5 comments/ 8954 views/ 9 favorites Longhand By: DiggingForFire (I want to be tied, and bound, and shackled. I want my body to be exposed, vulnerable, aching. I want clamps and plugs and crops. And more. I want to beg. I want to be a perfect, trembling slut. For you. My cheeks burn as i write this... i am hot, all over...) I sighed and flipped the page. How easily the words came, from pen to paper. Tucked away in my secret notebook. But to give those words life by allowing other eyes on them? Impossible. On the next sheet I started again. Dear Professor Shale: I want to take this moment to express what an absolute pleasure it was working under you this last year. Your excellent mentoring has allowed me to grow professionally on many levels, and I will carry this knowledge you have imparted upon me, proudly, throughout my career. I cannot thank you enough for all the ways you have helped me find my own voice, both as a teacher and a writer. You have corrected me without hesitation when needed, and praised me in my accomplishments. You have given me an added confidence in addition to all the skills, tips, and advice. If ever there is a way I could repay you, feel free to call upon me. Sincerely, Ellen Krass My cheeks flushed again, writing that last line. Was it too vague or too forward? Yes, too vague. I was playing the safe route again. It was better that way. * * * * * * * I slipped Professor Shale the letter in a sealed envelope as I was leaving our last class together. Students had long since filed out, and the object of my desires had his nose tucked in a paper. If he was even aware that this would be the last time we would see each other, I did not know. His head popped up. "What's this?" I fought to keep the color from rising up my cheeks. "It's just a thank you note. From me." "Ah, yes," he said and stood. "I should be the one thanking you, Ellen. You've been invaluable to me this year." He extended me his hand, which I took with the intention of a firm, strong shake. But the warm of his palm, large, encircling mine. It made me weak. I let go too quickly. "Best of luck to you, Ellen," he said with a sincere smile. I basked in it for a moment, but then he was back down at his desk, and I was walking away. * * * * * * * I walked back to my studio, six block off campus, with a heavy heart. I knew should be happy and proud: I got through grad school with flying colors, excellent recommendations. I had a decent job lined up already, which is more than most of my peers could say. I had so much to look forward to, but all I could do was think of gloom I felt at the prospect of moving to the other side of the country in eleven short days. Leaving behind my friends and the familiar, comfortable space I had found for myself. Leaving without ever admitting how I felt. But it wasn't as easy as all that. It wasn't as if I just had some crush on James Shale. To be sure, I did have a crush on him: I was immensely attracted to him, physically, emotionally, intellectually. Sexually. But it was more than a crush. I wanted him in ways I wouldn't dare say out loud. My fantasies of him had become increasingly specific. For years I had known I had a sexually submissive side. The thought of being tied up, and used, was undeniably hot to me. And I had fantasized about it since high school, but up until then, it was always some generic, anonymous man who had me writhing about. It was safer that way, somehow. With Shale I had a face, and a voice, and a scent for the star of my little dream scenarios. The scent of him made me so dizzy with lust, I had to lock up any trace of emotion when he was near. Normally a fairly shy person, around him I stuttered and shrank. I wore thick padded bras to hide my reactions. I became the opposite of the brazen dirty slut in my dreams. Back in my studio, I started another story. * * * * * * * On paper, I was shackled and dripping, waiting, when the phone range. "Hello?" my breath was short. "Yes, Ellen? This is Professor Shale." Heart skips. Palms sweat. "Hello Professor, how are you?" I tried to normalize my voice. "I'm doing well. I read your letter and wanted to thank you for the kind words. I'm pleased I could be such a guide for you." My heart thudded as I searched for an appropriate response. Luckily he beat me to it. "I would like to sit down and do a sort of informal evaluation with you, if you're up to it," he said. "Yes, of course, that would be great." "Shall we say dinner at Ziti's, tomorrow night? Seven o'clock? It would be my treat." "That would be -- I'll be there," I said in too much of a rush. "Excellent. See you then, Ellen." Click. Hyperventilating. Dancing. * * * * * * * The day and a half leading up to our dinner had to be the most agonizing yet excitable moments of my life. I tried to distract myself with anything I could think of. I read a dry professional journal. I deep cleaned the kitchen to prepare for my move out. But I could not take my mind off of it. The professor and I had never met for coffee, much less gone to dinner. Did it mean something that he didn't just call me into his office? More than likely, dinner was just a polite thanks. Yet I couldn't help but dream. The restaurant he had chosen was a nicer one. Not suit-and-tie-only nice, but certainly a step above the cafes and burger joints that dotted the campus. I had been there once before, and remembered high backed