Mr Blackwell: Teacher Student Romance

by S K Quinn

  ‘No,’ I say, pulling back. ‘I want one more fight.’

  ‘What? You want to fight again? You don’t need to kid. You’ve seen what I wanted you to see. You’re a damn good fighter.’

  ‘Him.’ I point to Tony the barman. ‘I want him.’

  Tony lets out a deep laugh. ‘Careful little boy. I’m a full-grown man and I’ll rip your fucking head off.’

  ‘Then get in the ring and prove it.’

  Tony throws his shirt at the bikini girl, and I see his muscles ripple. He’s my height, but twice the width. Stocky and muscular. ‘Ready to see the little boy actor get fucked up?’ he asks the crowd.

  A roar goes up.

  Tony climbs into the ring. ‘Fuck the rounds. This is just me and you boy.’

  He pushes the bikini girl to one side, and my world goes red again.

  My fist connects with his jaw – three hard punches, bam, bam, bam.

  He falls to the floor.

  Another knock out. It was that easy.

  Baz is right. I’m good at this.

  The crowd don’t know how to react at first. And then they slowly start to clap and cheer. The roars grow louder, and I feel men slap me on the back.

  ‘Well done kid.’ Baz throws an arm around my shoulder. ‘Well done. So how are you feeling?’

  ‘Good,’ I admit, as Baz pulls me through the crowd.

  ‘What about Ria – you worked out what to do about her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She’ll be at the wrap party tonight. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Then I won’t go.’

  ‘Hang on a fucking minute. You promised you’d be my wingman. Remember? I get twice the pussy when you’re around. You’re a fucking girl magnet.’

  ‘Fine.’ I don’t break promises. ‘I’ll go to the wrap party. And stay out of Ria’s way.’

  6

  Christ, I hate these cookie-cutter LA nightclubs – every one the same.

  This place is just like all the rest: champagne on ice, glass-cube walls and beautiful girls posing under white strobes.

  I recognise some people from the movie set. Others from soap operas, TV shows and movies. Mercifully, Ria isn’t here yet.

  I pull a box of Marlboro from my suit pocket and flip a cigarette into my lips.

  ‘You can’t smoke in here,’ says Baz, holding out a Union Jack Zippo.

  ‘Let’s get a drink,’ I say, inhaling deeply.

  Women are watching me, and I frown.

  One woman in particular – a tall girl with bright red lips and long, jet-black hair – fixes her green eyes right on mine.

  In the real world, she’d be pretty. You might even call her stunning, given the bold colours in her outfit. But in this crowd, she’s one of many stunning women, all dressed to kill.

  ‘The girls love you don’t they?’ says Baz, as we walk towards the bar. ‘Mr cheekbone handsome.’

  I feel the eyes of the black-haired girl on my back.

  ‘They don’t know me. If they got to know me they wouldn’t like me at all.’

  ‘Oh, you’re not that bad,’ says Baz. ‘An old head on young shoulders, that’s all.’

  ‘The attention is unwelcome,’ I say. ‘I have nothing to offer these girls.’

  ‘Oh no?’ Baz nudges me with his elbow. ‘That’s not what Ria’s been saying.’

  My jaw hardens and I lean onto the bar and wave the barman over. ‘Two Jack Daniels.’

  ‘How did you do that?’ Baz asks.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘The barman had the whole length of the bar to serve. We only just got here. How did you get him to serve you?’

  ‘All I did was ask.’

  I see a flash of black by Baz’s shoulder – the dark-haired girl. She’s leaning right onto the bar now, her eyes fixed on the barman. He puts drinks in front of us, and then serves the girl next.

  ‘She’s obviously got a bit of your magic,’ says Baz, throwing a thumb at the girl. ‘Except she’s cheating. Wearing a dress like that.’ He turns to her. ‘All right darlin’. What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?’

  The girl turns to Baz, her green eyes fixing on him. ‘That all depends.’

  ‘Oh yeah? On what?’

  ‘On your friend.’ She smiles at me, showing straight, white teeth.

  Baz grins. ‘Oh right then. Well let me just step aside and let you too introduce each other.’

