Teach Me Something New, Part 1

by Summer Olsen

  He hadn’t moved an inch. His cool grey eyes bore straight into mine as he began speaking. “During my next class, I expect you to sit in the front row. In the exact middle seat. You will keep your feet flat on the floor and your knees together. Your hands will remain on top of your notebook at all times, unless you have a question. You may take notes. You may speak, but only to ask or answer a question, or participate in class discussion. You will not interrupt anyone or use vulgar language. Do you understand?”

  My knees were shaking. I wanted to slide down to the floor and spread my legs and beg him to take me. He was using that low, commanding voice and it was turning me to molten sex. I nodded, unable to speak without begging him to fuck me. But I couldn’t do that, because he was setting terms.

  “Say it,” he demanded.

  “Y-yes. I understand. Sir.” That last part came out without my even thinking about it. The corners of his lips lifted in a barely there smile.

  “Good. Let’s see if you can manage that. We’ll continue this discussion after the next class. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” It came out quicker this time, more sure. A flower of heat was blooming in my chest at his words.

  “I’ll see you on Friday then, Miss Montgomery.”

  He bent and began rummaging in his desk, and I left, ambling home in a fog of lust.

  * * *

  I was early to something for what was probably the first time in my entire life. Not even Professor Sherwood was in the lecture hall when I entered and made my way down to the very first row. The muscles in my thighs were trembling, and I kept having the urge to rub my shaking hands on my jeans as I counted the number of seats in the row. My stomach tied itself into a knot of nervous anticipation as I prayed there wasn’t an even number. I let out a breath of relief as I got to twenty-five.

  I set my bag beside the thirteenth seat and took my position, folding down the armrest flap. My sneakered feet were neatly side by side, knees pressed together, and my hands were folded neatly on top of my notebook. My heart was pumping like a bellows. I twitched as other students began filing into the room, but I didn’t look around. Professor Sherwood hadn’t specified that I had to keep eyes front, but I was nervous and figured I’d better err on the side of caution.

  I heard whispered conversations all around me. More than one of them contained my name. I ignored them as best I could, trying hard not to fidget. I heard several muttered exclamations of surprise and awe. When Professor Sherwood came in, there was a flutter of mumbles. He paid them no mind, setting his briefcase on the table at the front of the class. His eyes lit on me for just a second and then slid away.

  My pussy felt heavy and hot, full and ripe. My nipples were hard, aching little points beneath my blouse. I chewed at my lips to keep from whimpering. It was the longest class I ever sat through. Longer than the four hour Accounting Practices seminar I’d taken in my Junior year.

  He barely looked at me the entire time. It heightened my awareness of my position. I wanted him to acknowledge me, and when he didn’t, I forced myself to become more still, my spine more rigid, in the hopes that he would. But he didn’t. Not even once all throughout the class. I was still as deep water the entire time.

  Well, almost the entire time. There were only a few minutes left in the class when I slipped. I crossed my legs.

  That pale grey gaze lasered right to me and my stomach flipped like a pancake. I swallowed heavily and uncrossed them, once again returning both my feet to the floor. But that gaze said he’d already seen me screw-up, and there would be consequences. I had to take several deep breaths as my brain began parading out image after image of possible punishments.

  Class ended and everyone else began exiting, but I stayed exactly as I was. Professor Sherwood didn’t acknowledge me, speaking with several other students who paused to talk and gathering up his things. Some of them shot me weird looks, but I ignored them. Finally, when everyone else was gone, he motioned me toward the door. I got up, legs unsteady beneath me, and preceded him down the hall to his office.

  The snick of the latch as he closed the door felt sharp enough to cut. I collapsed heavily into the chair, heart hammering. He ambled slowly around the desk, silently taking his seat. The quiet in the room rubbed against my skin like sand at the beach, warm but slightly abrasive. He studied me for several long minutes before speaking.

  “I’d hate to think you’d disobeyed me on purpose in a deliberate attempt to provoke a reaction, Miss Montgomery. But given your past behavior, I feel I need to consider the possibility.”

  I squirmed in my chair. It was true, I had tried to deliberately provoke him in the past. But not this time. “It was an accident, I swear. I just... I’m not used to sitting so still.”

  He nodded. “I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, because I could tell how hard you were trying. But the fact remains that you did disobey me, and you need to learn that there are repercussions for your actions.”

  My pussy clenched at the words. “Yes, sir.”

  He smiled, opening his top desk drawer and rummaging around inside. “Put out your hands.”

  I hesitated, and he quirked a brow. Biting my lower lip, I slowly extended both my hands over the desk to him. He extracted a ruler, one of the old, wooden ones, and brought it down across my knuckles in a sharp rap, twice on each hand. I sucked in a harsh breath, the pain exploding like cannon balls in my hands and racing up my arms. At the same time, I felt a flood of wetness between my legs. My panties were soaking.

