by Dark Angel
“Bitch, everyone knows you’re the slow down queen. You don’t give it to that asshole you hang out with, but I can tell everyone you gave it up for me,” Ronald threatens.
Yeah, I'm about to be the asshole. I bust out from my hiding place and I punch Ronald’s dumb fucking face like I’m trying to erase his nose with my fist as the delete key.
Joelle gasps. When she realizes what’s happening, she tries to pull me off of him.
Ronald jabs out an arm and knocks Joelle over, and that moves my focus over to her. Ronald dusts himself off and touches his bloody nose with a yelp. “You fucking pyscho,” he says, spitting in my direction.
I don’t care though. I’m trying to help Joelle up. She doesn’t want my help, and gets up on her own. “I don’t belong to you!” she shouts, storming off.
***
Joelle never belonged to me.
I sent Emmaline away because I didn’t want her to see what I would do. Do, for her.
But the way Emmaline responded to my order … I swallow down my drink, pour another, swallow that down.
It goes down sweet and warm, just like her soft little breathing as she listened. Obeyed me. Without question. Trusted me to protect her.
When I got back in that car, blood on my hand and anger still coursing through my veins, I wanted to fuck Emmamline right there in the car.
That’s fucked up. I mean, she’s too young for me. So what if she’s attracted to me. Students have always been interested. I never have been. I knew that wasn’t what I wanted to do with my life. I didn’t want to be that guy, no matter how much attention I got. No matter how much young pussy I could have, that wasn’t going to be me.
And even though I don’t know Emmaline, I think this is different with her. I know it is. Fuck. I put my glass down before I throw it, and grip the desk. I squeeze it harder, my fingers pressing into the unforgiving wood, thinking about how I’d love to spread her legs wide over the edge of this desk and lick her thighs, slowly, until I got to her pussy. I want to bury my face inside of her and feel the world disappear around us. Tangle us in sighs and screams, whimpers, and lust-filled screams. I want to taste the moan on her skin.
I head back toward the hall, across the house to the kitchen. I have a wine fridge for things I want to keep in ready circulation, and the rest of my stock in the cellar. I grab a bottle of my favorite, leathery red. I pour a glass and think about pressing Emmaline up against the fridge and slamming my cock into her. I want to split that sweet little girl in half with my cock. I know she’s never had a cock like mine.
It would kill all those panting students to know that I’m built like a monster, a huge, long, thick cock that’s been too much for plenty of women. Some of them have taken a lot of lube and a lot more cock. Some of them, I’ve understood and headed back to my place.
I’ve never brought a girl back to my place, and now I’m thinking about every room, every expensive piece of furniture or fine marble countertops…and I’d like to fuck Emmaline on all of them.
Even if she thought my cock was too big for her, I’d take all night to warm her up to it. I’d eat her pussy for hours, finger her and stretch her good. If I didn’t need to feel her on me more than anything, I might fuck her with dildos until I built her up to the size of my cock. But, no, I’d finger her, stretch her, and get her ready to feel me fill up her.
I remember seeing those chocolate waves of her hair, those doe eyes. They reminded me so much of Joelle. Joelle’s soft lips make my cock hard, but then I remember Emmaline’s tongue licking over her lower lip when she looked at me. Fuck, that’s what’s got me hard right now.
Joelle never looked at me that way.
And all these years I wanted Joelle, and I’ve just met Emmaline, and I want her more than I’ve ever wanted her mother. I drink more of my wine, thinking about taking a sip of this, then kissing Emmaline. She’s too young to drink, so mostly I’d want the taste on her lips to shock her. The strength of it, as I dip my hands to the curve of her breasts, and trail my fingertips along the swell. Take a sip of the chilled drink, and then run my tongue slowly along her nipple. Feel Emmaline arch into my mouth. I want to know what her little whimper sounds like.
I finish my wine, walking through several more rooms of my house. Thinking about bending her over on my couch. Holding her on top of me in my chaise.
