shapeshifter
Registered User
- Joined
- Jan 20, 2023
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I'm excited to share this one, so I'm posting it before completion... Don't mind that I misspelled the title (d'oh!)
After Rachel caught herself staring at Dr. Nichols’s hair again, the desire to tickle him reached a fever pitch. Someone that boring deserved to die laughing in agony. It was the final lecture of the year – senior year at that – and he still hadn’t put two freaking interesting sentences together. Not a moment of inspiration on a random Thursday in February. Barely a change in pitch when poison took Hamlet’s life. Mono.fucking.tone. All day, every day. Doodling, staring at the wall, text fights with her ex, translating The Aeneid into Latin, feeling guilty because she imagined his wife had bunions, if he had a wife… Today she kept busy by staring at his sandy, corny, Julius Caesar would be fucking ashamed mop on his head to keep from slitting her wrists. Yup, the dude was toast.
So, when the clock struck 2:50, the handful of students who pretended a class lecture still mattered began filing out of the room in their shorts and Class of let me the Hell Out of Here t-shirts, into the lovely spring air to watch movies or play beer pong until their parents arrived on Graduation Day, Rachel dawdled behind to set the engagement. She shook her head and smiled wryly as he packed up his laptop, papers, briefcase…the dude was so pathetic he couldn't detect someone close enough to almost breathe on him.
“Dr. Nichols…”
He jerked to attention and adjusted his glasses.
“Good gracious, ummm…”
“Rachel.”
“I’m sorry, Rachel. It, uh, took me a second to remember you.”
“It’s okay,” she said and set her Venus Flytrap flirtatious gaze upon him. “I don’t speak up much. It’s easy to forget little old me.”
He grinned sheepishly.
“That’s not true. I know who you are. My mind is just checked out right now. What can I do for you? Usually, seniors magically flutter from the room when the period ends on the last day of class. Thanks for even being here.”
“I actually started to enjoy the class more toward the end.”
His eyes widened and the grin flourished into a wide smile.
“Really? I had no idea.”
“Yeah, it’s been one of the things that kept me going. I broke up with my ex about a month ago and I really don’t have a job lied up when I’m outta here. But I’ve always loved to read, and I tried hard to write an awesome final paper. It was something to keep my mind occupied.”
Score! she thought as he projected a look of genuine concern.
“Well, I’m sorry to hear about your boyfriend. Honestly, translations into Latin are a good way to get your mind off anything. Glad you enjoyed it.”
She giggled and poured on the flirt vibe just powerfully enough as to not seem suspicious. She could tell from the way his head cocked and his sunken brown eyes refused to blink that he didn’t know what to make of her. It was nice to see him up close, where you could find interesting, more intimate features on someone's face. His cheeks were a bit plumper, his skin more flaccid than it seemed from afar. He probably had the hint of a gut. She hadn’t tickled a man this old, and she imagined grabbing at his flab and kneading it like dough would get some interesting reactions.
“So, what’s up, Rachel?”
“What’s up is that I was wondering if I could meet you in your office to discuss the paper. I’m really stuck on the ablatives and sentence structure in the final chapter. The cadences really change. Without punctuation, I wonder if I have any idea what I’m talking about.”
He shook his head and smirked.
“Do you realize that in 10 years of teaching I’ve never had a student ask me something so technical on the final day of class? I don’t…If I didn’t say yes, I would deserve a horrible death.”
“Thanks so much, it won’t take too long, I promise. I’m not that weird!”
“It’s okay. I don’t have anywhere to be for a few hours anyway. I was just going to grade some papers for another class.”
“I really appreciate it. Your office is just down the hall, right?”
“Yes, it is. Let’s take a walk.”
As they marched down the hall, Rachel realized what a crappy plan this was. And a mean one. Twisted. Crazy. Jeez, all of the above. She also realized she didn’t care. It was nothing: a fleeting experience this guy would hopefully channel into further lectures. Scarred, he’d instinctively ratchet up the energy while in front of students because some of them might be in the crowd thinking about tickle torturing him or worse. If that doesn’t make you up your game, she thought, what does?
