- Nurse Jones 7
- Late Night Visit to the ER
- Nurse Jones 6
- Nurse Kitty
- Nurse Jones 5
- Tabitha, the Naughty Nurse
- Nurse Jones 4
- The Cripple and the Nurse
- Nurse Jones 3
- Rick’s Stroke of Luck
- Anal Sex
- Enema Between Couples
- Enema Humor
- Enema Stories
- Erotic Enema
- Erotic Fantasy
- Female Patient and Female Doctor
- Medical Fantasy
- Medical Story
- Medical Testing
- Nurse Story
- Punishment Enema
- Rectal Thermometer
- December 2012
- November 2012
- October 2012
- September 2012
- August 2012
- July 2012
- June 2012
- May 2012
- April 2012
- October 2010
- September 2010
- August 2010
- July 2010
- June 2010
- April 2010
- February 2010
- December 2009
- November 2009
- October 2009
- September 2009
- August 2009
- July 2009
- June 2009
- May 2009
- April 2009
- March 2009
The Professor was a careful, methodical, organized man. He coiffed and trimmed his beard just so. He tied his bow ties perfectly evenly. He wore brown jackets with reinforced elbows just like any good professor might. He submitted immaculately written essays for professional journals. He edited his students’ essays savagely, marking them up with blue ink, catching every error and every flaw in their arguments. He used blue ink and not red because he was red/green colorblind. His conversations at faculty dinners were pre-thought out and planned and because of this he appeared all the more intelligent, all the more witty, all the more qualified to fill his position. All this care was necessitated by the professor’s age. He was at least 30 years his colleagues’ junior. He had obtained the position as anyone else might, via the usual application routes and procedures, essays and interviews, but his age gave him something to prove. He was a professor of History, not a very well paid discipline. A discipline populated with men motivated by passion for the field, not money.
Karolina was one of the Professor’s students. She was also careful and exacting in many ways. She edited the papers she turned in to him sometimes four or five times. She always sat in the front row. She always made carefully thought out arguments in class. She came to class prepared with her readings tabbed and marked, notes in margins and flow charts prepared. She was also always freshly showered and perfectly coiffed for class. But this careful construction of her persona was not necessitated by her age, as it was for the Professor, but by her abiding crush on the Professor. She wore her hair tousled just so, her blouse unbuttoned just one button too low, her skirt just one inch too short. She crossed her legs carefully and slowly under her desk. She eyed her Professor with a mixed expression of intense interest and subtle flirtation. He taught History and Ethics of Technology. She was an Art History major but was interested in the socio-economic backgrounds of the artworks she was studying. He was young for a professor. His shoulders, broad. His gait, commanding. His eyes were a color she could not place from behind exceedingly long eyelashes. Karolina felt swept away by his superior intellect. She felt herself wanting to submit to him, to lie before him, to offer herself up to him. She fantasized about this during his lectures.
“Intellectual Property,” said the Professor as he walked into class one day and wrote the words on the board. Karolina twisted her hair between her fingers and eyed the Professor. He stole a glance at her, one that was a split second too long. Karolina took copious notes during that lecture, but managed to carefully cross and uncross her legs as the Professor looked at her. She too was careful in her movement, careful with her choice of words. She looked at him in that special way she knew how. After class the Professor asked her to collect the papers for him and carry them to his office. Finally, she thought.
“I wanted to discuss with you your major,” the Professor said. “Your papers for my class are insightful, but I wonder if you shouldn’t be studying a wider range of History.”
Karolina was livid. Hadn’t he read any of her papers? She had to compose herself. “I try to encompass all aspects of a work of art in my papers. I try to put it in socio-economic context, in political context. I discuss it from a feminist standpoint if relevant, from a cultural theorist’s standpoint if relevant. I’m already studying a wider range of History, just from the position of Art History. Don’t you remember my paper on Caravaggio’s Young Sick Bacchus?”
Karolina was sitting in the chair in front of his desk with her arms on the arms of the chair and her left leg crossed over her right and kicking slightly. The Professor was leaning up against the desk, arms folded across his chest, feigning being impressed with her argument. Suddenly he leaned into her. He snatched his hand out and grabbed her by the neck.
