Fantasizing about the teacher

[intriguess]

There was something about authoritative figures. Perhaps because her own father had been absent in her life. It wasn't that she was one of those that wanted to be told what to do. Sometimes she simply wanted someone who would understand what she wanted and allow her to have it as long as she did as he asked. Of course he'd know what she would and would not do as well.

Like that would ever happen, she thought even as she imagined her Art professeor asking her to stay after class, or meet him in he office, or perhaps a more private setting at his studio. There to ask her to model and slowly ask her to do more and more until he finally discovered her limitations.

Micah shook her head, oh well, at least the fantasy is nice she thought. Little did she realize that her journal where she wrote down her fantasies would end up in her professeors warm large hands.


Micah is 21, somewhat reserved, only bold in her private world. She's 5'2" curvy figure, green eyes hidden by glasses, long auburn hair, neatly painted nails, wearing soft golden colored suede pants, brown boots with two inch heels, and a chocalate brown fuzzy sweater that concealed her large breasts.


Professeor should be older not married, perhaps divorced, with no previous experience in BDSM, but is excited by the journal and finds himself wanting to push it into the real world.

For info on specific journal entrys IM, to avoid a lot of repetition in the thread.

 

[patrick1]

the teacher

Amid the hundred or so faces stacked in the rows of the lecture theatre, he keeps finding that he's looking at Micah. 'Seurat,' he hears himself saying, making himself not look at her, 'developed a particularly obsessive style known as pointillism, a very deliberate...'

He would like to paint her. Not on canvas. On her body. Pointillist. Dots of the brush. Imagine her breasts, for instance -

'Neo-Impressionism was however, something of a dead end. But the main thrust...'

Thrust. Her eager face. Her dark dreams. He glances at the clock. Time to wind up.

'Next week, we'll be looking particularly at the impact of Cezanne on...'

The students close their files. The two earnest Chinese women at the front are still writing notes. He doesn't need to say anything to her about it. He could pretend it never happened. Did she do it on purpose perhaps? Or was it just an accident? That her notebook was on his floor after the group tutorial in his office?

'Ah, Micah...'

Her eyes glisten. Who would have imagined such fantasies, lurking within her? She smiles, says something to her classmate, walks over to him.

'There's something I have. That I want to discuss with you.'

'Sure, maybe we can...'

'Now. In five minutes. In my office. OK?'

She shrugs. 'Sure.' Has she even registered that it's missing?

Micah, your dreams touched something in me. Micah, I should like to paint you. In the flesh. No, not on canvas...

Micah, just read this fantasy out loud to me, would you?

Professor Donovan, my good man, Patrick, listen: one wrong move and you're up for dismissal here.

He closes the door to his office. He unlocks the bottom right-hand drawer and takes out her notebook. He opens it at random. He opens his mouth wide, desperate for air. Ah....

 

[intriguess]

Micah

She wondered what she had done wrong as she nodded and collected her things. She looked through her back and realized it was missing, a small leather bound journal black with veins of red. It looked and felt as dark and sensual as the thoughts she wrote down in it. She carried it to every class, since she had first felt that tingle when he looked at her like he could tell what she wanted..needed.

She was trembling as she gently tapped on the door, hoping he was in a meeting as she recalled the last time she had it. That study group that he had led. She'd been writing in it instead of studying, about being asked to strip and lay down on blank canvas.

Her mind drifted off as the door swung open.

 

[patrick1]

patrick donovan

When she enters his office she sees straight away what he's reading. How prettily she blushes. He gestures to her to sit. He opens a file with notes about her in it. For a couple of minutes, while she stares aghast at him, he talks about grades, progress, future courses. All very proper and professorial.

Finally, he opens her notebook again. 'You write beautiful fiction too,' he says.

'Hey, that was just...'

Her voice trails off.

'It would be interesting to experiment as you outline here. Don't you think?'

'I don't know what page...'

'Here, look.' He doesn't touch her but there's electricity in the air as she pulls her chair up beside his. The book's open at her fantasy of visiting his studio. His voice cut in asking, no, telling her that clothes were unnecessary. Oh God. Then he took her hand and led her to a large canvas spread out on the floor. She shivered slightly at the first touch of a bursh, he was going to paint her...literally. 'D'you know where my personal studio is?'

'No, I -'

Yes, she knows, but somehow feels she shouldn't. '63 Sutton Street. I rent the attic from a friend. They never bother me up there. I shall be there from two this afternoon, if you'd like to visit. Explore your dreams, perhaps.' His grey-green eyes hold her gaze until she looks down. He hands her the notebook. 'Maybe later, then.'

He turns to his keyboard. She gets up, falteringly. 'I -'

'Sorry?'

She doesn't seem to know quite what to say...

 

[intriguess]

Micah

She wondered what he had read. Did he read it all or did he merely skim and look more intently at her last entry. She stammered something about being more careful about her possessions and dashed out before her knees buckled.

