I stood in the hallway of Kirkwood Hall, or ‘professor row’ as the other students called it. My thumb drew incessant circles in my sweaty palm as I paced small circles near the wall between two offices.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this, repeated in my head as the moment grew larger than me. Just breathe Beth…

The other college students that flocked the halls made me want to blend in with the bland beige walls and abstract prints framed between each office so that I could disappear altogether. Every woman that passed seemed more gorgeous than the next. Their outfits were more put together than mine, their tummies were more trim than mine, and their hair glistened and bounced with their every step. I adjusted my white blouse and a navy blue plaid skirt that dangled to my knees. My clothes selection was a remnant of habit after six years of private school (this despite the constant teasing I received at the hand of my suitemates and her friends).

What made it worse was when the college boys stole their lingering looks my way, but that wasn’t anything new. College guys were so immature and desperate, they’d masturbate to a bookshelf if it looked like they had breasts. I knew I wasn’t ugly, but that was part of the problem. Combing my blond hair back behind my shoulders with my fingers, I adjusted my black backpack on my shoulders. I had received more comments than I liked about my pouty lips, creamy skin, or just brutish comments about breasts, but it all drew eyes I didn’t want.

I don’t want anyone looking at me; I thought and felt a twist in my belly as if I was back in his classroom. Except his…

Shaking the thought from my head, I scrambled to take off my backpack and unzip it—drawing even more eyes. Buried in the front pocket was my inhaler. Professor Kent wasn’t like my other professors. I didn’t… look at him the same as the others. I felt the humiliation simmer inside my chest, threatening to drown me. I had always had a thing for older men. I knew it was wrong. Call it ‘daddy issues’ or the price of growing up in a broken home, but the level of lust and… infatuation I developed for certain men twice my age had always been an issue I’ve tried to conceal.

Imagine the stares I’d get if everyone knew how much of a freak I really was?

I took two quick puffs from my inhaler. That’s when I saw him. Professor Kent was an attractive man in his late thirties with thick dark golden brown hair faded on the sides with short bangs across his forehead that bounced when he walked. At six-foot-four, he towered over me standing, so when I looked up from a kneel over my backpack, he loomed over me like a giant.

His interrogative eyes studied me as he approached his office like a test question that awaited to be unpacked and undressed. Cocking his head to the side and making one lock of his bangs move to the side, he smiled with a squinted eye.

“Are you waiting for me?” Professor Kent asked.

“I, um, no—”

“Beth, right?” he asked and gestured up and to his left as if he stood in his lecture hall. “You sit in the back row on my left. Psych 101 class.”

I smiled nervously and felt my panties adjust between my thighs as I moved. He knows my name…

“Uh, yes, yes, um,” I said, quickly tucking my inhaler in my bag and zipping it up. “I, um, don’t want to bother you. Sorry,” I muttered with my eyes on the ground as I turned to leave.

“Nonsense,” he replied, putting his key in his office door. “Come in, we’ll talk. I insist.”

My stomach complete a somersault and I felt my heart beating in my ears like a war drum. It was true I had sat meekly quiet in the back left of Professor Kent’s Psychology 101 class for almost an entire semester now. My first semester at university, actually. Like my other classes, I haven’t uttered a word in a single one, but speaking wasn’t necessary for doing well in school. That was why I loved school so much. Leaving high school with a 4.0 GPA, I sat primed to receive straight As in all nineteen credit hours I took this semester with one exception.

Psych 101…

“The presentation is worth half your grade,” Professor Kent said evenly. “We went over this in the syllabus.”

My stomach twisted, and I tried to shrink under his heavy gaze but had nowhere to hide unless I tried to go under the desk. It didn’t feel right to have a presentation to be worth so much of my grade. I can, and did, receive over 100% on every single quiz and exam in the class, but will still fail if I don’t give a thirty-minute presentation to the class. Ten minutes about myself and my background, followed by twenty minutes about Behaviorism psychology and how it’s used in modern practice.

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled, barely parting my lips.

