Naughty & Nice Part 8:  The Angel and the Demon
Summary: This is a story about a professor’s battle to control his impulses regarding one of his students, and an innocent student exploring her sexuality and lusts. The two arrange to participate in special ‘lessons’ together. However, as the lessons proceed, the professor’s dark past begins to leech and bleed into abilities to control himself. This is a story of angst, lust, love, and torment.Rated: MWarning(s): Entire content is sexually explicit material &/ natured, smut, lemons, light BDSM, S&M, spanking, forbidden apple biting, slight reluctance, but full willing consent, and of course all characters are of legal age (& more tags will be as story progress). [You’ve be warned] Disclaimer: I do not own Christoph Waltz nor was I the original activist of Professor Waltz. Professor Waltz’s character is based off the actor Christoph Waltz. However, Professor Waltz is a purely fictional character and has no realistic or actual link to the actor; simply just adding the title Pr. in front to the actor’s name and envisioning them as a professor ;)
Author’s Note: This is the latest chapter. I hope everyone enjoys!
Click FANFICTION for more Professor Waltz stories
Part 1 l l Part 2 l l Part 3 l l Part 4 l l Part 5: Charlotte’s POV l l Part 5: Professor Waltz’s POV l l Part 6: Charlotte’s POV l l Part 6: Professor Waltz’s POV l l Part 7 l l Part 8
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Charlotte, at long last, returned to his lecture hall not after a two week absence. Immediately furious with the young woman’s blatant retaliation, Professor Waltz desired to enforce the appropriate punishment and strap her over his knee.
Professor Waltz’s expression fell into a deep frown as he came to comprehend his last thought. No, he reprehended himself; strapping the young woman over his knee was not the appropriate punishment. Although he dismissed the shameful thought, nevertheless visions of Charlotte cringing and crying out in pain plagued his subconscious, her glistening orbs reflecting the terror he had inflicted onto her. The burden of guilt weighted heavily upon his heart, yet he struggled to forgive Charlotte for her mockery of his demons.
What I feared to become again I had. 
Professor Waltz watched Charlotte slip inside moments prior of the tardy, her appearance startling him. Excepting nothing short of depression, the radiance she emitted caused his heart to flutter. She looked stunning in her white pastel, floral dress, black cardigan and flats pumps, and flesh-colored guarder stockings! The mere sight of Charlotte rendered him speechless, and apparently the other male students as well. The aroused attention began stirring petty jealousy inside him.
Charlotte’s cheeks, in spite of her newfound confidence, colored wondrously with the attention she was receiving. She blushed, shifting her eyes to the floor, smiling meekly, and offered her delicious sweet figure to the pleasure our eyes. This moment of bold shyness reminded me of when she attempted to be something she was not.
“Shall I bend over your desk and proceed to be spanked? I’ve been a naughty girl, professor. I think I need to be taught a lesson.”
Although momentarily entertained with Charlotte’s rather bold and mischievous confession, and however fleeting the ensuing confidence left her, I became mildly inflicted with annoyance and disapproval with this newfound ‘act’ and display of rebellion against me and my very particular exploits. It was unbecoming and wholly rebellious to her natural temperament, and was very disconcerting to hear such an assertive and aggressive speech escape those pretty little lips of hers; especially, when those pretty, little succulent lips could be performing something else entirely and delightfully more productive and enthralling.
However, although slightly amused with Charlotte’s newfound, but brief confidence and wicked behavior, it was not in her spirit—nor, to my liking—to be anything but the submissive and naive being that I happily feasted my eyes upon every class—it was not in her nature to be anything but the beauty of innocence and angel of purity, of whom I have allowed to suffer my affections. For she, because of her unyielding curiosity and innocence demeanor, was truly and utterly endearing to me. I needed her as my submissive being—I needed to be granted dominance over her—I needed her.
And indeed, how he needed her.
The sight of Charlotte’s unaltered nature effected him profoundly. He watched her rosy lips part, revealing two rows of perfectly straight teeth, and as she smiled, she sucked her lower lip between her teeth and bit down, trying to abed her raising giddiness. What a vision! he thought. Then as quickly as the arousal came, it disappeared, and he scorned himself. You’ve let her go, you bastard. You don’t deserve her. 
Professor Waltz returned to the chalk board, and busied himself in his lecture. For the duration of the class, he did not allow his gaze to linger over her figure, and often just kept his line-of-vision strictly to the back of the auditorium. Although the professor tried—with dire determination—to force the young woman from his mind, her image continued to distract him through-out his lecture. Her demure spirit was sitting just beyond his reach like dangling candy beyond a baby’s reach.
What cruel game was she playing.
