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From: Mike Chambers <mikechamberswrites@hotmail.co.uk>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Bad Professor Chapter 2: Jacqueline (MF reluc) by Mike Chambers
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Date: Thu, 04 Dec 2008 16:10:01 -0500
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The Bad Professor Chapter 2: Jacqueline
by Mike Chambers

{Author's note: you don't need to have read Chapter 1 to enjoy Chapter 2.}

 

Jacqueline is a good student. She normally prepares well for
class, she tries to contribute to discussions, and her essays usually show an
understanding of the main issues. She is not brilliant, but she works hard and
I like her.

 

It is a pleasant surprise, therefore, to discover that she
helps to support her studies by waiting tables at a restaurant in town. I have,
in fact, been checking out Jacqueline's slim ass without even realising it is
her, and when she turns around and we recognise each other I am, momentarily,
embarrassed. But she gives me a nice smile and I realise that, even if she
noticed, she is most likely used to guys perving, and probably it all helps
with the tips anyway.

 

We have a quick chat - she is as conscientious a waitress as
she is a student - and she explains how important this job is for her, and how
much she enjoys my classes. She isn't really waiting my table, but as we leave
I give her a twenty tip, which may seem generous, but then again, it isn't
every day that a juicy ripe plum drops right in your lap, is it?

 

A couple of days later Jacqueline has her next class with
me. As she walks in the room I take in the details of my next prey. She is tall,
lean, with not much of a bust and the neat little bottom that had already
attracted my attention. She has straw-blonde hair that could be dyed but
probably isn't, tied back in a very short ponytail. 

 

She smiles at me, her teeth dazzling and neat. I nod back
curtly, and I can see she is disconcerted. She'd thought that our meeting in
the restaurant means she is something special. When she contributes to our
discussion - a contribution that is, in truth, a standard and reasonable
Jacqueline effort - I am dismissive, indicating that I think she hasn't put
much effort in. She blushes deep red, embarrassed in front of her colleagues,
and also perhaps ashamed at the fact she had presumed my act of generosity in
the restaurant signified anything.

 

For the next few weeks I avoid the restaurant. In
Jacqueline's classes, despite the fact that she is now clearly trying
particularly hard, I alternate between friendly compliments and harsh
criticism. She is confused, of course, but, as I expect, the main result of my
casual and unfair cruelty is that she tries harder than ever to please me.

 

+

 

I am the wicked professor. I will lie and cheat and connive
just so I can take advantage of my students. Young or old, good or bad, if I'm
attracted to you then, make no mistake, I will find a way of having you.

 

+

 

I finally return to the restaurant. I can see that
Jacqueline is uncertain how to respond, but I am playing "good" Mike, and I
smile and we chat pleasantly and I insist that she finds me a table she waits
at.

 

Now I am not normally the flash type. I like the good things
in life but as far as I am concerned the good things don't advertise themselves
in flashing lights. If you look closely at my suit and if you know anything
about tailoring you'll know it's Boss, but most of the time I'm comfortable
with it only being me that realises or cares.

 

But tonight with Jacqueline I want her to know that I have
money and more money and then some, and so tonight I indulge. And she is a good
little waitress, so attentive - all those stinging remarks in class have made
her so eager to please me. 

 

This time I tip her a fifty, and she can't take her eyes off
the note in her hand.

 

"Jacqueline, is everything okay with your studies?" I ask.

 

"Yes," she says, a little too quickly.

 

"I'm worried. Some of your work recently, it just hasn't
been up to your usual standard. I know most of my students work, but perhaps
this job is too much alongside the course?"

 

"No, it's fine, honestly." 

 

"Money problems can be a terrible distraction which, frankly,
right now you can't afford. I don't want it to be a choice between the high
grade you're definitely capable of, and something mediocre because of your job."

 

"No."

 

"When do you finish here?"

 

Not surprisingly, Jacqueline looks a little askance at this
sudden change of direction.

 

"In about half an hour."

 

"How about I wait here for you, and we can have a quick chat
about ways we can see you through this? I'd like to help, if I can."

 

+

 

Three nights later, I am sitting in my apartment sipping
whisky when the doorbell goes. Jacqueline.

 

She is still wearing her waitress outfit of black skirt and
white blouse. She looks nervous, very nervous, but for me that is really all
part of the charm.

 

"Please sit down," I say. "Would you like a drink?"

 

She is finding it difficult looking at me. "Thank you."



"Anything in particular?"

 

"Whatever you're having is fine. Thank you."

 

As she takes the tumbler of whisky I see her hands are
shaking. She takes a long, unwise sip. "Are you sure you're okay with this?" I
ask softly. "We can always try some other time."

 

"No," she says quickly. "Now is best."

 

"Okay." I sit back in my seat. She really is very pretty.
Normally I prefer a fuller figure, but there is something about her face and,
frankly, her mind that attracts me.

