The Professor's Girl

by Rose, Renee

  Of course he did. He was a practiced disciplinarian.

  She, on the other hand, was a mess. She desperately wanted affirmation from Dr. Todd—that he still wanted her as his lab assistant, that he forgave her for her mistake, or even that she was okay as a person. But no, she really wanted more than all that. She wanted to be the professor’s girl. She wanted him to take her to his bed, to invite her to move in. She wanted to make his coffee every morning and serve him like a slave. And...clearly she had lost her mind. Because that wasn’t going to happen.

  When they reached the long stretch of lawn that made up the U of A mall, he pointed east. “We have to walk, but it’s just a few blocks. Can you make it?”

  Her face grew warm. She moved stiffly to accommodate the throbbing in her backside. Every step reminded her of the punishment she had just received, humbling her with the memory. “No problem,” she muttered, picking up the pace to show she could do it.

  They walked away from the Bio Sciences building. When they had traveled several hundred feet, Dr. Todd casually took her hand as if they always walked together holding hands. She looked up in surprise, and he didn’t return her gaze, but he did give her palm a squeeze. She wondered what it meant. She realized he risked censure by being seen in public with her that way, and the gesture touched her. If only it meant he wanted more…

  They walked the length of the mall and crossed at the light, heading up a side street. The Sam Hughes neighborhood was prime real estate, close to the university and consisting of charming old houses that dated back to the early 1920’s. Daniels led her to a little white adobe bungalow with the Spanish style red tile roof. He unlocked the door and led her in.

  “Do you eat meat?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, sir,” he corrected.

  She smiled, thrilled the playfulness had returned. “Yes, professor, sir,” she said in her sweetest tone.

  “Chicken salad sandwich?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His place had a simple elegance—hardwood floors and bright white walls hung with local art. A colorful Day of the Dead painting hung over the red sofa, and he had a collection of the Oaxacan wood carvings of various brightly colored animals on a mesquite wood side table.

  She wandered to the table to touch them, fascinated with the removable fitted parts. She had heard once that the more separate pieces the folk art contained, the more expensive it was. All of Daniels’ pieces had at least five separate parts—hummingbirds that fit into flowers, heads and limbs that fit to torsos.

  Daniels had disappeared into the kitchen. She followed, standing in the doorway and watching him make lunch. He had a graceful ease with which he moved, his broad shoulders and tall frame not looking unnatural in the confined space. He seemed comfortable in the kitchen, eyeballing spice measurements and chopping celery and pickles with a swift efficiency.

  “Can you handle a little spice?” he asked, looking up.

  “What? Oh, in the salad? Sure.”

  “Grapes and pecans?”

  “Yes, please… sir.” The sir was an afterthought and he smiled.

  He finished mixing up the chicken salad and spread it on two slices of whole wheat bread, added a slice of tomato, a leaf of romaine lettuce and a top piece of bread. He cut the sandwiches in half and put each one on a plate with some salt and vinegar potato chips.

  “Wow, it’s just like eating at a restaurant,” she commented.

  He smiled but didn’t answer, and didn’t hand her the plate when he exited the kitchen. He bypassed the dining table and sat down on the sofa, setting the plates on the coffee table. He patted the space beside him.

  Maybe he always ate on his couch, but she suspected it was in deference to her still extremely sore backside, and she appreciated the gesture so much she plopped down in his lap instead of the indicated spot. She expected him to remove her, accustomed to his rejection of her advances, but instead he looked amused.

  His arm snaked around her waist and he picked up one of the sandwich halves and fed her a bite.

  She flushed with pleasure, loving the sensation of his hard thighs beneath her bottom, even though the contact reignited the pain from his punishment. He continued to feed her, watching her eat as if she were an adorable pet, even wiping mayonnaise from the corner of her mouth with his thumb.

  They had spoken little since he had spanked her. She didn’t feel much like making chit chat, and he hadn’t attempted any conversation either. Yet the silence was companionable. She sat glued to his lap, soaking up his attention until he had fed her the entire sandwich and eaten one himself.

  He patted her thigh. “Down the hall on the left is the bathroom. Go look in the cabinet for the arnica salve and bring it to me.”

  She didn’t know what arnica salve was, but she could guess its purpose. She tingled with excitement, feeling every inch the naughty girl who had just been spanked as she obeyed him. She hadn’t enjoyed any part of the spanking—well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. She might have enjoyed the very beginning: being ordered to bend over his desk and having her panties lowered. She had enjoyed being held in place and much of the warm up. But she had hated that she had screwed up, hated that she deserved his punishment and the thought that he might still be very angry with her.

  Now, as she found the requested salve in his medicine cabinet, the spanking took on a new, more thrilling shade. He was going to do something to her with the salve. If he just meant to offer it, he would have instructed her to go to his bathroom and put some on. But no, he had asked her to bring it to him. Her bottom tingled in anticipation of his touch.

  She brought the salve to him and stood at his side, clasping her hands in front.

  “Lay over my lap, Lucy,” he instructed.

  The words made her belly flutter. She crawled over him and settled her pelvis over his lap, resting her cheek on the soft microsuede of his red couch.