booths, and low warm lights. Intimate. I sighed thinking about it. Then, not wanting to get my hopes up, I reasoned that he probably just liked the food. Still, I spent two hours getting ready. I scrubbed and exfoliated and painted my toes. I curled my hair and wore it loose, I painted my face with as much subtly and grace as I could muster. I did not want to look like I was trying too hard, but I was. I wore a knee length flowy black skirt with a form fitting charcoal gray v neck sweater. If I bent over you could see my cleavage, but that's as daring as I was willing to go. I chose low heel black sandals and reconsidered my choice of red toenails, but I forced myself to stop second guessing. I also put on my best underwear, black satin panties edged in lace, and a matching demi-cup bra. The panties were damp almost immediately, just from my turbid thoughts, and I considered going without. But that would be worse, much worse. * * * * * * * I took a taxi down and arrived five minutes early to the restaurant. Maybe it was just me, but the dining room seemed sultry. Even the way the hostess moved seemed dirty. Professor Shale was already there. He stood to greet me, clasped my hand and kissed my cheek. "You look lovely tonight, Ellen," he said and sat down as I did. I sat across from him with my knees pressed together. "Thank you," my voice cracked a little. I was going to die. He just smiled at me enigmatically. "So how does it feel to be done with school? Are you excited about Philadelphia?" I nodded, not trusting my vocal chords right away. "I am excited. I don't start working until August, so I have the summer to get settled and explore." I had been to Philadelphia only once, for the interview. I did not know anyone there. "Do you have a place to live lined up yet?" I shook my head. "No, I was going to stay in a hostel and start looking first thing." "A hostel? That's adventurous," he said, again with the enigmatic smile. I shrugged. The hostel was a money thing but I didn't want to talk about that. "This whole move is adventurous for me, professor." I was hoping he would stop and let me call him James, since I no longer worked for him, but he did not. "I'm sure you'll do well, if your performance as my TA is any indication." "Thank you." The waiter approached and offered us drinks. Professor Shale ordered a bottle of wine without conferring with me. "We are celebrating, no?" Even with his smile, he was the perfect picture of composure. I could not read him. Hiding behind the menu, I took deep breaths. When the waiter came back, I tried to order a grilled chicken salad, but the professor suggested I might like the ahi with saffron risotto better. I wanted to please him so I took his suggestion. As we waited for our food and drank our wine, the professor cleared his throat. "I have something important to ask you, Ellen." I looked at his eyes briefly for clues, but there were none. "Of course." He reached into his inner jacket pocket and removed a few pieces of neatly folded paper. He slid them across the table to me. "I found this in with some essays that you had graded," he said. "It's yours, isn't it?" My hands shook as I unfolded the notepaper. My heart in my throat, I saw my a small, neat cursive with elegant loops. My own unique handwriting. Professor Shale had an odd policy about type written work. He said students were losing the art of crafting letters on the page, and insisted all work turned into him be handwritten. Many took him as a technophobe, but that wasn't it. My eyes scanned the page. It was the first draft of a story I had written months ago. A dirty story. A really dirty story. I wanted to crawl under the table. I wanted to run for the door. I could not move. "Don't be embarrassed," he said, his smile almost a smirk. Playful. "It's excellent writing." Eyes down, blushing. My hands in my lap, twisting my napkin. And, then. "I rather enjoyed it." My eyes flicked up to his for a millisecond. There was no jest on his face. He almost looked...hungry. Breathe in, breathe out. His eyes still on me. His eyes burning into me. Breathe in. Breathe out. "It is about me?" he asked at last. Napkin twisted around my hand, knotting. A bloom of heat erupted everywhere in my body, at once. Like my skin was on fire. "Yes," I said quietly. "Look at me," he commanded. I forced my gaze to meet his. "Don't be embarrassed," he said again. I started to look away when he said, with gentle authority, "Keep your eyes here." I met his eyes again and made myself hold them. His eyes were an intense green flecked with gold, and blue. I focused on the colors to keep my attention away from the sticky cream building below. His smile widened. "Ellen, you are so fucking hot," he said in a low growl. "Do you know how sexy you are?" I shook my head, slowly. "I want you to know how sexy you are," he said. "I want to show you how sexy you are," he said. Surely he could smell my arousal. "Do you want me to show you?" The waiter chose that moment to arrive with our plates. He smiled cheerily and chattered on about the food, oblivious. "Can I get you or the lady anything else at the moment?" the waiter asked, directing his question at Shale. "That will be all, thank you," he dismissed the server. The professor directed his gaze back to me. He repeated his question, back to the low whisper. "Do you want me to show you?" As he had asked before, I