Office Hours

Don't. Don't. Don't.

I repeated this mantra to myself lying in bed that night, in an attempt to convince myself that I absolutely shouldn't touch my pussy, no matter how badly I wanted to. But oh god, did I

ever

want to. I'd known it would be difficult to restrain myself, but it was turning out to feel almost impossible. And it was only the first night.

Barring some sort of unusual circumstances, getting myself off was just part of my normal nightly routine. I had what I'd gathered by now was an extraordinarily high sex drive, and one orgasm a day felt like the

minimum

I needed to keep myself sane.

That would have already made it difficult to miss a chance today, but on this particular day it was much worse than that, simply because I couldn't get my afternoon rendezvous with Professor Fitzgerald out of my head. It was easily the best sexual experience I'd ever had, and I'd been repeating it in all its glorious detail ever since I'd left his office. And the more I thought about it, the more desperate I got to reach my hand between my legs and frantically rub.

I knew I could always do it and just lie-after all, it's not like Professor Fitzgerald was there in my room watching what I did. But just the thought of lying to him made me feel guilty. I kept thinking about what he'd said about how much authority he had over me and how lucky I was that he was willing to take me. It really did feel true, and that made me feel like I had an obligation to obey him.

And then there was just the idea that this was a challenge and I wanted to see if I could successfully complete it. The fact that it was so difficult made me determined to prove, both to him and to myself, that I was capable.

Still, I sure as hell wished there were something I could do to make it not

quite

so difficult. But I had no ideas whatsoever. Did the cold shower thing really work? Just attempting to distract myself certainly wasn't. Finally I fell asleep and didn't have to worry about it anymore.

The next day I had a morning class, so I was out the door shortly after I got up. I wasn't sure if I'd even be able to concentrate with how horny I was, but somehow I did, and it actually provided a welcome distraction.

Trying to do my assigned reading when I got back to my room, however, was a different story. My thoughts kept drifting away to sex, sex, sex. What if I couldn't even do my work? What if I failed my classes? He definitely wouldn't want

that,

would he? Would he buy just needing my concentration back as a valid excuse for fingering myself?

I had an idea for something that might help and put my book away to try it out. He'd just said I couldn't touch my

pussy,

hadn't he? He'd made no mention of

other

parts of myself. Maybe if I provided myself with some stimulation elsewhere it would provide enough of a relief that I could do my work.

I took my shirt and bra off and laid down on my bed, and then closed my eyes and started gently stroking my tits.

Fuck

did it feel good. It felt even better than when I did it normally, probably because I was so desperate that

anything

that felt good was welcome.

I started thinking about Professor Fitzgerald and how it had felt to be taken on his desk, whimpering slightly at the memory. He'd put his hands on my tits then, hadn't he, but he hadn't been gentle, no, he hadn't at all.

I started squeezing myself very hard, and then I dug my nails in, moaning. Yes, that was much,

much

better.

It's so obvious that all you want to do is submit to me, so it only follows that suffering for me would be part of what you want.

He'd been absolutely right when he'd told me that. That's what I felt like I was doing right now-submitting to him, suffering for him. Even though he wasn't here, I could only think of how much it had pleased him when he'd been hurting me, and how sexy it was to imagine that he was the one doing it again right now.

I kept doing it for several more minutes, only stopping when the pain was starting to get overwhelming. Then I went back to my book, and found, to my relief, that the combination of pleasure and pain had calmed me down enough that I was able to study.

But lying in bed that night, the desperation returned just as intensely as it had been the night before. Thinking of what had helped earlier, I started roughly squeezing and digging my nails into my tits again. But this time, rather than helping calm me down, it just made the desperation even worse. For some reason the pleasure on my tits was just making my pussy feel as if it needed to be touched even more than it already had. I stopped after just a minute, wondering how I was supposed to deal with this frustration for another five days.

The following day was Thursday, a day I had been both eagerly anticipating and dreading. Thursday at 3 o'clock was when I had to make my way to Professor Fitzgerald's class on early 20th century literature. Normally seeing him on Tuesday and Thursday was what I most looked forward to every single week, but this time I had no idea how I was going to react.

