I turned over onto my back and laid my hands on my stomach, but it was then that I realized that there was something on my hand. My left hand. I lifted it up and looked at it: a princess cut diamond wearing a halo of emeralds. It glittered beautifully even in the low light. It was stunning.
“Michael, I don’t know what to say,” I whispered.
“Say yes,” he said. “Say yes.”
Just Us
Fetish Fantasy Erotica (Three Steamy Shorts)
By Juniper Leigh
Copyright 2014 Enamored Ink
One: Upon Her Graduation
“Mr. Shaw?”
He had been staring absently at the swirling wood of his polished desktop, his papers cleared away for the year, which left the space oddly empty. All in all, it had been a largely successful year, one that had been pleasantly devoid of drama or disaster. He wished he still felt about teaching the way he had when he’d first begun: eager to shape and mold young minds into the leaders of tomorrow. But time and bureaucracy had taken its toll, so most years he was just grateful to get through without some calamitous budget cut. And here he was on Graduation day, grateful for a few moments of silence in an empty classroom before his presence would be required in the quad where an afternoon picnic was taking place in celebration of the outgoing seniors.
“Mr. Shaw?”
The sweet, lilting timbre of her voice immediately drew his gaze up and the sight of her smiling face broke through the dark cloud of his brooding reverie. Lily Turner, one of his prized pupils. She had taken easily to calculus, had even tutored some of her peers, and he was confident that she would enjoy a career in mathematics or the sciences. He felt a swell of pride to see her standing in her cap and gown.
“Miss Turner.” He rose from his desk chair, sliding his hands into his pockets as he turned to face her fully. She was a vision, even in the formless graduation robe, her cap’s tassel hanging in front of her left eye. “Congratulations on your graduation. And with honors, I see.”
“Thanks,” she said, reaching up to tuck a stray brown curl behind her ear.
“So, where are you headed in the fall?” Shaw asked, crossing his arms over the expanse of his chest. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, as though she were slightly ill at ease. He inclined his head slightly, awaiting her response.
“Um. MIT, actually.”
“Is that so?” A sincere smiled blossomed on his face, a pair of dimples forming to frame it. “That’s fantastic. Good for you. What do you plan to study?”
“I think probably robotics?” she said, ending the sentence with an upward lilt, as though she were unsure, as though she were seeking approval.
“Excellent, excellent. You’re going to be great, I just know it. You’ve always shown such remarkable potential.” They stared at one another for a long stretch of silence, before Shaw plucked his glasses from his nose and cleaned them with the sleeve of his shirt. “Was there something you wanted, Ms. Turner?” He placed his glasses back on his nose, and regarded her over their thin wire rim
“I just wanted to…”
“Yes?”
“Well…” Lily was a quiet, hardworking girl who had approached all of the material with gusto. She had always sat off to the side, had never gotten into any trouble and had not, as far as he could recall, so much as asked for an extension on a homework assignment. She was the ideal student. And on top of it, it seemed she had grown up to be very pretty indeed. A line formed between his eyebrows: How is it that he had never noticed that she was pretty?
“Well,” she continued, hesitantly. “I suppose I wanted to tell you that you were my favorite teacher.” She stepped over the threshold of the empty classroom and closed the door behind her, plucking the graduation cap from her head and abandoning it on a nearby desk. Just outside were peals of laughter as the happy graduates darted up and down the halls, clearing out lockers, signing yearbooks and shouting at one another which college they’d be attending in the fall.
“That’s very kind of you, Lily, thank you.”
Lily’s eyes were round and blue, like robin’s eggs, her cerise lips parted slightly as though she were trying to think of what to say next. In fact, her heart was a steadily thrumming timpani in the chamber of her chest, and she knew exactly what she wanted to say next.
