Pass or Fail

When class is over, I find a way to linger. I try to decipher how to pull a problem out of thin air, just to ask him for a solution. He obliges because his first love is knowledge. And while I try to respect his arena, his stage; all I really want is for him to explore my submission with the critical eye for detail and fevor he has when he speaks about engineering.

I get home and do what I always do, I pretend he’s making me cum. I stop after the second one because I need to study for his test. I don’t know why, but Ace’ing his exams feels like the closest thing to pleasing him I’m going to get, so I dive in.

I wake up to an email from his TA, he won’t be in class today, so the test is tomorrow. I’m disappointed because I really like seeing him, and sharing space with him. I temper my feelings, and decide to fill my morning with extra sleep before the rest of my classes.

My alarm clock is going off, but looking at the time, it’s a 15 min snoozer, and I’m late. If you’re not in class early, on time is late and the door is locked on exam day. I write him with an excuse and ask him about a makeup test. He alerts me I can come after his night class tonight and do it. I thank him, and get ready for my other classes.

His class is ending as I arrive, and he welcomes me into the large empty room.

“What happened to you this morning?” He jokingly asks like he knows I overslept. I never miss a day nor am I ever late, so it’s not hard to tell, but I feel compelled to tell him the truth. However, a little extra falls out of my mouth.

“I overslept. I am so sorry, Professor! I promised it won’t happen again.” My energy is deeply submissive, and I watch the words shift his. I can’t put my finger on it, but how he says what he says next confirms it.

“Sit down, Miss Diallo.” It's firm and powerful, but he doesn't raise his voice. He motions his hand toward the front row of the lecture hall where a stack of white papers and pencil sit.

I do as I’m told, breathing through the ache happening between my legs.

“90 min. We won’t be interrupted. Begin.”

My mouth is so dry, swallowing is a task. His eyes are on me. He studies me and I avert my eyes, find my pencil, and start the test. I dare not look up, and focus on doing what I do on every test, get an A. The battle of focus begins between my brain and my pussy. I cross my legs, squeezing them together as I move around in my seat.

“Uncross your legs.” His voice snaps me out of the battle.

“I’m sorry?”

“Uncross your legs, Miss Diallo.” He instructs.

I do as I’m told.

When I chose to wear a dress today, it was a hypothetical rooted in an out-of-reach fantasy. Yes, we’re both grown, but he’s in a position of power. A position that makes me vulnerable and open and His. The other choice to not wear panties, was also based on the same hypothetical, but here we are.

My pussy being on display for him makes it ache harder, and I feel myself dampen. I move through the problems on the test, pussy out and wet. He hasn’t stopped looking at me, I can feel it, but I refuse to look up.

I flip the test to the back sheet, and use the movement to put my hand between my legs, shifting in my seat pretending I’m trying to get comfortable. He says nothing, and with the smallest movement, my middle finger finds my swollen clit and starts slowing massaging it. It’s good to me too because I already feel the orgasm building. The last problem is extra credit. Forgetting who’s at the front of the room, I look around trying to think of the solution.

When my eyes find his they lock in and it’s over for me and my pussy. When he sits up my legs widen. I bend my knee, putting my foot on the edge of the chair so he can see everything. I worship my yoni in front of this man and he experiences every touch, shudder, and moan.

“May I cum?” I ask, it’s a blink away from kicking the door in at this point.

He waits, looking me over, so I take my soaking hand away.

“Mm-mm, put your hand back, Miss Diallo.” He instructs.

I do as I’m told, and he knows what’s about to happen before it does. I cum hard, all over my hand. My moans and body tell on me, and he stands. I sit up straight, pulling my skirt down, leaving my hand at my side.

“Tsk tsk tsk…” His tone is that of a disappointed father, “…Never without permission, Miss Diallo.”

Disappointing him feels like I failed him. I put my head down trying to find comfort in the extra credit question.

“Bring me your test. We’re at time.” I move slow, gathering everything with one hand because the other hand is messy right now. I mope to the front of the class and hand him my paper. He takes it, grabs the wrist of the messy hand and smears my hand on the back page.

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow. On time.”

I say nothing and leave, but I’m sure to have my ass there before he is the next day.