by Ella Ford
A wave of surprise washed over me as he reeled off his list of house rules and, as the words sank in, a second emotion took hold of me: indignation. I was an independent and fully grown woman, not a child and certainly not Professor Cole’s child! I hadn’t lived by such a strict set of directives since I was twelve, I hadn’t needed to. The sudden imposition of this stranger’s wishes seemed alien and wrong.
I opened my mouth and began to protest. “Professor Cole, I understand, but with respect, I think I can manage to find my way home from…”
His hand shot up again, fingers together, palm flat, his eyes narrowed. Once again, I fell instantly silent, an unconscious response to the forceful gesture. I gasped and lowered my gaze, heartbeat accelerating to thump in my chest like a jackhammer. Oh god, I thought to myself, how does he do that?
“Thank you Jennifer. I didn’t ask for your feedback. When you’re living here, you’ll live by my rules and we’ll get along just fine. If this is somehow not acceptable, then you are free to find alternative accommodation.”
With that, he sat back in his chair and regarded me with a cool detachment that was almost chilling. I gazed back at him, itching to respond, itching to tell him where he could stick his accommodation and his rules. But there was something in that stare, something in those probing blue eyes, the scrutiny, the imposed feeling of authority. In that instant, I realized what I hadn’t before, what should have been so obvious about the relationship between Kate and Lucas Cole. This was not a marriage of equals, not in any sense that really mattered. There was a clear hierarchy here, with Lucas Cole occupying the top slot. As a thousand emotions and urges vied for attention in my mind, a single thought stood out above all others: did Kate Cole have rules that she had to follow as well?
When I finally spoke, my voice was was robotic and automatic. Words provoked more by instinct than conscious act. “Yes, Professor Cole. I understand.”
Chapter 2
On the evening of the third day, the day before my classes were due to start at college, I decided to take an early night. It was warm, intolerably so. It was the kind of late September day that rolled around a few times a decade, but which lived in the memories of those who experienced it for years to come. Luckily, the Coles’ house was fully air conditioned. But even so, the still air seemed thick and wet with moisture as the sun sank down over the distant sea.
The last few days had been hectic and exciting, a flurry of registration and administration, meeting countless new people who I could barely remember, establishing myself amid a sea of similarly minded young adults trying to establish themselves too.
Life at the Coles’ house, meanwhile, became relatively routine surprisingly quickly, and I barely gave that first conversation with Professor Cole a second thought as the days rolled by. In truth, his ride to college was welcome, meaning that I didn’t have to concern myself with taxis or public transport. Kate had returned to her friendly, relaxed self whenever I encountered her and Professor Cole spent most of his time at work or locked in his study at the far end of the house.
So, by the evening of the third day, I was feeling pretty good about things and far more relaxed than when I’d stepped off the train earlier in the week. Nevertheless, I reasoned, an early night would see me fresh and alert for the first of my classes the next day.
As I was preparing to get into bed, I noticed that my tumbler was empty and decided to head over to the kitchen to refill it. At this time of night, the house was still and dark, the only sound of any consequence being the constant background trill of insects in the garden and beyond. The tiled floor felt refreshingly cool beneath my bare feet as I padded lightly down the long corridor, passing by the closed doors of the other bedrooms, eager not to make a sound and disturb the Coles.
I reached the hallway and turned to the right towards the kitchen, but a sudden sound behind me stopped me in my tracks. It was innocent enough, the sharp creak of an old floorboard as someone stepped on it, but it was enough to attract my attention. I turned and found myself facing the partially closed door to Professor Cole’s study. The was a light on inside, spilling a warm radiance through the narrow crack into the hallway. I held my breath, and shifted in position, suddenly filled with a deep curiosity about the off-limits room. What was in there? What did Professor Cole do when he was locked inside? Why did he feel the need to lock it?
Gingerly, I took two steps forward and pressed myself against the far wall of the hallway, trying desperately not to make a sound. All I wanted was a look, a single glance, even though I knew it was wrong. Moving with an abundance of caution, I inched along the wall and stopped beside the door, then lowered myself to a crouch and turned to gaze into the room beyond.
