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Fifty Shades of Blue: A Professor Cumberbatch Story

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"Miss Wallace. We need to discuss your paper on Hamlet!" Anna Wallace loves Shakespeare. A lot. And she likes Mr. Cumberbatch's class, but she thinks he expects a bit much out of his students. This was a semester long class, no more. To delve into the real meat of the Bard, one needed years of study. She'd had some experience with the subject matter at her private high school, both in the classroom and on the stage. (Her Lady Macbeth was the talk of the town for weeks after strike!) But even for someone with her above average comprehension, he was a bit harsh. If she was barely getting a B, she shuddered to think what the others were getting. "Yes sir." She says, meekly, hiding her chagrin and apprehension, and follows him into his office off the classroom.

 

The walls are lined with bookshelves. This man is clearly tenured. An accomplishment for a person who has yet to turn 40. His face is young, but could probably have looked younger if he hadn't have taken up a smoking habit. His hair, brown and well coifed. His suit today is a deep blue with faint red horizontal and vertical intersecting lines on it, almost plaid. On someone else, it would have appeared dorky, for lack of a better word, but on him...well...that's new. Is she attracted to her Shakespeare studies professor? Surely not. Errant thought. Proceed Anna. Don't let him ramble like he tends to do! You have other classes today! "Is there a problem with my paper, sir?" He was leaning forward stiffly against his large dark-stained oak desk. "I would say, Miss Wallace. Yes. You call the Prince of Denmark 'a spoiled git who should have had a few more spankings as a child' and that he 'only acts out on his visions to get attention from his mother whom he thinks has abandoned him for his murderous uncle!' Is that what you really think of Hamlet?" He looks affronted, almost wounded at the idea. "I just don't sympathize with him. We all go through hardships, we all lose people, and we all suffer betrayals. I just think he needs to take what comes to him." She says, matter of factly. He shakes his head. "I'm afraid you've missed the entire moral point of the material. This means I have no choice but to award no points to this paper, which seems to take you down to a low C at best. And God only knows if you'll be able to recover on the next section of the class. I can imagine you referring to King Lear as a balmy old codger who should have used a firmer hand on his children!"

 

She feels her heart stop. She can't fail this class. She HAS to get at least a B, otherwise, she won't graduate and won't be able to start grad school next semester...for which she has already applied and paid...oops.

 

"No! Oh please! Mr. Cumberbatch! I can't get a poor grade! I'll work harder! I'll do extra credit work! I'll do anything! Anything for a decent grade in your class! Please, sir!" She begs him sincerely, hoping he can come up with a workload she can swallow. She is so inundated with work already, she isn't sure she could take it all as it is. She bends over his desk on the opposing side. She sees his gaze fall to the neckline of her top. She's dressed modestly, but from this angle and distance, she knows he's caught a glimpse of her cleavage. "Have a seat, Miss Wallace." He orders. Sternly. She likes it more than she should. "Anna is fine..." She suggests timidly. "I think not, Miss Wallace." He almost growls. He's sharp. Harsh. No forgiveness present in his deep baritone timbre. She sits in the modern looking chair in front of his desk. Why does she feel hot moisture building between her legs? She can't be aroused by him. Can she?

 

He walks from behind the desk slowly over to the door. "You want extra credit, Miss Wallace? You wish to excel in this course? You're going to have to try much harder, take orders, listen to my instruction, follow through with it, and follow the advice you would give the Melancholy Dane...take what you are given!"

 

As he's been speaking, she's heard a bolt slide home, he has walked back over to her, and now stands in front of her as a master would his dog. She looks up, submissive yet playful. What does he mean!? She wants to know so badly she can taste it!

 

"How old are you, girl?" He asks as he loosens his tie. She replies, "Nearly 21, sir!" She knows "sir" is the thing to call him. "Perfect. Are you open to a little bit of extra credit right now in this room, one-on-one with me?" His voice is filled with lusty promises she's dying for him to keep.

 

She concedes "Oh God yes, sir! I believe 'anything' was the word I used before. Whatever you charge of me, I will do as willingly as you desire!" She can't believe she's about to do this! Naughty acts with her professor! She didn't do things like that! But then again, this man was not your average professor. Normal enough on the surface, but like a tempest inside, especially when certain of his interests or obsessions were mocked or misunderstood. And honestly, now that she got a look at him up close, he was simply beautiful. More than she could say for most of her professors!

 

"Very well. Stand." He turns to grab something from his desk. Is it really a ruler? Oh, how cliche he's being! She's almost disappointed.

 

He turned back around and said, "Remove your dress." As if he was asking her to hand him a biscuit! She hesitates for the briefest millisecond, but obeys immediately, not wanting to invoke his wrath. A devilish grin spreads across his handsome face.

 

"Sit." She obeys, glad she's wearing nice matching undergarments today!

 

He kneels in front of her, removing his loosened tie. "Bend over and grab your wrists under your knees."

 

What is he thinking!? Still she complies. He ties his tie around her wrists, securing them together, snugly, yet comfortably. As he stands, he begins to doff his belt and loosen his trousers.

 

"Miss Wallace, you'll pardon the vulgarity of the terms I'm about to use. I normally feel they are beneath my intelligence, but with you in the room, I don't think I'll be able to help myself."

 

She nods "yes sir," fully submissive now.

 

"I'm going to fuck your mouth. Please cover your teeth as best you can with your lips, and use your tongue as much as possible."

 

She feels more wetness surge to her panties at his dirty talk. "Yes, Mr. Cumberbatch!" She opens her mouth enthusiastically, hungry to feel the weighty length of him on her tongue. He obliges with short thrusts that lengthen as she adjusts to his size. He is a bit bigger than she was expecting. She hasn't done this very much, and no one she's had has been this blessed. She does as instructed, shielding his tender cock from the harsh sting of her teeth and makes her tongue as active as she can.

 

"Oh, yes. I'm close. I'm going to come down your throat, Miss Wallace. I need you to swallow it all." It isn't like she isn't planning on it, but fuck, if it doesn't turn her on even more to hear him say it! He speeds up his thrusts and takes a handful of her long, chestnut hair in his hand, pulling, squeezing it, and using it as a handle to get more leverage. The lewdness of the act was making her so wet, so needy for reciprocation that she moaned in pleasurable agony. The vibration sent him over the edge, shooting his lust down her willing esophagus.

