Page 37 of Dean's Delinquent

Pulling out my phone, I look through the notes from my advisor, looking for something, anything, that can explain this in a calm, rational way. As much as I wish there is something to latch onto, it’s just not there. Besides, it’s not as if I’ve been really pushing the dean’s buttons all that much.

As of right now, there’s some kickback over my Greek Rush article, as well as yet another stern text telling me to leave Chi Sigma Delta alone, but nothing else. What does he want me to do? When I’m ‘bad,’ he takes me over his desk and gives me the sternest paddling of my life.

Then, to top it all off, he canes me, forcing sensations I didn’t even know was possible fluttering through my body. Now nothing? I suppose something deep down hoped if I was actually good, he’d take me back into his office and congratulate me another way, a far more intimate way.

That’s just insanity, though. He must not feel the things for me I feel for him. It would explain all of it. That or... Pulling my laptop back up, I go into my search engine and type out a single query.

Is it illegal to have sex with the dean of your university?

Almost instantly, search results populate, each more heart wrenching than the first. Even if it’s not outright illegal in some states, it’s practically forbidden on all campuses.

Forbidden.

Fuck. As if I needed help in making this worse. Even as I mull that word over in my mind again, my insistent clit pulses at the very idea of being back at his mercy. Trapped in his clutches.

Maybe next time, I won’t wear any panties at all. I know the thong leaves very little to the imagination, but I could always just ‘forget’ them. Right? Would he still resist me then?

Shit. This is pure insanity. How many nights have I fallen to sleep after getting off to the very idea of him fucking me over the desk as my ass throbs from what he just punished me with? How many times have I raced away from class just to stroke myself to the very image of him rolling up his sleeves like the imposing disciplinarian he is?

The psychiatrist may have thought he was helping, but he did the very opposite. By giving me exactly what to search for, he armed me with knowledge I never had before. Unfortunately, it’s enough to make my thoughts dangerous but not enough to actually give me what I crave—hands on experience.

Glancing over at the worn, crumpled sheet of paper I received a few weeks ago, heat infuses my face. Enough. I need answers, and right now, only one person can give them to me.

Something must have changed, and only one variable massively shifted. The know-it-all psychiatrist. He had to have said something, done something. Why else wouldn’t the dean drag me to his office for every little provocation as he did before? How else, unless he somehow found out about my predilections?

Dragging on a light coat, I slip out into the chill to make my way toward Doctor Andrew’s. I don’t have an appointment, but maybe he’ll still see me for a moment. Even as I drive down toward his office, I question the sanity of my actions.

He’s going to think I’m crazy and try to commit me. I’m sure of it.

The trees whip past my window just as fast as the tizzy spinning in my head. By the time I make it to his office on campus, my pulse races as so many thoughts and worries fly through at breakneck speed. I need some answers. Something. Anything.

Flying into the front office, the poor girl sitting at the window jumps and puts her hand over her heart as her chest heaves with every breath.

“So sorry. I wasn’t trying to scare you. Is Doctor Andrew available for a moment? I need to ask him a question.”

“You just missed him. He should be heading to an appointment-“

Her words sound like a soft drone to my ears as I stumble back into the chill. What am I going to do? I wasn’t even planning on coming out here, but to leave with nothing?

Just as I’m about to slip back into my car, a small noise catches my attention. From the back of the office, Doctor Andrew steps out onto the asphalt and heads to his car. Every inch of his demeanor is ramrod, as if he has somewhere important to be. Great. Now I’ll just be pissing him off on top of everything else.

“Doctor Andrew?”

His head whips around as his gaze seeks me out. At least he doesn’t seem hostile. “Can this wait? I have somewhere important to be and must prepare.”

“It’s really quick. I promise.” Desperation claws at my insides as I keep walking toward him.

His heavy sigh punctuates the silence as he looks up at the sky then down at his watch. “You have five minutes.”

“I’ll only take two or so. Did you tell the dean about what we talked about?”

“You doubt my word? I am bound by client-patient confidentiality. I would never tell him anything you said.”

“Yes,” I press as my brain thinks of every loophole I can possibly find in his words. “I understand that you didn’t repeat anything or quote me, but did you convey the nature of our meeting to him in any way?”

For a moment, an odd expression flashes across his face. Could it be admiration? Such an odd reaction.

“He asked me if all was okay. I assured him you were well and that I cannot say anything more.”

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