Professor Richards
Looking at the clock in the back, I order my problem student back to his desk. Time to get the day started. The miscreants aren’t going to settle by themselves. My gaze keeps pulling towards Melody. Her face ducks every few moments, but not quick enough for me to miss the crimson staining her cheeks. Staring at her in increments that are deemed appropriate, I take in her messy, tousled, brown hair, large, blue eyes, and wide mouth that’s just made for sucking a man off. My cock swells as her gaze keeps darting up at me, her expression tentative and furtive. She thinks I can’t see her, but I’m attuned to her in a way that she can’t even fathom. Once a prey puts itself on my radar, there’s no escaping my notice.
She’s been in my view since the first day of class. The moment she squirreled away to the back, her body pulled in around itself as she shoved into the tightest corner she could, I knew. She thought I couldn’t see her there, notice her fingers raking through her hair as she puzzled out a problem. But I see everything. Even now, I see the look in her eyes, the raw need flitting through every time she glances my way.
I need to stop this. I can’t conduct a class when my cock keeps insisting on blood flow. It seems to be a continual problem, one that doesn’t have an immediate solution. Closing my eyes for a moment, I run through the list of baseball stats, my grandmother, anything to tamp down the erection pressing against the front of my pants. That’s the absolute last thing I need at this moment. Once I’ve collected myself, I clear my throat and throw out glares to the miscreants who don’t want to settle at my bidding. The irritations crawl up my spine, pinching the base of my skull. Folding my arms over my chest, I watch as, one by one, they finally settle down. Once the classroom is under control, I let my evil smile cross my lips.
“Guess what, class? Pop exam! Books away and writing utensils out. But first, I’ll pass out the results from your last test.”
Melody’s eyes gloss over as I make my way to each student, handing them their papers grade facing up. Most don’t seem to care if others know their grades, but Melody is always uncomfortable. Is it because her grades range from bad to mediocre? Or is it the way I grade hers specifically that has the delicate shell of her ear blazing as I lay the paper in front of her? I take care to lay it face down, smirking as her hand darts out to grab it and stuff it into her back without so much as a glance.
Back at my desk, I shuffle through the pop exams, flipping through the pages with agonizing slowness, amping up the dreaded anticipation. The groans are music to my ears as I relent and walk towards them. Smirking, I hand out the sheets and watch as the horde digs through their bags, scrambling for their pens and pencils. Glancing around the room, my gaze settles back to my mouse. Her wide eyes are shining, glistening even, almost as if she’s about to cry. God help me, but my balls start to tighten back up.
I make quick work of handing the papers to the front, watching as they each take on and pass it back before making a beeline to my desk. I sit, easing my descent for care of my poor balls. What is it about her? Try as I might to avoid her, my eyes drift back. I stare at her as her head bends down, fingers flying furiously across the paper. Closing my eyes, I lean back, picturing her head bent doing other delicious things at my command. Would she put up a fight? Or would she gladly take my dominance?
As the class period drones on, the students’ scribbles mixed with the clock’s loud ticking assaults my ears. The thunderous tick echoes the beating of my heart. Need climbs down my spine and settles into my balls. Glancing up at the analog clock in the back of the room, I frown at the hands barely moving. Shouldn’t it be much later? Pulling out my phone, I confirm the time is correct. Things are just moving way too slow for me. Heat trickles in around me, mostly as I stare at Mouse. She’s definitely an itch under my skin, one that I cannot even dream of scratching. Not yet.
Shifting my hand lower, I pull at the seam at the crotch of my pants, tugging it a bit, trying to get relief. How long has it been since I’ve availed myself of one of the girls? One week? Two? Either way, it’s too long. Loosening my tie, I sigh in relief as some air manages to hit the back of my neck. That at least will make the rest of this period tolerable. Looking back at my phone, I glance around the room before pulling up the school catalog. Someone was bound to be available during my break to take care of my needs. If not, I’ll have to figure something else out before someone gets hurt.
Scrolling through the list, nubile bodies in varied positions flash across the screen. So many to choose from. I frown as I look at some of the older girls. The younger ones are always so fresh, so eager to please. Their gazes are hopeful, full of life and dreams, not sallow and washed up. Most submissives find an owner before reaching that, but there’s always an exception to the rule. Pretty soon, I’ll have to talk with Dean Anderson about letting some of them go, or at least removing them from The Bordello. As I start to scroll again, a cute, little redhead catches my eye. Jessica. I don’t remember her at all. Was I even there for her initiation? Tits like that would certainly stick in one’s memory. Smirking, I pull up her stats. Unowned, great smile, pert ass, and listed as a ‘break me.’ Perfect. She will fit my needs nicely.
Glancing back up, I frown as the clock only moves millimeters. Gritting my teeth, I lean back into my chair, willing myself to wait another thirty minutes. Jessica sure as hell won’t like it, but that isn’t her choice. She’ll take whatever I give her and beg for more. Clicking on the schedule icon next to her stats, elation flows through me as I note her next class isn’t for another two hours. That should certainly be enough time. My mouth stretches into a Cheshire grin as I tap the messaging icon.
You are to be in your room in 45 minutes. I want you showered and shaved. Everything. You are to be in the kneeling position at the foot of your bed.
My heart pounds in my chest, the sound nearly drowning out the ticking of the clock. Though I’ve done this countless times, it doesn’t get old. Each time is just as exhilarating. I keep my eye on the icon, frowning as it stays blue for much longer than it should. What the hell is she doing? She’s supposed to answer at any point during waking hours. After a moment or two, the icon turns green, and I let out my breath in a whoosh.
Yes, Professor.