 

"Oh. Mmm. Hmm. Huh. Yes, that was brilliant. Well. I think we'll move over here to this ottoman. It will be more spacious and comfortable."

 

He sweeps her up out of the chair, invoking a breathless gasp from her lungs. He lays her gently on the low brown ottoman with shiny chrome legs. He unites her wrist, only to bring them above her head and tie them to the piece of furniture.

 

"Don't move, I'll be right back!" Is he being cheeky, she thinks, as he marches back over to his desk. What in the hell does he need with more office supplies! I'm naked tied to this bench! I'm so not leaving! Her curiosity is not relieved when he returns, the items in his hands only intensifying her confusion. What in the fuck was he planning to do with a handful of rubber bands, four pencils, scissors and a roll of clear packing tape!?

Chapter Text

He lays the new items on the nearby coffee table and pulls the forgotten ruler from his back pocket.

 

"Now, you've been a naughty student, haven't you, Miss Wallace?"

 

Oh, she hadn't even begun to scratch the surface of how naughty she could be! But she agrees, like a good sub should within her limits.

 

"Yes, Professor Cumberbatch. Very naughty!"

 

He continued, "So much so, in fact, that I'd say a bit of corporal punishment is called for, would you agree?" He tests.

 

"I am pliable to whatever you desire, sir. Your wants are my wants." She's passing THIS test with flying colors, anyway!

 

"Good answers." And without warning, he smacks her inner thigh with the ruler drawing a gasping breath from her lungs. "This is what students like you deserve, Miss Wallace." He lifts her legs up above her, straight into the air like a pinup, and thrashes her again this time on her right arsecheek, and another on her left. "Students who think of Hamlet as a whiny, over-privileged brat who needs to get over himself!" He continues to swat her furiously, but not so hard she is in agony. Just the pleasurable feeling of pain inflicted for the right reasons. He has his fill of the ruler and puts it down, but continues to hold her legs aloft. He runs his big, soft hands down from her ankles to her thighs and kneels before her presented bum.

 

"You've got a gorgeous ass, Miss Wallace. Simply perfect. I'd love to spend an entire night on it, but you've got other classes to attend today, so we'll hold off until later in the semester. Right now, we need to get you to your climax." He places her feet gently on the floor and plants a soft peck on each of her knees before reaching to the small table for something. The way her body is positioned makes it difficult for her to see what he's doing, but she hears the rip of tape being removed from its roll, and feels the stiff material stick to her ankle and pull her skin taught as the roll passes behind the leg of the ottoman and back over itself where it started. He makes a second and a third pass, and repeats the process on the other ankle. "Can't have you wiggling around, can we?" He winks at her as he stands. She thinks the question was rhetorical but answers anyway with a demure "no sir" just in case.

 

She sees him gather a few things from the same table. As he walks toward her upper body she sees it's the pencils and the rubber bands. What is he planning to do with those!? She gulps her apprehensive curiosity down her throat. He's not going to inflict much pain with an unsharpened pencil! She watches him hold a pair together and wrap a rubber band around each end, securing the two side by side. He lays them like that on her stomach while he does the same to the other pair. He kneels beside her, and takes one of his inventions in his hand, caressing her left breast with it.

 

"I don't have any of my supplies in my office, so you'll have to excuse the crudity with which I make do with my available resources. My tie and the packing tape as restraints, the ruler as the whip, and now these little contraptions..." He trailed off as he pried open a space between the two pencils and pinioned her taught nipple in between them. He has made a nipple clamp out of pencils and rubber bands. He is officially a sex god in her books, and she can't wait to learn all of his kinky ways! He rolls the bands closer together on the pencils to get a harder pinch, and the pressure hurts her, but in such a good way that she moans. He's gotten both sides clamped down to a delicious pressure.

 

He stands for a moment, admiring his handiwork and the sight of her trussed up and aching for him to finish her. He bends down and kisses her lips, invading her with his tongue and his passion. She can't remember being kissed so furiously or with so much need. He descends her body, marking her with his mouth, nipping and sucking her tender, hypersensitive flesh. She groans as he finds her sex. He's like a starving man who's finally found a food source, devouring her succulent flower.

 

"Mmm, Mr. Cumberbatch, that feels like heaven!"

 

He chuckles, "I have barely begun, darling!" And he proves it by entering her with one of his long, delicious fingers. It isn't long before he's stimulating her inner trigger, nudging her ever closer to bliss. He adds a second, widening her opening and creating even more intense friction against her inner walls. She was going to go mad. That was a certainty. She wants to run her fingers through his perfectly coifed hair, but her hands are literally tied, so it remains unmussed. She wants to wrap her legs around his neck and shoulders to pull him closer and increase the pressure where she needs it. But he remains in total control of her pleasure!

 

"Professor, if you used a little more pressure, I think I would come!" She said, hoping it sounded like "please go harder right now or I'll die!"

 

But it doesn't work, because he replies, "Yes, I know, sweet. But the longer I keep you right here, the more intense the sensation will be when I let you." He takes her to the very brink at least four times, but she can't tell. She's lost track of the minutes, hours, maybe days she's been in his office, so fixated on her pleasure.

 

For what feels like the hundredth time, he brings her almost to her peak, and squirming and straining at her bonds, she pleads "Please, Mr. Cumberbatch! Sir, if I don't come this time, I won't survive any longer!"

 

He takes pity on her finally, increasing speed and pressure just enough to send her over, but just before she falls, he reaches up with his free hand to her left breast, takes hold of the pencils clamped there, and swiftly tugs them off. The added sensation of the blood returning to her nipples sends her tumbling, straining even harder against her restraints. She's lost in sensation as her core pulsates with sexual release. She cannot articulate a single word, just cries and moaned syllables. She's breathing like she's run a marathon. He leans back from her and begins to massage the tension out of her calves. She had tensed up more than she realized, so the massage feels even better than it would have on a normal day. After she calms down a little, she teases him.

