Yes, Sir Ch. 03

Hey, guys! Anyone who's been following the story, thanks for continuing on this inconsistent journey. For all new readers, greetings loved ones, let's take a journey (if you don't get that reference then do yourself a favor and watch the music video for California Gurls featuring the one and only Snoop Dogg himself). From this chapter on, things will start to switch up a bit. For instance, chapter three will be from Violet's POV. Hopefully this will help all readers following the story to understand how the mind control works affecting Violet's mind, words, and actions. If you aren't here to follow the story and are simply here for a reading one night stand, that's cool too. Hope you enjoy! As I've said before, please let me know if you have any ideas for Violet and Luke's humiliation/Conner's revenge (the more I write the more I wish that's what I titled it, but I was an idiot and just willy nilly asked my friend for a name when I wrote the story in 30 minutes for fun. Now that I've grown attached to the writing in general and more specifically this storyline, I feel like a buffoon. Regardless, Yes, Sir it shall remain). Alrighty, let's get cracking. Hope you enjoy!

***

I walk through the halls, smoothing down my wrinkled clothes and trying to process the last twelve hours. Each step hurts a bit, between all the masturbating and that last twenty minutes of fucking. Thankfully I had some stashed protein bars and bottled water in my car for late nights in the lab.

What the hell can Conner do? Has he always been able to do that?

I shake off that last thought because I would've noticed. It's got to be because of that Zel guy.

I'm knocked out of my thoughts and into reality when I'm about to walk through my Human Behavior and Psychology class. Two people in the front row are looking behind me and I turn to see what it's about, but it's just a few people walking by.

Are they looking at me? I mean, I guess I do look pretty worn out. Maybe I'll just run to the bathroom real quick. I should pee, anyhow. Sex is sex.

I walk into the empty bathroom and go into the biggest stall on the far right side, then pull my pants down and hover. Nasty fucking public bathrooms. You never know what people do in there.

As I pee, I look down at the crotch of my pants. Holy shit, my pants are fucking soaked.

I give a small whine of humiliation, realizing I have to go sit down like this for the next hour. I flush, pull up the annoyingly wet material, and go to wash my hands.

I mean, it could be worse. I lather hard, then rinse off all remains of the actions from the past few hours. He could've come on my clo—

One look in the mirror halts all my thoughts for about two seconds, then my humiliation grows.

"He CAME ON MY FUCKING HAIR?!" The bottom part of my hair has small splotches of dried up cum on it. Honestly, you can't really tell it's cum; it looks more like I got glue or some other substance in it. Still, between my rumpled clothes, puffy eyes, and cum-coated hair, I look like a wreck.

I lean down, run some hot water, then dunk as much hair as I can under the faucet. My hair is naturally wavy, and it'll get a bit frizzy once it dries, but it's better than looking like a 5-year old's botched playtime doll. While I'm down there, I turn the water to cold and splash my face, hoping it'll get rid of at least some puffiness. While I'm hunched over, my face and hair dripping, all I can think about is Conner.

Why would he do this to me? I'm his girlfriend. My eyes well up with tears, and I look at my miserable reflection. "I thought he loved me."

Another woman walks in just as I say this, lets out a coo of sorrow (whether for my physical appearance or despair, I'm not sure), and hands me a stack of paper towels. She consoles me for five minutes, then says she really has to pee, then I listen to her pee as I towel off my hair and face, then she continues to console me while she washes her hands.

After she leaves, some small part of my brain tells me I don't deserve her compassion. I did cheat on him in the first place.

That feeling is quickly replaced by anger at what he did. I mean, people cheat all the time. Getting tortured by masturbation and somehow controlled for hours on end? That's just inhumane. My feelings continue to oscillate on the matter, and before I know it, my hair is only slightly damp and my pride is more wounded than before.

I just need to talk to Conner. Maybe hit him. Then talk. I leave the bathroom with a sense of purpose, determined to restore my pride and get some answers. Oh, fuck. I let my head fall back in exasperation and let out a groan. I completely forgot Conner takes this class with me. He usually sleeps through it since he's not a morning person so I just forget he's there.

I just need to make sure he doesn't slip me anything. Maybe that's how he got us last night. My mind deviates slightly to Luke.

