by Linnea May
“Do you know what’s the most endearing thing about you, for me?” he asks.
I shake my head without losing eye contact for even a second.
“The fact that you have no idea about how much trouble you are in,” he explains.
Trouble? What kind of trouble could he be talking about?
“Because you’re my teacher?”
He shakes his head.
“Yes, I’m your teacher and intimate relations between students and faculty are strictly forbidden,” he says. “Or so I’ve heard. However, I’m not fazed by that. After all, I’m not a real professor, as you’ve pointed out so many times.”
I blush as he reminds me of my earlier impudence.
“Still, I would suggest we keep this between us,” he adds. “For both of our sakes. We both have a reputation to lose.”
“Keep what between us?” I ask, playing innocent.
He strokes along the side of my cheek, a sinister smile on his face.
“This,” he says, placing his index finger below my chin and tilting my face up to his. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, he pauses, his eyes fixated on mine, waiting, observing, as if he’s searching for consent.
“Get up.”
I hesitate, my eyes locked on his while my pulse accelerates.
“Wh-”
“Get up!” he snaps - and I jump onto my feet instantly.
“That’s the first thing you’ll have to learn,” he whispers, taking my chin between his thumb and index finger. He gently moves my face up to his again, leaning in so close that I can feel his breath on the skin above my lips. “When I tell you to do something, you’ll do it. You’ll obey.”
I furrow my eyebrows, trying to ignore the racing heart behind my rib cage. It’s so loud, I’m sure he must hear it.
“Why should I-”
“To please me,” he says. “You’ll obey me to please me - and you’ll receive pleasure in return.”
He stands up and leans in closer, his dark eyes fixating on mine with severe intensity, leaving me nowhere to go. His lips are so close to mine, but not yet touching. If I moved even the slightest bit, we’d meet for a kiss. An urge to lean up to him travels through me, but I resist. I’m frozen in his gentle touch, anticipating his next move.
“You’re a good girl, aren’t you,” he breathes. “You like to please, don’t you?”
I don’t know how to reply to that. Is he seriously asking me? Does he even expect an answer?
Good girl.
The words are resonating through my entire body, making my fingers tingle and my core throb with heated desire. I’m so stunned by my body’s reaction that my mind can barely keep up. I’ve never been dumbfounded before, but this must be what it’s like. This is what it feels like to be utterly lost for words, mesmerized by a man who can make me buzz with excitement without even touching me.
“You’re ready to break the rules to become my good girl, aren’t you,” he purrs, looking at me with a loving smile. “May I get a taste of you?”
I stare up at him, lack of understanding written all over my face.
“May I kiss you?” he clarifies, visibly amused at my bewilderment.
Instead of saying anything, I decide to get up on my toes, eliminating that tiny distance between our lips by leaning forward.
He welcomes me with a contented moan, letting go of my chin to place his hand at the back of my head instead, pulling me in closer. While my approach for the kiss was shy and careful, he exercises no such caution. His kiss is soon asking for more, his demanding lips forcing mine open. His breathless hunger for me is so enticing, I soon find myself panting with the same desire as our tongues intertwine hungrily.
His taste is just as enchanting as his smell. I’m breathing heavily, yearning to inhale as much of him as possible.
I feel his hand clenching into a fist, grabbing the hair at the back of my head and pulling me back. A faint gasp of disappointment escapes my lips as they part from his, and I look up at him, pleading for more.
His eyes are wide with wonder.
“Fuck, you’re…,” he utters.
He stops, staring at me with that same bewildered expression.
Is something wrong? Did he just decide that this is a bad idea after all? Did I do something wrong? Was I too easy?
“What’s-”
“Nothing,” he interrupts. “Do you want this?”
I nod.
“Are you sure?”
I smirk at him. “It’s a bit late to back out now, isn’t it?”
He narrows his eyes, looking at me with a serious face as he shakes his head.
“No, it’s never too late for that, Lana,” he whispers. “Remember that. It’s never too late to say no - to anything I want to do to you.”
His words confuse me. What the hell is he talking about?
“Have you ever been dominated?” he asks.
My eyes rest on his, trying to interpret his words.
“I don’t know,” I utter.
He raises his left eyebrow. “You’d know if you had been. Believe me.”
“Okay,” I breathe, still not entirely sure what he’s talking about.
“I’ll show you,” he says, as if he’s reading my mind. “I think you’ll like it. It radiates from your entire being.”
“What does?”
“The need for what I’m about to give to you,” he explains. “I’m rarely mistaken about these things. But in order to make sure this pleasures us both, we’ll have to agree on a safe word.”
“A safe word?”
“Yes.” He nods, leaning forward to plant a soft kiss on my lips. “A word that will stop everything immediately. ‘No’ or ‘stop’ won’t work. You’ll scream those out anyway-”
“What?” I cut him off. “What are you going to-”
“Hush,” he says, putting his index finger on my lips to stop me from talking. “I won’t do anything you won’t like. I’ll never hurt you unless you ask me to.”
Hurt me? Why would I ask him to hurt me?
I think I’m starting to understand where this is going.
