Fifty Days of Sin

by Serena Dahl

  Fifty Days of Sin

  Fifty Days of Sin

  Midpoint

  Epilogue

  FIFTY DAYS OF SIN

  Serena Dahl

  Copyright © by Serena Dahl 2012

  Published at Smashwords

  One

  Wednesday, 22 February

  I’M REALLY NOT IN THE RIGHT state of mind for work. I’m trying to plough through a stack of papers, but when I know that Michael is due to knock on the door any minute I’m prone to drift off into the land of fantasy.

  I’m sitting at my desk when I hear the knock, and I get up and open the door.

  “Michael. Do come in,” I say icily.

  My visitor walks into the room and shuts the door behind him. Every time I see him I am struck anew by his physical attractiveness. Tall and athletic, with slightly curly brown hair, a hint of stubble, blue eyes and chiselled cheekbones, he is just my type.

  “Hi,” he says.

  I’m tall for a woman, and even when I wear high heels Michael towers over me. But despite his height advantage, I have the upper hand. And it’s not because I’m the one with the doctorate, four published titles on my subject, and a post as a lecturer at one of the greatest academic institutions in the world, while he is just a final year student.

  I have the upper hand because we’re embroiled in a game that we’ve been playing for some time now.

  “You’re fifteen minutes late, Michael,” I reply with pointedly raised eyebrows.

  “Oh,” he says. “Sorry.”

  “Sorry? Is that all you’ve got to say for yourself?”

  There’s a little smile playing around the corners of his mouth. He stays silent.

  “Your lateness indicates a certain lack of respect, Michael. When you make an appointment I expect you to keep it. So why do you never turn up on time?”

  “I was just running late,” he replies.

  “Is that all you’ve got to say for yourself?”

  He is silent, waiting, still with that hint of a smile on his face.

  “Come here,” I tell him and pull a key out of my pocket. He takes it. “Lock the door, Michael.”

  Obediently, he does as he’s told, then turns around and looks at me in anticipation, a frank look of lust on his face. I try my hardest not to break into a grin.

  “Take off your clothes,” I order him, sitting down again in the swivel chair by my desk and facing him.

  He glances to the window. The blinds are open; but it’s high up in the wall of the room and it’s quite a small window. “Michael, we’re on the third floor and no-one overlooks this room. The door is locked. Now if you keep on hesitating you’re only going to make things worse for yourself.”

  I watch as he unfastens his belt, then undoes the fly on his jeans and pulls them down. He steps out of his jeans, Converse trainers and socks, then pulls his t-shirt up over his head and flings it to the floor.

  I understand from my colleagues who tutor Michael in English Literature that he’s one of their most promising students. Very intelligent and articulate, he has a real enthusiasm for his subject and a disarmingly self-deprecating sense of humour.

  But right now, it’s difficult to see him as anything except a sex object.

  And he really does have a good body. A little bit on the skinny side, but with quite developed muscles for his age: he’s just twenty-one, only a few years into adulthood. He obviously finds time to get to the gym; he has nice abs, not too defined, just the hint of a six pack. About six foot three, I would guess, with large powerful thighs and a very, very nice bottom. I can’t see it right now, but over the last few weeks I have become very fond of that firm behind. As for his face, he’s a very nice looking young man indeed. Chiselled cheekbones, slightly pouting lips, cute hair – mid brown and slightly curly - and a covering of stubble where he didn’t shave this morning.

  “That’s enough for the minute,” I stop him. He’s standing there in a pair of tight black trunks and nothing else. I look him up and down, making him wait to see what I will order him to do next. As he stands in front of me, my eyes linger on the package inside that tight-fitting underwear. He’s already hard.

  “You like it when I tell you what to do, don’t you, Michael?” I ask, pointedly looking at the evidence of his arousal.

  “Yes,” he answers, one eyebrow raised.

  “But you made a very big mistake when you turned up late. Again. And what makes it worse is that I know you did it on purpose.” He makes no reply to this, so I continue. “You just wanted to provoke me, didn’t you?”

  His sensual mouth moves. “Yes,” he agrees.

  “Well, Michael, you have succeeded. You have provoked me badly.”

  His smile has gone and his gaze is dripping with erotic intent. He is wondering what method I will choose to punish him.

  I don’t make a habit of this, by the way. Yes, I like younger men. Yes, I like to take charge. I enjoy being on top, dictating the rhythm, doing things my way. I like to appreciate the beauty of a toned and muscular young man with a nice body; I like telling him what to do, and I like my sex life. Fit, enthusiastic, virile young men always do it for me. But Michael likes to be bossed around rather more than anyone I’ve ever met before. It’s a little strange for me, but in a way it’s been fun exploring the role-playing games he likes to act out. For all my enjoyment in taking the lead, I’ve never had an urge to act as a dominatrix, but it seems to be Michael’s thing. And when he’s very turned on, it makes for some very satisfying sex indeed.

