Detention

by Stephanie Williams

  “I don’t think we have anything further to discuss.”

  “Oh, yes, we do.”

  “Don’t talk back to me, young man.”

  More silence . Mia trembled. She wasn’t getting a handle on the situation. It was falling apart like a cheap suit.

  “Ms. Bradford, I would be honored if you would join me for dinner Friday evening.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “Then change your plans.” His voice took on a steely calm.

  “Look, I will write your letter and have one of my staff members deliver it to you. After that, I don’t think it would be a good idea for us to see each other again.” She had to regain the upper hand, be in charge of the situation.

  Brett’s laugh wasn’t amused, and Mia felt uneasy. He wanted something from her, but what? And why was she afraid to ask?

  “Ms. Bradford, why the suspicious tone and attitude? Better question: why the pent-up anger and hostility? It seems directed toward me.”

  They were innocent questions, yet his voice evoked the image of the serpent talking to Eve in the Garden. “Brett, let’s be honest. You have a way of—”

  “Getting in trouble?”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “Well, that’s why I came to see you, and why I want you to join me for dinner.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. You see, a lot of things have happened over the past few years, and well, I was just thinking that maybe I should make some apologies for my past transgressions.”

  Mia wanted to drop the receiver. Brett Wyndam was actually remorseful? He had grown up! Mia lay there and felt ashamed. She had been thinking the worst based on the last months of Brett’s senior year. But then, there was the stunt he’d pulled that afternoon.

  She was right to have been wary, believing he’d purposely ruined her night out for his own pleasure. She hadn’t considered that maybe he didn’t know how to apologize. Maybe the words didn’t come to him as easily as they did for other people. He had comforted her when Frank’s death was mentioned, and she hadn’t thanked him. She had him all wrong. He had changed.

  “Brett, I am so sorry. I haven’t treated you fairly. Here you are, going out of your way to make amends, and I’m acting like your old high school vice-principal.”

  “It’s okay. Please don’t beat yourself up about it.”

  “No, no excuses. I’ve treated you badly. Cold, even. I’ll have dinner with you, and we can start over. How about Friday?”

  “Yes. We can start over. Where shall I pick you up?”

  Mia gave him her address, and they agreed on a time.

  “Great. I’ll call you when I’m on my way. I have a lot to do tomorrow, so Friday will be perfect.”

  “I’m really looking forward to it.”

  “Me, too.” He disconnected.

  Mia hung up and tried to sleep. She felt better knowing that she had everything back under control.

  Chapter Five

  “Where do you want this bed? Remember, once we put it down, we’re going to charge you an extra fifty to move it again,” the cigar-smoking man said while unhinging the door from its frame.

  “I want it over there between those two end tables. Don’t worry; I measured everything. It will fit,” Brett said, as he sidled out of the way in preparation for the movers.

  After the man set the door aside, he whistled for his crew. Moments later, a huge, custom-made Louis XIV bed frame appeared.

  It was the last piece of furniture Brett needed for his ‘retreat’. The move would have been easier if they had come through the double sliding-glass at the main entrance of the basement, but he would have been hard-pressed to explain the paddles, blindfolds, chains, and gags hanging from hooks on one black velvet-covered wall. That’s why he had been pleased to learn that the basement was split into two parts, each with separate entrances. It was perfect, because now the bed had a special place away from the dungeon and the misunderstood debauchery it represented. This side of the basement was a place of love, romance, and sensuality.

  Brett needed to get the final touches done before their evening. He wanted everything to be perfect. Brett rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. He was going to bring Ms. Bradford, a.k.a. Ms. Control Freak, a.k.a. Ms. Drill Sergeant, down here and expose her to pleasures she may have only read about.

  On the outside, she seemed to love being in control. She got off on watching people run around and jump to her every command. Everything he remembered about her from his high school years began to make sense. Because on the inside, she wanted—no, needed—someone to dominate her. He was ready to be that man—her man.

  He’d always wondered why he had ended up in her office for detention. Not that he had ever thought too hard about it back then. He’d been more than happy just to be alone with her.

  For instance, the time he had put sugar in the car engines of Mr. Gladstone’s auto shop class, the teacher had been eager to keep Brett after school—or throw him under it. That was misdemeanor number one.

  Then there was the frog incident in biology. He had freed at least sixty amphibians that day. Mrs. Clarance wanted to make him scrub her lab with a toothbrush, but Ms. Bradford had stepped in to take the guilty away to her office.

  And then there was the infamous aluminum-foil-balls-in-the-microwave stunt. He smiled to himself. That was a good one, he had to admit. The whole school had blacked out.

  Ms. Bradford had taken over again. Saved his ass, actually. That prank was misdemeanor number three. It was his dad’s money that had kept him out of juvie that time.

  It was then, on one of those times he sat in her office, that he really noticed her. She had been sitting in her chair, a pencil placed in her mouth, with a look on her face that was nothing short of pure satisfaction.

  It wasn’t until he’d caught her staring at him in her office that he realized her motives. She had no idea he’d seen her, the definite look she’d had on her face, but he’d enjoyed every minute of it. He’d been bending over to empty her trashcan, one of the many menial tasks he’d had to endure, when he saw her reflection in the glass window of her door.