Instantly, I pulled back, lifting my hand over my mouth and stifling a gasp. My heart began to thud loudly, beating a quick rhythm in my ears. What had I just seen? I thought to myself as I struggled to process the brief glimpse that had surprised me so much.
Seconds later, I regained my composure, and leaned in for another look. Through the crack in the doorway, the scene inside the room revealed itself once more.
In the center of the room, naked and kneeling, was Kate Cole. Her body was aligned with her side facing the door, visible to me in profile view. Her long hair was held up off her neck in a high ponytail and her head was lowered with her eyes closed. Her legs were folded beneath her and her body rested back on her heels with her knees held together, and her arms folded behind her back in a strange, unnatural pose.
My first instinct was that this was some elaborate yoga position. Kate seemed the type, and the way she was kneeling suggested discipline and meditation, a notion backed up by the look of calm, thoughtful reflection on her face. But as soon as the thought formed in my mind, I dismissed it as inaccurate. I couldn’t quite put my finger on why I was sure this wasn’t the case. I surveyed the scene with fascinated concentration before I realized what was amiss. Around Kate’s slender neck was a thick leather band. I’d initially mistaken it for a fashionable choker - hardly the standard uniform of yoga practice, but perhaps a Californian affectation? But there was something about this band that wasn’t quite right. It was thick and rigid, not delicate and refined. It felt industrial and restraining, with a small, silver ring fixed to the front face. It looked more like a dog collar than anything.
“Do you understand why we’re doing this Kate?” said a sudden voice from behind the door. Professor Cole, his unmistakably deep voice filling the quiet void of the silent house.
“Yes, Sir,” replied Kate, not lifting her head or moving her body in any way.
“Tell me.”
“I broke a rule, Sir,” replied Kate, her voice quiet and dripping with genuine guilt and remorse, like a child caught stealing.
From behind the door, the sound of two footsteps, measured and heavy. I crouched forward, suddenly desperate to see the scene before me play out.
“What rule did you break, Kate?” Professor Cole’s voice was steady and deliberate, every word seemed to possess a calculated weight. I glanced at Kate. Her eyes were still downturned. She appeared to be trembling. A slight shiver, barely noticeable, but present all the same. I had no idea what was happening, not a single clue. Was this some elaborate role play? A sex game? I was no stranger to physical intimacy, but this seemed kinky and weird. A part of me shuddered, the part of me that grew up in a small town rural community where sex was predictable and conservative, barely spoken about but often condemned. But this… this, I had no idea about. I knew then that I should leave, that I should allow the Coles their private moment. It was not for me to judge them. But I stayed firmly rooted to the spot, unable to take my eyes off Kate’s trembling, naked body.
“Sir, if I may?” Kate finally spoke. “I left my clothes on the bedroom floor, Sir.”
Kate’s words left her lips without a hint of irony or humor. In fact, as she spoke, her voice lowered, becoming thick with the weight of genuine remorse. I found myself frowning, wonder
ing why such a minor misdemeanor was being confessed in the same way as a multiple homicide. As I looked on, a single tear welled up in the corner of Kate’s eye and rolled down her cheek, dripping from her face onto her pert breast where it traced a silvery line to her nipple. Distantly, I noted that the small, pink bud was granite hard in the warm air.
“Tell me the rule Kate,” said Professor Cole.
Kate cleared her throat as though preparing to give a speech. “The third rule is: ‘I must endeavor to keep Sir’s house as tidy as possible at all times. An untidy house means an untidy life.’”
“Very good Kate,” said Professor Cole, as though praising a child for reciting a difficult calculation. “Tell me the eighth rule.”
“Sir, if I may?” began Kate. “The eighth rule is: ‘I must strive to be a good girl at all times. But I accept that sometimes I am a bad girl. In order to help me be a good girl, Sir must sometimes punish me with his hand.’”
