A Conflicted Woman

by T. B. Markinson

  And when did she have the time to purchase all of this? Had she ordered everything online? Did the mail carrier know my fate before I did? In the past she’d surprised me with a strap on, but BDSM? Was that the clue I missed over a year ago? Were strap ons the gateway drug, so to speak, for this? Maybe I was dreaming.

  As Sarah edged the right side of the bed, she trailed the feather down that side of my body.

  I squirmed.

  She tickled the bottoms of my feet, causing me to wiggle even more.

  “You like?”

  Was I allowed to answer, or was this a trick?

  Her hand rose as if preparing to strike.

  “Yes!” I blurted.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, please.” My voice sounded weak. I made a mental note to reread the goddamned Fifty Shades books to prep better for the next time my wife went off the rails in the bedroom. No way would I watch the movies, which even Sarah said were subpar.

  “That’ll work this time, but in the future, please respond with, Yes, Mistress.”

  I nodded.

  The crop went up again.

  “Yes, Mistress,” I said too loudly.

  Sarah glanced over her shoulder as if expecting hotel personnel to barge in. None did, of course.

  Her distraction allowed me to take in her outfit, which was smoking hot, and although fear coursed through me, the warm sensation between my legs increased exponentially. Did that make me a freak? Did that matter? What would my students think of me if they knew?

  Stop it, Lizzie.

  As if in tune with the inner dialogue, Sarah thwacked the sheet next to my left leg.

  I flinched.

  She did it again, followed by lightly tracing the outside of my leg with the feather. Sarah slinked to the end of the bed, placing one foot on the bench, allowing my eyes access to her glistening pussy.

  “Oh, look.” She skimmed a finger over her engorged lips. “I’m getting wet.” With lightning speed, she snapped the crop onto the sheets between my legs.

  I snapped my eyes shut, waiting for her to achieve her ultimate goal. Which was what, exactly?

  “Did I say you could close your eyes?” she asked.

  My eyelids flew open.

  Sarah placed a finger into her mouth, licking it. “Although, that gives me an idea.” She disappeared into the bathroom, where she must have stashed her sex gear.

  I yanked on my arm restraints to no avail.

  Her head peered around the doorframe. “Don’t think about it, or you’ll pay.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Is that how you should respond?” She approached with one hand behind her back. Not the one with the crop, unfortunately.

  “No, Mistress.”

  “That’s better. And now for—” In her hand was an eye mask she’d purchased earlier in the spa.

  I inhaled a deep breath.

  “Now, now. You act like you’re afraid of me. I haven’t done a thing to hurt you… not yet. So, behave.” Sarah motioned for me to lift my head to allow her to tie the black and pink silky fabric. “Trust is key to all relationships,” she declared in what could only be described as her BDSM voice. A new thing.

  I didn’t react.

  She spanked the bed close to my side, and the feather brushed me. “Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  She shuffled on her feet, but I couldn’t make out her next move, unwilling to risk peeking through the sliver of light at the bottom of the mask. The bottom half of the bed lurched. Dear God. Was she on the bed? Between my legs? With the crop? I pinched my eyes shut, bracing for what came next.

  As if answering my unspoken concerns, the feather teased between my legs.

  “Your tenseness may show fear, but this”—she pressed the crop between my pussy lips—“shows me how turned on you are. Let’s see how much you can handle.”

  Did that mean…?

  The feather danced on my lower stomach.

  I thrashed about, causing the restraints to pull on my skin.

  She continued, tickling my right nipple.

  My body responded by trembling.

  The bed moved again, and I think her hip was pressed into my crotch. The feather continued its wondrous torture, now focusing under my chin. Sarah’s leg slowly gyrated against me down below.

  It was maddening not being able to see all of her.

  Not being able to touch her.

  The feather skimmed my lips, followed by Sarah’s mouth.

  I moaned into the quick and dirty kiss, instantly wishing it lasted longer. Forever.

