Deconstructing the Professor

"Too many," she answered vaguely. "Anyone you see wearing white stockings in this heat today will be one of her slaves. She's pretty much unstoppable. But I like you, Professor Jefferson. Once she gets hold of you, there'll be no way to stop her, no way to save you. You'll become a slave just like me and Miko," she warned.

"A... slave?" I questioned, dazed by her frank prediction. Obviously, the term carried forbidding connotations for a person such as myself. It was remotely possible that I myself was a descendent of slave-owner Thomas Jefferson by way of one of his own possessions.

She nervously glanced at her watch and pleaded, "For your own sake, Professor Jefferson, take off those stockings. Don't give in."

I opened my mouth to respond, but she yanked open the door and fled my office. Checking the time, I realized I had only fifteen minutes until class: I didn't have much time to ponder this decision. Clenching my jaw in determination, I closed my office door one more time and taking Emily's warning seriously, I removed the stockings. I felt bad knowing that Miko and Emily would be punished, but I thought that by protecting myself, perhaps I could find a means of saving them. As I undressed and dressed again, I wondered what being a slave to Madison was like. Was it just her bossily ordering people around, making them do her laundry or file her nails and such, or was her dominance sexual as I'd originally assumed? Madison wouldn't have sex with her own sister, would she?

My brain muddled, I rushed to class and arrived a couple minutes late. Sitting in the front row on each side of Madison, all in white, were Emily and Miko. Dressed all in black was Madison. Madison's eyes bored into me as I reached my podium. I hoped the podium and the dress pants might keep her unsure of whether I'd obeyed her command. I lectured for the day on the glacial-speed transition of women into positions of power. I discussed Mother Theresa, Margaret Thatcher, Hillary Clinton, Sarah Palin and Michelle Obama, among others. I talked about a future time when a female could lead this great country, and of a time when women would be paid the same as men in all professional and nonprofessional fields. It was a powerful lecture, and throughout it I attempted to avoid eye contact with Madison.

The four posse girls (Ashley was also with them, dressed in her usual casual jeans and t-shirt) were the only ones in the front row I realized, and I couldn't suppress a gasp when I noticed that both Miko and Emily had their panties down at their ankles. I didn't think anyone else could see this exhibitionist display, but both girls' faces were ruby red, and unlike anyone else in the class, whose eyes were more or less on me but frequently wandered, these two were continually staring at me. I could see the pleading in Miko's eyes and felt horribly guilty. I finally made eye contact with Madison, who smiled and nodded her head in the affirmative, I assume implying I was to lower my panties as well, which was ludicrous and given that I was wearing trousers, impossible. I looked away, I flushed, and stammered on about the class' assignment. Their assignment was to present on Monday (today was Thursday), a two-minute presentation on a woman who either had or was still having a major impact in the world. Of course, they couldn't use any of the examples I'd discussed today in class.

I dismissed the class and refused to look towards Madison and the girls while I seated myself at my desk and bundled up my lecture notes. I pretended to be busy, even as I heard the clicking of heels approaching me.

I finally looked up and saw both Miko and Emily standing in front of me, the rest of the room empty. It was impressive how quickly a group of students could exit a room. I wondered where Madison had gone, but was grateful that she was.

Emily approached my desk and dropped her white panties onto it. "Mistress Madison thought you would like my panties." Her face was still ruby red, and she whispered so Miko couldn't hear, "Good job, Professor Jefferson. But she's furious, and she'll redouble her efforts to get you onto your knees begging to be her slave. So stay strong."

She turned and left and Miko came up to me. She went further than Emily by placing her white panties in my hand. "Mistress Madison insisted I give you my wet panties. She made me masturbate before class, so there's cum in them." Her humiliation burned through her very being, and she walked away as well.

Once both girls were gone, I looked at the two pairs of panties, the only difference being that Miko's had a pink waistband. I got the panties out of sight, surprised by how wet and sticky both felt, stuffing them in my pocket. I rushed back to my office, fear of being caught with students' panties dominating my thoughts. Once in my office, I hid the panties in a desk drawer and pondered what to do next. I now knew for certain that Madison was the Mistress, but I still had no evidence to prove to a third party that she'd written the letter, and I was certain there was no way her submissive slaves would rat her out.

