by Mia Luxe
“That fucking… that fucking asshole! I can’t believe he sent out pictures of me!”
I try to focus.
Pictures?
Shelly’s phone is next to me on the bed and when I see what’s on the screen my blood boils.
The picture is of Shelly on her knees, her tits out and about to blow Kevin’s thick cock.
Pure fury runs through my veins.
How dare that fucking pig take advantage of Shelly?
“He - he sent it to the whole fucking football team! Oh my god… I feel so fucking sick!” She can barely form words through her sobs.
I knew Kevin was an asshole. But to do this…
“I’m going to fucking get him for that,” I vow, gingerly moving Shelly’s head off my lap.
I focus on the night. I can remember Kevin talking about his car not once, not twice, but three separate times. Bright red dodge charger with black racing stripes.
His pride and joy.
There’s no way I’ll miss it.
I stand up on shaky legs, the room swirling around me.
“What do you mean you’re going to get him?” Shelly looks up at me with wide, wet eyes, her tears paused.
“I’m going to hurt the only thing he cares about,” I say, opening the door and walking to the stairs. I miss the first step and grab the railing, barely catching my balance before I tumble to the bottom in a messy heap. I make my way down to the common room and open the door to the student parking lots, the cold October air hitting me like a slap. I wish I had grabbed a coat but there’s no way I’m going back. Goose-bumps form up and down my legs.
I know Cody and Kevin’s dorm is one building down, and in the student parking lot, I see the tacky black racing stripes of his muscle car.
My room key is ice cold in my hand as I pull it out. I take a moment to stare at my canvas before I start, then put the key to the door, my already goose-bumpy skin crawling as I hear the metal on metal scratch of the first letter.
A
S
S
H
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I stand up unsteadily at the firm, authoritarian voice. Fear grips my heart.
Run! Fuck, it’s too late…
I turn to see who’s caught me.
It’s my worst nightmare.
Professor Connor Bold is standing over me in Nike sweatpants and running shoes, the heat of his breath condensing in the air. His eyes stare directly into mine, and I don’t see a trace of mercy in them.
“You’re coming to my office. Now.”
Red-Handed
Connor - Saturday, November 1st
I’ve caught Willow red-handed in the offense that’s going to get her kicked out. She sits across from me in my office. Instead of fear in her eyes, she stares straight at me, defiance and craving clear on her face.
Her breasts press up against the thin material of her white top, her plaid skirt riding high up her thigh and exposing her pale flesh. She’s my forbidden fantasy, down to the pigtails and bright red pouty lips. My cock stiffens in my workout sweatpants, pulsing and pressing against the material.
“What the hell were you thinking? You’re on academic probation, and you key a car?”
Her eyes widen slightly, but there’s no hint of fear.
“So report me. Get me kicked out. See if I care.” She spits the words out, daring me.
Willow wriggles in her seat, toying with her pigtails. She knows exactly what she’s doing. I can taste her need, smell her scent. She’s trying to get me riled up enough to bend her over my desk and spank her ass red. My cock tents the fabric of my all seasons running sweats, pressing obscenely towards her.
“I’ve read your file, Willow. The arson charge that became a mischief misdemeanor after you batted your eyes and played innocent to the judge. The shoplifting charge that the store owner conveniently dropped. You need a wake-up call."
She purses her full, pouty lips before responding. “A wake-up call? And I suppose you think you’re the one to give it to me?”
She’s playing up her brattiness. The scent of vodka lingers on her, and the alcohol is giving her courage to push me past the edge. The smell of alcohol is the only thing that’s stopping me from ordering Willow to bend over my desk. If she was sober, I’d be bringing my palm down hard on her ass and giving her the punishment she craves.
“Tell me, Willow, how did you convince the judge to throw away the arson charges?”
She leans forward, and another button on her shirt pops open, exposing the pale skin of her perfect breasts. She pretends not to notice, pressing herself closer to me to give me a view of her flawless young body. The beast in me fights against its chains. I want to rip her clothes off and take her hard on my desk, fill her with my hot seed and claim her body. I breathe in her scent, her lust overshadowed by the alcohol.
Willow cocks her head, surprised by the question. She looks like she’s considering whether to tell me the truth or spin a tale.
“He had a daughter at my school who always dressed in bright turquoise. She was around my age, really shy and very kind. So I bought the same dress as her, did my makeup the same, hair, everything. I showed up to trial and sat there meek as a mouse. I even let myself cry a little when the charges were read, a pitiful little sniffle.”
She sounds so proud of herself that it makes my skin itch.
I nod, understanding her ploy.
“He thought of his daughter and let you off easy.”
“Exactly. So professor Bold, are you going to let me off easy?” She smirks, every inch of her being daring me to take matters into my own hands.
Her voice is more confident than before. I’ve been asking her questions about her past, not threatening to report her to the dean, and the wheels in her head are turning. Looking for a way out of her newest predicament.
She thinks she can play me like she played that judge.
