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I’m taking this class. It’s called “The Intersection of Society and Technology”, so it’s half computer science and half sociology. It’s really interesting – we talk about how technology is constructed within a social context, and look at individual technologies and what they reflect about the people who design, build, and use them. There’s an online component too, a forum in which we’re encouraged to post links to technologies with a relevant analysis, for extra credit.
Anyway, I was cruising around on the internet wasting time the other day when I found these vibrating panties. They’re just regular silky black panties with a remote-controlled vibrator attached. The website that sells them has a description that recommends using them in public. Incredible! Anyway, I was struck while looking at these that they really reflect power dynamics in relationships and the private/public ownership of a sex partner… so I thought I’d post them on the forum.
But wait. These are… sexy panties. I realized as I was drafting my post that I probably shouldn’t post sexy panties on my class website, but I was still really intrigued by them, so I just copied the whole thing over into an email to my professor. That way we could talk about it without the whole class thinking I’m some gross pervert. I had no doubt that the professor would understand that my interest in this technology was totally academic; after all, I’m an excellent student – the kind who’s always volunteering the answers and gets solid A’s on every assignment.
The story gets a bit more interesting from here. My professor is in her first few years of teaching, so she’s young – probably not older than 32 – and beautiful. Sure, she’s a nerd, but in that totally drop-dead gorgeous way. She wears cat-eye glasses and has dirty-blonde hair that falls in messy curls to her shoulders, though she usually wears it pulled back from her face with a few curls falling past her cheeks. She doesn’t really wear a lot of makeup, and she has these nice blue eyes and pink lips and cheeks with a couple of freckles. She’s got a nice figure and wears heels most days – I think because she wants to be seen as professional. The tenured profs always wear jeans and sneakers to work… anyway, she’s a babe, in that respectable and smart kind of way. Without the heels she’d probably be 5’4″.
Me? I’m 22, in my senior year of university. I’m about 5’7″, with a skinny frame and dark hair that I wear sheared straight at about chin-length. I’ve always been kind of a tomboy, preferring to wear jeans, sneakers, and sweaters or t-shirts. I’m an academic overachiever and I’m not super social. I’ve never really dated, either. I guess I don’t have much of a “love” or “sex” drive, because I’d rather read a book than go to the club with other people my age.
Anyway, so I emailed her – I think it was a Wednesday night – and then settled in with a book. I didn’t expect to hear back from her that evening; I’d emailed her before and she usually responds to email during office hours. When my phone made that “whoosh” sound it does when I receive an email, I glanced over, and was surprised to see her name on the alert. I was still excited about my analysis of the vibrator panties so I opened it right away.
Really good find – and probably a good call not posting it on the forum. I haven’t done much work with sex-related technologies but I find your analysis interesting and sensitive. You are clearly using course-related themes in your everyday life. I’m impressed. You mention that there’s a power dynamic implicit in the “remote control” aspect of the panties… do you think it’s the person with the remote who is controlling the wearer by controlling their sexual excitement, or does the person wearing the panties have the power by being an object of sexual desire for the person holding the remote?
Anne (aka Professor McKeown)
I hadn’t thought of it that way. I’d just thought that if one person is holding the remote and the person wearing the panties is out in public, the person with the remote can manipulate how they feel physically when they’re interacting with other people. But she had a good point that I hadn’t considered. I wrote back immediately.
Thanks for writing back so quickly. To what extent do you think the wearer is in control of their reactions, responses, etc.? I guess that could cause frustration or excitement in the person holding the remote. But I still think the remote controller would have most of the power… after all… people lose control of themselves when they are turned on.
At this point, I was starting to feel a little… warm. I didn’t even bother picking my book up again; I just sat and waited for her reply. I was glad my roommate was at her boyfriend’s place, because I just knew my cheeks were flushed.
Sometimes, people have more control over themselves when they are turned on. Sometimes that is ikitelli escort bayan when they feel very powerful. I would be interested to delve further into this debate. Do you feel there’s a gendered aspect to the relationship? After all, the panties are clearly designed for a woman’s body, with the vibrator stimulating the clitoris. I also noticed that the vibrator is “splash proof”, so when the woman’s pussy gets wet, it won’t harm the technology. With your women’s studies focus, what do you think about this?