 

Jacqueline pulls a couple of sheets of paper out of her bag.
"I think I've done what you asked," she says. "It probably isn't very good."

 

"I'm sure it's fine. Go on."

 

"Okay. I mean, I don't know anything about this, so it
probably isn't very realistic."

 

"Don't worry, Jacqueline."

 

"No." She takes another big sip of whisky. "Okay." She
clears her throat, and starts to read from the paper. "`The Striptease. I stand
in front of him, knowing what I must do. Soon he will see me naked. I start to
gyrate my body to the rhythm of the music. I can feel his eyes upon me. I
fumble with the buttons of my top, one by one revealing my lacy bra. Then, my
skirt, which slides easily to the floor. Now I am wearing only my underwear in
front of him. His eyes don't leave my body. I reach behind for the clasp of my
bra, unhook it, and my bra slides off onto the floor also.'" 

 

Jacqueline pauses. Her eyes are fixed on the pages and her
face burns deep red. "`He stares at my breasts and nipples. I know he wants
more, everything. I reach for my panties and slip them off. I am naked. He can
see everything.'" She looks at me, her eyes filled with concern. "That's it."

 

"That's very good," I say quietly. "But, to really finish it
off properly, I think you need to describe to me what he can see."

 

"Okay." She knew I'd ask for more. She looks at the page
again, although the words are not written there. "`He stares at my...crotch, at
my pussy. I turn around so he can see my bare ass. All the time I am moving to
the music.' I don't think I can say any more."

 

"No, that's fine. That's very good. Thank you, Jacqueline.
We said fifty? And here's a twenty tip."

 

"Thank you."

 

"If you want, if you would like to make some more money, we
could try this again sometime. Of course the story would have to be a little
more adventurous, but then there'd be a greater reward..."

 

"I don't think so. Sorry."

 

"Okay. That's fine."

 

+

 

Three days later, Jacqueline emails me. She has changed her
mind.

 

+

 

"`I kneel on the floor in front of you. I can see through
your jeans that you are hard already.'" Although Jacqueline's face is as
flushed as before, there is a different tone to her voice. She is, frankly,
less terrified. And, who knows, I think to myself, maybe just a little turned
on. "`I pull your penis out of your jeans.'" The choice of words is
Jacqueline's. All I tell her is the subject, (today I required a blow-job, told
in the second person), and also a clear indication that the more appealing the
language the bigger the tip. "`I move my hands up and down your shaft. As you
move your hands to my hair I can feel that you want me to use my mouth. I move
closer until my lips brush your cock.'" Jacqueline looks across at me, to
confirm that her choice of words has had the effect she desired. It has. "`I
take you in my mouth, my tongue teasing around the rim of your cockhead. I feel
you harden even more at my touch.'"

 

Oh yes, Jacqueline is correct there. My cock is rock hard in
my jeans. I know it, she knows it, but for the moment the terms of our arrangement
mean it stays there. "`As I stroke your balls gently I can feel that you are
ready, and so I prepare myself. Then I feel your cum rising, you are groaning
and pulling my hair, and then I am struggling to swallow as you fill my mouth
with your hot, white cum.'"

 

As I stand to take her money out of my pocket, Jacqueline
glances down at the fat bulge in my jeans. We both know that is what this is
all about, but even so she seems remarkably unfazed by such direct evidence of
my excitement.

 

"See you next week?" she asks.

 

+

 

"`I take Lauren's nipple into my mouth, and slide my fingers
down to her wet pussy. She moans, and thrusts her hips, inviting me further
into her sex. I begin to move down her body, knowing that she needs more than
my fingers to satisfy her.'" When I'd asked Jacqueline to write about fucking
Lauren, I'd thought it would be quite a challenge. Lauren is one of the
uber-glamorous bitches in Jacqueline's class, and I wouldn't have thought she'd
ever have spared so much as a word for her less well-off colleague. Regardless
of that, and regardless of whether Jacqueline has ever indulged herself in
Sapphic fantasies before, her story is convincing and painfully hot.

 

"`My tongue slips between Lauren's labia. She tastes
delicious - so different yet so similar to the familiar salty tang when I smell
and lick my fingers after pleasuring myself.'" Jacqueline steals another of her
glances. Is she simply checking that she's maximising her tip? Or is she
perhaps in some way thrilled that she has casually volunteered a delicious
little detail about her masturbation, teasing me with the new image of her slim
fingers busy between her long legs? I am physically restless now, so wonderful
and so uncomfortable are the effect of Jacqueline's words.

 

"`My tongue flicks across Lauren's clitoris, and as I look
up her body I can see that Lauren's nipples are hard and stiff with excitement.
While I continue to slide my fingers in and out of Lauren's pussy, I move my
other hand between my own legs to meet the need that I feel there.'"

