The Professor's Pet (A BDSM Romance Novel) (10 page)

“Do you want the clamps off?” he asked me. “It’s your first time, so I’ll let you pick.”

“I’m okay,” I responded. The throbbing was both painfu
l and yet strangely pleasurable.

“I’m going to put the buttplug in now, Emily,” he told me. I felt the movement on my ass; I deliberately forced my muscles into slackness, allowing this plunder of my tightest hole. He inserted it in a steady motion; I whimpered around the widest bit, and then it was in.

There was the remembered feeling of fullness; the slight taboo around the act made it erotic for me, and I moaned as my pussy clenched again, craving its own feeling of fullness. “Please, Professor Ballard, please don’t make me wait,” I begged. He had touched my pussy just once, and I was already at the edge; the rope, the clamps, and now the buttplug all instruments of the orchestra, playing together to build my orgasm up to a rising crescendo.

And then, finally, the one instrument that completed the piece; his dick. Through the haze, I heard the condom wrapper tear, and then he plunged into me in one steady stroke
, a steel counterpoint to the buttplug buried in my ass, making me feel fuller, more possessed than I’d ever felt in my life. Everything clenched in response; everything hurt with the sweetest of aches. His hand reached around my hip and his fingers found my clitoris, and I fell apart on cue, at the exact moment that he had wanted me to, and it was the best orgasm of my life.

The clichés were true; the room blacked out, and I saw stars and fireworks, and through it all, the slapping sound of his dick, sliding in and out of my wet pussy; his fingers, still on my clitoris, but
touching me with a softer touch, keeping a low simmer going until I was ready to soar again.

T
he faint ache of the nipple clamps, the tinkling music of the bells, ringing every time I moved, the screams of the muscles at my shoulder, responding now to the painful rope; all of that receded into the background as my orgasm took me higher; past the pain, to the point where only pleasure was left.

I heard, in the distance, his choked-off growl as he erupted, his hands clenched on my ass so hard that I was sure I would see bruises in the morning.

***

My hands were untied first, and I rotated my shoulders, easing the stiffness from them. His lips curved in evil amusement as he eyed my nipple clamps. “They hurt when they come off as well,” he said dryly.

They did; my nails ground into his biceps as the blood came rushing into my nipples and the pain ripped through my body. “Ouch,” I said finally, as the pain eased somewhat, and we both laughed.

He moved me so I was lying on top of him; his hands stroked my sides, as he kissed me softly, trailing tiny kisses down my neck and shoulder. It was sweet and tender; or rather, it would have been, had I not known that this was just who Jake was. Aftercare was part of what made a good Dominant, and Jake never did anything by halves. It was an oddly bitter thought, and I swallowed to ease the lump in my throat.

Magic 8-ball,
I thought to myself
. I don’t think I can do this. I want more. I want real. Dare I ask for what I want?

Very doubtful,
came the reply.

“What’s wrong?”
Jake asked. He had felt my body react.

“
Nothing,” I replied. I forced my voice to be light and relaxed.

He took a deep breath. “Tell me,” he ordered. “Honesty is important, Emily, if something’
s bothering you, I need to know.”

I shook my head. “Game’s over, Jake,” I said, deliberately using his first name. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

His eyes hardened. “Pet,” he drawled, arrogance dripping from every syllable. “There are only two things that end the game. I determine when the game ends. Or you do, if you safeword. Neither of them is true at the moment.” His hands continued their stroking though, gentle and soothing.

“Fine,” I snapped back, rolling my eyes. “Magic 8-ball. There you go. Game’s over.” I rolled off of his body, lay on the bed next to him.

He turned on his side to face me, his eyes pensive. His hand reached out to tuck a tendril behind my ear. “Honesty is important,” he repeated, bleakness in his voice.

“I could have been thinking about my grocery list or something,” I mumbled.

His lips twitched. “Ouch, Emily. That hurts. Were you?”

I laughed. “No,” I admitted. “
But I can’t tell you everything I’m thinking either.”

His eyes were upon me. “Obviously. But you
were on top of me, and I was touching you, just after a session, when you tensed up, at that point, chances were, what you were thinking about was relevant.”

“I don’t think it was relevant,” I lied. Of course it was relevant. But had I mentioned the thing I was thinking, my wish that this thing between us was more real – the instruction would swiftly end. Jake had been quite clear in where the boundaries
lay.

I wasn’t ready for this to end.