My professor had just said “pussy” in an email to me.
Now I was feeling really, really warm, and a little wet. I was glad that I didn’t have any non-splash-proof technology in my underwear. I did not expect this.
I had trouble composing my reply; I couldn’t stop imagining Professor McKeown – I mean, Anne – wearing nothing but a pair of heels and those black, satin panties with a little vibrator tucked into them. I imagined her in the chair I was in, my big overstuffed brown chair, with her knees spread far apart and her heels up on the ottoman, her back arched, a peek of the pinkness of her outer labia visible to either side of the crotch of the panties…
While the product is definitely for women, I wasn’t imagining that the remote controller was necessarily a man.
I suppose it wouldn’t have to be.
See you in class tomorrow morning. Thanks for emailing me; I’ve really enjoyed this conversation. I have some more thoughts about this that I’d love to share with you after class tomorrow, if you have some time to stay late.
At this point I gave up on holding back and slid a hand down under the waistband of my jeans, groaning audibly when I felt my own wetness. I rubbed my clit and let out little moans and breaths and imagined my professor coming, coming, coming into those black satin panties.
THE NEXT DAY…
As usual, I sat in the third row in class. There were about 20 students there; it was a 35-student class, but half the class doesn’t show up for anything but assignment days. I could have sworn that before she began her lecture, Anne gave me the most impish little smile, and when she did I felt a shock of electricity in my body.
My mind wandered for the whole lecture. I hadn’t really considered myself gay before this point, so I was having a bit of an internal meltdown about whether I was a lesbian, but I also just couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation we’d had the night before. I had to resist the urge – several times – to get out my phone and re-read all of our emails. I worried, too, that she could somehow see my thoughts, could tell I was thinking about what her pussy looks like, whether she gets breathless and pink when she’s about to come, what she looks like without her glasses.
When class was over, I realized I’d barely taken any notes that day. Ashamed – I’m usually such a good student! – I closed my notebook, and caught Anne’s eye. She nodded, and I approached the front. I had to wait while a couple of other students asked her questions regarding the essay we had due in two weeks, but once they were finished, she gathered up her teaching materials and asked me to walk with her to her office.
We made some small talk on the way there; it was probably a five-minute walk, but it wasn’t awkward. We chatted about school – I was about to graduate from my undergrad – as well as her job, we talked about cats, we discovered that we have the same favourite lunch spot on campus. When we got to her office, she unlocked the door, ushered me inside, and then closed and locked it behind me.
“So, Nicole, have you had any further thoughts about our discussion last night?” She said, as I sat in the “guest” chair, and she leaned one hip against her desk. She was wearing a pencil skirt today, grey, with a matching blazer and a light blue blouse that brought out her eyes beautifully. And, of course, the heels – black pumps.
I chewed my lip and felt myself blush. I had had further thoughts… lots of thoughts. I chose to share the most appropriate ones, however. “Well… I realized that maybe you had a point. The remote controller is also controlled, by their mounting desire as the wearer goes about… whatever they’re doing.”
She nodded, and leaned a little more on the desk, so she was kind of half-sitting on it. Her skirt rode up a bit and revealed the curve of her hips. Oh, this was killing me! “So,” she responded, “the wearer ends up being a player in the fantasy of the controller?”
“Yeah,” I said, “that’s it. But the wearer is still the object in the controller’s fantasy, so…” I paused to collect my thoughts, but she went on before I could.
“You’ve got a good theoretical foundation, Nicole, but there are lived realities in the situation as well.” Man, this was an academic kartal escort bayan boner as much as anything. “Subject/object is a useful lens to look at power relationships through, true, but it’s not complete.”