 

From the moment that Jacqueline began reading the first
words of her first story, her posture has always been the same. She sits on the
edge of her seat, leaning slightly forward, the pages of her writing resting on
her knees. Most of the time she simply looks at the paper. Given the context of
what she is saying, it is modest, and yet it only serves to make my desire for
her greater. I want her shoulders back, her pretty little titties exposed, her
legs spread and her cute young cunt displayed brazenly for me. She's wet, isn't
she, reading to me like this? Surely as she sits there right now, she can feel
her panties are sodden? I really can't tell.

 

"`As I pleasure Lauren with my mouth and fingers I can feel
that her orgasm is close. As Lauren pants and writhes I focus on my own need,
rubbing and punishing my own clit. Then my mouth is full of the taste of
Lauren's juices as she thrusts her orgasm against my face, and I feel the same
explosive sensations rock through my body as I cum with my face between another
woman's legs.'"

 

Jacqueline stops, and looks across at me. There is certainly
more eye contact than when we started, and more confidence too. But I am caught
on the horns of a wicked dilemma. Previously I have been happy for Jacqueline
to leave me, and then enjoy repeated masturbation as I read her words,
remembering the sound of her voice as this straightforward, decent young woman
describes these filthy things for my benefit. But...

 

Inevitably, I want more. I am hard, surely she is wet, isn't
it obvious, wouldn't it be incredible, for us to actually do something
together? Even watching each other masturbate would be wonderful.

 

The danger is that I have no real hold over Jacqueline, nothing
more than her desire for money and a vague threat that her academic results may
be threatened if she displeases me. I cannot be sure, but I know her quite well
now, and I suspect that more overt threats would backfire, and she would simply
walk away. Not everyone can be coerced.

 

More money may not work either. It is one thing for us to
sit in a room while she reads to me. It would be quite another to offer her
money for actual sexual activity. There's a word for that, and there is
something about Jacqueline's straightforward decency - what turns me on about
her so much in the first place - that makes me believe she would run a mile
from the hint of such a thing.

 

So do I continue to enjoy our readings, despite the torture?
Or do I risk losing everything for a shot at something more?

 

"Next week?" I ask weakly.

 

Jacqueline smiles, politely. "Yes."

 

+

 

When I hear Jacqueline ringing my doorbell, I wonder how she
will be dressed. Surely there will be some visible sign that reading these
stories has had an effect on her? Perhaps a dab of perfume? Or an extra hint of
d�colletage?

 

No. Black skirt, white blouse. Hot, alluring, but frankly a
little samey.

 

Jacqueline sits in her usual place, in her usual pose. Even
the glass of whiskey has become part of the routine.

 

But all is not the same. While my lust has weakened me, the
familiarity of our routine and my evident need for our stories means that
Jacqueline, in her quiet way, seems more relaxed than ever with what she is
doing.

 

"You keep asking me to write about things I don't know
about," she says. I am excited to hear that Jacqueline doesn't know about
today's subject, anal sex. 

 

"That's part of the idea," I reply. "I enjoy pushing
boundaries. Yours, mine."

 

"It may not be very realistic, that's all. You may not like
that."

 

"I'm sure I'll like it. I've liked all your stories so far
very very much. I mean, I don't suppose you've slept with Lauren, but you wrote
about that convincingly."

 

Jacqueline smiles, a private, non-committal smile that could
mean anything. But my mind whirrs - am I wrong, has Jacqueline secretly
fantasised about fucking Lauren, does this sensible demure person lie in bed at
night, her fingers stroking her wet pussy while she imagines tasting that rich
young woman's sex?

 

"Shall I start?" she asks.

 

I nod. I am much too excited for speech.

 

"`I kneel on the bed. I know what you are going to do to me,
that you are going to take me there, that there is no part of me that I can
deny you. As you climb onto the bed I can see that you are very hard in
anticipation of what you are going to do. I am already nervous, and the sight
of you like that makes me wonder how you are going to fit inside me. I rest on
all fours, feeling terribly exposed. As you move behind me your cock brushes my
bottom.'" As always that little glance, checking that I have heard and enjoyed
the crude word.

 

"`You hold me by the waist. I cannot escape. Then the end of
your penis is pressing against my anus. I am really scared that it will hurt,
but I cannot move away. You whisper for me to relax, that it will be more enjoyable
that way.'" Jacqueline pauses. "I did a little research on the internet," she
says. "It seems being relaxed is important. I can't imagine how anyone could
relax before something that big goes in there, but what do I know?"

 

"A lot of women love anal sex," I say. "Really. It's their
favourite thing."

 

"I can see why a guy would like doing it," says Jacqueline.
"It isn't a very nice thing to do to someone, but I imagine it would feel good.
But what could a woman get out of it?"

