0 comments/ 42658 views/ 0 favorites Higher Education Ch. 1 By: Kelwynna_Douglas In between classes she darted into the restroom to check her hair. Leaning against the damp sinks, she peered into the mirror, sighing at the errant tendrils that seemed to pull themselves, willy-nilly, from whatever arrangement she designed. She wet her fingers and raked them through the gold-brown skeins of hair, half of her mind attentive for the bell, the other twisting around her appearance, lamenting. She didn't like her face. It didn't have the fresh perkiness that the cheerleaders had in such abundance, and it wasn't the emaciated thin-boned elegance she imagined possessing. Her heritage was northern, a scattered genetics that encompassed the Vikings who'd ruled northern Scotland, the slim darkness of the Welsh tucked into their folded valleys, the clear-skinned paleness of the Irish. Her forehead was high, fringed with tiny curls that escaped all holding, her eyes a dark and steady gray; it was a face where animation determined what the beholder found within it. She was barely conscious of the bell when it rang; she'd twisted her body between two of the cheap sinks so that she could examine her eye makeup. In the back of her mind, she heard the slow dimming of traffic in the halls, but it wasn't until it whispered into silence that she realized how late she was. "Shit!" and she extricated herself with a deft movement, brushing at the damp spots on her skirt at the same time she grabbed her stack of books from the shelf. A last glance into the mirror and she whirled out into the hall, her low-heeled shoes tapping briskly over the gleaming linoleum. Ahead of her, she could see the door to her English class still standing open and she hurried her step; just as she saw her teacher's hand reach through the door to pull it closed, another hand closed on her arm. "And just what do we have here?" the hall monitor inquired genially. 'Late again, Alayne?' She hissed in resignation and let herself be towed away through the halls to the office. 'The school counselor?' she could hardly believe her ears. The assistant principal shook his head at her from behind his desk. 'You've been late to class six times this week, Alayne. Your teachers say you're not paying attention, your grades are falling. I want you to see Mr. Borden. This afternoon.' He handed her a hall-pass. 'Now get off to class.' She was steaming quietly as she trudged back through the halls to her classroom. A long afternoon of staring at a clock stood in front of her and she was not amused. Her teacher accepted the hall-pass wordlessly and gestured her to her seat. Alayne settled back into her chair and tried to turn her mind towards the Romantic Poets. When the final bell rang, Alayne lingered at her locker, slowly gathering books and papers against the hours ahead of her. The halls held that strangely deserted aspect of 'after school', everything echoed more largely. She scuffed slowly down the hallway to the school counselor's office and knocked on the door. Mr. Borden pulled it open and looked at her appraisingly. 'Alayne Rikardson?' he asked, and to her nod continued, 'I've got to read over your file - why don't you come in and get a start on your homework while I go through it.' Once in his office, she found an armchair beneath the window and settled into it, pulling her history book onto her lap to read the next assignment. Mr. Borden sank down behind his desk and was soon engrossed in sifting through papers. The room was so silent that she could hear the soft tick of his clock upon the shelves. She tried to concentrate on the Plantagenet kings, but her mind wandered. Jamie was going to take her to the Homecoming dance and she had to decide what to wear, it couldn't be anything too daring or she'd be fighting his hands all night . . . she mused over her options, imagination painting her into a thin green sheath or perhaps the white dress with the swishing skirt . . . She was suddenly aware that Mr. Borden was watching her, his eyebrows raised in quizzical inquiry. She flushed, realizing that she'd been conducting an imaginary flirtation before his gaze. He leaned back in his seat, amused. "You're quite the accomplished little tease," he observed, his fingers setting aside a sheaf of papers. She pressed back against the chair, her fingers nervously brushing the hem of her plaid skirt down over her bare thighs. 'I don't know what you mean,' she responded with studied dignity. He laughed, the intent lines of his face relaxing. 'Oh yes, you do. I was watching you practice, remember.' Her eyes darted to the clock and his followed. 'Two more hours, Alayne. So tell me, why are you always late to class? A boyfriend at a distant locker, perhaps?' Two more hours of this inquisition! She groaned inwardly. 'No, nothing like that,' she replied. He cocked an eyebrow at her again and got up from his chair, walking about the room, stretching. He stood by the window, looking out over the empty quadrangle of the school. 'I just finished looking at your grades, Alayne. You're not doing very good work this semester. What's distracting you?' 