Sex Professor: CC’s International E-mail Sex Fantasy

0004CC is a bold young woman living in Los Angeles. She wrote in asking for a monthly dare, and here’s her response to her most recent experiment from Mr. X.

Mr. X,

I’ve spent two weeks nervously scanning through my list of e-mail contacts, studiously avoiding his name. I knew from the moment you gave me this challenge just what I’d say, and to whom, yet writing it all down and sending it off has been more difficult than I’d ever imagined. The cover of anonymity is the only thing that allowed me to finally push through the anxiety, to type out what has been on my mind for years, and to send it off.

Let me preface this by saying this man is not my type physically at all. He’s only a few inches taller than I am, and has an unremarkable physique with a slightly protruding belly on his slender frame. His light brown hair is too long, and unkempt. He wears clothing that must have been popular in the 70’s. It just so happens that this man was once my Professor. He’s a part-time teacher at a local community college. The class he teaches is Human Sexuality.

You must be wondering what it is about him that has me so enraptured. He’s always in control – I can’t imagine that anything would ever fluster him. His voice is a rich baritone, and listening to him sounds the way that chocolate tastes as it melts on my tongue. He never failed to leave me squirming in my seat.

One lecture in particular drove me mad with lust. He spoke at length about the BDSM lifestyle. The more in-depth the lecture became, the more I realized that some of my most shameful desires were in fact commonplace. My fantasies about being spanked, tied-up, and controlled weren’t abnormal. The relief I felt was all-encompassing. My Professor not only knew the lifestyle – he lived it. He was a frequent visitor of several clubs in Los Angeles that were devoted to the safe practice of BDSM, and spoke at great length about what went on behind those closed doors.

Sending this e-mail to him is one of the most thrilling things I’ve ever done.

***

Professor,

I’ve waited far too long to send you this message. You may remember me, but you may not as its been several years since I was your student. I wanted to let you know that you’ve influenced my life far beyond the scope of academia, and I am incredibly grateful to you because of it. Taking your Human Sexuality course changed how I view my sexuality, and has helped me to embrace my desires. You’ve improved my life in a very tangible way, and I don’t think I would be the same person I am if I hadn’t met you.

This may seem odd to hear from me after all of these years – or perhaps it isn’t. Regardless, I think it’s finally time I confess something. I’ve had a fantasy that I can’t get out of my head, no matter how much time slips by, and its time I finally share it with you.

It’s dark. The moon is covered by clouds, and only the feeblest streetlight touches the sidewalk where I stand waiting for you. I’m leaning against the wall of a building downtown, with my bare legs crossed in front of me. The black combat boots and trench coat I’m wearing give me some protection from the icy wind, but my flesh is covered with goosebumps. My heart beats hard every time I see someone approaching. Wisps of my hair free themselves from the ponytail I’m wearing, and tickle the sides of my face. I brush them away, careful not to disturb the coal black eyeliner and red lipstick you instructed me to wear.

At last, I see you approaching from the east, on foot. I can tell it’s you by the way you move with quick, floating footsteps. It’s almost as though you’re gliding toward me, a thing of myth rather than a flesh and blood man. I push myself away from the wall, and will myself to look demurely down at the street. You reach me, and without a word, place your thumb underneath my chin, and lift my head to inspect my features. You unbutton my trench coat and open it, out in the open, with no thought of public decency.

I’m wearing exactly what you told me to – a half bra that lifts my breasts but leaves my nipples free, and a short leather skirt with nothing underneath. You give me no sign of approval, but you button the coat over my body. You take my hand, as though I’m your lover, and lead me across the street. The place we’re heading to looks like an abandoned factory, with busted windows and graffiti marring the brick facade of the building. You knock on a door that is bathed in shadow, three sharp raps, and the door opens to admit us. We’re led down a long hallway, and through a set of padded double doors.

“From this moment on, you will obey me. You are my plaything for the night. Nothing will happen that we haven’t previously discussed. If you wish to back out, this is the only chance you’ll get.”

You stare at me with emotionless eyes, giving me the chance to walk away.

“I’m staying, Sir,” I murmur.

You lead me into a cavernous room filled with people. There are couches set against the walls, and oversized plush ottomans in front of them. My eyes widen as I see a beautiful young redhead tied to a St. Andrew’s cross on a raised dais, her bare breasts rosy and flushed from being flogged. Her loud moans echo through the air as she’s whipped, across her breasts, belly, and thighs, by a merciless-looking man with dark eyes.

Several spectators crowd around the stage to watch the demonstration, as though it’s an art performance.

