The Professor's Pet (A BDSM Romance Novel) (12 page)

“You. In a club. On a dance floor, actually dancing. It’s pretty surreal.” It really was. I’d sat in a class that Jake taught, starry-eyed. I’d worked on his floor for five years, barely able to say two words to him. And now, I was dancing with him in a bondage club, while men and women wandered around us in leather and rope.

“Real life,” he said. There was an even look in his eyes. “Always better.”

“I think I agree,” I replied quietly.

***

I didn’t like the club. Even though I was with Jake, guys looked at me like I was a morsel to be devoured; Jake’s broad shoulders keeping them at a safe distance. I felt vulnerable confronted with the heavy haze of sex in the air.

“Let’s go to the lower level,” he said evenly.

“What’s in the lower level?” I asked.

“People playing,” he replied. We wandered downstairs, where the air was even thicker with
lust, the smell of arousal prominent the air. I automatically moved closer to Jake. I didn’t like this; this was like a tidal wave; it could drown me in it, and the undercurrent could sweep me away. Jake was my rock, and I moved close to him.

“Watch,” Jake said, his voice at my ear. I obeyed.

A topless, blindfolded woman was strapped to a St. Andrews Cross; a man in a leather mask was whipping her breasts. Her moans were audible, a low background hum punctuated by sharp yelps as the whip descended on her. People were clustered around the area, watching the show; open arousal etched on their faces.

A guy moved to me. He was big; easily
two-fifty pounds. “Want to play?” he leered at me. Jake straightened behind me, his hand curving around my waist, pulling me into his body. “She’s with me,” he said coolly. The guy eyed Jake in assessment; I held my breath, wondering if a fight was going to break out. Then finally, he just nodded and walked away. I exhaled.

“I thought fists were going to fly,” I confessed.

Jake laughed. “There are monitors everywhere,” he said dryly, pointing to the security guards I hadn’t noticed. There were a lot of them; all big, burly guys who looked like they would have no problem throwing someone out of the club. “It isn’t unsafe, necessarily, to come here on your own, just inadvisable. Come, next area.”

The next area had a guy tied up, and a woman beating him. His cock was in a cage, and she was playing with his balls, an expression of lust and cruelty dancing on her face. Her hands were gentle though. I watched, fascinated. She looked scary, but she was entirely in control, both of herself, and of her submissive. It reminded me a bit of Jake.

We walked around, looked at some more shows. Part of me was turned on, the other part a little repulsed. Finally, I turned to Jake. “Can we go?” I asked him.

He grinned at me. “Eager for your orgasm, Emily?” he said into my ear, his teeth catching at my earlobe and sending a pulse-wave of pleasure through my body. I’d honest
ly forgotten about the orgasm; the club experience had driven it out of my mind.

“Always,” I winked back. He threw his head back and laughed aloud.

“Come on, Emily,” he said, amusement in his voice. “Let’s go to the hotel.”

***

“What did you think of the club?” Jake asked me in the car.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “It was good, and it was scary, and it was overwhelming.”

“Explain,” he ordered.

I thought about the experience; tried to identify what was causing disquiet in me. Finally, I had it. “Everyone there,” I said to Jake. “Everyone was defined by their kink. That was the only thing they revealed
about themselves.” I paused, trying to articulate the next thought. “It felt almost cartoonish; it was so separated from real life. I can’t do that, I can’t draw those distinctions.”

I had unintentionally revealed more than I should have; Jake was easily smart enough to probe my words and realize I was having difficulty keeping him in a separate part of my life as well. If he did realize it, he didn’t say anything though; he stuck to the topic at hand.

“They are still people,” he pointed out. “But it’s always a bit of a dilemma. Do you find someone who is sexually compatible with you, and then figure out everything else? Or do you search for someone who you connect to, and then figure out the kink?”

I pondered his words. I enjoyed this about Jake. Apart from the actual mechanics of dominance and submission, every time I talked to him, I learnt a little bit about making this work in real life. The balance that would be necessary.
The emotional lessons were more valuable than the sexual lessons.

He continued.
“It’s not that much different from going to a nightclub though. Odds of finding a sex partner are quite high, but beyond that?” A shrug of his shoulders. “Not great.”

“
A little part of me thought that that would be how I’d eventually find a Dominant,” I said, my voice small. But even as I said the words, I realized I was lying. I hadn’t thought about finding a Dominant since I’d started this thing with Jake. I hadn’t talked to guys at the wine tasting, because I had been thinking about Jake. It was Jake’s face that entered my mind when I masturbated; Jake’s voice I dreamed about; Jake’s hands I felt on my body. I was dangerously infatuated.

He shot a look at me. “Don’t worry about it too much,” he said easily. “Stuff like this will work itself out. Things happen when you least expect them to.”

He was mouthing the words as a platitude; I knew that. I turned away from him; frantically blinking back the sudden tears in my eyes.