  Once more, he slowly and deliberately lifted her skirt and lowered her panties. Her heart bobbled in her chest and she could scarcely breathe from the excitement. She flinched as something cold touched her sore cheek, but as Dr. Daniels—Todd—began to spread the salve with his fingers, it soon warmed.

  She stifled a moan. His touch felt incredible. It hurt and pleasured her at once, the welts across her cheeks still tender and swollen. She shifted her hips, trying to alleviate her growing need.

  Lucy rubbed her thighs together in arousal. Her delicate pink pussy peeked between her legs, glistening with desire, moisture dripping onto her thighs from the friction. His cock strained against her hip, his jeans feeling too tight. She had a beautiful ass, full and round yet muscular. The yoga butt, as they called it. The fresh stripes, which made her submission obvious, increased his lust.

  He inhaled her scent, lust knocking all reason out of his head.

  But Lucy didn’t want a sexual relationship. Or so she had said.

  He applied more salve—not that she needed it, but he did not want the moment to end. “Lucy, do you still want me to be your disciplinarian?”

  Her writhing quieted. “Yes, sir,” she said, lifting her head from the couch.

  “A non-sexual relationship?”

  She paused. “Okay.”

  He gave her pink ass a light slap and she kicked her heel up with a squeal. “That was a question, not a statement. In your email, you asked for a non-sexual relationship. Is that what you want?”

  She lay perfectly still, and he found himself holding his breath.

  He would honor her wishes if she said yes, even though he saw she was as turned on as he. In fact, he would be grateful at least one of them had the good sense not to get involved in a relationship.

  “No.” Her voice was small but she spoke clearly.

  His heart thudded. “You are interested in something more?”

  “Yes, sir…if you are. I only asked for non-sexual because I thought you might be worried about me getting attached or obsessed or something.”


  He chuckled. “Were you obsessed, Lucy?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir.” She moaned and buried her face in his cushion. “I don’t know.”

  He allowed his palm to stroke down her buttocks to her thigh, then up the middle, his fingers making contact with her glossy folds. She jerked, gasping. He rubbed two fingers along the length of her slit, spreading her natural lubrication.

  “Open your legs for me,” he murmured.

  She complied, opening her thighs and arching her bottom back toward him.

  “That’s it,” he encouraged. “Very nice.” He applied more pressure with his fingers, delving into her slick channel, withdrawing to circle her clit.

  She made little gasping cries, as if she were already close to orgasm.

  He continued to pleasure her, taking his time, though he sensed her impatience. When she began to hump his lap and moan, he withdrew his fingers and gave her bottom a pat. “Go into my bedroom, take off your clothes and bend over the side of the bed.”

  Her pussy contracted at his words and it took her a moment to stand up. She looked beautiful—her honey-blond curls falling in a disheveled halo around her flushed face, her skirt stuck up around her waist with her panties still down, giving him the delectable frontal view of her neat little trim.

  She hurriedly pulled up her panties and smoothed her skirt down, not meeting his gaze.

  “Down the hall, on the right,” he instructed, although he guessed she had already seen the bedroom when he sent her for the salve.

  She gave him a vague bow, as if she were a geisha girl, or maybe his butler and disappeared.

  He couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction as he listened to the sounds of her undressing in his room. He took his time before he followed, wanting her to experience the anticipation of waiting on display. When he entered, he had to stop, drawing in his breath. She looked so beautiful bent over his bed, her legs spread, her punished ass offered to him for whatever he desired. Her submission and trust sparked a protective, possessive streak in him. He retrieved a condom from the bedside stand and put it in his pocket.

  Walking to the bed, he ran his hand in a light caress over her welted ass. He brought his palm down in a gentle slap. “You will be following my rules from now on,” he said, slapping again.

  She gasped and jerked, but returned to her position. “Yes, sir.”

  “There will be weekly spankings to keep you on track,” he said, slapping her again. He did not spank hard, knowing how tender her little bottom already must be. “I will be tracking your progress on your proposal and with your research, when you begin it. I will coach you, but I expect your utter obedience.”

  “Yes, professor.”

  He brought his palm down again. “I will also be punishing you for your behavior this past week.”

  “Nooo,” she moaned.

  He smiled. “I am glad you are finally taking my consequences seriously.”

  “I’m sorry,” she wailed.

  “I will make sure you are,” he promised.

  “Professor...please,” she moaned when he spanked her again.

  He shifted his aim and slapped between her legs, punishing the delicate folds of her sex.

  She gave a little shriek of alarm.

  He put a hand on her low back to both reassure and pin her in place and began to apply the spanks more rapidly.

  “Oh, ow. Ooh,” she cried with each slap. His fingers connected with her moisture, her pussy plump and open, ready for plunder.

  “Naughty girls get spanked,” he said. “And sometimes they get spanked very hard,” he said, giving each cheek a sharp slap before pulling off his shirt and unbuttoning his jeans. His aching cock sprang free, and he sheathed it with the condom.

