Hidden Sides (closed for LovelyLuna)

[Bevatoria]

Don't screw this up.

It wasn't as if that was the only thought going through his head tonight. It was his last day of 'vacation' (as if he'd spent the preceding days doing nothing but relaxing, a ridiculous thought) before he officially returned to his work tomorrow. Before he went back to the post secondary institution that employed him; just another state university where eager young minds went to funnel money into it, and leave as educated adults ready for the work force. It was his chance to make a mark on society, to be one of the privileged few tasked with molding tomorrow's leaders, changers, and thinkers.

Don't screw this up.

It was the dreaded night before classes for many of his ilk; if he'd bothered to log onto his facebook account, he'd see more then one image spreading around the not entirely untrue rumor of teachers dreading the first day of classes. And while there was a certain amount of anticipation to it, that was not the predominant theme for him. Indeed, while he shared certain attributes with his lower paid and higher en burdened brethren at the lower grade levels, one of them was not an angst for what his charges would bring to him. He was a teacher of sorts, to be certain, but he was more then that; a professor, someone of higher learning, higher responsibility...and higher risks.

Don't screw this up.

Professor Jason Randall, at the relatively young age of 42, was a fully tenured professor. He was a lifer at the school, his first and only real employment there even as he'd gotten his PHD and other academic credentials elsewhere. And he was young to have tenure, which was recognition of his considerable teaching skills and noteworthy publishing accomplishments. To many it would seem his life had been given to the pursuit of his craft, of reminding all, young and old, that remembering and analyzing the past helped prepare one for the future, and that there was always a new angle to bring to an old event.

Don't screw this up.

It was a lesson he himself had failed to learn, it seemed. His performance had slipped over the past few months, but not due to his skills suddenly diminishing or by bringing too much focus to a paper or critique. It was because there were few who knew about who he really was, or what he really loved, a secret hidden by the fact that he still hadn't married despite getting more then his fair share of suitors.

The problem had been a particular suitor of a particular age...and the fact that she'd been in one of his classes.

Don't screw this up.

In the end, he'd played the victim card, an overworked faculty member being taken advantage of by a grad student looking to up her grades, or find some companionship, or whatever...Jason had tried to play it as a bit of everything, and in the end, while a relationship between consenting adults, the Board had decided, in their infinite wisdom, that quietly pushing a student to another professor and academic track was far more convienent then replacing one of its most beloved instructors and teachers.

To say he had gotten off easily would be an exaggeration.

Don't screw this up.

In the end, it was that very thought that kept him from lingering on his computer, from seeking one of his usual sources of stress relief. A source that many went to in some form, even if he kept it to a rather 'academic' form of it (in a manner of speaking); finding the power of the written word usually more tangible then a picture or video. Still, whether you called it erotica or smut, it was still the same thing: pornography, just in a different form.

He knew that going there tonight, in the state he was in, would lead his thoughts astray tomorrow. So he kept there, near his television, not even drinking to take off the edge as he clenched his fist in anger and frustration; the words still lingering in his mind, spoken in his boss's understanding yet firm tone:

Don't screw this up.

If he did, there'd be no tomorrow for him, as an affair with a student was a huge black mark in his line of work. And he wasn't sure there was anything that could get him to risk his career like that again.

Of course, when tempted like that, fate had a way of obliging.

 

[LovelyLuna]

Samantha James was well aware of the fact that her name sounded like that of a prolific porn star. But a porn star she was not. In fact, Samantha felt much more like a wallflower on most occasions. She had a baby face, even at the oh so mature age of 21 years old. She had always been a good girl, a sweet girl, sober and chaste. Through high school she had remained a virgin, not even venturing to let any guy slip his hands underneath her clothes.

So it was a shock to Samantha to discover just how much she enjoyed writing erotic literature. It had started for her in college. Being an English major, she met many people who enjoyed writing just as much as she did. And one of her new friends had introduced her to a few websites where she could write a particular kind of literature, casually.

