PhD in Lust, part 1

Ada's PhD advisor is a renowned researcher with a history of being ruthless with his doctoral candidates' dissertations. But Ada admires his dedication and his other "less-scholarly" features...

It’s the third Saturday in September and so here’s our third education themed short! However, there won’t be a fourth short because this one ended up being quite long and so I’m splitting it over two Saturdays.

Quick content warning though, there is sexual assault (unwanted touching) that is committed by a character that is not the love interest. Please read with care ❤️

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I pace in his office, casting wary glances his way as he reviews the methodology in my dissertation for what has to be the hundredth time.

This time when I look over, he pierces me with a stern gaze that’s telling me to either sit down or pace in the hallway.

My body freezes up and my face drains of color. I take one stiff side step toward the chair in front of his desk and sit down, my back rigid and my hands firmly planted in my lap.

His eyes narrow in a glare that says he would have preferred I went to the hallway, but then he goes back to reading through my recent edits. If I can just get him to approve the content of my paper, I can focus on polishing it—working on things like spelling, grammar, clarity, breaking up paragraphs, and so on. But I’ve been hammering out the wording for the meat of the research for months with him.

To be fair, I totally put this on myself.

Dr. Nathan Hamilton is well known for his rigid approach to research. It’s what makes him the king of grant money on campus and has earned him tenure despite being far from a good professor. There are no gaps in his methodology, no wishy washy interpretations of the data. It’s all done with surgical precision and supported by cold hard facts.

It’s why he’s been published more times than any other professor in the entire state.

And I want that. My research isn’t just for accolades, it’s personal and I will make sure I’m heard so I can revolutionize how we treat Alzheimer’s.

Which is why I approached Dr. Hamilton—a professor no other doctoral student wants to touch with a 10 foot pole—to be my advisor.

As I wait, I try to not look at his eyes. Which is hard to do, not just because I want to gauge his feelings about my paper, but also because they’re a deep blue outlined by long, dark lashes. There’s just something in watching how they move from side to side as he’s reading that I find captivating.

So I try focusing on something else instead. Like his dirty blond hair that is swept back with a bit of product, though some of it has fallen loose and tickles the tops of his handsome cheekbones. Or maybe I’ll look at the way his 5 o’clock shadow traces his strong jawline and surrounds his gentle lips—well gentle when he’s not annoyed by a student.

As I try to decide if I’d call his lips more of a dark pink or a warm rose color, I notice the faintest of twitches at the corner of his mouth. I look up and find he’s looking right back at me.

“Done, Dr. Hamilton?” I ask, ignoring the blush at the top of my cheeks. There’s no way he didn’t notice my scrutinization of his soft lips.

“Yes.”

His answer is firm and I can feel the lump of nerves in my throat, which I attempt to swallow down. However, one it reaches my stomach, my anxiety proceeds to tie everything up into knots.

He must be a sadist because he lets me sit there stewing in my pain instead of just telling me his thoughts.

“And what did you think?” I ask, finally finding my voice again.

“I think,” he pauses with a sigh, “that you’re ready to start polishing your dissertation paper.”

“Really?” I gasp, moving to the edge of my chair, my whole body tightening with the need to spring up and scream.

“Yes, really. You finally untangled the issues I’ve been concerned about. It’s clear what your goal was and all the steps you took to ensure your research was clinically sound.”

I sit still, waiting for the inevitable "but…”, however he just watches me in silence with his attentive blue eyes.

“I can’t believe it,” I say, annoyed with the tears welling in my eyes.

This man has put me through hell getting the content and structure just the way he wants it. It feels like a great big weight has been lifted from my shoulders and I’m able to stand to my full height. My fingers cover my mouth as I gape with glee. My body bounces with the need to dance, but I feel my level of excitement has already exceeded Dr. Hamilton’s threshold for emotional expression.

Still, I can’t keep my feet from carrying me over to his side of the desk and snatching one of his hands in both of mine.

“What are you doing?” he asks with wary hesitation.

“Thank you! Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Dr. Hamilton.” I squeeze his hand between mine, pulling it closer to my chest, which causes his desk chair to roll toward me by a couple of inches.

“Ms. Caplin, you know you’re not done your dissertation paper, right?”

He looks up at me with an arched brow and what might be actual concern on his face. I’ve somehow stumped a man that acts like he knows everything and that just makes me more delirious with excitement.

