The Secret Syllabus

"Why? What have you heard?" I ask, frowning.

"That there is some kind of secret sex class. I am here to see if the rumors are true." She pauses. "Because I want to take the class."

I contemplate her for a moment. Her name is Kat. She is a slim, athletic nineteen-year-old Chinese girl who is currently taking my Human Sexuality class. She's sexy as hell.

"I just want to know if you still teach that course, uh, Professor X."

She says this last part with a smile because students don't ever use my nickname to my face. I note the social risk she just took and nod slightly. I like that she is nervous. It excites me.

The students actually gave me the nickname "Professor X" many years ago because all of my teaching and research is on human sexuality. A topic that is still taboo even today. Originally, the students called me "Prof. triple-X" because of my popular BDSM Lifestyle course, but that name is too long, I guess, and so it quickly got shortened to just X.

She meets my gaze and never looks away. Her confidence and vulnerability excites me and my cock begins to tingle. There might really be something here.

"I don't know what youre talking about," I say, "what you describe would violate like a dozen college rules."

I say this seriously and with conviction. She nods blankly, but a small smirk escapes her lips. Innocent and not at the same time. I don't think she could know, but she is hitting my personal fetish buttons one after the other and it's really starting to mess with me. I don't know how she could know my weaknesses. Maybe she is just lucky. But I have to be very careful with this one because if she keeps hitting these buttons she will

soon own me. Kat shifts in her seat and the short tight dress she is wearing reveals more of her toned legs. They could have been carved from marble.

My eyes glance down and lay on her lap, sudden desperation to kiss every inch of this confident sexy needy young thing breaks into my mind with a violent scream.

But I must stop. I have to be very careful right now.

Without warning she spreads her legs calmly to show me her light purple panties. They are wet and stretched tightly over her smooth vulva. She shaves, I think automatically, and that's when I lose control over my cock. Fuck. My cock stiffens in my pants but it's pointing down and begins to hurt as it grows. I have no choice but to grab myself and adjust it upwards. I do this casually but she watches, apparently detached, but with interest. She knows she is getting to me now. And that can be dangerous.

I look up and meet her eyes. She sits impassively without expression like a Buddha. Her eyes reveal no judgment or criticism. She is quite simply waiting. Waiting, but wanting. Needing.

But needing what?

It's been awhile since a student got under my skin like this. I feel weak with lust and want her so badly that the need crowds out all other thoughts. I am just left with that need. I lick my lips, my eyes returning involuntarily to her revealing moisture. If she wanted to she could break my will power right this moment and I'd literally fuck her brains out whatever the consequences. Fear and anger grip me. My whole body begins to tingle and beg. I smell a hint of sweat. I feel exposed and naked and awkward. She's just a girl, I think. One in a million. What is wrong with me.

She makes a soft sigh. I look up and she moves her mouth ever so slightly and bites her lip for a split second.

"Please." It's not even a whisper.

This girl is good. Fuck. This girl is very good.

No you don't. To break the tension and free myself from her grip I stand abruptly and walk to the office door, shutting it. As I walk past her my bulging pants are nearly at eye level and she follows my cock with her eyes. A slight smile. A chill runs down my spine. I feel drugged.

"I dont know what you are talking about though," I say sitting down, "I teach a lot of independent studies on all aspects of human sexuality. What did you say this one was on?"

"Female sexual pleasure," she says with a touch of shyness, but she does not look away. The shyness is a good sign. And sexy as hell.

"I've heard that you have a secret sex syllabus. That you teach a class that systematically explores a girl's body and sexuality to find what they really like and what really gets them off. It's very hands-on." She tries for the joke but misses it. For a second it's awkward and I feel the power moving back in my direction and I start to relax a bit. A rare misstep for my little minx.

The rumors are, of course, true and I make sure that all the girls know it. But I always leave enough room so I can deny everything. Only the right kind of girl can take this course. I have to test her to see if she is someone I can trust. Someone who can liberate herself from the moralizing hand wringing of everyday life. Someone who can actually love pleasure without guilt or shame. And by loving pleasure, love everything that exists.

