Instructing Emily

by Lyla Sinclair

  “Do you care to explain yourself?” he asked in a low, barely controlled tone.

  “Well…um…you know I’m interested in antiques and this was a beautiful—”

  “You weren’t admiring antiques when I came in. In fact, you were so involved in my correspondence, you didn’t hear me enter the room.” I was mortified at what I’d done…or at least that he’d caught me doing it. “I just wanted to look at the desk. Then the letter was there and—”

  “You just read a letter I’ve never shown to another soul and never planned to.”

  “Look, Profess—Mark—I’m sorry about—”

  His eyes suddenly seemed black as a bottomless pit. I watched the muscle work in his jaw. Was he going to throw me out now? Did I want to go?

  He reached over and pulled the blindfold off the back of the couch. I stood there quietly while he tied it on me again, thinking it was the least I could do under the circumstances.

  Suddenly I was aware of something soft and stretchy on my right wrist. Was I about to be bound as well as blindfolded?

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Bad slaves deserve punishments,” he said.

  Pulling me along by the stretchy binding, he took me toward the staircase near the front door—at least that’s what I figured out once we’d reached it. He told me to stop and helped me up several steps, then ordered me to sit down on the carpeted stairs. I felt him moving around me. There was some tugging at my wrist. I soon realized I’d been tied to the banister.

  “What? Why?” I asked. For a few moments, I’d actually thought he was taking me up to his bedroom, but this? In lieu of an answer from him, the same stretchy material

  encircled my right ankle. Soon I was tied in a reclining position on the stairs by one wrist—tied slightly above my head—and one ankle. I felt him checking to make sure my blindfold was still in place.

  Was this what the whole weekend would be like? Was I to spend the next two days tied like an animal, naked and blindfolded? Had he planned this all along or had I caused this by my nosiness?

  When he’d invited me, I’d hoped that maybe he felt a little of what I’d felt all these years. But apparently I was just a live sex toy. I knew I should tell him to turn me loose right then and let me go home. But my body still tingled at the idea of more to come with Professor Kendall. I had to have him inside me before the weekend was—

  “I have a few things I need to get done,” he said. “I’ll be back for you later.” What? He was leaving me here like this? “Are you serious?” I asked angrily. “This really isn’t what I had in mind when I agreed to come for the weekend. Professor?

  Mark? Master?” I realized his footsteps had died away and I was alone.

  I pushed the blindfold up onto my forehead and strained at my bonds, but all they did was stretch and retract. Apparently they were made out of some sort of strong latex or something. They didn’t seem likely to break or tear. I tried to work the knot on my right wrist with my left hand. It was a long shot, considering I was right-handed, but the task was impossible regardless. Attempting to untie those bonds was like trying to get the knot out of a balloon.

  As I struggled, I became increasingly angry at Mark Kendall. Where was the handsome, charming professor of my dreams? Where was the man who made me laugh in class so many times, and that awesome smile that always blew me away? I was finally where I thought I wanted to be all this time and there was nothing between us.

  No romance, no intimacy. I wasn’t even allowed to see him, for God’s sake.

  When I finally gave up on trying to untie myself, my exhausted left hand dropped onto my breast. I had a brain flash of the things Professor Kendall did to me in his

  office. Perhaps they weren’t very intimate, yet he somehow knew how to make me come at an intensity I didn’t know was possible before.

  I remembered how he painted my pussy, teasing my clit with the brush, and how I’d gotten so extremely hot earlier with his cock in my mouth.

  My fingers roamed over one breast and then the other. I pinched my nipple hard.

  My hand slowly inched down until it was cupping my crotch.

  When I applied pressure to the entire area, my clit responded. I spread my legs wide and my fingertips slid between my pussy lips then dipped into the wet pool before sliding back again. My middle finger began making little circling motions as I wondered if I could do this left-handed. It certainly felt nice and I definitely deserved some release after everything I’d been through.

