Sarah's Tutorial: Corbin's Bend, Book 2 (3 page)

Chapter 4

“What do I mean by what, Sarah?” Professor Dunn asked.

Sarah considered what had just happened, stunned to silence for a long moment. "sir." She had said it: Professor Dunn had told her to call him “sir”, and she had obeyed.

She could not believe she had said it... and she could not believe how much her body’s erogenous zones had stiffened with excitement at having said it. Her nipples felt taut inside the lacy bra she had chosen to arouse him. Her Sarah-ness moistened in her white lace thong—just at the one word.

“sir... mmm...” This was awful. Instead of a word, she had actually emitted a little whimpering sound... why? Apparently because her professor had made her call him “sir”.

With a kind, experienced look on his face, he took pity on her, and helped her faltering words. “Do you mean what rights will I ask you to forfeit?”

Sarah could only nod.

Unexpectedly, he stood up, walked to the door, and locked it. It was late, and they were unlikely to be disturbed whether he locked the door or not–which was why Sarah had been so bold in embarking on his seduction –but that locking of the door made her heart quail for a moment.

Professor Dunn stood at the door and again gazed at her. Sarah tried to meet his eyes, but finally had to look down at her hands, lying in her lap. From his look, she knew with a great certainty that if she refused his demands and asked him to unlock the door, he would do so without hesitation or delay. Sarah knew also that by locking the door he had intended to indicate that these demands would be of such a nature that she—not Dunn—would not want to be discovered acceding to them.

Professor Dunn, she began to think, knew a great deal about… Shame? Modesty? Innocence? Specifically, he seemed to know a great deal about Sarah's modesty, and the way a professor could make a girl feel by locking his door.

All this Sarah considered in a flash, not with mental cognition, but in a sort of emotional epiphany, as she innocently contemplated her white hands in the lap of her modest blue pleated skirt.

“Well, to begin with,” he began. “The right to decide when you shall remain clothed, and when you shall be naked—as well as what you shall wear when you are permitted to wear clothes.”

Sarah drew a sharp breath and looked up quickly, and then cast her eyes all around the room. The blood rushed to her face, and to parts much lower–her pudenda: her parts to be ashamed of (Sarah had taken four years of Latin in high school).

“Show me now, Sarah, that you relinquish that right. Remove all your clothes save your bra and panties.”

“sir... N—no... Please...” She found it hard to believe she had been the one who had thought to seduce him. What was happening? A professor had just commanded her to strip in his office, and she had not run for the door, or screamed for the police. Instead, to her horror, her “crush” (what a stupid word for the way her untried loins cried out to have terrible things done to them!) on him began to grow to unbearable proportions, and her whole body now tingled with it.

It was more than that, though. She found herself unable to deny that her innocent vulva suddenly flowed not at the idea that she was going to give a professor a blow job, or even at the thought that she might end up losing her virginity to him, but at the idea that she might find an answer to the enormous, disturbing questions posed to her by her troubled fantasies of–it suddenly seemed like it wasn't worth denying it anymore–submission.

“This is the sort of nonsense I’m talking about,” Professor Dunn said calmly, crossing to his black oak desk chair, with the seal of the college on its back, and sitting down in it. Sarah could see only his brown loafers and the cuffs of his black wool pants, since she lacked the will to raise her eyes.

He continued, “A girl comes to my office, seeking, she says, an adviser for her senior thesis and a recommendation for graduate school. I tell the girl I am very busy, and am afraid I probably cannot help her. The girl asks me at least to help her construe a passage of Livy, and invites me to sit beside her on the couch. The girl, a fetching little blonde with a shoulder-length ponytail, who has, to be sure, caught my eye at lecture, is dressed in a short blue skirt and a crisp white t-shirt that is just thin enough so I can see the lovely lace barely covering her perfectly rounded little breasts. The girl’s nipples, I can see, are resolutely erect. She tilts her face up to mine. I give her the kiss she requests, and she brazenly puts her hand where, on a professor, a college girl should know her hand should not be put."

