The Professor's Pet (A BDSM Romance Novel) (15 page)

Then there was the
session with ball-gag, the week after. My thighs tied to my calves, pushed open, Jake patiently tapping my pussy with the crop; my incoherent moans of lust muffled by the ball gag. At the end of that session, I muttered something about his reserves of patience, and he just had just laughed at me.

The clock ticked on steadily.
The third week passed; the fourth as well. I was deliberately staying in the present with all the stubborn will power I possessed, because to think about the future was to dissolve in grief at the prospect of the ending that drew nearer with each passing day.

***

“Want to go to a football game Sunday? Paul Kazinski gave me a set of tickets,” he asked me casually, naming the Executive Vice President of Technology. We were sitting at a Thai restaurant Friday night; one of my finds this time. Delicious green curry was steaming in aromatic spirals in front of us, jasmine rice ready at the side, and mango salad and spring rolls made mouth-watering accompaniments. It was the fifth week.

I raised my eyebrows in question. “Who’s playing?” I asked
, my eyes twinkling, taking a bite of my spring roll, and closing my eyes in appreciation. I knew exactly who was playing, but it was fun to tease Jake.

He smiled smugly. “The Patriots, of course,” he said. “It’ll be exciting for you; you’ll be able to see a winning team play.”

“The Niners having a good season then?” I quipped.

His lips twitched. “That ass of yours is going to have a difficult time sitting for the game,” he commented. “So, want to go? It’s your company box, after all.”

“How come you aren’t inviting Sanjay? And how come you are still in San Francisco Sunday?” I asked in curiosity.

He rolled his eyes at me at the flurry of questions. “Football tickets, my team’s playing; flights can be moved. And I can’t invite Sanjay; he roots for the Niners. Can’t have that.”

“Really?” I asked. I grinned to myself; I was going to be very, very bad.

***

Jake:

I took a look at her, standing there in her brand-new San Francisco 49ers jersey. She looked nervous and defiant and pleased as punch with her little stunt, and I burst into laughter as I took her in. She was the sweetest mix of compliance and defiance. She pushed me every which way outside the bedroom, and when she yielded to me in the bedroom, my victory was all the sweeter for the challenge.

“Emily,” I muttered, leaning forward and whispering in her ear. “I don’t have time to take care of this now,” I said, trying for menace in my voice and failing miserably. I was amused as all hell, and there was no concealing it.

The sexual tension between us rose alarmingly fast; she gulped as she felt the same tension in the air as I did. Leaning this close to her, I could feel the heat from her body, I could see the pulse beating in her neck, and I could hear the sound of her breathing. Everything about her was dangerously captivating. I struggled to remember we had tickets to a game; that we needed to leave right away. All I wanted to do at this moment was toss her on her bed, spank her hard till she begged me to fuck her, and then plunge into her wet, willing cunt. She would be ready for me, and she would groan as I entered her. Our bodies
would reach for each other, and we would take each other on a journey that had become more and more compelling with each passing week.

I struggled to control myself, step back from her. “After the game though,” I said, reaching with difficulty for the half-finished thought, “well, Emily, after the game, I’m going to tie you up, legs spread wide open. I’m going to fin
d our crop, and crop that sweet little cunt of yours. And I’m only going to stop when you beg forgiveness for the jersey.”

We had played together for a few weeks now; she trusted me, and she knew she had nothing to fear from me. Lust shone openly in her eyes at my words; her nipples pebbled under the jersey, and her lips parted slightly, her teeth catching her lower lip.

“In that case, Professor Ballard,” she said, and I could see she struggled for control as well, “I guess we are both going to be up all night.” She flashed a grin at me, added a cheeky sweep of her eyelashes that begged me to put her over my lap and spank her for her sass. “Let’s go see the Niners kick some Patriots ass.”

***

Emily:

When you find yourself falling in love with someone, you search for clues that they feel the same way about you. Little tells.

