College Dom - Professor Sub

****** This is a collaboration between myself and unpublaauthor. Each took a role and wrote for that role. I wrote for Jake's point of view and unpublaauthor wrote for Violet's point of view. We hope you enjoy it and will continue to write more. ******

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I have lived a fairly normal life. I was captain of my high school football team as quarterback. I made straight A grades. I got into a great university on a full athletic scholarship. With my brown hair, hazel eyes and 5' 9" athletic frame, I had a choice of any girl. For the most part I had an average life, well on the outside. One thing that no one ever know about me was that I was domineering. Though I was a leader on the football field and with my girlfriends I tended to take control of them in bed. For me it was more about controlling my life to the way I wanted it.

Oh let me introduce myself. Jake Fletcher, all around nice guy.

When I started collage I talked my adviser into giving me the schedule I wanted. I know what classes I wanted to take, when I wanted them, and which professors I wanted. My freshman years was great. I know most of my friends joined frats their freshmen year, but I waited until my sophomore year. I had to see which was going to suit me.

Though I dated a girl or two in those two years they were too soft for my tastes. Then I met the new U.S. History professor, Mrs. Landover. I have never thought I would be turned on by an older woman but when I saw her my cock got hard and my stomach flipped. I know in that moment I had to have her. Now I know some of you are saying, "But she's your professor." Well no she's not. She's a new professor and since I had already taken U.S. History I wouldn't have her. So I made a plan.

I followed her when she was on campus to learn her routine. No I did not stalk her, just watched her whenever I passed her. One thing I noticed was she would always eat in the student café. So I waited and watched her until I realized something else about her. Though she had been known to be stiff, hard to please, and several students called her a 'BITCH', she needed to submit sexually to someone. So my plan changed. I was going to have my first true submissive slut.

* * * * * *

I watched the students around me as I scooped up the remainder of my yogurt. Several of them were in my freshman survey classes and didn't know the difference between George Washington and Barack Obama. Of those that did, they were so cocky and know-it-all that it made me regret my idea to teach at the university.

Don't get me wrong; I loved history, and I loved teaching it. What I loved about history was discovering how men and women interacted in the past. I tended to really enjoy reading about how things used to be, when men held all of the power and women stayed home and safeguarded the home.

I guess I should introduce myself. I am Violet Landover, M.S. I am twice, nearly thrice, divorced. My first husband cheated, said that I was cold in bed. My second husband discovered that I didn't want to be the sole breadwinner and hit the road. My third husband? He was a bit of a lark, a wannabe rocker with all the tattoos who seemed real tough and mean when I met him at my best friend's bachelorette party, but he couldn't bring me pleasure. No man has ever been able to do that. I know I come off as cold, and I've heard the students whisper that I'm a bitch, but I demand a lot from my students.

Growing up, I was the nerdy girl hiding in the library at lunch. I would read, as I said, about those bygone times in history. I was, as my mother called it, a late bloomer. Braces, frizzy hair, and bad posture gave way to tousled blonde curls (that I usually kept severely in check in a bun), blue eyes that turned icy when a student disappointed me, and very nice--and completely natural--36DD boobs.

I still tended to hide behind very staid work attire while on campus, tweeds and oh-so-proper suits, usually buttoning up to hide my breasts. But, at home, I indulged in fairly naughty lingerie meant to entice and seduce. Inwardly, I groaned in frustration. What would it take for me to meet a real

man

? I was so tired of orgasming myself to sleep with my vibrator.

* * * * * *

Now one could ask how I knew she needed to submit. Well once I realized how much I needed to control my life and the people I deal with, I came to understand that people put up a façade. When a woman looks like a stern hard bitch, what she wants and needs is to be dominated. To submit and be told what to do. She may not know what she wants so she needs to be guided.

So I decided to introduce myself and measure whether I was right about her. One day when she went to the café I followed her in and ordered myself some lunch. After looking around for her I made my move. Walking over to her I gently bumped into her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bump into you."

She smiled. "That is ok. Just be careful next time."

