Schooled (NYC Doms)

by Henry, Jane

  I groan, floating on endorphins and fantasy, and blurt out, “Yes, daddy.”

  He freezes. I open my eyes, suddenly aware that this isn’t play, this isn’t a scene, and that I really am, in fact, being spanked by a dom.

  And I just called him daddy.

  My ass is on fire, my clit pulsing for attention, and all he does is lift me up off the desk and spin me around to look at him.

  “Did you just call me daddy?” he growls.

  I fucked up. Oh, God, I totally fucked up. He’s going to hate me. He’ll push me away and never want to do this to me again. My one chance at being dommed, and I blew it with my big mouth.

  “Yes, sir? I’m sorry, I-I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Good girl,” he says with an appreciative twitch of his lips, his green eyes glinting at me appreciatively. There’s no remorse in his eyes and gone is the flash of anger, but when I look at him I realize his gaze mirrors how I feel.

  “That’s what daddy likes to hear.”

  He wants me as badly as I want him. And he not only didn’t freak the hell out when I called him daddy but called himself daddy, too.

  Oh, sweet Jesus.

  “Have you ever been spanked before?” he asks sternly, still holding my chin.

  I swallow hard. “No,” I whisper.

  He stares at me for a moment before bending down and brushing a chaste kiss across my cheek. Then he releases me like I’m on fire. I stumble back, surprised, when a knock sounds at the door. My cheeks flame as I gather up my books and turn away from the door. He walks over and opens the door. I pretend to drop something and fall to the floor to pick it up.

  “So sorry,” he says to whoever’s on the other side. “Didn’t know that door locked behind my students.” My cheeks are too hot to look to see who it is. Can they see the mark of his hand beneath the hem of my skirt?

  But my mind is on what just happened and all I can hear is that’s what daddy likes to hear.

  “Thank you,” he says. “Yep, I’ll see you there.”

  The door closes, and he greets me with a chuckle. “You can come out of hiding for now.”

  I look up at him, but he’s only matter-of-factly gathering things up on his desk, as if we’ve just had a tutoring session, and he didn’t just light my world on fire with the hottest spanking of my life. He tucks papers into a folder, then slides them into a briefcase bag before looking up at me.

  “Tonight’s assignment, Giada?”

  I look at my notes. “Send you a sample of my fictional work,” I stammer. Oh, God. He wants to see what I’ve written. He knows I’ve dreamed about being dominated and explored those dreams in my writing. How can I send this to him?

  But if I hadn’t let him in on my dirty little secret last night, would he have spanked me today?

  “Good job,” he says.

  I miss good girl. But I suppose that’s likely earned.

  “And if you come to class late tomorrow, what happens?”

  My cheeks pink when I look at him. He’s staring at me from beneath dark brows.

  “I—you’ll punish me.”

  He nods and crosses his arms on his chest. “With what?”

  With what? He didn’t say. Oh, wait.

  My voice cracks when I answer. “Um, you said you’d paddle me.”

  He nods, all stern and sexy dom. “Then you know what to do. Unless you want a paddling, you’ll come to class tomorrow and behave yourself. Go, now.” He points to the door, effectively dismissing me. I gather my things and practically run.

  Did he just dare me?

  Chapter Four

  Geoff

  I try to work this off at the gym, but I’ve got a case of blue balls I can’t fucking ignore. I hit the punching bag with vigor, trying to forget the sight of her bent over my desk, ass on display. The sight of my handprint on her bare skin. The way she panted when I spanked her, a girl who needs a firm hand if ever I saw one.

  She’s my fucking student.

  I shake my head and punch the bag again, welcoming the ache in my arms and abs from the pounding I’m giving this, but my hard-on and frustration don’t abate. Swearing under my breath, I get dressed, head home, and out of pure necessity, rub one off in the shower.

  A man has to cope, after all.

  I want to go to Verge, but I have a crazy amount of papers to grade. Though my assignments are lighter in the summer, and I only have a few classes, the classes are intense, so we cover a lot of ground in a short time period. I can’t let myself drown in it if I get behind.

  But I know what’s waiting for me in that inbox if she’s behaved herself.

  Christ, the way she called me daddy. I don’t know her at all, but I know I need to know her better. Teach her to mind me. Teach her her place.

  And damn it all to hell, I was gonna apply for faculty chair in the fall.

  How can I bring myself to do that, when all I can focus on is how badly I need to dominate my student, and get her into Club Verge without anyone realizing who she is?

  After I shower, I change and sit at the table, I tell myself now I’m going to focus. My conscience plagues me, though. I screwed up today, big time. Teachers don’t fraternize with students, and they most definitely do not bend them over the desk to spank them. If the department chair found out… I shake my head and open up my laptop. First, I want to check last night’s Yankees score.

  My phone beeps, indicating an email, so I open it up quickly, then grin as I see a message from Giada showing up in my inbox. I’ll enjoy her chastely while she’s under my care. I mean, all I did was spank her. It wasn’t like I fucked her.

  Yet, chides a little voice in my head.

  I click the email, eyes widening as I read, and read, and read.

