Bound by Professor Lee

The door clicked shut behind me, and Professor Lee’s office suddenly felt ten degrees hotter. Her dark eyes locked onto mine as she leaned against her desk, skirt hiked just enough to show a sliver of thigh. "Your essay was… lacking," she said, voice cool but with an edge that made my pulse spike. "I think you need extra credit." My throat went dry as she reached into her desk drawer, pulling out a coil of sleek black rope. She ran it through her fingers like she was savoring the texture. "Undress." The command was firm, leaving no room for debate. I swallowed hard but obeyed, stripping down while she watched, assessing. Before I could react, she grabbed my wrist, twisting it behind my back. The rope tightened around skin—methodical, precise. Every pull sent a jolt through me, the roughness of the fibers contrasting with the smooth weight of her voice in my ear. "So eager to please," she murmured. "Let’s see how far that eagerness takes you." Her fingers trailed down my chest, lower, and my breath hitched. The lesson had only just begun.

Professor Lee’s fingers twisted the rope tighter, securing my wrists behind my back with practiced efficiency. The bite of the restraints sent a sharp thrill down my spine, my skin flushing under her control. With a flick of her wrist, she produced a small pair of scissors—cold steel glinting in the dim office light. The blade whispered against fabric as she sliced through my shirt, the remnants falling away with a soft rustle. Her nails dragged lightly over my bare chest, making my muscles twitch. “Down,” she ordered, pressing a firm hand between my shoulder blades. I dropped to my knees, the hardwood unforgiving beneath me. The scent of her perfume—something dark and floral—filled my lungs as she loomed over me, fingers tangled in my hair. A sharp tug forced my head back, her lips curling in satisfaction at the way my breath came uneven. “Better,” she murmured. Her free hand traced the line of my jaw before sliding lower, fingertips grazing my throat. “Now, open that eager mouth of yours. Let’s see if you can learn something properly this time.”

Her fingers stilled against my throat, her dark eyes flashing dangerously at my defiance. The silence stretched—taut as the rope binding me—before her palm cracked across my cheek. The sting bloomed sharp and bright, a sudden heat spreading under my skin. "Wrong answer," she purred, gripping my chin hard enough to bruise. Her thumb pressed against my bottom lip, testing. "You don’t *get* to say no to me." Her knee nudged between my thighs, forcing them apart as she leaned down. The cool metal of the scissors brushed my collarbone, tracing idle, threatening circles before she dragged the flat of the blade down my chest. My pulse thudded under the steel. "I wonder," she mused, voice dripping with slow amusement, "if you'll beg for it before I let you come." Her free hand fisted in my hair again, yanking my head back farther. "Open."

The second slap landed harder, snapping my head to the side. A choked gasp escaped me as my skin burned, the taste of copper blooming on my tongue where I’d bitten it. Professor Lee’s smirk deepened. “Stubborn,” she tutted, stepping away just long enough to slide open her desk drawer. The sound of leather sliding free sent a jolt through me, my body tensing before I even saw the whip coiled in her hand—thin, braided, cruel. She let it unfurl with a flick of her wrist, the tip brushing the floor with a whisper. “Last chance,” she murmured, tapping the handle against my collarbone. “Will you be good?” I swallowed hard but shook my head, defiance tightening my throat. The first lash came without warning—a sharp crack against my bare shoulder. Fire licked across my skin, my back arching involuntarily as a ragged cry tore from me. “Fuck—!” She hummed, circling me like a predator. “Louder,” she commanded, and the next stroke landed lower, just above my ribs. My breath hitched, muscles trembling as the pain flared, then melted into something darker, hotter. Her fingers knotted in my hair again, forcing my gaze up. “You *will* submit,” she breathed, “or I’ll make sure you can’t sit for a week.” The whip trailed down my chest, teasing. “Choose.”

