Teach Me a Lesson

by Jasmine Haynes

  “What was your fantasy?”

  “I imagined he took me right there in his office.”

  “Did he bend you over his desk?”

  “No. Over his leather chair. Just like this.” She pushed back, shimmied, teased.

  “Did he lift your skirt?” He stroked her cheeks, held her hips, pressed hard against her center.

  “Yes. Then he pulled aside my panties and slipped right inside.”

  “Like this?” He wedged a finger beneath the thin strap of her thong, slid it to the left, and teased her with the tip of his cock.

  Charlotte moaned. Though he was kneeling between her legs, she spread her thighs wider for him. “He teased me like that for so long that suddenly I just had to make him do it.” Her hands flat on the chair back, she pushed against him, forcing him to slip inside. But his hand was in the way, and for a moment all he did was short-stroke just inside her opening. It was enough, good God, more than enough, his cock caressing her G-spot.

  Charlotte closed her eyes. Absolutely perfect.

  “Then he fucked me,” she whispered. “Hard, relentlessly. Until I was screaming.”

  Principal Hutton gave her everything she was begging for, hands on her hips, taking her hard, thrusting deep. She couldn’t see. She could barely breathe. She for sure couldn’t think. At the last moment, he pushed a hand between her legs, found her clitoris, rubbed her, circled her. And shot her off into outer space like a rocket.

  Oh God, yes, this was addiction and oh so very good, the worst kind of habit to kick.

  * * *

  HE’D NEVER BEEN WITH A WOMAN HE SIMPLY COULDN’T GET enough of. She’d sucked him off. He’d come hard. But he’d needed more. Right away. No time necessary to recharge. The need was simply there, overpowering.

  He lay like a blanket over her body, squashing her down in the chair. The distinctly feminine scent of arousal oozed from her pores. Turning his head, he licked the salt from her skin. He nibbled her shoulder, kissed her ear.

  “That was better than my fantasy,” she murmured.

  “I’m so glad to hear it, Miss Moore. I’ve never fucked anyone in my office, but if you’d been my student, I most certainly would have taken you.”

  “Why thank you, Principal Hutton.”

  He contemplated meeting her at the school late in the night, when the halls were empty, all the lessons planned, and even the janitors had gone home.

  He also contemplated taking her to his bed and having her over and over. She energized him. He was like a young buck again. “We need sustenance. Then we’ll go to bed. I fancy having you in the middle of the night.”

  She was silent a moment. A very long moment. Then, “We wouldn’t want to have too much of a good thing.” She wriggled beneath him. “It just gets boring.”

  “I believe we have the capacity to add extra spice.” After all, they’d only played this game twice. He certainly wasn’t that easily bored. “And you’re the slave. So we’ll eat and I’ll have you again. As many times as I like.” Part of the game was being a dom.

  She set both hands against the back of the chair and pushed. Covering her as he was, his cock still buried inside her, she failed to dislodge him. “I’m ready to get up now, Principal Hutton. It’s time for me to go home.”

  He nipped her neck, like a lion taming his mate. “I say when it’s time for you to go.”

  He could almost hear her teeth gnashing. Then she spoke in an overly sweet tone. “It’s getting hard to breathe down here. And I’m a little cold.”

  On one hand, it was an obvious ploy. On the other hand, he couldn’t lay on her all night long just to keep her here. “I can put another log on the fire,” he told her. “Don’t get dressed.” Then he pulled out and away, stuffing his cock back in his pants just until he could get rid of the condom.

  Standing over her as she pushed herself upright on her knees, he added, “And don’t leave while I’m gone.”

  Charlotte glared at him.

  He narrowed his eyes. “I should spank you for looking at me like that.”

  “Don’t push your luck, Lance,” she said. No kowtowing to the principal in those words.

  He would have stayed to deal with her if other needs weren’t pressing. Though necessary, condoms sucked. He was back in less than five minutes. Charlotte was dressed, just the way he suspected she’d be, her hand on the front doorknob.

  At least she hadn’t left. “We’re not done, Miss Moore.”

