3 comments/ 16639 views/ 5 favorites The Professor & The Ballerina By: Aurora Leigh This story has a very slow build ... It isn't a stroke story, so give it time ... It's for the passionate reader of erotica ☺ I woke up earlier than usual this morning so that I could drive my roommates, Shaun and Anabelle, to the airport. I was too tired to be conscious of the jealous pang I felt toward those lucky two, and their being able to travel home for the Thanksgiving holiday. The traffic on the bridge as I was driving back made me grumpy and impatient, and by the time I got to rehearsal, I was annoyed and awake ... sans caffeine. Of course Dana, (our prolific Choreographer and resident instructor,) was in an even grumpier mood - as per usual, no less - and he was taking it out on the 7 of us who had shown up to this brutal rehearsal, (and please don't think I'm being snobby when I say that the out of the seven people who had actually shown up for our rehearsal, 6 of them desperately needed to do so; because they were either off-tempo, or lazy, or both!) I was only there because I was a principal dancer, knew what I was doing, and was expected to help teach the less skilled dancers in our company. I was annoyed that I had to dance with Brett, (the understudy for our Prince Charming,) rather than my real, partner, (and aforementioned roommate,) Shaun. (Don't get excited, Shaun is gay, and that's not where this story is headed.) Turn, turn, turn, ...as I'm practicing Aurora's dance in the enchanted forest – Sleeping Beauty – with stupid Brett, my stand-in Prince Charming. I can feel my body responding more rigidly, my muscles more tense than they might normally be because I wasn't dancing with Shaun. Shaun and I had lovely chemistry and perfect timing, and when we danced together, we evoked emotion in one another that translated to the audience. We took them on a ride. Shaun and I, we sizzled ... Brett and I, we barely simmered. I lean back for a dip in Brett's arms and I could see the lust in his eyes – his undressing of me – which only makes me disgusted and on guard. Dana interrupts my silent disdain with a bark to "dance with meaning and passion, Miss Anderson! Meaning and passion!" like I always do ... what's wrong with me?!? I had to get out of my own head. I suddenly realized that I hadn't smiled all day. I smiled a mostly fake smile, and tried to relax. We took a 2 minute break, and I guzzled eight ounces of water. I paced around the studio, kicking air with my foot, and rolled my head in half-circles. I leaned down to stretch out my legs and back, and breathe deeply ... avoiding eye-contact with all. I'm frustrated and trying to let it go ...I attempt to convince myself that only this moment matters: Brett is Shaun, and that I honestly don't care about rehearsing this performance instead of flying home for Thanksgiving, because my Aunt Stephanie is coming to the opening in two weeks, and she is bringing her best friend with her ... her best friend who just happens to be on the Board of the ABT, (American Ballet Theater.) I smile. And this time it's real. Getting accepted to the ABT at nineteen would make a huge impact on my career. That much I'm aware of, and besides, I mused silently, turkey makes you fat, anyway. I grinned sideways at no one in particular, and let the passion flow through me as I began our pas de deux again, momentarily forgetting how deeply I despised Brett. This pleased Dana greatly. "That's it, Ellie!" He clapped his hands together, and after we had finished, he dismissed us early for the holiday, with a stern warning to stay away from carbs and alcohol. Of course the only reason my parents let me attend Cornell was because I made a deal to major in Anthropological Archaeology. What a little "daddy's girl" I was, which is why I had forever and always been "everyone's favorite." As I unlaced my toe shoes, my mind wandered to the monstrous paper I had yet to finish for my Anth320 course, one that I actually hadn't even begun because I'd been completely consumed with Sleeping Beauty and being the most perfect Aurora anyone had ever seen grace the stage. After ninety minutes of living in Aurora's dreamy forest-world, and sweating out my frustration, I made my way across the frosty campus to Your class – Anth320. I arrived at the tail-end of Your instructions that we break off into study groups and discuss how our papers were developing; bouncing ideas, issues, road-blocks off one another. Class, however, was nearly empty, (just the die-hards who wanted to ace Your course, and me.) Emily was the only other person there from my group. She smiled and brightened when I walked in. I like Em, she's easy to talk to, (despite my breezy, privacy-please-demeanor,) and she seemed like she had other interests besides rocks, bones and isopleths. We never really hung out beyond class – I only have heard her mention that she has an older boyfriend, and she wants to be a cartographer. Our contempt for being lone souls on campus allowed us to bond on this particular day. "What sucks is that I won't get to see any of my family before I go to Italy for winter semester." I lamented, but in truth I wasn't really all that saddened by the thought of this, even though I did love my family. I guess my independence had some positive aspects, after all. "You can come to my folks' place in Syracuse for turkey dinner, if you want." Emily proposed. "My mom is like Martha fucking Stewart, I know she'd be thrilled to have someone new to fawn over." Emily offered. "And she loves going to the ballet, so she'd be glued to your side all night, totally enamored by the prima ballerina, pestering you with questions and showing you off to her friends." Emily smiled sweetly. I smiled politely, ready with my response. "Thanks, that's really kind, but I just want to ... I don't know – sleep in and just chill. Write this paper. Things have been so stressful lately. And I finally have the place to myself. Maybe it will be good..." She looked slightly deflated. I felt kind of bad for not taking her up on her offer. "No worries, Ellie, I totally get it. It will be good for you to just relax." Emily smiled thoughtfully at me. "I'll bring you leftovers if you want." She winked at me, and then we got down to actually discussing our papers. You walk over to our desk as Emily is packing her bag to leave. I don't look up as you stop just in front of me, but I feel you there. I smell you there as I read a lonely paragraph I just scribbled down. My body temperature unwittingly on the rise, as my ears perk, and I suddenly feel flush and dizzy - my heart involuntarily races. "Oh hey, Professor." Emily acknowledges you, zipping up her pack. I