His eyes were still on me, assessing my words. If he reached a conclusion though, he kept it to himself. “By the way, Emily,” he finally said, his voice amused. “You roll your eyes at me again, and I will put you over my knees and spank you silly.”

I grinned at him, seizing on this opportunity to lower the tension. “Good to know, Professor Ballard,” I winked.

***

“Will I see you next week?” I asked him.

He nodded. “I’ll put you on the guest list; they’ll give you a key. I want you in the bedroom, naked, kneeling, at 7.00pm Friday night. Okay?”

I nodded compliance with his instructions.

“I need to leave soon; I was planning on getting something to eat, and then heading to the airport. Join me for dinner?” His voice was distracted. His mind was running ahead, probably to the next item on his to-do list.

I shook my head. “I’m going to go home,” I said.

He stopped what he was doing and looked at me. There was concern in his voice. “Are you sure you are okay, Emily?” he asked quietly.

I nodded. “I’m fine, Jake.” My voice softened. It was kind of him to be concerned, even if it was
n’t personal; even if it was just Jake’s persona, his need to always give a hundred percent in every situation.

He gave me a ride home; we didn’t kiss good-bye.

***

Jake:

Already, after one weekend, I could tell this situation had trouble written all over it. She was having difficulty building her walls. If I had any sense at all, I would walk away.

But then, she’d probably go do something crazy and unsafe, and god-knows-why, I didn’t want that to happen. I needed to stay and teach her enough to ensure she played safely; I needed to show her the seedy underbelly of the world, so she knew enough to recognize it, and to avoid it.

As hard as I was on her the first time; as sneering and mocking as I was, I never put her in danger. But there were people out there that would; there were people who would damage her, if not her body, then her mind. I’d seen enough in the world to know that there existed people that would take the lust she felt and shape it into self-loathing; forcing her to humiliate herself for the sake of pleasure; cheapening the strength of her submission, changing it to something base and perverted, all under the label of control and dominance.

She didn’t know any of this; she was a relative innocent; sweet and impulsive. I couldn’t stand by and watch her walk into danger. As inadvisable as this entire plan was, I was going to stick to it. Eight weeks in which I would show her how to navigate this world safely.

I had just figured out the lesson plan for week 2. I started making some phone calls.

Emily:

Waiting. That was the thing I had done for the last five years. No, longer than that. I’d been waiting for many years.

Waiting to finish my degree; waiting for real life to start. Throwing myself into my work;
mostly eschewing guys and relationships and commitments. And now, I was doing it again. Waiting till next Friday, where I could kneel in a hotel room and let Jake have his way with me.

He thought I was impulsive and reckless; in that, he was wrong. I was impulsive, this was true. But I was the furthest thing from reckless. I was a statistician; I evaluated facts. He looked at my going over to his house when I didn’t really know him as an act of crazy recklessness; but I had known what I was doing. I had weighed the pros and the cons; calculated that the odds of Jake being a crazy serial killer were quite low, and I’d then jumped into the deep end of the pool. Life was short; I could get killed crossing the
street. I took controlled risks; but I wouldn’t cower in the face of the unknown.

Okay. I was unwilling to get too introspective about Jake. But I’d be damned if I was going to spend the week waiting for him. My errands and chores were done. It was time to start growing some roots in my new city.

I signed up for classes; I’d always wanted to learn French, and there was something comforting about the routine of structured learning. I also joined some Internet groups for people new in town. They were going to a wine tasting on Thursday. I signed up.

***

I didn’t hear from Jake all week. I didn’t expect to; he had made that crystal clear. I spent Tuesday night in front of my TV, gloomily wondering if he was sleeping with someone in Boston, and hating myself for even thinking of him. By the time my wine tasting on Thursday came around, I was thrilled to have something to distract me. I wore a nice black silk top and my jeans, added some pretty shoes; took a cab to the wine bar.

I had fun. I chatted with some people; exchanged phone numbers with a couple of women that seemed good company. Guys I stayed away from. I wasn’t interested; I had Friday evening to look forward to.

The reality was that even though I defiantly had insisted to Jake that I wasn’t going to be celibate while he whored around with whoever he wanted in Boston, that was exactly what I was going to do. I had never been a multiple-partner kind of girl. Even when I was online-dating, I would have only one email conversation going on at one time. I was systematic and sequential that way; this was not an area in my life that I could multi-task. 

***

Jake had been true to his word; the hotel had a key for me. I let myself in on Friday evening. Seven exactly. He was on the phone; he grimaced in apology when he saw me; waved me into the bedroom. “A couple of minutes,” he mouthed.

