chairs across the desk from where she sat and I approached.

She waited for me to sit down, watching almost unblinkingly as I perched on the edge of the seat like a bird about to take flight, before she continued.

"I don't understand you, Nick." Her voice was chiding, as though she were speaking to a much younger and more foolish individual, though I'm sure she couldn't have been a year over thirty.

I swallowed my instinctive anger as she carried on. Not yet, I told myself.

"You're smart," she said. "We both know that."

I wasn't sure whether nodding in agreement would be taken as bad manners, so I sat as still as a block of ice.

"But when you show up to my class and try to bullshit your way through discussions," I winced inwardly at the truth of that statement, "or try handing in this as your midterm paper..." she let her fingertips rest on one of the papers on her desk and I realized it was another copy of my essay, "You don't just insult William Shakespeare, you also insult me."

I was surprised at that. "But Professor McCarthy," I interjected lamely, "That was a good essay."

I had, in fact, been so engrossed in working on my trance app that I had forgotten to write the 6-page paper until the night before it was due. Nonetheless, Google had been kind to me in donating all sorts of resources to the cause.

"It might have been," she said, almost glaring at me now, "If it hadn't simply been a compilation of a dozen Google'd articles."

She had me cold, and she knew it. There was really only one thing that could save the situation now.

I grinned shamefacedly. "Google was helpful," I admitted. "But a lot of that essay came from what we discussed in class." I stealthily maneuvered my phone out of my pocket.

Professor McCarthy threw her hair back over her shoulder as she shook her head. "Regardless, I wasn't asking for an essay entitled 'Google Plus Class'. I wanted your unique thoughts on Shakespeare. And I didn't get them."

"If you'll let me explain..." I tried again, but she ran over me. I glanced down at my phone as I maneuvered my finger to hover over my saving grace.

"I don't like your attitude in my class," she continued, "And I especially don't like you checking your phone while I'm speaking to you." Her tone was full of irritation, on the edge of hostility.

Without looking at my phone, I tapped the icon and lifted the screen to Sharon's eyes. I watched the anger on her face shift to shock and confusion as the dancing lights lit up her skin. She started to open her mouth to say something, but at that exact moment her jaw dropped slightly and she drew in a sharp breath. It was happening!

I waited another 30 seconds as the kaleidoscope of colors and shapes worked its magic, then I stood swiftly, still holding the phone level with my teacher's stunned face. "Now, watch this..." I grabbed a piece of chalk from the ledge along the bottom of the blackboard. I lowered the phone slowly and Sharon just watched me mutely, bemused and slightly stunned from the myriad flashes of color.

In giant letters, I scrawled across the blackboard a single word. SLEEP. I froze as I finished the final letter, barely daring breathe. Had it worked? I turned, ever so slowly, back to face my irate professor.

Sharon's eyelids had dropped shut behind her glasses. Her shoulders were slumped in complete relaxation and her chin had fallen to her chest.

It was like Shakespeare wrote: Hell is empty and all the devils are here. I clenched my fists to control myself as I felt my heartbeat triple and I grinned wickedly. Maybe I was a devil, but what I was about to do would feel like heaven.

* * *

"Can you hear me, Sharon?" I kept my voice calm and level. The psychedelic burst of colors had overwhelmed her brain and implanted the Sleep trigger in her subconscious mind, but I wasn't sure just yet how deep the trance had gone.

"Yes..." Her tone was slow and as her eyelids tried to flutter open to look at me, her chest slowly lifting up and down. Not deeply hypnotized, then, just in a relaxed state of suggestion.

"Very good," I told her slowly and warmly, resisting the urge to rush. This was a delicate procedure. "Just relax and let the calm wash over you as you cease resisting."

I watched carefully as her eyelids drooped and she let out a sigh of relief.

"Wonderful. You feel so wonderful as you fall into a deep, hypnotic sleep..." I loved watching as all the muscles in her body relaxed and her head dropped even lower. "The harder you resist the sleep, the more you give in to the lovely, comfortable feeling of being hypnotized. And the more hypnotized you become, the more you love the feeling."

A little sigh escaped my teacher's lips. I leaned forward and gently pushed her back in her chair. Her body was limp and relaxed, and her head fell back against the leather seat.

"You're falling under my spell," I told my gorgeous blonde professor. "Soon your mind will be completely under my control, but you're not worried about that because the trance feels so wonderful and warm and you even desire it. Your worries are slowly drifting away from your mind, further and further away as you go deeper and deeper, and the comfortable, relax feeling of the trance is all that is left. Do you understand?"

The lovely southern belle nodded her head slightly. "Yes." Her voice was quiet and slow, coming from far away.

"Beautiful," I continued. "Now Sharon I'm going to tell you some things now, and everything I tell you is absolutely true. You can't even begin to think that they would be false, do you understand?"

"Yes..." Her response took even longer this time, my suggestions making sure that even as I began to transform her mind she was continuing to fall deeper and deeper into the trance.

"Very good." I could feel blood rush to my cock as I admired my teacher's toned body, completely relaxed and in my power. I rubbed absently at the front of my shorts, readjusting before I continued. I needed to focus. "You feel so wonderful and relaxed, don't you?"

Sharon nodded slightly, too far gone now to speak without prompting.

"And your mind feels so wonderful, fuzzy, relaxed and thoughtless. Like it was wrapped in cotton. Doesn't it?"

Nod.

"And it makes thinking so very difficult. In fact, as you try to make thoughts, you're finding that it's completely impossible, aren't you?"

Nod.

"That's very good. Now, what you're finding, Sharon, is that while you are in this wonderful, relaxed state, your mind is completely open and obedient, and you have no will to resist the suggestions I give you. Isn't that right? Say, 'Yes, sir,' if that's true." I flexed my fingers into a fist to keep them from shaking with excited tension.

