Professor's Little Pet

Chloe:

Learning, instructing, and investigating for four years. My dissertation took me two months to complete. My committee's cross-examination will last sixty minutes. I waited outside the door for fifteen minutes while they discussed whether or not I had done enough work to obtain my doctorate degree. Then, for a little period of time, I felt nothing but pure joy as I realized that I had, in fact, accomplished enough to obtain my diploma

I had completed my task at last.

Instead of being overjoyed, I was simply exhausted. My body felt like the excitement had been exhausted and all I wanted to do was sleep. Happiness will come later.

In need of a caffeine boost, I made my way to the Starbucks located in my school's main building. I planned to spend a few hours reading in the lounge before heading back home, and I brought my Kindle along with more than my fair share of bodice rippers. We had planned on going out for drinks tonight to celebrate, but John, the other PhD candidate under my adviser, is defending his dissertation tomorrow, so we've decided to wait until after the defense to do so.

I walked up to the counter and ordered a big café latte with skim milk.

Somebody said, "Large coffee, please, space for milk," and it was quite low. I raised a trembling brow and peered upward. Prof. Oren Bretton. He was an instructor of pure mathematics and a walking sex magnet. A long distance runner's physique: slim and powerful with jet black hair and icy blue eyes. At one point, I had run into him in the school gym, where he had been playing basketball with several pupils. Sweat had soaked through his T-shirt, so he had pulled it off to dry out and, well, um. He should have been begged by Abs of Steel to be their spokesperson. I had lurked in the corner and gawked indecently before hurriedly touching myself in the stall. His physique was straight out of a fairy tale.

There wasn't only me who felt this way. It seems like every single girl he met was immediately smitten with him. There were as many female as male students in his Pure Math classes, and it was all because to how handsome he was. For the love of God, I wish I'd enrolled in one of his classes back when I needed it.

Bored, he cast a bored glance about. When he noticed me, he smiled graciously and nodded.

The good doctor said, "Dr. From what I've heard, congrats are in order.

Every time I saw Oren, I transformed into a babbling fool, and this time was no different. I turned a bright shade of scarlet and stammered my gratitude. Great.

When the lady delivering my coffee came, I frantically dug through my bag, Kindle, and smartphone for spare change, setting my Kindle down on the counter while I rummaged. I caught Professor Bretton's eyeroll and the girl's hardly hidden displeasure. When his coffee was ready, he gave his credit card to the girl working the register.

Put both of our coffees on here, please," he said in a drawled tone.

I answered, flushed with embarrassment, "Umm, I have change someplace."

Sure you do, Dr. Pond. I'm sure the people waiting in line behind you would appreciate it if, the next time, you could locate your cash before you reached the counter. He gave me a curt nod, finished his coffee, and walked away.

Deeply annoyed, I watched as he slowly turned away. You're a better jackass than I am.

Don't let him get to you, Chloe, I told myself, and took a deep breath. Today was mine, and I wasn't about to let Professor Bretton steal it from me. There would be many hours when I could focus only on reading, and I was looking forward to it very much.

The Claim of Sleeping Beauty, by Anne Rice, was one of the last things I downloaded before diving into the meat of the writing. As a reward to myself, I grabbed my Kindle and prepared to be swept away into a realm of sensual fantasy.

Malcom Gladwell's The Tipping Point is a good example. Jared Diamond's Guns, Germs, and Steel. In his book, "A Short History of Nearly Everything," Lannie Wood condenses the stories of many topics into digestible chunks. How bizarre! I flipped through the pages, perplexed as to where my books had gone. As my brain slowly pieced together the situation, a chill ran up the back of my neck. I quickly returned to the Home page.

The e-reader of Oren Bretton. In my frenzied search for a new coffee cup, I may have accidentally grabbed the incorrect one.

I was completely and totally screwed.

That instant, I would have given everything to be able to simply fade away. Instead, I was holding Professor Bretton's Kindle, and I grudgingly made my way to his office to return it and get mine.

The man had locked his door. With a sigh of relief, I inhaled deeply. I tried to pump myself up by telling myself, "Come on, Chloe, you can do this." He must have had a lesson to study for or some clever research to conduct, or anything like that, else he wouldn't have had time to even glance at the Kindle in front of him. Do anything than read the stale, rotten books that occupy my Kindle.

I put out a hand and rapped on the door.

As if calling for you to "come in," his voice said. There was a chuckle in the tone.

When I pushed on the door, it opened. He had a cup of coffee in one hand and my Kindle in the other as he leaned against his desk.

Inside, I felt a sharp pain. Obviously, he was familiar with the contents. Because I had nothing to apologize for, I would simply have to be bold as I went through this.

I handed out his Kindle and apologized, saying, "I'm sorry, Professor Bretton, I must have gotten the incorrect Kindle at the Starbucks." "Take what's yours!"

His fingers scanned through my Kindle as his mocking eyes swept over me, but he said nothing. After what seemed like forever, he broke his quiet and glanced around. "Fascinating reading, Dr. Pond," he said. Yet, in a pretty predictable way.

Saying "Excuse me?" I blurted out before I could even process my rage. I immediately felt bad about what I said. I don't know why I was giving in to his advances. Just my Kindle and I was good to go.

"Predictable. You have no doubt convinced yourself that receiving a spanking doesn't go against your feminist principles. You've also requested that your PC lovers slap you, but you've always been in charge of the situation, choosing where and how hard they beat you. Repetitive, meek posturing, as I put it.

I felt a surge of boiling indignation at his words. Too close to the mark, and I wasn't going to let him get away with it. A firm, "You don't know anything about me" was all I could muster.

With a sneer on his face, he raised an eyebrow. "Really? Rather than making a hundred excuses about open office doors, you would actually kneel if I told you to do so right now, right?

My temper was still on the rise. His disdain and boredom stung, but I would not let him dismiss me like this. I knelt down, spread my knees apart, put my hands on my thighs, and looked into his eyes.

So, Professor Bretton, what do we do now?

He shifted to stand right in front of me, dangerously close, his crotch now just inches from my mouth. I managed to keep from flinching or retreating entirely. I didn't move an inch, my mind fixed on the hardening cock by my mouth and I did my best to ignore the open office door and the way it would appear to anyone who happened to catch a glimpse inside.

It's been a minute, and I haven't moved an inch. My feelings seemed to be shifting. For some time, I'd been frustrated and anxious about the wide-open entrance. All of that, however, faded away as the seconds passed. Now only a basic idea remained. I had to get on my knees per Oren's instructions. That settled the matter. Absolutely nothing else was of any significance. It wasn't the open door and the possibility of being caught; it wasn't even the wetness that was slowly seeping into my pussy and the hardening of the tips of my nipples.

At that, Oren stepped back and laughed. This evening at 9 o'clock. In my home. Don't miss it! He paused, looked me up and down. I was dressed professionally for my dissertation defense, in black pants and a white button-down. Put on something "sexier" than this, he snidely advised.

He jotted down some notes on paper and placed them on his desk next to my Kindle. After that, he walked right on past me as if I didn't exist, and then he closed the door behind him.