It takes time to find an authentic candidate for The Syllabus. Most people are conventional deep down and passion and ecstasy scare them. They don't really want that. They think they do, but what they really desire is safety and not missing out. They are still vanilla at heart. They do not love the being of things.

But when I find one it is very different. There is an energy. I can feel her sexual need buried under the weight of convention, suffering and begging. She is the student I teach. I systematically explore their bodies and their minds. Looking for exactly the right combination of sensations and thoughts to give them maximum pleasure. To escape for a time the burden of the conceivable. But there are so many kinds of bliss. The bliss of pure domination. To own another person as your slave. Their eyes begging with a humiliating need and weakness. The bliss of being owned, of letting go completely to whatever happens. The deep supernatural peace of always saying yes. The bliss of the slow gentle tingle running like a trickle of water down your body until everything is vibrating with want. The bliss of the public orgasm, suppressed and struggling, denied, the fight and then suddenly tearing apart your public mask and throwing the naked real deep you, desperate, uncontrolled and raw, into public. Just to name a few.

She still hasn't moved.

She just sits there patient and powerful in her wet panties waiting for me to break under the weight of my need for her. I am starting to lose control of my thoughts. She sits with her legs apart. I stretch a little and look away to the complete works of Freud on my shelf trying to calm the fuck down. Why is she doing this to me? Please don't break me, I silently pray to her. I plead in my mind.

"Can you just tell me what you cover in the class?" she asks. Innocent, like we were talking about Psychology 101. It startles me awake.

"That depends on the student," I say, still looking away. Immediately I realize my mistake and look back at her in panic. She is smiling and licks her lips a bit. That is the first time I have seen her smile. She knows exactly what she is doing. Fuck. She understands the contest and she knows that in this game of chicken I just blinked. I lost and she won. My mistake now dwarfs her failed joke. I feel like she has me by the cock. Holding my stiff thick member in her two cute hands, but making no effort to please. It's like she is just holding it firmly, letting me feel her power. Her ability to give me what I most need. I writhe, my cock begging her to stroke and lick.

But the mood has changed. We crossed some kind of line with my comment. Should I walk it back or let it go? I am finding it hard to think with those legs and that shaved --

"I see. So you fit the syllabus to the particular, uh, needs of the individual student?"

She emphasizes needs. I hate this girl with everything in me. I need to convince her that I don't really want her. That she is nothing to me. Just one student among thousands. I probably won't even remember her name in a year. I rally my energy to fight her.

"Well, yes, when teaching it is important to know your audience and to find out what they need." I am back in professor mode, on autopilot. "But oftentimes what they really need is not what they think they need." She looks briefly offended at the idea that she does not know her own needs. She covers the look quickly but I see that this one--who seems so mysterious and so powerful--may not always understand her own mind. She may be a mystery even to herself. God damn I want to explore that mystery and find out what makes this evil pixie whimper and scream. I want her to scream until she can't, wild as an animal, mouth open, with spit flying from her exposed molars, screaming until she has forgotten who she is. I want to break her with need.

Without breaking eye contact she casually reaches down and gently rubs her clit through her underwear. Small circles, I note. Slightly off center. She bites her lip and makes the softest most subtle moan. I startle and reach of my cock -- she suddenly stands, brings her hand up, and reaches out to me for a handshake.

"Well, I would be very interested in that course if you are still teaching it. I am a very eager student." She smiles in self-mockery. Cliché, but fucking effective. I feel lost like my mind is melting.

I take her hand and stand weirdly without authority. My erection is obvious and I make no effort to hide it. She glances at it quickly and involuntarily. She smiles, but it's not automatic. It's a smile for me. To let me know that she is impressed. Then I am mentally dismissed.

"Let me know."

She turns.

Door open. Door closed.

I am alone.

I bring my hand to my face automatically and smell her musk. I groan loudly. Fuck. What the hell just happened?

