Bittersweet Deceit

by Blakely Bennett

“Yes, sir. Sorry, Professor.”

  He removed his glasses and the pipe and placed them on the desk. “Now about your grade...”

  His eyes locked on mine and I felt myself leaning forward, being pulled into his orbital field of love and lust. Although I pissed and moaned about the games we played, I couldn’t fail to recognize their purpose. If we made passionate, intimate love each time we came together, we would never part. This way we could still enjoy each other while creating a level of distance between us.

  I believed, down to my soul, that he loved me. I couldn’t deny it when he looked at me like he did in that moment. The intensity brought tears to my eyes, which I hurriedly blinked away. I cleared my throat and said, “Yes?”

  “How do you intend to make up your grade?”

  “Um...” I said, getting back into character. “I thought you might have some ideas.” A coy smile played on my lips.

  “I do. Fold your skirt up and spread your legs wide.” He propped his elbow on the desk and rested his chin on his hand.

  “Excuse me, Professor Mason, but—”

  “There are no buts except what I plan to do to yours in a few minutes. Either do what I say, or get out.” He leaned back in his chair and pointed to the door.

  I looked to the door and then back to him, squirming in my chair. “But sir, what if someone comes in?”

  “Well, I imagine they’ll know what a poor student you are and that you’re willing to pander to my whims to get better grades. I’m sure all the other professors will be thrilled to know.”

  I did my best to look embarrassed and ashamed, dipping my head down. My nipples had trouble cooperating, they flared hard and erect.

  “Ahem,” he muttered and pointed to my legs.

  I stared directly at him, spread my legs wide, and slowly lifted the edge of my skirt. Moisture had already gathered between my thighs during the short scene.

  “No panties and a smooth mound? I have to assume you’ve already met with Professor Charles.” His brow creased and his jaw tightened.

  “No, no. I have never had a class with him. I promise.” I closed my thighs slightly.

  “Keep your legs open. I can see you’re already wet. I want to observe you while you make yourself come.”

  “Professor?”

  “No ifs, ands, or buts. Get to it.”

  “Yes sir.” I trembled slightly, I felt so turned on.

  He circled around the desk and perched on the edge.

  I snaked my right hand into my shirt and fondled my breast while my eyes took in his hard, cock straining against his pants. With my left hand, I caressed my thighs working slowly up towards the warm, wet cleft between my legs.

  Spreading my knees even wider, I tickled around my aching pussy and delved my fingers into my wetness. Mason’s eyes flared when I brought my fingers to my lips and coated them with my natural juices.

  “Ohhh man,” he groaned. “Oh sorry, fell out of character. Okay, I’m back.”

  I licked my lips and dipped my fingers back into my pussy. He loved watching me fuck myself with my hand, so I forced my fingers in deep. My eyes trailed away from his as I caught him rubbing his erection through his clothes. I wanted to unzip his pants and free his cock, but it was his game and I committed myself to playing it through.

  I tweaked my small nipples, pulling and rolling them until they were longer and distended.

  “Undo another button on your shirt and pull your breast out,” he ordered.

  My tight, white shirt became more like a corset when I pulled it down around my breasts. Though still pert, my cleavage spilled over, and I could feel the cool air against my hardened peaks.

  Scooting my ass forward in the chair, I trailed my right hand under the waist of my skirt, and found my already pulsing clit. I finger fucked myself with my left hand while I circled my arousal with my right.

  He lowered his zipper and I looked up just in time to see him extract his cock and balls through the opening in his pants.

  Masturbating for Mason coupled with watching him cup his testicles and draw a finger over the tip of his erection to coat the head with his pre-cum caused me to pant. “Oh god, I’m close.”

  “Stop!” he shouted.

  “What?” I said, completely breaking character and yanking my hand out from under my skirt.

  “You are forbidden to come before your punishment. Remove all of your clothes except for your garters, stockings, and heels.”