 

 

"You are a wicked man with a wicked tongue. And to think I only thought you were wicked in the classroom!" He stands up and removes his jacket, placing it over the back of a nearby chair.

 

"I haven't scratched the surface, pet. You aren't ready for the full arsenal of my depravity." As if trying to tantalize her, he slowly unbuttons his white shirt, never breaking eye contact with her.

"But maybe one day..."

Chapter Text

He is now fully naked before her, and she gets a complete view of his perfection. She could never tell, of course, by the typically loose fitting and "professorly" attire he usually wore just how fit he really was. It was like staring at Michelangelo's David, but even more perfect. He look at her like a wolf looks at a sheep before devouring it.

He descends upon her with his lean, powerful body. He keeps his weight suspended above her, barely touching. It is utter agony. She would rather he were crushing her with his full weight. At least it wouldn't be this teasing feather-light touch. He kisses her with the same agonizing tenderness. The gentlest of pecks for the briefest of milliseconds.

This is torture. Can't he just fuck me already? I couldn't be any wetter if I were sitting in a swimming pool.

She felt him shift and heard foil being torn. She looks down her body where he is kneeling to find him rolling a condom onto his turgid staff. He lowers himself back down again, positioning himself at her opening.

"Are you ready, Miss Wallace?" their eyes lock, and although her gaze clearly states that she had never been more ready for anything in her life, she states, for sake of clarity, "Yes, Professor Cumberbatch. Oh, God, yes! Please fuck me! Hard! Now!"

He almost obeys, but decides that a little more delayed gratification is necessary. He teases her opening with his erection, inching his way in and back out. The agony of getting only a little of him is almost unbearable. The shallow thrusts are only making her wetter, which she did not think was possible. Unintelligible moans and groans are all she can produce.

"Professor, I need more! Please!" she pleads. He gives just a bit more, but still less than what she wants. She wants it all. "God, please, sir!" Later she will recall this particular plea as a very inappropriate paraphrase of a quote from 'Oliver Twist.' It will make her chuckle. But now, all she can think about is him inside her.

Apparently he is finally ready to concede, because he buries himself to the hilt in her wet heat. She gasps as he fills her, fully, and all the way to her cervix. It's delicious anguish. She grunts out an "Oh, yes, professor." as he pounds into her, speeding up his thrusts. She is almost to her breaking point when he slows down and changes angles.

Fuck! No! Why was he doing this again? Well, she knew why, which was to intensify her orgasm when he eventually gave it to her. He pulled that trick earlier. But now, why was he doing it again? She wanted him to get her off. And she needed it sooner than later. They could make an evening of this self-control bullshit another day, maybe an entire glorious weekend. She just needs release, immediately! She can't use her legs or her hands, of course, as they are still taped down, so she tries grinding on him, but he tilts her over a bit and smacks her on the ass.

"Remain still, precious. You come when I say you can come."

This is possibly the hottest thing she has ever heard anyone say. She groans as he slowly increases his speed again, and this time he doesn't let up. He continues thrusting faster and harder until she's sure the ottoman on which they're perched is scooting across the floor. She's so close, and he can feel it.

He growls into her ear, "Now, Miss Wallace. Come for me now." And he whips the pair of pencils off her other nipple. The combination of sensations in her body paired with the velvet of his voice make her come apart harder than she ever has before. He pulls out of her, removes his condom, and finishes himself on her chest and abdomen. He's mesmerized by the rise and fall of the fluid on her abdomen as her breathing slows, as if it's the most alluring thing on earth. She had to admit, she got off on it. Being covered in him. She could definitely get used to it.

"That was one hell of a lesson, professor." She said, cheekily.

"Oh, that's page one of the syllabus, darling. Wait until the final exam. And anyway, that was supposed to be punishment!" he huffs, feigning indignance.

"Then why do I feel like it was a reward?" she giggles, but in the most womanly way possible. After all, she has been good and properly shagged by a good and proper man, and not a douche-bag frat guy who summed up the definition of regret.

"Maybe next time, I won't be so easy on you!" He gets up and starts dressing.

"Umm, professor?" she says, demurely.

"Mmmm?" he replies, still a bit lust drunk.

"Might you free me from these bonds, here? I do have other classes to attend…"

"Oh, of course!" He picks up the scissors from where he'd laid them earlier, walks up to her wrists, and begins to snip.

"On one condition…" he pauses, "if you're late to your next class, you must give the reason as being 'tied up!' Understood?" She laughs out loud at the literal truth of the normally metaphorical statement.

"Will do. Promise…sir!" she winks at him, upside down. He snips her wrists free as she gently pries the tape from her arms. He takes care of her legs as well. After she cleans his seed off of her body, making sure he sees her taste a bit of it, she dons her clothes again, and they spend at least another 20 minutes snogging in the chair in which she'd sucked him off.

She looks up at the wall clock. Her next class starts in five minutes and it's across the campus. She lays one more brutal kiss on his cupid's bow and bolts.

She walks into the classroom, now five minutes late, and takes her seat. After her class, which was a humanities course on the arts, her teacher stops her on her way out.

"Miss Wallace."

The greeting sends a shiver down her spine as she recalls the last time she was called by her surname.

"Sorry I was late, Miss Blighy. I got tied up working on an extra-credit project for Professor Cumberbatch's Shakespearean Studies class."

"I see! Difficult course. I've heard he's quite the hard-ass, if you'll pardon the crude colloquialism."

Anna giggled internally. "You have no idea, ma'am."

"Well, I wish you luck with that. Let me know if you need extra time! You clearly have a respect for the arts anyway, unlike most of your fellow classmates."

Anna smiles at her and thanks her for her leniency. "And Miss Wallace,"

She turns back around in the doorway, halfway out "Yes, Miss Blighy?"

"Don't let him ride you too hard!"

 

"I won't, ma'am!" And she leaves, grinning like the Cheshire Cat at the lie she's just told. Miss Blighy doesn't need to know that she's happy to be ridden as hard as Professor Cumberbatch wants to ride her.

