He paused, and then continued, his voice implacable. “But if you use your safeword, we are done, and you leave. This isn’t about your pleasure. It’s about mine. Stay, and you play by my rules.
My nipples had tightened and pebbled as he spoke; erect under my dress. I nodded silently, unable to form words. This is what I’d come for, wasn’t it? An opportunity to walk on the dark side; a way to plumb depths I couldn’t explore with the men I typically dated.
“Walk through the house,” he said. “There’s a screen door in the kitchen, opening out to the back yard. Go outside. Strip. Put your clothes on the patio table. Kneel and wait for me.”
I looked at him in shock. He had neighbours; it was summer, and I could hear the sounds of laughter and talk; smell the aroma of the grill from where I stood in his doorway. It was dusk; the last vestiges of daylight were fading, but there was still light in the air; the sky would not darken fully for another thirty minutes.
He held my gaze, a mocking smile playing on his lips. It was the smile that decided it; he was so smug; he clearly expected me to safeword and run for my life. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Not yet.
I marched through the house; pulled open the screen door and stepped outside. There, I took a quick breath with relief. His backyard was fenced in; nobody would be able to see me. But his neighbours were in their backyard; their laughter and the hiss of their grill were dangerously close; I would definitely be heard out here, if not seen.
It didn’t matter; I had my orders.
I took my clothes off; placed them neatly on the table. It was summer; the day had been humid and hot, but the night air was cool on my body. I knelt on the patio stones, sitting on my haunches, knees spread slightly apart, hands on my thighs, palm up, my eyes lowered. I could feel my arousal grow as I realized how submissive I was being; how much his orders were turning me on.
I finally heard him; I didn’t look up; I kept my eyes lowered. I could feel him look at me, walk around me, rake my naked body with his eyes, and I’d never felt more exposed. His silence was unnerving; the fact that he didn’t touch me rankled.
He flicked a switch, and music filled the night air. Not too loud, but it would provide some white noise to disguise soft moans. Was that reassuring? I wasn’t thinking. I just knelt; waiting for Jake to give me my next order.
“Look at me.” His voice was low and calm.
I obeyed.
“When I say jump, what do you say?”
“How high,” I whispered.
“How high, Professor Ballard,” he corrected me.
I hated the way he made me feel, like nothing more than an object for his pleasure, yet I was soaking wet, and I was still on my knees. He could see the conflict in my eyes. He laughed at me mockingly. “Do you like the way I treat you, pet?”
“Not even a little bit, Professor Ballard.”
“Then why are you still here, pet?”
I took a deep breath. “Because my pussy is wet, Professor Ballard.”
He laughed. “Unexpected honesty, pet. Perhaps there is more to you after all… Let’s find out, shall we? Do you have a safeword you’d like to use?”
My voice was soft. “Magic 8-ball.”
“Magic 8-ball,” he repeated, amused questioning in his voice. But then, his voice hardened. “Use your mouth to unzip my pants. Take my dick out, give me a blow job.”
***
Of course I complied. Every time I obeyed him, my pussy gushed; my submissiveness to his demands was arousing; my willingness to comply with his every directive a powerful aphrodisiac.
Which didn’t mean that there wasn’t some inexpert fumbling with the zipper. I’d never unzipped anything with my mouth; I was clumsy and fumbling and flushed with shame as I tried my best to get his zipper undone.
He had removed his belt, but then he just stood there watching my attempts. He didn’t laugh, for which I was grateful; but he didn’t help either. I wondered if he was watching me with the same impatience as he had shown in the Starbucks line earlier today, when I fumbled for change.
Every time I bobbed up and down, my mouth seeking the pull of the zipper, my cheeks brushed past his hard erection, and I could feel it harden still further; jump at the contact. His hard dick was my only reassurance that I wasn’t a bumbling idiot; the only sign that this situation was turning him on.
Finally, after many, many attempts to grab the zipper pull between my teeth, he finally took pity on me.
“Stay still,” he growled. He reached for the zipper pull, held it between his fingers. “Come here, pet, come put this in your mouth,” he muttered.
