by J Lerman
Marc barely glances at me. He doesn’t even look at me as he passes me a handout. He asks questions throughout the class, and although I’m often the first to raise my hand, he never once picks me for the answer.
At the end of class, all the other pupils filter out, but I stay behind. I can see some of the pupils giving me odd looks and nudging each other.
I wait until the last pupil leaves the room, and then I walk around to where Marc is putting papers in his laptop case.
He doesn’t look up, but he glances sideways at me. ‘We’ve said all we need to say to each other, Miss Rose.’
That throws me. To be so dismissed. It hurts. I pull out the last of my courage.
‘No,’ I say. ‘There’s something I need to say to you.’
He snaps his laptop case closed and looks towards the back of the class.
‘Please, Sophia, don’t make this harder than it already is.’
‘This isn’t fair,’ I say. ‘You ignored me all through class. I’m here to take this course just like anyone else. I haven’t done anything to you -’
‘I thought it for the best,’ says Marc. ‘I thought you’d be pleased for me to act professionally. Properly.’ His voice falters on the last word.
‘I don’t want you to ignore me,’ I say.
‘You don’t know anything about me,’ says Marc. ‘And if you did, you’d be running out that door.’
‘Please,’ I say. ‘Even if nothing can happen between us, can’t we just try and act normally?’
‘I don’t think that’s possible,’ says Marc.
‘Why not?’
He looks at me then, and as usual I’m nearly knocked over by his eyes.
‘You really want to know?’
‘Yes. After your talk yesterday about managing your emotions, I’d really like to know.’
He gives a curt laugh. ‘That’s exactly what I am doing. I’m managing my emotions.’
‘By ignoring me?’
‘Yes. And if I didn’t ignore you ...’ He looks out the window.
The words hang in the air.
‘What?’ I ask.
He looks me dead in the eye. ‘It’s going to be hard to stop myself.’
‘From what?’
‘From crossing the line. From teaching you things I shouldn’t.’
I look at him, gobsmacked. For a moment, I feel like he’s playing a part. I remember seeing him in one movie – a futuristic apocalypse type film – where he talks like that to the leading lady. But this is no movie. We’re right here in the middle of the lecture theatre, and this is the real Marc Blackwell. Talking to me.
My heart starts hammering away, and I blush from my neck all the way to my forehead. He’s scared he’ll cross the line. Is that what I want? To cross the line with him? I realise with a rush of fear that I do. But another part of me objects to his arrogance. The fact that he thinks if he crossed the line, I’d automatically be a willing partner.
‘Who says I’d agree to that?’ I say.
A pained look flashes in Marc’s eyes. He puts his hands in his pockets, and leans his head back to look at the ceiling. ‘I do.’
‘That’s pretty arrogant of you,’ I say. But the truth is, I want to touch his lips. To be held in his arms again. To be with him. Every bit of me to be connected with him. And I guess he must know that.
There’s a noise in the corridor – the squeak of shoes – and Marc turns to the stationary cupboard beside the projection screen. He opens it, and I see the shelves of scripts, paper packets and boxes inside.
‘In here.’ I feel his large hand on my wrist. ‘Now.’ He pulls me inside the cupboard and closes the door. ‘I don’t want people gossiping.’
The cupboard is warm inside and smells of dust. There’s a little white desk and a chair against one of the walls. Marc still has his hand on my wrist. He’s holding it so tight.
‘Are you trying to torture me?’ he says. ‘Staying after class to talk to me, making this so much more difficult than it already is?’
‘Of course not,’ I reply.
‘You don’t know what it means to be mixed up with me.’
‘True,’ I say, feeling sick and scared and excited all at the same time. ‘But ... maybe I’m willing to find out.’
‘If anything happens between us – it could damage your reputation.’
‘And yours,’ I say.