“You’re a sadist?” I ask, his finger still on my lips.
He moves his finger away, caressing my cheek as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Some people like to call it that,” he says. “But I don’t get off on simply hurting you. It’s more than that. It’s different.”
“What is it that you get off on?”
My heart is still doing somersaults, the rate accelerating with every word that comes from his beautiful lips. His touch feels so weirdly familiar, so intimate and stimulating. When he looks at me, it feels as if he’s looking right into my soul, uncovering my deepest secrets and desires. Cravings that I wasn’t even aware of myself.
“Control,” he says. “And intimacy. You’ll show me things that no one has seen before. Sides of you that no one, maybe not even yourself, knew existed.”
That sounds almost as scary as what he said before, but I don’t dare comment.
“I’ll make you scream,” he whispers, kissing the corner of my mouth. “And beg. And cry. I’ll make you come until you faint.”
With every promise, he plants another kiss somewhere on my face, while I simply stand there, a captive of his words and touch.
“You’ll beg me for more, and you’ll beg me to stop,” he murmurs. “But I won’t listen to those words. That’s why we need a safe word.”
He moves away from me, his one hand still at the back of my head, while his other wanders down my torso, stroking along my side as he travels downward.
“Tell me,” he says. “What do you want for your safe word? It has to be unique, something that doesn’t come up in a normal conversation, and nothing like stop, or no, or-”
“Ivy,” I say.
He raises his eyebrows. “Ivy? Short but efficient, I like it.”
His hand rests on my hip, as he continues caressing my skin through the thin fabric of my blou
se.
“Remember that word,” he says. “And use it as soon as I overstep your limits. Once you say your word, everything stops immediately. Do you understand?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Now,” he says, his grip tightening. “I want you to get undressed - and this time, I’ll watch.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LANA
He steps back, his last command still resonating through the room as he creates distance between us.
“You want me to strip?”
He buries his hands in his suit pants’ pockets and throws me a wicked smile.
“I want you to obey,” he says. “Get undressed. Start with that lovely blouse. I want to see what I was denied the last time you were here.”
I hesitate. My mind has yet to process what is happening, but my body already reacts to his command. My hands move up to the buttons of my blouse seemingly of their own volition.
I lower my eyes, fixating on my fingers as they fiddle with the top button.
“Look at me,” he says. “Never look away from me.”
Shit.
I slowly raise my eyes up to his, meeting his intense, dark gaze. The hunger in his eyes is evident, and it’s turning me on to no end. Men never look at me like this. The last time I came close to dating someone was when one of the guys in my study group from junior year admired me for scoring the highest grade on the test we studied for together. There was never this kind of passion involved. This kind of sincere interest and lust for me. That’s always been reserved for the pretty girls with the short skirts and the heavy makeup.
Though, I realize while slowly unbuttoning my blouse, I did follow the rules of the game a little today. I dolled myself up, hoping that he’d appreciate it.
But something tells me that I’d be here, held hostage by those ravenous eyes either way, mascara or not.
I untuck the blouse from my black pleated skirt and take a deep breath before I remove it completely, placing it on the desk next to me.
“Not there,” he warns. “We’ll need that space.”
I want to ask for what, but the dark corners of my mind have an idea already. No need to make him say it out loud.
I take the blouse and move it to the chair I was sitting on instead, looking at him for approval.
He nods and urges me to continue.
“What should I… What next?” I ask.
My voice is shaky and thin. I’ve never heard myself speak like this.
Mr. Portland peruses me, scanning me from head to toe like a predator assessing his prey. I can practically feel his eyes on me, every body part that becomes the focus of his eyes pulses with excitement.
“You’re wearing pantyhose,” he notes. “I don’t like that, get rid of them.”
I’m a little startled at his statement. Of course, I’m wearing tights, it’s cold out there and winter is approaching.
I slip out of my shoes and leave them under the desk, reaching beneath my skirt to pull the tights down as seductively as humanly possible. It’s awkward, especially since he demands that my eyes remain on his and not on what I’m doing. I wish I could look away and hide my shame as I perform this humiliating dance in front of him. Finally, I manage to pull them down, and I neatly place them on top of my blouse on the chair.
He hums with approval. His hands are still in his pants’ pockets as he continues observing me. He’s not touching himself in any way, yet I can see a visible bulge between his legs that wasn’t there before.
Oh my God, I made my teacher hard!
He notices my gaze on his crotch and smiles as I draw my eyes away, blushing.
“Not many girls have this much of an impact on me,” he says, casually tilting his head to the side as he winks at me. “You should be proud of yourself. The anticipation of what’s to come excites me more than anything else I could think of right now.”
I’m standing before him, wearing nothing but my underwear and the pleated skirt. I can feel the warmth in my core, the pleasant quiver of arousal. He’s not the only one who’s overflowing with anticipation. I yearn for his lips and hands on me. It’s agonizing to see him standing that far away from me, and it’s only fueling my thrill by watching me.
I’m not a dancer, let alone a stripper. Instead of seductively flaunting my assets for him to watch, I just stand there, shoulders slouching, insecurity trapping me inside that narrow cage that is my timid personality.
