Professor’s pet project( strict rules)

Lena

I never thought I’d be fetching coffee for the man who held my future in his hands like it was a cheap paperback.

But here I was, three days into this nightmare, balancing a tray with Professor Zeph’s exact order, two sugars, no foam while my tummy twisted into knots.

The campus felt quiet this afternoon, most students had gone for the day. I knocked softly on his office door, I could feel my heart beat.

“Come In.” He said. His voice was calm.

Then I stepped in. He sat behind his desk, grading papers with that same surgical focus he’d used on me the night he caught me.

He didn’t look up right away. Just pointed to the side table.

“Set it there and come here.” I obeyed. I hated how that word felt to me.

He finally glanced at me with his storm-gray eyes sliding over my outfit. I wore jeans and a simple sweater, thinking it was safe. But I guess not.

“From now on,” he stood slowly, “these are the rules you must follow without questions.” He picked up a single sheet of paper from his desk and handed it to me.

My fingers shook as I read the Rules; Address me as Professor at all times, Speak only when spoken to, you must wear Skirts or dresses only with no pants or underwear unless I specify, You will come when called, day or night, no excuses. You must obey completely. Failure of any will result in punishment.

I looked up at him, cheeks burning. “ Sir, You can’t be serious.”

His eyebrow arched. “Do you want to test me already, Miss Hart?”

I swallowed hard. “No… Sir.”

A faint flicker of satisfaction crossed his face. “Good girl. Now get to work and transcribe these notes.”

He handed me a leather notebook and gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Speak as you type. I want to hear how my words sound in your mouth as a reader."

I sat but he didn’t. Instead, he moved behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body. His hands rested lightly on the back of my chair as I began reading his “dense analysis of Lolita.”

The words were intellectual, but the subject matter made my voice falter, especially when he leaned in to correct my posture, his fingers brushing the nape of my neck. “Sit up straighter, Lena. Chest out.”

I hated how my body reacted to that little correction.

It’s been three days and I’ve been quite punctual with my duty. Mornings started with coffee runs. Afternoons involved sorting his chaotic research files but he kept monitoring my movements.

His rules got stricter in the evenings.

After a stressful Friday I had today, he called me back to the office at 9:30 PM. I had been studying in the dormitory library, trying to pretend my life was still normal.

His text was simple: My office now! Be here in 20 minutes and ensure you wear a skirt.

I could have refused but his threats hung over me like a blade.

When I arrived at his office by 9:50, the lights in the room were lower than usual. He stood by the bookshelves. He rolled up his sleeve looking unfairly composed.

“Lock the door,” he said. I did.

“Tonight we’re testing your obedience. Remove your panties and hand them to me.”

My breath caught. “Here?…Sir???”

He stared at me without response. His silence alone was punishment enough. With trembling hands, I reached under my black mini skirt, slid my brown lace panties down my legs, and gave them to him. He folded them neatly and slipped them into his desk drawer.

“Now shelve these.” He pointed to a stack of books on the floor. “Alphabetical by author, then by year. Now, on your knees.”

The hardwood bit into my skin as I knelt. Every time I reached for a book on the lower shelves, my skirt rode up. I knew he could see everything. The cool air on my bare skin made me painfully aware of how exposed I was. Gosh. Heat drolled along my thighs.

He came closer and circled me slowly, like a predator studying prey.

“Correct Posture,” he reminded me while his hand pressed against my lower back, forcing a deeper arch. The touch sent electricity straight between my legs. I bit my lip to stay silent.

The minutes I spent in his office stretched into what felt like hours. My knees ached. My thighs trembled. But the worst part of it all was the growing heat pooling inside me.

“You’re doing well, miss Lena.” He murmured. “But not perfectly. That book is out of order.” I froze.

“Stand up and bend over the desk.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. I obeyed, gripping the edge of the oak desk, skirt riding high. Voss stepped behind me.

“Write them now, while I correct you.”

He handed me a pen and paper. As I started writing, his palm cracked lightly against my bare ass. Not hard enough to bruise, but sharp enough to sting. I gasped the pen shaking in my hand.

He smacked my ass again. I wasn’t reacting so he kept acting continuously. Each one made my body clench with unwanted pleasure. I burned hotter than the sting. I was dripping, Mortified and Desperate.

By the fifth time, my voice broke into a soft moan.

“Outch.” My thighs pressed together instinctively then he paused.

His hand lingered on my heated skin.

“Look at you coming undone from a simple correction. What would yo have done if I went deeper?”

I couldn’t hold it back. The tension snapped. A shuddering, involuntary orgasm ripped through me immediately. He bent over his desk, his hand still on my ass. I bit my lips hard to keep shut, but my legs shook violently.

The moment he left my side, I felt tears of shame prick my eyes.

He smiled. At least, the first real smile I’d seen from him. It transformed his cold face into something dangerously beautiful. “Hmm…Interesting,” he said. “Very interesting.”

He stepped back, giving me a moment to compose myself. My skirt fell back into place as I straightened, my legs kept on shaking. I kept questioning myself of what this man really wants from me?

His phone started to ring.

“Clean up the rest of the books. I need to step out for five minutes to make a call. Don’t touch anything that isn’t yours.” The door clicked shut behind him.

I stood there, breathing hard, my mind reeling from what had just happened. I had come from being spanked and humiliated by my professor. What the hell was wrong with me?

My eyes landed on his laptop he left open on the desk. The screen was still on. A folder on the desktop caught my attention: “The Professor Pet Project.”

My stomach flipped. My mind thought for a second. Could this be about me?

I moved closer, my heart raced. I wanted to click it so badly my fingers twitched. But just as I reached for the mouse, I heard footsteps in the hallway.

I jerked back, grabbing a book instead, pretending to shelve it. He opened the door.

He got in and studied me carefully. Could he tell ? “Finish up, You’re dismissed for tonight.”

I gathered my things quickly, my cheeks still flushed as I left his office, the Rules felt heavier than ever. This was only the second week. And already, I was losing control.