“I know what you really want,” he whispered into her ear. The office door was closed. There was no way out. She didn’t want a way out. This was what she had fantasized about. This power he had over her. His intellect, his broad shoulders, his sheer physical strength, those eyes she could see more clearly now.
“I see what you do with your legs under your desk. The way you smell for class. The way you part your lips. The way you hang your head.” He squeezed her face, her cheeks together, and turned her head aside as if to asses it, to assess her neck.
Karolina froze. This was what she wanted. This was what she daydreamed about during lectures, but now that it was happening it was so confusing. It was turning her on but it was petrifying all at the same time. She had no idea what was in store for her. What could this man of superior intellect and likely superior creativity dream up for her? He walked around his desk and opened one of the drawers. He pulled out that paper, the one on Young Sick Bacchus. It was covered in blue markings: circles, underlines, arrows, writings in all the margins. The Professor must have thought it was terrible. He held it between two fingers and dangled it so close to Karolina’s face she couldn’t even read it.
“You mean this paper?” he asked. “Is this the paper to which you were referring?”
“Yes,” Karolina said. Defeated. She had thought that was a well researched and thorough paper. Apparently not. The Professor shoved the paper in her face, smearing her eyeliner, smearing her lipstick, and dropping the paper to the ground. Karolina was heaving. She felt glued to the chair. The Professor had full control over her.
“You can do better than that,” he smirked, pacing around her. When he was behind her he stopped. Karolina froze. She couldn’t see him and didn’t know what he was going to do next. He ran his fingers through her long, wavy hair. He took pleasure in this and his hands lingered in her hair until they finally gripped it, pulling it and pulling her head back. “Why didn’t you discuss the socio-economic background of Caravaggio’s models?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“That was a massive oversight. You need to be more comprehensive and systematic. You act as though you are thorough, but you need guidance. With a major in History you can still write about artworks as historical artifacts, but I can give you the well rounded guidance you need.” Karolina wondered what else he could give her, what else she needed.
“I can see that you could give me good guidance,” Karolina said peering up at the Professor, parting her lips. He slapped her across the cheek.
“I’m leading this discussion. Not you. Understand?” Karolina shook her head to indicate she understood and turned her glance downward. She stopped kicking her leg and uncrossed it. She sat with her knees together and her ankles apart slightly. The professor put his hands on her knees and pulled them open a little. Then he grabbed her by the back of the knees and pulled her whole body down on the chair so that she was slouching, and more importantly, so that she was more accessible to him. He ran his fingers along that extra inch of her skirt, that extra inch of shortness. Karolina’s head was still turned down but she was examining every inch of this man, his muscular legs, the zipper of his pants, the way his shirt was tucked in, the buttons of his pressed shirt, his perfectly tied bowtie. Finally she risked looking up at his face, his intelligent eyes. He was taking her in with his eyes as she was taking him in. Her neatly pleated skirt, her clean shaven legs, her carefully disheveled hair, her pressed blouse fitting loosely, its gentle wrinkles lightly touching her breasts. He ran his fingers up her skirt and felt for her panties. He pulled up her skirt to examine them. They were purple mesh with lace trim. He could tell by standing over her that her bra was matching. He went over to his desk and wrote something down on a post-it note.
“Meet me at this address at seven,” he handed her the note. “Dress like you do for class. And be clean.” Karolina left his office with the slip of paper in hand and went straight to the bathroom to fix her makeup which had been smeared by her own paper. She walked back to her dorm room in a daze. It was 3:30. She showered, shaving every thinkable inch of her body, and carefully dried her hair. She put on a short pleated skirt with a white blouse that was tailored in at the waist. You could see her electric blue bra right through it. She wore a matching satin g-string. She slipped into a pair of high heeled Mary Janes. Karolina looked at the address on the slip of paper. It was 10 Charles Street. That was on campus. It was the medical school building. She wondered what the Professor had in store for her. She was excited by the mystery of it. She threw her purse over her shoulder and left her dorm room at 6:45.