Without thinking, I lifted my fingers to my lips and inhaled quickly. Punishment? Was this really happening? A thousand thoughts ran through my head, a thousand conflicting emotions and considerations. Was I witnessing abuse here? Was Professor Cole about to beat his wife? Why didn’t she leave? Why did she put up with such heinous levels of control? Why would a woman demean herself like this? I felt disgusted, by both him and her. Their relationship seemed to go against everything I knew to be right and proper. Women were no longer objects or property, no longer slaves or playthings. I had to get away, I had to get Kate away. We both had to leave this sick situation.
But I didn’t move. In fact, I shifted closer to the door, lowering myself from my haunches to my knees. I had to see more, I couldn’t look away. And, without thinking, I felt my hand slip down my chest and my stomach, touching softly on the delicate satin of my pyjama shorts, slender fingers caressing the hot flesh of my thighs. An afterthought that I didn’t attempt to stop.
“Bend over the desk please,” said Professor Cole with a matter-of-fact tone that betrayed no emotions about what was about to happen.
“Yes, Sir,” said Kate quietly, then moved quickly, lifting her head and springing up to her feet. She turned and walked briskly across the room to the opposite side and I shuffled sideways to follow her through the narrow gap in the door, hoping with a surprising intensity that she wouldn’t move to somewhere that I couldn’t see.
Kate reached the large desk on the right hand wall, at the very limits of the view that the open door afforded me, and then bent herself down on the rich, dark, mahogany surface, laying her bare breasts on the hard wood and reaching across to grip the other side. Then she lowered her head and waited.
I could scarcely believe what I was seeing. Kate’s naked body, her bottom exposed and raised, her legs splayed slightly apart to reveal the puffy, pink bulge of her labia. But what attracted my attention the most was the glistening wetness between her legs, a slick, silvery shimmer that coated her exposed genitalia, revealing an inexplicable arousal.
At once, Professor Cole stepped into view, revealing himself for the first time. He positioned himself behind Kate’s body, placing a short whiskey glass down on the desk beside her. He was dressed, as he always was, in a smart white shirt and suit pants, perfectly pressed with razor creases. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, revealing thick, tanned arms. As he stood beside Kate’s prone form, he towered over her like a giant over a child. His naked wife seemed diminished by her lack of clothes and the vulnerable position he’d placed her in.
But there was a tenderness there that shocked and surprised me. A warmth on his chiselled face as he gazed down at Kate before him. Almost fatherly, almost protective. A part of me, the part that held me in place, the part that needed to see this scene resolve for reasons I couldn’t yet identify, wondered if maybe he genuinely believed that this punishment - whatever it was - really was for Kate’s own good.
The Professor nodded then, apparently happy with what he saw, then he quickly flicked the clasp on his expensive watch and laid the timepiece down beside his whiskey glass with delicate precision. Without a single word, he moved to stand beside Kate’s exposed bottom and she shifted slightly, whether in anticipation or fear, I do not know. Reaching over with his left arm, he lightly traced his fingertips up Kate’s back, causing her to moan and lift her head slightly.
“Shh,” he whispered, then placed his hand flat on her back, applying a firm pressure that held his wife in place. The motion seemed to pacify Kate and she relaxed onto the desk surface, head lowering again to rest on her outstretched arms.
With his right hand, he lightly touched Kate’s bottom. I felt myself shiver as his enormous palm eclipsed the toned flesh of his wife’s behind. Between my legs, my wandering fingers pushed their way into the elasticated band of my shorts, probing forwards without conscious thought, finding a slippery wetness that was somehow surprising and expected in equal measure. With a delicate familiarity, I began to move my fingertips in slow, lazy circles, unable to look away from the scene before me.
“Ten strokes should be enough, I think,” said Professor Cole, moving his hand across Kate’s cheek, moving in a circular caresses that mirrored the motion of my fingers on my pussy. I sighed, my racing mind overflowing with strange and novel considerations, but all of them resolving back to a burning curiosity about what Kate was feeling, what was she experiencing.
