Sometimes I loved being a professor. Most of the time, really. My class is such that usually students don't take it if they aren't serious about it. Classical Mythology is not on the general education list so there are no general education credits for taking it. Teaching a specialized subject typically meant mature and dedicated students.
This semester, however, my Thursday evening class had a handful of miscreants in it, one miscreant more troubling than the others. It seemed Blake Whittaker's sole purpose on Thursday nights was to irritate me.
“Why didn't Persephone just cut off his dick and leave?” she asked, chewing the tip of her pen and regarding me with twinkling eyes.
As was becoming routine, I tried not to rise to the bait. “She was trapped by more than his physical presence; it wouldn't have done any good,” I answered over the other students' laughter. “But as always, I appreciate your unique perspective, Ms. Whittaker.”
Blake flashed me a beaming smile. “Thanks.”
I just stopped myself from pointing out the compliment's sarcasm and continued the lesson instead.
“Wait. So they ended up married?”
Of course that was Blake again. “Yes,” I replied.
“Isn't that Stockholm Syndrome?”
“It could be argued, sure.”
“Why are you teaching us it's okay to marry your abuser?”
I had almost been impressed with the girl's insight, until that last question. “Excuse me?”
“Couldn't you pick a different myth with more feminine empowerment? Why this one? Have you married an asshole that kidnapped you and you're looking for validation?”
I stiffened on instinct. I couldn't tell if Blake was actually angry or just causing trouble. “I'm not married and have never been, nor do I advocate marrying one's abuser,” I answered calmly. “And I aim to teach all the myths, so this one remains in the syllabus, yes. Just because the content may be objectionable doesn't mean we shouldn't learn it.” Hopefully that would shut the girl up.
“Yeah, shut the fuck up, Whittaker,” one of the other students, a typically quiet guy in the back row, spoke up.
“Lang--” I started to admonish the language when Blake completely lost it.
The girl sprung from her desk and turned to face the back, fists clenched at her sides. “You shut the fuck up, Bauman!” she shouted. “Persephone may not have had the guts but I'll slice your fucking dick off and--”
“Ms. Whittaker!” I interrupted, loud enough to be heard over the angry girl. “Do not make threats in my classroom or you can see yourself out!” I'd had enough. When Blake slid back into her seat I continued. “And both of you. Language, please. This is college, isn't it? Am I in the right building? I'm not suddenly teaching middle school, am I?”
Most of the class snickered at that, even Mr. Bauman. “Sorry, Professor,” he said with a blush.
Blake had no such reaction. No blush, no amusement, no apology. In fact, she was gripping her pen so tightly I wondered if it might snap in half.
“Thank you, Mr. Bauman,” I said. “I had planned a completely different assignment, but in light of concerns addressed I think I'll have you each write an opinion piece on whether you agree or disagree with Ms. Whittaker's diagnosis of Stockholm Syndrome, why or why not, and how you would have dealt with the situation if it were you in Persephone's place. And for those of you less, or more, evolved in sexual freedom, if you want to switch Hades's gender for the last part of the piece, feel free.”
More chuckles from everyone but Blake.
“All right, get out of here,” I told them. It was ten minutes early, but I'd kept them a few minutes late last week so it balanced out. “Ms. Whittaker, can I have a word before you go?”
Blake stiffened and sat unmoving in her chair, and once everyone else was out and the door closed behind the last person she stood up with a sigh and approached my desk.
“Why did the myth bother you so much?” I asked without preamble.
Blake chewed her bottom lip and stared at the floor. “If you want me to behave in class you'll probably have to make me,” she said coyly.
My hackles rose and I ignored the inappropriate statement. “You didn't answer my question. Why did it bother you?”
“Do you really want to know?” The coyness fled.
“Yes, of course.”
“Because I'm tired of heteronormative D/s in history. Give me a myth about Sappho kidnapping and enslaving a girl who falls in love with her and I'll be golden.”
I raised an eyebrow, frankly surprised as hell at that answer. “That's quite a double standard, don't you think?”
“Yeah, but that doesn't make it any less true.”
I shook my head, half exasperated and half amused. “Good night, Ms. Whittaker.”
“I wish you would call me Blake... Ms. Whittaker is my mother.”
“And I wish you weren't disrespectful in my class,” I shrugged. “Good night, Ms. Whittaker.”
Blake stared at me. “You have really intense eyes. Has anyone ever told you that? You'd make a good...” She stopped talking and shook her head, finally turning to leave.
