Vessels: Intro to Calculus (Jake 3)

I met Heather during my first week at Muller University. I first bumped into her on the stairwell of my dormitory, where her room was two floors above mine. I had been on my way downstairs, when I heard a terrified squeak from behind me, and something warm, soft, and heavy hit me in the back.

“Woah!” I shouted, grabbing the handrails to keep balanced, “watch it!”

Turning around, I saw a girl getting up off the ground. One of her shoes was untied; it looked like she had tripped on the laces. Did I mention she was klutzy?

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” She said, picking herself up off the stairs. She looked sheepish and embarrassed.

“Its alright,” I said, chuckling a little, “are you okay there?”

“Yeah,” she said, “thanks.”

She was a short girl, maybe five foot three, and full bodied, just a pound or two shy of chubby. Her hair was short and glossy black, and her face was round and open.

“So much for making impressions,” she said as she got to her feet, “I thought I’d at least make it downstairs without almost killing someone.”

“Who me?” I said. “Oh, don’t worry. It takes way more than that to kill a badass like me.”

I puffed out my chest. She laughed. Hers was a deep, throaty laugh, one that you can tell is genuine. I liked making her laugh.

“What’s your name?” I asked, helping her up.

“Heather,” she said, “Heather DuCourcey.”

“Cool,” I said, “I’m Jake Ramone.”

As we continued down the stairs, she absentmindedly rubbed her bruised ass with one hand. It would have been hard not to be interested in it under the best of circumstances, but the rubbing made it near impossible. Heather was wide shouldered and wide hipped, with large, globe-shaped buttocks that rippled under her hand. I later learned that she, like most girls, was insecure about her body, and thought that big butts were always a sign of fatness. God do I hate women’s magazines.

We chatted until we got to the ground floor, at which point she went down to the basement laundry room and I left for my first class. We said hi again when we met in the lobby that evening, and discovered that we had Intro to Calculus together the next day. I had made my first new friend at school.

…

Intro to Calculus was taught by Professor Grodvikia, a middle aged Bulgarian woman with a short temper and a poor grasp of English. She stood in front of the whiteboard for an hour, saying things I could barely understand and getting frustrated when anyone asked a question. Being a math person, I was more or less able to follow by reading the book. Heather, who sat a few seats away from me, however, was not a math person. Just two weeks into the semester, I was already helping her with our homework. Not that I minded.

One Tuesday in mid October, I came to Calculus a minute or so late to discover that everyone else was present…except Professor Grodvikia. This was odd. She was usually the embodiment of punctuality, and got annoyed when students were even a few minutes late. I smiled a bit. Maybe she’d stop being so uptight about lateness after this.

Suddenly, the door flew open, and in walked a person who could hardly be less like Professor Grodvikia. A tall, olive-skinned (possibly Persian or Indian) woman, maybe twenty five years old, strode purposefully across the room. The shocking part was what she was wearing; she had a skintight, black leather top cut into a low V-collar at the front, held together at the sides by straps. On her lower body she wore matching black leather short shorts, polished so they sparkled, that looked almost too tight to move in. Finally, a pair of high heeled black boots adorned her petite ankles and feet.

“My name is Miss Flinn,” she said sternly, without a trace of emotion on her face, when she reached the professor’s desk, “I am a Teaching Assistant for Professor Grodvikia. Since the Professor was not able to make it today, I will be teaching this class in her place. You are to regard me as your instructor for this course for as long as I stand in.”

What the…? I hadn’t heard anything about a TA, and even if I had, there was no way in hell the school would let them show up to work dressed like that. I looked around at my classmates. All of them seemed to be in mute shock.

“Understood?”

Her hazel eyes flashed. “Understood,” everyone quickly echoed.

“Um…Miss Flinn?” Someone raised their hand.

“Yes?”

“Um…what’s with the dominatrix stuff?”

She narrowed her eyes. “What ‘dominatrix stuff‘ are you referring to?”