“Actually, I suppose I… I wanted to show you that you were my favorite teacher.” She advanced on him slowly, locking her gaze on his face as she went. Shaw was puzzled, one brow arching high over the other, that is until she lifted one delicate hand to unzip the graduation gown. She shed the rough, black material as she went, and revealed that she was wearing precious little underneath. Shaw was transfixed with shock and a sudden, undeniable rush of lust as he laid eyes first on her two perfectly round breasts the size of ripe, summer peaches. The line of his gaze then followed the gentle curve of her hip and landed on the simple white cotton panties that remained the only garment that stood between her and total nudity. She even kicked off her small, heeled shoes and padded over to him on the balls of bare feet.
“I’ve behaved myself, Mr. Shaw. For eighteen years, I’ve behaved myself.” She was a breath away from him now, but she did not touch him. Instead she opened one of the drawers of his desk and slid her hand inside. “I saw, last year, that you were reading Foucault in the teacher’s lounge during lunch one day. Well, I so admired you that I wanted to be like you. I wanted you to notice me. So, I began to look into it myself.” He watched her closely, bewitched by the soft roundness of her shoulder, adoring the spot on her back where her hair hit. “You never noticed that I was reading his books, at least you never said anything. And you never looked at me as my skirts kept getting shorter. But I’m tired of being a good girl.” She withdrew her hand from the drawer and placed a ruler on the desktop.
“Foucault talks about the body’s ability to derive pleasure from a myriad of sensations.” She pointed to the ruler. “Please, won’t you show me?”
He eyed her dubiously, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. And she smiled at him, a smile so broad and disarming that he couldn’t help but smile back. When Shaw moved away from her to lock the door to the classroom, and then to the other side of the room to draw the blinds, he was acutely aware of the rapidity of her breathing, aware of the blush that had settled into her cheeks and her neck. She was only playing at confidence, and he had to admit that he admired her efforts.
He did not speak to her at first. He simply wrapped one hand around the length of her pretty, white throat and brought her around to the other side of the desk. He bent her over it until her lovely faces was pressed against the wood and he kicked her legs a little more than shoulder width apart. He took a step back to admire his work and felt his cock press uncomfortably against the inside of his trousers. Approaching her, he brushed his fingertips over the white cotton that separated his hand from her sex, and smiled down at her.
“Now, then,” he murmured quietly, “is this what you were hoping for?”
“Yes,” she breathed, and he gave her a little smack that elicited a tiny whimper.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes… sir?” She ventured, and he bent over her and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.
Soundlessly, Shaw retrieved the ruler from where she’d left it on the desktop, and examined it in his hand. He didn’t think she had realized that this ruler, an older, wooden ruler, was the type with a metal straight edge on the side. He imagined she’d realize it soon enough.
Gripping her panties in one hand, he ripped them away from her lithe body, and she deigned to glance back at him, just a hint of reproach in her eyes, but he simply smirked back at her. “You pictured this for a year, didn’t you?” He asked. “You wanted this. Don’t look shocked now.” And she rested her cheek against the desktop. “Now,” he continued, “beg for it.”
She was silent for a moment, not knowing exactly what to ask for, nor how to phrase it. “Please,” she said at length, “I’ve�
� I’m… won’t you, please?”
“Please what?” He said evenly. “You’re… what?” He paused, and the squirming let him know that she was on totally unfamiliar ground. He took pity on this beautiful thing and bent in close to whisper in her ear: “You’re a dirty little slut who sat in class and dreamed of riding her teacher’s cock, isn’t that right?” She nodded her head and, quite unexpectedly, found her voice.
“Yes,” she said, “Yes, sir. I need you to punish me for years of dirty thoughts. I dreamt of your cock for years.” He stood firm and admired the curve of her ass, bared now in broken shafts of afternoon sunlight streaming in through the blinds. He brought the ruler back and smacked her hard with it, and she yelped. Again he hit her, again she made demure little noises that were a combination of true surprise and a desire to stay as quiet as possible. He spanked her with the ruler again and again until it left bright, red welts on her backside. But she pushed back against them, too, relishing the sensation. “Again,” she cried out when he had paused, “please, again, again.”