found his eyes. "Yes," I forced the breath of sound out of me. His wicked smile again. Twinkling eyes. "Good." He picked up his silverware. "Let's eat." Even though it smelled tasty, food was really the last thing on my mind. Now that I knew I was going to get what I wanted, I wanted it now. What I wanted meant doing his bidding, so I picked up my fork. Several long minutes passed in silence. He ate very slowly, as if thinking about each mouthful of food. Though not normally a heavy drinker, I sipped on my wine between bites. I could have used something stronger. "This is new to you, isn't it?" he asked when his plate was nearly cleared. I chewed and swallowed. "Yes." "But you've been thinking about it a lot, haven't you?" "Yes." He took his time with another bite of food. A sip of wine. "And you think about ... getting tied up ... naked, helpless..." My breath caught in my throat, I could not speak. He smiled at me again. "Do you want to take all of your desire, all of your control...and give it to a man who knows how to use it?" His voice, low and husky. "Knows how to use you?" I bit my lower lip and nodded. I could have whimpered. Professor Shale took his time with the rest of his plate. Though my food was delicious, I couldn't finish it, so I just sat there. Waiting. Terrified, but thrilled beyond words. "This is the most important question, Ellen. I want you to take your time with it, and be honest, okay?" "Okay." "Do you trust me?" I did not hesitate. I looked him straight in the eye. "Yes." The way that he was looking at me, then. I don't know quite how to describe it. It was as if he couldn't decide if I was the Madonna, complete with halo, or a fresh, juicy piece of meat. "How do you feel right now, Ellen?" My face flushed. "I feel ...excited...Professor Shale." "'Tell me how excited you are. And, 'Sir' will do, Ellen." I stalled. How could I say these things out loud? But I had to. I leaned in to keep my voice at a whisper. "I...I'm wet, really wet. And my nipples have been hard so long they ache. Sir." "Does it make you even wetter to say those things?" Shale asked. I blushed furiously, but nodded. "Do you know how adorable that blush is? Fuck." The waiter finally came back to clear our plates. I was ready to go. But Shale wanted dessert. "Chocolate mousse, please." After the waiter was gone, he asked me if it drove me crazy to wait. Of course it did and he knew it. I accused him of teasing me. "That's the point," he said with a smirk and a shrug. It dawned on me that he enjoyed watching me squirm. The hotter I got, the hotter he'd get. He was in control, but I had my own kind of power. That realization took the edge off my nerves, some. Shale took his time with the mousse, toying with it, really. Watching me. I was sitting still but I felt as if my skin and my blood and my nerves were jumping in a thousand directions at once. My heart was pounding so fast, I tried to focus my breaths into something slower and deeper. I walked with him to his car without question or word. He opened the passenger door for me, and shut it with a definitive thud after I crawled in. He got in the drivers seat, started the car and pulled away without a word. Music came on the stereo, jazzy and startling. John McLaughlin, I placed it after a minute. It occurred to me that I didn't know much about the professor outside of the university. It pleased me that this bit of knowledge proved something we had in common. I tried to focus on the music for the duration of the ride so I wouldn't jump out of my skin. But I was long past calming. * * * * * * He pulled into the driveway of a modest but tidy bungalow. There were thriving green plants hanging from baskets on the front porch, and a little round table with two seats. I decided I liked his home already. I followed him wordlessly and waited while he unlocked the door. The silence was getting to me, but I could not be the one to break it. As I stepped over the threshold, the realization hit me with a jolt. I was really doing this. Shivers passed through me. I was torn between wanting to run and hide or to tear my clothes off. But, really, there was no way I could leave now. "Are you nervous, Ellen?" he broke the long-standing silence. I nodded. "I am." His dark smile was back. "That's understandable. You have no idea what I have in mind for you." He began to circle me, slowly, like a vulture. "I'm not going to tell you my plans. That would spoil the fun." He was standing in from of me again. With his index finger, he lifted a few loose strands of hair that had fallen over my face and tucked them behind my ear. It was the lightest graze of a touch. Trying out my rarely used Jedi mind powers, I willed him to keep touching. But it did not work. "I will tell you that you shouldn't be nervous. Not too nervous, at least. Tonight will not be about testing your limits or inflicting undue pain. Tonight I am going to introduce you to what you truly desire. Introduction being the word to note, here." He was staring me down with his wolfish eyes again. "Next time might not be so easy." I blinked but did not speak. I had no objections, and could sense that now was not the time for discussion. He took a few steps back. "Now, I want you to take your clothes off. Every stitch. Slowly." I flushed again. I hadn't seen a mirror in awhile, but I figured I must be a bright shade of crimson by now. I pulled off