Melvin sat at the front of Professor Vivienne Cross' lecture hall, barely hearing a word she was saying. His eyes were drawn to her, captivated by her presence at the front of the room. Professor Cross was unlike any other professor he’d ever had; she exuded confidence and poise, each step and gesture purposeful, each glance sharp and assured.
With her long, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, black-rimmed glasses framing her piercing eyes, and a figure that filled out her fitted blazer and pencil skirt with effortless elegance, she held the attention of everyone in the room. But for Melvin, it was more than that—he was practically mesmerized. She wore her power and authority like a second skin, moving with an ease that made him feel both nervous and intrigued.
As she turned to write something on the board, Melvin's gaze trailed down, noticing the way her skirt hugged her curves. She was breathtaking, and the leather heels she wore made each step an announcement of her command over the space.
"Mr. Hayes, would you care to summarize the points we've covered?" her voice cut through his daze.
Melvin snapped out of his thoughts, caught completely off guard. He flushed, realizing he hadn’t been listening, too distracted by her presence.
“Uh… sure, Professor Cross,” he stammered, scrambling to recall anything she had discussed. But her small, knowing smile told him she’d seen right through him.
“Well, it seems you’ve got some catching up to do, Mr. Hayes,” she said, her voice both amused and firm. “We will discuss this after class.”
Melvin nodded, swallowing nervously. As she moved on with the lecture, he felt a strange thrill rush through him. There was something about her authority, her elegance, that sparked something deep within him. She was in complete control of the room—and of him, it seemed—and the realization sent a shiver down his spine.
He didn’t know exactly what he was feeling, but he knew one thing: he’d do whatever it took to get that one-on-one time with her.
Melvin felt his heart pounding as he entered Professor Vivienne Cross's office. Known across campus not only for her intellectual prowess but also for her striking appearance and commanding presence, Professor Cross was someone Melvin had always admired—from afar. With her long, flowing blonde hair, black-framed glasses that gave her an air of sophistication, and a curvy figure accentuated by her fitted clothing, she was the very embodiment of confidence and control.
Today, she wore a fitted black blouse that hugged her figure and a sleek pencil skirt, and Melvin found it impossible not to notice her every move.
"Professor Cross," he started, his voice a little shaky, "I know you're busy, but I was hoping you could help me figure out some options to… well, keep me here as I am about to lose my scholarship."
Professor Cross looked up from her desk, her sharp blue eyes assessing him. "Sit down, Melvin." Her voice was firm but with an encouraging tone, and he immediately felt both intimidated and drawn to her. He sat, suddenly aware of just how close he was to her—close enough to notice the way her blouse traced every curve, and the glint in her eyes as she watched him carefully.
"You're here because you want to succeed, correct?" she asked, folding her hands and leaning forward slightly, her neckline just within his gaze. He tried to look away, but his eyes couldn’t help drifting back to her—her confident expression, her sculpted features, and the tantalizing hint of skin.
"Yes, Professor," he replied, forcing himself to focus, though he could feel his cheeks flush.
"Good," she replied, seeming to notice his lingering gaze. She gave a slight, knowing smile, as if fully aware of the effect she had on him. "Tell me, Melvin, what are you willing to do for that success? Are you open to committing fully? To taking guidance and making… personal changes?"
He nodded eagerly, feeling both relief and an odd thrill. "Anything, Professor. I can work harder, or do things to earn extra credit… whatever it takes."
"Good." She opened a drawer and retrieved a slim file folder, placing it on the desk between them. "This," she began, sliding it toward him, "is an unconventional offer. A contract, if you will. It’s a program I’ve developed for students who need more… intensive guidance." Her gaze held his, serious yet with a glint of something he couldn’t quite decipher. "It’s rigorous, and you’d need to commit fully, but as long as you adhere to the program you will keep your scholarship. Are you interested?"
Melvin felt a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. His eyes skimmed the document's title, The Contract: A Path to Excellence. As he read further, he noticed terms like "discipline," "attire," "etiquette," and "servitude." He glanced back up at her, his heart racing.
"Professor Cross… this is… different," he stammered, glancing down as his cheeks burned with embarrassment. She smiled, her expression calm and reassuring, though her confidence was unmistakable.
"I know it may seem unusual, Melvin. This program will help you develop qualities that traditional education often overlooks—discipline, grace, attention to detail." She leaned forward slightly, and he found himself transfixed by her gaze and the confidence that radiated from her. "You’ll follow this program, follow my instructions, and, over time, I believe you’ll find it prepares you for the world in ways you’ve never imagined."
He swallowed, unsure but feeling drawn into her words. He trusted her—she was, after all, one of the most respected figures on campus—and her confidence was contagious. He wanted to prove himself, to learn, and perhaps more than that, to remain close to her.
As Melvin's eyes drifted further down the contract, he found himself pausing on a specific section that made his heart skip a beat. He read the words carefully, almost disbelieving: "Dress code adherence, including attire and grooming in alignment with elegance and refinement, as determined by Professor Cross. This may include select items of feminine clothing and light cosmetics, to be worn during program activities."