 

"Well, for some women the fact it isn't very nice is part of
the appeal, enjoying something bad. But actually physically it can be very
exciting too. I don't fully understand the biology, but if you think about it a
lot of the nerve endings in your...in normal sex, they're stimulated in anal sex
too. In a different, indirect way. And, perhaps if women like a large penis in
normal sex, then the sensation of being filled in anal sex is just as...even more
satisfying. Women have the most intense orgasms I know during anal sex."

 

I look at Jacqueline. She looks at me. She is not performing
for me, reading a dirty story for my cash reward. We are talking about sex, and
it is almost normal. She is not in control of the whole situation, but she is
certainly in control of herself.

 

"Do you like anal sex?" she asks.

 

"Yes. I like the fact it isn't very nice. And physically,
the sensations...it's so tight." Jacqueline nods. "But more than anything I love
a woman getting off on it, the fact she is so turned on by me doing that to
her, feeling her cumming with me inside her ass - that is exquisite."

 

"Perhaps you should have written this," Jacqueline says
quietly. I think there is a trace of a smile on her lips.

 

I shake my head. "I could never do as well as you."

 

Jacqueline lifts the paper. "`You start to push inside me.
You feel so big, huge, going into my tiny tight hole. The pain is incredible.
And yet...there is something else. An intense sensation of being filled. Every
sexual nerve is being stimulated in a new, roundabout way. And in my mind I am
excited that I am being so bad. As your big, fat, hard cock moves inside my
tight hole, I realise that being fucked in the ass could become my favourite
thing.'"

 

I am so lost in the simple fact of Jacqueline describing
being sodomised that I do not immediately realise she is repeating my own
description back to me. When I do, I see that slight smile again. "I'm allowed
to improvise," she says.

 

"Yes. It's beautiful."

 

"Am I describing it right?"

 

"Yes. Well, as far as I know. Women often tell me that it feels
like being on the very edge of losing control, that they don't think they can
cope with such an invasion but that it feels incredible."

 

"I see. How would you write that?"

 

"I would say: `You are almost overwhelmed by having
something so big invading you in your tight hole. It is like your asshole is
being choked by my big, fat cock. Being fucked normally...being fucked in your
pussy never felt anything like this.'"

 

I look across at Jacqueline. She seems content, for now, for
me to take up the story.

 

"`I hold on to your slim waist and continue to move inside
your asshole. Your ass feels so hot and tight around my hard cock.'"

 

"`You feel so hard, so big," Jacqueline continues, "and I
know I want you to cum there, to fill my ass with your cum. As you hold on to
me tightly I know that it won't be long. You are pushing harder and further
into my poor tight asshole, and then I can feel you shaking and as you cum you
push yourself so far up inside me that I feel like I will split in two. As you
finish spurting inside me it feels as if you have filled up my asshole with
your sperm.'"

 

There is silence. Normally we would make arrangements for
next week, but Jacqueline seems in no hurry to leave. What can I do? She isn't
exactly making any offers, but it seems she is ready for something else.

 

"Jacqueline..."

 

"Yes?"

 

I am back on my dilemma, but now I have some reason for
believing Jacqueline will let me move our game on.

 

"I'm sure you know how exciting I find your stories."

 

"Yes. Thank you."

 

"And I love to think about them when you're gone."

 

"Yes. I thought you would."

 

"Well I would love to...now. If you'd like it."

 

Jacqueline shrugs, but I can see she is not entirely
disinterested in the idea. "I guess you can do what you like," she says. "I
mean, I wouldn't mind."

 

My heart is thumping as I unbutton my flies and ease my poor
throbbing cock out of my jeans. I have jerked myself off in front of students
before, plenty of times, but there has never been anything like this. On those
other occasions it has been an act of dominance - triumphant, magnificent, but
fundamentally not so different from paying for a whore. 

 

Now, as I slowly stroke my shaft, Jacqueline sitting just
across from me, the thrill is entirely different. She can see, beyond any
doubt, the effect that her dirty words have had on me. She could take her
money, leave, but she has chosen to stay with me and watch me masturbate. The
element of display in front of this young woman is wonderful.

 

Jacqueline watches me wanking. There is no obvious sign of her
excitement, but her eyes never leave my cock. I suspect that now it is her that
is looking forward to reliving everything on her own, that she can't wait to
pull off her skirt and sopping panties and rub her soft wet cunt until she
comes.

 

It isn't surprising that all these factors bring me close in
no short time. The liberating sense that after all this time together
Jacqueline wants to see me holding my cock, wants to see me cum, wants to watch
as I shoot off all over my hand and stomach, and the deceptively innocent look
of curiosity on her face is all too much, and I am cumming, cumming, while
Jacqueline watches.

 

She stands. "Thank you," she says. "Shall I come back next
week? You can tell me what you want me to say later."

 

{Author's note: I appreciated your feedback after Chapter 1.
Please let me know how you liked this story. Thanks!}


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