the sweater first, not with ceremony but not rushed, either. I was grateful he did not ask me to dance or something silly. I folded my sweater and set it on a nearby chair. I slipped off my sandals, now happy I stuck with the red polish. I laughed inwardly at myself, as if red toenails were a more daring choice than to voluntarily disrobe and subject myself to this unknown. I unzipped my skirt and stepped out of it. My eyes darted to Shale. He was watching intently, but he was not smiling. There I stood barefoot, in my underwear. Nerves trembling, but determined, I reached behind my back to unhook my bra. Slowly, I let my arms down to my sides, and let the garment slip down my chest, to my arms. I folded the bra in half and placed it on top of my other clothes. My nipples had been hard all night. Now, exposed to the cool air of the house, the light breeze of the ceiling fan, they were as erect as I'd ever seen them, swollen, thirsty for touch. The touch of his eyes was nearly, but not, enough. Pushing the last of my modesty aside, I hooked my fingers into the sides of my prettiest pair of panties, and stepped out of them, as slowly as I could make myself. Still bent over, my eyes darted to the esteemed professor. Now, he had a slow, wicked smile. He waited for me to place my moist panties with the rest of my clothes, and approached me again. "You are doing extraordinarily well, Ellen. You are as wet as a slut, aren't you?" I nodded. "I am, Sir." "Do you want me to feel how wet you are?" My pussy throbbed and my eyes went wide. "I do, Sir." "All in good time, my precious dirty slut." His hand moved to my face, and brushed my hair back, off my neck. "You do get a reward, though," he said and brought his lips down to the hollow of my neck, a most sensitive spot of skin and vein, and kissed it. Heat bloomed through my body, his tongue and lips the antithesis of sloppy. I tilted my head back and let out a small moan. He brought his mouth near my ear. "I'll say it again. You are so fucking hot, slut. You are so primed and eager and beautiful. By the end of the night I want you screaming, singing from my touch. But first I must have you dripping, aching." His warm breath left my ear. He stepped back again. I wanted to tell him that I already was. I wanted desperately to touch him. I wanted to strip him of his clothes and take his cock in my mouth. I wanted him to bend me over and fuck me like I'd never wanted anything in my life. "I want you kneeling, on the ottoman," he said, and gestured to the other side of the couch. "I want your legs spread wide, your hands behind your back, and your head down. This is position one. Now." I climbed on the large, firm leather ottoman, and got into position. He told me, "Good girl. I'll be back in a moment." I stayed and waited for what seemed like hours, but was probably minutes. I was intensely aware of how exposed I was, my cunt on display. I could feel the moisture pooling just sitting there thinking about it. Shale came back balancing two drinks in one hand, and a small black case in another. He set the case down on the couch, and sat himself directly across from me. Longhand "Is that as wide as your legs can go?" he asked. I spread myself further for him. He nodded in acknowledgment. "Would you like a drink, slut?" A drink was the furthest thing from my mind, but I knew he wanted me to take it, so I said, "yes, please." And the professor stretched his arm out, he held a tumbler with a straw in it. I moved my arms to grab it, but he admonished, "no, slut, your arms stay where they are." So I leaned into the straw and took a sip of something strong. Whiskey. "Good girl." He set my drink down and grabbed his own, clinking ice in the glass. "Tell me how you feel now." I gulped. Somehow it was easier for me to act than to talk. "I feel excited and nervous, Sir." "Okay, that's a given. Elaborate." I gulped. "I am...I'm insanely excited, Sir. I love being naked for you, open for you." He nodded. "Would you like to sit for me all night?" "No, Sir," I said, a little to quickly and strongly. He chuckled. "I want to touch you. I want you to touch me." "I want that, too, slut. I want that very much. But, where do you want me to touch you?" "Everywhere, Sir." I lifted my eyes to him. He was bemused, but a glance at his trousers told me he was clearly aroused. "Do you want me to kiss you?" he asked. I gulped. Was kissing part of this kind of play? Well, in my fantasies, it was. "Yes, Sir." "Do you want me to touch your nipples?" "Yes, Sir, I would like that a lot." "How about your cunt, slut?" A zing shot from exposed, wet slit. "I want you to touch my cunt, Sir. I want you to touch it and suck it and slap it and fuck it." I didn't mean to rhyme. "You have a very pretty cunt, slut. I can see how juicy it is right now. You're clit is engorged, it's just waiting for the lightest of touch, isn't it?" "Very much, Sir." He leaned in to give me another sip of my whiskey, then sat back again. "Slip one finger inside your cunt, deep inside. Then present it to me." I chose my middle finger because it was longest. I was so slick that I was buried to the knuckle before I started. I wiggled around inside myself, looking for a release, but Shale must have known what I was doing and said, "Enough," with enough bass in his voice for me to almost jump. I pulled my finger out. It was coated. Then I realized that I