  ‘Hi,’ says the girl. ‘I’m Cassandra.’

  She has a slight New York accent – but upper class New York. I notice that under her green-leather dress, she wears black boots with sharp high heels.

  ‘Cassandra.’ Baz lets out a whistle. ‘That’s a mouthful. So what should we call you? Cassie?’

  ‘No.’

  She’s still looking at me, but she’s not smiling now. ‘Aren’t you a little young to be drinking?’

  ‘He’s twenty-one,’ says Baz, lying with an actor’s ease.

  ‘He could pass for it, but he isn’t,’ says Cassandra.

  Baz frowns. ‘What are you trying to do? Get him thrown out? He’ll behave himself all right? He could drink most men under the table. He even gives me a run for my money.’

  ‘I don’t want him thrown out,’ says Cassandra. ‘But I might want him to leave with me.’

  Baz laughs. ‘Well don’t let me stop you. There’s a girl over there I think could be my future wife. So. I’ll leave you to it.’

  Baz heads into the crowd towards a pin-up, curvy blonde girl dressed like a stripper – just his type.

  I frown at my Jack Daniels. After the mess with Ria, the last thing I need is more female trouble.

  ‘Not one for talking?’ Cassandra asks, taking a vodka shot from the barman.

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Me either. How about meeting new people?’

  ‘Right now, I’m not too keen on that either.’

  ‘Shame. Because you look like you could use my help.’

  ‘Could I indeed?’

  ‘Yes.’ She downs her vodka shot. ‘I’m just heading off home. But I don’t have anyone to walk me back. Will you come?’

  I take a sharp sip of whisky. ‘There are hundreds of men here who’d happily take you home.’

  ‘And I don’t feel safe with any of them.’

  I raise an eyebrow. ‘You feel safe with me? You’ve only just met me. You don’t even know my name.’

  ‘I do. It’s Marc Blackwell.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I asked around.’

  I laugh. ‘Well. Cassandra. If feeling safe is what you want, I’m not your man. In fact, I think I’m the last person you could be safe with.’ I take a long sip of whisky and slam the empty glass on the bar. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me—’

  ‘You’re wrong.’ Her green eyes fix on mine. ‘Very wrong. You and I – we’re alike. We’re the same.’

  ‘The same?’ I let out a cynical laugh. ‘I don’t think I’m the same as anyone Cassandra.’ I turn to go.

  ‘You want a woman. But you hate losing control.’

  I hesitate, one hand still touching the bar.

  ‘I can see it in you,’ she continues. ‘In anybody, actually. You will too. In time.’

  ‘Look, it’s been nice talking to you, but I really don’t know what—’

  ‘I can explain it better at my apartment.’

  ‘Explain what?’

  ‘Control.’

  In spite of myself, I’m intrigued.

  I turn my drink on the bar, making a damp circle on the wood. ‘You need to be in control too?’

  ‘No.’ Cassandra smiles. ‘I need someone else to be in control.’

  My hand drops from my glass, finding the stillness of the wooden bar.

  ‘I really should go now.’ I head across the club.

  Christ!

  I have to get out of here. I have to think.

  I need someone else to be in control ….

  I fe
el a tug at my wrist.

  ‘Wait.’ It’s Cassandra. She’s almost my height in her high leather boots. ‘I still need someone to take me home.’

  ‘You want a boy my age to help you get home? There’s a whole club full of men here. Take your pick.’

  ‘And I already told you. I don’t feel safe with them. They’ll want to sleep with me.’

  ‘And you think I won’t?’

  ‘You won’t try and get me into bed. You’re too controlled.’

  I close my eyes, and when I open them again Cassandra is watching me expectantly.

  I sigh. ‘Come on. I’ll help you find a cab.’

  ‘We don’t need a cab. My apartment is right down the street.’ She flutters her heavy, black eyelashes. ‘Pretty please? It’s not safe to walk alone.’

  ‘Fine.’

  I never can say no to a damsel in distress.

  7

  The air is sticky-hot as we stroll out of the club – me keeping a gentlemanly distance from Cassandra.