On the plus side, I collected the football game invite, the easy conversation between us, the Friday night dinners, and the smoking hot sex.

But against that, I had his explicit words, and something told me that Jake meant exactly what he said. I’d been promised eight weeks and nothing more.

***

My new-in-town group was visiting the
de Young museum on Tuesday night, followed by sushi. I forced myself to sign up; the endless introspection about whether Jake loved me or not could take a pause for an evening.

I greeted Danielle, one of the girls I’d exchanged phone numbers with
a few weeks ago. We’d met up one evening for a drink after; she had spent the entire time gushing about her perfect boyfriend. This evening though, I was unwilling to hear about perfect men, trying as I was to forget my own problems. I walked through the galleries, staying slightly apart from the group, feeling a pang shoot through my heart as I saw a couple nearby, holding hands and looking at the art. That would never be Jake and I. Our involvement was purely physical.

“Not a fan of the de Young?” a voice asked me. I looked up, it was a guy I didn’t know. He was very easy on the eye; blond hair, broad shoulders,
laughing green eyes. “I’m Andrew,” he added, sticking out his hand to shake mine.

I took it, surprised at the warmth in his skin. “Emily,” I replied. “I’m not in very much of a museum mood today,” I confessed.

He laughed. “Me too,” he winked at me. “I just came for the sushi, honestly. Want to go chat in the coffee shop while we wait for this lot to finish?”

“Sure,” I said. I could have used some distraction from the foul mood that I seemed to be in.

***

Andrew had moved to San Francisco six months ago from Detroit, a former automotive engineer who now worked
at a robotics start-up. We bonded right away over football; the front office of the Detroit Lions giving the Browns a run for sheer incompetence. We chatted amiably about our teams and sipped our coffees until the rest of the group showed up.

“Emily,” he said, as we both got up to join the others. “This was a blast. I’d love to take you out for a drink sometime. Call me if you are interested?” He gave me his card. I looked at him with uncertainty; I hadn’t meant to lead him on. Everything sexual about me was focused on Jake; there was no room for anyone else.

We approached the others before I could form the words to explain that I wasn’t dating anyone at the present, and then, the moment was lost.

***

I took a deep breath. It was Friday evening of week six; I was at the door of Jake’s hotel room. Two more weeks, Emily, I told myself, as I let myself into the room. Just hold it together for two more weeks.

“You look terrible,” I blurted out
as I entered, unable to help myself. I looked at Jake with concern. His eyes were red, he had dark circles under his eyes, and he just looked drained.

“Hello to you too, Emily,” he responded mildly, his lips twitching. “Anyone ever tell you it was a bad idea to tell your Dominant that they look terrible?”

I ignored that; we weren’t in session; those rules didn’t apply. I kept my eyes on Jake’s face, and waited for a better reply.

“It has been a long week,” he admitted. “Drink?” He handed me a beer, opened one for himself.

“Work? Something else?” I asked.

“An absolute boatload of work,” he replied, his voice tired. “No sleep to speak off, really, and then last night, there were children crying all night on the red-eye.” He shuddered. “Hell.”

I looked at Jake. Though I wanted to savour every remaining scrap of time I had with him, he was in no condition for a session; he just needed rest. “Look,” I started. “Why don’t we take a rain check on the session? You look like you need to get some sleep.”

His eyes flashed gratitude at me. “Is that okay?” he asked me.

“Sure,” I said, my voice low in my effort to keep it steady. “I’ll just let myself out, call me in the morning.”

“Emily.” There was a peculiar tone to his voice, an emotion that
could have been need. “Do you have to go? Because if you don’t, I’d really like you to stay.”

We ordered pizza and drank our beer, sitting on the couch; Jake leaned up against the arm-rest, and I curled up into him. When we were done, he got up off the couch, stretched, and offered me his hand. “Bed, baby?” he asked me, and I took his hand, and we went to bed, our bodies entwined.

