Secret Mascot

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Though we were both in the psych program, Dani was two years ahead of me. Therefore we shared only two classes, and in different departments.

It is a woeful fact of our educational system that most students arrive at college (or jobs) having learned little in high school, and thus must then catch up on things they should already know, like basic math and grammar. I was luckily an exception to this, and being spared the remedial work I was able to join the upper classmen right away in the statistics and composition courses required. Naturally I contrived to sit near Dani in these, where she couldn’t fail to notice that I existed. Even better was the fact that the psych department featured a lounge and study area where the students could socialize and seek help on assignments from one another. Unfortunately, the students tended to self-segregate by race, so it was difficult for me to mingle with Dani’s crowd and allow her to get to know me. But at least I was privy to department gossip, free to share observations with the other freshman and discreetly listen in on the conversations of my elders. Gradually I got to know her a little bit, if only obliquely.

As I indicated Dani was the very definition of vivacious. Lively and outgoing, she tended to dominate every gathering. Her laughter and chatter carried all over the lounge, indeed discretion was not required to eavesdrop on her. I was gratified to find that aside from a few exceptions she didn’t talk ‘lazy’ or slip into the dialect of urban blacks she was surely raised around. Clearly she understood the employment detriment the inability to use proper English would present in the wider world. In any case, she was as easy to understand in the classroom and lounge as she was on the soccer field. And through all my quiet observation I still heard no hint of a steady boyfriend or even any talk about casual dating from her.

Eventually of course, I heard speculation that she was gay. But as these rumors tended to circulate among crass or similarly infatuated guys like me I dismissed them. I wanted her desperately; therefore she could not be a lesbian. I refused to even entertain the possibility. Clearly she just hadn’t met the right guy yet, who was of course destined to be me.

Unwilling or simply unable to resort to the simple expedient of asking her out, I continued to haunt Dani around campus. Once again I was a fixture at all her soccer games, and even took in team practices when I could get away with it. I was an unobtrusive but constant presence in the background of her life, simultaneously exalted and tormented by her proximity and unattainability. How long this might have fruitlessly gone on is anyone’s guess. But then I learned of a departmental tutoring program.

This was of course designed to match struggling underclassmen with older students in need of cash. For a modest fee the latter could arrange more formal one-on-one sessions to help the former through courses they’d already completed. To my delight I saw Dani’s name on the list of available tutors. Immediately, I deliberately tanked a couple of tests, and with a bit of adroit maneuvering managed to secure her services for an hour twice a week: Tuesdays during a free period we shared in the afternoon and Thursday evenings from eight-thirty to nine-thirty. Both sessions would take place in an empty classroom designated for that purpose, where we would have undisturbed privacy.

Right away Dani proved a hard taskmaster. While stingy in her praise when I proved quick on the uptake, she was impatient and increasingly contemptuous when I failed to answer questions correctly or struggled to grasp basic concepts. For my part I was meek, eager to please and ever more enthralled by her. Being in intimate proximity with her and getting to interact even on this quasi-professional basis not only thrilled me but wonderfully fueled my daily m**********n fantasies. I found myself imagining her bringing her teaching techniques to the bedroom while I shamelessly played with myself.

“What’s the best way to satisfy a woman during oral s*x?”

In my fevered imagination we were both naked, and I was kneeling on the hard tile floor before her while she sat in judgment above me in a simple classroom chair. She was holding the slim wooden pointer she often used to indicate items on the blackboard or wall charts, or to emphasize her gestures, and was toying with it significantly. She was slouched a bit, her unbelievably muscular thighs spread wide, exposing her v****a to me.

“Find and stimulate the c******s, Miss Reilly.”

“Correct. You may pump your p***s ten times.”

This I did in both fantasy and reality. My instruction continued.

“And what is the c******s?”

“It’s a small organ of exquisite sensation just above the v****a, ma’am. It has the most nerve endings of any spot on the female body.”

“Correct again. It is also the phylogenic remnant of the p***s, which is lost in fetal development. Take another ten strokes – carefully measured ones. You are not permitted to climax until I’m completely satisfied.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Groaning at the stress of withholding, I stroked my insanely demanding hard-on slowly up and down. When I timidly used my other hand to gently palpate my balls, Miss Reilly immediately used her pointer to give the side of my buttock a stinging swat.

“Stop that boy! I gave you no permission to touch yourself outside of gently pumping the shaft of your penis.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Apology accepted – provisionally. Now, maintaining your grip on your p***s but without pumping it, lean forward and locate my c******s. You are to touch my body with nothing but the tip of your tongue.”

