Hannah Klein sat in the coffee shop alternating between scrolling through the same Instagram pages she had already seen 100 times that morning and biting her nails. Her back was to the door so that when he arrived he could see the red ribbon that he had asked her to use to tie up her blonde hair, identifying her as the young woman he was supposed to meet.

She had always been sexually curious, but until recently her age and lack of freedom had kept her from exploring her burgeoning interest in submission and her long standing fantasies about older, more experienced men.

Since turning 20, however, and ascending to her third year at university, Hannah finally felt she had enough space and freedom to reach out. Third years were allowed to live off campus, after all, and she had moved into a studio of her own, insisting to her still financially supportive parents that she did not need nor want the hassle of room-mates, and they had acquiesced.

Still, it took her almost the entirety of the first semester to work up the nerve to join the various dating apps that hoped to match prospective partners based on mutual interests, and then it took her a few weeks to actually attempt to contact anyone whose profile she liked.

For a while, the thought alone of actually meeting an older man with an interest in guiding her through her submission was enough to let Hannah’s hand wander, and her imagination that followed as she thought about what might happen was enough to get her off.

Eventually though, she did reach out to a profile she liked, and they chatted through email a few times. He seemed friendly and even concerned for her. Discouraging her from sending him a picture because she did not want her image in digital form tied to a profile that spoke so frankly about her sexual desires. He in turn explained that as a school teacher he didn’t want to risk his image being too public either.

That suited Hannah just fine. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to make herself known or easily identified. She had even lied to him about her age, claiming to be mid 20s in an attempt to both appear more serious and protect her anonymity. She would wear the red ribbon, and he would be wearing a light blue tie.

The two of them agreed to meet at a coffee shop. It was a public enough place and a busy mid morning time was chosen. Every time the door to the place opened, it was more than the chilled December air that caused her to shiver. It was only a matter of moments until…

“Hannah?” a man’s voice questioned as he moved around her table at sat across from her.

Her eyes went wide as she recognized the man across from her. “Professor Devers?” the words almost stuck in her throat when she saw her literature professor sitting across from her, “What are you…” and then she saw that he was wearing the same light blue tie in the picture her blind date had sent her. “Oh my god,” she all but spat out as the realization set in.

Smiling softly, he chuckled, “Well this is not what I expected. You’re supposed to be a 25 year old Office Assistant.”

Her eyes couldn’t meet his, instead she looked in her lap and said barely audibly, “You’re supposed to be a school teacher.”

He nodded, “misleading, I know, but not exactly a lie.” He was still smirking as he leaned forward and lower, trying to look her in the eye. “hey, you have nothing to be ashamed of. It’s smart to keep your identity a secret as you explore.”

She raised her blue eyes a little to meet his, cheeks flaming red as a few strands of her dark blonde hair fell loose in her face. “I just…” her hands covered her face as she rested her elbows on the table. With her heart beating fast in her chest she took a few deep breaths and tried to steady herself.

The young professor, for his part was a bit relieved that the girl was reacting as such, it was a pretty strong barrier to her telling anyone that he had accidentally met a student through a mutual interest in BDSM. It wasn’t exactly against school codes, but he knew it would bode ill for his upcoming tenure review to have a reputation as a predator of young female students, even if that wasn’t what had happened here.

Still, he felt badly for the young woman, and he reached out and patted her arm in a gesture of comfort. “Look Hannah, this is all a big misunderstanding. I should just leave and we can pretend this never happened.” He stood up and then asked, noting the distance from the school, “Do you have a way back to campus?”

She looked up at him and nodded, her eyes clearly wet with the tears she was holding back. Of course seeing her so despondent meant that he couldn’t just leave her here like this.

“Tell you what,” he said, “how about I go get us both a coffee and when you’re ready, you can leave first. And if anyone asks, we were meeting about an assignment.”

