“Wow…I’m sorry,” I said, although I was and I wasn’t. I would never want him to suffer such an indignity, but his wife leaving him had made him available now. But was he available to me? I tried to figure out some way to phrase the question. To ask him what this was between us. But what if the answer wasn’t what I wanted to hear?
That damn phone rang in the kitchen again, this time at the most inopportune moment.
“Sorry. I’d better get that,” he said. “Don’t move.” The second he left the room, my curiosity got the better of me. I jumped up off the couch and ran over to his chair, snatching up the sketchpad. As I flipped through the drawings, I was surprised.
Every single page was of my face. On one he’d experimented with eyes, drawing several pairs as if he wanted to get them just right. On another he’d outlined my face and drawn in cheekbones and ears, but abandoned it. Finally I hit the jackpot. There was a portrait of me, drawn by my own Professor Kendall.
Was this how he saw me? Yes, the woman in the drawing had my features, but she was beautiful, eyes sparkling, a smile on her face, her hair hanging in seductive tendrils along her cheeks.
At that moment, it didn’t matter to me if anyone else in the world saw me like this as long as this drawing was what Mark Kendall saw when he looked at me.
I thought I heard him hang up the phone, so I threw down the sketchpad and flung myself back onto the couch, trying to remember what position I’d been in.
He walked back in and looked at his watch. “I guess I’ve kept you in that position for a long time. Take a break. In fact, I need to run to the store to get something for dinner.” He gazed at me for a moment, his dark eyes unreadable. “I expect you to be here naked, waiting for me when I return. However, your bag is in that coat closet if you were to need it.” He pointed toward the closet next to the front door. “If you stay, you’ll be expected to do something more extreme than anything else we’ve done together. You may not like tonight’s commands.” He grabbed his keys and headed through the kitchen to the garage.
I paced around the living room nervously. What did he mean by “more extreme”? I knew there was a whole world of freakiness out there. I racked my brain for all the possibilities—nipple clamps? Ball gags? Bestiality? Luckily, he didn’t seem to have any pets.
I couldn’t imagine what more I would want to do with him other than be more emotionally intimate and make love for a change. Kissing would be nice. I wondered if he considered that extreme.
This was crazy. He was obviously using me to satisfy his lust and as a substitute for his ex-wife at the same time. Who wouldn’t want to punish a woman like that? What if his final act literally involved whips and chains?
I walked over and opened the coat closet. My bag was there, just as he said it would be. I could get dressed and walk out.
Instead, I turned and approached the sketchpad again, slowly, as if I thought it would bite me…or mislead me, perhaps. He could have taken it with him. Did he want me to see?
I picked it up again and sat down so I could examine it more closely. With my finger I traced the lines he’d sketched. If he hadn’t acted so strangely since I’d been here, I’d have sworn those lines were drawn with love.
Taking the sketchpad with me, I went over to the decorative mirror on the wall above the antique buffet. I held the drawing up next to my face and changed expressions until mine mirrored the one on the paper.
And I realized that he’d managed to capture my most engaging, most photogenic expression in his mind and reproduce it on the page. But what did it mean? Was this the behavior of a man in love or just a special talent he had for finding the best visual qualities in people?
I knew what I wanted it to be.
Slowly I walked back over to the closet and shut the door, trapping my bag inside, cementing my decision.
I would take my chances. I had to finish what I’d started and find out if he was indeed my Professor Kendall or just a pipe dream.
Chapter Four
I awoke to the sound of keys dropping onto the coffee table. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been sleeping on the couch, but the room was nearly pitch-black. Was it nighttime?
Why had he been gone so long?
“You’re still here,” he said, mild surprise apparent in his voice. “I thought if I gave you a good long time to think about it, you’d be gone.” Was he tired of me being here or was he really trying to make sure I wanted to be? I was too groggy from my nap to attempt to decode him. All he’d done was play games with me since I came to his office that day. It was Saturday evening. Most of my
“dream” weekend with him was gone and now he’d wandered off for hours.
“I’m going to hit the shower. I stopped at the gym and got in a workout,” he said as he took the stairs two at a time. That’s when I realized he was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. He must have had a gym bag in his car.
Now I was waiting for him again. And for what, exactly?
I flopped back down on the couch and replayed all my arguments. He could be using me to exorcise his demons from the past. I could be desperate for his attention and approval because he was an authority figure. I didn’t really know him that well and my six-year crush was pretty ridiculous from a logical standpoint.
But as always, my thoughts circled back to my desire for him, my dreams of something more for us…and the way he’d looked at me those times when his guard was down.
As though he’d felt something too.
Ten minutes after he left, he stood in front of me, a white towel wrapped around his waist. I got up from the couch, driven by the urge to press my palms onto his damp
pecs and smooth away the water droplets clinging to his shoulders. Then I would place my hand on his cheek and pull his full lips into mine for a kiss…
Except none of it happened because the moment I stood and reached for him, he grabbed my wrists in his hands.
“On your knees, slave,” he said.
Somewhat begrudgingly, I lowered myself to the rug, the sofa behind me.