  “You punished me. You fucked me. That covers all the bases.”

  “You haven’t learned to be submissive. You’re supposed to do everything I tell you.”

  “I did. But I never said I was spending the night. This isn’t a date, you know. It’s sex. Fun and games. Nothing serious.”

  Well, that put him in his place. He was a fantasy, just like her long-ago principal. No spending the night allowed. No dating. No attachment. Only fun and games. “And when you misbehave again?”

  She cocked her head. “I might have turned over a new leaf,” she said with a sugary smile.

  He seriously doubted that. She’d need her punishment again. The next time, he wouldn’t take off the handcuffs until he had her in his bed.

  * * *

  AT QUARTER TO TEN ON MONDAY MORNING, CHARLOTTE HAD another fifteen minutes before her first client arrived. So she curled her feet beneath her in the corner chair, sunlight forcing its way through the leaves and branches of the big oaks outside her office windows, and called Lola. Who, incidentally, had been MIA all weekend.

  “We went wine tasting in Napa,” Lola started out explaining.

  “You don’t need to justify to me, honey.” Charlotte was exceptionally happy that Lola had found her perfect Coach.

  “I meant to call you, but—”

  Charlotte held up her hand as if Lola could see. “Say no more.”

  “All right, then just spill the beans.”

  “It was amazing,” Charlotte said, her voice more musing than enthralled. “Like the first time you told me about Coach Barnett.” Charlotte called him Coach because at the time that had been how Lola thought of him. Just as Charlotte liked to think of Lance as Principal Hutton, giving him that air of authority and a sense of illicitness. But it was also intimate to think of him as Lance. And that felt sexy, too. Maybe dangerously so.

  “So of course you’re seeing him again,” Lola said.

  “Of course. But here’s the issue.”

  “Oh God.” She could visualize Lola’s eye roll. “You’re not going to analyze yourself out of the whole thing, are you?”

  Charlotte fully admitted she tended to overanalyze her relationships. She’d had five serious ones, but Martin was the closest she’d gotten to marriage. And therein lay the problem. Lance was a principal, a man of authority, and he definitely had the tendency to be autocratic. But she couldn’t let him order her to spend the night. That was beyond the rules they’d established. Hmm, okay, they hadn’t established any rules yet. Whatever. The bigger issue was that she’d wanted to stay, wanted him to take her in the deepest part of the night, one time, two, three, until dawn broke.

  She cut her musings off right there. “Actually, it has nothing to do with Principal Hutton himself.” Or her past relationship with a controlling father figure. “It’s more that I’m totally obsessed with the sex.”

  “No,” Lola said on a gasp, sarcastic wonder lacing her tone. “You? Obsessed with sex? It’s impossible.”

  Charlotte tut-tutted like an old maid. Or the psychologist she was. “Just because I deal with sex on a daily basis doesn’t mean I’m obsessed with it. In fact, I help people get over their obsessions and addictions. And that’s why I know the signs.”

  Her sign? She wanted more of Principal Lance Hutton. Or rather, more of what he gave her, ordering her to do those dirty things, tying her up, forcing her. “Oh my God,” she hissed.

  “What?”

  “You don’t think I’m actually reverting to that pathetic young wo
man who needed a man to tell her what to do, how to act, someone who wanted all her decisions made for her by some older and wiser man?”

  “Charlotte, you weren’t like that.” Lola had lived through those dark months when Charlotte felt like she was losing herself in the will of another. Martin had been subtle, even loving about it, but he’d been directing her life all the same. Do you really think that’s the right decision, Charlotte? Why don’t you think about it this way instead, Charlotte? I’m sure when you think it through, Charlotte, you’ll realize this is what you should do. All those suggestions were supposed to help her. Instead they’d stifled her intuition. She’d begun to doubt herself. She couldn’t make a decision without asking his opinion first. Which had always differed from her own. Until finally she’d managed to make a decision without consulting him first, the day she walked out to find herself again.

  “You’ve only been with him a couple of times, Charlotte. Why are you overreacting?”