  The bouncer checks his watch as we leave. ‘Looks like someone got lucky, and it’s not even ten o’clock. Best of luck with her kid. She’ll eat you alive.’

  It’s then I see Ria in the VIP queue. Staring at me with huge, hurt eyes.

  Oh Christ.

  ‘Ria—’ I reach out to her, but she steps back. She wears a silver gown that spills open from neck to naval.

  ‘I’m just walking her home,’ I say. ‘That’s all.’

  Ria jerks back. ‘Who is she?’

  ‘I never made you any promises,’ I whisper.

  Ria shakes her head. ‘Forget it. This is all my fault. You’re fucking sixteen. Of course you can’t keep your dick in your pants. Look, I forgive you okay? Just ditch her and come to the party with me—’

  ‘Ria. Why don’t we talk about this tomorrow …’

  ‘After you’ve fucked her?’

  ‘I told you. All I’m doing is walking her home.’

  The bouncer snorts.

  ‘Take me home instead Marc,’ Ria begs. ‘I’ll give you the night of your life.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. Listen. Ria. I’ve had fun with you, but—’

  ‘You had FUN with me!’ Ria screeches, taking aim to slap my face.

  I grab her wrist. ‘Stop it Ria. You’re drunk.’

  ‘Oh fuck you Marc Blackwell!’ She wrenches her hand free and grabs a handsome, blond man from the queue.

  They walk into the club together – the blond man looking like he’s won the lottery.

  Cassandra shakes her head. ‘Very well handled, young Mr Blackwell. But for future reference, never tell a woman you had fun with her.’

  ‘Duly noted.’

  Cassandra links arms with me. ‘Listen.’ She leads me down the street. ‘What just happened. I’m not like that. I don’t want a boyfriend. I don’t want a man to bring me flowers. I won’t ring you up in tears at three in the morning. I just want what I want. Understood?’

  Her eyes are on fire.

  Christ – god knows I need a release. All day, every day I need relief from the turmoil inside.

  ‘I’ll walk you home,’ I tell her.

  ‘And you’ll come up for a drink?’

  ‘I’ll come up for a drink.’

  Cassandra lives at a gleaming, silver block of apartments not far from the club.

  As we step into the elevator, I begin to feel nervous.

  ‘Listen,’ I tell Cassandra, as the elevator pings open. ‘Just one drink. Okay? Then I should go.’

  ‘Okay,’ she says, leading me out into the hallway. ‘Just one drink. But will you let me show you one thing?’

  ‘What thing?’

  ‘A surprise thing.’

  8

  Cassandra’s apartment is beautiful.

  Very LA.

  Huge glass window overlooking the city. Minimalist couches and single orchids in tall vases.

  ‘What do you do?’ I ask. ‘To own a place like this.’

  ‘I’m an actress.’ She laughs at my expression. ‘Surprised? Every woman in LA is an actress.’

  ‘I just …’

  ‘I know. You haven’t seen me in anything. I look different in the movies. I’m what you call versatile.’

  ‘Versatile?’

  ‘Sit on the couch,’ she tells me. ‘What’ll you have … another whisky?’

  I sit awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, my legs feeling overly long.

  ‘Whisky’s fine.’

  ‘Don’t most teenagers drink beer?’

  ‘I’m not most teenagers.’

  ‘I know.’ She passes me a large whisky in a square glass tumbler. ‘So.’ She sits on the couch beside me. ‘I need to show you something. You promised.’

  ‘I don’t remember promising anything.’

  ‘Just one little, tiny thing. Please. You won’t regret it.’

  She disappears into the bedroom.

  A few minutes later, she calls out, ‘Okay, it’s ready now.’

  ‘What’s ready?’

  ‘Come into the bedroom and see.’

  ‘Cassandra—’

  ‘Look, just come and see this. Okay?’

  I take a large gulp of whisky and put the tumbler on a glass table.

  Whatever she has to show me … it’s not a good idea.

  I head to the front door, but as my hand reaches the handle I falter.

  My head is telling me to run. Run away, Marc Blackwell. And then you’ll never find out. Never know just how dark you are inside.