Pet. I hated that nickname. More than the physical act of getting naked at his command, the word was humiliating; reducing me to a fucktoy for his benefit. I hated myself for staying, for leaning forward and taking the zipper pull in my mouth.
And yet I did. His fingers brushed over my lips as I clasped the pull between my teeth. The first time that evening that he’d touched me, and my mouth parted, almost unwillingly as his fingers traced a gentle path between the seam of my lips, and a shudder of arousal rippled through me at his touch.
It took me by surprise; that shudder. I’d assumed it was my submissiveness that was turning me on; that Jake’s orders were just a way for me to demonstrate my willing compliance. But he hadn’t touched me harshly; it had been a gentle, fleeting touch, and it had turned me on more than it should have.
Magic 8-ball, I thought to myself, how is it possible that I am still attracted to Jake Ballard? With the mockery and the amusement and the harshly spoken orders?
I had pulled the zipper down, and he pushed his pants down his hips, finally impatient, and pulled his beautiful, engorged cock out of his briefs. Suddenly, all thought fled my brain, and my mouth opened, almost involuntarily, to take this perfect specimen of manhood into me, to worship it as it was meant to be worshipped.
Ask again later, my brain answered my earlier question about Jake. And then, it shut down completely as lust took over. My tongue reached out and tasted the bit of precum that had formed, swirled around his head, just for a minute, tasting him. It sounded like a cliché, but he tasted utterly, commandingly male. Salty and sweet and primal male perfection.
Then I took him into my mouth, palms still placed on my knees, and started giving him the best blowjob I knew how.
For a few instants, he was content in letting me set the pace, and I took about half his length in my mouth; my tongue wrapping around his length, I kept my mouth slack as he slid in, and sucked in my cheeks to increase pressure on his way out. I could feel his cock thicken and grow in my mouth still further as I moved my head up and down his length, rubbing my tongue on the sensitive underside of his shaft, sucking my mouth round his thick, smooth head.
I heard him groan a bit for the first time, and triumph shot through me. Finally, a sign that he too was affected by this.
“Now, pet,” he said, pulling his dick out, and looking at me. “I’m going to take your mouth, and take it hard. I suggest you keep the volume down, unless you want my neighbours to hear you moan…”
I flushed, but I had no more time to react; he wrapped my long hair around his hands, and tightened till there was a hint of pain, and then he pulled me towards him. His hands slid slightly lower, and he was grasping me around my neck, my hair still entwined in his hands, and he was urging my mouth deeper on his cock, and I forced myself to relax and take the full length of him in my mouth.
His cock hit the back of my throat, and I did my best to breathe through my nose. I focused on setting a rhythm to please him; and I could tell I was succeeding by the way his hands tightened in my hair. My pussy was leaking, juice dripping down my thighs and onto the patio stones; I was so turned on by his roughness.
I paused to breathe; to slow the pace down slightly, but he was having none of it.
“I’m going to set the pace now, pet,” he growled at me, and moved his dick in and out of my mouth; fucking me, using
me for his pleasure. I was drooling, and I fought not to gag; he gave me just enough time to breathe, before he forced his length down my throat.
Every nerve in my body tingled with arousal at the way he was treating me; at the way I was allowing him to treat me.
He held his cock in my throat for a few seconds, and my throat opened to him in response. I struggled to breathe; my eyes were watering.
He pulled out for an instant, and I gulped down frantic gasps of air; he pushed back in my throat. My hands gripped my thighs so hard I was leaving deep indentations in my flesh as I struggled to submit to his control.
I could have stopped him; I could have pulled back, or safeworded and left. But I wanted this; I wanted to be treated like an object of no consequence; I wanted it to be just about his pleasure. The harder he took me, the more thoughtless he was; the more complete my submission.
The world narrowed to just his cock in my throat. The conversations in the neighbour’s yard faded to a dull background throb; the music, a slow swell under me, felt but not heard. All that mattered was opening my throat to his pleasure. Breathing when he allowed it. Letting him fuck me at the pace he wanted.