Magic 8-ball,
I prayed silently.
I need to keep this just about sex for the next six weeks. Can I do this?

Don't count on it.
I sighed. Not the reply I had wanted to hear.

***

I’d thrown the bag of toys we’d bought last week into the trunk of the car when we left my apartment; Jake had grinned at me when I’d done that, mumbling something about needing to punish submissives who weren’t properly submissive. But when we pulled up at the hotel, he opened the trunk and grabbed the bag.

“What shall we use today?” he said, his voice musing, as we made our way to his hotel room. I kept silent;
I didn’t think the question had been directed at me.

“Emily,” he snapped, his voice impatient. “I asked you a question.”

He opened his room door, allowed me to precede him into the room. I gulped; disconcerted by the snap in his voice. We were in session; it was week 2. The lessons would get harder.

“Whatever you’d like, Professor Ballard,” I muttered, struggling to keep my eyes on his face.

“Is that supposed to be an answer, pet?” he bit out, clearly displeased with me. “Do you think I want to hear that you have no opinion on the toys used on your body?”

“The nipple clamps, the Ben-Wa balls, and the crop,” I snapped. “Professor Ballard,” I added
as an afterthought, the defiance clear in my voice.

His lips twitched, but he raised an eyebrow at me. “You’d do well to keep that temper under control, Emily,” he said dryly. “Okay.
No Ben-Wa balls; the only thing going into your cunt tonight is my dick. Grab the nipple clamps and the crop. Lay them on the desk, and kneel next to it.”

The orders came, fast and furious. I took it all in, and nodded. “Yes, Professor Ballard,” I said softly. When he snapped at me, I was torn; my instinctive response was to
snap back, until I remembered; I was here under my own volition.

He walked into the bathroom; I could
hear the sound of the shower. I took my clothes off; laid them in a corner, found the nipple clamps and the riding crop, set them on the desk in the bedroom, as I’d been ordered. I then knelt by the desk silently, waiting.

My thoughts were a jumble at first; annoyance with him being the most prominent emotion. I
made myself calm down, taking slow, even breaths and forcing myself to empty my mind. He enjoyed getting me to snap at him; he was provoking me deliberately. When that strand of thought appeared, I knew it was true; he’d pretty much said as much. I needed to stop letting him get to me so easily; I needed to be serene. In the bedroom, I didn’t want to fight him. When I controlled my instinctive response to fight back and simply surrendered to him, I’d been brought to previously unknown heights of pleasure.

Outside the bedroom,
I would fight back; everything was fair game. But here, kneeling on the carpet by the desk, my thoughts were of submission.

***

“Stand, Emily,” he ordered, when he came out, leaned against the desk. He was naked, my eyes ran openly over his body, feasted on the perfection standing in front of me.

He noticed. The look in his eyes was of slight amusement
, but his lips were a straight line. “Drool later,” he snapped. “This isn’t about your pleasure.” But I was shivering in arousal; my body contradicting his words.

I stood, trying my best to rise from my kneeling position with grace. He smiled at me, warmth in his eyes at my compliance. “I’d like you to beg to be cropped, Emily,” he said. “Tell me what you’d like me to do to you.”

I winced inwardly. I had become a lot more comfortable around Jake, but telling him what I wanted was still difficult. I got the sense that he knew that, and there was deliberate intent in his choice of activity, because he just stood in front of me, so achingly close that my body begged me to lean into his, and just waited.

“Do you want to come today, Emily? Because you’
ll need to beg for it,” he said, his voice level, his eyes on mine.

I gulped. In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought ruefully. I knew that things would be a lot more difficult today, but I’d assumed he would be hitting me harder, tying me tighter. But that would have been easier than what he was asking me to do.

“Please, Professor Ballard,” I started, my cheeks flushed, my eyes lowered in embarrassment. I was about to beg him to crop me, I couldn’t look into his eyes as I uttered the words.

He wasn’t going to let me off the hook.
“Eye-contact, Emily,” he snapped. My eyes instantly flew to his face. My face was beet-red.

He looked at me intently. “I know you think I’m just doing this to embarrass you,” he said evenly. He grinned. “And I will confess, it is fun to watch you blush. But,” his voice got more serious, “communication really is the key to this. You need to be open and honest with me, tell me what you crave. Tell me what you need from me.”

I nodded understanding. “Please, Professor Ballard,” I said softly, still blushing. “I want you to crop my breasts.” Inwardly, I winced, trying not to judge myself for begging a man to beat me. I looked for judgement in his eyes, but found only heat.

“Ah, Emily,” he said quietly, his words a heated pr
omise. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

His voice changed
; the next words were a definite order. “Cup your breasts, offer them to me.”

