With a sharp tap, he brought the papers into alignment and set them down carefully. He crossed back to her, standing over her with his arms folded. His expression was unreadable, his blue eyes unwavering.
“I mean, maybe I should have guessed, with your fixation on my ass.” The words were tumbling out of her, unstoppable now that she’d started. Why wasn’t he saying anything? “Am I just a poor substitute for what you really want?” She theatrically touched her finger to her cheek as if seriously considering the thought. “But you like skirts so much. Unless he wears a skirt for you, too? I guess that could be hot.”
He motioned for her to be silent. Was that pity she saw in his face? She wanted to scream. Why wasn’t he getting angry with her? Normally he’d have had her on her knees immediately. This was agony.
“Why didn’t you do the test?” he asked.
“I was up late studying,” she said snidely. On her knees in his study, everything in her focused on the sensation of his cock sliding against her lips, tongue, mouth. His words garbled through her intense concentration, but the theme coming through clearly: slut. That was a lesson she would keep with her, she thought, and shifted in her seat.
He rubbed at his eyes. “What am I to do with you, Jas?” She started to feel guilty. Had she misjudged his mood? Suddenly his blond hair seemed grayer than before, his wrinkles deeper.
“You could start by fucking me,” she whined.
And there it was! The spark of anger she needed. Hope sprang up in her. “I know this hasn’t sunk in yet, but I do not do this for my gratification.” He slid a hand through her hair, then gripped a handful tightly. She winced and bit her lip to not cry out. “Nor do I do it for yours. And that seems to be the crux of the matter.”
“What is?”
He pulled her to her feet sharply, and this time she yelped. The noise was cut off as he shoved her against the wall, knocking the breath from her. Oh, this was what she had been waiting for!
He pressed against her, leaving her unable to take in a good breath. His mouth found her ear as his free hand slid up her skirt, digging two thick fingers against her panties. “This is,” he growled. “You refuse to learn. And you routinely act out. But if I try to punish you…” He brought his hand up and smeared his fingers against her cheek. She could smell her juices. “I get this instead.”
He backed off slightly and she tried to regain some composure, but he spun her around quickly and slammed her back against the wall, this time pinning her from behind. She could feel his cock pressing the rough khaki of his pants against her ass. God, she’d come if he would just rub against her a little. She tried to wiggle against him, but he grabbed her left arm and twisted it behind her, using it to hold her in place. She whimpered and struggled against him.
“So what do I do now, Jas?”
Her stomach dropped sharply. She’d never heard him use that tone before. She’d pushed him too far, now. She could feel everything spiraling out of control.
“What do I do with someone as sinful as you?” He pressed against her harder. She cried out as she felt the strain in her elbow. His damp fingers stroked her hair, and he pulled her head so that her neck was exposed. “If everything I do makes you come, that’s hardly punishment, now is it?”
“Please stop,” she whimpered.
Did he not hear her? Or was he ignoring her? He pinned her arm against the wall to allow himself to get closer, his lips trailing down her neck, burning her as he went. She struggled to get her free hand between her legs, but he jerked her hair again and she stopped. Instead, she tried to pry his fingers free, her nails digging into his knuckles. He ignored her pathetic attempts.
“What’s this?” He breathed in her ear. “Don’t you like this game any more?”
“No,” she said, but it rang hollow in her ears. She wanted this.
He pulled her free hand over her head, and used his single hand to hold both of her wrists. “This isn’t what you wanted, then?” He began to pull up her shirt, pushing her bra out of the way with ease. “You weren’t trying to infuriate me?”
“No!”
He pinched her nipple hard and she bit her arm to keep from shrieking. He pressed harder. “What was that little trick in class, then?” He twisted it roughly. “You weren’t trying to make me lose my temper? Make a fool of me in front of the class?”
“Yes, I was,” she wailed. “I’m sorry!”
