Mr. Peters and the Panties

After he felt that she had learned as much as she could in that position, he said, "Alright then, Emily, that's probably enough."

Emily took a deep sigh of relief and stood back up, her skirt falling back over her bottom. She turned around to face Mr. Peters as she reached back to extricate the panties from within the crack of her ass. It did really feel uncomfortable, but at least it was now all over.

"No, no," Mr. Peters corrected her. "Now I want you to let the skirt slip to the floor, around your ankles. Leave the panties where they are."

Apparently she was only done with just that particular pose. "Oh Mr. Peters," she whined. "Must I?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so, Emily. It's for your own good, for your growth and development as a young lady."

Emily couldn't quite see how that was true, but Mr. Peters was the professional, and a very successful one at that. Mr. Peters had a well regarded reputation for bringing out the best in his students, and Emily's parents did so much want her to succeed in college. Emily though had to wonder if they would be terribly happy if they knew of Mr. Peters' methods. She reached down and unclasped, and then unzipped, her skirt. She gave a final look at Mr. Peters, her eyes expressing her plea for this to end before it went any further, but Mr. Peters' expression revealed nothing. She let the skirt fall to the floor, and immediately clasped her hands in front of her panties.

"Leave your hands at your side, Emily, and don't interrupt me now as I have much to do."

Emily reluctantly pulled her hands away, looking down at the front of her panties to see what Mr. Peters would be able to see. She gasped with embarrassment as she witnessed the fact that the front of her blouse covered only a couple inches of her panties and, even worse, with the panties pulled up so tightly she could also see for herself that the lips of her cunnie were very clearly outlined. This was really terribly shameful and she quickly averted her eyes, glancing around the room, studying various objects, lamps, and books, trying to distract her mind from the fact that her feminine cunnie lips were so blatantly delineated.

Mr. Peters let the girl stand like that for sometime. It was important for her lesson to truly sink in and stick, particularly if it was not to be accompanied by the additional component of pain that was at least a part of most disciplinary sessions. The one component of embarrassment had to go a long way in helping this girl develop better self-discipline and dedication to her studies, her education, her growth.

He eventually looked up from his work to announce, "Alright then, let's have those panties pulled down, if you will. I would suggest to about halfway down your thighs. That will do nicely."

"Mr. Peters!" Emily protested. Now that was definitely going much too far. Wasn't it? She didn't really know for sure. It wasn't like she was herself an expert on modern pedagogy. "Must I, sir, really?"

"Well, Emily," Mr. Peters explained, "perhaps you will have a better appreciation of your panties if you're not allowed to wear them at all."

She closed her eyes as she looped her thumbs into the waistband, bent over, and pulled them down to the middle of her thighs.

"You'll have to spread your legs a bit, young lady," Mr. Peters advised, "in order to avoid having the panties slip all the way down."

"Yes sir," she replied, her hands trembling a bit as she positioned her panties and spread apart her legs, helping to keep them up, but also clearly making it easier for Mr. Peters to see her cunnie, which would now be completely exposed.

She stood back up straight, her skirt tangled around her ankles, her panties at her thighs, her young feminine cunt entirely and fully exposed.

And it was a very pretty cunnie indeed. Mr. Peters could not help but smile as it came into view. It was not at all hidden as Emily was a natural blonde with a very sparse bush, if one could even call it that. It was more like peach fuzz than a true growth. This was quite fortunate as what she had would not have been much to hide. There was just this little pale white mound separated by a gentle crevice. Emily had one of the cutest, daintiest, petite cunts Mr. Peters had ever seen, and he had seen quite a few. "Very, very pretty, Emily."

"Thank you, Mr. Peters," Emily quietly responded, her face a deep red. She looked back over her shoulder. What if another student just walked in, without even knocking? She would feel so ashamed.

"Do you have a boyfriend, Emily?"

"No sir, not right now, sir." She answered his questions but avoided eye contact.

"Really? Gracious, I'm sorry to hear that. That's a shame."

Emily didn't say anything.

"Has a boy seen you there before?"

"Mr. Peters!"

"It's a natural question, Emily. There's nothing to be ashamed about having a boy see your girlish little cunnie lips."

