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Student Teacher
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
[Any resemblance to persons living, dead or anywhere in between is
categorically denied.]
STUDENT TEACHER
It had been a long day. As she trudged toward the building in
the heat of the late August sun, Cat wondered if she had made the
right choice. "Maybe I should have taken a few years off before
graduate school," she thought. I'm so sick of lectures, textbooks,
exams. I feel like I'm missing some important aspect of coping in
the real world."
She thought over the events of the past few days. The
professors were unexceptional; the books bored her to sleep. Her
boyfriend, Michael, was working in New Jersey, and they planned to
visit each other each weekend -- first, he would visit her, then
she him, and so on. All in all, it seemed to be all sacrifice and
little gain.
The lecture hall was packed with loud, nervous conversation.
Cat chose a seat, and readied her notetaker for the avalanche of
information this next professor would be spouting. She yawned.
I hear this guy is a real bastard," the woman sitting next to
her said to the guy behind them. "Really? I heard he's the best,"
he replied.
Cat thought about how typical it was for students to complain
about rumors of the worst teacher. She never paid it too much
mind; most of it was just small talk, and the tendency to denigrate
the authority figure.
Suddenly, the class quieted, as if a signal had been
transmitted to all of them. Cat saw him then. His face was set,
taut and uninviting. He wasn't that tall, about five ten or so.
Early fifties, beer belly, hair just turning from brown to gray.
A mustache. He wasn't attractive in any sense of the word, and yet
. . .
Cat had stopped writing for the moment. She let the voice
flow over her. Professor Agman had a strong, resonant voice, the
voice of an orator. She sometimes found herself doing this,
stopping to listen. He was hard-edged, but vulnerable. She had
realized this a while back, and had yet to speak with him
personally. It was nearly the end of October, and with every
class, she felt herself drawn closer to him. Many students
despised him; most grudgingly loved him. He was a pusher, an
unyielding instrument of education. He wanted them to learn. He
spurred them on with comments about their laziness. He was working
hard to intimidate them, to get them to work and make the most of
themselves. Cat understood that, and she wasn't afraid of him. In
fact, she was hoping against hope that he would call on her in
class. She was annoyed, however, with her inability to go and talk
to him. She tried to tell herself she was intimidated to explain
this. But she knew that wasn't it. She had never had a teacher
like this, though she had had teachers with whom she had "fallen in
love". Schoolgirl crushes, in junior and senior high school. But
this was different; much different.
He had gone off on a tangent, berating students for copying
something he had said three times already. Cat, who had stopped
writing a while ago, leaned back against her seat and began to
think about what this force, this wonder of the teaching
profession, would be like in bed. She had had dreams about him,
most of which focused around her dominating him. But when she was
awake, she just wanted him -- as equals, master and slave, -- it
didn't matter. She listened to him speak, and she felt the flush
coming -- sweaty hands, hot face, wetness. She lifted her right
leg and put it over the left, squeezing her muscles to ease the
pain between her thighs.
She sat at a table outside his office, waiting for another
student to leave. She had finally found the courage to speak with
him. Some students had recently confronted him with their
contention that he was sexist, because he didn't call on women
enough in class. Amazing that the very people who were terrified
of being called on can rally together and shift the blame to him,
Cat mused. The door opened.
"You can come in, Miss Ferrill," professor Agman declared.
(He didn't say anything; he declared.)
She was blushing. Shit, she hated that her face showed
everything. She consoled herself with the knowledge that she could
not be the first one who had been affected in this way. As she sat
down in the chair he offered, she thought about grabbing him,
forcing him down and doing what she had done to him in so many of
her dreams. I'll teach you a few things," she could hear herself
growling into his ear.
They talked about the class, about the complaints against him.
She voiced her support, and told him in no uncertain terms that she
found his class to be the best, and that she appreciated his
teaching method. The meeting was too short, and when she left, she
wanted him even more.
It was late, nearly ten. The library was packed, though, as
usual. Cat stretched in the uncomfortable chair; her eyes burning
from forced reading. She was tired. And she was horny. She
thought about Michael. He would be coming down this weekend. She
had told him about her fantasies concerning Agman, and he hadn't
minded. He said she was silly for feeling guilty, but she did.
She loved Michael very much. Intellectually, she knew, you could
love more than one person. She loved her best friend, Andra, but
Andra was straight and definitely not inclined to experiment with
lesbianism. That had been the case since grade school.
Cat didn't know why she looked up at that moment. She saw
Professor Agman, glancing in her direction. She blushed. He was
unsmiling, though she had seen him smile a few times in the past
three months. Their eyes met; she smiled hesitantly. He nodded
nonchalantly, and disappeared into his office.
Cat felt something give. She stood and walked quickly to his
office, which was slightly ajar. She knocked quietly and entered,
standing in the doorway. "Professor Agman," she said. "Burning
the midnight oil with the rest of us?"
"Oh, hello, Miss Ferrill," he answered. "Yes, I have some
things to take care of."
