Chapter 2: ♕Chapter 2♕
It was Friday night. And you, for once, weren't out at the bars, or the clubs, or at one of your friends' houses getting marvelously drunk. You were sitting on your bedroom floor, papers and folders and notebooks scattered around you like they were the points on a pentagon and you were trying to conjure good marks on your finals. Well, it was only one final that really mattered.
Instead of going out, you decided to stay in and study for Ren's class. Final exams were a few weeks away, but the end of the term was always the fastest.
There were three main takeaways from your encounter with Professor Ren earlier in the week.
1) He had fucked you senseless on his desk in your English lit classroom, and he'd made you scream like a wild animal in heat.
2) You'd found a letter on his desk, with his property, not made out to a "Kylo Ren," but instead to a "Ben Solo," making you more confused about your mysterious professor than ever.
3)He had promised your class, just before your encounter, that your essays would be returned to you on Friday.
Friday was nearly over, and class had come and gone, and that day in class, Ren had failed to hand back your essays. He'd failed to give you so much as one fleeting glance, come to mention it.
You tried not to let that thought get under your skin and burrow there.
Think, you reminded yourself, think.
Your essay- not the one you had failed to turn in, but the one before that- from three weeks ago, summed up Russian formalism to the extent it would be on the final, you were sure of it. It was a damn good paper. What was that articulate thing you'd said about the organic model? It was good as hell, you remembered that. You wracked your brain but couldn't come up with anything. Three weeks later and Russian formalism seemed like a lifetime away.
So much had happened between then and now. You'd fucked your professor, for one thing. And you'd discovered he may not be who everyone thought he was.
You stood up in defeat, glancing at your clock. Eight PM. With any luck, Professor Ren would still be in his office. He was notorious for working late, or so you'd been told, and if he was worth his word, he'd be working late to get those late papers graded. Plus, he was the head of the department; all the more reason that he'd be there longer than everyone else.
You took the ten-minute walk across campus, hands shoved into your jacket pocket. The grounds were nearly empty; you were sure everyone besides you was out on the town enjoying their youth while they still could.
You, on the other hand, approached the English building under the cover of darkness and moonlight and stars, walking along the side of its brick walls.
You knew from your friend, a TA to one of the adjunct English professors, that the handicap entrance to the building remained unlocked even after five PM when the offices technically closed. And you could access the offices through the back stairwell.
You climbed the steps, beginning to feel nervous. You'd take just one quick peek, and on the off chance that Ren was still there, you would collect your essay and leave. Nothing more, nothing less.
You pushed open the door to the third floor, peering into the hallway. Most everyone had certainly left for the night; the floor was dark with the exception of one office at the end of the corridor that was obviously lit. You held your breath and walked slowly, suddenly wishing you hadn't come. You didn't actually expect himself to be there, and even if a part of you did, the false sense of confidence you had just a few minutes earlier in your room when you were irritated, and quite frankly, missing your professor, was gone with the fucking wind.
A trembling, slightly sweaty hand, turned the knob on his door, and you stepped inside, holding your breath and wishing you were dead.
His office was one of the reasons you'd guessed he'd come from money. You'd only been in there once before, when he wasn't there, to drop off a late assignment. You recognized the old-money smell, the mahogany study-desk, the elegant artwork that hung on the ceiling. No pictures of friends or family, though, you couldn't help but notice.
Professor Ren's eyes lifted from the document on his desk and met yours instantaneously. For a moment, he made no reaction to seeing you. After that moment had passed, he gave you a simple, "Office hours are closed, Ms. [L/N]." And went back to reading whatever was in front of him.
You swallowed thickly, fighting the urge to run, never look back, and bury yourself in a hole deep in the woods beyond campus. Here you were, suddenly chasing after your professor at night when he likely had no desire to see you again. That much, he had made clear. You saw him Wednesday and earlier that day for class. They way he acted- or didn't act, rather- was like the whole thing had never happened. The way he so poignantly ignored your presence indicated that he must have seriously regretted what had happened between you.
"Yeah, sorry." You breathed. "Not to be difficult, but you said you'd have our formalism essays back today, and I'm having trouble studying without feedback."
"Perhaps you should take more thorough notes then, Ms. [L/N]." His eyes didn't lift from his paper.
Your jaw set. "Perhaps you should turn in our graded assignments when you say you're going to." You shot back. That caused him to look up at you. For a second, you regretted talking back to him. But there they were- those eyes. Burning into yours. The eyes you'd been dreaming about all week. "It's just, it's sort of hard to study the topic without knowing if I've completely bombed the subject matter. I need your comments to prepare for the test."