I did not ask what I would make a good one of, despite how hot the question burned on my tongue. I let the frustrating young lady leave without further comment.
–
Nights like these I went home and unwound with a strong drink. As soon as I stepped through the front door my cat tried to trip me, as usual. I was ready for it and leaned down to scoop him up, nuzzling his face and letting him kiss mine.
“Hey, Walternate,” I greeted him, giving him one more squeeze before setting him down, where he promptly tried to trip me again. I laughed and sighed at the same time, shutting and locking the door behind me and then moving into the kitchen. “I know, I know, you want food. Little pig.” I filled his bowl and checked his water before pouring myself a scotch on the rocks and settling in my recliner with a long swallow. I could hear Walternate crunching away happily and it made me smile.
I'd found the little asshole in my car one morning during a spring that was too hot to keep the windows up, and he'd been with me ever since – love at first sight. I had of course tried to find his family, putting up fliers and taking out ads and all that, but no luck, and we were both happy to be stuck together. He really is the sweetest cat. I named him Walternate because finding him in my car reminded me of the scene in Fringe where Walter's sitting in his car listening to “Only You”, and I love that song and that show, and I specially loved the Walternate and Fauxlivia names Walter had come up with, so it just fit.
When Walternate finished eating he came in and jumped up onto my lap, parking himself there and proceeding to give himself a bath while I sipped my drink and stroked his fur and told him about my day.
–
Next Thursday we further discussed Persephone and Hades and the idea of Stockholm Syndrome, and the discussion stayed really mature and intelligent until about fifteen minutes before the end of class when Blake inevitably said something entirely inappropriate.
“You know, he probably could've had her compliant a lot sooner if he'd just bent her over and fucked her in the ass. I mean, straight chicks dig that, right?”
None of the other students had a response to that, and I was grateful. “Ms. Whittaker, we were having a mature and enlightening discussion. Is there a reason you felt the need to debase it?”
“I'm just saying,” Blake insisted. “There are better ways to control someone than sappy, spineless romance.”
“Last week you were vehemently opposed to the pairing at all. Today you want him forcing himself on her? Your conflicting points of view are a little staggering,” I pointed out. I was getting tired of the girl deliberately trying to rile everyone up so when Blake didn't have an immediate comeback I pressed my advantage. “Or maybe you just had mind-blowing anal sex this week and it changed your thinking?”
Blake's jaw actually dropped, and I knew I shouldn't take such a thrill in shocking the girl silent, but I did. I was thrilled.
“Yes? No?” I asked when no answer was forthcoming. “Ms. Whittaker, do tell. We're all on the edge of our seats.”
Blake squirmed in her chair and smoldering eyes locked with mine. “No Ma'am, I didn't.”
I nodded. “Keep your comments appropriate from now on unless you want to be put on the spot.”
Those bright green eyes held mine for what seemed an eternity before the girl simply nodded without a word.
–
I held her back again and when everyone else was gone I nodded at the girl. “Thank you for adjusting your responses for the remainder of class.”
Blake walked up to my desk and placed her hands flat on it. “I told you if you wanted me to behave you'd have to make me. And you did.” She paused and then added, “for today. Good night, Professor Franco.”
For today? Jesus. It had been a long time since I'd felt the stirrings of this particular brand of dominance in my blood, but fuck if Blake Whittaker wasn't doing her damndest to call forth the beast. My palms suddenly tingled with the urge to hit her. I dug my fingernails into them to quell the tide. And again I let her go without comment.
–
I almost dreaded Thursday nights now. Especially because ever since we'd wrapped up the unit on Persephone and Hades, Blake had been trying my patience almost constantly. That had been over a month ago, and for the last month, consequently, I had been going to the local dungeon on Thursday nights after class to work out my frustration on a number of willing women. Sometimes Fridays, too.
The proprietor had been surprised to see me my first time back. “Zara, my lovely,” he'd said. “How long has it been? The walls echo with your absence.”
Jasper had always been poetically dramatic.
So I settled at my desk, prepared for another grueling class. We were studying the Sirens and their deadly song.
Ironically, Blake looked incredibly tempting tonight. Her dark blonde hair was curled loosely and her face was painted much classier than usual. I wondered if she had a date after class and the fleeting thought made me clench my fists with raging, unreasonable jealousy. Wow, Zara. Tone it down. The girl's not yours, no matter how nice that would be. And oh God, would that be nice. To be able to just grab her by the hair whenever I wanted and force her-- okay, no. Thoughts like that would lead nowhere good. I'd break the little bitch. Although sometimes I swear I could see in her eyes that she knew exactly what kind of beast she was trying to tempt forth and that she truly wanted me to do something about it. But she was what, maybe 20? 21 at the most, I'm sure. She'd run screaming if she even got a taste of what she was courting. And then I'd probably end up slapped with some kind of lawsuit and lose my job.
