Longhand

(I want to be tied, and bound, and shackled.

I want my body to be exposed, vulnerable, aching.

I want clamps and plugs and crops. And more.

I want to beg.

I want to be a perfect, trembling slut. For you.

My cheeks burn as i write this... i am hot, all over...)

I sighed and flipped the page. How easily the words came, from pen to paper. Tucked away in my secret notebook. But to give those words life by allowing other eyes on them? Impossible.

On the next sheet I started again.

Dear Professor Shale:

I want to take this moment to express what an absolute pleasure it was working under you this last year. Your excellent mentoring has allowed me to grow professionally on many levels, and I will carry this knowledge you have imparted upon me, proudly, throughout my career.

I cannot thank you enough for all the ways you have helped me find my own voice, both as a teacher and a writer. You have corrected me without hesitation when needed, and praised me in my accomplishments. You have given me an added confidence in addition to all the skills, tips, and advice.

If ever there is a way I could repay you, feel free to call upon me.

Sincerely,

Ellen Krass

My cheeks flushed again, writing that last line. Was it too vague or too forward? Yes, too vague. I was playing the safe route again. It was better that way.

* * * * * * *

I slipped Professor Shale the letter in a sealed envelope as I was leaving our last class together. Students had long since filed out, and the object of my desires had his nose tucked in a paper. If he was even aware that this would be the last time we would see each other, I did not know.

His head popped up. "What's this?"

I fought to keep the color from rising up my cheeks. "It's just a thank you note. From me."

"Ah, yes," he said and stood. "I should be the one thanking you, Ellen. You've been invaluable to me this year." He extended me his hand, which I took with the intention of a firm, strong shake. But the warm of his palm, large, encircling mine. It made me weak. I let go too quickly.

"Best of luck to you, Ellen," he said with a sincere smile. I basked in it for a moment, but then he was back down at his desk, and I was walking away.

* * * * * * *

I walked back to my studio, six block off campus, with a heavy heart. I knew should be happy and proud: I got through grad school with flying colors, excellent recommendations. I had a decent job lined up already, which is more than most of my peers could say. I had so much to look forward to, but all I could do was think of gloom I felt at the prospect of moving to the other side of the country in eleven short days. Leaving behind my friends and the familiar, comfortable space I had found for myself. Leaving without ever admitting how I felt.

But it wasn't as easy as all that. It wasn't as if I just had some crush on James Shale. To be sure, I did have a crush on him: I was immensely attracted to him, physically, emotionally, intellectually. Sexually.

But it was more than a crush. I wanted him in ways I wouldn't dare say out loud. My fantasies of him had become increasingly specific.

For years I had known I had a sexually submissive side. The thought of being tied up, and used, was undeniably hot to me. And I had fantasized about it since high school, but up until then, it was always some generic, anonymous man who had me writhing about. It was safer that way, somehow.

With Shale I had a face, and a voice, and a scent for the star of my little dream scenarios. The scent of him made me so dizzy with lust, I had to lock up any trace of emotion when he was near. Normally a fairly shy person, around him I stuttered and shrank. I wore thick padded bras to hide my reactions. I became the opposite of the brazen dirty slut in my dreams.

Back in my studio, I started another story.

* * * * * * *

On paper, I was shackled and dripping, waiting, when the phone range.

"Hello?" my breath was short.

"Yes, Ellen? This is Professor Shale."

Heart skips. Palms sweat. "Hello Professor, how are you?" I tried to normalize my voice.

"I'm doing well. I read your letter and wanted to thank you for the kind words. I'm pleased I could be such a guide for you."

My heart thudded as I searched for an appropriate response. Luckily he beat me to it. "I would like to sit down and do a sort of informal evaluation with you, if you're up to it," he said.

"Yes, of course, that would be great."

"Shall we say dinner at Ziti's, tomorrow night? Seven o'clock? It would be my treat."

"That would be -- I'll be there," I said in too much of a rush.

"Excellent. See you then, Ellen."

Click.

Hyperventilating. Dancing.

* * * * * * *

The day and a half leading up to our dinner had to be the most agonizing yet excitable moments of my life. I tried to distract myself with anything I could think of. I read a dry professional journal. I deep cleaned the kitchen to prepare for my move out. But I could not take my mind off of it.

