by Suzy K Quinn
‘How many times have you had sex before?’ he asks.
Must he ask me questions like this? ‘I haven’t kept count,’ I say. ‘But not a lot. Maybe five or six times. With my boyfriend at university.’
‘Sophia, I’ll never hurt you without your consent. Or let anything happen to you. You’ll be safer with me than anyone, I guarantee that. But I will take charge of you. Are you ready for that?’
I want to kiss him so badly. I feel myself leaning forwards, but he takes my face in his hands, holding me firm.
‘I have to have a decision from you, Sophia. Can you accept what I have to offer?’
‘Yes,’ I murmur. ‘I think so.’
He pushes me down on the bed.
My breathing quickens.
I wish I was wearing something sexier than pyjamas.
Marc stares at me and his jaw ripples again. ‘If you don’t like anything, tell me and I’ll stop. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
He stands up and paces back and forth, watching me.
‘Take off your pyjamas.’
I slide the pink t-shirt over my head and slowly peel off my pyjama bottoms. Then I lie back in just my underwear – a white bra and panties.
‘It had to be white, didn’t it?’ he says.
He goes to the French doors and closes the curtains, then takes off his jeans and t-shirt. He’s wearing boxer-briefs, and I see a hard outline pushing against the fabric. It’s huge.
He comes to the foot of the bed, grabs my ankles and flips me onto my stomach. Then he spreads my legs open, and I feel the flat of his palm moving back and forth between them.
‘Oh,’ I murmur into the pillow.
A shiver passes through me.
His hand carries on moving, and I feel the heat building. Then he stops.
‘Please don’t stop,’ I murmur.
He slaps me between the legs, and I jump.
Ouch.
‘That’s a warning,’ he says. ‘Don’t tell me what to do again.’
Oh god.
He puts his hand back again and begins to rub.
Oh god, oh god.
‘I don’t want you to come yet. The longer the build up, the better the orgasm.’
I feel the heat building and I can’t help myself.
‘Oh Marc,’ I say out loud. ‘Oh, that feels so good.’
His hand is unrelenting, and as I try to squirm away, he pulls me back onto it.
‘If you don’t want me to come, you have to stop moving your hand,’ I beg, feeling fiction turn to unbearably pleasant heat. His response is to rub harder and harder, until my whole body grows tense.
The world turns into coloured spots, and a wave of pleasure flows over me, from my navel to my legs.
I feel myself sink deeper into the bed. I hear Marc’s footsteps, then feel a duvet laid over my body.
Marc whispers in my ear. ‘I told you not to come.’
I laugh. ‘Then you should have stopped moving your hand.’
‘You disobeyed me. And Monday morning, I’m going to punish you.’
My stomach goes cold. ‘What?’
‘You heard me,’ says Marc, stroking my hair, his eyes dangerous.
‘You’re going to punish me?’
What on earth does that mean?
Marc climbs off the bed and steps into his clothes.
‘You’re not staying?’ I ask.
‘No,’ says Marc, pressing the duvet around my body. ‘People can’t see me leave in the morning. I told you I’d protect you. That means your reputation too.’
‘I wish you could stay.’
‘So do I. Monday.’
‘But ...’ I realise it was Friday when I went to bed, and now technically it’s Saturday morning. ‘That’s two days away.’
‘Monday,’ he replies. With that, he’s gone.
Chapter 29
I wake the next morning from an amazing night’s sleep, and my heart shivers as I feel cold sheets beside me. Did it really happen? Did Marc Blackwell really come up to my room last night?
I smell him against my duvet, and know it’s true. He really did knock at my door in the middle of the night, and he really did say on Monday he was going to punish me.
My stomach turns over as I think about that. He says he’ll protect me, but punishment isn’t protecting someone. Yet I have to admit, when he talked about spanking me and tying me up, I felt ... excited. Okay, more than excited. But imagination and real life are two very different things.
I check my watch. It’s noon and it’s Saturday. Noon! I don’t think I’ve ever slept in so long. I’m used to working most days of the week, and when I’m not, I’m taking care of Samuel or cleaning.
I sit bolt upright. I should be getting the train back home to see Dad and Samuel today. I promised to visit. I pick up my phone and dial Dad’s number.