  Sarah’s tongue teased my already hardened right nipple, sucking it into her mouth. Both of her hands trailed up and down the sides of my body.

  Up and down.

  Did that mean she’d let go of the crop?

  Her mouth moved to my other nipple, biting it hard, making me suck in a deep breath, but not too hard to make me cry out in pain.

  Oh, Sarah was the master… er, mistress when it came to knowing my body. What I could take. What I wanted. How far to push me.

  The bed shifted again, and Sarah straddled my pussy.

  Both of her hands were kneading my breasts. “What do you want, Lizzie? This isn’t all about me.” Her voice was husky.

  Words failed me.

  “Nothing?” Her breath tickled my nose.

  “Everything,” I managed to say.

  She laughed, deep and sexy. “Care to elaborate.”

  “You,” I croaked.

  Her hands gripped my wrists as if the handcuffs needed assistance in preventing me to break free.

  I had zero desire to do so, though.

  And I sensed Sarah understood. Hell, she’d known before I realized how much I loved her. Needed her. Craved her.

  Her tongue traced a straight line from the hollow of my throat, between my breasts, down my stomach, dipping briefly into my belly button, reaching my pubic area, and stopping on my clit.

  My back arched.

  Sarah’s mouth consumed my pussy. Sucking my lips into her mouth. Releasing. Her tongue gliding through them, dipping inside me. Flicking my clit. And repeating the process with slight variations. Sometimes she dove inside and then sucked, returning to my clit.

  I lost track of time.

  And hell, if time could stop permanently for Sarah’s exploration, I’d die happy.

  Her ministrations sent my body into a writhing tizzy—as much as the restraints would allow. And the restraints, while physically keeping my hands and legs out of play, made my body more present in the situation. Nerve endings in my skin I’d never noticed before were zapping to life. My nose feasted on the mixture of Sarah’s jasmine perfume and our primal desire. Each lap of her tongue mimicked the sound of a wave slamming into the side of a boat.

  Sarah drove two of her fingers inside.

  My head dug into the pillow. “Yes!” I called out.

  She pulled them out but quickly thrust them inside again, deeper.

  Her mouth was on mine.

  Again and again, she invaded me.

  All the while her tongue mouth-fucked me.

  It was hot as hell.

  And I was close.

  So close I could taste it.

  Sarah probably could as well.

  Once again, her mouth was on my clit, frantically lapping my pulsing sex, her fingers zeroing in on my G spot, pulling upward.

  “Come now!” she commanded.

  I couldn’t have stopped the sexual release if I wanted to. But why would anyone want to refuse this? Wave upon wave flooded my sensory system. Even my toes trembled with excitement.

  Sarah stilled her tongue on my bud, pressing it firmly to force out the last and most satisfying crest of orgasm.

  My body stilled, with Sarah lying on top of me.

  Neither of us spoke for several moments.

  Her cheek was pressed against my chest. “Your heart is about to burst,” she said.

  “Let it. Ca
n’t think of a better way to go.”

  She quietly laughed. “I love you.”

  “Jesus, Sarah. Not only do I love you, but I give myself to you completely. This. You. Fuck.” I couldn’t find the words to complete wherever my mind wanted to go, because in that moment, my mind wasn’t in control. My heart powered everything.

  Her finger nudged the blindfold off, her eyes shimmering. “Shall I set you free?”

  “Only so I can hold you in my arms.”

  It didn’t take her long to undo the restraints, and I cradled her body.

  “Your arms are shaking. Did I hurt you?”

  “Not at all. My body is still feeling everything.” I nuzzled my nose against her cheek.

  She propped herself up on bent elbow, her other hand resting on the swell of my breasts. “Would you do it again?”

  “Being tied up?”

  “Yes or trying something else. Something new to us.”

  I cupped her cheek. “Anything you want.”

  “Anything?”

