Sarah's Tutorial: Corbin's Bend, Book 2 (8 page)

"It's time for aftercare," he said and gathered her into his chest, kissing her tenderly, all over her face, over and over.

"What's aftercare?"

"That's when I tell you what a very, very good girl you were for me."

"Oh."

More kissing.

"Do I call you 'sir' or 'John'?"

"Aftercare is for you, sweetheart. Call me whatever feels best." Could she detect the tiniest bit of hope in his voice? She wished she knew which one he hoped for, because...

"John?" she said.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I... I know I probably shouldn't, but... but I can't help it..."

He kissed her forehead. "I think... I think maybe you should." Did he know what she meant?

She took a deep breath, and looked into his eyes. "John, I love you."

"I love you, too, Sarah."

Chapter 11

October and November. Ten years later, John and Sarah could still say "October and November" to one another, and share a secret smile that was the visible counterpart to the arousal both of them always felt in different parts, further down, at the sound of the phrase.

Sarah Harshaw's bottom was deflowered the night of Friday, September 27. The next morning, Professor Dunn told Sarah that for all practical intents and purposes she would move in with him. They drove back to Sandy Ridge separately, in their cars. John waited while Sarah packed a bag and had an awkward little conversation with Marilyn. Then John took her first to a clinic for a birth control shot, then back to his house in his car, leaving her car in Sandy Ridge. When the front door had closed behind them again, Professor Dunn said, "Clothes off, Sarah. You'll be naked when we're here by ourselves, from now on."

It seemed so ordinary a command, after everything she had submitted to the previous night, that Sarah simply obeyed, stripping off her T-shirt and jeans, then her bra and panties, in the guest room, which John told her was now her room.

Sarah lost her virginity, as the concept is traditionally conceived, late that night, with John looking deeply into her eyes and her knees hooked over his arms, crying out in pain just the way she was supposed to, knowing she was supposed to, and seeing in her professor's eyes just how wild it drove him to hear her cry out that way.

It was so traditional, and so nontraditional, at once. John said, when he had lodged the head of his cock that first lovely half inch inside her coral inner lips, "I love you so much, Sarah." But then, after the first, hard thrust, and the first cry of pain, when she opened her eyes again to see him devouring her with his own eyes, enjoying the way her face twisted in pain at the loss of her pussy's innocence, he said, "Such a nice little cunny. It feels good on your Master's cock." And he began to move, murmuring, "That's so nice to fuck. Your little cunt is so nice and tight, little slut."

It was the terrible, demeaning words, of course, that drove Sarah wild, and made her say, "Fuck me harder, sir. Please, sir, come in my little pussy," once that first bloody, burn-y part had faded into memory.

If she had to choose the part that made her most exultant, it was the way they always talked to one another, whether he was in the shower with her, delighting in washing her naughty bits even as he kissed them, saying, "We must get this nice and clean, mustn't we?" with her replying, "Yes, sir. I want to be clean for you," or she was learning really to give head, and he said, "Oh, yes, that's very nice, young lady. You're learning to be a very good girl, aren't you?" or they were sitting at the kitchen table, eating pizza, talking about Rome, and what she wanted to see there most of all, and how he would take her there, and at what hotel they would stay, and how he wanted to make love to her all night with the sound of the fountains in the background. That was strange, because it was the first time the phrase “make love” had been uttered by either of them, but as October wore on, vanilla sex began to enter their repertoire. It was never a huge thing: nine times out of ten, what they did could only be described as fucking, but with that as context, sometimes it even seemed kinky to pretend they were a normal couple–like the first time she was on top during sex, and she cried because she had never thought she could feel so connected to someone else as she did looking down into John's eyes, seeing them lit up with joy at the thought that his cock made her feel so good.

