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A Good Student, Chapters 3 4

The D/s relationship between Professor Devlin and his student Emma intensifies
I wasn't really nervous about the next class session. It wasn't that I was feeling cocky or especially sure of myself. It was more like I was sure of Emma, sure of who she was and what she was like, and I knew that it was going to happen, maybe not then, but then next session, or the session after. We'd shared too much of ourselves, an intimacy that went beyond the merely sexual, and my acceptance of her bound her to me in a way that she couldn't easily walk away from.

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.

I got to my knees and took her ankles in my hands. She still wore her shoes, smart little sandals, and I left them on, and as I lifted her ankles she started to fall back on the desk and I stopped and helped her lie down.

"Put your hands under the small of your back," I said. "That'll help raise your hips too."

Emma twisted around on the blanket until she was reasonably comfortable and I got back down on my knees and took her ankles again. I love holding a woman's ankles. It feels so possessive and powerful, not to mention absolutely sexy, and you can squeeze hard without hurting them. Emma had beautiful ankles and I held them tight and bent her knees up and she raised her head to look down at me with a deliciously fearful look on her face.

I must have been fearful to behold. I was aflame with lust, absolutely afire, and I hovered above her pussy like a lion above his kill. The mere proximity to her sex had the hormones gushing in my body and the muscles in my arms and shoulders were swollen and tight as I lowered my face and licked the insides of her thighs, all the way up to her pussy. Emma whimpered and twisted her hips and her scent drove me mad. I stuck out my tongue and dragged it up her slit and her juice was like honey on my tongue.

"Ahhhhh!" she arched her back and I felt her toes curl as I circled her clit with my tongue and began to suck. I already knew her most sensitive spot and I threw her thighs over my shoulders and began to suck her clit in and out as I finger-fucked her. She squeezed my head with her strong thighs and began to pump obscenely, hungry for another come, and I let her use me, reveling in her female lust. She rose to it quickly, and suddenly her hips were shaking against me, vibrating against my face as her clit twitched and pussy squeezed my fingers and she choked and gasped, writhing on the desk.

I slowed and stopped, giving her time to come down, not yet knowing how much she could take or how much recovery time she needed, but she'd barely caught her breath when her hips began moving again, twisting and rocking, shyly asking for more, more.

"Hot bitch!" I snarled. "You got more for me?"

"Oh yes, baby. Please! Please, it's so good!"

I smiled as I reached over her thigh and spread her cunt apart, exposing her hot little clit in its little nest, I fluttered my tongue against it and sucked the sweet inner tissues of her pussy, tongue fucked her then spit on her clit and licked it off. Looking up at her I could see those gorgeous tits rising like islands in the moonlight, crowned with stiff rosy nipples that seemed to pointing at the ceiling. They trembled with each shuddering breath.

I was like a satyr, a devil, sucking her between her legs, feeding on her cunt like a humming bird at a pool of nectar, and Emma seemed to come and come, one orgasm blending into another in an endless stream till finally she was gasping and moaning,.

"Oh God, no! No more! Fuck me! Please. Just fuck me!"

I got up and stood over her, my eyes burning, my face smeared with her pussy juice. I must have looked like a madman.

"You want to get fucked, Emma? Then you're going to have to agree to my terms. I want you, Emma. I want you to be mine. I want to train you and have you and use you and fuck you. I want you to be my slave and my lover and I want to teach you to do all the things I've always dreamed of doing. Do you agree?"

She looked at me fearfully, alarm breaking through the spell of lust. "What are you talking about?"

"You're something very rare, Emma. Something rare and precious, something I've been looking for for years now and I don't want you to get away."

"I don't understand."

"Okay, listen. I don't care about your life outside, about who you see and what you do, if you have a boyfriend or not and all that crap. But I want you two nights a week at least. I want to show you what you have inside, what you're capable of feeling. I've never seen anyone as sexual as you, Emma. I don't want you to just think this is a couple nights of fun and that's it, understand? There's something here. Something deeper than just sex."