“I know, I know,” I say with a chuckle, releasing his hand to find my palms sweaty with the heat that built up between us. “I’m just so relieved and grateful and excited that this part’s done. I never thought I’d dig my way out of your feedback. Now I could kiss you, I’m so over the moon about finally finishing the bulk of the paper.”

The color seems to drain from his face, but I’m not going to take back what I said. Fuck, I’d probably ride him like a cowgirl if it wouldn’t be horribly inappropriate. I step away and collect my things.

“Anyway, I’ve got to tell all my lab mates I’m finally in the polish phase.” Then I grin like an idiot because I’m allowed to be one after overusing my brain for months on end. “It’s time to celebrate!”

“Celebrate? Your paper isn’t done.”

He rises from his chair as I head for the door.

“It’s a step closer to being done though and, honestly, we don’t need much of a reason to go out to the Beaker Brewery.”

“Ms. Chaplin, as both your advisor and mentor, I would caution against going out and drinking yourself into a coma.”

“Because alcohol kills brain cells?” I ask with a snort as I grab the handle.

“No because you’re going to let your guard down and then someone will…”

He doesn’t quite finish and since I’m already feeling a little drunk on my euphoria, I stupidly step into his space as if I’m challenging him to a duel.

“Someone will what? Are you concerned about my wellbeing, Dr. Hamilton?”

My voice is more coy than I intended and I bite my lip to keep myself from giggling like a fool. I’m more burnt out from this than I thought I was. The cortisol that has been flooding my body for months has drained from my system and only emptiness remains.

“I’m just looking out for my best student,” he growls.

“Don’t worry, I’m your best student because I’m smart. See you on Monday, Dr. Hamilton.”

I step out of the office and pull out my phone, sending out a group chat to all the other PhD and grad students who share the lab with me. It’s an all call to the local bar a couple of blocks from our lab.

Usually, I’m in sneakers, jeans, and whatever will feel comfortable under a lab coat. But since tonight is a celebration, I’m gonna look cute as fuck.

I go home and put on a pair of white knee high socks with my black velvet Mary Jane’s. Above that is a navy blue ruffle skirt that I pull a bit higher on my waist so instead of stopping at the knee, it’s more like mid-thigh. Then I tuck a white frilly blouse into my skirt before finishing it off with a black velvet choker.

I apply a light layer of makeup with a bit of red on my lips and a smoky eye. My long mahogany curls I pin up in an elegant ponytail, though a few unruly strands still manage to escape and curtain my face.

When I walk into the bar, I am met with a cheer.

“Hail, Ada, slayer of Dr. Hamilton!” calls out Fisher, one of the more extroverted members of our cohort.

“Haha,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “I still have to polish it, the paper hasn’t been vanquished yet.”

I step up to the counter where most of the group congregates, with many spilling over to a couple of booths across from the bar.

“Hey, you called us out here to celebrate so we’re celebrating,” says Fisher, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and giving me a quick squeeze, though he doesn’t remove his arm afterwards. “You are one of the brave few to face that cranky codger and somehow you’ve survived the worst of it.”

“He’s not a codger,” I snort, looking over at him so he can see my eye roll, but then I realize just how close he is. So instead I clear my throat and try focusing on placing a drink order. “Hi, can I have the Blue Beaker martini?”

“She’s on my tab,” says Fisher before I can hand over my card. “And get her a real drink to go along with that one—two shots of Jim Beam, one for me, one for her.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“We’re celebrating you,” he says squeezing me again, this time pulling me in toward him a little as he does. “I don’t mind paying for your drinks.”

Apparently it’s beyond him that I was actually offended by how he insulted my drink preferences. But fuck it, if he wants to pay then I’m racking up the bill.

Unfortunately, when I’m not paying, I’m also not that attuned to how much I’m drinking. Based on how the world around me is starting to become a blur about two hours into our celebration, I think I’ve had a bit too many.

“I think I need water,” I mutter, though I’m not even sure who’s next to me other than Fisher, who I don’t think has stopped touching me since I arrived.

“Here you go, beautiful,” he says handing me a glass of clear liquid—which I discover is straight vodka after taking one burning gulp of it.

“What the fuck?!”

I can feel it going all the way down. Just like how I can feel his hand on top of my thigh under the pretense of comforting me.

“I’m so sorry, Ada. I grabbed the wrong one. Here’s some water.”

“No,” I mumble, trying to push him away. “I’m not taking anymore drinks from you.”