The drool from my mouth ran down my body; the juices from my pussy drenched my thighs. I was a soaking mess, but I’d never felt more like a creature of sex.
“I’m going to come on your breasts, pet,” I heard him say above me, and he pulled out, and spurted come all over my breasts and my hardened nipples. Rivulets ran down my body, but I stayed where I was; unsure what I was expected to do.
He smiled at me; still mocking. His fingers reached out and scooped some of his ejaculation from my breasts; and he held his fingers near my mouth. “Here, lick,” he ordered.
I shocked myself by obeying, and briefly thought of all the nice boys I’d dated, whose come I’d refused to swallow. He fed me his come, I licked it like a cat off his fingers. I felt dirty, sticky and nasty, and I felt powerful and sexual.
My pussy was throbbing; engorged; pulsing with need. I groaned inside; I was so very ready to feel him against me. But I knew better to ask; I was there for his pleasure.
He pulled back; he was watching me with darkened eyes. Finally, he gestured towards the screen door; his meaning clear. I was to go inside.
***
“Shower?” he asked, standing in the kitchen, leaning against a counter, watching me. Unexpected consideration; I was sticky with his come, and a shower sounded like bliss.
“Yes, please, Professor Ballard,” I replied, my eyes still on the floor. I’d lowered them as soon as I’d walked in.
“You can make eye contact, you know,” he laughed at me. “I like watching the resentment flare in your eyes as I make you do something outside your comfort zone. And then the lust takes over, and you just obey.”
I made eye contact, and as he predicted, resentment flared in my eyes. I didn’t like being laughed at, and he clearly knew it, and was deliberately needling me. I counted to ten inwardly, else I was going to throw a mug or something at him; the smug bastard.
His lips twitched as he watched me struggle to still my temper.
“Very good, pet, I admire self-control. Come on, let’s see about your shower.”
I followed him up the stairs; trying not to stare as I took in the details of his home. It was warm and comfortable; filled with books, paintings and colour. Lamps were everywhere, causing the rooms to glow in their warm light. Jake’s office at the University was functional; overflowing with paper and take-out containers, old cups of coffee. His home was a vivid contrast.
He handed me a towel and gestured to the bathroom. “Ten minutes, and if you aren’t out in time, I’m coming to get you, and you will get a spanking you’ll regret,” he said evenly. I nodded, took the towel and placed it on the bathroom counter. I didn’t bother closing the door; I was naked, and if there was any part of me he hadn’t seen so far, he’d see it before the night was over. I just turned on the water, and stepped into the shower, moaning in satisfaction as the water gushed out, steamy and perfect.
His water pressure was amazing; I didn’t want to get out. My student apartment shower was a trickle; on a daily basis, I had the habit of detouring to the gym, mostly because of the superior water pressure of the gym showers. But the gym showers had nothing on this shower; the pressure was heavenly; the water temperature was perfect. I was initially hesitant about the clear glass shower door, but it quickly fogged up and I just took a deep breath and let the relaxation flow through me.
Magic 8-ball, what am I doing? I mouthed to myself. Jake had been right to accuse me of submissive posturing; I had played submissive games with previous boyfriends; but we’d always ended up doing what I wanted to do. But tonight with Jake, things were different. He ordered; I obeyed. And I loved it. I wasn’t nervous; I wasn’t jumpy. I was calm and centered.
Reply hazy, try again, my imaginary Magic 8-ball replied. I laughed. I’d been reduced to getting guidance from an imaginary Magic 8-ball. Certifiably insane.
Shit. My eyes flew open. How much time had passed, while I luxuriated under the shower? I looked around; there was no clock in the bathroom. I hastily scrubbed myself with soap, rinsed myself off; toweled myself dry as quickly as possible. I stepped out of the bathroom; hoping I’d made it in time.
***
There was only one open door; I stepped into it. Jake was there; lying on his side, facing the door, looking sexier than any man had the right to look. He had kicked off his shoes; but he was otherwise still clothed; his jeans had been zipped up after he’d come all over my breasts.
