This is the first of a series of stories. All characters are 18+
Whored Out By My Professor
We hadn't been dating long - maybe eight months. But already things had moved fast with this illicit relationship. Matthew was, of course, older but not too old. Early 30s with a casual confidence that some would probably call arrogance. And that appealed to me - just turned 19, away from home for the first time and finally in the city. As we had gotten to know each other in and out of class, I didn't realize how quickly I had come to rely upon him. And looking back on it more than ten years later, I can see now that he very gradually started to make every decision for first us, as a tentative, new and secretive couple around campus, hiding in plain sight. At first it was where we would go and eat out - because he wanted us to be careful we weren't spotted by a faculty member or another student. But then he'd order for me before I got a chance to even look at the menu. Always a plain salad and a glass of water, while he worked his way through appetizers, dessert and a bottle of wine. One time a waiter, stepping up awkwardly, as Matthew asked for a second bottle of red, asked me if I'd like a glass. "She doesn't drink anymore, do you Beth?" I was furious, but didn't want to make a scene, and just simply and quietly said, "No. Thank you." And so I stopped drinking for Matthew from that moment. He'd tease me of course when he had friends over for dinner to his place. They'd all be sitting around in the glow of the candlelight, wine flowing freely, more bottles arriving and he'd say loudly "Beth told me she's never drinking again. I told her that was no fun, but she insisted."
Things developed quickly from there. An early morning text: "wear the short skirt in class today... and open your legs at 10.00am for me." Deliveries of lingerie with instructions where to meet him. Matthew booked me spin classes five days a week and said he'd join me soon, but never did. I was encouraged to diet and drop 20 lbs. He had me bent over the desk in his campus office one time, skirt up and panties down around my knees. With his cock deep in me, a handful of ponytail yanking my head back so he could press his sweaty face to my ear and say. "You're ass is getting big. It jiggles too much when you're being fucked. We need to get your weight down soon." I'm ashamed now that I came hard in that moment. A long, wet shuddering wave of orgasm shame rippling through me, nipples hard, skin goose bumped across my boobs, thighs and now too-big behind. So I worked out for him and he bought me nice outfits in smaller sizes as a reward and I'd go to his place for dinner after class on Fridays where he'd love me (mostly), and where gradually the plans for those evenings changed.
"What's for dinner?" I had said cheerily coming through the side door one afternoon that he made me use so I wasn't spotted by his nosy bitch neighbor as he called her. "Well I'm having steak. It's on the grill. I'm not sure about you." That stung. "In fact I do know, Beth. You're not eating tonight. You're going to be too busy as you'll see." I dropped my bag inside the door and stepped into the kitchen through the hallway. "Beth don't be a slob, put that in the hallway." I sighed, picked it up and took it into the hall. I hung it next to his collection of canes, the crop, and the horsewhip, that he had no issue leaving in full display for anyone who came by. "Bring one of those in with you." I shuddered, knowing it was going to be one of those nights again.
Friday nights would now go two ways. He'd be normal Matthew, friendly, easy going and loving. He'd be all over me, most of the night, and we'd spend the night and even most of the weekend in a blur of lovemaking, hours spent in bed binging tv shows, and take out when I was allowed it. 10/10 days and nights. Then there were the other times. I'd be able to tell as soon as I arrived what mood he would be in. Within a minute or two he'd found an issue with me. The way I wore my hair. My skirt was too short or not short enough. I'd answered back in class that morning, or didn't seem attentive enough to his lecture. A long long list of issues, nits and details that he said he'd entered into his book and which we'd review later. Tonight was going to be one of those.
"Go downstairs and take off your clothes in the usual spot."
I sighed grumpily but a tingle went through me almost reflexively. I knew it would do no good at all. I descended the 13 steps - how appropriate. As usual the single bright white bulb hanging from the ceiling was on. It illuminated the sparsely decorated basement. A cold, concrete floor, mirrors along the entire length of one wall, a line of chairs - maybe a dozen - and hooks in the ceilings, walls and floor. The windows were open and the cool late autumn wind blew in as I started to undress. Sweater and skirt first. My uggs, thick opaque black tights. Then with a rising feeling of dread, I unclasped my bra, folding it and placing it neatly on the pile with my other garments, folded precisely as I had been told and instructed to do many times before. My panties last. Then I was standing naked, facing the stairs at the end of the room and waiting, heart beating, increasingly wet. The breeze, now cool, picked up and I shivered.
Upstairs I could hear his footsteps, kitchen to hallway, bathroom, a flush, back to the kitchen. Pots and pans clattering around. Then after maybe 20 minutes the sound of his feet on the stairs. Descending toward me. He approached swiftly and before I saw it coming a slap struck my left cheek, rolling my head instantly. "Did I tell you to leave them on the floor like a lazy little bitch? This isn't your filthy dorm room and I'm not your disgusting, cow-tit roommate! Pick them up. And you'll hold them until I tell you to put them down. "I'm sorry Matthew!" But it wasn't enough. "Goddam fucking slob, Beth"
I picked my clothes up and held them, as I'd been told before, arms fully extended, palms up. "You can hold them there until I'm ready for you." He marched across the room and snapped off the light. The room was a deep, dread-filled pitch black now with the faintest glint of a streetlight falling on the barred windows to my right. I could hear car tires on leaves just faintly, and the creak of the basement door at the top of the stairs being closed, and then bolted.
Time stretches out, twists and doubles back on itself in the dark, waiting for the unknown, the feared or the anticipated. As the sound of the TV upstairs played and the noise of his dinner being prepared continued I waited, motionless, arms out and now burning from shoulder to wrist. A thing rivulet of sweat had started in each armpit and now ran down my sides, my back and shoulders slick with the effort, and my pussy now beginning to ache. I'm not sure how long I'd been there but I heard the door open after a while and his voice, now calm but firm. "Beth take out the trash and join me for dinner."
"What trash?"
"Your clothes."
And so, looking around nervously, heart pumping in my chest and ears, sense on high alert I squeezed through the side door at the top of the stairs, praying I'd been slow and careful enough. But no such look. The motion sensor light blazed on like a prison search light, illuminating the leaf strewn driveway and the perilous walk to the trash cans. I had to do it. He'd check and if I didn't comply to the letter, things I knew would be way worse. In a reckless instant I dashed from the door to the trash, opened the lid in one move and threw away several hundred dollars of clothes. The skirt and uggs I'd been specifically ordered to buy just on Monday, which had crashed my student bank account balance to a dangerously desperate level, now lay on the coffee grounds, eggshells and old pizza boxes I'd been made to clear out of the kitchen when I did his weekly cleaning for him. I sneered at the memory. What a nerve. I'd never say that, of course. That would be a beating for sure.
"Beth, hurry up, dinner's ready."
I scurried back, amazed and thankful that in the floodlights, no neighbor emerged or passed to see me bared. He grabbed me by the arm and half dragged me to the dining room. "Get in your spot and watch." He pointed to the corner of the room, to the left of the heavy, long, wooden dining table. "You know what to do" So I knelt on the tray that I'd seen and experienced a dozen times before. A mixture of kitty litter and gravel, instantly sending searing pain into my knees as I knelt, hands behind my head, back ramrod straight and boobs presented for his inspection.
"Sit up straight slouch. Girls need better posture." He tapped my left breast with a ruler and it instantly stung as I stiffened my back. Then he sat, and began his meal, eating slowly and deliberately, and ignoring me as I knelt, breath now harsh and ragged. I tried to shift my weight but he would snap: "do not move. Or we will begin again."