The talking was the best part because it was so different from what she'd grown up with. Her parents were wonderful, and she loved them, but as far as she could tell they never talked much with one another, let alone with their children. Their beliefs about self-determination didn't extend to helping a girl who wanted to live in ancient Rome or medieval England determine how best to act on that passion. The invariable response had always been, "That sounds really interesting. You should ask the librarian about that, Sarah." At college, she had begun to have real conversations. She remembered thinking one night at dinner in the dining hall that she and her friends were having a real conversation about real things: politics, theology, literature–things that she had just never talked about at home. Her conversations with John in October and November about themselves, about Roman history, about kinkiness, were a kind of ultimate realization of the dream she had seen coming true at college–words that really mattered: dialogue that seemed to build something missing before.

John wanted to know about why Livy's early history of Rome fascinated her, about how she'd found Mommsen, about what she wanted to do, and see, and be. If she had to pick one thing from October and November that she always wanted to remember, it was after he had put her collar around her neck for the first time, and she sat in his lap on the sofa in front of the fire, with him in jeans and T-shirt and her in, well, nothing except the collar, and they were (she was sure no one would ever believe it, but it was true) talking about Roman history.

That was one of the many forms that aftercare took for them. She wouldn't say that aftercare was her favorite part, because that seemed to her to betray her absolute need for the spanking and the caning and the brutal sex, but it was certainly the sweetest part. The first time it happened that way, with her collared, in front of the fire, was at about 2 a.m. on Sunday 29 September, when she had been enjoyed by John in every way a man can enjoy a woman, and she felt the very beginnings of what John told her was called “subdrop”. The fire was very warm, but she still shivered a bit in his arms.

"Shh, Sarah. Shh. It's OK. It's normal. I'm here. I'm holding you."

"John... is it wrong?"

He snuggled her close, and kissed her brow, then her lips. "No, sweetheart, it's not wrong."

"But... the things I want..."

"The things we need," he said firmly. "The things we need to find fulfillment."

"Do I really need them? Aren't they bad? Don't we have to ask God to take away our sinful desires?"

"Sarah," John said. "This is who we are. Never deny it; it leads only to pain. I spent twenty years married to someone who could never understand that it was natural that I need the things I need. I had to hide it from her. I don't want you ever to feel that way, whatever happens to us."

"Was she right, though? How do you know that it's natural?" Sarah started to become agitated. "How can it be natural to want to be fucked in the ass?"

"The same way I know it's natural to love my neighbor, or to want to do good in the world. We're made to feel pleasure, and that's really the only way to tell whether something is good–as long as we're making other people happy at the same time. If you want to tell me that you don't feel pleasure when you're having one of those amazing anal orgasms, I guess I'll believe you, but I don't think you'll do that."

"No," Sarah said with a giggle. "No, I won't. So you're saying God wants me to squirt?"

"He wants you to squirt for me, young lady. Only for me." He laughed, a wonderful deep sound that carried vibrations from his chest and through Sarah's whole body. "No–that's wrong. He wants you to squirt for anyone who you want to squirt for."

"Same thing, then," she said. "Because I only want to squirt for you." He snuggled her very close when she said that.

John went on, "Now the traditional thing is to say that our pleasures can lead us astray, right?"

She nodded.

"But I just cannot believe in a god who fucked up creating us that badly. Can you? I mean what a giant fucking design flaw if we can't live full lives without anal sex, and anal sex makes us go to Hell. Is God really that bad at creation? If so, maybe Hell is the place for us, after all!"

She laughed with him.

* * * * *

Above all, October and November were for training. The initial part of that training occurred immediately after she had stripped herself naked that first day, Saturday 28 September: John said, "I've got some emails to return. Please come to the office, young lady." She followed him into his little office, where he sat at his desk chair. She was at a loss. He had already opened his inbox on his laptop and she merely stood there, naked.

He glanced up at her, snapped his fingers, and pointed to the carpet next to his knees. With a start, and the beginnings of the submissive arousal she had just discovered two days before, but already knew so well, Sarah awkwardly got to her knees. John rested his hand possessively on the back of her neck, and she shivered, though the house was very warm. He caressed her shoulder, lightly, then returned to the email he was writing. When he had sent it, he turned to her.

