I’ve made it into the top 20. I have two months until I present a storyboard pitch.
I’ve never been more motivated, more focused on a goal.
And I’ve never felt more reckless.
“You are not sleeping.” Rachel chastises me as we go get our morning coffee.
“I know. This is such a huge opportunity. I feel like I can’t blow it.”
“Don’t push yourself too hard. I know you’re kind-of superhuman when it comes to working, but we all have our limits.”
Limits. Boundaries. Why can’t I stop thinking about pushing them?
I haven’t confided in Rachel. It feels wrong. We usually share everything.
But what I’m feeling for Mr. Shaw is so wrong.
He has office hours tomorrow afternoon. The last time I went, he sent me away. It was embarrassing.
I’d tried my best to play the part of seductress. I’d shown a little skin, the neckline of my blouse unbuttoned. I’d even tried the oldest trick in the book, dropping a pencil and bending over to pick it up.
It only made him scowl and tell me to go sit back down like I’d been a bad girl.
His discipline only made me more wet.
Following his order gave me a perverse thrill. I want him to give me more orders, so I can show him how well I can follow them. I want to bring out the strict, harsh disciplinarian in him.
This is so fucked up.
I shouldn’t sign up for his upcoming office hours.
I sign up.
That night, like every night since I’ve started Mr. Shaw’s class, I think about him when I’m in bed. Rachel’s right, I’m not sleeping enough, and part of it is because I’m doing my schoolwork. But most of it is because I can’t stop thinking about Mr. Shaw. It’s like he’s a drug in my system disrupting my equilibrium. I’ve never met a guy before who troubled my sleep. I’ve barely met a guy who I thought much about during the day.
Now, it’s like I’m possessed. Driven. I’m obsessed with thinking about Mr. Shaw and it’s taking over my whole personality, morphing me from a good, rule-following girl to one who wants to take all kinds of chances.
Lying in bed, I picture being back in his office. He’s sitting behind that large, imposing desk. I’ve done something to displease him, something naughty. He has to take me under his hand.
It would feel so wrong. I’d be so mortified.
But late at night, when I can lose myself to fantasy, I know what I want. I want him to bend me over that desk and give me a thorough spanking.
Sometimes I sense that he feels the attraction, too. In his office, even though he sent me away, his nostrils had flared, his teeth clenched. It seemed like I affected him.
But he has a lot of restraint, an iron will. He’s written a book about it, for God’s sake. It’s going to take a lot to break through his walls.
I’m going to have to provoke him. I’m going to have to do more to get a rise out of him. This next time in his office hours, I’m going to have to be very, very naughty.
Tuesday afternoon, Rachel’s not in our dorm room. I’m glad, because the outfit I have planned would definitely make her raise her eyebrows. She knows me and my typical uniform of jeans and T-shirts. But that’s not what I want to wear to go see Mr. Shaw.
Inside Rachel’s closet, she’s got a tiny little pleated plaid skirt. She wore it for Halloween one year when she was a naughty schoolgirl. That seems to fit my mood.
I have a tight white tank top I only wear underneath sweaters. The material is thin and the neckline is low. The bra I choose gives me lots of cleavage, and I make sure the lace teases at the neckline just a little bit. I put a cardigan over it, buttoning the top two buttons. They’ll come undone at the right moment.
I brush my hair until its gleaming and then pull it up into a high, sassy ponytail. I want to feel his hand on that ponytail, yanking me back against him. Or bringing me down between his legs.
Walking over to his office in the crisp afternoon air, I feel a little ashamed. The bare air on my legs reminds me of what I’m trying to do. But it also makes me aroused, my thighs brushing together as the breeze threatens to lift up my tiny skirt.
“How you doing?” Some guy I’ve never seen before gives me a once-over and I scurry away like a mouse. I know this kind of outfit screams for attention, but I don’t want it in general. I only want attention from one man, a man who has shut me down thus far. Is he about to do it again?
I sit on the hard wooden bench outside Mr. Shaw’s office feeling like I’m going straight to hell. I still have time to turn around and head back to my dorm room. He’d never know. He’s been so reserved and restrained around me, I bet he’d never move to cross the teacher/student boundary. I could retreat back into my good girl life.
But I don’t want to.
The door opens and he summons me in. I enter and close the door behind me.
His eyes darken as he takes me in, looking at my short skirt and my bare legs. He grumbles and shifts in his seat behind the desk.
“What do you want?” He sounds gruff.