  “Give me one good reason,” I continue, looking him in the eye, “why I shouldn’t get you to take off your underwear and bend over for me, and give you a damned good caning.”

  He pauses. It’s very obvious how aroused he is, and Michael is a very well-endowed young man. In truth, I want very much to take his nice big erection in my hand, to feel how hard he is, push him down to the floor and mount him here and now. But that would ruin the suspense. And I know that a little teasing will make the whole experience a lot more intense for both of us.

  “I can’t think of one,” he tells me.

  “By the way, you’re not being very respectful today.”

  “Sorry,” he apologises.

  I tut. “Sorry, what?”

  “Sorry, Dr Gardiner.”

  “That’s better.” I smile at him. “You’re very lucky, Michael. As much as I would enjoy taking the cane to your bottom, we’re in college, and I think the noise of the wood hitting your flesh would attract too much attention. Not to mention the noise you would make. So we’re going to have some fun instead.”

  He still looks at me, wondering what form this fun will take.

  “Take off your boxers,” I order, and he hesitates, then pulls them off and steps out of them. The sight of him standing in front of me, fully erect and tingling with anticipation, is strange in a way because of his complete passivity, but I have to admit it’s a very nice view.

  “Now touch yourself,” I tell him. His jaw drops.

  “You want me to wank in front of you?” he asks incredulously.

  I stifle a grimace. These young people can be so inarticulate.

  “That’s exactly what I want you to do, Michael. I want to watch you.”

  He takes his erection in his hand, and starts to move. He looks embarrassed at first, and then I can see that he’s enjoying the fact that I’m watching. He looks me in the eye all the time, and as I see him getting closer to orgasm I say, “Tell me when you’re going to come. Beforehand.”

  “I’m going to come soon,” he says.

  “Stop.”

  He stops, still holding himself.

  “Take your hand away, Michael. I don’t think it’s time for you to come yet.”

/>   He does as he’s told, but I can see resentment in his face now. Really, I don’t quite understand how he can get a kick from this when I can see how annoyed I’m making him. This is play, but he’s not faking the irritation he feels.

  “I think I’ll come instead,” I declare, and stand up. I walk over to my antique leather sofa and lie down on my back. It’s a three-seater sofa, and I am able to stretch out the full length of my body on it.

  “Come over here, Michael, and pull up my skirt.”

  He does as he’s told, his huge erection bobbing as he walks over, and lifts my skirt up, revealing my white lacy knickers.

  “I won’t be needing my underwear, Michael. Take it off me and put it on the table. Fold it nicely now.”

  He obeys, carefully, easing the soft lace over my hips and down the length of my legs. I feel deliciously exposed, nearly dressed but with my skirt hitched wantonly up, showing Michael my most intimate parts. Of course, I’m sure I don’t feel as exposed as he does, naked and erect and doing my every bidding.

  “Use your tongue on me,” I command. “And put your fingers inside me. I’m going to time you. And if you don’t make me come in three minutes, I’m going to pick up your clothes, leave the room, and lock you in here all night. And in the morning the cleaner will let herself in and find you naked in my room. Would you like that?”

  “No,” he answers through gritted teeth.

  “You’d better get started then,” I say, looking at my watch. He immediately lowers his face to lick in between my legs. The sudden sensation with no foreplay at all makes me squirm, but very quickly I become accustomed and start to really enjoy the feeling of Michael’s tongue on me.

  I was wet already at the sight of his athletic body, so his fingers slide easily into me, giving me a double sensation of pleasure. He’s trying hard to bring me to a climax as quickly as he can, but he’s good; he’s done this plenty of times before – albeit without a time limit – and he knows exactly how to please me. I push his head down harder, urging him silently to increase the pressure. He responds, and the sensation becomes sweeter and I edge further and further towards orgasm. Then, silently, I come. I make sure I don’t make any noise, as I’m acutely aware that there are people around in the corridor, so I don’t want them to hear me moaning. Straight away I look at my watch.

  Michael looks up at me expectantly. I pause, keeping him waiting.

  “Two minutes thirty-eight seconds,” I tell him. Actually this is a lie. It took about four minutes, but there’s no way I’m locking a naked student in my rooms in college overnight. “You have redeemed yourself, Michael.”

  He allows himself a smile.

  “You’re forgetting something though,” I remind him. He looks blank. “What about your manners?”

  “Oh. Sorry. Thank you for letting me make you come.”

  “Thank you for letting me make you come, what?”

  “Thank you for letting me make you come, Dr Gardiner.”

  “That’s much better, Michael.” I stand up, still knickerless. “Now it’s my turn to strip. You can do it for me.”

  He does as he’s told, first unbuttoning my blouse and throwing it on the floor. “Tsk,” I tut. “Fold it nicely.”