was awkwardly giving him the finger. He tsked me, "slut, do you mean to insult me?" "No, Sir. I just...I just wanted my longest finger inside me." "I was going to taste you, slut, but I think it would be better if you tasted yourself. Suck your finger dry." My cheeks burned as I lifted my own finger, coated with my own arousal, to my mouth. It was more humiliating than anything I'd done, yet. I sat before him, stripped bare, spread open wide, swallowing my own juices as if to say I was a nasty, filthy hungry slut. I was all of those things. I sucked on my finger slowly, from base to tip, as if it were his cock. "Turn away from me, on all fours, knees apart, drop down on your elbows," Shale said. Was this it? Was he going to fuck me? I thought with relish as I got into the position he asked, but quickly deflated when I realized he enjoying toying with me too much. "This is position two," I heard him stand and draw nearer. My ass and pussy on display, I shivered. I heard a zipper being opened, but I could not see behind me. Then he was near, and he was pushing a heavy, tapered object into my cunt. I moaned involuntarily. "You have enough lubrication to go around, don't you, slut?" he said and withdrew the object as quickly as he'd inserted it. Then it was placed at my puckered hole. He pushed it, more slowly, until it popped into place. My ass felt heavy and full and fucking fantastic. "Mmm, that looks good on you. How do you feel?" "Really fucking horny, Sir." "I know, my sweet. It's a beautiful thing to watch." Then I heard him sit back down. "Now I want to see you clench that ass. Move the plug up and down," he said, and again I flushed with embarrassment. But again I did as I was told, pushing my muscles and letting them contract for his viewing pleasure. The movement of the thick, dense plug inside of me was just stirring me up more, but it wasn't scratching the itch. It occurred to me that this dance, this exposure, this humiliation was my way of giving myself to him. Of letting him know that I was his. I gasped in pleasure at the thought and worked my ass more vigorously. In that moment, I knew I would do anything, anything at all, if he asked me to. "Keep it moving," he instructed and got up again. As I worked my ass for him, Shale walked around me, fitting thick leather cuffs around my ankles and then my wrists. Still standing in front of me, he unzips and drops his trousers. His cock stood up straight, thick and swollen. He guided his member to my lips and I did not need to be told what to do. I opened my mouth and greedily take in the head of his cock. I closed my lips around it, ran my tongue around the smooth ridge. Shale let out a hiss and I swallowed all of him in one gulp, and work my mouth up and down, slowly at first, until he rocked his hips back and forth. I pick up the pace, I feel him in my mouth, as hard as stone, and I swallowed him deeply again, then sucked down his shaft. I could hardly wait for this cock to be buried inside of me, and as I worked him I wished for three of him, three beautiful penises, filling all of me at once. As I sucked him in I clenched my pussy, my asshole, while I worked my tongue and lips around him and with a near silent growl, he spasmed into my mouth, over and again. I swallowed all of him and licked my lips. He pulled up his trousers and watched me. "Position one, now." His voice was husky and low. I knelt back on my heals with my legs spread wide. He went to the little black case again. Then his hand was at the top of my slit, pinching and pulling out the hood of my swollen clit. I gasp at the sudden pang of pleasure pain, and before I can recover, he is fastened a little clamp there. If my cunt was throbbing before, it was pulsating like an out of control heartbeat now. There was a chain on the clamp, leading to a central point, with two more chains and clamps on those ends. This was no novelty jewelry, either. The clamps are steel and adjust, and the chains are wide and heavy. He pinched and pulled on my nipple and slipped a clip over it. I know that, with a single, well aimed touch, I am moments away from coming. I breathed hard as he tightened it down and felt the sweet zings of his touch. I thrust my chest for him when he started on my other breast, and he chuckled at my eagerness. The clamp came down and I feel myself dripping down my thigh. "My sweet, dirty slut loves this, doesn't she?" "Yes, she does," I said, easily slipping into third person. "Okay, slut. We're going to my favorite room in the house, now. The basement. Follow me. On your hands and knees." I was so beyond questioning, I climbed down the ottoman and onto the soft carpet. I realized quickly that each motion I made sent a jolt through all of my pleasure cores. The plug stretched and jostled my ass as my clit and my nipples feel the tug of the chain, swaying back and forth. I crawled behind the professor with as much pride as I can muster. Pride in my choice of him. Pride in my courage to follow my desires. Pride in my unfiltered lust, in my own aching dirtiness. The door to the basement opens, and I could only wonder what was in store for me down there. * * * * * * * * On my hands and knees, I faced the stairs that led down into darkness. The professor stood beside me, waiting for me to descend. I was so shaky and disjointed I did not trust myself to crawl down. For the first time that night, I