Anyway, it had been a shitty semester for a final one. An anticlimactic denouement as the Greeks called it. She did break up with her ex of two years - after she caught him cheating with a freshman field hockey player in a bar that served 5 cent cups of Bud Light on Fridays. If you lose your man in a place like that, the writing is on the wall, she figured. She had no job lined up, her best friend was going abroad for a year… what was next, her cat darting in front of a pickup truck? An act of revenge on life was needed, and what better way? Tickling guys was an overt fetish she’d acted out since grade school. On playgrounds. Babysitting. On first dates. In bed. Pinning her bratty younger cousin down and tickling him until he cried. For some reason, she had the gift of turning boys into laughing, begging, screaming piles of goo when she felt like it.
This plan was shit, though. Was he ticklish? How the hell would she seduce him? Shut him up afterward to avoid a scandal? She had about 50 feet of hallway to figure these things out. First things first!
She shook her arm wildly and shivered to get his attention.
“Are you alright?” Dr. Nichols asked.
“Yes. The fabric of my blouse just tickled me under my arm a little, and I’m, like, super ticklish. You know what I mean?”
He smiled and shook his head.
“I understand completely.”
Do you though, buddy? Do you really? LOL!
“You’re ticklish, too?”
When he didn’t immediately stop walking and change his tone, she knew there was a way to get to this guy. What a question to ask someone! Most people would politely excuse themselves and tell you to mind your P’s and Q’s. Not Dr. Nichols. His grin actually widened a bit, the poor son of a bitch.
“I am.”
She grabbed his forearm gently.
“God, doesn’t it suck! My feet, underarms, everywhere! Does your wife tickle you? I never really asked if people stop doing it when they get older. It seems like it.”
“I’m not married.”
“Get out! I would have bet a million dollars you married your high school sweetheart. You’re so nice, and you just have that vibe.”
“Thank you very much, Rachel,” he said and turned away, the hint of a blush emblazoned on his cheeks.
In a moment, they arrived at the office. He unlocked the door and ushered her inside. It was a large room with white walls and a window that offered ample sunlight and a view of the main campus plaza. Then there was the bookshelf, of course: hundreds of classics in literature, textbooks, novels, philosophy, history, plenty of other non-fiction stuff - an English professor's treasure. For some reason she imagined his office was one of those cramped closets with mahogany walls and a rickety desk. Maybe cobwebs on the window. But she was glad to be disappointed, especially by the desk. The surface was at least five feet long and three wide. If his feet had to hang off the edge, big deal.
He offered her a chair and sat across from her behind the desk, waiting for her to retrieve a textbook or iPad or something from her backpack. After a moment of awkward silence:
“So, did you bring anything, Rachel, or do you just want to talk?”
Initiate bullshit sequence…
“I think you might be getting the impression I’m here to talk about something other than school.”
“Gee, ya think?”
She chuckled.
“Why do you think I’m here?”
“It’s not the first time a pretty student has hit on me.”
“So why did you let me in?”
“I thought there was a chance you really did want to discuss the class.”
Rachel sighed and slumped back in her chair.
“That obvious, huh?”
He shook his head slowly and smiled.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry. My ex and I didn’t break up on good terms. He actually hit me a few times. He was also pissed off when he found out about my age. I get a little impulsive and lonely sometimes.” She stared at the floor pensively. Dr. Nichols fidgeted in his seat a bit and his voice softened.
“How old are you, Rachel?”
“26. I didn’t go to college right away. Believe it or not, I joined the Air Force. But I was discharged after two years when I started getting bad migraines. They require prescription medication, so I had to leave.
Then I worked for a year in my dad’s restaurant until it had to close it down. He forced me to go to college after that. God, he was broken ‘Don’t let your mom and I stop you,’ he said. ‘You’re too smart to be waiting tables.’
She took a deep breath and gulped as if trying to hold back tears and stared out the window. Dr. Nichols looked at her in stunned silence.
“So, what will you do after graduation?”
“I don’t have much, so I thought about grad school.”
“In English?”
She smiled at him.
“Of course! You think I can’t handle it?”
“Not at all. I could help you.”
“Really?” She pulled her chair close enough to the desk so that she could rest her elbows on it. He pulled back instinctively.
“Well, not write your essays for you.”
“God, you must really think I’m awful if you need to say that to me.”
He opened his mouth as if to speak but thought better of it. Instead, he sighed and leaned back in his chair, eyes blinking rapidly. For the first time, Rachel felt like she was getting to him. Watching him stew in his chair, speechless, she imagined hooking her index fingers under his arms and poking him until he started giggling and tried to pretend he wanted to get away. This delicious thought stirred a new fire inside of her to pour it on hard now. But not too much, she thought. Don’t want to scare the dude away.