I smiled and sat at a table nearby and faced her. Pretending to look around the café I watched her. She went back to the book she was reading and I looked at the title. It was one of those dopey romance novels that lonely housewives read when their husbands can pleasure them properly. More evidence that she needed to be taken by a real man. She sat leaning back in the chair as she read. Dressed in a white blouse, black skirt, nude color stockings, and black high heels, she was every bit the fantasy teacher. Though she was sitting with her legs crossed I could see her skirt rode up enough to see a hint of the top of her stockings.

I loved stockings on a woman. Not just how they can accentuate their legs, but the feel of them as I run my hands over them. I made a mental note to make sure she always wore them. Her hair was done in a bun like some sex deprived library assistant. Another change I would have to make. I needed to make the next move in my plan so I stood up and went to throw my trash away. As I passed her again I made sure to brush her back with my crotch, just enough to let her feel but not enough to be blatantly obvious as what I was doing.

* * * * * *

I shivered, feeling a bit hunted. For the last several days, I had felt as if eyes were on me. As a result, I had started to dress slightly less like a frump. I left off the blazer this morning and had unbuttoned a few buttons on my crisp white shirt revealing a daring hint of cleavage above the lacy cups of my bra. My skirt was several inches shorter than normal, and I wore stockings rather than pantyhose. I even tottered a bit on high heels.

My male students had noticed. I guess it was worth it if the infants sat up and paid attention to my lecture on prostitution in the Civil War, for once. Having that much masculine attention made me a bit more daring, and I had shimmied out of my now wet and fragrant panties before heading into the student center to pick up lunch.

As usual, I ate alone. As usual, once I finished my lunch, this time a pita gyro wrap with a banana I ate lustily, gobbling it as I wanted to a thick cock, I turned to one of my secret vices: bodice ripper historical romances. Lately, I've been reading medieval romances. I've especially grown to enjoy the ones that feature heroines chained up in a medieval dungeon awaiting rescue from a dominating warrior prince.

I looked up briefly to see the hazel eyed, brown-haired stranger who had come to feature in my fantasies as the warlord rescuing me, the enchained and enslaved maiden in the last few weeks. Every day, it seemed, as I ate lunch, I had noticed him. Sometimes from afar, sometimes up close. It seemed as if he was waiting for someone, something. Even though he wasn't my student, it had to still be highly inappropriate that I masturbated at night wishing he was waiting for me...looking for me, right?

He was the type of guy that I hid from but secretly dreamed about when I was a geeky high school student. Athletic and popular. I had asked around. He seemed to be well-liked by many of the professors on campus.

I heard his chair scrape back. Squelching a frown of disappointment, I realized that he was leaving. I pretended to focus on the novel in my hands, my eyes unseeing what I knew to be the hot scene where the hero batters away the heroine's virginity while she is still chained to the wall.

He walked behind me and his erect cock brushed up against me. I felt ashamed for what surely was an innocent act. Despite my mortification--or because of it--my pussy wept for the huge bulge that brushed me. Even though it wasn't bobbing before me for a suck and a lick, I could tell that this boy, years younger than my forty-one years, packed a larger cock than any that had filled me before.

And, I had to have it.

Another shadow loomed over me. As I knew it wasn't the boy because my eyes had followed his exit from the student center, I knew it could only be one other person. I looked up and winced. I was right.

Dr. Xavier Bradshaw, the Dean of History, licked his lips as he looked down at me. It was mostly because of him that I continued to wear my hair scraped up. I always felt unclean by his lascivious stares. Unlike the boy's accidental brushing of his cock up against my back, Xavier's overtures were just that, blunt and purposeful. I resisted the urge to button up my shirt, and I knew he knew that I was uncomfortable. And I knew that made him even more aroused.

He held my career in his hands. I knew he wanted me to mess up so that he could "make a deal" with me, make me sleep with him in order to save my position at the university.

"Excuse me, Dr. Bradshaw, I will be late to class if I don't hurry." I tried to slip by him, but his hands palmed my ass. His chuckle grated, and I could tell he realized that I wasn't wearing any panties when he slid his finger in my wet slit. I moaned softly, cursing myself for being so aroused from that boy. "Of course you need to be on time. If not, we will need to discuss your tardy behavior later in my office."

