The Professor's Pet (A BDSM Romance Novel) (7 page)

I obeyed silently. There was something incredibly freeing about this; I wasn’t in charge of anything; he was, and all I needed to do was obey, and worlds of pleasure would be opened up in front of me. It was seductive in its promise.

“Lower your head, put your shoulders on the bed,” he instructed. I assumed the position he demanded. I could feel him sit on the bed; feel the
mattress dip in response to his weight. He was behind me, gazing at my pussy and at my ass, both in the air, available for his use.

“Here, move your hands back, place them on the inside of your ankles, and clasp your ankles.”

I adjusted my body, my knees parted slightly as I assumed the position he had dictated.

“Raise your hips,” he instructed, this command accompanied by a smack on my ass. I hiked my ass in the air; held it there for him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Aroused,” I replied honestly.

He chuckled. “I can see that,” he said, reaching forward to run his fingers through my dripping pussy. “What else? Are you nervous? Fearful?”

“Not fearful,” I said instantly. There was nothing erotic to me about fear. “A bit nervous, but it’s more nervous anticipation…”

“Does it add to the arousal? Or remove from it?”

“Adds to,” I said. It was an understatement; I was aflame with lust; my pussy was dripping, and I was trembling in anticipation of the pleasure.

***

“Let’s play a game,” he said. His voice was amused. I could feel him move off the bed, I could hear his footsteps recede. The sound of running water, then he returned to my side.

“I’ve a glass of water in my hand,” he said. He reached for my hair, pushed it out of the way to expose my neck and shoulder blades. “I’m going to place it at your neck.” I braced myself for the cold of the glass, but it was instead just hot enough to warm my skin.

“The rules of the game,” he said, “are simple. I’m going to set a timer on my phone for fifteen minutes. If the
glass hasn’t tipped, you get to orgasm tonight.”

“And if it
tips?” I asked, my voice muffled in the pillow.

He laughed. “Then you get punished, Emily. I would have thought that would have been obvious.”

It had been obvious; I had just wanted to know how hard this test was going to be. Talking hadn’t tipped the glass, so I could moan through whatever he was going to do to me. I just couldn’t move at all.

He didn’t sit on the bed; perhaps he knew that the mattress would dip as he got on, moving the
glass. Perhaps he just wanted to stand. I didn’t have time to ponder that anymore, because the next instant, his fingers were on the lips of my pussy, and then I felt his tongue snake a path down my slit. The softest of touches. 

His mouth moved away, kissed the inside of my thighs, nibbled at my flesh. “You are dripping, Emily,” he said, satisfaction in his voice. “Your sweet little cunt is overflowing.”
I could feel the stickiness on my thighs from my dripping pussy, and he proceeded to lick it clean, causing every muscle in my body to clench.

The glass shifted on my neck; Jake reached over and steadied it slightly. “Emily,” he said, laughing at me. “I’m going to give you some free advice here. Keep your muscles relaxed, else that glass is going to tip in about thirty seconds.”

“Yes, Professor Ballard,” I muttered submissively, face buried in the pillow. Damn it, I was determined to last out the fifteen minutes, and the glass had almost toppled in the first minute. In fact, I suspected it would have tipped if he hadn’t reached out and steadied it. I had a feeling he wouldn’t help me again.

His mouth and fingers resumed
their lazy exploration of my pussy and my thighs; my fists clenched as I felt his tongue lap at my dripping wetness, pressing hard this time, just the way I liked it. I groaned; this was not a game I was likely to win; I wanted to writhe and flail in response, I wanted to push myself into his mouth.

I held still, but it was a struggle.

He slid a finger into me. Not hard; had he shoved his finger into me, I’d have been pushed forward into the pillow. No, he was playing fair; I was entirely in control of whether that glass tipped or not.

His tongue flicked over my clit. I hissed and flinched. I could feel a few drops of water on my neck; the glass had moved enough to displace some water. Flinching was not recommended.

“Too hard?” he asked me.

“No
,” I groaned.

His hand touched me in the small of my back.

