The Professor's Challenge

Chapter One

They're changing the Guard at Buckingham Palace — Christopher Robin went down with Alice

The words of the song my grandmother had sung to me echoed in my head as I left the conference hall into a crisp London night. London! There was a sense of magic to the place. My granny came from southern England and thought the city was the centre of the world. So it seemed today. I had delivered my paper on homeless youth in Vancouver to a receptive audience. It could only help advance my career in the Open University. And I had extended my stay to allow two weeks in the country. I only wished Gran could have been with me.

I'm a small town girl. My parents farm and I live in a small coastal village near them. My teaching is done online; my research 'field trips' occur a few days at a time on a monthly basis. But now, I was in the Big Smoke and I was going to take advantage. I was going to do some original 'research' with four of my girlfriends — an exploration of the local nightlife.

We settled on a place called 'Cuffs'. The music was loud enough to dance to, but not so loud that conversation was impossible. A pair of neon handcuffs on the sign lent a feeling of edginess to the establishment.

The décor was industrial. Stainless steel tables, with seats bolted to the floor. The lighting was predictably dim. A waitress wearing a bodystocking, leather cuffs on her wrists and — a dog collar? took our order for drinks. The walls had large poster sized pictures of nude women in complicated rope harnesses or in catsuits holding whips.

For safety, we would dance in shifts. Three of us could be away from the table at any time, the other two would keep an eye on the drinks. We had each given the others our phone trackers in case one of us got 'lucky'. The music had a lively beat. Carole grabbed my hand saying "Come on Joan! Let's dance!" And so we went to the dance floor, shaking and moving with the music. We danced a few sets, then headed back to the table to give the others a chance.

I nursed my drink. I have no head for alcohol and wanted to remember the experience. So far it had lasted two hours, but it was getting close to the bottom of the glass. I was considering ordering a lemonade when the waitress came by and put a drink in front of me. "You have an admirer" she said. "Who?" But she shook her head with a smile and left.

I looked at the drink, then around the club, but no one seemed to be looking. Shrugging, I took a sip, then leaned forward to continue talking with Carole and Denise. Carole studies the survival prostitution culture, Denise health challenges in poverty. Both of these intersect with my work on homeless youth. I was starting to make a point about how the justice system could help, when Denise's eyes grew wide and her pupils dilated even further than they already were in the dim light. "I think someone wants to talk with you" was all she said.

I turned to see a tall black man in a blue suit, white shirt and blue polka dot tie. He smiled, saying "You dance well and I love to dance. Would you do me the honour?" His voice positively rumbled.

I felt a long forgotten warmth in my belly and was grateful that the low lighting hid the blush that was rapidly heating my face. He smiled again. "Please say yes." I nodded dumbly and followed him out to the dance floor.

As we faced each other on the dance floor he flashed that unfair smile again. "Jim Hughes" he said. I smiled back. "Joan Short."

It's a fact that most men can't dance. They shuffle their feet, they hold their arms close. The usual effect is that they look like hobbled boxers. Jim flowed. There was no other word for it. Dancing with him was a pleasure; I began to loosen up. I shimmied my shoulders during one particular rhythm. He smiled appreciatively, then led me into a jive dance.

I was glowing by the time we returned to the table. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.

"Please!" I replied.

The sound in the club was increasing to the point where we had to yell. Still, we exchanged some small talk. I learned that he taught sociology at a local university. I told him of the conference. "Ah, so it's Professor Short then?" he smiled as he asked.

"Just a lecturer. My main work is in health care, but I'd like to do more teaching."

"So what got you interested in the social sciences?"

"Well, I think of it as connected to my work. How can you improve health if you don't understand how some people are disadvantaged?"

He nodded. "Indeed." He looked at me again, a look that seemed to go well beyond the surface. "I would love to talk some more on this, but not tonight. Will you be in London long?"

I admitted to planning a holiday after the conference.

That smile again. "I'd like to dance with you some more, but perhaps in the next few days I could be your native guide to London?"

"I'd like that."

"Where are you staying?"

I gave him my university business card and wrote the name of the hotel on the back. He held it, stroking the surface as he read the card. Then he opened his own wallet and gave me his card in return, smiled and said "Shall we dance Dr. Short?"