How can anyone find this sexy?
I cross my arms, clasping my elbows with my hands as if I was freezing. I’m not cold, but lost and exposed.
The smile on his face reveals that he very much enjoys what he’s seeing. My heart skips a beat when he takes a step forward and approaches me, his tall frame hovering over me as he stops within arms’ reach.
He places his hands on my shoulders. The warmth radiating from his touch wraps around me like a soft coat. I feel calm but agitated at the same time. There’s a sense of security about him that goes so well with the electrifying need of wanting to be touched by him.
Used by him.
The last thought shocks me, but it’s true. I want him to use me, to have his way with me, to fuck me mercilessly. The more I follow up on these disturbing thoughts, the more my heart jumps and my center pulsates with desire.
“I told you to look at me,” he says, his voice calm but intimidating.
I hadn’t even realized that I’d lowered my eyes to stare at his chest, while dwelling on my overly engaging thoughts.
I look up, meeting his dark eyes once again. Still, he’s smiling. It’s that beautiful dark smile, full of promises and a small dose of threat. Just the right amount.
“I’ll take it from here, if you don’t mind,” he says. “You just be a good girl and do exactly what I tell you to do, understand?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“While I love that terrified look in your eyes, you have nothing to worry about. We’ll start out slow.”
He wraps his arms around me and pulls me in for another kiss. I moan with content as our lips meet, nibbling and teasing each other before he forces his way inside my mouth, his tongue searching for mine with desperate need. Kissing him feels so natural, so familiar, as if we’ve done it a thousand times before.
I sigh when one of his hands travels down my spine, caressing my skin with just the tips of his fingers. Warm flushes run through my core, causing me to roll beneath his touch, pressing myself against him.
When I reach up to touch him, he pushes my hand aside, growling a warning in between our kiss. I’m disappointed. I want to unwrap his marvelous torso and do what I didn’t dare do last time.
“Please,” I breathe.
“No,” he simply replies, pinching my side.
The surprise pain makes me flinch, followed by a moan as he caresses the same spot softly. His other hand is at my back, going for the clasp of my bra and unfastening it within a second. The bra falls down to the floor and we pay no attention to it, the intensity of our kiss not slipping for even a moment. My breath accelerates even more when his hands move around my waist, stroking along my ribs until they reach my lower breasts.
He groans as he greedily cups them, kneading my flesh, and I can’t help but sigh with lust. I’ve yearned for his hands on me, and now that they finally are, the sensation is even more remarkable than I expected. His touch is so erotic, so careful, and hungry at the same time.
Until it turns into pain. While still holding my small breasts in his big palms, he pinches both my nipples between his fingers. Hard. A bolt of pain darts through my chest, causing me to throw my head back and ending our kiss with a desperate cry.
“Hush,” he warns, letting go of my nipples. “You can’t be loud in here, baby girl.”
I try to look past the fact that he just called me baby girl and the question of how I feel about that, and stare at him in shock.
“But it hurt,” I argue, my voice weak and hoarse.
He smirks at me, his hands sti
ll cupping my breasts. I shiver in fear when he takes my nipples between his fingers once again, threatening to repeat the painful pinching movement.
But he doesn’t. He squeezes them ever so slightly, observing the reaction on my face as he does. My nipples are still pulsating with a taste of pain, and I slowly realize that I like it.
Even more so, I want him to do it again.
“Do it again,” I whisper, looking at him with pleading eyes.
A triumphant smile spreads across his face. “You’re not the one giving commands here.”
Instead of twisting my nipples between his fingers again, he bends forward, planting kisses along my neck, my collarbone and my décolleté while he makes his way over to my left breast. I moan and tilt my head back when he lifts my breasts with his hands and wraps his lips around my left nipple. It’s a soft kiss at first, his tongue circling around my areola before he starts sucking on my nipple. I’ve always been sensitive in that area, but no one ever knew how to work it as well as Mr. Portland does.
He continues to suck while gently kneading my breasts in his hands. He moves over to the right and regards it with the same caring treatment as he did the left one before, sucking and licking on my sensitive nub until I’m dizzy with lust. I close my eyes, trying to enjoy the feeling without paying attention to the nagging questions hammering behind my forehead. His touch is so forceful and so gentle at the same time, it does insane things to me.
I know he doesn’t want me to touch him, but it’s getting harder and harder with every minute. I yearn to tear his shirt off, to give back what he’s giving me, to ride on the wave of arousal that has gotten a hold of me. He’s getting me close to coming, without even touching me where I really want him to.
A sudden strike of pain yanks me out of my blissful vertigo. He straightens up, holding my nipples in a strong clasp, pinching and twisting so much that the pain is almost blinding.
I groan in pain, but make sure not to cry out loud. His mischievous smile is fixated on me, as he literally pulls me up by the nipples until I’m standing on my toes, almost losing my balance if it wasn’t for the desk behind me, on which I seek support.
“Get up there,” he hisses, nodding toward the table pressing into my back. “Get up and spread your legs for me.”