I tried to get Madison and the girls out of my head by marking a couple of papers, but my focus on them was nonexistent and my eyes kept going to my drawer. A sweet scent lingered on my left hand from when I'd touched the tainted panties, and it was tempting me in a way I'd never before been tempted. I was not a lesbian. I'd never found a girl sexually attractive. Yet I was powerfully drawn to smelling Miko's and Emily's cum-filled panties. Knowing they had come because of me (not because they felt attracted to me necessarily, but because Madison had told them they'd be presenting me with the fruits of their climaxes), that knowledge somehow made the thought of their scent more erotic and more difficult to resist. Finally, figuring that by smelling them I'd be disgusted and could move on, I extracted the two pairs of white underwear from my drawer. I gazed at them as if I'd never seen panties before, like they were alien artifacts. I finally took Miko's panties and brought them to my nose. Instead of the pungent, urine-like smell I'd expected, the scent was sweet and enticing. Now curious for a comparison, I took Emily's cum-drenched panties, which were substantially wetter than Miko's, and took a deep sniff. The aroma was so entrancing that I continued holding her panties an inch from my nose. I allowed the powerful, erotic, sinful smell to linger in my nostrils. I felt a subtle tingle down below, the slight spark I'd been ignoring all day.

I went back to Miko's and compared the two quite different, yet equally pleasant, scents. Suddenly, being pulled in, I wondered what their juice would taste like.

With Emily's panties in my hand, no longer in control of my explorations, I brought them to my mouth. The taste, a mixture of cotton and exotic fluid, was surprisingly appetizing. Without even being aware I began sucking on them, retrieving Emily's sticky juice from these stained panties. Suddenly becoming aware of what I was doing, I dropped the underwear on my desk. What am I doing? Mortified, I dropped both pairs of tainted panties back in my drawer and took a deep, steadying breath.

Desperate to clear my head, I went to lunch.

Throughout lunch I attempted to come to grips with what was happening to me. My dreams were pulling me deeper into Madison's grip. The panty-sniffing I'd just done was a wake-up call to a weakness in myself I 'd never known about. All that said, while I ate my overpriced soup and sandwich, I felt a craving to smell those panties again. I continued to try and push the sinful thought out of my head, but it kept creeping back in, each time becoming harder to push away, harder to resist. I considered taking the afternoon off, but I was worried about someone somehow finding dirty underwear in my desk drawer. I needed to discard the girls' underwear, but I wasn't sure how. I finished my lunch and headed to my Thursday afternoon fourth year class, which was a three-hour, once-a-week seminar with twelve students. Today's discussion was about Ending Poverty in America. Surprisingly, my grad student assistant Eleanor was absent, which was very unusual. We were fifteen minutes into our discussion on how racial bias has been and still remains a major barrier to overcoming poverty in America, when the door opened, and Eleanor crept in wearing white stockings; her face was flushed and her hair was tousled.

She apologized, "I'm sorry, Dr. Jefferson, I was tied up in a lunchtime meeting." She hastily took her usual seat beside me at the round table. Seeing the significant white stockings on my nerdy grad student was one more unexpected shock. Eleanor was the epitome of a shy nerd. She wore overlarge glasses, her hair was in a ponytail, and she always wore long flowery dresses. I'd imagined that even though she was in her mid-twenties, she'd never even had a date, and now she was outing herself (to those in on the secret) as a slave of Madison's.

I wondered how the assumedly eighteen-or-nineteen-year-old Madison (I later learned she was twenty) had gotten this twenty-five-year-old to submit. It seemed even more impossible than every other revelation I'd encountered recently. How had they even met? They wouldn't be in the same circles: Eleanor didn't even run in a circle. These and a hundred other questions ricocheted around my head. The seriousness of my current predicament became more vivid.

"Professor Jefferson."

"Professor Jefferson."

"Professor Jefferson, are you okay?"

I felt a tug on my sleeve, and I was brought out of my stunned stupor. I stammered, "S-s-sorry, I zoned out there for a bit."

"What were you thinking about, Professor Jefferson?"

"Nothing," I retorted defensively and got back on track, leading the class in our discussion. Although I remained slightly distracted, the next hour went by fast and furious as the students bounced around idea after idea about ending poverty. I was rejuvenated by their passionate, exciting, and naïvely optimistic ideas.

