A Good Student

A friend of mine says that a woman's biggest fear is abandonment and a man's biggest fear is responsibility. I don't know if I believe it, but I suppose that's as good an explanation as any for why I was living alone at the time I met Emma. I was twice her age and I’d had my full share of relationships of all shapes and sizes. While I'd found them interesting in a morbid kind of way, I'd come to accept the fact I was pretty lousy at them. I was a spectator, not a participant. To be honest, I was selfish, irresponsible and immature. I still am and suppose I always will be. I was no longer looking to change.

No matter how my relationships started out, they always seemed to end up the same way, as a burden and an imposition. I know living with someone and loving them is a co-operative effort, a two-way street, but for some reason it seemed the things I had to give up and sacrifice in order to keep the peace were never worth it in the long run. I'd been married twice, once for two and a half years, then, twelve years later, for four, and in both cases my wives had big plans for me. I couldn't live up to them. I tried, but making them happy by making myself miserable just wasn’t sound emotional economics.

They tell me I probably wasn't really in love then—that when you love someone, you'll do anything to make them happy. I don't buy it. In fact, that seems like a pretty good working definition of slavery to me, but this is the kind of stuff I’d hear from women, who seemed to have the moral high ground when it came to definitions of love and relationships. They certainly seemed to know what they were talking about, so I had a tendency to keep my mouth shut and avoid the whole subject.

So when I met Emma, I wasn't really looking for anything, or if I was, it was maybe the exact opposite of what was generally accepted as a normal relationship. If anything, I wanted to strip away all the jockeying for moral superiority and sense of social obligation and get down to the raw, primal genital imperatives of male-female attraction. I didn't want to get into a situation where I'd have to meet her friends and listen to her music and get involved in her life any more than was necessary, and I didn't want to impose all my crap on her either. I wanted to be her lover, not her friend, and meet in that place where our bodies and minds felt nothing but raw animal pleasure. From there, we could see where the emotions led us and possibly develop some kind of arrangement that wouldn't become suffocated under a mess of domestic trivia, crushed by interpersonal fatigue syndrome.

I wanted to see how long the two of us could keep this thing at the boiling point without getting overcooked.

Of course, it's impossible to have a sexual collision like Emma and I had that night in my office and come out of it emotionally unscathed. I spent that entire weekend sitting around in my loft in my cut-offs, thinking about her and aching. It was hotter than hell but I wouldn't even turn on the AC because it meant closing the windows and that felt like cutting myself off from her somehow, as if she might be sending me thoughts and pheromones on the breeze from way up in the ‘burbs wherever she lived. Instead I just drank bottled water and sweated and remembered the feel of her skin and the way her muscles trembled against the ropes as I fucked her and she came on my cock. I could still smell her sex in the sweat of my body.

My novel was almost finished and it was entirely bullshit, I could see that now. The intensity of emotion I'd felt with Emma made me realize how false and contrived everything I'd written was. Yes, sex is sex and always intense. Sex deals with immediate sensation and literature deals with abstract ideas and they really can't be compared, but it was becoming clearer to me all the time that ideas were what you played around with when you couldn't get any sex. Intellect is eighty percent of the mind trying to figure out how to get the body laid. Whether it's writing books or solving quadratic equations, it's all loneliness and we're all stuck with it.

So I sat around and obsessed about Emma. She was upsetting all my theories. I mean, it was only sex after all, and sex wasn't the same as love. The problem was, I knew what sex was, but I was never sure about love. My own personal guide to love was that it was measured by how much I wanted to be with someone. By that definition, I was pretty much wildly in love with Emma.

I had her number and thought about calling her, but the last thing I wanted was to bother her. It wasn't just a case of not wanting to look uncool or needy, but it also went against my new non-relationship relationship rules. Besides, I was supposed to be the dom, and in my ignorance at the time, I thought that meant I should be cold and aloof and unfeeling. That was nonsense, but what did I know?

At eight I went out to the bar down the street to get a beer and some cool air, and when I came back there was a message on the phone.

"Hi, it's me. Emma. I was just bored and wanted to talk but it was nothing important, and I guess you're out. You can call me if you get home like before eleven or so. Bye."

My hands were shaking when I sat down and picked up the phone. She got it on the third ring. "Hi, Emma? It's me. Conner."

"Oh, hi." She sounded a little fuzzy, sleepy, but came alive at the sound of my voice. "It's nice you called me back. I didn't think you would."