Time seemed to slow down as she alternated between going and not going. Finally she decided to go, and even though her clothing would not be necessary she opted to wear something sexy. Perhaps to give courage, she slipped the tiny red panties on and glanced at herself in the mirror. Her black bra had tiny red roses and cupped her breasts nicely. She pulled on a thin tight red shirt and slipped into a nice black skirt. She felt as if she were breaking the rules as she zipped up her red snake skin boots. She wished she ahd contacts as she put on red lipstick and a long rain coat.

Her heart was beating a mile a minute as she finally pulled into a parking place. She must have circled the block ten times. She glanced at her watch. 2:07, it said and her hand was trembling as as she opened her car door and looked up at the building.

She had taken the time to take a bath and had added special bath beads which made her skin super soft. Micah wished she had thought of what to say when she arrived. What ifs, filled her head as she decided not to knock and opened the door.

 

[patrick1]

patrick donovan

'Come on up.'

There's a buzzer on the door so he always knows when someone's come in. There are prints along the walls of the stairs: Hogarth's 'Rake's Progress'. When she opens the second door, at the top, there's a flash. A photograph.

'Come in, Micah.' He's wearing a plain white t-shirt, and paint-spattered beige trousers with many pockets. He puts the camera in one of them. 'Don't worry, I'll give you the camera when you go. You'll decide whether to let anyone else see the pictures. Even me.'

There's the large canvas, spread out on the black-painted wooden floor, stretched, ready. Just like in her fantasy.

He doesn't touch her. That's a surprise. He offers her Earl Grey tea, or water. Her lips are parched, but she's too nervous to accept anything.

'And would you like to pose for me?'

She stands awkwardly. 'Yes Sir.'

'Your clothes are lovely. But you know that your clothes are unnecessary.'

Each line from her fantasy notebook seems to make a chord twang in the air between them. 'Here,' he says. There's an armchair. She puts her long raincoat over the back. She bends to pull off her boots.

Flash. Will he live up to his promise about the camera?

Her hands are shaking as she tugs the black skirt down her legs. But then something changes in her. She sees her surroundings suddenly more clearly. His paints, a long table to the side, a few stacked canvases facing the wall, a half-finished sculpture of something. I am here. This is not a dream. He wants me to do this.

She undoes the buttons of her blouse and stands before him, in bra and panties.

He sips from a big mug of tea, his eyes surveying her as if professionally. 'All of it,' he orders softly.

The pretty bra. The sexy panties. She's naked. Doesn't quite know what to do with her hands.

Flash.

'I want to construct a sort of triptych on the single canvas. Here.' His fingers in hers, he leads her. 'Lie down on your side, facing to the right.'

She lies down. Flash. 'Hands between your legs. I want you to make love to yourself. I shall paint both some of your body, and your outline against the canvas, in this position. Hands between your legs, Micah. Touch yourself.'

She trembles again, but does as he wants. 'Then I'll want you to roll to the left, and I'll paint you and the canvas facing that way. Then, centrally, I'll want you to lay back. Spreadeagled. Unashamed. Glorious. Making love to yourself. I'm only going to touch you with brushes.'

He doesn't ask for her consent. There's a broad brush, straight away. She looks round. Pale blue, at her right buttock, running down her leg. He kneels, intent. Her hands stir. He reaches for a vivid yellow as his brush paints her right thigh, beneath her...

 

[intriguess]

Micah

It was slightly different than she pictured, but all the more exciting because of his imput. At the same time she felt wierd about him just expecting her to obey blindly. Micah laid down and was shy at first as her fingers moved down between her legs, hiding it as she lay on her side. Her nerves were stretched tight and it prevented her from truly enjoying it.

The brush was almost an assault and she was still figuring out whether she enjoyed it or not as her fingers paused. There was so much going on and she hated being forced to wait.

 

[patrick1]

the painter

How pretty she already is: as he moves up her back with a vivid lime green, then mingles a little of it lower down, on the backs of her legs.

'There's no need to stop.' Her eyes flick sideways to look up at him. 'To stop caressing yourself. I shall be happy for you to come, when you want to.'

And he makes her giggle, reflexively, as he finds the yellow again for the soles of her feet. Now, he wants to begin the front profile of her at her breasts, a vivid crimson, yes.

He kneels. She's closed her eyes. He paints; paints; paints...

 

[intriguess]

Micah

She visible relaxed and her fingers gently stroked, she closed her eyes blocking out the visual imput. It allowed her to relax and focus on the feel of her skin. The feel of the brush wet with paint sweeping along her skin.

She was breathing softly, slowly, almost purr as she slowly moved to lay on her back, her feet resting upon the canvas to allow her to freely play.

 

[patrick1]

the professor

'Steady, steady,' he says, 'Not yet.'