felt a real chill of fear. After a pregnant pause, I turned around so I could crawl backwards. I took each step slowly. The chains dipped low enough to sway into each step, causing me a jolt to all my most sensitive spots. The plug in my ass made itself known, too, each time I carefully lowered a knee it bobbled in me. The stairs seemed to go on forever. I was breathing hard. When I reached the landing, the professor flipped on a light and my throat caught. This was no TV den. At a quick glance I saw tables, benches, a saw horse. There was more, but I couldn't look long. The professor was in front of me, demanding my eyes stay on him. "Yes, Sir," I said, my heart beating rapidly. It took all of my willpower to force my gaze up to his standing figure. He was the very picture of authoritative calm. This both comforted me, and turned me on. "You are doing very well, my sweet little slut. You may stand, but stand straight and don't squirm." My heart swelled at his words, his approval. As much as I wanted to be fucked silly, I wanted to hear his praise. I stood slowly, with as much grace as I could. "Tell me, are your nipples sore?" Blushing, I said, "yes, Sir, but in a good way." He seemed pleased with my answer. He took a step closer and removed the clamp that pinched the hood of my clit. His fingers so near, and the blood rushing back to that nerve center made such a sweet ache I tried to chase it through my body, to hold on to it. Then he slowly loosened the clamps on my nipples and one sweet ache was replaced by another. Tossing the chain aside, he reached up and stroked my swollen, sore nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Waves of intense pleasure rolled through me as he toyed with my nipples, even his gentle touches had weight, were electric. Not of my own will, I moaned softly. At the sound of my cry he began pinching me harder, both nipples. It hurt but not unbearably, and I was surprised to find myself even more excited by it. I wanted him to use me, terribly. My empty, hungry cunt was dripping. I thrust my chest out, giving myself to his torture. "You like this, don't you, slut?" He was pinching something fierce, now. I want panting, but I managed to choke out the words, "Yes, Sir." He dipped his head down and sucked in one nipple while still pinching and twisting the other. "Oh, god, yes, Sir," my voice reached a higher pitch. His tongue toyed with my bud and I felt certain that if kept it up I would cum. He stepped away abruptly. "We can't get carried away just yet, now can we?" I gulped. "I wouldn't mind...getting carried away. Sir." He just chuckled at that. "I know you wouldn't, my little slut. That is why you belong here. That is also why I'm calling the shots." "But, Sir, I --" I began to try an make my case, and was interrupted with a sudden, sharp slap on the tit. The force caused my breast to swing heavily. It stung, but made me even wetter. What was happening to me? "No 'buts'. Understand?" "Yes, Sir," I said. Color had crept up my face, I couldn't meet his eyes. With a tip of his head, he lead me further into the room. He instructed me to stand against a wall that was dotted with bolts and rings. His hands on my shoulders, he guided me into the exact spot he wanted me. My eyes darted behind him to take in the rest of the room. There was a lack of color to the room, adding to the severeness of steel, leather, hard wood. He noticed and scolded me. "Eyes on me, slut. Haven't I already asked that of you?" "Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir." He said nothing; instead, he raised my right arm above my head and angled it away from my body. He used the ring on the leather cuff to clip my arm to the wall, and did the same with my other arm. My heart started its rapid beat once again. To act helpless was one thing, to lose the freedom of movement entirely another. "Legs apart," he said. I did as instructed, and he clipped my ankles to the wall as he had my arms. There was very little give in the restraint, I could not move. He stood back, taking in the sight of me; I focused on keeping eye contact, which was difficult. His eyes were dark, smoldering. This was exactly what I wanted, yet I was terrified of what would happen next. He turned away to fish some items out of a drawer. He approached me and fastened a piece of heavy black cloth to cover my eyes. Plunged into darkness I felt even more helpless. "This should help with your wandering eye problem," he growled, his face still close to mine. He dropped his voice to a near whisper, "your word is Philadelphia. Do not use it lightly. Do you understand?" "I do, Sir." My voice was shaky. "Good." He grabbed my left breast in his hand and gave it a mean twist. Then, the heat and nearness of his body were gone. "Do you know what lessons you are bound to learn right now, slut?" My mind went as blank as my eyesight. All I could think of was my naked, exposed body and what he was going to do with it. What I wanted him to do with it. "No, Sir," I said at last. There was a quick, sharp thwack on my upper thigh. A smallish, thick piece of stiff leather. I guessed a riding crop. "Think, slut. What have you done that needs correcting?" I must have hesitated too long because there was another strike, this time to my other thigh. It smarted, but I was certain he wasn't using near his full force. "I -- I talked back to you, Sir." Quickly I