"Of course I would. Why wouldn't I? How are you? Everything okay?"

"Mmm, yeah. I guess so. Just bored."

It was the first time we'd spoken since I'd walked her to her car after tying her wrists to her ankles and fucking her raw on the desk in my office at the community college where she was in my poetry class. The event hung between us like a huge weight we had to cautiously feel our way around.

"Bored? Me too. You should have come over here. I could have found something for us to do."

I could hear her sly smile over the phone. "Oh? Like what?"

"You know what."

"No," she teased. The sound on her end changed, as if she'd cupped her hand around the phone or moved it closer to her lips. "Tell me," she whispered. "I want to hear you say it. Please?"

I couldn't resist. She made me want to do it, and the words just spilled from my mouth before I could stop them, my voice low, my urgency real. "I want to fuck you, Emma. I want to tie you up and get my cock inside you and make you take it, every fucking inch, and I'm going to do it. There's no way you can stop me, Emma, there’s nothing that can stop me, baby. I'm going to come over there and kick down those doors and find you, Emma, tear off your clothes and take you. I want you to come for me ‘til you can't stand it anymore. You understand?"

I heard the dry sound of her breath. "Oh God," she said. "No one's ever talked to me like that before."

"It's more than talk," I said. I was actually a bit dizzy. What had happened to me? I had to turn away from the phone and take a breath. "Do you like it?"

"You must think I'm horrible," she said. "A real slut."

I smiled. I couldn't remember when I'd cradled a phone like this, like I loved it. "I don’t think anything like that."

She didn't say anything for a while, and then: "Conner, I have to tell you something. I've got a boyfriend. We're engaged. Well, almost engaged."

I'd already suspected as much. A girl like Emma didn't go around unattached. I'd thought I was above it and wouldn't mind, so the brief stab of hurt surprised me but I pushed it down. I had no right to it.

"Congratulations," I said.

"Doesn't that make you hate me?"

"No. What does that have to do with me?"

She was quiet for a while, then said, "He's really a great guy and he's got a great job. We're just waiting for him to finish his training. He's with—" and here she mentioned some outfit I guess I was supposed to have heard of—UniServe or TeleCom or UniTel or something— "and he's doing three months of training in Atlanta. Then he'll be assigned to San Diego and we'll probably move out there. If we get married here first, then the company will pay to move me too, but I'm not real sure yet. I don’t know if we'll get married here or there, or maybe somewhere else, like in Mexico, you know? I mean, I'm not really sure of the details yet, but I thought you should know."

"Un-huh. And when's he done with his training?"

"About six weeks."

Silence. I wasn't sure what she wanted me to say. I had no plans for her that extended beyond the length of my dick. I was determined not to lie about that.

"He doesn't know about me," she said. "The kind of things I like. I mean, I tried to get him to do some of that stuff but he just laughed. He couldn't believe I was serious. He thought it was sick, 'cause I guess he's kind of straight. That's not good, is it?"

I shrugged but she couldn't see it. "You're not married yet, right?"

"No."

"Not even engaged."

"No. Not officially."

"Do you love him?"

The pause. The fatal pause. "Of course. I mean, we're practically engaged. He comes back and sees me every couple of weeks."

"Well what do you want me to do, Emma? You want me to not see you anymore?"

"No," she said. "No." There was no pause now. "I just thought I should tell you."

"Un-huh. Well, it bothers you. I can understand that, but you're an adult, honey, and you have to decide what you want to do. Just let me say I don’t want to interfere with your happiness or your life. I have no intention of asking you to break up with your boyfriend or do anything else you don't want to do. This is a physical relationship, Emma, physical and sexual, and beyond that, I don't expect anything from you and I'm not asking for anything. I want your body, Emma. I want you as my lover, that's all."

I was surprised to hear my own words, so clear and unambiguous, so reasonable.

I was even more surprised to hear the response from her lips a few heartbeats later—the hurried whisper, almost a sigh: "God! Why does that make me so hot?"

* * * *

We didn't talk much more that night. A roommate came home and she didn't want to use the phone, and we hadn't yet exchanged e-mail addresses. I didn't hear from her again until the Monday night before class.

"Hi, it's me. Emma. Did you miss me?"

"Like the sky misses the stars." I smiled, and in truth I had. The last phone call had only increased my desire, and now that I knew she loved being talked to over the phone, I let the words pour out of me. "I miss the feel of you on my cock, your body writhing against mine, your hair in my hands, the way you shiver when I shove my dick into you, the blinding ecstasy as I jet my cum into your hot pussy."