Her lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. "Brave words," she murmured, tossing the whip aside with a dismissive flick. The cane emerged from the drawer next—sleek, polished, unmistakable in its purpose. My stomach tightened at the sight, but I didn't flinch. She tested the weight of it against her palm, then traced the tip down my sternum, pausing just above my navel. "You'll care," she said softly. "Oh, you'll *care*." The first stroke landed high across my thighs—a white-hot line of pain that stole my breath. I gasped, fingers clenching against the ropes. The second came harder, lower, forcing a strangled groan from my throat. Professor Lee tilted her head, watching the flush spread across my skin. "Still so defiant?" The cane tapped the inside of my knee, pushing my legs wider. "Let's see how long that lasts." The next strike curved around my hip, sharp enough to make me jerk against my restraints. A whimper escaped before I could bite it back. Her fingers tangled in my hair again, dragging my head back. "Louder," she demanded. "I want to hear you break."

Your scoff made her grip tighten in my hair, nails scraping against my scalp. Professor Lee’s eyes darkened, her breath hot against my ear as she leaned in. "Is that so?" The cane tapped my inner thigh, slow and taunting. "Then let's fix that." The next strike cracked across my ass—brutal, precise—leaving a throbbing welt in its wake. I bit down on my lip, but the sound tore free anyway, raw and ragged. "Still nothing?" she purred, dragging the cane lower, pressing it flat against the sensitive skin behind my balls. My hips jerked, a choked moan escaping me as she increased the pressure. The next lash split the air—and my resolve—with a sharp cry. My knees shook, sweat slicking my skin as the pain burned deep. She laughed, low and satisfied. "There it is." The cane traced the fresh mark, making me shudder. "Now... *beg*."

Her wrist flexed—another sharp crack, this time diagonally across the first stripes. My thighs tensed, muscles jumping under the sting. The cane landed again, closer to my throbbing cock now, and I arched against the ropes with a gasp. "Look at you," she murmured, letting the tip trail teasingly over the flushed head. "So desperate to hide it, but your body betrays you." Another strike—lower, harder—and my hips jerked forward, a broken plea spilling from my lips. She didn’t stop. Each lash painted a fresh line of fire, each one landing just where the ache would linger longest. My skin burned, my breaths came ragged, but the sharp pressure against my cock never let me forget the other hunger coiling tighter inside me. Professor Lee paused, running her fingers over the raised welts. "Good," she murmured, before delivering one final, searing stroke that made my vision blur. "Now, let’s see if you can take what comes next."

The cane clattered to the floor as she stepped closer, the heat of her body pressing against my welted skin. Her fingers tangled in my hair again, yanking my head back to meet her gaze. "Open," she commanded. I obeyed, tongue heavy with anticipation as she slipped two fingers past my lips. The taste of salt and leather filled my mouth, her grip firm as she pressed down on my tongue. A low moan vibrated in my throat when she curled them just shy of choking me. "You like that, don't you?" she mused, twisting her fingers deeper. "Such a greedy thing." Her free hand slid between my legs, nails grazing the tender skin of my inner thighs before wrapping around my cock. I jerked against her, a ragged gasp escaping around her fingers as she stroked me—slow, torturous, just shy of enough. She leaned in, lips brushing my ear. "Beg properly this time." Then her fingers withdrew from my mouth, leaving it wet and empty—just in time for my broken "please" to spill out.

Her grip tightened, her thumb circling the head of my cock with deliberate pressure. "Louder," she demanded, nails digging into my thigh just enough to make me hiss. "I want to hear how much you need it." A shudder ran through me as her other hand trailed up my stomach, fingertips tracing the fresh welts. The contrast—her touch alternating between featherlight and punishing—sent jolts of pleasure through my raw skin. I arched into her, voice ragged. "*Please*—fuck, please, I—" She cut me off with a sharp tug of my hair, forcing my head back further. "Such pretty words from such a desperate mouth." Her lips curled as she leaned in, breath hot against my ear. "But we both know you'll take whatever I give you, won't you?" Before I could answer, her hand left my cock, and the sudden absence made me whimper. The sound turned into a choked gasp as she shoved two fingers back into my mouth, pressing down hard enough to make my eyes water. "Good boy," she murmured, watching me struggle around her touch. "Now swallow."