I nodded, and sprinted toward the quad, intent on escape.

* * * * * *

Just as I left the café I looked back and could tell she noticed my semi erection. Now I have never thought I had a big cock, as the only two girlfriends I had sex with where both true virgins but I'm told it is a good size. Almost 8 inches in length and about a 3 inch girth, I am fine with it.

As I walked across the campus I made the next step in my plan. Over the following week I would make sure I walked by her whenever she ate in the café. I would sit facing near her and adjust myself so she would see my cock lying under my pants and boxers. I would always make sure she could see me no matter where I sat. I would always walk by her and made sure that I brushed her when I left.

The next week I made my first official move. As she was walking into the café I bumped into her knocking her over on purpose. Fanning a shocked look. "Oh I'm sorry Professor. Here let me help you up." I extended my hand out to her and helped her to her feet. "I guess I wasn't paying attention. Let me buy you lunch to make up for my clumsiness."

After we walked into the café and ordered our lunches we found an empty table and sat down. Discussion turned to her asking about my life and my experiences in collage so far. Then talk about her life and her two divorces. I learned quite a bit about her as well as confirmed that she was submissive but just needed someone to bring it out of her. Then a thought hit me.

"Can I ask you something personal? I know we just met but..." I thought of the best way to fraise it. "...When was the last time you were treated as you like the woman you should be?"

She gasped as she placed a hand on her chest than stuttered. "Wwell if you must know, it's been years."

"Then I would like to take you to dinner. My treat." She sat for a moment before agreeing. "Good." I looked at my watch. "Oh! Time for me to get to practice. Give me your number and I'll text you." She told me her number and I put it in my phone. As I left I could tell she was watching me.

* * * * * *

I waited three days for him to call me with baited breath. Long-forgotten teenage fantasies of dating the quarterback rose to the fore, and I superimposed his body in place of my old daydreams, imagining giving him a blowjob in the locker room after the team's big win in nothing but my underwear, the skimpiest, laciest, and naughtiest I owned.

Classes continued to progress slowly. To keep my male students' attention, I continued to wear the tighter and shorter skirts and tighter tops. While they continued to pay attention, and their cocks were at attention, doing so had a few disadvantages.

First, Dr. Bradshaw continued to ogle me and find ways to squeeze my ass or finger me when we passed in the halls. I took to taking pains to avoid him. And, making all those boys take notice served only to make me wet while I was attempting to lecture.

Thursday, in the middle of class, my phone buzzed with a text. My heart jumped in my throat as I read what Jake tapped out: "Good morning! I will pick you up at seven at your office. Wear those stockings of yours but no panties. You will never wear panties in my presence again."

I gulped and thought, not for the first time since he introduced himself to me, that I was in over my head. Me. The staid college professor. Invasive fantasies penetrated my thoughts, rupturing my concentration. The rest of the class passed in a blur. Shutting the door as the last student exited, I returned to my desk. Seated behind my desk, I always felt small, dainty, and utterly feminine.

I lifted my legs up and spread them, hiking my skirt above the tops of my stockings. With a shudder, I plunged two fingers into my pussy, plowing it. My moans covered up the opening door. And the clearing throat.

* * * * * *

As it got closer to time I took a good shower then dressed. Wearing blue jeans that were tight enough to show my bulge very well, but still loose enough to move I slipped into a black t-shirt and black, gray, and red collared button up dress shirt. They fit we well and enhances my athletic built. I ran down the stairs from my frat house and hopped into my truck, Ford F-150. A high school graduation present from my parents.

Pulling into the parking for the main lecture building I was a bit nervous. I wondered if she was still in her office and did she wear what I asked of her. I entered the building and walked down to her office. I was just about to open the door when I heard movement. I slowly and quietly cracked the door open and peeked in. I grinned as I watched her prop her feet up and slide her hand under her skirt.

Within moments she was moaning as I watched her hand move. The aroma of her filled the air making my cock swell in my jeans. I slowly stepped in, making sure she didn't hear me. I stood to watch her pleasure herself and knew then that she was submissive but needed to be shown. I could tell she was close to coming so I cleared my throat.