Game, he scowled, disdaining his choice in vocabulary. She’d have to be playing fairly for it ‘this’ to be considered a game. This was simply revenge. And that little twinkle in her eye meant she knew she was successful in her endeavor. The revelation the professor suspected of Charlotte’s dastardly plan to destroy him rendered him mute, yet he was consciencely becoming aware of his rising temper. He began to grind his teeth together in the attempt to alleviate his distress.
What the deviant little creature she was! How dare she continue to make a mockery of me! I would not stand for such blatant rebellion. The professor felt that familiar urge to punish Charlotte—to haul her over his lap again and teach her the meaning of humility and obedience. 
Professor Waltz snapped his book closed, causing some of his students to flinch back in their seats, yet not Charlotte. She managed to remain stilled in her seat, somehow matching his intensity with a shy passion of her own. With a swift swirl, the professor dismissed the class and escaped into his office, leaving the daunting vision of Charlotte Hamilton behind him. Without a viable explanation, the student body did not question their professor’s motivation, and quickly vacated the auditorium.
What had she done to him! She had undone him. He felt his control beginning to slither from his grasp. Control. He needed the feeling of being in control again. And he was losing it … no, she was taking it from him.
"Hello professor."
Immediately recognizing the shy, mousy voice, (yet it had a certain assertive tone), Professor Waltz’s muscles lost their density. His back was facing her, and he felt apprehensive to confront her. He was angry with her yet he had no desire to hurt her again.
Charlotte had wept herself asleep. She fled the professor’s office, leaving behind her dignity in the clenched fist of that monster’s hand. How could she have been so foolish! so naive! When she remained in her bedroom for days after, her roommate Julia thought she was finally being adventurous and skipping class. She was none the wiser, Charlotte thought, and rolled onto her stomach, plagued to replay the punishment over and over again.
“I do not reward failure. Proceed. We are not finished yet.”
I couldn’t! I can’t, I thought shaking my head. I could feel his contrasting muscles strain against me. Was he losing control? His hands were no longer hovering above me, but digging into the flesh of my thigh and back. He was growing angry with rage pulsing through him.
"We shall set here until your lesson has succeeded," he expressed to me, excepting a response, yet when I had no answer to give him, he answered for me. "As you wish."
He continued to lay assault upon me as each silent second passed; consequently, rewarding him with loud yelps, gasps, and cries for him to stop. If he could not hear my answer, he would hear my screams. I flinched in pain with every stroke of his hand. I no longer could take it.
Wuh-CHHH! Four. Wuh-CHHH! Five. Wuh-CHHH! SIX!
"Please stop!" I cried, tears pouring down my face. "You’re hurting me!" 
The pain, the torture, and the burden was becoming too great to handle, and panic for survival kicked in. I twisted my shoulders towards him and tried to catch his hand with my hand—to try to stop him from further spanking me. But he just grabbed my wrist with his free hand and bent my arm behind my back, holding it there without trouble. I cried in agony as his force upon my arm send ripples of pain through me. Once held firmly in his utter control, he proceeded his assault me.
Wuh-CHHH!
"Read the last question, Charlotte. And I shall end this."
"I can’t," I writhed in pain, trying to squirm from his grasp of me—forgetting this rules, forgetting everything. But it was no use. I tired easily from exhaustion and became slack over his lap; no more fight was left inside me.
The severe brutality the professor had inflicted left her backside festering with deep bruises and scratches, yet the his last words left an even deeper impression. Despite his harmful actions, Charlotte couldn’t keep his breathless words out of her mind.
"You must," the professor breathed out—not in anger, but with such desperation his voice cracked and elicited such passion of defeat that it caused me to become stilled over his lap. Despite my body’s cry for relief, the compassion that held me silent desired to hear his plead of desperation. His hold of my body softened but he did not free me. "Do you trust me?"
"Do you trust me?" Charlotte said aloud, repeating her professor delicate words. She answered again, despite the previous moment she shared with her professor. She nuzzled her face into her pillow, and said, "Yes, I still do, professor."
In spite of the severe brutality the professor imitated, Charlotte knew he was not driven by hatred or vengeance, but … “fear and love.”
She could not forget him.
"Hello professor."
The presence of Charlotte Hamilton hindered the professor speechless. Words were his forte, yet none were coming forth to assist him in his quandary, or helped to make an impression to speak any. All he had the strength to do was exercise his resistance from erupting with anger. Against his will, he turned around and gaze upon the young woman. She was standing still, arms pinned gently to her sides, her knees pressed together in a placid fashion. Her cheeks were without color—to his genuine surprise. When he normally put her under his gaze, he had never seen her face without heat—it was wholly disconcerting to him.