“Do you think I’m pretty, Dr. Nichols?”
“Rachel-“
“That’s okay, I already know you do. You said it. ‘I’m not the first pretty student to hit on you.’ Wow, aren’t you a little arrogant over there! Is it ten or twenty poor little college girls that threw themselves at your feet?”
He stared at her with a helpless, unflinching smirk.
“Did you ever go for one of these damsels in distress?”
“No.”
“Do you like me?”
“I…don’t…”
“I know you don’t. You probably didn't know I was in your class. You were being nice. But we can get to know each other, and I definitely knew I was in your class..."
She tiptoed around the desk, slowly but confidently, and crept into his lap. As expected, he allowed her to sit and circle her arm around his neck without the hint of resistance. She jiggled her butt and swayed her body until his groin stirred and he closed his eyes. She wound her fingers into his hair and began massaging his scalp.
“Rach-“
She covered his mouth with her other hand.
“Don’t say anything. Let’s be quiet. Reaaaalllllyyy quiet as we do this. Can you promise me that?”
He nodded and let his head fall into her palm as she rocked it.
“Mmmm…I’d say that’s a yes.”
She stood up and sashayed toward the door, swaying almost imperceptibly, exaggerating the difference between a man’s walk and a woman wishing to be seen. She locked the door, turned, and removed her blouse, revealing a white silk bra and the body of a young woman who prioritizes a core workout at the gym. He didn’t move or smile…just sat there, gawking, a lost puppy dog of a man. Probably hadn’t done anything remotely naughty as this, she thought. The dude was toast.
She again sat on his lap, unfastened his tie and tossed it on the desk, thinking about how and when she’d weaken him enough to agree to have it slipped around his wrist and fastened to one of the desk legs. As she unbuttoned his shirt, she tried to calculate the best way to turn it into a makeshift binding. Nothing else would work. Socks? Too small. Shoelaces? Too weak. And the belt was for his ankles. But at least he was topless now, and tying a wrist was a minor problem. Getting him to agree to being tied up on his desk in his own office was a bigger problem. She fought the urge to laugh at herself. You dumbass. If you don’t talk him into this, then what?
“Dr. Nichols?” she whispered into his ear, leaving her mouth close enough to fill his ear with hot, tantalizing breath.
“Call me Chris.”
“But I like Dr. Nichols. It turns me on so much. What girl hasn’t dreamt of being with her favorite teacher? Especially the hot ones.”
“Okay.”
“I bet you dream the same thing. Only about us. I mean, what guy could possibly resist thinking about screwing one of the hundreds of hot little women that sit in a crowd staring at him all day? Do you ever get hard up there?”
“Yes.”
She giggled.
“What about this semester?”
“Yes.”
“Thinking about me? Did you reeeaaalllyyy know I was there, looking at you? Admiring you?”
He gulped and winced in shame.
“It’s okay. I haven’t exactly contributed much to the class. I wouldn’t have noticed me either. I’ll make it up to you right now, though. Why not, right?”
Every muscle in his body stiffened as his testosterone and animal masculinity began to overwhelm him.
Game over.
“Have you ever been tied up?” she whispered, then dragged her tongue lightly from his ear down to his neck, kissing it, making smacking sounds as if clearing peanut butter from her pallet.
“Yes,” he replied softly, pressing his neck against her lips to make triple sure his skin didn’t break contact with the soft, sucking, licking, slurping mouth.
“Really…Would you let me tie you up here?”
“I…Rachel…”
“Come on, Mr. Nichols. You never have to see me again. Or this can be the first day of our lives together. A nice, attractive single English professor with his doting grad school girlfriend… It sounds like the plot of a Victorian novel.”
She stood up and pressed him against the desk. When he didn’t resist, she grabbed his arms and yanked his body upward until there was enough clearance to mount him on the surface of the desk. He violently swatted at the papers and books on it to the floor until it was clear as she wrestled him into position on his back. She first wound the tie into a slip knot, slid it around his wrist and secured it to part of the frame inside the top drawer. She wound his shirt into a nice cord and was able to pull his arm high above his head and tie it to the bottom of the frame.
“Careful,” he said. “You’ll pull my arm out of the socket.”
She tapped him on the nose and smiled. “I’ll be gentle.”
Securing his ankles proved to be a bigger challenge. Tying them together with the belt was simple enough, but there was no way to secure it to the desk. She scanned the room in vain until striking gold: the extension cord. Who knew why he needed what seemed like maybe a ten-footer, but who cared? It was more than enough to wind around one of the desk legs while further immobilizing his poor ankles.