He picks up straight away. ‘Hello love. How are you?’
‘I’m about to come down to visit,’ I say. ‘But I’m running a bit late -’
‘Don’t be silly.’ He cuts me off. ‘This is your first month at college. Get settled in. Get used to your new room. Spend time with the other pupils. I wouldn’t dream of you coming home.’
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Thanks Dad.’
What’s everyone up to this Saturday? I have no idea, but I need to do something to take my mind off Marc.
I send Jen a text: I’ve just had a window into your life, Saturday with nothing to do! xx
She texts back straight away: You’ve only just woken up? Welcome to my world! MISS YOU BABES!! xxxx
I smile, and head towards the cafeteria, but there’s something going on in the campus square. Students are dressed in bright wigs, painted like clowns and handcuffing themselves together.
I see Tanya among them, and she comes running up to me. ‘Sophia! We were just about to come and get you.’
I see Tom behind her wearing a bright blue fright wig. ‘Fetching, don’t you think?’ he says.
‘Very,’ I laugh, with a yawn. ‘Sorry. I just woke up.’
‘We’ve got one for you,’ says Tanya, running to a cardboard box and returning with a bright red wig.
‘What’s this all about?’ I ask.
‘Student Rag week,’ says Tom. ‘Raising and Giving. Which means we all dress up like arses, and roam the streets asking for money. Tied to each other.’
I smile. ‘Sounds like fun.’ And a great way to distract myself from Marc.
Tanya waves the wig at me. ‘A new hairstyle for you.’
A silly, vain part of me is glad Marc isn’t accommodated on campus. I’d be embarrassed if he saw me wearing this wig, but he’s not here, so when in Rome ...
‘Thanks,’ I say, tugging on the wig. ‘I guess I’ll be needing some make-up too.’
‘And a beer,’ says Tom, reaching into a cooler box and throwing me a can of Fosters.
‘At midday?’
‘You’re a student now,’ says Tom. ‘Prepare for alcoholism. This is just breakfast.’
He opens my can. ‘Drink, drink, drink!’
‘Okay, okay.’ I take a sip.
Ryan comes over with a bottle of evil looking red liquid and a plastic shot glass.
‘She needs a shot, too,’ he says.
‘She’s only just woken up,’ says Tom. ‘Give her a chance, she can probably still taste the toothpaste.’
‘You just gave me a beer,’ I laugh.
‘Sophia, my love. It’s Fosters. It’s practically a soft drink.’
‘Take a shot,’ says Ryan, pouring red liquid into the shot glass. He fills it so high that liquid spills onto the floor and stains the concrete.
‘I’m surprised smoke isn’t coming off the floor, the look of that stuff,’ says Tanya. ‘Ryan, it’s too early.’
‘No, she needs a shot,’ says Ryan, pushing the glass towards me.
I sigh. ‘Fine.’ I take the glass and down it, swallowing quickly so it doesn’t come back up. Part of me wants to get
a bit drunk today. Anything to forget about Marc and last night. My body is aching for him, but I know I won’t see him until Monday. And then, I don’t know what side of him I’ll be seeing ...
I feel wobbly as the red liquid takes effect, and Ryan smiles. ‘There’s a good girl. Take your medicine.’
Cecile comes marching up to him. ‘Ryan, what are you doing?’
‘Giving our little star pupil a shot. A little bit of truth serum. Maybe she can tell us what’s going on with her and Mr Blackwell.’
‘What?’ I say, feeling cold.
‘Cecile saw you coming out of the stationery cupboard, isn’t that right?’
‘What are you talking about?’ says Tanya. ‘Are you trying to start some horrible rumour? Why don’t you two just grow up?’
‘I saw her,’ says Cecile, with a smug smile. ‘She came out of the stationery cupboard, and Mr Blackwell was right behind her.’
I stand there stupidly, not knowing what to say.
‘So?’ says Tanya. ‘What are you implying exactly?’
‘What do you think I’m implying?’ says Cecile. ‘Small-town Sophia is up to no good with the teacher.’