Part of me was hoping just being around him would provide a sort of pleasure that would help serve as a stand-in for fingering myself in the same way that playing with my tits had. I knew I wouldn't actually be getting any physical pleasure at all just sitting there at my desk while he lectured, but seeing him had always been so exciting that I hoped it might provide a sort of

mental

pleasure.

But then another part of me was worried that seeing him would just make things even worse. It had always turned me on so much to come into his class right from the very first day, and I knew it would turn me on about a million times more that I'd actually had his cock inside me. What if it just made me ache more for an orgasm as intense as the one I'd had there on his desk?

I filed into class and took my customary seat in the front row, staring at him wide-eyed, wondering if he was going to pay special attention to me now after what had happened between us. But he didn't acknowledge me in any notable way, which hurt me a little. Hadn't it meant anything to him?

I did my best to concentrate on his lecture but it was incredibly difficult. The thought of his cock pounding into me just a few days before filled my mind, and my pussy was throbbing incessantly. But I did my best. I just remembered that I wanted to make him think I was good now more than ever, and that meant being a good student, not just a good lay.

Class came to an end and the other students began to file out of the room. I gathered up my books a little more slowly than was strictly necessary, wondering if now that we could be alone he was finally going to take some notice of me, but he was just going through some papers on his desk and making no move to pay attention to me.

I suddenly felt embarrassed and left the room quickly. I knew that he'd said he'd enjoyed what we'd done together, and he'd seemed to mean it when he said he wanted to see me again. But what if he'd changed his mind? What if he'd decided I was nothing but a desperate slut and not worth his time?

I felt lower and lower as I walked across campus to my dorm, and by the time I reached my room I was on the brink of tears. I just couldn't believe that he hadn't even acknowledged me in class today after he'd acted like I was so special to him.

But suddenly I thought of something. I remembered the way he'd just stood there for a moment when I was lying on his desk with my legs spread, begging him to fuck me. He'd told me that he was making me wait to remind me that he was my superior, to make it clear what the balance of power was between us. What if he was doing the same thing now? What if he was ignoring me to make me feel more submissive, to remind me that I was lucky to even be getting his attention at all?

The thought immediately made me feel better. Of course. That must be all it was. He wouldn't have led me on if he didn't really want to see me again, and he wouldn't treat me a certain way without having a very good reason for doing so. He was so smart and must have everything figured out perfectly.

And the more I thought about it the more I was positive that this was exactly the right way for him to be treating me. After all, he

was

the authority figure in this situation, and it was important for him to remind me of my place. Everything that happened between us should be entirely under his control-he'd made that much clear right from the beginning. And that included whether I got any of his attention or not.

Now that I was feeling all right again, I decided I better get to work on some of my assignments. Nice as it would be to spend all afternoon thinking about Professor Fitzgerald and how superior to me he was, I

did

have to keep my grades up. After all, if I failed and got kicked out I wouldn't even get to see him anymore.

The rest of the afternoon and evening passed smoothly with reading and papers. I somehow didn't end up thinking about the fact that I couldn't touch my pussy.

It wasn't until I went to bed at midnight, alone in the dark with only my thoughts for company, that I began to feel desperate again. Just like the previous two nights, I had to focus every last bit of my will on keeping my hand from reaching between my legs.

I couldn't stop thinking of him in class that day. God, he'd looked so fucking

sexy.

He

always

looked so fucking sexy. And the way he'd ignored me, which had hurt so much at the time, was now just making me more turned on. After all, why should he have to pay attention to me if he didn't want to? What made me think I would deserve that?

I began to think about what my classmates would think of me if they knew I'd gone into his office and begged him to take me. They'd surely think I was a slut, and soon the word would spread around the whole campus. The thought excited me. I never would've thought being thought of as a slut could be something that felt good, but it had been so hot when Professor Fitzgerald had called me one, and now I was starting to want it to be how

everyone

thought of me.

I thought of a way Professor Fitzgerald could make everyone

really

think I was a slut-no, not think anymore,

know.

He could fuck me right there on his desk, in front of the whole class. I thought of all those eyes on me, people taking videos with their phones, what they would say to each other later. Probably all the boys would come up to me after class and they would want to fuck me too and oh god I would let them, I would spread my legs for every single one of them. With this thought in mind, I drifted off to sleep.