Kylo leaned back in his chair, removing his glasses and setting them neatly on his desk. For a moment, he considered you, watching you with narrowed eyes. Then he spoke. "You didn't bomb the paper." He said, rifling through a folder on his desk. "It wasn't bad. Review the comments and you'll be fine." He held your essay out to you and you took it from his hands. It was hard to miss the bright red "B" at the top.
You couldn't help but frown.
"I've said this to you before, [L/N]. You have so much more talent than you show me in your work. I know you're holding yourself back. And I don't know if that's because you're out partying on the weekends-"
"It's a Friday night and I'm literally standing here in your office begging for my paper back." You corrected him swiftly and hotly.
"Or because you lack the focus." he continued, ignoring you, raising his hand and his voice over yours. "I hand you this paper back, and you've done a decent job, better than over half the class, and yet you're disappointed. Why is that?" He murmured, voice dark and challenging. His eyes narrowed.
You clenched your jaw. He was right. You were disappointed because you knew you could do better.
Your gazed move to the side, avoiding him.
"So which is it? Weekends, or focus?"
You took a deep breath. "Focus." A beat. "I don't know why you seem to be convinced that I'm some party monster." You snapped.
"Perhaps because you show up to my class hungover on a weekday."
"I know I can do better." You told him, frustration plain in your voice. "I don't know what it is. I settle for doing a passable job and then regret not putting in more time once I've got the damned thing back." You said, waving the "B" paper in your hand.
He leaned forward, propping himself on his elbows. "You're better than passable. Your writing is sloppy, your conclusions always a fraction as strong as your introductions. You're burnt out by the end of the paper, or you're bored, and it shows. Yet your arguments are strong. Maybe the strongest in your class. You have a grasp on the material but you let yourself fizzle out before you're done, so you don't articulate them as well as you should."
He looked at you with a strictness, but with an understanding, too. Almost like he'd been a student once, too, though you couldn't even fathom what he was like in those days.
"You need to learn focus." He told you. "And discipline." He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his lap. Watching you.
"Well," You said defeatedly, lifting your paper in sheepish thanks and starting towards the door. "I'll try. Thanks." You turned the handle, and then-
"I could teach you."
His words stopped you dead in your tracks, just as they had when he said "Not you...close the door," just the other day.
You turned to face him, shifting your weight nervously. Focus. And discipline.
"You mean like... a tutoring thing?"
His eyes dropped downward and he chuckled. "Something like that."
Silence hung in the air as you tried to gather his meaning. When he stood, it snapped you out of your thoughts. He walked to the front of his desk, leaning against it casually, just as he'd done on Monday before he...
He crossed his arms, head tilted to the side. "I could help you." He said. "Privately. We could meet at a time that works for you. I think you'd benefit from an extra assignment or two. I really do." He said sincerely. "And, of course, you still owe me an eight-page-paper, so perhaps that could be thrown into the mix. You can work on your writing, I will help you through a few drafts, tell you what's not working and why. And keep you on track."
You closed your eyes, shaking your head, confused. "So, you want to tutor me, but instead of helping me with my existing assignments, you want to give me even more assignments to try and balance before the end of the term on top of exams?"
"I'm trying to push you, [L/N], because I believe that you could be truly good if you applied yourself. But you're not applying yourself, and so you're not shining. I believe that with a little guidance," He looked at you seriously, arms crossed, eyes sincere. All notions of what had happened on his desk the other day weren't there. He was speaking to you as a teacher, now, a mentor. "You can shine."
You took a deep breath, considering the option. You folded your arms protectively over your chest. You did want to be exceptional. When you were in high school, you'd dreamed of being a great writer, or maybe an editor for some large and important firm somewhere in a big city. To take the world by storm, to grow famous and rich and renowned by scholars like Ren. Then college happened, and you got knocked on your ass. Maybe this was your chance to get back up. To be truly great.
"And um," you cleared your throat anxiously. "In return?" Your eyes darted back up to his.
He licked his lips, eyes finally darkening. Now, you recognized him as the man from Monday afternoon. He lifted his chin. "Are you asking if I'm exchanging my knowledge for sexual favors?"
"It's a cliché." You said, giving him a pointed look.
"This isn't a situation where you fuck me and I raise your grades. You don't need it. Your grades are fine." He said simply.
"Then...then about Monday-"
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in defeat. "I'm tempted, [L/N]. Asking that in exchange for what I'm offering you. It would certainly help the arrangement. You need to be taught discipline." he replied, this time looking at you with wicked eyes. A double entendre, you supposed.
"I don't believe that you'd offer so much of your time for nothing." You chewed the inside of your cheek as his gaze returned to yours.
"I won't force you to submit to my will, and I won't require anything in return. However, should any events transpire between us...events like what happened after class on Monday...I won't argue against it."