  “Yes, Professor Mason,” I said, with a wispy voice, playing the naughty college student again.

  “Come around the desk and lay face forward across it.”

  The cold air conditioning in the room along with the anticipation of the paddle had me shivering. I shifted into position, my arms folded under my chest, which allowed me to look over my shoulder. “What will you do to me?”

  “Whatever I want, of course.” He opened the lower drawer. “Stay still and this will be over quickly. Ten, plus two extra swats for making me wait so long, and I expect you to count.” The punishment didn’t start right away; instead he ran the rope tassel that hung from the hole in the bottom of the handle across my back and over my full, round buttocks. Then he caressed each one and stepped back.

  I felt the air move behind me before the first spank of the paddle landed on my right butt cheek. “Oof. Oh, one!”

  “You have behaved well—so far—therefore your grade has moved up to a D. Let’s see if we can improve on that.”

  The paddle hit my left cheek a bit harder and the heat quickly migrated to my pussy. “Two,” I grunted, struggling to stay still.

  The strikes landed faster as I called out, “Three, four, five, six.”

  He paused and said, “That’s worth at least a C. I’ve always known that students could be quite trainable.” He ran his hand over my tingling ass and trailed his fingers along my spine, up to my shoulders. He took me by surprise when he gripped my neck and held my head down, my cheek pressed to the desktop. I moved my arms to my side, my breasts sandwiched against the surface. “Let’s see if we can get that grade up even more. Take six straight thwacks in a row and I can safely bump you up to a solid B. Are you ready?”

  “Yes, Professor.”

  The strength of the punishment increased as did the wetness gathering between my legs. I yelled out each of the remaining swats, grunting and groaning, unable to move away.

  “Very good,” the professor said. “Shall we shoot for an A?”

  “Oh, sir,” I panted, “what would I have to do for that?”

  “Spread your legs wide and find out.” He let go of my neck and situated himself behind me. I felt the swollen head of his cock rubbing at the entrance to my pussy.

  “Oh yes,” I moaned as I felt him penetrate me. Already so turned on, I knew it wouldn’t take me long.

  He stroked deep and long, using my shoulders for leverage. “Such a nice and tight pussy. I think your pussy deserves an A.”

  Although the room was cool, all I felt was the warmth of his body and the intensity of being taken from behind and truly owned. I hissed and moaned as my first orgasm began to contract and spread the heat that caused me to combust.

  A layer of perspiration began to form between us.

  He continued his long thrusts while my contractions began to subside and I floated in the ethers of my release. Still rock-hard inside me, I knew I would have another explosive climax before he finished.

  A melody interrupted the play and Mason said, “Shit.”

  I recognized the ring tone.

  “I have to take it,” he said, pulling out of me.

  “I know.” I wavered out of the room and into the bathroom. I struggled to focus on the mundane actions required to clean up instead of on the harsh reality that had just interrupted my time with Mason. From the wicker top shelf, I retrieved a washcloth. I turned on the hot water and waited for it to warm up while I removed my heels, the garter belt, and stockings. After cleaning my saturated labia, I rinsed out th
e washcloth and then sat on the toilet with my head in my hands. Ragged breathing in my throat and chest signaled the impending breakdown. “No!” I said out loud.

  As I washed my hands in the sink, I shook my head at my reflection. What the fuck are you doing? I grabbed another washcloth and removed the smudged makeup from my eyes. I wrapped my robe around me, sighed, and went out into the hall.

  Mason waited for me on the overstuffed, beige couch in the living room. “I’m sorry, Lainie.”

  “Yes, I know. Please, just go.”

  “I’ll let you know when I can get away again. It sucks that we were interrupted but damn, baby, you were sexy as hell.” He held his arms out to me and said, “Come give me a kiss goodbye.”