  Why? “Because it was too good. I’m suspicious of anything that’s too good.” She was also cautious about allowing anyone too much control.

  “It’s too good with Gray, but you don’t question that.”

  “That’s you, not me. I have an obsessive personality.”

  Lola snorted. “You do not. It sounds more like you’re trying to find an excuse to get rid of him. And you haven’t even started yet. Not really anyway.” Lola hmmed. “You know, you always begin overanalyzing when you’re actually interested in a man.”

  “For God’s sake, like you said, I’ve only been with him twice.”

  “Yes, but you’ve known him since he became principal three years ago. That’s more than enough time.”

  “I was never interested in him. I never even looked at him. He’s too old for me.”

  “That’s exactly why you’re overanalyzing,” Lola insisted. “Because all of a sudden, your little ooh-la-la switch got flipped.”

  “Ooh-la-la?”

  “Yeah. You know, when you suddenly see a man for the first time. Maybe it’s the way he laughed. Or some little thing he said. Or even a scent on him. And bam, you suddenly see him as a man instead of a boss or a coworker or a friend.”

  Charlotte didn’t want to admit that Lola might actually have a point. For her, it had been the way Lance towered over her when she was down on the office carpet holding the apple. His amused expression. His arms folded over his chest. His suddenly impressive chest.

  “So don’t talk yourself out of this yet. At least give it more time.”

  Charlotte wasn’t really planning to talk herself out of it. She just didn’t want to let things get out of control. But when you were talking about addiction and obsession, the essence of the words meant losing control.

  As usual, though, Lola had a point. Charlotte was overanalyzing. It was funny—funny odd—that she could be so levelheaded with everyone else’s problems but overreact with her own.

  “All right,” she agreed, “I’ll stop analyzing.” For now.

  “Just enjoy. Go for it. Try everything you’ve ever wanted to try.”

  “Hey, who’s the psychologist here?”

  Lola laughed. “I know you better than you know yourself.”

  “Right,” Charlotte said with a snap on the last letter. “And I know you. So stop analyzing and move in with Gray. You know you want to.”

  “I haven’t said no yet.” Defensiveness tinged Lola’s voice.

  “Then just say yes.” Charlotte refrained from saying that it didn’t have to be permanent. Anything could be changed, but Lola didn’t need to hear that she could run away if things got tough. She needed to feel that taking the risk was worth it.

  “I thought we were talking about you. You’re trying to change the subject.”

  “Of course not. I love talking about myself. You know, you never ask for the dirty details the way I do.”

  “That’s because I know you’ll ask for mine if I ask for yours.”

  “Very true.” The light on her phone began to flash. Jeanine Smith was out in the waiting room. “Well, you’re lucky. I have to go.”

  “Ha, see, you don’t really want to talk about the principal.”

  “I wouldn’t have called you if I didn’t.” Maybe what she’d really wanted was for Lola to say exactly what she did: Go for it and enjoy. That’s just what Charlotte intended to do.

  8

  CHARLOTTE OPENED THE DOOR FOR JEANINE. SHE DIDN’T HAVE A receptionist. The client simply pushed a button on a console out in the small waiting room, which set the light on Charlotte’s office phone flashing. Her clients needn’t meet each other either. There was an exit door that bypassed the waiting room, leading into the passageway with the restroom conveniently close by in case they needed to repair the damage an emotional session had on their makeup. Most of her clients were women.

  Today Jeanine was impeccably dressed as usual, not a strand of blond hair out of place. Her blue knee-length skirt was neatly ironed, her white blouse buttoned to the neck. Charlotte had a feeling that the pressed and buttoned-up facade was something of a defense mechanism this time.

  They took their usual seats in the corner by the window, Charlotte facing the clock and the desk. Perhaps it was her phone call with Lola, and Lola’s words: Go for it. Try everything you’ve ever wanted to try. If Jeanine went for it, perhaps her problems would vanish. So instead of letting her client control the discussion—and deflecting any questions she didn’t want to answer—Charlotte moved straight to the suggestion she’d made at the end of their last session.