Emily shifted her feet, albeit being careful to keep her thighs spread so that her panties would not fall down. Mr. Peters was not only embarrassing her through physical exposure but through their conversation as well, a sort of psychological exposure. And, even worse, she could feel her feminine lips tingling, something they did when she was beginning to get aroused. It was perhaps a natural reaction for them, being so openly discussed, and clearly admired.

Mr. Peters pursued his inquiry. "Have you gone all the way, Emily?"

"Yes sir," Emily quietly responded, the blood rushing to her face. She wasn't ashamed about that, but it was embarrassing to tell a professor.

"Do your parents know this?"

"No sir," she admitted. She didn't really know how her parents would feel about it. Who hasn't had sex by the time their eighteen years old? Still, her parents were rather conservative.

"Embarrassment and shame can come in many different colors and forms, can't they, Emily."

"Yes sir," Emily agreed, feeling indeed so very ashamed, yet also now so very confused, and agitated.

"Why don't you turn around, Emily, and show me your bottom again."

Emily obeyed the professor, feeling relieved to avert her cunnie away from his admiring eyes, but knowing full well that there was likely worse to come. She carefully, timidly, turned around, finding the steps awkward with her panties still lodged around her thighs. Once her back was to him she didn't wait for further instruction. She bent over, placing her hands on her knees, her pigtails again hanging down, sticking her now naked bottom back at the professor.

Emily liked doggy style sex but she had to admit that she always felt a bit embarrassed by it, by the position. It just felt so animalistic to do it that way. Even the name was rather shameful, as if she was acting like a dog, wanting to be fucked like a dog. One guy even pulled on her pigtails, like he was riding a pony. Plus, she knew full well that in this position the guy could see her anus, and how would, how should, any normal good girl feel about that! She was just so thankful that no guy had ever mentioned that he could see her tush hole, or had ever said that he liked looking at it, and most definitely none had ever touched it.

Still, perhaps for all those reasons her cunnie would get so inflamed, so hot, when she was fucked from behind. She never could figure that out, that what was the most embarrassing was also the most exciting, the most arousing, but it so often appeared to be true. What ashamed her the most made her the most moist.

"Spread your cheeks for me, would you, Emily? I'd like to see what you have hidden deep down within that delightful little crack of yours."

"Oooooh Mr. Peters," Emily groaned in protest, feeling the moisture developing on her cunnie. She so hoped that Mr. Peters would not notice that. Now, that would be truly embarrassing! What could be more shameful than revealing to a professor that a punishment like this was actually sexually arousing? She reached back and dutifully parted her cheeks for Mr. Peters.

Mr. Peters again smiled. "What a very pretty rosebud, Emily, very pretty indeed."

No boy had ever said that before, thank goodness. "Thank you, sir," she dutifully replied, her face a deep red with shame.

"Back up closer, dear," he instructed, "so that it's positioned right over my desk. I do like a pretty rose on my desk."

Emily rolled her eyes but did as the professor instructed, slowly stepping backward so that her bottom was closer to his eyes and resting over his desk, her hands keeping her cheeks spread wide open so that he could have a real good look at her butt hole. She could feel her sphincter squeezing and squirming with self-consciousness, as if she was trying to flirt with him, flirting with her winking, twinkling anus.

"Very, very nice, Emily." It was really quite cute: all wrinkly red and so preciously small.

"Thank you, sir," she again softly replied.

"Has a boy ever kissed you there, Emily?"

"Professor Peters, my gracious, no!" How could he ask her such a thing?

"Well, don't be so shocked, young lady, with a rosebud as pretty as this one, I would think a boy would be unable to resist the temptation."

"Mr. Peters, please! Don't talk about it like that!"

"Oh, I don't think you're that embarrassed, young lady. Looks to me that you're also developing quite a bit of moisture, a few inches further below."

"Oh, Mr. Peters, please, this is so terribly embarrassing!" She squeezed her sphincter tightly, as if by doing so it would disappear from view. The lesson in shame was sinking in deep.

"Has a boy at least put his big hard cock in there?"

"Mr. Peters!" Could this get any more embarrassing?

"How often do you masturbate, Emily?"