"Gladly Professor Hughes."

Chapter Two

We had arranged to meet the following night at my hotel for what he promised would be "an evening of fine dining and pleasant conversation". He'd arranged to pick me up at half past seven, giving me time to put myself together after a day in conference mode.

I had packed exactly one dress outfit for the trip, a deep red dress with a hem that swept from high on the left to low on the right. I added a pair of dangling earrings in a Haida design. I decided against a necklace, but clasped a short golden chain around my right ankle before slipping my feet into black pumps.

He was nothing if not punctual calling up to my room at exactly seven-thirty.

He smiled as I entered the lobby, gave me a kiss on the cheek and offered his arm. I hesitated a moment before resting my hand on it. This was about as far from coastal Canada as I was likely to get.

"There's a very nice Italian restaurant not far from here" he said "if you don't mind walking." I smiled. "I make it a point to walk at least six miles a day - although not usually wearing heels."

He looked over with that unfair grin of his. "You Canadian girls are tough, but let me treat you." He led me to the taxi rank, opened the door and helped me in. I wasn't quite sure how to respond, but did my best. He got in the other side, handed the driver a twenty pound note and gave an address. The driver smiled and pulled away from the curb. One minute later the cab pulled to the side of the road on the other side of the block. Jim got out, opened my door and bowed as he offered his hand to help me out, again with that maddening smile.

I looked up with a serious face "You know, I enjoy walking. I bet I could do a mile easy in heels."

He inclined his head. "I'm keeping you fresh for dancing later on."

He seemed well known in the restaurant and ordered for both of us, something that I definitely wasn't used to. Seeing my look he simply said "There's nothing bad on this menu, but some things are simply works of art. We are going to have those." And he was as good as his word. The food was amazing. The white fish he had ordered for me melted in my mouth. There was bread with dipping oils and a nice dry wine accompanied the meal.

We talked of the conference and of my work with street youth. We spoke of his work in theoretical sociology. He asked about my small town. The idea of living on an island half the size of England populated by fewer than a million people seemed to capture his imagination.

Something about him had also captured my imagination. Finally I found the courage (or maybe it was the wine) to bring it up. "We went to that club last night because it was close, we were away from home and it seemed a little edgy. What brought you there?"

He looked very serious, and I was about to apologize, then his teeth flashed white. "It's the kind of place adventurous women go to. I like adventurous women Joan."

"And is that" I made a gesture around my neck "dog collar stuff — the kind of adventure you seek?"

He made a face. "I would never give my lady a dogcollar." he said. "After all, it would reflect badly on me." He smiled across. "Besides, there are subtleties to that kind of play."

My nose was itching. I rubbed it then looked up at him. "Whips and chains never struck me as subtle." This was not turning out well. "Fifty Shades struck me as a teenage fantasy."

His eyes looked right into my soul. "Joan, you just presented a paper on homeless youth. Do they fit the stereotypes people have of them?" That stopped me in my tracks. I looked at him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"Asking questions is never bad Joan. You know that. There are three things you need to know. Then, if you're still interested, I'd like to take you dancing."

He had my attention. "First, almost every couple I know has a dominant partner and a submissive one. It may only be by degrees, but that dynamic exists. You've probably seen it in your parents, in your friends. And as a strong, independent woman, it may frighten you. A fear of giving up your power, of being abused."

I nodded slowly and he went on. "But in most cases both partners are happy with the arrangement, as long as they're happy with each other. It's based on mutual respect, on listening. That's the second thing you need to know. It's consensual and it happens everywhere people pair off."

"But giving way in an argument is a far cry from being beaten and hurt" I objected. He nodded. "That's the third thing. In the kind of relationship I look for, it's all about the submissive partner. The stereotypes have it being about the dominant partner. The stereotypes are wrong. Fifty Shades was stereotypical."

I started to argue but he held up his hand. "I'd promised to take you dancing and I'm a man of my word. You're an academic Joan. I'll send you some reading material when I get home. Read it when the conference finishes tomorrow. If you are curious to learn, send me an email and say so — just that. If your curiosity is satisfied and you'd like to have a tour of the city with no further discussion of this, say that. If I don't hear from you by tomorrow night, I'll assume you don't want anything more to do with me. And that's fine too."