‘I couldn’t care less about me,’ says Marc, frowning. ‘I have enough money to never work again. People – newspapers – talk about me all the time. I’m used to it. It doesn’t bother me. But you’re not part of that world and I don’t want you to have to suffer its ugliness.’ He shakes his head. ‘I can’t do that to you. It wouldn’t be right.’
‘Who has to know?’ I hear myself say. But then I don’t have the words any more. I don’t know what is happening, but I know I want it to happen. I fall shakily into him.
He lifts me onto the desk and kisses me, hard.
‘I’ve never lost control like this,’ he murmurs. ‘Never.’ He pushes my knees apart, and moves between my legs. I feel a hardness. He undoes my jeans and pulls them off, and I feel cool air on my bare legs.
He finds my underwear – a g-string made of thin, elastic strips – and winds his finger around the top of the elastic, pulling it tight so it cuts into my skin.
Then he slips his hand around my neck and pulls my hair tight, and I gasp.
‘Call me sir,’ he whispers into my ear.
Chapter 27
‘Sir,’ I murmur, and he pushes harder against me, pulling my underwear to one side.
‘I know you,’ says Marc, winding his hand around my hair. ‘When we were in the theatre yesterday, I knew what you needed. Someone to take charge of you. To dominate you. I knew how you’d like it. And I knew how badly I wanted you, but I thought I could resist.’
‘I don’t want you to dominate me,’ I say.
Marc laughs. ‘You do. Let me show you how much you’ll like it.’ He leans in closer.
‘Okay,’ I whisper.
Suddenly, Marc draws back. He pants against my neck, then lets go of my hair and steps back. ‘No. Not like this.’ He looks away. ‘I need to control myself.’
‘You don’t have to,’ I breathe.
Marc takes a step back. ‘If we’re going to do this, it should be slower.’ He picks my jeans up off the floor and hands them to me.
I take my jeans and swallow hard. ‘You want me to go?’
‘No.’ Marc shakes his head. ‘I don’t want that at all. But I’m moving too fast. You’re not ready yet. Go. I’ll be in touch.’
I pull on my jeans and head to the door.
‘I’m so confused,’ I say, opening the door. ‘I don’t know what just happened. But ... I guess I’d like it to happen again.’
I walk into the lecture theatre, and see Cecile in the doorway.
Oh shit.
‘I heard Mr Blackwell was in here,’ she says. ‘I wanted to talk to him.’
Marc appears behind me.
‘Mr Blackwell,’ says Cecile. ‘I wanted to speak to you about my performance. But I see you’re busy.’ She throws a poisonous glance at me, then marches off.
That afternoon in singing class, I can’t think straight. There are so many thoughts running around my head. And against all of them, there’s Marc’s face, and his hands gripping my legs, pulling off my jeans ...
In the evening, I have dinner with Tanya and Tom – a delicious-looking steak with chips that I barely touch, and wander back to my room at a stupidly early hour, refusing Tanya’s kind offer to take me to the campus pub. She knows something is wrong, but I hope she doesn’t know what.
I watch TV until one in the morning, then make myself a hot chocolate and go sit on the balcony, with my duvet wrapped around me. A cold breeze blows against my bare feet.
The campus is beautiful in darkness. Soft, yellow lights pick out shadows on the red bricks, and the ivy looks haunted and alive.
I’ve been watching the campus for maybe twenty minutes or so when I hear a knock at my door. The sound takes me by surprise, and I grip my empty hot chocolate mug and look back into the bedroom. Who could be knocking at this hour? The pub closes at eleven, and I doubt Tanya would be up until one on a weekday.
There it is again – a soft knocking. I kick off the duvet, put down my mug and walk into the bedroom.
The knocking is a little louder now.
I put my hand to the door handle, then hesitate. It’s late at night and I’m all alone. Maybe it’s not sensible to open the door. But the college has excellent security. All the gates are locked at night and manned by security guards, and no one can enter the accommodation block without an electronic key. So it must be one of the other students.
I open the door, and am totally unprepared for what I see.
Marc Blackwell is standing in the doorway, shadows cast over his taut, pale face.