She looked at me as if no one had ever said these things to her before, as if she really believed that the desires she had inside were sick and perverse and something to be ashamed of and had no idea of what they would do to a man—or to the right man.

"What do you want me to do?"

"You don't have to do anything now," I replied. "I'm not a stalker and I'm not going to chain you to the radiator, and this is something you have to enter into of your own free will. But I need for you to know that this is more than just some quickie student-teacher affair, Emma. This goes deeper than that"

She didn't know what to say so I saved her the trouble. I leaned over and kissed her. I dropped my tongue into her mouth and fucked her with it until she began to suck on it and caress it with her own, responding instinctively to having her body penetrated. Everything she did was so maddeningly female, so giving and accepting. Her nipples pressed against my bare chest and her legs closed reflexively around my ass, pulling me against her. She was still horny. She was still ready for more.

I broke the kiss and smiled down at her, knowing we had an agreement.

"Back to business," I said. "Now let me show you something."

I went to the box and got more rope, then tied several turns around each ankle as she watched me from the desk, her breasts heaving with excitement as I bound her. I turned her on her side and unlashed her wrists, then pulled off the tangle of her tank top and bra and tossed them on a chair and tied cuffs of rope around each wrist. I strung lengths of rope through each cuff and down to the corresponding ankle and pulled them snug so that Emma's arms were drawn down and her ankles pulled up against her ass, her knees forced open in an obscene, froglike position, totally exposing her sex, leaving her open and helpless.

"You've heard of hog-tying?" I asked as I tied the ropes tight. "Well this is called frog-tying and it's one of those things I talked about wanting to show you."

Emma whined. She tried to close her knees but the ropes were too tight and the strain too much, and her legs trembled and then fell lewdly open again as she panted from the effort. I reached out and caressed her breast, then ran my hand down her body and roughly massaged her pussy. I stuck my finger inside her and began to finger fuck her and there was nothing she could do. It was like I owned her totally now—my own private little cum-slut, unable to do anything but lie there in the ropes and take it. She began to pant, excited by her own helplessness, and her pussy seemed to suck greedily at my finger.

At the heart of the BDSM experience there is always a moment like this, at least for me. There's a moment when woman as icon—all the attraction and longing and desire she inspires—has been stripped away and the man feels, however rightly or wrongly, that he's reduced her to his level—to that of a sexual beast, a creature of pure sensuality. That's something he understands. That's something he feels he can master. He'll never conquer his longing for her or the weakness she makes him feel when he looks at her, but in conquering her body and in taking charge of her sensations, he at least feels he's gained some control of his heart again. He feels like a man again.

Or at least that's the way I felt with Emma tied and exposed on that desk—something primal and primitive and more basic than even love or affection, a kind of deep sexual polarity of male and female, blind and biological.

"This is the way I keep a bad girl exposed," I said in a hoarse whisper as I caressed her pussy and studied her face. "This way I can fuck her or play with her or eat her or do almost anything to her. Like spank her when she needs spanking. When she's a greedy little cum-whore and needs spanking"

I slapped her lightly on the clit and Emma jumped. I spanked her again with the same result, and now she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

"Ever come from having your clit spanked?" I asked. "Too bad I didn't bring a whip. I could make you come like that. Emma. Sounds pretty nasty, doesn't it?"

I stood up and at last I began to take off my pants, opening my belt and pulling down my zipper. I kicked off my shoes and socks, then stripped off my pants and threw them on a chair. My shorts were soaked with pre-cum, a wet spot the size of a dollar bill covered the fly where I'd been leaking during our play. From her awkward position, Emma raised her head to watch me undress and see what was in store for her. I didn't care. It just felt so fucking good to let him loose at last.

I won't lie. I'm no Johnny Wadd and don't sport a ten-incher, but I was harder then hell and those veins were pumping and he was red and drooling like a rabid cobra, straining to get inside her like a mastiff on a leash. He looked like I felt—mad, evil, and swollen to bursting with power and lust.

