School's in Session

by Various Authors

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  One Week Later

  The satin blindfold was soft against her eyes, but let in not a sliver of light. The cuffs that graced her wrists and ankles were lined with thick sheepskin, and when he’d raised her arms above her head and attached them to the thick chain hanging from a heavy beam on the ceiling, his whispered words had wrapped around her brain.

  “Breathe, Isobel. It’s not good to hold your breath.”

  Her pulse was racing, and as he smoothed his fingers down her naked spine she deeply inhaled, forcing herself to expel the air slowly from her lungs.

  “That’s my girl,” he purred, then gripping her hair he pulled her head gently to the side and began to devour her neck.

  Moaning happily she lost herself in his lips, and when his hands clutched her seat cheeks and squeezed, her moan became a strange, uttered mewl. She knew she was slippery with need, but he had yet to touch her there; running his fingers up and down the inside of her thighs he’d come teasingly close, but only teasingly close.

  “Please, Sir,” she bleated, “please will you touch my pussy?”

  “All in good time,” he softly promised.

  She ached to close her legs, to rub her thighs together, but the spreader bar refused even that modicum of relief.

  Traveling his lips from her neck to her clavicle he kissed and lightly nipped, then moving to her breasts he wrapped his lips around her stark nipples, drawing each into his mouth, sucking hungrily. His hands returned to her backside, and as his mouth luxuriated in her precious rose buds his palm began to spank.

  Finally living his long-held fantasy sent the blood to his head and surging through his cock, her moans of pleasure and small cries of pain swirling around him until his rampant member forced him to pause. Sighing heavily, he dusted her wanting cunt with his fingertips, and discovered her thick, syrupy need.

  “Please,” she begged, “more, please.”

  Pushing his fingers forward he explored her depths, and finding the magic spot deep inside her cavern he pressed lightly, eliciting a soulful groan.

  “Oh, my, God,” she whimpered trying to wriggle against him.

  During the many times she’d laid on her bed and pictured the delicious torment, she’d never imagined the realization of her dreams would prove so potent. Every feathered touch, every fervent kiss, every sound slap, reverberated through her body, his breathing, his mysterious scent, his whispered words, tumbling exquisitely around her, and as his fingers probed she began to gasp, almost overcome with the heady sensations.

  “Sir,” she whimpered, “I’m feeling weak.”

  Brad had set his timer for ten minutes, not wanting her arms to be stretched overhead for any longer, and glancing across he saw the time was almost up. Unsnapping her cuffs from the chain he moved behind her to massage her shoulders.

  “Lower your arms slowly,” he breathed in her ear, “so your muscles don’t cramp.”

  He could feel her weight as she leaned against him, and when her elbows reached her sides he quickly unshackled the spreader bar, and sweeping her up he carried her to his bed.

  “Thank you,” she murmured as he laid her down.

  Still wearing sweat pants he let them drop to the floor, then stretched out alongside her, and though they’d made love several times since the night of the dinner, laying naked beside her still felt wonderfully new.

  “How are you feeling?” he murmured.

  “Like I’m in heaven,” she purred.

  “I’ll let you rest for a moment, then I’m going to spank you, and do you know what comes after that?” he whispered salaciously.

  “No, Sir,” she breathed.

  “I’m going to explore you, and you’re going to surrender to me,” he muttered, “just the way you described in your story.”

  She immediately knew what he meant, and it brought the goosebumps springing to life.

  “I’m scared,” she managed. “It’s not something I ever thought would happen.”

  “All you have to do is trust me and relax,” he purred.

  Nestling against him she wrapped her brain around what was coming. He was going to penetrate her back door, and she could feel the heat travel across her face at just the thought.

  Knowing she was coming to terms with his promise he dropped his fingers against her sex, stirring her arousal.

  “Yes, Isobel,” he crooned rubbing her clit, “it’s going to be just as you wrote, and it will be frightening and thrilling and exciting, and ultimately it will make you climax very, very hard.”