Chapter Text

Anna sat at her desk in her Shakespearean Studies class listening to the velvet voice of Professor Cumberbatch. He had been discussing the different ways Billy Shakes wrote about love, and acts of love, and professions of love. He was currently quoting R&J. The balcony scene. Not her favorite work, but as iconic as they come. Idiotic, hormonal teenagers, these two. She had no sympathy. Romeo…he was nothing special. But he did have some good lines. Lines that her professor was so proficient at reading, that she felt herself getting wetter and wetter.
"But soft, what light through yonder window breaks. It is the East, and Juliet is the Sun. Arise fair Sun and kill the envious Moon, who is already sick and pale with grief that that thou, her maid, art far more fair than she."
She really wanted to touch herself right now, but opted instead to have a little meeting with him in his office after the lecture. Her class after this one had been cancelled for the day. Miss Blighy was sick, and while Anna was sorry about this, she was relieved that she would have some extra time to "work" with Professor Cumberbatch. He finally wrapped up. To her mercy. He had given her a taste of his style and now she couldn't get enough! She must have him again.
Anna hung back a bit after everyone filtered out, pretending to check an email on her tablet. When the last of the other students are trickling out and he's nearly finished tidying his desk and meticulously stacking his belongings to ease of transport in to his adjacent office, she waltzes up beside his desk, expectantly.
"Miss Wallace, how can I help you today?"
"I wanted to talk to you about the possibility of some more extra credit."
"Certainly! Step into my office." He seemed so calm, so even. She wondered if he was hardening at her request. He had opened the door, told her to have a seat, and deposited his things on his desk. As he walked back over to the door, he asked, "So what brings you in today?" and she heard the door latch. A mischievous grin spread across her mouth.
"Truthfully, sir, your lecture made me so wet that I considered masturbating during class. So I thought you could help me relieve some of my frustration. Since it's your fault, it's really the least you can do!" She hoped he wouldn't argue.
"I have a staff meeting starting very soon, can it wait until after?" He asked, true disappointment plaguing his handsome features.
"You tell me." she stepped up to him, her body flush with his, hitched her skirt up, took his hand, and placed it over her body so he could feel how wet she was from his voice alone.
He moaned at the feeling. With her other hand, she pulled him down to her by the neck, and kissed him with such desperate need, that had he been water, one would think she was dying of thirst.
"Just give me a bit of you!" She said, when she broke away, both of them breathless. "I need to feel you. Fell something of you. Please give me something!"
He stared into her very soul with those eyes of his that seemed to be the color of every gemstone. He grunted and sighed.
"Fuck it! I've got tenure!" and he caught her up in another violent embrace.
He sat her down on one of the chairs across from his desk. "Wait here."
He went to get something from a locked bottom drawer in his desk and came back with two lengths of nylon cord that seemed to have loops at either end of them.
"After our last session, I thought it might behoove me to bring a few of my supplies from home and keep them here just in case. So glad I did. Been dying to try these out on you!" he hung one length around his neck as he walked to the back of the chair. "These restraints are forgiving, and easy to get out of, should the need arise. At least if you have help." He tied her hands together behind the chair back with the cord, but she couldn't tell how. He stood before her, slid her flats off, took the other length from around his neck, and slid a leg into each of its loops all the way to her knee. The cord that connected the loops he placed behind her shoulders, bracing her knees almost to her chest. She could not move. She would not be able to writhe and stretch to accommodate the pleasure she knew he would give her.
"Now. You are at my mercy. I could leave you here for the janitorial staff to find. I could pull you out into the hall like this and display you for all to see, trussed up in restraints, your glistening pussy in full view with your skirt bunched at your waist. I could take what I want, give you nothing, and walk away. But this is why activities such as those in which we engage are only to be attempted if there is a mutual trust. I won't leave you this way, I won't humiliate you, and I certainly won't physically hurt you. This pain is for pleasure. It is fleeting. I should have explained this to you before, but I got caught up and carried away, and for that I am sorry. Now, are you ready for what I have to give to you?"

She couldn't be more ready. "Yes, Professor."

He knelt before her, caressing with his hands, planting soft, moist kisses to her presented flesh, avoiding her sex for now. She was aching for him to take her further. To put his lips and fingers where it really counted. But his torture continued. "Please, sir! Please! Touch me!"
"But I am touching you, my sweet." he said, proceeding with his delicious torment.
"No, please!"
"Tell me what you want. Be explicit."
"I want you to use your fingers inside, and your mouth outside of me. I want you to finger and mouth fuck me until I come. Please, sir! Please!" she was almost in tears.
"Well, why didn't you say so?" she was so wet, he went in with two fingers to begin with, teasing her opening before diving further in and finding her G-spot. He tended to it slowly, making her writhe as much as she was able under her restraints. Mercifully, he went on, lowering his mouth to her wet folds, tonguing the swollen bead between them. It was bliss, his tongue, pleasantly rough against her, like flint and tinder, each pass creating a spark ready to ignite in a moment. He moved against both of her pleasure buttons in tandem for what could have been hours, prolonging her pleasure. Then he did something that she should have expected, but somehow, she did not. He dragged his thumb across that *other* opening. She gasped at the naughtiness of it. The taboo of anal pleasure had never drawn her in, but this man could make her want it. She wanted him in every way he was willing to be hers. He repeated the movement, bringing her own moisture back to ease his cause. This added pressure increased with each pass until he had breached her. She gasped. It was too much pleasure. She would not survive this. Her heart would surely stop. She was using extra heartbeats here, and she couldn't be bothered to care. It would be a sweet death, coming with no regrets, only pleasure. Immense, mind-blowing pleasure.
"Come for me, Anna. Let me taste your release." And she obeyed her master, straining against the cords he had adorned her with, but not able to move quite enough to satisfy her. She wanted to move away from him, but couldn't. And he wasn't stopping. He forged onward, coaxing her toward another orgasm.
"Stop, sir! Please!"
"No, pet. I want you to come again." And in a moment, that's exactly what she did. He lapped at her, divesting her body of the excess moisture of her climax, and slowed his assault. She thought he was done. She hoped…and yet she didn't…that he would release her. He didn't. She moaned again, in pleasurable agony.
"Please!"
"Once more, darling. You can do it. Come for me, love." And once more, she fell apart under his touch. He gently brought her down from her peak before removing the restraint from her legs. He kissed her gently on the lips, letting her taste her sex on him. He walked behind her to remove the ties on her wrists, freeing her. She stood immediately and threw her arms around him, kissing him passionately.
When they broke apart, he sighed and asked, "So, will that hold you over until we can do things properly?"