I laughed as I heard her catch her breath. She hadn't been expecting anything like that. "Am I going to see you after class?" I asked.

She suddenly grew grave, her voice quiet. "Oh God. I don't know, Conner. I really don't know. I've been thinking about this all weekend and I don't know what to do."

I felt like an idiot for my dirty talk and it came out as coldness. "It's your decision, Emma," I said. "But, 'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may'."

"What?"

I recited: "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old Time is still a-flying: 

And this same flower that smiles to-day

Tomorrow will be dying.

"Robert Herrick, seventeenth century poet, 'To the Virgins, to Make the Most of Time."

"I get it," she said. "But I'm not a virgin."

"Oh yes you are," I replied. "More than you know. A lot more than you know."

I hung up and got a beer and went out on the roof. Despite my smart-ass little sign-off, I was really upset. I'd meant what I said about keeping our outside lives out of this, but I didn't want to lose her. I didn't have much at that point, and Emma was the most exciting thing in my life. I didn't like being at her mercy but there didn't seem to be anything I could do about it.

When she walked into class on Tuesday, it was impossible to tell from her clothes what her decision about us had been. She wore a white cotton boat-neck top and a short denim skirt, unusually casual attire for her, and I didn't know if that meant she was comfortable with me now or she just didn't care. She kept her sunglasses on during class, but again, that might have meant she was hiding from me or it might have meant she was trying to conceal her lust.

In any case, I'd already decided to try and ignore her as much as possible during the lecture. What else could I do? But at the same time, it was impossible not to be aware of her and what had happened between us. Thankfully, I'd rescheduled things so the lecture was an easy one for me, just playing recordings of various poets reading their own work.

It was legitimate—I wanted the kids to hear the poems as the poets heard them when they wrote them, the cadence and music of the language, something that doesn't always come across on the printed page—but I didn't have to do much. I'd have the students read a poem to themselves from the handouts, paying attention to how they heard it in their heads, and then put on a recording of the poet reading it in his or her own voice—the elderly, scratched brogue of Yeats, Eliot's eerie prissiness, the roiling madness of Ezra Pound, the ecstatic jazz of Kerouac, Gregory Corso's exuberant word salad, Edna St. Vincent-Millay's repressed and sublimated sexiness.

The words rolled out and at the end I just turned down the lights and played recordings at random and we sat and listened. The power of the spoken word seemed to turn the cold auditorium of that third-rate community college into someplace special—a kind of campsite or temple or clearing under the stars where magical things happened, where evanescent feelings were captured and preserved in words and things were shown to us we'd otherwise never see. The poets were magicians or priests giving us things we hadn't had before simply by seeing and describing them. It always humbles me how they chisel emotions and ideas from the raw stuff of the world using just words and imagination and the intimate sound of their voice

The poetry ended, the voices faded away, and the silence seemed like a vacuum left in the room, as if a big train had just passed by. In the silence, I heard someone softly snoring from one of the upper rows but I didn't mind. These kids worked hard. Most of them had jobs. But sitting there and listening, I was reminded of why I'd chosen to try and write myself, and I was proud of my decision. That didn't happen very often. I had goose bumps on my arms.

I didn't want to break the spell by turning on the lights, so I just stayed where I was and announced, "That's all for tonight. Class, you're dismissed."

I turned off the CD and the class gathered up their things and shuffled for the exits. I looked up and saw Emma sitting in her usual place, four rows up. She was slumped slightly in her seat as if she'd been thrown there, as if stunned. Her shoulders were back, and even in the darkness of the hall the shadows of her erect nipples were visible against the thin white fabric of her top. Her sunglasses were pushed up on her head and she was looking directly at me with a weird intensity, as if trying to cast a spell on me or maybe just capture my attention. Beneath the table her knees were spread apart quite plainly and her denim skirt was hiked up to mid thigh. It was too dark to see all the way up her skirt but there was no mistaking that gesture. She was offering herself to me, awaiting my instructions.

The room emptied as I took my time, winding up the cord on the CD player, putting my notes away. Emma stayed in her seat, motionless until the door closed on the last student and their voices faded in the hallway. I looked up at her.

"Are you staying?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Yes," I said. "Very much."

I put the CD player away beneath the lectern. "Lock the doors. Take one of those folding chairs and jam the legs under the push-bars."