After convinced that he was properly in place, she hovered over him, studying his body like a medical examiner. It was bit more muscular than she expected, though it was hard to tell just how muscular due to the modest layer of middle-age flab. Though he had only a small patch of chest hair, his legs had the luscious locks of short, curly hairs that gave her goosebumps when she watched sweaty guys playing basketball or throwing a Frisbee in the summer sun. And just like a medical examiner checking for possible muscle or bone damage, she poked and prodded at the flesh just under his ribcage. Unlike a dead body, though, he fidgeted and percolated like uncooked popcorn on its second minute in the microwave.
“Rachel!” he said and let out a short giggle.
“Tickles, huh?” Her hands slid down to his waist, which she poked at with her index fingers like little pistons. He pulled hard at his wrists and bucked up and down, shoulder blades pounding on the desk.
“What about there?”
“Yes!!! What are you doing?”
“Just warming you up.”
“For what?”
She smirked and slowly crept her fingers up his ribcage like toy soldiers on the march until they reached the soft tissue between his nipples and armpits. There the soldiers marched in place, watching him squirm and bite on his lip for a short moment before letting out a steady stream of giggles.
“RRaaa…stop!!!...HAHAHA…Come…HAHA…What are you doing?”
Her smile widened and she cocked her head, staring directly into his eyes.
“Forward, march!!!” Her fingers scurried into the recesses of his armpits and danced around, causing him to thrash so hard the desk shook.
“WHYYYYY???...HAHAHAHAHA…STOP!!! HAHAHAHA…I DIDN’T…HAHAHAHA THINK!!!”
“Why would you? There aren’t many girls who would tie their professors to a table only to tickle them. Then again, I’m not like many girls, and it gets me really hot. Which is probably while I’m so good. Do you think I’m good?”
He shook and laughed and thrashed and yanked on his wrists and ankles, desperately trying to free them. Everything but answer her question.
“See, I know. I made a guy beg for me to kick him in the balls once to distract him from the tickles. Of course, I didn’t do it, but watching him scream laughter while trying to get those words out was so fucking hot. I made him forget all about it afterwards, which is probably what I’ll do for you. If I feel like it, I guess.”
After Rachel caught herself staring at Dr. Nichols’s hair again, the desire to tickle him reached a fever pitch. Someone that boring deserved to die laughing in agony. It was the final lecture of the year – senior year at that – and he still hadn’t put two freaking interesting sentences together. Not a moment of inspiration on a random Thursday in February. Barely a change in pitch when poison took Hamlet’s life. Mono.fucking.tone. All day, every day. Doodling, staring at the wall, text fights with her ex, translating The Aeneid into Latin, feeling guilty because she imagined his wife had bunions, if he had a wife… Today she kept busy by staring at his sandy, corny, Julius Caesar would be fucking ashamed mop on his head to keep from slitting her wrists. Yup, the dude was toast.
So, when the clock struck 2:50, the handful of students who pretended a class lecture still mattered began filing out of the room in their shorts and Class of let me the Hell Out of Here t-shirts, into the lovely spring air to watch movies or play beer pong until their parents arrived on Graduation Day, Rachel dawdled behind to set the engagement. She shook her head and smiled wryly as he packed up his laptop, papers, briefcase…the dude was so pathetic he couldn't detect someone close enough to almost breathe on him.
“Dr. Nichols…”
He jerked to attention and adjusted his glasses.
“Good gracious, ummm…”
“Rachel.”
“I’m sorry, Rachel. It, uh, took me a second to remember you.”
“It’s okay,” she said and set her Venus Flytrap flirtatious gaze upon him. “I don’t speak up much. It’s easy to forget little old me.”
He grinned sheepishly.
“That’s not true. I know who you are. My mind is just checked out right now. What can I do for you? Usually, seniors magically flutter from the room when the period ends on the last day of class. Thanks for even being here.”
“I actually started to enjoy the class more toward the end.”
His eyes widened and the grin flourished into a wide smile.
“Really? I had no idea.”
“Yeah, it’s been one of the things that kept me going. I broke up with my ex about a month ago and I really don’t have a job lied up when I’m outta here. But I’ve always loved to read, and I tried hard to write an awesome final paper. It was something to keep my mind occupied.”
Score! she thought as he projected a look of genuine concern.
