Welcome To Corbin's Bend

by Thianna D

  "Shh, Sarah. Shh. It's OK. It's normal. I'm here. I'm holding you."

  "John... is it wrong?"

  He snuggled her close, and kissed her brow, then her lips. "No, sweetheart, it's not wrong."

  "But... the things I want..."

  "The things we need," he said firmly. "The things we need to find fulfillment."

  "Do I really need them? Aren't they bad? Don't we have to ask God to take away our sinful desires?"

  "Sarah," John said. "This is who we are. Never deny it; it leads only to pain. I spent twenty years married to someone who could never understand that it was natural that I need the things I need. I had to hide it from her. I don't want you ever to feel that way, whatever happens to us."

  "Was she right, though? How do you know that it's natural?" Sarah started to become agitated. "How can it be natural to want to be fucked in the ass?"

  "The same way I know it's natural to love my neighbor, or to want to do good in the world. We're made to feel pleasure, and that's really the only way to tell whether something is good–as long as we're making other people happy at the same time. If you want to tell me that you don't feel pleasure when you're having one of those amazing anal orgasms, I guess I'll believe you, but I don't think you'll do that."

  "No," Sarah said with a giggle. "No, I won't. So you're saying God wants me to squirt?"

  "He wants you to squirt for me, young lady. Only for me." He laughed, a wonderful deep sound that carried vibrations from his chest and through Sarah's whole body. "No–that's wrong. He wants you to squirt for anyone who you want to squirt for."

  "Same thing, then," she said. "Because I only want to squirt for you." He snuggled her very close when she said that.

  John went on, "Now the traditional thing is to say that our pleasures can lead us astray, right?"

  She nodded.

  "But I just cannot believe in a god who fucked up creating us that badly. Can you? I mean what a giant fucking design flaw if we can't live full lives without anal sex, and anal sex makes us go to Hell. Is God really that bad at creation? If so, maybe Hell is the place for us, after all!"

  She laughed with him.

  Above all, October and November were for training. The initial part of that training occurred immediately after she had stripped herself naked that first day, Saturday 28 September: John said, "I've got some emails to return. Please come to the office, young lady." She followed him into his little office, where he sat at his desk chair. She was at a loss. He had already opened his inbox on his laptop and she merely stood there, naked.

  He glanced up at her, snapped his fingers, and pointed to the carpet next to his knees. With a start, and the beginnings of the submissive arousal she had just discovered two days before, but already knew so well, Sarah awkwardly got to her knees. John rested his hand possessively on the back of her neck, and she shivered, though the house was very warm. He caressed her shoulder, lightly, then returned to the email he was writing. When he had sent it, he turned to her.

  "Young lady, this is your usual position when I am working. I have another lesson for you in just a little while, but for the moment, I want you to get used to being here in silent service. I also want to assure you that even if I do not seem to pay you any attention, having you on your knees next to me, ready for my use, is a gift I value as highly as any gift I have ever received, including–" Here he spread his knees on the chair, and coaxed Sarah to crawl in between them, so that she knelt inside his thighs, "–the amazing gift you gave me last night."

  His hands had rested upon his knees. Now the right one reached over a bit and took Sarah's little breast on its fingertips. She made her little Sarah-noise, and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she noticed that the front of John's jeans seemed rather distended. He was glancing distractedly at his computer screen.

  "Oh, Hell," he said. "This can wait. It's time for your next lesson, Sarah."

  "Yes, sir."

  He put his hands to the base of his stomach and unfastened his jeans. Sarah couldn't help it: Even before anything at all had been revealed, the submissive power of the moment made her pant with arousal.

  John unzipped his fly, then he stood, pushing his desk chair back at the same time, and let his jeans fall to the floor. The vent of his boxers confronted Sarah. She realized she was trembling. She had (including the cock of the guy on the porno the night before) seen two male members in her life, and she did not consider herself completely inexperienced where cocks were concerned, but this was very different: The manhood she was about to see was the same one that had taken her bottom's maidenhead, the same one she had signed an affidavit certifying she knew she must treat with reverence, or face punishment.