The freedom of his words had an extraordinary effect on Sarah. Hearing her breasts referred to so, as if they were already his to hold, to caress as he liked, to... enjoy, seemed terribly degrading, and a part of her still resisted the idea that being degraded that way held the attraction for her that it so clearly held–at least if the state of her panties were anything to go by. But by now the vast majority of Sarah Harshaw, she could no longer help acknowledging, wanted to hear more, wanted to be degraded further, wanted to say, "sir, please do as you will with me."

Professor Dunn continued, “And am I to allow her to suck me off just a bit, the way she does with her panting boyfriend, and let her finish me with her hand, being careful not to get any semen on her own skin, and then gratefully sign her thesis proposal? And am I to allow her to hold this incident over me forever, so that even should she prove to be an abominable scholar she may always count on me for a sterling recommendation?”

Dunn remained silent for a moment. Sarah looked up at him, trembling, and then down again. She’d thought none of what he had said, she was sure (except the uncannily accurate part about how far she had thought she might go with him), but it was impossible to deny his perspicacity in unfolding her less conscious motivation.

"Sarah Harshaw," Professor Dunn continued, "I believe you are a very bad girl."

He was right–how could she not be a bad girl, since she had grown so warm between her legs thinking about what Professor Dunn might want to do to bad girls?

"Yes, sir," she whispered.

"More than that, I think you are my very favorite kind of a bad girl: You are a girl who is good in every other respect besides the erotic. Are you a bad girl, Sarah? Are your panties as wet as I think they are?"

Sarah couldn't meet his eyes. She kept looking resolutely at the fabric of his trousers, unable to stop thinking about the hardness she had felt there.

“I won’t force you to answer that,” he finally said. “But you must understand from this moment that events will not take place according to the plan with which you arrived. I will not deny that the prospect of an intimate attachment with you, Sarah, is a very attractive one. You have a very fetching way about you, and a very pretty smile, and more than once before this evening I have imagined how nice it might be to see you with your skirt up and your panties down... That startles you, does it?”

She had gasped, loudly.

More than once he had imagined... Sarah's face was scarlet, she was sure, but her wanton parts were aflame. He had imagined... what had he been doing when he imagined her, with her panties down? Her... panties... down… The words seemed to turn themselves over in her mind of their own accord.

“Yes, I admit it: I have imagined what you would look like, in the bedroom, should a man be lucky enough to have the chance take you in hand and teach you to give pleasure, the way I know how to do with bad girls like you.”

In the bedroom… in hand... give pleasure. In Sarah's mind, a girl, brought to an expensive hotel room, lifted her skirt and lowered her panties, because she had to. A man, a professor, sitting in an armchair, watching the naked girl on the bed, smiled at the sight. She had to pull her panties down, because he told her to, because he said he wanted to see her little... her wet little c...

“At any rate, although I do not deny that I have enjoyed imagining being that man, I must tell you emphatically that I am of an age and a disposition that can be satisfied only with—to be quite frank—having my own way in this area. Before I do anything I might regret from a professional standpoint, I will compel you to demonstrate that you have consented completely in advance to serving my pleasure as I see fit. If that prospect intrigues you—if it arouses you, even—as I must say I think it does, judging from your responses thus far—then I think it might be a very good idea to remove your clothes. As I said, I should very much like to see the beautiful underthings you're wearing, in order, I hope, to provoke the sort of reaction they have provoked.”

Sarah swallowed hard again. It was like a dream, like one of those dreams she had once a month or so. Or like... her thoughts turned themselves away from the suggestion.

“Then, once you’re dressed the way I want, you’ll sign an affidavit to the effect that you have acceded to my demands in advance. You’ll have to read the affidavit first, of course. And in order that you become acquainted with your role in our relationship as quickly as possible, you will masturbate for me while you read it.”

Sarah gaped, truly gaped, at that, and half rose from the couch. He paused in his discourse, and she looked up, very quickly, only to find that he was clearly serious.

