Teach Me, Professor Daddy

NATHAN

I press my fingers against my temples, scanning the syllabus for the new class I’ve been assigned.

Teaching advanced calculus at Sterling University has been my routine for years.

My students are usually juniors and seniors, already grounded in mathematical theory, focused and driven.

But a colleague’s maternity leave changed that.

The dean redistributed her courses, and I ended up with Calculus 220.

A sophomore-level class.

I’m not annoyed.

Just aware it will be different.

These students aren’t math majors.

They’re here to fulfill a requirement.

Their motivation will vary.

Their dedication… unpredictable.

I’ve decided to use the existing syllabus my colleague prepared.

No point reinventing the wheel.

The lecture hall begins to fill.

Stadium seating rises before me.

A polished desk to my left, a massive projector screen behind.

When the room is nearly full, I close the door.

I move to the front as notebooks open and laptops boot up.

Then my steps hesitate.

My gaze lands on a young woman sitting alone in the front row.

A jolt of recognition hits me, sharp and unsettling.

She’s beautiful.

An effortless elegance clings to her, not arrogant, just inherent.

I force my eyes away.

Staring at a student is unacceptable.

But the feeling lingers.

I know her.

Somehow.

I begin my introduction.

Overview of the course.

Expectations.

My eyes keep drifting back to her.

Light-brown skin.

Hazel eyes.

Espresso-brown hair, straight and gleaming.

Even seated behind the small attached desk, her curves are evident.

Dangerous curves.

The kind that haunt a man’s thoughts.

Damn, she’s stunning.

It’s maddening.

I can’t place her.

I need to focus.

Halfway through the lesson, the room feels warm.

From my periphery, I see her remove her sweater.

I almost look away.

I continue speaking about differential equations.

Then the words freeze in my throat.

On her right shoulder, a dark-brown birthmark.

Shaped like a flower.

I know that mark.

I’ve traced it with my fingers.

It belongs to the girl from the club.

The girl I took to a private room just nights ago.

My little one.

That birthmark is etched in my memory.

Suddenly, it all makes sense.

The familiarity.

Her body is imprinted on my mind, even though I never saw her face.

Now I see it.

And I’m stunned.

She’s the most exquisite woman I’ve ever seen.

And hell.

Now she’s my student.

I clear my throat.

I force myself to continue teaching.

The words come automatically.

My mind is elsewhere.

I remember the sight of her in that secluded room.

Her luscious body yielding to the flogger.

Her skin flushing under the blend of pleasure and pain.

I’ve never been so aroused.

I rarely have sex after a flogging session.

But with her, I couldn’t resist.

I didn’t want to.

She intrigued me.

I needed more.

And her tight little pussy told me she felt the same.

Now she’s here.

In my class.

Of all the classes at Sterling University.

Every instinct screams to take her right here, right now.

To claim her on this desk.

I ache to be inside her.

To dominate her.

To savor her sweet submission.

To hear her call me Daddy.

To spoil her as she deserves.

I know nothing about her.

But her body calls to mine with an inexplicable force.

I’ve never felt this.

An instant connection after one night.

But it’s real.

And I want to act on it.

Even though it’s wrong.

Even though I shouldn’t.

I project a few problems onto the screen.

I return to my desk.

While the students work, I pull up the class roster.

I find her picture quickly.

Isabella Sterling.

A senior.

The in-class work buys me minutes at most.

I stand.

I approach her casually, fighting the urge to get closer.

Some students are still working, heads bent.

I have to be quick.

I stop in front of her desk.

She looks up.

Light freckles dust her cheeks and nose.

Sweet.

Innocent.

“Professor?” Her voice is soft.

I want to kiss her senseless.