He left right after we got out of Conner's. He didn't even look at me, he just ran to the Uber he called on our way out. I'll have to call him later.

I get to my classroom and see the professor in the front, way past calling roll. Crap! This guy doesn't usually care about attendance, but if you walk in late he has a tendency to do a full psych evaluation for the worst minute of your life.

I sheepishly walk in, letting the door close lightly behind me. I walk past my normal seat next to Conner, who smirks at me and does a little wave, in the fourth row, making my way up to the back where there are always some empty seats.

"Violet Rochat. You are," Professor MacCormick looks down at the watch on his wrist, "seventeen minutes late." I've always enjoyed MacCormick's lectures because of his engaging teaching style and slight Irish lilt. I'm a sucker for a deep voice or an accent, and he has both. But this morning, that soft yet commanding voice is targeting me in a class of about 50. Doesn't sound as good as I remember it.

"I am so sorry, Professor. I got caught up in the bathroom because I had...some stuff in my hair?" His eyes directed on me make me question my statement towards the end. It's not that I usually flounder under pressure; however, I usually look more put together and therefore feel it.

He drags his eyes over my rumpled appearance, and I think he may stop on my somewhat moistened clothes, and I prepare for a mental invasion. His voice remains in that gentle tone as he asks, "Where are your books?"

Shit. Just another great thing to come out of the last half a day. "I forgot them. It's been a long night, I mean day" I say, unintentionally looking at Conner, who looks torn between laughing and feeling guilty.

"See me after class for a minute."

I nod, then sit and fold my hands in my lap. The next forty-ish minutes consist of me falling in and out of sleep, something that I think makes MacCormick more worried. It's not like I'm at the top of the class but I'm definitely up there, and I've never slept in his class.

His booming voice pierces my hazy fog of in-and-out sleep, and I catch the tail end of the lecture.

"...and that is, in short, why the broken trust in childhood relationships due to social norms hinders relationships in adulthood and leads to a fragile sense of self. But we all knew that after seeing how over 50% of American marriages end in divorce. Check Canvas for your reading assignments. Class dismissed."

I groggily sit up, waiting for my peers to filter out of the room. I decide to do some quick stretches to wake myself up. As I'm grabbing my ankle and pressing my heel to my butt, I see Conner signal me to check my phone before he disappears through the door.

I grab my phone, seeing two messages from Conner.

"Once everyone leaves, get MacCormick into his office and fuck him," I read the first message in a whisper to myself, horrified. I can't fuck my professor! Sure, he's pretty attractive, but he's my professor. Also, I look like this right now.

The second message is longer. "You have to listen to all my orders, but I want you to act how you feel when you're doing them. Just act like you're choosing to do what I tell you. And remember what I told you earlier. No revealing me or Zel."

What the fuck does that mean? I have to listen to all his orders? This is just like that Sir/Master bullshit he said during sex. I thought he drugged us. My mind is running a million miles a minute.

What the fuck is going on here?

I sigh, partially scared and partially angry, then my phone buzzes. Another text from Conner.

"And don't question what's happening. I'll explain later." Suddenly, I'm not as worried about why I'm acting how I'm acting. But I'm still nervous to fuck my professor.

My body works like I'm on autopilot, and next thing I know I'm standing next to MacCormick. All the students are gone.

My heart is pounding so hard that Conner can probably hear it through text message. My hands get clammy and my ears rush with blood.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Violet? Are you okay?"

MacCormick starts to reach out to steady me but I jump back, stammering, "I'm fine. Listen, I'm sorry about being late and for sleeping." I try to think of a way to get him in his office. My mind will only focus on doing what Conner told me. I take a deep breath to calm myself, reminding my body that I am a confident and gorgeous young woman. It seems to work a bit because my hands are back to their normal state and I don't feel as anxious.

"I missed most of the lecture," I say, looking up at MacCormick for the first time. I've seen him up close a few times for talks and just during lectures, but this is the first time I'm viewing him as a sexual prospect. He looks to be about in his late 30s or early 40s but still fit, judging by the way his fitted sweater hugs muscle tone. He has a lovely set of almost harsh lips, slightly thinner and arching downward. He has almost no wrinkles or smile lines, but the slight crows feet perched on the outside of both of his ocean blue eyes indicates an amused streak. He's on the paler side, like you would expect of a typical Irishman, but his slightly curled, ear-length dark brown hair compliments his complexion.