  He eased into her, stifling a groan. “You’re so tight.” For a moment he paused, thinking she was a virgin, but no, she had to be at least twenty-five. Surely not? He pulled back then pushed forward again, shuddering at the delicious sensation of her hot, slick channel engulfing him.

  She reached back between her legs and cupped his balls, eliminating all his concern for her innocence. “Oh, Lucy,” he groaned, continuing his slow rhythm, his eyes rolling back in his head with pleasure.

  “Yes, Todd,” she breathed. It was the first time she had used his first name, and while he loved when she called him sir or professor, in this context, hearing his name on her lips completed their intimacy.

  She ran her fingernails over his ballsack and he picked up speed, holding her hips to pump faster and harder, bumping her sore ass with the front of his pelvis to remind her of the punishment he had delivered.

  “Were you a naughty girl, Lucy?”

  “Yesss,” she moaned. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please fuck me hard.”

  He hadn’t expected porn talk from her and it pushed him over the edge. “You need to be fucked hard?” he asked, slamming into her.

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

  “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t walk straight. I will punish you all night if I have to.”

  She gave a long squeal and bucked under him, her vaginal walls pulsing around his cock in waves. He grabbed her hair and lifted her head up. “I didn’t say you could come,” he growled, pumping harder and faster as he approached his own climax.

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry,” she gasped, still squeezing his cock with her orgasm, her juices dampening his own thighs as he pumped in and out.

  “Bad girls get fucked hard,” he said, sensing his release steaming down the track.

  “I know,” she wailed.

  On and on he went, dizzy with the power of dominance, a virile sense of victory making it impossible to hold back. He knew she must be sore from it—as tight as she had begun, and the thought only fed his aggression.

  “Bad, bad, bad girl,” he shouted and then he finally came, shooting his load with a force that momentarily blinded him.

  When his vision cleared, he caught his breath, stroking his hand across her bare shoulders, moving her hair to one side. He leaned over and kissed her neck, his cock still embedded deep inside her. “Lucy,” he crooned.

  She panted, completely collapsed underneath him.

  “You’re forgiven.”

  She giggled and he kissed her neck again and nipped her ear. Easing out of her, he stroked her hip. “Climb up on the bed,” he murmured.

  She pushed up to bear weight on her hands and crawled up a few feet, collapsing on her belly. He patted her thigh and threw away the condom, shucking his jeans and pulling up his boxer briefs. He climbed over her and pulled her back against his front, spooning her.

  “Mmm,” she murmured sleepily.

  He kissed her ear.

  Within moments, her breath deepened into sleep. Sleeping after a spanking was as common as sleeping after sex, and she’d had both, along with a stressful day. He held her for a while, but when it seemed she’d fallen into deep sleep, he left her in his bed.

  Chapter Four

  “Hey, sweet thing. I made some dinner.”

  She blinked, confused at first about where she was, except that Todd’s presence felt so right.

  She sat up and rubbed her eyes. The light blanket that had covered her fell down and she realized she was still naked. She picked up the edge and pulled it up over her breasts, suddenly shy.

  The corner of Todd’s mouth turned up and he caught her eyes with a burning gaze. They stared at one another, and the sluggishness of sleep vanished. “I-I’m sorry, I guess I fell asleep? What time is it?”

  “It’s eight,” he said, releasing her from the intensity of his focus. “Why don’t you get dressed and come out to the dining room to eat?” He phrased it as a question, but it had his usual tone of finality, and she smiled, loving when he gave her orders.

  “Yes, sir,” she said. Both corners of his mouth turned up at that, which absurdly pleased her. He left the room and she started to put on her own clothes, but then hesitated. What she really wante
d was a nice, soft pair of pajamas. Not that he had invited her to spend the night.

  She realized, suddenly, how much she did not want to leave her professor’s house. She felt better—incredible—after they’d had sex, but the neediness still knocked around in her chest. She walked to his dresser and pulled open one of the drawers.

  Was she crossing a line?

  She fingered his cotton t-shirts. What would he think if she came out in one? He had told her to get dressed. Would he be angry? Or would he get the message that she wanted to spend the night and let her stay? She didn’t want to come off as desperate or clingy.

  And yet he had promised to become her disciplinarian. To spank her weekly. And he had wanted sex. So maybe her interest was requited?

  She pulled on his t-shirt and padded out to the living room in nothing more.

  He took in her appearance with glittering eyes.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, fingering his blue jersey knit nervously.

  His eyes traveled down to the hem, which fell just below her hoo-ha. “Pick it up,” he ordered, his voice rough.

  She picked up the edges of the shirt and slid it up to her navel, giving him a clear view of her groomed thatch.

  He pursed his lips and drew out a chair from the dining room table, sinking into it. “Come here.”

  She hoped he realized she could not take any more spanking. Her bottom still felt raw, which was part of the reason she hadn’t put on her panties. The other part being she felt naughty. She walked toward him and he opened his knees and pulled her to stand between them, holding her hips with the shirt pushed up.

  “How are you feeling after your punishment, Lucy?”

  She loved the way he said her name when he lectured, somehow speaking directly into her soul.

  “Sore,” she admitted. Both her pussy and her bottom were actively talking to her, reminding her of what they had taken that day.