“I'd throw myself to my death off a ship if it was you wanting to fuck me,” Blake spoke up in the middle of an indie movie I'd rented on the subject.
I paused the movie and stood up. “Get out of my classroom.”
Her eyes widened and the color drained from her face. You could hear a pin drop for a few seconds before she started pleading with me. “Wait. No. I'm sorry, Professor,” she tried to backpedal. “I was just kidding. I'll be quiet.”
My jaw was clenched tight enough to hurt and I pointed at the door. “Get out of my classroom,” I repeated.
She looked like she was about to cry for a split second before her face hardened and she spoke with a bit of a sneer. “You know, my friend saw you last Thursday night...”
Well, damn. The little bitch thought she was going to blackmail me? Oh, she had another thing coming. “Yeah?” I raised an eyebrow. “Tell your friend to say hello next time, as long as I'm not in the middle of a scene. Now get out of my classroom or I'll call security to escort you out.” I'd like to escort her out myself. “You can come back next week but that's your last chance.”
She was obviously both furious and panicked that her threat didn't work and she stood there staring at me for a minute before gathering up her stuff and walking out the door.
“I apologize to those of you who are here to learn,” I said and turned the video back on.
The rest of class, of course, went without incident.
–
When everyone had left I started to straighten up so I could go home, but the door opened and closed and I turned toward it with a sigh. Blake walked toward me, her eyes red and swollen from crying.
“I said I'll see you next week,” I reminded her with a frown.
“Punish me,” she said, stopping a few feet from my desk.
“Excuse me?” My eyebrows shot up. Not that the idea was unwelcome... just surprising that she'd actually voiced it aloud.
“Punish me,” she said again, her voice strained and scratchy. “Please.”
“No,” I said simply, though the refusal was far from simple. What I wouldn't give to punish her.
She let out a frustrated but short scream and stepped to the wall, then slammed her fist into it over and over until I rushed over and grabbed her wrist to stop her, the scent of blood hitting me square and rendering me feral for the briefest of moments. But a brief moment was enough and I was sucking the blood from her knuckles. I gave a humiliated groan but didn't stop until her skin shone with my saliva and only the faintest traces of red remained.
“Punish me,” she demanded, and I wondered if giving her a little taste would make her back off, so I wrenched her arm behind her back and shoved her hard into the wall.
“Clean it up,” I snapped, using my free hand to wrap in her unruly curls and hold her face right next to the mess she'd made.
She gasped, maybe due to the surprise of the sudden action, maybe because she hadn't had that particular scenario in mind, or maybe because she hadn't actually expected me to capitulate. Whatever it was, her surprise thrilled me and I fought down the urge to really hurt her.
When she finally opened her mouth and hesitantly cleaned the blood from the wall with her tongue, not fighting my hold for even a second, I feared I was lost. A shudder ran through me, twisting my stomach and making me wet. So, so wet. I was in a lot of trouble. I shouldn't have given in, not even to try to scare her off.
“You need to go,” I said darkly, releasing her arm and stepping away from her, taking a slow, deep breath, trying to shake off the mind-numbing arousal settling over me like a warm, fuzzy blanket. Her leaving was the last thing I wanted right now.
She whimpered when I let go. Jesus Christ.
When she reached a shaking hand up to run through her hair, the sleeve of her sweater slipped down and my eyes widened at the healing cuts on her forearm. I grabbed her wrist for the second time, jerking her sleeve up the rest of the way. There were cuts all the way up. “What's this?” Oh dear, I already sounded like she belonged to me and had to answer to me for personal things. Things not done in my classroom.
She just stood there, shaking, and didn't answer me. Her eyes were wide, but there was no fear in them - they were hot. Emeralds being burned in a forge. She was challenging me. Do something, Professor Franco. I swear I could almost read her thoughts. Her expression was that pure; that clear.
Fuck, I needed to get her out the door. Self-preservation warred with desire and almost lost, but I forced myself to let go of her arm and take a step backward, shaking my head. “You need to go,” I said again. “I'll see you next week. Be appropriate or you'll have to drop the class.” I took another step back.
