1 comments/ 11068 views/ 1 favorites Will Cuts Class By: Will_and_Bijou I was in the middle of my lecture when Bijou walked into class. The topic that day was line breaks in poetry, and I was talking about how the William Carlos Williams poem "The Red Wheelbarrow" perfectly illustrated how carefully chosen breaks add sense to a poem. She sat in the back of the room, crossed her legs, and smiled at me. Only one or two of the students even looked up at her entrance. The rest were too busy texting friends or dozing to notice. "If you write out Williams' poem as prose," I said, doing so on the white board, "you can see that the language he uses is very straightforward—not at all 'poetic.' But," I wrote the text out again, this time with the breaks, "once you put the breaks in, the image you get when reading the poem is very different. It comes alive because of the breaks." I could see one or two students scribbling something like LN BRKS = MNING!!! into their notebooks. I suppressed a sigh. "Now let's look at the Gwendolyn Brooks poem you read for today," I said, turning back to face the class. Bijou was staring intently at me. Slowly and distinctly she mouthed I WANT YOU TO FUCK ME, paused, then continued RIGHT NOW. "Uh," I said after a moment, "'We Real Cool' is..." N-O-W she mouthed. NOW. "Uh, is like the Williams poem, quite famous as an examp..." Bijou started unbuttoning the filmy blouse she was wearing—slowly and deliberately, but definitely like she meant to continue. I was starting to get an erection, which would prove awkward, as there was no lectern to hide behind. "...as an example of how carefully chosen line breaks can enhance a poem's meaning." I said as fast as I could. She was on button number four. I could see cleavage even from the front of the room "But rather than have me tell you about why the line breaks work in the poem, I think you should tell me. Let's break for today. Take the last thirty minutes and write a two-page paper about the line breaks in the poem for tomorrow. Why they work, how they work, if they work. Be specific and cite examples." Regina Phillips, who was sitting in the first row, was staring at my crotch and sniggering. I didn't care and didn't have much control over the situation anyway. "Thank you all and," I grabbed my lecture notes and almost ran down the aisle, "class dismissed." Bijou sauntered leisurely out of the room, hips swaying gently. At the door, I stopped and turned to address the class. The students were all staring at me as if I had suddenly lost my mind. Perhaps I had. In any case, I couldn't stay. "Office hours are cancelled today too," I squeaked. "Sorry," and shot out into the hall. She was nowhere to be seen. Damn woman is a witch, I thought. I started toward the hall's main door when I heard her call my name. "Will," she said in a stage whisper, "up here." I was just passing the stairwell and looked up. Bijou was leaning over the railing on the second floor, waving at me. I half ran up the stairs, hoping to keep ahead of any curious students who might follow me. Pausing on the second floor landing, I looked back. Nobody. Still stunned, I thought, or stoned. "Will!" cried My Siren, "Come on!" Bijou was standing partway down the second floor corridor, in front of a blank door. She smiled happily and kissed me when I reached her side. "Love me?" she asked, impishly. "What the hell are you doing?" I said. Then, "Yes." "I thought you read my lips." "I did, but..." "So here we are," she said, indicating the door. I looked more closely at it. The only marking was a number: 229. "This is a closet," I said, "and it's probably locked." "It is locked, silly. I have the key." She produced it and opened the door, switched on the light, and stepped inside. I hesitated until she grabbed my tie and pulled me in with her, closing and locking the door behind me. It was apparently a janitor's storeroom. There was shelving along one wall that held paper towels, packages of toilet paper, cleaning supplies. A mop and bucket sat next to a sink at the rear of the room. Bijou had slipped off her sandals and was pushing her jeans down over her hips while she looked up and down the shelves, apparently searching for something. Despite all the questions rattling around my cortex, I couldn't help pausing to appreciate her long, slender thighs and that sweet, round ass, barely covered by a purple bikini. This woman has more underwear than Frederick's of Hollywood, I thought, just before she hooked her thumbs under the waistband of the bikini and yanked it down her legs. "What are you looking for?" I asked, fighting an almost uncontrollable urge to simply bend her forward against the shelves and thrust into her. She shook her head, then reached to the rear of one of the shelves and picked up what appeared to be a washcloth or dust rag of some kind. After inspecting it closely, she murmured something like, "This will do," and set it aside, turning to face me. "You don't even have your clothes off!" she said in mock astonishment. "Don't you want to fuck me?" Stepping forward, she cupped my cock, which was straining at my slacks. She grinned and said, "It sure feels like you want to fuck me," then went back to opening the remaining buttons on her blouse. She was a little more than halfway down the front. I grabbed her wrist to stop her. "Where'd you get that key?" "Rudy is a friend of mine. I have to give it back to him by seven this evening." In a pouty voice, she asked, "You don't want to fuck me, do you?" "It's not that," I replied. "I just really like that partly open top." Bijou's smile lit the room like a floodlight. "But," I said, pointing, "what's that cloth for?" "You'll have to gag me," she said. "There's probably going to be a hundred people walking by this door in a few minutes. You know how you get me yowling. I don't want the esteemed Dr. Hathaway caught in a closet with a naked..." "Half-naked," I said reasonably. She grinned. "Half-naked woman, screwing the bejesus out of her. What would your department chairman say?" I settled my body into an imitation of Thorsen's lugubrious slouch. "'At least it wasn't a student,'" I intoned sepulchrally. She snorted. "But you have a point. How do I secure it? You'll just spit it out." She reached into her purse and pulled out a long gauzy scarf. "This?" I nodded. She placed the scarf next to the rag, then reached into her bag and took out a small bottle and placed it near them. "What's that?" I asked. "Lube." "But you're always so wet." She turned her back to me, displaying her ass and wiggling it provocatively. Looking back over her shoulder she said, "That depends on which hole you're fucking, doesn't it, professor?" I am so going to hell, I thought. I started to take my clothes off in earnest. "Is there another one of those rags?" I asked. "I think I'm going to need one too." Will Cuts Class Ch. 02 A couple of weeks later she pulled nearly the same trick, but I was a little more prepared. This time, too, she wasn't being quite as forward. She sat patiently at the back of my classroom as I delved into the last 20 minutes of a lecture on rhythm. "Let's take a look at the Owen poem, Dulce et Decorum Est," I said, deliberately not looking at her. "Regina, will you just read the second stanza aloud for us? I want you to notice the language choices here." Regina stumbled through the stanza, and I pointed out the way the rhythm strengthened the imagery of awkward speed in the verse. As