“I didn’t hear you,” my Professor’s voice said almost as if it was a demand.

I adjusted in my seat and straightened. “I’m sorry. Yes, sir,” I squeaked a bit louder. I have always suffered from crippling social anxiety. My mother’s solution was to fill my medicine cabinet full of drugs in middle school and the refilled orders are still there now that I’m in college. They take the edge off my panic attacks when I have them, but little else. Getting up in front of a class of a hundred students and Professor Kent in order to give a thirty-minute speech was torture. Coming to my professor’s office hours was difficult enough. In class, his piercing gaze felt undressing even as I hid amongst the crowd. The thought of sitting alone in an office before him was crippling. I had spent all night considering just dropping out of the class entirely, but doing so would fail me as well.

And all it would take is one failed class for me to lose my scholarship… then if I wanted to go to college, I would have to ask my father for money… I will never do that…

The panic in my chest fizzled like a freshly opened soda that had been shaken. “Is there another way? Can I, maybe, write out my speech? Or record my speech and play it?”

Professor Kent grimaced, flattening his lips as he let out a long sigh. He leaned back in his leather seat and I couldn’t help but glance at the way the gray button-up shirt he wore grabbed at the muscles of his shoulder and biceps. I inverted my knees together subconsciously. Like I was afraid he might somehow see through the large red oak desk that separated us, through the skirt that dangled over my knees and light blue panties I wore beneath it and could see the drip of drool that fell from my sex. And for a terrifying second, I thought he could. My Professor’s eyes narrowed on me and his eyebrows closed together in concentration on something briefly as he cocked his head to the side.

No, how does he know? Can he smell my pheromones?

But his inquisitive look quickly vanished and was replaced with a soft and welcoming smile that made me want to say yes to anything he said next.

“Beth,” he leaned forward, and I tried to lean further back, but my backside was always pressed against the chair. “You’re a very bright young lady. I know you know everything that you need to present, but the presentation isn’t just about knowledge. It’s about speaking, confidence, taking control.” The professor extended a firm hand toward his door as if the classroom was on the other side of it. “Dominating that classroom and selling yourself. That’s a big part of life in the real world. If I let you not do this presentation, I’d be robbing you of this skill.”

Confidence, control, dominating…

The anticipation of the impending presentation all of a sudden weighed on her like a concrete tied to her throat. Covering my face with my palms, I did my best to keep my composure with a deep breath and exhale.

Thoughtlessly, and more as a complaint to myself, I mumbled, “I don’t dominate,” and scooted forward to stand and leave. It was only when I was touching my face that I realized what my Professor had seen that caught his curiosity. It was my beet-red cheeks that now felt burning hot to the touch.

God, I’ve sat here swooning and blushing like a high school girl all this time? I’ve got to get out of here.

“I’m sorry, um, thank you. I—I should be, um, going,” I mumbled as I leaned forward to grab my backpack and my Professor stopped me with a raised palm.

“Stay,” he said, and I did. He leaned back in his chair again and scratched at the center of his chest, where his hard pecs met. “How old are you?”

My eyes widened as I was taken aback by the question. I stuttered an answer quickly before I had decided whether he asked as an insult or some other reason.

“Um, eight—eighteen.”

Parsing his lips, he nodded and looked around the room. “You could leave if you want,” he said after a minute. “You can leave whenever you want. Do you understand?”

“Yes?” I replied, unsure of what he meant.

“If you don’t do your presentation, you will fail this class, so I don’t want that to happen. I also don’t want to cheat you out of this lesson and experience as it will only hurt you in the long run—you have to be able to speak in front of others. There’s no way around it, Beth.”

Professor Kent stood and walked around his desk until he sat on the edge of his desk in front of me, so close he nearly stood on my book bag.

“I have…” he paused, scratching the side of his neck as he considered his next words, “trainings… that used to offer certain women who struggled with confidence. Tutoring that is extracurricular and not a part of the college. I haven’t taken on a pupil for these trainings for some time, but if you are interested, if you consent… I would be willing to tutor you.”