  Yeah, this was not my imagination. Hell, she’s letting me into hers.

  “On your knees, little sub,” says Master Steel. “I’ll give you a good use for that naughty mouth of yours.”

  As I read the torrid scene, complete with vivid imagery and a physical description of the club, I’m struck dumb. Though she doesn’t describe every detail, I can provide ample details for the rest of this as well. The private rooms, the kinky toys and implements at one’s disposal.

  The way she describes the inside of this club, I realize pretty quickly I can picture this club because I know this club. I know the shiny black door that lets me enter. Hell, I’ve stood guard at that door as bouncer so many times I’ve lost count. I know where the bar is to the left and the pool tables and community area to the right. I know the tables where people sit and mingle before they make their way to the dungeon or private rooms.

  She’s described Verge in her world of fiction.

  She’s been there before.

  I frown and stare at my laptop.

  Don’t do it, my head warns. Don’t do it. She’ll chew you out and play you for a fool. And hell, if you get roped into things with her… if anyone ever finds out what you’ve done to her…

  But I can’t help it. I need to know.

  I shoot her a reply email before my head explodes.

  Thank you for your email, Giada. You’re a very good writer, and I’m impressed with the narrative structure of your work, as well as the flow of dialogue and vivid description.

  There’s only one problem.

  Did you take this from real life, or is this place a work of fiction? If it is real, you need to identify it. There are rules and regulations governing mention of real people, places, and things, and works of fiction depicting real life places without due credit could result in serious legal repercussions.

  This is total bullshit. There really aren’t laws prohibiting her from describing a place that actually does exist, but the white lie is quite convenient for vetting out the truth.

  I shut off my laptop and get to my feet.

  I want to be the one to take her to Verge, but she’s already been there. How? As someone else’s sub? A flare of white-hot anger curls in my gut. I have no cl
aim on the girl, but the idea of someone so young, so innocent, being dommed by anyone else makes me sick.

  I remember the way she looked at me after I spanked her ass, her eyes half-lidded with arousal, the energy between us cracking like a live wire.

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  I need to find her.

  For the second night in a row, I head to Verge. I barely greet Brax at the door, on a mission to comb this club until I find her, to track her down and find where she lives if need be.

  “Hey, man.” Zack’s sitting at the counter with a beer, Beatrice kneeling obediently at his feet with her chain on again. She’s feisty as fuck, but I know that when she’s here, she likes the taste of humiliation. But the sight of her kneeling and collared reminds me of the scene Giada wrote, and I feel my teeth snap together as I clench my jaw. I nod at Zack, without saying anything. Travis pulls me a drink, pushes it to me across the bar, and I drink half of it in huge gulps.

  Zack raises a brow.

  “You good?”

  “I’m good,” I say with a sigh. “But listen, man. Question for you. You know a girl by the name of Giada Romano who comes in here?”

  Frowning, Zack shakes his head. “Nah. But you know half the people that come in here don’t use their real names on the floor. You looking for someone?”

  As a detective for the NYPD, Zack can give me some answers if I need them.

  Do I want to involve him, though?

  I shake my head. “Nah, I’m good.”

  He jerks his head behind me. “Tobias might be able to help,” he offers.

  Tobias joins us at the bar. “What’s up?”

  I ask him the same question. As club owner, he has a good tab on all the members here. He would know. He nods when I ask him about her name, stroking his chin, dark eyes focused on me.

  “I might know her,” he says. “I don’t normally divulge the names of clients, though. No offense, man,” he says apologetically. “It’s just a company policy.”

  Of course. I understand. I nod, then feel my phone buzz. Quickly, I scan the notification on my screen. My heartbeat quickens. It’s her. She’s replied to my email.

  That’s a bluff, Professor. No one knows the name of the club I go to except you, anyway, and if they did, they have nothing on me. There are no regulations guarding this type of information in a work of fiction, and most especially an unpublished work.

  No one knows the club but me?

  Does she know I’m a member here?

  “Not sure I need to look anything up,” Tobias says in my ear. “All I’ll tell you is, if you’re looking for her, you need to head to the dungeon.”

  I know then. My purpose in coming here tonight. Why the universe saw fit to land her ass in my classroom. Why I’m back to Verge after months of separation, reunited with my friends and the lifestyle that’s become a part of who I am.

  I know my purpose, and she’s waiting for me in the dungeon.

  Chapter Five

  Giada

  I wait in the dungeon, filled with nervous anticipation. Is he here tonight? Will he come now that he knows I’m here? A part of me hopes he comes, and a part of me wishes he wouldn’t. I’m afraid of what will happen if he sees me here. How will I face him in class tomorrow?

  I called him Daddy earlier. I can’t divulge that fantasy of mine and let it hang in the air like that.

  I came in here alone, having acquired a membership at the beginning of the month. A dom I dated introduced me here, but he broke up with me and now goes elsewhere with his new love interest. I’ve come a few times, but I’ve not allowed anyone to touch me. I keep waiting for the right one, as many of the people here are couples, and many far older than I am. The bartender looked cute, but he mentioned having a girlfriend when I first arrived. Plus, he’s too young.