  “Sorry, Dr Gardiner.” He grins at me sheepishly and does as he’s told, placing it on the coffee table with my knickers. Then he unfastens my bra, takes care to fold it and places it on top of my blouse. I kick off my shoes, and all that’s left is my skirt. He reaches around to pull open the zip, then kneels to take it off and I step out of it, naked now. Even though I’d never have chosen to act the dominatrix if Michael hadn’t been keen, I have to admit that the sight of him kneeling on the floor in front of me doing my bidding is rather erotic.

  He stands again and I reach into my handbag, pulling out a condom. I tear the foil and for the first time I allow myself to touch his erection as I roll the latex onto him. I love the feel of his hardness under my hand and I know he’s absolutely desperate to come now.

  “Lie down on the sofa,” I command him, and he does as he’s told. Then I’m on top of him, wet and ready, and I sink down onto him. He’s rock-hard and he fills me completely as I push him easily inside me, still so wet from the orgasm he just gave me, and I suppress a tiny moan at the pleasure as he goes deep inside me.

  I move slowly at first, pushing right down the length of him every time as I savour the feeling of deep penetration. I’m exulting in the feeling of power as I control the rhythm, and gradually, knowing exactly what I’m doing, I start to move higher up and down his shaft and faster. Oh, that’s so good. I lean down to kiss him hard on his lips and I feel myself becoming more and more aroused again. I straighten up, still moving on top of him, and I take hold of his hands and place them on my breasts. “Touch them,” I tell him, and the sensation as he caresses my nipples with his thumbs sends additional waves of pleasure to my sex.

  He takes his hands off my breasts and takes hold of my hips, wanting to force the pace. For half a minute I let him, but I know exactly what’s going to happen next. I slap his hands and, quite deliberately, stop moving on top of him.

  “Did I give you permission to move your hands?” I demand.

  “No,” he responds, looking puzzled.

  “No, what?”

  “No, Dr Gardiner.”

  “I was going to let you come inside me,” I tell him. “But you’ve been disobedient, and disrespectful.” I ease myself off him. “Stand up.”

  He does as he’s bid, still a very enjoyable sight with his toned body and his big erection. I lie down on the sofa on my front, and part my legs a little.

  “You can make me come again now. And next time, perhaps you’ll remember to do as I tell you.”

  “Yes, Dr Gardiner.”

  “Touch my thighs. Tease me. Slowly.” He obeys and I feel his hands gently stroking and caressing the back of my legs. Oh, I love to be touched here. My sex is tingling, ready to be stroked too. “And my bottom,” I tell him. He moves his way up to tease the flesh of my behind, until I tell him, “Touch me inside, Michael.”

  And he does. First one finger, in and out of me where I’m still wet from his tongue and from the arousal of our interrupted sex. “Make me come,” I command him at last, and he moves his wet finger out and starts to tease my clitoris. He rubs it, still sensitive from the climax he gave me only a few minutes ago, and I push my hips forward. He’s getting the sofa wet, I think inconsequentially, but at least you can wipe leather clean easily. Then all such thoughts leave my head as the sensation builds and he brings me to a climax, and I’m shuddering and gasping with pleasure as I reach orgasm, bucking against the sofa and then panting as I come back down to earth.

  I turn my head to look at him. I smile, and shift my position, lifting my hips and getting onto my knees on the sofa. I’m on all fours now. “You can come inside me now, Michael,” I tell him. “You can fuck me.”

  He doesn’t need telling twice. He’s on the sofa behind me in an instant, and then he’s inside me, his erection filling me. He’s so turned on now that the shock of his first thrust makes me gasp. Then he’s slamming hard into me again and again. I brace my hips to meet his thrusts and bite my lip to stifle my moans as I revel in the pleasure of his deep penetration. This is always the part I like the best with Michael: when he’s finished taking whatever punishment I’ve had to devise for him and he lets go, abandoning himself to the sensation of ramming deep inside me as he builds towards orgasm. Then he pushes in even harder, groaning softly and I feel him pulse inside me as at last he comes.

  He pulls out, and we both get off the sofa. He grins ruefully and I pad across the room to fetch a box of tissues from my desk. “You’ll be needing these,” I tell him, and I pick up my underwear from the pile of carefully-folded clothes. I dress myself in my bra and knickers. Then I pick up the black trunks from the floor and offer them to him.

  “Thanks.”

  Once his underwear is on, I put my arms around him
and he hugs me back. “Feel good?” I ask him.

  “Yes. Very good.” I glance up at him and he looks sheepish. “Although I liked my last punishment more.”

  “Michael, you know I can’t cane you in college.” I raise an eyebrow at him. “I told you, it’s too noisy.”

  “Can we go to your place next time then?”

  “Yes,” I grin, “I think we can go to my place next time.” I put a hand up to stroke his cheek, rough from the stubble. Then I pull him to me for a little kiss. “It’s time we got dressed anyway. I live perpetually in fear of someone knocking on the door in the middle of one of our little sessions. I know you’re not one of my own students, but it still wouldn’t look great to be discovered in flagrante with you. I have to say, my house is infinitely preferable.”