Unsure of whether it was the charged odor emanating from his person or just the proximity of the man but I blurted out a ‘yes’ before I had a chance to process what I was consenting to.

A private class? I think? Just him and me? The prospect was exciting and terrifying. I was still trying to cool my face, that had only grown redder since I realized my flushness.

He glanced at his black metal banded watch. “We could begin today—right now if you’re free for the next hour.”

“Yes, I… Yes, I’m free,” I said.

My Professor smiled at my eagerness. “I have three rules if we are to continue,” he walked behind me and went to the office door. “1) You may leave or stop the training at any time, you only have to say the word ‘red.’ But once you do, the trainings are finished and you must face the presentation on your own. 2) You must do everything that I tell you, exactly how I tell you.”

I heard the lock turn on the door and Professor Kent completed the circle, walking back in front of me again. This was the first time I realized that something sexual might be happening. The thought struck fear and excitement inside me, but mostly it froze me in my seat. It was a sort of surreal moment of disbelief like I had just entered a movie or a dream.

“3) You must never tell anyone about these trainings. Ever. Do you understand?”

My mouth went dry. I swallowed to work the saliva around. “Yes,” I croaked.

He licked his lips like an animal looking down on its dinner. Cocking his head to the side, the warmth in his smile disappeared as a powerful and stern expression cemented on his face. Suddenly, the office I sat in felt darker than it was when I entered.

“Stand,” Professor Kent ordered.

I stood and my lips were nearly touching his muscular chest, so I quickly sidestepped for comfortable distancing. He corrected this action, not with words or movement, but with a single gesture. Pointing at the spot on the floor where I once stood, my Professor looked like an owner heeling a dog. It was my turn to lick my lips as I scratched my thumbnail on my other palm and slowly shuffled back before him. My head hung low and I pouted like a puppy that knew she had done something wrong.

Just standing so close to the man was taxing. My social anxiety thrummed like a migrant in my chest as my palms grew sweaty and my head dizzy. Without provocation, Professor Kent took my chin in his hand gently between his thumb and forefinger, and I lifted my gaze to meet his. Looking up at his soft skin and penetrating eyes, I could hear myself panting with excitement from his simple touch.

The kiss he planted on my lips was a gentle one. Innocent and measured. Without meaning to, a high-pitched hum escaped my lips to his as my eyebrows went high. Like the moment I dreamed about and anticipated was too surreal to be expected. The tip of his tongue brushed past my lips and all the blood in my body went to my head. As if sensing my lightheadedness, my Professor’s hands caught my shoulders, steadying me and holding me to his chest.

The tender kiss quickly deepened and changed. He stepped forward, cupping my cheek with his rough palm, and suddenly our bodies were touching another and the older man was looming over me. His fingers hooked around the top of my neck, locking me in place so I couldn’t retreat even if I wanted to. His lips pressed on mine. I felt his tongue press into my mouth and rub against mine before lapping the roof of my mouth slowly. My eyebrows went tall and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment as I felt how wet my pussy had become.

Why do I have to be like this? We’re just kissing and I’m so wet! It’s embarrassing. Please, don’t let him find out I’m this way…

Without even realizing it, I stood on my tippy-toes for my lips to reach his. Professor Kent’s other massive hand cupped my hips, fitting around its entire side as he traced his finger along my exposed skin below my shirt but above the waistband of my skirt. Trying not to draw attention to it, I clenched my thighs together in hopes of choking my sex from growing any wetter, but I found it was having the opposite effect. In the position I stood as we made out, the nub of my clit pressed against a corner of fabric, either a moist twisted edge of my panties or something on his clothing, that teased me just right. I rocked back and forth in a daze. When my professor’s hand slid up to my breasts without warning, I very nearly came.

Coming down from my tippy toes and shrinking away from in a step, I attempted to free myself from his clutch to avoid further embarrassment.

after all, this grown middle-aged man with his life together already thinks of me as a little girl. This thought will only cement in his mind if I orgasm just from a kiss!