  The pain faded quickly to a dull ache. I blinked, realizing Professor Sherwood was watching my face intently. I could imagine what I looked like to him. My cheeks were burning with blood, flushed deep pink no doubt. My nervous chewing and licking at my lips had left them red, swollen and wet. I had no doubt my eyes were bright and glassy with lust, and I was panting slightly. Beads of sweat stood out on my forehead and upper lip. Stray wisps of my blonde hair, escaped from the braid I’d put them in, stuck to my cheeks and neck. I was sure I looked every inch the highly aroused woman I was.

  He returned the ruler to the drawer, closing it slowly. I noticed his nostrils flare slightly, and thought he might be just as turned on as I was at the moment, though he showed no other outward signs. At least, none that I could see with him sitting behind the massive desk.

  “I expect you to do better next time, Miss Montgomery. If it is that difficult for you to sit still for an hour at a time without fidgeting, I suggest you practice at home every night until it is comfortable to you.” His voice was rough, and I wanted to go around the desk and crawl into his lap the way I had the other day, but I didn’t dare move.

  “Yes, sir,” I said instead, amazed at the breathless quality of my own voice.

  He nodded. “Good. You may go.”

  I rose slowly and slung my bag over my shoulder. I needed to get home and take care of the almost painful throbbing in my pussy. I thought I would easily beat the four orgasm record I’d set the other night. His voice stopped me at the door.

  “One more thing, Miss Montgomery. From now on, when you come to my class, you will wear a skirt that reaches your knees, and have your hair up in a ponytail. If you fail to do so, you will be punished. You have one more chance to prove you can behave. Do you understand?”

  I shuddered, a tiny climax rippling through me. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll see you Monday then.”

  * * *

  I was sitting in class in nothing but a skirt, but no one seemed to notice. Except Professor Sherwood. As he lectured about symbolism in Rossetti’s Goblin Market, his grey eyes seemed to stroke across my naked skin like fingers of flame. The end of my ponytail tickled between my shoulder blades as I watched him pace back and forth before the class.

  He called me up. I didn’t hesitate to stand, too desperate for his touch to care that others watched. Though, when I rose and turned to face them, as he instructed, I saw that no one else was there. Still, he spoke on, as if to a fu
ll room, and I could feel other eyes on me. He stepped behind me. I felt the warmth of his body at my back and swayed slightly toward him. His arms came around me and he took my hands lifting my arms up and out from my body. He commanded me to stay like that as he cupped my breasts.

  His hands were warm and rough as he kneaded my flesh, fingers pinching my taut nipples until I cried out. He kept discussing the poem, the dangers of succumbing to temptation, while he massaged my aching breasts. One broad hand slid down over my bare belly, pulling up the skirt that shielded my naked sex. He tucked it up, instructing me to spread my legs. I did, shuddering as he reached down to cup my mound.

  His fingers slid between my slick lips, rubbing over my turgid clit and down to explore the entrance to my wet pussy.

  “Don’t move,” he said. “Just feel my fingers inside you.”

  I frantically locked down every muscle, fearing the slightest tremble would make him stop touching me. He stroked his rough, long fingers in and out of me slowly, grinding his palm over my sensitive clitoris. The hand at my chest moved from one breast to the other, stroking and plucking, playing my body like a finely tuned instrument. I wanted desperately to rock my hips against his hand, but I kept still. Denying my instinct to move only seemed to heighten the knot of tension growing in my belly.

  The image faded from my head, but the arousal was real. My own hand was buried to the third knuckle inside my slick passage, working frantically to bring me to orgasm again. The dull ache in my knuckles, reminder of my earlier punishment, served as a low, steady counterpoint to the flutter of my heartbeat and the sizzling of nerve endings vibrating with pleasure.

  I pictured the look on his face as he’d rapped my knuckles with the ruler, the slight flaring of his nostrils, and came with a shuddering cry. My whole body clenched, curling in on itself. The interior walls of my pussy clamped rhythmically around my plunging fingers. I kept stroking, riding the long wave of my orgasm for several minutes.

  I collapsed back in my bed, exhausted and spent. It had been hours since I’d left Professor Sherwood’s office, and yet every time I recalled his voice, his words, the look on his face, the sting of the ruler on my hands, I got turned on all over again. I didn’t think I’d ever masturbated this much in my entire life. But finally, my body felt wrung out and calm. I drifted into a pleasant, dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  I chose the skirt with particular care and brushed my long blond hair up into a sleek ponytail. I wore delicate sandals with a slight heel and a demurely sexy button down silk blouse. My bra and underwear were silk too, thin scraps of fabric that felt warm and soft against my skin. I was already wet when I took my designated seat, early of course. I pressed my feet and knees together, shivering at the twinge in my pussy. I knew my nipples must be visible beneath my shirt, hard little nubs rubbing deliciously against the smooth fabric.

  The other students filed in and I couldn’t help thinking of my fantasy from last night, where Professor Sherwood had stood me up in front of the class and played with my naked body. I breathed rapidly through my nose, trying to quell my raging hormones.