“Keep still, Emily,” he said softly. His tongue flicked me again, his hands gripped my buttcheeks, spreading me further apart. He made the softest noise of appreciation as he licked me, and that noise sent tingles all through my body. I felt like a feast laid out for his pleasure.

Now, he set a rhythm going, two fingers sliding in and out of me, tongue flicking on my
clitoris. I felt the waves of my orgasm starting, and I moaned, part-arousal, part-frustration. I couldn’t allow myself to orgasm, it was too soon. I wanted to be good for him.

“Jake, I’m going to come,” I groaned.

“Not yet.” His voice was implacable. He lifted his mouth from me; his fingers stilled.

I groaned in anguish.
“Good girl,” he said, he said in response. “You are being such a good girl, Emily.”

The
warmth and approval in his voice went a long way to easing the shocking emptiness I felt when he stopped. I took a deep breath, conscious of the glass, counted till ten.

“Okay,” I muttered. “I think I’m ready.”

He resumed his gentle assault on my pussy and my clitoris; I ground my teeth, clenched my fists, and held on for dear life. Every nerve in my body felt alive; my pleasure heightened by my immobility, but my focus on the glass kept my orgasm at bay. The pleasure built up to a dangerous intensity.
Don’t come, don’t come,
I whispered to myself.
Be good, Emily…
I wanted to be good for him; I wanted to hear the warm approval in his voice when he called me a good girl; I desperately wanted to fall apart for him, exactly when he wished, and not a second before.

Later, in the cold, clear light of day, my compliance would shock me. But right now, the longing was a haze in my brain, and all that mattered was pleasing him.

A ringing sounded; the phone alarm. I felt him lean forward, remove the glass from its place on my neck; he kissed the spot where it had been, his lips setting my skin on fire. “Anytime you want, Emily,” he muttered, as his fingers drove hard into my pussy, pushing me forward on the bed. His thumb brushed my clitoris, hard and sure, and it didn’t take long at all; I’d been on the cusp of orgasm for so long, all I needed was his permission to find sweet release.

“Jake,” I groaned into the pillow as I came, hard, twisting, flailing all over the place. His hand kept my hips steady as he forced me to ride my climax out,
wringing every last bit of pleasure from my pulsing vagina.

I slumped on the bed, rolling on my back. He shook his head at me, but his eyes were mild. “Don’t break position without permission,” he drawled. He didn’t look upset though. “Spread your legs, Emily, I want to fuc
k that sweet cunt of yours.”

I should have been angry at the crude words; stripped down of any essence
other than lust. But his eyes were hot with arousal; my blood was still singing from the pleasure of my orgasm, and I wanted to give him the same pleasure he had given me. I parted my legs compliantly; I met his eyes steadily.

“Please,
” I asked quietly. I repeated the words he had spoken, claiming them as my own. “Please fuck my cunt, Professor Ballard,” I whispered.

He smiled wryly at me, but his gaze was appreciative. Whatever else he was, Jake Ballard wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what I was doing; by repeating his words, I was removing their power to shame and shock me.

“Well-played, Emily,” he said evenly, rolling a condom on and thrusting into my waiting pussy. His gaze never left mine.

Arousal rose again, swift and sure, as his dick hammered into me, setting ablaze every nerve in my pussy. He wasn’t gentle, he took me hard, and I matched him thrust for thrust; needing to feel utterly in his power as he slammed into my body.

Heat spiralled through every bit of my body as he took me. His fingers found my clitoris again, and I flinched; I was already so sensitive, I couldn’t bear it.

“Jake,” I whimpered. “I can’t, it’s too much…”

“Hush, Emily,” he said, leaning forward to kiss my lips briefly. “You can. I’ll be gentle, okay? Be good.”

I nodded, my gaze wild and unfocused. He was true to his word, his fingers were soft on my clitoris; a stark contrast to his hard thrusts into my pussy.
I shivered, the arousal lapping at my body, the nerve endings in my pussy sparking in response to his pounding cock, and my orgasm took me by surprise, it snuck up on me before I knew it, and I clenched hard, every muscle in my body tensed, as the waves of pleasure coursed through my body.

