by Madison Faye
Does he enjoy toying with me?
When the last student leaves the room, he pushes off his desk, stalks to the door, and flicks the lock.
My heart stutters an erratic beat in my chest, thump, thump, thumpity thump.
I wipe my damp hands on the plaid fabric and swallow hard. I’m so nervous, the blood pounds in my ears like a river, drowning out rational thought.
He turns to face me, and eyes me quietly before stalking back to his desk. He leans back, crossing his ankles and folding his hands. Jesus, he’s beautiful, flecks of gray in his beard making him look distinguished and refined. His body, even hidden in these fancy clothes, is sculpted and strong. I bet he lifts or… something. I can feel his latent power from where I sit.
“Do you have something to say for yourself?” he asks. “I told you not to be late today, and yet here you are.”
“I’m sorry,” I lie. I’m not sorry. It was exactly what I intended on doing.
He tips his head to the side. His deep voice makes my skin prickle. “Yes. We covered that. I explained that you will be sorry before long. Now my question to you is, do you have anything to say?”
I shake my head. “No, sir.”
“Why were you late?” he asks, his voice like the crack of a whip.
I jump, startled, but don’t respond.
“Careless in your preparations?” he asks. “Traffic? Didn’t leave enough time to get here?” He leans forward a bit, and his voice drops. “Or is there another reason, Ms. Romano?” He pierces me in place with his eyes.
“Call me Giada,” I say stupidly. “My mother’s Ms. Romano.”
He nods, but then his voice slaps over me like a wave crashing on the shore. “Answer the question, Giada.”
I jump. “Yes, sir,” I whisper.
He frowns. “Yes, what? What are you agreeing to?”
“The… the latter part of what you said.”
He looks at me sternly for a full minute before nodding once more. Then he unfolds his hands and crooks a finger at me. “As I suspected. Come here.”
My heart rate spikes. God, his authoritative voice undoes me. On autopilot, I unfold myself from my desk and approach him on trembling legs. What will he do? I swallow, hard. Why did I just admit that I’m playing into a fantasy? Will he understand why I did this? Can he throw me out of school for flirting with him?
Have I flirted?
When I reach him, I stand about three feet in front of him and stare up, my nerves completely shot. I’ve only ever fantasized about being with a dom. Hell, I don’t even know if he is one, but the man exudes authority like no one I’ve ever met before and if he doesn’t fulfill my dom fantasies, I’m not sure anyone will.
He crooks a finger at me. “Closer, please.”
Closer?
“Closer would be improper, Professor,” I say, lowering my eyes to show him I have no issue being improper, but I want him to acknowledge this.
He leans toward me. “Now.”
Alright then. Fuck proper.
I take another step closer, so close now I can feel heat curling in my belly. If he reached out he could touch me, we’re that close.
“There are better ways of getting what you need,” he says, his voice softening now, though his eyes are still sharp as flint. “I’m not much of a fan of manipulation.” He uncrosses his legs, pushes off from the edge of his desk, then stands over me.
My mouth is dry, my whole body shaking.
Maybe this was a stupid idea. What am I playing at? What is he playing at?
“It’s unfortunate some school systems no longer favor the application of a paddle for correction,” he says. “I, however, still firmly believe in its merits.”
Oh God oh God oh God.
“Oh?” I squeak, a difficult feat considering the fact my lungs are devoid of air.
I’m somewhere between elation—he is a dom! I knew it! This is it! and utter fear—what the hell is he going to do? Do I need my head examined? Should I scream?
He comes closer to me and takes my chin in his hand. It’s the first time he’s touched me. My skin’s on fire, my heart racing, when he speaks.
“You were ten minutes late, Giada,” he says, with an almost sorrowful tone. I feel suddenly small and chastened, but at the same time inexplicably aroused. His low tone sends a shiver through my body, and I involuntarily clench my thighs together to staunch the waves of arousal that wash over me.