I'd discovered this trick on my own. The doors could still be forced from the outside, of course, but it wouldn't be easy. I liked the feeling of being locked in and the added security , and I liked the idea of making Emma do the locking.

She stood up and smoothed down her skirt. I watched the tight roll of her ass as she climbed the broad stairs towards the back and almost disappeared into the shadows near the exits, then picked up a chair and slid it into place. She turned, pushed her hair back behind her ears, and started walking back down.

"Slowly." My voice echoed in the empty room. "Walk slower. I just want to look at you."

I could adjust the lights from the podium, and I set them now so the auditorium was in complete darkness. There was only the spotlight over the lectern and on the whiteboard behind it. There was just enough light to see her. Emma walked slowly down the steps, her shoulders back, her eyes flickering from the stairs before her up to my face to see my reaction as I watched her in the simple act of approaching me, an act suddenly so full of portent.

She was getting excited. I could sense it from her, the way she had to restrain herself as she stepped down the stairs, pausing at each one, and the sense of power I felt was turning me on just as much as the sight of her. She was bringing herself to me at my command, and the very act was arousing us both, alone in that vast empty space.

She descended the last stair and came to the podium and I was going to talk to her, ask her if she'd made her decision, when I realized it was best not to say anything. She was here. What else was there to say? I looked into her eyes and took her hand and brought her close to me, so close I could feel the warmth from her body and smell her, so close that our bodies touched. I let the impending kiss hang in the air for what seemed like forever, ‘til the tension became too much, over-ripe and swollen, and then I brought my lips down on that warm mouth and took her sweetness.

This was Emma—who belonged to another man now. Emma—who was going to marry someone else in six weeks. I had asked her for her body and that's what she was giving me, and inside I knew that wasn't enough but I wouldn't let myself think about that. I'd taken enough women for their bodies, surely I could do it again with her, and in the midst of sex, that's all you think about anyhow, isn't it? In the midst of sex, everyone's in love.

She kissed like she was in love. Or rather, she didn't kiss so much as she just surrendered, just melted under my lips. I don't mean she went all loose and slack. I don't know how to describe what she did except to describe it as a surrender, a capitulation, an invitation, something devastatingly female, and my first thought was a surge of resentment over whether her fiancé would appreciate her kiss. Her surrender brought forth a surge of male hormones in me, a rush of blinding sexual desire that made me feel like a conqueror—an emotional acceleration that turned me into an animal who seized her hair and held her mouth to mine like it was some life-saving cool and nourishing fruit in the middle of hell's own desert. She shuddered before my onslaught and melted still further, leaning into me as if her bones were dissolving, as if passion were making her weak, and the more I took, the more she wanted to give until I felt like I was ready to crawl into her mouth and have her from the inside. She drove me insane.

Call it love or call it lust but it was good enough for me–it was more than good enough. It was exactly what I wanted and it was exactly what Emma wanted taken from her. I pushed her back until I had her pressed up against the whiteboard, never breaking that kiss, and I grabbed her wrists and held them against the board to let her know I owned her now and she was under my control. I leaned against her to show her how hard she'd made me. It was her fault she was being treated like this.

The whiteboard was covered with my own scribbles of the poetic emotions we'd been discussing—love, hate, joy, fear, sadness, anger, desire, shame—and now I held Emma against it and worked her white cotton top up over her naked tits as she turned her face to the side to gasp for breath. She grabbed my hands to try and stop me and I shook her off angrily and grabbed her wrists again, pressing them against the board.

"You know the rules," I growled. "You don't touch me without permission!"

"I thought we were just going to talk," she said fearfully. "Someone could still come in."

"I don't give a fuck who comes in. When we're together, I'm in control. You don't touch me or interfere, understand?"

She nodded and I went back to lifting her top over her tits. I wanted her naked and exposed under the spotlight, pinned against the whiteboard, but the top was snug. Halfway up I slid my hands under her breasts and ran my thumbs around her nipples, kissing her, and again Emma opened her mouth to me in submission, closing her eyes and sucking on my tongue with meek supplication. Her nipples were wildly sensitive in a way I didn't remember from last time, possibly from being braless all evening, and rubbing my thumbs against them caused her to push her hips out at me and moan into my mouth. When I pinched them, she gave a little shriek.

