by Erin Noelle
By the time Thursday evening rolls around, I need to get out of my apartment in a bad way. I’m filled with anxiety and overall a bunch of pissed-off-ness, even if that’s not a word. I’ve decided that I’m going to distribute the photos to the media on the following Tuesday when the governor has a scheduled luncheon with the Manhattan Young Democrats and Claudia, a.k.a. Mrs. Daniel Roberson, is a guest speaker at the Women’s City Club of New York’s Spring Charity Gala. It should be a good topic of discussion for both of them. The following day the mayor, Daniel’s father-in-law, is scheduled to throw out the first pitch at the Yankees home opener. The news should get plenty of run on that broadcast as well. However, tonight, I just need a break from thinking about that and all of the other thoughts ripping through my mind, and a pompous ass college boy should do the trick.
As I soak in the bath and allow some jazz music to calm me, I focus on getting back to my routine of doing things. For well over a year and a half, I’ve followed the same schedule, never once allowing myself to get out of rhythm. Each day of the week has a specific color, a specific type of guy, a specific place I end up; and for all that time, I was content with what I was doing. The purpose was to practice my skills of seduction, to learn different ways of domination and control, and to prepare myself for the ultimate revenge. But in the last couple of weeks, I’ve allowed myself to stray from the schedule, and I’ve begun to question myself about so many things. What is my true purpose in all of this? Is it solely for revenge? What happens once it’s all over? Will I then be able to be happy? Will I ever be able to be happy? Recently these questions and so many others torment me day and night. Most of them I don’t know the answer to, but one thing’s for sure, no matter what happens, I will never get my mom back. Even though as a little girl, I always thought it was my dad who was my shining star, she was always the light of my life. I didn’t realize that until it was too late — until he took her from me. And ever since that day, the day the sun went down in my life, my soul has been a dark, dark place.
Standing up abruptly in the tub, I climb out and put my robe on. Anytime I start to think about my mom, the vivid memories from that night threaten to come storming through my mind, and I don’t want to revisit them tonight. I don’t need another night where Leo actually has to save a poor victim from my wrath. That’s only happened on a couple of instances and it’s always on a day when I’ve had some sort of reminder of what happened. I shake my head and look at myself in the mirror.
“Do not let anyone or anything control you. Only you have the power to decide what thoughts you’ll think and what actions you’ll take.”
I have said these same two sentences to myself no less than a thousand times. It’s something I learned in therapy as a teenager, and it’s taken me years to actually believe them, but now, they are the words I live by. Ever since that day, I’ve allowed him to dictate how I feel or what I am or am not going to do, but once my plan is complete, I’ll never have to worry about that again. I just wish these recent thoughts of me second-guessing myself would go away.
Over an hour later, I’m in the back of the SUV as Leo drives me to 1020 Bar on Amsterdam Avenue, a favorite of Columbia students. There’s a tension between us that has never existed before. He’s still doing and saying the same things he usually does, but I know something’s off.
“Are you upset with me?” I ask him, unable to stand it any longer. I could give two shits if most people are upset with me, but Leo and I don’t do this, whatever this weird feeling is.
“Yes,” he answers solemnly.
I scoot up in my seat so that I’m leaning between the driver’s and front passenger seats. “Do you care to tell me why?”
“No.” Refusing to look at me, he keeps his eyes locked on the road.
“Leo, damn it. Tell me why you’re upset. I can’t handle you acting like this with me.” I know I sound like a whiny brat, but I don’t care.
He continues to drive in silence for a few minutes before finally speaking. “I know what you’re doing, or what you think you’re doing, and I don’t like it,” he says with a clenched jaw.
“What I’m doing?” I ask. “I’m doing the same thing I’ve done every Thursday for the past eighteen months. You’ve never said anything about it before.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”
“No, I don’t know. Please enlighten me.” I do know exactly what he’s talking about, but I want to hear him say it.
“The Saunders guy — I know who he is. Don’t play stupid. And then you last night…” He shakes his head disapprovingly as his voice trails off.
I knew he had figured out who Daniel was, but I wasn’t sure what he meant about the previous night. “So you looked him up online and learned who he was,” I begin.
“Yes!” His raised voice causes me to flinch and jump back a bit. Taking a deep breath, he starts over, “I’m sorry I scared you, but yes, I researched who he was to find out why you were so adamant about getting to him on Tuesday.”
“Well, now you know.”
“What are you going to do with the pictures, Kat?”
“That’s none of your business,” I snap defensively.
“It is my business,” he argues. “ You. Are. My. Business.”
“Leo, I have to do this. You don’t understand.”
“I understand every bit of it. I was there, too. Remember?”
“I have to do this,” I say again, more adamantly this time. “You aren’t going to talk me out of it.”
He turns slightly to look in my face. “At least let me know what you have planned, what you’re going to do. That way I can help as much as possible and I’m not caught off guard by anything.”
Staring into his pleading eyes, I want to tell him no — tell him that I can do this by myself — but I can’t. I know he’s right, it’s best if he’s prepared. I don’t answer him verbally, I just nod my head.