“Okay,” she managed to say, big round eyes looking up at him like a sad little puppy. Mark had never seen anyone so adorable, but he shook the thought out of his head as he went to the counter to order and collect their drinks, taking a deep breath of his own to steady his nerves.

When he returned she was better. He handed her the latte he had ordered her and sat across from her again. They both sipped their drinks in the quiet of an awkward silence that Mark was determined not to break first for fear of upsetting her again.

“So,” she said finally with a shaky voice, “Your first name is Mark?”

He gave a chuckle as he nodded. “Yep, it’s on the syllabus, but I’m happy if I can get people to remember my last name, which you did, so kudos to you.”

She smiled and sipped her latte. “Have you ever…” she began and then paused. The words hung in the air and he nervously awaited the direction she would take the question. “Have you ever met a student before… I mean… like this?”

A serious look overtook his face and he shook his head no. As he did, the wavy brown hair that, uncombed, just threatened to reach his eyes fell into them for a moment before he pushed it back and out of the way. “No, and nor would I.”

“Oh,” Hannah replied. He wondered if there was note of disappointment in her voice, and maybe there was, but Hannah’s own feelings were so jumbled at the moment she wouldn’t have recognized it.

The silence descended again and as much as he wanted to know what led her to this place, to this meeting, to seeking out a lover in the way she had, he also knew that would not only cross many lines, but also put the poor girl under the spotlight. No, the entire point now was to make her comfortable enough that this just becomes a funny story she tells much later in life and not a traumatic experience she seeks therapy over.

“I think…” She began looking at him confidently for the first time. He was attractive, there was no doubt about that, she had thought that the first time she saw him when she entered his classroom. Now, sitting across from him in the awkwardness of this situation, now that she had revealed herself to him in her desires, at least partly even if by accident, questions came to mind about what kind of lover he might make.

Quickly, she put those thoughts out of her head and said, “I think I should go now.” He stood up with her and suddenly she was aware of how her eyes only came to his chin, and how perfectly her own slight frame fit within his fully formed and apparently well-toned physique.

“Well I guess I’ll see you in class.” and he reached out and put his hand on her shoulder as he walked toward her, guiding her to the door, letting his hand slide to the small of her back as they left the coffee shop. No doubt, it was a gesture far too intimate for Professor and student, but he couldn’t help taking the young woman in his hands and guiding her, just as she couldn’t help acquiescing to the guidance.

Reaching the door, she slipped on her coat and hurried to her car while he watched her leave. Shaking his head with a small chuckle, he let out a sigh of relief that this encounter was over, but he also had to admit that she was exactly his type. He had noticed the small curves of your her youthful body beneath the thin fabric of her dress, and how she had worn just the right amount of makeup on her lips and eyes, even if crying had altered the effectiveness of it.

Mark made his way to his car, thankful for both his self-control and the fact that the semester was almost over, and Hannah would soon move on from his life forever, and with her, the impact of this incredible coincidence.

Returning to her small apartment, Hannah flopped down on her bed and let out a sigh steeped in relief and frustration. Why did her life have to be so complicated? What were the chances that not only would she connect with someone from the college, but her actual professor?

Just as Mark had, Hannah gave thanks the semester was almost over. Her final paper for Professor Devers was due in a week’s time and that was all she really had remaining. As there was no final, she didn’t really even need to attend the next class, just the final one in order to hand in her assignment. She decided then and there to skip it.

Still though, as she lay back on her bed thinking through the events of the day, she had to admit that she was proud of herself. She set up a meeting with a guy based on her own interest in exploring her submissive side and she went through with it.

“Too bad it was my professor,” she thought to herself, and as she did the flush of embarrassment washed over her. She had felt so exposed in front of him, so naked. It was mortifying, but… Her hand rested on her thigh and she began to wonder if he only saw her as a student, or if he had looked at her as something more.

Bending her knees as she lay there, the free flowing material of her dress slid up her legs and bunched at her waist. Her fingers began lightly stroking the soft flesh of her inner thigh.