She giggled. "Oh, I'll survive." She grabbed his bulging member through his black slacks. "Will you?"

She picked up her bag, skipped over to the door, unlatched and exited, leaving him painfully aroused for his staff meeting.

"She'll pay for that later." He muttered under his breath as he attempted to ease his frustration as quickly as possible before having to sit in a room full of his colleagues.

Chapter Text

"Miss Wallace, a moment!"

 

She heard her professor exclaim as she walked past his room. His voice went straight through her body like ringing through a bell. She knew she would be in for it. She'd just left him about an hour and a half ago to attend a staff meeting with a raging hard-on. This was cruel by most anyone's standards. He would surely make her pay for it, but she wasn't sure whether she was aroused or afraid…maybe a bit of both. She stepped inside the office and played the innocent, doe-eyed student.

 

"Yes Mr. Cumberbatch? Is there a problem?"

 

She barely got the sentence out before she was thrown roughly into the door of the office. He pressed her hard against it. His hands groped at her flesh, which was warm with her lingering arousal. His lips frantic against hers. His tongue penetrating her mouth with urgency. She moaned at the feeling of his body pressed needfully against hers. She thrust back at him to increase the friction between them, and her tongue joined in the dance with his. He reached under her skirt to feel her slippery sex.

 

"So quick to excitement. Much to your pity this afternoon. I'm going to use you like you used me earlier."

 

He locked the door and pulled her roughly to his desk. He spun her around hastily and pushed her forward until her thighs were touching the smooth, finished wood. He bent her over it at her hips.

 

"Cross your wrists behind your back." He commanded. She obeyed.

 

She heard his zip descend and felt his hands at the hem of her dress. He slid it up, careful to graze her skin as he passed over her presented rear. It rested at the small of her back as he smoothed his large hands over her round behind, squeezing it just slightly tighter than she would have normally preferred, but under these circumstances, she found VERY pleasurable. Without warning, she felt his hands leave her body, but quickly felt one of them descend again in a firm swat on her left arsecheek. She felt another on the right.

 

She felt his warm, hard body suddenly flush with hers, his mouth upon her ear. "That's enough of that for now, Miss Wallace." he whispered sensually in her ear, making her all the wetter at the sound of his decadent voice that she could only describe as aural sex; or sex for the ear. He chewed briefly on her ear, further tormenting her, then continued, "I have a different revenge in mind than corporal punishment. I'm going to take you right here against this desk, holding your wrists back to keep you from touching yourself. I'm going to pull out and finish down your throat. You will not be permitted to come. You will leave this office in the utter frustration in which you left me 95 minutes ago, is that understood?" His voice was now authoritative and, of course, sexy as fuck. She replied with a simple "yes" that did not appease him.

 

"Yes, what?"

 

"Yes, Sir!"

 

"That's better!" And he thrust hard into her. He repositioned her arms, pinning them at her side to the desk with his own hands. He was at the perfect angle to stimulate her from within, but it just wasn't enough. Even going as hard and as fast as he needed for his own pleasure, he was progressing much faster than she was. If she couldn't use her hands or convince him to reach around to her outer trigger, she would not get a release. The thought was repugnant. She would combust if he didn't finish her.

 

"Please, Sir! Please touch me! Let me come, Sir!" She moaned, forsaking all of the dignity she was taught to possess. She was desperate, and could not think of pride at the moment.

 

"No! Not this time." He wasn't using a pet name on her. It stung a bit initially, not hearing his words followed by "precious" or "pet," or even her surname. But she knew it wasn't a permanent thing. He wasn't truly angry. Once he exacted his vindication, he would go back to coy, kinky Professor Cumberbatch. At least, that was her hope.

 

She moaned, her clit tingling with need, her fists clenched, helpless at her hips, which were taking a serious pounding from his. His breathing changed and sped up, matched by his thrusts. He pulled suddenly out of her, and spun her around to face him.

 

"Kneel." It was almost a whisper, but it reverberated in her body like a shout. She knelt, and he thrust his bare cock into her open mouth. She employed the same technique as she had done before, only this time she had the advantage of free hands. She started putting them to use before he realized she was unbound. Maybe she could convince him to leave them free. She gently massaged his jewels with one hand, and worked the other in tandem with her mouth. She felt he was getting close, and sent him over the edge by gently grazing him with her teeth and applying a little trick she learned from her many years as an avid reader of Cosmopolitan. He came down her throat, hot and fast, never even hitting her tongue.

 

He retreated from her mouth and pulled it up to his own. He kissed her like he never had before. It was sensual, loving, lustful, with an air of surrender that made her heart race.

 

"You aren't supposed to be that good at…that." He said, shyly, despite what they'd just done.

 

"Do you have any idea how badly, and how long I've wanted to do that?"

 

"I'm just glad you finally got around to it."

 

"Me too!"

 

He kissed her again, more firmly this time, threading his fingers into her hair. He broke away too soon.

 

"I don't want to leave you like this, but I want to teach you a lesson."

 

"That is what they pay you to do, Professor!" She winked at him.

 

"Not this type of lesson. These lessons are free of charge. But they also won't show up on your transcript!"

 

"Damn! Oh well, the credits probably wouldn't transfer, anyway!"

 

"Right!" he chuckled. "I thought, perhaps, you'd like to do a little after hours extra credit. At my main office. Tonight."

 

"Oh!" She was shocked, but wanted to immediately accept the offer! Her mouth just would not work.

 

"It's okay if you don't, I just…well, I always want to give my students every opportunity for success, even if it may be an imposition on me. But…if…" He didn't think she wanted him. He didn't think the thought of him was enough to make her wetter than a seal's pocket. He didn't think she wanted to spend the night in his arms.