“We’ll talk about it later, okay?” he offers with a small smile and a tilt of his head towards the window.
I look outside and realize we’re parked in front of the bar. Grabbing my clutch, I return the smile. “Yeah, we’ll talk. I’ll text you when I’m ready to go.” I don’t wait for him to get out to open my door; I jump out of the car and head inside, needing that release even more after that conversation.
I make my way to the bar to grab a beer; I’m really in no mood to play games. It takes about two minutes to scan the room and realize who the biggest egotistical douchebag without a female is in this bar tonight. Spotting him with no problem whatsoever, it takes less than thirty minutes before I’m texting Leo to come pick me and whatever-his-name-is up.
On the drive to the hotel, I don’t waste much energy pretending I even like the guy. Neither he nor his wandering hands seem to mind though. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long to get there, and I hastily usher him up to the room. At first, he attempts to take control of the situation, as I’m sure he does on most of his sexual conquests, but when I threaten to leave, his tune changes rapidly.
Once I get him naked and cuffed to the headboard, he decides to get a little mouthy. “Do you even know what to do with me now that you’ve got me here?” he asks with a smirk.
Laughing at his effort to continue to control the situation even after he’s restrained to the bed, I climb up on him, still in my purple silk panties, and straddle his hips. He presses his erection hard up against me, I guess his way of showing me how manly he is. I slowly walk my fingers up his chest until they reach his mouth, and I tap his lips. Cocking my head with a sly smile, I say, “You seem to have already forgotten who’s in charge here.”
He chuckles and narrows his eyes. “I’m always in charge in bed. I’m just playing along so you can get your kicks.”
This guy is dumber than I thought. I pat my fingertips on his lips again. “You want me to suck your cock, little boy?”
I feel his shaft twitch underneath excitedly me, despite his reply. “
I’m no little boy and you will suck my cock, slut.”
Without thought I slap him hard across the face, and again, his cock jumps with pleasure. “Oh, I think you liked that. You want me to do it again?”
“Get off me, slut, and unlock me.”
I slap him again, even harder than the first time, as I simultaneously push down on his erection with my pussy. He moans and pulls against the restraints. Grinning as I lean down, I bite down hard on his shoulder before whispering, “I think you’ve got it all wrong, little boy. You’re the one who’s a slut.” I bite down again. “A little pain slut.”
Groaning and wiggling underneath me, I think he’s probably harder than he’s ever been. I can feel his cock pulsating through the cloth of my panties. He may come just from me hitting and biting him. I plan on finding out. I sit back up and look down at him. “Do you want me to hurt you?” I pray he says yes. He nods without hesitation, his eyes begging for more.
It takes no more than ten minutes of me slapping, pinching, and biting him, on pretty much every place except his cock, before he’s squirting his sticky cum all over his own stomach. Typically, I don’t like for the guy to get off, but I found an inexplicable calmness while abusing this kid, so I really don’t mind. If I didn’t have the self-imposed rule that I never prey on the same guy twice, I’d definitely enjoy playing with him again. Had I known how this night would turn out, I’d have brought a whip, some hot wax, and who knows what else. Nonetheless, I feel much better at the end of the session, and based on the smile spread across his face, I think he does too. I crawl off the bed and begin to put my clothes back on, leaving him to revel in his post-orgasmic bliss.
“Don’t you want me to please you too, slut?” He can’t help himself from laughing as he says the last word.
Turning around so that I can look in his face, I tell him honestly, “You did please me, little boy.”
Without another word, I walk out the door to the hotel room as he calls after me asking how he’s going to get free or get back to his car. Leo waits for me outside the door and I tilt my head towards the elevators. “Let’s go.”
Once we’re back in my apartment, he wastes no time in tearing away my clothes and consuming my body. From my neck to my toes and back up again, he kisses, licks, and nibbles like pleasing me is an Olympic event. I even make him call me slut as he does it, which drives me wild. And much like the boy from earlier in the night, I find my erotic release in a very short time. Leo wins the gold, no doubt.
Then as he does every night that he brings me home, he carries me to my bed, tucking me in and kissing me on my forehead.
“Goodnight, Leo. Thank you for taking care of me,” I mumble sleepily.
“Yes ma’am, Miss Kat. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Leo,” I call out to him as he’s walking out of my room.
He stops and pivots around. “Yes, Miss Kat?”
“What did you mean earlier in the car when you said ‘and then you last night’?”
“I followed you,” he replies and then spins back around, not waiting for me to say anything.
And he disappears.
Friday morning I want to call in sick even more than I did on Thursday. I don’t want to deal with any of it. Thankfully, neither Lauren nor Lucca pestered me about the incident prior to the staff meeting or the events of our dinner the previous evening. They pretty much left me alone for the majority of the day, each of them sticking their head in once just to say hello, or most likely to make sure I hadn’t run away. I have no idea what to expect today and I hate it.