“Fuck,” he groaned, as he came in response. I felt him stiffen on top of me as he came with a muffled groan, and then he rolled off me,
lay at my side.

***

It was a while later when he got up to dispose of the condom, and came back out of the bathroom. I was still lying on the bed; I was utterly drained at the intensity of our session, and I couldn’t seem to find the energy to move, though I knew I should.

He looked at me evenly. “You ran the last time,” he started.

I nodded.

“I didn’t stop you; you seemed to want to leave, and to be honest, I didn’t know if I wanted you to stay.” There was an odd stab in my heart as he said that; I lowered my eyes. I didn’t want him to see my disquiet; I didn’t even know what was causing it.

“But,” he said, his voice direct. “I would like you to stay tonight.”

I kept my eyes lowered.
Magic 8-ball,
I thought.
This thing I’ve done, asking Jake to teach me how to be submissive, is this going to be good for my heart?

Outlook not so good,
was the stark reply. 

Yet I heard myself reply, and my reply contradicted every bit of advice my brain was giving me. “Yes,” I whispered, “I’d love to spend the night.”

***

Jake:

That had been unexpected. All of it. Her request, my response, the sex. I thought I knew myself pretty well; I thought I had her figured out as well, but I’d found myself surprised by her at every turn, and even more surprised by my reaction to her.

She was fiery and impulsive, Emily. I hadn’t realized that back in Boston; she had barely spoken two words to me without blushing and running off. Thankfully, to keep her from getting into too much trouble, she was bright enough to
somewhat assess the risks before she acted. Still, I shuddered; had she ever made it to a club, she’d have been a very tempting morsel for someone there; there was enough trusting sweetness to be irresistible, and enough impulsiveness that she’d act on whatever came her way.

We lay together in the dark, n
ot talking, barely touching. I had wondered what this would feel like. I had had sex since Jenny and I broke up, of course, but that’s all it had been; sex, cold-blooded and quick, with no real intimacy to follow. But this act, this simple, intimate act of sleeping together was one that I hadn’t done in many months.

It felt okay. Solidly okay. I took a deep breath; there was relief in me. It was finally time to turn the page.

***

I could feel
her next to me; she was tensed up. “What’s up, Emily?” I asked.

She took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “This is a bit weird. Normally, I’d want to cuddle or something. But then, I’m not sure if the rules allow it, or if that’s okay with you, or anything…” She sounded hesitant, and I felt like an asshole.

“Game’s over,” I said, reaching over to curve her body into mine. She tensed again, for a bit, then she relaxed against me. “No rules.” I paused, trying to form thoughts, my brain distracted by her soft body, nestling into mine.

“In session or
not, it’s always okay to ask for what you want. I’m not a mind-reader; I won’t know what you want unless you tell me.”

She nodded, I could feel the motion against my chest. “Okay,” she said, her voice now sleepy. “I might snore,” she warned.

I grinned. “I’m the world’s soundest sleeper,” I assured her. “Do your worst.”

She giggled a bit. “Good-night, Jake,” she said softly, as she drifted off to sleep.

***

The worst time to think of another woman is when you are in bed with someone, holding them in your arms.

My thoughts drifted, almost involuntarily, to Victoria.

I’
d had two major relationships in my life. Jenny was one of them. Victoria? She was my first serious relationship. We met in graduate school; we were both in Masters’ programs; she was a bio-chemist, I was math. And unfortunately, upon graduation, we both got accepted to two different PhD programs.

I was more optimistic in those days; less cynical about people and life and love. We loved each other; we thought it would be enough to sustain a long-distance relationship. We made our plans; we’d see each other once a month, because that was all we could afford, and we’d talk daily on the phone. It would all work out; it was only for five years.

By the time the dust settled, she’d cheated on me; I’d cheated on her, and all that was left was bitterness and shame. I’d lost something after Victoria; I’d lost faith in myself. I would have sworn to everyone that I would never have cheated on Victoria, and I learned the hard way that that just wasn’t true. In the end, a voice at the end of a telephone line, no matter how beloved, had not stood up to the temptation of a warm, willing body in front of me.

