by Ella Ford
I gasped and lifted my head, squeezing my eyes tightly shut.
“Thank you, Sir,” I breathed, my voice trembling and faint as the hot sting of the spanking faded again to a background glow.
He shuffled beneath me, rearranging me on his knee as though I weighed nothing more than a ragdoll. As I moved, I caught his scent in my nose, expensive cologne covering the masculine aroma of his strong desire. Beneath my stomach, I felt a growing presence, the hard bulge of his erection nudging against the soft flesh of my belly.
His hand returned to my ass, strong palm cupping the gentle curve of my cheek, caressing the burning flesh with a tenderness that belied his enormous size. I closed my eyes and imagined what it must look like - that shovel like hand on my tiny bottom, stroking me, cupping me almost entirely. Hot shivers rippled through my body, replacing the bitter sting of the fading pain. My pussy began to throb, feeling damp and warm, wetting my thighs as I squirmed in place.
Then his other hand moved up my back and he plunged his fingers in my long hair, gripping me and pulling my head up and back. I felt his cock twitch and harden to an impossible granite in his pants, I heard his breathing change to an animalistic, predatory pant.
My body tensed, anticipation building to a crescendo as I awaited the next strike. Suddenly, I felt helpless, alone, out of control. My usual poise, maturity beyond my young years, had fled. I felt like a little girl, my tiny body completely at the mercy of this titanesque figure on whose lap I lay. With little surprise, the thought thrilled me - as it always did. My pussy roared its approval and I whimpered a faint demand for discipline, demanding that Sir gave me the pain and pleasure that my body craved.
Seemingly sensing my thoughts, his hand lifted from my ass with glacial slowness. I inhaled and gripped the carpet with my slender fingers, toes curled into tight bunches. My thighs and calves pushed backwards, steadying myself and relishing this endless moment before the cascade of sensation. A small part of me, distant and faint at the back of my mind, screamed in protest.
Get up! Get out! Run! Flee! You don’t need to do this! You shouldn’t have to do this! This is wrong! You’re a grown woman!
But I ignored it. I always ignored it. The feeble voice of rational protest became lost beneath the roaring maelstrom of noise from my throbbing pussy, swept away in the intense need to feel his hand and his punishment. I found myself thinking of what I had done, how I had come to this strange position. I felt a wave of guilt, a stab of regret. I knew, like I knew nothing else in my life, that I had been a bad girl. I knew that bad girls needed discipline, needed correction. Because how else could they become good girls?
His hand swept down quickly, causing a rush of air that I felt on the sensitive flesh of my bottom milliseconds before the full force of his hand. The room erupted for an instant with the sharp crack of flesh on flesh. My body rocked forwards, a sudden motion halted by his strong grip in my hair, intensifying the force of the strike. Then the pain exploded from the nexus of the impact, visualized in my mind as glowing red shards of molten metal, spears of agony that ignited fires in my body. Warm tears spilled down my cheeks and I cried out, a muffled yelp of discomfort that I instinctively tried to limit for fear of someone hearing, even though there was no-one within half a mile that could rescue me. Nor would I want them to.
“Thank you Sir!” I cried as the storm of sensation raged. I felt my vision blur as the pain in my ass met the quick drumbeat from my pussy; pleasure and pain dovetailing together in a spiraling braid of tingles that roared through my body, igniting my nerve endings with confusing, contradictory sensations.
My mind raged with a sudden chorus of need. I wanted to come so badly. I wanted his hand. I wanted the pain. I wanted to feel him ploughing into me over and over with the enormous rod that still pushed against my young body, throbbing, pulsing, a ravenous serpent that needed feeding.
But beneath it all, I knew that only good girls got fucked. Only good girls got what I wanted the most. To feel him in me, on me, filling me in every aching hole, this older man who I barely knew, this strict authority figure whom I had entrusted myself to in body and mind, whom I returned to over and over, accepting his authority and his punishments alike. In that moment, as the aftershock of violence and agony rippled through my body, I wanted nothing more than to be a very good girl indeed.