Her eyes bored into the kid dangerously. I was sitting across the room, but I could still tell I’d have trouble thinking straight under that piercing glare. He didn’t answer.

“Any other questions?”

She let her hands rest on her leather-clad hips. She had a slim figure, but an athletic one. Her face had soft features, but her expression and demeanor more than made up for it. Due to the deep V-shape of her black leather color, the inside cleft of her breasts was visible. They were a nice upper medium size, and pear shaped. I couldn’t decide whether this was titillating, or terrifying. Everyone else seemed shocked into silence.

“Excellent,” she said softly when more questions were asked, “now we can begin the class.”

She wrote some formulas on the board, and we began taking notes. She went quickly, and was only slightly more approachable than Professor Grodvikia, but at least her English was fluent. When her back was turned, I glanced over at Heather with a look of utter confusion on my face. She returned the expression.

I turned to the guy sitting next to me. “What the hell?” I whispered.

He shrugged. “Dunno, man,” he said, sounding strangely groggy, “weird shit’s gotta happen sometimes, I guess.”

I stared at him openmouthed for a second, not understanding how he could be so nonchalant. A moment later, I noticed something familiar about that slow tone of voice. I had twice been in that state myself.

I looked back at the lecturing Miss Flinn, wondering if I was truly losing my mind. Should I get up and leave right now? No, what if this is all just me hallucinating? I mean, this is public. Nothing sadomasochistic was going to happen here in a classroom full of students, was it? I grimaced. I sure hoped not. However mixed my feelings about the candy store and hitchhiking incidents were, I did NOT want something of that sort occurring in front of my classmates.

The class dragged on. I made a point of sitting quietly and doing exactly what she outlined on the board. Hopefully, this would all turn out to be paranoia. Or a daydream. Or both.

Half an hour into the class, she put down the marker and ruler she had been using for her diagrams and turned toward the class.

“So,” she said, “can anyone tell how to finish this equation?”

Dead silence. I had a fairly good understanding of how to do the problem, but I was not about to draw attention to myself.

“Hmmm,” she said disapprovingly, “it seems I must pick someone at random.

My heart sank as she started looking. I gritted my teeth, knowing what was about to happen…and was surprised when she never so much as glanced in my direction.

“Girl,” she addressed Heather, “what is your name?”

“Um…my name’s Heather,” she said nervously.

“Excuse me?”

Heather looked up at her, confused and somewhat intimidated.

“Heather,” she repeated.

Miss Flinn’s face darkened.

“Excuse me,” she said slowly, “but how did I say you were to address me?”

“Oh…Miss Flinn. Sorry.”

She paused for a moment. The TA kept glowering.

“I mean…sorry Miss Flinn.”

Miss Flinn’s eyebrows lifted only slightly.

“So,” she asked, “what is the final step in this equation, Heather?”

I wanted to blurt out the answer, but I knew I couldn’t risk that. I found myself wishing for a telepathic link between myself and Heather, so I could feed her the answer, but there was another part of me that was ghoulishly curious. What was going to happen? As I watched Heather stammer and look at her desk, trying her hardest to think, a selfish little creature inside of me wanted to see how this played out. It might have just been curiosity about whether this was connected to my earlier experiences, but in retrospect I think there was more than that.

“Heather, have you been paying attention to a single word I’ve spoken today?”

“Well…yeah…I just…don’t really understand it that well.”

Miss Flinn bit her lip, eyebrows narrowing again.

“Eek! I mean, I don’t understand it Miss Flinn.”

She said it, but it was too late.

“Girl, I am tired of your disrespect!”

Heather cowered in her seat.

“Come here.”

I had no doubts about what was going to happen now. Heather got up and walked bashfully toward the whiteboard. She was wearing blue jeans today, which made the contours of her big ass easy to see. I tried to stand up and do something, but I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to. I felt myself growing hard in my pants. Goddamnit, was I just going to sit there and watch it happen?

Miss Flinn walked in front of the desk and pointed to it.