“Yes, Miss Reilly. Thank you so much!”

I leaned forward and tentatively explored her. According to popular culture many men have difficulty locating this particular locus of pleasure. Since my s****l experience is still nil I imagined it took me several minutes and several more painful swats of the pointer before I was rewarded with the gasps and moans signifying success.

“Ah! Ohhh, yes, well done, boy. Now provide me with unlimited oral ecstasy. You may resume slowly stroking your p***s while you do so. But you will have no orgasm until I experience at least three of my own…”

Lying on my disheveled four-poster bed I pictured Dani writhing in s****l excess as I serviced her, deliberately timing the pace of my m**********n to her imagined cries. Again and again she corrected me with blows of her pointer, something she’d never really done, of course, but which for some reason featured ever more prominently in my fantasies. Finally, when I could restrain myself no longer I had her grant me the permission I craved.

“Very well, boy. Kneel there before me and jerk yourself off, worshipfully studying my body the entire time. Next week we will teach you to put that p***s to proper use satisfying me. You have been a virgin for far too long.”

“Thank you, Miss Reilly!” I gasped again to the empty room. Then avidly devouring her signed photo with my eyes I beat myself to a convulsive climax, panting and moaning and finally crying out much as I’d fantasized her doing.

Of course, no such scenes had actually taken place between us, nor anything remotely similar – yet. And truly they might never have. But about a month into our association circumstances somehow conspired to push our already decidedly asymmetrical relationship to its first level of true if limited reciprocal gratification. In the process the door was opened on the exalting, madly exciting and fulfilling if wildly perverse intimacy that still captivates us both.

In our classes together I noticed that Dani still struggled with math and writing, though her mastery of the subjects she was helping me with was total. During one evening session, when her usual chastisement of me finally took on an inexplicably thrilling physical dimension, I rather incidentally made the proposal that I return the favor of her academic assistance.

We were working on techniques of behavior modification: their definitions, nature, and the respective advantages and drawbacks of each. Dani was testing my comprehension of the topics we’d just finished covering. As usual she did this without bothering to use my given name. Just as in the fantasies she inspired in me, she nearly always addressed me simply as ‘boy’.

There was a certain smirking superiority to this, born no doubt of a combination of her status as both upperclassman and sports star, her greater knowledge of psychology and the authority invested in her as my educator, and of course by her inescapable awareness of the humbly fawning puppy-love and obvious physical desire I harbored for her. In addition, there was the meekness and even servility of my manner confronted with her manifest superiority, as well as a subtle element of racial revenge. After all ‘boy’ was the anonymously condescending and even contemptuous epithet whites have directed at blacks going back to the days of slavery. In any case, standing over me as I sat at a desk in front of her, holding that pointer with a deceptive casualness, Dani (or Miss Reilly as I often felt compelled to address her) this time employed that term with a certain cruel amusement glinting in her gaze.

“Okay, boy, summarize for me what you know about the three techniques.”

Unable to hold that smirking gaze, and knowing better than to stare at those pneumatically protuberant breasts right in front of me, I focused my attention on that pointer held crosswise before her tiny waist and on the wildly arousing flare of the extravagantly muscled haunches just below. Nervously I cleared my throat and began to recite.

“The three techniques of behavior modification are derived from Skinner’s tenets of operant conditioning. The first is positive reinforcement, where a desired behavior is elicited or strengthened by rewarding the subject with something he wants. In negative reinforcement you discourage or eliminate an undesirable behavior by denying the subject something he wants. The last technique is punishment, whereby the subject receives a consequence he doesn’t want in response to the undesirable behavior.”

“That is acceptable. Now give examples of each technique.”

“Say you wish a child to do his homework. You could encourage this behavior by giving him a quarter or a treat when he’s finished. If he fails to do his homework, you could negatively reinforce this behavior by withholding privileges, like watching TV or playing video games. Or you could punish the behavior by spanking him.”

“Those examples are ridiculously trite, boy. Come up with something different. Apply the definitions to something in your own life; say something between you and me.”

I swallowed hard at this, watching Dani slide that pointer restlessly (and somewhat suggestively) back and forth between her fingers. Immediately, I flashed back to those fantasies of orally servicing her, but of course there was no way I could bring something like that up. I wracked my brain, but those images of her allowing me to pump myself, withholding permission for me to come and swatting my butt were so compelling as to drive everything else out. Finally, losing patience and perhaps intending to supply inspiration or provide an example, Dani suddenly reached swiftly out with that pointer and rapped me sharply on the knuckles.