'I just have too many hard classes,' she said defensively. His voice was thoughtful. 'No, I don't think that's it.' He turned and put his hands on the back of her chair, tilting it so that she was forced to look up into his face. 'I don't think that's it at all, Alayne.' She couldn't help herself, 'Then what do you think it is?' she asked tartly. He spun the chair slowly until she was facing him, still tilted back. 'What you need is some discipline in your life. And since you don't seem to find it necessary to find that discipline in yourself, it falls to those of us here at school to see that get it. What's your opinion?' She rolled her eyes slightly but said nothing. His lean face tightened into speculation and he stared at her steadily. His unswerving regard unnerved her and finally her eyes fell and she shrugged slightly. 'I don't have one,' she said finally. 'Ah. I see.' He let the chair fall forward, nearly spilling her. He turned away to his desk and reached for something. 'Stand up for a moment, Alayne.' Setting aside her books, she rose to her feet. 'Now what?' she asked tartly. His hand grabbed her left arm and spun her around, twisting it up behind her. She let out a startled cry as he held her, whimpering as his hold tightened. 'Stop fighting me, Alayne. Stop it.' Slowly she stilled, her breath sobbing between her lips as the twisted muscles protested. He relaxed his grip slightly. 'Good.' His other hand rested on the nape of her neck, the fingers sifting through her hair. She was turned again, this time to face the desk and then he pressed her down. 'Bend over, Alayne.' And despite her protests, he pinned her chest to the smooth wood of his desk. 'Now,' he said sternly, 'I am going to discipline you, Alayne. Your stepmother's agreed that this is necessary, so don't waste my time arguing.' And her eyes widened as she saw his free hand reach down and pull a flat wooden paddle from the desktop. She tried to break free, but his weight held her twisted arm and thus her body, and agony shot through with every attempt she made. She could feel his hand pulling up her skirt, then his fingers over the soft white cotton of her panties. He said thoughtfully, 'It really does work much better on bare skin, doesn't it?' and with a sudden insinuation of his fingers, he jerked the waistband down. 'Please, Mr. Borden, don't - ' she begged him, in an agony of humiliation, her eyes starred with tears. 'Oh, we can't stop now, Alayne. That would be very bad discipline, you know,' his voice was teasing, carrying a hint of pleasure within it. She felt his hand move over her, coolly exploring her. 'Such lovely pale skin, seems a pity,' he observed to himself. 'Still . . . ' She was not expecting it and the sudden crack of the wood against her made her scream and her body tried to pull away and fire sang again in the twisted muscles of her arm. His hand slashed down at her again, and again, and again, until all her world was stinging flesh and anticipation. He was breathing heavily when he finally stopped. 'Ten strokes,' he said softly, and lay the paddle down. 'Only ten, Alayne.' He held her pinned still, and now his hand returned to explore her. 'I want to go home,' she wept. 'Oh dear no, not yet, Alayne. Your stepmother's paying for a full session this afternoon, and I'm certainly not going to cheat her. But I admit I'm puzzled as to what to do for the next two hours,' he informed her, and at that moment his fingers made it clear what he intended to do. Gasping in shock, her whole body twisted as she tried desperately to pull away from the fingers rubbing against the lips of her pussy. Mr. Borden's hand tightened on her twisted arm, sending a fiery thrill of pain through her. For a moment she thought she'd succeeded, because his fingers left off their rough exploration, but it was only so that he could prison her left wrist behind her back, crushing it against the other. His weight pressed against her back, knocking her head down to strike sharply against the desktop. In a haze of dizziness and pain, she couldn't resist when the slim circlets were cupped about her wrists and swiftly tightened. Alayne heard him laugh softly, and his hold on her slacked slightly. She could hear herself sobbing, the rasp of swift breath across her dry throat, the thunderous rhythms of her heart nearly deafening her. Her mind was curiously blank. Shock, she felt herself note automatically. Alayne was at once devoid of sensation and acutely sensitive, there was an error in translation between her self and her body that she could not resolve. I should be afraid, she thought numbly, conscious of a slowly burgeoning excitement spiraling through her, I should be afraid. With the side of her face pressed against the warming wood of the desk, Alayne could see Mr. Borden reach for the telephone and dial a number. As his fingers pressed the buttons, his hips moved slowly against her ass and she could feel him. That's his cock oh my god that's . . . in reaction, she twisted slightly, ignoring the sharp throb movement shot through her arms and shoulders. Cupping the receiver against his neck, he reached down with his free hand and stroked her ass, his fingers trailing down