“My balls have been feeling rather left out,” he said. “You haven’t sucked them.” I knelt there looking up at him, angry that we were still playing this game yet suddenly dying to tongue his nether regions. I didn’t move, unsure of which parts of my body I should listen to—my brain or everything else.
“A good slave would already have her mouth full,” he said, and my traitorous clit wiggled its approval.
I reached up and pulled at the towel, letting it fall to the ground. His cock was already hard, pointing at me like I was an easy mark. I dipped my head underneath it and sucked one fuzzy ball into my mouth. He groaned.
Electrical pulses darted up from my crotch, despite the lack of attention it was getting. By the time I started tonguing his other testicle, I was wishing for some sort of contact between my thighs.
“Suck, slave,” he said, and I sucked then nibbled at him with my lips. “Run your tongue up my cock.”
My body was so hungry for his hard-on. From mouth to pussy, every part of me cried out, “More, more, more!”
“Put my cock in your mouth.”
I took the tip of his penis between my lips and swirled my tongue around it slowly, intending to tease him, but he wasn’t having it.
“Like you mean it!” he said as he pushed me backward against the couch and thrust his cock into my mouth. I grabbed on to his thighs for some control, but he snatched up
my wrists and pulled them over my head and behind me until they were pinned to the back of the couch. He used them and the couch for leverage, fucking my mouth harder and deeper until the tip hit the back of my throat.
He groaned.
This was wild to the point of being almost scary, yet my body responded with anything but fear. And didn’t he care that my pussy was calling out in need, my clit yelling for some attention?
“You like this, don’t you, slave?”
It was hard to answer under the circumstances, but yes,
I liked everything he did to me and I loved the fact that being inside my mouth made him groan like that.
He paused for a moment, his cock still in my mouth. He pushed his leg up between my thighs until his shin contacted my pussy lips. They were soaked. He slid his leg up just a bit, raking over my clit. I whimpered with need.
He chuckled and released my wrists suddenly, pulling his cock from my lips.
“Stand up,” he said.
I stood and watched through my lust haze as he walked over to the roll-top desk and reached into a drawer.
I had no choice but to do what he commanded. My body demanded more of him.
“Go to the other end of the couch,” he said, so I did.
As he walked toward me, naked and beautiful, I looked into his face and wished this could be something else. Not that the sex wasn’t hot. I’d come back and be his slave next weekend if he asked. I just wished he wanted more. I thought of that witch of a wife he’d had and realized she’d probably ruined him for the rest of us…for someone like me who’d do anything for him.
Selfish bitch.
“Bend over the arm of the couch,” he commanded.
I bent over, my stomach on the arm, my elbows on the cushion. I could feel the cool air contacting my wet pussy lips.
I heard small sounds behind me but couldn’t tell what he was doing.
“Spread your legs.” I moved my feet apart. “Wider.” As I complied I realized I couldn’t be more vulnerable than I was in this position, facedown, ass in the air, legs spread…and I’d never been more aroused.
“Now, bring your hands back to your ass cheeks.” Hmmm? I nearly asked why I would do that, but realized a big part of me didn’t want to interrupt the domination fantasy…or the surprise. Instead I let my forehead rest on the couch cushion and placed both palms on my ass.
“Now pull your cheeks apart. Spread them as far as you can.” Nervous and excited, I complied, feeling a burst of chilly air in a place that wasn’t used to getting a breeze. I remembered the paintbrush.
But this time it was his finger, warm and gooey, that made contact. My body tightened in anticipation of more. As he circled and slid back and forth over the spot, I wiggled and pushed my ass toward him. When I did, he applied pressure as though he were trying to get his finger inside me. The opening didn’t seem like an opening at all now. It felt tight and impossibly small.
But I didn’t want him to stop, so I moaned and pressed back against him as he pushed harder and finally broke through. Jolts of pleasure shot through me and I shuddered as if to come, but he went still and the sensations left me…
Until he moved the digit out and in again and the shudders returned. He pleasure-tortured me like this, in and out, over and over until I couldn’t take any more.
“You’re killing me, Master,” I said. I enjoyed the sound of his “name” coming from my lips. “The teasing…it’s too…oooh!” He’d slid inside again. “I can’t take it anymore.”
“You want more?”
“Yes…please.”
“Then stand up and look at me.”
I stood, turned and faced him. My eyes raked down his beautiful body and the all-encompassing yearning came back. I wanted him to master me. I wanted him to keep me. I wanted him to lo—
“There’s something I want you to do for me, Emily.” He called me by my real name and his voice held a note of sincerity. His brow was furrowed, and not in the master-slave way. He acted as though he was going to ask me something serious. Something of utmost importance.
But what could that be? He hadn’t even kissed me, so I doubted a proposal was coming. Except maybe another indecent one…
“Emily…” There was that look again. “I need you to take this.” I realized he had a tube of lubricant in his hand. “And cover my cock in it.” Well, that was very doable, even though I didn’t see the point since I got wet just thinking about him.
“Then bend over and spread your cheeks again…this time for my cock.”