And that was how Samantha had become one of the most popular young writers on a fairly popular site. Tonight, she was working on the latest installment of one of her most intense creations thus far. She had just written the very first bondage scene, something mild in nature but only because her female protagonist was new to the world of kink. She was close to done for tonight, but she knew she needed to go to bed soon. It was the first day of classes for the semester tomorrow. Samantha was mostly concerned about her first class of the morning, one with the alluring and frightening history professor Jason Randall. Samantha had heard stories about him. She knew he was gorgeous, and charismatic, but also that he was single. There were rumors that he had once had an affair with one of his students, but there was no proof. The girl in question remained unnamed, and Professor Randall remained employed.

But Samantha's raw sexual desire was what really worried her. She still appeared very much the girl next door, sweet and innocent and kind. But on the inside, her hormones raged with a passion that she was having more and more trouble containing. Her outlet was her work. She wrote to release all of that sexual tension and energy that lurked beneath. She was no virgin anymore (having lost her virginity her sophomore year), but she had only had sex a few times, and it was always simple and vanilla.

She had never been fucked the way that the women in her stories had. That stuff was her fantasy.

And knowing that Jason Randall was possibly promiscuous with his students drove Samantha crazy. It was the kind of forbidden that she craved. It was the kind of forbidden that, even if she weren't to act on it, would give her spank bank material for months to come. And so, she was excited to meet Professor Randall for the first time - but she was also nervous.

Saving her progress, Samantha put her laptop to sleep and slipped it into her schoolbag before slipping under the sheets and flipping off the lights.

In the dark, she ran her fingers beneath the waistband of her panties and teased her clit to slow, powerful orgasm as she imagined a world where she could be as sexually awakened as she wanted to be.

The next morning, bright and early, Samantha settled into her seat at the front of the lecture hall. She was one of the first students there, as per usual, and she got her computer and notebook and pens set up neatly around her before focusing her eyes on the front of the room. She had seen a few familiar faces, chatted with a friend or two, but ultimately she was here for one man: Jason Randall.

After a few more minutes, he strolled in, cool and confident in his movements. He seemed a bit tired, though, and Samantha made a mental note of that. Was he up late engaging in an orgy with a gaggle of coeds? Or had he been nervous for today just like everyone else? The room was abuzz with energy and the soft murmurs of students whispering about their professor's reputation. The girls wanted him; the guys envied him. And Samantha was curious about him.

She crossed her legs, her outfit decidedly more casual than sexy. She wasn't really attempting to seduce him - yet. But it was warm outside, and she had chosen a very simple, loose, shift dress, belted in the middle. Her legs and arms were tanned from time spent in the sun, and she let them free, enjoying showing off her toned limbs.

 

[Bevatoria]

If only his night had been so pleasant as the one his student has imagined for him. He did get some sleep, but only after wrestling with the images that, instead of becoming less frequent in his self-imposed exile from erotic fiction had only become more and more debased and cruel. Not in type, of course, as he'd read and indulged in many succulent activities with various women and even a student or two. But they were more insistent, edgier, the mixed cries of their pleasure, pain, and submission not just an echo in the back of his mind, but insisting on staying in the forefront. Not helping him fall into blissful slumber, but keeping him from it.

It wasn't the type of thing that he could get off too, either, and Jason knew that would just make it worse if he tried to, his hand idly eding near his navel, staying away from his hard cock.

Yeah, being erect wasn't helping things either.

*******

He walked into the classroom that morning, his sports coat over his arm, briefcase in the other as he strode in wearing smart, light brown slacks and a dark blue shirt. Jason was late, as he hated being for lectures - especially first ones - but it couldn't be helped. It was better to come in late and fully prepared then to come in early and appear edgy and tired. Jason was both of those things, but he did not look the part as he made his way to his desk, casually eying the class over.

There were the slackers in the back, the ones in the middle who hoped the professor wouldn't notice them, and the ones in the front, the so-called 'eager beavers'. A good mix of males and females, and Jason refused to let his gaze linger on any of them, even as his mind focused on a particular dark haired girl in the front. She wasn't the hottest one in the class (that belonged to a brown haired, tanned beauty in the front left side), nor the one wearing the shortest skirt (that went to a blonde who had apparently mistaken this class for a late night club, judging by her skimpy tank top as well), yet she was the one who Jason's thoughts would stay on even as he spoke.