I nodded. I went into the bedroom, as he had instructed; took off my clothes, folded them neatly on a chair in the corner. I knelt, facing the door, my hands on my thighs; my legs parted to show Jake my pussy, and I waited.

His voice neared; he entered the bedroom. He was still on the phone, but he looked at me and winked. A finger over his lips; I was to be quiet. I could hear the voice at the other end of the line; a male voice. Had it been a woman, I would have been angry and humiliated. A man though? This had erotic possibilities.

And then he moved towards me, and every thought fled my mind as his fingers circled a nipple, and pinched it hard.

I struggled not to cry out as he spoke into the phone. “Right, Sanjay, I get it. Let’s try for a meeting next week?” His eyes were on me, amused, watchful, as I realized he was talking to my boss on the other end of the line. My eyes narrowed, but I bit my lips to keep from laughing; I was both annoyed and amused at the ridiculousness of the situation he’d put me in. 

He cradled the phone between his shoulder and his ear, freeing up both hands. A wordless gesture had me standing; he reached and cupped my breasts, lowered his mouth onto a nipple, sucking it and lathering it with attention; nipping it gently between his teeth. My hands fisted at my sides; I struggled not to moan.

Magic 8-ball,
I said inwardly.
What is wrong with me? Why is this a turn-on?

Better not tell you now
,
came the sage reply.

“Yup, send me an invite,” his hands left my breasts, and he spoke into the phone. “I might have a couple of other people interested as well. I’ll send you an email.” His fingers slid down my body to my pussy, found it dripping. His eyes never left mine as he dipped two fingers into my cream, and then wiped his fingers all over my lips. I knew what I had to do, my tongue reached out and licked my juice off my lips, and his fingers.

His eyes darkened with lust. “Right. That sounds good. Okay Sanjay, see you tomorrow.” He clicked off the phone. I laughed at him.

“Really?” I said. “My boss?”

He winked. “An added incentive to keep quiet, if you will.” His eyes roamed all over my body, intent and predatory. I moved towards him, almost involuntarily, wanting to feel the hard length of his body against mine.

He shook his head. “Tempting as you are right now, Emily, get dressed. We have a long evening ahead of us.”

I looked at him
with curiosity. I didn’t think he’d answer my unasked question; he hadn’t told me what was in store for me last week at the sex store, but it was worth a try. Today though, he did answer.

“It is bondage night at a club in the city,” he said. “Want to go see what it’s all about?”

A club. I gulped. I was getting quite an education.

“What will it be like?” I asked. My nervousness was audible in my voice.

“In what way?” he asked me.

“Will I have to refer to you as Master? Can I only speak when I’m spoken to? Will I have to be naked?”

He laughed, amused. “Nah, nothing like that. But,” he paused, “I’m going to make it fairly obvious you are with me. That’s for your protection; unaccompanied women, especially ones as beautiful as you will be prey.”

He called me beautiful. My heart stopped at that; I missed the next thing he said.

“Sorry, what?” I asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “Pay attention,” he said mildly. “I know you don’t want to be called my submissive. It might come up tonight at the club.”

I nodded. “I’m okay with that; I just didn’t want you calling me your slut or something at a restaurant.”

He shook his head at me wonderingly. “What do you read, Emily?” he asked, slight disbelief threading his voice. “You think I’m going to humiliate you in public?”

I flushed. “I’m just figuring this thing out,” I said in defense.

He looked at me. Whatever he was going to say, he thought better of it. “Get dressed,” was all that he said.

***

Seven was entirely too early for bondage night; that wouldn’t get going until closer to midnight.

“Have you eaten?” he asked me, when I dressed and came out to the living room. I shook my head.

“
Chinese? I know a great dumpling place,” he said.

“How?” I asked. “How do you know anything in San Francisco?”

He shrugged. “I’m here a lot for work; I like to explore. It’s a great city, one of my favorite places.”

The dumpling place he
took me to bore a strong resemblance to the tiny Mexican place we went to last week. Plastic tablecloths; bottles of soy sauce, black vinegar and chilli paste sitting in cheap dollar-store trays; fake flowers gracing ugly vases.

“You aren’t into fancy
places, are you?” I commented wryly as we took our seats.

He grinned. “I like good food,” he said. “Everything else is a bonus.”

He delivered on his promise; the food was excellent. I ate everything within reach, fighting with him for the last dumpling, reaching to grab it before he could, stabbing my chopsticks threateningly in his direction. He just laughed at me and ordered more dumplings. At some point, I was startled to realize I was having fun.

