Even in a class of 200, Hannah was a standout. Not just because she was pretty or because she was smart, but because she had that special something that demanded that you pay attention. I’d been teaching for more than 20 years and very rarely had I come across a student who was so commanding in her presence that I couldn’t help but notice her in a sea of faces in the class auditorium.
She had a soft smile, dark hair back, pulled back into a ponytail. If she wore make up, it was minimal, but she had the ideal look of a girl next door, with just a hint of mischief. She dressed casually, today in a grey tshirt and cutoff white shorts and a pair of sandals.
Her eyes had a sparkle to them that caught the light and her lips were just a bit fuller than most girls. Not enough to be noticeable unless you really looked. But when I would look, I couldn’t stop looking at them or thinking about them.
I was surprised and a little excited when she approached me after class and asked if she could visit me in my office. I told her I was free for the next two hours and I could meet her if she was free. She smiled and nodded.
“Sounds perfect. I’ll see you in about 10 minutes?” she asked.
I agreed and left class and took the elevator to my office suite, opened the door and sat down behind my desk.
A few minutes later, there was a knock. She opened the door and peeked in. “Still a good time?” she asked.
I put down the book I was reading and nodded. “Come on it.”
She sat down and crossed her legs, putting her notebook on my desk and leaning a bit forward.
“I’m Hannah,” she said introducing herself.
I smiled and said I knew, that he TA spoke highly of her and I had noticed her attendance in class. “So what can I help you with?”
She leaned back in her chair.
“Actually nothing. I am acing your class. I’ve gotten perfect scores on the exams. I don’t really need anything,” she explained, emphasizing the word need.
There was a short silence as I watched her struggle with her words and expression, like she was trying to come up with just the right way to phrase things.
She bit her lip and then spoke.
“Ever since I was young, I’ve had this ability, this sense, to know when I come across a certain kind of man,” her eyes looked up, searching again for words.
Then she looked down, right into my eyes. “Men like you.”
I shifted in my chair uncomfortably.
“See,” she said. “Like that.”
I inhaled and started to speak, but she cut me off.
“Listen,” she interrupted, “I am not here to get anything from you. I don’t need anything. But I can tell you like bossy women. You like to be told what to do. You like it when women take control. Right?”
I shifted again in my chair. “Well,” I stammered.
She smiled. “It is a yes or no question. I want to hear you say it.”
“I guess that is true,” I explained, “but it really doesn’t have anything to do with class or you sitting her in my office. I am not sure we should be having this conversation at all. It’s not appropriate.”
She smiled and laughed a little. “I know. You are right. I’ve got six more weeks in your class and then maybe we should have this conversation again. Or maybe a longer one?”
I smiled and just added, “Um, well,” not wanting to disagree, but also trying to be very careful.
“I’ll be out of your class and we won’t be student and teacher, we’ll just be friends. Or something else, we’ll have to see. But to be totally honest, I like being bossy and I especially like bossing around older, accomplished men.”
She smiled, noticing I was blushing.
“I can tell you like the idea, you are turning red,” she said smiling more, “don’t worry, I like it.”
I must have blushed more, because she reached out and touched my cheek.
“So for the next six weeks, I want you to think about whether or not you want a nineteen year old girl who loves doing this to boss you around?”
I swallowed a bit and nodded.
“Well I will let you think about it. I am sure you won’t think about very much else for the next six weeks. It would probably be better if we didn’t speak again until then. I don’t want you to get fired and I don’t want anyone thinking I didn’t earn my A in your class,” she continued.
“I think that makes sense. So we wait until the semester is over and then we talk again?
“You know you won’t be able to take any more of my classes,” I told her.
“If things go the way I think they will, I won’t want to,” she said, winking.
“Oh one last thing. I’d like you to keep a journal about this, about us. The next six weeks, what you are thinking, feeling, fantasizing about. I want you to be honest. I know it might feel a little embarrassing, but it is really important, OK?”
She reached into her bag and pulled out a pink notebook, covered in hearts. “I got you this to use,” she told me, smiling as she handed it to me. “You are going to use it, right?”
“Speak up,” she teased.
“Yes. I’ll use it.”
She stood up and packed her bag, turning toward the door and walking out.
“Oh,” she leaned back in, “Do your first entry now.”
I smiled and nodded and nervously opened the notebook.
“Good boy,” she said scrunching her nose a little and giving a wicked smile.
I felt my heart race and my stomach tighten at her words.
The door shut and I put my face in my hands, trying to process what had just happened.
Inside the book was an envelope addressed to me.
I opened it and found a handwritten note.
If you are reading this, our conversation went as I had hoped it would. I am very excited to see where all of this goes and the next six weeks is going to be just as hard for me as it is for you. I want you to know I have never done this before or anything like it. But since the first day of class, I have thought almost constantly about how to approach you. I am looking forward to getting to know you and you getting to know me. When you write for me, please be honest, I want to know everything no matter how embarrassing it feels, no matter how inappropriate you think it might be. I won’t judge you for anything you write. I promise.”
It was simply signed H and beside her initial was a pink lip print.
The next few weeks were much harder than I anticipate. Seeing her in class, watching me, smiling, I couldn’t help but imagine what she was thinking.
Two weeks later, she started sitting with a guy in the class. Before class I watched her flirt and smile and touch his hand and shoulder. It became harder and harder for me to stomach.