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice a low purr. “I know.”
What’s he going to do?
He leans in, his mouth to my ear. “Bend over my desk.”
A fresh wave of need pulses to my pussy and I stifle a whimper.
This isn’t right. He’s my professor. If we’re caught, he’ll be fired and I’ll be kicked out of school.
“Someone could see us,” I argue, but that was apparently the wrong thing to say because he releases my chin, grabs my arm, and smacks my ass. My mouth drops open in shock, my body heating.
“Over the desk,” he repeats. “You have two choices. You bend over the desk and take your punishment, or I do it. But if I do it, I bare your ass first.”
I actually think about that for a second, and maybe a second too long, since he takes a step toward me. I practically throw myself on his desk, the cool wood pressing up against my belly as I grasp the sides of it. My cheeks flame with embarrassment knowing my ass, clad in the little schoolgirl skirt, is now prominently displayed. It’s so short, bending over like this has it riding high, so I know he’s getting a glimpse of the bare curve of my ass, since I chose a skimpy little thong.
He stifles a groan behind me, then steps close and lays a hand on my lower back. I wanted this. This was exactly what I wanted. Yet now that it’s actually happening, it’s scary as fuck. This is wrong. He’ll think I’m some sort of slut. And if anyone in this school had any idea that he was bending me over his desk to punish me…
I push up against his hand to stand. I can’t do this. But his hand just presses more firmly down.
“Did I give you permission to move?”
“No,” I croak, my voice choked. “But—”
“But what?”
That hand on my back steadies me, and I focus on quelling my nerves.
“This is… you shouldn’t be doing this,” I whisper.
“You shouldn’t have come late to class.”
“But I’m your student,” I protest. Even as I speak, though, I’m aware of the fact that if he doesn’t punish me now, I’ll walk away ready to cry with disappointment. This is it. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. I’ve fantasized about this every day while reading my books, fingering myself to sleep at night imagining being strewn over the lap of a hard-handed dominant.
I want this. I want this so fucking bad.
“You are my student,” he says, coming even closer so the heat of his flank is pressed up against me. “A student who disobeyed me. And in my classroom, disobedience earns consequences.”
I’m suddenly filled with an irrational jealousy. “You punish all your girl students?” I ask, the snark in my tone evident even to my own ears.
“No, young lady,” he says in a dangerous purr. “Just you.”
Then the next thing I know his huge palm slams against my ass so hard the sound reverberates in the classroom. It hurts. It fucking hurts. I gasp but barely recover from the spank before he delivers another wicked slap. He gives me another two slaps. I hold onto the desk so hard my knuckles are white. But as the pain seeps into my skin, I need more. Harder. Longer.
I close my eyes and lay my cheek on the desk. I don’t protest or scream or try to get away. It hurts like hell but it hurts so good, my sex clenches with the need to be filled. My body begs to feel this measured, deliberate pain. I should be ashamed. I’m being punished for disobeying his rules. But I don’t feel ashamed.
I just want more.
I’m so immersed in my real life fantasy come to life that I lose track of my bearings f
or a minute, completely sinking into the feel of the spanking he’s giving me, how wrong it is that he’s my teacher, and how I need this.
He continues until my ass throbs with the pain, heat radiating from my scorched ass. Then he tugs my skirt back down, but it’s so short, he barely moves it. “Next time you come to this classroom, you dress more appropriately,” he orders in a gritty growl. “And you’ll come on time, or you’ll find yourself over my desk for a paddling. Understood?”
I groan, floating on endorphins and fantasy. “Yes, Daddy.”
He freezes. I open my eyes, suddenly aware that this isn’t play, this isn’t a scene, and that I really am, in fact, being spanked by a dom.
And I just called him Daddy.
My ass is on fire, my clit pulsing for attention, and all he does is lift me up off the desk and spin me around to look at him.
“Did you just call me Daddy?” he growls.