She turned to her desk then, and rustled through her things until she found a small package. It was a shiny black box with no logo, just small. “I found this at the shop on 8th,” she said, and in my distracted state it took me a moment to realize what she had. She pulled it out of the box and my breath caught in my throat. A pair of little black panties with ribbons at the side, and a soft pink bullet vibrator. I only knew that they were because I’d seen the website… as I mentioned, I’d never really had much of a sex drive. This was my first time seeing a vibrator in real life.
She fussed with them a bit, putting the bullet part of the vibrator into a pocket on the panties, and then handed me the other pink part – the remote, I guessed. It was just a small circular plastic thing with a dial. She held the panties in her hand.
“Go on,” she said. “Let’s see how this works.”
I was blown away, my brain not really working, but I managed to fumble enough to turn the dial. Immediately her eyes widened. “Can you hear it?” She asked. I couldn’t, but then I could – the lowest sound, a murmur of a buzz.
“It’s quiet,” I said. Brilliant. Just really impressing this woman with my intellect.
“Yeah,” she said. “Very quiet for a vibrator.” She blushed a little, realizing that she’d basically told me she uses a vibrator. I felt the need to squirm in my chair, and realized I was wet, and excited, and very warm. She went on: “I want you to turn it off, then turn it back on… but don’t tell me when. Surprise me. Let’s just have a regular conversation.”
So we did. Of course, I couldn’t think of anything other than sex, and her smooth legs and softly curved hips were all I could see, but I managed to make passable conversation about the local election for a couple of minutes. Then I turned the dial on the remote back up, and she made a little “squeak” sound. I laughed, and then she did.
“So, I guess I really do have the power, don’t I?” I said, feeling pretty impressed with myself. I’d surprised her and had gotten a response. I turned the remote off again.
“I guess in that case it seemed like you did, but – EEP!” I’d turned it on again. She laughed again, shaking her head. “Okay, okay. But keep in mind that this is not a completely accurate re-enactment of the actual conditions of the use of this technology.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I guess it doesn’t turn you on to have it vibrate in your hand,” I said, glancing at the bunched-up black satin she held so loosely.
“Well,” she said, and then decided not to continue.
We looked at each other then, and I was blushing hard already but blushed harder. She put the panties back in their box, and I stood up and gathered my things. I moved to give the remote back to her, but she shook her head. “No, you keep it. Bring it to class next week.”
THE FOLLOWING WEEK…
Thursday had taken forever to arrive. I’d never felt quite like this before, as if there was electricity running through my body. I checked my email compulsively, and almost jumped out of my skin when I saw her name, but it was just a group email for the whole class. It was pure agony. I couldn’t concentrate on my studies; all I could think of was Anne, her hips, her flushed cheeks, her smooth legs. I mentioned that I’d never had much of a sex drive; well, I masturbated every night that week, and in the morning as well, some days. All I had to do was imagine her with that purring little pink bullet between her legs and I was like a cat in heat.
I was early for class. I usually am, by a few minutes, and I’d caught Anne early for class enough times that semester to know that I might catch a moment alone with her if I showed up at the right time. When I arrived, however, she wasn’t there; I even had to wait a few minutes for the door to be unlocked. Bummer. Other students started filtering in, and by 9:30, when class was supposed to begin, she still wasn’t there. I was fidgeting and worrying and checking my email on my phone again, compulsively.
She walked in five minutes late. It had felt like five years. “Sorry, everyone,” she said, out of breath. “Running late today.” She was clearly a little flustered; it took her a moment to boot up the computer and get her lecture slides running, but eventually she did and launched into that week’s topic.
I slid my hand into the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt and felt the smooth pink remote there. It was small enough that I could hold it on my hand and hide it completely, but I’d chosen to keep it in my pocket anyway. My heart pounding, I watched her closely, paying absolutely no attention to the lecture. I found the dial with my thumb – god, now I was feeling clumsy! – and kadıköy escort bayan gave it a little push.
She didn’t respond at all. Not in the least. I felt a little let down… I had built this up in my head all week, and I felt pretty foolish for even fantasizing that she’d wear the damn panties to class. That was stupid.