Jenny had been my attempt at redemption; and in the main, I had succeeded. I hadn’t cheated; I’d never felt the need. But I was convinced that
beast still lay within me; and I kept him dormant by never putting myself in a position where long-distance was ever a possibility.

Jenny had known that; it was no coincidence that she had taken a job in New York in a bid
to get both of us to move on. Time after time, we had known we were wrong for each other, but the sex kept pulling us back. But the door was shut the moment she moved.

As I listened to the sounds of her even breathing, as she lay asleep in my arms, I realized I needed to talk to Emily. I needed to make
it explicitly, painfully clear that I wasn’t going to be her boyfriend; there was going to be no phone conversations; there was going to be nothing that even remotely resembled commitment. I wasn’t going to go down that road again.

***

Emily:

He wasn’t in bed when I woke up, but there was a note on the bed. “Gone for a run,” it said. “Be back at 7.00am.” I looked at the time. 6.30. Ugh. I was going to be a sleep-deprived mess all day.

I debated going back to sleep, and I might have, had I known Jake better. But I didn’t, really, and so I got up and went into the shower. Steaming hot water played a role in waking me up, thankfully. I wrapped a hotel bathrobe around myself that I found in the linen closet, and then I wandered back to bed.

Jake had been right last night; we needed a discussion of hard and soft limits. I thought through the problem, breaking it down into manageable pieces; the same structured, logical way I would approach my work. I didn’t know anything about what he preferred, but I knew what I didn’t want to do. I found a notepad by the phone, grabbed a pen, and started writing.

I didn’t want to make this a long, extensive list. I did want to try most things. But certain things were not negotiable.

“1. No sharing,” I wrote. I had made my peace with feeling like an object for his pleasure, but I definitely would not allow myself to be handed around to all and sundry.

“2. No water-sports, scat, anything in this spectrum.” This didn’t really need any elaboration.

“3. No caging, no leashes, no collars.” I didn’t want to feel like a pet; he already knew that.

“4. No sex in public; no exhibitionism.” There was potential for arousal here, but I had a career I was just starting out on. Doing something this stupid wasn’t part of my life plan.

“5. No humiliation,” I wrote. This was a grey category, and I knew it. I couldn’t define humiliation, but I would recognise it when I saw it.

I heard the front door click. “Hey,” I called out, suddenly feeling a bit shy.

“Emily,” Jake stood in the doorway. He was wearing a pair of running shorts and a sweat-stained t-shirt, his hair was damp with perspiration as well. “You are up early for a Saturday,” he remarked. I could feel his eyes linger appreciatively on the portion of my thigh that was exposed by the robe, and I fought the desire to pull it shut.

“You too,” I pointed out, struggling to look up from his perfect chest to meet his eyes. 

“Jetlag,” he grimaced. “This project is going to kill me.” He winked at me. “Thankfully, there are rewards to be had along the way.”

I blushed despite myself; he chuckled in response.

“What are you writing?” he asked me.

“Hard limits,” I answered.

“Good,” he said crisply. “Give me about ten minutes to shower, and I’ll join you? Have you eaten breakfast?”

I shook my head.

“Can you order us
some room service?” he asked. “I’d like eggs, toast and fruit, please.”

I nodded assent. He smiled at me, and disappeared inside the bathroom.

***

He was wearing a towel wrapped around his waist when he came out. It swung open as he sat on the bed
, I tried to avert my eyes, but couldn’t. Gods, he was hot.

“Limits,” he said, leaning against the headboard. “But before that, let’s make sure we are on the sa
me page about what we are doing.”

“Okay,” I muttered. I was embarrassed; I’d never done something like this before,
never entered a sexual arrangement so cold-bloodedly, with a specific goal that I wanted to achieve. But how else was I going to explore this new world?

“For the next eight weeks, I’m here from
Friday afternoon until Saturday night,” he started. “If you want, I’ll function as your Dominant for that time. But I just want to make sure that you know that’s all it is. I’m not looking for anything beyond that.”

I nodded, swallowing away the lump in my throat. Though it was exactly what I’d asked for, it still hurt, hearing it phrased so baldly.

