Instructing Emily

by Lyla Sinclair

  He glanced up from his reading and saw me.

  “Your hair is wet,” he commented.

  “Yes, I took a shower.”

  “Did I give you permission for that?”

  “No, I just thought that since you were busy…” I realized his expression had grown very dark. He stood up from the table and walked around me. He flipped up the lapel of my robe, clearly revealing the monogram “A.K.” on my right breast. I hadn’t seen it there. But now it hit me that his last name was “Kendall” with a “K”, but his first didn’t start with an “A”.

  “Take it off,” he said angrily.

  “I didn’t know where my clothes were. I’m sorry if I—”

  “Take it off.”

  Though I was hesitant to be naked in front of someone who was looking at me with such ferocity, I didn’t feel I had much choice, since I’d commandeered the robe without asking.

  With shaking hands, I untied the belt and pulled the robe off. When I handed it to him, he threw it into the corner.

  “I thought you could follow instructions,” he said. “But you’re still rifling through my belongings, taking things that don’t belong to you. You haven’t learned a thing.” I wasn’t sure how to answer, since apparently I hadn’t learned a thing. A little voice inside suggested I might have done it on purpose just to get more of his punishments, but that would be crazy. Wouldn’t it?

  “You certainly don’t deserve a warm meal.” He removed the cover from my plate. I figured I could live with cold food and was getting off pretty easily by his standards…until he said, “Bend over the table.” He stepped over to the counter, grabbed a plastic spatula and came toward me.

  When he reached me I hadn’t moved, so he led me to the far end of the table and put his

  hand on my back, guiding me down until my chest was squeezed onto the cool wood of the tabletop. This reminded me of that day in his office, except now he had a weapon.

  I braced myself and simultaneously felt a fluttering of excitement in my chest. What was wrong with me? Did enjoying his little spankings mean I really did have some weird complex?

  Whack.

  Oh! My buttocks tensed along with my crotch. One side was stinging and I wanted him to make it even.

  Whack.

  Mmmm…twinges in my clit. I suddenly realized my sexual experiences with him were getting more and more satisfying—addictive even—while our relationship seemed less and less likely to pan out.

  He whacked me again and I didn’t care about anything else. At least for the moment.

  “You’re starting to like this, aren’t you, slave?” Starting? I may have liked it from the beginning, but I didn’t want to admit it to him. “I…I…no—”

  Whack.

  I was getting way too wet and horny to lie about this anyway. “Yes, Master,” I finally said.

  He dropped the spatula. “Eat your breakfast,” he said. “You’ll need your strength.” I sat and ate silently as he read the paper then moved his dishes to the sink.

  When he sat down in his chair again, he pushed it back a bit from the table.

  “Finished?” he asked as I put down my fork.

  I nodded.

  “Come over here,” he said.

  I stood and walked toward him until I was a few feet away. “Here?” I asked.

  “Closer.”

  “Because you won’t bite?” I asked as I stepped closer.

  “In case I want to bite,” he replied. He smiled and for a moment he reminded me of the man I’d fallen in love with in class. Quick with a witty remark, eyes sparkling at his—or someone else’s—humorous retort. My heart melted a little, although I was feeling rather uncomfortable standing in front of him naked while he stared blatantly at my body.

  “Do you know what I first noticed about you in class, Emily?”

  “No,” I replied. I was still surprised he’d noticed me at all.

  “Your legs. You walked in the second day of class—first class you took with me—in a short skirt and I had to exercise every ounce of will power to keep my eyes off them.” He reached up and caressed the outside of my thigh. “I wasn’t quite out of my twenties yet, but I still felt like a creep when I thought about how young you were.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought you were a creep,” I said. “I wore that on the second day because I couldn’t stop thinking of you the first day and I hoped you’d notice me.

  Never thought it worked, though.”

  “Oh, it worked all right.” He squeezed my thigh and skimmed his fingers up my hip, causing the most fabulous tingle. “What was it,” he asked, “that you noticed about me first?”