I fucked up. Oh, God, I totally fucked up. He’s going to hate me. He’ll push me away and never want to do this to me again. My one chance at being dommed, and I blew it with my big mouth.
“Yes, sir? I’m sorry, I-I don’t know what came over me.”
“Good girl,” he says with an appreciative twitch of his lips. “That’s what Daddy likes to hear.” There’s no remorse in his eyes and gone is the flash of anger, but when I look at him I realize his gaze mirrors how I feel.
He wants me as badly as I want him. And he not only didn’t freak the hell out when I called him Daddy but called himself Daddy, too.
Oh, sweet Jesus.
“You ever been spanked before?” he asks sternly, still holding my chin.
I swallow hard. “No,” I whisper.
He stares at me for a moment before bending down and brushing a chaste kiss across my cheek. Then he releases me like I’m on fire. I stumble back, surprised, when a knock sounds at the door. My cheeks flame. I gather up my books and turn away from the door as he walks over and opens it. I pretend to drop something and fall to the floor to pick it up.
“So sorry,” he says to whoever’s on the other side. “Didn’t know that door locked behind my students.” My cheeks are too hot to look to see who it is. Can they see the mark of his hand beneath the hem of my skirt?
But my mind is on what just happened and all I can hear is that’s what Daddy likes to hear.
“Thank you,” he says. “Yep, I’ll see you there.”
The door closes, and he greets me with a chuckle. “You can come out of hiding for now.”
I look up at him, but he’s only matter-of-factly gathering things up on his desk, as if we’ve just had a tutoring session, and he didn’t just light my world on fire with the hottest spanking of my life. He tucks papers into a folder, then slides them into a briefcase bag before looking up at me.
“Tonight’s assignment, Giada?”
I look at my notes. “Send you a sample of my fictional work,” I stammer. Oh, God. He wants to see what I’ve written. He knows I’ve dreamed about being dominated and explored those dreams in my writing. How can I send this to him?
But if I hadn’t let him in on my dirty little secret last night, would he have spanked me today?
“Good job,” he says.
I miss good girl. But I suppose that’s likely earned.
“And if you come to class late tomorrow, what happens?”
My cheeks pink when I look at him. He’s staring at me from beneath dark brows.
“I—you’ll punish me.”
He nods and crosses his arms on his chest. “With what?”
With what? He didn’t say. Oh, wait.
My voice cracks when I answer. “Um, you said you’d paddle me.”
He nods, all stern and sexy dom. “Then you know what to do. Unless you want a paddling, you’ll come to class tomorrow and behave yourself. Go, now.” He points to the door, effectively dismissing me. I gather my things and practically run.
Did he just dare me?
Chapter Four
Geoff
I try to work this off at the gym, but I’ve got a case of blue balls I can’t fucking ignore. I hit the punching bag with vigor, trying to forget the sight of her bent over my desk, ass on display. The sight of my handprint on her bare skin. The way she panted when I spanked her, a girl who needs a firm hand if ever I saw one.
She’s my fucking student.
I shake my head and punch the bag again, welcoming the ache in my arms and abs from the pounding I’m giving this, but my hard-on and frustration don’t abate. Swearing under my breath, I get dressed, head home, and out of pure necessity, rub one off in the shower.
A man has to cope, after all.
I want to go to Verge, but I have a crazy amount of papers to grade. Though my assignments are lighter in the summer, and I only have a few classes, the classes are intense, so we cover a lot of ground in a short time period. I can’t let myself drown in it if I get behind.
But I know what’s waiting for me in that inbox if she’s behaved herself.
Christ, the way she called me Daddy. I don’t know her at all, but I know I need to know her better. Teach her to mind me. Teach her her place.
And damn it all to hell, I was gonna apply for faculty chair in the fall.
How can I bring myself to do that, when all I can focus on is how badly I need to dominate my student, and get her into Club Verge without anyone realizing who she is?