“Please Sir,” I pleaded, “may I have another?”
Chapter 1
The sprawling, terracotta villa stretched before me in the bright light of mid-afternoon. Intricate and secluded, with dappled shadows that danced on the rough surface as a light breeze blew in from the distant sea, giving the low building the strange life of animation. Behind me, the taxi that I’d arrived in pulled away and wound its way down the countless switchbacks to the valley floor below and the air became still and quiet; the only sound was the soft tinkle of several windchimes and the low burble of an ornamental water feature.
I glanced around, suddenly unsure of myself. This remote, pristine dwelling was so different from what I was used to, a whole world away from the threadbare, functional farms and small-town houses of the midwest where I’d grown up, where I’d been just a few short hours ago. I found myself feeling overdressed and unwieldy, hot and stuffy in the warm sunlight, a simple country mouse unprepared for the Californian climate.
I sighed and shrugged my shoulders, shaking my head and trying to regain my wits. This was to be my home for the next few weeks, whether I liked it or not. Just as long as was needed to sort out the administrative faux-pas that led to me having nowhere to live on the day before I was due to start my life as a college girl at USC. Lost paperwork, a corrupted computer record, a human error - I’d never found out what had happened, and probably never would.
I guess I was lucky really. At the eleventh hour, one of the college professors had stepped in and offered to house me until a place in dorms became free. It was an act of generosity that had turned a potential disaster into a minor inconvenience.
I sighed again and suppressed any lingering disappointment about missing the vital social events in the early life of a college freshman. At least I wasn’t sleeping rough with the bums downtown, I thought to myself with cheery resolve.
With a new spring in my stride, I grabbed my chunky suitcase and headed up the driveway of the stylish property. I still couldn’t quite believe the size of the place; every step seemed to reveal new details or previously hidden wings. At the front of the house, parked before the home’s double garage were two vehicles - a sleek, black sedan, polished and perfect and clearly new; and, beside it, a gleaming, white SUV. I wondered, for the first time if I’m perfectly honest, what my guardian angel professor was like. Did he have a wife? Kids? Did he live alone? The two cars would suggest not, as would the vast estate that had the unmistakable touch of a female hand. I guessed I would find out soon.
As I approached the imposing door, I lifted my hand to press the doorbell. But before I could do anything, the heavy entrance swung open and a cool air conditioned gust blew over me from inside, provoking a distant feeling of relief that I’d soon be out of the uncomfortable Californian heat.
“You must be Jennifer Rose?” said a friendly female voice, and a slender, tall figure loomed out of the dim hallway beyond. “You’re just in time for iced tea,” she added, then stepped into the light.
She was clearly older than me, in her mid-thirties perhaps, but she looked younger. Her skin was dark with a healthy tan, her light brown hair bleached almost blonde. Her body was lithe and toned, barely an ounce of fat on her it seemed, and covered in a loose and pretty sarong wrap with stylish leather sandals. But it was her face that drew my eye the most. She had a warm smile and twinkling, almost mischievous blue eyes. Something about her expression swept away the nerves and disorientation I felt in an instant as she beamed her wide smile at me.
“Yes ma’am, I hope I have the right address,” I spoke nervously, aware of how timid and quiet I sounded. “Are you Professor Co
le’s wife? Mrs Cole?”
She nodded and grinned impishly. “For my sins!” Then she reached forward and took hold of my upper arm with a gentle grip. “I’m Kate, I’m very pleased to meet you. Come, let’s get you inside and get that iced tea. Lucas will join us shortly, he’s been looking forward to meeting you!”
As she led me into her welcoming home, any doubts and fears that I’d had vanished, replaced by an excitement and anticipation of the new life that awaited me in this strange place, so very far from where I was from.
Looking back, I had no idea of how far I’d really come, or how much my life was about to change.
