Study Me: A Student Teacher Romance

by Logan Chance

  His hands move to the button of his black slacks and my mind freezes. Professor Dale is about to drop his pants. I can’t believe I’m witnessing this. People would probably pay money to see the show I’m watching, and I have front row tickets. For free.

  He unzips his pants, and it’s a torturous descent. I wish he’d just rip them off already like strippers do. He needs those pants that fly apart at the seams. I almost giggle at the thought of asking stern Professor Dale if I can put some strip tease music on while he bumps and grinds. And then it happens, the moment I’ve been waiting for since this peep show started—he lowers them and lets them pool at his feet. Wow. His sculptured body is magnificent. I scan my eyes up his long legs, to his black boxer briefs. His oblique muscles point right to his cock, showcasing it. It looks mighty impressive bulging beneath the material of his briefs. His hand runs along his dick as he moves closer to his bed. He tosses back the covers and gets into bed. How anticlimactic. The show is over, and I didn’t even get a lap dance. I drift off and dream about his body making me come over and over until a low groan wakes me again.

  My eyes open, and Houston thrashes in his bed, mumbling. I don’t know whether to wake him or leave him to face whatever is in his dream. Seems mean to leave him in a nightmare.

  I toss off the covers and stand over his bed. “Professor Dale?”

  Nothing.

  “Professor Dale? Houston?”

  A sheen of sweat covers his bare chest, and his head shakes in denial on the pillow. “No,” he grumbles.

  “Houston?” I step closer to his bed. “Are you ok?” The bed dips slightly as I climb in next to him. Sitting up on my knees, I shove his shoulder. “Houston,” I say a little louder.

  He bolts upright, his eyes springing open. “What?” It takes a moment for him to focus on me. “What are you doing in my bed, Marley?”

  “You were having a bad dream.”

  His nightmare must’ve been epic by the way his chest rises and falls. But, it’s his eyes that do something to my gut. They’re wild, fearful, blazing with intensity. I want to hold him, comfort him.

  He scrubs a hand across his sweat soaked forehead. “Get out of my bed, now.”

  His demeanor is cold, haunted, and I wonder what he was dreaming about. A chill skates up my spine as I leave his bed. “I’m sorry. I was just worried about you,” I say in a soft voice.

  “I’m fine. It’s fine,” he says, turning on his side to face away from me. “Now get back to bed, or we’ll be late in the morning.”

  And, the next morning we are.

  We rush around, and the entire time Houston degrades me, saying it’s my fault for our tardiness.

  His harsh attitude never wavers during the convention and doesn’t let up during the flight home. But, at least it ensures there is no repeat of the incident we shall never speak of again. After we retrieve our luggage from baggage claim, he stalks away, and I don’t see him again until Monday, when I wake up…late again.

  Shit. How is this happening? I’m never late. In record time, I get ready, grab a protein bar from the pantry and race out the door. As soon as I exit my building the bright sunlight hits me, and I drop my sunglasses down from my head to shield my tired eyes. Swiftly, I walk toward the subway and smack right into someone. “Holy shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there,” I apologize, rubbing my hand down the firm chest I just walked into.

  “Miss Murphy, you should pay closer attention to where you’re going.” I look up into the dark eyes of Professor Dale.

  I yank my hand away from his chest, completely mortified. My face burns with embarrassment. “Professor Dale, I’m so sorry.” He stands immobile, staring down at me. “The sun was in my eyes, and I was trying to get my sunglasses on, so I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking,” I ramble.

  His eyes sweep over my face. “You should be getting more sleep, Miss Murphy. That way you won’t always be rushing around late. Tardiness is unacceptable.” He looks down at his watch, then back at me. “You have twenty minutes until class begins. If that’s not enough time, then maybe you need to rethink being a doctor.” He adjusts his navy tie. “A dying patient won’t appreciate your lack of time management.”