Charlotte stood before him as not the broken creature he excepted, but as a triumphant butterfly whom finally had broken free from its cocoon, spreading its wings wide and without care of judgment. And what a blossomed beauty she was. She had transformed into something independent and confident, yet was still the timid and submissive being he adored. An immense amount of admiration welled-up inside himself. In spite of the resentment he held, his discretions, his own demons that confined him, Professor Waltz felt remorseful. What was excepted of him—to do, or to say? Should he dismiss her? Lamely, tell her that he was very busy or tell her that he didn’t have time to waste upon some childish game? Or should he apologize?
Upon thinking of giving apologies, the mockery Charlotte had spite from that naughty mouth of hers sparked across his mind:
"Submit to me, Professor Waltz," she purred; daring to repeat and mock my very words. And like I had done to her, she slid her hands up my chest, around my neck, and cupped my cheeks in her hands, softly caressing my face. "Submit to me and I’ll show you a world beyond your imagining."
The rage that had once instilled itself inside the professor two weeks prior began to seep and gnaw deeply within in his veins again. He had to do something, say something to drawn away the dark energy settling inside him, or else he was only going to lose his temper. He feared to hurt her again.
"Don’t just there, gawking like some streetwalker. Out with what you’ve come to apologize. Then quickly be gone with yourself."
Color reinstated itself across her pale cheeks, yet she remained seemingly expressionless. He watched her head tilt to one side, her long, brown hair cascading off her shoulders as if she was silently contemplating him. This blatant insurgence to refrain from answering him was beginning to engage his temper. He could feel himself becoming lost to his demons again. She had to comply to his wish, she had to—her defiance and adamant demeanor was fueling his anger again. How dare she!
"Answer me!" the professor growled and slammed his palm down onto his desk; consequently and to his horror, personified his ensuing wrath with a loud splat and triggered a reaction that which he hadn’t anticipated. And of which reaction caused his boiling temper to simmer immediately.
His dear, sweet Charlotte—in a natural instinct—flinched away from his physical aggression. A gasp escaped her mouth before she could silence herself, and she stepped backwards, retracting from his violence. He saw the terror that had reigned in her eyes two weeks ago flood her features again. O! the shame he felt. His aggression transcended into a yearn to pull Charlotte into his embrace and coddle her—to shield her—to protect her from all the dark energies in the world—to carcass and soothe all the fear welled-up inside of her. He caused the most formidable and intolerable consequences to occur. What had he become?
What dark demon had he become?
He had destroyed this angel—his mien lien, his sweetest Charlotte—that which had fallen from its heavenly descent into his presence. He couldn’t hurt her again. He just couldn’t. He was destroyed, not unwillingly thou. He surrendered for her, and only her. He loved her, yet he wouldn’t allow himself to love her. And thusly, calmly, he said:
"What do you want, … Charlotte?”
The professor dragged his shameful gaze from the floor to the young woman across his office. Charlotte was a vision to which he wanted to behold forever, yet she was diminishing amidst the clouds—becoming lost to him. Her eyes were wide and wondrously, her lips rosy, soft, and parted, her cheeks brightly colored among her pale complexion. Such an innocent beauty, he thought; and I lost her. 
And at last she answered him, and of which answer initially surprised him, then filled his body with fright.
"I want you, professor," she breathed out softly, emitting the tiniest whimper of insecurity, yet her voice was dominated by the drive of her deepest wishes. For the briefest moment, Professor Waltz let himself envision what her ‘want’ would entail. Smooth, taut skin; glowing heat and sweating bodies; moaning and contorting pleasures; screams of pain. He snapped out of his daydream. After what he had inflicted upon her, he could never permit himself to enter into that relationship again. He was too fearful of himself, of becoming lost to his control to hurt Charlotte again.
"No," replied the professor, unable to meet and defeat the young woman’s hopeful gaze.
Charlotte didn’t respond. After gazing over him quietly—studying him—she suddenly encroached upon him. She swept across his office in a fluid fashion and stood before him. Before he could react, she cupped either side of his face and pressed her lips into his. She tasted sweet like peppermint—as if she had been sucking on a peppermint candy in class beforehand, decisively contemplating whether or not her candy was going to be necessary. Her lips were soft and creamy, and perfectly molded into his. He mimicked her actions and cupped her face in his hands, his finger tips curling into the strands of her hair. This felt right, he thought; this felt so very right and natural. … I am kissing Charlotte. Panic ceased him and pulled Charlotte away from him. He held her within arms distance, but did not release his embrace of her.
"No, Charlotte, this is wrong," he yelled quietly.
