Intro: I recently moved and while unpacking, I came across the journals I kept from my early college years. The flood of memories also had, ahem, other places flooding, given how hot and steamy my affair with my professor was. I was pretty detailed with my entries, and the rest was easy enough to fill in with the memories of the good times that essentially shaped my sex life and turn-ons. My professor's name has been changed, but not much else. Enjoy! xo
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Early in my 1st semester, my advanced calc professor requested an after-hours meeting to discuss my attitude and behavior. He didn't like that I slept through class, left early or arrived late, was often in my pajamas, and didn't turn in any of my assignments. I could understand him being upset if I didn't know the material, but I did. It was odd how worked up he was about it all and I couldn't fathom why he was so pretentious when he approached me about it.
Sure, he was tall, dark and boy-next-door handsome. And ok, fine... he had his PhD, but he was only 30. It's not like Dr. Michaels had decades of life experience to lord over me, but he was condescending and arrogant, "demanding" my presence.
That particular evening of our scheduled discussion, my last class was Applied Design. It was a late course on the opposite side of campus, ending well after the dining hall shut down. It was drizzling out so I was damp, hungry, and in a foul mood by the time I made it to the math and science building.
It was empty, save one office. Dr. Michaels was sitting behind his desk on the top floor, staring impassively at the doorway, but not making a move or inviting me in. I noticed his slightly tousled hair was damp and curling at the ends. He must've worked out. Instead of his usual jeans and white button-up with rolled sleeves, he was in a t-shirt and dark track pants. He had a great chest and arms normally, but seeing them in this tighter shirt was even better.
"You're late" was his clipped greeting, making me jump and flush for staring at him.
He gave no indication I should enter, but he was the one who demanded this inane meeting so I mentally shook off my nerves and dragged myself into his office, flopping into a chair opposite his desk. I unceremoniously deposited my backpack on the floor with a thud.
Dr. Michaels surged to his feet, making me flinch again. He strode to his door and shut it, a tad harder than I deemed necessary.
His long legs ate up the ground back to his desk where he stopped short in front of me. His leaned on the edge of it, his legs crossed at the ankles. Those brooding, intense eyes did a quiet inventory of me.
I was in my everyday campus attire: short and loose soccer shorts, a baggy, cropped tee that slipped off a shoulder, showing my hot pink bra strap, thin flip flops. His dark eyes settled on mine for what felt like an eternity. Annoyed and uncomfortable, I blurted out "Well, I'm here soooo...let's get it over with."
He didn't move, except for a tick in his jaw. I waited for him to say something, anything, watching the vein in his neck pulse in time with the second hand of the clock on the wall behind him. The room was entirely too tense and the rain had made the air heavy. I needed to be anywhere but in that office. I was famished and ready to bolt.
On a roll of my eyes, I muttered "Whatever, I'm out" and moved to fetch my bag from the floor so I could escape. His eerily quiet command penetrated the silence: "you'll sit."
One moment he was perched against the desk, the next he was leaning down to grip the arms of my chair, effectively caging me and forcing me to drop my butt back into the seat. My bag slipped from my fingers, falling back to the floor. His nostrils flared and his pupils dilated as he stared me down, so close I could feel his body heat and smell his shampoo.
Dr. Michaels took in a deep breath before he unloaded: "You don't care, you don't apply yourself, and you still somehow do better than anyone else. If you're not drawing, you're sleeping. If you're not sleeping, you're daydreaming... or staring at me, smirking. Is it a challenge? Is this all a fucking game to you?"
He turned and raked a hand through his hair before spinning back to me and continuing: "Somehow you ace every test, even when I make them harder than necessary. Even when I give you a different test than the rest of my class. I can see in your exam work how your mind solves problems you shouldn't be able to solve, but then you ignore every basic assignment," he paused, throwing an arm out wide. "You're just barely passing!"
He again leaned down, re-gripping the arms of my chair. "Do you know how frustrating that is to witness? How fucking frustrating YOU are? And you SLEEP THROUGH MY FUCKING LECTURES!"
With that, he pushed himself away from my chair so hard that he scooted it back a few inches. His chest was heaving, his furrowed brow directed at me.
I was startled, confused, and insulted...but mostly mad. I pushed to my feet and drew on my anger, hurling my retort back at him: "I'm an adult!"
"You're 18!"
"You don't know anything about me, what life I've lived, what I've been through. I can make my own decisions!"
I could feel my cheeks getting flushed, I knew my emotions were on my sleeve, but I couldn't stop myself. "I'm paying for my own education. I earned my scholarships, and not because I'm an idiot. I'm working four jobs to pay for the rest, so yeah... I'm sooo sorry I'm exhausted and you feel inconvenienced."
I knew my eyes were wet, tears on the verge of spilling over, but I wasn't finished. "I take every exam, and I'm good at them. I've been taking care of myself since I was 16. Just because you work here doesn't mean you get to speak to me like that! Why do you even care!"
He abruptly stepped into my space, and the oxygen around me evaporated. One traitorous tear escaped and upon seeing it, his face turned feral. At his look, an electric current zinged from my nipples straight to my center. It zinged again when his thumb caught the wetness under my eye, tenderly wiping it away.
He put his hands on my shoulders, his fingers digging into my upper arms, and he shook me slightly. "You drive me insane. Fucking crazy."
He slid his hands down my arms and back up, prompting goosebumps and a sharp intake of my breath. I chanced a glance at him, knowing he was staring me down. His gaze tracked mine as I bit my lip to keep from embarrassing myself with more tears, turning my face away from him, my emotions leaving me feeling raw and exposed.
He tipped my chin up, shaking his head and forcing me to meet his blazing eyes. "Every fiber of my being wants to take you and..."
Was it the look he gave me? Was it the devil inside? How tightly he held me? I don't know what made me go up on my toes, or put my hands on his chest, but I did. When my face was inches from his, I whispered my challenge: "Do it."
Without warning he jerked me hard into his body, catching me off balance, a hand sliding down to my ass and forcing me to plaster myself to his front, clinging to him for support. His other hand fisted into my hair, pulling my head back sharply, exposing my neck, sending tingles across my scalp.
His hand at my ass rose to curl around my lower back, molding me against him. His hand in my hair slid down to my jaw. He turned my head, leaned into my ear and growled "so fucking crazy" before sinking his teeth into my earlobe... "it's all I can think about"... licking the shell of my ear... "every time I see you"... kissing my temple softly... "the things I want to do to you"... his thumb pushing into my mouth... "put you over my knee and make you mine."
At the mental image of being over his knee, my core spasmed. Both my eyelids had already dropped of their own volition and I bit down softly on his thumb. My lips closed around him, softly sucking and stroking with my tongue. "Baby," he groaned, his mouth scorching a hot, wet path from my ear, down my neck, up my jaw.
His hand was back in my hair, fisting it tighter than before, while his other hand slid under my shirt, finding my breast, pinching my nipple. On a gasp of pleasure, my wanton body arched into him, pressing my breast even harder against his palm, seeking more. His mouth crashed ruthlessly down on mine and I half expected to taste blood from the way his teeth smashed into my lips.
