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.

I can do this one thing that no one else can, and it's a pretty cool superpower to have. That's right, I can spot an asshole a mile away. Everyone knows about the Chloe Pond asshole test because of me; none of my friends will date anyone who doesn't pass it.

So, I'm applying my asshole radar to Oren Bretton as I peruse the scrap of paper he left on his desk, on which he's written his address and phone number.

Shoot the -ball, Inwardly, I said, Do you think Oren Bretton is a jerk?

Everything points to yes, I said with a chuckl

It was already 8 o'clock and I still hadn't made up my mind.

Chloe would have been the type to toss the scrap of paper with his contact info, take a long shower to calm her racing hormones, and then head to bed. She would have masturbated while reading a racy book on her Kindle and then drifted off to sleep.

She certainly wouldn't have shaved her pussy just to appease a man who gave her the mocking eye treatment and then ordered her to get on her knees.

If she had been thinking about what he might do to her, she would not have rubbed lotion into her newly shaved mound.

She never would have put on the red lace bra and the red dress that hugged her every curve, nor would she have put on the red thong that barely covered her hips.

Without thinking, I finished all those tasks, called a cab, and rode to Oren's.

Exactly 9 o'clock p.m. I had no excuse for my tardiness in his eyes. I waited by the door after I rang the bell. Strangely, I felt no anxiety. I had no reason to put my faith in Oren Bretton, but I also had no reason to fear for my life, as I knew that Oren wouldn't risk his career and reputation by doing anything reckless.

If you were emotionally scarred, you wouldn't necessarily be physically scarred. Tonight, I would either prove that I was completely submissive and would do whatever the right man told me to do, or I would prove that I was not. And if I did, I'd have to face the possibility that I was just pretending to be submissive, as he'd suggested. Not only did I not know what I would learn about myself tonight, but I was also not sure if I wanted to.

He pushed the door open. He was now dressed in faded jeans and a simple black t-shirt. His eyes, which had previously been a deep, sea blue, were now a shocking electric blue thanks to the effect of the all-black outfit.

We exchanged glances. Evening plans, Chloe," he said to her in a calm tone. There won't be any cuts. The traces I may have left on you will disappear within a few days. And if it all gets to be too much, I'll provide you with a codeword to use to get yourself to a safe place.

He waited for a moment, and then continued in an unyielding tone. But if you use your secret word, that's it, you're out of here. This isn't for your amusement, by the way. It concerns me. If you stay, you must follow my rules.

As he spoke, I felt a tightening and pebbling in my nipples, and they rose up and out of my dress as a result. My mouth was dry, so I nodded my head in agreement. Exactly what I needed, right? It was a chance to test out my darker side and go places I hadn't dared go with the conventional men I dated.

He instructed us to "walk through the house." The back yard can be accessed through a screen door located in the kitchen. It's time to get some fresh air. Strip. Toss your garments onto the table in the patio. Await my arrival on bended knee.

Incredulous, I looked at him. Standing in his front doorway, I could see that he had neighbors and hear voices and the smell of barbecue. A full darkening of the sky would not occur for another half an hour, so although dusk had set in, there was still some light in the air.

He stared at me with a sly grin on his face. Ultimately, I decided to safeword and run because of his smug smile. Obviously, I couldn't let him win. Sorry, but not just yet.

I walked briskly through the living room, unlatched the screen door, and stepped outside. I let out a sigh of relief and paused for a moment there. Nobody would be able to see me in the secluded area of his backyard thanks to the fence. I would definitely be heard out here, if not seen, and his neighbors were in their backyard laughing and grilling.

Nothing could be done; I had orders.

I undressed, laying my garments orderly on the table. Daytime temperatures and humidity levels were high, but the nighttime air felt refreshingly cool. I got down on my haunches on the patio stones, with my knees slightly apart, my hands on my thighs with the palms facing up, and my head bowed. The more I followed his orders, the more aroused I became by my own submission.

Upon recognizing his voice, I did not raise my head but instead kept my gaze cast downward. Never before had I felt so vulnerable as when I felt his eyes on me as he walked around me and raked my naked body with them. His lack of communication was unsettling, and his refusal to touch me was frustrating.

He flipped a switch, and suddenly the night was alive with music. It wouldn't be overpowering, but it would mask the sound of low moans. Do you feel better now? Honestly, I was in a state of cognitive dissonance. And there I was, kneeling, waiting for Oren to give me my next directive.

"Check me out." He spoke in a low, soothing tone.

And so I complied.

"What do you say when I tell you to jump?"

A question: "How high," I said softly.

Professor Bretton, you were wrong about how high it was.

Despite being drenched and still on my knees, I hated how he made me feel, like I was nothing more than a tool for his pleasure. My internal conflict was evident in my eyes, and he picked up on it. He mocked me with his laughter. "Are you satisfied with the way I care for you, chum?"

Nothing at all, Professor Bretton.

So why are you still hanging around here, pet?

I paused to draw a deep breath. Simply put, "Because my pussy is wet, Professor Bretton."

Laughter came from his lips. "That's some refreshing candor, kitty. Maybe there's more to you than meets the eye... Hmm, how about we find out? Do you want to use a passphrase?

I spoke in a low tone. Magic 8-ball.