I unzip my pants and release my desperate cock. Using vaseline that I keep in my desk I begin to stroke slowly, stroking from bottom to top without even sitting down. I close my eyes but am still too flustered to fantasize. I just have the insane energy she left behind her. I enjoy the healthy pleasure that my cock brings me and lean my head back letting the pleasure wash over me. Soon I am nearing orgasm and I slow and move to the head. I rub just the tip to maximize the pleasure and control the release allowing -- a timid knock at the door. Fuck.

I feel instantly ashamed and then angry at myself for this absurd conventional reaction. I have been preaching in every class for twenty years about the physical and psychological benefits of masturbation. A lot of people would be so much happier if they just learned to enjoy the pleasures of their body rather than feel ashamed of it. But society -- another quiet tap.

"One second. I'm just finishing something."

I get my cock back in my pants, zip, and quickly check to make sure that there is no evidence because that could count as "sexual harrassment" after all. Right? Not sure, but maybe. I don't know. Anything having to do with sex is taboo and evil now. The New Puritans. My mind is wobbly.

Another timid knock. A knock that asks?

I open the door. It is Kat looking submissive and needy. Her eyes are wide and she smells of spring. Her shoulders are toned and I mentally trace the line of her collar bone down to the swell of her breast. Firm innocent breasts. The young forbidden kind. I hear myself swallow inside my skull.

"Oh here is the homework that was due last week. I forgot to turn it in. I hope that's okay." She giggles. It breaks me from the inside out. I meet her eyes and she looks up at me flirtatiously, vulnerable, inviting me to use her. My mind goes to static and I know that she has me entirely in her power. This sub owns her Dom because she alone can satisfy the insane need she inspires in him.

"uh, yeah, right. of course."

"Thank you. Professor." She giggles again and I gasp at the emotional assault. She reaches out her hand and I instinctively reach to shake it. Why is she always shaking hands? But when we touch I suddenly feel that my hand is still covered in vaseline and precum. She holds it longer than she needs to, looking me directly in the eyes, exposing her need to me. She knows. I feel a rush of humiliation but refuse to give into these absurd repressive sexual norms. She turns slowly and walks away. I watch her sleek slim body move. She walks away a conqueror. My cock literally aches.

This was a power play I now realize. She was playing me. She knew I'd be jerking off and she wanted to interrupt. To prove that she can. The thought drives me wild with lust.

I realize at that moment that I want to break that girl and own her more than I have ever wanted anything else in my life.

***

It's a beautiful cool August day on the small leafy green campus of Hogarth College in rural New York. The college has a good reputation and it attracts talented and eager students from around the country. My job is a dream. I teach. I write. I play with hot college girls. What more could a man ask for?

I enter the cool building on my way to my Human Sexuality class. Kat's class. I am nervous as I walk into the large lecture hall. I glance up at the tiers of seats and don't see her. I put my books down and grab my notes for the day. I feel confident and in charge. I smell the chalk on the last blackboard at the college, the one which I insisted that the college keep. This is my territory. This is my game now. I take time to look over the room trying to spot Kat from among the crowd of normality and bland conformity that I see before me.

I don't see her. Did she skip class? Run back to her dorm to masturbate? The thought teases my needy mind. I never did get a chance to finish after my Kat meeting this morning. The arousal makes me momentarily angry like my weaknesses are being used against me. I chain those thoughts to the bed and focus on my lecture. The class begins on autopilot...

"I do think that was Augustine's experience," I say about thirty minutes later in response to an anonymous boy question from the back. "Well, he chose to live by a rigid moral code which prized self-denial especially in sexual matters. But no matter how hard he tried to cool his lust he found that every pretty girl still got under his skin and caused him real pain even after thirty years as a monk."

Another hand goes up.

"Is that because it hurts to really really want something and not be able to have it?"

I turn. It's Kat.

