Read Online Hot For Teacher -- A BDSM Erotic Romance Story (Submission University #1) by Nathan Stratton - Free Book Online
Authors: Nathan Stratton
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Chapter 1: Adam Stone, Ph.D.
The moment I laid eyes on him, I knew he was going to be trouble.
He was just my type: tall and broad-shouldered, with dark, probing eyes and a no-nonsense jawline. His shoulder-length brown hair and tortoise-shell glasses gave him the look of an academic, but if you saw him on the subway you might mistake him for an actor. I’d peg him at maybe 35 or 36 – and I couldn’t help but take a peek at his ring finger, which to my delighted surprise had no ring on it. He wasn’t conventionally “hot” in the sense of someone you’d see in a magazine, but I found him devastatingly handsome. It wasn’t so much because of his looks, but rather, something in the way he carried himself. Just from the way he walked, I got a sense of his personality: a deep, thoughtful intellect, unshakeable self-confidence, and zero tolerance for bullshit.
I never stood a chance.
He strode up to the front of the auditorium and swung his briefcase onto the podium, not bothering to open it. I was watching him intently, but most of the class was still caught up in laughter and idle chit-chat, not noticing his entrance yet. He took a moment to scan the room, looking out over his audience like a judge surveying the courtroom. As he looked in my direction, his eyes met mine briefly. I blushed and gave him a shy half-smile, caught off-guard by his sudden attention. He didn’t smile back. Embarrassed, I looked down at my notebook and pretended to write something on the open page, not daring to look back up at him. Nice going, April, I scolded myself. Class hasn’t even started, and you’ve already managed to be awkward. Just brilliant.
My head was still buried in my notebook when he began to speak.
“All right, enough,” he said, in a commanding voice that shut the room up in an instant. His voice carried through the auditorium without any apparent strain on his part. It was deep and sonorous, and grabbed your attention immediately. He paused a moment, waiting to speak until the class fell completely silent. I peeked back up at him, and realized he was looking straight at me – and this time, he smiled. Oh, fuck, I said to myself, blushing again.
“I’m Professor Stone,” he said in an impassive voice that suggested he’d made this speech many times in the past. “And this is Psychology 156: Power Dynamics. If you’re in the wrong classroom, now would be a good time to leave.” A few scattered laughs arose from the audience, but he seemed serious, and he waited a moment before continuing.
He stepped away from the podium, striding closer to the rows of students as he spoke. “No? We’re all supposed to be here? Good. You may change your mind before the hour’s over.” Another small laugh rippled through the room. He had that dry sense of humor so common among professors, which I assume comes from years of teaching college students. He was clearly in his element here, comfortable in the spotlight. I’d always been incredibly nervous when speaking in public, and I admired anyone who could do it naturally. That’s partly why I signed up for this class. I wasn’t exactly sure what “power dynamics” meant, but the class sounded interesting, and I hoped that I’d be able to gain a little more self-confidence out of it.
I was returning to college after taking a few years off – well, okay, more than a few. I’d tried working part-time to pay my tuition, but eventually it just gotten too difficult to juggle work and school. I’d been an art history major, and my dream had always been to work in a museum – but of course, no museum wanted to hire a 20-year-old with two years of schooling. So I’d gotten a job as a technical writer for an engineering company, and spent three years drafting operating manuals for manufacturing equipment. I’d hated every single minute of it.
So here I was, back in college at age 26, ready to go for Round Two of my college
The moment I laid eyes on him, I knew he was going to be trouble.
He was just my type: tall and broad-shouldered, with dark, probing eyes and a no-nonsense jawline. His shoulder-length brown hair and tortoise-shell glasses gave him the look of an academic, but if you saw him on the subway you might mistake him for an actor. I’d peg him at maybe 35 or 36 – and I couldn’t help but take a peek at his ring finger, which to my delighted surprise had no ring on it. He wasn’t conventionally “hot” in the sense of someone you’d see in a magazine, but I found him devastatingly handsome. It wasn’t so much because of his looks, but rather, something in the way he carried himself. Just from the way he walked, I got a sense of his personality: a deep, thoughtful intellect, unshakeable self-confidence, and zero tolerance for bullshit.
I never stood a chance.
He strode up to the front of the auditorium and swung his briefcase onto the podium, not bothering to open it. I was watching him intently, but most of the class was still caught up in laughter and idle chit-chat, not noticing his entrance yet. He took a moment to scan the room, looking out over his audience like a judge surveying the courtroom. As he looked in my direction, his eyes met mine briefly. I blushed and gave him a shy half-smile, caught off-guard by his sudden attention. He didn’t smile back. Embarrassed, I looked down at my notebook and pretended to write something on the open page, not daring to look back up at him. Nice going, April, I scolded myself. Class hasn’t even started, and you’ve already managed to be awkward. Just brilliant.
My head was still buried in my notebook when he began to speak.
“All right, enough,” he said, in a commanding voice that shut the room up in an instant. His voice carried through the auditorium without any apparent strain on his part. It was deep and sonorous, and grabbed your attention immediately. He paused a moment, waiting to speak until the class fell completely silent. I peeked back up at him, and realized he was looking straight at me – and this time, he smiled. Oh, fuck, I said to myself, blushing again.
“I’m Professor Stone,” he said in an impassive voice that suggested he’d made this speech many times in the past. “And this is Psychology 156: Power Dynamics. If you’re in the wrong classroom, now would be a good time to leave.” A few scattered laughs arose from the audience, but he seemed serious, and he waited a moment before continuing.
He stepped away from the podium, striding closer to the rows of students as he spoke. “No? We’re all supposed to be here? Good. You may change your mind before the hour’s over.” Another small laugh rippled through the room. He had that dry sense of humor so common among professors, which I assume comes from years of teaching college students. He was clearly in his element here, comfortable in the spotlight. I’d always been incredibly nervous when speaking in public, and I admired anyone who could do it naturally. That’s partly why I signed up for this class. I wasn’t exactly sure what “power dynamics” meant, but the class sounded interesting, and I hoped that I’d be able to gain a little more self-confidence out of it.
I was returning to college after taking a few years off – well, okay, more than a few. I’d tried working part-time to pay my tuition, but eventually it just gotten too difficult to juggle work and school. I’d been an art history major, and my dream had always been to work in a museum – but of course, no museum wanted to hire a 20-year-old with two years of schooling. So I’d gotten a job as a technical writer for an engineering company, and spent three years drafting operating manuals for manufacturing equipment. I’d hated every single minute of it.
So here I was, back in college at age 26, ready to go for Round Two of my college
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