  John held her head lightly, stroking her hair. Gently, he pulled her face closer to his boxer-covered crotch, gently, but also insistently. When she felt her neck go stiff despite herself, and thus provide a bit of resistance to the pressure of John's hands, he simply pulled harder, until her nose was inside the vent of the boxers. She smelled masculine arousal, and it affected her like some sort of drug. She seemed to be floating outside herself.

  "Kiss, Sarah," he said. Automatically, she kissed the place where her lips were, on his boxers, and felt, under the cloth, something moving–something very hard.

  "Ask permission to remove my boxers and uncover me. Remember how you are to proceed?"

  "Sir, may I please uncover your beautiful cock?"

  "Excellent, young lady. Yes, you may."

  Sarah put her hands up and worked her fingertips inside the waistband of his boxers, then tugged. This she had never done before, and the underwear seemed to get caught on something, and she let out a little whimper of fear and frustration. And she realized with a thrill of dread and desire she worried she might be punished.

  "It's alright, good girl," John said softly. "It's your first time."

  Sarah tried again, and got the boxers down to John's thighs, with their curly brown hair, and her professor's cock sprang in front of her at last, pointing at her out of its nest of dark hairs, in which she noticed a few grey ones, and it was beautiful, because it was his. It was not as big as Fred's, let alone the cock of the guy on the porno, but she had no trouble finding the reverence that had been enjoined on her.

  "Sir, may I kiss your beautiful cock?" she asked.

  "Please finish with my boxers first, young lady," he replied, and, blushing, she did, tugging them down around his feet and allowing him to step out of boxers and jeans and kick them away, dominantly (Sarah thought).

  "Now, little slut, you may begin your lesson. One rule: Unless I say you may use your hands, you are to pleasure me only with your mouth." He put his fingertips under her chin and tilted her face up to look at him. "You may hold onto the backs of my thighs, if you like, but if it turns out that you have trouble with this command, as some girls do, your hands will be bound behind you–after, of course, you are chastised for the infraction. Do you understand?"

  Sarah whimpered at the thought of having her hands bound behind her, and said, with a wavering voice, "Yes, sir."

  John released her chin. "Open your mouth and put out your tongue, girl," he said. Panting, she did. She watched him take his cock in his right hand (what was there in that simple gesture that gave off such arrogance?) and bring it closer to her face. She put her hands out and held his thighs, as he had instructed. She saw only his pubis: the approaching cock, the crinkly hair. Oh, lord. She really was his and she loved it.

  The cock came down upon her tongue. "Good girl," Professor Dunn, said. Sarah's jaw began to feel like it would soon begin to ache. John put his hands around the back of her head, just at the top of her neck.

  Sarah didn't know what to do. Was she supposed to do what she'd done with Fred, and what the girl in the porno had done with the big cock, and make that bobbing sort of motion? She started to bob ever so slightly, but John said, "No, Sarah." His cock felt, on her tongue, much bigger than it had looked. Desperate, she looked
up, into his eyes.

  "Do I have to get the paddle, young lady? You know where your eyes are supposed to be!" Abashed and nearly frantic now, she returned her eyes to John's crotch. Her jaw had definitely started to ache.

  Then John held her head firmly in place, and thrust himself, slowly, deep into her mouth. She gagged instantly, and let go of his thighs, and even tried for a few seconds to push him away, but he held himself in, while she retched, and he said "That's it. So nice... mmm." Then, after a moment that seemed like an eternity of suffocating agony for her, he pulled out until only the head of his cock, which now felt much, much too big, remained inside her lips. He did not release her head, though she coughed around his cock, but instead thrust in again, and then again, and then again, making satisfied noises that fired Sarah's blood even through the ordeal of pleasuring him this way–or, rather, being used for his pleasure this way. Then, finally, he released her head and stepped back, and she, too startled to find her balance on her knees, fell forward onto her side on the carpet, just barely catching herself with her forearms.