His cheeks burned as he read the phrase again, wondering if he had misunderstood. He looked up at Professor Cross, his face a mixture of confusion and embarrassment.
"Professor… is this right?" he asked hesitantly, pointing to the line. "About… wearing certain clothes?"
Professor Cross's gaze didn’t waver. She gave a slight nod, her expression calm and direct. "Yes, Melvin. As I said, this program is designed to teach discipline, attention to detail, and personal refinement. Presentation is a part of that. In my program, I expect participants to embrace a range of methods for personal growth—even those that might challenge their preconceived notions."
Seeing his still-confused expression, she continued, "It’s a carefully designed part of the process, Melvin. To foster humility, patience, and openness to new experiences. If it feels uncomfortable, that’s part of the learning too."
Her eyes locked on his, unwavering. "This is what my program requires. You can take it or leave it."
Melvin's eyes paused over another section of the contract that caught him off guard. The words "orgasm control" were written clearly, but he couldn't wrap his head around their purpose in an academic program. He looked up, hesitating.
"Professor Cross… what exactly does it mean by 'orgasm control' here?" he asked, a bit flustered.
She met his gaze with a calm, collected expression. "Good question, Melvin. It’s a motivational strategy, one of the elements I've researched extensively for this program. The idea is to keep participants focused and disciplined, giving them a tangible reminder of their goals. By managing this, it ensures that you stay fully committed to every aspect of your growth and remain motivated to succeed."
Melvin nodded slowly, still processing. She was clearly serious, and he could sense how much thought she had put into each part of this program.
The weight of her words hung in the air, and Melvin felt his initial shock give way to a hesitant understanding. She was giving him a choice, but her expectations were clear. If he was going to do this, he would have to do it on her terms, and he knew she wouldn’t negotiate on something she believed in.
Taking a deep breath, he looked down at the contract, then back up at her steady, expectant gaze. There was something compelling about the way she held him to such high standards, as though she saw a potential in him he hadn’t yet recognised.
"What exactly would you need me to do?" he asked, feeling a genuine curiosity spark.
"To start," she replied, her voice unwavering, "we’ll focus on foundational traits—patience, poise, punctuality. Over time, I’ll introduce you to more skills. You’ll assist with responsibilities, and yes," she added with a knowing smirk, "I expect you to be fully present, both physically and mentally."
He found himself nodding, drawn in despite his nervousness.
"Sign here," she said, placing a pen in front of him. "And we’ll begin."
Melvin took a deep breath, his hand trembling slightly as he picked up the pen. His signature felt like a commitment not only to her but to an entirely new journey—a path he didn’t fully understand yet but felt compelled to explore. As he looked up, her approving smile told him there was no turning back now.
Professor Cross unlocked the lower drawer of her desk, pulling out a pair of handcuffs before walking around to where Melvin sat.
He could hardly believe what was happening as she took his wrists and calmly cuffed them behind the chair.
“What are you—?” he began, but she cut him off with a firm, “Quiet.”
She returned to her desk, opened a small box, and removed a sleek steel device.
She came back around and knelt in front of Melvin, who felt himself tense with nervous excitement. His mind wandered, wondering what it would be like to experience a blowjob from his professor.
She pulled down his pants, revealing his obvious arousal, and all he could do was mumble an apology.
She smiled and said, “Don’t worry, it’s natural. I’m here to help keep you motivated, Melvin.”
She gripped his balls firmly, her nails pressing into his skin until Melvin’s eyes filled with tears and he pleaded for her to stop.
By then, his arousal had faded, so she slipped a ring over his cock and balls, then guided his cock into a tube, securing it with a lock. She added an attachment around the cage, enclosing his balls completely to prevent any access.
"Now you’ll be properly motivated to complete the program, Melvin," she said, unlocking his wrists. She gestured for him to pull up his pants.
Melvin, still in shock, was about to question her when she handed him a folder filled with papers. “I expect all of this to be read before our private session later,” she instructed.
With a smile on her face, she escorted him out of the room and then closed the door to her office behind him.
Melvin spent the rest of the free period reading through the material Professor Cross had provided him. He was still unsure what these things were supposed to do, but his cock was straining within the confines of the steel chastity belt and he was eager to orgasm.
"Her orgasm control is already making me more focused on what she wants, he reflected."
He arrived at her auditorium and took a deep breath before opening the door and walking down to the front. Despite his nerves, his cock was straining within the confines of the chastity belt
He saw her sitting behind a desk in a black latex outfit that left nothing to the imagination. Her massive breasts were nearly bursting out of the latex suit, and her massive juicy ass was on full display in the tight latex as she stood up. Melvin felt his cock go rock-hard within the chastity belt.
“It’s time to begin, Melvin,” she announced, her voice steady and commanding as she rose gracefully from her chair. She took slow, deliberate steps toward him, a riding crop held firmly in her hand, the sharp clicks of her five-inch black heels echoing off the hardwood floor.
Melvin stood frozen, captivated by her beauty and the effortless confidence that radiated from her every movement. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, entirely under her spell.
“Yes, Mistress,” he replied, his voice barely a whisper.