The professor and I had never met for coffee, much less gone to dinner. Did it mean something that he didn't just call me into his office? More than likely, dinner was just a polite thanks. Yet I couldn't help but dream.

The restaurant he had chosen was a nicer one. Not suit-and-tie-only nice, but certainly a step above the cafes and burger joints that dotted the campus. I had been there once before, and remembered high backed booths, and low warm lights. Intimate. I sighed thinking about it. Then, not wanting to get my hopes up, I reasoned that he probably just liked the food.

Still, I spent two hours getting ready. I scrubbed and exfoliated and painted my toes. I curled my hair and wore it loose, I painted my face with as much subtly and grace as I could muster. I did not want to look like I was trying too hard, but I was. I wore a knee length flowy black skirt with a form fitting charcoal gray v neck sweater. If I bent over you could see my cleavage, but that's as daring as I was willing to go. I chose low heel black sandals and reconsidered my choice of red toenails, but I forced myself to stop second guessing. I also put on my best underwear, black satin panties edged in lace, and a matching demi-cup bra. The panties were damp almost immediately, just from my turbid thoughts, and I considered going without. But that would be worse, much worse.

* * * * * * *

I took a taxi down and arrived five minutes early to the restaurant. Maybe it was just me, but the dining room seemed sultry. Even the way the hostess moved seemed dirty.

Professor Shale was already there. He stood to greet me, clasped my hand and kissed my cheek. "You look lovely tonight, Ellen," he said and sat down as I did.

I sat across from him with my knees pressed together. "Thank you," my voice cracked a little. I was going to die.

He just smiled at me enigmatically. "So how does it feel to be done with school? Are you excited about Philadelphia?"

I nodded, not trusting my vocal chords right away. "I am excited. I don't start working until August, so I have the summer to get settled and explore." I had been to Philadelphia only once, for the interview. I did not know anyone there.

"Do you have a place to live lined up yet?"

I shook my head. "No, I was going to stay in a hostel and start looking first thing."

"A hostel? That's adventurous," he said, again with the enigmatic smile.

I shrugged. The hostel was a money thing but I didn't want to talk about that. "This whole move is adventurous for me, professor." I was hoping he would stop and let me call him James, since I no longer worked for him, but he did not.

"I'm sure you'll do well, if your performance as my TA is any indication."

"Thank you."

The waiter approached and offered us drinks. Professor Shale ordered a bottle of wine without conferring with me. "We are celebrating, no?" Even with his smile, he was the perfect picture of composure. I could not read him. Hiding behind the menu, I took deep breaths.

When the waiter came back, I tried to order a grilled chicken salad, but the professor suggested I might like the ahi with saffron risotto better. I wanted to please him so I took his suggestion.

As we waited for our food and drank our wine, the professor cleared his throat. "I have something important to ask you, Ellen."

I looked at his eyes briefly for clues, but there were none. "Of course."

He reached into his inner jacket pocket and removed a few pieces of neatly folded paper. He slid them across the table to me.

"I found this in with some essays that you had graded," he said. "It's yours, isn't it?"

My hands shook as I unfolded the notepaper. My heart in my throat, I saw my a small, neat cursive with elegant loops. My own unique handwriting. Professor Shale had an odd policy about type written work. He said students were losing the art of crafting letters on the page, and insisted all work turned into him be handwritten. Many took him as a technophobe, but that wasn't it.

My eyes scanned the page. It was the first draft of a story I had written months ago. A dirty story. A really dirty story.

I wanted to crawl under the table.

I wanted to run for the door.

I could not move.

"Don't be embarrassed," he said, his smile almost a smirk. Playful. "It's excellent writing."

Eyes down, blushing. My hands in my lap, twisting my napkin.

And, then. "I rather enjoyed it."

My eyes flicked up to his for a millisecond. There was no jest on his face. He almost looked...hungry.

Breathe in, breathe out.

His eyes still on me. His eyes burning into me.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"It is about me?" he asked at last.

Napkin twisted around my hand, knotting. A bloom of heat erupted everywhere in my body, at once. Like my skin was on fire. "Yes," I said quietly.

