If I'd just played with her and then fucked her, she could have blown it off as a one-time affair, a kind of mistake, and used my own guilt against me. She could have expected I'd spend the rest of the semester avoiding her, and she would have cozied up to her own feelings of being sick and perverse and accepted my rejection as the price of her perversion.
At the time I met Emma I was in the second year of struggling with my Novel, my Big Project, a dry, overly-intellectual, over-thought pile of crap that got more and more discouraging and unreadable the longer I worked on it. What money I was making from writing came from writing porn—knocking off quicky romantica novels of sex and passion featuring dominance and submission, bondage and discipline, and the truth was, I was much better at writing this kind of stuff than I was at writing what I thought of as serious literature.
When I wrote sex, I wrote it with my heart and soul. I discovered things, I remembered things, I imagined things. I wouldn't say I became obsessed, but I did become consumed with a special kind of need for a special kind of woman. I became attuned to the sexual flame that burned inside me and began to see everything by its light. I became a kind of antenna, and that's why I was so sure about Emma.
Emma came in. She was wearing a salmon pink tank top with the bra straps showing, which was the fashion that summer (although I doubted she'd worn it that way at work), and a black skirt. She was also wearing a big pair of sunglasses, which she'd never done before. The sunglasses made her look very mysterious, and the top did great things for her breasts. I wasn't the only one who stared, or, rather, who pretended not to. She took a seat in the fourth row up and crossed her legs so I couldn't see if she'd followed my instructions or not.
It was the first indication I'd seen that Emma was adept at playing this game too, that maybe she wasn't the innocent victim of her own uncontrollable desires, but that she was entirely capable of inciting them in others. She knew what she was doing, and now that the game was afoot, she was showing me she could play it too. I knew then and there she had nothing on under her skirt.
It wasn't the longest lecture of my life but it seemed like it, and Emma said little, sitting there inscrutable behind her sunglasses as if daring me to guess what was on her mind, and I had to stay behind the lectern to keep from showing the incipient erection that began the moment I laid eyes on her and continued throughout the class. It was a great relief when, towards the end of the period, some of the kids got involved in a discussion of a Robert Frost poem and I could shut up for a while. I glanced at Emma and she slouched down in her seat and uncrossed her legs.
I was leaning on the lectern and the light was bad, and in fact, I couldn't see all the way up her skirt, but then, I didn't have to. There's no reason a girl would sit like that with her knees open under the table unless she were showing you something, and she certainly wouldn't choose that moment to take off her sunglasses and rub the temple slowly across her lower lip as she looked you in the eye, nor would she raise her skirt and rub her knee.
She apparently saw in the color of my face or the clench of my jaw that her message had been received and she pushed her skirt down and suddenly sat up in her seat and looked at her notes as if they were the most interesting things in the world, crossing her legs demurely upon her salacious secret.
I felt physically dizzy. All my blood rushed either to my face or my crotch and my cock sprang violently to life like a fist trying to tear through my shorts. I thought I'd wanted her before, that I'd been aroused just when I saw her, but now I felt like a charging bull who'd just caught sight of a matador's red cape and I had to dig my fingers into the side of the lectern to hold on against the rush of pure testosterone I felt.
The conversation continued but I had no idea what they were talking about. Emma studied her notes and put her sunglasses casually up on her head so that she looked typically suburban but, to me, even more devastatingly erotic for its plainness. Her arms were across her breasts (the lecture hall often got too cold from the AC) and I don't know how she knew I was looking, but she spread hr knees apart again, her thighs straining the fabric of the skirt, and this time I could see her lurid nakedness, the shaved cleft of her pussy within the shadows of her skirt.
For a moment I had the insane idea of reaching down and masturbating behind the lectern, but that was sheer madness (although the idea of turning this class into a group of naked, masturbating, students had a certain erotic appeal) Besides, the object with Emma was to establish control. Yes she was beautiful and desirable and aroused the hell out of me, but without control this would be just another relationship, and I wanted more than that. I wanted much more than that.
At last the conversation drew to a close. I handed out the homework assignments. Some of the kids came down to talk to me and I got rid of them as quickly as possible. Emma stayed in her seat, writing furiously as if transcribing notes. I hustled the last of the kids out telling them I had to give Emma a make-up quiz and physically walking them out the door of the lecture hall so I could watch them go and be sure we were alone. Then I closed the door and turned off the lights. The dark seemed our natural element.
"Emma?"
She finished her writing, put away her pen, gathered up her books and stood up. She walked up the steps to where I stood, right where we were the other night, her face expressionless. I could see the pulse beating in her throat. Her eyes flicked up at me, then down. She was waiting. I let her wait. This was about control.
"Here," she said at last. "Do you want these?" She dug in her bag and took out a pair of tiny black panties and put them in my hand.
"Well, I couldn't very well go to work without them, could I?" she asked.