her thighs. He spoke only a single word into the phone when it was picked up at the other end. "Now." And he clapped the receiver down onto he cradle and suddenly both of his hands were on her. He was not rough but he was strong; her attempts to resist his explorations were effortlessly overcome; held against the desk, she could not prevent him from spreading her legs. Her ass was still stinging slightly, his hand over it felt cool. Her teeth bit suddenly down on her lower lip, drawing a tiny drop of blood, her helplessness made her tense, her senses finely strung. Slowly his forefinger moved down the crack of her ass, pausing a moment to circle her tight ass hole, press lightly into it; Alayne bit back a moan. She could feel the muscles of her thighs tightening unbearably as his finger neared her most secret place. Deliberately, he pressed the tip of his finger into her tight cunt, rotating it gently inside of her. "Are you a virgin, Alayne?' he questioned her softly, his face so near to hers she felt his breath along her neck. "Are you just the little cock tease I think you are, or have you actually given it up to someone?" he paused for a moment, then said, his voice rougher. "I'm going to find out anyway, you know. Tell me - are you?" She swallowed, her mouth so dry she could barely speak. His hands added to the threat, tightening on her, a rough finger thrusting into her ass hole. She cried out, her body jerking. "Tell me!" he ordered her again. "Yes!" she managed finally, tears of humiliation and pain brimming from her eyes. The counselor made a sound very like to a purr. "Ah, that's so good . . . if your cunt is tight enough, I'll leave your ass alone for now," he promised her in a silky voice. She could feel his fingers stroking across her clit and felt a hot, sullen ache begin between her legs. They played over her expertly, and soon she could feel them sliding, and knew she was becoming wet. Massaging her clit harder as he felt her involuntary warming, his own breath was coming faster now, she could hear him. But it was all at such a distance, those physical distractions, when there was this incredible expanding bubble of heat that was claiming her, swelling against her very skin. Dimly, she was aware of a voice calling out and she wondered at it . . . until she realized it was her own. When she could think again, there were tears on her face and a recumbent urgency between her legs; it coiled there, awaiting another touch. She felt his hands on her ass now, spreading it and pulling it back, her feet scrabbled against the slick floor for a moment and then she felt a thick hot pressure sliding across her pussy. He stroked the swollen head of his cock through the wet folds, across her still throbbing clit. She moaned softly, squeezing her eyes closed. I can't make it stop I can't I don't want to I don't want to make it stop oh god. When he finally thrust into her, she cried out sharply for a moment as he pressed against her hymen, and then he was through and he sank into her tight cunt until she could feel his balls pressing against her ass. His cock was so big that it hurt, and she squirmed beneath him and felt his hands move up to claim her hips. He pulled back slowly, and beneath the pain of it, she felt the start of an unbearable friction. He fucked her slowly, one of his hands sliding down into her hair, knotting it between his fingers. Ruthlessly, he pulled her up from the desk, arching her back against him. Tears of pain sprang into her eyes at the grip in her hair, the sudden lash through her taut shoulders. He took a small step backwards, sank into his chair and pulled her down onto his lap. He pulled her knees apart and made her straddle him. As his hips thrust up slowly from the seat, his hands reach beneath her blouse and squeezed her high breasts with rough fingers. She gasped at the sensation when he twisted her nipples sharply and drove himself up into her. Then one of his hands moved between her legs and started to stroke her again. A slow shiver started within her, and he relentlessly exploited it, feeling her grow tighter and hotter and wetter as he drove himself up into her. He whispered softly against her shoulder, "That's it, Alayne . . . cum for me again . . . I knew you were going to be a hot fuck." He was getting slightly breathless as his own explosion got nearer. "I am going to fill you with my cum, Alayne . . . you're such a cock-loving little slut . . . " She was crying out incoherently, dizzy with heat and a building flash of pleasure; deep in her mind she was filled with shame at her lack of resistance, but that only heightened the crushing pressure within her. She could not stop it; with a choked sob, she surrendered to it and let it carry her away. As she shuddered beneath the waves of sensation, she felt him explode within her . . . an addition of heat that sent her reeling again. For a long slow time, there was no sound but their mutually ragged breathing. Exhausted and beaten, Alayne found herself leaning back against his chest. He smelled musky, and there was the added scent of sweat and sex, a hot rich fragrance rising to her nostrils. She could feel his