‘Which is exactly what you’d like to do, given half the chance,’ says Tanya. ‘You said as much on our first night here. You’re just jealous because Marc sees something in Sophia that he doesn’t see in you. Or maybe any of us. She’s got something – any idiot can see that.’
‘We’ve all got something,’ says Cecile. ‘That’s why we’re on this course. Why Mr Blackwell would favour her, unless she’s doing something she shouldn’t -’
‘Stop trying to start rumours,’ says Tanya. ‘There are plenty of reasons to go into a stationery cupboard. You’re letting your imagination run away with you.’
‘Yes, stop being ridiculous Cecile,’ says Tom. ‘You’re just jealous.’
‘Of her?’ Cecile practically spits the words. ‘Miss sweet and innocent? I don’t think so. Come on, Ryan.’ She pulls him away.
Chapter 30
A tall female pupil with blonde hair shouts, ‘Okay, gang! Time to get tied up.’ She comes through the crowds with a box of plastic handcuffs, giggling and passing them out. She pulls students back and forth, handcuffing students together, the slaps a sticker on each handcuffed student – one sticker says slave, the other says gladiator.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask Tanya.
‘The theme is gladiator and slave,’ says Tanya. ‘Which means whoever you’re handcuffed to is either in charge of you, or you’re in charge of them.’
I feel a ripple of something in my stomach and between my legs, as I think of how Marc took charge of me last night.
‘So how does it work?’ I ask.
‘Whoever the gladiator is, they decide everything – where to go to raise money, when to stop for breaks, when the slave can go to the toilet, everything. But if you raise the least amount of money, then the gladiator gets thrown to the lions, as it were. They have to drink a gallon of beer in one go. Oh. Looks like I’m up.’
Tanya turns to the smiling, blonde student, who pulls Tanya away and handcuffs her to Cecile. Neither of them looks happy, until Tanya is given a sticker saying: gladiator. Then she smiles from ear to ear and winks at me.
I stand close to Tom, hoping I’ll be handcuffed to him, but the blonde student is doing a good job of mixing everyone up. To my horror, she drags Ryan through the crowd and grabs my wrist.
‘I saw him chatting you up earlier,’ she says with a wink. ‘I always like to play matchmaker.’ She hands a fundraising bucket to Ryan, and adjusts his wig.
Through the crowd, I see Tanya laughing and shaking her head. Cecile looks furious.
I expect Ryan to complain. To say he doesn’t want to be near me. But he doesn’t say anything.
The blonde pupil handcuffs us together. ‘There. You make a lovely couple. Now. Who should be gladiator and who should be slave?’ She looks from one of us to the other. ‘Oh wait – you’re the girl with a crush on Mr Blackwell, right?’
‘Why do you say that?’ I ask, going pale.
‘Cecile’s been telling everyone that you won’t leave him alone. But I don’t blame you. I mean, who doesn’t have a crush on him?’
I look at the floor. I guess it’s better that people think I’m some crazy, love sick pupil than know the truth.
Tom is handcuffed to a short, black-haired girl who looks smiley and good fun, and the two of them are soon chatting away, Tom roaring with laughter.
I turn to Ryan, wondering what on earth we’re going to say to each other.
‘This is a turn up for the books,’ he says, an unpleasant smile on his lips. ‘I bet you’d prefer I was Marc Blackwell, though.’
I take a sip of beer, not knowing what to say.
‘So it’s true then?’ says Ryan. His face is broad and flat, and for the first time I notice tiny gaps between his straight teeth.
‘What’s true?’ I ask.
‘That you’re obsessed with Marc Blackwell? That you have a crush on the teacher.’
‘I’m not obsessed with anyone,’ I say, but I know I’m lying to myself. All I’ve been able to think about since I got here is Marc, and thoughts of last night still send trembles down my legs.
The handcuffed couples ahead start walking off campus.
‘Come on,’ says Ryan, tugging hard at my wrists. ‘We don’t want to be left behind, and I’m determined to win this. I won’t be the loser. The couple who raises the most money wins free drinks at the campus bar.’
‘I don’t think I need any more to drink,’ I say, still feeling a little giddy from the shot.
‘You take the bucket, slave,’ says Ryan. ‘I’ll hold your beer.’