She pulled her sleeve down and rubbed her arm where I'd gripped it. “But I want--”
“I know what you want, Blake,” I interrupted her, “but for both our sakes you can't have it. Please, go.” I turned away from her; I couldn't watch her leave.
“Quit pretending you don't want it too,” she snapped. “I know what you do Thursday nights.”
I spun back to face her, anger boiling just below the surface. “You want a thrashing?” I asked, my voice slightly raised.
“Yes,” she said instantly.
I leaned close and grabbed her by the arm again, digging my nails into her healing cuts and delighting in her little whimper. “Well that's too fucking bad,” I whispered. “You do not want to unleash what's coiled inside me, little girl. You couldn't handle it and you don't deserve it. I'm not easily manipulated and I don't appreciate you trying. Now go home.” I released her yet again and gave her a hard shove toward the door.
“Stupid fucking bitch,” she hissed at me as she stalked out and slammed the door.
If she thought that was going to make me go after her she could wait all night.
–
“Walternate,” I whined when I finally got home, picking him up and snuggling his face. “She's driving me fucking crazy.”
He purred and licked my nose, and I laughed.
“Thanks. You always know what to say.”
He meowed in my face and I held him quickly at arm's length. His breath was horrifying.
“Brush your teeth, God,” I complained, setting him on the floor and filling up his food bowl. He was almost out of water so I refilled that too, then poured myself my customary scotch and decided to watch a movie.
–
Blake wasn't in class on Thursday. And while I had to admit it went much more smoothly without her there, a little part of me missed the little bitch's antagonistic presence. “Does anyone know why Ms. Whittaker isn't here?” I asked at the end of class while everyone was packing up.
“The school didn't tell you?” one of the girls she usually sat with asked me.
“No, why? What happened?”
“She's in the hospital. I guess she tried to kill herself or something.”
My heart jumped into my throat. “What?”
The girl shrugged and headed for the door. “I don't know specifics. I just heard it around.”
–
Blake's eyes went wide when she saw me and she shook her head and immediately launched into an explanation. “I know you're probably not gonna believe me but it was actually an accident,” she gushed.
“Right,” I said, taking a seat in a chair beside the hospital bed.
“No, really,” she insisted. “I was trying to make a design on my wrist and my dog got spooked by something and launched himself at me. He knocked my arm and the razor slipped.”
“Maybe the underside of your wrist isn't a good place to make a design with a razor if you don't want people to think you're attempting suicide,” I suggested, raising an eyebrow. I wasn't quite sure if I believed her, but she seemed like she was being genuine, and only one wrist was bandaged.
“The doctors don't believe me. Especially once they saw the rest of the cuts. I'm on a 72-hour hold.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Two days. I get out tomorrow. I tried to get them to let me go to class but obviously they denied my heartfelt request, much like someone else I know.”
“You wouldn't by any chance be referring to me, would you?” I asked, pretending to be shocked.
“Of course not,” she lied easily, and then she cast her eyes away from me, staring at her hands. “I, um... I'm sorry for what I said when I left last week.”
“Which was?”
She looked at me in surprise. “You don't remember?”
I slowly folded my arms across my chest and raised an eyebrow at her. “I remember.”
“Oh,” she said, exhaling a puff of air, her cheeks tinting pink. “You just want to embarrass me by making me repeat it.”
“How insightful. You already know you're dealing with a sadist,” I said. “This shouldn't surprise you.”
She looked away again. “I called you a stupid fucking bitch,” she said quietly, the blush on her cheeks darkening. “I didn't mean it. I'm sorry.”
“Apology accepted.”
“Hey, maybe they'd let me go if you signed me ou--”
“Not on your life,” I said smoothly. “I'll see you next Thursday, Blake.”
She scowled but was more gracious than last time. “Thanks for coming,” she mumbled.
“You're welcome. I'm glad you're all right,” I said before I could think better of it, and made my exit.
–
“Well she sounds bloody perfect and ripe for the taking. I don't know what you're waiting for,” my best friend Jenna's voice came blaring through the phone when I told her the current situation with Blake.
She was my best friend, yes, but a really bad influence. Horrible, actually. “Gosh, I don't know, Jen, maybe the fact that she's like 21 years old and is my student, and probably needs psychological help that I can't provide?”
“Bollocks,” she said, and I could practically hear her shaking her head. “21 is old enough to make her own decisions, who bloody cares if she's your student, and if she's cutting herself then it seems to me you're the perfect person to provide her with a more stable hand.”