  With that verbal slap, he turns and walks briskly away. His long strides have purpose—belittle everyone in his wake. Get out of his way or be bulldozed into a pile of rubble at his designer shoe clad feet. Do I take his message and get to class? No. Instead, I stand frozen, biting my lip, checking out how great his ass looks in his navy pants. He stops and hails a cab, and as soon as he climbs in, I snap out of my sexual thoughts and rush to the curb to do the same. Normally I take the subway, but today I want easy. And maybe just a little bit to prove that I wouldn’t let a dying patient down. I’ll be early.

  Screw you, Professor Dale.

  The cabbie drives like he’s on a mission to win the world’s slowest driver award. Just my luck, I hailed the one cab in New York whose goal isn’t to scare the shit out of their passenger. Every light we catch. I bite my nails as I watch the cars whizz past us.

  “Could you maybe hurry? I’m late,” I say to the man behind the wheel.

  He smiles but doesn’t step on the pedal.

  After a small traffic jam, he finally pulls up to the college. I fly out of the car, with only a few minutes to spare.

  Please don’t let me be late.

  My shoes clack loudly down the abandoned hallway. Everyone is already in their classes like the good students they are. Meanwhile, I’m rushing to make mine.

  The door is seconds away, and I see Professor Dale through the window.

  Shit. He’s going to lock it.

  I grab the silver handle, my eyes pleading with his cold ones.

  Click.

  The sound of the lock echoes through the hallway. It’s deafening, and my mind can’t process his assholishness. I’m right here. My fingertips were on the handle. It was a tie, dammit.

  The side of his mouth lifts in a sinful grin, and he shakes his head.

  That’s the last thing I see before he slams the shade on the window down, blocking the classroom from my view.

  I drop my hand from the door. Well, tomorrow I’ll be early.

  4

  Houston

  My therapist says writing in this journal will help deal with my “issues.”

  March 4th

  It’s not. The nightmares have been nonstop the last few weeks. I fucking hate Marley witnessed it. Marley. Now she is a new issue. But it seems to be helping my “issue” better than this journal. A distraction to help curb my thoughts. Thoughts that keep invading my mind. And I welcome it, encourage it, because it’s the first thing that’s given me a moment of reprieve from my “issue.”

  Fucking idiots. Looking out at the eager eyes of my morning Anatomy and Physiology class, I cringe. Eighty sets of eyes stare at me as if I’m speaking Japanese.

  We’ve been in this semester for a while now and already the class is doing horrible. Are they even studying? Every single one of them is struggling. The medical industry will soon fold if this is our future doctors and nurses.

  “Open your books,” I tell the class, rising from my seat. “Page three-hundred eighty-two. Section seven. Who wants to tell me what the answer is to option 5-A?”

  Blank stares, from all of them. The Anatomy and Physiology book is a five-hundred-dollar book, you’d think these kids would glance at it occasionally.

  “Muscles?” Brian, a lanky ginger, answers from the front row.

  I push my small, black frames further up my nose as I glance at him. “There’s six hundred and forty skeletal muscles in the body.” I glance at the whole class, but only one student captures my attention. Marley. Thanks to the memory of her fucking hand in her pink panties.

  I turn on my overhead projector and go through the muscles in the face.

  “Miss Murphy, please come down,” I call out. She’s been avoiding any contact with me since we returned last week, so
today I’m in the mood to toy with her. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy watching her become flustered around me.

  I turn around, slide my hands in my pockets, and watch her long legs descend the stairs. She stops in front of me, her eyes full of hesitation, hands tugging the edge of her green sweater. It matches her eyes perfectly. Which is something I really shouldn’t be noticing. She turns around at my request to face the entire class.

  “Smile, Miss Murphy,” I instruct her. My eyes rest on her full, pink lips, waiting. “Is it that hard, Miss Murphy?” I ask, raising my gaze to meet her cautious one. My cock twitches. It gets so hard when she’s this close. Finally, her mouth forms a smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes. “How many muscles did you use?”

  “Five,” she answers, correctly.

  I nod, then reach out to trace my finger along her jaw. Marley’s face with her expressive eyes is a work of art. Her porcelain skin is incredibly soft. Softer than I imagined. “What’s this muscle?”