I knew I was going too fast for her, making her confused and dizzy with my sudden attack, but I liked it this way. I shoved her top up and lowered my head and took a nipple into my mouth, sucking and lashing it with my tongue. She knew now she wasn't allowed to touch me, but she didn't know what to do with her hands, so all she could do was hold them up and squeeze them into frustrated fists or spread her fingers wide—lovely fingers with beautiful nails, the kind of nails that got a lot of attention. The shine of her nails got to me. For some reason they made me want to bite her breasts. She was all so perfect. I squeezed her tits in either hand ‘til the nipples stood out, then I licked and nibbled them ‘til she hissed like a cat, arched her back and gave a little cry.

I reached down and grabbed the hem of her skirt and started working it over her hips but it was snug, too, and she had to help me, moving her thighs together and rolling her hips. Soon enough I got it high enough I could feel her panties between her legs. I was surprised. I thought we had a kind of agreement she wasn't supposed to wear underthings to our sessions. I touched her pussy and she stiffened. So she'd been right. She really hadn't known whether she was going to go through with this tonight.

"Panties?" I asked. "You wore panties tonight?"

"I wasn't sure," she said nervously. "I wasn't sure if I was going to…"

I leaned back and looked at her, my anger flaring. "You weren't sure? You really weren't sure? Are you sure now, Emma? Or do you want to think about it some more?"

"No. I'm sure. Really, I'm sure. Conner, don't…"

I pulled her skirt up and shoved my hand down the front of her panties, hooked my finger beneath the soft crease of her pussy and parted her lips. She was smooth and wet and I could feel her greasy little clit lick at my finger like a tongue as I rubbed back and forth. Emma moaned and gasped and dropped her hands to her sides, clawing at the walls as if trying to hang on.

I leaned against her and the feel of her pussy in my hand made me hot with lust and hunger and a feeling of ownership, a sense of power and control. I loved the way she came alive at my touch, the way she responded. At the same time, the idea that she'd even considered denying me what was so clearly mine filled me with anger. I slid my finger into her as if to remind her who she belonged to, pushed into her without apology as my thumb played with her clit. My face was right against hers and I stared directly into her eyes, daring her to tell me no, just daring her—almost hoping she would. The idea she could have someone else—a boyfriend, a lover, a fiancé, even a husband—who could touch her the way I did or feel about her the way I did, just infuriated me.

She looked at me fearfully but didn't say a word. Her legs parted slightly and I pushed my finger in deeper, violating her, penetrating her, trying to hurt her and she closed her eyes and grimaced but accepted it. There had to be no doubt here who owned whom, and yet inside I wondered whose heart was beating faster? Who was more excited? Who had the power? Who was surrendering to whom?

I pulled my finger out of her and she relaxed slightly, daring at last to breathe. I took her arm—"Come here"—pulled her over to the lectern and pushed her face down over it. "Here, on your elbows, ass up, legs straight. That's it. Now spread them. Keep your face down."

Emma did as she was told, leaning her forearms on the wooden lectern, keeping her knees straight so her trunk was almost parallel to the floor. Her top was still up under her armpits, her tits hung beneath her, heavy and free, distended by gravity. I undid her skirt and pulled down the zipper, then yanked it down over her hips and let it slide down her legs. She stepped out of it, giving a little mewl of embarrassment at appearing so naked and exposed in so public a place as an auditorium, but she didn't protest. Her panties were thin, robin's egg blue, stretched across the firm globes of her buttocks and low enough so the top of her ass crack was visible, tight enough so the ripe bottoms of her cheeks emerged from beneath as well. I ran my hand over her ass, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin, slick fabric as she looked nervously back at me over her shoulder.

"Eyes front," I said as I caressed the humid pit of her sex between her legs. "So you weren't sure? You weren't sure you were going to give me this ass tonight?"

"Connor, I—"

I drew my hand back and gave her a good hard slap on the underside of her right buttock—a loud one, a slap that echoed in the empty auditorium like a gunshot and made her squeal and rise up on her toes in surprise.

"Owww! Conner! No! No! That's not what I meant!"

"Keep your hands on that lectern! Don’t you dare take them off, Emma!"

Whapp! I slapped her on the left cheek, just as hard, hard enough to make her drop her head and gasp, her fingers digging into the edge of the lectern as if she had to hang on.

Smackk! Slappp!

Two more blows, one on either cheek, hard and sharp, and now my hand was starting to sting and her ass was jiggling and beginning to redden. The sting felt good and, as I spanked her again, Emma gasped and jerked her head up, her mouth open in shock and something else—surprise maybe, but surprise at her own reaction, at finding she liked it, liked being spanked like this, treated like a naughty little high school slut.