"Me, too," Cat said. She closed the door and continued to stand.
She didn't understand the tension building inside her. It was
something she had never felt before. Her skin was hot and prickly,
her heart pounding. "Miss Ferrill, are you all right?" He didn't
look too concerned. Probably figures it's the right thing to say;
his walls were too thick for overt compassion, though his comments
in class showed him to be a much different person than the role he
was playing for everyone. "Oh, I'm all right. I'm very hot," she
added, slightly emphasizing the last two words.
She felt it; it was definitely there. Sexual tension you
couldn't cut if you tried. Was it at all possible that he wanted
her, too?
Professor Agman," she said, lowering her eyes. "I have a
problem I'm hoping you can clear up for me." He nodded, not
answering. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable," she said,
"but I, I am extremely attracted to you. I am utterly embarrassed
standing here telling you this, but I have to, because I want you.
Badly." WHAT THE FUCK WAS SHE SAYING? OH, SHIT!!
He looked startled, more startled than she could ever have
imagined he could look. He waited a moment, possibly to let what
she'd said sink in -- to her, not to him. Great. He knew she was
appalled at what she had just done, ad was watching to see it catch
up with her. Asshole! she thought. How typical! And I thought at
least he was above such things.
"Miss Ferrill," he said, picking up a paper clip and twisting
it between his fingers. "I'm flattered, of course, but I don't
understand why you are telling me this. Regardless of anything
else, I am your professor. You will be in my class for the balance
of the school year. What can you possibly gain by telling me
this?" Her mouth dropped as she realized what he was getting at.
"You think I'm trying to worm good grades out of you, don't you?
That I'm insincere, that I'm playing some slut game with you, some
quid pro quo? Well?"
"I honestly don't know, Miss Ferrill," he said quietly. "this
isn't exactly the kind of think students visit me to discuss. And
it is close to exam time, I'm your professor, and you must know
that if you are not embarrassing yourself for grades, there is no
other reason for doing it, since what you are suggesting is, at
least, implicitly forbidden."
"I haven't suggested DOING anything," Cat countered. "I just
wanted you to know."
"Why? If it makes you feel better, I can accept that. But didn't
you think that this would be placing me in an uncomfortable
position?"
Cat thought that she would love to put him in a few
COMFORTABLE positions, at any rate.
You, in an uncomfortable position? I'm the one in the
position of less power here."
"I don't know what you want from me, but I can't give it, at
least, not anything related to what you've -- shared with me
tonight. I think it would be best if we both ignored this
incident."
She was looking straight at him now. She had heard the
rumors: he had been divorced for some time, and had had a live'in
partner for a while. There was nothing about him that suggested he
was uninterested in physical passion. Cat knew the circle would
never be closed without her help. Her spiritual and intellectual
attraction to him burned in her mind; they were so alike in so many
ways. He was the role model she had never had, almost ideal in the
intellectual sense. She didn't want anything long-term. Michael
was her future. This man was, at least for tonight, her present.
She needed to get this out of her system.
She walked around the desk, slowly, watching him. He turned
to face her as she approached, still sitting. He raised a hand, to
stop her. "What are you doing, Miss Ferrill?" he asked. He stared
straight at her. She saw no anticipation, no desire. Did she see
amusement somewhere?
"I don't think I made myself clear, Professor Agman," she said,
standing right in front of him. "I want you. Not forever, not
until I graduate, not until the end of the year. I want you now.
I feel you in my mind all the time. We are very similar. I can
see beyond the role you play in class. I know that there is, even
if you haven't shown it to anyone else, the kind of passion that
comes from an intellectual connection. I believe that a person
should desire another in this way only if they see that individual
as someone they would like to be, someone they would be proud of
having, even if just once."
He stood, and pushed past her to the door. "if you aren't
going to leave, Miss Ferrill," he said, I'll leave. But I hope
you'll respect my wishes and leave my office. I'm going to look
into your being moved to Professor Randall's class. I don't think
it will do either of us any good for you to continue in my class.
You'll take my exam this semester, then switch over the break."
No way in hell! she thought, her mind racing. She hated this
place; he made it worthwhile. She had considered leaving this
school a few times, only to go to his class and realize she could
not give up, because he was here. In her few moments of selfdoubt,
he had been the anchor that kept her here. She wasn't going to
allow this.
She walked to the door and he stepped back to let her pass.
She put her hand on the doorknob. "Just one thing," she said.
"What's that?" he asked. She whirled on him, grabbing his hands
and twisting his arms behind his back. She held his wrists in her
left hand, and grabbed the back of his head with the other. She
forced his lips open with her tongue. He broke from her, and
stated, "That was an assault, Miss Ferrill. I could call and have
you removed from the premises, and I could take this before the
dean."
"is that right? And how will you explain the fact that you
and I were alone at ten-thirty in your office, that we got close
enough for me to kiss you? I don't think you want any speculation
about what happened, nor do I think You'll tell anyone what's about
to happen."
