The Professor's Pet (A BDSM Romance Novel) (3 page)

My heart was racing as I waited for him to speak.

“Emily,” he said. “I had a different reward in mind…”

He bent his mouth to my pussy.

***

Jake:

Ok
ay, I felt a slight twinge of guilt when she looked at me with those fiery eyes and asked me to call her Emily.

I didn’t feel bad about making her suck me off; I didn’t feel bad about laughing at her; I didn’t even feel bad about the whole ‘jump, how high’ nonsense. But I did feel a semblance of guilt for the basically shitty introduction to BDSM that I was giving her; and I felt more than a slight twinge of guilt for deliberately objectifying her.

I knew her, of course; we’d worked on the same floor for five years. We were both early risers; we were often the only two people on the floor in the cool, clear hours of dawn; both preferring to work in the quiet, before the building got crowded and noisy and filled with chatter. I’d seen her in the break room, grabbing a candy bar from the vending machine for energy; seen her microwave a mug of water for tea.

But I’d never paid much attention to her. I’d been in a relationship for a lot of that time; other women existed, but not in any way that was relevant to me sexually. And in any case, though she was
pretty, in a delicate, understated way, I didn’t find tongue-tied stammering attractive.

Then I’d flipped through her Kindle, and my initial amusement at the seriously extensive collection of bodice-rippers had been quickly overtaken by anger; I was tired of the Fifty-Shades-of-Grey poseurs who thought they knew what dominance and submission was because they owned a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold. And so I’d pushed, and she’d responded in a way that was totally unexpected, and my arousal had taken me entirely by surprise.

And now I was being a jackass.

It wasn’t supposed to be that way – this connection; this trust that one partner gave another
during a session was usually the strongest and most personal of bonds; way more intense and connected than sex. Trust was a powerful aphrodisiac.

“Jenny would kill me right now
for being such an asshole,” I thought to myself. Jenny Stone been my girlfriend and my submissive for three years. The breakup had been six months ago, and though it had been the right thing to do for both of us, there was still pain. Something that had existed for three years always left behind scars.

I braced myself for the usual flash of pain that accompanied thoughts of Jenny, and it was there, but it was muffled by Emily’s presence in my bed. That was i
nteresting; it hadn’t happened before.

“Ok, Ballard, ease up a tiny bit, she’s actually supposed to have fun as well,” I muttered to myself, as I lowered my mouth on that pretty, pretty
cunt.

***

Emily:

His tongue licked a slow line from the bottom of my pussy, all the way up to my clitoris, and he sucked it in, and I nearly arched off the bed
, anchored only by my feverish hold on the headboard slats.

“Tsk, tsk,” he chided. “Keep still, Emily, remember?”

“Sorry, Professor Ballard,” I muttered. I would have said anything to him right then, anything to get him to continue his slow, leisurely exploration of my pussy.

“Tell me what you like, Emily,”
he encouraged, his tongue flicking in and out of my wet pussy. He used his hands to pull my outer lips aside; his lips gently tugged on the inner lips. I groaned.

“Words, Emily, use your words,” he said, looking up. “Tell me what works for you.”

“That’s just fine,” I breathed out. His tongue went back to taking a long lick up my entire slit, and I groaned. “Harder,” I begged.

“That’s a good girl,” he said. He increased the pressure, grinding his tongue into my pussy, using his teeth to nibble on my
inner lips.

I hissed.

“Too much?” he asked.

“Please, again,” I begged.

He chuckled and repeated the motion; I clenched in response, my legs coming together involuntarily as the heat swept through my body.

“Keep your legs spread, Emily, or I’ll tie them down, and spank you hard for my trouble,” he said, his voice hard.

Fuck. My pussy just gushed in response to his tone, and he could tell; his mouth was on me. I blushed beet-red that he would know how turned on I was by his harshness.