“Bend over.”

Heather’s eyes grew wide.

“What? Miss Flinn?”

“Bend over the desk, Heather,” she repeated, “you have repeatedly failed to address me properly, and there are consequences to be faced. Do it now.”

With a pleading look around the room for someone to help her (no one reacted), Heather moved very, very slowly toward the desk and lay across it. Her butt stretched under her jeans as she pointed her large backside into the air.

“I am going to spank you thirty times with this ruler,” said Miss Flinn, picking up the wooden ruler she had been using before, “after every stroke, you are to count up out loud. Failure to count a stroke will cause it to be repeated until you comply. When I am finished, you will stand up and thank me for disciplining you. And you will address me with respect.”

Heather cringed. She looked pleadingly back at the rest of the class, looking for someone to speak up and break this surreality. But everyone was paralyzed, in either mute shock or semi-consciousness.

“Yes, Miss Flinn,” she whispered weakly.

Miss Flinn stood to the right of Heather’s vulnerable backside. Lifting the ruler from the desk, she gently, surgically, pushed the wood against Heather’s jeans, positioning it right at the meatiest part of her ass. She stuck her other hand between Heather’s knees, forcing them apart.

She raised the ruler, and brought it whistling down exactly where she had been aiming.

“Ow!”

With a crack that made me wince, the ruler cut into Heather’s buttcheeks, making them bounce. I saw her legs tremble.

“I did not hear you counting!”

She swung it again, a little bit higher.

“Ow…one, Miss Flinn.”

Crack!

“Ow, two, Miss Flinn.”

Crack!

My cock was harder than it had been in months, and starting to get wet at the tip. I felt terrible for enjoying it, but my libido wasn’t listening. Each stroke sent vibrations across Heather’s lovely ass, as did her legs when she kicked in pain.

After ten strokes, Miss Flinn told Heather to get up.

“Take off your blue jeans,” she instructed, “the rest of this spanking is to be conducted in your panties.”

“In my…in my…Miss Flinn…?”

“Indeed,” said the TA, her icy demeanor broken by a smirk, “I want to see your bottom turn red as it is being punished. Take off the pants.”

Heather looked at the class in terror. Everyone in the room was still silent. Most of them almost looked half asleep (some of them were completely asleep).

“Hey,” I addressed the boy next to me again, “hey, shouldn’t we try to do something?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Why don‘t you do it?”

Heather unbuckled her jeans and bashfully pulled them down. When I saw her tiny, white thong and what it was trying unsuccessfully to cover, I almost drooled.

“Young Lady,” said Miss Flinn, “is that a thong?”

Heather’s face was burning bright red. She looked at the floor.

“Yes, Miss Flinn.”

Miss Flinn shook her head, another cruel smile on her harsh, Indian face.

“Such clothing is hardly appropriate for one your age,” said Miss Flinn.

It was all I could do to not burst out laughing. Look who was talking! I covered my mouth with one hand to suppress the chuckles. The other had, without my noticing, slid inside my pants.

“Tell me, would you wear such panties if you were in a skirt?”

“Um…maybe, Miss Flinn.”

“Maybe? And what if your skirt was lifted by the wind, or if you fell down?”

Heather did tend to fall down a lot. It was a valid concern. She didn’t answer.

“Very well,” said Miss Flinn, “the last ten strokes will be administered on the bare.”

Heather moaned and looked ready to tear up.

“Bend back over.”

Heather got back into position. The thong slid deeper between her cheeks as she bent over, covering even less of her butt than it did before. Her round, quivering cheeks were pinkish in the middle, with lines from the ruler visible.

Miss Flinn got back beside Heather, and swung the ruler again. Without the jeans in the way, I could see the wood bite into her flesh. Her ass cheeks clapped together as they bounced and jiggled.

Crack!

“Mmmmmhhh…ahhh…eleven, Miss Flinn.”

Crack!

“Owww-twelve, Miss Flinn-oohh!”

