The Professor's Pet (A BDSM Romance Novel) (14 page)

“I’m clearly not spanking you enough,” he said. “Still, there’s always next week, once your poor ass has healed up.”

I blushed, as the heat rose through me at his words. We cleared the plates; put away the food, and then Jake refilled my glass of wine. “Dessert on the couch?” I asked him.

He smiled and nodded; I put a slice of pie and a scoop of vanilla ice-cream on each of our bowls, and we carried
them over to the couch.

***

“How did you get into math?” I asked curiously. It was an unusual path for a boy from a fishing village.

“Well,” he drawled, “after high school, I decided to take a year off, figure out what I wanted t
o do in life. I moved to Boston.”

I took a bite of my apple pie, let the warmth of the fruit slide down my throat, and then followed it with the
cool caress of the ice-cream. Jake made me more aware of everything; every touch, every sensation. I was starting to fantasize about apple pie and ice-cream, for heaven’s sake.

“
Boston is an expensive city,” he continued. “I worked maintenance at the university. Night shift paid more, so I did that.”

Another mouthful of apple pie, and I whimpered softly in appreciation. It was insane; I was driving myself into a frenzy thinking of him licking the pie and the ice-cream from my body. His voice was a pleasing lilt in the background as I lost myself in my fantasy.

“One night,” he said, his lips a straight line, his tongue reaching out to grab a stray crumb of pie from his lips, sending lightning flashings of arousal through my body, “I walked by the math department. I was scrubbing the floors, and there was this problem on a blackboard in one of the classes.”

My mind was lost in the image of his tongue flicking out. In my fantasy, he was flicking my clitoris the same way, just a little reach-out and the briefest of touches. I would beg for more, but he would place one hand very firmly on my hips, holding me still.
Then, his tongue would poke out again, and give my clitoris another tiny flick. And he would do this till I had been driven almost insane with longing; till every muscle in my body was screaming for more, and then finally he would bend his mouth into my body, and suck my clitoris into his lips and his teeth, and I would arch off the bed as I came apart, and shattered into his waiting mouth.

“It fascinated me, this problem,” his voice was saying in the background. “And I stood in front of the board, and almost as if I was in a dream, I started writing; the solution appearing in the air in front of me, compelling me to set it down on paper…”

It took me a couple of seconds, lost as I was in the aftermath of my fantasy, to realize he was quoting the plot of Good Will Hunting to me, and then I threw my napkin at him in annoyance. “Jerk,” I said. “If you didn’t want to answer my question, you could have just said so.”

He’d caught the napkin in a light
ning-fast reflex, and now he just laughed at me. “Sorry,” he apologized through his chuckles. “It was just too difficult to resist; you weren’t really paying attention to me, and I wondered how long it would take for you to catch on.”

“So, Emily,” he continued. “Your lips were parted, your eyes glazed over with lust. What
really was distracting you?”

I told him, blushing. “Ice-cream?” he asked thoughtfully. “This’ll be a first.”
And then he proceeded to put a towel under my ass, scooped some ice-cream on my clenching pussy, and he very slowly, very carefully licked every little bit off me until I came, begging and screaming his name as I shattered, at the precise moment he wanted me to.

Jake:

If I’d been asked why I was still there, why I hadn’t walked away when I realized she was utterly unable to build any walls to protect herself, I would have sworn I hadn’t noticed. That I was busy; I had my usual complement of papers to write and PhD and Postdoc students to shepherd; the work I was doing in San Francisco an additional burden; the stuff Sanjay and me were working on separately another preoccupation. And the red-eye flights to San Francisco on Thursday nights and the red-eye flights back to Boston on Saturday nights took a toll as well.

But in retrospect, that would have been a lie. The words I had said to her at the start were much closer to the truth.
I was with her because I very much wanted to be.

***

Friday night, and I was sitting on the couch in my suite; laptop on my lap, coffee cup in my hand, trying to focus on the paper I had committed to peer-reviewing. We’d arranged to meet at the hotel room at precisely seven; it was now quarter past, and she was very definitely late. Excellent; I was looking for an excuse to spank her beautiful ass.

Finally, at half-past seven, I heard the key card slide into the slot, heard the door open. She came in, looking nervous. “Professor Ballard,” she started. “I’m so sorry…”

I raised a hand to interrupt the apology. “Go to the bedroom. Get naked. Stand in the middle of the room.” My voice was curt. I let her stew there for easily ten minutes, and finally set my laptop aside, grabbed the flogger from my suitcase, and walked into the bedroom.

“So, Emily,” I said, my voice level. “Tell me, why are you late? Did you have to work?”

“No, Professor Ballard,” she replied. Her voice was soft. “I was having drinks with the team; I lost track of time, and missed the shuttle.”

I chuckled inwardly, loving the fact that she hadn’t even tried to lie to me, but I kept my voice stern. “Why didn’t you call me, Emily?”

“I didn’t have your phone number,” she said sheepishly. I was momentarily surprised, but she was right; we’d never exchanged phone numbers; an omission that needed to be corrected.