I was riffing on the phrase "guttering, choking, drowning," I scanned the faces to see who might actually be nodding in comprehension. Regina was, but then I suspected she had a crush on me and tended to hang on my every word anyway. Surprisingly, there were at least five paying attention. It was a brutal piece, which was one reason I used it. I turned their attention to Whitman's "Out of the Cradle, Endlessly Rocking" and made the mistake of glancing at Bijou while the students were thumbing through their books. She was wearing a tie. my slate grey Italian silk paisley, to be exact. And that was my shirt, too. I looked away quickly, before I noticed anything else. But it was clear that I was going to have to cut class short again. There were only ten minutes left anyway, and a few of the truly uninvolved students were already shifting restlessly and stacking their books. "Before next time what I'd like for you to do is pick two of the poems we discussed today, and read them aloud. Record yourselves if you'd like. Then be prepared to compare the experience with that of reading a printed work. Check your syllabus for the list of poems to look at before next week." Regina was waving her hand. I couldn't ignore her, and worse yet, Bijou was in my line of sight if I acknowledged Regina. The rest of the students were halfway packed already, but I called on her. "Can we use a different poem from one of the authors we read today, or do we need to use only these poems?" Bijou crossed her legs, looking straight at me . The shirt was long enough that she was basically wearing it as a dress, over black tights. She leaned to one side, bringing her arm up to rest her chin on her hand. She was holding a key, and idly toying with it near her mouth. On her wrist was another tie, wrapped thickly halfway up her forearm. A burgundy foulard, in this case. I struggled to remember what Regina had just asked. "Oh sure," I said, if you feel strongly about some other piece..." my mind did me the disfavor of creating the vision of bijou standing in front of the mirror putting a tie on, fussing with the double windsor knot at her throat. "...because I just felt like there were a couple of other Dylan Thomas poems that I would like to use? Cause, like, I thought they were stronger? You know? Like Fern Hill? I mean, the meter would..." I was trying to be courteous. I liked Regina, even though she was a bit of a standard type. With a bit of the wrong sort of encouragement, she might grow up to be Bijou. That was nothing I wanted to be involved with, however. I wished her well. "A fine choice, by all means," I interrupted before she could get too involved. "It is an essential discussion, and one we don't have the time for in this class, the question of a poem's value when read aloud, and the differences between spoken and written works. You might," I said to Regina, struggling not to look three rows past her, "consider taking a look at Ginsburg's Howl for a real study in that difference. Find an audio recording if you can." With their internet access these days, students could find anything. Including each other's term papers, but oh well. "I'll have extra office hours tomorrow morning, but I'll be gone for the rest of today, so if you have questions please feel free to e-mail me or come in to see me tomorrow. Thank you, everyone." Regina was going to try to talk to me after class. I wasn't at all sure how I was going to get past her. Then my cel phone rang. I looked at the screen. It was Bijou. She smiled at me from the back row as I opened the phone. "Need an excuse to leave quickly?" she purred in my ear. "Absolutely," I answered in what I hoped was an officious voice. Regina was reluctantly moving toward the door, watching to see if I hung up. "I know you've been working on that project pretty diligently." I busily gathered up my folders, trying to look hurried, and as I passed Regina, I gave her a quick smile and nod. "I have the key," said Bijou's voice in my ear. "I think we should get going on this right away," I said as I brushed past a few lingering students. Happily, they weren't paying attention to me because I could not have disguised my expression when I passed Bijou and realized she was wearing two ties around her neck, neatly knotted one above the other, and one on each wrist. my good ones, too, I thought rather ruefully. All the Italian mogador silk, for one thing. She'd learned just enough about ties to pick my favorites. And not quite enough to realize that I was probably about to destroy them. Or at least to put them through a few things that $120 silk ties are not designed to endure. When I got upstairs I saw the closet door open just a crack. I glanced in both directions, heard people coming up the stairs, and ducked in, closing the door as quietly as I could. She was sitting up on a utility table, cross legged, her hands open on her knees. She was barefoot. She smiled brightly at me . "I was hoping you'd come." "You weren't sure I would?" I said. "Are you kidding?" "I try very hard never to take anything for granted," she said, and raised one knee to rest her foot on the table top. The tails of my good blue pinstripe shirt hung down rather tantalizingly between her thighs. The shirt was mostly unbuttoned, and the only thing concealing her cleavage down to her bottom rib were the two ties. I wondered if she'd come to the class that way. I'd have bet on yes. I approached her, already unbuttoning my shirt. "Here's the problem," I murmured. "I'm not going to gag you. I have some ideas for your mouth that may conflict with that. So I wonder if it's even possible for you to actually be quiet?" Or for me to do so, I thought to myself. "I can only try," she grinned, looking immensely pleased. "So. Are you trying to give me ideas with that outfit, or are you just being innovative with half my wardrobe?" "I like silk," she said contemplatively. "And I like the sensation of something wrapped, all thick like this, around my wrists. It's just one of those esthetic compulsions." "Let me see if I can help you with that, then. You did a terrible job tying those," I said as I moved toward her. We spoke in barely audible tones, because I could hear conversation out in the hallway; there were people everywhere. "Oh yes, please, help me," she said, with a theatrically plaintive gesture. "I know they're all wrong. Had to use my teeth." I experienced a moment of regret as I untied the burgundy tie and began to wrap it around her wrist. I knotted it with a proper four-in-hand, a little disconcerted by the mirror-image of my regular routine. I did the same with the other one. I paused for a moment to take my shoes off. Bijou had managed to find the only utility closet with carpet, and I suspected it wasn't an accident. I also suspected that we were not the only couple to have ever used this particular key. The room had a certain extra ambiance... A small desk lamp for low light, a couple of empty tables, a chair or two. "The two around your neck are an interesting touch. Everyone will be doing it soon," I said, taking her hands and standing her up. I took both the ties on her wrists and led her to the metal utility shelf bolted to the wall in the back. "Thing is," I murmured, almost to myself, "there are some decisions to make here." There were only two buttons to undo on the shirt, and I promptly undid them. I couldn't resist running my hands around her breasts, and rubbing my thumbs