"Look at me," he commanded. I forced my gaze to meet his. "Don't be embarrassed," he said again. I started to look away when he said, with gentle authority, "Keep your eyes here."

I met his eyes again and made myself hold them. His eyes were an intense green flecked with gold, and blue. I focused on the colors to keep my attention away from the sticky cream building below.

His smile widened. "Ellen, you are so fucking hot," he said in a low growl. "Do you know how sexy you are?"

I shook my head, slowly. "I want you to know how sexy you are," he said.

"I want to show you how sexy you are," he said.

Surely he could smell my arousal.

"Do you want me to show you?"

The waiter chose that moment to arrive with our plates. He smiled cheerily and chattered on about the food, oblivious.

"Can I get you or the lady anything else at the moment?" the waiter asked, directing his question at Shale.

"That will be all, thank you," he dismissed the server.

The professor directed his gaze back to me. He repeated his question, back to the low whisper. "Do you want me to show you?"

As he had asked before, I found his eyes. "Yes," I forced the breath of sound out of me.

His wicked smile again. Twinkling eyes. "Good." He picked up his silverware. "Let's eat."

Even though it smelled tasty, food was really the last thing on my mind. Now that I knew I was going to get what I wanted, I wanted it now.

What I wanted meant doing his bidding, so I picked up my fork.

Several long minutes passed in silence. He ate very slowly, as if thinking about each mouthful of food. Though not normally a heavy drinker, I sipped on my wine between bites. I could have used something stronger.

"This is new to you, isn't it?" he asked when his plate was nearly cleared.

I chewed and swallowed. "Yes."

"But you've been thinking about it a lot, haven't you?"

"Yes."

He took his time with another bite of food. A sip of wine. "And you think about ... getting tied up ... naked, helpless..."

My breath caught in my throat, I could not speak.

He smiled at me again. "Do you want to take all of your desire, all of your control...and give it to a man who knows how to use it?" His voice, low and husky. "Knows how to use you?"

I bit my lower lip and nodded. I could have whimpered.

Professor Shale took his time with the rest of his plate. Though my food was delicious, I couldn't finish it, so I just sat there. Waiting. Terrified, but thrilled beyond words.

"This is the most important question, Ellen. I want you to take your time with it, and be honest, okay?"

"Okay."

"Do you trust me?"

I did not hesitate. I looked him straight in the eye. "Yes."

The way that he was looking at me, then. I don't know quite how to describe it. It was as if he couldn't decide if I was the Madonna, complete with halo, or a fresh, juicy piece of meat.

"How do you feel right now, Ellen?"

My face flushed. "I feel ...excited...Professor Shale."

"'Tell me how excited you are. And, 'Sir' will do, Ellen."

I stalled. How could I say these things out loud? But I had to. I leaned in to keep my voice at a whisper. "I...I'm wet, really wet. And my nipples have been hard so long they ache. Sir."

"Does it make you even wetter to say those things?" Shale asked.

I blushed furiously, but nodded.

"Do you know how adorable that blush is? Fuck."

The waiter finally came back to clear our plates. I was ready to go.

But Shale wanted dessert. "Chocolate mousse, please."

After the waiter was gone, he asked me if it drove me crazy to wait. Of course it did and he knew it. I accused him of teasing me. "That's the point," he said with a smirk and a shrug.

It dawned on me that he enjoyed watching me squirm. The hotter I got, the hotter he'd get. He was in control, but I had my own kind of power. That realization took the edge off my nerves, some.

Shale took his time with the mousse, toying with it, really. Watching me. I was sitting still but I felt as if my skin and my blood and my nerves were jumping in a thousand directions at once. My heart was pounding so fast, I tried to focus my breaths into something slower and deeper.

I walked with him to his car without question or word. He opened the passenger door for me, and shut it with a definitive thud after I crawled in.

He got in the drivers seat, started the car and pulled away without a word. Music came on the stereo, jazzy and startling. John McLaughlin, I placed it after a minute. It occurred to me that I didn't know much about the professor outside of the university. It pleased me that this bit of knowledge proved something we had in common. I tried to focus on the music for the duration of the ride so I wouldn't jump out of my skin. But I was long past calming.

* * * * * *

He pulled into the driveway of a modest but tidy bungalow. There were thriving green plants hanging from baskets on the front porch, and a little round table with two seats. I decided I liked his home already.