He echoed, "Magic 8-ball," this time with a tone of amused inquiry. However, he then spoke with a more stern tone. "Unbutton my pants with your mouth. Get your dick out of here and give me a smack down.

Obviously, I went along with it. My pussy squirted with arousal at his every command, and my willingness to submit to his every whim was a potent aphrodisiac.

But that doesn't mean there wasn't some clumsy zipping up. Never having attempted to unzip anything with my mouth before, I was a bumbling mess, red in the face with embarrassment, and unable to get his zipper undone.

When I tried to help him, he took off his belt but then just stood there. To my relief, he didn't make fun of the situation, but he also didn't offer any assistance. I couldn't help but wonder if he was watching me with the same impatience he displayed earlier today when I fumbled for change in the Starbucks line.

My cheeks brushed past his hard erection, and I could feel it harden even further; jump at the contact, as I bobbed up and down with my mouth seeking the pull of the zipper. The only sign that this situation was turning him on was his hard dick, and it reassured me that I wasn't a bumbling idiot.

After witnessing me make dozens upon dozens of unsuccessful attempts to get a hold of the zipper pull with my teeth, he eventually felt sorry for me and gave in.

He growled, "Stay still," as he ordered. He grasped the pull for the zipper between his fingers as he reached for it. He mumbled, "Come here, pet, come put this in your mouth," as he called the animal over to him.

Pet. I detested being called that. More than the actual act of stripping down to my underwear at his command, the word itself was degrading; it reduced me to a fucktoy for his amusement. I couldn't believe I'd made the mistake of staying, of leaning forward and putting the zipper pull in my mouth. I hated myself.

And yet I did. While I was clenching my teeth and gripping the pull between them, his fingers lightly brushed against my lips. My mouth parted almost against my will as his fingers traced a gentle path between the seam of my lips for the first time that evening, and a shudder of arousal rippled through me as a result of his touch. This was the first time that he had touched me that evening.

That trembling took me by complete surprise. I had always assumed that it was my submissive nature that turned me on, and that Oren's orders were merely a way for me to show that I was willing to comply with whatever he asked of me. But it hadn't been a rough touch at all; rather, it had been a light, fleeting touch, and for some reason, that had a greater effect on me than it should have.

How is it possible, I asked the Magic 8 Ball inside my head, that despite everything, I am still attracted to Oren Bretton? With the teasing and the laughter and the sternly delivered orders?

After I had pulled down the zipper, he finally became impatient and pushed his pants down his hips, at which point he removed his stunningly beautiful and engorged cock from his briefs. Suddenly, all thought left my brain, and my mouth opened almost automatically as I prepared to take this flawless example of manhood into myself and worship it in the manner in which it was intended to be worshipped.

Please ask me again later, because the answer to your question about Oren has already been provided by my brain. After that, there was a complete and total shutdown as lust took control. My tongue reached out and tasted the bit of gooey goo that had formed, and for just a moment it swirled around his head, tasting him. It may sound like a cliche, but he had a flavor that was unmistakably and authoritatively masculine. Both salty and sweet, as well as the epitome of male perfection.

Then I put my palms still on my knees while I took him into my mouth and began giving him the most effective blowjob I knew how to give.

For a brief period of time, he was content to let me set the pace, and I took about half of his length in my mouth. With my tongue wrapped around his length, I kept my mouth slack as he slid in, and I sucked in my cheeks to increase the pressure on his way out. As I moved my head up and down his length, rubbing my tongue on the sensitive underside of his shaft, and sucking my mouth around his thick, smooth head, I could feel his cock becoming more robust and expanding in my mouth. This sensation continued even after I had finished sucking my mouth around his head.

After hearing him groan for the first time, I felt a surge of triumph go through my body. At long last, evidence that he, too, had been impacted by this.

He then looked at me while pulling his dick out of his pocket and saying, "Now, pet." I'm going to take your words, and I'm going to take them seriously. If you don't want my neighbors to be able to hear you groaning, I recommend that you keep the volume down.

I became flushed, but there was no more time for me to react; he wrapped his hands around my long hair, tightened them to the point where there was a hint of pain, and then drew me closer to him. My hair was still tangled in his hands as he continued to hold me around the neck, and he was pressing my mouth deeper onto his cock. I had to force myself to relax so that I could take the full length of him in my mouth. His hands slid slightly lower. He was holding me around the neck.

I tried my best to breathe through my nose despite the fact that his cock had hit the back of my throat. I concentrated on developing a rhythm in order to win his approval, and I knew I was making progress when I noticed that he was putting more pressure on my hair. Because of how rough he was, my pussy was leaking, and juice was dripping down my thighs and onto the stones of the patio; he had me completely horny.

I gave myself a moment to catch my breath and try to moderate the pace of the conversation, but he was having none of it.

He growled at me, "I'm going to set the pace now, pet," and while he was fucking me and using me for his pleasure, he moved his dick in and out of my mouth. He was using me for his pleasure. I was drooling, and I did my best not to gag; he gave me just enough time to breathe before he shoved his length down my throat. I was unable to stop the gag reflex.

Because of the way he was treating me and because of the way I was allowing him to treat me, every nerve in my body was tingling with excitement and arousal.