To my surprise, my attempts to free myself from the Professor failed as he followed me as I tried to step away. Stumbling as I walked back into a chair and knocked it out of the way, I felt shadowed by the tall man as he cornered me in his office. My back pressed against the wall and Professor Kent’s front pressed against me, as did something else. His hard member protruded from his tented khaki slacks and prodded me just below my naval.

His tongue slipped deep inside my mouth as his hand held my face to his while his other hand groped my left breast over my top. Without warning, my eyes fluttered open and closed quickly as the uncontrollable orgasm overwhelmed me.

“Mmmm!” I screamed, a moan into the kiss as my tiny hand grabbed at the triceps of his shirt. My fingernails clawed at him and twisted his clothing around his thick arm like a tourniquet. “Mmmmahh!”

Inverting my knees so that the kneecaps touched, I nearly collapsed from the release. My once-damp panties were now soaked.

Finally, Professor Kent relented and stepped away from the kiss, leaving me whimpering and a mess against the wall. I felt my juices dripping down my inner thigh, trying to escape the privacy of my skirt. Pressing my thighs together, my hands formed an ‘x’ over my sex to add an extra layer of defense against the man’s piercing gaze.

“Did you just cum, little girl?” he asked in his deep voice.

I nodded, ashamed and dripping with anxiety. Unable to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled and turned to scurry away. I’ll leave my backpack—I don’t care! I’m so embarrassed!

But there was a fast jolt of movement followed by a thud as my Professor struck the wall, blocking me from leaving. For the first time, fear swelled inside me. The mix of emotions was almost too much for me. Lust, terror, pleasure, excitement, anxiety, wonder, anticipation, horny, dread…

My eyes glanced at my backpack, still sprawled on the floor in front of the chair I had once sat in.

I need my inhaler. I need space. I need…

My breathing rasped with every inhale as my lungs struggled to get enough oxygen. The edges of the world turned black and my professor’s face became blurry.

I can’t—I can’t do this! I can’t!

“Stop,” my Professor said with an even but full voice. The arm that once blocked my path now was removed as he extended a calloused palm in my direction like an officer halting traffic. The command slowed my rasping breaths and focused my wandering mind.

Stepping away from me, he carefully and deliberately picked up my backpack, sat it on his desk, and began opening the zippers. He searched its contents until he found my white inhaler and applicator. Returning to me, he placed it in my hands and waited for me to take two breaths off it. Holding his hand out, I returned the inhaler to him and he reversed the steps, securing it in my backpack.

“One word,” he said, placing the bag in the seat beside him. “Three letters. Say it and you may leave. Say it and we will end this right now. Do you want to say it?” Professor Kent raised an eyebrow.

I licked my lips. My lungs might’ve slowed their need for air, but my heart was still hammering in my chest. “No,” I squeaked.

A ghost of a smile grew on his lips that nearly made me faint, but it disappeared just as quickly. He turned around and went to his desk. The already spartan desktop was cleared of the remaining items. A single finger beckoned her over to him. With almost no effort on his part, he lifted me up from under my butt cheeks and sat me on the edge of the desk.

“Ooo!” I squealed from the touch but was scolded immediately.

Professor Kent pointed a stiff finger at me, then at the closed and locked door, then held the finger up to his soft lips, quieting me. I had been so focused on the room and Professor Kent that I forgot we were in his office, on campus, and it was the middle of the day. There could be a line of students waiting outside that door, listening to my every moan, for all I knew.

I felt exposed on his desk. My feet dangled and my navy blue and white striped plaid skirt only barely touched my knees. I inched my thighs together and felt my wet panties cling to my sex. Taking my hands in his, he deliberately placed my palms on the desk slightly behind my butt so I could lean back comfortably.

“You will not move your hands, do you understand?” he said.

“Yes.”

He grimaced, then nodded to himself as he unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up neatly to his swollen biceps. “From now on, while we are alone, you will refer to me as ‘professor’ or ‘sir,’ always. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, and the words seemed to flow out effortlessly. Like they had been sat on the back of my tongue waiting to spill forth all this time.