But... here it was, what was it like... it was like one of those fantasies she had just on waking up from one of those dreams, when she knew her first class wasn’t until 11 a.m. and she could stay in bed a bit. That was when, under her covers, she turned on her side, and, with her nightgown hiked up, one sleep-warmed hand found its way to her sleep-warmed Sarah-ness, and the other to the little place inside her bottom that felt so naughty, which, with a blush even when she thought it to herself, she called her Sarah-anus.

Yes, fine, she masturbated. A lot. Even if she had been completely without religious qualms about self-abuse (as she had been raised to call it), though, masturbating in front of someone else, for someone else, was different. Unfortunately, she found it among other things much, much hotter. She pictured it, and immediately couldn't picture it. She wished her inability to keep the image of herself, there on his couch, with her hand in her panties and her eyes closed, was because she found the image disgusting. Rather, to Sarah's dismay, she could not keep picturing it out of fear that if she pictured it anymore–for example, if she imagined Professor Dunn watching her fingers move inside, beside, around the little white lace thong–she wouldn't be able to stop picturing it. In fact, she worried that she would start abusing herself right there and then, before he instructed her to begin doing so.

How was it that all of that flowed from him telling her to call him “sir” and her somehow feeling she was bound to obey, not by any compulsion from him or any other external force (the college, for example, telling her she couldn't get a good grade in Western Civ unless she obeyed her professor), but by her own desire to obey this man?

That was it: She had found the real problem at last. Those dreams and those masturbatory fantasies about spanking and... what happened to a girl after a spanking, when the man who had spanked her was the kind of man who knows what a girl needs after a spanking.

Fucking–not sex. Still less, making love. Fucking, or rather, being fucked.

Shame flooded her as she finally acknowledged this compulsion to herself. She was a good girl, wasn't she? Certainly she hadn't ceased to think of herself as one even as she experimented with her boyfriends. Thank goodness at least for the liberality of the Anglican faith, at least as practiced in America, she supposed, for the act of taking a boy's penis into one's mouth never seemed to her inherently sinful–just... a little weird, at first, and rather uncomfortable, but then sort of neat, because she could make him feel good, and because of what it implied about her and about him that she could do that for him.

But she found it hard to maintain her good girl persona with this sudden, forceful rush of arousal and desire at the thought of being spanked and fucked by Professor Dunn. She stood in its flow, feeling her feet being tugged as if by the undercurrent of a mountain stream that threatened to topple her and carry her under.

Chapter 5

Never having risen from the couch more than halfway, Sarah sat back down. Not quite able to believe in the reality of the moment, Dunn started what, in the fantasy, always happened next. He opened a desk drawer and removed a little camera.

He saw Sarah’s eyes land on what he removed from the drawer, and watched a look cross over her face, just for an instant, that inflamed and emboldened him even more than her calling him “sir” had. He didn't think he was mistaken. It was a look that he had seen, though infrequently, on the faces of Joanna and Miriam: the look of a submissive who has just acknowledged her need to submit in a specific way. He remembered Joanna giving him that look the first time he had been brave enough to brandish his new flogger at her and say, "Face down on the bed. Now." He remembered it on Miriam's face when he had told her to give him her panties in a nice restaurant.

That look made him rock-hard instantly, and removed any shred of compunction about the ethics of the situation. Later, he decided that his sudden refusal to think about stopping the scene didn't proceed entirely from his lust. Even then he sensed something else going on along with the arousal that needed examination. That something felt different and warmer (or perhaps warm in a different, non-gonadal place), but he didn't want to try to fathom it yet. Not now, for he wanted to stay in this wonderful moment. When he did finally think about it, later, Dunn realized, shuddering with a little start, that he had felt the very beginning of falling in love.

Trying to speak calmly and clearly, an essential part of Dunn’s personal way of dominance, he continued, “While you play with yourself, in your bra and panties on my couch, I’ll take the first of many pictures I plan to take of you doing naughty things during our relationship. Let’s be clear that I’ll tell you what to do with your hands, and where you should put your fingers. Then, of course, you will have to be spanked.”