  I glanced down. “Your hands.”

  His eyebrows went up in a surprised expression then I was sure I witnessed a naughty idea pass through his mind. He moved one hand between my thighs and lightly caressed my pussy lips. “My hands?” he repeated mischievously. “So that bench-pressing and weightlifting at the gym was pointless, I guess.”

  “Oh no…it was very…point… full.” It was hard to think of real words while all the energy and liquid in my body seemed to be rushing to meet him.

  He slid a finger inside me as far as it would go and fucked me with it, each stroke a little harder and longer than the last. My knees went weak. My head fell back as I moaned.

  Was I really going to have to try to remain standing while he did this? He pulled out and I was sorry I’d complained, even if it was in my own head.

  He opened his robe to reveal his pleasantly muscled, naked body and a major hard-on. “Do you know what I want now?” he asked.

  “I hope you want to fuck me,” I said.

  He shook his head. “Still the C student in my class, I see. I want you to fuck me, Emily.” He motioned to his lap.

  I realized this would be the most personal thing we’d done together. I wouldn’t be tied. I’d even be in control. I could finally make love to him in a way that felt like we really had a chance of—

  No overthinking. Just do it like he’s never had it before. Erase all other women from his mind, including the bitch the robe belonged to.

  Eagerly I straddled his lap. Placing one hand on his shoulder, I grabbed his cock in my other hand and guided it directly underneath me. I lowered myself onto him slowly, watching his expression. As soon as the tip of his member touched my pussy, he took in three staccato gasps of air. I loved the way he felt inside me, filling me with warmth and a sense of satisfaction at how I could make him feel. When I was halfway down, he threw his head back. His eyes seemed to roll back in his head and they fell closed.

  However, I didn’t want to miss a moment of his reactions. I needed to decipher what this was between us, so I watched his face intently, waiting for signs that this was as special for him as it was for me.

  I slipped down his shaft to fully engulf him and we groaned together. I’d never experienced a more perfect fit with anyone. He filled me in all the right ways with all the right sensations…and emotions.

  He thrust his hips and I used my hands on his shoulders and the balls of my feet as leverage to pump up and down on him. He grabbed my bottom in both hands to help the motion along. Despite the action, he managed to grasp one of my nipples in his mouth, tonguing and sucking until I shifted so the other one could get the same attention. I put my hand behind his head, holding him against me, never wanting his warm, wet lips to leave my breasts. He sucked harder and my clit pulsed and throbbed.

  I was in heaven. This was ecstasy. When he released my nipple, I slowed my movements and slid my hands to the sides of his head, fingers behind his ears, thumbs on his face. He looked up into my eyes and, finally, I was sure we were feeling the same emotion. I bent my head until my lips were a whisper away from his, but I didn’t follow through. I wanted him to be the one to do it. I wanted him to kiss me.

  He went still. Then he shook his head as though he was trying to regain his senses.

  When our eyes met again, his gaze was black and empty.
>
  “Stand up, slave,” he said suddenly.

  What? Hadn’t we gotten past that? Wasn’t he calling me by my name just a few moments before?

  When I didn’t move, he put his hands on my waist and helped me up. My pussy unwillingly relinquished his cock. I stood in front of him in shock. What had happened?

  I was sure we were about to have a meaningful—

  “Turn around,” he commanded. “Straddle me with your back to me.” In a daze I obeyed, repositioning myself on his lap, facing away from him. The eye contact was gone, as was the torso contact, since I had to prop my hands on the table for leverage. I was disheartened by the way he’d removed himself emotionally from me.

  Yet when he slid into me and started moving his hips, I couldn’t help but cooperate.

  He still fit perfectly inside, and in this position he was hitting a spot that made me cry out on every thrust. Dishes rattled on the table as I grasped it for dear life.

  “Who am I?” I heard him say through the noise. He stopped and everything went quiet.

