Bait and Switch Retype – Ch 21-22

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Ch 21

The sound of a text message wakes me, and groggily I reach over to check it. Shanna and Gina had kept me up most of the night, and then when Nancy had come in. . . Okay, I can’t help but smile at the memories from last night, but I’m exhausted. I had quite literally stumbled back through my door, and fallen asleep before my head hit the pillow. I can’t even remember the drive home. I’m thankful that Lela hadn’t come to get me last night, or I’d be even more tired than I am now.

“Get your rest today.” the text reads, and it’s from my sister. I wonder why she doesn’t use the nanites to communicate telepathically.

Sitting up in bed, I only then realize that something’s not right. I’m still fully dressed, including my shoes, but my posters are gone, and someone has rearranged my room. A groan sounds next to me, and in shock I see Robin laying there.

Did I get with Robin last night? I wonder, but can’t see how I had. I’m still fully dressed. . . Then I recognize my surroundings. I’m in Dennis’s room! I must have been so tired last night that I turned right when I should’ve turned left. . .

As quietly as I’m able, I try to sneak out, but to no avail.

“Hey, dude,” Dennis murmurs just as my hand touches the doorknob, “next time sleep in your own damn bed. You were quite the buzzkill.”

Embarrassed I make it back to my own room, and plan on going back to sleep, but after thirty minutes of just lying there, fretting about what I’m going to do with the demons in a couple weeks, and tossing and turning, I finally get up, and shower.

I debate on skipping class today, but since I’m already awake, I figure I might as well go in. Besides, it might help to distract me.

“Nick!” a feminine voice hails me, her breath misting in the early morning chill. “Hey, have you been studying?” The woman smiles at me, but I don’t recognize her.

“Studying?” I ask in confusion. “It’s only the second day of the semester. We can’t have any tests already!”

She laughs at me, but I still have no idea who this is. Her hair is a mousy brown color, reaching down to her shoulders, and matching brown eyes. She stands a little shorter than me, and her skin seems a little too big on her.

“No, for math club, silly!” she informs me, and suddenly I think I know who this was.

“Barbara?” I ask just to be sure.

“Sorry,” she tells me, her smile getting bigger, “I forget how different I look after losing so much weight. I know most people put on weight over the holidays, but for some reason I just kept shedding the pounds!”

I can see the old Barbara in her now. She could almost be cute, if she fit in her skin better. Then I remember what I’d done for Mrs. Polkins, and turn up Barbara’s skin elasticity, hoping that will help her.

“Yeah! Sorry,” I say, happy for her, “You look great!” Then remembering how Mrs. Polkins has changed mentally, I think to ask, “How have you been feeling?”

“Good,” she says, her smile never leaving her thin face. “I have a lot more energy, and have been surprised by all the attention the guys’ve been giving me.” She laughs again, and I can’t help smiling with her.

“Well, good luck,” I tell her. “I’d better get to class.” I think of Donald and Adam, and hope that everything I’d done for them has turned out as well as it did for Barbara.

I’m almost to my class, when another female voice stops me in my tracks. This one I know from hours of lectures last semester. Professor Frankens is standing in the doorway to her classroom, as I turn to look at her. She’s dressed pretty modestly for her, with a suit jacket on, and a skirt that actually goes all the way down to her ankles.

“I need to have a talk with you, Mr. Xavier,” she tells me, as she opens the door wider to let me through. As I enter her classroom, wondering why she’s being so formal, I see that it’s empty and guess that she doesn’t have a class this hour. My first thought is that she’s after another tryst, but I really don’t feel up to it quite yet this morning. Especially after last night.

The professor steps back in front of me, and leads me down to her office. I’m trying to come up with a way to gently turn her down, without having to talk too much, knowing that my voice still has an effect on her.

I still haven’t come up with a way, when she sits down behind her desk and looks me squarely in the eyes. Her brown orbs bore into me for a bit, and I realize that she probably hasn’t brought me in here for sex, after all.

“First of all, Mr. Xavier, I want to thank you for being discreet about what happened between us before Winter break,” she tells me, her voice stiff and formal.

I give her a quick nod, still wary of speaking.

“Please understand that what I did was wrong,” she continues. “In my years of teaching I have never crossed that line with a student. I still don’t fully understand why I did so with you. I hope you don’t harbor any ill will towards me for what I did, or for saying that it can’t happen again.”