"Yes, sir..." I loved the way Sharon's voice intoned the words, soft and sultry and completely entranced. They dripped from her lips like honey, slow and sweet.

"In fact," I told her, biting my lip to keep me rooted in reality as my fantasy unfolded, "whenever I give you a suggestion I want you to respond with the words, 'Yes, sir" and as you do you'll find that the suggestions take complete hold in your mind."

"Yes, sir."

"Very good..." I intoned. "Now, Sharon, I want you to listen very carefully..."

"Yes sir..."

Sharon opened her eyes. When they lit on me, standing only two or three feet away at the blackboard,she blinked several times, as though remembering what I was doing there. I watched the change that came over her features as my post-hypnotic suggestions kicked in, loving every second of the transformation.

My teacher unconsciously let her lips part slightly as her gaze traced down my body, hovering for just a moment on the obvious bulge in my shorts, then disregarding it as unimportant — just as I had suggested she should. One hand slowly traced the neckline of her deep cleavage and the other inched up her knee towards the hem of her skirt, as though she were battling back the urge to start playing with herself.

When her eyes met mind, they were blazing with need. I could tell she was trying to play it cool, but her face was growing flushed with excitement. "Hello, Nick." Though she tried to keep her features composed, her voice was a lustful purr.

"Hey Professor McCarthy," I smiled back carelessly. "Or may I call you Sharon? You don't mind if I call you Sharon, do you?" The first true test of my invention's success was about to take place.

My teacher's brow furrowed. She tossed her long blonde hair back over her shoulder and pursed her lips indecisively. I was distracted by those lips. At that moment all I could imagine them doing was stretching wide and wrapping around my cock.

The submissiveness towards me that I had planted into Sharon's mind was telling her that I could call her anything I wanted, but her years of teaching had trained her to maintain a certain professional attitude with her students. Slowly, she shook her head no. "I'm sorry, Nick," she said, her tone apologetic but firm, "I don't think that's —"

"Please," I interrupted, laying only slight emphasis on the phrase that I had implanted to trigger total obedience.

Sharon's mouth froze mid-sentence and her eyes glazed over as her posture straightened. Her voice took on an almost robotic texture as she replied with calm assurance, "Of course, Master, you may call your slave anything you wish." Then, she blinked and the blank expression was gone.

"Thank you, Sharon," I told her politely.

"Of course," she nodded, automatically accepting and forgetting what had just happened. The experiment had worked! She frowned slightly as she cast back in her mind. "What was I saying?"

"My attitude...?" I prompted helpfully.

"Exactly..." She shook her head slightly as she trailed off. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I'm feeling a little empty headed at the moment." She paused to gather herself, as though speaking was a more taxing endeavor than usual.

I grinned inwardly.

"You understand why I gave you the grade I did?" She asked after several moments of concentration. Her eyes met mine from behind her glasses and I could tell her mind was still struggling to reassert itself. God, I love hypnosis.

"I think it would be a lot nicer if you just gave me an A," I told her nonchalantly. Now that I was sure my program had worked, I could feel my confidence growing. But, just like a cat toying with a captured mouse, I was going to enjoy every moment of my victory.

Sharon opened her mouth to retort, but I interrupted her.

"In fact," I continued, smiling slyly, "while you're at it, how about you just give me a blowjob." My teacher's eyes widened with shock at my boldness. Her natural propriety rose up and battled against the attraction and submissiveness I had implanted in her mind.

She stood up abruptly, almost chest to chest with me but a little shorter, even in her high heels. Her jaw was set angrily. "I don't know what you think is going on here—" she started to say, but I cut in again.

"Please," I murmured simply.

As though her knees had suddenly gone weak, my teacher dropped to the floor. Her expression went blank for a moment as she absorbed the command, then her eyes cleared and a wicked smile curved across her mouth.

"Yes, sir," she agreed, biting her lip as she looked up at me. Her hand stroked at the bulge in my shorts. I was rock hard and waiting. The tension had built up so thick I could have cut it with a knife. Seconds later, my shorts had hit the floor and been kicked away and my length was enveloped in the hot, willing mouth of my gorgeous English teacher.

Sharon moaned, soft lips wrapped around me, the vibrations sending tingling waves of pleasure up my body. Her eyes gazed mischievously up into mine as I struggled to keep control over myself, her head bobbing up and down rhythmically, accompanied by her hand.

Her mouth came off my cock with a soft pop and she let her tongue slowly trail up my shaft. Her hand never slowed its stroking motion and I arched back as my muscles clenched.

"Do you like that, sir?" she asked breathily, lovingly slipping the tip of my length into her mouth and softly swirling her tongue around the head.

I growled with need and pulled back. I stared down into her eyes. "Get back to it," I ordered, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her back down onto me.

She went willingly, eagerly, and I moaned at the sensation, closing my eyes in ecstasy. Enjoying her ministrations for just another moment, I looked down into her face as I abruptly snapped my fingers. "Sleep," I ordered, and my gorgeous professor was out like a light, her eyes slamming shut instantly and obediently.

"Yes, sir." Her tone was monotone as she pulled off of me, submissive and sexy as hell.

"Continue what you were doing," I instructed, and immediately her mouth was back around me, wet and warm and divine. "As you go up and down on my cock," I told her, "You can feel your mind and will slipping away." I tightened my jaw as a wave of electric pleasure hit me. Then I continued. "And in its place you can feel growing an incredible feeling of lust and desire. It's like a fire being fanned, as your mind goes your desire grows. As your mind goes, your desire grows."

JCBeleren
JCBeleren
4,573 Followers
12