Take her on a romantic (kinda) date.

I wait for the class to end. I pack up my bag before she even finishes, then almost run to the podium as soon as she tells us we're done. Good thing, it looks like she's trying to grab her stuff and leave quickly, but I get to her before she gets out.

“Hey, Prof. Barnes, got a sec?”

“Sorry, I have to get going,” she says, turning toward the door, her notes only halfway stuffed into her briefcase.

“Hold on, stay and answer my question.”

She turns and looks at me like she's going to make another excuse, but then her mouth closes. She looks around at the other students, but they just wave bye as they pass her and leave the lecture hall. Prof. Barnes squirms a bit, but she stays put. When the last student has left and we're all alone in the huge room, she says, “Okay, what did you want to ask me?”

“Would you go to dinner with me?” I say. Even I'm shocked at how confident I sound.

“What? No, of course not! You're one of my students!”

“Go to dinner with me,” I insist.

She looks nervous. “But... I...”

“Now.”

All the wind goes out of her. Her shoulders drop and she says, “Okay, I guess we're going to dinner.”

“Great! Tidy up your briefcase, I wouldn't want anything to fall out.” It's so great giving my teacher orders, even dumb little ones like that. She packs up her stuff properly, and we head out. As we're walking out of the building, I say, “Go ahead and let your hair down, I bet it looks good when you let it out of that bun.”

She looks like she wants to argue, but she does it. I'm right, her brown hair really looks nice down around her shoulders. She's always had it up in the bun for class.

“Take off your glasses. I want to see how you look without them.”

“I... do I have to? I'm practically blind without them.”

“Yeah, you do, just until we get to your car, of course.”

She takes them off, then squints. She must really have terrible eyesight. Well, a gentleman doesn't let a lady walk into a light pole, so I take her hand. She looks horrified, but she doesn't pull away. A few students point at us as we walk by.

We get to her car. She puts her case in the trunk and I put my bag in there with it. After we get in she puts her glasses back on and asks, “Where do you want to go?”

“Someplace romantic. And expensive, since you're paying.”

She gives that exasperated sigh that obnoxious teachers give. “I don't know how much money you think professors make, but I'm not tenured.”

“Yeah, I know, but this is a special evening! Don't you want our date to go well?”

She stares at me like she wants to kill me, but she doesn't say anything. She starts the car, and we head out. We go to a nice Italian place, but not as nice as I expected. Maybe this is “expensive” compared to her salary. The host offers us a table, but I ask for a booth in the back. Prof. Barnes stares daggers at me, but I just ignore her and talk about the bread and the great atmosphere until the waiter takes our order. Once he's gone, we have some time to really talk.

“So,” I say. “Why were you on a dating app?”

She just stares at me.

No problem, I've been through this with Binita. “Answer all my questions. Always be honest with me and never hold anything back. Now, again, why were you on a dating app?”

She inhales deeply, like she can suck in the answer. Then she bursts out, “My divorce was finalized last month. I didn't actually want to go out with anyone yet, but I thought I could see what was out there.”

I laugh. “And you set your age range to include college age guys? You're a little cradle robber, aren't you!”

“I AN NOT-!” She cuts herself off and quiets down. “I set it from the minimum age to the maximum age. I just wanted to see what type of guys use this app.”

Wow, she could just as easily have been accidentally captured by some 99 year-old in a retirement home. She's lucky she got me.

“So you got a message saying that said you have to do whatever I say, right?”

She squirms a little. “Yes.”

“And you know you have to actually do that, right?”

“I...” She really looks like she wants to bluff. Then she slumps down in the seat. “Yes, I have to do whatever you say.”

“Stick your hand in your skirt and rub your pussy.”

Her jaw drops. She looks around in a panic.

“The waiter isn't coming for a few minutes. We've got some privacy. Go ahead, Professor... no fuck it, that's dumb. Caitlin. Rub your pussy in this restaurant for me, Caitlin.”

Her face goes from “Fuck you” to “Oh god no” to “I can't believe I'm doing this” all in one second. Her hand slowly sinks below the table. I can't see what she's doing, but I can see her face light up as her fingers find their target. I pull out my phone and take a couple pictures of her with her mouth hanging open in a big 'O'.

This is when it really, truly hits me. Binita is not some weird submissive who made up a story because she wanted to be ordered around. This is all real. I'm actually capturing women. They are my property. This is fucking real!

Can property even be a person? Does it matter what property wants? I'm not a god, I'm just a regular person, but property isn't people. These women aren't really people, they're just my toys.

I look at Caitlin closely. She's beginning to get worked up as her fingers do their job. She's much hotter than Benita. And I can do whatever the fuck I want with her.