“Well, I’m sorry to hear about your boyfriend. Honestly, translations into Latin are a good way to get your mind off anything. Glad you enjoyed it.”
She giggled and poured on the flirt vibe just powerfully enough as to not seem suspicious. She could tell from the way his head cocked and his sunken brown eyes refused to blink that he didn’t know what to make of her. It was nice to see him up close, where you could find interesting, more intimate features on someone's face. His cheeks were a bit plumper, his skin more flaccid than it seemed from afar. He probably had the hint of a gut. She hadn’t tickled a man this old, and she imagined grabbing at his flab and kneading it like dough would get some interesting reactions.
“So, what’s up, Rachel?”
“What’s up is that I was wondering if I could meet you in your office to discuss the paper. I’m really stuck on the ablatives and sentence structure in the final chapter. The cadences really change. Without punctuation, I wonder if I have any idea what I’m talking about.”
He shook his head and smirked.
“Do you realize that in 10 years of teaching I’ve never had a student ask me something so technical on the final day of class? I don’t…If I didn’t say yes, I would deserve a horrible death.”
“Thanks so much, it won’t take too long, I promise. I’m not that weird!”
“It’s okay. I don’t have anywhere to be for a few hours anyway. I was just going to grade some papers for another class.”
“I really appreciate it. Your office is just down the hall, right?”
“Yes, it is. Let’s take a walk.”
As they marched down the hall, Rachel realized what a crappy plan this was. And a mean one. Twisted. Crazy. Jeez, all of the above. She also realized she didn’t care. It was nothing: a fleeting experience this guy would hopefully channel into further lectures. Scarred, he’d instinctively ratchet up the energy while in front of students because some of them might be in the crowd thinking about tickle torturing him or worse. If that doesn’t make you up your game, she thought, what does?
Anyway, it had been a shitty semester for a final one. An anticlimactic denouement as the Greeks called it. She did break up with her ex of two years - after she caught him cheating with a freshman field hockey player in a bar that served 5 cent cups of Bud Light on Fridays. If you lose your man in a place like that, the writing is on the wall, she figured. She had no job lined up, her best friend was going abroad for a year… what was next, her cat darting in front of a pickup truck? An act of revenge on life was needed, and what better way? Tickling guys was an overt fetish she’d acted out since grade school. On playgrounds. Babysitting. On first dates. In bed. Pinning her bratty younger cousin down and tickling him until he cried. For some reason, she had the gift of turning boys into laughing, begging, screaming piles of goo when she felt like it.
This plan was shit, though. Was he ticklish? How the hell would she seduce him? Shut him up afterward to avoid a scandal? She had about 50 feet of hallway to figure these things out. First things first!
She shook her arm wildly and shivered to get his attention.
“Are you alright?” Dr. Nichols asked.
“Yes. The fabric of my blouse just tickled me under my arm a little, and I’m, like, super ticklish. You know what I mean?”
He smiled and shook his head.
“I understand completely.”
Do you though, buddy? Do you really? LOL!
“You’re ticklish, too?”
When he didn’t immediately stop walking and change his tone, she knew there was a way to get to this guy. What a question to ask someone! Most people would politely excuse themselves and tell you to mind your P’s and Q’s. Not Dr. Nichols. His grin actually widened a bit, the poor son of a bitch.
“I am.”
She grabbed his forearm gently.
“God, doesn’t it suck! My feet, underarms, everywhere! Does your wife tickle you? I never really asked if people stop doing it when they get older. It seems like it.”
“I’m not married.”
“Get out! I would have bet a million dollars you married your high school sweetheart. You’re so nice, and you just have that vibe.”
“Thank you very much, Rachel,” he said and turned away, the hint of a blush emblazoned on his cheeks.
In a moment, they arrived at the office. He unlocked the door and ushered her inside. It was a large room with white walls and a window that offered ample sunlight and a view of the main campus plaza. Then there was the bookshelf, of course: hundreds of classics in literature, textbooks, novels, philosophy, history, plenty of other non-fiction stuff - an English professor's treasure. For some reason she imagined his office was one of those cramped closets with mahogany walls and a rickety desk. Maybe cobwebs on the window. But she was glad to be disappointed, especially by the desk. The surface was at least five feet long and three wide. If his feet had to hang off the edge, big deal.
He offered her a chair and sat across from her behind the desk, waiting for her to retrieve a textbook or iPad or something from her backpack. After a moment of awkward silence:
“So, did you bring anything, Rachel, or do you just want to talk?”