"I thought, w-words are neither sufficient nor tolerable t-to convey one’s—"
"No," he cried; how could she dare recite his own ideology to him. She was using his own words against him. "No," he continued softly, passionately, caressing her soft chin between his fingers; "no you silly little thing. No."
All the confidence that had once bloomed in her bones, he had snatched and crushed it into dust. Sadness reflected in her watery orbs.
"Why don’t you want me?" she cried softly, clearly afflicted with disappointment and grief. This effected him deeply. He detested to see Charlotte cry and because of him! He wanted to pull her into his embrace, to sooth the fear from her body, to caress her sadness away. But he couldn’t!
"Oh, my Charlotte, you mustn’t think such a thing. Of course I want you. I want you more than I can control. You’ve no idea the battle that urges inside me for you… . But that is why I can not have you. My passion for you is too great, too strong for my control. I can’t hurt you again, don’t you see! You are not safe with me!"
Tears gushed from her eyes, yet she did not whimper or cry. “But the things you confessed to me. You showed me your love, professor. You can not say you didn’t mean those things. You love me, don’t you?”
"I manipulated you, Charlotte!" he growled, trying to convince this seemingly adamant and blind woman of his evilness.
"No," she denied weakly.
"Yes," he breathed out. "I am a dangerous man, Charlotte. After years of oppressing and chastising myself and my demons, you suddenly waltzed into my life. You fell from the Heavens into my lap and you awakened my dark desires again. These past three years you’ve been my deepest torment—it has felt like Hell itself. Having to be forced to watch you from afar, having to distance myself from you, and having to dismiss you now is killing me on the inside."
"Then why did you even call me into your office, professor!?” Charlotte cried loudly, finding her voice again and demanding the truth. “If I have been a torment to you! Why did you initiate this? “
The shame the professor felt was vast, but he knew he had to speak it. He quieted his voice and said:
"I saw the opportunity to have you, at last, when your grades began to decline. I took advantage of your sweet nature, Charlotte. I have manipulated and lied to you. I am nothing but a fraud."
Professor Waltz finished speaking, and turned his gaze over the young woman’s face to study her as she remained shocked and silent. Her eyeliner was smudged and racing down her cheeks. With his thumb, he wiped away her tears. Her eyes were glossed and wide, searching within his soul for the truth. He wanted to embrace her, relish in her heat and scent, and never let go. But this was no longer possible. He closed his eyes, knowing this was the last time he would beheld his angel in his arms. He would force himself to surrender her. He would not hurt her again.
"No," Charlotte breathed out suddenly. The professor’s eyes fluttered open, and he pulled away, enough to see her face. "I don’t accept your explanation."
A mixture of hope and fear raised inside him.
"Even a practiced fraud couldn’t imitate the love and emotion you expressed to me. I don’t believe you, professor, and I don’t accept your explanation… . You love me, yet you are frightened to have me, to hurt me again? … But what about me? You’ve forgotten to calculate me into your equation. I, too, have watched you from afar these past three years. Since my very first class with you, I felt an immediate attraction to you that I didn’t understand. You were so dark and mysterious, and I just had this-this yearn to know everything about you."
The professor shook his head while listening to her confession. He had had no idea of this mutual attraction they shared with one another. This was not possible. She could not love him, and more importantly, in spite of her love, he would not let her love him.
"I am evil, Charlotte. I am a very bad man. Just look at what I’ve done to you! Too much darkness has taken me over… . Don’t you see you stupid girl? I am lost with no hope to find light again. You are not safe with me."
Charlotte smiled, sadly, with full of pent-up hope. Despite the professor’s force to keep her from him, she pushed through his arms and collapsed his chin in her hand. “There is no ‘good’ and ‘evil,’ there is no ‘light’ and ‘darkness,’ there is no duality, but only unity. Darkness is simply the absences of light and evil is simply the absences of good. So you see, professor, I won’t be leaving you alone to your darkness—to have it enrapture and cage your heart in fear forever. Together, we will find the light.” ***
The compassion and ecstasy he felt for this woman was profound.
"I can’t," he breathed out. "Hurt you again, Charlotte."
The angel smiled at him and pressed her lips to his. “Have faith, professor. As someone somewhere once said, love heals all wounds.”
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Part 1 l l Part 2 l l Part 3 l l Part 4 l l Part 5: Charlotte’s POV l l Part 5: Professor Waltz’s POV l l Part 6: Charlotte’s POV l l Part 6: Professor Waltz’s POV l l Part 7 l l Part 8
Author’s Note: I hope you’re enjoying the story! More is to come soon. You can find all my fanfiction (including other Professor Waltz stories) in my sub-link off to the left. :))
*** I quoted an argument Einstein had with one of his professors about Faith and science.  I didn’t quote it exactly, I just summarized what I could remember. 

