Professor’s pet project (private tutorials)

Lena

I hate his rules!

It has stripped away my dignity, but the real change came when he decided our sessions wouldn’t be about errands again. They became “private tutorials.”

Today is Monday. A new week, I started punctual enough . As innocent as anything could be with him.

It was raining heavily outside. I arrived at his office wearing the required skirt, no panties on. Just as his rules stated. My skin already prickling with anticipation I refused to name.

When I got in, he locked the door behind me and gestured to the chair opposite his desk.

“Tonight, we discuss The Bloody Chamber by Angela Carter,” he said commanding. “You will defend your reading of the text. Every weak argument earns a punishment.”

This wasn’t just a literature class. It was foreplay wrapped in academia.

I spoke about power and submission in the fairy tale. He listened, then stood and moved behind me. His fingers traced lightly down my arm as I tried to form coherent thoughts.

Every time my voice wavered, his hand slipped higher under my skirt, teasing but never quite gave me what my body was starting to crave.

“Stronger analysis, Lena,” he murmured against my ear. “Or I stop.”

I didn’t want him to stop. I was enjoying his hands teasing my thighs. I felt my pussy reacting.

When I stumbled over a point about feminist reclamation, he bent me over the desk, lifted my skirt.

“Ahhhh”

I moaned when he spanked my ass.

The sting blended with something darker, sweet

pleasure I couldn’t deny.

I was deep into the discussion of erotic poetry. He had me standing in front of him, my skirt around my waist, legs slightly apart.

“Recite ‘Delight in Disorder’ by Robert Herrick,” he ordered. “No mistakes.”

My voice trembled as I began. “A sweet disorder in the dress, Kindles in clothes are wantonness…”

His fingers slid between my thighs.

Gosh.

He teased his hands up and reached my panties. I was already soaked.

Damn!

He caressed my clit slowly, building pressure on my pussy while I struggled reading through the lines.

“Mmghrr…sir you are…”

“Shut the fuck up and keep reading. He pulled me back, edging me cruelly.

I kept reciting, my cheeks burning and my hips rocking involuntarily toward his hands slow movements.

I couldn’t concentrate. The words were blurry. I moved

My body, moaning slowly.

His intellectual exercise had become a pure, humiliating need.

When I reached the final lines, his fingers plunged deep inside me, curling just right into my pussy.

“Do more bewitch me, than when art is too precise in every part.”

The orgasm hit me like a wave. I cummed hard on his fingers, moaning the last words, my legs were shaking. “Ahhh…ahhhhh….oh my god!”

But he didn't stop until I was whimpering.

For the first time, I saw raw hunger in his eyes.

“You’re starting to crave this more tha no do, aren’t you?” he asked softly.

I looked away, ashamed. But I couldn’t lie. I did crave it, Yes!

I hated him, but something addictive inside me was burning.

He pulled his hand out from me.

“ This weekend , be here by 6pm for research retreat at my cabin.”

When I got home, all my memory could recall was how he handled my pussy.

It was so sweet, I can’t deny.

*

*

*

It’s Saturday morning. But I quickly remembered Prof had requested I be with him by 6pm.

After helping my mom out throughout the day.

I dressed up then left the house. He texted me to get to the cabin, located deep in the woods two hours from our main campus. There were no neighbors, just trees and a silent atmosphere.

I got there right on time. It was Just me and him. We worked during the day analyzing manuscripts, debating themes. I thought I could leave later at night, but he insisted I stayed back. I didn’t complain cause I needed his hand to perform wonders on my pussy again. This time harder!

After our intense debate about obsession in literature, he had me naked on the rug in front of the fireplace.

He used objects from the room provocatively. The smooth handle of a wooden spoon and pressed against my most sensitive places while he made me explain my thesis.

“You belong to me alone Lena.”

He dipped his hands into his trousers and dug out his cock. It was just exactly how I immagined. Thick, veiny and huge.

“ I can’t keep pretending, I want to fuck you Lena.”

He knocked his cock at the door of my pussy.

“Are you still virgin?” He asked.

“I’ve had sex with my ex just once before we broke up.” I answered.

“Good, I need to be sure if I’m handling with a virgin slut or not.”

He put his cock into my pussy.

Oh my god!

I felt like his cock was about to tear my pussy apart.

“AHHHHH!”

I screamed out loud that I couldn’t hide how sweet that felt. While I was riding his thigh, his hand gripped my throat.

“Fuck me harder…yess oh fuck!”

Lying there afterward, I was so sweaty and trembling in his arms, I almost forgot this was one of his blackmail schemes.

Unfortunately, he didn’t go deeper with me. He was so quick to realease me.

“Tommorrow by 6pm. Be here Lena. Lateness attracts severe punishment.”

The next day was a Sunday morning, I got to his apartment after he sent me the location. I took a sit since he was taking quite long from the shower.

I was supposed to be compiling the notes on his laptop. But Instead, my eyes kept drifting to that folder I’d seen before. “The Professeur Pet Project.”

My heart raced. This was my only chance so I clicked it open. A novel??

It was a highly detailed, explicit novel.

The protagonist was a brilliant but flawed young woman. Her dark hair, fierce intelligence, financial struggles.

Every encounter we both had in his office was written down accordingly.

His Rules, his spankings on my ass.The poetry orgasm. Even the sex we had in the cabin.

The last line was scary. I felt the girl was me but how dare he give me such an ending like that?

In the current draft, the girl, which was me, ended up completely broken and destroyed. She lost everything: her pride, her future, her dignity.

She begged for more degradation, became a hollow shell of obsession, and the professor simply moved on to the next project, satisfied with his creation.

Tears stung frommy eyes. This wasn’t just fantasy. This was exactly his plan on how he would ruin me. He was writing about my ruin in real time.

I heard the shower turn off.

I quickly closed the folder, my hands were shaking. When Zeph stepped out, towel around his waist, water still glistening on his chest, I forced my face into a neutral expression.

But inside, I was so pissed. He wasn’t just playing with my body. He was scripting my destruction.

I hated him more than ever.

But I also wanted to rewrite his fucking ending as well.

I must ruin him too.