  I go for the older type.

  Imagine my delight when the fictional Verge in my story was something Professor Slade recognized. He’s been here before. Hell, he could come here tonight, and after that email I sent him, he just might.

  I scan the crowd once, twice, three times, and see no one I recognize. There’s no response to the last email I sent him. Hell, I ought to be home working on my next assignment for his class, rather than sending him dribbles of what I’ve written.

  Maybe if I don’t finish my assignment, he’ll spank me. I smile to myself as I take in the sights around me. There’s a young guy about my age strapped to a spanking bench in the front of the demo area, and a small crowd circles ‘round. His top is clad in black leather, wielding a stout riding crop, which she trails down his back and over the curve of his ass before she comes to his thighs. Placing the leather tip between his legs, she gently pushes, instructing him to spread his legs before she ties his ankles to the bench. I watch in rapt fascination until a low, familiar voice rasps against my ear.

  “Something that interests you, young lady?”

  I blink in surprise at familiar stern green eyes. I stammer, shaking my head. “Uh. Uh, no, daddy. No, sir.” Oh, God.

  And then I do the unthinkable.

  Like a scared little rabbit, I turn tail and run. I think he calls after me but I can’t hear properly, the pounding in my ears drowning out sound. I leave the dungeon behind and don’t bother to see if he’s pursuing me but I hope to God he isn’t because if he is I will legit die. I run past the bar and toward the exits near the lobby. I don’t stop until the cab door slams shut behind me, the first time I dare to risk a glance outside my window. But there’s no one familiar out the window.

  And for some reason, that fills me with sadness. He didn’t come after me.

  * * *

  Geoff

  The next day, I’m exhausted. I spent all night berating myself for scaring her off, until around midnight I decided I was off my nut.

  She was the one who came to the club.

  She was the one who baited me and emailed me, practically begging me to come find her at Verge.

  And she was the one who turned and ran when she realized I was there.

  By the time I finally punched down my pillow and tried to get some sleep, I no longer blamed myself, but hoped the little brat would do something the next day that would give me an excuse to punish her ass.

  I wake up the next morning, my eyes like sandpaper from lack of sleep, and glance over the assignments sent to me by my students. My lips thin as I check off the names of those who’ve sent me their complete assignments. There’s nothing more from Giada.

  If she compounds this by coming late to class, I’m gonna spank her ass.

  I pack my bags for the day and head to the school, determined to get my shit together. When I park, a shiny red car next to me parks at the same time. I recognize the driver as the dean of the English Language Arts school. My guilty conscience plagues me. If she had any idea…

  I wave my hand at her.

  “Morning, Geoffrey,” Debra says when I get out of my car. “How fortuitous that we ran into each other. Just the man I wanted to speak with.” Shit. Does she know what I’ve been up to?

  “Oh?” I ask, getting out of my car.

  She smiles widely at me. “Yes. It seems that there’s a promotion in your future if you’re interested. We just received word that the budget allocations to our department will allow us to hire an additional professor. That means that we’d like to hire you permanently and perhaps consider a higher role. It means a significant salary increase, paid vacations, as well as first choice of course offerings.”

  I swallow. I’m being given the best opportunity of my career, and all I can think about is how close I am to fucking this up. If she has any idea what I’ve been doing…

  “Oh, excellent,” I say. “Thank you. How do I find out more?”

  She rattles off a list of names and dates. My head teems with this news. If what I’m doing with Giada comes to light, I’ll not only lose my job here and whatever benefits I’ve managed to accrue, I’m essentially fucked when it comes to getting another job
in the future.

  Fucked.

  “Thank you,” I manage to choke out, thankful that my dom training has taught me to keep myself in check.

  That’s it. I’m not going to touch her. I’m not going to dom her again, and if I find her at Club Verge, I’ll leave. I left there for a while and lived and could give it up again if I needed to.

  I hate the idea of pulling up roots, of never touching this woman again. The fantasies that have taken root in my mind won’t stop hounding me, testing me, reminding me what could have been. I haven’t had the intimacy of a daddy dom/little girl dynamic since my girl left, and I miss it. I miss being the one she looks to for guidance and structure, and fulfilling my own needs by meeting hers.

  I’ve made up my mind.

  I get to my class early and set things up, greeting students as they arrive. Today, I give them back their graded assignments, and will give them their third writing assignment. A rapid summer course like this one is work-heavy, and we need to keep up the pace. I watch the clock tick on the nearby wall.

  She has five minutes to arrive.

  If she doesn’t arrive on time, it’s on me to show her my displeasure, or any respect I’ve earned from her is shot to hell.

  I frown.

  Two minutes.

  Not only is she cutting the time close, she’s still missing last night’s assignment.

  I tap my foot impatiently on the floor, eyeing the clock.

  How badly do I want the chair position?

  The clock strikes noon. I push up from my desk, walk to the door, and click the lock in place. The little brat is testing me. I carry on with today’s lesson, as usual, and begin handing out a worksheet for my other students to do. There’s a faint buzz of conversation humming in the classroom as my students discuss the assignment I gave them when a sharp knock comes at the door.