“Professor Devers,” she said aloud and then followed with an almost playful, “Mark.” But as her fingers trailed higher on her thigh and her hand came to rest on her panty covered sex she whispered, “Sir,” and let out a soft sigh.

As her slipped inside her panties and covered the smooth flesh of her mound, the image of his smirking smile shot through her, and her body remembered how vulnerable and exposed she felt. When her slender finger dipped inside the folds of her flesh, she wasn’t surprised to find herself already wet. She had known even in the coffee shop that she was responding to being so on display and for her professor!

She repeated the thought over and over as her finger ran circles over her swelling clit. Her professor knew she was submissive, sat across from her thinking about what he would do to her. What would he do to her? Would he strip her naked? Examine her like a piece of meat? Show her off in public? Spank her? Would he have her in his office? Demand her mouth in his classroom?

Her hips bucked against her hand as she brought herself closer and closer. With her free hand she gave her small breast a squeeze while her fingers sought out her nipple and gave it a slight tug through the material of her dress. Then she did what she always did when she wanted more. She reached up and snaked her fingers into her own hair and grabbed it snugly, as if it were being pulled, as if she were being manhandled.

This time, however, as her fingers gripped her own blonde locks she felt the red ribbon in her hair. The red ribbon she had worn for him, at his instruction, in order to reveal herself to him. Professor Devers… Mark… Sir… And her body convulsed in orgasm as her moans echoed into the empty room.

For his part, Mark Devers alternated between imagining his young student in positions as his new submissive sex partner, and chastising himself for being so careless as to end up on a date with a student. In the future he would need to be more direct, and simply ask if potential partners were in any way, shape, or form a student. A simple, “What do you do?” would not suffice.

The afternoon slipped into evening, and evening into the next day. Mark threw himself into the work that accompanied the final few weeks of the semester in order to redirect his mind to something more productive than the litany of “What if?” scenarios that ended both in sexual bliss and unemployed pariah.

Eventually he couldn’t help himself as he logged into his private email account and reread his exchanges that led up to his meeting with Hannah. She had contacted him first, in an email that was both shy and far too bold. The kind of bold that made him know that she was forcing herself to be as forthright about her desires as possible because it was the quickest way to get through announcing them. Her email read:

Dear Sir:

I am a young woman of 25. I have some sexual experience but have recently decided that I need to explore my submissive side. I think I would like to be spanked and possibly tied up. Your profile said you are a man of some experience in these things. Would you be interested in helping me learn about myself?


In rereading Mark noticed a couple of things. Of course there was the lie about her age, but that he already knew. No, he noticed that she signed her name in lower case, and left off the palindromic final h, in what he assumed was a misplaced attempt to keep her true identity from being easily discovered.

He had slowed her down in her eagerness, opting to get to know her through emailed questions a bit first, and offering her the caution of not being so eager to meet strange men on line just because they wrote decent profiles. Mark pegged her as naïve right away, and a strong feeling of sympathy for the poor girl who was struggling with feelings of submission she wasn’t quite comfortable with but could no longer keep inside.

Yes, he wanted to help her. To teach her. Everything about her appealed to his greater sense of self which was so bound to his role of educator. After all, that is what being a Sir meant to Mark, it meant taking on the responsibility for guiding and instructing a woman to reach her full potential as a woman, and that meant more than a quick spanking or a rough blow job. It meant teaching her who she could be and helping her get there. Introducing her to new experiences at a pace that she could handle. To push her boundaries without breaking her mind. Hannah was eager, and far too many so-called dominate men would use that as an excuse to abuse her.

Mark chuckled to himself as he thought this through. Was he really sincere in thinking what he was thinking? Was he really talking himself into pursuing her, despite being his student, for her benefit? He wasn’t sure, and the fact that his cock grew hard while he thought about her mix of naivete and eagerness wasn’t helping him get clarity.