  I struggled to make my left wrist rotate the same way my right normally did. I was making a bit of progress, so I wiggled my fingers faster and faster and experienced the buildup of energy in my clit. I thought about Professor Kendall placing the end of that paintbrush inside my ass and the sensations became more pronounced. I was so hot and I wanted to come so badly, but my left hand couldn’t quite get the rhythm right.

  I heard quick footsteps on the stairs and before I knew it, my blindfold was back over my eyes and my “master” had grasped my left wrist. He attached another length of latex then tied that binding to the banister as well. Now I was on my side, completely incapacitated and thankful only for the thick padding under the carpet.

  “My slave isn’t allowed to pleasure herself unless I tell her to,” he whispered into my ear.

  Despite my anger, hearing his voice so close sent an aroused tingle throughout my body. My mind told me I should ask him to release me now, and that I didn’t want to go through with this. I knew I should tell him he was a freak who didn’t know how to treat a woman and I wanted nothing to do with him. But the truth was that his nearness still excited me and I didn’t want to miss out on any experience I could have with him, whatever it was. Whatever he chose to do to me.

  If all I could ever be was his sex slave for the weekend, so be it.

  “I suppose you think I’m being cruel, but you brought it on yourself,” he said.

  “Besides, you need to understand what it is to be my slave. You must submit to me completely. There’s nothing I can’t ask you to do. There is no part of you that’s barred from me. You will obey each and every command.” Okay, maybe this was too much for me. There was nothing in his attitude to give the impression that he cared about me as anything more than a plaything for the weekend. Should I try to get out of this?

  I heard him breathe out something that sounded almost like a sad sigh. He pulled the blindfold up onto my forehead again and looked me in the eye.

  “Now that you know, I’m giving you one more chance to leave. Decide now whether you really want to be here with me.”

  I was a hairsbreadth from telling him I was going, but as I gazed into his eyes, I realized the look in them didn’t match his tone at all. The message they were sending out was…vulnerable?

  I was torn between self-preservation—possibly needing to safeguard both my heart and my body—and the feelings for him that had lasted six long years. If nothing else, maybe this would get me some closure. And at some point during this weekend, I was going to press my body against his and kiss him and make him feel me. But for now, we’d do it his way.

  I pushed away the voice of reason that told me he could be playing me with his good looks and that plaintive gaze he’d had the last thirty-something years to practice on women.

  “I’ll stay,” I said quietly.

  The look that came over his face was unexpected. Surprise, relief, pleasure…he nearly smiled. The blindfold came back over my eyes. I heard his footsteps taking him down the stairs and through the living room into an unknown part of the house.

  And there I was, naked, tied at both wrists and one ankle, blindfolded…and I had just agreed to stay. I wasn’t sure which of us was crazier.

  That’s when it hit me that I was obviously one of those pitiful women with father issues. I’d had one uncaring dad who’d left me and an uncaring stepfather I was sure had turned my own mother against me. Was I acting out of some sort of sick need?


  Not that Mark Kendall was old enough to be my father. I was in my mid-twenties, he in his mid-thirties, but he was an authority figure I’d developed a crush on at the tender age of nineteen. Was I in love? Or emotionally defective? And were the two mutually exclusive?

  *

  I was dreaming of a beautiful blonde woman. She was sitting outdoors at a lushly set table, while servants came and went at her command. Professor Kendall stood near her, dressed as a maître d’. As he bent down to try to serve the woman some tea, she slapped him across the face. The tea flew through the air, dousing a brown-haired girl in a maid’s uniform.

  Just as I realized the maid had my face, the scene changed and I was in a museum with Professor Kendall. There were twenty or thirty of us there from class and he was leading a tour. We entered a room and he began pointing out his own work. I noticed a painting of a woman’s torso, shiny and wet, a thick drop of liquid suspended from one nipple. I was appalled. Was that me?