---
Kate Cole turned out to be a gracious and capable host, tending to my every need and fussing over me like a doting aunt. After leading me through the house and showing me to my temporary bedroom, allowing me to deposit my bags, she ushered me to the rear of the building and into the vast, modern kitchen. As I wandered through the twisting hallways and cozy rooms of the hacienda style house, I marvelled at the tasteful furnishings and fanciful details - ornaments and wall hangings from all around the world, exotic and alluring in equal measure. But every piece had a haunting, almost disturbing quality. Figurines of beautiful women, Greek or Roman, I couldn’t tell; lithe bodies clothed in gossamer thin robes, standing in submissive poses with upturned palms and downturned eyes.
“Do you like them?” asked Kate with a smile, noticing me glancing at a pair of ivory statuettes.
“Y-yes, they’re very beautiful,” I stammered in response, not quite knowing how to engage with this older woman on a meaningful level. I felt like a rube, uncultured and unable to express my feelings. I felt like the eighteen year old I was.
She smiled warmly, then moved into the kitchen and began to prepare the promised drink.
Ten minutes later, the pair of us were sitting on the patio, chattering like old girlfriends about nothing in particular. Kate Cole was a comforting presence; easy to talk to, quick to empathize. She seemed like she wanted to hear what I had to say in a way that adults seldom had before, and I found myself rambling on about school and home and college and everything else that I could think of to tell her. For her part, she sat and listened patiently, nodding here and there where appropriate, smiling, occasionally reaching across and touching my knee in a friendly way. For almost an hour, we talked and I gradually felt myself relaxing into this strange situation, enjoying the sun and the cool breeze and the chance to unburden myself with a seemingly kindred spirit.
“Ah, we have a visitor I see,” said a deep voice from behind us, interrupting me in mid-sentence as I was reeling off some mundane high school anecdote.
Kate and I turned as one to glance back at the house, raising our hands in perfect synchronicity to shield our eyes from the powerful glare of the low, late-afternoon sun.
Standing in the kitchen doorway, silhouetted against the low body of the house, was the biggest man I’d ever seen: Professor Lucas Cole. I blinked and sighed, heart hammering with a sudden urgency that I couldn’t explain.
“The master of the house returns,” said Kate with a smirk and a flash of her eyes that conveyed a strange emotion; half serious, half mocking. She touched my knee lightly and stood, then skipped over to her husband, leather sandals flapping on the hard patio.
I looked on with a quizzical glance, surprised by the change in the previously composed and relaxed woman. The way she covered the ground between the patio table and her hulking husband reminded me of a female child running to the hallway to greet a father returning from work. This strange notion was reinforced as Kate reached Professor Cole and the pair hugged.
It was almost as though Kate’s slender frame melted into his body; wrapped in his enormous arms, her head reaching only as high as his wide chest. To complete the disarming image, Kate kicked her left foot up behind her as she snuggled into his body. I blinked and turned back to my drink, feeling suddenly uncomfortable at the intimate scene.
“Are you going to introduce us?” said Lucas Cole, gripping his wife by her upper arms with shovel-like hands and holding her before him. His voice was low, almost booming, a rolling rumble that was felt, rather than heard. There was an impatience there too, and a scalding look in his eyes as he studied his pretty wife. I blinked in surprise, then dismissed the fleeing notion.
“Y-yes, I’m sorry,” replied Kate, glancing down and to the side. Then she led Professor Cole over to the patio table, her tiny hand disappearing into his. “This is Jennifer Rose, she arrived about an hour ago.”
Lucas stepped over to me and offered me his hand. He was tall and broad shouldered, even removed from the slender frame of his wife, yet he somehow managed to move with a flowing grace that seemed at odds with his extreme size. It was difficult to place his age, though he was clearly older than Kate Cole, perhaps in his early forties. He was dressed simply; an open collared white shirt with no tie, perfectly pressed with rolled sleeves revealing club like forearms that were tanned and meaty; stylish charcoal suit pants and polished shoes. Everything about him seemed to be a contradiction - the perfect fit of his expensive clothes on his huge body; the graceful, considered way he moved, defying any expectation; his business-like clothing on such a hot late-summer day. But for all these intriguing paradoxes, it was his face that drew my eye the most.