Some of the rising emotion must have been visible in my eyes, because his eyes softened, and he sighed. “Emily,” he said quietly. “Perhaps this isn’t right for you. You’d be better off finding someone local that will show you the ropes, someone who can give you more than a few hours each week.”

“Don’t tell me what’s right for me,” I interrupted harshly. “I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.”

“Really?” His eyes were instantly mocking. “I make no guarantees that I won’t sleep with other people at the same time,” he said.

“And I suppose I must be monogamous, like a good little submissive?”
I asked. Anger swirled in me.

He laughed. “Pet,” he drawled. “You can do
whatever and whoever you want. For both our sexual well-beings though, I suggest you practice safe sex. And I will as well.”

I felt close to tears; he could sense it. He sighed; ran his hands through his hair in a gesture of helplessness. “Emily. I’m sorry,” he said. “I mock when I’m angry; it’s how I respond. I’ll do this if you want; I feel like I owe you a proper introduction to the lifestyle.”

He took my hand in his, and continued. “But I don’t think you are capable of building the kind of walls needed to protect yourself for something like this. The Dominant-Submissive bond, it’s an emotional connection. It doesn’t readily lend itself to the kind of arrangement being proposed here.”

There was truth in his words; I could sense it. But I couldn’t bring myself to listen to him. Perhaps I was already past a point of no-return, but I couldn’t see myself on this journey with anyone else.

Magic 8-ball,
I asked myself.
Is there a price to be paid for my stubbornness? Will I end up regretting this?

You may
rely on it,
was the prompt reply. And yet, instead of backing away, I handed over the notepad. “This is my hard-limit list.”

***

A knock on the door interrupted us before he could reply. Room service. Jake swung off the bed to go get the food; I could hear voices in the other room, a closing door, and then he came back into the room. “Breakfast in bed?” he asked.

“If that’s okay with you,” I replied. Breakfast in bed was a
rare treat.

He grinned, placed the tray on my lap. “Here,” he said. He walked away to get his own tray; sat back on the bed, took a sip of coffee.

I swallowed. The tension had ratcheted up dangerously between us. Part of it was sexual; I was very much aware that Jake was naked under his towel, and I was struggling not to ogle at his naked chest. But the bigger part was the things that we left unsaid.

“Okay,” he turned to me finally. “Let’s assume you are aware of all the risks involved.”

I nodded.

“
I’m trying hard not to be an asshole here,” he said. “But if you want this, then, well, let’s do this.”

I nodded again, but I didn’t meet his eyes. He made it sound like a chore; something as pleasurable as laundry or paying bills.

“What’s the matter?” he asked me, tipping my head up.

I gulped. He had said that this was all about communication, but what I was going to say revealed more of my emotions than I wanted. But I said it anyway.

“Is this such a chore for you? Is there no pleasure to be had?”

“Emily,” he groaned. He turned away, moved his tray to the side table. “Give me your hand,” he said. I did; he drew it onto his cock. He was rock hard. “
I’m concerned about your emotional well-being,” he ground out, “but that doesn’t change the fact that I find you very desirable. If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be here; we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all. Never forget that. I’m here because I want to be.”

He let go of my hand; I kept it in place over his hard, pulsing cock for a second, before pulling away. He covered himself back up; pulled the tray back on his lap.

“So, a discussion about limits?” he asked.

“Limits,” I agreed.
It seemed like the safest conversation at the moment.

***

He eyed my list as he ate. “One, two and three are fine,” he said, swallowing his eggs with a sip of coffee, spreading marmalade on his toast. “Talk to me about four.”

“No exhibitionism, no public sex?” I asked.

He nodded. “When you sucked me off in my backyard, would that have been public sex or exhibitionism?”

“No,” I shook my head. “No one was watching us.”

“The risk of being heard – that’s not a hard limit for you?” he probed.

“That was exciting,” I confessed.

“Okay,” he grinned. “So, you don’t want someone watching you have sex, but anything that skirts the line, that’s fine?”

“Depends,” I said. “I don’t want to do anything that’ll threaten my career.”