To say I’m disappointed is an understatement. I had truly enjoyed my encounter with the sexy professor, and even with the guilt of knowing that I’d manipulated her into it, I’ve looked forward to further escapades with her. I see that she’s looking at me, waiting for an answer. I still don’t want to speak though, and influence her unduly. When I give her another nod, she grimaces, but continues.

“I’ve put in my resignation here, and have already been accepted in another college across state.” Her tone is sad now, and I feel sorry for her.

“No,” I say, before I can think better of it, and see her shudder slightly at the sound of my voice, but I go on. “You don’t have to do that. I promise not to tell anyone, and we don’t have to. . . to you know. . .” for some reason I have a hard time saying sex in front of this older, professional woman, despite what we’ve done together. I figure it has something to do with the formal attitude she’s portraying, and don’t want to be the first one to say it.

“But I do, Mr. Xavier,” she insists. “Even as you speak, I feel myself being drawn to you. I can’t risk losing my career over the desires of my body.” Her face grows stern, and she looks at me harder. “Make no mistake; I’m not saying that I’m in love with you or anything of that sort, only that I can separate lust from love.”

Only then do I realize that she blames herself for what we’ve done. It’s not her fault, and I truly feel bad for my part in it, but can see that she’s determined to go, no matter what I say. If I were willing to use my switches on her, I can change her mind, I know, but I’m still not willing to cross that line again.

But I don’t have to use my switches. I remember how she’d behaved as I’d dominated her before Winter break.

“I understand,” I tell her. “You’ll be missed,” I say, and despite my earlier reservations about not feeling up to anything, I want to show her just what she’ll be missing. I quickly sense for Shanna’s switch, and note that she is only one building over. She had basically freed me from the requirement of being with her, when it comes to other women. A freedom I’m going to exercise now.

“I have already ensured that you will pass my class, this semester. I have no doubt you would have done it on your own. Professor Hallowburton will be taking over Math Club practices from now on. I’ll be here until the end of term, but will ask that you don’t say anything to anyone until after I’m gone.” She sounds depressed.

Professor Hallowburton is an alright kind of guy, but he is no Donna Frankens. She will be sorely missed in Math Club practices as well.

“I won’t tell anyone,” I tell her again, mentally thinking other than Shanna, who I’d already told, but I feel sure she won’t say anything to anyone about it. “But I don’t want you to go, either.” My voice is soft, but firm, and she looks up at me, wondering. “You can’t go, Donna. I won’t let you leave.”

I’m not sure whether her shudder is from the sound of my voice, or the authority I’m pouring into my tone.

“Wh—What do you mean?” her voice tremors, and I can feel myself getting hard already. “You can’t—“

“You’re mine, Donna,” I cut her off, leaving no doubt about what’s in my mind. “I’m not willing to free my slave.” There is almost a pleading look in her eyes, and for just a moment, I think to back off. Then I look at her more closely, sensing her switches. Her nipples are rock hard, and her crotch is soaked. She’s not pleading for me to back off, but to continue.

I take a step closer to this mentor, this woman who has been the subject of countless wet dreams over the years, and know she is putty in my hands. She sits frozen as I lift my hand to the side of her breast.

“No,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “We can’t.” Her heart isn’t in it.

“Take off your shirt,” I order her, and enjoy the shudder that spreads through her body, and know she’s getting turned on more and more.

She shakes her head, mumbling something about it being wrong.

“I said, take, of, your, shirt, slave.” I pause between each word, to emphasize the command, while simultaneously rubbing her stiff nipple through the layers of her clothing..

She breaks, and she’s unable to hide her small smile as she grabs the hem of her shirt, and pulls it up over her head. “What would you have of me, master?”

A warm smile splits my lips, as I gaze at Donna’s lovely chest. “I would have you pleasured, slave.” As the word ‘slave’ leaves my lips, I can feel her arousal increase dramatically. “Take off your skirt,” I order her next.

She’s in complete submissive mode, and moves with alacrity to do my bidding. A couple seconds later, I’m admiring the barely clad body of Professor Donna Frankens. Stepping up to her trembling form, I look down into her brown eyes. Her head tilts up to mine, and I know she wants a kiss, but not yet. Reaching around behind her, I easily unsnap her bra, and pull the straps from her shoulders. A moment later her panties join the rest of the clothes on the floor.