You shifted eagerly, hips swinging slightly. You couldn't help but look at him with thirsty eyes.
He tilted his jaw upwards, eyeing you, before placing his hands on the desk beside him and looking down. "There's something you need to understand about the arrangement if you go that route, [L/N]. "I'm not a man easily satisfied. I held back the other day, I..." His voice trailed off and he shook his head. You remembered. You remembered how he clenched your jaw with tense fingers that somehow barely touched you. He had been holding back. Trying not slap you, was what you had thought.
He raised his gaze, decidedly looking into your eyes with plain candor and forthrightness. "If I have you again, I won't be able to hold back. You need to understand what you'd be agreeing to."
You pressed your back against the door. "Then tell me." Your voice wasn't above a whisper.
He inhaled, his gaze never leaving yours. "I would need you to consent to trying...rougher aspects of our rendezvous earlier in the week. There's a potential for pain. A need for obedience. Your obedience. And you need to understand that there are things that I will do to you. Things I might say, actions I might take, that should never, and will never be repeated when we're not...being intimate. Things that I will never say or do to you when I'm not fucking you. If you don't think you can handle going down that path, then I would suggest you don't. I need you completely or not at all, do you understand?"
You nodded shakily. "I understand." You told him firmly. "And I agree."
"The last thing I want to do is cause you pain without causing you any pleasure."
You took a step forward. "I understand." You repeated, slower this time.
He took a breath. "Well then." He muttered. "Let's begin."
Before you could blink, his arms were wrapped tightly around you, spinning you around roughly and shoving your front onto the desk, your ass high in the air. You grunted as your cheek smacked the desk, imagining him smirking from behind you. He was flush against you, running one hand up and down your thigh and holding you in place by the back of your neck with the other.
He hummed at the sight of you, fingers toying with the hem of your dress. "Always dressing like you're ready to get fucked." He muttered, hand dipping under the skirt to palm your ass. Your breath hitched in anticipation.
He gripped your right ass cheek firmly, his other hand still forcing your face flat and squished against his desk. "I think I need to make sure you know what I expect of you." He hummed nonchalantly, hand rubbing down your ass to your thigh and back up. His touch was rough and wanting, and it left your pussy absolutely clenched as you whined under the weight of his hands.
And then all at once, his touch was rapid and sudden. He yanked down your panties. "If you need me to stop, say so." Was his only warning before his palm came down on your ass.
The loudness of the noise the smack had made was...concerning. It filled the room, and you grunted, the impact of the smack causing you to jolt forward. You moaned as he rubbed the skin where he'd hit you before spanking you again.
"Does that hurt?" He asked you.
"A little."
SMACK.
This time, you cried out, a surprised yelp collapsing from your lips. You breathed heavily after the impact, the skin of your ass cheek stinging and buzzing with tingles. "Fuck!" You breathed, chest heaving. Out of your peripheral, you watched him shake out his hand. It seemed that one was enough to make his skin hurt, too.
You could hear his breathing, heavy and labored. You could feel his eyes watching you; you didn't need to see them to know that he was absolutely ravishing you with his eyes.
This time, his hand came from underneath, smacking your pussy, making you jolt and cry out, wriggling beneath him. Your cunt buzzed and throbbed, aching for more.
"Fuck yes." He breathed from behind you, fingers teasing your folds for a fleeting moment.
He moved to your left ass cheek now, smacking it just as red and raw as the right, each spank gaining intensity and force. Fuck, it hurt, but it was good, good enough to send shockwaves through your spine and lightning bolts from your burning skin straight into your blood. You eagerly pushed yourself onto him, rubbing your ass against his crotch and rolling your hips. The material of his pants stung the raw, worn skin where you'd been struck.
He groaned, reaching forward to cup your throat, jerking your head upwards so his lips were against your ear. "You eager bitch." He growled. In any other context, the word would have ignited you with anger. In this context, it practically made your pussy drip with want. "Don't know how to be patient?" He squeezed your throat, and you coughed and sputtered at the tension. "I want to fuck you right now." He hissed. "It's difficult to stop myself. But I know how much better it will be if I wait."
And yet he still managed to push himself off of you, placing a hand on your shoulder and pushing you to your knees. They scraped against the carpet and you hissed at the sensation.
One hand seized the back of your head, fingers fisting your hair. The other moved to expertly unbuckle his belt on its own. Impressive. Your eyes flickered up to meet his. He stared down at you, gaze so unbelievably shadowy that it made you shudder.
You placed your hands on the sides of his thighs as he pulled his length free, giving it a few slow, languid strokes. It was so close to your face, and seeing it up close made you realize how impressive the size of it was. You swallowed thickly, your mouth already wetting, and you squirmed in your seat, praying for some friction against your center.
