Climax: Volume 2

by Ella Ford

  For a final time, Professor Cole raised his hand and lingered above his wife’s naked bottom. Her body tensed, anticipating once more and preparing herself for what must by now have been a familiar pain. He swung his arm down and made contact, striking her with enough force to inch the heavy desk backwards. CRACK! The sound reverberated around the room and Kate screamed out, louder than ever, voice laced with genuine pain.

  “Th-thank you, Sir,” she panted, “I will try to be a good girl.”

  Professor Cole grunted and shifted his body again. He face never lost that animal intensity, that wild, barbaric passion. Instead, he gazed down at Kate’s body with a hunger that was palpable. He reached forward with both hands and grabbed her arms, pulling them back to her sides and folding them behind her back, pressing down with his left hand on her wrists and holding her in place. She whimpered again, still sobbing from the pain of the final strike, but now expressing a different need. As I looked on, she parted her legs, revealing the slick mess of her pussy.

  I felt a rush of sensation ripple through me as I realized what was about to happen, something inevitable and wonderful. A similar realization that Kate was undergoing right now.

  Professor Cole shifted to stand behind the glowing flesh of his wife’s bottom, and frantically fumbled with his belt and zipper, then he pushed his pants and undershorts down his thick, meaty legs, until they gathered around his ankles. I lifted my hand to cover my mouth as the majesty of his body was revealed to me; the carved perfection of his mighty buttocks, taut and hard with sexual tension; the thick, throbbing shaft of his enormous cock, rippled with veins and radiating energy like a reverse lightning rod.

  Without a second of warning, Professor Cole rammed his cock into Kate’s pussy, rocking her body forward with as much force as each hit of her cruel punishment. Onwards he pushed, sinking his rigid length into her as deep as it would go. She screamed out again, but it was a different kind of scream this time; a scream of fulfillment, tinged with an element of fear.

  Professor Cole’s body began to rock back and forth, slipping his shaft out and ramming it back with a piston-like motion, gathering pace with every thrust of his hips, flesh slamming on flesh with a meaty slap.

  Kate looked tiny with him inside her, a ragdoll, limp and restrained, a fuck puppet for his pleasure. Her body followed his motions, sliding forwards on the desk, pulled backwards as he withdrew. She was powerless to stop it, powerless to resist this rough fucking.

  As I kneeled there, alone in the dark, lost in my own world of intense sensations, hand playing over my sex in a blur of motion, panting heavily, skin slick with the sheen of perspiration, I realized something. I realized that Kate didn’t want to resist, she didn’t want to be free of Professor Cole’s brutal cock. She didn’t want to escape this violent, degrading pounding, this not-quite-rape. I realized that his beating and his fucking were two sides of the same coin for her. That she genuinely wanted what he offered her - the chance to be a good girl.

  Inside the room, Professor Cole’s strokes quickened to a hot crescendo. He lifted his head back, eyes clenched tightly shut. His hands gripped Kate’s tiny waist, riding her like a rodeo bull, releasing her wrists, but they stayed in place anyway. He began to grunt, savage and loud, not caring who heard. Faster and faster, deeper and deeper, burying his cock into her as he chased the sweet release of orgasm.

  And all the while, my own hand moved, fueled by the intensity that I was witnessing, spurred on by Kate’s frantic cries, her muffled pleas for satisfaction. A hot fire raged inside me, threatening to spill over and overwhelm me, but I held it back, desperate to see this through to the end, to follow this strange couple wherever they took me.

  Then Professor Cole’s rhythmic motion quickened briefly, his hips thrusting into his prone wife with violent stabs. Once, twice, three times. Then he held it there and growled, a chesty, rumble that shook the delicate whiskey glass on the desk before him. Kate cried out, her own body becoming tense and rigid as her husband’s load filled her pussy.

  “Yes, yes, oh god yes!” she screamed, her voice tiny and lost beneath the bass growl of her husband’s climax.