The bell rings, and Donna’s soft brown eyes grow large in terror, as the sound of students filing into her class filters through her closed door.

“Don’t move,” I order her, and she shivers again at my authority. I turn and lock her door, then look my slave in the eyes. “You’re going to sit on your desk, and give your master a show,” I inform her.

“But my class. . .” I can see her wavering, but I’m not willing to pass this up.

“A class you were willing to abandon,” I tell her unkindly. “A class you were willing to leave behind, because you wanted to deny yourself of the pleasure that I can give you.”

“But this is wrong. You’re my student. I shouldn’t take advantage of you.” I can tell she’s starting to worry again, as her arms lift to cover herself. I need to head this off quick, or I’ll lose her forever.

I laugh, making sure I’m not too loud. “When we’re together, slave, I am your master. There is no student/teacher relationship, and I’ll brook no disobedience. Now put your arms down, and sit on your desk.”

Her eyes dart to the locked door, and she hesitates for just a moment. I can tell when she comes to a conclusion, as she murmurs, “Yes, master.”

My tool is hurting in my pants; I’m so hard right now. Whipping my large phallus out, my smile widens even more at the glossy look in Donna’s eyes.

“It occurs to me, that my slave has been too long denied her own pleasure. A denial she has brought upon herself.” I pause, just for dramatic effect. “It’s time you learn that pleasure is not a negative thing. But rather, something that needs to be fed and nurtured.” The confusion in her eyes is a beautiful thing. “Pleasure yourself, slave.”

Comprehension dawns in her chocolate browns, and she glances at the door again, but her hands go to work. Her left hand goes to her right breast, pinching and twisting the nipple, while her right hand drops to her wet snatch, and immediately starts rubbing her clit.

Sitting in one of her chairs offers me a great view of the mature woman trying hard to get off. She’s making small sounds of pleasure, as her eyes remain locked on mine. Occasionally she’ll look to the door, and I know the danger of getting caught is increasing her arousal.

The bell rings again, but Donna doesn’t even seem to notice. My hand starts to lightly stroke my thick rod, as I continue watching my beautiful slave.

“Moan,” I tell her, not wanting her to hold anything back. “You need to let it out, and stop trying to control this part of yourself. Enjoy it, and I promise you won’t regret it.”

The students out in her classroom are talking loudly, which is good, as it covers the deep moaning that Donna suddenly lets out.

“Does master like watching his slave play with her nipples?” She asks me, still looking me deep in the eyes. “Does he like the way I make myself wetter as I play with my little pussy? Does master want to see what happens when I slip a finger inside?”

“No,” I tell her, “I want to see what happens when you slip three fingers in.”

Without any trace of hesitation, she slips the first three fingers of her right hand into her snatch, and comes hard. Her moans can easily be heard outside, and I can hear the class suddenly go silent.

Without a second thought, I create a memory switch for the entire class and flip it. The outside chatter starts back up instantly.

No headache occurs from such a massive switch, and I smile.

“Did master enjoy watching me cum on my fingers?” my slave inquires.

“I did,” I reply, easily. “I enjoyed so much that my cock almost hurts. Come over here, and suck the cum from my cock, slave.”

Almost inhumanly fast, Donna is off her desk, and her lips are wrapped around me. Between the eroticism of watching her get off, while her students are outside, and the whole master/slave thing, it only takes a few talented strokes, before I’m shooting down the back of her throat.

“Swallow it all,” I order her, and she greedily sucks all of my seed from me. She even goes so far as to milk my length to get every last drop.

When she can finally get no more from my wilting member, she stands up, and looks me in the eyes, before unexpectedly throwing her arms around me, and pulling me into a tight hug. “Thank you,” she whispers into my shirt.

“Get dressed, I tell her gently, leaving out the authoritative tone, “I think you have a class to teach, and continue teaching.”

She steps back then, and a look of horror crosses her face, but I stop it, before she can say anything.

“No one knows what happened in here,” I assure her. “Our secret is safe.”

She looks at me dubiously, “How. . .?” then shakes her head, and gets dressed in rapid order.

Once she is fully presentable, I lean into her ear, and whisper, “I expect you to keep teaching. You won’t regret it.”

She looks me deep in the eyes, before blinking, and seeming to come back to herself. “I expect you won’t miss any of my Math Club practices, Mister Xavier?”

I smile as the professor façade returns.