across her nipples. They were hard. They were always hard. The ties hung between her breasts. It gave the concept of a tie a whole new appeal for me . I really had no idea what I was going to do, but I figured that I could just make it up as I went along. There were some operations that became obvious with a woman, four ties and a set of very strong shelves, but I was having trouble with all the myriad choices - I'd like to see her bent completely double, and then again the idea of her standing completely spreadeagled against the wall was appealing as well... I was just going to have to experiment. I hoped she'd be patient with me . It was interesting, and amusing, how my mind worked so rationally on the technicalities without seeming to take any of the raw edge off my lust. my cock was immensely uncomfortable already, and every time I thought of another position for her, another thing I'd like to do to this particular body, it got even harder. I struggled to focus for a moment. I didn't really want to tie her legs to the shelf, but I'd been thinking about that technicality since we'd been in that same closet a few weeks back. I turned her round to face the shelf and said, "I'm thinking you find those clothes really constrictive. Am I right?" "You know me so well," she cooed, and stripped off the leggings. When she stood up again I moved up against her and pulled one side of the shirt back. It was an excellent picture, the formal pinstripe against the curve of her hip, the arch of her hipbone defined by the white lace bikini she'd left on. I was tempted to leave the shirt on, but it was too long; it would be in the way. I stripped it back off her arms and laid it aside. "I believe this, lovely as it is, is going to be in the way as well," I said, stripping the bikini down her legs. She stepped out of it. The smile on her face was getting wider by the moment. I looked around the room for ideas. There was a stack of five or six buckets in one corner. As quietly as I could, I moved them over to the shelves, dividing them into two short stacks. Then I loosened the ties around bijou's neck and took them off, putting one on each ankle and tightening it again. "Can't tie your ankles to the shelves," I said slowly, as if I were merely thinking aloud, "so I'm thinking that I'll just loop these around these very noisy buckets." And I did so, urging her legs apart and threading one tie through a bucket handle on either side. "Obviously if you move, these will fall over and make a great deal of noise. And well..." I almost thought I heard her giggle. When I looked around at her face, she was struggling valiantly to look serious and failing miserably. Her eyes were filled with immense amusement. She was breathing hard, too, already juicy with anticipation, and I caught a faint wave of her scent as I stood back up. She had an exceptional natural perfume, musky and floral all at once, that always caught my attention. At the moment it was making me a bit dizzy. Now she stood peacefully, her legs spread wide open, her hands moving naturally to join behind her back. The ties hung down like a tail behind her. "Nice," I said, and took both her wrist ties in one hand. I yanked down on them, just a little, and she mewled softly. She enjoyed force; she'd made that clear, but I was still a little hesitant about it. I had no wish to go too far, and very little experience with that sort of game. I did, however, have a raging erection and some very interesting pictures in my head of what positions I'd like to see her in next. And the only way to learn anything was, after all, to experiment. "Hmm," I breathed. "I wonder how much this actually immobilizes you?" And keeping a firm grip on the ties behind her back, I began to run my free hand over her torso, pinching her nipples, stroking up the insides of her thighs, toying with the edge of the light dusting of hair on her mons. She writhed a bit, and her breathing got heavy. When I felt her arms move, I yanked downward rather firmly, keeping them still. She sucked in her breath and moaned. That was clearly the right answer. And more to the point, I felt a surge of heat in my groin that was surprisingly powerful. I loved the idea that she was actually rather helpless. "So," I breathed in her ear. "If I actually did something you truly didn't like and wanted to stop, what would you be likely to say to me?" "I'd say, 'seriously, stop.' Seriously is the word I'd use," she breathed, and then groaned as my hand went between her legs. She was swollen and moist, and her spine seemed to shake a little with the strain of staying still. "So no matter how much you complain, I won't really have to listen to you unless you say 'seriously' to me, right?" "Mmmmm, yeah," she cooed as I found her clit and stroked it. Then I pressed on it, holding perfectly still, and enjoyed how she struggled to rock toward my finger without moving too much. Her frustration was lovely to watch. Then I took my finger away completely, and her look turned to desperation, perhaps even a flash of raw anger. When her shoulders twitched in annoyance, I yanked a little on the ties again, wrapping the extra length around my hand to get a tighter hold. She sucked in her breath and moaned, almost too loud. Oh hell yeah. This was fun. I moved my hand down again, got her hips to begin to move, and then took my hand away as soon as she began to respond. She groaned, and gritted her teeth, her hips bucking in frustration. Twice more, and she began to whine, perhaps a bit too loud. "Don't forget to be quiet," I said, pulling down a little on her wrists so that her shoulders arched back. "Goddd...damn," she hissed at me through clenched teeth. She was still grinning, sort of, though now it was a great deal more feral than her regular smile. "But see, I'm bored with that now." I most definitely wasn't, but I had a few other thoughts as well that I wanted to try. "You just wait there while I think for a bit." I moved a few feet away and took off my shirt, and then reconsidered the idea of removing my pants -- there was always a slight danger of getting caught, and... I chuckled at the thought of it making any real difference whether or not I still had trousers on, given the rest of the scene at the moment. "I'm trying to think what level is best on these shelves," I said, moving bijou's wrists round in front of her and taking the ties in one hand again. "For example, there's this bottom shelf." I drew the ties downward and she bent over, till her hands were only about a foot off the floor. I pretended to back up and scan the whole picture, and moved my foot so that it held the ends of the ties down. When she realized what I'd done, after I straightened up again, her spine tightened. I thought I heard her growl. I left my foot there, pretending not to notice. Not that she was buying it. She was very exposed in this position. The indentations in her spine led appealingly to the division between her cheeks, set rather wide apart by her stance. my hand naturally moved to her cunt, toying with a finger or two, exploring the little variations in her lips, dipping into her occasionally. She was definitely moaning, very low and suppressed. I moved one finger down to her clit and stroked until I could definitely hear little desperate gasps from her. With my other hand I stroked down her spine, heading for her little hole, where I pressed and flickered a fingertip. Her spine jerked and she gasped. It