“You want to get spanked, Emily?” he asked, a
mused. “The night’s still young.” His tongue continued its assault on my pussy and my clitoris; and he pushed in a finger into me, thrusting deep and firm into my body.

“Please,” I begged.

“You don’t get to come unless I give you permission, Emily, do you understand?” His voice was level.

“Yes, Professor Ballard,” I groaned, incoherent with lust. There was no way I w
as going to be able to do this; no way that I was going to be able to hold back. “Please,” I moaned, as his finger moved inside me.

“Please what?” His voice was muffled; he didn’t move his tongue away from my clitoris.

“Please, another finger in my pussy,” I ground out.

He raised his head, his hand tapped my pussy. Hard. I nearly jumped off the bed as sensations from that spank rushed through my body; I growled with need and arousal as my entire body tingled from that brief tap.

“This is a cunt, Emily,” he corrected me. “Not a pussy. Do you understand?”

I flushed. “Yes, Professor Ballard,” I muttered. The word was dirty and shameful and exciting.

“Ask your question again,” he prompted me; his eyes amused as I struggled with the word.

“Please, another finger in my cunt,” I whispered, mortified by how easily that word came to my lips, aghast at how swiftly I acceded to his request.

“Of course,” he replied smoothly, adding a second finger into my wetness, twisting and turning and thrusting. I groaned, my grip on the slats tightened. Lust swirled through me, my brain was a haze of longing, and my world had shrunk to a tongue on my clitoris and two fingers in my pussy.

I was approaching the peak, fast and hard and furious, and I’d forgotten his orders; forgotten that I needed permission to orgasm. I gripped the slats; my thighs quivered with tension as I fought to keep them spread apart; my hips thrust mindlessly in the air as I responded to his probing fingers and his flicking tongue, and then I was there at the peak, and falling down the other side, falling in a glorious freefall that made me feel like I was soaring instead.

He felt my orgasm; my muscles clenched and pulsed around his fingers, but he didn’t move his mouth away from my clitoris. He slowly licked it; soft, gentle licks that felt like the sweetest kind of comfort. Before I knew it, I was ready to go, and falling again into orgasm; this time, with fewer fireworks but more smouldering; like the remains of a garden fire that slowly died down into flickering embers.

He waited for me to finish, his tongue and fingers encouraged me to ride out every last wave. Finally, he pulled his mouth away from me; he eyed me thoughtfully. I was still lying there as he positioned me; legs spread wide, hands gripping the headboard above my head; my body damp with perspiration from the heat and the longing that had just coursed through me.

“Two orgasms; neither with permission,” he said. His voice was stern, but there was slight amusement in his eyes. “Oh dear.”

I winced; I had totally forgotten that rule. I didn’t say anything; I was waiting for what came next.

“Emily. Late getting out of the shower; you moved your thighs when I told you to hold them open. And two orgasms. You must really want to be punished.”

He pulled hi
mself next to me; leaned lazily against the headboard, gently loosened my fingers from the slats. “Come,” he said, patting his lap. “Lie on my lap, face down, it’s time for you to get that sweet little ass of yours thoroughly spanked.”

***

I could feel his erection as I positioned myself on his lap; he made no move to hide the fact that he found this situation arousing.

“Hold still, I don’t want you flailing all over the place, do you understand?”
His voice was even, but his hands were stroking my ass in gentle, calming strokes. My heart was beating with nerves; I couldn’t believe I was actually here, doing this, preparing to be spanked by Jake Ballard.

Magic 8-ball,
I thought to myself.
Am I actually looking forward to this spanking?

It is decidedly so,
the reply came, accompanied by a tingle of nerves and a flush of anticipation.

I was a lunatic, and not just because I was talking to an imaginary Magic 8-ball in my head.

***

I muttered a compliant “Yes, Professor Ballard,” to his instruction about holding still. And then, of course, I promptly
screwed up by asking a question.

“How many times am I going to be spanked?” I could hear my voice; there was tension there, but the lust was obvious as well.