I spanked her again. I was standing behind her and just to her left so I could swing my right hand back and land my blows squarely on the center of her ass, right on top of her innocent blue panties as her buttocks quaked and trembled and clenched together in reflexive avoidance.

Her hands were holding onto the top of the lectern and she lowered her face and rested her cheek against it, her brows knitted against the pain as she awaited the next blow, and how the emotions tore at me as I spanked her! Her fragile beauty and the way she offered herself up to my punishment brought out something both savage and tender in me, and I stopped the spanking, reached in front of her with my left hand and found her pussy and began to caress her, massaging and stroking her the way I knew she liked, washing away the pain with soothing tenderness. I caressed her ass as well, sliding my hand over her slick panties, feeling the heat from her beaten flesh through the fabric. The softness felt good, soothing against my tingling palm.

Emma began to grind herself against my hand, tentatively, as if checking to see whether the storm had passed. When she received no further spanks, she grew bolder. She began to search for pleasure, rolling her hips and ass as she pushed her pussy against my fingers, working herself off. She became hungrier, more desperate.

My fingers pressed the fabric of her panties up into her sticky slit and it felt as though she might somehow actually open up and take me inside, and at that point I realized she was about to seduce me with her need.

I drew my right hand back and started spanking her again—Slapp! Whapp! Crackk!—smacking her ass as I continued to massage her pussy, mixing pleasure and pain, sweetness and thunder, until Emma was clinging to the lectern and almost sobbing, humping and writhing like a bitch in heat, not sure which way to turn.

Now I was sweating too, my hand numb, my dick throbbing and oozing in my pants. I stepped back and pulled off my necktie as Emma writhed and moaned against the lectern, swiveling her ass shamelessly. I grabbed her wrists and used the tie to bind them behind her back. She didn't resist, just lay there with her face pressed against the hard wood as I roughly tied her wrists together and she panted with urgent excitement. Even as I pulled the knot tight, her ass continued to weave and undulate in lascivious invitation as if it had a mind of its own and was hungry now for more punishment, more pleasure, for whatever I wanted to give her.

I pulled down her panties—pulled them down until they were stretched just above her knees—and exposed her naked buttocks and the swollen and glistening pussy nestled between them. I played with her and spanked her some more until her ass was a bright red and her moans turned into a hoarse and urgent panting.

Her hands twisted in the bonds and her thighs trembled, her copious lubricant seeping over my fingers in shameful excess and dripping onto the floor, a sight that only made me spank her harder. I aroused her and punished her for being aroused at the same time. She stopped trying to protect herself or avoid the spanks, sticking her ass up high and humping savagely at the hand invading her pussy, desperate to get off.

It was bizarre, . We were like the centerpiece in some classroom demonstration of carnal depravity, the overhead spotlight illuminating us on the dais as she bent slavishly over the lectern with her cheek pressed against the wood, her hands tied behind her, naked ass in the air while I spanked her and fingered her cunt and she moaned and writhed and gasped, the sounds echoing off the darkened walls. I was feverish with desire and couldn't resist her anymore. I fell to my knees behind her, grabbed the fronts of her thighs and pulled her ass back to me and buried my face in her cunt like an animal

"Oh! God!" she cried at this new outrage.

My nose pressed against her asshole and my tongue pierced her lips, sucked greedily at her flowing juices, slurped at her cunt, the , slushy sounds enough to give even me goose bumps. I was sick, insane with lust for her. She clenched her ass and I felt it trap my face in the hot valley of her crack. I just slapped her again to make her let go, then reached around and began to frig her, beating her off and spanking her clit like it was a naughty little monkey, slapping my fingers into the wet sticky trough of her pussy.

Her cheek pressed into the lectern, her face rolling back and forth so her voice was muffled, but I heard her groans and entreaties and her nervous pleas. "Oh God! God, Conner! Someone could come in! Someone could come in!"

"Yeah. Let 'em," I said, my mouth full of her flesh.

Before us was the entire auditorium, all these empty seats facing us as if peopled by ghostly observers, all of them watching us, watching Emma having her cunt eaten out from behind by a man squatting on his haunches like a lunatic ape.

I got my pants open and pulled out my cock as I ate her, started beating off, my wrist rocking easily on that big stalk, working the skin up and down as I sealed my mouth against her pussy, piercing her with my tongue or letting it slither along her juice-filled crease.