  Her long lashes blink. The slight shiver that passes over her doesn’t escape me. “Masseter,” she answers with a slight waver in her voice.

  Continuing my exploration of her under the guise of teaching, I trail my fingertip along her neck and feel the erratic tempo of her pulse. Touching her causes mine to beat wildly. It feels foreign and gives me a rush of excitement. “Bonus question, name this artery.”

  “Carotid,” she whispers and I forget the entire class is even here watching.

  I drop my hand, snapping back to the present. “Return to your seat, Miss Murphy.”

  With only a few minutes left of class, I switch off the projector. “Ok, there will be a quiz tomorrow on the muscles of the face, so study up.”

  The drone of laptops being shut and students packing up fill the room as everyone leaves. Marley sits a few rows up in the auditorium style classroom, and my eyes catch hers. She quickly looks away. As she leans over to retrieve her bag from the floor, her legs part slightly, giving me a view right up her skirt. I try to turn away, but I can’t.

  My heartbeat thunders when I see the white panties covering her pussy. What I wouldn’t give to dive right in there.

  The classroom empties except for Marley standing by her desk, texting on her phone, as she packs up the rest of her things.

  I need another high. I need to feel the rush of adrenaline she caused in me.

  “Miss Murphy?” I call out.

  Her head snaps up, locking eyes with mine. “Yes?”

  “Come here.” When she stands in front of me, I step closer. “I need your help.”

  “With?” Her lips purse as she chews on the inside of her mouth.

  She’s been my assistant for the entire semester, and, sure, I noticed she’s pretty, but my relationships with my students have always been strictly professional. Many eager young women have tried to slide beneath the surface with me, slide into my bed, but none have succeeded. For some reason, the image of Marley coming and the look of rapture on her face, has done what no other could accomplish.

  “Do you always chew on the inside of your mouth?” I ask her. Since the incident on the plane, I’ve begun noticing little details about her.

  “I guess? I’ve never really thought about it,” she says, as her eyes avoid mine.

  “Well, can you not, please. It’s distracting.” I’m forgetting why I even called her down here in the first place.

  She stops, crossing her arms against her chest. Her tits lift. “Fine, what did you need help with?”

  “Just be here after your last class.” My eyes skate over her body. The short black skirt she wears makes my blood pump faster. I forgot what it felt like to have a pulse. It feels damn good. Exhilarating. And I want more.

  “Anything you say, Professor,” she sasses, walking away from me, her hips swaying from side to side.

  Her ass speaks to me, begging me to spank it. I shake my head and try to bury the thoughts of all the things I want to do to her. Before she gets too far away, I call after her, “Oh, and Marley.”

  “Yes,” she says, spinning around to glance at me.

  What I’m about to do could cost me my job. I inch up to the invisible line that bears a large sign warning not to cross it. And I take a bold step over it. “I think I like the pink better than the white.”

  Her eyes widen and her jaw drops. A crimson flush warms her cheeks as she regains her composure. “What do you mean?”

  Closing the distance between us, standing toe to toe, I glance down at her. For the first time today, I smell her perfume. Sweet, a fruity mixture of pears and peaches. I don’t like that I love the smell of it. Or that I purposely breathe it in as I move closer to her lips. “Your desk is at eye level for me, and I can see everything. I have a bathroom in my back office if you’d like to reenact what you did on the plane.” Sure, I’m being a first-class asshole, not to mention totally unprofessional, but the rise I get out of pushing her buttons excites me.

  Her lips turn down as her eyes study me. I love how the vein in her neck pulses with anger. I love that she knows I know. And, I fucking love that she isn’t going to take me up on my offer of using my facilities. Because, there’s no way in hell I would be able to not rip the door down caveman style and rapture her body in all the ways I want to.

  Without a word, she turns and races out of the classroom, slamming the door behind her.

  5

  Marley

  Enervate-verb-to feel drained of energy or vitality.