Initiate bullshit sequence…
“I think you might be getting the impression I’m here to talk about something other than school.”
“Gee, ya think?”
She chuckled.
“Why do you think I’m here?”
“It’s not the first time a pretty student has hit on me.”
“So why did you let me in?”
“I thought there was a chance you really did want to discuss the class.”
Rachel sighed and slumped back in her chair.
“That obvious, huh?”
He shook his head slowly and smiled.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry. My ex and I didn’t break up on good terms. He actually hit me a few times. He was also pissed off when he found out about my age. I get a little impulsive and lonely sometimes.” She stared at the floor pensively. Dr. Nichols fidgeted in his seat a bit and his voice softened.
“How old are you, Rachel?”
“26. I didn’t go to college right away. Believe it or not, I joined the Air Force. But I was discharged after two years when I started getting bad migraines. They require prescription medication, so I had to leave.
Then I worked for a year in my dad’s restaurant until it had to close it down. He forced me to go to college after that. God, he was broken ‘Don’t let your mom and I stop you,’ he said. ‘You’re too smart to be waiting tables.’
She took a deep breath and gulped as if trying to hold back tears and stared out the window. Dr. Nichols looked at her in stunned silence.
“So, what will you do after graduation?”
“I don’t have much, so I thought about grad school.”
“In English?”
She smiled at him.
“Of course! You think I can’t handle it?”
“Not at all. I could help you.”
“Really?” She pulled her chair close enough to the desk so that she could rest her elbows on it. He pulled back instinctively.
“Well, not write your essays for you.”
“God, you must really think I’m awful if you need to say that to me.”
He opened his mouth as if to speak but thought better of it. Instead, he sighed and leaned back in his chair, eyes blinking rapidly. For the first time, Rachel felt like she was getting to him. Watching him stew in his chair, speechless, she imagined hooking her index fingers under his arms and poking him until he started giggling and tried to pretend he wanted to get away. This delicious thought stirred a new fire inside of her to pour it on hard now. But not too much, she thought. Don’t want to scare the dude away.
“Do you think I’m pretty, Dr. Nichols?”
“Rachel-“
“That’s okay, I already know you do. You said it. ‘I’m not the first pretty student to hit on you.’ Wow, aren’t you a little arrogant over there! Is it ten or twenty poor little college girls that threw themselves at your feet?”
He stared at her with a helpless, unflinching smirk.
“Did you ever go for one of these damsels in distress?”
“No.”
“Do you like me?”
“I…don’t…”
“I know you don’t. You probably didn't know I was in your class. You were being nice. But we can get to know each other, and I definitely knew I was in your class..."
She tiptoed around the desk, slowly but confidently, and crept into his lap. As expected, he allowed her to sit and circle her arm around his neck without the hint of resistance. She jiggled her butt and swayed her body until his groin stirred and he closed his eyes. She wound her fingers into his hair and began massaging his scalp.
“Rach-“
She covered his mouth with her other hand.
“Don’t say anything. Let’s be quiet. Reaaaalllllyyy quiet as we do this. Can you promise me that?”
He nodded and let his head fall into her palm as she rocked it.
“Mmmm…I’d say that’s a yes.”
She stood up and sashayed toward the door, swaying almost imperceptibly, exaggerating the difference between a man’s walk and a woman wishing to be seen. She locked the door, turned, and removed her blouse, revealing a white silk bra and the body of a young woman who prioritizes a core workout at the gym. He didn’t move or smile…just sat there, gawking, a lost puppy dog of a man. Probably hadn’t done anything remotely naughty as this, she thought. The dude was toast.
She again sat on his lap, unfastened his tie and tossed it on the desk, thinking about how and when she’d weaken him enough to agree to have it slipped around his wrist and fastened to one of the desk legs. As she unbuttoned his shirt, she tried to calculate the best way to turn it into a makeshift binding. Nothing else would work. Socks? Too small. Shoelaces? Too weak. And the belt was for his ankles. But at least he was topless now, and tying a wrist was a minor problem. Getting him to agree to being tied up on his desk in his own office was a bigger problem. She fought the urge to laugh at herself. You dumbass. If you don’t talk him into this, then what?
“Dr. Nichols?” she whispered into his ear, leaving her mouth close enough to fill his ear with hot, tantalizing breath.
“Call me Chris.”