Naughty & Nice Part 8:  The Angel and the Demon

Summary: This is a story about a professor’s battle to control his impulses regarding one of his students, and an innocent student exploring her sexuality and lusts. The two arrange to participate in special ‘lessons’ together. However, as the lessons proceed, the professor’s dark past begins to leech and bleed into abilities to control himself. This is a story of angst, lust, love, and torment.

Rated: M
Warning(s): Entire content is sexually explicit material &/ natured, smut, lemons, light BDSM, S&M, spanking, forbidden apple biting, slight reluctance, but full willing consent, and of course all characters are of legal age (& more tags will be as story progress). [You’ve be warned]
Disclaimer: I do not own Christoph Waltz nor was I the original activist of Professor Waltz. Professor Waltz’s character is based off the actor Christoph Waltz. However, Professor Waltz is a purely fictional character and has no realistic or actual link to the actor; simply just adding the title Pr. in front to the actor’s name and envisioning them as a professor ;)

Author’s Note: This is the latest chapter. I hope everyone enjoys!

Click FANFICTION for more Professor Waltz stories

Part 1 l l Part 2 l l Part 3 l l Part 4 l l Part 5: Charlotte’s POV l l Part 5: Professor Waltz’s POV l l Part 6: Charlotte’s POV l l Part 6: Professor Waltz’s POV l l Part 7 l l Part 8

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Charlotte, at long last, returned to his lecture hall not after a two week absence. Immediately furious with the young woman’s blatant retaliation, Professor Waltz desired to enforce the appropriate punishment and strap her over his knee.

Professor Waltz’s expression fell into a deep frown as he came to comprehend his last thought. No, he reprehended himself; strapping the young woman over his knee was not the appropriate punishment. Although he dismissed the shameful thought, nevertheless visions of Charlotte cringing and crying out in pain plagued his subconscious, her glistening orbs reflecting the terror he had inflicted onto her. The burden of guilt weighted heavily upon his heart, yet he struggled to forgive Charlotte for her mockery of his demons.

What I feared to become again I had.

Professor Waltz watched Charlotte slip inside moments prior of the tardy, her appearance startling him. Excepting nothing short of depression, the radiance she emitted caused his heart to flutter. She looked stunning in her white pastel, floral dress, black cardigan and flats pumps, and flesh-colored guarder stockings! The mere sight of Charlotte rendered him speechless, and apparently the other male students as well. The aroused attention began stirring petty jealousy inside him.

Charlotte’s cheeks, in spite of her newfound confidence, colored wondrously with the attention she was receiving. She blushed, shifting her eyes to the floor, smiling meekly, and offered her delicious sweet figure to the pleasure our eyes. This moment of bold shyness reminded me of when she attempted to be something she was not.

Shall I bend over your desk and proceed to be spanked? I’ve been a naughty girl, professor. I think I need to be taught a lesson.”

Although momentarily entertained with Charlotte’s rather bold and mischievous confession, and however fleeting the ensuing confidence left her, I became mildly inflicted with annoyance and disapproval with this newfound ‘act’ and display of rebellion against me and my very particular exploits. It was unbecoming and wholly rebellious to her natural temperament, and was very disconcerting to hear such an assertive and aggressive speech escape those pretty little lips of hers; especially, when those pretty, little succulent lips could be performing something else entirely and delightfully more productive and enthralling.

However, although slightly amused with Charlotte’s newfound, but brief confidence and wicked behavior, it was not in her spirit—nor, to my liking—to be anything but the submissive and naive being that I happily feasted my eyes upon every class—it was not in her nature to be anything but the beauty of innocence and angel of purity, of whom I have allowed to suffer my affections. For she, because of her unyielding curiosity and innocence demeanor, was truly and utterly endearing to me. I needed her as my submissive being—I needed to be granted dominance over her—I needed her.

And indeed, how he needed her.

The sight of Charlotte’s unaltered nature effected him profoundly. He watched her rosy lips part, revealing two rows of perfectly straight teeth, and as she smiled, she sucked her lower lip between her teeth and bit down, trying to abed her raising giddiness. What a vision! he thought. Then as quickly as the arousal came, it disappeared, and he scorned himself. You’ve let her go, you bastard. You don’t deserve her.

Professor Waltz returned to the chalk board, and busied himself in his lecture. For the duration of the class, he did not allow his gaze to linger over her figure, and often just kept his line-of-vision strictly to the back of the auditorium. Although the professor tried—with dire determination—to force the young woman from his mind, her image continued to distract him through-out his lecture. Her demure spirit was sitting just beyond his reach like dangling candy beyond a baby’s reach.

What cruel game was she playing.