“Excuse me?” I replied, stalling for time. The paintbrush had been wonderful, the finger had felt fabulous, but…
I looked down at his fully engorged member—which had seemed only slightly bigger than average before—and found it to be huge. At least compared to where he wanted to put it.
He placed the tube in my hand.
“I don’t know if it’s possible,” I said. “I haven’t done this before.” But then he looked into my eyes and I saw something plaintive in his gaze. “I need you to do this for me, Emily.”
Still uncertain, I stared at his face, trying to see inside him and understand what was happening here. What did he really need?
It finally hit me. He was still testing me. This was just a different kind of test. And if I passed?
I took a deep breath and squeezed some lube into my hand, then smoothed it over his cock, slowly, purposefully, feeling it heat up from the friction. I watched his abs tense and ripple. I pumped up and down on him with my fist and his eyes fluttered as he sucked in a ragged breath. He grabbed my wrist.
“You almost made me come,” he said.
I turned and used the corner of his bath towel to wipe my hands. Then I bent, placed my head on the couch again and reached back. I placed my hands on my ass and left them there for several seconds, but that only made me more nervous and more desperate for him.
Inside my ass. The thought sent a thrill through my body.
“I need you, Emily,” he whispered again.
I pulled my cheeks apart.
“Thank you,” he said.
I felt the heat of it even before it touched me. And when his cock made contact, I shivered with desire.
The tip slid inside and I jerked forward, nearly coming at first contact.
“That’s the easy part, my love…”
My love? Was that just a random term of endearment or was it especially for me?
“The hard part’s coming, but I think this will help.” He reached around my thighs with his right hand and slid his finger between my pussy lips. The clit contact, together with his cock in my ass, caused a double whammy jolt. Then my toes and fingers started to tingle and feel numb. Obviously, all the blood had rushed to other parts of my body.
As he slowly worked my clit, there was an increasing pressure in my little hole. It felt hot, wild, wonderful—and then it didn’t.
“Wait, I think that’s as far as it can go,” I said.
“Is it?” he asked as his finger swirled around my clit faster and he made shallow pumping motions into my ass with the head of his cock. Suddenly I was desperate to have all of him inside me.
“Do it!” I cried out. “Give me all of it!”
“Show me you want me,” he replied through gritted teeth.
I pushed my ass back to accept him and he plunged into me, filling me with a pleasure-pain so intense, I screamed and began coming in several-second spurts each time he thrust into me.
Suddenly he moaned loudly and thrust harder, swirling faster nonstop.
Convulsions racked my body as he shuddered behind me.
He pulled me up against his back, placed his hand on my cheek and turned my head toward him. Then he kissed me.
And I kissed him back, exalting in the pleasure of his wet, demanding lips on mine and the feel of his body as it convulsed behind me. Even after he’d sucked my tongue and bruised my mouth, I held his mouth tightly to mine, biting at his lips and sucking his tongue into me until I couldn’t catch my breath anymore…until we both finally stopped trembling.
“Emily…” he whispered when I finally released him. “Emily.”
Chapter Five
This time he’d asked me to join him in the shower, but I surprised both of us when I turned him down and used the bathroom next to the guest bedroom.
I still didn’t know for certain what had happened between us, emotionally speaking. And I guess I didn’t want to know right away.
The last sexual act had seemed like the climax—so
to speak—of the weekend, and I was sure the situation was about to change one way or another. He’d either gotten everything he wanted from me…or we’d passed through some kind of emotional door he’d kept locked until then.
I stood in the shower under the warm water and relived those last few moments.
He’d told me he needed me and kissed me like I was a soul mate, lost to him in another life. Then, with his lips against my ear, he’d whispered my name…and now I had hope…expectations even.
But I knew from hard experience that having expectations was a dangerous thing, especially where men were concerned.
I’d been sure beyond all doubt of my father’s love and expected him to always cherish me as his little princess, but his love was a fairy tale…or at least a very shallow kind of love. Since then, I’d taken it on the chin emotionally from a dozen different boys, then men, who I’d desperately needed to love me.
But if I was wrong this time, I didn’t think I could suck it up. I didn’t believe I could get the bad news from Mark Kendall and bravely walk out the door, head held high, then spend the next few weeks crying into my pillow in the privacy of my room.
Sure, before, I’d managed to live off those Monday-Wednesday-Friday classes with the fantasies of him in between. But now I’d touched him, smelled him, tasted him…
If I went to his bedroom and he told me he was through with me or pointed me toward the chair for the night, I was afraid I’d crumble and lose the one thing I’d always kept whenever my life fell apart—my pride.
When I finally got up the courage to get out of the shower, I wrapped myself tightly in a plush sheet towel and made use of the blow dryer I found. Lucky for me and my curls, there was a diffuser under the sink, so at least I wouldn’t have to face the news looking like the bride of Frankenstein.
I kept the towel on—the only security blanket I had since my clothes were in the downstairs closet.
When I found him, he was lying on his bed, looking at the bedroom doorway as if waiting for me.
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