He looked down then back up, his expression shifting from serious to playful. "The cheesecake is excellent - shall we have some?"

Chapter Three

The dancing had been enjoyable, but I slept restlessly and finally got up and checked my email. Sure enough, Jim had sent a reading list of attached articles and websites. The man was a professor after all, but it was strangely flattering that he sent me these articles so soon. I thought of what he'd be like in bed for the third or fourth time since he'd escorted me back to the hotel. My belly ached pleasantly and I could feel my wetness. You'd think I was a school girl, not a grown woman who'd lived independently for the past several years.

There were articles on symbols, on rituals, on the difference between Domination/Submission and Discipline/Sadism. I learned about munches, about collaring, about power exchange, about symbols. My pussy clenched involuntarily as I read. I wanted to email him right then, but that would have seemed too eager. What was I thinking of? This could be dangerous.

I checked his university's web site and found his picture there. That at least wasn't made up. This was just too crazy to consider any further. I went back to bed. My fingers found my swollen pussy, and brought me some relief, allowing me to sleep the last two hours before I was due to get ready for the day.

I had trouble concentrating through the presentations as I continued to think of the deadline - did I want to learn more? Did I want to risk this? I crossed my legs, clenching my thighs tight around my pussy. What was the matter with me?

With difficulty I let Denise and Carole distract me during the break. But it didn't last long. "So Joan" Denise began "how was your date last night?"

"He's fun" I said honestly. "And he dances beautifully. I think he could be very dangerous."

"I could use some of that danger myself" Carole said.

I smiled across at her. "Going to offer yourself up in order to save me?"

Carole gave me a long look, tucking her black hair behind an ear. "If he looked at me the way he looked at you, I might. But he was pretty focussed on you Sweetling."

"Yeah" I said, "the things a girl has to suffer. I'm going to take a few days holiday. We'll see if it goes further than that."

"We'll want details girlfriend." Denise said. I blushed, and they laughed. "Just take good notes for us." Carole added "And if you let this one go, I'll never forgive you!"

It's easy to want the things others have. It's harder to see the choices involved. Jim wasn't offering me typical romance. I was afraid of what that might say about me and why he thought I'd be interested. With that in mind, I went back to the conference, thinking of running away.

I'd wanted to go to Salisbury, see the Magna Carta and Stonehenge. I'd wanted to see Land's End, the thatched roofs of Devonshire, and Glastonbury. I wanted to see the ruined abbeys. I could do that with my dignity intact. But I would be doing it on my own. And I'd been on my own for too long. Since Mark had died, all those years ago. Perhaps Jim really meant it when he said he'd still show me the sights if my curiosity was fully satisfied. The real question was if it truly would be. What would I be missing?

And so it was with these thoughts pressing in on me that I tried to squeeze meaning from the last presentations, as I had one last supper with Carole and Denise, and as I went up to my room.

I re-read the documents he had sent. He had referenced a thesis on the writings of the Marquis de Sade, which I was able to find in an online archive. I checked some of the other references mentioned in some of the more arcane documents.

My pussy ached. It had been flowing all day. My belly ached. I couldn't focus. It was nine o'clock. Three more hours before my indecision made a decision for me. I sighed.

When the going gets tough, the tough take a bath. I filled the olympic sized bathtub, dropped a sweet smelling bath salt into it, put my hair into a towel, and slide into the comforting warmth. The tension flowed out of my muscles and into the buoying water. For the next hour I just let my body and mind come to equilibrium. And then, with my fingers looking like prunes, I drained the water and began towelling myself off.

I looked at myself in the mirror. For a chick of 37 I wasn't doing too badly. My breasts didn't sag too much, and my body was toned from working on the farm and hiking the Pacific coast. My brown hair still shone, although some products helped with that. There was just a faint curve to my belly, ending in a small triangle of pubic hair. Still, I was 37. Jim had to be working with girls in their early 20s. What was he used to?

Wrapping myself in a bathrobe, I walked over to the computer. Nothing from Jim. Damn the man, he wasn't making this easy. What was I getting myself into? "Well," I muttered, "in for a pound..."