I held them to my face. They were so small. I'm always amazed at how women get themselves into things so small They smelled like powder and perfume and only faintly of her body.
"Turn around," I said.
She looked confused but turned around, and I straightened out the crumpled panties and pulled her hands back and slipped them through the leg holes, then twisted them till they tightened on her wrists like a tourniquet. I turned her back to face me, still holding her wrists trapped in her panties.
The sight of a bound woman is terrifically, almost unbearably erotic to me, even if she's bound only in play. It's been that way ever since I can remember, even before I knew what sex was. Emma was standing in front of me now with her wrists bound behind her, her breasts straining against the tight pink tank top. I pushed her back against the wall and leaned over her, my shadow covering her like a blanket. Her eyes were unusually white in the darkness
"Anyone ever do anything like this to you before?" I asked, tightening my grip on her bonds.
"Yes. Once. A long time ago. We were only playing, we were kids. We didn't know what we were doing."
With her arms behind her she was like a sculpture, all curves and defenseless softness, offering herself to me. I was already breathing fast and my cock was hard. I pressed it against her hip so she could feel very well what she was doing to me, then caressed her face with my hand, feeling the feminine warmth of her skin. I traced my way down her throat, her chest, and over the bulge of her breast, feeling the exact point where the edge of her bra confined the fullness of her flesh. I felt the firmness of her nipple under my palm.
"Did you like it?" I asked.
"Yes. I loved it. It still scares me how much I loved it."
I don't know what else she could have said that would have aroused me so much or driven me so absolutely mad with desire for her. It was that mention of fear that did it, that told me she was the genuine article, because where we were going was scary, a place where you can lose yourself, where you can find out that you're not who you thought, a place where the night takes over and swallows you up and all you have is your lover to bring you back.
And as if that admission of fear were her last defense, she opened her mouth to my kiss and met me with a desperate, sucking hunger, giving herself and showing me how she wanted to be plundered and used. I held onto those twisted panties and felt her arms strain against them as she tried her strength against mine because she had to know I was serious. She had to know I wouldn't let her go and that she had no choice but to surrender, and I kissed her violently, making her take my tongue and teasing the inside of her mouth. My hand slid down and closed on her chest and I felt that maddening firm softness of a woman's gravid tit, heavy and filled with sensual comfort. I found her nipple through her bra and pinched it, and that seemed to set her off even more.
Oh yes I was right about her. I was right, I was right. She loved my roughness, my passion and hunger, the pleasure that bordered on pain. I held her wrists and played with her tits and kissed her, then pulled the neck of her top down till her breasts spilled over the top and I bit and licked them as my hand found its way down to her crotch and I began to lift her skirt.
"Oh no! No!" she moaned, but I knew she had to say that, just as I had to refuse to listen to her.
"Listen," I whispered into her ear. "This is Thursday and there's no one here. The cleaning crew isn't even in this part of the building on Thursdays. Understand?"
"No," she said. "No..." but her hips were already moving in a lewd and urgent invitation even though her skirt was still stretched several inches below her naked pussy.
I pressed my lips against her throat and continued to inch her skirt upwards, wanting her to feel every millimeter of thigh as it was exposed, until finally there was no need to go any higher. I touched her between her legs, an she turned her face to me, begging for a kiss, desperate to hide her emotions as my fingers slid along her exposed wetness.
"Please," she gasped. "Don't make me! Don't!"
A little plea for dignity, but dignity would be the first thing to go, was already gone. Emma's arms were tied behind her in her own panties, her top was pulled down and her tits were crowded together and almost popping out of her bra, her nipples peeking over the edge like rising suns, and her chest shining in the dark with my saliva. Despite her protests, her hips were humping and revolving against my fingers with obscene urgency as she tried to bring them into contact with her clit.
It was way too late to ask me to stop. Way too late, and I played with Emma's pussy like it was a handful of pearls, toying with her and strumming her like a harp. And if I needed any more proof of her level of excitement, I only had to bring my mouth close to hers and feel her feverish kiss, a kiss that begged and pleaded with me one minute, then bit me in savage impatience the next. Her tongue fluttered in my mouth like a little bird in a burning house, trying to get free and it drove me mad, because something was inside Emma trying to get free, and I wanted it. I wanted it with every fiber of my being. I wanted her to give it to me and me alone, and I wanted all of it.
And suddenly she gave it to me. She tore her lips from mine and cried out, then choked on her own breath and arched her body away from the wall, shoving her pussy out onto my hands. I saw a brief look of panic in her eyes, as if she couldn't believe this was happening to her, and I grabbed her panties tight and used them to press her body against mine with all my strength, as if she might fly apart. I shoved my finger into her deep, deep—deep and held it there as her thighs quivered and trembled and orgasmic spasms made her bear down on my finger in waves of peristaltic pleasure that made me absolutely dizzy with desire.