gave me more ideas. I played with her similarly for a moment or two, getting her energy up and then taking my hands entirely away to watch her tighten and rock in frustration, but I knew that position wasn't something she should stay in for very long, especially breathing as heavily as she was. So I moved my foot, and bent over to pick up the ends of the ties. "Fascinating," I said. "Do you know, you're really exposed like that. Sort of, well, vulnerable. It has a certain appeal." Since she hadn't actually unbent her torso yet, I sent two fingers suddenly deep into her pussy, thrusting in and out somewhat forcefully. She was incredibly juicy, and the heat around my fingers made me want to force my cock into her right then. But I stopped, and she couldn't suppress a fierce groan. "But there are some problems with that. There are places on you that I can't reach as well." I slowly lifted up on the ties so that her arms raised to a shelf about two feet up. She felt it and gripped it, pushing herself upward with obvious effort. That was a nice look too, her back straight and her head at what could only be thought of as cock-level. In fact, the thought blotted out my other ideas momentarily. I took one of her wrists away from the shelf and moved to lean back against it so that I was facing her. I let her put her hand back to steady herself, and rather deliberately undid my pants and freed my cock. It hung directly in front of her face, and she moved forward, raising her head. "Uh-uh," I chastised in a low whisper. I took a handful of her hair and held her mouth just away from the tip of my cock. The elegant machinery of this arrangement, this moment, pleased me and made me nearly insane with hunger. I held my cock in my other hand, pointed directly at her lips, but did not let her move. Her whole body was shuddering and a thin whine of frustration escaped her. This was seriously fucking with her, I realized, and that turned me on a great deal more than I had expected it to. "This is fascinating," I murmured. "You are absolutely desperate for that right now, aren't you?" She whined an assent. "You know what's really odd about this moment is that as much as I absolutely love your mouth on my cock..." I paused, reminiscing, but also enjoying the fact that she seemed to be shaking all over. "...yeah... Love your mouth on my cock..." I allowed her head to get about an inch closer, so that her lips were just brushing the tip. And then no further. A growl exploded out of her. It was quite genuine, that growl, and realizing that, I found myself even more fiercely aroused. "Anyway," I forced myself to sound perfectly casual, although the fact that I could feel her breath moving down my shaft made that nearly impossible, "what's fascinating to me at this moment is that as much as I enjoy the idea of you sucking me off, right here and now," and I let her mouth slip once, just over the head, and then pulled her back rather sharply, evoking a positively desperate cry from her, "I am enjoying even more the state it seems to be putting you in for me to not" and I brushed my cock back and forth over her lips to punctuate my words, "quite...let you...do it." Now her whine was constant and she was definitely having trouble being quiet. Her body was tight as a bowstring, and I could see her fingers clenched white on the edge of the shelf. I thought I might like to see the look on her face, so I very gently drew her hair upward, supporting her shoulder with the other hand. She was off balance with her legs trapped like that, and I couldn't have her falling over, particularly since I suspected she wasn't particularly aware of her stance at the moment. She lifted her hands away from the shelf and with my help, slowly came upright, and the gaze that met mine was stunning, to say the least. The look on her face was completely animal, absolutely wild with frustration. I might even say there was fury in her expression. Pure fury. It was disconcerting enough that I lost track of any sort of "character" I might have been trying to stay in. I was suddenly worried that I'd gone too far. I peered into her eyes, trying to get some sort of handle on where she was. As I looked at her, her expression changed. Her face slid gradually from that hungry, consumed desperation into a smile so fierce and amused it almost frightened me equally. Boudicea may have had this same gleeful challenge in her expression as she prepared to take off a Roman soldier's head. Will Cuts Class Ch. 02 I couldn't help it; I was a bit worried. "Are you...okay?" I asked tentatively. Her smile got even bigger, and her eyes were as intense and filled with humor as I'd ever seen them. "Fuck. You," she said, grinning. Over the next hour or so, I discovered I had a competitive streak a mile wide that I had never been aware of. -to be continued- Will Cuts Class Ch. 03 "Fuck. You," she said, grinning. Over the next hour or so, I discovered I had a competitive streak a mile wide that I had never been aware of. *** "Oh is that so?" I smiled, surprised at her vehemence but reassured that I was definitely doing this stuff right, or so it seemed. It made me want to see more of that feral look, to see how far I could move her into complete, begging desperation. The idea that I'd gotten to her, if only for a moment, that I'd outwitted her and taken her to a completely authentic, out-of-control place, made me incredibly hot. And I realized that the more I simply indulged my imagination, the better I got at this. My imagination was being very helpful, as a matter of fact. There were several things I'd thought of already. But as long as she was standing... I wanted to see her spreadeagled against the shelves, just to see how she looked like that, but with the whole bucket arrangement, that was rather impractical and awkward. I could just tie her ankles to the sides of the shelf, but I was thinking a great deal about how much of this was already a game of the mind. "Here's what I'm going to do now, I think. I'm going to undo your ankles, and move you forward. But I feel like I need a similar incentive for you to not move. So I'm going to do this." I unhooked the ties from the buckets and shifted her forward so that she stood up against the shelves. I spread her legs, much wider this time, since she would have support to keep her balance. I looped the ties loosely around the legs of the shelving unit, but didn't tie them. There was still hope that they wouldn't be completely ruined... Again, I was a little disconcerted by how the ways I was having to think technically, rationally, about these operations didn't seem to lower my arousal, but rather heightened it. It was as if my mind finally had a way to participate in the project, rather than just hanging around and trying not to get in the way while it was happening. The science of the whole thing, the mechanics, the ways in which I had to stay one step ahead of bijou's not unconsiderable intellect, to take her by surprise... All of these things, I'd have expected, would have taken the fun out of sex. Instead, they seemed to be putting the fun back into it. To take her. By surprise. my mind held the phrase, turned it round and round as if it were looking at a puzzle. "I think I'm just going to lay a pen down at each of your feet," I murmured, and took two out of the shirt pocket nearby. I laid them next to her arches. "If they don't get moved, maybe later we can go back to that possibility of