  For the briefest of seconds, I lost concentration, captivated by the scene before me. Between my legs, my own orgasm erupted, blossoming out in a supernova of sensation, igniting my nerve endings with its furious fire. I doubled over, slamming my legs together, locking my hand on my pussy and almost touching my head to the floor. I desperately wanted to cry out, to scream, to release the maddening tension in my body. But I knew that must not, that I must not reveal myself to Professor Cole and his wife. I knew that instinctively, I knew that I didn’t want to be a bad girl.

  The orgasm raged through me and I somehow maintained control of myself, pushing the tension and energy back inside, somehow containing it within me. My body rocked back and forwards on the floor, echoing the motion of Kate’s naked body as she’d been spanked, as she’d been fucked.

  And then it ended, leaving me like a departing storm. My body relaxed, muscles still twitching with the memory of the animation.

  I glanced up. In the study, Professor Cole was still inside Kate, his hands placed flat on the desk to either side of her, leaning forwards, head held low, he panted and snarled.

  Gathering myself together, I inched backwards, still on my knees, suddenly needing to be away from this place. I stood, urging my trembling legs to hold me up, fearful that I would fall and reveal myself. After swaying unsteadily for a few seconds, I regained my footing and padded silently back along the corridor, back to my bedroom, back to my own world.

  But there would be no sleep that night, and my own world would never be the same again.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, everything seemed perfectly normal.

  Kate Cole fussed around me, as she had every morning of my stay at the Cole’s residence, serving fresh coffee and orange juice, goading me into another slice of toast or a second egg with a good-natured insistence that I found difficult to resist. She seemed to be entirely unchanged by the savagery of the night before. There was no hint of any ill-effects, no look of remorse or guilt or shame. The degradation of her beating and the physical impact on her flesh seemed to have been shrugged off completely, like water from a duck’s back, as the saying goes.

  As I sat there, stock still and in complete silence, I marvelled at how bright and breezy she seemed, how perfectly… normal. For most of the previous night, I’d lain awake, replaying the intimate scene that I’d witnessed, playing it over and over in my mind. How wrong it had felt to me, but how right it had seemed at the same time. For every preconceived notion of female equality that my stolen trespass had brushed up against, it seemed, in turn, to spark deeper feelings of hierarchy, igniting primitive instincts that I’d never had reason to consider before. And that scared me.

  It scared me that I hadn’t done anything, that I hadn’t walked out in disgust, that I had simply accepted it, experienced it without question. Even worse, that I’d achieved my own feelings of pleasure and release witnessing the barbarity that occurred before me. To find out something so shocking about yourself and your preconceived notions was dizzying and exhilarating in equal measure.

  “Good morning girls,” said a deep voice behind me. I turned and saw Professor Cole stepping into the kitchen, walking with an uncharacteristic spring in his stride. The older man was clean shaven, revealing his strong jawline and the delicate rise in the corner of his mouth, that perpetual look of knowing amusement. His suit today was a light linen, with a loose fitting shirt and perfectly tailored jacket and pants. He looked relaxed and approachable. As he stepped past the table where I sat, he leaned down and planted a quick kiss on Kate’s forehead which made her face melt with an adoration that I’d never seen before. Eyes wide and doe-like, gazing up at the towering hulk of her husband, she looked like a child with a parent - not the first time I’d made that mental connection.

  “Are you ready for your classes today Jen
nifer?” Professor Cole asked as he sat down opposite me, unfolding his newspaper and barely looking in my direction.

  “Yes, Sir,” I said without thinking. Immediately, a hot flush spread over my cheeks and I lowered my eyes, taking a deep sip from my orange juice, hoping that the ground would swallow me up. Professor Cole peered at me over the top of his newspaper, raising a single quizzical eyebrow, then he looked back at whatever article had caught his eye and continued reading, stopping occasionally for a sip of coffee or a bite of toast.