look up, heart pounding, and notice your gaze is fiercely directed toward me. There's something about your crystal blue eyes that seem to pierce my very soul. I always feel so exposed around you. This time was no different – I was completely disarmed. "Ellie, please come by my office after class." You demand firmly, but politely, and then dismiss us by walking off. My stomach flip-flops. Emily shoots me a curious look, and I roll my eyes, wondering if this request had anything to do with my paper on "CULTURES: Exploration of Cultural Symbolism through Fantasy." I knew I had probably crossed a line with that when I had written in my declaration several weeks ago after we turned in our outlines. It seemed to be my theme lately with all of my professors: challenge authority. I hug Emily a tentative, quick good-bye, and then high-tail it toward your quiet, dark office just down the hall from our now empty classroom. I feel like a ghost, tip-toeing down the silent hallway, the snow gently sprinkling a thanksgiving layer outside, and with each passing moment the population on campus dwindles to less and less. My soft step echos gently against the cool interior of the building, and the butterflies swarm furiously in my stomach. Your office is smaller than a janitor's closet, the walls crackling with thirty-seven years of paint - currently a hypnotic sky-blue. You rule the miniscule space with your tall presence, making me feel tiny and childlike, as though I sense I'm about to be scolded. I secretly wish I had showered after ballet rehearsal, instead of just throwing on a cardigan and wrap skirt over my dance clothes, and tying my sweaty hair up in a ponytail. I could smell the ripe, sweet stench of my own body odor. I unconsciously nibble on my fingertip, and stand in your doorway, waiting for you to acknowledge me. You know I am standing there, but refuse to meet my gaze. I knock gently on the frame of your door to try and steal your attention away from the paper you're reviewing. I shift the weight of my backpack, and quietly clear my throat. "Sir?" I bit my bottom lip in embarrassment. I couldn't understand why I felt so disarmed around you. "You wanted to see me?" I inquired, quietly. Still not looking up from your material, "Ellie, come on in, shut the door behind you." I move inside and feel my heart beat harder. Was I actually trembling? My cunt felt flush with luscious heat. Wow. That was a rush. My eyes fired with quick, hot tears. I swallowed the feeling away, and tried my best to ignore my insides and concentrate on scholastics. I didn't try to decipher my feelings. "Take a seat." You command, still not raising your gaze. I rest my bag against the weathered leg of your old chair, and sit down on the edge of the leather seat. As I was thoughtfully composing my retort to the reprimand I was expecting from you, you lift your head, pause momentarily, and smile. I look away, shyly smiling with no will of my own to hide my desire. I suddenly felt silly – you reduce me to such a stupid little school-girl. Then, again, there was the unmistakable rush of blood that flooded to my cunt, making me feel like a complete and unusual slut. I tried my best to focus. I sit on my hands to try and hide my disarmament from you, and also, in an effort to avoid the childish habit of nail-biting. You let the silence settle between us, studying how I deal with the uncomfortable feelings that you had stirred within me. "How are things, Ellie?" You ask me sincerely, disrupting the quiet. My fiery heart felt as though she'd explode if I opened my mouth to respond. "Good." I manage a one-syllable word to escape from my pursed lips, clearing my throat, searching for the courage which seems to have escaped me. "Good." You nod, reading every emotion that was flying through me, logging my reaction into the diary in your mind; narrowing your eyes as you assess my truthfulness. I look down with lusty shame. The energy between us makes me dizzy. "I heard you telling Emily Givens that you were staying in town, here - alone, for Thanksgiving. Is that true?" You are fatherly in tone, genuinely concerned. I nod in confirmation, not meeting your gaze for fear that you will know just how much the timber and texture of your voice awakens the unfamiliar feeling of arousal within my tiny body. "I'd like for you to come over to my house then." You let the weight of your offer permeate your office ... surround me, engulf me, enticing. My eyes meet yours in surprise. This was not what I had expected. I noticed a change in your eyes. Do you feel the same passionate connection as I do? "My wife, Anne, is a fantastic cook. We'll be doing the traditional spread: turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes ... and it will just be my wife, and our two boys, Eric and Jeremy." You smile, reading me to see what I thought of your offer. It was a far departure from the fantastic, erotic scene I had conjured up in my head, but then again, I knew you were married, so what did I expect? I literally shook my head to clear my thoughts. I immediately dismiss my infatuation with you as a silly, school-girl crush-on-her-sexy-smart-professor, and decide to approach this offer with real maturity and professionalism. "Sir, I absolutely couldn't impose like that. I feel like I'd be intruding on a very personal moment for your and your family. I mean, after all, it's Thanksgiving." Kudos, to me for the polite decline. "I insist, Ellie." Your tone of voice didn't sound like you were going to accept anything less than my submission to your request. I wanted to take you up on it so very badly, if only to have the chance at seeing where you live; what your life is like. I had met your wife before at an event on campus, but only briefly. She seemed like a lovely, charismatic, intelligent woman. I could tell you loved and adored her deeply. "I already spoke with Anne, and she was adamant that I invite you. We would love to have you, Ellie." You smile at me, and my heart feels like she's melting into molten lava and dripping like hot wax throughout the insides of my being. After a long and arduous pause I relent. "Ok." I squeak out a small surrender, trembling a little from simply being out of my element – my realm of expertise. I felt like I had little control over my feelings and emotions and desires. You're pleased with me. This I can sense. "We do an early dinner. Be there at 4pm – just bring a bottle of wine. That's' it! We have everything else covered." You scribble your address on a piece of paper, tear it from the pad and hand it to me. Our fingers touch briefly, sending hot charges racing through my body. "See you then." Our eyes lock and your warm