Game, he scowled, disdaining his choice in vocabulary. She’d have to be playing fairly for it ‘this’ to be considered a game. This was simply revenge. And that little twinkle in her eye meant she knew she was successful in her endeavor. The revelation the professor suspected of Charlotte’s dastardly plan to destroy him rendered him mute, yet he was consciencely becoming aware of his rising temper. He began to grind his teeth together in the attempt to alleviate his distress.

What the deviant little creature she was! How dare she continue to make a mockery of me! I would not stand for such blatant rebellion. The professor felt that familiar urge to punish Charlotte—to haul her over his lap again and teach her the meaning of humility and obedience.

Professor Waltz snapped his book closed, causing some of his students to flinch back in their seats, yet not Charlotte. She managed to remain stilled in her seat, somehow matching his intensity with a shy passion of her own. With a swift swirl, the professor dismissed the class and escaped into his office, leaving the daunting vision of Charlotte Hamilton behind him. Without a viable explanation, the student body did not question their professor’s motivation, and quickly vacated the auditorium.

What had she done to him! She had undone him. He felt his control beginning to slither from his grasp. Control. He needed the feeling of being in control again. And he was losing it … no, she was taking it from him.

"Hello professor."

Immediately recognizing the shy, mousy voice, (yet it had a certain assertive tone), Professor Waltz’s muscles lost their density. His back was facing her, and he felt apprehensive to confront her. He was angry with her yet he had no desire to hurt her again.


Charlotte had wept herself asleep. She fled the professor’s office, leaving behind her dignity in the clenched fist of that monster’s hand. How could she have been so foolish! so naive! When she remained in her bedroom for days after, her roommate Julia thought she was finally being adventurous and skipping class. She was none the wiser, Charlotte thought, and rolled onto her stomach, plagued to replay the punishment over and over again.

I do not reward failure. Proceed. We are not finished yet.”

I couldn’t! I can’t, I thought shaking my head. I could feel his contrasting muscles strain against me. Was he losing control? His hands were no longer hovering above me, but digging into the flesh of my thigh and back. He was growing angry with rage pulsing through him.

"We shall set here until your lesson has succeeded," he expressed to me, excepting a response, yet when I had no answer to give him, he answered for me. "As you wish."

He continued to lay assault upon me as each silent second passed; consequently, rewarding him with loud yelps, gasps, and cries for him to stop. If he could not hear my answer, he would hear my screams. I flinched in pain with every stroke of his hand. I no longer could take it.

Wuh-CHHH! Four. Wuh-CHHH! Five. Wuh-CHHH! SIX!

"Please stop!" I cried, tears pouring down my face. "You’re hurting me!"

The pain, the torture, and the burden was becoming too great to handle, and panic for survival kicked in. I twisted my shoulders towards him and tried to catch his hand with my hand—to try to stop him from further spanking me. But he just grabbed my wrist with his free hand and bent my arm behind my back, holding it there without trouble. I cried in agony as his force upon my arm send ripples of pain through me. Once held firmly in his utter control, he proceeded his assault me.

Wuh-CHHH!

"Read the last question, Charlotte. And I shall end this."

"I can’t," I writhed in pain, trying to squirm from his grasp of me—forgetting this rules, forgetting everything. But it was no use. I tired easily from exhaustion and became slack over his lap; no more fight was left inside me.

The severe brutality the professor had inflicted left her backside festering with deep bruises and scratches, yet the his last words left an even deeper impression. Despite his harmful actions, Charlotte couldn’t keep his breathless words out of her mind.

"You must," the professor breathed out—not in anger, but with such desperation his voice cracked and elicited such passion of defeat that it caused me to become stilled over his lap. Despite my body’s cry for relief, the compassion that held me silent desired to hear his plead of desperation. His hold of my body softened but he did not free me. "Do you trust me?"

"Do you trust me?" Charlotte said aloud, repeating her professor delicate words. She answered again, despite the previous moment she shared with her professor. She nuzzled her face into her pillow, and said, "Yes, I still do, professor."

In spite of the severe brutality the professor imitated, Charlotte knew he was not driven by hatred or vengeance, but … “fear and love.”

She could not forget him.


"Hello professor."

The presence of Charlotte Hamilton hindered the professor speechless. Words were his forte, yet none were coming forth to assist him in his quandary, or helped to make an impression to speak any. All he had the strength to do was exercise his resistance from erupting with anger. Against his will, he turned around and gaze upon the young woman. She was standing still, arms pinned gently to her sides, her knees pressed together in a placid fashion. Her cheeks were without color—to his genuine surprise. When he normally put her under his gaze, he had never seen her face without heat—it was wholly disconcerting to him.