“Should you move your hands from their spots, you will be punished. This training is when you will learn that every action has consequences, even something as small as moving your hands.”

“I won’t… sir,” my head shrunk between my shoulder blades as my mind circled nervously around what ‘punished’ meant to a man as strong and fierce as him.

His palm cupped the inside of my knee and I felt the pad of his middle finger tickle beneath my knee. Slowly, that finger slid up to the inside of my thigh. As he traced it higher up my leg, my skirt raised with it, exposing my milky white thighs. My mouth hung open as I made shallow pants in anticipation. The last twenty minutes that had led me here, felt as though they happened in a blink of an eye.

Professor Kent leaned over me like a beast on the prowl. His face hovered inches above my rising and lowering chest. My white blouse may have clothed my bulbous breasts, but they might as well have been bare for the position I was in. With both my hands stuck behind my back, my large breasts protruded in his face. The wire of my white bra was outlined in the fabric of my shirt with how tight it wore on my chest and still his hand went higher.

His finger brushed the wet portion of my thigh where I had leaked down and I bit my lower lip. I found myself staring at his lips and wishing he would kiss me again. Like he did before when I was trapped against the wall. His tongue buried in my mouth and his hands…

“Ohh…” I whimpered and tried to keep quiet as his middle finger brushed by the tender, warm flesh of my inner thigh and slid across the face of my wet panties. “Gah…”

“Mmmm…” Professor Kent hummed inquisitively. “And here I thought you were a good girl.” He ticked his tongue at me in disappointment. “All along you were just another dirty girl…”

I looked up at him with pleading eyes as I felt the light touch of his finger swiping circles on my panties. It was the first time I had to fight to keep my hands from moving and covering myself. The pressure he put on my sex grew and I could almost hear the squish of my soaked panties being sloshed around on my clit.

“Ooh, my—ahmm!” I stifled my moans by pushing my lips into my shoulder, but his gaze followed mine like a looming predator.

“Did you know that you were such a bad, bad girl?” he asked.

“No,” I gasped between yelps.

“What?” Professor Kent said louder and underscored his anger with cupping my vagina roughly.

“Ooo, um, ahh,” my mind was drowning in pleasure and worry as I felt his entire palm grind up and down on my sex. “No, sir.”

“There’s my good girl,” he growled through slitted eyes.

His hand tucked inside my panties and suddenly the cool, wet fabric was replaced with his warm, rough, and bulky fingers. I felt his finger traverse between my vagina’s lips and scoop at the build of moisture that dripped from them.

“Oh god, oh nah,” I moaned and struggled to keep quiet as I felt his finger circle my lips down there, edging closer and deeper to penetrating me. “Daddy—I mean—Sir… Sir… I don’t… I don’t think I can keep quiet if… if you continue…”

“If I continue?” he repeated my words and maneuvered his face over mine, just inches away. Immediately, my eyes flicked down to his lips. “I haven’t heard you say the word yet, so I know you don’t want me to stop—”

“No—” I blurted out as my body began to rock unconsciously, willing his finger to enter me. My mind and body were at odds of what to do in this situation.

“So if you don’t want me to stop, I know you weren’t telling me what to do just now, were you?” Professor Kent ended his sentence just as he slid the first half of his middle finger between my vagina lips.

“Ohhh god—no, ahmm, no, sir. Ahh…” I groaned and felt my palm slide half an inch across the desk before I stopped myself.

“You will keep quiet, do you understand?” his voice was low and demanding.

I flattened my lips together and nodded through squinted eyes.

“Good girl, just like that…” he groaned as his finger moved in and out of my vagina. Fresh juices leaked over his palm and down my butt cheeks. My professor saw my lips turn white and the struggle in my face as he fingered and smiled. “That’s it, take it. You don’t have to be a bad, dirty slut… you can take it like a good girl, can’t you?”