“Come on, don’t be like that. I’ve been treating you all night, haven’t I?”

As I try to get out of the booth we’d found ourselves in, he takes hold of my arms and pulls me back far enough to be on his lap. The feeling of his hard bulge pressing against my ass sobers me up real quick.

“Get off of me now!”

“Ada, you’re too drunk, you shouldn’t leave alone. Just stay here.” He then leans in and whispers in my ear. “Not that I mind your squirming. It’s making me harder than I already am.”

“Let go!”

“Ada—“

“She said, let go!”

There’s a booming, familiar voice that causes the whole bar to drop into silence as one of Fisher’s hands is forcibly removed from my arm, wrenching a snarl of pain from my assailant.

“Let. Her. Go.”

“You know we’re not in school, right?” growls Fisher. “You don’t get to—“

There’s a shriek of pain as Fisher’s hand is pulled back in a way it’s definitely not supposed to go. It’s followed by the sound of bar stools scraping across the floor as several people rise to their feet.

“I’m not going to say it again,” says my savior in a deep resonating voice that is now becoming familiar within my drunken haze. “Do as you’re told or we can involve the police.”

“Fine, fuck. Asshole.”

I’m released and I push my way out of the booth and straight into Dr. Hamilton’s firm body.

“Ms. Chaplin, do you want to press charges?”

My advisor’s voice is all unconcealed rage and I feel like I’m all that stands between the bar and a nuclear explosion.

“I just want to leave. Please, will you escort me home?”

I think he grumbles something about how we really should report Fisher, but he still keeps me tucked into his side, escorting me out of the noisy, crowded bar and out onto the sidewalk, which bustles with happy students enjoying their Friday night.

A few passersby pause to look at us and I can feel him tensing beside me, but he doesn’t let go. If anything, he draws me closer into him to a point where it’s difficult to walk without tripping over each other’s feet.

Thankfully, he was parked close and once he has me in his passenger seat, we both breathe easier.

“Take this and drink.”

He shoves a water bottle into my hand before reaching for something on the back seats.

After taking a refreshing swig of water, I turn to see he has a large mixing bowl in hand.

“Put this on your lap and use it if you need to throw up.”

When I don’t immediately take it, he puts it there for me and starts up the car.

“It’s like you knew this would happen,” I mutter. “Why were you at the bar?”

“Am I not allowed to drink on my own time?” He asks the question, but it seems like a gruff excuse that he instinctually jumped to in defense of his behavior. He then sighs as we pull out of the parking lot. “I was there because I expected this to happen. I hoped it wouldn’t but…”

He doesn’t finish, just shakes his head and looks out at the road. He seems to know where he’s going. I suppose if he knew all along he’d have to be my knight in shining armor, he also bothered to look up my address using the school database.

“Did you know Fisher was interested in hooking up with me? That he intended to…incapacitate me for his own purposes.”

I feel like throwing up and it has nothing to do with that gulp of pure vodka I got before Dr. Hamilton came to my rescue.

“No, though if I had to guess which of your lab mates might take advantage of you, I would have voted for him.” His voice is all gravel and I see his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. “But, I was a PhD student once too. Sure I bonded with some of my lab mates, but we weren’t friends. They weren’t people I’d trust my safety with. I think it’s in your nature to make friends, but there’s a difference between someone who is fun to hang out with and someone who will always be there for you.”

“And,” I say, sipping my water and watching him closely like he’s my newest research project, “how does that lead to you showing up with all the tools for taking care of your drunken student?”

“You told me where you were going and who you were going with. I didn’t trust your lab mates to have your back and given how attractive you are, I thought it unfortunately likely that someone would take advantage of you in the chaos of your celebration and no one would be paying enough attention to help you.”

He spits it out like it’s obvious fact, but the only thing dulling my surprise in this moment is the level of alcohol in my system. Did he really just call me attractive?

“That’s awfully sweet of you to look out for me,” I whisper, taking another sip of my sobering bottle of water.

“Yes, well,” he says, his words stilted as we pull up to my apartment complex, “it’s my job as your advisor to look out for—“

His words choke in his throat as I slide my hand on top of his thigh. I watch how the muscle tenses beneath his slacks and my fingers slide upward, searching for any evidence that he is as aroused as I am.

“Ms. Chaplin, what are you doing?” The words are wrenched out from behind gritted teeth as his whole body tenses under my touch. Then when my fingertips skim over the hot hardening length beneath the fabric of his pants as I head toward his belt buckle, he releases a shuddering gasp.