“Um…” I lick my lips, my confidence faltering in his intimidating presence. I set my backpack on the floor and take a seat. “I started work on my storyboard.”
“You know you can’t show it to me.” He’s stern and unyielding. It only makes me want to seek his approval more.
“I know, Mr. Shaw. I wanted to ask your opinion about a couple of failed start-ups I looked into.”
“Are they from the assigned case studies?”
“No, I’ve read all of those, and they’re interesting. But I’ve been searching for examples of companies more similar to my own idea that have failed so I can learn from their mistakes.”
He nods, and I can see he likes what I’ve done. I flush with pleasure. Launching into the topic I feel about so passionately, I lose some of my self-consciousness. I speak with animation, recalling details from my reading, asking him for his opinion. He fires right back at me, a question for each of my questions, giving me information while also forcing me to come to my own conclusions.
It’s so much fun, such a rush engage with him like this. I’m flushed and heated and unbutton my cardigan without even thinking about it.
He stops talking. His eyes narrow as he takes in my cleavage. I look down, suddenly aware, knowing I should put the cardigan back on. But the urge to see where this takes us is too strong.
“You need to put on more clothing, not take some off.” His voice is strained.
“What’s wrong with wearing a tank top? All girls on campus walk around in them.”
“You shouldn’t dress like that.”
“Like what?” I’ve been innocent my whole life, so now playing innocent comes easy.
“Like some kind of naughty schoolgirl fantasy.”
Our eyes lock.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re trying to tease me, Miss Kemp. But a smart girl like you would know better than to do that.”
“Why?” My voice sounds breathy, my breathing coming faster. He’s so close, just a few feet away across the desk. What would he do if I walked around and sat in his lap, wrapped my arms around his neck looked up into his eyes?
I can feel tension rolling off him in waves. “You have no idea what kind of fire you’re playing with.” He stands up, jaw clenched. Is he going to tell me to leave again? I don’t want to push him so far that he sends me away.
“I’m sorry.” I stand and fumble for my cardigan, tucking my arms into the sleeves. “I’m not thinking straight. I haven’t been sleeping much lately.”
“And why is that?” He’s standing next to me now, his chest rising and falling, his hands balled into fists.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind. I’m up thinking about things.”
“What kind of things?”
“If you’re in some kind of trouble, you need to let me know. I could help.”
I look up at him, startled. Why would he offer that? He’s pushed me away every time I’ve tried to engage with him.
“You can tell me,” he adds in a quieter voice, closing more distance between us.
I’ve dug myself into a hole. He probably thinks I owe someone money or someone’s harassing me. “It’s not a big deal. I shouldn’t talk about it with you.” I try to look away.
His piercing gaze doesn’t let me. “You should tell me what’s on your mind, Alessandra.” I swallow, caught. “You’re clearly very worked up,” he continues. “You’re breathing fast. Your heart is beating a mile a minute.”
He brings two fingers to the side of my neck, right where he can feel my pulse. I catch my breath at his touch. I’m sure my pulse skitters under his assessment.
My nipples are hard and my cardigan’s unbuttoned so he can see everything. I chose this tank top because it’s revealing, but now I feel so exposed. There’s no hiding the way my body responds to him. He looks down and I know he can see my nipples poking through, letting him know in no uncertain terms exactly how much I need him to touch me.
“What’s keeping you up at night?” His fingers move, ever so slightly, giving my neck a slight caress. I want to melt into him, but my embarrassment keeps me stiff. His fingers travel up, behind my ear, teasing at my lobe. He leans down and speaks quietly, as if it’s a secret just between the two of us. “You can tell me.”
I tremble, my eyes flitting to the doorknob. Maybe I should run away? This is all suddenly getting so real. Do I really want this fantasy to turn into reality?
His breath is against my ear. He’s so close, yet he’s dropped his fingers, not touching me at all. I can feel his heat, smell his masculine scent. My eyes flutter closed. I want to melt into him.
“Are you thinking about me at night?” he whispers, so quiet, dark and wicked.
“Yes,” I whisper my confession. It feels so good to tell him.
“What do you think about?”
He’s still not touching me. I want to close the space between us, but my shyness holds me still. “I think about…” I bite my lip, speaking so softly. “Doing things in your office.”
“What kind of things?”
“Things we shouldn’t.”
Quick, he spins me around so I’m facing the wall. His hand covers one of mine, pressing it over my head. The other one cups mine at my hip. “What do you do when you have these thoughts?” he whispers in my ear.