I nodded, but I felt my willpower caving. His finger was going so deep—far deeper than mine did when I touched myself. And he hooked it up inside me. I could feel the motion and speed begin to increase, and it was already too much for me. His finger had found my G-spot and there was a pressure building like I hadn’t felt before.

“Mmmmgahmmmohhmm!” gasps of moans escaped my lips despite how tightly I clenched them together.

My professor’s eyes leveled with mine, and I could see him rooting for me. “Come on, baby girl. Be my good girl, you can do it. Do you want to cum for me?”

I nearly cried at his mention of an orgasm. I nodded incessantly as the buildup of pleasure nearly broke me. My body, unable to handle it, tried to clamp my knees shut but my professor’s hips crowded me, not allowing it. Again, I nearly lifted my arms to shove his hands away or cover my breasts which were now bouncing together up and down in my bra with my every rock, but I clenched my teeth to fight the urge.

“Sir, I’m—I’m gonna—ohmmm—orgasm…” I struggled to get the words free. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can, cum for me. Cum for me now. Be a good girl. Don’t be a dirty fucking slut,” he warned. His finger roughly pumping in and out of my sex. His warm palm clapped against my clitoris as I watched his biceps flex and all the muscles dance in his forearm.

The words were like a switch being flipped inside me. Professor Kent’s entire arm flexed as he fingered me. My whole body shook back and forth, making my breasts rise and fall with every thrust. The last thing I saw before my eyes rolled backward was the lustful leer he had at my bouncing breasts. Seeing him look at me in such a desirable way put me over the edge.

“Mmmm ohh god!” I cried out as the orgasm struck. My thick thighs jiggled and shook side to side around his hips as they tried and failed to close. A violent tremor shuddered through my hips as I panted. I felt the scream coming a second before I released it. It was enough time to grab hold of my professor’s other arm and pull it to cover my agape mouth.

“Ohhh my—god!” I buried my lips into his hard, muscular shoulder as I screamed. The flood of juices downed the professor’s hand despite him still forcing his finger on my g-spot. “Ah ah ah ah! Oh, my gahmmm!”

My fingernails dug into his triceps and shoulder as the pulses of orgasm I felt coincided with the diminishing squirts of juices coating his palm. Moving in survival mode, my hands palmed at his hand that slowed but still fingered me and stopped it as my sensitivity was too high. My arms shook and jittered as I laid back on the desk in an almost seizure-like state as I waited for the pulsing pleasure to end from my sex.

“Oh, god… oh…” I panted as the final pulse allowed me to breathe normally.

When I did sit up, I nearly fell right back down, my head was so dizzy. It wasn’t until I sat up a second time and braced my wobbling head on my shoulder with my fingertips that I realized.

Oh no! My hands!

My professor stood before me with his hands on hips looking down at me with a neutral look. I started to reach my hands back to their original spot like a kid trying to pretend she didn’t just break the rules. Instead, I stopped and tucked my hands into my lap, and hung my head like a whipped puppy.

“You moved your hands,” he observed.

“Yes, sir,” I whispered.

“You know what that means,” he said and moved his hands to his belt buckle.

Like a baseball bat beating a bass drum, I felt my heart pound in my chest. The anticipation of what my punishment would be felt like electricity dripping over my body. My skin tingled with focus and intensity. Professor Kent had just slid the leather strap out of his belt buckle when there was a knock on the door followed by a rough jiggle of the doorknob.

“Professor Kent? Are you available?” a muted and feminine voice came through the locked door.

My professor gave me a daring smile as he redid his belt and extended a hand, helping me off the desk like a gentleman—as if he didn’t just finger me silly until I made a mess over his floor.

“Until next time,” he said.

By the time I had adjusted my clothes and gathered my bag, Professor Kent had most of his things returned to his desk and had even produced wet wipes from a drawer to wipe down the mess I had left behind. He adjusted his shirt and gave me a final permissive smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow in class, Beth. You may leave,” he nodded.

“Yes, sir,” the words eased off my tongue just as easily as the first time.