More than anything, having her in my bed. I want to fuck her so damn bad that my cock is harder than titanium, but those doe eyes, trusting me, make me want to hold her close against my cock in my bed and feel my cock slide through the seam of her ass. Just touching her before I fuck her is enough to make me wanna burst. I fist my cock over my pants. I slide out of my clothes and head for the shower.
I was glad that I didn’t fuck her tonight. Maybe I could have. But that’s not the right thing, it really isn’t. So instead I’m going to choke my cock so hard, blow about a gallon of cum down my shower drain, and try not to ruin my sheets when I dream about her tonight anyway.
Ethan
Emmaline walks into my class late, and I chastise her. Then…I see her. I have to deal with that…did I mention that her eyes make my cock jump against my fucking thigh?
I had to come to see her. I’m fucking glad I did, because those assholes were going to fucking touch her. But I had to follow her around, get to know more about her and basically fucking stalk her.
I barely know her, and I can’t resist her.
That will be the death of me — needing to save Emmaline from some asshole that thinks being a skeevy asshole toward her should lead to fucking. I save her from him and his idiot friends…and I have to cope with how she looks at me afterward. I know that her face was a reaction to mine.
I’m normally so good at ignoring students.
If I want to hide something, like my attraction, then I normally can. But when I looked at her, I wanted to let her see just how much I fucking wanted her.
I squeeze my cock, my other palm pressed hard against the shower wall. The steam is rising around me, but the only touch I want is Emmaline’s. Her little Bambi eyes were big, full of adoration and arousal. I kept her safe, and she didn’t go on about how I don’t belong to her. That sting makes me stroke up and down the length of my cock, pumping faster. I remember Joelle’s face, and my cock jumps. I think about Emmaline’s, and I pump harder in furious strokes. I torment my cock with the twisted images of them. My past denies me. My present should stop me in my tracks.
But those soft eyes, those pink lips. I want to kiss them. My hands should be on her body, feeling how soft and curvy she is. Her skintight workout leggings showed me the curve of her ass in a way that I’ll never forget. I could smell her sweat, her fear. I want to have her in this shower, washing them off and then erase her pain with kisses all over her body. I want to erase that anguish and bring her pure ecstasy.
My balls load up at the way I’m torturing them, and little flashes in my mind of Emmaline now, in her shower, naked, wet, shimmering for me.
Joelle knew she wasn’t what I wanted.
Why do I feel like Emmaline could? I should tell myself not to be so foolish, but I really fucking think Emmaline could want to belong to me, the way that no woman ever has. I could possess her completely, and she’d love every second of it.
I know she likes me having authority over her. I saw that thrill in her eyes when I towered over her. Even through her fear, when she read into me, she was aroused. And through her adrenaline, her shock, her arousal, when I gave her an order, she obeyed.
Emmaline asked me how I knew where she lives, but she didn’t press when I didn’t answer.
She’s smart as hell. Her paper was a delicious taste of how strong she is. I’m going to bring the fucking thing to bed tonight, after I cum in here thinking about painting her pretty body with it. Because no matter what I found out about her online, nothing compares to her words, written by her hand, telling what she wanted to me.
Have you thought about me, baby girl?
Are you thinking about me now?
I think about Emmaline, fist my cock, and keep pulling while jets of cum shoot through the water and down the shower drain. I groan hard, imagining touching her. My legs actually shake a little, but I don’t lose purchase with my palm still on the shower wall. Fuck, I came so damn hard. I must've shot out a gallon.
I remember her story, reading it before I read all the other papers, and grading those others thinking about how I wanted to read Emmaline’s paper again. I needed to read her words again. Thinking about her soft little voice reading those words to me. Her looking up at me.
I want to see her look up at me from her knees. Look at this cock and see those eyes go wide again when she realizes that I’m going to have her.