“True,” I said easily. “We’ll fix that after your punishment. But now, Emily, you are going to get punished.”

I had the flogger in my hand; I swung it menacingly in the air. Instantly, she went completely, utterly pale; her eyes widened with fear. Fuck. Fuck. Fear was not good.

I cursed myself inwardly. I was all kinds of an idiot; she didn’t know me at all. Trust was something you built up over time, and it was based on knowing someone. She didn’t know how hard I played; from the silly books she read, she thought I was going to punish her by flogging her. We had to stop the play right away.

Her breathing was rapid; she was starting to panic. But she didn’t say anything; just kept staring at the flogger in my hands, as if I was going to hurt her. I felt like a jerk.

“Emily,” I said quietly. “Relax, I’m not going to hurt you.”

She didn’t show any signs of listening; her eyes were still wide and staring. Shit. I needed to get through to her. “Pet,” I snapped. The tone in my voice instantly raised her hackles; she looked up at me with irritation, and I grinned.

“Emily,” I said, relief flooding through me that the look of fear in her eyes had abated. “Get dressed. Let’s go for a walk first.”

***

We stepped outside. The night was cold and clear; she shivered slightly as she walked, and I pulled her into my body. “Want to grab a drink somewhere?” I asked her. I desperately wanted to change the setting; not take her back to my hotel room until I knew she was okay.

She nodded. “I’m sorry I panicked,” she said softly. “I feel like an idiot.”

I shook my head. “Safety first, always,” I said. “Let’s go someplace neutral for a while.”

We entered a quiet pub that was almost empty. We slid into a booth, the bored waitress came over, and we both ordered pints of beer.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, once the waitress was out of earshot.

“Never be sorry,” I said. “Tell me, what happened there? Did you really think I was going to flog you to the point of pain?”

“No,” her voice was low, reluctant. “That wasn’t why I panicked.”

“Then why, Emily?” I reached over and took her hand in mine; grateful beyond measure that she didn’t flinch at my touch.

“Jake,” she said. “I just realized at that moment how much of your time you are giving me. And I felt like utter crap for being late. I thought I deserved to be beaten. And I panicked because that was a dangerous way to feel. No one deserves to be beaten.”

Oh thank heavens. She was smart and figuring it out quickly; for a second there, she’d allowed the play to seep in dangerously into real life, but she was bright enough to quickly back away from that chasm of self-loathing.

“Good,” I said. I didn’t try to conceal the relief in my voice. The waitress reappeared with our drinks, I nodded my thanks, and waited for her to leave
before continuing.

“Hence the boundaries,” I added.

She nodded. “I see why now,” she said quietly. “It can be dangerous, allowing someone this close; giving them this control.”

“Yup,” I agreed. “
Always play with someone who has the same boundaries as you do. Else, it’s got the potential to tip too easily into abuse.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for stopping.”

I looked at her. “Emily,” I said quietly. “Fear has no place in the way I play.”

“What do you like about it? About dominance?”

I took a sip of my drink, forming the words in my head. “Did you ever go to the circus as a kid?” I asked her. She nodded.

“My favorite bit was the trapeze artists,” I continued. “I loved watching them fly, watching them soar. And then, there was the safety net.” She kept her eyes on me; I took another sip of my beer. “They flew higher because of the net,” I said evenly. “That’s what I do; I’m the net. If you feel utterly safe with me, you fly higher. You soar.”

Her eyes widened slightly, but never left mine. She took a sip of her drink, and then stood. “Jake,” she said softly. “Please, can we go back to the hotel room? Start over?”

“Are you sure?” I asked her.

She nodded. Her voice was confident and completely without fear. “Absolutely.”

***

Emily:

Magic 8-ball,
I had asked myself, when we were in the bar.
Do I trust him?

Yes, definitely.
There had been no hint of doubt in the answer. And so we were back in the hotel room, and I went into the bedroom, got naked and stood quietly, waiting for him.

Jake waited for a
few minutes, and then walked in.

“Please, Professor Ballard,” I started, holding the flogger in my hand, and offering it to him. “Please, will you flog me?”

“What is your safe-word, Emily?” he asked, his voice an easy drawl.

“Magic 8-ball,” I answered.

“Hands above your head, please,” he said, a snap in his voice. I obeyed instantly, feeling peace descend over me. It had taken a while, but I finally understood Jake. I’d always felt safe with him, but now I understood why; realized that he’d watch out for me, knew with certainty that he would call a stop to the play if he didn’t feel it was safe.

He moved close to me, trailed the stands of the flogger all over my body. I tensed up, not in pain or nervousness, but in pleasure as the strands touched my body, glided over my skin. He was slow; excruciatingly slow.
I fought to stay still, to keep quiet.

He picked the flogger up and started flogging my butt, very, very slowly. The strokes brought only heat and pleasure; they were like strands of warm sunshine flowing through my skin. I moaned, jutted my ass out towards him. I could hear him chuckle through the haze of arousal I was floating in.

“Keep still,” he ordered. I nodded, my eyes on him.