“How long did I take?” I asked him.
He looked at me silently.
Crap. “How long did I take, Professor Ballard?” I reworded my question quickly.
He laughed at me. Again, the mocking amusement. “What would you like me to tell you, pet? Would you like me to tell you that you took less than ten minutes? Or, do you crave the spanking instead, at the hands of a man who won’t slow down or stop when you plead?”
Damn him. He’d read me perfectly, and I hated him for it. I did want to know what the spanking would feel like; I did wonder what it would feel like to be absolutely powerless under his arms; knowing he’d stop spanking me only when he felt like it.
I didn’t meet his eyes; and I could hear his laugh again.
“Come here, pet.” His voice sounded slightly indulgent. “Come, lie down on the bed, and spread yourself open for me.”
He patted the side of the bed next to him.
I padded into the room; dropped the towel; climbed on the bed next to him; spread my legs apart. He just watched me, his eyes unreadable.
“Lift your hands,” he said finally. I lifted my hands; he took them in his own; moved them over and up, above my head. There was a headboard there, with wooden slats. “Hold on to the slats; don’t let go.”
I nodded in compliance. He smiled at me; still amused, then rose up to kneel between my spread legs.
“Spread them wider, pet,” he ordered. I obeyed; the muscles on my thighs protesting as I parted them as widely as I could. I tried to tune the word ‘pet’ out. It wasn’t growing on me.
“Now, pet, I think you deserve a reward,” he said huskily, his fingers reaching out to touch my pussy.
I twisted slightly; looked at him. My gaze was even.
“In that case, Professor Ballard, I know what I want,” I said steadily. Inwardly, I was mocking myself; my ridiculous attempt to make this night something more than what it was. To lend it some meaning.
He looked at me, one eyebrow raised. I wasn’t following the script.
“What do you want, pet?” he asked me. His voice was expressionless.
“I don’t want you to call me pet,” I said. “Call me Emily.”
I’d startled him; I could see that. First, there was surprise in his eyes; and then, an expression I couldn’t read, only for an instant, and then, finally, that hated amusement. But there was no mockery in his gaze this
time, as he looked at me, his lips twitched.
My heart was racing as I waited for him to speak.
“Emily,” he said. “I had a different reward in mind…”
He bent his mouth to my pussy.
***
Chapter 2
Jake:
Okay, I felt a slight twinge of guilt when she looked at me with those fiery eyes and asked me to call her Emily.
I didn’t feel bad about making her suck me off; I didn’t feel bad about laughing at her; I didn’t even feel bad about the whole ‘jump, how high’ nonsense. But I did feel a semblance of guilt for the basically shitty introduction to BDSM that I was giving her; and I felt more than a slight twinge of guilt for deliberately objectifying her.
I knew her, of course; we’d worked on the same floor for five years. We were both early risers; we were often the only two people on the floor in the cool, clear hours of dawn; both preferring to work in the quiet, before the building got crowded and noisy and filled with chatter. I’d seen her in the break room, grabbing a candy bar from the vending machine for energy; seen her microwave a mug of water for tea.
But I’d never paid much attention to her. I’d been in a relationship for a lot of that time; other women existed, but not in any way that was relevant to me sexually. And in any case, though she was pretty, in a delicate, understated way, I didn’t find tongue-tied stammering attractive.
Then I’d flipped through her Kindle, and my initial amusement at the seriously extensive collection of bodice-rippers had been quickly overtaken by anger; I was tired of the Fifty-Shades-of-Grey poseurs who thought they knew what dominance and submission was because they owned a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold. And so I’d pushed, and she’d responded in a way that was totally unexpected, and my arousal had taken me entirely by surprise.
And now I was being a jackass.
It wasn’t supposed to be that way – this connection; this trust that one partner gave another during a session was usually the strongest and most personal of bonds; way more intense and connected than sex. Trust was a powerful aphrodisiac.
Teaching Maya Page 15