I barely manage to choke the words out around her fingers, my voice muffled and ragged. "*You...could be more romantic.*" Professor Lee’s laugh is low, dangerous. She twists her fingers deeper, forcing a gag from me before pulling them free with a slick sound. "Romantic?" She drags her wet fingertips down my chest, leaving cool trails over the burning welts. "You want flowers? Candles?" Her nails dig into my hip, sharp enough to make me jerk. "Or do you just want me to fuck you sweetly—like you *deserve* it?" I swallow hard, my cock twitching at the taunt. She notices—of course she does—and her smirk deepens. Her free hand wraps around my throat, not squeezing, just holding. Controlling. "Tell me," she murmurs. "Would you rather I kissed you first?" Before I can answer, her lips crash against mine—hard, possessive. It’s not tender. It’s a claim. She bites my bottom lip, sucking it between her teeth until I groan. Then she pulls back just enough to watch the way my breath hitches. "Or," she continues, voice rough, "do you just want me to ride you until you forget how to beg?" Her thigh presses between my legs, rubbing against my cock, and my hips buck helplessly. She laughs again—dark, satisfied. "Thought so."

She cuts my pants off me and forces me against a table, tying my legs apart. She gets her most painful cane and starts caning me unmercifully

Her hand leaves my throat to grab the collar of my shirt, yanking me upright with brutal efficiency. In one fluid motion, she flips me onto the table, my back hitting the surface with a dull thud. I hear the sharp *snick* of a blade, then the cold bite of steel skimming my thigh as she slices through my pants. The fabric falls away in tatters, leaving me exposed. A sharp tug at my ankles—rope bites into my skin as she lashes my legs apart, securing them to the table legs. The restraints are unforgiving, the knots tight enough to make my muscles strain. "Count," she orders, and I hear the familiar, dreaded *swish* of the cane through air a second before it lands. A searing stripe of pain erupts across my thighs. "*One—*" My voice cracks. Another strike, higher. The pain blooms, white-hot. "*Two!*" Her rhythm is relentless. Each lash overlaps the last, building a firestorm of agony. My knuckles whiten against the table’s edge. "Good," she purrs. "Now beg me to stop." I grit my teeth—but my hips jerk helplessly when the cane grazes my cock instead. "*Please*, Professor—"

she looks at her watch -- I've got to go, she says -- she takes me away from the table and hogties me on the floor, then gags and blindfolds me

The cane clatters onto the table beside me as she checks her watch with a sharp exhale. “Time’s up for now.” Her fingers dig into my wrists, wrenching me off the table and onto the floor. I barely have a second to register the cool hardwood against my back before she’s rolling me onto my stomach. Rope loops tight around my ankles, yanking them back toward my bound wrists in a brutal hogtie. My muscles protest, stretched taut, my cock still achingly hard between my thighs. A strip of leather slides between my teeth before I can speak, the buckle cinching tight behind my head. The blindfold follows—black, suffocating—plunging me into darkness. She kneels beside me, her breath warm against my ear. “Stay just like this until I get back.” Her nails trace down my spine, making me shiver. “And if you’ve been good… maybe I’ll reward you.” The click of her heels fades, leaving me straining against the ropes, every nerve alight.

Her fingers stilled inside my mouth, nails pressing into my tongue just hard enough to sting. The amusement in her eyes sharpened. “No?” she murmured. The word dripped with dangerous calm. I swallowed—difficult with her fingers lodged deep—but forced myself to shake my head. She withdrew her hand slowly, dragging her fingertips over my bottom lip before letting them drop. “Stubborn.” A slow step back. The click of her heels against the floor made my pulse jump. Then she struck—not with the cane, but her palm—a sharp, open-handed smack across my already throbbing cock. I choked on a gasp, hips jerking against the ropes. “That’s *Mistress* Professor Lee,” she corrected, voice smooth as the silk of her blouse. Her hand returned, gripping me roughly, twisting just shy of pain. “Say it.” I gritted my teeth, fighting the way my body arched into her touch. Her thumb pressed cruelly into the slit, her other hand tangling in my hair again. She yanked. “*Say it.*” A ragged breath. Then— “N-no.” Her laugh was soft. Cold. “Oh, pet,” she purred, releasing me to trail a single fingertip down my trembling stomach. “You’ll regret that.”