 

He was supposed to be the teacher! Shouldn't he have enough sense to know that she wanted all of those things, and many more, more fervently than she could say!? She held his face in her hands.

 

"Ya know, for a tenured professor at a respected university, you're thick as shite! Of course I want to do that." She kissed him chastely on the lips.

 

"You…you want to come to my house? My home?"

 

"I was hoping you didn't mean some other office. I thought you were being ironic."

 

"Yes. I was. Okay! Umm…" He reached for a pen and paper and jotted an address down. He handed it to her timidly.

 

"Is that a 4 or a 9?" his handwriting was borderline illegible.

 

"Oh, ummm, actually, it's a 7…" he told her the address aloud so that it would make more sense.

 

"I'll make it there. What time?"

 

"I thought maybe 8. I'll have dinner worked out," he grabbed her by the base of her skull and pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her passionately again, "so come hungry."

 

"Oh, I better come, and you've made sure that I'll be quite hungry when I do."

 

"Indeed. Especially since you're not allowed to touch yourself before then."

 

Her eyes widened. That put a damper on her plans for the rest of the afternoon.

 

"And don't think I won't know if you do. I'll make this little tryst look like a walk in the park."

 

And he sent her out of the office, wanton and miserable with need. She would have to take a cold shower as soon as possible. Very cold.

Chapter Text

Anna's heart was racing for some reason. She had never done anything like this before. She wasn't sure why she was nervous. It wasn't like she and Professor Cumberbatch, or maybe she should start calling him Benedict, hadn't done enough naked with each other to break the modesty, but this seemed different. More intimate, for sure, she thought, as she pulled into his long driveway. Was the GPS right? This seemed like a rather posh home for a professor, even one with tenure. It wasn't anything like a Hollywood mansion, but it was at least twice as big as the house she'd grown up in, and infinitely nicer. It's exterior was grey brick with white trim, black shutters, a simple shingled roof, and gables offset with windows. The door was painted a deep red and had a dark brushed pewter knocker and matching handle and knob. She put her car into park, took a deep breath, and stepped out onto the cobbled driveway. Yes. Very posh!

 

Her attire was classy, but subdued. A light charcoal sheath dress with a red belt and red kitten heels. She chuckled to herself. She had inadvertently matched his house. Down to her coordinated undergarments which were black like the shutters.

 

She ascended the few steps to his door and as she slowly and tentatively reached for the buzzer, the door opened, startling her a bit.

 

He apologized profusely for her fright but she assured him, it was just her, a bit on edge.

 

"Understandable! Please, come in!"

 

He better understand! It was completely his fault that she was on edge. She walked through the door and past him into the entry way. She had an urge to keep to the right up the stairs to where she assumed his bedroom would be. She had no interest in the food she smelled cooking, although it smelt of heaven! The aroma was crisp, buttery, and a bit zesty! Like citrus fruit. And there was also the unmistakably rich scent of chocolate.

 

"Smells like sin in here! What's on the menu?"

 

He grinned, and answered, "Oh, just a little chicken piccata, mushroom risotto and some steamed asparagus."

 

One of her favorite dishes! How could he have known!?

 

"I love chicken piccata! Sounds delicious! What about desert! I know I smell chocolate!" She gave him a mischievous smirk, as though chocolate was only a part of the desert, or at least that was her hope. A hope that was not in vain.

 

"It IS chocolate, yes! Chocolate fondue, in fact! I've got some fruits and biscuits to dip in it, as well!" Fruit and biscuits were great, but she could think of better uses for chocolate fondue!

 

"Sounds wonderful!" She smiled sweetly, hiding well the kinky thoughts in her head.

 

"Would you care for some wine?" He offered.

 

"Please!" She didn't turn down wine at her most steely! She certainly wouldn't when she was as nervous as a pup in a thunderstorm!

 

She followed him into the immaculate kitchen off the entryway and watched him retrieve glasses, corkscrew and bottle from their various homes. His hands were lithe, graceful, even. And he kept them well-groomed! He poured them each a generous portion, and handed her glass to her. He raised his in a toast.

 

"To extra credit!"

 

"Here, here!" She responded.

 

After the high "clink" they each took a long sip of the pale golden vino. It was a dryer white, possibly Pinot Grigio, but she couldn't be sure. It didn't matter, it tasted sublime.

 

"I have a few appetizers prepared, if you like!" He indicated a platter of gorgeous and colorful finger foods.

 

"Assorted toppings on toasted baguette. Have you any food aversions? God, that's the sort of question you ask BEFORE you cook someone dinner!" He rubbed his forehead, apparently angry with himself for his perceived faux pas.

 

"I have no aversions, no! You can pretty much guarantee I'll try anything once!" She winked at him, and picked up on of the more adventurous looking bites and popped it in her mouth.

 

He watched, mesmerized, as she masticated, obviously enjoying the flavor of the food. He was snapped from his reverie by the stove timer.

 

Beebeebeep! Beebeebeep!

 

"Ah, that's the chicken! We're all set!" He was a whirlwind now, gracefully preparing plates.

"The table is just through here." He gestured through a portal too wide to be a doorway to a table already set with candles, water goblets, flatware, black cloth napkins, and plate chargers.

He guided her through the kitchen to her seat, and pulled her chair out for her. She thanked him.

 

"My pleasure, Anna! I shall return with the food and beverages. He was back immediately with a full glass of wine and a plate for each of them on a large tray with carry handles. The plate he set in front of her looked more beautiful and smelled more scrumptious than any meal she had ever consumed!

 

"This looks too good to eat, but smells too good to resist!"

 

He chuckled. "Take a photo and then tuck in! Best of both worlds." She would have liked to, but she had left her phone turned off and in her car. She didn't want to be interrupted this night for any reason.

 

"Maybe next time."

 

"I like the sound of that. Next time."

 

He picked up his knife and fork, but she folded her hands to say a brief, silent grace. When she had finished, she looked up at him, still holding his utensils aloft over his own entrée.

 

"One doesn't see Grace being said at the table very often these days."