It was dark outside already and Karolina was aware of how provocatively she was dressed. She walked to the medical building quickly to avoid being stopped by anyone else and arrived five minutes early. The Professor was waiting for her in the lobby. There was no one else there. The building was empty. He stood up and looked her over briefly. Karolina couldn’t tell if he approved of her appearance or not. He said nothing and grabbed her by the wrist and led her to the elevator. They rode it to the third floor. The Professor once again grabbed Karolina’s wrist and led her to a room where an exam table stood equipped with wrist and ankle restraints. Karolina immediately turned around to walk away but the Professor stopped her. He put his hands around her arms and closed the door with his foot. He exhaled on her face and then took in the smell of her hair like an animal senses its prey. He stood there gripping her with his hands, his hips forward expressing his intentions. Karolina thought she knew what she was getting into, but now that she saw those restraints, now that she felt his breath on her face, she felt completely powerless, completely vulnerable, inferior to the Professor in every way. There was no sense in running, he would catch her. There was no sense in fighting, he would fight back even harder. She was sure of it. She had to be obedient.
The Professor gestured for Karolina to get onto the exam table and she did. He placed her feet in the stirrups and wrapped the ankle restraints around her and buckled them. He restrained her wrists to the sides of the table. All of this was done in silence. Karolina’s knees stayed closed together out of fear. The Professor looked at her. He unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it open. He pushed her bra down so her breasts were pressed up out of it. He lifted her skirt carefully, just over her panties but not high enough to cover her navel. He pulled her g-string down to her knees and parted her legs. He stepped back and took in the sight of her. He looked at her as if he had positioned her just so. Karolina struggled in the restraints occasionally and this only pleased him more.
When the Professor had finished taking in the sight of this restrained, frightened, and inferior student he began touching all the parts of her that he enjoyed looking at. He ran his fingers across her lips, shoving his fingers deep into her mouth, coaxing up a good deal of saliva. He ran his wet fingers down her chest and around her nipples protruding uncomfortably from her bra. They were becoming engorged. He was gentle and playful at first but then he pulled on her nipples and shook her breasts by them. Karolina arched her back and let out a hiss. She realized this man who pushed her in the classroom was now pushing her limits sexually. He was playing with her. She felt exposed and inflamed. He ran his fingers along the strings of her panties and then his fingertips slid up her legs and around the outsides of her thighs. He slid his hands under her butt and along her sex, caressing her outer labia and finally parting her inner labia so he could enter her with his hands, probing her with one finger, then two. Karolina’s inner thighs trembled with sensitivity. She longed to pinch her own nipples as he had but she was restrained. She could only receive the pleasure that the Professor bestowed upon her.
The Professor opened one of the drawers in the exam room and pulled out a sharp tool. He cut Karolina’s g-string from her knees, as it was obstructing his access to her. He put on a pair of latex gloves and covered the fingertips with the lubricant intended for gynecological exams. He stepped up onto the stair at the foot of the table. He caressed her legs and admired the exposed and highly hygienic state she was in. The perfectly clean bound little school girl. The Professor was freshly showered as well. His hair was still partly wet. He rubbed his hands on her pussy again, but this time they were lubricated and he rubbed more vigorously. He rubbed her anus, he rubbed her clit, he entered her momentarily and pulled out, teasing her. Karolina moved her pelvis up and down to express her intense pleasure of the situation. All of this, every movement from the moment they walked in the door of that building, was done in silence. Not a word was exchanged between them.
Karolina sat up onto her elbows and slid down on the table the little bit she could, inviting the professor inside. But he would not enter her. He was masturbating. He was looking at her. Looking at her disheveled blouse, her breasts protruding from her bra, her pleated skirt, her pussy. He had his fingers in her with one hand, and his other hand was pleasuring himself. He seemed so captivated by her, but he did not want to fuck her. He came on her thigh. He wiped her and himself clean and unclasped her from the exam table. Confused, Karolina buttoned her blouse back up and grabbed her purse. The Professor chivalrously opened the door for her and escorted her out of the building.
“It’s better I don’t walk you back to your dorm. Do you think you’ll be okay?” he asked, as if what had just occurred was completely normal.
“I’ll be fine,” said Karolina and she walked home completely confounded.
Karolina skipped her next History and Ethics of Technology class. She didn’t know what to think. She waited outside of the class for the other students to leave and walked in to meet the Professor.
“You missed class,” he said. “We were looking at new technologies and how they are integrated into societies. Right up your alley. Sorry you missed it.” He nervously packed up his papers as he readied to leave. He had one night stands with women, and girls before but something about this girl made him anxious.