The college is empty this early in the morning. No one would hear her yelp if I spanked her gorgeous ass red. No one would know as I tasted her young, off-limits pussy and made her scream out in pleasure.
Suddenly she can’t meet my eyes, her cheeks flushed with desire. She wants, no, she needs me to take her hard. My cock throbs painfully in need, aching to be inside of her.
She’s going to learn who’s in control.
"That's been your strategy, and it's worked. You're a chameleon. You find out what people want, and you become that version of yourself to charm, seduce, and manipulate. Just like you let that button pop open so you can show off your body to me."
Her cheeks flush red with anger, and she swiftly buttons up her top. When her shirt is properly buttoned, I continue.
“I knew exactly what you were doing when you showed up to my second class in that body-hugging sweater and skirt so short you knew I almost got a glimpse of your perfect little pussy when you uncrossed your legs. You have a fitting name, Willow. The Willow bends into any shape the wind wants it to, and never breaks."
She bites her lip and looks straight into my eyes, her eyes burning embers of need and power. Her words are perfectly clear through the haze of alcohol.
"My perfect little pussy? You want me, professor Bold. You’re a dirty professor, aren’t you? Don’t you know it’s against the rules to talk like this to a student?"
I reach forward and take her chin in my hand. She doesn’t flinch and I feel her smooth skin, imagining exactly what I would do to her. How tight she would be, how she would struggle to take my cock at first and the way she'd moan and scream when I fuck her hard with every throbbing inch.
"You've been living out your life being what other people want. You need to start admitting what you want."
She trembles under my hand, and I can see the desire pulsing through her young, fertile body.
"Say what you want, Willow."
She can't meet my eyes, her words quieter now. Her facade of defiance has cracked. I press her chin up gently, forcing h
er to meet my eyes.
"I want you, professor Bold."
"What do you want me to do to you?"
She pauses. Her eyes close.
“I want you to take my virginity.”
Her virginity. She's untouched, innocent and unclaimed. When I'm finished with her, she will be ruined for any other man.
Her eyes flash open again, and I see how nervous she is. Under all her defiance and brattiness, she’s unsure of herself.
“You’ve been running wild, Willow. I can teach you what you need. Discipline.”
I let go of her chin, craving the touch of her flesh. Knowing that one more second of contact and I won’t be able to restrain myself from taking her hard, right here, right now.
She wriggles in her seat, her whole being overwhelmed by my commanding voice.
“Teach me, professor Bold.”
Each word is hot with desire. The scent of vodka in her breath hardens my words.
“I’m going to do more than teach you. I’m going to train you, Willow.”
She moans softly at my words, her hand running down her thigh.
“I'm going to train you to be the perfect little submissive that you've always wanted to be. I can see through you, Willow, to that smoldering desire that's built up inside you. You've never found a man worthy of taming you... until now.
Her nipples are so hard I can see them through her shirt, diamonds begging to be pinched and pulled. My words hypnotize her, her lust overwhelming. It's all I can do to stop myself from letting my inner animal out, growling and fucking her into a puddle of submission.
Every muscle in my body is tense, my heart pounding with my need to fill her with my hot cum. But I know I can't, not like this, while she's still drunk from the night before.
"I want... I want you to train me, professor Bold. I want you to punish me."
The image of my hand turning her ass red fixes in my mind, of pulling her over my knees and running my hand up her skirt to expose her untouched bottom to me. Making her moan in pain and humiliated pleasure.
“You want to be my bad little slut, don't you?"
"I can't take this, professor Bold, I want you so fucking bad," she moans, her hands moving up and down her thigh, and I know exactly what she's thinking.
“Prove it.”
“Anything, professor.”
Bend over my desk and get ready for a spanking.
I fight back the words, knowing it’s wrong. It isn’t that I’m her professor. It isn’t that she’s a decade younger than me.
We can’t do anything until she’s sober.
“If you’re serious, meet me tomorrow at my home. 1298 Breeze Avenue, with the big white gates. Be there at seven PM sharp. Sober.”
She starts in her chair. She looks like she just broke out of a spell, her mouth open in a soundless gasp.
“You don’t want me now?”
“You’re drunk, and you’re under threat of getting kicked out of the school. I’m not going to report you to the dean. I’m not going to get you in trouble. If you want to be my submissive, you need to prove it to me… tomorrow.”
Old habits die hard in me. My time spent undercover makes me quick on my feet, and I pull my pen from my pocket. It looks like any other pen, but press it three times and it can record up to four minutes of audio.
I hand it to Willow.
“What’s this?”
“In case you’re so wasted you might not remember what you’ve said… press it four times to replay our conversation.”
Her cheeks turn red, and I know she’s feeling embarrassed. She isn’t used to not getting her way. She holds the pen meekly in her hand.
I stand up, and her eyes dart down to my cock. I’m fully, throbbing hard, and the sweatpants tent out so hard the elastic is in danger of snapping.
“You’re fucking huge,” she says. Her cheeks turn bright red and she bites her bottom lip in embarrassment.