“Yes, Sir. Thank you Sir,” said Kate, her muffled voice whispered and faint.
Professor Cole shifted his footing, parting the tree trunks of his legs until his feet were a shoulder’s width apart. Then, without a second of warning, he raised his right hand and pressed down with his left, hold Kate in place. For what seemed like a glacial epoch, but which must have been less than a second, he held his hand high above Kate’s bottom, palm flat, fingers outstretched. Kate inhaled and I noticed her body go tense, muscular buttocks clenching with the energy of anticipation. Then he swung his arm down and slammed his palm against her taut flesh, summoning a sharp, painful crack that echoed around the room.
Kate gasped and raised her head, her body rocked forward with the force of the blow but her motion was arrested by Professor Cole’s meaty hand on her slender back.
“Th-thank you, Sir,” she said between breaths.
Professor Cole shifted again and lifted his arm once more. As he did so, I caught a glimpse of Kate’s skin beneath his hand, already pink at the point of impact. Then his hand swung down again, harder this time, inciting another horrific crack. Kate whimpered and panted, squirming on the desk and sobbing.
“Thank you, Sir,” she said, barely more than a whisper.
As Professor Cole lightly caressed Kate’s bottom, I caught a glimpse of a prominent bulge in his suit pants, a hard and unmistakable presence. This wasn’t just discipline for him.
As the realization took hold, from deep inside myself I felt a rush of longing and desire, a warm flush that rose from my pussy and spilled out into my legs, my stomach, my arms. I licked my lips and sighed, shifting so that my fingers could delve deeper into the wetness between my legs. Professor Cole lifted his hand for a third time and my fingertips shifted gear, pressing on my throbbing clitoris with renewed urgency, provoked by the ruddy glow of red flesh on Kate’s behind. Then he swung down again. Crack. Without a single pause, he lifted his arm quickly and swung again. Crack.
Kate screamed and gasped repeatedly, her head raised, muscles in her neck pulled tight. She glanced back over her shoulder, seemingly pleading with her husband with tear-filled eyes. I thought that this would end it, that this would see her beg for mercy and put a stop to this archaic debasement. But, instead, she spoke once more, her voice possessing a firmness that was most unexpected.
“Thank you, Sir,” she said, then turned back to face away from her husband, gripping the desk’s edge tighter than ever and lowering her head.
To my surprise, her resolve thrilled me. Her obvious need to experience this degradation, this humiliation, this correction.
As Professor Cole’s hand struck the slight woman’s bottom for the fifth and sixth time, I felt myself becoming lost in a confusing world of unfamiliar longing and desire. My hand moved between my legs, fast and urgent, pressing, tugging, sliding through the slick folds of my aching sex. A warmth that could not be ignored roared out from my core, causing my breathing to quicken, my pulse to race. My mind was alive with a hundred new sensations and feelings, conflicting emotions that warred for supremacy. But, most of all, the hot need to release, for satisfaction, fueled by the sight of this giant of a man, this chiseled titan, giving this bad girl the punishment she deserved.
Again and again his hand raised. For a seventh time: crack! Her skin was burning red now, obvious hand prints revealing the site of her agony. An eighth time: crack! Kate wailed uncontrollably now, inconsolable sobs that rose to a sharp crescendo with each punishing strike, then faded to low whimpers enough for her to thank her husband. A ninth time: crack! In Professor Lucas’ pants, his erection bulged. It may have been my imagination, but it seemed to throb and pulse with every harsh strike. His face was held in a stone snarl, an animalistic intensity that gripped every one of his handsome features. He was breathing quickly through his nose, barrel chest rising and falling with every passing second.
The tension in the room was electric, air thick with low moans and the stink of desire. It seemed almost tangible, like a physical presence between the submissive Kate and her dominating husband, but also between the pair of them and me. Innocent, naive, flooded by feelings that I couldn’t explain or understand, my entire world turned upside down as I crouched there in the dark and frantically rubbed my pussy and struggled to stop crying out.