I hate not having the control over my surroundings or the people in it. That’s one thing that I love about being a teacher in an elementary school. Sure, kids are unpredictable and can act up, but when I’m in my classroom setting, the bottom line is I’m the adult and I’m in control. The oldest child I have in any of my classes is ten, and even as a petite twenty two year old female, I control ten year olds. But adults in a workplace environment are a completely different species, hence why I typically try so hard to avoid them. One dinner — I had one dinner with coworkers and within thirty-six hours, I feel like the protective little bubble that I have worked so hard to create has been permeated and is quickly dissolving. The part I’m struggling with the most is that I actually like Lauren and Lucca; it would be much easier if I didn’t, and then I could just cut them out of my life. I know that’s what I should do — for both their sakes, as well as my own.
Seeing Lucca’s smiling face waiting for me outside of my room is bittersweet. There’s no denying his face is nice to look at; it’s actually light years better than nice — he’s downright gorgeous. However, I know that no matter how many somersaults my belly does when he stares at me with those different colored eyes or how many times I dream about how soft his lips felt against mine, I will never be what he’s looking for. How do you tell someone that you’re not capable of love?
“Good morning, Miss Foster,” he greets me as he hands me a hot cup of coffee. “I brought you your sugar and milk with a dash of java.”
I accept it graciously after opening the door to let us both in. “Thank you very much, Mr. Ellis. That’s awfully kind of you… not necessary, but kind.”
He follows me inside, lingering around the keyboard as I put away my things. After just a couple of minutes, I’m settled and take a much needed drink of caffeine. Not meaning to, I moan with delight as the delicious, sugary liquid coats my taste buds and warms my chest as it travels through my body. His gaze snaps to my lips as the guttural sound escapes my mouth, and he begins to walk towards me.
“I’m glad you like it. I hoped I was making it to your specifications.” He stops about a foot or two in front of me, purposely close but still far enough away to give me my space.
I look up at him and nod with a small smile. “It’s perfect,” I whisper.
“Go to dinner with me this weekend, Trina.” His request is more of a demand than a statement.
“I — I can’t,” I stutter. “I have plans already.”
He knows I’m lying, but he doesn’t call me out on it. Instead, he says, “Then any weekend, the next one you aren’t busy. If breakfast or lunch is better, we can do that. I don’t care. I just want to see you again outside the walls of this school.” Lifting his hand slowly, as to make sure I don’t resist or back away, his thumb caresses my bottom lip. “I want to be close to these again.”
I just stand there, mesmerized by his voice and his touch. Despite everything I’ve told myself, not just over the past two days, but over the past nine years, I nod my head yes and agree to see him again. He grins and I can see the joy on his face that my acceptance brought him, and unexpectedly, that in turn makes me even happier.
“I know that customarily the guy plans the date, especially if he’s the one that did the asking, but I know you’ll feel better if you make the arrangements.” He reaches around me to grab a pen and notepad from my desk, making sure that his arm swipes up against my waist, and jots down his number. “You can text or call me, whichever you prefer, when you decide what day, time, and place you feel most comfortable with.”
As he hands me the supplies back, his fingers linger against mine for just a moment before he makes his way towards the door. “I suppose I should get to my own class before the bell rings. I’ll be waiting to hear from you, Miss Foster.”
“It’s Trina!” I call out after him. I don’t think he hears me, but he sticks his head back in the doorway a moment later.
“Did you say something?” he asks.
I nod and bite my bottom lip to keep from beaming at him like an idiot. “I said ‘it’s Trina.’ You don’t need to call me Miss Foster.”
He smirks as he replies, “You can still call me Mr. Ellis. I kinda like it.” Teasingly, he waggles his eyebrows at me, and I laugh hard.
And then he disappears.
By the time school lets out that afternoon, I’ve gone back and forth in my head at least a hundred times on
when and where I should meet Lucca again. There are thousands of restaurants in New York, but being in public with him makes me nervous. I’d rather not be visible in the public eye. I really wish that I could just have him over to my apartment so that I could cook for him, but that makes me feel even more vulnerable. Even though he knows I come from money, he really doesn’t know how much money, plus I don’t like the idea of him knowing where I live. This is our first — dare I say — date, and truth be told, I really don’t know that much about him. Ruling out those two options, that really only leaves his place. Before exiting the building for the weekend, I grab my phone and type out a text.
Me: Dinner. Your place. Tonight.
I lock up the classroom and before I reach my car in the parking lot, I hear my phone ding with a text alert. Once I’m settled in the driver’s seat with the door locked, I pull it out of my purse to read the response.
Lucca: Perfect. 7:00 ok? I’m on the corner of 10th St and 8th Ave, one block from Prospect Park. Call me when you’re close and I’ll come out to get you.
Me: Kk
The entire drive home I’m grinning like a fool. I know I shouldn’t be so giddy about this; I shouldn’t be going at all, but I just can’t stay away from him. I’m not one to ever deny myself what I want because I can usually just buy whatever it is. The problem is I’ve never wanted a person — not like I want him.