Gripping the base of his cock, glistening with pre-cum already, he directed the tip in front of your lips.
"You know what I want." He ordered. The instructions were unspoken and yet abundantly clear.
Slowly, and with your eyes never leaving his, you raised your hand, and your grip replaced his. You began slowly, licking up his shaft at a glacial pace. You heard him inhale, knowing he was feeling the beginnings of pleasure. You swirled your tongue around the tip a few times.
And then, suddenly and all at once, you swallowed down his length, your lips making it to your own grip, knowing if you took him any deeper, you'd choke.
You heard him groan, and the noise shot straight to your cunt. You moaned around Kylo's cock, the very noises he made from above you causing you to lose yourself in your own little world of pleasure.
You began bobbing your head, hollowing your cheeks and keeping your wet lips tight around his width. You pumped with your hand as you did so, finding a steady rhythm, slow at first, and then faster, faster, faster.
"No hands." He ordered suddenly. Your eyes had fluttered shut; you looked back up at him with momentary confusion, before he ripped your hand away. You continued sucking him off, and he began pushing you deeper. You whimpered around his length as you felt him open the back of your throat. You allowed yourself to get used to the sensation, and the deeper you took him, the more he hissed and groaned. "Fuck, that's good." He panted breathlessly. "Just like that. Just like that."
Your hands placed in your lap, you took to bringing your fingers to trail at the hem of your skirt before dipping beneath to touch yourself. He looked so good, sounded so good, tasted so fucking unbelievable, you couldn't stop yourself. The sensation of him filling your mouth was enough to make you quiver. You guessed you'd be able to come undone in a matter of seconds. You rubbed a few slow circles and moaned in response.
"Don't fucking touch yourself." He growled suddenly.
You whimpered again, and he gripped your head harder. Before, you were in the lead, bobbing your head to take in his cock. Now, he began thrusting, grunting with each sharp motion, forcing himself in deeper, fucking your mouth.
You cried out, or did so as best you could with your mouth flooded with his outrageous member. He fucked your face forcefully, hips jutting. The movement was too fast and erratic to keep up with. You focused on your tongue instead, and keeping your lips tight as he took control. You noticed that when your tongue grazed and pressed the lower part of his shaft, it drove him wild.
"Fuck!" He thundered, his movements becoming more unrestrained. His grip on your hair was tight, tight enough to make your scalp burn with white-hot pain. But all you could think about was his pulsing cock inside your mouth.
Your hands gripped the sides of your skirt. You wanted to touch yourself, touch him, wanted to feel warm skin under your fingers, wanted, needed to feel pressure, fiction, release.
You moaned more, unable to keep the sounds from escaping. The noises vibrated around his cock and with a twitch of his agonizingly hard member, you knew he was coming close.
"I'm gonna cum, [Y/N]. I'm gonna cum all fucking over you. Keep taking my cock. Fuck yeah, choke on it, that's right."
He hit the back of your throat and you couldn't hold back a sputtering gag. You gasped dramatically as he pulled himself out of you at the very last second before reaching his release. With a final roar, he splashed your face with ropes of his cum. You felt each string of liquid land on your skin, warming you but making you shiver all the same.
You were both panting and gasping as Kylo came down from his high. He stood on shaking legs, still holding your face in his hands. He moved a strand of hair from your damp brow, his fingers undoubtedly trailing in his own seed as he did so. You were grateful for the gesture.
After a moment of both of you collecting your breath, he seized your elbows and pulled you to your feet before stuffing himself back in his pants and re-buckling his belt. He cupped your face in his hands. Moving your face slightly from side to side, he examined you, examined your beauty, your magnificence that was covered in his cum.
He smirked, dragging a thumb through the mess on your face. You realized now you were the one trembling. You clutched onto his shirt for strength, support, nearly losing your balance when you watched him smirk down at you.
Pride, that was what his expression wore. You'd done well; you could see it in his eyes.
After a few fleeting moments of admiration, he turned away, he turned to retrieve some Kleenex from his desk. He reached over to hand them to you before sighing, back facing you.
You wiped yourself clean, watching him, still panting. He stood stoically for a few moments before tilting his head over his shoulder to address you.
"You'll email me your contact information. Each and every way to reach you." He instructed.
You nodded. "Yes, professor." You agreed in a whisper, dabbing and wiping his seed from your cheeks and forehead and jaw.
"I'll be in touch. Regarding our next visit."
"But, sir." You argued, taking a step forward. You weren't done with him yet. Your center still ached. Your dress was agonizingly warm. You felt painfully un-fucked and desperate.
Turning around as he felt your fingers touch his back, he smirked, looking down at you. "Think of this as your first lesson in patience."
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone