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“Anyone? No?”
Evelyn takes slow steps around the platform, her cool gaze skimming through the classroom. “Come on, if you can't handle an elementary-grade question, I suggest you join the first-years and retake your modules.”
She crosses her arms. “If none of you can answer a question from your prerequisites, then I will have to require you all to write a three-page essay as to what galvanized steel is usually coated with and why it's important.”
The class groans, and she raises a brow in challenge. “Make that five then,” she hums. More groans. “Laptops and books closed. Use your brains.”
Your eyes dart around, occasionally glancing down at your phone. You cautiously type her question, dragging your thumb around the keyboard. Thank God for the slide typing feature. The page loads, then you internally growl when the results don't show the dropboxes showing direct summaries of the answers you need.
You glance up at your professor. She's pacing around the platform, her gaze on the students with a challenge. It's clear that she refuses to move on from the question.
“Familiarizing yourself with the materials you will be working with is important. I'm sure you all know why already, but I will remind you again since you can't even answer a simple question.”
Simple? Simple? That's easy for her. She's a goddamn professor. She's gotten her doctorates while all of you were still babies. She's written papers and gotten Nobel Prizes before all of you even learned how to count.
You lick your lips nervously, leaning back and glancing down at your phone whenever you see her eyes looking at the students on the other side of the room.
Come on. Come on.
You tap on the search box and add “Quora” at the end of the question. When none of the results have your specific questions, you quickly delete the website’s name and add in “Reddit” instead, hoping that some person from 13 years ago asked the exact question. That's usually the case. The website is a shithole, but you gotta give it to the users there for pouring out their life stories in forums for random strangers around the world to give them their two cents.
r/EngineeringStudents
u/DesignDude69 • 7 yrs
Hey yall so i got this essay due 6 hours from now and i still cant find shit on google and i dont have time to go through the books in the school library. Profs an ass and wont give us an extension so icb im turning to this site for answers 💀💀 im a first year college student and we deadass just started class yesterday. how tf are we supposed to know that????
he asked why galvanized steel is the ideal material for outdoor structures
/EngiBeer09420 • 5 yrs
Galvanized steel is often used for modern steel frame buildings, vehicles, water pipes, nuts, bolts, balconies, ladders, etc. etc. because galvanization is a cheap process. The metal is basically covered in zinc which protects the steel from direct contact with moisture, so it helps prevent rust and corrosion
/DesignDude69 • 5 yrs
Got a C+ on my essay but hey at least i got to pass the class lolol thanks tho 👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻
/Axiom1010101101 • 1 yr
L timing lmaoooo
Zinc. Zinc.
You look around before hesitantly raising your hand. It feels like you’ve given yourself a spotlight. Evelyn’s eyes narrow for a millisecond before she nods at you. She says your last name in a teasing, expectant tone. “Well, then. Looks like someone’s been reviewing their lessons. Do tell us then.”
You straighten yourself up on your seat, clearing your throat before explaining, “Galvanized steel is coated with zinc, which protects it from corrosion and rust. The process for it is cheaper, too, which makes it ideal for outdoor structures. The, uh, the zinc helps prevent… uhm…”
Evelyn’s gaze pierces right through you as she nods over every point you make in your answer.
God, the blue of her eyes are so… so icy. It doesn’t help that she’s giving you her full attention. You catch yourself trailing off for a few seconds, so you divert your eyes to the upper corner of the room, pretending as if you’re going through the folders of prior knowledge in your mind.
“... direct contact from external factors, like water.”
The professor doesn’t immediately respond to you, simply looking at you for a beat longer before the corners of lips curl up into a pleased smile. She turns to the rest of the class. “See? That wasn’t so hard.” She then thanks you, addressing you with your last name again.
The lecture continues on. Everyone resumes taking notes as she writes fast on the chalkboard with her meticulous script. You’ve always liked her handwriting; the small notes on the corner of the papers whenever she’d return your graded essays. One time, you decided to write a little note on the bottom of your exam paper during the last few days before summer break.
Thanks for the mind olympics this year. Have a good summer, Miss Deavor ^_^
You never expected her to actually reply to your short message. You remember looking at the paper for a long while after receiving it from her. You really didn’t think she’d write back.
I’ll keep you on your toes next year as well, don’t worry. Have a fruitful break…
You still wish you could’ve cut that part of your exam and pasted it on your notes, so whenever you find yourself awake during ungodly hours, absorbing your notes while on the brink of giving up, you can find the motivation to continue.
Your answer to her question may not seem like a big deal to everyone (although you're sure that her roast will circulate around the other students), but it means a lot to you. You're getting brownie points! You know it's important to have your professors recognize your face and your last name out of hundreds of students. It'll make things easier for you when you need someone legit to vouch for you when you apply for your dream job.
The clock ticks as Evelyn continues her lecture. You look around, observing the usual atmosphere of a college class filled with students fueled by caffeine, stress, and the flickering will to survive the end of the term. Some are working on their laptops, either taking meticulous notes or casually playing some free flash game to pass the time. The rest look at the board and occasionally write down notes, but you can see the dazed look in their eyes, their minds clearly floating somewhere out in space. A rare few by the corners of the room have long given up, headphones on and hoodies up to block the outside world as they let slumber and exhaustion seep into their system.
Whenever Evelyn is in a pissy mood though, she'd sometimes call them out specifically and have them answer her barrage of questions that would leave them startled and even more confused before realization would eventually dawn upon them. Some may think she's a bitch, but you know she simply has high standards. She and her brother own DevTech! Of course, she expects better, especially when she's technically teaching the future workforce of her company.
When the class ends, you start packing up, carefully sliding your laptop and notebook into your bag. You're met by the sound of familiar bustling as everyone else does the same, already preparing for their next class. You take your sweet time before standing up and moving past her desk, but then feel the thrill of anticipation run down your spine when she utters your name.
“Stay. I'd like to discuss a matter with you regarding your recent performance in class.”
You nod weakly before turning back to your seat. By the door, along with the rest of your classmates, some of your friends wave goodbye before hurrying out. You go through your phone as you wait for some of the other students to finish asking her questions regarding their grades on some previous assessments. It takes a while until the classroom is empty. It feels more spacious with just you and her inside.
You glance at her, wondering what she's going to do as she writes on a few papers. Minutes pass. You can't even be on your phone properly because of the anxiousness taunting you. Is it your grades? Are you behind? Is she going to tell you to work harder since you're barely passing? Oh, god. Are you going to get a failing grade?
The scribbling stops. And so do the incessant thoughts in your brain.
“Come here,” she says, clicking her pen and leaning back on her seat. You don't know what to make of the expression on her face as you make your way to her desk. She sighs when she stands to clean the large whiteboard behind her. “Help me with this.”
You're wondering why she's making you do this, but brush away the thought as you do as you're told, taking the other whiteboard eraser and cleaning away the formulas and charts she wrote during the lecture. You both silently clean the board, but eventually, you do question her. “Why else are you making me stay?”
“Passing time,” she replies, reaching out to the corner of the board and erasing the written parts there. “Figuring out what I should do with you.”
You scoff. “And why is that? I thought we were just going to talk about my performance?” The reply to her lacks the usual professionalism a student would have when conversing with their professor, but… things are different between you two.
“We are.” You can see the corners of her lips curling up. “Do you think I'm stupid?”
“What? No, never.”
She sets the eraser down then smoothes out her skirt, keeping the tense air between you two before leaning back against the desk and crossing her arms. “Then why have you been searching up answers online in the middle of my lectures?”
Oh.
Oh, shit.
“No, I wasn't.” Okay, that sounded kind of convincing, right? “What makes you think–”
“Oh, don't be ridiculous,” she scoffs. “What other reason would there be for you to glance down all the time? To admire the floor?”
You look at her incredulously, feigning shock over such a “false” accusation. She mirrors your gaze with a brow raised in challenge. “Pfft, come on. I pay attention in class! What makes you think I'd find the floor more attractive than you?”
The older woman snorts. “What a save,” she drawls sarcastically then shakes her head in disbelief.
Your mind suddenly brings up the fact that she's been observing you. How? She doesn't usually pace around, but when she does, it's as if a panther is looking for prey to hunt, to question. And she gives you and everyone else the same amount of attention with her gaze. She sees the look on your face, and like a mind reader, rolls her eyes. “Don't feel so special now. The level of observation we, professors, have is only acquired through years of teaching.” When you pout, she chuckles, gesturing for you to come closer. “And you're lucky that the rest of the class doesn't have that experience because this… “ she reaches out and pulls the collar of your shirt to the side, “... is just begging for a scandal.”
Looking down, you see a mix of pink and purple laden with little red dots where a layer of skin has been nearly torn through. She traces the faint outline of the spot, a smirk growing on her lips.
“And who is to blame for that?” you reply.
Rolling her eyes, she shrugs. “Oh, I don't know. Ask the brat who suddenly was so interested in first-year work.”
“I simply wanted to help my favorite professor.”
“Ah, yes. Sitting on my lap and distracting me from paperwork for a quick fuck is certainly help.”
You can't help but smile, your heart skipping a beat over her casual swearing. There's something thrilling about how lax things are between you two that she doesn't mind letting her tongue run loose. It feels like a special privilege.
Heh. Really loose, especially from the way you can still imagine the feeling of her hot mouth nipping and sucking where the purple hues currently bloom on your chest.
“But it did help, didn't it, professor?”
Evelyn gives you a flat look before shaking her head lightly with a huff. She looks down at the paperwork on her desk before pulling back her chair and taking a seat. Running a hand through her hair, she sighs. You can tell that she's internally asking herself what she's gotten herself into with a student. It encourages you to take a step. A part of you wants to remind her just why she got herself into this, and how it's goddamn worth it.
Your hand is gentle on her shoulder when you murmur, “You didn't answer the question.”
“And why must the answer matter? Maybe you can look it up on Quora again.”
“Reddit,” you correct her.
She scoffs then rolls her eyes. “Charming.” You can tell that there's no way she's admitting to enjoying your private moments together. “It appalls me that you had to resort to such means to be able to answer such a basic question.”
“Hey, at least, I did something to answer and gain– no– refresh my knowledge.”
“Maybe I should have you all retake this entire course,” she murmurs.
“Trying to get me to stay longer so you can see me more, hm?”
“Oh, really?” she snorts. “Is that what you think I'm doing? Keeping you here, not for the sake of your future, but to indulge some of my needs?” Her hand reaches up, toying with the end of your uniform’s tie before yanking you down. You nearly choke, but that doesn't matter, especially with the sudden motion causing the flames in your core to grow brighter. She leans in closer and continues quietly, “Do you really think I'm someone who easily gives in to their baser instincts?” With a quiet chuckle, she shakes her head, “No, darling…” Your pupils dilate when she pulls you closer, your faces just dangerously inches apart. You can't help but swallow thickly when she whispers, “I've played this game longer than you.”
For a moment, you find yourself stunned, somehow feeling cornered despite being the one standing and leaning over– certainly proof of her time on the field. You lick your lips nervously, the motion drawing her gaze and painting a smirk on her lips. Cheeky woman.
You clear your throat, mentally scolding yourself for being caught off guard. “Perhaps, you can educate me then. Nothing can be more noble than teaching, right? After all, you're… very good at it.”
Over the last sentence, Evelyn raises a brow at you in a way that screams: Are you serious?
“Trying to butter me up, are you?” She leans back against her seat and absentmindedly fiddles with a pen on her desk as she observes you. It's almost strange how her unassuming gaze can somehow still manage to have you on your toes. Perhaps, it's her laidback nature around you that always makes her next move completely unpredictable. She has a knack for inspecting everything with a keen eye while keeping up the calm façade. “Flattery will get you… somewhere, I suppose,” she chuckles. “Alright, then. Let me teach you a thing or two.”
That was… surprisingly easy.
“Okay, soo… how do you want to star– hey!“
You nearly choke when you feel another harsh tug on your tie. “Take a seat,” she flashes you a disturbingly sweet smile. Certainly not a good sign given the circumstances. You catch yourself on the edge of the seat before sitting properly on her lap. As you shift, you feel her firmly setting her leg between your thighs with intention. You hope she can't feel how progressively warm you're getting. You can't help but squirm as she slides her chair forward. She goes through the documents stacked on her desk then sighs. For a moment, she thinks to herself then slides them towards you. “Put these in order, will you? Some idiot didn't bother organizing them after printing. Did they expect me to review that from the last to the first page?” She waves dismissively at the stack. With a huff, she leans down, opens one of the desk drawers, then hands you a staple remover.
You take it hesitantly then set it aside as you go through the documents. What the hell is this game? What is she playing at? The light and warm feeling of her hand on your waist causes your body to tense. How does she expect you to work properly like this? You glance to the side and see her going through essays and marking them as if there's nothing going on. Doesn't she feel it? The heat beginning to simmer between your legs? The way you're squirming over the gentle motions her hand would make on your waist?
It feels kind of embarrassing, like you're some sort of accessory for her to play with. And it's even more frustrating because you've been in more compromising positions with her before. This is just toeing the line.
You swallow thickly as you go through the documents, the sound of rustling paper and the occasional scribble of her pen– no doubt, to write a scathing comment on a student's essay– filling the room. It's getting harder for you to focus. Unlike in class, you had the option to look elsewhere, to channel your focus on some other menial task. But this? This is different. Very fucking different. You have nowhere else to go. She's got you trapped here on her lap, caressing you and squeezing you like her personal stress toy.
Toy.
Goodness, does that sound enticing…
Wait, what?
You blink back to reality and double-check the papers to make sure they're in the right order, but you can't fight the urge to squirm.
“Is something bothering you?” Evelyn asks casually, feigning innocence as her hand squeezes your hip.
It takes you a while to reply. “Well, when you said you were going to teach me a thing or two, I thought, like… telling me how or sending me a book recommendation… something like that.”
You feel Evelyn's body shift when she scoffs over your answer. “Really? You think some words can teach you how to handle something like this?” She shakes her head with an amused scoff, her hand giving you a squeeze out of fond pitiness. “No, darling. This is why I give assessments that require a hands-on approach, and they won't be any different from the projects you've been working on in my class.”
“Except… I don't get any extra credit,” you mumble.
“It'll be all the same,” she whispers, nuzzling the nape of your neck. “You'll be on the other end of my guidance and observation...” She lifts her arm to take a look at her watch. “... and timed before the next class starts.”
“But–”
“And something tells me…” the hand on your hip gently untucks your blouse from the waistband of your skirt, “... you won't mind this type of lesson, anyway.” Her touch slithers upward, slipping into your brasserie to cup your breast. “Am I right or… am I right?”
You feel her smile against your neck when you toss your head back, letting out a needy huff. You feel like such a simple creature around her when she has you like this. You're no longer a student capable of critical thinking. Your mind, usually filled with equations and solutions for her lessons, is flooded with a viscous overflow of something more primal. It's a heady feeling, not having to think– only feel.
“Ah…”
The cool hand on your breast squeezes, her thumb gently circling your areola before the soothing sensation grows suddenly harsh when she pinches your nipple.
“I don't hear an answer,” she taunts, her voice dropping an octave lower.
You whimper pathetically in reply.
Words. Find them. Find them before she–
“What? That smart mouth has nothing to say all of a sudden?” Her words are followed by a sharp, punishing twist on your nipple.
Your back arches automatically. “Professor– ah–”
You let out another whine, your brain too overwhelmed to come up with a rebuttal. That gives Evelyn another reason to push. Because that's what good professors do. They push. They move you until you find your limit, until you find the line you need to work on to expand.
Her impatient huff brushes against the back of your neck, sending a delicious tremble down your spine. The delightful pain on your nipple is released when that frustratingly skilled hand leaves to reacquaint itself to where she knows it's most needed.
There is a brief gentleness when you feel her fingers stroke your slit through your panties, as if to savor the sensation and note every detail to memory.
“Can't even answer a simple question whenever I have my hands on you,” Evelyn muses, slipping her fingers smoothly under the soaked fabric. She hums appreciatively when she feels your slick essence coat her fingertips immediately. “You have the makings of a good little slut… but you have to answer me first if you really want my fingers in that sweet cunt.”
Her fingers gently glide over the hood of your swollen clit, and you let out a groan. “Y-Yes,” you swallow thickly, shifting on her lap, “you're right. I certainly won't mind. Y-You're right. Always right.”
God, her touch. The amount of control she easily has on you is dangerous. You can be persuaded to confess to a crime you never even committed. That's how firm her hold is on you and your mind.
“Good girl,” she coos as she rewards your clit, firmly circling the bud with the pad of her thumb. “I'm glad that pretty head can still come up with the correct answers.” Her tongue traces the shell of your ear. “I've trained you well, pet.”