  John pulled the desk chair back to the desk, and sat in it. Then he said, "Come here, young lady," and opened his thighs again. Sarah got back to her knees and crawled between his thighs. The fear and desire mingled in her chest so thoroughly that she felt she had no will at all, but only did what John told her to do, which, each time, made both the fear and the desire increase.

  "Look at me." She realized that without thinking about it she had been following the rules, looking only at the cock that had commanded the back of her throat so terribly just a moment before. It was still hard, still menacing. She looked up at John.

  He had a slight sardonic smile on his face. "Blow jobs are nice," he said. "And in a moment, I'm going to let you show me what you can do under that heading, with your hands and all the artifice you've acquired–provided you understand that I'm going to come in your mouth, and you're going to swallow or be punished."

  Terror and arousal. She made a little noise in her throat, and felt her thighs growing slick.

  "But what I enjoy much more is better described as face-fucking. As you just saw, being face-fucked is harder for a girl to become accustomed to than giving a blowjob. I am a patient man. I hope we have a long time ahead of us for you to overcome your gag reflex, so I can have the pleasure of your mouth to which I am entitled. I will never punish you for not being able to suppress your gag reflex."

  He turned to his desk, and fetched something like a little belt from behind the laptop.

  "Before I let you pleasure me, though, it's time for a very important little ceremony. I am going to collar you, Sarah Jane Harshaw. Are you prepared to wear my collar?"

  She didn't think there was anything she had ever been more prepared for. "Yes, sir."

  "This collar might mean many things. It might not mean exactly the same thing to you that it does to me. There are those in what's called 'the lifestyle' who wear their collars all day. I don't think that's practical for us, although at some point, should we continue, I would like to give you something to wear to symbolize your submission, which you would never take off."

  "Like a ring?" Sarah instantly blushed. She hadn't meant...

  John chuckled and reached down and spanked her hard with his hand, three times.

  "Yes, young lady, like a ring. The spanking is for speaking out of turn and not calling me 'sir'. You had better get over my lap."

  Thus Sarah received her first lap spanking from John. Then, with a very red bottom and a very warm pussy, she knelt before him and held her ponytail out of the way while he buckled the collar around her neck.

  "Sarah?" he asked. "Out of curiosity, what does the collar mean to you, right now?"

  "That I belong to you, sir. That I am for your pleasure." She blushed again.

  "I think you had better pleasure me with your mouth, then, now."

  When, at the end of her reasonably accomplished blowjob, he held her face down upon him, and shot his essence into her mouth, she could already feel that she had a little more control over her gag reflex than she had before. And she swallowed John's semen, though it made her throat burn a little.

  He raised her up, set her on his knee, and kissed her mouth, and said, "You are a very good girl, Sarah, and I love you very much."

  "Oh, sir," she replied, and snuggled up against his chest.

  She learned a new lesson almost every day: new critical methodologies in Roman history, new submissive postures, new rope configurations, new things to be beaten with or fucked with. The most heavenly sessions were when they actually did talk about her thesis, and then she would say something sassy, and get the look, and then she would be over his knee, or over his desk, or over the kitchen table, and she would be his, all his, every spank a proof that she was what he wanted, and he was what she wanted.

  The first time he caned her was a direct result of one of these tutorials. She had seen John's cane, in its place of honor on the bookcase in his office, had even dared to touch it when he wasn't looking. Her fear of it was huge and delicious, for she knew that sooner or later she would feel it across her bottom, and yet she couldn't imagine what it would feel like.

  John asked her whether she had read a certain article about the rape of Lucretia that he had told her to read, and of course she hadn't. "I would hate to think, Miss Harshaw," he said, "that our erotic pursuits are getting in the way of your studies."