He stiffened. “Pet,” he drawled, the emphasis on the word a clear expression of his displeasure, “you don’t get to ask questions. Do you understand? You get to stay still.”

“Sorry,” I muttered.

His hands still stroked my ass; soothing strokes that caused me to relax into his body. I closed my eyes, my face buried in the bed. He held my wrists behind my back, holding them in place with one hand; further emphasis of his control and his dominance over me. Despite myself, I could feel the excitement rise in me. I was about to be spanked by a man who would not let me control the interaction in any way at all; it was strangely freeing.

Smack. A firm stroke on my backside. I could feel the sting from it radiate from my ass through my body, and rushing in right behind the pain was arousal. His hand rubbed small circles on the spot he’d just spanked.

“You’ve done this before?” he asked me quietly, as his hand stroked my ass.

“Sort of,
not really,” I muttered. I’d asked my boyfriends to spank me in the past, but they hadn’t taken control.

“I’m not going to stop spanking you unless you safeword,” he growled. “But you can let me know if it’s too much
, and I will slow down a little bit.”

“Okay,” I said.

And then my spanking began in earnest.

His strokes were smacks at first, more sound than pain. The sound made me tense, but the feeling itself was pleasure; warmth on my skin. Then, the strokes increased in intensity, he hit me harder, smacking me repeatedly on the same spot on my skin till I was wriggling in his grip, wincing as the pain coursed through me.

Somewhere in all of that, longing found me.

How do I explain it? It was like
I was Dorothy, and I’d suddenly arrived in Oz. Everything had been black-and-white before, but now the world was vivid, glorious technicolour. Painful technicolour; the kind that had me wriggling and moaning and writhing on his lap, but also the kind where I kept my arms exactly where they were, and raised my ass towards him to meet his palm halfway.

It wasn’t just because of all the bodice rippers I’d read in my life, it wasn’t just that this was an erotic fantasy come true. It wasn’t even in how attractive I found his body
. It was in the nature of the way he took charge, the firm way he removed the choice from me.

It was painful, but it was also profoundly erotic. I felt mastered
by Jake. Until that moment, I had submitted to him, but it had been my submission that mattered. Now, laid over his lap, hands held firm by him, he’d taken control and I was his to punish and pleasure any way he saw fit. And I had never felt freer.

I felt every spank on my steadily reddening ass. My skin was flushed, heated, tender. He ran his fingernails over me playfully, and one edge of that stroke was pain. The other edge was pleasure, and I welcomed it.

Gradually, the feeling of his palm changed. The strokes were softer, falling slower now, each smack bookended by tender rubs of my ass. My legs parted almost instinctively, my ass curving towards him in a silent plea. A slow, steady touch of my pussy, then a smack. A quick, firm thumb on my clitoris; another smack. A finger thrust into my dripping wetness; two resounding smacks, one on each reddening cheek. I bit my lip as he seduced with his touch, and I heard myself; my moans of pain replaced by something more guttural, more primal. The noises I was making now were that of a woman who wanted her man to mark her and claim her as his.

I flushed as I heard the meaning in those
sounds; winced at the message I was sending him, the message that I was there for his pleasure, and his pleasure alone.

His finger, wet with the juice from my dripping pussy found a different hole. I tensed in
response.

A gentle stroke of my ass to calm me, and then a hard spank down the seam of my ass. “Relax,” was all he said. He traced circles around my puckered asshole as I made myself relax, and then, he gently pushed his finger in, not deep, just till the first knuckle.

It felt strange, forbidden, yet somehow very necessary. I grimaced as my body betrayed me by pushing my ass into his finger, begging him to go deeper.

“Cunt or ass?” he asked.
Which hole did I want to be fucked in? His blunt words made me blush with shame, but I had gone past the point of return when I kneeled on the patio stones in his backyard, naked, and he fucked my mouth deep and hard and for his pleasure.