  “So, what were the results of the experiment we discussed last time?”

  Jeanine arched one penciled brow. “What experiment?”

  “You were going to indulge your husband’s fantasy.”

  Jeanine pursed her mouth, tiny lines fanning out along her upper lip. “I’m not going to have sex with other men,” she snapped.

  Charlotte could see right through Jeanine’s avoidance tactic. “I agree. But you were only going to fantasize. Discover what effect that had.”

  “You said I needed to get rid of the kids. I didn’t get a chance. My youngest son had issues at school, and we spent most of the time dealing with that.” Jeanine toyed with the strap of her purse.

  She didn’t want to address the sexual issues. When tasked with taking action, Jeanine evaded it. She wasn’t ready to move beyond complaining. Her son’s school issues were a way of not dealing with her husband’s sexual issues, her sexual issues.

  Charlotte chose a conversational rather than confrontational tone. “Would you like to discuss your son’s issue during our time today?”

  “I . . .” Jeanine hesitated. “I wouldn’t exactly call it an issue”—though that was exactly the word she’d used—“just kid stuff. We’ll get through it.”

  Which meant her son was merely an excuse not to carry through with Charlotte’s suggestion. Of course, creating a fantasy with her husband about her being with another man was Charlotte’s idea, not Jeanine’s, and often a person had to come up with their own solution—or attempt a solution—for it to actually work.

  Before Charlotte could speak or ask another question, Jeanine rushed on. “Look, okay, I was afraid.”

  Admitting fear was definitely progress. Instead of pushing, Charlotte let Jeanine continue at her own pace.

  “You see, if I even suggest I might do it, he’d actually want me to do it. He wouldn’t just fantasize. He’d keep pushing and pushing. He’s just that way. So it could all backfire on me.”

  Charlotte knew how Jeanine felt. With Lance, Charlotte wanted it her way. She liked his orders, his authoritative attitude, his spankings, his willingness to play games, to experiment. But he’d pushed for more. And way too quickly to boot. She’d told Lola it was about obsession and addiction. But that wasn’t truly the case. It was about losing control of the situation. Charlotte wanted to lose control on her own terms, not someone else’s, especially not an authoritative older man who lik
ed to dictate.

  “So what you’re saying is that you’d like to be in control of the situation.”

  “Well, yes,” Jeanine agreed, her brow furrowed as if she hadn’t truly considered that before. Feeling powerless was definitely one of Jeanine’s issues.

  “And if you even suggest you’d like to fantasize about being with another man, then he’ll take over and force you to do it.”

  “Uh . . . yes.”

  “Then what’s our solution?”

  “Our solution?”

  Charlotte meant it the way she’d said it, the solution to Jeanine’s problem and hers. “Let’s come up with a remedy together. Let’s pretend we both have the same problem. Dealing with a man who wants his way.” Though Charlotte had to admit she could be putting that onto Lance when really it was her own neurotic fears creating the problem. After all, they did say that many psychologists and psychiatrists entered the field out of a desire to fix their personal neuroses.

  But for now, she would deal with Jeanine as if they indeed had a common problem.

  “I just don’t see that there’s a remedy, Dr. Moore.” Jeanine let an unpleasant whine enter her voice.

  Charlotte wanted to squash it. “We’re both feeling out of our depth, that we’re losing control of the situation. How do we get that back? How do we stand up for ourselves?”

  “By not playing their game?” With a slight rise at the end, Jeanine made it a question rather than a statement.

  As women, they had to make it into their game. But first you had to figure out what the other party was after. “So what game are they playing?”

  Jeanine rolled her lips between her teeth, not worrying about the smudges to her lipstick. Then she said slowly, thoughtfully, “David doesn’t want to admit that he’s got a sexual dysfunction . . . so he’s trying to get me to do kinky things that he thinks will turn him on . . .” There she trailed off, frowning, obviously having no clue as to why her husband would choose this way to bring a spark back to their marriage bed. “Because he doesn’t really want me?” She gave it that same rise in tone indicating a question.