"That's right because the uh..." but my mind falls out of the groove and my emotions confuse me. I cannot pull an answer out from the tangle of thoughts. She looks down and takes notes. When I can only see the top of her head I don't recognise her. Has she been here the whole time? Where did she come from? The room suddenly sparkles. I stammer out an answer using bits of other thoughts and she diligently writes it all down. I feel suddenly flattered that she is paying such close attention to me. She lifts her head up and for the first time I realize that she is wearing a choker necklace. She was not wearing that earlier. A cheap simple choker with no dangling charm. One you can buy anywhere. But chokers are one of my other serious fetish buttons. The childlike innocence combined with the erotic collar of the slave. I stop and stare. I blink rapidly and try to recover and get back in the groove.

But I am lost.

I just stare.

It has been too long and I know this. I panic. Say something.

The students are waiting patiently. Some start paying attention for the first time since zoning out a while ago.

There is too much silence.

I feel all the eyes in the room on me and all I can see is the perfect curve of her neck in a choker. Like an innocent sex slave in the full flowering of teenage beauty. She looks so submissive and vulnerable. A slight pout. But with overwhelming power. My thoughts breaking fall with a splintering too many I...

Then it happens.

Her persona breaks. She gets nervous because the whole class is staring at her and the cool persona breaks down. She smiles authentically and looks down at her lap, moving quickly, nervously, agitated, hands in her lap pressing. She blushes. She can't maintain the strong sexy goddess thing and I get a raw glimpse of the real Kat. Her pleasure, her insecurities, her playfulness, her desperation. She is acting not for effect, but out of sincere emotion. She is quite simply embarrassed.

It's the single most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life. To see her so raw and so authentic takes my breath away. Like glimpsing into the mind of God.

Her eyes stare at me pleading to end this moment.

I turn my back to the class.

"That's enough for the day. I'll see you all Wednesday."

There is an indistinct muffed movement sound.

I don't turn around.

***

After class I return to my office broken, confused with emotions pulling me one way and then the other. I feel unsteady and drugged. I need to cum. I need to slow my thoughts down and put them into some kind of order. I need to get a fucking grip. I start to wonder if maybe someone had secretly drugged me.

I rush to my desk and sit. I put my head down and close my eyes. I rub my semi-hard cock through my pants and every nerve ending tingles like when I'm high. I count to ten messaging myself and then look up.

Fuck.

Kat's standing right in front of my desk. "Sorry, I didn't hear you come in," I say startled.

"I need you to sign this," she says without any warmth. I look at it and it's a withdrawal form.

"I'm dropping Human Sexuality."

"Oh no! Why would you do that?" I say with way too much emotion. "About today. Look I am sorry I was just staring off into space you know how that happens I just couldn't think of what I wanted to say I wasn't staring at you, I was just looking in that direction I am so sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable ... " I ramble for a long time trying to guess what needs to be said. Saying something and then trying to correct it and then correcting the correction making sure that she knows that I am not a creeper.

She just waits and let's me humiliate myself. Degrade myself in front of her. I am a quivering mess. She makes no effort to comfort me or end my babbling. She just lets me keep going.

"Oh it has nothing to do with today's class. I thought it was interesting."

I stop and wait unsure what to say.

"I just want to take another class and have to drop one."

So she picked my class? Why? Wasn't she just telling me a few hours ago that she wanted to take my secret course? Why drop this one?

"So you weren't upset about how today's class went?" I am feeling massively insecure and need her reassurance.

"No."

I wait but she does not elaborate. Another power play. Being cryptic. Leaving multiple interpretations on the table. Forcing me to show her how much I care by making me ask the distinguishing questions. Forcing me to grovel and beg to get the information I want. She knows what she's doing. I find it childish and petty. I start to get seriously pissed off. I hate people who aren't open and honest but use ambiguity to hide while pretending to be open.

"Of course, obviously I don't care. There is a long waitlist." I instantly regret that.

I hand back the paper roughly. I feel defeated. Fuck this girl. She stands there thinking for a moment and then says,

"Today's class was very interesting. It was the first time I ever had an orgasm in front of a room full of people."

She smiles.

"I liked it."

Only the smell of spring remains.