“Control begins with self control,” Mark sighed as he pushed himself away from the computer, closed the email files and poured himself a stiff drink even as he allowed his erection to recede. He would see her in class tomorrow, and his reaction to seeing her, as well as her reaction to him, would tell him everything he wanted to know. He would wait for satisfaction at least until then, when he decided whether or not to take on the young woman.

Of course, when Thursday’s class came around, Mark looked around the room and noticed her chair was empty. He wasn’t entirely sure how to take that. Was she still upset about their chance meeting? Was she simply avoiding him? Or was she blowing off a class at the end of a difficult semester in order to give herself some room to breathe?

He went about his lecture without too much of a second thought for Hannah, though occasionally his eyes drifted over her empty desk and the sudden shock of adrenalin caused him to lose his thought mid sentence.

Returning to his office, Mark opened his private email account and again reread some of the correspondence he had with his young student. He typed out a few different messages to her, but thought better of it. He needed to see her respond to know how far he could take things, to see how she was responding. Plus, it wouldn’t do to have too much in writing.

Again he went home and tried to put her out of his thoughts. Again he found himself confronting his own arousal, and again he demonstrated to himself the trait that made him so good at controlling others, self-control. Whatever pleasure thoughts of Hannah offered would have to wait.

And wait it did. Through the long weekend both had more or less put the encounter out of their minds, but as Tuesday would be the final class of the semester, they were bound to see each other one more time.

Hannah was cognizant of appearing before her professor when she dressed that morning, and instead of adopting the usual jeans and sweatshirt approach, she decided to show off a little of what Professor Devers would be missing out on now that they had decided to go their separate ways and forget about their chance encounter.

She opted for a pair of black tights under a knee length, strait plaid skirt, with a long sleeved, white top with peter pan collar. And while she often didn’t bother wearing make up to class, she decided to give herself a light touch, doing her eyes and painting her lips a soft pink.

As she checked herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help but smile. She knew this outfit made her look ridiculously cute and conjured up images of the innocent school girl without overtly being so. A previous boyfriend had told her every man walking by her would give her a second look in this outfit, and she knew he was right.

For a moment she debated whether it was right to tease her professor in this way, given how kind he had been at the obviously disastrous mix up, but then she shrugged off her doubts. It was the last time she was likely to see him, after all, at least in any meaningful way, and what better way to regain her confidence heading into the winter break?

Of course when she walked into class and slipped off her coat, he noticed. She offered him a suddenly shy smile, feeling a bit weak kneed at how his eyes had settled on her in a way that was quite inappropriate for a professor to look at his student.

Without acknowledging him with more than a glance, Hannah took her seat, smoothing her skirt as she did. She didn’t want to tip off to anyone that there was anything between them, even though there had been nothing between them, not really, just emails discussing desires and experiences.

For his part too, Mark didn’t want to tip off his own attraction. Nor did he want to make clear to everyone that not only had she dressed to catch his eye, but that he knew she had, locking them in a game of escalating stakes.

As class began, Mark went about his work professionally without the slightest hint of the discomfort or excitement he felt at the move made by his student, and as he moved through the rows of desks, collecting final papers, he paused as he took hers.

“Miss Klein,” he said almost absent mindedly taking her paper, “I need to see you after class, if you are able.”

A lump formed in her throat as her heart beat sped up. “Ok,” she said haltingly, and then added, “Sir.”

Mark couldn’t suppress a smirk as he moved on through the row, collecting other papers. Had she added the “Sir” intentionally as a signal of her desire to escalate, or was she just so readily submissive that such honorifics come naturally. Certainly the typical university student wouldn’t bother addressing him or any professor with such respect.

Being the final day, Mark kept class short, engaging in casual conversations about what students would take away from the class, and what they thought might be improved for future classes. Hannah stayed mostly silent, lost in thought about what her professor would want to discuss with her. She thought they were putting everything behind them, behaving as if nothing had happened, and now he wanted to talk to her.