I clear my throat and help her stand, pulling back her chair. I pull my warmest jacket from the coat rack and put it over her shoulders. It stretches all the way down past her thighs. The alcohol may have made her impervious to the cold, but it sure as hell won't stop her from getting sick.
I walk her back to dorms and she doesn’t say a word, clearly overwhelmed. She fiddles with the lock of the exterior door to her dorm, and when she finally gets it open she looks up at me with sweet, innocent eyes.
“Thank you for not turning me in to the dean.”
I smile, and pull the door open for her.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Willow.”
I know she wants it, and bad, but it will be oh so much sweeter when she earns it. When I train her to be my perfect little submissive.
Oh, she's going to learn discipline alright.
Strict, painful, necessary discipline.
You want to be my…
Willow - Saturday, November 1st
My head feels like a hundred tiny little mallets are rapping against my skull. For a minute I lay in my tiny dorm bed as the noon light invades my room, cursing my hangover.
Then it all comes crashing back to me.
Beer pong. Dancing. Endless shots. Blacking in and out.
I was really mad about something last night, but what?
The room spins as I drag my body into the bathroom. I can hear Shelly's snores through the door that connects our dorm rooms through the shared bathroom. She's still sleeping off her booze-filled night so the shower's all mine. I struggle with the baby-proof cap of the Advil bottle, finally opening it and downing two. A hot shower is going to do wonders for my hangover.
I turn the shower on and pull myself in, sitting down on the floor and letting the heat wash away last night. Steam pools around me and my slow brain starts to un-fog.
There was something about last night I'm supposed to remember, but what the hell was it? Oh God, I’m never going to drink again.
Wild nights are fun, but the mornings are agony. Back in high school I could drink as much as I wanted and wake up preppy and ready to go. It’s like the second I went to college I started waking up with a pounding headache.
For five minutes I let the hot water wash over me, my mind blank. Then I remember.
My eyes scrunch up as I remember Shelly crying on my lap.
That bastard - Kellen? Gavin? Kevin? Something like that, anyway, how dare he send out a picture of Shelly to the whole football team?
What a fucking pig.
A little smile comes to my face as I remember what I did. Sneaking to his car and showing everyone what the guy was really like.
Only... I can remember keying in A, S, S, H... but then…
Why didn’t I finish the whole word? Why did I stop at the H in asshole?
I stand up so fast in the shower I lose my footing and bump my knee against the wall, barely able to stand on my feet as the night coalesces in my mind.
Oh, Fuck.
Professor Bold caught me.
The memories flood over me and my cheeks turn bright red. He caught me at my absolute rock bottom.
And instead of turning me in, he made me admit every dirty fantasy I've had about him.
I rush out of the shower, still dripping as I pull a towel around my body and burst into my room.
The pen! I need the pen!
I see the plain looking pen on my desk and hesitation grips me. I walk towards it slowly, taking it in my hand and returning to my bed where I hide under the covers, still feeling weak from the night before. This is all too much.
What kind of a professor has James Bond style recording devices?
Who the hell is professor Bold?
I press the top of the pen 4 times, the detail crisp in my mind of last night.
I groan in humiliation as I hear myself admitting everything to him. I sound like such a slut. How could he ever respect me after last night? Being blackout drunk in his office, half slurring as I tell him what I want him to do to me?
His voice is intoxicatin
g.
"You want to be my bad little slut, don't you?"
The words send a hot, fiery lust through me.
The recording is humiliating but it's like a drug. I can't stop myself from playing it back over and over again, his dominant, commanding voice making me admit that I want to be his toy. His plaything. His little submissive to be dominated and trained. My hands run over my body. I wish it was Connor’s hand as I reach between my legs, feeling how sopping wet he makes me. My body is filled with pleasure as I listen to his voice. I press my fingers in circles on my clit, unable to stop myself in my need.
He could have done anything he wanted to me last night. I wish he had. I wish he'd taken me over his desk and spanked me. I wish he'd taken my virginity.
I'm so close, my body full of pent-up lust. It feels so unsatisfying, imagining Connor Bold when I want the real thing.
I moan and squirm, unable to find release and stop, frustrated, my need for him amplified.
He told me he wanted me to prove that I'm serious about submitting to him.
That I have to come to his house if I want to explore this further.
I feel exposed. I've had a wall up my entire life, molding my personality into what others want to see. Last night I let my party girl persona run wild. But now, for the first time, I've admitted exactly what I want. Professor Bold knows how badly I want to submit to him.
He has complete control.
And he told me to be at his house at 7 PM sharp.
I see his jacket in the corner of my room and I put the pen in its pocket so there’s no chance anyone will accidentally play the recording. Then I retreat to the safety of my bed.
I can't handle this right now, not with my head still pounding mutely from last night. The Advil put little socks on the miniature mallets batting on my brain, but they are still there, endlessly pounding.
I set my alarm for 530 PM and pull the covers up, wanting to melt away into my bed and have everything go away. It's too scary.