“I don't know why I'm surprised that your moral compass is demagnetized.”
She laughed in my ear. “Zara, the girl is practically begging you—no, I take that back. She's literally begging you to take her in hand. If you don't get your head out of your ass and do something about it I'll likely show up to your next class and do it myself.”
I growled at her, and when I heard her noise of triumph I kicked myself for being too revealing. “Shit.”
“See? Brilliant. I knew you were tempted. Once a domme, always a domme. You can't wish it away, darling.”
“Go fuck yourself, Jenna.”
“Love you too. Glad to be of help.”
We hung up and I sank onto the sofa with another growl. “Walternate,” I whined. “Mommy needs your opinion.”
I heard his little meow and he came bounding out of the bedroom, jumping onto my lap.
“You're such a good boy,” I told him, scratching behind his ears, which he could never get enough of. “What should Mommy do about Blake? Hmm?”
He purred.
“That's not helpful, Walternate.”
Somehow I don't think he was overly concerned with whether it was helpful.
–
By Thursday I still hadn't made a decis—yes, I had. I was packing under my jeans. For all that I tried to deny, I had decided that the next time Blake baited me I would rise to the occasion. No pun intended.
She was more respectful than usual during our discussions, but some of her comments still bordered on inappropriate, and right when I thought maybe I'd missed my opportunity and she wasn't interested anymore, she came out with a bang at the end of class.
“When is the quiz on this unit again, Mistress?”
I blinked, staring at her, willing my face not to turn red. Hopefully I succeeded but I felt so irritated and hot all over that it was impossible to tell. I chose to completely ignore the question and instead addressed the rest of the class. “Did anyone have any questions before you go?”
Blake stared at me with her mouth open a little, not used to being ignored.
“Uh, when is the quiz?” Mr. Bauman asked awkwardly.
“In two weeks,” I answered.
“I just asked you the same que--”
I held up a hand. “I'll speak with you after class, Ms. Whittaker.”
She settled down at that, and when the rest of the students had gone, I strode to the door and locked it, then returned to my desk.
“Come here.”
I think she sensed a shift because her steps were more hesitant than usual.
When she was within reach I grabbed her around the back of the neck and guided her to bend over the desk. I took each of her hands and flattened them beside her head, then brushed hair away from her ear so I could whisper into it. “What was it you said about controlling little bitches by fucking them in the ass?” She gasped and started to push herself up but I held her down. “Stay.” When I felt her stop pushing against my hold I released her and undid my pants. “What's your safeword?”
“I don't have one.”
“Then pick one.”
“I don't need one.”
“I need you to have one.”
She kept her hands flat on the desk but turned her head to smirk at me. “Fine. Persephone.”
I wanted to laugh but kept my expression schooled. “You think this is a game?” I asked, flipping up her skirt and tugging her panties down to her thighs.
Her amused expression fled and she pressed her cheek back to the cool wood, closing her eyes. “No Ma'am. I'm sorry.”
I palmed her cheeks and pulled them apart, guiding the head of the cock between them. “You understand I'm actually about to put this in your ass, right?” I had to double check.
“Yes Ma'am.”
And I gave it a good push to get it a little ways inside.
She yelped and pressed up onto her hands, but I forced her roughly back down. “Do you need your safeword?” I asked, my voice already turning raspy.
“No but I--”
“Then shut up and stay down,” I said, angling my hips as I gave another soft push against the rather taut resistance.
“I have lube in my backpack,” she complained.
“And if I wanted you to enjoy this, I'd use some,” I retorted. “I said shut up unless you're safewording.”
I didn't want to actually tear anything so I went very slow. Every yelp and whimper that passed the girl's lips drove me closer to losing my tightly wound control, and I paused about halfway in to collect myself.
She was whining and squirming her hips away from the intrusion. “Hold still,” I told her, grabbing her by the waist.
She stilled instantly. I'm not sure if she had actually been squirming around on purpose. “I'm sorry,” she said breathlessly. “It hurts.”
I took a few more breaths to control my pace and then started to slowly push again. As it finally slid all the way in she gave a loud cry and stretched her hands out to grab the far edge of the desk. I pulled out and thrust back in, keeping hold of her waist. She started to cry and despite my desire to capitalize on that, I had to check one more time that she understood she could stop it. I knew she did, but maybe in the moment she'd forgotten, and as sadistic as I was, I couldn't abandon all ethics in one sitting. “Do you need to safeword, Blake?” I asked quietly, almost gently.