you sucking my cock." Please don't move, I thought, because I really, really want to go back there, and I'm not sure I'd be able to keep my word on NOT doing it. "Does that... motivate you at all?" "Right now I could feasibly kill to suck your cock, after what you just did to me," she said in a terribly calm voice. "So, yeah." "Well, that's excellent," I chuckled at her intensity. "I just keep guessing right, don't I?" I took one of her wrists and raised it up, holding it at different angles and heights, just looking at the picture. She watched me curiously, with a bit of a smile, and I assiduously ignored her. "Mm. This one," I said. "I'm thinking, right about there." And I placed her hand far along the shelf just above her head, stretching the tie over the rest of the way to the support. This time I was going to have to actually tie a knot, and I cringed as the burgundy silk wrinkled and crushed. Then again, I thought, looking at the firm square knot in the fabric, there was something pretty artistic about that. Make a good photograph, I thought, her thin white wrist, the fingers curved around the edge of the shelf, the wine color of the silk in a smooth band around her wrist, even the knot in the ends of the tie, rather thick and masculine, expensive silk against a cheap metal utility shelf. Texture, color, contrast, narrative, it was all contained in the frame. Focused, I tied up her other arm. When I yanked a bit on the tie to stretch her arm out to its limit, she sucked in her breath. I paused, and then pulled her a bit further. She moaned. She was stretched quite tightly against the shelf already, but she certainly wasn't in any pain. That must be arousal I was hearing. I pulled again, just a little further, and she cooed. I tied off the knot, roughly this time, and tightly. I noted with pleasure that the shelves were actually bolted to the wall at the back. Someone had put some thought into that... She twisted her hands, suddenly, and turned them in the ties so that she actually held the original knot in her palm, wrapping her fingers around it. The silk made a smooth loop across the back of her wrist. I stepped back to look at the picture. Her legs were quite wide apart, and her arms stretched out at a lovely angle. She had very good arms. Oh, what to do first. It was a bit like having a dessert cart wheeled to one's table. I moved up behind her and brought my hands round to embrace her, running my hands across the various planes and complex curves she made, feeling where her muscles rippled and pulsed as she moved toward my hands. With her legs spread this wide, she was a little shorter than usual, and I buried my face in her hair, breathed the scent around her neck. Unconsciously, my hands went to her nipples, and I lost myself in rubbing, pulling on them, squeezing her small breasts under my palms, pinching her nipples harder, and even harder until I heard her gasp. my whole body was hot, and my cock throbbed, still thrust out of my slacks and now pressed against the curve of her spine. One hand moved down between her legs and I began to toy with her, just to explore at my leisure the little angles and folds, enjoying the moisture and the little moans I seemed to be inspiring. God, I wanted her, wanted to do everything to her at once, my cock everywhere, my hands everywhere. As the thought occupied me , my hands unconsciously tightened on her, gripping one breast and her mons, hard. Before I could catch myself and loosen up, she groaned and writhed back against my hips. To take her. By surprise, my mind said again. To take her. I slid my hand down her back and found her pussy, and without preamble thrust two fingers all the way into her, hard, banging up until I felt like I could almost lift her off the ground. She groaned, and almost cried out. "Too loud, love," I said, not slowing down, fucking her steadily with my hand. Her breathing was ragged and her teeth were clenched. "Here, let me help." I lifted the other hand off her clit and raised it up to thrust a knuckle between her teeth. "I don't have to tell you that if you bite too hard I'll stop, right?" She whimpered, and her head nodded just slightly. She drew my thick knuckle between her lips and sucked, hard, and her moans were quiet but intense as my fingers continued to ram into her, rhythmically. "Somehow, you put me in mind of a kite, in that position," I breathed into her ear, not slowing my rhythm. One advantage of talking to her was that it tended to keep her quiet. Or at least a little less loud. "Suck that while I talk," I murmured, pressing my knuckle into her mouth a little further. It was an evocative size and shape in that position. She was alternately, whimpering, squealing and moaning, but it was muffled as she focused fiercely on sucking me . "You're all stretched taut, and white as paper, and there's something very airy about you, as if you could just catch one gust of wind and go sailing up..." and I slowed my rhythm slightly, ramming intently upward into her even more deeply, actually lifting her onto her toes. Her moans were completely surrendered, vibrating around my finger. I took her, and took her, raising her nearly off the floor, until I felt like she was truly focused on nothing but the sensation of being fucked. Her head was back, eyes closed, and her hips were rocking in time with my fingers. I watched her carefully, and when it seemed like she was completely overtaken and involved in nothing but my fingers in her mouth and cunt, I abruptly pulled away and took two steps back. Her reaction was electrifying. Her head whipped forward and sideways, straining to look back at me . Her whole body arched in deep frustration, writhing in its constraints. And the sound she made was a keening, angry whine, filled with rage. Her fists clenched around the ties and she fought against the bonds, genuinely frustrated by them. I watched her, and my hand moved to stroke my cock. To have a woman so hungry for me that she was truly furious... it was amazing. I moved forward and thrust my fingers into her again, hard, once, twice, and again until I could tell that she thought I was back for more, and then again withdrew. Now her rage was even higher. This was honestly fucking with her, and it amazed me how easy I was finding it, how naturally I was coming to an understanding of her responses. What was more, it was making me more aroused than I could remember feeling -- a hot red lust that would have blotted out every thought, if my mind weren't balancing it so well. I felt like the top of my head was lifting off. I wanted to simply grab her right then, bend her over and slam steadily into her until I came, but on the other hand, my mind, now finally becoming an ally in the process, was busy wondering what sort of operations might be more possible if she were untied and bent over that table nearby... The mix of completely primitive lust and coolly intellectual distance within me was fascinating. And I noticed that, as I stood at a slight distance from her, ruminating on my next step and appreciating the lovely way she was genuinely struggling with the bonds around her wrists, her frustration was rising to a completely desperate pitch. In a sense, I could drive her completely mad simply by standing still. I moved quietly forward, and with one hand traced very lightly down the center of her belly to her mons, and found her cherry with a single fingertip. I held it completely still, just