smile sears into my memory. I am the first to look away – as though you were playing a game of "chicken" with me – who could hold the wanton gaze the longest. I turn and walk out of your office, feeling you watch me as I go. My gentle footsteps echoing through the quiet halls of the now empty building. My ass swaying unintentionally outlined by the tights and the wrap skirt, I feel your eyes undressing me as I go. Thanksgiving Day – 4pm I pull my car over to the side of the curb in front of your house. My hair is clean, shiny, soft and straight - hanging well past my shoulders, my little bangs sheltering my forehead and framing my fresh, moist face, cherubic face. I'm dressed in a cute, slightly revealing Rebecca Beeson top of deep cranberry, which hugs my curvy body like a second skin, along with a perfectly tailored pair of jeans, and knee-high chestnut brown boots. I throw my vintage camel coat over my shoulders and glide to your door. I ring the bell with the bottom of the wine bottle, shifting my weight back and forth in nervousness. You open the door a few moments later, giving me just enough time to let my mind wander and wonder what the night had in store. "Happy thanksgiving, Professor–" I smile nervously, fluttering my eyes, unwittingly and glancing down in embarrassment. You cut me off. "Leo, please, Ellie." You insist on the informal, taking the apple pie, (that I had lovingly baked earlier this morning,) out of my right hand, scolding me with your eyes for having done so, but smiling in delight at my culinary skills. God, you're so handsome in dark navy pants and a dark grey mock turtleneck sweater. I can smell your aftershave mixed with the scent of a well cared for home. I hold out a bottle of pinot noir with a silver ribbon wrapped around the neck. "From my family's vineyard in Sonoma." I smiled, nervously, innocently. A breathe of silence. "I haven't had a chance to try it yet, but my brother told me that they only made six barrels, and he's ..." I was rambling on now because I didn't know how to deal with the sexual tension that permeated between us, standing in the doorway. "Come on in, Ellie." You gently take the bottle from my hand, and stand to the side, allowing me to enter. "Let me put these down so I can get your coat." You set the wine and the pie on the little side table in the entryway, and take my coat from my shoulders. I breath deeply, keenly aware of the electricity that coursed between us, you behind me. I could feel your breath ever so faintly graze my neck. What were you thinking? "Relax, Ellie." You press my shoulders down as you remove my coat. You sweep my hair from getting caught up in the removal of it, and I feel tingly inside. I sigh deeply, and try to oblige. You shut and lock the front door, and open the hall closet to hang my coat up. I immediately take inventory of your house; noticing every single detail of the entryway in front of me, which seems to lead toward the kitchen. The hardwood floors gleamed with a thick coat of glossy wax, and then were swallowed up by creamy shag carpet as they met the edge of the sunken living room to my left. "Where is your family?" I inquire, suddenly and keenly aware that your house was devoid of any typical Thanksgiving holiday sounds. No children playing or running about, no smells of turkey roasting in the oven or pumpkin pie cooling on the window sill. "Ah, yes." You nod and explain, "I tried to call you yesterday at your house, but couldn't get a hold of you." You smile, apologetically, and before you can continue, I interrupt. "Oh, Prof – I mean, Leo, I'm so sorry. I turned my ringer off and our answering machine is broken." I stammered an apology, suddenly feeling like an idiot who had intruded on You. "No, no, please, Ellie." Your voice and stature took command. "Don't be sorry. What happened was my wife and kids had to go up to her parents house in Hartford. My wife's mother slipped and fell down a flight of icy stairs yesterday morning." You explained with genuine empathy in your voice. "Oh my God! That's terrible! Is she ok?" I ask. You smile, brush a few stray hairs from my eyes, "Yes, she'll be fine, but her husband, Anne's father, needed help – he can't cook to save his life, the poor guy." You laugh. I love the sound of your laugh, so husky, heartfelt and full of sincerity. "Since we couldn't get a hold of you, Anne insisted that she take the kids and go, and that I stay home, so that you wouldn't show up to an empty house and an odd note taped to the front door." Your grin melted me. I tried not to read into it too much. "Well, I," I look down at my boots, suddenly saddened by the thought of not getting to be here with you. "I, uh, guess I should go then." "Ellie!" You admonish me. "Nonsense." You gently grab my arm and point me in the direction of the kitchen, nudging me gently. You pick up my pie and the bottle of pinot from the table, and nod your head toward the hall, indicating for me to follow you as you make your way to the kitchen. "I can cook, Ellie." You laugh again. "I think the bottle of wine you brought will go perfectly with the Butternut Squash risotto I'm going to make for us later." My head was swirling, this was an unbelievable turn of events! You and me – alone in your house with a private dinner in our future? "What can I get you? Something to drink? Are you hungry? I put out some cheese and crackers in case you were famished when you got here." You indicate the beautiful spread of cheeses and crackers, olives and bread on the butcher's block we were leaning against in the kitchen. There was a fire roaring in a brick fireplace on the other end of the big family room that was attached to the kitchen. "This looks amazing." I carve off a little corner of Gouda and place it atop a water-cracker disk, gently nibbling in my attempt to quell my insecurity. "Wine? Water?" You ask, opening the refrigerator and pulling off a cork from an already opened bottle of white wine. You pour yourself a little libation in a beautiful, thin crystal glass. "Sure, some wine would be lovely." I needed a little something to take the edge off. I decided I would just take this situation moment-to-moment, convinced that I was completely out of my element, but relishing in the unexpected, and curious as to what might happen next. The Professor & The Ballerina Ch. 02 A very special thank you to William Vanderpool for his considerate criticism & thoughtful feedback. Monday – back to life, I walk nervously to my Anthr320 class – heart in a tight knot, throat closed with anticipation, stomach feeling like its on an elevator dropping 25 floors. A pulsing, hot cunt still reeling from the events of the weekend, and barely