She removed the handcuffs from her knapsack. She felt a pang
of guilt, knowing she had only used them with Michael. But this
was it. She had this one time. she streaked across the room and
yanked his right hand into the cuff. He lunged for the phone on
his desk. She dove and snatched the phone from the jack. He went
for the door. She managed to grab the other dangling cuff, and
twisted her body to one side, knocking him off-balance for a
second, long enough for her to reach him and cuff the other hand.
She said, "So, go out now. Tell the librarians and the students I
came in here and cuffed you. I'll just say I walked in and you
were playing around with them. In fact," she said, removing the
handcuff key from her key-chain and placing it next to his phone.
He stared at her. "When this is over, miss Ferrill," he said,
"You are going to regret it."
"Perhaps. But not for the reasons you're thinking about. I'll
regret that I cheated on someone I love very much, someone I wish
to marry. I'll regret that I can't have you again. And i'll
regret that you didn't enjoy it, if, in fact, you don't. But you
will."
She thought about her favorite novels, -- The Fountainhead and
ATlas Shrugged. Both had scenes where the heroes and heroines had
rough, fulfilling sex, with the knowledge that it was right, that
there was pleasure in submitting to a person you respected and
admired. But in both novels, the man had done the rough work. Cat
didn't mind the role reversal.
She placed ankle cuffs on him, and forced him to sit back in
his chair. She straddled his lap, facing him. She sat there for
a moment, considering. He looked pissed, really pissed.
"Come on, lighten up. Why are you so against this? i've made
it clear to you that I sincerely respect and admire you, that I
have never had a teacher like you. I have a wonderful boyfriend
and our sex life is not lacking. But i burn for you, day in and
day out. I think about you a lot. You monopolize my fantasies and
my dreams. I hope you are half as good as you are in my mind. I'd
hate to be disillusioned." There -- a challenge no sane, verile
man could ignore. She had just crossed a line, a point of no
return. No matter how intellectual, how rational a human being was
capable of being, there was always that darker side, the mysterious
web of boiling hormones and chemical reactions. He could place
himself on his professorial pedestal, but he could not erase the
fact that he had a dick.
She was behind his chair now, rubbing his shoulders and his
neck. She reached around to unbutton his jacket and shirt. She
warily removed one handcuff at a time to slip his clothes off. She
straddled him again, scraping her nails gently across his chest,
then down. He was completely still, his face a mask.
She was hot, wet, bursting with the idea of him beneath her.
She yanked his pants down to his ankles. Then his underwear.
Well, what do you know -- one hard prick, thank you very much.
She didn't have to wait. She was soaked and ready. Why
belabor the situation with unnecessary preludes? On second thought
. . .
She knelt before him, slowly caressing the head with one hand,
the balls with the other. She saw that despite himself, he was
enjoying it, but his face was still a mask. She felt the quiver in
his thighs, the look of tight control that betrayed a lot more than
if he were writhing with pleasure under her hands. She bent
towards him, flicking her tongue along the inside of his upper
thighs. She nipped him playfully, and felt his pulse quickening.
Then she took him in her mouth, she expected him to attempt
pushing her away. But he didn't. She took him in, sliding her
tongue all around and using her teeth a little. She raised her
head to look up at him; his eyes were closed. Immediately, they
opened. "Caught ya," she laughed. "What would you like me to do
next? Should I continue, or do you have something else in mind?"
He said, "Take the handcuffs off." "Not just yet," she answered.
"please," he said so quietly she barely heard. Whoa! If he could
say please, she could oblige. She unfettered him completely. The
moment he was free, he flung papers and the rest of the jumbled
mess on his desk to the floor. He yanked her arms up above her
head and shoved her onto his desk. Oh, yes! she thought. Her
breath was coming in short little gasps, her nipples hardened
painfully. Aching heat between her legs. "Fuck me," she growled.
He stopped and looked at her. She had never seen that look in his
eyes before, and she wondered if anyone ever had. He grabbed her
wool skirt and yanked it unceremoniously off, tossing it to the
side. Although she was wearing thigh-highs, she had no underwear
on. "A little cold for no underwear, isn't it?" he asked. "Not
when I have your class," she said, winking at him. She couldn't
believe her eyes when he flushed.
Then he was inside her. Her legs were up and hooked over his
shoulders as he stood, and she lay on his desk. He was fucking her
savagely. He seemed to think he was teaching another lesson,
offering her advice. But this time, she had been the teacher;
despite where she was now, she was in control. To remind him of
that, she sucked him in further by tightening her muscles and moved
her hips. As she tightened around him, she heard him grunt
quietly, and then saw that he was holding on to the part of him
that still wasn't accepting this was happening, and he maintained
silence.
I'll make you beg me for more by the time this is over," she
thought, as she felt his climax pouring into her. She knew there
was more where that came from, and she wouldn't be leaving until she
got her fair share.
*** Please let me know if you enjoyed this story. If not, why
not? Thank you.
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