  For the next hour, I sat in perfect silence, watching the couple interact, marvelling at their normality, the overwhelming banality of their interactions. There was nothing sinister here, I slowly convinced myself, there was nothing shameful or bizarre. The more I thought about it, the more I dismissed what I’d seen as nothing more than the kinky fantasy life of a married couple, an elaborate role play based on consent and mutual desire. And, as my acceptance of this new normality grew, so did my sense of shame, the feeling that I’d intruded on a deeply personal moment, something that was between Lucas and Kate alone and not for outside eyes.

  But most of all, I felt a kind of relief, a strange reassurance that my time with the Coles would be a rewarding one, spent with two genuinely interesting people without the baggage of knowing that one party was living as some kind of sex slave or possession. With that, I set about my first day proper of college life with a spring in my stride that matched the post-carnal glow of my gracious hosts. Today, I resolved, would be a good day.

  ---

  The week came and went in a flurry of new information and experiences. I must have met a hundred new people, each one as eager as the last to know where I was from, what my major was, where I was living, why they hadn’t seen me around dorms, which clubs or societies I was going to join. In truth, I answered most questions with a pang of regret, knowing that my unusual living circumstances were holding me back from experiencing college to its fullest extent. The sordid tales I heard and the bleary eyes I witnessed seemed to confirm every stereotype that Hollywood had ever portrayed about college life as based in solid reality, and I was missing out on it. Partly because of where I lived, but also because of Professor Cole’s strangely strict house rules.

  I told myself that it was only for a few weeks, just as long as it took for the administrative backlog to clear and for my name to work its way to someone’s attention. Living with the Cole’s wasn’t so bad. They mostly kept themselves to themselves, and let me get on with my life.

  And then, on the Monday of the second week, everything changed.

  It was early evening, around eight. The sun had begun its slow plunge into the distant ocean an hour before and the rosy red fire of the sunset had finally faded to a pale darkness. The unforgettable heatwave of the previous week had finally released its hot grip and the night time air had a light chill in it that warned of the coming change in the weather. Being California of course, the change seemed barely noticeable, at least compared to the midwest where I was from, but it was a welcome respite nonetheless.

  I was alone in the living room, curled up on the sofa watching TV. Kate Cole was out at her pottery class and Professor Cole was, as most nights, locked away in his study. I didn’t expect to see him before I went to bed, not until tomorrow morning at breakfast.

  So it was something of a surprise when I heard a door in the hallway creak open and the heavy thud of his footsteps plod across the wide passageway into the living room. I turned my head and saw my host standing in the archway gazing at me with a peculiar expression. His hands were planted firmly on his hips, thick arms bent at the elbows where his shirt sleeves were gathered.

  “Hi, Professor Cole,” I started pleasantly. We’d gotten on well in the last few days, sharing many interesting conversations in his car too and from college. He was an interesting personality that seemed almost fatherly and wise. “Cold night out tonight,” I added jovially.

  “Could I see you in my study please Jennifer?” he said, completely ignoring my question. There was something in the tone of his voice. A certain calmness, a measured intonation that seemed familiar and daunting. Then he turned on his heel and headed back towards his study.

  I blinked, wondering what on earth could be wrong. For the briefest of seconds, I wondered if he’d heard something from my family, that there’d been an accident or something, and my heart skipped a beat. But I quickly realized that they would contact me first on my cellphone. I’d spoken to them every night! Maybe it was about college? Maybe they’ve found me a dorm room? I thought to myself.

  Then I shook my head and stood, berating myself inwardly for worrying. There was only one way to find out.

  I stepped quickly across the living room and into the hallway, breezy skirt flowing over my bare legs. I shivered as my feet touched the cold tiles of the hallway and skipped across in a few long strides. When I reached the door, I knocked twice and then pushed my way in, not even thinking about it.

  Professor Cole was sitting behind his desk - the desk where he’d spanked and fucked his wife, I thought with a distant and dim realization. He was holding something in his hands. A TV remote control, I noticed with a vague interest. As I entered the room, he glanced up at the wall, drawing my own gaze to a mounted flat-screen television that hung there like a thin slice of ebony art.