  “I trust you. I know you won’t propose something that will be too much for the stuffy historian inside me.” I winked at her.

  The smile on her face connected to my soul. “If your students knew what you did behind closed doors, they wouldn’t think you stuffy at all. Although, given the Jorie situation”—she boosted her eyebrows playfully—“that might be for the best. Besides, I want this part of you—us all to ourselves. No one should ever know.” She leaned down and kissed me sweetly.

  I loved that she could torture me one moment and then switch gears and kiss me with such tenderness.

  “How come you never actually whipped me?” I asked.

  “Did you want me to?”

  I shook my head.

  “Exactly. Sometimes the fear of something is enough.” She pressed her index finger against the tip of my nose. “Besides, I liked tickling you with the feather. The way you twitched. And how it turned you on.”

  “Can I tie you up and blindfold you?”

  “Tonight?” Her voice was excited.

  I laughed. “I would if Sexy Sarah hadn’t worn me out.”

  She tipped her head back, laughing. “I haven’t heard that nickname in a while.”

  “Do you like it?”

  Sarah waggled her brows.

  “What about Administrating Mistress?”

  She crinkled her nose. “No! Sounds like menstruating. And is that a word?”

  “Are you doubting my vocab skills?” I pulled her back into my arms and kissed the top of her head.

  “Never.”

  “Good. You may be the mistress of the bedroom, but words—that’s my wheelhouse.”

  Her body shook with giggles. “How did you ever get Sexy Sarah to fall madly in love with you?”

  “Don’t ask how. Just let us be. We’re a good team.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  On Monday, I sat in my office on campus, staring at the email I’d received in the middle of the night but was just now reading.

  The subject line: Do you have time to talk?

  The sender: Meg.

  There was a time, after first meeting her, when the mere thought of Meg made my heart flutter.

  The flutter had turned into heart-palpitating dread when dealing first with Drunk Meg, ultimately leading to Blackmailing Meg.

  Now, in the confines of my office, I tried putting my finger on the emotion coursing through my body. Fear? Guilt? Shame? Morbid curiosity? A mixture of all four?

  My brain tried to work out the time of her email. Did the 1:32 a.m. timestamp mean she’d fallen off the wagon? Did not drinking enflame insomnia? Possibly, her single status allowed her to keep odd hours.

  The old Lizzie, the one Sarah had ditched after the Maddie fiasco, would have reacted without consulting anyone. And by that, I meant pretend I’d never received the email. Surely, it didn’t have a read receipt.

  “And the new Lizzie remains inactive,” I said aloud. Clearly, the old and new Lizzie were unnervingly alike.

  Taking Maddie’s advice, I picked up my desk phone and punched in the numbers.

  Courtney’s assistant answered the phone. Kicking myself for not prepping for this, and I should have considering Courtney was a bigwig in her family’s business, I mumbled, “Sorry, wrong number.”

  Old Lizzie was coming back to life—not dealing with anything.

  My phone rang soon afterward. “Hello?”

  “Lizzie?”

  “Yes,” I said with hesitation.

  “It’s Courtney.”

  “How’d you do that?” I asked, glancing around my room as if looking for a recording device.

  “Do what?”

  “Call me?”

  “I’m using newfangled technology. Some call it a cellular device. I prefer mobile.” Her tone was lighthearted and not nearly as sarcastic as Maddie’s.

  I could feel a blush, although Courtney couldn’t see me. Or could she? Obviously, Meg’s talk about spies lurking everywhere and my guilt for not sharing more with Sarah was getting to me. “I just hung up on your assistant.”

  She laughed. “Why?”

  “I… It’s not important.”

  She laughed some more. “Maddie has you pegged. She said I’d have to hunt you down to talk.”

  “About?”

  “Your brother and Tie.”