barely touching, and she writhed and mewled, pleading with me . "You're liking my finger there?" I inquired as calmly as I could. She whimpered and nodded. "You're certainly on your way toward coming right now, am I right? Like, if I did this, for example," and I began to circle lightly, to flicker my finger slickly over her little button the way I'd seen her work on herself, "and if I kept it up, do you think that would make you come?" She nodded, humming plaintively. "Especially if I sped up, just a little bit, like this?" Her voice went up a couple of pitches, and her whine became a clear petition. "Well, then, I'd better stop," I said abruptly. "But that's good to know." And I stepped to a safe distance. Her head whiplashed back and her body went into a raging spasm. "Ffffffuck..." she panted. "You bastard." Gingerly, I stepped toward her, still feeling like I didn't want to get too close, just in case the ties didn't hold. I peered round to look at her face. Her gaze could only be described as murderous. Again, I wondered if I'd gone too far. "Seriously?" I asked. "You," she said, her face slowly transforming into that Boudicea grin again, "are a complete monster. An inhuman motherfucker with a very deep twisted streak." She was still panting, and her hips seemed to be shaking uncontrollably. But she was smiling. And she hadn't said 'seriously'. I did my best to sound terribly wounded. "Here I'm sacrificing some very expensive ties for you and all you can do is complain. Monster, indeed. Where's the gratitude?" and I moved back again, a little involuntarily, when she growled. I found my mind wandering back to that phrase. By surprise. To take her. It gave me so many ideas at once. I considered the fact that I could reach more of her with more of me if she were somehow bent over. I backed up and looked around the room, ignoring the fact that she was genuinely twisting her hands, as if testing the strength of the restraints. I decided to go ahead and take my pants the rest of the way off -- I had finally noticed the discomfort of having my erection half-trapped in the open zipper, and as I undid my belt I remembered momentarily where I was. "How long can we stay here, o she-who-tramples-imported-silk?" I thought I heard a chuckle. "No time limit tonight, Torquemada," she said, and glanced at me over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. "Interesting," I said. And took off my pants. * to be continued * Will Cuts Class Ch. 04 "No time limit tonight, Torquemada," she said, and glanced at me over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. "Interesting," I said. And took off my pants. ****** I had noticed a small conference table over to the side, and picturing her bent forward over it gave me several interesting ideas. The trick was going to be untying her and getting her there without getting savaged. I really wasn't quite sure just exactly how angry I was making her, nor what the exact rules of this game were, but she wasn't fitting in with the "submissive" profile I'd read, those few times I'd wandered into fiction that had that theme. On the other hand, I certainly wasn't conventionally dominant, either. But I was quite comfortable simply talking through my process, being very much myself, and oddly, that seemed to work just as well, if not better, than playing some sort of "master" character. I was pretty sure that anyone who tried to play that artificial "Sir Dom" stuff with Bijou would be shredded within moments anyway. Verbally, if not otherwise. I moved a bit closer to her, so I could speak quietly in her ear. "I'm thinking I might untie your hands at some point. But I need to check on a couple of things first." I began petting her gently, running my hands over her chest, her thighs, round her buttocks, tracing my fingers up her spine. It was instinctive, I realized, the way one might try to calm a skittish horse. She cooed and her body relaxed into my hands. "You'd still really like to be able to come eventually, right?" There was quite a bit of an edge to her simple, "Oh yes. I would." "And the idea of sucking my cock is still sort of motivational as well, yes?" This elicited a small, desperate growl. "Oh good. Because when I untie you, I really have this instinct that you're a little...angry... and you might want to cause some sort of trouble. I mean, I really am very new to this sort of game..." She knew where I was headed. And she grinned, although her body was still rocking gently to the long strokes from my hands. "Oh, I promise I'll be terribly good." There was an affectionate sarcasm in her voice. "Did you want me to call you sir or anything?" I laughed, trying to be quiet. "I don't think so. I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face. Bet you wouldn't either." She snorted. "No," I said, "I think we'll just stick with Will." "Strong Will," she said, and sighed as my hands pressed down on her, stroking her long body, up and down. I kept one hand moving on her and reached up to begin undoing one of the ties. One advantage to their thickness was that it was being relatively easy to pull the knot loose, although the stress she'd put on it had pulled it somewhat tighter than it had been. I managed to work it open, trying not to think about what kind of damage it had incurred, and then switched hands. This one was harder and I had to use both hands to undo it. She had left her hands resting on the shelf, either out of some sort of tractability or simple inattention, and I pulled her arms gently down, one by one, massaging her shoulders lightly and drawing the blood down into her hands. She moaned appreciatively, flexing her fingers. I was careful to draw her arms round behind her very gently, but I kept hold of both ties behind her as I distracted her with the massage. I still didn't entirely trust my safety. "I'm noticing that those pens by your feet didn't shift at all. You're pretty strong willed yourself," I said. "There was a reward offered for that, as I remember," she purred, with a bit of an edge. "Indeed. I haven't forgotten," I said as I did my best to subtly knot the ties on her wrists, so that her arms were trapped behind her back. At least temporarily, that seemed like a good idea. "In fact, if your legs are a bit tired from all that standing, you could kneel for a moment, just right here in front of me," I said. She shot me a look that was undefinable, with equal parts of amusement and suspicion and a small amount of genuine relief. She did seem a little weak from all the exertion, and I had no desire to "break my toy", as she was fond of saying. She sank to her knees, tugging on her hands and noticing for the first time that they were actually bound behind her. I saw a flash of annoyance, then amusement when she realized what I'd done. She was definitely a little out of it; I hadn't been that stealthy. I took a moment to enjoy the fact that she was truly a little limp; she did have rather an iron will but she was showing a bit of wear at the moment. I was enormously pleased at the idea that I'd managed to make an impression on her. "You talk about this energy thing, taking yang from men, that sort of idea. And it occurs to me that you're actually looking a little tired at the moment. Now my impression is that I would have to come to provide you with this energy, and I'm not quite ready to do that yet." "Not necessarily," she said, smiling. "There's a certain amount of energy available