The strokes were now falling on my upper thighs. “Part your legs,” he said, and the strands of the flogger curved around to my inner thighs as I complied. I took a sharp, inward breath. If the strokes landed on my pussy, I wouldn’t be able to hold off my orgasm. I could feel the wetness seep down my thighs; the idea of being flogged on my pussy, the notion that these soft strokes that sent strands of heat through my body would touch my core was an idea that set every muscle in my body clenching in longing.

He moved around my front, the strokes now landed on my breasts. I whimpered, my eyes glazed over with lust. His eyes were on me, careful, evaluating how much I could take. Finally, he reached a conclusion.

“Ten strokes
for being late,” he grinned at me. “They’ll be harder. Count them out.”

I nodded, bit my lip in slight, nervous anticipation.

“Stick out your ass, Emily,” he instructed, moving to my side and slightly behind, so I couldn’t see his face. I obeyed, feeling wanton and wild and free.

Swish.
The crack echoed around the room. The strands hit my ass with more pressure this time, and I jumped at the noise and at the sting of the flogger. This stroke had been noticeably harder; more like hot strands of lightning on my skin. And in the aftermath of the stroke, I felt my nerve endings dance. “One, Professor Ballard,” I said, through gritted teeth.

“Let the pain flow through you, remember to breathe,” he said evenly.
His hand came out to stroke my ass, soothe me at the spot the flogger had struck. I groaned. I loved the way he touched me.

Swish. “Two,” I groaned a
s the sting hit my other cheek. I concentrated on breathing, in and out, letting the pain and the pleasure wash through me.

“Three,” I yelped, as the flogger hit me again, this time slightly lower, at the part where my thighs met my ass. “Four,” I danced almost immediately, as the flogger came down again, caressing that spot once more.

My skin felt on fire; he set the flogger aside, and came to run his hands all over my body. “Such a good girl, Emily,” he said, his voice approving. He stroked me, from the small of my neck all the way down my back, cupping my ass and drawing me into his body. I could feel his erection under his jeans, and I licked my lips openly, eliciting a chuckle from him. “Not yet, pet,” he said, affection and humour in his voice. I normally hated that word, but the tone in his voice had been one that sent my heart melting.

He slid a finger into my pussy, found me soaked. I whimpered in need as he spread my juices all over my lips, and kissed me deep, making an appreciative noise in his throat as he tasted me. I was so turned on; this was so erotic, I couldn’t stand much more of this before I lost control, broke position and begged him to fuck me.

“Ready, Emily?” he asked, as he stepped away, and the flogger came down again on my ass.

“Five,”
I moaned through my rising need. The flogger fell again; the strokes were still strands of lightning against my heated skin, but I found myself pushing my ass out towards him, welcoming each stroke of the flogger. “Six,” I whimpered. “Seven. Eight.” I needed this; this pleasurable pain that he was bestowing on me.

I could feel his eyes on me, watching me carefully,
searching for signs that this was more painful than pleasurable. Wasted effort; all I felt at that moment was lust; it was like a fire, blazing, powerful, and it was everything I could do to keep it contained; to stay still for the last two strokes.

The flogger descended on me, two hard strokes that made me groan in pleasure, and almost made me forget to count. “Nine, ten,” I whispered but stayed still. I could see him smile at me, and then he swung me into his arms, and deposited me on his bed, parting my legs, thrusting three fingers into my sopping pussy, and lowering his mouth on my clitoris.

The orgasm ripped through me, hard and fast and fierce, and I had not the slightest chance of holding it back. “Jake,” I groaned, as I came, lifting off the bed as my muscles clenched and convulsed, but he didn’t let up, his fingers pounding in and out of my pussy, making me whimper and beg and part my legs wider.

He lifted his head to look at me, his gaze amused, testing. “Such a good pet, aren’t you, Emily?” he asked me, a smile playing around his lips.

I met his gaze. I knew what he was doing; I wasn’t an idiot. He was testing the limits of my trust. I smiled at him, an answering amusement in my eyes dispersing the lust for just a moment. “Only for you, Professor Ballard,” I muttered.

His lips twitched; his eyes were warm. “Ah, Emily,” he said, pulling his fingers out, rolling a condom on and thrusting into me, his voice a growl of lust. “Ah fuck, Emily.”

***

After that day, things changed between us. Jake was still amused and mocking, but the tone of the play had changed. I was still his submissive, and he was still my Dominant, but there was trust between us. I trusted that he would take care of me; he trusted that I would communicate with him honestly. We played, and together, we soared.

He found devious ways of pushing my limits. The morning after our conversation, Jake inserted the Ben Wa balls into my pussy and took me on a hike. By the time we’d walked a mile, I’d begged him to touch me, to bring me to orgasm, but he had declined, laughing. “I think that will probably violate your hard limits, Emily,” he had said mildly, his eyes dancing with amusement. “I don’t care,” I had groaned in reply, but he was in charge, and I was only allowed my orgasm when we were in the shower after, washing off the sweat from the hike.