‘Fine,’ I say, passing my beer over. The charity bucket feels nice and light, but I know it’ll get heavy soon.
Ryan tugs at my wrists. ‘I think we should go on the tube. Ask commuters for money.’
‘While we’re handcuffed together?’
‘Don’t answer back, slave. It’ll give us the best chance of winning.’
‘You’re taking this whole gladiator thing too seriously,’ I say. ‘Isn’t the tube a little bit unsafe?’ I want to add: since we’re tied together and you’re clearly drunk.
‘It’ll be fine.’ Ryan downs my beer, and shouts at the blonde pupil, ‘Rachel, another beer. I’m dry.’ He throws the empty can on the floor.
‘Please would be nice,’ Rachel says, throwing him a beer from the ice box.
‘One isn’t going to last me five minutes,’ says Ryan.
‘Alcoholic in the making, I like it!’ says Rachel, handing him another beer. Ryan stuffs it in the pocket of his cargo trousers.
‘Okay, team,’ says Rachel. ‘Let’s get going.’
Ryan drinks half the new can in one go, and I notice he’s swaying slightly.
‘Do you think you’d better take it easy?’ I whisper.
‘No I don’t,’ he says, chugging more beer, and pulling at the handcuffs.
I follow him and the other couples through the campus grounds, and onto the streets of London. We walk past Great Ormond Street Hospital, and reach High Holborn where crowds flow back and forth.
Ryan is unsteady on his feet, and nearly pulls me over a few times. I’m left scrabbling to stay steady as he walks without the slightest regard for the fact he’s attached to someone.
‘Wait, please, you’re going too fast,’ I say, the bucket swinging in my hand.
‘If we’re not fast, we won’t win,’ says Ryan. ‘Where’s your killer instinct?’
‘I don’t have one,’ I say. ‘We’re raising money for charity, not running a marathon.’
‘Well I want to win,’ he says. ‘And I’m in charge of you. So you’ll do as I say and walk at my pace.’
I stumble behind him. When he sees Holborn tube station, he drags us towards the steps that say: ‘No Entry’.
‘Get out of the way,’ he shouts, as streams of passengers emerg
e from the dark mouth of the station. ‘We’re on student rag week. For charity.’
He pulls me down and through the crowds, but I trip and fall on the first step, and tumble down the rest, landing on my rear end at the bottom. The bucket clatters away.
‘Ouch,’ I say.
‘You dropped the bucket,’ says Ryan, dragging me across the floor.
‘Wait,’ I shout. ‘Let me stand up.’
Chapter 31
Some passengers come to my defence, and I hear an elderly woman berating Ryan for going after the bucket.
‘Let her stand up, young man. Can’t you see you’re hurting her? And what are you doing drinking at this time of the day? You should be ashamed of yourself.’
Ryan looks at the woman with angry, red-rimmed eyes. ‘Mind your own business.’
‘Are you okay dear?’ the woman asks, as I struggle to my feet. My ankle feels sore, but okay.
‘Just a little bump,’ I say. ‘I’m fine. Really. Thank you.’
Ryan uses his oyster card at the tube barriers, then bundles us both through. The gates catch on my arm. Double ouch. I never knew they shut so hard.
‘Don’t drop the bucket,’ Ryan shouts.
The gates open again, sensing an obstruction, and I’m pulled towards the escalator by an unsteady Ryan. I hold on tight to the moving handrail, and when we reach the platform, a train is just about to leave.
‘We can make it,’ Ryan shouts, tugging me behind him.
‘No, please Ryan. Wait.’
‘Do as you’re told.’ He mounts the crowded tube train and tries to pull me on, but the doors are closing. There are tuts from passengers as Ryan jostles them aside.
‘Just climb on the bloody train,’ Ryan says. ‘You’re so slow. I’m not going to lose.’
‘Ryan, please. There’s no room.’ I’m terrified the doors will shut between our arms, and the train will carry Ryan away on one side, and drag me along on the other, ripping off my arm in the process.
‘I’ll make room,’ says Ryan, pushing people out of the way, and pulling me onto the train just as the doors close.
The doors slam into each of my arms, but I grip the bucket tightly this time. Then the doors reopen and I squash myself into the other passengers, apologising the whole time.