You lead me to the edge of the makeshift stage, and bid me to watch. You step behind me and I feel your arms encircle me. I barely notice as you unbutton my coat and let it fall to the floor. Only when I notice the eyes of others on me do I realize that you’ve exposed me. This is the first challenge – the easiest. My heart hammers as I studiously try to ignore all of the interested eyes perusing my body.

“You’re next,” you whisper into my ear.

I watch in a daze as the redhead is released from the cross, and wrapped in a red cloak, carried off stage into an alcove by the man that was flogging her.

I gulp nervously as you lead me up the stairs to the dais. I force myself to relax as you guide me to the cross, and turn me around. You remove my shoes as though you’ve done this a million times, and wrap leather restraints around my ankles. You run your hands up the back of my legs, and lift the leather skirt up over my hips to expose my bare ass.

You lift my arms next, one at a time, and place them against the smooth wood, before wrapping my wrists in soft leather and buckling them tight. I test my restraints and realize that I’m completely at your mercy. Being here, exposed and vulnerable in front of you, makes my pussy ache. I can smell the scent of my arousal and know that you can too.

A hush falls over the room, and I tense, waiting. The moment seems to last forever, held in suspense. My body is taut, my forehead wet from nervous perspiration. The first touch is but a whisper, a tiny caress of leather against skin. It’s an intimate meeting between the implement, your hand, and my body, yet it sends a lightning bolt of current through my midsection. I gasp, and before I draw in a full breath, the leather strikes again, full force. I’m too shocked to make more than a startled sound before the bite of the leather tails claim the soft skin of my bottom again.

The fire! The burn! I’m unprepared for the reality of a true spanking such as this. Valiantly, I try to remain stoic, but I can’t. By the sixth blow the tears fall unbidden down my cheeks. The tenth blow has me crying aloud with each successive strike. I can do nothing but bite my lip hard, fighting pain I can control with pain that I can’t, and I whimper when it stops unexpectedly.

I tremble as I feel not the harsh leather, but your hand, caressing my back gently. You lightly run your palms over my abused flesh, and I’m surprised by the pleasant tingles that radiate from your touch. The flow of tears abates, and I begin to breathe normally again, as you release me from the restraints, one at a time.

“You did well,” you whisper in my ear. “I have a reward for you.”

I smile, feeling the praise washing over me like a soothing balm. You lead me from the stage, and take me to a semi-private alcove that is half hidden by a gauzy curtain. You have me lay flat on an ottoman, with my knees bent, legs apart. You kneel on the floor, and coat my thighs with soft kisses. Your lips feel like butterflies, landing on my skin and then fluttering away to settle elsewhere. I relax completely, closing my eyes.

Your mouth finds my pussy and the warmth of your tongue sliding between the slick folds of my labia feels like heaven. I moan and lift my hips, seeking more contact. You oblige, and your tongue flicks over the hard bud of my clitoris. I whimper as you play with the most sensitive part of my body. The alternating pressure, sucking, and licking makes me forget where I am. Nothing matters but the feelings you are evoking – the universe is centered between my legs, and you are the God controlling it.

As a gathering wave has no choice but to crash on the shore, my approaching orgasm reaches an exquisite peak before rolling forward through me with high pressure. My body writhes beneath your ministrations, and you continue to lick my pussy as I cum, prolonging the pleasure. Eventually I become aware that you’ve stopped, that you are poised over me, looking down at me with unmistakable lust in your eyes.

You press your cock into my waiting cunt, and cut off my ensuing moan with a hard kiss on my mouth. I taste my juices on your tongue and it makes me wild. I wrap my arms around your body and grip your shoulders as you fuck me. I’m yours… I’m yours… is all I can think as your cock claims me. All too soon you tense, and your body betrays you as you shoot your load deep inside of me.

You extricate your body from mine, and an implacable mask replaces the passionate look you wore as you fucked me. In a gentlemanly gesture, you offer me your hand, and I take it. You help me to rise, and bid me to wait for you as you retrieve my coat.

Professor – I dare to hope that you’ve had these sort of thoughts too. Maybe you’ve even thought about me in such a way? I can only hope that one day we might meet in a club such as this, and I can reveal my identity to you in person.

***

Mr. X – I almost can’t believe that I sent this. Yet I feel a new sense of freedom because I did it. These challenges that you give me have helped expand my horizons in much the same way that taking Human Sexuality did all those years ago. I wait with baited breath for your next missive. I can’t wait to see what you have in store for me.

Lustfully yours,

CC





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