I ignored the periodic vibrating of my phone during our brainstorming session. Only my kids and Eleanor knew my cell number, so I assumed it was something trivial, like it always was with the twins. So once we'd hit a lull in our brainstorming, I suggested we take a break and come back in fifteen to create a hypothetical strategic plan. The group left and I checked my phone. When the first image popped up, I dropped the phone! It was a picture of Eleanor tied up. I picked up my phone and scrolled through the rest of the pictures, which had been sent from a number I didn't recognize. There was Eleanor kissing a black-stocking-clad foot, presumably Madison's; a picture of Eleanor sniffing a shoe; a picture of Eleanor with black panties in her mouth; a picture of Eleanor naked, her breasts surprisingly large; a picture of Eleanor tied to a bed with a pussy straddling her face, the black stockings in view, but not showing enough to identify Madison, with the text, This is why she was late. She was all tied up!!!

The class began gradually making their way back into the classroom, chatting and checking their cell phones. Eleanor didn't arrive until the last second, furtively, and she completely avoided eye contact with me.

Attempting to ignore the naughty images burned in my brain, I launched the second half of class. Time seemed to stand still as the students worked in two groups, and I went back and forth between them. Eleanor assisted the two groups as well, shying away from me as much as possible, but otherwise not showing the slightest acknowledgement of her naughty secret. The class ended and I asked her to remain behind.

Once all the students were gone, I was blunt: "Eleanor, how did you end up in this predicament?"

She looked directly into my eyes and played dumb, "Professor, I have no idea what you're talking about."

I pulled out my phone and showed her the pictures. She went as white as the stockings on her legs. She stammered, "I-I-I, oh my God, I can't believe she took pictures!"

"Madison?" I asked, wanting confirmation.

She avoided answering the question directly, although her expression answered it for me, "Mistress was disciplining me in an attempt to add you to her harem of subs."

"Her harem of subs?"

"Yes, I'm sorry Professor Jefferson, but she's determined to recruit you."

"How many... subs?... are there?" I asked, trying to get a better grip on the scope of Madison's web of debauchery.

"I don't know, at least a dozen."

"A dozen!" I gasped.

"Probably more," she added.

"What can I do to help you?" I asked.

Madison's voice interrupted our conversation from the doorway, "Slut, get over here, now."

Eleanor blushed and immediately rushed over to Madison. Madison winked at me and said, ignoring the obvious tension, "See you in class tomorrow, Professor Jefferson." She possessively took Eleanor's hand and led her out. I was left speechless. I also felt a damp spot in my underwear. I couldn't remotely understand what had gotten me horny, but the slow burn was becoming harder and harder to ignore.

Just as I was getting ready to leave, Madison returned, startling me again. She tossed me a pair of pink panties that splatted on the table in front of me. "I think you'll enjoy Eleanor's soaked panties, too. Be a good girl and someday maybe you'll get mine."

"Madison, stop this," I ordered, my voice sounding strong and determined.

She glared at me.

Realizing I'd called her by her first name, and that I'd already lost a bit of my power just because of my outburst, I continued more placatingly, "I'm sorry, Ms. Adams, but this game of yours has got to stop."

Her cold glare faded, and a devious smile replaced it. "Oh, Dr. Jefferson, we're just beginning to play."

Before I could respond she was gone again, leaving me even more rattled. Not wanting soiled panties to be found sitting on the table in a class I'd just taught, I picked them up, and was surprised by how wet they were.

Madison peeked her head in the door yet again, a smile on her face as she saw the panties in my hand, which I quickly dropped, and demanded in a loud voice, "And I fucking expect you to be wearing white stockings tomorrow, Professor Jefferson."

Just as quickly she was gone, and I shoved the wet panties in my pocket. Shamefully, I felt my own panties getting wetter against my will.