  His eyes found me as soon as he entered, and though not a single muscle twitch betrayed his acknowledgement, I knew he was pleased. His normally cool gaze was hot as molten silver. He began the lecture then and proceeded to ignore me every bit as completely as he’d seemed to the last time. But I had done what he said, and practiced sitting still alone at home. It had become easier, especially when I thought about what it meant.

  It wasn’t just some arbitrary thing he wanted from me. He wanted my attention where it belonged, my respect where it was due. I did respect him, had always done. But he wanted me to show it. I think I was always unsure of where my boundaries lay, which made me uneasy. In my unease, I constantly sought to test boundaries so I knew where they were... my behavior was a sort of psychological echolocation.

  But here I knew exactly what he was expecting of me, and precisely what the consequences would be if I failed to meet those expectations. My boundaries were brilliantly, clearly defined. And the fact that they were made it unnecessary for me to test them. I could remain still, calm, respectful, because I didn’t need to find out what would happen if I didn’t.

  I felt as if I’d been in a dark room, fumbling blindly to find the walls, and he’d turned on the light. I felt safe. And incredibly turned on.

  I made it through the whole class without slipping once.

  * * *

  I sought him out on the quad, later that day. He was at a table beneath a large oak tree, the shade dappling his face in shadow. I set his coffee (black, two sugars) at his elbow and sat. My feet and knees were together and I rested my hands on the table’s surface, shoulders back, watching him as he made notes on a student’s paper.

  After several long, quiet minutes he looked up and smiled. A wide, genuine, big smile. I couldn’t help grinning back.

  “Good afternoon, Lucy,” he said. I shivered when he said my name and knew it for the reward it was.

  “Afternoon, Professor Sherwood.”

  He sipped his coffee. “You may call me Ryan here. For today.” This too was my reward. My grin widened. I nodded in acknowledgement. The stack of papers in front of him caught my eye again.

  “Are those our papers on The Picture of Dorian Grey?”

  He tucked them into his briefcase. “Indeed they are, which is why I’m putting them away.”

  “Because someone might think the fact that we... talk... might unduly influence you when giving me a grade?” I asked, with a quirked brow.

  “Precisely.”

  I sipped my coffee, shaking my head. “Well, that’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it?”

  “Completely. For one, you’re not the kind of man to let himself be so easily swayed. And I’m not the kind of girl who’d want to sway you that way. What’s the point of a grade you didn’t earn?” I shrugged. “Which brings me to my third point, given that I’m auditing your class, I don’t really get a grade at all. So it would hardly make any sense to try and influence you in my favor.”

  He chuckled, reaching out to brush a leaf from my shoulder. It had fluttered down from the tree above without my noticing.

  “A valid argument. And, in point of fact, I’ve already graded your paper. But it wouldn’t be fair to your fellow students to allow you to see their work when they haven’t seen yours. Although they should. I actually wanted to ask you about that.”

  I quirked a brow. “About what?”

  “If you’d mind my showing your paper to one of my undergrad courses. Your dissection of the themes in Dorian Grey is excellent, and I think you’d conveyed it in such a way that makes it easily digestible to the less erudite.”

  “Oh.” I blinked, a little surprised. While I got decent grades in all my courses, no one had ever praised my work so highly before. “I don’t mind, I guess.”

  “Watch it, young lady. Whatever he’s trying to convince you of, don’t believe it.” The new voice, raspy and teasing, startled me.

  I glanced nervously at Ryan. His look was calmly reassuring and he nodded slightly at me. I turned to look at the newcomer. He was very tall, and lanky with black hair and light eyes. And he was grinning broadly at Ryan.

  Ryan shook his head, expression solemn. “Pay him no mind, Lucy. No one does. Lucy, this is Jeremy. He’s an old friend. Jeremy, this is Lucy. She’s one of my students. So behave yourself.”

  Jeremy put his hands in the pockets of his expensive suit pants and rocked back on his heels, snorting. “Me? When am I not on my best behavior?”

  “You want me to detail every instance since you were fourteen? Because I haven’t got the time to waste. Some of us work for a living.”

  Ryan seemed more relaxed than I’d seen him so far, joking with his friend. I watched them both, hoping they’d continue to banter and ignore me. Jeremy looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Before I had a chance to observe them further however, Jeremy lo
oked at his watch.

  “Are we going or what? You know if we’re late we’ll lose William to his Blackberry for the rest of the night.”

  Ryan scribbled something quickly on a sheet of paper and made to stand. “Thank you for letting me use the paper, Lucy. Here are the changes for this week’s class work. I’ll see you Wednesday.” He handed me the folded paper.

  “Nice meeting you Lucy,” Jeremy said, waving briefly as they walked away across the quad.

  I opened the note, wondering what Professor Sherwood had meant by ‘changes for this week’s class work’. A new assignment? And then I deciphered his elegant scrawl and went hot all over.

  It read: Next time no underwear

  The words were underlined three times each.

  * * *

  Every few months, my parents come to visit and insist on taking me out to dinner at a fancy restaurant. Sometimes, I think it’s their way of trying to make up for all their Hippie weirdness. I love my parents, I really do, but they drive me crazy. I’m pretty sure this is true for most people, no matter what age.