He released the nipple and she gasped in relief. She could hear the smile in his voice. “See what honesty gets you?” Reiniger told her. “Of course, there’s still the underlying problem.” His fingers worked under her skirt, jerking her panties down and delivering a sharp slap to her ass. She squirmed, trying to get free. He slapped her again. “I don’t appreciate being toyed with,” he said. His fingers tightened around her wrists and she squealed.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, holding her still. One hand cupped her ass cheek, caressing it. She scrunched up her face, willing herself not to give him the satisfaction of an answer. That would serve him right. “Hm? I’m afraid I didn’t hear that.”
Her elbows and shoulders ached from struggling, and the bite mark on her arm throbbed in time with her cunt. She tried to use this pause as a reprieve, a chance to draw one deep shuddering breath into her body. If she could just get centered—
“Maybe it doesn’t hurt enough,” he said thoughtfully, and his hand slipped between her legs and pinched her labia hard around her clit.
She screamed into her orgasm, and as she struggled to get free—or was she rocking against his hand?—he released her cunt, leaving her to buck aimlessly against the air for release, the lack of pressure more painful than any of the bruises he had ever left on her. She could hear herself begging as though she were outside herself, her words tripping one over the other.
When the last spasm of her orgasm had wracked her body, he gently took her and sat her down again. She juddered against him as her cunt brushed against the rough material of the chair.
“You see, Jas,” he said, as though he hadn’t been interrupted, “what you are doing hurts me.” She made a quiet noise. “I want to see you excel. I know that you can. And yet you persist in behaving like this.”
She opened her mouth to say something and was rewarded with a calm, powerful slap to the face. That was the end of it. She could only look at him and listen now, eyes wide and mouth slack.
He stroked her hair and she trilled, pushing into his hand. “And so I am left to wonder if there is nothing that can be done. Do you want to improve, or are you just a masochistic little whore?”
Both, she wanted to tell him. She would do anything for him so long as he kept doing this.
His fingers slid around to the back of her head, pulling her forward. The other hand worked at his belt, and she fumbled to help—her jumbled brain couldn’t make sense of buttons—there it was, and she opened her mouth obediently. He rubbed his cock against her cheek, first, gently directing her head with his grip on her hair.
“You do love this, don’t you?” he mused. “Just open your mouth and keep your teeth out of the way. What Freudian complex makes you love this so much? Hm?”
The same one that makes me love you, she thought as he slid deep into her mouth. She grunted against his cock. Every nerve in her body felt connected to her lips, and as she ran the tips of her fingers against the backs of his thighs she could feel the chair beneath her soaking up her juices. The idea of the office stinking of their sex in the morning was almost enough to drive her over the edge again. She began to grind herself against the chair in time with her sucking, trying to be subtle.
It never worked, and she knew somewhere that she didn’t really want it to. He wrenched her away and she shrieked. He slapped her again, then reached down to jerk her legs forward. She was now balanced precariously on the chair, her tailbone the only thing supporting her, her neck against the poorly cushioned seat back. He knelt over her again, his wet dick dangling in front of her. This time he was n
ot gentle, forcing himself deep into her mouth, ignoring her grunts and cries. She gripped his thighs for support, her feet scrabbling to keep her in place as his thrusts banged her neck against the chair and occasionally knocked her skull against the wall. Still her body arched against the air, her cunt pulsing, and she wished desperately that he would fuck her, do anything to ease the ache there.
“You see?” he grunted. “No matter what I do to you, you can’t be punished. Maybe I should give up.” She shook her head as best she could. “No?” She moaned. “Put your tongue to better use, then.”
She struggled to move herself into a better position, running her tongue rapidly against the underside of his cock, each vein and ridge sending cascading shocks through her body. He slowed his thrusting to better enjoy her technique, making a low noise in his throat. She shivered.