I began writing an email. "God help me, but I'm curious. I want to learn more " it read. I thought of writing more, but remembered his instructions to "send an email and say just that." Taking a very deep breath and letting it out slowly. Again. With my heart pounding I hit "send". What had I done?

I got up and paced the room. I decided that I deserved a glass of wine from the bar fridge. I was reaching for the bottle when my computer chimed. It was all I could do not to run to the machine. And there in my inbox was a four word message from Jim. "Theory or Practical Experience?"

Well two can play that game. "In for a penny..." was my four word reply.

"Joan, I know it wasn't an easy decision. I'm proud of you and I'll be proud to teach you. Learning and teaching takes trust - we will develop that. And I haven't forgotten that you want to see England. Meet Me at Trafalgar Square tomorrow at ten AM. Dress casually. Jim."

I hadn't missed the capitalization of 'Me' in his email. That glass of wine was looking more appealing all the time. So was my bed. I was exhausted.

Chapter Four

For all my electronic bravado, I slept poorly that night. I wondered about running away, about slipping away to another hotel, but in the end, I mustered the courage to get out of bed, and dress for the day. Taking the 'casual' to heart, I dressed in blue jeans, pink running shoes and a pink tee. He should see me coming.

At 9:30 I left the hotel and began the walk to Trafalgar Square. It was just across from Canada House, which gave me some feeling of home. The pigeons cooed and chased crumbs, with the male pigeons chasing the girls mercilessly, making crooning sounds and dancing around them.

Jim was there on time, dressed immaculately in a pinstripe suit, blazing white shirt, black brogued shoes and solid red tie. I looked down at my clothes in dismay. "I'm not dressed to go out with you" I wailed.

He grinned. "We're going shopping" he said. He held out his arm; I took it suspiciously. "There are some nice shops on the Mall" he said, "and I'm showing you off."

My face got hot. I raised my chin. "My clothes aren't good enough?"

He just smiled. "They're very Canadian. And I'm introducing you to a new culture. You're going to want to dress the part." He paused a moment. "And besides, I'd like to treat you."

He steered me into a store not far away. "Have a seat here" he said to me, then turned to the sales clerk. "I'd like to buy some dresses for my lady here. Could you show me what you have?"

I started to ask if I had a say in this, but he silenced me with a gesture. He and the sales lady wandered off, chatting about cuts, colours and styles. Finally, he came back and indicated that I should follow him. The sales lady was no where to be seen. He led me into a small room with mirrors and a number of dresses hanging up. "I'm guessing that you're a size four" he said, "but I've gotten twos and sixes as well just in case." He held up a black dress "Try this one on."

I took the dress and waited for him to leave, but he just stood expectantly. I bit my lip, then looked up. "Has it started then?" I asked. He smiled. "Soon, little one."

In for a penny I thought. I crossed my arms in front of me, removing my tee shirt, thankful that I'd worn a bra that morning. "Good girl" he said. I felt ridiculously pleased, as if I'd done something brilliant. Then he looked at my jeans and nodded. The jeans and running shoes followed, then he handed me the dress. It had a modestly cut neckline, but with a slit up both sides that ran dangerously high up the skirt. I could feel the bottom seam of my panties through that slit. But the dress fit perfectly and I had to admit it looked good on me.

"OK" he said, "we'll get this one. Now try this blue one." This dress was a royal blue and ended a couple of inches above my knees. The collar however plunged to my navel, the back was open. My bra looked silly, but i stubbornly kept it on. Apart from the silly bra, the effect was good. This man had good taste. He nodded "I like it. Let's try a few others."

In the end though, he decided on the black one and the blue one. He called the saleswoman over. "We'll take these two. She'll be wearing the blue one out of the store. Could you have the black one and her other clothes delivered to my home please?"

Well, there goes the bra

He turned to me. "Joan my dear, Brenda here is going to measure you for a few things. I'll wait in the sitting room." I was led to a back room where I took off everything except my panties and was measured up, down and around. Some measurements didn't make sense. Some did. Brenda had me try on a few bras, made some notes before telling me to get into the blue dress again. She led me out to the front room.