When I pulled my mouth away, her mucus coated my lips and I pressed my mouth against her ass and flicked my tongue maddeningly against her tightly clenched asshole, making her squeal and lift her foot reflexively as if to push me away, as if this final outrage were just too much.

It wasn't too much for me. I grabbed her ankle and planted her foot right back down on the floor. Yes, I licked her asshole. I spread her ass cheeks and tried to work my tongue into her and she screamed and clenched until I slapped her again to make her relax, to show her there was no part of her I wouldn't take if I wanted to.

And once we established that—once she accepted that every piece of her was mine—I stood up with a look of grim satisfaction on my face and opened my belt and let my pants drop, my cock springing fully free. I looked down at her—that beautiful body, bound and bent before me. I knew then she was mine—mine to have, mine to fuck, mine to do with as I pleased. The previous sessions had been seductions on my part—I'd taken her—but this time I'd waited for her to come to me, and she had. She'd come to me and that made all the difference. She was complicit in this affair. She'd accepted the terms, and she knew very well what they were.

Emma waited breathlessly as I moved into position behind her. My handprints were all over her ass, her juice dripping from the pouting, swollen lips of her pussy. She didn't move, didn't breathe as I ran my hands over my property, then shuffled forward with my pants around my ankles, shuffled forward and pressed the head of my cock against her opening.

I felt her stiffen for an instant. Her pussy seemed to suck inward in sudden, automatic reflex, then I took hold of her hips and leaned back like a cowboy on a bucking bronco, and slid that long shaft into her cunt. I could almost hear it sizzle like a bar of white hot iron quenched in a trough of wetness.

"Ohhhhh! Conner! Conner!"

"Fuck!"

The pleasure was so intense I felt like I'd been punched in the gut, and already I felt my balls churning, ready to spit. She was so hot, so tight, so perfect, and it was her—Emma—she was mine. So she had a boy friend, she had a fiancé. So she'd had men before and would have them again. But for tonight, in all the universe—all the people who walked the planet this way and that—this one was mine. She was my slave, my beauty, my lover, my woman—and she was all I could ever want. I pushed in deeper and felt her hot ass press against my belly, heard her moan of fulfillment as she slid forward on the lectern.

"Oh yes!"

I could look down to see my shaft spreading the tight ring of muscle at the entrance to her pussy. I could picture that hard meat inside of her, pressing against her tissues, stimulating her secret nerve endings, sending hormones gushing through her bloodstream and hot, shuddery ripples of pleasure along her nerves, along her legs and her spine, up to her brain. She was tied, helpless, naked in that auditorium, panties pulled down around her legs—there to be fucked and to take it, there to be used, to be filled with my cum.

"Jesus!" I swore. "Oh fuck!"

I grabbed her hips and started fucking into the slick clutch of her cunt, punching my hips into her and pulling her back on my thrusting shaft, hearing the wet slap of her ass against me, her helpless moans. Her tits swung back and forth. My balls swung too, and as I pumped her against me, I felt viscous strings of our commingled juices sticking to my thighs as they seeped from her pussy.

"Good, isn't it?" I snarled at her. "You like being fucked like this, Emma? You like driving me crazy so I fuck you like this?"

She just moaned, too overwhelmed with the ness of her position to speak. I reached over and grabbed her hair, pulled her head up so she arched her back as I suddenly increased the tempo, double-timing her, fucking her so fast thatthe slap of her tits against her chest joined the salacious chorus of sexual noises we made. Her long, constant moan of carnal pleasure was punctuated by sharp, involuntary, animal-like grunts as I punched into her, sending my tool slithering deep and knocking the wind out of her.

Through the hot red haze of my primal fuck-lust I remembered her clit—that hot, swollen love bud nestled between her lips—how she loved to be played with, and I reached down into her swampy cunt and spread her apart and forked my fingers around it. I squeezed just enough to make her whine, then started beating her off as I fucked her, sliding my hand up and back while holding her hair in one hand and pulling her face up like a headsman's trophy.

"Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" she chanted mindlessly, overcome by the double sensation of being fucked and played with. I could shove my dick into her and hold it there and then vibrate her clit so fast I felt it in my shaft, like she was a human vibrator. It felt good. It felt insanely good.

There was nothing Emma could do but scream. My hand was in her hair, her chest was pressed against the podium, her wrists tied behind her back. My cock pumped in and out of that sweet little cunt, my fingers digging and vibrating against her engorged clit as her juice poured and slopped over my fingers.