able to sit on my bruised ass, my legs quivered with each step. Afraid that reality will be a complete departure from this past weekend, that somehow I'll awaken and this will all have been a dream, I smile and breathe. I feel more alive than I have ever felt before. The crackle and hum of the late autumn air pricks my skin and dances in my hair. I take a deep breath, press my lips together, and turn the handle of the auditorium door, ready for the lecture my parents were paying a lot of money to have me hear. Emily appears out of nowhere, bubbly and too excited to be here, right in my face. "Hi, Ellie!" She is way too happy for a Monday. "How was your weekend, did you get to 'chill and decompress'?" My mouth just hung agape, and before I could answer, she delved into a lengthy account of her Thanksgiving activities. Aunts, uncles, cousins, a perfectly roasted turkey, an apple pie that no one ate, and the best Bloody Mary her sister had ever made her with three olives and a celery stick. Details that I had no desire to know, and would never remember. I secretly wished that I had sunglasses, because I felt as though I were a little hung over, (not from alcohol, but rather from being drunk with submission,) and not at all ready for the onslaught of human behavior that was thrusting itself toward me at 10:20 in the morning on a Monday after Thanksgiving. "Yeah." Is all that I managed before I slumped delicately into the theatre chair. You waltz on to stage, dimly lit by a pencil spotlight that shone from directly above. Perfectly composed, you strode to the lectern, not even glancing in my direction. Oh, how your inattention made me feel so small and insignificant. I wondered if you did it on purpose to teach me a lesson, or if you truly didn't care; was I just some other nubile slut to you? You were masterful at compartmentalizing things, that much I had learned already. My heart plummeted to my belly, and I wanted to run out the door and into the ladies room and cry and throw up into the toilet, but I didn't. I sat there, forlorn and searching for some sort of sign from you – anything – that would acknowledge that I had spent nearly 3 days in your playroom, being your submissive slut and learning how to please you. Of course, I heard nothing of what you were lecturing us about, on your series of Women & Death in European Cultures. I merely glanced around the auditorium, curiously choosing which women might be submissively ripe for your taking. I felt hollow, a shell of myself. Contemplating my own existence and choices, because ... well, everything that had transpired this past weekend was because I had wanted it to – I had chosen it to be so. Who was I ... what did I want ... what did this mean? How did this fit into my life? I was so puzzled and confused. There was no way I could concentrate on dancing or anything else, namely the paper that was absolutely going to be late because it hadn't even been started! I secretly sighed and ran my hand through my hair, tugging at it, not nearly as hard as you had yesterday, my scalp still tender. I was forever changed by the events that had transpired this past weekend. I could never go back. I would never be the same person I was on Thanksgiving morning. At the end of the lecture, you walked away without even a glance in my direction. My heart sunk. I had no idea what to do with myself now. Emily startled me from my downwardly spiraling thoughts. "Hey, Ellie!" Let's go have lunch somewhere." I didn't argue, but she continued in her plea. I twisted a big strand of blonde hair around my middle finger, tugged hard, and looked at her inquisitively. "It's early, I know, but my feeding schedule is all out of whack because of Thanksgiving." She chuckled at herself. I laughed along with her because I thought it was amusing to refer to 'eating lunch' as a 'feeding schedule.' Emily was an odd bird. I usually didn't eat lunch unless it was a smoothie, and I never ate this early. It was only 11:40. "My treat, just no turkey." She declared. And not that it even made a difference, I just wanted away from my own reality, so I accepted. We went off campus to a hole-in-the-wall Japanese restaurant. Emily and I sat in a hidden corner of the restaurant, away from the door, the kitchen and the bathroom. We ordered a pot of hot tea and promised the waiter we'd study the menu. "So ... tell me." Emily demanded with expectant hazel eyes and a devilish thin grin. I felt like she knew – already knew – all of my secrets. But that was impossible. So I bluffed, badly. "Tell you what?" I laughed nervously and brushed my hair behind my ear – even though it was in a ponytail and there was none to brush away! What a dead give away. And Emily, in all her seemed naïveté, shook her head and lowered her voice. "I know, Ellie. So spill it." She squinted her eyes and suddenly transformed into some evil interrogator extracting information from an unwilling informant. My face dropped and was flush with embarrassment and shame. I felt like I was going to cry. "Did you fuck him?" She had transformed from simpleton to sinister in a second, demanding details. How did she even know? I sat there with my mouth open, tongue-tied, huffing in the oxygen in short breaths and grasping my tiny china teacup so tightly, that I thought it would shatter in my grasp. I wished so hard that I could disappear, but Emily broke her stern look and smiled. "Just kidding, friend." SHIT. She had totally played me. I clicked my tongue, and nervously laughed at her insane ruse, relieved and annoyed all at once. "I ... I ..." I was thinking of some outlandish tale I could tell her to save my embarrassment at having been totally played by her. Then I spontaneously decided that I did need a confidante and that Emily, my little simpleton friend from Professor Leo's class would suffice. She knew us both, so it only seemed reasonable to include her in on this adventure. "I did fuck him, Emily." I said with complete seriousness and adoration. "Or rather, he fucked me." Smiling, as I remembered the way it felt to have the girth and length of my Professor's cock filling my near-virgin cunt. My eyelids fluttered. Emily roared quietly, wavering back and forth between complete disbelief and stunned amazement. When she realized that I was not joking, noted mainly by the very satisfied look on my face and also by me pulling down my top enough for her to see the cane marks that still lingered across my chest, her mouth dropped open and she dropped her teacup. Warm green tea oozed out over the small table and we blotted at it in slow motion with our cloth napkins, not meeting one another's eyes for a moment. Then she looked at me