“Jake,” I said. “Can I ask you several nosy and personal questions?”

“Several?” he said musingly, his eyes amused. “Okay, go ahead, but I make no promises that I’ll actually answer them.”

“Have you ever been in a real relationship with a submissive?”

He nodded. “Two relationships,” he said. “Three years each.”

I didn’t actually think he would answer. “How does that work? Was your submissive always naked in the house? Did she do everything she was told?”

He laughed at me. “I wish,” he said ruefully. He took a sip of his tea, filled both our cups. “Everyone is different, I’ve said it before. With me, the Dominant thing is only a small part of a whole; and the rest is the same thing everyone looks for – you want someone you can talk to and trust, someone who makes you laugh, and someone that unstintingly has your back.”

“Okay,” I said. “But in real life, how do you reconcile the two things?”

He shrugged. “You keep them separate,” he said. “The play has markers, boundaries. Outside of that, it’s just like real life.” He took another sip of his tea. “Jenny, my last girlfriend and I, we didn’t live together, but we spent at least four nights a week together. But much of it was just normal stuff; going to see a movie, or grabbing a drink at a pub; watching football on Sunday afternoons; having arguments about whose turn it was to do dishes. You know, everyday relationship stuff.”

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “I’ve never been in a relationship like that. I’ve had boyfriends, but the longest was three months.”

“Why?” he asked me.

“
Work, maybe, work always came first. Or maybe it was the spanking thing, that I subconsciously needed more from them, but couldn’t articulate it. They never became necessary; and then, at the three month mark, where you decide if you are staying or going, I always went.”

He inclined his head at me; studying me as if I was a problem to be solved. “So, always a safety line on the shore, to reel you in from your impulses? An automatic life-jacket when you jump in the deep end?”

It was scarily perceptive, and I instinctively lowered my eyes to protect myself.

His hand reached forward, tipped my head up. There was understanding in his eyes. “We all have flaws, Emily,” he said. “No one is perfect.”

His words had pushed me into a pensive place of self-examination, and I didn’t like it. These were the thoughts you kept closed off; the thoughts that only came out in the deepest reaches of the night; thoughts that haunted you in the dark, making you wonder if you made the right choices in your life.

“Really, Jake?” I said, and I hated the hardness in my voice, because I could hear the sadness underneath. I didn’t like that Jake could reach this place in me; nobody else could, and I preferred
it that way. No one who was going to walk away unscathed in eight weeks should have this much power over me.

He looked at me. I could see the debate in his eyes, as he formulated his reply. Finally, he shrugged, a decision made. “I cheated on my girlfriend,” he
admitted, giving me a little piece of himself in exchange. “Not Jenny; the girl before her. No one is perfect. In the scheme of things, keeping your heart protected is hardly a flaw.”

He took another sip of tea. His eyes returned to my face, searching for judgement. There wasn’t any – who was I to judge the inside of people’s relationships? I’d never even tried; what right did I have to condemn the people that had tried and failed?

“So, football,” I said instead, trying to lighten the mood. “Who’s your team?”

He smiled at me; amusement returning to his eyes. He wore it like a mask; keeping the real person hidden underneath. I let him,
choosing the act of self-preservation. Amused Jake was dangerously under my skin; but the real Jake? I didn’t think I could handle exposure to the real Jake without painful scarring. 

“
New England,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. “Carpetbagger,” I accused.
I was pretty sure the Patriots fan-base had tripled in the last ten years.

His lips twitched. “I’m very much going to enjoy spanking you tonight,” he said evenly. “I’m from Maine, I grew up watching the Patriots lose every single season; I come by my fandom honestly.”

I grinned, confident that the thing I was going to say next would infuriate him and add to my spanking. “Spygate,” I muttered into my tea. There had been a big song-and-dance about signals and videotaping a few years ago; every Patriots fan was accustomed to getting that thrown in their faces.

He laughed aloud. “Emily, Emily, Emily,” he said easily. “Do you actually have a team that you support, or do you just mock the teams that know how to win?”

“I’m a Browns fan,” I admitted. Every single season, the Browns broke my heart by sucking in the worst kind of way.

“I’m sorry,” he said, chuckling. “I feel your pain,” he continued, smugness in his voice. I glared at him as he laughed, then finally, I relented and chuckled as well.

***

He wouldn’t let me pay for dinner. “You can pay when the Browns actually have a winning season,” he commented dryly. I glared at him; that certainly wasn’t going to happen this year; it was November, and the Browns had already lost more games than they had won.