cock twitch inside her, the thick heat of his cum as it coated her thighs. His hands circled her waist and he lifted her from his lap. She stood there, motionless, staring at the frosted glass of his door, which she suddenly noticed was slightly ajar. Behind her, she heard him zipping his trousers and rebuckling his belt, and then there was a soft click and the handcuffs loosened and slid from her wrists. "Put on your panties, Alayne," he said, pushing the wad of white cotton into her fingers. Mechanically, she stepped into them and pulled them up and smoothed her skirt down over her thighs. Her whole body ached and throbbed, partly pleasurable, partly not. "Our two hours aren't up, but I think you've had enough for this afternoon," Mr. Borden said from his respectable seat behind his desk. She turned and looked at him, her eyes dazed. A sense of unreality strung through her, she could find nothing to anchor herself to. The counselor leaned back in his seat and smiled at her mockingly. "And I believe there's somebody waiting for you outside. You really shouldn't keep her waiting." She was beyond being able to understand anything, she simply stared at him. After a moment, he rolled his eyes and called across his office, "Dora, you'd better come in here and get her." Her stepmother's face had an expression Alayne had never seen before, a predatory calculation that nearly stung her to full awareness. She turned to Mr. Borden. "Well?" His smile was wicked. "Tighter than anything I've ever had - including you." She ignored the jibe and nodded towards the bookcases that lined the walls. "Get it all on tape?" "What do you think?" he stretched in his seat and looked up at her. "Make sure I get a copy. I couldn't see everything from out in the hall," Dora said, grabbing Alayne's arm with a firm hand. "You got it," he responded in a brisker tone. Her stepmother guided Alayne towards the door; she was unresisting. As they walked slowly down the hall, Dora's fingernails sank into her arm. "You do understand, don't you," she said in a poisonously sweet voice, "that all it will take is one word from you, and that video will be on the Internet faster than you can spit." She smiled. "Just imagine Jamie and all his friends watching you cum for the camera." They were outside, then, in the fading sunlight. Alayne got into the car; she didn't know what else to do. "Just tell me why," she whispered finally, slow tears beginning to slide down her cheeks at last. "I have my reasons," Dora said tartly, turning onto the street from the parking lot. "You'll find out what they are soon enough, don't you worry." To Be Continued... Higher Education Ch. 2 Alayne had never been able to figure out what her father saw in Dora Chesley, but there was no doubt that Frank Rikardson was wrapped securely around his second wife's littlest finger. He'd met her on a business trip and after a whirlwind courtship that ate into his schedule of meetings during that week, had married her and carried her in triumph home to Yorkeville. Frank's grandfather, said Yorkeville in its private conversations, had been the brains of the family; his amiable descendent was regarded with affectionate contempt. Old Howard Rikardson's business acumen had been equaled by his ability to judge both character and ability in his own son and his grandson. With a rather despairing sigh, he sent for his lawyers and wrote a will that effectively isolated them from making any business decisions while providing them with an income that, by the late 1980s, had risen to over 7 million dollars a year. Frank Rikardson might have been stupid, but he was fairly simple in his tastes. He was, as his father had been before him, perfectly content to remain in Yorkeville, where he played golf at the country club, took planeloads of buddies on hunting trips to his lodge in the mountains and indulged in an occasional spree in the 'wicked city'. His marriage to Alayne's mother had been unhappy and brief, ending when the young Mrs. Rikardson plowed into a concrete traffic abutment at 75 miles an hour after a long night's drinking at the Odyssey Club. Alayne's memory of her mother was dim; Audra hadn't paid much attention to her and had died when she was only four. Her grandmother Rikardson, who lived in a quiet wing of the family house, had been - for all intents and purposes - her mother. Frank's attentions to his daughter were much the same as his attentions to everyone else: he listened to her affectionately, bought her things affectionately, and paid affectionate inattention to her conversation. Alayne had never understood how much of a stabilizing influence her grandmother wielded over her dim-witted son until a cerebral hemorrhage carried her off. Without his mother's eagle eye on his bank balance and his behavior, Frank began to play a little harder. Which resulted in a wild weekend in New York, a speedy ceremony in front of a Justice of the Peace, and Alayne's horrified introduction to a stepmother who was barely ten years older than she was. Dora hadn't wasted any time consolidating her position; she redecorated the family home expensively and elegantly, threw receptions and