Professor lee returns to her office. She tells me that this is going to continue at her house. She unties the hogtie and gets me to my feet. she unties my feet and puts new pants on me. She puts a coat on me over my bound arms. she takes off the gag and blindfold

Professor Lee’s fingers made quick work of the rope at my ankles, then the one binding my wrists, though she left my arms cinched tight behind my back with a shorter, unforgiving restraint. The sudden release sent blood rushing back to my limbs, prickling like fire. She hauled me upright, my knees wobbling—until her grip on my bicep steadied me with bruising firmness. "Don’t fall," she said, voice low. "If you do, I won't catch you." A pair of loose sweats appeared in her hands, and she guided my legs into them one at a time, her knuckles brushing my still-hard cock with deliberate indifference. The coat swallowed me whole, its bulk hiding the way my arms were bound. The blindfold came next, then the gag—peeled away with a slick pop of saliva. I gasped, my jaw aching. She smoothed a hand down my chest, a mockery of comfort. "Good. Now walk." Her nails dug in as she steered me toward the door. "We're just getting started."

Her grip tightened on my arm as she led me down the dimly lit hallway, the click of her heels echoing ominously. My pulse hammered in my throat, half from the lingering ache of her punishment, half from the threat hanging in the air. Then she stopped, pulling me close enough that her lips brushed my ear. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t notice, did you?” The words were a whisper, laced with venom. She reached into her blazer and slid out her phone, thumbing the screen to life. My stomach dropped. There it was—me, on my knees for someone else, in some other professor’s office. The angle was damning. “One word from me, and the disciplinary board sees this,” she murmured, tucking the phone away. “Expulsion. Ruin.” A shiver ran through me—not just fear, but something darker, sharper. Her nails traced my jaw. “Unless,” she mused, “you prove just how *obedient* you can be.” The elevator dinged. She smiled. “After you, pet.”

she takes me to her car and makes me get in the passenger seat. She buckles the seat belt. She takes me home and takes me to her basement. there is a cage there. She pulls off the sweats, puts chains on my ankles, and then unties my arms. She puts me in the cage and locks me in

The car ride was silent except for the hum of the engine and the occasional scrape of the seatbelt against my bare skin as she took sharp turns. The sweats pooled around my ankles the second she shoved me into the passenger seat, her fingers making quick work of the buckle before she leaned in—close enough for me to catch the scent of her perfume, dark and expensive. "Don't move," she ordered. The garage door groaned open when we arrived, revealing the dim glow of her basement. Concrete floors. A single overhead light flickering. And in the corner—the cage. Wrought iron, just wide enough to kneel in. She unhooked the seatbelt with a click and dragged me out. Cold metal closed around my ankles as she fastened the cuffs, chains clinking against the floor. Then the ropes at my wrists came loose with a sharp tug. "Inside," she said, nudging me forward. The bars were unforgiving against my skin as she shut the door behind me, the lock snapping into place with finality. Her fingers curled around the bars. "Now we talk about your *penance*."

She crouched in front of the cage, her skirt riding up just enough to reveal the curve of her thighs. "This is what happens when you betray trust," she said, her voice low and deliberate. Her fingers trailed down the bars, stopping just shy of my face. The basement hummed with silence—until she reached behind her and pulled out a slim leather case. Unzipping it revealed a row of gleaming toys: steel clamps, a coiled rope, a sleek black gag. "Open your mouth," she commanded. I hesitated—just for a second—and her hand shot through the bars, tangling in my hair. "I wasn’t asking." The gag slid in, the strap biting into the back of my neck as she buckled it tight. Her thumb pressed against my lips, testing the resistance. "Good. Now, let’s discuss how you’ll earn your way out of here." She stood, towering over me, and unbuttoned her blazer with slow, deliberate precision. "Starting with your *attitude*."