After a time, he turned her over and lifted her up onto the desk so that her bottom was almost up to the edge of it, but she was still able to hook her heels up onto it as well, exposing her slick, pink sex to him. “Hold your ankles,” he commanded, “and spread your knees wide.” And she obeyed, her chest heaving as she panted in exhilaration. He admired her for a moment, this gorgeous, prone creature, vulnerable and trusting, her eyes closed, waiting for him to bring her into a new world of sensation.
He stepped closer to her, then, and reached out to pinch at her pert little nipples, gently at first and then harder until she squealed under the pressure. “Arch your back,” he said, and she did. “More,” he said, lifting her with both hands by the nipples until she was in precisely the position he wanted to see her in. Beautiful. He had never let himself consider her, or any of his students, in this manner. But she was a woman now, and no longer under his charge, and he could adore and admire her in any way he pleased.
He took up the ruler again and looked down at her sweet, bare pussy. He ran his fingertips over it, and she quivered under his touch. She was wet, eager, that much was easy to tell. And he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from taking her for much longer. But not just yet… “You’re my little slut, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Please fuck me. I’ve been waiting for years; I want to feel your cock inside me. Please.”
“Patience,” he said, and spread her knees apart just a little more. He brought the ruler down gently onto her clit and she let out a little shriek. She had not expected this. “Did that hurt?”
“Yes,” she said, and sucked in air through her teeth. He slapped the ruler against the most sensitive parts of her body, eliciting another cry, another sharp intake of air. “Do you want me to stop?” He spanked her again.
“Not… yet…” And a third time, a little harder. A fourth, harder still, until her mound began to glow red from the abuse. Finally she cried out for him to stop, and he spanked her once more before he put the ruler aside. He dropped to his knees, then, and brought his mouth up to her nether lips, licking them gently to cool some of the burn of the spanking. She moaned deliciously as he lapped away at her tiny, pulsing clit, breathing in the musky scent of her. He did not let this last long, however, for he wanted to feel her orgasm clamp down around his cock. So he stood up then and undid his belt.
“Are you going to fuck me now?” She asked quietly, a pleading in her voice.
“Get down and bend over the desk again,” came his response, and she promptly did as he bid her. She lifted her head and glanced back at him over her shoulder even as he spread apart the cheeks of her bottom with both strong hands. In a vulgar moment that surprised even him, he spit onto her asshole and began to finger it.
“Not there, sir, please not there!” She began to try to turn around to get out of reach of his probing fingers, but he used his free hand to hold her down against the desk.
“You wanted me to fuck you,” he said with a sneer, “you’ve been waiting years for it, you said.”
“I know, but… please, sir, don’t!” She had stopped moving, knowing it was futile, but the panic in her voice has increased. “Please…”
“You’re my little fuck toy, aren’t you?”
“Yes…”
“So I can fuck you however I like. Isn’t that right?” He slid his finger in and out, in and out the opening of her asshole.
“Yes, I’m your fuck toy to do with as you please,” she said and braced herself against the desk.
“Stop wriggling,” he commanded, and she stilled her movements. “And tell me if you like these sensations.”
Her heavy eyelids drifted to a close as he slid his finger in and out in and out, and as she relaxed, a moan that defied her protests escaped her lips. “Mm,” she purred, “I do. Yes. I do.”
“Good,” he said, the word a husky whisper catching in the back of his throat.
“I want to taste you,” she said, and he pulled away to give her room to slide from the desktop and onto her knees in front of him. She angled her blue eyes up at him and freed his turgid member from the restrictive confines of his khakis. She admired him, circling her fingers around him and tugging at him a few times before tentatively taking him into her mouth. She sucked, her tongue making circles around the head of his penis, and he closed his eyes, his fingertips tangled in her mass of brown curly hair. He pressed himself deeper and deeper into her mouth, and she gasped, choking a bit, and he felt a surge of tenderness well up in him as she pulled him out from between her lips and looked up at him again. “I think you’re too big for me,” she murmured. “My jaw aches.”