“I’m thanking you for taking care of me, professor.”

My words are airy, my lips loose and heavy as my mouth waters at the prospect of swallowing what’s hiding in his trousers.

“You can thank me by getting out of the car and going to your apartment.”

I can hear the struggle in each syllable and my hand stills atop his buckle.

“Okay, I’ll go then,” I say, pulling my hand from his belt only for him to grab my wrist before I can get more than a finger’s length away. “Oh? It seems you don’t want me to leave.”

“Just…just make it quick.”

A devious smirk twists my lips.

“That’s really all up to you, professor. How long do you think you can handle my fingers on your cock or my mouth sucking you in?”

“Fuck,” he growls, pushing my hand away as he scans the quiet parking lot for any nosy neighbors. He apparently finds the coast clear because he quickly unbuckles himself before pulling his belt away.

Then he unbuttons his pants and pulls down his zipper. Before he can wrench himself out, I place my hands over his, calming them with a single touch. I then lean down and mouth along his cock through his briefs.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, one hand on the back of my head and the other reaching over to slide beneath my skirt and stroke his knuckle along the crotch of my thong. “You’re this fucking wet for your professor, Ada?”

I hum against his clothed tip and he draws in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, his fingers wrapping around the base of my ponytail.

“No more teasing. You want to thank me, get those pretty lips around my cock now.”

He releases me and pushes his briefs down far enough to spring himself free. I latch on immediately, dragging his tip past my lips, flicking my tongue against his little slit.

His salty pre-cum coats my tongue, my mouth salivating for more. So I dig in, trying to find every drop as I suck on him like a straw.

“Holy shit,” he grunts, his finger plucking my thong from my slit before diving in to coat it in my slick. “I’ve thought of you sucking my cock so many fucking times, but it’s already better than I imagined.”

His hips pulse, desperate for me to take him deeper. I finally oblige, removing my tongue from his tip and instead running it up and down the underside of his shaft as I slowly move him deeper into my mouth until he taps the back of my throat. And I could probably take him even further than that, but I have a belly full of liquor, so I don’t need to tempt fate by gagging.

I try to make up for the lack of depth by slathering my tongue over ever patch of heated skin that makes it past my lips. Then what I can’t fit, I tug and twist with my hand, making sure to lavish his tight sack with attention as well.

“Fuck,” he snarls, sliding two fingers into me, causing me to moan around his cock. “I’m going to come. Where do you want it?”

His fist has a tight hold on my hair, pushing and pulling me up and down his shaft. Thankfully, he yanks me off with a loud pop of my lips so I can answer, though I still have to do so while he thrusts his fingers in and out of me.

“Normally I’d swallow, but you know, best not to send anything else down my stomach besides water at this point.” I take heaving breaths, my eyes fluttering and hands balling into fists as he slides his fingers out of me, replacing them with his thumb as his wet digits circle my clit. “Oh fuck,” I gasp. “Just anywhere not in my mouth. Your choice!”

Desperate to make sure we come at the same time, I bow back over the center console and suck him in. With his hand wrapped in the hair of my ponytail, he pulls me up and I suck him back down. We find a rhythm that is in time with his fingers circling my clit. It’s a maddening pace that he decides to end with a crook of his thumb, pressing it into my G-spot while his fingers pinch my clit.

I scream around his cock as I come all over his hand. He groans, deep and rumbling, yanking me hard by my hair so I’m off of him. He doesn’t tug me too far away, though. He pulls his hand out of my slit and reaches up to grab the top of my blouse, pulling it down just enough to splatter the tops of my tits and my throat with his cum.

I gasp and groan as his warm seed paints my skin, while my own release is still dripping down my thighs. When he’s spent, he’s quick to tuck himself back in, though he lets me rest my head on his lap.

However there’s still a console between us and my position is far from comfortable. So I straighten up, adjusting my top and rubbing whatever cum is still visible into my skin.

“So how was that for gratitude?” I ask with a giddy grin.

“Best damn thank you I’ve ever received. However, I think you also need to apologize for making me worry.”

It takes me a second to respond since my brain assumed he wanted an actual apology. But then I see a fresh bulge hardening in his pants and my core tightens with anticipation.

“I think we’ll need more room for that. Care to come up to my apartment, Dr. Hamilton?”

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