My cock swells in response. Oh yes, I can wait another thirty minutes, especially knowing a compliant, lithe body is waiting for me. The class seems to fly by now that I have secured a girl to see to my needs. Glancing back over at Melody, I let my gaze rake across her hunched form. Every now and then, a small tear drops from her eyes, plopping to the paper underneath. Jessica is no match for the distraught beauty in front of me, but soon enough, she’ll be in my grasps.
“That's it. Pencils down."
Heads pop up like gophers, their eyes wide with fear. It makes sense, though. I design these quizzes and tests hard enough that even the most avid learner cannot complete all the questions in the allotted time. Just one more way I keep them all under my thumb and at my mercy. As any professor, there’s a certain joy and satisfaction with giving a pop exam. The students absolutely hate them; even the suck-ups who are always clambering for extra credit when none is needed dread my exams. Every day, each student looks at me with an absolutely palpable wariness, just waiting to see if it’s a fun day or a test day. They stare up at me with pale faces and wide eyes. Delicious. But even better, it's a true gauge on who’s actually paying attention and who’s just trying to skate by. No one was allowed to just phone it in in my class. The latter either find themselves begging for mercy or in a college that actually accepts mediocrity. Either way, win-win.
Scanning the faces, I find myself looking back at Melody. Her face is drawn and pinched. Her eyes have dark rings under them. Grimacing, I shove away the traitorous thoughts that seem to actually care about her physical wellbeing. Since she’s not mine, I don’t have to worry about things like, is she sleeping, is she eating. If she was mine, though…The instant that thought crosses my brain, I force it out. I’ve yet to claim a submissive, and I don’t plan on starting with her. I simply want to pour out my frustrations into her body, watch her in class as she squirms under my knowing gaze, strip away every bit of her until I can get to her core.
I watch as her fingers swipe at her eyes, removing any evidence of the tears she shed. That’s the first thing I’d change. I’d insist on her wearing a mascara that’s only function is to smear down her cheeks in defeated globs as I pound my cock down her throat. It's a pity that she always does well enough in my class to avoid failing out and needing rescuing. It would be so much easier to make her mine. Grinding my teeth, I look back over at my phone. Poor Jessica. Until Melody messes up, she's completely off-limits to me, so she’ll have to deal with my impotent rage.
I can’t claim her now, but perhaps I can tilt the power into my favor. Giddiness fills me for the first time in a while as a plan formulates in my mind. It's been several months since I've dragged a newcomer into the fold. Why not her? She has all the right curves in all the right places: tits I can sink my hands or teeth into, a plump, ample backside just perfect for my belt. I've contemplated every angle I could take her in. From the moment she walked into my classroom, I knew I had to have her. What makes her mix perfect isn't just her body. Her clothing, posture, every inch of her screams innocence. If she's not a virgin, she's damn near close. Her very being begs me to defile her, teach her how to use her body to please me.
Beyond all of that, she's smart. There's no denying that. She's the first student in a while that actually made me think for once. If one were to observe her in class, however, she comes across as nothing spectacular. She does everything in her power to hide how smart she is. That, or she's shy. Either way, she's exactly the type of prey that gets my blood going. Now is the time to set the bait and bring this little mouse into my fold.
But how can I do it without getting caught? John doesn’t care who we bring into our clutches as long as we’re smart about it. We must strip away their choices until the only thing they can do is prostrate themselves at our mercy. We don’t indoctrinate many, but each one has a risk. Forms are signed, protocols are adhered to. I can’t drag her kicking and screaming over my knee. She has to be a willing participant. Well, as willing as can be. Once I stick the screws to her, she’ll have no choice but to relent. As I observe the panic just barely concealed in the widening of her eyes and the heaving of her chest, the plan comes together.
Leaning back in my desk chair, I stare down at all of my students. Each of them looks up at me expectantly. Their breath catches in their throat as they wait for any further instructions. They can’t help it; I purposefully make it so they never know what to expect. I may follow the syllabus, but since I created it, it allows for surprises, today’s quiz notwithstanding. I add in some wiggle room for when I'm feeling extra sadistic. Some days, like today, I surprise them with a pop exam. Other days, I treat them to a movie and popcorn. On the days I'm feeling extra callous, I let them have a "free period" as long as they act in the manner of whatever time period we were studying. Those were the best days. The sheer ludicrousness of watching these "grown" college students trying to affect a British accent just to keep from having to do actual work is just hilarious.
The hidden recesses of my psyche, the part that gets an almost inhumane thrill from watching someone else’s humiliation, comes into play as I watch a jock start the class completely full of himself, only to stumble about, trying desperately to show off a "well-turned calf" and mumble about in a horrendous cockney. Some would consider it revenge for being the nerd in school, but either way, many of these students needed to be brought down several pegs, and I’m more than happy to oblige.
"Leave your exams at my desk before you leave. Next week, we're preparing for your midterms. May I remind you that this test is worth forty percent of your grade. Now, if you've been doing well in my class, you shouldn't have to worry. If you haven't, though," I level a gaze at my prey. "You might want to consider requesting help from whatever deity you ascribe to. I'm going to be a little lenient this time. I have a practice test that I'm uploading to the portal. I'm trusting you all to use your discretion and use it as a learning tool and nothing more. I will be taking it down the day before the exam. Have a great weekend."
Melody ducks her head, avoiding my gaze. As I stare her down, her cheeks pinken, her eyes shifting about, never meeting my gaze. Just further confirmation that a submissive lurks within her. It's like a siren's call, one that I cannot ignore. As the students file out, their relief is palpable in the air. Chuckling, I gather my papers up and stuff them into my briefcase. I have a date with a redhead and cannot be late.