The sight of Emma coming was so intense that I felt my own orgasm start and only stopped it by sheer force of will, pulling my cock away from her body and just holding her as her body snapped like a whip with each convulsive release, trying not to think, trying to keep my mind a blank.
I held her up, let go of her panties and just held her against me as she shook and trembled and her orgasm faded like distant thunder. She worked her hands out of the crumpled garment and held onto my shoulders, panting.
"You okay?" I asked.
"God!" she said. "I was just so turned on all day, thinking about it. That was intense."
"Can you walk?"
"Of course. Yes. Why? Where are we going?"
"My office," I said. "It's my turn."
Chapter 4
Emma put herself together and got her books and picked up her panties from the floor, and we didn't say much as we walked down the hall to my office. The corridor was deserted, and only every fourth light was left on, making the place look especially forlorn.
I'd originally thought about taking Emma to a motel, but that seemed wrong somehow, and my place in the city was too far. Besides, this was not a simple love affair or sexual tryst. There was a wrongness about this and a transgressiveness that was a deep part of the very fabric of this relationship at this point. Maybe we could have done it in a car, or behind a dumpster, or in some basement boiler room, but that's the way it had to be, furtive, secretive, perverse and illicit. My office would do nicely.
As an adjunct instructor at Crane, I didn't have my own office. I had a desk in an office used by two other, full-time instructors but that was all right. No one was around after 3 PM anyhow—ever—so the office might as well have been mine. The narrow window in the office door had been covered with construction paper by one of the full-timers so he could sleep in there unobserved, and although one wall was all window with a view of the parking lot, if the office lights were off you couldn't see in.
I'd already brought in what I needed before class in a box and left it under my desk, and now, as Emma stood uncertainly in the darkness, I set about my business.
"Take off your clothes," I said as I spread a blanket over the top of the steel desk.
"What?"
"Come on. Take off your skirt and your top. No one's coming in."
Despite the darkness, I could see her uncertainty. Fear of the Teacher's Office dies hard, even in adults. Besides that, I realized I was being rude, ordering her around like a paid prostitute. That's not my way and that's not how I wanted her to feel.
"Here," I said gently. "Come here."
I reached into the box and pulled out a length of white nylon rope, finger-thick and soft as silk. I turned her around and began to wrap it around her wrists.
"I'm not going to tie you," I said. "I'm going to lash you. There's a difference. Lashing doesn't use any knots. You can always work your way free with enough effort. I don't want you to panic."
"I'm not afraid," she said. "I'm not. I trust you."
Somehow she knows just what to say to bring me to the boiling point. I quickly finished lashing her wrists with the thick white rope and spun her around and took her in a bruising kiss, crushing her against me, one hand n the back of her head, the other on her ass. I was devastated by her trust and her willingness, by the gift of herself. I'd often heard other doms talking about the gift of trust but I'd never felt it like this, this intensely. The other women I'd played with had to be coaxed and reassured, were nervous and skittish.
Emma wanted it. She wanted to be helpless for me, and the realization just destroyed me. I could have fallen to my knees at her feet at that moment, conquered by her submission.
I held her face in my hands and kissed her feverishly, her mouth, her cheeks and eyes. It was so incongruous yet so beautiful, standing in that dark and ugly office with this woman tied up for me, letting these waves of carnal excitement wash over me in this place of intellectual dedication.
My hand went to the waist of her skirt and I fumbled about, looking for the zipper. It was in the back, and I opened it and unbuttoned the button and tugged the skirt down her thighs till it puddled around her ankles like a shadow and she was naked from the waist down. At that point I was overcome and I pushed her back until her ass his the edge of the desk. I got on my knees and held her ass and began to lick and kiss her hips and thighs and belly, tasting the salt of her sweat and her female musk. Emma gasped.
"Mr. Devlin! Oh, Mr. Devlin!"
"Conner," I said. "Conner." Though this was no time to exchange names, and I didn't care what she called me.
"Please! What are you going to do?"
"What am I going to do?" I asked, dragging my tongue up her thigh. "I'm going to eat you, my dear. I'm going to suck that pussy till you come in my mouth, till you turn into a pile of quivering female jelly, and when you do—when you simply can't stand it any more, when you can't live another instant without my cock inside you—then I'm going to fuck you, Emma. I'm going to fuck you hard and deep like you've never been fucked before. Do you understand?"
"Oh God!" she moaned
I stood up and lifted her onto the narrow side of the desk and Emma leaned back on her bound hands. I lifted up her tank top and pulled it over her head, but because her hands were lashed together, I had to leave it hanging from her wrists. Her bra opened in front (clever girl!) and that met the same fate, hanging from her bound wrists, and I began to suck and kiss her tits as I opened my own shirt. We were both in a fever of excitement and Emma's head fell back in pleasure as I sucked her nipples into aching hardness and lashed them with my tongue, then peeled my shirt off and threw it aside.