  “It will,” she mewed.

  “Yes, it will,” he replied, “and there will come a day when you’ll be begging me to tantalize you back there.”

  He was rubbing her ardently, and though she was trying to focus on his words it was becoming increasingly difficult.

  “Sir, I can feel my orgasm,” she panted squirming against his fingers.

  “We can’t have that,” he mumbled, and moving his fingers he tickled them against her thighs.

  “Ooh, I was so close,” she whimpered.

  Lowering his head he pressed his lips to hers, engulfing her in a warm, fervent, passionate kiss, lingering and tonguing, fueling the embers of the fire in her belly.

  “Brad,” she breathed as he broke from her, “you make me feel so much.”

  “And you’re about to feel more,” he whispered, “a lot more.”

  Sitting up he rolled her onto her stomach, ordering her to place her elbows on the mattress and raise herself to her knees. A moment later she heard him leave the bed, and then his footsteps move across the room. As she waited for his return the anticipation of what was about to happen riddled her mind and sent shivers through her body.

  I feel so lewd in this position, but I guess it’s part of it, part of what I’m supposed to feel. How must I look?

  “Your bottom is so beautiful,” he murmured as though reading her mind.

  “I feel odd, waiting like this,” she mumbled.

  “I’m sure, but you’ll get used to it,” he assured her moving his hand across her cheeks. “I have a little something for you,” he continued, and stepping back he rested the wide, fat leather tongue of a riding crop against her upturned backside.

  “Legs wider,” he instructed.

  Her glistening, swollen pussy peeked back at him, and he ached to throw the crop aside and slide inside her succulent depths, but determined to continue he began to tap it across her already pink moons. The tongues sparked her skin, bringing up fresh, hot marks, and when he landed it against her pussy she squealed in surprise.

  “Your cunt needs this attention as well,” he declared, delivering a few more to underscore his point.

  “Sir,” she gasped, “it’s so intense.”

  Ignoring her exclamation he dropped the crop, climbed on the bed and circled her waist, landing his hand in a series of fast, sound swats.

  “I’m spanking you right now because you’re late finishing your first chapter,” he declared.

  Though lost in the tantalizing torture her mind flashed back to her dream.

  It’s coming true, everything is coming true, but before she could take her thought any further he had stopped spanking, and was fondling away the sting. Her focus shifted to his soothing caress, but when he parted her cheeks, and something cool and wet touched her forbidden hole, she jerked away.

  “Do I need to spank you some more?” he asked running his hand over her scorched behind.

  “No, Sir,” she squeaked.

  “I told you, relax and trust me,” he said tenderly. “Accept it, I promise you’ll be glad of it very soon.”

  “I’ll try,” she mewed.

  Landing two swift slaps, he pulled her left cheek aside a second time, and touching the thin, lubricated dildo against its target he pressed it gently forward.

  “Oooh, Sir,” she groaned, “it feels so strange.”

  “I know, take a deep breath and relax, bear down and let it in.”<
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  The heat traveled across her face as she felt it slither inside, but a moment later he was behind her, his cock sliding home; she bucked back, and as he began to thrust all she felt was undiluted pleasure.

  Seeing her well-spanked bottom, the dildo buried between her cheeks, and hearing her squeals and gasps of pleasure, Brad succumbed to his fever, pummeling her pussy with gusto. He had been teasing and toying with her for almost an hour, and relishing her sweet succulence his cock was filled with joy.

  He slowed his tempo, and leaning across her torso he reached under her chest, his hands seeking out her luscious breasts. Her moan of gratitude wafted around him, but a moment later the moan became a gasp of pain as he tweaked her nipple, and moving his fingers back and forth, from one tit to the other, his cock buried and the dildo impaled, her moans and gasps collided and became loud cries of yearning.

  “Oh, Sir, please fuck me some more, please.”