Charlotte stood before him as not the broken creature he excepted, but as a triumphant butterfly whom finally had broken free from its cocoon, spreading its wings wide and without care of judgment. And what a blossomed beauty she was. She had transformed into something independent and confident, yet was still the timid and submissive being he adored. An immense amount of admiration welled-up inside himself. In spite of the resentment he held, his discretions, his own demons that confined him, Professor Waltz felt remorseful. What was excepted of him—to do, or to say? Should he dismiss her? Lamely, tell her that he was very busy or tell her that he didn’t have time to waste upon some childish game? Or should he apologize?

Upon thinking of giving apologies, the mockery Charlotte had spite from that naughty mouth of hers sparked across his mind:

"Submit to me, Professor Waltz," she purred; daring to repeat and mock my very words. And like I had done to her, she slid her hands up my chest, around my neck, and cupped my cheeks in her hands, softly caressing my face. "Submit to me and I’ll show you a world beyond your imagining."

The rage that had once instilled itself inside the professor two weeks prior began to seep and gnaw deeply within in his veins again. He had to do something, say something to drawn away the dark energy settling inside him, or else he was only going to lose his temper. He feared to hurt her again.

"Don’t just there, gawking like some streetwalker. Out with what you’ve come to apologize. Then quickly be gone with yourself."

Color reinstated itself across her pale cheeks, yet she remained seemingly expressionless. He watched her head tilt to one side, her long, brown hair cascading off her shoulders as if she was silently contemplating him. This blatant insurgence to refrain from answering him was beginning to engage his temper. He could feel himself becoming lost to his demons again. She had to comply to his wish, she had to—her defiance and adamant demeanor was fueling his anger again. How dare she!

"Answer me!" the professor growled and slammed his palm down onto his desk; consequently and to his horror, personified his ensuing wrath with a loud splat and triggered a reaction that which he hadn’t anticipated. And of which reaction caused his boiling temper to simmer immediately.

His dear, sweet Charlotte—in a natural instinct—flinched away from his physical aggression. A gasp escaped her mouth before she could silence herself, and she stepped backwards, retracting from his violence. He saw the terror that had reigned in her eyes two weeks ago flood her features again. O! the shame he felt. His aggression transcended into a yearn to pull Charlotte into his embrace and coddle her—to shield her—to protect her from all the dark energies in the world—to carcass and soothe all the fear welled-up inside of her. He caused the most formidable and intolerable consequences to occur. What had he become?

What dark demon had he become?

He had destroyed this angel—his mien lien, his sweetest Charlotte—that which had fallen from its heavenly descent into his presence. He couldn’t hurt her again. He just couldn’t. He was destroyed, not unwillingly thou. He surrendered for her, and only her. He loved her, yet he wouldn’t allow himself to love her. And thusly, calmly, he said:

"What do you want, … Charlotte?”

The professor dragged his shameful gaze from the floor to the young woman across his office. Charlotte was a vision to which he wanted to behold forever, yet she was diminishing amidst the clouds—becoming lost to him. Her eyes were wide and wondrously, her lips rosy, soft, and parted, her cheeks brightly colored among her pale complexion. Such an innocent beauty, he thought; and I lost her.

And at last she answered him, and of which answer initially surprised him, then filled his body with fright.

"I want you, professor," she breathed out softly, emitting the tiniest whimper of insecurity, yet her voice was dominated by the drive of her deepest wishes. For the briefest moment, Professor Waltz let himself envision what her ‘want’ would entail. Smooth, taut skin; glowing heat and sweating bodies; moaning and contorting pleasures; screams of pain. He snapped out of his daydream. After what he had inflicted upon her, he could never permit himself to enter into that relationship again. He was too fearful of himself, of becoming lost to his control to hurt Charlotte again.

"No," replied the professor, unable to meet and defeat the young woman’s hopeful gaze.

Charlotte didn’t respond. After gazing over him quietly—studying him—she suddenly encroached upon him. She swept across his office in a fluid fashion and stood before him. Before he could react, she cupped either side of his face and pressed her lips into his. She tasted sweet like peppermint—as if she had been sucking on a peppermint candy in class beforehand, decisively contemplating whether or not her candy was going to be necessary. Her lips were soft and creamy, and perfectly molded into his. He mimicked her actions and cupped her face in his hands, his finger tips curling into the strands of her hair. This felt right, he thought; this felt so very right and natural. … I am kissing Charlotte. Panic ceased him and pulled Charlotte away from him. He held her within arms distance, but did not release his embrace of her.

"No, Charlotte, this is wrong," he yelled quietly.

"I thought, w-words are neither sufficient nor tolerable t-to convey one’s—"

"No," he cried; how could she dare recite his own ideology to him. She was using his own words against him. "No," he continued softly, passionately, caressing her soft chin between his fingers; "no you silly little thing. No."