quizzically, seriously, "Professor Hutchinson?" "Yes. Professor Hutchinson." I mused, biting the inside of my cheek. "Wow." We were now done cleaning up her initial reaction, both of our napkins, saturated with the surprised green tea seepage. I took a deep breath and confided, mainly because I needed to, and Emily seemed like a fairly trustworthy confidante. There was a very long quiet contemplation between the both of us; a silent understanding that whatever I told her now would forever be only remembered here, in this Japanese restaurant. "I went over to his house on Thanksgiving because he and his wife invited me, but she ended up having to go to her parents' house for an emergency, so it was just the two of us." I began slowly, not sure how much I was going to tell her. Emily didn't breathe; she sat silently stunned, waiting to hear everything. I couldn't hold back. "Oh, Em, it was deliciously decadent. It started with wine and cheese, and I saw his office! And I pulled a book and this door came open and there was this amazing room of torture and pleasure and, I danced for him and it was the best performance of my life and although he was the audience, he was also my imaginary partner, and when I jumped through the air, he caught me with one arm, wrapped his huge hand around my neck and then ravished me, kissed every inch of my face, neck, shoulders, chest, ripping off my thin lacey bra and my thong, which was drenched from desire, taking me, making me his." Those words spilled out in about five seconds, in a long, run-on sentence of lustful neediness. And I didn't stop. My skin started to tingle and my cunt warmed as I relived the events of the weekend. "He sunk his teeth into the flesh of my tits, pulled hard on my nipples and suckled on them until I felt as though milk was going to flow from my breasts. It was quite honestly, the most erotic experience that I have ever had, or could ever dream of having. And I came twice because of it. I was limp in his arms, Emily. I think I may have passed out, I don't know. He held me, growling low, and rubbed the scruff of his stubbly chin under my neck, around my face, and down my chest, rubbing his scent on me, marking his territory. I could smell him all over me. I moaned and started to drift into a trance, and he took his strong hand and smacked my creamy cunt twice. My eyes, half-mast, shot open in an instant. He had my attention again." "'Wake up, slut.' No longer were his words sweet, and coaxing, no more 'Ellie's' ... no, now he was peering down at me as a Dominant, and expecting me to respond. I was absolutely out of my element, but I wanted so desperately to please him that I submitted to him, instinctively opening my legs wider and my mouth just slightly. And I waited, I waited for his instruction, but there was none. He just studied me for a moment, then closed his eyes and ducked his head down to my smoldering slit ... needing it, tonguing it, owning it, making it His cunt. He lapped at my clit, his tongue like a wolf's tongue – thick and steamy – running the length of my slit and driving me further into the depths of desire. My breath took on a life of its own and I was barely able to decipher the foggy thoughts in my mind. Everything was slowly fading away, and I was close to a huge orgasm, my breath becoming ragged and eager. And he let me cum, he worked his hand inside of my needy cunt as his tongue deftly circled the throbbing mass that was my clitoris. He let me cum, once, twice ... almost a third time, but then he drew away and slapped his hand across the hot cavern of my pussy again, and hissed, with steamy breath, into my ear canal, 'Enough, slut.'" "And he pulled away from me completely, leaving me longing, throbbing, convulsing, near tears, begging, ... 'No, please, please, Professor, please don't do this. Please let me cum again, I need to, I want to.' But he explained that I was undisciplined and indulgent, and that the first lesson he was going to teach me was control. So that's what we worked on all weekend long. And, Emily, it was marvelous and challenging and degrading and so fulfilling and ..." Emily listened with rapt attention, not wanting me to stop. "And, oh, shit!" I looked at my iPhone peeking out of my bag, I thought I had heard something vibrate a few minutes ago! A message: 'Be in my office in 5 minutes.' All the blood drained from my face, and I felt a panicked chill. I look at the time the message was: 1:13. It was now 1:33. Not only was I late for your request, I was also going to be late for rehearsal. Very late. But I could take the wrath of Dana and the disdainful looks from the other dancers. What I couldn't bear was disappointing you. "Shit, I have to go." And before Emily could open her mouth to ask me why, I was out the door of the restaurant, hearing the little bells on the door handle jingle behind me. My heart raced, as I ran at a decent clip, four blocks back to campus, making my way to your office. Paying no attention to the world around me, and narrowly avoiding a collision with a car, as I ran through the middle of the street to take a short cut. A horn honked and someone yelled "dumb bitch!" but instead of my usual pissed off retort like "fuck you," I smiled and waved at them, racing fast toward you. As I got to the building where your office was located, my phone buzzed again. I still had it in my hand, never having let go since the restaurant. My hand was on the handle, pushing the building doors open when it buzzed a disappointed 'Nevermind.' No. no no no no no!! I ignored that, and plowed on down the hall, bumping past other students, and got to your office door. It was locked. Buzz: 'I said nevermind.' I furiously text back, 'Sir, I'm so sorry. I was at a restaurant, and I didn't look at my phone and I'm here now. Please, Sir.' Buzz: 'Ellie. Go to rehearsal. You're late.' 'I don't care, I want to see you' Hot tears were stinging my eyes as I typed, I could barely see the letters. I heard some students whispering about me. Buzz: 'Enough. Go to rehearsal. That's an order. You will be punished for this later.' I stood there for a minute, phone still in my hand, and sighed. Who was I becoming? I was unraveling, trembling with discontentment and desire. Buzz: 'Where are you???' This one was from Shaun. 