After a moment—a minute? Five? Ten? Time was irrelevant—he pushed her away gently. She rocked back, trying to remember what breathing was like, and wiped at her mouth. He slid his arms under her armpits and, like he might pick up a child, stood her up. She wobbled unsteadily on her legs, but quickly enough he bent her over his desk. Relief flooded her as she balanced herself on the solid oak. Her knees were like water, her panties still stretched between her calves. She took a few deep breaths and felt lightheaded. The room was spinning, so she shut her eyes.
“So what do I do, Jas?” Reiniger asked again. She heard a drawer open and shut. Terror and excitement combated for control, and she couldn’t say which won. “You won’t behave. What should I do, do you think?”
“Fuh.”
He flipped her skirt over her back and traced something cool and smooth along the curve of her ass. “What was that?”
She swallowed. All that spit and her mouth was dry. “Fuck me?” she tried again. God, did she really sound that desperate?
“What would be the point?” He said, tapping the paddle lightly against her. She jerked. “I don’t need to use you for you to come. And not orgasming would punish you, but that doesn’t seem to be an option.” A slightly harder tap. “Unless I stop fucking you altogether.”
“No,” she moaned.
“Then what are you going to do?” This time the paddle cracked against her, and she whimpered into her arm.
“Whatever you say?” she tried.
“Clever, but I’ve heard that one before.” He whacked her again. “Give me specifics.”
“I don’t know,” she said timidly.
The slam of the paddle against the desk sent her scrambling, the pop quizzes scattering across the office floor. She cringed away from Reiniger, but he grabbed her head and pulled her back towards him. He pushed her against the desk again, this time pressing between her legs, and bent his head close to hers. He was shaking with anger. Or was that her trembling?
“Pure laziness,” he said.
She caught a sob in her throat. “No.”
“Then what do I want from you, Jasminder? We’ve been doing this for five months now. If you can’t even tell me that,” he said, shaking her roughly, “then you have been a waste of time.”
“I’ll be good,” she wailed.
He slapped her. “Specifics!”
She gulped hard. “I’ll study!”
“That’s a start. What else?” He slapped her again.
She squealed. “I’ll behave in class!”
“You’ll behave all the time,” he said firmly.
She nodded, and Reiniger slipped his hand down her neck to her waist, pulling her onto his cock. She gasped, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face into his chest. It was all she could do to hold on for dear life.
He wasn’t rough with her now, but the sex was no less overwhelming for it. Each thrust drove a lance of sensation straight into her brain, leaving sparks behind her eyelids. Each time he squeezed her ass, she bucked. She came twice definitively before they turned into constant shudders of ecstasy through her body.
She didn’t realize she had been crying until he finally came, when she pulled away and saw the wet spots on his shirt. He pulled out of her and she shuddered, collapsing back against the desk in exhaustion.
“That was quite a reaction,” he said, looking down at his shirt. She looked at him from half-closed eyes. What could she say to that? Could she even speak?
He stroked her thigh gently and she jerked it away from him. “Too sensitive,” she said. He nodded and began to collect up the papers she had knocked to the floor.
When he had finished neatening them, he replaced them on the desk next to her. Then he slid an arm under the small of her back and the other under her neck and cradled her gently, lifting her into his lap as he sat in his chair.
She curled against him and he began to stroke her hair. She nuzzled deeper, wiping at her eyes. Everything felt euphoric, the sensation of his shirt against her cheek, his fingers trailing through her hair, even the wetness of her tears.
“Too much?” he finally said. She shook her head. She felt him release a long breath and looked up to give him a watery smile.
“You weren’t worried about me, were you?” she asked.
He gently pushed her head back against him, his other hand tracing patterns down the outside of her thigh.
“I would have used it if I needed it,” she said quietly, meaning their safe word.
“I wonder sometimes.” She snorted quietly. “I meant what I said, though,” he continued after a moment. “No more stunts like this afternoon.”
“But you like it when I make you mad,” she mumbled.
“Hm,” he agreed. He squeezed her thigh. “Just not in class.” He slapped her gently and she shivered.