"Oh Mr. Peters, please sir." Her bottom squirmed in mortification.

"Well, Emily, perhaps that is part of the problem. Perhaps you're masturbating too often. Have you discussed with your parents how often you diddle yourself?"

It would be difficult enough to answer such a question; it was doubly so bent over, holding open one's butt cheeks, as she acknowledged, "Goodness, gracious, no sir."

"Have you spoken to anyone at all about it?"

Emily looked back at the professor. It was painful to look him in the eyes when in such a shameful position, discussing such things, but she wanted him to see the distress in her eyes. "Well, no sir, no I haven't, but..."

Mr. Peters cut her off. "Well, a little paternal advice can be quite helpful, young lady."

It was evident that he was going to persist in his questioning. Perhaps the sooner she cooperated the sooner this would end. She was reminded of when she first went to the doctor for a "feminine problem." She had put it off for a few days, as she really, really, really didn't want to discuss it with a male doctor, let alone have him examine her pussy for it. But, she finally realized that it was the anticipation, the dread, that was the most painful. It was best to just get it over with. She turned her face away. "I've, um, well..." Her voice got quieter as she confessed, "masturbated, sir." She turned her face back to him, "But, not very often at all, sir. Really."

"Really? That's hard to believe, Emily. It must not be that enjoyable for you."

Emily looked away again, her face beet red. She didn't respond to that remark.

"Perhaps it would be best if you showed me precisely what you do, when you diddle yourself."

"Oh, Mr. Peters." Emily instinctively squirmed, though still holding the cheeks in her hands.

"Please, Emily. I don't have all day. I do have other students that need my attention."

"Ooooooooooh," she softly whimpered as she looked around for where in the office she might do it, not really believing that she really would though.

"No, no, Emily. Just stay right there, where you are, in that position. Try doing it that way...for me."

"Oooooooooooh," she again whimpered, but let go of her butt cheek with her right hand to shift these fingers to between her legs, where they made contact with her stiff nub. She pressed her fingers against the little hard stiffness and began to slowly circle the tips around and around against clit, her perky little bottom complementing the motion, circling and squirming in front of Mr. Peters' eyes.

The professor smiled. It was a very pretty, fetching sight. Girls must know how lovely and enticing they are, mustn't they? He suspected they did. Many times they did act like they did, giving him a little smile, perhaps even a wink, as they wiggled their bottoms as they walked away, but they could never walk in a man's shoes and truly appreciate what a vision they really are.

Emily's whimpering grew louder and more urgent, as now it was a whimper of lustful arousal rather than nervous embarrassment. She knew it was so awfully shameful to be doing this, but she was feeling so, so excited, and it was what Mr. Peters told her to do. It wasn't like she was doing this on purpose, like she just walked into his office and asked to do it. "Oh, Mr. Peters," she gasped, letting go of her bottom with her left hand, slipping one of those fingers up inside her cunt. She lightly flickered her clit with her right hand as she slid a finger of her left deep up inside her.

Mr. Peters reached down to his crotch and grasped his erection in his hand. He was sorely tempted to pull his stiff dick out and help the young lady reach her climax, but he knew it would not be the professional thing to do. He had to maintain his dispassionate objectivity as a professor. He was doing this for Emily's tutelage, not for his own base satisfaction, and being the disciplined instructor that he was he restrained himself, or at least confined himself to just softly fondling his stiff dick through his slacks.

Emily slipped a second finger up her cunt and began to hump them both as she now frenetically diddled her clit with her other fingers. The room was filled with the lewd noise of her slurping, slushing cunt. Her bottom wiggled and danced over the front of Mr. Peters' desk, much better than any stripper had ever performed. If Emily was in one of his classes, she would most definitely get a good grade.

Emily then bent her knees further, thrusting her ass back at the professor, the crack of her ass widening, and groaned, "Mr. Peters," suddenly feeling her cunnie quivering on her fingers as a shudder of deep pleasure swept through her body, her mind. She gave herself over to the shameful fruition, humiliation and fundamental pleasure becoming one and the same, shame and bliss together, and it felt so very, very good.