  At first, he didn’t know if Ms. Bradford was looking at him admiringly, but he threw the thought out immediately. That was his wishful thinking. More than likely, she was contemplating more chores to throw at him. Well, it was time to flip the script.

  He’d had it all planned in his naïve, teenage, hormones-out-of-control mind. He had been at the age of consent at the time, but he remembered why he couldn’t bring himself to act on his desires. With him being a student, it would have been frowned upon, to say the least. So he’d cooled off a bit with the shenanigans, but only because he’d wanted to participate in the graduation ceremonies. He had a birthday present he had wanted to give himself and share with Ms. Bradford. He’d finally gotten up the nerve, and to hell with any social stigma.

  During his time in detention, he would ask her to have lunch with him, just the two of them. He would give her flowers and a gift—a bracelet, maybe. He imagined her wearing something completely different from her Little House on the Prairie schoolmarm clothes. A low-cut, see-through blouse, no bra, tight skirt, high heels, and her hair down falling over her shoulders.

  He would kiss her. She would like it, and he would take it further, kissing her neck, her breasts, his hand roaming over her body. She would beg him to take her, and he would ravage her, going into a frenzy until they were both spent.

  Damn! Even though he’d never had the nerve to try it, he got hard just reminiscing about that daydream.

  “Okay, Mr. Wyndam. I think we got it.”

  The mover’s voice brought him back to the present—that and his hard cock. Brett looked over to where the bed sat. It was perfect, and the focus of the whole room. All he needed to do was put the bedding on, but that could wait.

  He paid the men and sent them on their way. After he assessed their work, he went to his home office. He needed to write out some rules
. A lot of people didn’t understand the BDSM lifestyle. The roles of a Dom and a sub formed a relationship of trust. Both partners were willing participants in a game of submission, domination, and torturous pleasures.

  The tricky bit was getting Mia to agree to play along. Just because one had a submissive nature didn’t mean they wanted a collar around their neck. More importantly, would Mia want to sleep with him, let alone consent to spankings and other bondage play?

  His rules would be simple and flexible. He would only dominate her sexually and in the privacy of his home. This was easier said than done. He smiled to himself, knowing he had a job ahead of him.

  Ms. Bradford had a very strong will. It was one of many things that attracted him to her. One would think that getting her to comply with something she probably secretly wanted would be simple. Perhaps, she was in complete denial of her true nature and didn’t realize it.

  Well, that’s where he came in. He would help her get in touch with herself—in more ways than one. If she was willing, he would gently guide and instruct her in the lifestyle. But the last thing he wanted to do was scare her off before he even had a chance to tell her how he felt about her.

  And how did he feel? He wanted her, but was that just another need for him to be in control? He shook his head. One thing at a time. They were going to have dinner; he could slowly break the ice then. Hopefully, the rest would fall into place.

  He sat at his computer. typing out his rules. With a calm smile, he printed them, and placed them in the top drawer of his desk.

  Tomorrow would be the night. He would either have the woman of his dreams or lose her forever, and his proclivities might possibly be exposed to the world.

  It was a chance he was willing to take.

  ***

  Friday was uneventful for once, and for that, Mia was grateful. She’d had a full plate all week, and the lull was appreciated.

  “Ms. Bradford, you need me for anything else?” Shelia asked, smacking her gum. She was one of the many student workers on campus.

  “That’s it for the day, Shelia, thanks. You have a great weekend.”

  “You too. Oh, any plans tonight?”

  Why did all teenage girls assume that every woman had a hot date on Friday nights? Then she thought a moment. She did have a date—with a man twelve years younger. Of course, this wasn’t really a date, just a former teacher and student getting together and catching up on old times. “Uh, no. Just going home tonight and reading a good book.”

  “Boy, Ms. Bradford, I thought you had a boyfriend—”

  “Young lady,” she said, putting her glasses on the desk and folding her arms.

  “Sorry, ma’am. I’ll be going, ma’am.” Sheila did a polite curtsey and left quickly, closing the door behind her.

  Mia had to laugh to herself, both at the curtsey and at the curiosity. She guessed it was only natural to want to know what teachers did in their spare time.

  Her cell phone rang as she got up to get her coat. She looked at the screen. It was Tracy. “Hey.”

  “Hello, there. Whatcha doing tonight?”

  Oh, hell. She definitely couldn’t tell Tracy that she was going out with Brett. Tracy already had suspicions about what might be going on, but why give her something to chew over in her twisted mind? “Um, I have a lot of work to catch up on. I want to get it all done tonight so my weekend will be free.”

  “All work and no play,” Tracy chastised her.

  “Tell you what, I should be finished with all the essays by Saturday morning. We can have the rest of the weekend to hang out.”

  “Deal.”

  Mia let out a mental sigh of relief. She hadn’t been able to shake her feelings of guilt since the first day Brett walked back into her office. She’d been dreaming of him the past couple days. All Brett. He was either about to make love to her, she was humping him, begging him to take her, or—he was dominating her in bed while she struggled beneath him. That dream got her the hottest and made her come in her sleep, actually waking her up. That had never happened to her before, not ever.