***

I lay there in the dark curled up into Jake’s body, listening to the sound of his even breathing, and I had only one question to ask, a question that I already knew the answer to.

Magic 8-ball,
I thought silently,
am I in love with Jake?

Yes.

***

I fully expected to wake up to an empty bed the next morning;
Jake was typically awake before I was, and used the time to go for a run. But as I woke, I heard the sound of the shower, and I followed that sound. Seeing the bathroom door open, I entered.

The shower curtain parted; Jake smiled at me. “Join me,” he ordered. I was naked. I nodded and got in; he moved aside so the steaming water could cascade over me.

“Warm enough?” he asked. “Mmm,” I just moaned under the shower, and eyed him. He was hard and ready to go, and I wanted him badly; my pussy sopping wet the instant my body had brushed against him as I got into the shower.

“Cunt or ass, pet?” h
e said to me, his lips quirking, echoing the words he’d said to me so long ago.

Those words flowed straight to my pussy, setting it dripping even more. “Ass,” I whispered. He hadn’t taken me in the ass, not since that day back in Boston, and I needed him there; needed
to place myself completely in his care.

He leaned forward and turned the shower off. “Finish up later,” he ordered tersely, throwing a towel in my direction. I hastily towelled off, followed him into the bedroom.

“I want to see you when you come,” he said, his voice still hard.

“Yes, Professor Ballard,” I whispered. It was so easy to slide into the submissive role; so easy to give up control to Jake. It was trust, I realized. I gave him control because I had come to realize that he would only use it to bring me to greater heights of pleasure. With him, I would fly.

He lifted my hips, slid a couple of pillows under me. “No warm-up, no foreplay, Emily,” he said, amused, “yet you are still soaked.”

“You do this to me,” I replied honestly. Something darkened in his eyes, then he blinked, and when he looked at me again, his eyes were expressionless.

His fingers found my asshole, rubbed lube into it. “Relax,” he ordered me, as he slid a condom on, and brought the head to my ass. I nodded; let images of compliance and submission run through my head. Jake wouldn’t hurt me.

I whimpered a little as he pushed his dick in, steadily into my tight ass. He didn’t rip into me, but he wasn’t as gentle as he had been the first time; but in the meanwhile, I’d been trained with the butt plugs, and I had learned how to force myself to relaxation. His eyes were upon me, watching, assessing. My pussy was dripping; I could smell myself in the air. I could feel his steel length in my backside, and I needed him to start moving in me, to take me for his pleasure.

“Do you want me to move, Emily?” he said levelly.

“Yes, Professor Ballard,” I muttered.

“Do you want me to pound into your pretty ass? To spank your cheeks, your inner thighs as I take you?” His question was accompanied by two hard smacks on the insides of my thighs. I got the message, and promptly spread my legs wider for him, as his grip tightened on my thighs. His lips twitched, as he spanked them again, following them with a gentle caress. Pleasure. Pain. Two sides of the same coin.

“Yes, Professor Ballard, I want you to pound into my ass, I need you to spank me while you take me,” I whispered, staring into his stormy sea-blue eyes.

He smiled at me. “You have to ask permission to come, Emily,” he warned me, as he started to move within me. His strokes were shallow at first, as my body stretched to accommodate his girth in me; but then, as he felt me yield, he moved faster, deeper in me, till he was almost pulling out with each stroke, and then pushing back into my body.

“Touch me,” I begged him.

“Where?” he asked, looking to my eyes. “Ask for what you want, Emily.”

“Touch my pussy,” I pleaded.

Smack. A hard stroke with his palm, landing right on my pussy. Heat spiralled from that spot, threatening to burn me in its intensity. “This is a cunt, Emily,” he snapped.

I gazed into his eyes, saw the veiled amusement there, the controlled awareness, the watchful assessment as he pushed me exactly as far as I could take. “Touch my cunt, Professor Ballard,” I begged him. My eyes had no such control; I’d surrendered it all to Jake, trusting that he would keep me safe.