The look in her eyes was priceless. A mix of shock, embarrassment, lust, and need flashed in them. She was just about to pull her fingers out from under her skirt.

"Leave them." She stopped and stared at me. I saw the mental tug of war she was playing. Should she obey or should she leave and hope I wouldn't come after her. "You will do as I say....yes?" She only nodded as her mouth remain close. "Now, pull them out and lick them clean." Reluctantly she obeyed as she slide her fingers out of her skirt and timidly licked them one by one, her eyes never leaving my face.

* * * * * *

I watched his smirk as I tasted myself. How could he have asked that of me? None of my exes would ever have even thought to demand that of me. And here he was, little more than a stranger, commanding me to lick my cunt juices. My body went rigid as he continued to stare, my breathing seeming to be of particular interest to him. His eyes lingered on the cups of my lacy bra visible through the expanse of skin revealed by the open blouse.

I looked down. My puckered nipples were framed by the black fishnet enrobing my areolae. Why on Earth did I wear my bra with the nipple cutouts? Already hardened little raspberry nubs, my nipples knotted still further under his ardent gaze.

"Touch them. Tweak them. Show me how you liked to be touched." His voice, little more than a harsh, aroused whisper, seemed like a shout in the confines of my office. Mechanically, I twisted them in tandem as if they were knobs on an Etch-a-Sketch. Engorged almost past bearing, even the slightest touch would be uncomfortable. This full-on self-assault served to make me yelp and to make my pussy flood with desire. Please don't let him see how the pain turns me on, I pleaded--to whom, I'm not sure.

I watched him catalog the evidence of my desire for pain and couldn't miss the--sadistic?--smirk he made no attempt to conceal. He held his hand out to me, and I accepted it, placing my much smaller palm shyly against his. With deft movements, he buttoned my blouse with one hand, rendering me decent again and no longer a wanton slut. Perversely, he flipped my skirt up to observe that I had removed my panties and was bare beneath my skirt, save for the stockings. He ran a purposeful finger along my slit, and I wobbled, grinding gently against his large digit.

I choked on a moan. He said something, coughing, that sounded like "slut," but surely I was mistaken. In an audible tone, he queried, "Shall we go?" To which I nodded. He smoothed my skirt down, palming my ass, and we exited the building.

* * * * * *

I watched as she tried to hide her inner slut. I grinned sadistically knowing it would be easier than I thought to bring it out. Her nipples poked out making them highly visible even under her blouse. I felt the shudder that ran through her body as my finger slide through her wet slit. As palmed her ass I could tell she loved the attention I gave her.

We walked out to my car where I opened the door helping her in like a true gentleman. I reached in the back seat pulling out a black bag. Opening it I took out a vibrating egg.

"Slip this into your pussy." Hesitantly she took it from me and slid it under her skirt into her pussy. I held up a remote to show her I had control over it. Quickly turning it on, she jumped at the feel of it. I let it stay on for a moment then turned it off. I could hear a low growl of disappointment. I laughed knowing what I had planned for the night.

We arrived at the restaurant just in time to get the table I reserved. The hostess walked us to the back table that had low lighting as well as I great view of the rest of the restaurant. The table cloth completely covered the table as we sat down on opposite sides. Once we were handed the menus we looked them over as we waited for our waitress. Having decided we begin to talk.

From the outside we were having a normal date. Talking about ourselves, what we planned to do for our lives, many other typical date night topics. Under she would squirm each time I turned the vibrator on and off. I could tell it would break her concentration each time. When the waitress came up to take our orders I turned it on high and left it on. I had to grin watching her try to order while the toy vibrated in her pussy causing her to slip a couple times.

Once the waitress left I turned off the toy and looked her straight in the eyes. "Get under the table." She looked at me then around the room. It felt like several minutes as she debated about obeying. Did I take it too far or was she having an internal battle of wills? My question was answered when she took one last look around the room before slowly sliding down under the table.

* * * * * *

I slid under the table in compliance with his direct order, mortified and aroused beyond bearing. Why was I following his demands and commands, I asked myself, even as my cheek caressed his cloth-covered bulge in between his legs.