  She tried thinking of several excuses to cancel their date. But she could tell by the tone of his voice and his demeanor that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  ***

  When Mia arrived home, she immediately began to get ready. She had a hell of a time trying to figure out what to wear. She looked at the clothes-covered walls of her walk-in closet and sighed. Why as women do we do this to ourselves? After throwing several pieces of clothing on the floor, she finally decided on linen tuxedo pants and a matching silk blouse. She showered, styled her hair in a bun, and put a decorative hairpin through it.

  She was just finishing putting on the last of her makeup when her doorbell rang.

  It couldn’t be Brett. He said he would call first. She looked at her watch. It was seven fifty-five.

  “Coming!” She trotted to the door as she put on her earrings. She opened the door and was nearly knocked off her feet. Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. She couldn’t believe she was going to have dinner with this hot young man who once had served detention in her office.

  “Good evening, Ms. Bradford.”

  He leaned against the doorway with the confidence of a conqueror. He wore tan dress pants and a crisp, white shirt with no tie. The first two buttons were undone, revealing a nicely tanned chest. He smiled that infamous Wyndam grin which reached all the way to those baby blues. Mia had never believed in human spontaneous combustion until tonight.

  Mia, calm down; you’re just going over old times with him. “Ready for our night on the town?” His voice flowed over her body like a soft caress.

  “Y-Yes.” She grabbed her purse from the foyer table and stepped outside as he led the way.

  She stopped in her tracks as she came upon a Towncar. A driver stood beside it at attention. “Oh, you didn’t have to—”

  “I want this to be a night to remember, Ms. Bradford,” he said as he laid his hand on the small of her back and guided her to the car. “This is Hunter, my good friend and driver.”

  “Hello, Hunter.” She couldn’t help but notice that his friend and driver was a very handsome man.

  “Ma’am.” He tipped his hat and opened the door for them. They climbed inside.

  “I know this intimate out-of-the-way place I think you’ll like.” Brett turned to her, leaning in very close.

  Mia squirmed in her seat, a reaction Tim never got from her. “Um, Brett? I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about our dinner. It’s just a friendly get-together.” She laughed anxiously.

  “And I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about our dinner together either, Ms. Bradford.”

  Chapter Six

  Brett gazed at Mia, who kept her attention focused straight ahead. She seemed nervous and scared. Come on, Mia. It’s just you and me. Let’s block out the rest of the world. “How long is your hair?” he asked to break the silence.

  Mia quickly turned. “Excuse me?” Her fingertips flew back to her bun.

  “I asked, how long is your hair?”

  “I heard you.”

  “Then why don’t you answer me?” Brett asked as he reached for her hair.

  “Brett!”

  He captured the hand that was still patting her bun and brought it to his lips. He stopped short of kissing it and placed it back on her lap, keeping his hold on it. You’re losing it, my man. He turned to look out the window.

  “Ms. Bradford,” he said after taking a deep breath. He returned his gaze to her. “Stop treating me as though I was still a student. I’m a grown man, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t think your question seemed appropriate,” Mia said, snatching her hand back.

  “Mmm, I see. Always trying to keep up appearances.”

  “There is a proper way to conduct oneself.”

  “Always in control,” Brett said, his gaze unwavering. He would stare her down if he had to, but he had to break through the
wall she was putting up.

  Mia sighed. “It comes down to the middle of my back.”

  Finally!

  She had both hands clasped in her lap. Brett needed to gain her trust. “Why the bun?” he asked, as he took a chance and reached for her hand again.

  “It’s too much to handle every day.” She was looking out her window now, one hand tense and balled into a fist.

  “Relax, Ms. Bradford,” Brett said softly, stroking her knuckles with his thumb. “Maybe you should have someone comb it for you in the morning.” Like me.

  She turned to look at him as if she was seeing him for the first time.

  “I’m going to start calling you Bambi, Ms. Bradford.” Brett chuckled.

  “Bambi? What on earth for?”

  “Because every time I ask you a question, you give me a deer-in-the-headlights look.”

  “Well, you have to admit some of the things you’ve been saying and doing”—she took her hand back—“are very inappropriate. Even though you were a student at my school, we are still somewhat strangers. The only time we had together was me watching you in detention.”

  “And those times we worked together. Maybe we should change that. Let’s start by you just calling me Brett, and I’ll start calling you Mia.” He reached over and took her wrists. He placed his other hand on top of hers. She was trembling something awful. “Am I that intimidating, Mia?” He began stroking her hand once more relishing the softness of her skin.

  “You seem to have a fetish for hands, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Oh, I have a fetish all right.”

  “Honestly, Brett!”

  The phone rang in the limo. Brett reached over Mia’s head to push the speaker button. “Yeah.”

  “We’re here, sir,” came Hunter’s urbane voice.

  He looked out the window in time to see The Poppy House restaurant come into view. “Here we go, Mia. You’ll enjoy this.”

  The car stopped directly in front of the entrance. Hunter got out and opened the door, holding it wide until the two stepped out. “When will you call for me, sir?” he asked, standing at attention.