Lantern jawed with a light peppering of dark stubble; skin tanned to a coffee tone; hair trimmed neat and close, but stylish all the same; flecks of early grey in his beard and temples, giving him a distinguished, stately air; and deep blue eyes like midnight lakes, haunting and compelling, drawing me forwards…
“Welcome to California, Jennifer,” he suddenly said, gripping my limp hand and pulling me out of the gawping stupor I’d fallen into. I gasped without thinking and he studied me with a raised eyebrow, offering an almost imperceptible smirk.
“Th-thank you Professor Cole,” I said. A distant part of me expected him to ask me to call him Lucas, but he didn’t and I dismissed the notion, lost in the driving hailstorm of my thoughts and emotions.
“That iced tea looks wonderful Kate, could you fix me a glass?” he finally replied, snapping both Kate and I back to reality.
Kate nodded delicately and whispered something that I barely heard. It sounded like “yes, Sir,” but I couldn’t be sure. Then she scurried off into the kitchen, returning seconds later with a third glass. Meanwhile, Lucas Cole lowered himself into a seat opposite me and regarded me across the table with cool detachment, not saying a single word. There was something about the older man, a kind of aura that was difficult to define yet impossible to ignore. He seemed to radiate authority, that’s the only way I can describe it.
As I sat there, eyes flicking around the ornate, suburban garden, desperately thinking of something, anything, to converse with this man about, I found myself feeling like a naughty schoolgirl, soon to be chastened for a trivial misdemeanor. As I squirmed in place, Kate Cole quietly placed the third glass on the table and poured her husband a glass of iced tea from the large pitcher. I opened my mouth to speak, not sure of what I was about to say but knowing that I needed to break the intolerable tension of scrutiny that had permeated the still afternoon air.
“You have a lovely home,” I said finally, the platitude forced through my lips like a confession.
Kate turned and took a seat beside her husband, sitting bolt upright with her head up, knees together and her hands placed neatly on her thighs. I was shocked by the transformation. Earlier, when the pair of us had been alone, she was relaxed and chatty, engaging me in light conversation with a friendly, laid back air. But now she seemed different, more controlled, more measured. She’d barely said a word since Professor Cole had emerged from the house, seeming somehow diminished and small beside her husband.
I found myself wondering, with a burning curiosity, what the nature of their relationship was. A small pang of fear pricked the back of my mind as I considered the grim possibility that Professor Lucas might not be the ben
evolent benefactor that I’d hoped he was.
“Thank you Jennifer,” said Professor Cole from out of nowhere, then he took a sip from his iced tea. I blinked in surprise, captivated by the sight of his enormous fingers wrapped around the comparatively tiny, dripping glass and wondering what on earth he was talking about. Then I remembered that I’d complimented their house and shook myself inwardly, desperate to get a hold of my thoughts and start acting like the confident young woman that I was.
“I…” I began, about to pursue another line of banal conversation, but as soon as I started to speak Professor Cole raised his hand and shot me a sharp glance. Immediately, I fell silent and flinched back, blinking quickly.
“Before you get settled in, I’d like to go over the house rules,” he said, not even acknowledging that he’d interrupted me.
“Rules? I… Of course,” I replied with a slight nod. As I spoke, I realized distantly that I had shifted in the seat, straightening my spine and sitting upright, a curious mirror image of Kate Cole before me. I didn’t stop to ponder what that meant.
Professor Cole took a long sip from his drink, never once taking his eyes off me. I glanced to his side and caught Kate regarding me cooly, I couldn’t place her expression, but it was strangely different from before.
“I will drive you to college every morning and home on an evening during the week. On a weekend, you are free to go where you want, but you should be home by eleven o’clock. There will be no noise or music after ten, and no visitors unless you ask permission from myself or my wife. Any assignments for your classes should be completed on time. We can go through them together when you complete the work. You may go in any room in the house, other than our bedroom and my study. You must never go in those rooms, or even look in them.”