added, "I shouldn't have done that." He used the crop to lightly trace a line across the top of my breasts. "Good. What else?" He was drawing the crop from the inside of my ankle, up. Slowly. It made it hard to concentrate on anything but the sensation, traveling towards my moist heat, my wet cunt that was craving something. Anything. Just as he reached my inner thighs, he stopped the upward motion and smacked the crop against the spot where it had left off. I had taken too long to answer, I knew. "I..I lost eye contact, with you, Sir. I looked where I shouldn't have," I sputtered. He tapped the top of my mound with his instrument. Once, twice, little electric zings through my body. "Yes, you did. How much punishment do you think you deserve?" "None, Sir?" I asked hopefully. I was trying to be cute. THWACK! went the crop brutally against the side of my breast. My body tried to jump from the force but was unsuccessful. "I gave you a choice but now that choice is gone, slut." He traced the flat end of the crop across my nipples and my breath hitched. Then the crop came down, swatting the tender, tortured bud. I gasped but stayed silent, and he repeated the action, just hard enough to cause me a jolt. He hit my other nipple next, with a little more force. The snaps of pain gave way to waves of pleasure as he alternated smacking my stiff, swollen nipples, harder, just a little harder each time. The next hit he aimed right on my open pussy; I made an involuntary cry, out loud. He returned to my tits, my poor, tortured nipples, and every third or forth blow he aimed at my cunt. I felt every bit of it, yet I knew the blows were carefully measured. I knew this and felt protected by his tenderness, even as he smacked my most sensitive areas. He kept me there, on the edge of pleasure and pain, waiting for each blow, wanting his flesh in place of leather, loving it and hating it more as he hit me harder, until I cried out something loud and indistinguishable. "Have you had enough, slut? Have you learned the consequences of your actions?" I had to gasp for air before I could speak. "Yes, Sir," I croaked out at last. I had not heard his footfalls, but suddenly the warmth of his body was near mine. And then his fingers were spearing my cunt, and his mouth was on mine and every nerve in my body sang as he attacked me with his lips and his hand. "You did very well, my sweet slut," he said, pulling away too quickly. "You are so hot for me, aren't you, little one?" "God, yes Sir. I can hardly stand it." "Tell me what you want me to do, now?" I knew what I wanted but was afraid to say it. Remembering what had happened when I hesitated earlier, I blurted out, "I want your cock, and your hands, and your mouth all over me. I want your cock inside of me, Sir." "Patience, my slut." He drew his finger through the folds of my pussy, upwards, stopping just shy of my clit, and I whimpered. "I love how wet you are for me," he said and begun to unfasten the me from the wall. He was removing the leather cuffs, as well. "You want to cum very badly, don't you?" "I do, Sir. I really, really do." He chuckled -- a sound something between wicked and amused -- and undid the last of the bindings. He guided me away from the wall to another spot in the room. He positioned my legs, spread wider than before, and guided me to fold down over a narrow pad, until I bent over at the waist low enough to touch the floor. He guided my hands to two steel bars and told me to hold them. Then he tied my hands to the bars with a soft rope. He tied my ankles down as well. I was helpless again, this time with my cunt and ass vulgarly exposed, open. "I'll ask you again: what sort of punishment do you deserve?" I wanted to scream. I'd been nearly perfect for him, or at least I was trying to. As it was there was still a part of me in disbelief over what I was doing. What I allowed him to do. I answered him honestly. "Sir, I am not certain that I've done anything else wrong. But if you feel I deserve more punishment I will accept that." The flat of his hand came down on my ass, and I yelped. "I stopped earlier because of your scream. Not because we were done," he said and smacked me again on the same spot. His other hand came between my legs, toying between my open folds. I groaned, and he spanked me again. He slipped two fingers inside of me, curling up. "Besides, I think you like it." His hand came down on my ass again and my cunt clenched his fingers. "You do like it, don't you?" He began to move his fingers slowly out, then thrust them back inside me. "I...I don't know, Sir." He spanked me again, his fingers still toying with me. "I like being here with you." His slick fingers withdrew and rubbed my clit, at the same time he caressed the most certainly red spot on my ass. I thought I was going to lose it then and there, but his fingers were removed far too soon. "You like all of it?" "I do, Sir." I felt him playing with the plug that was still in my ass. "Do you like wearing this, slut?" "Yes, Sir," I did not hesitate. "You like having things shoved into your ass, my dirty slut?" "I do, Sir." His fingers returned to my clit, tapping it slowly, maddeningly. "Have you ever had a cock in your ass?" "No, Sir." "Are you ready for mine?" "Yes, Sir," I panted. He was working the plug slowly out of my ass. When it popped out, I felt empty, and missed the weight of it. I didn't have to