Bending down, he lifted her by both elbows to her feet and bent forward to press a deep, passionate kiss against her lips. His tongue explored her mouth, and she stood on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck. He picked her up as easily as if she weighed nothing at all and sat her on the edge of the desk. She spread her legs, and he felt his cock brush against the slick flesh between her legs. “Why me?” He muttered, as her kisses fluttered along the line of his jaw and down his neck. “Why was I your favorite?”
She arched both delicate shoulders in a shrug even as she gripped his cock, throbbing and purple with lust, and directed it into her. He thrust in as deeply as she could and she cried out, arching her back and bucking her hips to meet him. He pushed into her with again and again, grabbing a handful of her hair, wanting to possess her utterly. One of his hands found one of her perfect breasts, toying with her perky pink nipples, and she cried out his name, a fantasy fulfilled.
“Come for me,” he growled as he fucked her, a sheen of sweat forming on his brow with the efforts of his passion. He let go of her breasts and reached down to finger her clit as he went. “I want to feel you clamp down on my cock. Come for me, Lily.”
She felt entirely filled by him, her world narrowed to the points where their bodies met. She rode the wave of her ardor, panting and moaning, until she came with a fervent cry, the throbbing muscles of her pussy eliciting a series of grunts from him. Finally, his own lust boiled over and he tossed his head back, unloading into her with a shudder that wracked his whole body. He collapsed down onto her, and she curled her arms and legs around him, hugging him close.
“It was because you told me I could do and be anything I wanted,” she whispered, gently stroking his hair. “And because you never looked at me like I was a sexual object. Until today. Until I wanted you to.” He lifted his head to gaze down into her eyes, his glasses fogged, his brow dripping with sweat, and he smiled.
Minutes passed in this happy haze until he finally let himself slip out of her. It was almost painful, drawing away from a gorgeous creature like that. He kissed her lovely lips and brushed a few errant curls away from her forehead, and she — with eyes closed in exhaustion — beamed her contentment up at him. “Happy graduation,” he whispered.
“Thanks, Mr. Shaw,” came her slee
py reply. “I suppose this makes me teacher’s pet.”
He chuckled, dropping down into his chair, unable to take his eyes off of her as she lay there, bared to him and sated. “It certainly does, Ms. Turner. It certainly does.”
Two: His Dearest Darling
It was a whirlwind romance that brought David Archer to the cozy New England house that Carol Darling shared with her three daughters. He had met her at a Green Energy convention in Cambridge: David was there because the Boston Globe had sent him to cover it; and Carol was there because she was simply the type of woman who considered installing solar panels and keeping a compost pile in the back yard. She was the same age as he was, both of them teetering precariously on the line between their early-and middle-fifties, but she somehow managed to maintain a girlish sort of charm, with her wide, robin’s egg eyes and her full, pink lips. Carol kept her hair long and natural, black and specked here and there with the white of age, like static. They moved quickly from an introduction to a hotel bed to a marriage license, much more quickly than either of them would have dreamed of moving in their younger days. He hadn’t even met all of her children when they went to the justice of the peace for their marriage license.
In fact it had been a three-month-long honeymoon period before Eliza Darling, Carol’s eldest daughter, came home from college for the summer. She was nineteen when David first met her, and he was instantly enraptured: she had black hair like her mother’s, only hers was cropped short in a coy little bob. Her long, thin legs seemed always to be carrying her places at top speed, deftly overleaping any obstacle in her path. Her arms, equally wiry and equally as attractive in their pale, moon-like color, were usually found wrapped tight around her midsection underneath a pair of delightfully pert breasts. She was a quiet girl, keeping mostly to herself, preferring to spend her afternoons reading in the small, neatly kept garden behind the house. Their encounters, despite David’s best intentions, were inexplicably strained: “Hi there, Eliza,” David would say, rocking back and forth on his heels with his hands stuffed into his pockets. “How are you today?” She would avert that gunmetal gray stare and mumble her reply, which was hardly ever more than, “Fine.”
Bound for Him: (A Billionaire BDSM Boxed Set - 9 Stories) the Bacchanalia Collection Page 9