And when, as if he;d forbidden her, she stops fucking herself, he only pushes her body, lifting her right thigh and her right shoulder, saying, 'Caress, go on, please, caress. I only want the left hand of the triptych to be done first. Please. On your side first. '

And he pushes, marvelling already at the effect of the oil paints - on her body - on the canvas...

 

[intriguess]

Micah

She smiled shyly and allowed him to move her to the other side. She let one hand caress between her legs while the other hand moved to gently play with her right breast.

It was liberating to play with herself so openly, normally she hid from even herself, playing under the cover of a sheet or darkness.

 

[patrick1]

the professor

Darkness for the right. Yes. He begins with a black. He takes a thinner brush, to work at her buttock, and the canvas beneath it. Then a big brush, for the front of her legs, wheeeee!

A moment of cheerfulness, he kisses her hair.

Her hair. Should he paint her hair?

Not for now, not for now. He strokes it. Puts the black brush into water. Deep purple. Deep purple, for herface, which he skipped by on the other side...

 

[intriguess]

The touch of the brush became like a lover's caress, one she relished and wanted. The different brushes playing along her smooth silky skin, the oil paints shiny on her skin. She decided she would open her eyes for the center piece and licked her lips as her fingers caressed and played, more teasingly than trying to cum, she was enjoying being able to freely play.

 

[patrick1]

the professor

Cerulean blue. He crouches to her, his hands at her shoulders, and turns her until she's lying on her back. Her eyes, suddenly open, startle him. He parts her legs, his hands at her ankles.

Flash.

Then a broad brush, beginning at her right ear, then swiftly down her outline, shoulder, side, hip, leg, foot...then up her left side, blue blue blue blue blue...

There's something more urgent about her hands at her sex now, Flash! and he suddenly sees there must be a riot of colour there, between her thighs, he begins to flick colours at the backs of her hands, blue, yes...then crimson, a great splodge like blood from her...then streaks of that lime green he began with...Flash! Yes, come for me, he doesn't say it out loud, but his eyes on hers say it, as his brush is a caress again on her inner thighs, streaks of yellow, and now a burgundy, and now that crimson again...

 

[intriguess]

Micah

Her need was building as she moved to lie on her back her body moving wanting, needing more, her one hand spreading her lips and caresses her clit as the other hand covertly moves within the wetness.

She stares at him hungrily feeling it build, throbbing, pulsing with need, and then he flicks the paint on her and before she can imagine how he's going to clean her, she gasping, panting, moaning softly as her fingers work magic along the tender spots, the hard nub of her clit pushing her onward and up to a peak of desire and pleasure.

 

[patrick1]

the professor

And finally, as she moves to her climax - splashes of paint rippling all over her body, here lime green when she lay in profile, there cerulean blue when he lay her on her back, ah, yes, there a dash of black - finally he leaves her hands to work at her sex and with a thin thin brush in each hand, behind her head, he dips each into a brown tinged with pink and circles each of her nipples, circles and circles, painting the areola almost as themselves, as noises begin to come from her, as the camera, set on a tripod now beyond her feet, pointing down at the length of her body, begins to flash! automatic pictures of her, and of him painting her, as her body rises and falls, rise and falls...

 

[intriguess]

Micah

She lay there panting for several moments exposed vulnerable, as the camera flashed she flinches slightly at the sudden light, her skin still tingling buzzing at the excitement of the unknown. Of what he may or may not do to her, with her, how much had he read? Did he really know the secrets within her heart or was he merely testing her desire to play out her fantasies?

 

[patrick1]

the professor


'Here.'

He helps her up, gently. Covered with paint as she is, he makes her embrace him. He kisses her hair.

'Here.' He hugs her tight.

She's making noises. 'Sh.'

There's a bathroom over in the corner. He leads her there, strips off his own clothes, and showers them both. It's strangely sensual yet unsexual. 'Gosh,' he says, when some of his paints won't wash off her. His hands rub into her shoulders, breasts, belly, back, buttocks, thighs, calves, bending to her feet.

'You'll just have to be be a little multi-coloured till it wears off.'

'Is that...?'

'Write to me,' he says. He's dried her with a warm blue towel. Her clothes, as she puts them back on, seem odd, the garments of a younger woman she used to be. 'Send another dream to me. If it involves me, I promise to enact it.'

She seems bewildered when he escorts her to the stairs. Opens the door. Kisses her almost chastely. 'Thank you,' he says, handing the digital camera to her. 'Write to me if you'd like.'

The door closes. It might be the end. Or merely a beginning...

 

[intriguess]

Micah

She woke up trembling from the dream and went to her desk, picked out a piece of parchment and began writing. It was a letter, she put it into a envelope and she wondered how to address it? should she deliver it by hand? She added the fantasy to her journal.

Her art history class didn't meet today and she found the time after her art lab to deliver it to his office. She stood outside for a while, was he there? should she knock? Her body was already responding and she bent over and slide it under the door.

She was excited about his response and shivered at the thought of just being in his presence again.