wait long before his hand returned, this time to my cunt. He rubbed his fingers through my pussy lips, back and forth, with quick little passes over my clit. My world was dark yet it was full of color, different shades and tones of each sensation passed through me and I could almost see it. Maybe he was a drug and I was hallucinating. I couldn't focus on the thought long, as pleasure coursed through me it overrode any sort of clear thinking I might once have had. He swatted my bottom almost gently a few more times as his fingers soaked up my wetness. Each sting coincided with a little pinch of my clit, bringing sharp bright blooms of heat to my already overexcited body. Two fingers plunged deeply into my cunt and I groaned. The next moment, those very same fingers were poised at my other hole, teasing my ass. Gently, he dipped his finger in, coaxing it open. Sliding in, slowly, further, deeper, until the could go no further. The warm moving flesh was much better than the plug, it felt naughty and delicious and I loved it. Longhand "Tell me what you want, slut." Oh, what I wanted for him to just have his way with me. Vocalization of my desires had never been easy for me, dirty talk had always made me uncomfortable. But I knew he would not accept that, so I said, "I want you to take me, Sir. I want your cock, in me." "Where do you want my cock, exactly?" he asked. He speared my cunt with his other hand, and moved his fingers, in and out, in tandem with his finger in my ass. "Anywhere, everywhere, please." Fingers pulling out, slowly, and thrusting back, he added his thumb on my clit and I began to shake. "How badly do you want my cock, slut? Tell me." "So -- fucking -- bad, Sir. Please," I moaned. I was perched right on the edge, so close, and I was at a lose for words. "I want your cock, now, Sir. Please." I whimpered. It was the only thing I could think to say. He continued his assault on both of my holes more vigorously, and my pleasure kept climbing. I knew where I was headed, and my only thoughts were of getting there. The professor moved so that the front of his body was pressed right up against the back of mine. I could feel his hardness against my flesh, and I wished for the freedom of movement to push back. His hands were on my hips and the head of his cock pushed just into the folds of my pussy. I was dizzy -- I was dizzy with the blood rushing to my upturned head, I was dizzy with the thought of all that had lead me up to this point, I was dizzy with desire for the next moment -- --the next moment, as he slid the length of his thick shaft into me. I let out a long, low groan, his noise was deeper still. He sank easily into my wetness and held me there. He felt full, and hot, and right, inside of me. One hand left my hip and reached around to pet my clit, slow and light -- enough to fuel me up but not enough for take off. His cock stayed still, buried in me, as his finger danced around my tiny, powerful sex organ. He listened to my ragged breath and teased me with his fingers and his cock and his mind. I don't know how long he kept me there, on the plateau, the sensations in my body swirling around in a heated, anxious cycle, around and around, heated and throbbing. I could not control the sounds coming out of my throat, animal sounds, mewling and purring and growling as his fingers played me. He began to move, his thick member slowly slid nearly out of me, my cunt chasing the sensation. And then he pushed back in with such force that I yelped. And his rhythm began -- slow, slow, slow then quick, brutal, to the hilt. How badly I wanted to move my hips with him, yet I loved this, being at his mercy, taking exactly what he had to give. As the rhythm of his thrusts gradually increased, so did his attack on my clit. He was very aware of where I was, though, because as I started to crest his fingers and his dick stopped, for a moment, forcing me to float down before release. "Oh, god, Sir, please let me cum," I had the presence of mind to blurt out. He must have heard the agony in his voice because he resumed with a little more speed and a little more force. In moments I was climbing the vortex of my pleasure again, my swollen little bud and my wet, pulsing pussy began to spasm around him and I felt my world explode in light and heat and energy, radiating out of me. The intensity of the orgasm was unlike anything I'd felt before. And he was still in me, pumping, not letting up, pounding me and filling me up with even more heat and light, and there was his finger again and he was whispering to me, "let it go, let it go," as I came again, the walls of my cunt squeezing him, milking him. As the surges of pleasure coursed through my body I felt him filling me with his own sticky reward. For a moment he was limp, stunned, as we regained our breath. He withdrew from me and I missed his cock already, but then he was undoing the ropes that bound my wrists and ankles. He helped me stand up and removed my blindfold. His face was beaming. He drew me into my arms and muttered warm breath against my neck, "you did so well, my sweet slut. So hot and and willing and wonderful. I'm so proud of you." His kiss was warm and familiar and I melted into him. A pang of sadness passed through me as I realized just what I would be leaving behind in a week's time. But I did not let my thoughts dwell there. This night, this moment, was perfect.