I followed him wordlessly and waited while he unlocked the door. The silence was getting to me, but I could not be the one to break it. As I stepped over the threshold, the realization hit me with a jolt. I was really doing this. Shivers passed through me. I was torn between wanting to run and hide or to tear my clothes off. But, really, there was no way I could leave now.

"Are you nervous, Ellen?" he broke the long-standing silence.

I nodded. "I am."

His dark smile was back. "That's understandable. You have no idea what I have in mind for you." He began to circle me, slowly, like a vulture. "I'm not going to tell you my plans. That would spoil the fun." He was standing in from of me again. With his index finger, he lifted a few loose strands of hair that had fallen over my face and tucked them behind my ear. It was the lightest graze of a touch. Trying out my rarely used Jedi mind powers, I willed him to keep touching. But it did not work.

"I will tell you that you shouldn't be nervous. Not too nervous, at least. Tonight will not be about testing your limits or inflicting undue pain. Tonight I am going to introduce you to what you truly desire. Introduction being the word to note, here." He was staring me down with his wolfish eyes again. "Next time might not be so easy."

I blinked but did not speak. I had no objections, and could sense that now was not the time for discussion.

He took a few steps back. "Now, I want you to take your clothes off. Every stitch. Slowly."

I flushed again. I hadn't seen a mirror in awhile, but I figured I must be a bright shade of crimson by now. I pulled off the sweater first, not with ceremony but not rushed, either. I was grateful he did not ask me to dance or something silly.

I folded my sweater and set it on a nearby chair. I slipped off my sandals, now happy I stuck with the red polish. I laughed inwardly at myself, as if red toenails were a more daring choice than to voluntarily disrobe and subject myself to this unknown.

I unzipped my skirt and stepped out of it. My eyes darted to Shale. He was watching intently, but he was not smiling. There I stood barefoot, in my underwear. Nerves trembling, but determined, I reached behind my back to unhook my bra. Slowly, I let my arms down to my sides, and let the garment slip down my chest, to my arms. I folded the bra in half and placed it on top of my other clothes.

My nipples had been hard all night. Now, exposed to the cool air of the house, the light breeze of the ceiling fan, they were as erect as I'd ever seen them, swollen, thirsty for touch. The touch of his eyes was nearly, but not, enough.

Pushing the last of my modesty aside, I hooked my fingers into the sides of my prettiest pair of panties, and stepped out of them, as slowly as I could make myself. Still bent over, my eyes darted to the esteemed professor. Now, he had a slow, wicked smile. He waited for me to place my moist panties with the rest of my clothes, and approached me again.

"You are doing extraordinarily well, Ellen. You are as wet as a slut, aren't you?"

I nodded. "I am, Sir."

"Do you want me to feel how wet you are?"

My pussy throbbed and my eyes went wide. "I do, Sir."

"All in good time, my precious dirty slut." His hand moved to my face, and brushed my hair back, off my neck. "You do get a reward, though," he said and brought his lips down to the hollow of my neck, a most sensitive spot of skin and vein, and kissed it. Heat bloomed through my body, his tongue and lips the antithesis of sloppy. I tilted my head back and let out a small moan. He brought his mouth near my ear. "I'll say it again. You are so fucking hot, slut. You are so primed and eager and beautiful. By the end of the night I want you screaming, singing from my touch. But first I must have you dripping, aching." His warm breath left my ear. He stepped back again.

I wanted to tell him that I already was. I wanted desperately to touch him. I wanted to strip him of his clothes and take his cock in my mouth. I wanted him to bend me over and fuck me like I'd never wanted anything in my life.

"I want you kneeling, on the ottoman," he said, and gestured to the other side of the couch. "I want your legs spread wide, your hands behind your back, and your head down. This is position one. Now."

I climbed on the large, firm leather ottoman, and got into position. He told me, "Good girl. I'll be back in a moment."

I stayed and waited for what seemed like hours, but was probably minutes. I was intensely aware of how exposed I was, my cunt on display. I could feel the moisture pooling just sitting there thinking about it.

Shale came back balancing two drinks in one hand, and a small black case in another. He set the case down on the couch, and sat himself directly across from me.