“Yes, sir.” She took a deep breath. Mmm, Old Spice. Her favorite. “I feel like I’m made of Jell-O.” She shivered for emphasis.
He laughed. “Good.” He patted her back. “I expect you to keep to your half of the agreement, by the way.”
“That promise was made under duress,” she complained, but she laughed when he spanked her and gave him conciliatory kisses. She slid between his legs and rested her head against his leg. “Right now, I just want to go home and sleep.” She felt her cheek, still sticky. “And maybe shower.”
“We will,” he said. “As soon as I’ve marked these tests.”
“Can I make it up?” she asked, giving him her best hopeful, innocent look.
“Absolutely not.” Reiniger patted her. “Perhaps that’ll teach you something about responsibility.”
She pouted, closing her eyes. “I’m going to take a nap.”
And she did, listening to the scratching of his pen and indulging in being stroked by his free hand.
Break Me
by Elle Rose
He lay on her couch and stared at the ceiling. It smelled like her. Everything in the dark little apartment had her scent, her feel. It was his fault it was dark, of course. When she left in the mornings, he walked around pulling down all the shades. He didn’t want to be distracted by anything from the outside world, because it was all her. The small television, the stacks of DVDs – dozens, filling a bookcase and in piles on the floor. There were even more books. He’d tried to read them. He wanted to know everything she did. But he would end up staring at the grain in the paper, thinking about her, wondering when and where she’d been when she’d read that page.
She was in the wood furnishings which appeared nicer than they really were, in the framed posters on the wall. She was in the comfortable, slightly worn couch, and all the kitchen utensils and the vases of flowers and the toiletries in the small bathroom. He was sure he’d be able to taste her if he licked the furniture, or the floors, but when he tried he only tasted wool and wood and linoleum. He thought maybe if he could get into the bedroom he would be more successful, but she kept it padlocked after the first day when she’d come home and found him naked in her bed.
When would she be home? He looked at the clock. Hours yet. She worked. He didn’t like that she worked. It meant she was g
one most of the day; it meant she went to bed long before he was starting to get sleepy, much less tired of her. He’d held jobs in the past, when necessary, but he was a criminal at heart. She had recognized him from the news. After they’d been talking nearly an hour at the dungeon club, he took off the hat, sunglasses, and fake mustache he’d been wearing. With people fucking and beating each other around them, he’d confessed everything. She hadn’t been afraid. Why hadn’t she been afraid? She’d just looked quietly at him, listened to everything he said without shock. She didn’t seem surprised he had been lying for most of the hour before, either. Had she read him that easily? There was sadness in her eyes. Where did it come from? Why did she let him stay with her? She was breaking the law. She didn’t seem like the type, but she was doing it. Why did she bother with him? Why did she trust him? When would she be home?
His gaze shifted back to the clock. Less than a minute had passed. He tried pressing his tongue to the sofa again. Nothing. He lay back and inhaled the air instead.
* * * *
She lay on the same couch, propped up on her side, and stared at him. His brown eyes, so dark they appeared almost black in some lights, devoured her.
“Why am I here?” he asked finally.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. You seem interesting, and you said you needed somewhere to stay.”
“You know who I am. Aren’t you afraid I’m going to kill you in the night?”
“No. You won’t.” Her voice wasn’t commanding, only certain. “I have nothing to fear from you.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do.”
* * * *
She wouldn’t fuck him. She hadn’t even kissed him at first. He’d only been allowed to touch her hands. He would grab them tightly in his and squeeze them, running his thumbs frantically over the backs. He’d wanted more, and closer, and now. It had seemed like he was hard constantly. That was still true.
Eventually, she’d given him permission to kiss her. He reveled in the memory of the first time.
He was hard, so hard, he could feel her desire in the lines of her body as she pressed to him. She pushed him away.
Wicked Pleasures: Stories of Kinky Love Page 6