  “You’re tits are so glorious,” he purred kissing her ear, “one night I’m going to focus on nothing but them. I’m going to spank them, and suckle them, and bite them, and squeeze them, for a very long time.”

  His ribald promise sent a wave of fresh heat through her sex, and feeling her soft pulsing he rose up, slapped her lightly, then clutching her hips began stroking with solid, deliberate thrusts.

  “S-Sir,” she stammered, “Sir, I can f-feel it, it’s so b-big.”

  A part of him wanted to tell her to wait, he wanted to slow down one more time, but his cock was aching to burst.

  “Come for me,” he growled.

  With an urgent need he gazed down at her, captivated by the sudden tightening of her body and the culmination of their decadent night. Her moans were filled with passion, and when she gasped, her fingers clenching into fists, he joyfully watched her surrender to the shuddering release, and unable to hold back his powerful orgasm he groaned loudly, yielding to the heavy convulsions.

  A short time later, clinging to him and breathless, she nuzzled her head into the crook of his shoulder

  “Brad?”

  “Yes, Isobel, my sweet, lovely girl?”

  “I’ve been wanting to ask you something for the longest time,” she murmured.

  “What’s that?”

  “Your cologne. I can’t place it and it’s been driving me crazy, what is it?”

  “Of course you can’t place it,” he chuckled, “it was created for me by a true perfumer in Paris, and Isobel, I would love to take you there and have him design a perfume just for you.”

  “Really? That’s about the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” she sighed, then closing her eyes, feeling the deep, satisfying exhaustion, she added, “how could anyone survive three hours? What was I thinking when I wrote that?”

  “One day you will,” he smiled, “you have to work up to it.”

  “Seriously?” she sighed. “Like training for something?”

  “Exactly,” he yawned.

  “Wow, that sounds like fun,” she softly giggled.

  “It will be,” he promised, “and I think, when you finish your novel that’s how we’ll celebrate. What better way to mark the launch day of Three Dark Hours than to live it.”

  EPILOGUE

  As he’d promised, Isobel frequently found herself sitting on a sore bottom during the writing of her book. Brad was loving and immensely supportive, making sure she had everything she needed to get the job done, but that included his weekly spanking to keep her focused, and the addition of the paddle if she slacked off. She quickly learned he wouldn’t tolerate laziness, and she was amazed how he knew when her reasons for not reaching her goal were genuine, and when she was simply being recalcitrant.

  The hero of her book, Dylan Douglas, had milk chocolate eyes and sandy hair. He wasn’t terribly tall, nor did he have dimples and a cheshire cat smile. Dylan was human, a man of substance, a man who revered women and saw their submission as a precious, fragile jewel.

  As the weeks ticked by she was puzzled by only one thing; except for a couple of evenings at the very beginning of their relationship, Brad hadn’t invited her to join him at his place. He claimed it was because she needed to be near her ‘working space’ as he termed it, so if she got an inspiration in the middle of the night she could wander to her desk and write.

  “When you’re finished you’ll be summoned to my home on a regular basis,” he’d promised.

  He named his new division, Midnight Hour Books, but he gave Isobel all the credit. He’d had the inspiration when she’d told him midnight was usually the time she would buy the wicked titles online.

  The day of publication finally arrived. Three Dark Hours was out in the world, and Isobel was honored by Brader, Brader and Coombs at an exciting launch party in an upscale restaurant. The champagne was flowing, speeches were made, and as the evening began to wind down Brad took her by the elbow and led her to a corner.

  “So, my star author, how do you feel?”

  “It’s beyond words. It’s so thrilling. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you. I know the book wouldn’t be anywhere near as good if you hadn’t helped me,” she beamed.

  “Nonsense. It might have taken you longer,” he chuckled, recalling the times he’d had to spank her for not knuckling down, “but the rest of it is all you. I’m going to whisk you back to my place now, for our own, special celebration.”