dances to which all coveted an invitation, and in a short time was regarded with bewildered respect by the citizens of Yorkeville, who whispered that she had really kicked old Frank's ass into line. Dora had from the outset treated Alayne with cool courtesy, and her stepdaughter grudgingly acknowledged her position in the household. It didn't seem that Frank's behavior towards his daughter changed after his marriage, but there was something in his attitude that made Alayne uneasy. She couldn't have known that Dora was working very carefully on her husband, showing him school reports and repeating stories of his daughter's misbehaviors and instabilities. She alluded to Audra Rikardson's insufficiencies, and after a year of marriage, Frank was ready to believe that his daughter was headed down the same path as her tragic mother. "What do you think we should do with her, Dora?" he asked, finally, trusting that his clever wife would have a solution. "Private boarding school," replied Alayne's stepmother. "I know just the place." As she stared out the windows of the car now, Alayne's senses began to sting as the queerly numb feeling began to recede from her mind. Her arms and shoulders burned with muscle strain, between her legs a throbbing hot ache and the slow leak of semen and her own juices. Her thoughts began to dart, disorganized and nearly incoherent. Beneath her eyelashes, she stared at her stepmother's profile, noted the satisfied smile that curved Dora's lips. She discovered that her body was shaking with rage and betrayal. Dora turned the car into the long drive that led to the house before she spoke. "Your father's out of town, Alayne. I'm telling you this so you don't do anything stupid." "When he gets back, I'm going to tell him," Alayne managed. Pulling up in front of the house, Dora turned off the engine and turned to smile at her. "When he gets back, you're not going to be here, darling." Alayne's door opened, and a rough hand grabbed her arm while another reached across and flicked open her seatbelt; she looked up in shock. Beneath his dark moustache, his smile was very white. From the other side of the car, Dora let out a low chuckle. "Alayne, meet your Uncle Mark." He pulled her effortlessly out of her seat. His hands cupped her bent elbows and held her up as his dark eyes wandered over her. "Oh, very nice, sis," he said appreciatively. "Why don't we get you inside, niece?" With a sudden energy, Alayne tried to kick him and break away from his grasp. He winced as her foot slammed against his shin, and she saw him smile. One of his hands let go of her and flashed against her face in a stinging slap that left her dizzy. She couldn't keep him from picking her up and carrying her up the steps into the front hall of her home. Dora followed them in, closing the heavy door and locking it. She turned to her brother. "All the staff get off okay?" she inquired, tossing her coat across the back of a chair. "Yes indeed," he said, pulling Alayne into the drawing room and pushing her down onto the couch. She managed to sit up after a moment, and looked up into their amused faces. "My, my, my," Dora said derisively, "Would you just look at this little slut, Mark? You wouldn't believe how loud she moans when she cums!" and she reached down with a proprietary hand and roughly pinched at a nipple. Alayne cried out and tried to struggle to her feet, but he forced her back down onto the couch. "Get the rope, Dora. I don't feel like chasing the bitch all over the house." Despite her struggles, in a few moments Alayne's arms were bound behind her again and the ropes looped around her ankles so that she was forced into a kneeling position on the floor. "Oh, I really like the way this looks," Dora purred, stroking her stepdaughter's face for a moment before reaching down and tearing open the front of her shirt. "I didn't get a chance to see her tits in Borden's office, he was so hot to fuck her he didn't even look." She knelt down in front of Alayne, looking into her eyes as she yanked the straps of the white bra down, baring her pink-tipped breasts. Her perfectly manicured fingernails pinched cruelly at the nipples, and Alayne cried out, her body twisting. "Mm . . . " Dora said dreamily. "Just think of all the things you're going to learn at school, darling." Mark came up behind his sister and pulled her to her feet and turned her around, and Alayne saw in horror that his hands went straight to Dora's breasts, fondling them through the thin silk of her blouse. Her stepmother moaned, and her body undulated against his as he bent to kiss her parted lips. With a sudden jerk, Mark ripped the front of the blouse open and Dora arched back as he pressed her tits together and started tonguing the swollen nipples. Alayne could see the stiff jut of his penis straining against his trousers, she watched as Dora's fingers curled around him and stroked him through the fabric. He groaned and his mouth tightened around a nipple, pulling at it until Dora gasped and shuddered. "I am so ready," he said, raising his face and thrusting a rough hand between his sister's thighs, forcing up beneath her skirt. What he found there made