'Dana is pissed.' I gathered up my composure and quickly typed: 'OMW' On my brisk walk to the other side of campus, I tried to regain my composure and formulated an excuse in my head: Study group for Anth320 @ lunch ran late & I lost track of time. That wasn't a total lie. I still had to change into my dance clothes. I got to the backstage entrance and snuck in quietly. Most everyone was out on front stage, rehearsing something without me. I'm sure my understudy, Veronica, was just elated at my absence. She was the kind of competitive dancer who secretly wished that I would come down with mono or something so that she could steal my role. Not today, bitch, not today. I silently slithered out of my skirt, and began to step into my tights when Shaun came around the corner. "What the fuck, Ellie?" He was livid. If he was this pissed, I'm sure Dana was a lot more steamed. I turned to face him, trying to hide my bruised and reddened backside from his view. Wearing only my top, holding my tights in my hand, I held my breath and hoped that he couldn't read me. "First flaking on me and Annabelle at the airport yesterday and now this? What the fuck is going on with you?" He had a wicked temper, and paced around me like a tiger. "I'm sorry, Shaunie, I ..." I stammered. We were like brother and sister, but more than that – lovers, but not the way you're thinking ... Shaun is gay & I am straight – well, bisexual, but it's a complicated relationship. "Holy shit!" He hissed at me. Because my ass was facing the mirror, Shaun could see the welts that criss-crossed my ass and thighs. "What the hell happened?" He grabbed my arm and yanked me around before I could protest. "I ... I ..." I wasn't prepared for anyone to see my sweet mementoes of the weekend, but wanted to explain them to Shaun. Out of everyone, he might understand. "I don't want to know," he condemned and released me. "Put your black tights on because you're going to be able to see that through the pink ones, and, "Jesus," he took notice of the red weal peeking from the top of my shirt, "put on a leotard that covers up whatever the fuck that is." He demanded, waving his finger toward my tits. He took a deep, frustrated breath. "We'll talk tonight – the three of us, you, me & Annabelle." That wasn't a request, it was a demand. Shaun stormed off before I could apologize and explain. His disappointment was palpable. "She's here, she'll be right on stage." I could hear him announcing to everyone. As a punishment, Dana dressed me down in front of the entire company. "Well, Miss Anderson," he preened in his most queenly manner. "Seems as though you had other pressing matters to attend to while the rest of us were here, ready to do a dry run of the performance." He paced around me, arms crossed. "Your friend, Veronica Rose, was so very kind to step into the role of Aurora & dance it so beautifully for us, so you know, we wouldn't waste any precious time waiting." "Well," I swallowed dryly, "I'm sorry, Sir, I'm here now, so, I'm ready to go." "Oh yes, Miss Anderson, please, let us now get to work, since but you will sit to the sides and dictate the stage direction this run ..." Further punishment. This day was getting worse by the breath. The Professor & The Ballerina You pour me a glass of wine, and hand it to me. Gazing deep into my eyes, I'm positive you can tell how turned on I am by the entire setting. You smile at me, amused by my fiery red cheeks that have blushed as you read my thoughts. I wear my heart on my sleeve! "I'm sorry that there's not going to be any turkey. I hope you're not too terribly disappointed with the change of plans." You lighten the mood by engaging in random conversation. "Oh, no, Sir, I mean, ha – no, Leo, no. Not at all." I say a little too enthusiastically, happy for the distraction. "It's a nice surprise actually. I don't really like turkey all that much anyway, and I hate stuffing, and cranberries are not my favorite – at least the way my mom makes them, but most of all I hate sweet potato pie. I mean, not your wife's probably, or yours if you're the one who makes it, I just mean in general terms of yams, in general." Here I was again, embarrassingly babbling on, but you kindly rescue me. "A toast." You hold up your glass, interrupting my rant, and I raise mine, listening. I bite my bottom lip, internally chastising myself for being such a dork. "To unexpected occurrences, and being thankful for the experience they can provide." You wink and clink your glass against the lip of mine, the sound of the crystal tings on for moments afterward. Everything happens very slowly for several minutes. We both sip our wine, maintaining eye-contact. The wine is delicious, sliding down my throat and settling in my empty stomach. I felt instant warmth, but didn't know if I should attribute that to you or the wine. "Want a tour of the house?" You offer, setting your glass on the countertop. "Sure!" I brighten, and relish the chance to get a glimpse into your world. "Well, you've already seen the entryway and the living room." You open your arms to indicate the space we're in, "this is the kitchen and den, and just around that corner is the ladies room, should you need to use it." You wink at me. I follow you as you lead me through the first floor, showing me the formal dining room, which you've lavishly decorated with a beautiful display of fine, white china place settings and polished Silver flatware, candles tall and short; a perfectly set table for two even though the table could seat at least twelve people. Next, you lead me upstairs and show me the boys' rooms, their generously stocked game room, and finally your bedroom where I imagine you sleeping with your wife. It was different than I had pictured, more austere and sanitary – slightly cold, even – but then again, your wife most likely chose the décor. "You don't have a home office?" Now that the wine was starting to loosen me up, I'm feeling more comfortable. I let the curious part of me emerge. "Yes, Ellie, I have a home-office." You chuckle at my inquisitiveness, and lead me back down the stairs. "We're getting there." You tell me, laughing. "I was saving it for last because I wanted to give you a chance to warm up to me as a friend rather than your Professor." We walked to the end of the curved hallway, the one you had mentioned earlier when you pointed out the bathroom located down this hall. Opposite the bathroom, was a door exactly like the bathroom door, but it was closed shut. You pull out a small key from your trouser pocket and unlock the door to reveal a long, narrow case of stairs leading down to what I would have to assume is your office. As we crept down the candle-lit stairs, I sensed a change in the mood surrounding us. Suddenly, the air smelled more like ... you – the way your office at school smelled – like cedar and thoughtful intelligence, and passion, and frankincense and myrrh, with undertones of secretive sex. The room was only lit by one red light covered in an ornate, eastern Indian glass shade, which hung from the northeast corner, casting an eerie, intimate hue against