He has one hand against the door frame, and he’s leaning against his forearm. ‘I saw your light on.’
I stare at him, open-mouthed.
‘I want more,’ he whispers. ‘Can I come in?’
I open the door and stand back.
As he walks into my bedroom, I remember the mess of my clothes everywhere, and books scattered around the place. The hot chocolate carton is open, and a milky spoon sits next to it. I’m not very tidy, and now Marc now knows it.
He glances at my bed, then marches through the open French windows onto the balcony. He looks out over the campus.
‘You kept my flowers,’ he says.
‘Yes,’ I say, quietly, joining him. ‘They were beautiful. So was the card.’
Marc nods, looking distracted. ‘Something from a different time. When my intentions towards you were honourable. Believe me, Sophia, I had no idea when I sent those flowers ... I hate myself for feeling this way, but ... I want more. I need more. If you’ll give it to me.’
I feel that tug again. It’s so strong. Being with him is intoxicating.
‘Okay,’ I whisper.
‘I want to know more about you,’ says Marc. ‘Have you had boyfriends before?’
I feel myself going red. ‘Of course.’
‘Tell me about them.’
‘Nothing big. Just a couple of boys at college and university. Nothing serious. Just, you know. Teenage stuff. I’ve been working too hard to have time for a social life.’
‘Did you have sex with them?’ Marc asks.
‘Yes,’ I say, going redder. ‘One of them.’
‘What kind of sex?’
Chapter 28
I blush again. What kind of sex? ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I suppose the usual kind. How many kinds are there?’
Marc’s lips tilt at the corners. ‘Lots and lots of kinds. You have to understand that with me, I need to do things a certain way. And I think you need things that way too. I think I can teach you a lot. In fact, I’m sure I can. Things you’ll like.’
‘And what if I don’t agree to that?’ I say, returning his quirky smile.
‘For this to work, you have to accept that I’m the one in charge,’ says Marc. ‘You need someone who knows what’s best for you, sexually and otherwise. I know your needs. More than you do, probably.’
‘I don’t know,’ I say, thinking back to that afternoon. It was probably the hottest few minutes of my whole life. The way he took charge of my body. I’ve never experienced anything like that before. I want it again.
‘I need you to make a decision,’ says Marc. ‘You’ll either let me take charge of you in the way I want, or I guess I’ll just have to leave the university.’
‘We’ve been through this,’ I say. ‘You can’t leave. It wouldn’t be fair.’
‘That’s our situation, Sophia. I can’t stay here, not being able to touch you, to teach you and to discipline you in the way I want.’
‘Discipline me?’
Marc turns to me. ‘Exactly right. If I take charge of you, I need to discipline you. If you step out of line, you’ll be punished.’
I swallow hard. ‘I’m not sure I like that idea.’
‘If you want hearts and flowers, walk away right now,’ says Marc. ‘You’re a beautiful, innocent young girl who any man would want. If I were you, I’d run a million miles from a man like me. But I know I can give you what you need. What you’ve asked for. I know I can bring out of you so much more. Teach you things you’ll like. Things no man has ever taught you before.’
‘So what do you mean by punishment?’
‘I need to be in control,’ says Marc. ‘That’s who I am. Which means if you step out of line, I have to discipline you. Maybe I’ll spank you. Maybe I’ll tie you up and fuck you until you can’t bear any more. It really depends how you step out of line.’
Oh my god. I squeeze my knees together. How can I be turned on by what he just said? It’s so arrogant and cold. But my god, it’s so hot.
‘Come inside. It’s cold out here.’ Marc strides into the bedroom. He pats the mattress beside him and I come and sit down.
His nearness is doing things to me, and I put my head in my hands. This is too hard. I still don’t really understand what he wants from me but, by the sounds of it, it’s some kinky, spanking type stuff that I am in no way ready for.
My heart beats hard in my chest, and tells me to run away. Fast.
‘I’m not ready,’ I say, ‘for what you’re talking about.’