him groan again and strain against her stroking fingers. "God, you're so wet, Dora!" He plunged a finger into her, making her cry out and start to fumble with his trousers. "I need you to fuck me hard, Mark!" she said, panting. "I got off in the hallway just watching Alayne get fucked, but I need your cock in me hard!" The zipper rasped down and his pants fell to the floor, and Alayne stared wide-eyed at the size of his swollen cock. With both hands, he lifted Dora and she locked her legs around his waist and looked into his eyes, reaching down to guide the head of his dick into her cunt. With a grunt, he slammed her hips down against his pelvis and impaled her. Alayne shut her eyes, but she couldn't stop her ears; the slick sound of Mark's cock thrusting again and again into his sister's wet cunt mingled with Dora's moans. She heard her stepmother scream in hot pleasure and opened her eyes to see Dora's pelvis grinding wildly against his before she subsided, shaking, against his chest. Mark raised her hips, withdrawing from her and setting her on her feet. With a crawl of horror, Alayne saw that he was looking at her, now. From her position on the floor, on her knees, she was eye-level with his cock as he stood in front of her. It was huge and hard and red and glistening slickly with Dora's cum. "Open wide, baby," Mark said in a thick voice, and his hands captured her head, probing at her lips, trying to force them open. "No!" she tried to scream, but opening her mouth was a big mistake. With his hands tight in her hair, he drove himself hard into her mouth and unprepared throat. Alayne choked, gagged on his cock, struggled against his hands. One of his fingers pressed hard into the sensitive nerve along the line of her jaw, forcing her mouth open wider. Her head slammed against his pelvis, she was dizzy with the thick scent of sex against her nostrils, the choking grind of his cock into her throat. Dimly, she could hear her stepmother urging him on from the other side of the room. Mark reached down and pinched cruelly at a nipple and her whole body jerked in response. His breathing grew faster and he was fucking her mouth so fast that her ears were ringing. His cock seemed to grow thicker, stiffer, pulsing against the futile slide of her tongue. Then he tensed and held her hard against him, pressed deep into her throat and groaned as his cock spasmed, filling her throat and mouth the jet after jet of sticky cum. She gagged on it, and he pulled out of her mouth and shot the rest of it all over her face and her heaving breasts. Alayne's mouth was full of the taste of him, her eyes spilled tears across sticky cheeks; unbalanced, she nearly toppled over but his fingers yanked at her hair, keeping her on her knees. "You like that, Alayne?" he asked a little breathlessly. "You like the taste of my cum in your mouth?" She was shaking so badly she couldn't even speak, still swallowing desperately against the taste in her mouth. After a moment, Mark let go of her hair and let her fall to the carpet. She could feel them looking down at her, hear him pulling his trousers back on. "You'll need to clean her up before I can take her," he informed his sister. She shrugged. "I'll get Eysha to bathe her," she said indifferently. "She'll enjoy that." Dora walked over to door and beckoned to someone out in the hall. Mark laughed and looked down at Alayne, lying with her eyes closed, his cum drying to a sticky film on her face and chest. He prodded at her with a foot until she opened her wet eyes and looked up at him. "Bath time," he said with a cruel lilt to his voice. "Take her upstairs, Eysha," Dora was saying to someone. "I want her thoroughly clean." "Yes, Mistress," responded a richly husky voice. "I will see that she meets your standards." Alayne writhed slightly, moving to get a glimpse of the speaker. Her eyes widened at the sight of the sinewy black woman who stood above her, her tight curls a very short cap on her beautifully moulded head. The woman undid the ropes around her wrists and ankles, picked her up effortlessly and carried her up the once-familiar staircase. Dora watched as they disappeared into the upper reaches of the house and then turned to her brother, who was pouring bourbon carelessly into a tumbler. He tossed back a good bit of it and sighed in contentment. "So when does old Frank get back?" he asked idly. "I've got a week," Dora replied, pouring a drink for herself and sinking onto the couch. "He doesn't expect to see Alayne, and by the time I'm finished with him, he'll be delighted with her education." Mark raised an eyebrow and then grinned. "You are so deliciously wicked, Dora." Her answering smile was so slow that it scorched. "It's why you love me," she said in a husky voice as she leant back against the cushions and looked up at him. He set down his drink and went to his knees in front of her, his hands pushing her thighs apart. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she pulled his mouth against her pussy, moaning when his tongue found her clit. Lost in each other, they didn't hear the any of the noises that echoed down the long stairwell, drifting out across the night.