She would flirt and tease him and then every so often look over at me, just to make it clear she knew exactly what she was doing.
Her affection for him escalated, sitting closer together and kissing him before class. I did my best not to think about it, but I couldn’t stop.
With just two weeks to go, I stopped her after class, needing to find out if we were still going ahead with things and what was going on. When I started to speak, her eyes turned steely and she say in a loud whisper, “Don’t you dare.”
She turned and walked away.
Day after day, I filled my journal with thoughts, feelings, and fantasies. The more I wrote, the easier it got to open up. Before long, I was detailing my deepest fantasies and feelings, describing the things I hoped she would do to me. I was writing about how helpless I felt watching her and how much it excited me to have so little control.
The more I would write the more anxious I became. I would comfort myself occasionally thinking that she would probably never read it. She would probably lose interest or decide it was all a bad idea. The more I believed that, the more free I became in my expression, in telling my history, in exposing myself.
As I suspect, the semester ended and Hannah disappeared.
I wouldn’t hear from her again for a few weeks. She sent an email, asking to meet at my office and to bring my journal.
My heart started to pound and I wrote back, seeing if she could meet the next day. Her response came almost immediately. “Be at your office in one hour.”
I sent a reply, “Yes Miss.”
An hour later I was sitting at my desk, waiting, the journal sitting in front of me. I flipped through it, noticing it was just a page short of being filled.
So many thoughts and feelings, so many secrets. I wondered how wise it was to turn it over to her.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I responded. And she did. Looking radiant, as beautiful as ever. She had a slight wicked smile on her face and I could tell she was glad I had done as she asked.
“So,” she said breaking the ice. “No longer student and teacher.” She twirled a length of her hair playfully. “I see you brought my journal back.” She picked it up and flipped through it. “Looks like I have quite a bit of reading to do.”
She didn’t sit down.
“Come here and stand in front of your desk,” she said directly. I stood up and moved to where she directed. I could feel my stomach filling with butterflies as I obeyed her simple instruction.
“Now lean back and put both hands on the desk. I need to inspect you.”
I squirmed and blushed as I placed my hands palm down on the desk, forcing me to arch my back a bit, pressing my hips toward her.
“I expect you to keep your hands on the desk until I tell you otherwise. Understand?”
“Understand?” she asked again, this time more firmly.
“Yes,” I said softly.
“Yes what?” she said looking into my eyes.
“Yes Miss,” I whispered, trembling and wanting to look away.
She cupped my chin and raised my head, forcing me to look at her directly. “This is going to determine a lot, depending on what I find. I have to confess to being very curious. I’ve got some very strong opinions about what I should find, you know,” she explained releasing my belt and unbuttoning my jeans.
“I know it’s silly, but I like to think of what I am going to find as my property, my tool, something for me to play with. You are going to laugh, but I like to call guy’s cocks Hannah’s bananas.”
I was turning red, finding it hard to hold still. My cock was starting to get hard as she kept talking. My the time she was slowly pulling the zipper down, I could feel myself starting to strain in my pants.
Once she pulled my pants down, my cock was making a tent in my boxers. I turned my head away as she pulled my underwear down.
She erupted in a fit of giggles.
“Awwwww, it is a cute little thing. I like it.”
She cupped my chin again and pressed close, looking into my eyes. “But it isn’t very big is it?”
I blushed more.
“It is a teeny weenie,” she said teasing me more. “I was hoping for something bigger.”
She stepped away and reached into her bag. She smiled, pulling out a banana and held it up against me, comparing them.
She pouted. “This is my sad face,” she taunted. “Poor Davey has such a widdle cock,” she said continuing her pout.
I looked down, seeing her hold the banana next to my hard cock, making it look even smaller in comparison. I had no words. I was beyond embarrassed.
“You know the difference between your little cock and this banana?”
“Well obviously one is much smaller than the other. But the real difference is only one of them is ever going in my mouth.”
She peeled the banana and slowly slid it in her mouth, as I watched her beautiful full lips circle it as she sucked it gently, before taking a bite.
She placed the half eaten banana next to my cock, which was still straining and beginning to leak pre cum.
She shook her head. “It’s still bigger.”
One more bite.
“Now it is shorter, but still thicker.”
She slipped the last bite into her mouth, dropping the peel on my desk.
“OK, so now we know. You don’t have a banana. Maybe a baby banana. Little itty bitty banana.”
She reached back into her bag and pulled out a ruler.
“I need to take some measurements. First,” she said, “let’s see how bigger you actually are.”
She pressed the ruler to my cock and wrapped her hand around it, pressing it down into the ruler. I squirmed at her touch.
“Wow. Four and a half inches. Hard. You must be so proud,” she giggled.
“I’m not,” I said softly.
“So the first thing you need to do is apologize to me for it,” she said, stepping back and crossing her arms in front of her.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly.
She shook her head. “Not good enough. I want a real apology. I want you to humiliate yourself for me.”
I felt my heart race, finding it hard to breathe.
“I am sorry, Miss. I am sorry for having a little cock. I am sorry I am not more of a real man for you.” I tensed for a moment. “I am sorry I only have a baby banana. I wish it was bigger Miss. I wish I had a full sized Hannah banana.”
She was smiling.
“Much better,” she said. “This is even better than I imagined.”
“Now we need to see how big it is soft,” she said calmly.