Dunn saw no reason not to speak of such pursuits, since he had already come so far. He wanted to see what effect the word “spanked” might have on her. He knew it must be a very familiar word to her, since she lived in Corbin's Bend, but he didn't know what it meant to her. At that instant, it became clear that it meant a great deal. An inarticulate sound, “N—n... n—no,” came softly from Sarah's throat, and she shook her head slowly, and he almost thought he could see her picturing the act to which the word was attached. “Spanked” ... to Dunn it looked as if Sarah were trying in vain to form it in her mind, not because spanking didn't have an erotic meaning for her, but because it definitely, definitely did.

“But before any of that, I will present you with an affirmation signed by me to the effect that our relationship is private, and that I’ll never share the pictures I take with anyone else—unless you decide to do something foolish, like accuse me of something. On the other hand—I’m telling you this now, again, so you know—I plan to make you keep a few of these pictures on your phone, so I can tell you to look at them and tell me how they make you feel.”

This was an essential part of the conversation as he had rehearsed it in his mind many times, but he realized as he spoke that something had transformed in his meaning, when he spoke aloud. "Unless you decide to do something foolish," in the fantasy, meant he guarded himself against an accusation of sexual harassment, or even of sexual assault. But now, with Sarah Harshaw in the reason-stealing, lovely flesh, sitting opposite him and apparently ready to undress according to his command, it had assumed a completely new significance. He wanted to make sure she didn't do anything foolish, because he wanted to take care of her.

In the fantasy, he found the pictures essential because they conveyed a sense of ownership, in an erotic context. He remembered ordering Miriam to send photos of herself masturbating, and how turned on he had felt when that first naughty picture had appeared in his inbox. Taking Sarah's picture now would incredibly intensify whatever sudden erotic thing they had between them. His dawning feelings for her began to surface. This amazing young lady seemed to want to submit to him. And this fierce arousal made him shift uncomfortably in his seat, reducing the constriction of his wayward parts.

He saw Sarah blush again, and watched her jaw muscles clench as she looked down at her hands. He assumed she couldn’t help imagining what those pictures would look like, and how it would feel to know she’d taken them with her phone. Sympathizing with her, he imagined himself saying in lecture, “Sarah Harshaw, please look at your pictures right now.” In his mind’s eye, he saw the whole class turning, and Sarah's shoulders lifting slightly, then falling again, and he imagined her clasping her right hand tightly with the left, as if trying to keep it from moving.

He gathered his courage again and continued. “Also, knowing you’ve saved the photos on your phone will give me the pleasure of imagining that you may, when you are engaged in some quite different activity—out for dinner with your friends, for example—catch sight of a picture I took of you, and remember you are my girl.”

“His girl”. He watched Sarah react, with a little shudder as she glanced up to his eyes, then down to her hands again, to the phrase that was so important to him, too. How could saying two simple words make his cock strain against the front of his trousers? But it strained so hard, and imagining she might have noticed the bulge in his lap made him even harder.

Now he took the affirmation, ready printed from another drawer, and signed it with a small, dominant flourish, and handed it to Sarah. From another part of the same drawer, he drew four pages of paper, and held it in his lap. He saw her look at the longer document, and even thought he heard a little sound deep in her throat–had she seen the bulge? Had she thought about what grew inside his pants? The idea aroused him so much that he made a little sound of erotic need himself, which he hoped she couldn’t hear.

He had thought he couldn't resist prior situations. But in this instance his lust ruled and he could only say, “Stand up and take off your shirt, Sarah.”

Earlier, Dunn had turned up the old radiator in his office and it felt hotter than necessary. He worried about acting utterly foolish, but more unwilling to part with the idea that he might actually have a young woman undressing for him there later, who would be more comfortable if it were warm.

Sarah Harshaw obeyed his order. She lifted the thin white cotton over her head and dropped the shirt on the couch.

“Now your skirt.”

Again Sarah obeyed. She unbuttoned her skirt, unzipped it, let it fall. She fixed her eyes, finally, on Dunn's face.

“What am I to do with my hands, sir?” she asked, softly. Part of him wanted to gather her into his arms and thank her for what she had already given him, then kiss her romantically and take off his clothes, so they could lie together, somewhere, touching. Just touching.