I pushed the dial all the way, just to see, and heard her stumble over a word. Wait – maybe…
I turned it down to nothing again and looked at her. She caught my eye ever so briefly before looking away. She was still lecturing, so I tried my best to pay attention, and forgot about the remote for a twenty minutes.
She asked a question. As usual, I knew the answer, but I waited a moment to see if anyone else would volunteer. Another girl put up her hand, and as she was giving her answer, I turned the dial up to low, and then very slowly turned it up, watching Anne the whole time. I saw her fidget, and I saw her glance at me. I was pretty sure I knew, at that point.
The student stopped speaking and I turned the dial down to zero. Anne asked another question. Again, I didn’t volunteer an answer, and she called on someone else. I did it again – turned the dial slowly up while the student spoke. This time, Anne had to have a back-and-forth with the student, trying to tease out the meaning of their answer, and every time she spoke, I turned it off, and then back on when the student went to reply.
Next she called on me.
She asked for a description of a sociological method that I’d written my last paper on. This would take me a while. I started to speak, and turned the dial. I kept going, and kept turning the dial. By the time I’d finished speaking, her cheeks were definitely flushed, and I wondered if anyone else could see. I wondered if I was making it all up, out of wishful thinking. I wondered whether she was wet, whether she wanted to touch her clit with her fingertips, whether she was suffering. It was exquisite and I wanted more.
Anne launched back into lecture and I played with the dial. I wanted to see her respond, I wanted to know for sure. She leaned against the lectern, she shifted her hips, she crossed and uncrossed her legs. Every movement seemed to be a sign that she either was or wasn’t feeling the vibration.
Our four-hour class is punctuated with a twenty-minute break about halfway through, and it occurred to me that if I could get close to her, I might be able to hear the little motor humming. I decided that I wouldn’t turn the dial again until the break, so I listened and took notes and answered questions, and otherwise acted normal, all the while aching for that two-hour mark.
Two and a half hours into class she finally said, “Okay, let’s meet back here in twenty minutes.”
There were two other students who wanted to speak with her during the break, so I leaned, waiting, at the front of the classroom while she answered questions about the discussion and assignments. I was only about three feet away from her while I waited – certainly further than I’d been last week in her office, but not by too much. I slipped my hand into my pocket and thumbed the dial. Her voice broke for a moment before she continued speaking to the student ahead of me. I listened, but couldn’t hear the hum, so I turned it off. Her eyes flicked to mine briefly. The first student finished, and she began talking to the second. I moved closer and pushed the dial again. She didn’t respond this time, so I kept turning it up. She shifted her weight and crossed one leg over the other, and then I heard it – that little hum.
I felt like I was floating and heavy at the same time. Nervous and excited and wet between my legs and warm. The student ahead of me was satisfied with Anne’s answer to her question and as she moved away I moved closer.
“I did my homework,” I said, my voice quiet and low.
“You’re a very good student,” she replied. Her eyes were on my mouth and it made me want to take her in my arms and kiss her. Instead, I turned the dial down to zero, and she made the tiniest, smallest, quietest sound of protest.
“You’re an excellent professor,” I said, and smiled, and looked at her eyes – beautiful, crystal blue behind those cat-eye glasses. And then I looked at her mouth, and then her collarbone, revealed by the open collar of her blouse. “You’re inspiring. I appreciate your, um… facilitating my extra credit project.”
I was feeling very bold.
She looked at me. “I want you to wait until I call on you,” she said, “and turn it on only when you’re speaking. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Go back to your seat.”
“Yes,” I breathed, and sat, and waited patiently as she left the room and came back with a coffee. Class resumed. I could feel my underwear, soaked in my jeans.
She continued the lecture, and this time, she asked a lot of discussion questions to the class. The first one was easy, and I raised my hand, desperate to be called on, but she called on someone else. I felt a little disappointed that I couldn’t turn the dial, that I knew she had that little pink bullet nestled next to her clit and I wasn’t allowed to turn it on.
The next question was mine. As I gave my answer, I turned the dial up slowly, as I’d done before. Too soon, I was finished speaking, and turned it back down. “Very good, Nicole,” she said, and I reddened, but of course no-one knew the subtext.
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