  I need to leave. I have to leave. I should walk away and not explore this. Keep it hidden. Locked away.

  To my head, this makes perfect sense. But my body isn’t listening. There’s something dark and powerful inside that is desperate to get out. It can’t stay trapped any longer. It must swim up to the surface. It must breathe.

  Control.

  The word sense shivers through me.

  My fingers slip from the door handle and I take a step back.

  Then I turn and walk towards Cassandra’s bedroom.

  9

  The bedroom door is slightly open.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

  I’m about to cross over. I know that. Cross over and release a dark part of myself. There will be no turning back.

  If I was older … if I’d learned how to control my body better … if I had more sexual experience … maybe I’d be able to resist this. But right now, I can’t help myself.

  My fingers graze the bedroom door, and it swings further open.

  The first thing I see is a candle burning on a bedside table.

  I don’t know why I notice that first. But I do.

  Then my eyes turn to the bed.

  Cassandra is lying fully dressed.

  She’s not naked!

  Relief floods my body. Maybe everything will be okay. Maybe she just wants to talk. Or persuade me to make love to her in a normal way.

  But then I see the ropes. Binding her wrists to the bed frame.

  Christ.

  I want to run. But my body pulses and tenses in the most unbelievable way – excitement pumps through me.

  It’s just rope. That’s all. And yet the effect it’s having on me …

  ‘You want control,’ Cassandra breathes. ‘Right?’

  ‘Right.’ My voice is low.

  ‘So control me.’ She pulls at the ropes. ‘I’m vulnerable. Waiting for you. See?’

  ‘You’re sure about this?’

  ‘Very, very sure.’

  Christ.

  I’m rock hard.

  ‘How can you … I mean, you’re tied up. How can you like that?’

  ‘I love it.’

  ‘You love being tied up?’

  ‘I’m not alone. Plenty of women like a man to take charge. Really take charge. It’s enjoyable. Pleasurable. How do I look to you?’

  ‘Good,’ I admit.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? How can I like seeing a wo
man tied up like this?

  Cassandra frowns. ‘You hate yourself right now. Don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let me guess. Violence in the family?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’d be surprised how often the two go together.’

  ‘That’s why I’m like this?’

  ‘You’re not like anything. You just have … a preference. So do I. You want to be in charge. It makes you feel comfortable. Safe.’

  ‘Do you do this a lot?’ I ask. ‘With men?’

  ‘As often as I can. Please don’t tell me you’re going to get jealous. You’re not going to ask me to be your girlfriend are you? This is just what it is. Sex. Okay?’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  She squirms against the rope again. ‘I’m so helpless and vulnerable. I guess you could do whatever you wanted.’

  ‘No. Nothing you wouldn’t like.’

  ‘Well aren’t you the gentleman.’

  I go to the bed and push up her dress.

  ‘You don’t have to be gentle,’ she tells me.

  ‘Yes I do.’

  My hands find her thighs and pull her black panties down.

  ‘I want you to be forceful,’ she says. ‘Take charge. It’s what I like.’

  ‘What if I hurt you?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she laughs. ‘I like to be hurt.’

  ‘You like being hurt?’

  ‘Yes. Pick up that candle.’

  I step back from the bed. ‘Listen. Cassandra. I’m not going to burn you.’

  ‘All you have to do is drop the hot wax on my thighs. Okay? It won’t burn. Just sting a little. Come on. Play the game.’

  I look at the candle. She’s right – a few drops of wax won’t burn. I tip the candle so white wax drips onto her thighs.

  ‘Oh,’ she moans, thrashing against the ropes. ‘You can fuck me now. Do it hard. And grab my throat.’

  I put the candle down. There’s sweat on my forehead and my whole body is red hot.

  ‘Not without a condom.’

  ‘In the drawer,’ she whispers.

  The next moment, I’m plunging inside her, watching her thrash against the ropes.

  At first, I feel in control. Totally in control. And it’s the best feeling in the world. I am in charge of this. I am in CONTROL.

  Cassandra is bound to the bed, unable to tease or tempt me.

  I pull out of her and run my hands up her arms, feeling the rope at her wrists.