"Oh Mr. Peters," she again gasped but this time with such joy and satisfaction, her butt crack remaining open as her body continued to tremble and twitch with her climax, her sphincter winking gaily at the professor.

Mr. Peters smiled back and squeezed his dick beneath the desk. Emily had clearly learned a very important lesson, not only about the importance of wearing regulation panties, but also about being herself.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

After his morning session with Emily, Mr. Peters felt truly inspired, as well as terribly aroused. Sexual arousal was, of course, a natural consequence of his work, his teaching, his research. It was important not to let it affect his better judgment. He had to keep his mind, his eyes, on the task at hand, and today it would be the enforcement of the new dress code.

Not surprisingly, Templeton College had been under considerable pressure to amend the college uniform requirement. No college, not even one as conservative as Templeton, wants to be perceived as sexually discriminatory.

The struggles to adhere to Title IX were difficult enough. For Templeton Title IX required either the elimination of football or the addition of a number of girls' sports in order to equalize the number of boys and girls who were supported by athletic scholarships. The Board of Trustees opted for the latter, despite the considerable expense this entailed. With respect to the school uniform, they decided to amend the rule for boys, requiring that young men also wear black belts and white briefs, just as the girls were required to wear white cotton panties.

The requirements for the boys had been admittedly less restrictive. Boys only had to wear white shirts, black slacks, and black shoes. The rationale for having looser restrictions for the young men was an annoyance to many of the young ladies of Templeton College, and even to a number of the female faculty. Miss Harding in particular had spoken out against this sexist discrimination, with the full support of Mr. Peters.

The revision of the rule was met with some complaints by the boys, although many of them had already been routinely wearing black belts. Black belts just looked nice with black pants and a white shirt.

A requirement to wear briefs was more annoying. Many of the boys felt that briefs were simply too childish. Briefs were for junior high school students; boxers were for men. On the other hand, quite a few of them were already wearing briefs, particularly those enrolled in the classes of Miss Harding, where something tight within loose slacks did at times come in handy.

Today, each student's devotion to the college regulation would be tested.

The students in Mr. Peters' class knew something must be up when they saw him arrive with Miss Harding.

"Good morning, students," Mr. Peters greeted as he entered the room.

"Good morning, Mr. Peters," they all politely responded.

"As you can see, Miss Harding is here with me today."

"Good morning, Miss Harding," many of the students spontaneously offered.

She smiled cheerfully in return, "Yes, hello, and a good morning to you." Miss Harding was perhaps the most attractive teacher within the small private college. She was 34 years old, with blue eyes, long lashes, and curly blond hair that draped softly across her shoulders. Her cheeks were always a rosy pink, with sensuous lips that often smiled sweetly at the young handsome men that were so often drawn to her classes, and to her.

The requirement that the girls not wear perfume or much make-up did not apply to the faculty and Miss Harding took full advantage. The students could always tell when she was passing by in the hall as her sweet scent would catch their nostrils like bait to a starving prey. They would turn their heads just in time to follow her departure, enjoying the sight of her womanly bottom sashaying down the hall in one of her tight business skirts.

Her most endearing feature though were perhaps her breasts. The boys did not know precisely how big they were. Only a few had ever had the striking opportunity to actually view them (see "The Lessons, #5, Miss Harding teaches the boys a lesson"). They would though often speculate, usually providing a gross exaggeration that only fueled their fantasies. In reality, she did have an excellent figure, her measurements being 36-25-35, which she typically exploited to full advantage with rather provocatively alluring outfits.

Miss Harding was wearing today a thin, white summer dress that clung so very well to that wondrous figure. The bodice appeared to do little more than drape across her breasts, their full outline so readily apparent, the nipples thrusting out, the cleavage provocatively large and deep. In the right light it appeared that one might even be able to see her lacy bra and perhaps her panties through the thin, clinging fabric.

And, to make matters worse (or better), the dress was incredibly short, revealing much of her long shapely legs, encased today in enticing white nylon. It was apparent that if she was required at some point during the class to bend over and pick something up, one would be treated to the very delightful sight of her panties, which many a young man was contemplating, imagining. As her heels clicked and clacked along the hard wood floor it was only natural that penises began to swell. Her own classes were typically filled to capacity with wide-eyed young men.