  I closed the door behind me, suddenly feeling a stab of apprehension, and stepped into the room, standing before Professor Cole’s desk like a naughty schoolgirl in the principal's office.

  “Y-yes, Professor Cole?” I stammered, swaying back and forth on my bare feet.

  He remained perfectly quiet, still gazing at the TV screen. Then he raised his hand and flicked a button on the remote control. The screen flickered into life. Dim at first, but gaining brightness and clarity in a matter of seconds.

  I blinked, unable to make out what I was looking at. It was dark, a strange mass of greys and blacks and faint whites, grainy and indistinct, a room perhaps, a person maybe? A…

  The bottom fell out of my world as I realized what I was looking at.

  The television was showing the recording from a camera. Taken from high up in the hallway, the grainy, night-vision image was showing the doorway to Professor Cole’s study. Crouching off to the left of the scene, pressed up against the wall and leaning torwards to a bright shaft of light through the partially open door, was a figure, partially hunched, legs apart slightly, one hand pressed firmly between her legs. As I watched, she rocked backwards and forwards, mouth parting as she panted silently.

  Oh god, oh god, that’s me!

  The realization washed over me with a rush of dizzying vertigo and I swayed backwards, moving my leg at the last second and preventing myself from falling over.

  “Professor Cole,” I breathed, barely able to talk, “I can explain. I…”

  He raised his hand and turned towards me. I fell silent without hesitation. With a flick of his thick fingers, he turned off the TV and set the remote control down on the desk beside him, arranging it neatly with a disproportionate amount of care that seemed to draw out the silence for an endless amount of time. I considered speaking, considered pleading my case. A thousand thoughts were erupting in my mind like twinkling stars. Would I be thrown out of his house? Would I be thrown out of college? Would he tell my family? My cheeks burned with a shame that I had seldom experienced.

  “Do you know why you’re here, Jennifer?” he asked calmly, and I felt a rush of deja vu.

  “I’m sorry, I…”

  “Do you know why you’re here, Jennifer?” he asked again, more firmly this time, the deep baritone of his voice shaking the glass decanter on the shelf behind him so that it tinkled in a way that would have been pleasant and calming in any other situation.

  I was breathing quickly, heart pounding like a cornered rabbit. But even then, even on the edge of the precipice that I was about to plunge over, I had no clue about what was going to happen to me. At that moment, I still thought that
he was going to tell the college about me. How blissfully naive!

  But suddenly, like dawn breaking over a quiet land, I realized what he was asking. Unbidden, the memory of a voice rose in my mind: Professor Cole’s. “You must never go in those rooms, or even look in them.” And I realized why I was there.

  I stood up straight and lowered my gaze. “I’m here because I broke a rule,” I said meekly.

  “Which rule did you break, Jennifer?” he asked, calmer again, a patient tone of understanding that had no place in this strange interaction.

  “I… I looked into your study,” I answered, a warm tear spilling down my cheek.

  “Very good, Jennifer. Do you know what is going to happen?”

  I did.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “Because I’ve been a bad girl, Sir.” My words were coming without conscious thought now. I was speaking with an instinct that I never knew I had, driven only by the inescapable feeling that this was right, that this was just, that I did deserve what was about to happen.

  Professor Cole stood without saying a word, gripped the back of the heavy seat he’d been sitting on and lifted the bulky chair around to where I stood. Then he placed it facing me and sat down. Even sitting, he was taller than me. I felt tiny and vulnerable beside him. A delicate nymph before a forest giant.

  “What do we do with bad girls, Jennifer?” he finally spoke.

  “Punish them, Sir,” I answered without thinking, as if openly discussing the physical assault of defenseless females was the most normal thing in the world.

  “Why do we punish them?”

  “To help them… to help them be… good girls.”

  My words were broken and stammered, though not because I didn’t know the answer or because I didn’t want to utter the phrase that he wanted to hear so much. It was because, at that moment, I realized how badly I wanted this. How much I craved this sinful correction. How much I dearly, deeply wanted to be a good girl. This novel awakening thrilled me more than I could possibly have imagined.