Every hole, hours of claiming her and covering her in my cum, her cum. Oh, I want to make Emmaline cum so fucking hard she blacks out from the pleasure when we’re finally done. Then I’ll take her to the bath, clean her soft body, dry her off, lotion her up, and hold her tight in my arms until we wake up and do it again. I want to hold her all night like she’s a bird with a broken wing that I can’t let fly away.
The soft scent of her, like lemons and honeysuckle, is all around me, even though I’m using my own shampoo right now. The mint in the air, against the lemon scent of her in my mind, tangles with my thoughts and I feel my cock hardening all over again.
I ignore it, rinsing the shampoo from my hair. I finish washing up and towel off. Wrapping the towel around my middle, I head back to the kitchen to make something to eat. I have to put the wine on top of something, and I’m finishing the bottle while I cook. I decide against having another bottle, though, because the warmth of the alcohol isn’t dulling my senses, it's dulling my willpower.
I might call Emmaline if I keep drinking. And like she needs some drunk asshole calling her and asking her what she’s wearing.
Maybe she has just stepped out of her shower now. She’s probably carrying a little basket back from her dorm bathroom. Emmaline, wrapped in towel, her chocolate hair darker and wet. Going back to her room, and putting something comfy on. A little drawstring I’d like to tug on to see what her panties look like.
Fuck, I’m a dirty old man, sitting over here drinking wine and making a steak. I pop some green bean pods in half. Put some peppercorns into my mortar and pestle. I wonder what atrocious college food she’s eating right now. I’d like to be making this steak for her. Picking out a wine that would pair well and make the food sing in her mouth. I’m lucky enough to be from old money. I remember how Joelle and I became friends after I threw her shitty sandwich in the garbage. We were just kids, but I had alfredo and couldn’t imagine anyone eating that shitty looking sandwich. As a kid, of course, it was gross. I think I wanted to take care of her, even then.
I finish the last of my wine and let the memories and the loneliness I suddenly feel sting together.
I've been fine with the bachelor life for so long. Didn’t care that my relationships never went anywhere. That no one ever interested me. I didn’t know what I was going to do with myself if that changed.
How would I ever find someone appropriate when I wanted Emmaline? Even if dating a student could work, that was really the least of my concerns. Fucking Joelle would skin me alive if she knew I was over here thinking about pawing her daughter.
Of course, that’s all assuming that I could date Emmaline. I’m thinking about fucking her…and suddenly I want to feed her dinner? Date her? Have a future with her? I’m just about the clingiest fucking creep there’s ever been. Give me a day and I’m going to be thinking about getting her pregnant.
Yeah…that offhand thought makes me nearly burn myself on the stovetop. Christ almighty, I never thought I’d have a kid of my own. But Emmaline, I can’t write her future for her, shit.
I shouldn’t see Emmaline until class in a few days. I need to give all of this insanity some mental space.
I finish my dinner and pour over The Mary Shelley Reader. My well-worn copy has such a frequent place at my table that I have bookends centering my table. Her concern with the results of emotional drama, well, they are my concerns now.
I’m one of those dramatic, literary obsessed types. That’s why I teach English courses in a college rather than running any of the media conglomerate that pays my bills. They called Mary a hack, they made fun of her, but Shelley was wise and gifted as her contemporaries. I wrote about her as much as I wanted during my time in school, and my family money, well, that meant I had certain loyalties in those that were supposed to be my teachers.
It's no wonder that my respect for authority has already shattered. I would abuse my authority to have Emmaline. I know about the artifice of academia, and if I did leave this world because I wanted to be with Emmaline, well, that’s my business.
Such grandiose ideas for a man who has never even kissed the woman he wants to sign his life away for.
I flip through the reader, enjoying Mary’s letter to Byron. She looked up at the Italian sky and saw only change.
Yes, that’s the way it works sometimes.
I punched out some shitty kids and I jerked off thinking about the girl they wanted to attack. I drank her weight in whiskey and wine, and ate a steak that cost more than her whole meal allowance for the month at the campus dining hall…but I know that the winds of change are all there is to see now.