  “Oh,” I said in an attempt to stall for time. Did she really need to talk, or was she using the Peter and Tie card to get me in the same room? Possibly, Maddie planted the seed in Courtney’s head that I needed to know the details of Peter’s marriage, which I’d rather stay blissfully unaware of. My life was overly complicated at the moment, and the games people played were time-consuming.

  “Lizzie, you there?”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry. A student popped their head in,” I said in a lame attempt to explain the awkward silence.

  “Why’d you call me?” she asked.

  “Maddie mentioned you wanted to talk,” I fibbed.

  “The six degrees of Maddie. You free for an early dinner on Thursday in Fort Collins? I have to drive up Wednesday night from Denver for two days of meetings. I’m hoping the meeting on Thursday won’t take all day.”

  “That sounds… fun.”

  “Welcome to my world. At least it gives me a chance to catch up with Maddie.”

  I wondered if she meant sexually, since the two had had a short fling months ago. I hadn’t quite pinned down whether or not Maddie and Gabe were exclusive. Especially considering Maddie had contacted Jorie.

  Courtney’s voice almost startled me. “Hey, I’m getting a call and have to jump. I’ll text you when and where.”

  “Sure,” I said to dead air.

  If that was the technique she used with clients, it was pretty effective, although I wondered what lengths she went to when someone declined via text. Given that Maddie was involved, I didn’t want to have both conniving women plotting behind the scenes.

  There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” I said.

  Jorie stuck her head inside. “Hey.” She looked around as if unsure. “Do your office hours only apply to current students, not former?”

  Speak of the devil…

  “Huh, I’ve never given it much thought.” I rubbed the top of my head. “But considering there isn’t a mad rush to see me,”—I waved her in—“take a seat. What’s up?”

  “I’m…” She took a seat with her crimson backpack in her lap. Fiddling with one of the front zippers, she said, “I’m having a problem with one of my TAs that oversees my mandatory study session.”

  “What kind?”

  Her cheeks tinged. “He keeps asking me out.”

  “Oh.” I sat up straighter in my chair, taking a red grading pen in my hand.

  “I’ve told him more than once I’m not interested. Not just him, but with the entire male species, but I think it’s falling on deaf ears.”

  Briefly, I considered closing the door, but it was departmental po
licy to keep the door open when with a student. Did that apply if said student wasn’t my student? I opted to use caution, leaving the door open.

  “Have you told anyone?”

  She shook her head. “I think he’s of the opinion since I’m the oldest student, and possibly older than he is, the rules don’t apply.”

  “Sexual harassment doesn’t have an age requirement.” I shifted in my uncomfortable office chair and leaned my forearms on the laminated desk, still clutching the pen in my right hand.

  “Right,” she said, brightening, making me feel uneasy.

  “Do you know if any others in the class are being pestered by him?”

  “Just the usual awkward comments and jokes to get a laugh, mostly from the guys in the study sessions. The girls grin and bear it.”

  I nodded. “Do you get along with the professor?”

  She hefted her shoulders. “There are three hundred in the class with five TAs. The TA in question is also a student in one of my other classes, making it even more confusing. Kinda like we’re only classmates, but as my TA, he grades my tests and quizzes. I would drop the class, but the date to do so has passed. I could take a W.”

  All of this info put me somewhat at ease. She’d clearly given some thought to her options. “That is a possibility, but you don’t receive a refund and the ‘W’ will always appear on your transcript, without affecting your GPA, though.” I mimed weighing the benefits with two hands. “One, talk to your professor. Two, take a W.”

  “What’s behind door three?” she joked.

  “Sarah always says I see things in black and white.”

  Jorie offered a tiny smile. “What would you do?”

  “Ah.” I leaned back and scratched my head with the pen. I had to reframe the question in my mind to “What advice would Sarah give?” It didn’t take long to come up with, “I think you should make an appointment with the professor. Talk to him—”

  “Her,” she interjected.

  “Her. It’s possible the TA doesn’t really understand what he’s doing is wrong, or it’s possible he does. Both scenarios should be addressed.”