  A week later, after he dismisses his last class and every student has left, I stroll over to his desk, dropping the papers I’ve been working on in front of him. “Done.” I almost want to add master, but I don’t.

  He glares at me, like full on glares. His dark eyes narrowed on me.

  What did I do now? He’s been so irritable the last few weeks. The future doctor in me critiques his appearance. Judging by the dark smudges beneath his eyes, I’d say lack of sleep is fueling his tirades. Diagnosis: Assholeitis.

  This is becoming tiresome. A person can only take so much before they crack. I’m tired and grumpy, and all this responsibility is wearing on me. Not to mention, I still haven’t forgotten the way he pointed out being able to see my panties. I have barely any fucks left to give.

  “Pfft,” is his response. That’s it. Just “Pfft.” Not even a word, just a sound. He lifts a brow, and his lack of satisfaction kicks my anger up a notch. I’m about to obliterate the eggshells I’ve been walking on around him.

  “I’m sorry, Professor, is there a wrong way to grade papers? Are they not to your satisfaction? Was I not fast enough for you? Grading papers isn’t something I exactly enjoy doing.”

  He stands near his desk, with a nonchalant attitude that unnerves me. Calm isn’t what I expected.

  “You want to be a doctor, right?” he finally responds.

  “You know I do.”

  Moving like a flash of lightning, his face is inches from mine. “Then get used to doing things you don’t plan on doing. Get used to surprises. Get used to being shocked.”

  His closeness causes me to step back a bit and become wedged between him and the edge of his desk. I lean back as his hot breath fans across my lips.

  He yanks my arm, spinning me around. Before I can even register what’s happening, my head gets pushed down, my cheek connecting with the hard wood, and his hand makes a resounding connection with my ass.

  I gasp. He just spanked me.

  My blood rushes. His large hand makes impact a second time, and he growls. The sound turns me on instantly. Wetness pools between my legs. I want another.

  He steps away, turning his figure from me.

  For a few moments, I stay frozen in my position. Slowly I push up, wide-eyed, wondering what the fuck just happened. Wondering why I’m not appalled.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, hiding my shock.

  Gathering my things, I don’t rush out of the room or have any kind of appropriate reaction, really. What’s approp
riate in this situation, though? Probably not wishing he had used a ruler and certainly not giving a small smile to the authority figure who just spanked you before walking out the door, which is exactly what I did.

  Once a good way away from the door to his classroom, I lean against a wall for support. My butt cheek burns with the imprint of his large hand. My other cheeks burn with the knowledge he spanked me. Twice. And boy, did I like it. Ok, I may fantasize about this exact thing happening, but never would I have expected him to actually do it. My fantasy just became reality, and oddly enough, I don’t feel grumpy or tired anymore. It’s as though he spanked the cranky out.

  Feeling reenergized, I grab a coffee from the campus Beanery and walk the short distance to the library. Finding a table in the back, I drop my bag and wander into the library stacks searching for the medical journal I need. Maybe I’m in shock. This can’t be normal to carry on with research after your professor spanks you. I mean, he spanked me. How will I face him after this?

  Do I just pretend it didn’t happen? Well, I could always transfer to another school, but… I won’t. Because, apparently, I’m ok with being spanked by my Professor. God, what is happening to me? I’ve always been the studious, hyper responsible sibling to my much more carefree older brother and sister. My brother Erik calls me the wise one. My sister Lexi calls me smartypants. I steer them down the sensible path, so how did I get on this road to Fuckedupville? Before I have time to think about it any further, a male arm reaches around me to slide the medical journal I can’t quite reach off the shelf for me. Attached to that arm… is the hand that spanked me.

  Spinning around, my breasts press against the solid chest of Houston. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “I think we need to discuss what happened,” he says, not stepping away from me.

  My eyes dart down each end of the aisle, to make sure we’re alone. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” I tell him, stepping back. The shelf behind me prevents me from retreating further.

  He steps closer. “Marley…” He can’t finish, because, without thinking, I place my finger on his lips to stop the words that are about to come out. He can’t say them here. Not in public. Preferably not ever.