the whole time." "You know I'd do anything for you," I said, attempting to sound terribly sincere. She snorted. I was pretty concerned that her mouth could take me over the edge within a very short time, and I wanted to wait for that. I had some ideas as to where I'd like to be when I finally let myself go. And any number of things I wanted to see between now and that moment. "Here's what I'm seeing. You've talked about the concept of holding completely still as a sort of... thing." "Stillness practices," she offered. That's it," I said. "Now I wonder if you're actually capable of holding still, keeping your mouth completely receptive and inactive. Completely." I thought about the various times I'd tried to get her to stop for a moment, when I was close to the edge. Sure, her head would stop moving, but she'd do something else equally maddening instead. She'd set up a steady, unmoving suction, some crazy throat muscle thing, or else she'd ripple her tongue on the underside, just flexing it in a steady wave without really moving. It was cheating, I'd argue with her. She knew perfectly well what I meant by "holding still," and she'd always get off, as it were, on some technicality. Her only real answer had been that she'd paid more attention in linguistics classes than the normal student. "Still. I mean it. None of that muscle twitching and stuff. Are you even capable?" Her face had melted into a grin that was not at all mischievous. It was genuinely evil. And very self-satisfied. She attempted to look hurt, but failed. "I can only promise that I will truly, actually try. But if you keep getting tangible sensations from energy work that has nothing to do with the physical, how can I help that? I'm NOT moving. You just THINK I am." "I suppose I'll have to try to be fair about that, although I think you're full of shit. Tangible means that something is happening. Something REAL." "In that sense, we agree," she said thoughtfully, and I realized that the sort of conversation they were having was generally had over lattes in trendy coffee shops, not tied up and buck naked in utility closets. I liked that about Bijou. "But one cannot prove a negative. How can I prove to you that I'm not moving anything physical, when you trust only the evidence of your senses, and your senses interpret sensations as physical, whether or not they are conventionally caused by actual movement or not?" "For there to be a sensation, there must be a physical cause," I said. "What about heartbreak? That's quite tangible, quite literal. Actual sensations of pain in the heart area. And no physical cause." "Well now we're talking about two different things, though..." I said, completely involved. "Not in this case. One can feel a physical sensation caused purely by an emotional state, or by an action of the will. Or the Will," she grinned. "That's what we're talking about in this case too. Those sensations can be transmitted just like touch can be transmitted, from one person to another. Ideas can in fact be tangible to the senses, at least as much as something like heartbreak can be. I mean, you've HAD that sensation." I couldn't argue with her on the heartbreak thing. I'd definitely felt that and it was a genuine, tangible pain. But that was a whole different thing from the fact that at those moments I'd been able to actually feel her doing something with her throat, or something with her tongue, or something... Whatever it was, though I could never quite locate the sensation specifically, I could actually FEEL that. That was different. She was cheating, moving something. "I have, in fact, cheated," she admitted, smiling, as if she had heard my thoughts. "For the sake of this argument, there have indeed been times when I was rolling my tongue on you, or something, when you told me to hold still. I just don't always do things I'm told to do... But I always admitted it. I've never lied when I said I was actually not moving. That's the difference." "Personally, I don't think you could actually hold your mouth still for thirty seconds, let alone while my cock was in it for a while," I said. "I've seen what you do to pens. And lighters. And water bottles. And cigars." Bijou tended to unconsciously fellate her entire environment, especially when she was bored. "I could," she argued, "but I'm not sure how to prove that I'm doing so." "This bears some thought, indeed," I said, noticing for the first time in a few minutes that I was standing naked in front of a kneeling woman who was bound with my best silk ties. We had completely forgotten to be quiet, but it was a bit later and the traffic outside in the hall had died out. "Okay, how about this," she said, actually preoccupied with the mechanics now. "Try rolling your eyes up in your head, and check the sensation you have, if any, sorta down behind your throat." I did so, and actually could feel an odd movement, somewhat muscular, deep in my throat, behind the soft palate. "Okay, feel that?" she asked. I nodded, surprised. "That's a motion, a muscular motion you're making, and that's what I'm doing. I do have to roll my eyes back like that for it to be effective, and that connection you're feeling at the back of your throat is the reason. That's where it goes in." It didn't particularly matter to me that I didn't know what the hell she was talking about. I'd learned just enough to know that she wasn't completely delusional, or at least that she was learning this stuff from published works and established sources, not just hearing it from her Rice Krispies. Delusional remained to be seen, but at least I had to admit that it was a mass delusion, not hers alone. And it was true, I had felt a sensation in my throat, but that was probably attendant musculature, involuntary movements related to the action of rolling my eyes back. Again, she was reading my mind. "There is musculature involved in that movement, of course, but not enough to actually be tangible to you, not in the way you're describing it to me, anyway. Not all the way to the tongue, or anything. Those muscles don't even connect down to the throat. So where's the sensation coming from?" I shook my head to clear it. I was still occupied with the sensation of rolling my eyes back. "And you have to roll your eyes back like that to do that thing you're doing?" "Pretty much," she said. "It opens some stuff. You can feel it yourself. There's a connection there, and it helps you be able to feel where your pineal and pituitary are actually located, to notice that spot." You are one freaky chick, I thought. I loved how serious and preoccupied she got when she was off on these crazy riffs. Completely scholastic. Her body was sweaty, naked, bound and sticky with her own juice, but her mind was all professor at that moment. She may as well have been in a lecture hall. "You don't want to hear about any of this stuff," she grinned, coming back. "You're a rationalist. You should know better than to get me started." "You're right, I should," I agreed. "But this bears an experiment. The thing is, we'll need you in a position in which your mouth and jaw can be completely relaxed." She giggled as I looked around the room for ideas. My mind clicked through the technicalities of positions in which she could legitimately say she was completely relaxed. Clearly she'd have to be laying back, probably on the floor, and I would need to be in some position I could hold comfortably enough not to move for a while. I