You nod eagerly without realizing it, just the way a well-trained pet would. “Yes. Yes, you did.”
The lips against your ear trail up to press a gentle kiss on your temple. “Mhm… and like all good pets, I'm sure you can sit still and stay.”
Replacing her thumb with her index and ring finger, she continues rubbing your clit, but in a gentler motion that's easier for you to tolerate. They move in a teasing, hypnotic rhythm, not too much, but also not enough.
“Will you disappoint me?” comes the innocent question.
You shake your head. “No…”
“Good. Now, don't forget those documents.”
As she touches you, she reaches for the other stack of papers on her desk and begins to skim through them, occasionally jotting down annotations by the corners of the pages. Is she… Is she seriously grading right now?
You try to shift your focus away from the hand between your legs. You try to focus on rearranging the documents in front of you, on the sound of her pen scratching against paper as she corrects a wrong equation, on the solidity of the ground under your feet. Each breath that enters and leaves you is counted.
Her fingers slip in at some point, and the papers crinkle in your tightened grasp. You bite down your moans and continue your little task with extreme care while she easily moves from exam to exam. It's infuriating how she can easily multi-task while you can barely focus on something so simple. It's a reminder of the vast differences you both have in experience and in power, and how absolutely intoxicating it is.
She lets out an amused hum, and you're not sure if it's because of the boring essay she's reading, or if it's the embarrassing amount of wetness she's finding as her fingers go knuckles deep. They suddenly curl, and you feel your body hunch over instinctively as you try your very best not to buck your hips, to reciprocate their inviting motions.
Your hands tremble. Just a few more papers. You're almost done. Then you can finally have your reward. Then you can finally ride those infuriating fingers while grinding against her thigh. She can continue grading those exams for all you care. You just need the release.
With each curl and pull, fingertips pressing repeatedly against the spot that makes your back arch, you shift your legs impatiently. You're so close, so deliciously close. You can practically taste it. You can already imagine the explosion of pleasure, the symphony of euphoria.
“F-Fuck… Evelyn–”
But then it stops.
The impending release halts, much to your body's impatience. How dare she! Just when you've finished sorting the papers, too! Your arousal screams and cries out desperately for more, for her touch to come back, for those long fingers to make you come like the previous trysts you've had together.
But, no.
Instead, Evelyn pulls her hand away.
“As much as I'd love to have you cumming on my lap, you'll end up staining my pants, darling,” she says quietly. “And we can't have that when my next lecture starts in five minutes, can we?”
Irritation. Hurt. Anger. You feel them all boil unexpectedly in your chest and your stomach, but the desperation between your legs wins. It triumphs over your dignity and pride.
“Evelyn, please–”
“Temper, temper,” she tuts, raising her hand to her lips, licking them clean. The sight makes you throb, makes you clench around nothing, which adds to your desperation to have the emptiness be dealt with.
“Finish what you started!” you whine, setting down the papers with a loud thud. “You can't just stop. The bell hasn't even–”
The universe hears your troubles and decides to double them by ringing the school bell for the next class. The noise pierces your ears, and is loud enough to douse half of the remaining heat in you. Fate is playing with you today.
The maddening woman merely chuckles, pausing from her work to rest both her hands on your hips and guiding you to stand up. “Thanks for the help by the way,” she nods at the stack you miraculously managed to rearrange. “Maybe I should give you some extra credit.”
“Real charming,” you huff before groaning. “How am I supposed to deal with this on my own?” You adjust your skirt, pressing your thighs together in hopes of relieving some pressure, yet you still feel empty. “I don't want to wait all day until your next classes end.”
Evelyn nods as if to sympathize with you before leaning back and giving you an exaggerated shrug. “Hm, well… why don't you search it up on Reddit?” Her voice practically drips with sarcasm.
Your eye must be twitching when you register the audacity of her reply. How– how dare she! The nerve of her! You try to come up with a retort, but fall short. You feel like a damn fish with your mouth gaping. “You… you…”
Smartass? Insufferable woman? Cheeky old vixen?
She gives your ass a fond pat, urging you to go just before the door to the lecture room is pulled open by the first oncoming student for the next class. Your glare is met with a teasing smile.
“Dismissed.”