After I shower, I change and sit at the table, I tell myself now I’m going to focus. My conscience plagues me, though. I screwed up today, big time. Teachers don’t fraternize with students, and they most definitely do not bend them over the desk to spank them. If the department chair found out… I shake my head and open up my laptop. First, I want to check last night’s Yankees score.
My phone beeps, indicating an email, so I open it up quickly, then grin as I see a message from Giada showing up in my inbox. I’ll enjoy her chastely while she’s under my care. I mean, all I did was spank her. It wasn’t like I fucked her.
Yet, chides a little voice in my head.
I click the email, eyes widening as I read, and read, and read.
Yeah, this was not my imagination. Hell, she’s letting me into hers.
“On your knees, little sub,” says Master Steel. “I’ll give you a good use for that naughty mouth of yours.”
As I read the torrid scene, complete with vivid imagery and a physical description of the club, I’m struck dumb. Though she doesn’t describe every detail, I can provide ample details for the rest of this as well. The private rooms, the kinky toys and implements at one’s disposal.
The way she describes the inside of this club, I realize pretty quickly I can picture this club because I know this club. I know the shiny black door that lets me enter. Hell, I’ve stood guard at that door as bouncer so many times I’ve lost count. I know where the bar is to the left and the pool tables and community area to the right. I know the tables where people sit and mingle before they make their way to the dungeon or private rooms.
She’s described Verge in her world of fiction.
She’s been there before.
I frown and stare at my laptop.
Don’t do it, my head warns. Don’t do it. She’ll chew you out and play you for a fool. And hell, if you get roped into things with her… if anyone ever finds out what you’ve done to her…
But I can’t help it. I need to know.
I shoot her a reply email before my head explodes.
Thank you for your email, Giada. You’re a very good writer, and I’m impressed with the narrative structure of your work, as well as the flow of dialogue and vivid description.
There’s only one problem.
Did you take this from real life, or is this place a work of fiction? If it is real, you need to identify it. There are rules and regulations governing mention of real people, places, and things, and works of fiction depicting real life places without due credit could result in serious legal repercussions.
This is total bullshit. There really aren’t laws prohibiting her from describing a place that actually does exist, but the white lie is quite convenient for vetting out the truth.
I shut off my laptop and get to my feet.
I want to be the one to take her to Verge, but she’s already been there. How? As someone else’s sub? A flare of white-hot anger curls in my gut. I have no claim on the girl, but the idea of someone so young, so innocent, being dommed by anyone else makes me sick.
I remember the way she looked at me after I spanked her ass, her eyes half-lidded with arousal, the energy between us cracking like a live wire.
“Yes, Daddy.”
I need to find her.
For the second night in a row, I head to Verge. I barely greet Brax at the door, on a mission to comb this club until I find her, to track her down and find where she lives if need be.
“Hey, man.” Zack’s sitting at the counter with a beer, Beatrice kneeling obediently at his feet with her chain on again. She’s feisty as fuck, but I know that when she’s here, she likes the taste of humiliation. But the sight of her kneeling and collared reminds me of the scene Giada wrote, and I feel my teeth snap together as I clench my jaw. I nod at Zack, without saying anything. Travis pulls me a drink, pushes it to me across the bar, and I drink half of it in huge gulps.
Zack raises a brow.
“You good?”
“I’m good,” I say with a sigh. “But listen, man. Question for you. You know a girl by the name of Giada Romano who comes in here?”
Frowning, Zack shakes his head. “Nah. But you know half the people that come in here don’t use their real names on the floor. You looking for someone?”
As a detective for the NYPD, Zack can give me some answers if I need them.
Do I want to involve him, though?
I shake my head. “Nah, I’m good.”
He jerks his head behind me. “Tobias might be able to help,” he offers.
Tobias joins us at the bar. “What’s up?”
I ask him the same question. As club owner, he has a good tab on all the members here. He would know. He nods when I ask him about her name, stroking his chin, dark eyes focused on me.