But it was not the largest, nor the most important part of him. And he knew now with complete certainty that that was not what Sarah Harshaw needed, or wanted, any more than it was what he really wanted. They would have time for cuddling, and kissing, oh, yes. But the time right now was precious, and it was for something else, something darker, but also much more exquisite.

He smiled. “You may leave them at your sides for now, Sarah.”

He broke the gaze they had shared momentarily, and let his eyes travel up and down her body, knowing she watched him take possession of her with his appraising look. He saw her fists clench at her sides, just as he fixed his eyes upon the pretty lace barely covering her college-girl pussy. The translucent lace allowed him to sneak a peek and see those curls, darker than the hair on her head.

She stood before him, nearly naked, while he sat, fully clothed. He knew the moment should receive a certain emphasis. He had begun improvising, for the sight of those lace panties had given him ideas about how to progress things, some of which he knew he wanted to resist (spank her right now, for wearing such naughty things? No–save that for after she masturbates. Penetrate her, in one way or another, right now? No–this time before any penetration was precious. He didn't think he even wanted to do that tonight.), others of which he thought worth following.

Principally: the panties. Dunn was highly, highly susceptible to lace panties. He said, “Did you buy those panties yourself, Sarah?”

“Yes, sir.” She replied automatically, as if in a reverie.

“Why? To seduce a professor in them?”

“No, sir.”

“Why, then? Surely your boyfriend hasn’t seen them.” That was a guess, of course, but he really began to think he did know Sarah Harshaw–that she really might be the young lady he had imagined existed.

And he guessed correctly, too. “No, he hasn’t—I... he wouldn’t... I mean—I mean I bought them for myself.” Her face turned crimson.

“Yes, you told me that. Now tell me why.”

He glanced up at her face, then back down at her little pussy, barely covered. The urge to summon her over, so he might touch, might taste, began to knock at the door of his mental office. He, too, now had to keep his hands folded in his lap, in order not to reach out and take what she offered with the lovely beginnings of her submission.

“I don’t know, sir.”

He improvised again, but with more confidence. “Shall I tell you then? You bought them because you wanted to know what they would feel like, and what it would feel like to be the kind of girl who wears them. You walked by the lingerie section in a department store, and you couldn’t help looking. You looked around to make sure no men lingered in the section, and you ever so quickly took them off the rack. You tried not to think about it as you walked confidently up to the counter.”

He looked up into her eyes again. Had he got it exactly right? The shock, and, he saw with a skip of his heart, the arousal on her face seemed to say she felt that he knew her in ways no one had known her before. Perhaps she even felt he knew her in ways she didn't want to be known, or hadn't wanted to be known until just a moment before.

Though Dunn felt like he spun into a black hole of desire, the precise angle of the spin made him feel more like he flew--of his own accord--over the entirey of God's creation..

He couldn't stop himself from saying, “I suspect you’ve already played with yourself while wearing them several times—am I right?”

Sarah's hands flew to her face, as she dropped her chin to her chest, in an immensely appealing little-girl sort of posture that Dunn instantly added to his growing list of “Things Sarah Harshaw Does That Make Me Desperate To Possess Her”.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well. Sarah, you look lovely in them. Any man would feel lucky to be in my place, contemplating such a charming sight as you make in your grown-up lingerie. When I’m done with you today, you’ll go back to that same rack and buy as many as they have. I shall give you the necessary money. I tend to be... hard on such things.” It was true. He had ended up having to buy a lot of lingerie for Joanna and Miriam, not only because he liked to dress them up in it, but out of guilt over the quantity he had literally ripped off them.

Dunn watched Sarah's knees buckle a bit, and then, to his absolute delight, saw an unmistakable glint of moisture on her inner right thigh. She made the submissive sound again, perhaps realizing he had witnessed her arousal.

“Sit down, now, if you please. You’ll find a towel on that table–please put it under you. Young ladies who wet themselves that way can sometimes leave stains.”

Sarah's face lost none of its lovely pink sheen of embarrassment as she got the towel and laid it on the couch. Once she sat upon the now-covered couch, he handed her the document.