the walls of back-to-back books - all hard covers, (I honestly shouldn't have been surprised by this.) Several sconces illuminated the room with flickering candlelight, and a lone, black candle stood tall on your massive desk – dripping with wax - which was located across the room, and situated so that when you sat there, you could see whoever was at the entrance. In the middle of the room was a lavish white fur rug from some unfortunate animal. And opposite your desk a plump leather chair and a small table with a reading rack to the side. I imagined you sitting here; reading my papers ... my mind began to wander off to lustful thoughts. "So," You instinctively walked to your desk, leaning against it. "This is it. The place where I grade your papers, Ellie." You grin, teasing me, raising your eyebrows. "It's amazing." I purred as I drag my fore-finger along the length of your desk. "But it's so ... different from your office on campus." I say, as I quick-study every single artifact and item on your shelves and walls, with wonderment and awe, cocking my head to the side in thoughtful mediation, wondering how each had been acquired. Although I'm not looking at you, I can feel you smiling at my childlike inquisitiveness. I have a million questions running through my mind, coupled with lustful desire and a desperate need to be taken by You. I am suddenly acutely aware that my ass hasn't been properly spanked, and my pussy hasn't been fingered or fucked in a very long time. Far too long, actually. The silence sinks between us for an uncomfortable moment. "So, I understand you're a ballerina, Ellie?" You sit in your chair behind your desk, leaning back, folding your fingers together. The erection that strains against the fabric of your pants is hidden from my view. "Mm-hmm." I swallow dryly and answer, purposely distracted by your collection of books, and reading every single title. My head tilted sideways, eyes squinting in an effort to read the fine print. "And I understand you're dancing the role of Princess Aurora in Sleeping Beauty just a few weeks from now, is that right?" You study me: the way I walk, the way I move my hips, the way I hold my hands, the way I process my thoughts as I examine your habitat. I feel you staring at my face in the flickering candlelight, noticing my glossy hair, my firm little breasts, digesting and critiquing my mannerisms. I feel you desiring me. There is no way I can be imagining this chemistry between us. "Are you excited to be dancing such a coveted role?" Your voice commands my attention. "Yes, very," I respond with uncharacteristic lackluster, trying to beat you at this game of concentration and attention. But you were on to me. I was so self-aware, I was not thinking of ballet, but rather of the fire that you'd alighted in my cunt. And grappling with the fact that I'm completely distracted not only by your physical energy, but also stimulated by your psychological energy ... not to mention how mesmerized I was with your literary collection. At this point, I was ready for you to read to me or fuck me! "Oh my god, you have a first edition of Little Birds?" I squeal, tugging it out from where it was wedged between two other priceless literary works of art. Anais Nin was quite possibly my only other idol besides Carlotta Brianza. I hear you abruptly draw your breath, and then a quiet, unexpected grinding - a creaking of hinges opening, joints gently melding together. My eyes widen into saucers, I drop the book to the floor, as the wooden bookshelf I'm standing in front of begins to roll about three inches backward into the wall, and then split in the middle, sliding to either side. "Oops." You muse, as though you've somehow plotted this situation prior to my arrival. You stand and move toward me, smiling sinisterly. "Looks like you've opened up Pandora's box, little one." "Curiosity ... they say ..." You stand, chuckling delightedly as I'm frozen in awe. I'm completely baffled. My mouth involuntarily drops open, and my brow furrows as doors open, giving way to another hidden room. I strain my neck out to peer into the darkened space, a smaller anteroom whose walls are padded with thick burgundy vinyl on every side, too afraid to step inside. Only an odd, slender bench-like thing stands in the center of the room. My mouth is dry and I swallow hard several times in an effort to gain a foothold on this curious turn of events. "Is this a... a ..." My heartbeat races faster with excitement. You smile and chuckle gently. Why are you so amused by my innocence and wonderment? It's actually maddening! "I guess you discovered my dirty little secret, Ellie." Your voice deepens and sounds more ominous than I've ever heard it sound. Sex exudes from your tone. Suddenly you're standing right beside me, looking into the opening with me. You touch the back of my head, smoothing my hair sweetly, in an effort to calm my anxiety. "What is that?" I stared at the slender bench-like thing, (which I knew full well was actually called a saw-horse, but I didn't want you to know that I was knowledgeable of such devious devices.) "It's okay, Ellie. You can explore if you like." Your encouragement gave me strength to continue with my pursuit of curiosity. You gently pat me on the ass, as if to nudge me forward. I crept inside the secret chamber, cautiously, and then recognized the things I couldn't make out from where I had been standing before: A long wooden beam that went from the floor to the ceiling in one corner, with an equally tall mirror resting flush against the padded wall, about the width of 4 feet, as well as a small wooden box connected to the beam which rested on the floor. I assumed that was meant for someone to stand on top of while strapped to the beam. There was also a large wooden treasure chest to the side, which was open, displaying an array of what appeared to be torture devices: different paddles; a cane; long, multi-tailed whips and rope all neatly tied in a long snaking length of knots – these were all atop other items deeper down which I could not see. Something shiny caught the corner of my eye. I gazed toward the ceiling and wondered why there was a hook-like piece of metal protruding from the middle of the ceiling. My heart pounded, heavier, faster ... I bit my lip and looked at my feet, thinking that there was really no going back now. Besides, I told myself, I didn't want to go back. I felt as though my darkest fantasies had been somehow psychically conveyed to you, and I trusted that you knew exactly what to do with them. You stepped up behind me and wrapped your strong arm around my waist. "Ellie." You turn me to face you. "You needn't be frightened." Your voice