 

"I was raised in a very traditional Christian home. You said a prayer over every meal, at bedtime, and before a long trip. And, if you ask my parents, at all times in between." She explained.

 

"I see."

 

"What do you see?" She asked, not quite confrontationally, but a bit more than conversationally.

 

"Nothing, I just mean…you've neither struck me as a traditionalist, nor proven to be one in any of our…previous interactions." He said, delicately and with a slightly devious glint in his eye.

 

She chuckled. "No, I suppose you can say college has…broadened my outlook. I have attempted many of the vices of my class mates, some of them more fulfilling than others, and I suppose you could say I've done a little extra living in the last few years to make up for the bubble in which I was raised."

 

"So as far as your life experience goes, if I may ask, have you ever had a relationship like ours before now?"

 

Relationship. It can mean many things. You have a relationship with your best friend, family members, dog, and coworkers. You can obviously have a relationship with your Shakespearean studies professor, but can you "be in a relationship" with him. She was anticipating an answer presenting itself before the night was over.

 

"Do you mean with a professor, or do you mean the… tying up bit?"

 

His eyes widened. Probably wondering if the answer to one of them would be yes.

 

"Ahem, either." He said nervously as if he wasn't sure he really wanted to know!

 

"Well, neither, actually. No professor I've had before this semester has…appealed to me? The way you do."

 

"I appeal to you?" He said, half amused, half confused.

 

"Isn't it obvious?"

 

"Well, I suppose the fact that you're here tonight should be indicative enough of your feelings. I guess I'm just waiting for the other shoe to fall." He had a sadness in his tone that was reflected in his handsome face.

 

"Don't you know what you do to me, Benedict?" His given name on her lips caused him to abruptly look up at her. She found a resolve and a boldness that had been hidden in the depths of her heart and met his gaze steel for steel, miraculously steadfast against the power of his eyes that were like precious gems. He didn't speak, but his entire body was screaming that he had no idea. The insecurity of this powerful, sensual man was heartbreaking. Maybe this fueled his compulsion to bind and chastise his lovers. She felt an overwhelming urge to lay her hand on the table, and be more bared to him than she had ever been.

 

"Do you know that I skip the last five minutes or so of the class I have before yours just so I can be in your classroom when you enter? When you walk in, it's like the earth moves a bit more slowly and gravity works a little harder. My body feels heavier, but my heart, lighter. My lungs, unbidden, void themselves of air." He sat speechless with the wide eyes of someone who'd just received a moderate electrical shock. She went on.

 

"I sit in the middle of the room because, as pathetic as it sounds, that is where the acoustics are the best, and I like to feel surrounded by your voice during your lectures. You sound like the human embodiment of chocolate, brandy, a jaguar, and the engine of a finely tuned American muscle car. Because of that, I really listen to your lessons, and you make me think. You make me question myself. Question others. Even question Shakespeare, which maybe wasn't your intent." She grinned sniffing out a little chuckle.

 

He remained silent and pensive. She drove her point home.

 

"And I didn't really think I'd need to go into this, but do you even comprehend how utterly, heartbreakingly beautiful you are? From top to bottom. Head to toe. Stern to bow. Perfect. Michelangelo's David is your neighborhood plumber compared to you. I could kiss your perfect lips for hours and hours, the feel of your cheekbones under my fingertips is exquisite like silk-covered stone, and when you look into my eyes, it's like, other than me and you, nothing else in the world exists. I didn't come here for any extra credit. I didn't come her because I get off on the kinky way that you fuck me. I came here tonight because I see something in you that I'm missing in my life. I want to be with you in any aspect you're agreeable too. If that's just me being your little teacher's pet that stays after class to get spanked and restrained, I will not protest. Unless told to, of course! But I think we have the potential to be more than just Dominant and submissive, and I think you feel it too."

 

He got up slowly, rested his hands in his pockets, and walked meticulously over to her.

 

"Well I've never been with a student like this, but many of my relationships have included a BDSM element. It has never made for a long relationship, but we've always ended on decent terms. The others, however, really were in it for the kink. They got a power trip, oddly enough, from being dominated. There was always an emptiness with them, though, something missing. I don't feel that with you." He caressed her bare shoulder. "I hope you're also aware of what you do to me, Anna. I burn every time you bite your lip or tuck your hair behind your ear. Sometimes I see you shift in your seat in class, and the movement makes me wish I could uncross your legs for you. I've been desperate for you since soon after the semester began, and have never been more relieved than the day I read consent on your face, practically begging for me to take you."

 

He spoke fervently, as though praying to her for absolution.

 

"I've got a lot of issues to work out, and because of those issues, I tend to prefer to do things a certain way. I like to be in control in a very literal aspect. But I'm not so steadfast in my resolve that I don't have the capacity for the more traditional approach. In fact, sometimes, that's what I want! And tonight is one of those nights." He stated as if he was certain she was following along by reading his mind. Her perplexed look bade him to elaborate.

 

"If you're willing, we have many nights ahead of us of pleasurable torture, delayed gratification, and sensations the you are currently incapable of fathoming. But tonight, I want to just make love to you, Anna. As if we were any couple, any pair of earnest lovers. I want you to stay with me tonight. In my embrace until the sunrises. I want to make you breakfast after a night of bliss and contented sleep. If you're willing."

 

To not be willing would have been harder for her than to breath underwater. She couldn't imagine it. She chuckled.

 

"Willing might just be the understatement of the century, Benedict." She stood and kissed him tenderly on the cheek. She backed away, minutely, and he crushed her mouth with his. All lips, and tongue, and teeth. He looked at her with those eyes, the twin lovechildren of a sapphire and an emerald, seeing her soul burn for him in her body, and he pulled her through the entryway and up the stairs she'd walked past earlier, their destination unmistakable.

Chapter Text

He opened the double doors to his master bedroom with both hands and stepped in, gesturing her entrance as he closed the doors behind him. She stood transfixed by the dark wood finish of the four-poster bed. The bastard WOULD have a four-poster. Of course. The sexiest bed in existence. And it had to have crisp, white bedding, too. This is the type of bed she always thought she would have lost her virginity on, not the back seat of a Civic. But we must live with the choices we make, and after all, it was better late than never. She felt a large, warm hand on each of her shoulders, running down her arms, and wrapping around her waist.