  “Hmm?” I groaned in confusion and pleasure, wiggling on his lap to try to get him to resume the action.

  Who was he? My professor? My lover? Therapy for some emotional deficiency in my past?

  “Who am I?” he asked again as he reached around and grasped a breast roughly with each hand.

  Then I remembered. “My master,” I replied.

  “Good slave.”

  And as I strained on my tippy-toes to pump on his slick cock, he reached down and placed a finger between my pussy lips and pressed. Seconds later I was racked with pleasure shivers and my pussy throbbed around his cock.

  He squeezed my torso tightly with both arms, laid his face against my back and shuddered his way home.

  We stayed in that same position for several precious seconds. I could feel his chest rising and falling, his hot breath on my back. I was afraid to move and break the spell, but finally my shoulders couldn’t take it anymore. I let go of the table and covered his arms with my own in a gesture I feared was too intimate. Neither of us moved until I became aware of a clock ticking and a bird chirping outside the window. Then his face lifted and I was sure I felt his lips brush against my spine.

  He released his hold on me.

  “You can go,” he said quietly.

  “Go?” I asked, afraid he was telling me to leave his house. I reluctantly disengaged from him and stood with my back to him, unshed tears in my eyes.

  “Yes…you can go…um…” He was obviously in silent debate with himself. I wished I knew what the argument was about. “Take a shower.”

  Even though I’d just had a shower a little while before, I didn’t complain. I was so relieved I wasn’t being asked to leave the premises. But just after I stepped through the living room doorway, I turned back, needing to see his face.

  He stared out the window for several long seconds, his brow furrowed. Then he glanced over at the bathrobe, still in the corner on the floor. His jaw tensed.

  He was thinking of her again. I slunk away to the stairs and left him to his dark memories.

  *

  Once I got upstairs, I decided on a bath instead of a shower. I needed to think and some of my best thinking was done in the tub. As I waited for it to fill, I locked the door and examined the lovely bathroom, done in fresh cottage style with wood and warm colors and an antique-style sink.

  His house was exactly the sort of place I hoped to live in one day, full of objects that reminded me of a time before everything was mass-produced…but with all the latest amenities, of course. I turned on the Jacuzzi jets and let them drown out any possible sounds from the house—any sounds that might make me yearn for him inside my body again and distract me from serious contemplation.

  I sank into the hot water, giving myself a few precious moments to enjoy nothing but the sensual feel of the heat and the pressure from the jets, relaxing away the nervous tension I’d felt since I’d been there.

  Once the hot water had done its job, I tackled the questions at hand. I wondered how long ago this breakup with an apparent wife had occurred. Did she appreciate his preferences in the bedroom or dislike them? Or was this a recent change in him because of her?

  And how did I fit in to all this? Was he using me as her proxy, punishing me as he wanted to punish her? Was he angry at all women now? Did he have any interest in me as a person?

  But then I remembered those moments when he’d looked into my eyes and there’d been a connection. At those times, I was so sure we were about to melt into each other…proclaim our love…

  Or maybe I was just seeing what I wanted to see.

  And what about me? I hadn’t protested his treatment of me. I hadn’t demanded anything from him, not even an explanation. And I’d begun to enjoy his control over me, obeying his every command.

  Was I truly scarred by my lack of a father figure to the point there was now something seriously wrong with me? What if I hadn’t been in love these past six years but just incredibly messed up? I wondered what percentage of messed-up people actually knew they were messed up. Geez, even a stalker was convinced the woman he wanted would love him if he could just kidnap her and get her away from that pesky husband and kids.

  Maybe I was nuts to think I was in love with my professor all this time. Maybe he was a split personality, more nuts than I was. Hey, maybe we were both nuts and perfect for each other after all.

  I chuckled out loud at my ludicrous reasoning.

  “Emily?” he called from the other side of the door.

  I hoped that laugh was the only sound I’d made out loud, because if he wasn’t crazy and was listening to my rationalizations, he now thought I was crazy.