was soothing. You kissed the back of my head gently. I felt so safe there with you. I sighed deeply, and relaxed more than I had been a moment ago. My eyes were burning with hot tears, not from anything else than just feeling a little overwhelmed by the desires that stirred within me. "I was hoping to build up to this, but you had to go and pull out Anais." You smiled at me, chucking my chin with the knuckle of your forefinger. "You willful, little girl." I felt as though I was being scolded for being such a curious little beast. I wouldn't have balked at punishment. I was swimming in a dark and delicious dreamland. All of my hidden fantasies of belonging to someone – being made to obey and serve – seemed to be culminating within this moment. "Tell me what you're thinking." You demand. "I'm ..." My eyes flutter as I search for the words and sigh. "I'm thinking that I want to know what you do in here." I'm nothing, if not honest. "Well, I'll tell you what." You press something small in your hand and the secret opening closes us in. "If you want to find out, all you have to do is ask." The sound of flickering candles crackle against the silence. "You just need to ask for what you want." You repeat yourself, coaxing me. My breath quickens and I'm clearly out of my element. The quiet erotic electricity hums between us. I breathe deeply, trying to quiet my fright, I lick my lips. "I ..." I stare at your eyes, not sure quite how to ask you for what I truly desire. "I want to ..." I try again, but my breath quickens and my voice is reduced to a faded plea. I close my eyes and almost whisper. "I want you to fuck me, to do anything you want to me, to tie me up and make me yours." My voice, almost foreign to me, husky with lust. "I want to submit to you." I open my eyes and look up at you with sure desire. You smile broadly, "good girl, Ellie. That's exactly what I wanted to hear." You push another book on the shelf near us, without moving your eyes from mine, and the secret panels churn open again. "However, first you must be punished for your impetuousness." You scold me and my cheeks burn with embarrassment. "Do you understand that?" I waver, my heart caught in my throat, not knowing exactly what to do, and you grip my little neck in your strong hand, forcefully leading me out of the anteroom and over to the chair behind your desk. You push my face down so that my cheek is pressed atop your desk, my face to one side on the cool, cherry-wood. "Spread your legs, little one." I oblige, widening my stance as far as I think I can. You kick my ankles out a little further. I recover on tip-toes. One hand firmly wrapped around my small neck, causing me to be keenly aware that I was completely under your control. The other hand caressing my ass. "Have you ever been spanked for being a bad girl, Ellie?" You hiss in my ear, all of my nerves shudder with seductive longing. My body melts, my head spins, every fiber in me tingles with desire. Yet, I say nothing, because I'm not quite sure how to answer. You yank my head back slightly with a fist full of hair so that my head is still level with the desk, only my chin is against the wood, "Are you deaf, slut?" Now I'm well aware you mean business. I search for the words. "No," I stammer, "I mean, I'm not deaf, Sir, and ....um, yes, uh, I mean I have been spanked ... but not since I was a little girl." My voice is dry and frail, I feel like I'm totally blowing this. At least I threw a "Sir" in there. "Well what do you think you are here, Ellie?" Your voice has taken on a cruel, sadistic tone, but it aroused such a feeling of deep and pure wanton submission within me. I was captivated and completely at your mercy, but not at all fearful of you. I didn't know if that question was rhetorical, so I didn't answer. "Slut!" You grab my hair harder and yank more forcefully so that I'm almost standing. "When I ask you a question, I want an immediate response. Understand?" "Yes." I heave breathlessly. "Yes.........what??" You hiss at me. "Yes, Sir." I respond instinctively, in a very tiny voice. I melted against your dominance. Just saying those words made my body feel like she was on fire. "Now." You breathe into my ear, pressing your body on top of mine, kicking my ankles out further, so as to make me unbalanced, pressing my cheek back to the cool wood of your desk. "Little sluts who snoop around in places they weren't invited to snoop in get punished, understand?" "Yes, Sir." I swallowed my response. My eyes water a little but not from fear, rather from excitement of the unknown. "Naughty little snooping sluts get spankings." You inform me. My head was spinning. I try to keep up with you. "And little miss-Cornell-Deans-List-Ballerina-slut is no exception!" Your massive hand came slapping down on my ass and I emit a quick gasp of shock. You slap my covered butt three more times, enjoying my shock and awe. Then, you yank me up by my hair again and thrust your tongue in my hot mouth. I reel from desire and feel like you were kissing the life into me – awakening the slut within. You pull away from me just as I'm letting go ... You leave me wanting more. "Strip." "Dance for me, Ellie." You command, barely audible, a low and serious tone coloring your words. My eyes widen, I snap my head toward you, and wonder if I've heard you correctly. "I'm sorry ..." "Show me how you move when you're dancing the part of Aurora." Your eyelids are heavy with want, and your voice sends tingles through my nerves. "But, I don't have my dance clothes or shoes, and ..." I stammer, flustered by the sudden turn of events. You kiss me deeply, your tongue reaching down to my heart, stirring the song inside. Your slender finger slips into the front of my pants and finds its way to the wet slit that is my cunt. You pull me toward you with that one finger. "Do it. Now. Or else, you'll be up on the Saint Andrews Cross getting punished for disobeying me." You were no longer my Professor, now you were my Master. I close my eyes and take a deep breathe in. I only want to please you. I want to dance for you. I dip way back, as though I'm being held by an imaginary partner, my head almost touches the floor of your dungeon. Something comes over me. As though Aurora was awoken inside of me, as if you, Prince Charming had kissed me awake. I swing my body around in a passionate circle, kick off my shoes, pull the strings of my wrap sweater & seductively make my way out of it, as well as peel off the pants that are painted to my body. Now, just in my bra & panties, I dance around the room, a passé, a releve, a jete ... in a trance, to a silent song. I am Aurora. And I only live to please You, my Master, my Prince Charming.