I returned to my office and pulled the panties out of my pocket. I couldn't resist, no matter how much I knew it was nasty and wrong, and I raised the wet panties to my nose and took a big sniff. The scent wasn't as pleasant as either Miko's or Emily's, but it wasn't unpleasant either. I sat back in my chair, pulled down my slacks and began rubbing my burning pussy. I let out a moan louder than I expected the second I touched my normally ignored pleasure zone. I found the wettest part of Eleanor's cum-filled undies and sucked them into my mouth. Wanting more, I reached into my drawer and pulled out the other two coeds' used panties. My fingers never leaving my pussy, I pressed Emily's panties against my tongue and took in her delicious nectar. I rubbed myself furiously, my head a cloud of forbidden sin. My senses were a-tingle as I tasted Eleanor's sweet cum, as I smelt Emily's seductive aroma and gave myself into a pleasure I usually avoided. It took only a couple of minutes for me to feel the crescendo of pleasure pulsing through my body. Unlike the rare times I masturbated, this time I continued rubbing my pussy throughout my entire orgasm. The sensations continued pulsing through me like an electric current of joy. When the last remnants of the orgasm dissipated, I tossed both soiled coeds' panties on my desk and felt a burn of shame. I was mortified at what I'd just done. I pulled up my pants and, desperate to get out of my office, which had a lingering scent of my sinful deed, I grabbed the three pairs of evidence and tossed them into my bag.

All the way home, the guilt about what I'd done filled me with a shame I hadn't felt since I was married. When my first husband made me swallow his cum or fucked me in my ass, I obeyed because it gave him pleasure, and thus gave myself pleasure too. But as soon as the sinful slutty act was done, I'd always felt overwhelming shame. I was a dirty whore just like so many other fallen women, and I had to resist such temptations, no matter how good they made my body feel.

7. GOOD VIBRATIONS... a foreshadowing

I got home and put the three pairs of soiled underwear each in their own sealed bag and hid them under my bed, tucked into the box springs. Since I was home early, I decided to take a long shower, so I changed out of my soiled undies and after a lengthy cleansing, I put on a clean pair. Thursday is my laundry day, so I went into my children's room and grabbed their laundry like I always did and headed for the basement. The first load was my nasty undies and the rest of my clothing from the week. I went upstairs, began supper, and did some dusting. Oddly, I've always loved cleaning. It's such a relaxing, mindless change of pace compared to my workday. I turn on some R&B music and just cleaned.

When the first load of laundry was done, I went downstairs and put the wet load in the dryer, happy the incriminating evidence of my brief lack of control was now washed away. As I dumped the second load in, Nicole's, I felt my hand working on its own, pulling out my daughter's worn underwear. I'd touched and washed her undergarments for eighteen years, but today they were enticing, intriguing and intoxicating. I impulsively sniffed all five pairs of her dirty panties. The scent was similar in each pair, except that one pair had a different scent that had my fresh panties getting wet. I kept the unique-smelling white undies out and tossed the rest into the machine, then leaned back against it and lingered, smelling my daughter's unique aroma. I realized the bouquet was a mixture of her juices and sweat, probably from working out. These were clearly her gym undies. As my pussy involuntarily rekindled the fire down below, I looked at the dryer, vibrating and humming like it always did, and felt my legs leading me over to it. Positioning myself so my vagina was making contact with the shaking machine, I leaned forward, closed my eyes and let the vibrating sensations pleasure my body while my daughter's sweaty undies were in my mouth and pressed against my nose.

As soon as my eyes are closed, visions of Madison pop up, her legs spread wantonly open even though we're in my classroom. Her finger is beckoning me forward, her smile so sweet, her open legs so inviting. I find myself walking over to her, falling to my knees. She opens her legs even wider, allowing me a clear view to her panty-covered vagina. Desperate to smell her pussy, to taste her juices in her thin cotton fabric, I lean forward, but I'm stopped by her negating palm.

I hear her voice, powerful and unwavering, "Beg, Nigger."

The harsh word feels like a thousand daggers stabbing into my body, yet the humiliation only makes my pussy wetter and my desire to smell and taste her stronger. I look up into her hypnotic eyes and ask, weakly, "Please."

She closes her legs completely, and the treasure I was craving is no longer in view. "That's terrible. When your older daughter LaKeisha submitted to me, she begged like a good Nigger should. She panted like a dirty fat black whore. Like the Nigger slave she wanted so desperately to become."

Hearing her talk about my elder child in such a degrading way twists the imaginary daggers in my flesh, and yet, most disturbing and disgusting, her words get my juices gushing all the more. I stammer, "M-m-my daughter?"