  “Yes?” I replied, noting that he’d used my real name.

  “When you get finished, could you come down to the living room?” I thought for a moment and sighed. I’d come this far. Why not? “Sure,” I said. “I’ll just be a few more minutes.”

  *

  I knew the rules now, so when I descended the stairs I was completely nude. I’d even decided to leave the towel behind. I simply released my hair from the bun that had kept it dry and came down as though I was used to parading around naked all the time.

  “Sit down on the couch, please,” Professor Kendall said. I noticed he was holding a sketchpad and pencils.

  I sat, annoyed. I hadn’t come here to be an artist’s model. I hated sitting still for long. I was more the busy, overachiever type.

  As he arranged me on the couch, I wanted to melt into the warmth of his hand on my cool skin. He positioned one of my arms on the back of the couch, the other hand on my thigh. He left one leg flat on the couch but bent the other, knee up, foot flat on the cushion. He even pulled a few strands of hair forward onto my shoulders, which felt so sensual I wanted to jump him again right then.

  He took his seat and sketched, looking up at me periodically. With nothing to do and so many questions circulating through my mind, I took a deep breath and plunged in.

  “Um, I’ve been very cooperative this weekend, wouldn’t you say?” I asked.

  He looked up from the sketchpad suspiciously. “Yes, I suppose you have.”

  “Then would you answer a couple of questions for me?” Although he went back to sketching, I noticed a deep intake of breath. “Sure.”

  “The woman…from the letter…? Who was she?”

  “My wife, Allison. My ex-wife.”

  “Were you together long?” I started to make myself comfortable, hoping to settle in for a long story, but he frowned at me and I moved myself back into position.

  “About ten years. Married for seven. We met in college.”

  “And how long ago did she leave?”

  “I guess it’s been about five years now.”

  “Yet you still keep her letter so…handy?” I knew I was pushing it, but after all I’d done for him, it only seemed fair.

  “I need to keep it around as a reminder. I don’t want to be t
hat guy again.”

  “What guy?”

  “The guy who gets used. The guy who will do anything for a woman who wouldn’t cross the street for him.” His hand moved faster on his pad. “A deluded fool.” He flipped to a new page, apparently giving up on the previous one.

  “That doesn’t sound like you.”

  “I hope it’s not anymore. But it was.”

  He was being awfully forthcoming. Maybe the drawing was therapeutic. I decided to take advantage while I could. “So, you really think she stayed with you for so long without loving you at all?”

  His pencil paused for a moment in his hand, like he was really considering the question; then he resumed his sketching.

  “At the time, I was convinced she loved me more than life itself. Allison was the kind of woman who made a man feel like he was the only person on the planet. But looking back, I think she orchestrated her life very carefully. In college I was the guy who had more cash to spend. My grandfather left me a trust fund. I wasn’t into buying a lot of things, but Allison was. When I became a professor, the monthly trust fund payments were several times my university salary, yet she managed to go through it all every month and complain that there wasn’t enough.”

  “Did you tell her she was a selfish bitch?” I asked, incensed that my Professor Kendall had been mistreated.

  He chuckled. “No, I wish I had. Instead, I worked hard to publish articles then a textbook to bring in more money, but her taste in fashion alone…” He shook his head.

  “And otherwise? Besides the money?”

  “You’d think I would have realized that she refused to suffer the slightest inconvenience for me. Didn’t go to the least bit of trouble to make me happy while I was bending over backward to…” He looked away for a moment and I wished I hadn’t distracted him from me and his sketchpad. All I’d done was make him think of her again.

  But he quickly got back to sketching. “Anyway, one summer the university needed a last-minute replacement for another professor who was having surgery. I told her I had to teach. She was angry I wasn’t going to wine and dine and entertain her all summer so she decided to go on a vacation to Costa Rica. Apparently, she met some real estate mogul who was down there on business, and she forgot she was married.”