All the confidence that had once bloomed in her bones, he had snatched and crushed it into dust. Sadness reflected in her watery orbs.

"Why don’t you want me?" she cried softly, clearly afflicted with disappointment and grief. This effected him deeply. He detested to see Charlotte cry and because of him! He wanted to pull her into his embrace, to sooth the fear from her body, to caress her sadness away. But he couldn’t!

"Oh, my Charlotte, you mustn’t think such a thing. Of course I want you. I want you more than I can control. You’ve no idea the battle that urges inside me for you… . But that is why I can not have you. My passion for you is too great, too strong for my control. I can’t hurt you again, don’t you see! You are not safe with me!"

Tears gushed from her eyes, yet she did not whimper or cry. “But the things you confessed to me. You showed me your love, professor. You can not say you didn’t mean those things. You love me, don’t you?”

"I manipulated you, Charlotte!" he growled, trying to convince this seemingly adamant and blind woman of his evilness.

"No," she denied weakly.

"Yes," he breathed out. "I am a dangerous man, Charlotte. After years of oppressing and chastising myself and my demons, you suddenly waltzed into my life. You fell from the Heavens into my lap and you awakened my dark desires again. These past three years you’ve been my deepest torment—it has felt like Hell itself. Having to be forced to watch you from afar, having to distance myself from you, and having to dismiss you now is killing me on the inside."

"Then why did you even call me into your office, professor!?” Charlotte cried loudly, finding her voice again and demanding the truth. “If I have been a torment to you! Why did you initiate this? “

The shame the professor felt was vast, but he knew he had to speak it. He quieted his voice and said:

"I saw the opportunity to have you, at last, when your grades began to decline. I took advantage of your sweet nature, Charlotte. I have manipulated and lied to you. I am nothing but a fraud."

Professor Waltz finished speaking, and turned his gaze over the young woman’s face to study her as she remained shocked and silent. Her eyeliner was smudged and racing down her cheeks. With his thumb, he wiped away her tears. Her eyes were glossed and wide, searching within his soul for the truth. He wanted to embrace her, relish in her heat and scent, and never let go. But this was no longer possible. He closed his eyes, knowing this was the last time he would beheld his angel in his arms. He would force himself to surrender her. He would not hurt her again.

"No," Charlotte breathed out suddenly. The professor’s eyes fluttered open, and he pulled away, enough to see her face. "I don’t accept your explanation."

A mixture of hope and fear raised inside him.

"Even a practiced fraud couldn’t imitate the love and emotion you expressed to me. I don’t believe you, professor, and I don’t accept your explanation… . You love me, yet you are frightened to have me, to hurt me again? … But what about me? You’ve forgotten to calculate me into your equation. I, too, have watched you from afar these past three years. Since my very first class with you, I felt an immediate attraction to you that I didn’t understand. You were so dark and mysterious, and I just had this-this yearn to know everything about you."

The professor shook his head while listening to her confession. He had had no idea of this mutual attraction they shared with one another. This was not possible. She could not love him, and more importantly, in spite of her love, he would not let her love him.

"I am evil, Charlotte. I am a very bad man. Just look at what I’ve done to you! Too much darkness has taken me over… . Don’t you see you stupid girl? I am lost with no hope to find light again. You are not safe with me."

Charlotte smiled, sadly, with full of pent-up hope. Despite the professor’s force to keep her from him, she pushed through his arms and collapsed his chin in her hand. “There is no ‘good’ and ‘evil,’ there is no ‘light’ and ‘darkness,’ there is no duality, but only unity. Darkness is simply the absences of light and evil is simply the absences of good. So you see, professor, I won’t be leaving you alone to your darkness—to have it enrapture and cage your heart in fear forever. Together, we will find the light.” ***

The compassion and ecstasy he felt for this woman was profound.

"I can’t," he breathed out. "Hurt you again, Charlotte."

The angel smiled at him and pressed her lips to his. “Have faith, professor. As someone somewhere once said, love heals all wounds.”

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Part 1 l l Part 2 l l Part 3 l l Part 4 l l Part 5: Charlotte’s POV l l Part 5: Professor Waltz’s POV l l Part 6: Charlotte’s POV l l Part 6: Professor Waltz’s POV l l Part 7 l l Part 8

Author’s Note: I hope you’re enjoying the story! More is to come soon. You can find all my fanfiction (including other Professor Waltz stories) in my sub-link off to the left. :))

*** I quoted an argument Einstein had with one of his professors about Faith and science.  I didn’t quote it exactly, I just summarized what I could remember. 

posted 8 months ago with 20 notes

  1. broken-byrd posted this
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