It was her type that he enjoyed...breaking the most. If not in reality, then in his depraved mind, as he thought about using the girls who looked innocent, who dressed simply. But her shift was anything but, idly hanging on her thighs as it hinted at the treasures beneath.

This was going to be a hard class, he knew, but Jason gave no hint of it as he spoke.

"Good morning, students. I'm Professor Jason Randall, and this class is World History 201: Understanding Nations." He paused, feeling their gazes on him, having heard the murmurs as he walked into class. He knew about his reputation that went around, what the students and some faculty members thought of him. But he didn't care.

He was hear to teach, and would do so even if it meant battling down that darker part of him, the part that wanted to steal glances at the girl in the front every time her legs shifted in her skirt.

"Let's begin by talking about how political actors are formed. To understand how countries began is to understand their motivations for the actions they take today on the political stage, and..."

 

[LovelyLuna]

Samantha was trying hard to focus her attention on the lecture that Jason Randall was giving. But she was having trouble focusing on his words instead of his body and his jawline. He was a gorgeous man. The kind of tall, strong man that she wrote about frequently. He was the textbook example of her classic dominant characters. An authority figure with an attractive face and physique and an ease to the way he did things.

Plus, he was a professor. That was pretty sexy in itself.

Casually taking notes on the things she actually heard, Samantha crossed and uncrossed her legs several times, feeling a tingling beginning between her legs. She truly was insatiable. And right now, she was itching to get into her bed back at her apartment and pull out her laptop to start a new story. One about a professor and his student...

From behind her, Samantha heard a chuckle and a whisper. This was not unusual in a class this large. In fact, she would have been surprised if she hadn't heard some sort of disruption from her classmates at some point. It was the nature of college students to act up. And to be honest, history had a tendency to be quite boring. Samantha had a feeling she wasn't the only one in the room feeling a bit distracted and antsy.

She leaned back in her seat to stretch her back, resting her pen atop her notebook and deciding she would just listen for the rest of the class. Her notes were sloppy and ill conceived anyway. There really wasn't any point in trying anymore. She figured she might get more out of simply paying attention to the professor anyway.

Resting her elbows on her desk, Samantha rested her chin atop her palms, gazing at Professor Randall in a way that she hoped would not be perceived inappropriately. But he was just so gorgeous. Older. Brilliant. She was sure he could teach her a lot.

 

[Bevatoria]

He ignored the chuckles and laughs, although his weakness showed as he focused his gaze just above the girl who'd caught his attention earlier, sternly glaring even as it was just an excuse to steal a glance at her before he returned to his lecture. Jason eventually returned to his normal looking around the room, but not before he caught her stretching as he looked away; his brain taking a mental snapshot of the fit, attractive body hidden between the loose shift she wore. There was something sexier about loose clothing at times, maybe how easily it slipped off of the female body...

Down that way madness went, and so he continued onwards, giving a basic outline of how the their country was founded by a revolution. A basic story with many valuable lessons, and one he intended to teach even as he couldn't help but notice a few people starting to drift off. It happened during lectures, and in general he tolerated it to an extent as long as they came back to reality within a couple of minutes.

Apparently, his would-be prize student was intent on testing him, and as he looked around and saw heads looking alternately at note paper and him, or glancing around idly a bit before paying attention, it seemed she only had one thing on her mind as she leaned forward on her desk. Jason refused the urge to look down her top, as the loose garment seemed to invite him inside to see the treasures she was hiding beneath it; still, the image would stay with him even as - after another minute of this - his gaze focused on her, just a moment, as if daring her to look away.

It almost looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped; not trusting himself to be too harsh, or too overbearing, or-

"So your first assignment, class, is to write about what emotion comes to mind when you think of how our country was formed by revolt and rebellion. I'll expect it in two weeks time. I'll send exact details on length and source material in an email to all of you, but I'm just trying to get an idea of how you write..."

Jason already knew a lot about one of the students' writing styles, although he was blissfully unaware of it.