He moves closer. ‘You are ready, Sophia. Trust me on that. I’ll take it slow.’
I look up. ‘Maybe ... if you take things very slowly. Maybe I could ... try.’
‘How many times have you had sex before?’ he asks.
Must he ask me questions like this? ‘I haven’t kept count,’ I say. ‘But not a lot. Maybe five or six times. With my boyfriend at university.’
He nods, and looks pleased. ‘There’s so much I can teach you.’ He takes my face in his hands. ‘Sophia, I’ll never hurt you or let anything happen to you. You’ll be safer with me than anyone, I guarantee that. But I will test you. I’ll challenge your boundaries, and help you explore new parts of yourself.’
I want to kiss him so badly. I feel myself leaning forwards, but he holds my face firm.
‘I have to have a decision from you, Sophia. Can you accept what I have to offer?’
‘I think I can,’ I murmur. ‘I think I can try.’ I lie down on the bed, wishing I was wearing something sexier than my pyjamas.
Marc stares at me, and his jaw ripples again. He moves forwards, then stops himself. ‘You’re sure about this? You want me to take charge of you?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I think so.’
He stands up and paces back and forth, watching me.
‘Take off your pyjamas.’
I slide the pink t-shirt over my head and slowly peel off my pyjama bottoms. Then I lie back in just my underwear – a white bra and panties.
‘It had to be white, didn’t it?’ he says.
He goes to the balcony and closes the curtains, then takes off his jeans and t-shirt. He’s wearing boxer-briefs, and I see a hard outline pushing against the fabric. It’s huge.
‘Are you ready for your first lesson, Sophia?’ he says, coming to the foot of the bed. He grabs both my ankles and flips me onto my stomach. Then he spreads my legs open, and I feel the flat of his palm moving back and forth between them.
‘Oh,’ I murmur into the pillow. ‘Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.’
‘I’ll stop if and when I feel like it,’ Marc whispers back. ‘You’ll do what you’re told, and feel what I want you to feel. I’m in charge.’
A shiver passes through me. Why is this so sexy? I can’t resist being carried along with the tide.
His hand carries on moving, and I feel heat building. Then he stops suddenly.
‘Please don’t stop,’ I murmur.
He slaps me between the legs, and I jump.
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Ow.
‘That’s a warning,’ he says. ‘Tell me what to do again, and I’ll teach you a real lesson.
Oh god.
He puts his hand back again and begins to rub.
Oh god, oh god.
‘I don’t want you to come yet. That’s an order. Not until I’m inside you.’
I feel the heat building, and I can’t help myself.
‘Oh Marc,’ I say out loud. ‘Oh, that feels so good.’
The world turns into coloured spots, and a wave of pleasure flows over me from my navel to my legs.
I feel myself sink deeper into the bed. I hear Marc’s footsteps, and then feel a duvet laid over my body.
Marc whispers in my ear. ‘I told you not to come. And Monday morning, I’m going to punish you.’
Oh good god. I’m not ready for anything like that. I’m really not.
‘Trust me, Sophia,’ says Marc, stroking my hair. ’
I hear him stepping into his clothes, and I murmur, ‘You’re not staying?’
‘I can’t stay here,’ Marc whispers, pressing the duvet around my body. ‘People can’t see me leave here in the morning. If we’re going to go down this road, I have to protect you, which means no one can know. We’re going to have to keep it a secret, at least for now.’
‘I wish you could stay.’
‘So do I. Monday.’
‘But ...’ I realise it was Friday when I went to bed, and now technically it’s Saturday morning. ‘That’s two days away.’
‘Monday,’ he replies. With that, he’s gone.
Chapter 29
I wake the next morning from the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had, but with a sad feeling as I feel the cold sheets beside me. Did it really happen? Did Marc Blackwell really come up to my room last night?
I smell his cologne against my duvet, and know that it’s true. He really did knock at my door in the middle of the night, and he really did say on Monday he was going to punish me.