He looks at me, looking partially amused and partially confused, and I realize I've been analyzing his face for at least a silent thirty seconds.

"I was hoping you could give me a quick review. If you don't have another class, that is," I quickly add, biting my bottom plump lip, trying not to make it seem overtly sexual. Conner always thumbs my bottom lip, telling me how sexy it looks, so I figure I'd better use my assets.

MacCormick stands there, scratches his chin four times, then blows out a long breath. "I've got about two hours before I need to prep for my next class. Fuck it, you're a good student." I grin at his relent, mulling over how to seduce him. Little does he know I have no intention of learning about the lecture. Well, I do, but that's why I have a textbook.

He walks to his desk, grabbing his water bottle, then pulls out his chair to sit.

"Wait!" I say, trying to think of a believable reason as to why we can't review out here. "Doesn't Professor Jean have a class in here in twenty minutes?"

He swears, then stands up, grabbing his water and keys to his office. "Yeah, I totally forgot. Sorry, morning brain. Let's head to my office. This shouldn't take long."

I do a little victory dance in my head, then follow behind him, checking out his ass. Damn, he must do squats. It looks more firm than mine, and I was a gymnast in high school.

His office is sort of in the classroom, sort of not. It's to the left of the projector board. He opens the door, holding it open for me, then closes it behind us. He walks around to sit at his desk, then lounges back in his chair and takes a sip of water, motioning for me to sit.

"So, what did you miss? Do you need me to review it all or just bits and pieces?"

I sit down in the chair, making sure to pout my lips a bit more than normal. "Well, I think I need all of it." I chuckle internally. "There's just this...hole...of missing information that needs to be filled."

He shuffles some papers around, moving them to the side, then grabs his laptop. He seems impervious to my innuendo. While he's talking and pulling up the presentation, I squirm in my seat. He's a psych professor specializing in human behavior. He's totally gonna call me on my shit. Maybe I should test the waters.

I grab my chair and pull it around close to him, making sure my body is tilted so he can see down my shirt. "Sorry, I forgot my glasses and I'm super near-sighted." I see his eyes dart down my shirt quickly, then he composes himself, saying, "Understandable. So, like I was saying..."

I let him talk for about five minutes while I formulate my plan, then the sound of the door to the classroom outside opening as students filter in for their class that starts in ten minutes. "Ah, there it begins. Jean tends to use a mic and speaker so it might get loud. I'll try to speed this up."

I panic, trying to figure out what to do. I'm still holding my phone, so I let it slip out of my grasp and onto the floor between us.

"Oops, sorry. I'm such a klutz," I laugh, bending down to grab it. Thankfully I was able to get it under his chair, so I lean towards his legs and under, rooting around for my phone. I grab it and slide it far under his desk.

"All good," he mutters, and I can just imagine him staring at my thin waist and smackable ass.

"It slid under your desk, can you scoot out a bit?" I ask, and his chair moves back. At this point, my top portion is hidden under his desk while my ass is pointing towards him. I wiggle around, then "find" my phone.

"Got it!" I shout triumphantly, then turn around on my knees to face him. His legs are slightly splayed and I can see a hint of a boner. I look up at him and see his cheeks are turning red.

"G-great, let's get back to the lesson," he stammers, and that's the first time I've ever seen him unbalanced. Maybe the thought of his student bent over for him makes him uncomfortable. He's always such a composed guy. That's when I know I've got him where I need him.

"Oh, Professor," I say, still on my knees, "I have something else I need help with." I crawl towards him and he backs up even more, then hits the wall in his chair.

"Yes, Violet?" He asks this quietly, looking stunned and disbelieving.

"Well, you see," I place a hand on each of his knees and he flinches, "I have this other hole that needs to be filled. But not with information," I say, moving my hands closer to his crotch.

His breathing gets heavier and he doesn't move. I move my hands past where I want to go and touch his chest, feeling the surprisingly hard muscles grow tense under my touch.

I look up into his eyes, widening my own, then ask in the sultriest voice I can muster, "Will you please fill it, Professor?"