  Unable to resist him, I complied. I fell against him, his kiss confounding me. My heart broke with every departure, fracturing into a million pieces until he returned and his presence slowly re-glued each tiny piece together again. Every time my heart went through its demise and resurrection, the more fragile it became. Melting into his embrace, I thought, If I could just stay right here.

  When we broke apart, he said, “I have to go. I’m already running late. I left the jacket and the other props in the closet.”

  I looked away and said, “Okay.” I held open the door for him and watched him walk out of my life once again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Waiting...

  by City and Colour

  Music from my iPod alarm clock rocked me awake Monday morning. My journal and favorite pen lay on the nightstand. I had struggled to fall asleep the night before, berating myself for doing the same thing over and over and hoping for a different outcome. If I didn’t write down all my thoughts and feelings, extracting them from my mind, I may not have slept.

  As always, after seeing Mason a low-grade anxiety had taken hold of me, and I had wondered how long I’d have to wait to hear from him again.

  But today was another day, and I would focus on my work. I turned on the coffee maker and headed for the shower. Once out, I tied my sandy-brown hair back in a twisted up ponytail and put on an outfit that I sold at the shop at the time: loose fitting, crepe, white shorts with a wide cuff, and a sheer, long-sleeved, thin-collared white blouse that matched perfectly. The shorts had long ties that hung to my knees. I slipped on a pair of high, navy platform shoes and a pair of hoop earrings. I would accessorize more once I got to the shop, adding a bangle or two.

  After applying a thin layer of mascara that highlighted my hazel-green eyes, I finished off the look with a lilac lipstick. The coffee maker had finished its job so I poured the dark liquid and creamer into a to-go cup. I grabbed my purse, a yogurt, and a banana and left for work.

  Bella Boutique didn’t open until ten o’clock that day, but I always like to get there at least an hour before. I enjoy having time alone to check on the inventory and eat my breakfast before I unlock the front door.

  The entrance to the back of the store opens right into the storage room, which is also my office. A few boxes that needed to be sorted and tagged waited for me that morning.

  I sat at the desk and checked my email and Facebook on my laptop. No messages from Mason. I refused to be the first to reach out. It was easier on my heart to wait for a message instead of waiting for a response back. I turned on the store stereo system to help drown out my thoughts.

  After finalizing an ad to be placed in the newspaper and online, and finishing my breakfast I turned the sign around on the front door and unlocked it.

  The morning breezed by and at 11:25 a.m., Samantha arrived to start her shift with lunch in hand for us both. It had become our ritual. She placed the food in the back for later. She towered over Jacqs even though she was the younger sister, and where Jacqs got the curves, Samantha had a slight frame. Her shape and her long, flowing, white-blonde hair made her look younger than her twenty-five years.

  She performed miracles on the front window displays, so I gave her the freedom to work her magic. At first I worried about her slipping back into her drinking and drugging ways. According to Jacqs, Sam had never properly mourned the death of their father and once she became a teenager, alcohol and drugs had become her salve. But I no longer had any concerns. She really seemed to have turned her life around.

  She opened and started unloading the boxes I had placed behind the checkout counter. “Hey, Lainie,” Sam said, she leaned over and kissed my cheek when I approached.

  Although I hugged Jacqueline and Mason often, I had personal space issues. It took me a long time to get close enough to a person to want to press my body and heart against them. The only other exception was Catherine, whom we called Cat. Bond also brought Cat into our circle of friends. Neither Cat, nor Sam knew about Mason.

  “How was your weekend?” she asked over her shoulder as she folded the new designer T-shirts she pulled from the first box.

  “It was great to see Jacqs yesterday. You?”

  “Oh yeah? I’ve been meaning to call her. Mom plans to invite her to dinner sometime this week, but I’ll probably see her on Wednesday at Red’s. You’re going, right?”

  I nodded.

  “The weekend was good,” Sam continued. “After I left here on Saturday, I spent the rest of the evening chasing Sarah around the park. That daughter of mine has enough energy to power three people.”

  We laughed together and then I said, “I love the new window display. Where did you find the headless mannequins?”

