Month: January 2015

Reader Advisory: This story is for mature audiences only and features intensely erotic situations, taboo teacher/student relations, bdsm play, discipline, spanking, humiliation, anal sex, submissiveness and dominance. All characters are 18 or older.

Jackson doesn’t know why he started the rumor about Professor Vicarro, his young and handsome politics professor. Maybe it was a plea for attention or maybe it was just a way of making a long-hidden fantasy become slightly real. But whatever the reason, the rumors have made their way to the Dean of Student Affairs Mr. Iverson himself, and when Jackson is called down to the office on a Friday afternoon, he finds out the dean’s heard a lot more.

Once past the initial mortification, he can admit he’s probably earned the spanking he’ll get, but did Mr. Iverson really have to tell Professor Vicarro about the whole thing, too? Surely he’ll find his own ways to settle accounts, and all Jackson can do is wait and see which method will leave him more sore.

Excerpt:

The ensuing silence was awful. After daring the initial glance towards Professor Viccaro my eyes had stayed locked on a spot on the floor near the leg of the desk. I could feel him considering me.

“Won’t you say something, Professor?” I finally blurted.

“I’m trying to understand you, Jackson.”

“What’s to understand? I shouldn’t have said – I just made a mistake.”

“What did you want?”

I struggled with the question. “I guess I just sort of liked the idea of it, to tell the truth,” I said finally in a very quiet voice. “I’m just so incredibly embarrassed, professor.”

He blinked in surprise. Then he started to laugh. “Is that what it was?” he said. “I thought I saw something in the way you looked at me, and it made the lie all the harder to understand.” He closed the door of the office and stepped into the room. “But then again, if you knew the headache … what a stupid thing.”

“I’m sorry.”

He loosened his necktie and ran a frustrated hand through his dark hair. Even though it was wildly inappropriate given the situation, I couldn’t help but find him even more alluring when angry than when he was calm and collected. He seemed simultaneously capable of anything and yet in control. I got the sudden and very strange insight that he had probably been the type to get into a lot of trouble when he was younger.

He turned back to look at me and caught me staring. His eyes locked to mine, freezing me in place, and I watched a faintly appraising look come into his face.

“Well what are we going to do about this?” he asked.

The question sounded rhetorical, so I watched him without answering.

“Tell me,” he said, walking over to lean against the desk only a couple feet from me. “What is it exactly you told people I did?”

Notice: This title includes themes and passages that have been adapted from Jessica Whitethread’s Naughty Rumors with full consent of the original author.

Reader Advisory: This story is for mature audiences only and features intensely erotic situations, taboo teacher/student relations, bdsm play, discipline, spanking, humiliation, submissiveness and dominance. All characters are 18 or older.

Peter Stanton has always found ways of using his good looks and athletic talents to get ahead, and when he arrives in college it doesn’t look like that’s going to have to change. But his easy ride runs out when his professor Alex Whitner notices him flirting with a female classmate only to copy her course work. The handsome professor decides it’s time to teach Peter a little personal responsibility and maybe show the testosterone charged young man just what someone who actually knows how to handle him looks like.

Excerpt:

“You know, Professor,” I begin, “I understand why you have me cleaning the classroom. I’m really learning a lesson. But as for talking to Jessie, I really don’t understand why that’s so necessary. How do you know I don’t like her?” I shrug my shoulders. “That’s the sort of thing I get to decide for myself, isn’t it? I’m not just a child you get to push around like that.” I wince slightly as I hear the last words come out of my mouth. That may have been taking it too far, but it was where the conversation was headed anyways.

“That’s a very interesting perspective, Peter,” he says in a neutral voice. “But surely if you cared about her you wouldn’t be manipulating her into giving you her work when she clearly didn’t want to.”

I roll my eyes in dismissal. “Professor,” I say, “is it really that simple? Sometimes you need something from someone, that’s all. It doesn’t hurt her any if she helps me out, just like it doesn’t hurt you any if you forget this whole thing ever happened.” I put a little emphasis on the “if”. I’m not obvious, I think, but I do it just enough that he’ll interpret the sentence the way I mean it.

He sits back and considers me for a long moment, taking me in – all of me. I find myself suddenly a little bit self-conscious but try to shake the momentary weakness out of my head.

“What are you doing, Peter?” he asks. “Why do you think it’s appropriate to act this way?”

I try to meet his gaze, but I’m finding it increasingly difficult. “Like what, Professor?”

“You – always trying to push people around to get what you want. Do you think I’m some kid who’ll go weak-kneed if you flex your muscles?”

“What are you talking about, Professor?” I ask as innocently as I can, mentally backpedaling as my heart begins to hammer. He seems angry. It’s suddenly obvious to both of us that I don’t have the courage to go through with my implied threat.

“What am I talking about?” He asks incredulously. “No, enough. I’ve wasted too much time trying to teach you like an adult and give you the benefit of the doubt. I can see now that I was wrong from the beginning.”

He stands up, angry and strong and an inch or two taller than me as he looks down at me. He grabs me by my arm and pulls me to face him.

“Look at yourself,” he says. “Do you think this is an acceptable way to behave? How far in life do you think this sort of stunt will take you?”

I look up at him, unable to speak. There isn’t anything to say. But there’s something about the way he’s looking at me, almost like he knows he’s supposed to be angry but he’s responding in a different way instead – almost like he’s noticing me the way I noticed him along the pathway this morning. I draw in a faltering breath.

Notice: This title includes themes and passages that have been adapted from Jessica Whitethread’s Caught By My Professor with full consent of the original author.