His mouth falls open and his lids grow heavy, then he grabs my hands. I worry he's going to kick me out and report me, but instead, he stands and places my hands on his jeans over his hardening cock.

I immediately pounce, going for the button on his pants holding my prize inside. Once I get it undone, I pull his jeans off as quickly as I can. I want to see what I'm working with. He grabs the bottom of his short and pulls it off, revealing a toned chest and more hair on his chest than I'm used to with college boys.

He's left only in his navy blue briefs, which I think may hold an impressive package, but before I can pull them off he grabs me by the arms and yanks me up. He looks into my eyes for a brief moment, looking almost vulnerable, then grabs the back of my head and kisses me.

It's a cautious kiss at first, but I swipe my tongue across his lips to convey the message that I'm open sesame, and it's like a beast is unlocked. He dives into my mouth with gentle, firm strokes that give way to teasing swipes of his tongue. After kissing the same two guys for a while, his totally different style drives me crazy. Conner is rough yet caring and Luke is soft but a bit sloppy. Suddenly, I want to fuck MacCormick. This isn't about Conner anymore.

I moan into his mouth, then he pulls off and makes his way down my neck. His hands move around to my breasts, kneading them and testing their weight.

"Oh, god," he groans, "you've got perfect fucking tits."

My nipples harden from the attention and he starts tweaking them, making me moan louder. He shoves a hand over my mouth. Oh right, I forgot we were technically in public.

I have really sensitive nipples, which I think he pick up on because next thing I know he's pulling off my shirt and undoing my bra.

He bends down to attack my tits with his mouth, but the height difference makes it hard on him. He grabs me and hoists me onto his desk, then resumes. He swirls his tongue around my left nipple then nips it, and I cry out as the feeling shoots electricity down to my cunt. I grab the back of his head, pulling it closer. He turns his attention to the other breast, kneading the one he just abandoned.

Once he's sucked my nipples raw, he grabs the button on my pants and yanks them off.

"Jesus, you soaked through your pants," he says when he sees the still-damp spot and my currently wet panties. He tosses the pants aside, then leans down to my pussy, hovering his face close but too far for my liking.

With gentle motions, MacCormick wiggles my underwear off and I have to lift myself up so he can get them off. While I sit back down and readjust myself, he lifts the panties to his nose and inhales deeply, his eyes darkening with lust as he looks into my own.

He pushes my hair to the side, playing with a few loose strands. "If your pussy tastes as good as it smells, I'm in for a fucking treat, princess," he growls in my ear. I shiver, feeling his warm breath wash over my cold skin.

He trails one hand past my hair and over my neck, gliding over my tit, beyond my taut stomach, then over my hip, almost reaching the apex between my legs.

His finger just barely touches my smooth mons, but it makes me jolt in anticipation. If he keeps teasing me like this, I won't last long before I'm begging for his cock.

While I sit there like a panting, trained dog waiting for its master's touch, he continues to drag his finger downward. A feather-like pass over my clit draws out a quick inhale, and I'm about to give in.

"Wow," he says as his finger finally reaches my dripping slit, "you're a bigger slut than I thought. You really want me to fill this little pussy up, don't you, princess?"

I nod, moaning, "Yes, Professor. Please finger-fuck my slutty little hole. I'm so wet for your cock."

"Are you sure you really want it?"

"Yes," I practically sob, "just fuck me already. My pussy feels so empty."

He grins, and for the first time I see traces of light smile lines around his mouth. I lean forward, capturing his bottom lip between my teeth, then bite down lightly. He growls, then yanks me forward until my ass is hanging off his desk.

He gets down on his knees, looking up at me as he leans in closer to my hot cunt, then flattens his tongue and licks from the bottom of my slit all the way up to my clit. I moan, pinching my nipples and seeking relief as he continues to lick my pussy.

"That's right, Professor, lick my cunt. Do you like that? Do you like licking your student's cunt?" He sticks two fingers in my pussy, putting all his tongue attention on my clit.

Suddenly, a muffled yet booming voice radiates through the walls.

"Good morning, class. I see about 80% of you decided to grace me with your presence on this fine Monday morning," says Professor Jane. I can hear her words almost perfectly if I listen closely enough. That mic is fucking loud.