“Well, boy? Do you need some behavior modification of your own? Let’s hear it!”

In desperation, I at last seized on the still uncomfortably suggestive example of the behavior I was deliberately suppressing in myself.

“Well…let’s say I was generally manner-less and crude, and was in the habit of openly staring at your breasts. You want to change this behavior in me. You could positively reinforce its opposite by being particularly nice to me when I desist. Simultaneously, you could use negative reinforcement by withholding all interaction or even notice of me when I persist in this rude and insulting behavior.”

“All right, what if in addition to being crude and ill-mannered you are a typically insensitive and impervious male clod, and neither of these relative subtleties has any effect?”

“In that case you could punish the behavior by publicly shaming or even slapping me.”

“And well I might!” Dani declared zealously. “Okay then, let’s move on to the question of effectiveness. I want to know which of these techniques might work the best. I must confess, I’ve never particularly noticed you staring at my breasts – though you do seem to have an inordinate interest in my legs. So why is it that you never openly stare at my breasts? I assume you find them attractive?”

“Very much so, ma’am!” As you can imagine, by this point I was staring embarrassed at the floor.

“Then why don’t you stare at them?”

“Because I don’t want to offend you. I don’t want to sacrifice your good opinion of me, if you have one. That’s negative reinforcement. And as long as I don’t, there is still the possibility you might go out with or even sleep with me someday, whereupon I might be allowed to ogle you all I wish. I suppose that’s positive reinforcement of a kind.”

“Indeed!” I could hear barely suppressed mirth in Dani’s voice, but was still too mortified to look up and try to interpret it.

“How about punishment? Aren’t you afraid I might slap your face, or maybe even pull down your pants and thrash your bare ass with my pointer stick here?”

“No ma’am.”

“So punishment, the technique I suggested might be most effective, is actually the least. Why do you think that is?”

Instead of offering the even more mortifying truth, I stuck to the book’s explanation.

“Expert opinion is unanimous that punishment, and even negative reinforcement will never elicit more than an unwilling or minimal effort to change behavior. Only positive reinforcement will inspire people to give extra, voluntary, enthusiastic effort. And punishment creates resentment, which can be even more counterproductive.”

“I see. So you would resent me if I pulled down your pants and thrashed your naked ass?”

Dani was actually giggling at this – or at the sight of my discomfiture. Squirming and blushing (and feeling the unconscionable throb of a hard-on) at this suggestive interrogation and its uncomfortable echoes of my daily m**********n fantasies, I found myself forced to produce the truth at last.

“No, ma’am. Anyone else, I would. But I couldn’t resent you for any reason. And in your case, I don’t even think that would qualify as a punishment. That would probably fall into the category of sexually exciting reward.”

Dani laughed aloud at that, and even clapped her hands. Still I couldn’t bring myself to look up at her. Brimming with relish, she continued to press ahead.

“Okay then, let’s turn the inquiry that way. Say I take a fancy to beating your naked ass once in a while. How do you positively reinforce this desired behavior?”

Daring to hope Dani might actually be convinced to carry through on this – not quite my fantasy but close enough for a start by God – I searched frantically for a tempting enough bribe. Then her continuing troubles in the two classes we shared occurred to me.

“I imagine I would reward you with some tutoring of my own. I would proofread all your papers for you, and take as long as necessary to help you through any problems you were having in statistics. And I wouldn’t have to charge you like other tutors because I have no need of money. And, of course, because getting to spend any amount of time with Miss Dani Reilly is always its own reward.”

Once again Dani clapped to herself and laughed, laughed, laughed.

“Good boy! You keep coming up with all the right answers tonight! And look: our hour of study is just about up. Tell me, boy: are you free tomorrow night? I know it’s Friday and all, but can you find some space on your crowded social calendar on short notice?”

Gawping with disbelief, I at last managed to look up at Dani’s dark-skinned little face. Her big dark eyes were glittering with excitement, and teeth flashed whitely in a wide dimpled grin that could only be called sadistic. I swallowed hard and burst forth in a verbal ejaculation.

“Of course I can!”

“Good – come to my dorm room at eight o’clock. I’m in three-three-seven Marycrest.”

With that Dani turned, gathered up her books and stuff and left without another word. As stunned and elated as I was, I couldn’t fail to notice that she took the room’s meter-long pointer with her, rather than leave it on the chalk tray where it belonged.