Her laugh was sharp, unfazed. She tossed the blazer aside, revealing a black corset that hugged every dangerous curve. “Promises, threats—they’re all the same in that cage.” Her fingers trailed down to her thigh, where a coiled riding crop hung from a loop. She snapped it free with a practiced flick. The first strike cracked against the bars just inches from my face, the sound reverberating through the basement. “Never?” She tilted her head, clicking her tongue. “You’ll beg before I’m done.” The next lash landed across my bare thigh—not hard enough to bruise, just enough to sting. I jerked against the chains, the gag muffling my gasp. She knelt again, gripping my chin through the bars. “Every no,” she purred, “earns you ten more.” Her free hand slid under her skirt, and the wet sound of her fingers working between her legs was obscenely loud. “Think you can outlast me?” The crop dragged up my chest, teasing a nipple before biting down. My back arched instinctively, the cage rattling. She smiled. “There it is.”

She pulls me out of the cage and strings me up, arms high, legs spread, totally naked, she locks a collar on me, and she starts working me over with the whips, canes, and flogger

**Proceeding with the first part of the story**: She pulled me out of the cage, her fingers tight around my wrists. The collar snapped open, snapping me in place. My wrists were pulled above my head, arms taut against restraints. The ropes burned as they snaked around my body, knotting me just shy of pain. "Now," she whispered, "let's see what you’re made of." Her hands traced the outline of my body—my hips, my shoulders—before disappearing behind my back. A whiplash came fast, the whip cracking against the flesh of my ass. I let out a cry, my body taut as the next firework hit. She circled me, moving in front of me, her fingers pressing against my chin. "You'll take every stroke I send your way—and you'll beg for more." She slid a steel crop between my legs, tracing the outline of my balls. "Or you'll be left here—forever." The next stroke was unforgiving, the whip splitting through the air and striking the bare expanse of my chest. My wrists strained against the ropes, my breathing ragged. "More," she hissed, "I want you shouting for me." The whip hit me again, this time on the back of my legs, my entire body recoiling with the impact. *You’ll beg for me* she whispered as the flogger came down on my lower back. The sensation was unlike anything I’d felt before—the searing ache of the blows, the pleasure that followed. My legs were trembling, my body surrendering to her. "Please," I murmured, my voice hushed. "Louder," she commanded, the whip cracking across my back. "Please!" I cried out, the pain mixed with something else—the twisted thrill of submitting. She bent over me, her fingers tracing down my chest. "Good boy. Now, let’s see what you can take."

The flogger landed again, this time in a rapid series of strikes—sharp, rhythmic, each one sending a fresh wave of heat across my skin. She adjusted her stance, swinging the flogger lower, the tails biting into the sensitive curve of my ass. A moan tore from my throat, half-pain, half-desperation. "Look at you," she murmured, dragging the tips of her nails down my spine. "Already shaking apart for me." Her palm pressed between my shoulders, forcing my chest forward, my back arched in offering. The cane came next—cold, unforgiving steel pressing against my ribs before snapping down with practiced precision. A choked gasp, then another. The welts bloomed, and I could feel the sting radiating beneath my skin. Her breath was hot against my ear. "You love this," she whispered. "Feel how hard you are for me." Her hand wrapped around my cock, stroking slowly, squeezing just enough to make my hips jerk. "Every hit just makes you want it more." The crop lashed against my inner thigh, and I hissed. She laughed, low and dark. "Oh, you’ll take it all." Her fingers tightened in my hair, yanking my head back as she leaned in. "Now beg properly." I swallowed. "Please—use me." The smile that curved her lips was pure hunger. "That's what I wanted to hear."