This is hotter than I’m used to at this hour. ‘Yes, sir,’ I gasp.
He jerks my head up again and nuzzles my other earlobe. ‘Plus you’re a bad girl falling asleep on duty. Agreed?’
I feel a tremor as I guess what’s coming. A tremor ripples through me, not quite fear but something hot, dark and exciting. It raises goose bumps all over me. ‘Yes, sir.’ I hang over his moving hand, willing him closer, panting for release but resigned to my fate.
His voice continues to murmur at my back, his lips warm and stirring on my skin, his tone low and deadly as he lists my misdeeds. ‘And you’re still sleepy. So we better wake you up. What do you say?’
I swallow. ‘Yes, sir. I’m sure you’re right, sir.’
I hear him breathe a soft sigh of satisfaction and all at once he takes his hand away and holds his fingers over my face. ‘Lick.’
Now my fate is sealed. I draw his fingers into my mouth, closing my mind to what’s about to happen and homing in on the shape and rigidity of his fingers and the shameful taste of my lust.
When they’re licked clean my arousal burns hotter than ever, riper than a bursting peach. The bed shifts as he kneels beside me and starts to arrange me into the position he wants.
It’s the only breathing space I’ll have so I take deep breaths and will myself to relax. I clear my mind of everything except the nagging throb of arousal deep between my legs.
‘Head down. Knees up close to your chest, ass in the air. Hands out to the sides.’
His commands are short and sharp. I sense his growing excitement. His need fuels mine as I shuffle into position. The pose is hard to reach and even harder to hold.
He waits patiently. Is he enjoying my struggle or getting angry? All at once he commands me to keep still. ‘Twenty to start. Then we’ll see how it goes.’
His voice is low and serious. This should be fun but I sense it’s turning into something darker. We’re in new territory now.
Quivering with excitement I hold my breath as the first slap lands. It stings like crazy but I clench my teeth and groan into the pillow as the next blows land. After the fifth I draw in a slow breath and force myself to breathe normally as excitement shoots though me, sparks erupting at every jolt of stinging, flashing pain. As he carries on the sting eases and now his rhythm is steady and relentless.
Usually when we do this he pauses every so often to stroke me or fondle me, or even gives up altogether and we simply make love. But this time the pressure is unforgiving and the blows painful.
What’s going on here?
At last it’s done and he leans close. ‘More?’
Along the covers I see the diamonds flash in the early morning light. It’s because of the bracelets. We’re in a strange place now, one new to me but scarily familiar to him. It comes with a new language and new rules.
‘Yes, sir,’ I falter.
‘Good girl.’ He grins against my ear, his lips warm and his low murmur soft.
I’m emotional now. I feel tears sting as a wave of heat scorches through me. He lands another, and then two more, and then all at once he pauses.
‘Are you ready?’ His low, dark murmur thrills through me as his hand moves softly over my punished, glowing backside, his touch making me burn, his breath so close to my ear making me shudder.
‘Yes.’ I grunt with frustration as he lands another blow, ferocious this time.
‘Yes what?’
I close my eyes. This is it, the power of the bracelets. This is what he wants me to accept, this mindless pattern of ritual and obedience.
It’s to keep me safe. And, amazingly, it’s getting to me. It’s weirdly arousing, having to do things, having to submit …
‘Yes, sir. I close my eyes and breathe out a deep sigh as he plunges inside, his delicious lunge robbing me of breath. He fills me up, over and over, until we reach our peak and climax almost as one and finally collapse in a spent, laughing heap onto the bed.
Boston, where I teach, is lovely in the fall. New England’s biggest city has ocean coastline, leafy avenues and friendly faces. As in any university city after Labor Day, the students are drifting back after the summer break. They bring with them an air of excitement. Longer evenings mean new faces, cold crisp mornings and hot new dates.
At our little specialist Academy the new semester has just begun.
Sunlight slants into the classrooms and the gym, the light pale and sharp now through the dark, late-summer green of the leaves as fall approaches. Our students’ lives are a universe away from the average Ivy Leaguer but they’re just as young, eager and full of hope.
Today’s Freaky Friday. We trade places with the students by dressing down while the students put on suits. I resist joining my female colleagues in full-on schoolgirl burlesque. Echoes of Miss Normal warn me this would be unseemly. Worse, dark Darnley-related images spring instantly to mind. Primly I resist bobbysox and mini-pleats but give in far enough to redistribute my daytime ponytail into kooky pigtails tied with silly bows. I complete my outfit with pedal-pushers and sneakers.
I aim for sporty but feel like an idiot.
Well aware that on weekdays Darnley’s a million miles away from my working life, I forget what I’m wearing the instant I arrive. The students love doing this and look surprisingly cool in their sharp suits. They even act more grown-up so maybe it does some good.
We have all kinds of students here – referrals mainly. None of them stay long. Some come from remand centres, some from rehab. Some are from wealthy backgrounds, some from the streets. Drama’s part of the programme on offer here to help them rehabilitate, boost their college prospects or work through personal problems. They mix with students from other backgrounds and age groups. Many are even older than me; I’m barely two years out of college and some of these ‘kids’ are in their early thirties.
We rub along. They pity my hollow, empty life and probably think I tuck myself into some cupboard at night with a cat, or maybe stay over, motionless as the furniture.
They, on the other hand, have busy, important lives poised on the edge of survival. When will they score next? Will they be beaten up on the way home? Does that boy or girl really fancy them or are they after their friend? Are their Converses cool enough? When will they eat?
They know I want to help them. Kindly they let me fill their afternoons with my patient efforts to explain drama and poetry like I’m some crazy, well-meaning aunt. Sometimes they enjoy it, sometimes they even get into it.
Attention spans vary from short to shorter but today they’re being very attentive. Drama class has never been so popular. Eldon has arrived with his camera, his blond, boy-band good looks and his fierce, uncertain temper laced with just that hint of danger he inherits from his