  We moved on to a painting of a naked woman tied to a staircase, pleasuring herself with one free hand. I could feel myself turning pink, wondering if the others recognized me. Then we came to a third painting where a woman was suspended from a ceiling by chains. Wires were attached to her nipple rings and tied so that her nipples were pulled taut. A huge ring hung from her clit piercing. A dark-haired man had his finger looped through it as though he was about to pull—

  I half awoke and strained at my bonds, thinking I was actually in the painting. As the fog lifted, I realized he was there with me.

  No words were spoken, but I felt him moving around me. I realized my left hand was now released from the railing, even though the bonds were still knotted on my wrist. Probably cut, I guessed. I moved onto my back, trying to stretch out my shoulders on the uncomfortable stairs as I waited for him to cut my other wrist loose.

  Nothing happened for a moment, but I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

  His breathing became more rapid. I reached up blindly with my left hand and touched warm flesh. A naked chest, a muscled stomach—

  He grabbed my loose wrist and held it above my head. Then, in a mad rush, his teeth bit into my earlobe, his lips sucked at my neck so hard I was sure there’d be bruises then his thumb and forefinger pinched at my nipple.

  I cried out in pain, but the shock of this animalistic attack quickly gave way to the phenomenal sensations he was causing everywhere he touched. My body heated and I became aware of my juices rushing downward inside me. I moaned.

  I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted him to kiss me. I strained at my bonds, desperately trying to wrap myself around him but unable to.

  He sucked and nibbled at my stomach. I whimpered like a puppy each time his teeth made contact with my tender flesh.

  “You were a good, obedient slave,” he said between nibbles. “You deserve a reward.” Slowly he worked his way down my side to my inner thighs. He lifted my hips from behind. The thought of his face between my legs caused a painful throbbing in my clit. “Don’t you think?” he asked.

  Think? Were we testing again? I replayed what he’d said in my mind. Oh, a reward!

  “Yes!” I replied.

  He went completely still. I’d done something wrong. Then it hit me. “Yes, Master,” I said contritely.

  I was rewarded by his warm mouth on my pussy lips. His tongue raked through the valleys around my clit, causing mini-convulsions on each lap. Then his lips closed in with staccato sucking, each little suckle sending a fresh pulse through my body. I could say nothing but “Oh-oh-oh-oh,” in a higher pitch than I thought I was capable of.

  He dipped his tongue into my wet pussy. I squealed from the shock and pleasure of it. I’d so desperately wanted him in there. Then he added one hard, prolonged suck at my clit that raced through me until it seemed as though he was sucking my entire body.

  I began to jerk as jolt after jolt of violent pleasure crashed through me. I lay there and twitched for three or four minutes after he finished with me. Grateful for the release yet aching for him to take me completely.

  As I tried to recover my senses, I heard rustling. Was he putting some clothes on or removing more?

  I soon found out when his nude body blanketed mine. The steps pressed harshly into my back in three different places, but I didn’t care because Mark Kendall was finally on top of me.

  “Spread your legs for me, slave,” he said. He could just as easily have pushed them apart, but he obviously enjoyed my obedience to his commands.

  “Yes, Master.” I spread my legs until the right one hit the spindles holding up the banister and the left was as far as it could possibly go.

  He plunged into me suddenly, shocking me, filling me completely. I was so wet it didn’t matter that it was a tight squeeze. After so long, I was finally full of Mark Kendall.

  “Yes…yes…” I called out as he thrust into me determinedly. The sensations were every bit as good as I’d imagined, except for the frustration that I couldn’t put my arms around him.

  “Cut me loose!” I yelled suddenly. “I want to hold you!” He stopped moving. I realized my blindfold had slid up and I could open my eyes and see him now. He was staring down at me with an odd look…indecisive, perhaps,

  yet his jaw was clenched as though he was annoyed. Was it that I’d acted un-slavelike and dared to give him an order or was it that “I want to hold you” sounded more like a lover than someone just there for a weekend of crazy sex?

  He stared into my eyes for a moment and I felt such a connection, I wanted to reach up and caress his face. I needed him, mind, body and soul.