This is so wrong. He’s so strong and he’s pinning me against the wall, but I know I could break away. He’s not forcing me. I still have time to put an end to this.
He’s a solid wall behind me. Trembling, tentative, I push my ass back against him. I can feel the outline of his huge cock. He’s rock hard. A soft moan escapes my lips.
“I asked you a question, Alessandra.” His voice is stern, demanding, like a strict teacher. I’m so wet and I want to tell him, but I’ve never said things like this before. I don’t know how.
Mr. Shaw hisses in my ear, “I can smell your arousal.” I squirm against him, pressing my thighs together. I bet I’m dripping down my leg.
The hand on my hip starts to slide lower, bringing my hand with it. His fingers are partially entwined with mine as they graze my upper thigh, then down and around, resting on the inside, inches away from where I’m throbbing for him.
“I asked what do you do when you think about me?”
I’m panting, eyes closed, desperate for release. Compelled from deep within, I tell him the truth. “I touch myself.”
“That’s good.” He praises me and I feel giddy from it. “It’s good to get some release when you’re all worked up.” He leaves my hand on my inner thigh, and returns his up to my hip. I feel almost dizzy from his heat, his smell. “Show me,” he coaxes in my ear.
I shouldn’t. I want to and it makes me whimper. All I’m aware of is his body pressing against mine, the domination of his touch. The low demand of his voice, “Show me how you touch that pretty little pussy at night, when no one knows.”
I slip a finger down my panties. I’m so wet I slide right in. My lips part in a sigh it feels so good. I tilt my hips into my fingers and start massaging, circling my clit.
He lifts up my skirt. I keep my eyes closed, but feel the cool air as he arches my hips away from the wall. He’s watching me.
“Pull your panties down more.”
I inch them down, leaving them around my thighs. I look down and see I’ve soaked through the silk.
He sees it, too. “Naughty girl. Do you get wet like that in class?”
I nod. “I can’t help it.”
“Get your fingers back where they belong,” he reprimands like a stern professor. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”
I jump to his command, bringing my fingers back to my soaking wet pussy. “You’re a bad girl, getting wet in class. Fingering yourself in your teacher’s office. Thinking about me at night.” He releases my hand from the wall, grabs my ponytail and pulls me against him, just like I fantasized about him doing. It arches my breasts up, my aroused nipples standing out stiff and erotic. But still he doesn’t touch. It’s just me touching myself, showing how crazy he makes me.
“What do I do to you when you come?”
I can’t suppress a moan at his dirty question, and at my even dirtier answer. I should be too embarrassed to tell the truth, but I’m too far gone, too close to orgasm to hold back. “You discipline me.”
My fingers working fast, frantic, my breathing coming quick, I tell him. “You bend me over the desk. You push up my skirt, pull down my panties and spank me.”
“You want to be spanked?” he growls, his fist tight in my hair.
“Oh, yes,” I shiver, on the brink as my fingers work fast.
“You’re so close.” He’s watching my every move, drinking it in. “Slow down,” he instructs, grasping my wrist, forcing me to delay my release. “Good girl,” he whispers as I slow my pace, just like he told me. I moan, eyes closed, mouth open.
He brings a large, rough hand up to my neck and holds me at my throat, tilting my head back against his shoulder. “Show me how wet your fingers are.”
Without hesitation, I take my fingers out and bring them up like I’m presenting an assignment. They’re dripping, covered with my slick arousal.
“They’re soaked,” he growls his approval. “You’re going to come for me now, Alessandra. But you’ll have to keep it quiet. No one can hear you.”
Knowing we can’t get caught makes it feel even more illicit, more hot. My legs are trembling and I need his strength, holding my hip, my throat. I close my eyes and start working myself again, showing him everything.
He whispers in my ear “Naughty girl.” Tightening his grip, he commands, “Now come for me.”
I shudder and come so hard I feel like I’m going to blackout. I can’t stifle the cry from my lips, so he brings his large hand over my mouth, fastening it there to muffle my screams of pleasure.
“That’s it,” he whispers in my ear, coaxing me, as I come for him on my fingers. “That’s my dirty little girl.”
A knock sounds on the door.
His hand jets out to the doorknob, holding it closed. “In a minute.”
I pull up my panties, grab my backpack and race out of his office without a single glance up. I don’t want to meet anyone’s eyes, not Mr. Shaw’s, not the person waiting in the hallway who almost caught me.
I speed campus back to my dorm room, flushed, glowing, ashamed and thrilled all at once.
What the hell did I just do?