  “Have you been in attic lately?”

  “I avoid hot, enclosed, spider-laden places.”

  “Lainie”—she laughed, doubling over—“you are an interesting bird. You come across so put together and confident, and now I find out you’re afraid of spiders?”

  She continued to crack up until I shot her a dirty look that just made her laugh harder.

  “I never said I was afraid of them, I just choose to reduce the chance that I will have to take one out.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, giggling.

  “Was there anything else of interest up there?”

  “Besides spiders the size of your hand?” She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Actually there is this white, wire mannequin. Circles of wire form this cool-looking, off-the-shoulder dress with a diagonal hem. It’s hard to explain, but I think it has a lot of potential.”

  “That sounds interesting, can’t wait to see it.”

  “I need some help getting down. No, I’m not asking you to help.” She shook her head. “We need a strong guy to move it. You would think wire would be light, but it’s large, and the base is really heavy.”

  “What will you use it for?”

  “I’m not one hundred percent certain yet,” she said while opening another box that contained short leather skirts. “It’s pretty cool as an art piece, but I was thinking we might try hanging beach wraps in such a way that it makes a multicolor skirt on the bottom. For the fall and winter, I was thinking we would use it to feature scarves.”

  “I trust your judgment. When do you need it by?”

  “No rush. Do you have a price list for the skirts or is it the same as last time?”

  “Same.” The door chimed, signaling a customer, so I went to the front of the store to offer my assistance.

  Samantha and I rotated nights that we stayed until closing. She mostly manned Saturdays on her own since Mason’s wife expected him to be “golfing” unless he had plans to take his kids to the beach or some other activity. Sunday the store remained closed. On a rare occasion, I had taken a spontaneous “lunch” away from the boutique at a moment’s notice, leaving Sam to man the fort and eat on her own. No such call came that day.

  After I locked up for the night, I heard my cellphone ring and ran into the storage room hoping to see MM across my screen.

  “Hi, Dad,” I said, slumping in my desk chair.

  “Don’t sound so disappointed,” he said. His voice was kind and concerned.

  “No, I’m happy to hear from you... I was just expecting anoth
er call.”

  “Mason?”

  “Yes,” I said, with a sigh.

  “How’s that going?” I heard him clear his throat.

  “Same. I know ... I know I should move on, but I haven’t summoned the courage yet.”

  “I understand.”

  “You do? Why are you always so sweet to me? Shouldn’t you be giving me a hard time for my stupid choices? You know Mom would if she knew.”

  “Love can be complicated and of course, I’m worried for you. These things never seem to end well.”

  “Are you speaking from experience?” A knot tightened in my gut over the thought of my father cheating on my mother. Not that I would have a hard time understanding it. My mother wasn’t someone you could easily connect with or become attached to. I never understood my father’s loyalty to their marriage. As horrible as it is to say, I have long wanted something better for him.

  “I was in love once, before I met your mother, and wasn’t an affair per se, but I would have moved heaven and earth to be with her. She had other priorities, or at least her family did and she went along with them.”

  “Do I know her?” I couldn’t fathom my father being passionately in love.

  “No, honey. Unfortunately she died many years ago.”

  “Oh, Dad, I’m so sorry.”

  “My point is that sometimes love takes us places we never thought we’d go. I’ve heard enough stories from friends over the years to know affairs often have tragic endings and it’s usually the person in your position that suffers the most.”

  I knew he was right, but how do you let go of the greatest love of your life, knowing you might spend the rest of it in search of something even remotely close? Or even worse, settle like my father must have. “Where’s Mom?” I knew Dad would never be talking to me this openly if she was home.

  “She’s out with Maxine helping her coordinate her latest fundraiser.”

  Maxine was my mother’s best friend who she had known since her dorm days in college.

  “Water towers for drought areas in Africa,” he continued.

  “Well, at least it’s a good cause this time around.”