Jennifer awoke to find herself on a dinghy sofa in the corner of the warehouse studio. Things seemed a little blurry, but she was aware of some heated conversation taking place next to her.
". . . and I have sworn a holy vow to escort Miss Jennifer to her Organic Chemistry class, and as soon as she wakes . . ."
Jennifer saw that the owner of the voice was that sweet nerd Rodney. He was standing close to Professor Lithwick, emphasizing his points with a finger her was pointing in her face. Professor Lithwick seemed about 40, and was wearing a white blouse that was unbuttoned to her navel. She was attractive, for an older lady, with trim eyebrows that conveyed exactly how unimpressed she was with Rodney's stance and statements.
". . . I'm going to take her there. The only question I'm struggling with is whether or not I should contact academic affairs to report you now, or after I've completed my mission."
Professor Lithwick chuckled. "Report me? To academic affairs? For what? We're all consenting adults here."
"Consenting adults? She was chained to your floor! She couldn't even see who was violating her!"
With his words, Jennifer's memory came rushing back. She felt momentarily dizzy, remembering the stimulation, the wetness, and the penetration her pussy finally received on this, the most sexually frustrating morning she'd ever had. Her pussy clenched at the memory, and Jennifer became acutely aware and slightly disappointed at the empty sensation of her insides. *I need more dick* she thought, *real dick this time. And bigger than that silly strap-on dildo. . .*
"She never said no. If she had, we would've stopped immediately. What do you know about the artistic process anyway? Do you think my team and I could produce world-famous artwork—the kind of artwork which puts this university on the map—without inspiration?" Professor Lithwick smiled and gestured at the welded pieces of rusty scrap metal scattered around the warehouse. "No, young man. Eros is our muse! Eros is our master! We give eros sculpted passion, and eros gives us erotic passion. It's a consensual and mutually beneficial relationship enjoyed and understood only by artists."
"Ohhhh," Jennifer moaned. She wanted to contribute something to the conversation, to thank Rodney for looking out for her, and to thank Professor Lithwick and her graduate student—*where is he anyway?*—for the profoundly erotic passion she most recently enjoyed. But all that came out of her mouth was a sexy moan. *Damn that Adderall!* a small portion of her consciousness raged before being quelled by the waves of erotic pleasure still radiating from her nipples and moist pussy.
"Jennifer, are you OK?" Rodney asked, rushing to the sofa. "It's time for us to leave. The class is almost finished, and you really need to speak to Professor Atkins."
He bent over to pick her up and she threw her arms around his neck. She noticed that her handcuffs were still on her wrists, but the chain connecting them had been cut. Finally on her feet, Jennifer teetered awkwardly before the strength in her legs gave out. "Ohhhh, gosh," she heard herself say. "I feel a little bit dizzy." Rodney's big arms crushed her to his chest, steadying her.
"C'mon Jennifer, let's go. Can you walk or should I—"
Jennifer interrupted him by sliding her tongue around his earlobe while making eye contact with Professor Lithwick over Rodney's shoulder. "Thank you," she purred, looking at the sexy art professor, who wore a half-smile on her face. "But I think I could walk now."
"Uhhh . . . great," Rodney said, lowering her gently until she was standing in her high heels. He wiped the slick saliva from his ear. "It's about 10:05. Your class is finished, but if we hurry we could catch Professor Atkins in his office."
All of a sudden, the mention of time caused panic to come over Jennifer. *Oh my god! My presentation! I've missed it! It's worth 50% of my course grade! Fuuuuuuck!* Strength returned to her legs and she marched to the warehouse door, Rodney close behind her. She threw it open, squinted at the bright Southern California sunshine, and started walking to the pre-med building.
***
Professor Atkins was sitting behind the large oaken desk in his office. The morning sunlight was slicing through the horizontal blinds covering his window, illuminating his dusty bookshelves and wooden molecule models, and turning the office an elegant orange color. Atkins was in his 30s, a little beefy but obviously strong, and he had a handsome face framed by a thin beard. Jennifer had always felt an attraction to him. For each 90 minute class, he exuded nothing but power and control. He had written the textbook they were using, and his world-renowned grasp of the material was astonishing. He never hesitated when answering a student's question, and each question was answered with the same precision and finality that characterized his lectures. A rare word of praise from Professor Atkins would make a student happy for weeks, while the slightest frown of disapproval could stir thoughts of inadequacy even among the brightest in the class. Jennifer—craving Atkins' approval but dreading the potential of disappointment—had never had the courage to speak to him before. Today's presentation was to be her first time to have his undivided attention. She had spent months researching, planning and writing it, and days practicing for it.
And she missed the class.