I’m losing my shit. Even if I wait to see her until our next class, I’m going to lose my mind.
Spearing another green bean on my fork, I know something. It comes across my thoughts swiftly, but I know it sure as I know my own name.
I could leave her alone. I likely should leave Emmaline alone. I'm more willing to leave her alone than I am to go after her the way that I want to. I can shove down all these feelings, and jerk my cock off until I rip it off, but I’m not going to be the one that pursues her.
I don’t know that I’m strong enough to resist Emmaline should she put a move on me, but that’s another problem for another moment.
I wash my dishes, clean up the kitchen, and head off to bed with The Mary Shelley Reader. She’s the only lady I take to bed in my home…and no matter how much I want to change that, I’m going to be good.
Well, as good as I’ve ever been.
I know she’s not mine, but I’d rather be without Emmaline than hurt her.
Emmaline
I’m holding my paper for Ethan’s class in my hand like I’m holding a gift or something. I realize how fervently I’m clutching and smooth it out, loosen my grip, and walk into the classroom. I’m early — but so are a gaggle of leggy girls wearing the shortest things that can still be called shorts.
When I realize they are talking about Ethan, even though I want to hide in their presence, I listen in to hear what they're going to say about him.
I don’t catch much, something rumor-iffic was underway but oh well.
Everyone else starts shuffling into class and I realize that I’m not going to catch up with Ethan before class. Everyone is afraid to be late to his class.
“Hand in your assignments, and today’s lecture on voice in academic writing, and other writing, and we'll begin,” Ethan says.
I want to hide behind someone today like I did last class, but I can’t help peaking out from behind them to look at Ethan during the lecture. His sensual voice makes my nipples so hard they are practically blasting through my shirt and the hoodie I’m wearing. I wore something because I like to be able to shove a pen in the hoodie pocket for when the pen I’m using just up and dies during a lecture. I’m furiously taking notes, trying extra hard to pay attention.
“When you’re in that position,” Ethan says and clears his throat. I look up at him for that pause and catch him looking at me. I wait several seconds before slinking back, and I don’t hear a word he says!
I'm instead thinking about the positions I’d like to be in with him. Fuck, why is Ethan so sexy? I feel like my heart is going to stop beating. I missed the last sentence
of what he said, and while I don’t want to take too detailed of notes and go into total overkill mode, I would like to maintain the context of the lecture.
Looking around, people are looking terrified or aroused. I must be silly and imagining that Ethan has ever showed any attraction to me. Not when so many people fawn over him. Is it my imagination that thinks he also enjoys the fear? The control?
Why does that turn me on so much?
My pen is in my mouth and I’m imagining Ethan telling me to take off my thong. I’m sitting here in a hoodie and I almost suck on the tip of my pen, imagining one of Ethan’s fingers in my mouth.
God, I have never been so attracted to someone. When Ethan starts listing off readings, I create little checkboxes for each and list them in my notes.
I’ve considered backing up my note taking with an audio recorder before, and I might need one for this class.
I can listen to the tape and make my notes more accurate. And then I can listen to them again and shove my hand down my pants like I wish I could now. I swear my clit is telling me to rub it. I generally don’t get much pleasure out of masturbating without my vibrator. Things feel good, when I touch myself, but I can’t make myself cum without the vibrator. I bite my lip now and listen to Ethan’s voice and I’m squirming in my seat. He gives so much homework, and even that turns me on! He appeals to my nerd side in a way that I didn’t know was possible. I think I might faint.
I look around again. No way anyone can actually smell how aroused I am? I think I can and I’m embarrassed. I feel like my pussy is wet enough to make my light pink sweatpants damp, and that’s just too embarrassing. I may die on the spot. I have to talk to Ethan after class, and not about my soaking wet pussy. I don’t see Aiden in the classroom today. Campus police hasn’t contacted me.
A line forms and plenty of people seem to want to ask Ethan questions. I wait, seeing how they fawn over him. He brushes them off, but Ethan keeps looking at me.