“But I like Dr. Nichols. It turns me on so much. What girl hasn’t dreamt of being with her favorite teacher? Especially the hot ones.”
“Okay.”
“I bet you dream the same thing. Only about us. I mean, what guy could possibly resist thinking about screwing one of the hundreds of hot little women that sit in a crowd staring at him all day? Do you ever get hard up there?”
“Yes.”
She giggled.
“What about this semester?”
“Yes.”
“Thinking about me? Did you reeeaaalllyyy know I was there, looking at you? Admiring you?”
He gulped and winced in shame.
“It’s okay. I haven’t exactly contributed much to the class. I wouldn’t have noticed me either. I’ll make it up to you right now, though. Why not, right?”
Every muscle in his body stiffened as his testosterone and animal masculinity began to overwhelm him.
Game over.
“Have you ever been tied up?” she whispered, then dragged her tongue lightly from his ear down to his neck, kissing it, making smacking sounds as if clearing peanut butter from her pallet.
“Yes,” he replied softly, pressing his neck against her lips to make triple sure his skin didn’t break contact with the soft, sucking, licking, slurping mouth.
“Really…Would you let me tie you up here?”
“I…Rachel…”
“Come on, Mr. Nichols. You never have to see me again. Or this can be the first day of our lives together. A nice, attractive single English professor with his doting grad school girlfriend… It sounds like the plot of a Victorian novel.”
She stood up and pressed him against the desk. When he didn’t resist, she grabbed his arms and yanked his body upward until there was enough clearance to mount him on the surface of the desk. He violently swatted at the papers and books on it to the floor until it was clear as she wrestled him into position on his back. She first wound the tie into a slip knot, slid it around his wrist and secured it to part of the frame inside the top drawer. She wound his shirt into a nice cord and was able to pull his arm high above his head and tie it to the bottom of the frame.
“Careful,” he said. “You’ll pull my arm out of the socket.”
She tapped him on the nose and smiled. “I’ll be gentle.”
Securing his ankles proved to be a bigger challenge. Tying them together with the belt was simple enough, but there was no way to secure it to the desk. She scanned the room in vain until striking gold: the extension cord. Who knew why he needed what seemed like maybe a ten-footer, but who cared? It was more than enough to wind around one of the desk legs while further immobilizing his poor ankles.
After convinced that he was properly in place, she hovered over him, studying his body like a medical examiner. It was bit more muscular than she expected, though it was hard to tell just how muscular due to the modest layer of middle-age flab. Though he had only a small patch of chest hair, his legs had the luscious locks of short, curly hairs that gave her goosebumps when she watched sweaty guys playing basketball or throwing a Frisbee in the summer sun. And just like a medical examiner checking for possible muscle or bone damage, she poked and prodded at the flesh just under his ribcage. Unlike a dead body, though, he fidgeted and percolated like uncooked popcorn on its second minute in the microwave.
“Rachel!” he said and let out a short giggle.
“Tickles, huh?” Her hands slid down to his waist, which she poked at with her index fingers like little pistons. He pulled hard at his wrists and bucked up and down, shoulder blades pounding on the desk.
“What about there?”
“Yes!!! What are you doing?”
“Just warming you up.”
“For what?”
She smirked and slowly crept her fingers up his ribcage like toy soldiers on the march until they reached the soft tissue between his nipples and armpits. There the soldiers marched in place, watching him squirm and bite on his lip for a short moment before letting out a steady stream of giggles.
“RRaaa…stop!!!...HAHAHA…Come…HAHA…What are you doing?”
Her smile widened and she cocked her head, staring directly into his eyes.
“Forward, march!!!” Her fingers scurried into the recesses of his armpits and danced around, causing him to thrash so hard the desk shook.
“WHYYYYY???...HAHAHAHAHA…STOP!!! HAHAHAHA…I DIDN’T…HAHAHAHA THINK!!!”
“Why would you? There aren’t many girls who would tie their professors to a table only to tickle them. Then again, I’m not like many girls, and it gets me really hot. Which is probably while I’m so good. Do you think I’m good?”
He shook and laughed and thrashed and yanked on his wrists and ankles, desperately trying to free them. Everything but answer her question.
“See, I know. I made a guy beg for me to kick him in the balls once to distract him from the tickles. Of course, I didn’t do it, but watching him scream laughter while trying to get those words out was so fucking hot. I made him forget all about it afterwards, which is probably what I’ll do for you. If I feel like it, I guess.”
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Please continue this story. 