"You ready, Emma?" I growled. "You ready to get fucked?" I pulled her ass to the edge of the desk and pushed her knees apart . My cock arced like a missile over the open trench of her cunt.

She didn't say anything, just tugged at the ropes and mewled, so I stuck my thumb in her pussy and started fucking her with it as I thrummed her clit, giving her one last tease.

"Come on, baby. Are you ready? Do you want it? Or do you need to come some more?"

"Oh please," she said. "Just do it! Fuck me!"

"No. I think you've got more. I think you've got more for me, don't you? You're holding out, Emma. You're holding out."

I pulled my thumb from her cunt and spanked her clit with the back of my hand, just flicking my fingers against it. Emma groaned and tried to close her legs, but I had one hand on her knee and there was nothing she could do. did it again, then again, and again, setting up a regular rhythm, my fingers splashing down in the wet trough of her pussy, rudely spanking that turgid little nub. She was hypersensitive by now, and every spank made her jerk and twitch, made her thrust her cunt up and made her asshole contract. The muscles on the insides of her thighs trembled and she moaned feebly, too ashamed to admit that even this crude punishment felt good.

"Come on, baby," I hissed at her. "Give me that come, Emma! Give me that one last come. I want to shove my dick into you while you're spitting out that hot juice. Look at you all tied up like a fucking slave! You can't even move, can you? I'm going to stand here and slap that hot little cunt till you give me that come, bitch, till I see the juice running down your ass. So come on. Give it to me! Give it to me, Emma!"

"Oh! God! No! No!" she grunted as I spanked her pussy. Her hands twisted desperately in the bonds, her stomach tightened convulsively and her tits quaked on her chest as spasms of painful pleasure wracked her body.

I grabbed my cock in one hand and opened her cunt with the other and began to slap the head against her clit. My dick felt like it weighed a ton and the sound it made as it splashed into her wet trough was like a log splattering into a muddy swamp. I beat her cunt with my prick and each blow was a jolt of pleasure for us both

Splatt!! Whapp!! Smackk!! Shplapp!!

I bent over and grabbed her hair as if I could pull the come out of her, pulling her head to the side till she opened her teeth in a grimace of pain.

"Give it to me, bitch! Give it to me, you hot cunt!"

Slapp!! Whackk!! Splatt!! Plapp!!

Faster and faster I beat her with my cock, and Emma wailed and screamed so loud I was afraid they'd hear her at the other end of the hallway, so I quickly grabbed her rumpled panties from the chair and stuffed them into her open mouth. That seemed to be the last straw, the final indignity she needed. She wailed behind the black gag of her panties and arched her back and started to come again—the big one this time, the soul-killer—and at that moment I stopped slapping her with my dick, pushed the head dick down with my thumb so it found her hole, and shoved the whole length into her with one thrust of my hips, right at the height of her climax.

"Oh Jesus Fucking Christ!" I moaned, throwing my head back in ecstasy. She was coming hard inside, her pussy clamping down and fluttering around my shaft, her thighs squeezing me convulsively as I invaded her. She was all soft and tight inside, and slick and hotter than hell and I could feel those secret feminine muscles milking and pulling at me as she howled through her panty-stuffed lips.

I grabbed hold of her tits and held them like handles as I started fucking her, swinging my ass like a wrecking ball against her, using the big muscles in my ass and thighs to send my cock thundering up into her against the resistance of her spasming pussy again and again, the lewd squelching sounds of cock in pussy and the sharp violent slap of loins against thighs like pistol shots in the room. With her hands pulled down almost to her feet, Emma was able to just reach my thighs as I fucked her and she scratched and clawed at me in her frenzy as I fucked her with savage power. I let go over her tits and grabbed her thighs so I could hold her steady because I was shoving her across the desk from the force of my thrusts.

"Ugh! You fucking bitch! Do you like this cock, Emma? Do you like this fucking cock?"