“I rewrote my Caravaggio paper,” she said, handing the paper over to him. He examined it cursorily, noting the new section on Caravaggio’s peasant models.
“You rewrote it overnight. I’ll read it this week,” said the Professor, feigning nonchalance and tucking the paper into his briefcase along with all the others. He grabbed his briefcase and began walking out the door.
“I’d um… really like you to make a little time to read it sooner. Like maybe now,” said Karolina.
“If you want me to read your papers you need to show up for my lectures.” Karolina did. She showed up for her next Ethics and History of Technology lecture wearing an exceptionally short skirt and an exceptionally low cut blouse. The lecture was two days later. The Professor wasn’t the only one to notice the way Karolina crossed her legs and fiddled with her hair, the way she chewed on her pencil and peered over it pensively, nodding whenever the Professor made a particularly astute comment. The Professor invited her to his office to discuss her paper after class. It seemed she knew what he really wanted.
“You rewrote your paper in only one night but you made a lot of the right changes to it,” he said.
“I was only going on your feedback,” said Karolina, crossing her legs.
“I especially enjoyed reading the section on Caravaggio’s peasant class models,” said the Professor, searching for the words about Karolina’s paper, avoiding the words about their encounter.
“Have you eh… reconsidered changing your major?” he asked.
“You know what, I have. I think you’re right. I think I could get a lot more out of a more well rounded approach to the study of art.” Karolina felt a tinge of defeat but she wanted to please the Professor.
“Great. I’ll get the paperwork started for you,” and he looked down busily at his work.
“That’s it?” she asked.
“What about what happened? What about what you did? What about what we did? How I dressed? Where we were?”
“Let’s not let that get in the way of our professional relationship,” he pleaded, his hands in a downward gesture in an attempt to calm the girl.
“Our professional relationship? Our professional relationship?! You tied me down to a medical chair! You touched me with lubricant and surgical gloves! You masturbated all over my leg!” Karolina was getting louder.
“Keep your voice down,” he whispered urgently.
Karolina put her hands on the Professor’s desk and leaned into him. She was six inches from his face. He could see down her blouse. This time her bra was pink with yellow trim. He was certain her panties matched. Boy shorts, he imagined.
“I want you to do it again,” she whispered.
The Professor raised an eyebrow. No woman ever saw him twice.
“I did some research. I know what you want and I like it,” she said. “I like giving you all the power. I like being tied down, exposed, looked at, being intellectually inferior. I want you to use more tools on me this time. Do you have more tools? Do you think you could do that for me?” Karolina was still leaning in on the desk but she was swaying her hip to one side rhythmically. Karolina licked and bit her bottom lip. The Professor broke into a sweat.
“I have some tools in my apartment,” he said, clearing his throat, defeated also. “Here is the address.” And once again the Professor wrote down an address for Karolina to follow. It was his own place. “Tomorrow. Friday. 9pm. You know how to dress.”
Friday evening Karolina showered, shaved, and washed her hair. She diffused her hair so that it would have that tousled appearance. She put on black eyeshadow and red lipstick to match her black and red polka dotted bra with matching thong. She wore a white blouse that was loose fitting but she tied it in a knot around her waist. She wore a short pleated skirt that was brown plaid with a thin strip of red to it.
The Professor also got ready. He showered carefully every inch of his body and shaved. He put on black slacks with a thin belt with a modern design buckle. He wore a dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up. He combed his hair with a fine toothed comb and prepared a dinner. Filet mignon, whipped potatoes, and green beans tossed lightly in butter. He made a special family recipe dessert. He figured Karolina lived in the dorms and didn’t get a proper meal very often. He figured he’d tell her that. He himself wasn’t sure why he was putting forth such an effort towards this girl. He sensed his own change of heart with her. She wasn’t the kind of submissive girl he wanted to slap around anymore. She had rewritten a paper just for him, in one night. She dressed herself in exactly the way he liked. She was bold and that only wanted him to possess her more, to capture her with his charms, not his aggression. He was captivated by her.
She rang the bell just as he was lighting the dinner candles. She was five minutes early. She was wearing knee socks and different Mary Janes. These had spiked heels and a pointier toe. The only thing that made them Mary Janes was the thin strap across the arch of her foot, buckling on the outside of the shoe. The Professor clenched his fists.
- The End -
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