I put my hands under the swell of my breasts, lifting them up and towards him. My nipples had tightened from the promise of
the pleasures to come. “Please, Professor Ballard,” I repeated. “Will you crop my breasts?”

Jake didn’t reply; his eyes just roamed all over my body, his gaze making me shiver with anticipation
. Finally, after moments of excruciatingly pleasurable waiting, he reached one hand towards me. I thought he’d touch the breasts that I was still cupping towards him, but he instead stroked my cheek very softly.

“I would love to crop your breasts, Emily,” he said. No amusement in his eyes; just quiet intent. Then, his fingers slid lower, tracing a soft path down my arms, to finally rest on the offered breasts. He traced a circle around a breast, spiralling closer and closer to my nipple, and I fought to remain still; fought not to lean into his body. He was in charge; I would do only what he told me.

Smack. His palm had made contact with my right breast, the sound ringing in the quiet room. I hissed; the stroke brought pain. But as the pain receded, pleasure rushed in; my pussy clenched in arousal, and I could feel my juice trickle down my legs. I gazed at Jake with shock in my eyes; not shock at what he did, but shock at my response.

Another slap.
I bit my lip as I fought not to moan, and I tried my best to hold still, to continue to hold my breasts out, for him to slap me. Lust shone naked in my eyes.

He bent his mouth towards my body, grabbing a nipple between his teeth and nipping it hard; repeating the action with the other nipple. My
nerve endings danced with pain and pleasure; and I struggled to hold still. Part of me wanted to retreat away from his biting teeth; the other, bigger part wanted to push into his mouth so he would bite harder.

The nipple clamps were quickly attached; Jake’s fingers set
the bells ringing. I groaned, unable to help myself. I was being trained; the chime of the bells was a sound that sent further lightning rushing through my body. “Jake,” I begged, unaware of what I was begging for.

“Hush,” he said firmly. “No words. Speak only when you are spoken to.”

I bit my lower lip; nodded. “Lower your hands,” he ordered. “Clasp them behind your back, keep them there.” My hands obeyed him of their own volition.

My eyes were on his face. His eyes gleamed with lust; a lust mirrored in my face. But there was control in him, a quiet, iron will that would win out over the arousal. He gazed at my reddening breasts for a moment. “You mark easily,” he remarked. With that, he brought the crop down on the top of my right breast. Whap.

The hard sound ricocheted around the room; a sharp pain blossomed at the spot where the crop had fallen. Behind my back, I clenched my fists, taking a deep breath as I let the pain flow through me. I gazed down at the spot where the crop had landed; a red spot clearly visible on my skin.

My eyes met Jake. He was waiting for me to process the pain; it was the first time the crop had landed on my body.

I nodded quietly. I wanted Jake to take me to the very edge of my limits; I needed him to push me hard; I needed him to be tough on me. Softness from Jake was the rarest of treats; but it had to be earned. I would earn it by taking my cropping with pleasure.

As he started hitting me more methodically, as the strokes rained down on my breasts, setting them jiggling, setting the clamp bells chiming, I realized something I had read about, but never
quite believed was true. On the other side of pain was pleasure, and Jake straddled that edge with ease; the strokes hard enough to be painful; soft enough to bring pleasure. I groaned; my pussy was drenched, but I needed to feel his touch on my clitoris to come, and his hands were nowhere near my pussy.

My moans increased in frequency and volume; my cries were that of a trapped animal, primal, yowling, pleading
wordlessly for release. I looked down at my breasts, they were bruised and blotched red, throbbing with a rhythm that spoke of need and arousal, lust and longing.

He stopped for an instant, took a half-step back, and looked at me again. There was open heat in his eyes as he surveyed my bruised breasts, and I groaned in
response; I needed him to take me, hard and without consideration; I needed him to pound into me while his hands kneaded my aching breasts, and I needed to come with a wild, pulsing desire that swept like a tidal wave over my body.

I wanted to say all of that, but he’d told me to only speak when spoken to, and I couldn’t utter a word. And so, I pushed my chest out in unspoken invitation.
More. Please. Don’t stop.

A fire blazed in his eyes, and that impeccable control finally faltered. He picked me up without ceremony, and threw me down on the bed, facing him. My legs were dragged so that my ass was hanging off the bed and he grabbed my ankles, and forced my legs high in the air, and wide open.

“Hold them there,” he ordered. I did, and he stood at the edge of the bed, rolled on a condom with quick efficiency, and he slammed into my waiting pussy so hard that the breath left my body for a moment.

Lust rose, swift and sharp and sure, and I moved my hips upward into hi
m; his hands reached under my ass and grabbed me painfully, spreading my pussy further apart so he could plunge deep into me. I grunted, part pain, part pure, unadulterated lust as he moved in me. I closed my eyes; focused on the sound of his body hitting mine, the smell of the sweat on his skin, the slight ache in my thighs as the muscles cried protest at how wide he had ordered them spread.