"Young lady, this is your usual position when I am working. I have another lesson for you in just a little while, but for the moment, I want you to get used to being here in silent service. I also want to assure you that even if I do not seem to pay you any attention, having you on your knees next to me, ready for my use, is a gift I value as highly as any gift I have ever received, including–" Here he spread his knees on the chair, and coaxed Sarah to crawl in between them, so that she knelt inside his thighs, "–the amazing gift you gave me last night."

His hands had rested upon his knees. Now the right one reached over a bit and took Sarah's little breast on its fingertips. She made her little Sarah-noise, and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she noticed that the front of John's jeans seemed rather distended. He was glancing distractedly at his computer screen.

"Oh, Hell," he said. "This can wait. It's time for your next lesson, Sarah."

"Yes, sir."

He put his hands to the base of his stomach and unfastened his jeans. Sarah couldn't help it: Even before anything at all had been revealed, the submissive power of the moment made her pant with arousal.

John unzipped his fly, then he stood, pushing his desk chair back at the same time, and let his jeans fall to the floor. The vent of his boxers confronted Sarah. She realized she was trembling. She had (including the cock of the guy on the porno the night before) seen two male members in her life, and she did not consider herself completely inexperienced where cocks were concerned, but this was very different: The manhood she was about to see was the same one that had taken her bottom's maidenhead, the same one she had signed an affidavit certifying she knew she must treat with reverence, or face punishment.

John held her head lightly, stroking her hair. Gently, he pulled her face closer to his boxer-covered crotch, gently, but also insistently. When she felt her neck go stiff despite herself, and thus provide a bit of resistance to the pressure of John's hands, he simply pulled harder, until her nose was inside the vent of the boxers. She smelled masculine arousal, and it affected her like some sort of drug. She seemed to be floating outside herself.

"Kiss, Sarah," he said. Automatically, she kissed the place where her lips were, on his boxers, and felt, under the cloth, something moving–something very hard.

"Ask permission to remove my boxers and uncover me. Remember how you are to proceed?"

"Sir, may I please uncover your beautiful cock?"

"Excellent, young lady. Yes, you may."

Sarah put her hands up and worked her fingertips inside the waistband of his boxers, then tugged. This she had never done before, and the underwear seemed to get caught on something, and she let out a little whimper of fear and frustration. And she realized with a thrill of dread and desire she worried she might be punished.

"It's alright, good girl," John said softly. "It's your first time."

Sarah tried again, and got the boxers down to John's thighs, with their curly brown hair, and her professor's cock sprang in front of her at last, pointing at her out of its nest of dark hairs, in which she noticed a few grey ones, and it was beautiful, because it was his. It was not as big as Fred's, let alone the cock of the guy on the porno, but she had no trouble finding the reverence that had been enjoined on her.

"Sir, may I kiss your beautiful cock?" she asked.

"Please finish with my boxers first, young lady," he replied, and, blushing, she did, tugging them down around his feet and allowing him to step out of boxers and jeans and kick them away, dominantly (Sarah thought).

"Now, little slut, you may begin your lesson. One rule: Unless I say you may use your hands, you are to pleasure me only with your mouth." He put his fingertips under her chin and tilted her face up to look at him. "You may hold onto the backs of my thighs, if you like, but if it turns out that you have trouble with this command, as some girls do, your hands will be bound behind you–after, of course, you are chastised for the infraction. Do you understand?"

Sarah whimpered at the thought of having her hands bound behind her, and said, with a wavering voice, "Yes, sir."

John released her chin. "Open your mouth and put out your tongue, girl," he said. Panting, she did. She watched him take his cock in his right hand (what was there in that simple gesture that gave off such arrogance?) and bring it closer to her face. She put her hands out and held his thighs, as he had instructed. She saw only his pubis: the approaching cock, the crinkly hair. Oh, lord. She really was his and she loved it.

The cock came down upon her tongue. "Good girl," Professor Dunn, said. Sarah's jaw began to feel like it would soon begin to ache. John put his hands around the back of her head, just at the top of her neck.