realized, amused, that I was being terribly scientific about what amounted to a basic blow job. Okay, a blow job from someone who considered fellatio an actual religious practice, but a blow job nonetheless. I heard her voice from below me . I'd gotten so involved with scanning the room for ideas that once again I'd forgotten the basic situation. A woman knelt bound before me , her face at the level of my cock. My best silk ties were involved, and most likely doomed. She said, "May I offer a suggestion?" "If you have one, and you're not batting your eyelashes suspiciously, I might take you up on it," I said, feeling overwhelmingly the urge to just give up on the whole project and shove my cock into that incredibly tempting mouth then and there. "Hang my head down over a table top. Use those work towels over there as cushions. I'll be able to completely relax, in that position." I saw the picture. She lay on her back on the conference table, her head hanging down over the edge of the shelf. Just the right height to... "Are you sure you'd be comfortable that way?" I asked. Upside down. Interesting. "Quite," she said. "And verifiably relaxed." I spotted the stack of work towels she meant, over on a shelf. I picked up a couple and laid them on the edge of the table as a sort of pillow. "Show me," I said. "You'll have to untie me," she said, looking up at me with a suspiciously pleased expression. "Can't have my hands underneath me." "Do I dare?" I asked, remembering the murderous rage I'd seen on her face not so many minutes ago. "It's for science," she smiled. "You need some evidence for your senses." I helped her stand. All her shakiness had disappeared; she seemed enervated all of a sudden. I untied the knot I'd made in the ties on her wrists but left them on. Esthetically, it was stunning, the contrast of the dark silk bound thickly around her long, pale limbs. I was discovering that I didn't care so much about the ties. For one thing, if any of them survived, I'd be wearing them with an entirely different attitude, knowing where they'd been. And if they got ruined, they'd be kept in That Drawer with the other odd objects I'd ended up with since meeting Bijou, and they would undoubtedly get used again. And again. I shook my head, trying to focus on the moment. She had positioned herself on the table. She lay on her back, her neck cushioned by the towels and her head hanging upside down over the edge. I noticed that her legs were crossed, and her hands rested on her thighs, positioned in one of the "mudras" she had enthused about, whose names I could never keep track of. Her face looked totally relaxed, inverted like that. And her lips were parted. God, those lips. Already swollen with arousal, a mouth that could make me come within moments when she wanted to make it happen, no matter how I tried to resist. Lips that had been close enough to my cock for me to feel the breath along its length, lips that I'd managed to resist so far for the sheer sake of torturing her. I couldn't resist any longer. I moved to the table, and my cock, which had gone partially soft during all the philosophical debate and technical consideration, jumped and swelled, reacting to the proximity of that luscious, welcoming mouth. It was right there, and the perfect height. I stayed a foot or two away. "You'll hold PERFECTLY still?" I asked, "except for that eye thing?" "Nnnngg," she hummed. She seemed completely relaxed, almost in a trance. She was clearly trying to prove that every part of her was receptive and still. I remained skeptical. As always. I couldn't resist the rest of her, at least for a moment. I deliberately moved to the side, and leaned over her calm body, running my hands over her breasts, smoothing the curves of her waist, reaching down to stroke her pussy, which was still amazingly juicy. Her body remained relaxed, which interested me. Only her voice responded, with a low, pleased moan, and when I laid my other hand on her belly I felt the muscles, and discovered they were completely relaxed, even as I stroked her slick little button and pinched her nipples. Her voice rose; the rest of her body remained still. She was good at going into this state, obviously. Science be damned, I didn't particularly care whether we established any truth to this proposition that what I sensed when my cock was in her mouth was from one source or another. The plain fact was, there was a mouth. A lovely, incredible mouth. And my cock wanted to slide into it. Now. I put my hands on the edge of the table, on either side of her, and my cock touched down on her lips. She didn't move. Her mouth wasn't open far enough for me to slide in. I looked carefully at the picture I was making, the tip of my phallus pressed delicately against her lips, purple on swollen pink. A single pearl of moisture emerged from the tip. She had referred to that as "dragon tears," I remembered. Slowly, deliberately, I chose to take my cock in my hand, and stroke the moisture it had generated back and forth across her lips, slicking them up. I slid a finger slowly into her mouth, feeling her tongue above, circling and probing between her teeth. Warm, wet, receptive, and completely still, her mouth yielded to me, and I couldn't wait any longer. my fingertips pressed her mouth open, and I aimed the head of my cock at her open mouth and forced it in, gently, deliberately, widening her jaw as I worked the tip into her. I could feel her tongue on the upper side of my shaft, a strange sensation when I was accustomed to feeling that juicy cushion underneath. I was completely absorbed in the sensation. My mind kept saying the word "receive" over and over. Just that. She received me. I moved further in, feeling the heat, the moisture. She was incredibly wet. The thought that she was salivating at the idea of my cock in her mouth appealed to me. I wanted to move, to fuck her, to slide deep and keep sliding and sliding until I exploded, but some part of my mind told me to be still, to notice everything, to catalogue, almost methodically, the sensations I was having. The palm of my hand on the edge of the tabletop. The hand that held my cock straight into her. My legs, planted firmly on the floor, a wide stance, primitive. my breath, deep and even in my belly. The hot gold sensations fluttering around my hips, my testicles, the base of my spine. Her white, outstretched neck, just under my gaze, culminating in the smooth parabola of her jawbone, and the deep pink of her lower lip, sliding onto the darker rose of my shaft. My thumb across the base, pale in comparison with the hard rose color of my cock, aiming me into her mouth, firm, solid. The top of my head, seemingly floating feet above me, strange and electric. Just another centimeter. I watched as by increments, incredibly, gradually, my cock disappeared slowly into her, until my thumb holding the shaft was pressed against her lips. She surrounded me, defined me with the shape of her tongue, her palate, the edges of her teeth that I could feel pressing lightly against my skin. My cock explored her mouth, shifting almost imperceptibly as it twitched and hardened, sliding gradually up against the back of her throat, pressing slightly from side to side as I shifted my stance to set my feet more firmly. The idea was to hold still, but I could feel even the movement of my breath creating little motions in my cock, the little jumps of my arousal moving the shaft within the warm cavern.