 

"Are you ready? Do you still want to do this?" He asked, insecurely. Ridiculous question. She leaned her head back onto his chest, and answered, "More than I can say!" He sighed, relieved, and lowered his mouth to her neck, pressing himself into her back side as he felt her entire front side with his hands. Her breasts filled his hands perfectly as he squeezed them together. Between his hands and his mouth, she wasn't sure what to do, so she just decided to enjoy the ride.

 

He reached for the buckle of her red belt, undid it, and tossed it across the room. He kissed and nipped at her neck and shoulders. She couldn't breathe. He wasn't giving directions or orders. He was making love. He kissed her from the nape of her neck down to her dress right above the zip, which he grasped and slid open ever so slowly. He stopped at her tailbone and slipped the dress off her shoulders. She wiggled it down to her ankles and stepped out of it. He held her by the hand as she stepped over it, and twirled her around into his tight embrace. He kissed her hard, hands firm against her neck and back, working themselves up into her hair.

 

He backed her up until her legs touched the side of the bed, and pushed her down onto it, only a bit roughly, breaking the kiss, and causing her to giggle.

 

"There's a bit of that Dom coming out."

 

"Disappointed?" He asked, holding her in his gaze like a lion might a gazelle, unbuttoning his dress shirt ever so slowly.

 

"Not at all. But I won't mind if you leave the restraints and flogger in the bedside table drawer for the night." She said, coyly, enjoying the classiest strip tease ever.

 

"Darling, I'm afraid that my…nocturnal activities cannot be accommodated by the contents of a single, miniscule drawer of a tiny piece of furniture."

 

Her eyes widened as he spoke. Did he have a kinky wardrobe or closet filled with kinky paraphernalia?

 

"Oh, really? A dresser, perhaps?" she asked, interest piqued.

 

"A discussion for another time, darling. We have all the time in the world, and right now, all I can think about is tasting every inch of your body." He said, undoing his belt and trousers. His eyes never left her as he continued to undress, more slowly than she wanted. She already knew tonight would not be about instant gratification. It would be about being consumed by each other. They wouldn't rush to the summit; they would enjoy the climb.

 

He grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed and placed it on the ground between her dangling feet. He knelt slowly on it, as if in surrender. He slid her charcoal lace panties down her trembling legs, exposing her to the air and his own hungry gaze. He began planting feather-light, moist kisses on her thighs, getting painfully close to her sex, but just grazing it. Painfully. He hitched a knee over each of his shoulders and started slowly kissing her. He kissed her there in the same way he has kissed her lips the first time they were together. Slowly, and deeply, torturously. Her hands, in ecstasy, twisted the crisp, white bedding as his tongue danced across her moist flesh. He brought her so close, but then stopped his torrent and ascended her body, kissing and caressing her electrified skin on the way up. He paused at her breast just after unfastening the front closure of the bra that matched her knickers, simply appreciating their aesthetic beauty, until he could no longer hold back. He lavished them with delicate kisses, voracious licks, and a few tender nips. She cried out when he pulled her nipple into his mouth with a force that was almost painful. He could have made her come so easily like this, but he did not. He moved upward, across her chest, and began working his mouth over her neck and ears.

 

She didn't seem to have thoughts at this point. Just instinct. That instinct being to reach down to his bare cock and begin stroking it, hardening it for its future purpose. He moaned into her ear. "Oh, Anna, darling!" She whispered back, "Benedict!" He felt as though he would come any second, so he pulled her delicate hand from his shaft and began kissing the tips of her fingers. He took her other hand as well, and pinned her wrists above her head with one hand. He continued his assault on her neck, and with his free hand, reached down to her sex, and began working his fingers in and out of her, hitting her inner trigger with the precision of a surgeon. She felt her orgasm building steadily with his every stroke, but the added sensation of his thumb on her clit dropped her into overdrive. He felt her release building more quickly and knew she was close. "Come. Come for me, my love." And, as ever, she did what he asked of her, and climaxed with a shudder, shouting his name and soaking his fingers in her lust. "God! Oh, God! Benedict! Fuck!" But the last word was stifled by his mouth on hers, tongue invading, searching. He relented just long enough for them to reposition properly into the bed, then went right back to it. He reached for a packet, already set on the nightstand, tore it open with his teeth, and rolled the condom onto his considerable length. He positioned himself above her, suspended in this infinite moment of perfect agony, until, with a deep breath, he eased himself into her.

 

Obviously, he'd been inside of her before and knew just the angle from which to attack. But despite the fact that this wasn't their first time together, it felt like it, somehow. And in a way, it was their first time actually making love. Those other times had been different. The fulfillment of fantasies and physical needs. This was neither. It was something like surrender, worship, even. This was love. Adoration. Desire. She felt it all with every thrust. Their eyes met, and she knew she was right. His eyes, unequaled in beauty, held all of this and so much more that she couldn't wait to experience. They were nearing their pinnacle. They gained speed and soon fell apart in each other's arms, swallowing the cries of the other in an urgent kiss.

They lie in each other's embrace, just breathing. She drew breath to ask a question, by thought better of it. This didn't escape him. "What is it, my darling?"

"Nothing" she insisted. "It can wait!"

"Or you could just say it now, and we can save later for other things!" He kissed her lightly on the forehead, cheeks, and lips, holding her chin as he did. He had dazzled her, and so, she conceded. Of course. "Ok, well I just had a question about the remark you made earlier. The one about the storage needs of your nocturnal activity supplies. What did you mean? How much room do you need?" He chuckled, shaking both of you. "That can wait for another night. Tonight is about the two of us having plain old mind-blowing sex. No kinky fuckery! Alright, love?" She nodded. They would get to that eventually, and she would wait as patiently as possible for that day. "Now!" He said. "That doesn't mean I can't still pin you down and make you beg!" Mischief filled his grey-blue eyes as he rolled himself back over onto her, pinning her body to the bed, poised to start round two!