  I lifted my hand toward his cheek. That seemed to make the decision for him. He pushed my hand away, pulled the blindfold back into place and pulled my free leg over one of his shoulders.

  “You don’t give the commands,” he said in a low voice.

  I was angry. He could have chosen to make love to me. I’d seen it for a brief moment in his eyes.

  “Bastard,” I whispered.

  His hand squeezed my wrist. “What was that?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” I replied sarcastically.

  He punished me with short, hard thrusts. Although his movements seemed angry, each one hit a particular place inside me that neither I nor anyone else had discovered before. Every hit was like a one-second orgasm and he increased speed until there was a jackhammer effect with the near-constant pleasure that went with it, causing involuntary twitches in muscles all over my body.

  It was ecstasy, but I thought I’d go crazy from the pleasure of it. Finally he slowed into long, full strokes and my body relaxed into it, enjoying the feeling of fullness and the fact that he was inside me. Suddenly, his hand released my wrist and his fingers dug into the thigh of the leg still draped over his shoulder. The strokes remained long, but the pressure on my skin increased with his speed until I was sure I’d have a bruise on my leg.

  “Em—I—oh…oh…oh fuck!” he cried out as he convulsed over me. He pulled at my hair and the blindfold slid up, allowing me to see his face in the throes of ecstasy.

  Half a dozen “uh” sounds came from his mouth in no particular rhythm while his body shuddered on top of mine. I couldn’t resist feeling a sense of accomplishment, knowing I’d made gorgeous, hot Professor Kendall come like that.

  He collapsed and lay on top of me for several minutes, panting hard. I reveled in the heat of his body pressed against mine. Despite the stairs in my back, I didn’t want him to leave me.

  When he finally lifted his head, our eyes met and held. His face moved almost imperceptibly toward mine. I readied myself for a kiss.

  Yes… It was what I’d waited for even longer than I’d waited for his cock to be inside me. And now, finally…

  His eyes hardened. He seemed to regain his composure and he pulled away, disengaging his body and his soul from mine.

  I watched in silence as he cut the stretchy bonds completely off me. “Come upstairs,” he said without helping me up.

 
; I stood and followed him to what looked like a master bedroom. When we stepped through the door, he said, “The bathroom’s in there. I’ll be sleeping here.” He motioned to the king-sized bed. “You can have the chair.” Shocked, I looked over at the brown leather chair in the corner. “The chair?” I repeated.

  “It reclines,” he said. Then he turned out the light and went to bed.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning I awoke with a crick in my neck. I looked around and noted that my “master” was gone. I thought I heard kitchen noises.

  I was still alone after a quick shower in the en suite bathroom. I didn’t feel comfortable going down for breakfast completely nude. Surely he expected me to put something on.

  I opened his closet and rifled through, trying to decide which one of his shirts he wouldn’t mind me wearing. When I got to the corner, I saw a plain white terrycloth robe, like one you might find in a nice hotel. That seemed the ideal choice. I put it on and headed downstairs.

  A flock of stomach butterflies assaulted me as I reached the kitchen. My steps slowed and quieted. I guess a part of me wanted to catch him unawares so I could figure out who he truly was. Was he the fair, fun-loving and dedicated professor I’d thought I’d known for years, or some sort of deviant control freak, incapable of real intimacy with a woman?

  I remembered the letter.

  Okay, maybe he was just incapable of real intimacy with me.

  As I entered the room I found him multitasking, reading some sort of journal at the table while taking in a forkful of eggs, as though he didn’t have a care in the world…or a houseguest. In front of another chair, there was a plate covered in one of those fancy silver things hotels use to keep food warm.

  My eyes traveled back to him and stayed there, enjoying the normalcy of the moment. I wouldn’t have minded waking up to this scene—with him in it—every day.

  His face was freshly shaven, his jaw masculine without being overly square. For the first time I noticed he even had perfect ears. He was breathtaking.