I reached up and pulled the panties from her mouth and threw them aside, but all she could do was wail, head back, eyes open wide and sightless as I fucked her, tits sloshing on her chest from the force of my blows. She seemed stunned by the force of her last orgasm, out of it, in a state of semi-shock and limp, but when I slid my thumb against her clit and started playing with her, she suddenly came alive, her head jerking up to watch my thick cock sluicing in and out of her pussy.

"Oh God yes! Yes!" she cried. "Make me come! Make me come! Make me come!" She chanted it like a breathless mantra as her body rocked on the table and it drove me mad. I felt my orgasm start and I grabbed her ass in my hands and squeezed, holding her buttocks and cramming that dick into her, fucking her so fast that I was like a jackhammer, fucking her so fast I couldn't even breath. All there was was the feeling of her cunt on my dick,. that pressure in my balls, that feeling of her body in my hands.

"Oh fuck yes!" I cried. "Gonna come, baby! Gonna come in you, Emma! Jesus! Jesus, baby!"

I loomed over her now with a look of absolute rage on my face, muscles swollen, fingers digging into her ass—the rage of orgasm, the helpless gush of seed. Emma was hysterical, squeezing me, twisting her hips, trying to pull it out of me. I rose up on my toes as I felt it start, trying to cram the last inch of dick into her as the thunder shot from the soles of my feet and blasted from my balls and the come blew out of my dick with the force of a fire hose.

"Fuck!" I cried, "Fuck, Baby! Take it! Take my hot come!"

I leaned back, hips out, fingers clawed into her ass, holding her against me like some come-receptacle as my ass flexed and body twitched in powerful contractions, sending my semen shooting in hard, heavy gouts deep into her quivering belly, one after another, each one accompanied by a burst of mind-shattering ecstasy. I could picture the hot white seed splattering into her soft pink insides and dripping from her tissues, coating her with my thick ejaculate, and the image just brought fresh bursts of come boiling up from my balls.

I came so hard my legs started to tremble, and then my arms, and my belly—all of me, wracked by a post orgasmic weakness like I'd rarely known. The girl had sucked it all out of me, had made me come like a hydrant. With trembling hands I untied the ropes that held her wrists to her ankles and her legs flopped over the desk.

"Can you move?" I asked.

"I don't know," she replied. "I don't think so."

I laughed. I moved to the side of the desk and grabbed her waist and pulled her up till she was lying on the desk. It was big enough that I was able to climb up there with her and put my arms around her. She seemed uneasy.

"You don't have to," she said.

"Don't have to what?"

"Hold me."

I looked at her. "What if I want to?"

She made a face and shrugged. "Most other guys don't."

"You've done this before?"

"Not like this. Not so... elaborate. But I told you, there's something wrong with me. I like it too much. Men don't like girls like me, so I seem to have a lot of one-night stands. They always think they have to hold me afterwards, but it's okay if you don't."

I stared at her now as she lay there. I'd left bruises on her tits and the rope was still on her wrists. She was full of my semen and more of it was even now leaking out between her legs and drying on her thighs.

"It's a fucked-up world," I said, "Filled with fucked-up people. But I don't think you're one of them. I think these other guys were. I want to hold you because I want to hold you, not because I feel sorry for you. We have an agreement, remember? This is only the start."

Emma looked at me and brought her hands up over her breasts, as if to protect herself. Her eyes in the dark were luminous. "You're serious?" she asked.

"Yes. Dead serious."

I slid my arm under her head and pulled her to me and she rolled partway so that she was pressed against my side. I kissed her shoulder and caressed her hair and she put her leg over mine.

"It feels good, being held," she said.

"It feels good holding you."

Outside the office and the dull, plain community college building, the parking lot ran down to a patch of grass, then a copse of trees separated the campus from the highway that led to the dreary grid of suburban streets and fast food places, most of them eerily empty at this hour. I had promised her connection and intimacy, and instead had delivered sexual pleasure, with ropes and violation and overt perversity.

There'd be time to find out if they were the same.

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