  "Oh, no, you wouldn't," Sarah said, without thinking about it.

  "That's the kind of answer that gets young ladies caned, Miss Harshaw," John said. "Would you care to rethink it?"

  "No, sir," she replied, annoyed at his implication that fucking her was less important than teaching her Roman history.

  "Go to the office, young lady, and get over my desk. I will be there to punish you in a few moments."

  "With the cane?"

  "Yes, Miss Harshaw, with the cane. It is high time you understood that your education is not a proper object of your disdain."

  Had he been looking for an opportunity to use the cane on her, or did he really think the tutorial was more important? She was surprised at how angry she was about it. Who the fuck cared about the rape of Lucretia? Did John really love her, or was she just his latest tutee?

  She was so pissed off that she actually didn't get over the desk, but rather stood there in his office, fuming. He found her standing in the center of the floor, looking at him. She was naked but for her collar, of course, but that didn't matter at all, since she was so used to it by now. This incident happened in perhaps the third week of October.

  "Do you really think..." she began.

  "Get over my desk, now, Miss Harshaw." He did not raise his voice. As far as Sarah could tell, John never, ever raised his voice. But the tone of it instantly reasserted his dominance over her. Her pussy tingled and flowed and she obeyed.

  She heard him take the cane from the bookshelf with a little rattling sound.

  "Sir..." she said. "I'm sorry."

  "Not as sorry as you're going to be, Miss Harshaw," he said, drily, and began to cane her. After six, she did actually scream "Yellow!"

  "Listen to me, young lady," he said, right after that. "My love for you is the most important thing in the entire universe as far as I'm concerned. I'm willing to proceed on the supposition that the same is true, in the converse, for you."

  Sarah quietly sobbed. Had she ever, ever, ever felt anything more painful than the six welts across her bottom, John's welts? She didn't think so.

  "But that doesn't give me a license to harm your prospects, if we stoop to that Victorian phrase. What if I died tomorrow? What if our relationship couldn't continue, for any of a number of very good reasons?"

  "There's no good reason. None," she said miserably.

  "Grant me this, Sarah. Perhaps there are good reasons. I can't think of any right now, but perhaps there are. I would owe it to you, and you would owe it to yourself, that you were prepared to continue with your
studies. You are brilliant. I don't know if you're going to write a book about Livy, or about Roman history, or about anything related. Frankly, I don't know if people will still be writing things called 'books' ten years from now. But you have a gift for classical history, and probably for a lot of related things, and I'm not going to let you waste it because I want to fuck you in the ass every night for the rest of eternity."

  "Oh, God... John..." The pain from the cane welts had begun to fade, and it was communicating itself to Sarah's pussy in a truly extraordinary way.

  "What?"

  "Um... make love to me?" That was the first time Sarah ever uttered that phrase.

  He kneeled behind her now, the cane thrown aside, with his face buried in her ass and she was screaming. She came, and then he carried her the short distance over to the office couch, settling her on top of his cock, holding her burning bottom cheeks in his big hands.

  "I'm going to teach you to ride me, now," he said softly, and he began to guide her upon him, until they moved in rhythm. "Does that feel nice, sweetheart?" he asked.

  "Oh, fuck. Oh, yes, sir."

  John tsked at her foul language and looked up into her face. She saw an expression in his eyes she hadn't ever seen before. Certainly it was not in any way a submissive expression, but it wasn't really dominant–just... loving. He wanted to make her feel good. That she feel good was his will for her at that moment. She felt tears well up in her eyes.

  "Sir... thank you for caning me."

  He smiled up at her. "Any time, young lady."

  She rode, sighing, for a little while longer.

  "Such a nice little pussy, Sarah, but it's time for you to get off. I want to come in your bottom."

  By now, she knew what his favorite thing was: to see himself inside the bottom he had punished, and to give her one of those incredible squirting orgasms while he rode her hard.