His eyes softened for an instant, and he moved his hand so that his thumb massaged my clitoris. His strokes were even, his thumb was firm, and set a rhythm that had me rising dangerously fast. “Please, can I come?” I begged.

He watched me, shook his head silently. His thumb kept up its steady rub on my clitoris, his dick pounded into my ass and each stroke made
me groan in need. “Jake, please,” I begged again, forcing myself back from the edge; thinking of regression analyses and statistical modelling techniques and my grocery list to keep myself from tipping into orgasm.

His thrusts got harder; I could sense that he neared his own climax, because his strokes on my clitoris became harder, rougher and more insistent. “Come for me, Emily,” he said at last, as he emptied himself with a groan in my ass, and
as I felt him spasm, the sheer eroticism of that feeling tipped me over, and I shattered, my orgasm cascading through me in a blaze of lightning.

***

We’d mostly spent the day in bed. I’d been tied up for much of it; Jake torturing me with his mouth and his hands, driving me insane with pleasure. I’d been forbidden to plead for my orgasm; I was simply to accept that I would come when he desired. He kept me on the brink of orgasm for what seemed like hours, before he finally lowered his mouth on my clitoris, sucked it in between his teeth, and watched me in satisfaction as I climaxed instantly.

When it was time to leave, I declined dinner, and he gave me a ride home on his way to the airport. “I’ll really have to work on setting you an exam,” he mused aloud. “For your last week.”

I bit my lips; lowered my eyes. He was paying attention to the traffic; it was an unusually busy Saturday night, and he missed the expression on my face. The pain in my eyes as his words sank in. I was still only the student, nothing more. And my final examination was approaching.

***

I cried all Saturday night and all of Sunday. I’d been naïve and foolish and hopeful; searching for clues that made me hope he cared about me; ignoring the many obvious signs that our relationship was exactly what I’d asked for it to be. He had taught me well, but now, I was in love with him, and wanted no one else instead.

Magic 8-ball,
I asked, in the midst of my grief,
can Jake ever be in love with me?

My sources say no,
came the reply.

I dissolved into fresh tears.

***

I held it together Monday at work, but sat and moped all Monday evening. Same thing Tuesday, and then, finally, Wednesday evening, I had had enough. I rummaged through my purse, found Andrew’s card and dialed his phone number.

“Andrew here,” he answered.

“Hey
Andrew, it’s Emily. We met at the de Young?”

“Emily,” he said, pleasure in his voice. “I was hoping you’d call.”

I twisted a strand of hair in my hands, trying not to feel like I was doing something wrong as I talked to this guy. But despite myself, I felt guilty. I’d never been a two-guys-at-once kind of girl.

And you aren’t now as well, I reminded myself. You’ve made no commitments with Jake.

“I was wondering if that offer for a drink was still open?” I asked, my voice slightly hesitant.

“
Absolutely,” he said. His voice was warm. “Are you busy tomorrow night?” he asked.

“No,” I replied. My Friday nights and Saturdays belonged to Jake, but Thursday nights were still my own.

We arranged to meet at a well-reviewed beer bar that I’d been wanting to try, and then, I hung up.

Magic 8-ball,
I asked.
Did I just make a huge mistake?

Cannot predict now,
came the vague reply. But I couldn’t explain why my hands were shaking, and why my cheeks were flushed with shame.

***

Jake:

I was whistling cheerfully as I got on the plane, wondering if I should text Emily and ask her if she wanted to spend the night. It was startling that I was in a good mood. When Sanjay had called and told me that I had meetings to attend on Thursday, and I’d need to take the Thursday morning flight out, instead of my typical Thursday night red-eye, he’d been prepared to endure my grumbling. I knew him well enough to know he was steeling himself for the cursing that was bound to follow, but I’d surprised him and myself by agreeing to change my flight with absolutely no fuss whatsoever.