  “Really? Your place?” she grinned, “and here I thought you lived in a pup tent in the park.”

  “Careful,” he winked, “you don’t want me swatting you in front of your adoring hordes do you?”

  “What? No, I most certainly do not,” she declared.

  “Then behave,” he chuckled, “or I just might.”

  “I will, I promise, at least until we get home,” she giggled.

  “You’re impossible,” he smiled shaking his head. “Now listen, I’ve already told the people that matter that I’m sneaking you out, so grab your coat and let’s go.”

  “Oh, shoot, my coat, I’m glad you reminded me,” she said hastily. “I left it at the table.”

  “Some things never change,” he grinned as he followed her across the room.

  A short time later the limousine pulled up outside his house. He had the lights on a timer, so the porch light was illuminating the front door, and the lamps inside by the window suggested someone was home; the house glowed with a warm welcome.

  “I haven’t been here in so long,” she remarked as he led her up the cobblestone path. “It’s such a beautiful place.”

  “Thank you, and I hope you’ll be spending a great deal of time here now,” he said tenderly, giving her hand a squeeze that sent her butterflies to dance.

  Walking her inside and through to the kitchen he stopped at the island, and turning her around he placed his hands on either side of her face, bringing his lips to hers. Kissing her warmly, then fervently, he moved his moist mouth to engulf hers, sending his tongue gently forward; her arms lifted, encircling his neck, and she pressed against him as her body and heart responded.

  “This is for you,” he said softly as they broke apart, “for us. It’s why you haven’t been allowed to come over.”

  “I don’t understand,” she frowned.

  “You will,” he smiled, and moving her a few feet to a door at the back of the kitchen, he pulled a key from his pocket and slipped it in the lock. As he pushed the door open a light came on automatically, and she found herself staring at a flight of stairs.

  “Is this your cellar?” she asked moving slowly down the thickly carpeted steps.

  “It used to be,” he replied following her.

  He watched her as she stopped on the small landing; she paused, staring into the dimly lit space, then caught her breath.

  “Oh...my...gosh!” she breathed.

  Laid out in front of her was a fully equipped dungeon, complete with a four poster bed, folds of chiffon fabric floating around it like billowing clouds; moving next to her he took her hand a
nd led her the rest of the way.

  “There have been endless workers here, and when they were finished I was busy unpacking crates,” he said softly. “I’ve wanted to do this ever since I moved in and never got around to it...but then there was you, and...well...”

  “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.

  “Do you think you’re ready for three dark hours?” he smiled pulling her into his arms.

  “I don’t know, but I’m definitely ready to find out.”

  Maggie Carpenter

  Who Is Maggie Carpenter? Most of the time when you read About The Author, you discover said author has three dogs, two cats and a turtle named Harley, lives in Oregon and likes to hike with her husband of five years. Generally, the piece is written in the third person. I have no quarrel with such an expose; it's just not for me. If you are reading this, I'm going to assume you really do want to know about me, and I want to give you that, from me, personally and sincerely, so here you go.

  I write about the Dominant/submissive dynamic because I am a submissive, and having experienced the thrills and spills that D/s romance offers, I don't just feel eminently qualified to do so, but I am truly, deeply and wholly passionate about it. Every second of every day it's on my mind and in my heart, which, by the way, has been shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, and made shining and whole and filled with joy. Such are the highs and lows Dominance and submission can bring.

  Having tried and failed with vanilla relationships during which I was constantly frustrated and unfulfilled, I came to an understanding and acceptance that vanilla simply doesn't work for me. If you read my blog, you can learn more about the addiction to this lifestyle and while every interaction is unique and based on the wants and needs of the individuals involved, they each share one truism. The submissive wants and needs the romantic domination of her man, and the Dominant wants and needs the gift of submission his girl offers.

  Visit her website here:

  www.maggiecarpenter.com

  Visit her blog here:

  http://maggiecarpenterdotcom.wordpress.com