Page 22 of Masters of Play

It had to come from someone else in the room. Perhaps it was stuffy Dr. Santos. He kept checking his expensive watch like he had somewhere else to be. Or maybe it had come from Dr. Wroth. But no. She sat back in her chair far too regally to fidget.

It was clear that neither of them was impressed with my topic of study. Though I wouldn't peg either of them for the plain vanilla variety. Dr. Santos's pinched expression as I spoke made me certain that he would be into degradation kink. I bet he was the type to wear a diaper and want someone to wipe his ass.

The regality of Dr. Wroth told me that she would've made a superb Dominatrix in another life. It was clear I had her full attention, but she didn't deign to raise those gray eyes at me more than once.

So no. Neither of those two could've been the butt squidger. It likely didn't come from Sinead. It couldn't be the nervous kind of fidget because I was rocking my defense. So it had to be the anticipatory kind.

I was sure of it when I presented my quantified findings using three data points to show the efficaciousness of my kink meter. The man's lips quirked. It was almost a smile. That's when I knew I'd done it. I'd passed Professor Sinead's final test with flying colors.

His butt must be doing a happy dance in that fitted suit because he knew he was going to have me right after this. Hopefully, he was kinky enough to want to do it in his office, right on his desk. A bed would be overrated with that man, and I couldn't wait for the drive to get to either one of our bedrooms.

"Traditionally, researchers such as psychologists and behavioral specialists have looked at the BDSM culture through external measures." I continued multitasking, giving a flawless presentation while making a sexual plan of attack on my teacher. "I went with a more internalized approach and studied first-hand accounts using sexual praxis that—"

"First-hand?" asked Dr. Santos. There was a twitch to his mouth.

"Yes, sir. I went to a local BDSM club, interviewed participants, and—"

"You watched as they had sex?" asked Dr. Santos.

"That is correct."

I waited in silence as the man let out a long, drawn-out sigh. He looked to his colleagues. Dr. Wroth kept her glance down on the document I'd passed out to each of them. Professor Sinead met his gaze.

"I believe there is much precedence for this form of study," said Sinead. "Specifically the work of Masters and Johnson in our understanding of human sexual response, dysfunction and disorders. Please continue, Ms. Prince."

I could have kissed him for defending my work. I would kiss him. Just as soon as I finished my defense.

"In reviewing my findings, I was able to determine three data points that allowed me to set a scale for the level of sexual deviancy. Since normal sexual behaviors have been labeled by the flavor of vanilla ice cream, I chose to keep that tradition going on my scale. Vanilla is no longer simply the missionary position of sexual intercourse since people are far kinkier today than even five years ago. Neapolitan is for those who mix a little strawberry fun and dark chocolate into their sex lives. And then, the extreme version is what I like to call the Kitchen Sink flavor."

There was a snort, followed by a cough. I knew the snort came from Sinead. I felt profoundly proud that I'd gotten a rise out of the man.

It had been Dr. Santos who had coughed. "I can't see what this unusual, and damn near pornographic study, will add to the world of serious academia."

Professor Sinead opened his mouth, but then pinched his lips closed. That was fine. I didn't need a man to come and rescue me. I was capable of defending myself, fuck you very much.

"My findings apply to counseling, sexual health, and sexual education. It shows a path to delve deeper into human behavior and psyche. These people who play in BDSM culture are transforming trauma—sexual trauma, emotional trauma, even cultural trauma—and redefining themselves. They're healing others and helping people grow past what has pushed them down both inside and outside of the bedroom."

The room was silent after my impassioned speech. Dr. Wroth's gaze flicked to me. It was a quick flash of understanding. Then she dropped her gaze once more. When she did, I saw deep bags under her eyes. She looked a bit pale and thinner than she should look. But in that flash, when she had glanced up at me, I'd seen a spark of something.

Desire, maybe? Hope, perhaps? I wasn't sure, and she wouldn't look at me again. When she spoke, her voice was soft. I had to lean in to make sure I caught her words.

"It looks like you've completed all the steps of your dissertation," said Dr. Wroth. "You've had high marks from all of your professors, even Sinead."

Dr. Santos glared at Dr. Wroth. She wasn't looking at him to notice. Her gaze was once again on the documents in front of her. Dr. Santos turned his glare to Professor Sinead. That staring contest didn't last long. Professor Sinead glared right back. It was Santos who blinked first.

"Lived experiences are widely regarded as the bargain basement form of data in academic studies, especially when they're anonymously given."

I opened my mouth to lay into this man, but a raised brow from Sinead had me biting my tongue.

"Though I still am unconvinced that this paper and its findings do anything for actual sociology," said Dr. Santos, "it's clear that you have met every requirement to pass."

The taste of blood in my mouth from biting down so hard had me ready to rip this man a new one. A glance from Sinead made me pause. He was smiling. An actual, honest-to-God smile stretched his lips, making him look devastating.

That's when I realized it. It was over. I had passed.

I was standing in the moment where I had achieved everything I wanted. I could now move forward with my future plans. And most importantly, in this moment at least, I was going to get laid by my hot professor.

"Congratulations, Dr. Prince. You have successfully defended your dissertation."