Miss Flinn was like a machine, making each swing exactly like the one before it with perfect timing. As she disciplined Heather’s heaving flesh, new and brighter lines of red appeared across her helpless buns.

Crack!

“Thirteen, Miss Flinn.”

Crack!

“Fourteen, Miss Flinn…eeeeh.”

Crack!

“Fifteen, Miss Flinn.”

Crack!

“Owwwww!…Sixteen, Miss Flinn.”

Her voice got higher and more desperate with each stroke. She began bouncing on the balls of her feet in between spankings. When the ruler connected, she jumped an inch or so off the desk and kicked. Miss Flinn paid no heed. She was merciless.

When she got to twenty, Miss Flinn leaned forward and grabbed the waistband of Heather’s thong. Was it just me, or did the strap look kind of damp? Slowly, she worked the panties down over her butt and let it fall to her ankles with her jeans. Now totally naked from the waist down, Heather trembled in pain and humiliation. Her naked ass was just like I imagined it; full, wide, and chubby, but not at all sagging. The bright red lines across her rump crisscrossed each other, leaving darker intersections where they met. Below this, a tangle of black pubic hair was visible.

The switching resumed just as it had before. At twenty-three, Heather was sniffling. At twenty five, her entire butt was a mess of overlapping red marks, some almost as high as the waist, some just above the thighs, but most of them right on the sit spot, which was just a few shades away from purple. My hand was working frantically under my desk, more precum staining my underwear.

Crack!

“Ow! Ow! Twenty-six Miss Flinn-ow!”

As I looked, I saw something glisten between Heather’s thighs. She was definitely wet. Her short, dark pubic hair was practically dripping.

The last four strokes came without breaking pace. Miss Flinn showed no sign of tiring as she finished dominating Heather’s poor buttocks. Heather was sobbing. Her buns were covered with lines of pink, red, and dark crimson. Her legs continued to twitch a little. On the other hand, the entire insides of her thighs were now glistening wet.

She pushed herself up from the desk, and turned her tearstained face to Miss Flinn.

“Th-thank you, Miss Flinn.”

She reached down, wincing, and gingerly pulled her pants and panties back up. I smiled to myself. I knew exactly what that felt like! I was sorry to see her (clearly open and damp) vagina disappear back under her clothes, but I had seen enough. My hand kept kneading my dripping hard penis, mere moments from climax.

“Class is dismissed,” said Miss Flinn.

Immediately, everyone came back to life and filed out of the room. I quickly pulled my hand out of my crotch.

No one said anything beyond the usual chatter. It was as if no one else remembered what they had just seen. Well…almost no one. Heather was the first to run out the door, both hands itching to rub her butt, but waiting until she was out of sight.

As I stood up, facing a corner to hide my enraged boner, I looked back at the front of the classroom. There was no one there. Miss Flinn was gone.

…

I didn’t see Heather around the campus the next day. I considered knocking on her door, but decided that would just be too awkward. I felt horribly guilty. I ran into another girl from Calculus, and tried desperately to confirm what the hell had happened that day.

“Tuesday’s calc? We did more of chapter three, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, “I was talking more about the…uh…TA?”

She shrugged. “Weird. I thought yesterday was when Grodvikia screamed at us about cosine equations?”

“No, that was last Thursday.”

She thought for a moment. “Not sure. Those classes all kind of run together.”

I tried the same line of questioning with three other of my classmates. No one had any specific memories about Tuesday’s class. Even Professor Grodvikia, next time I got to talk to her, seemed to have an uncharacteristically fuzzy memory.

The next time I ran into Heather was two days later, when I met her on the way to our Thursday Calculus.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey, what’s up?” She returned brightly.

She seemed perfectly normal as we made our way to class, except I noticed her getting nervous as we got close. We entered the room to see Professor Grodvikia standing, as boring as ever, by the whiteboard, writing out today’s assignment. As far as I could tell, nothing strange had ever happened.

But when Heather sat down, she winced.