She screamed—screamed in pleasure and total submission, screamed as I took her and rode her hard and gave her just what she wanted. Screamed as I felt her cunt convulse and her body begin to hunch and jerk against me, out of control as she came, legs shaking, choking on her own cries of release, hands twisting in her bonds.

I pulled up on her cunt, pulled it tight like a glove around me and shoved deep, rising up on my toes to make her take every last fucking inch of cock, then I grabbed the back of her neck and pushed her down against the lectern as I felt it start. I wanted to hold her right there as I shot it into her—right there—mine, mine!

I threw my head back in ecstasy and growled like a lion with his kill as I felt the thick bolts of cum gush up from the well of my soul and thunder down my cock to spew hard and heavy into Emma's quivering sheath, one after another, each a burning jolt of fiery bliss and absolute triumph, an explosion of fulfillment, sending my soul into her—my need, my strength, my love.

I poured it into her—marking her, branding her, making her mine—standing above her on the podium like a king over his slave, watching my cock jerk and spit into her body as if it weren't even mine, as if our bodies spoke directly one to another. Even in my moment of triumph, I felt her take possession of my soul, just as she took possession of my cum. I felt her conquer me with her very submission, and I knew, as the final pleasure of climax seeped through my body like warm honey, I was totally lost.

* * * *

There was no place else to go, so I opened a folding chair down in front of the lectern and sat there with Emma in my lap, naked except for her top. I was dressed, and that was part of it, a sign of her status. She didn't seem to mind, and in fact, she found my desire to hold her afterwards strange but terribly gratifying. Apparently she'd always felt that revealing the wild and submissive side of her sexuality would somehow disqualify her from receiving affection afterwards, as if she were no more than a whore. My need to hold and caress her and keep her close almost seemed to embarrass her at first, and it took her a while to realize I was serious and not just doing it to patronize her.

I loved to hold her, though. I especially loved to play with her and feel my cum dripping from her pussy. It was like a mark of ownership, and it made me proud in a terribly selfish, embarrassingly male kind of way. So she sat there in my lap with my left arm around her, her legs slightly apart as I kissed and nuzzled her breasts and slid my fingers around, smearing my cum over her thighs, lost in that post-orgasmic sense of peace and fulfillment.

"Conner?"

"Yes?"

"This is dumb, but do you mind if I talk?"

"About what?"

"You know. About him?"

I never stopped licking her breasts. "If you want." I really didn't care.

She seemed to be gathering her thoughts and, whether consciously or unconsciously I don't know, I started playing with her pussy. Emma's arms were around my neck, and she tightened them slightly and leaned back a bit so she could open her legs more. That made her breasts more accessible and I slipped a nipple between my lips and began to suck as my hand, of its own volition, started to seriously massage her pussy.

I didn't do this on purpose. I wasn't trying to shut her up or distract her, but Emma's extremely orgasmic. It's one of the amazing things about her. She turns on extremely quickly and has a very short latency period between orgasms. It was something I was just discovering at the time but had not yet fully realized.

"What?" I asked. "What did you want to say?"

She was already breathing faster.

"Never mind," she whispered, her hand gripping the back of my neck. "It's not important."

I lowered her until she was more nearly lying recumbent across my lap and continued playing with her, sliding my fingers over her cum-slick clit and up and down her crease and Emma seemed to go limp and tense at the same time. I could look down at her face and see the pleasure of my hand take her and render her helpless. Her hips started to move.

"God, when you touch me!" she gasped. "God, Conner! What are you doing to me?"

I found her clit. I already knew what she liked. Her hips started to move with purpose now, ,  purpose, pumping, lifting against my fingers, the muscles in her stomach knotting. She opened her eyes a slit and looked at me.

"You make me so bad!" she whispered.

"I love you this way!" I said. "Now give it to me, Emma. You know what I want. Give it to me!"

"Oh!"

She bit her lip but she couldn't refuse. I could almost see her nipples tightening on her breasts, her labia swelling. I definitely could feel her clit becoming turgid and rubbery and resisting my touch. She was wonderful to watch—a lesson in female sexual response.

"Oh… Oh, God, Conner!"

When Emma comes, she gives it to you. It's like something she has to get rid of, something she has to eject from her body, through her cunt and her skin and her mouth and her eyes—a terrible coiled up ferocious pleasure that starts somewhere inside and bursts out of her. My urge is always to hold her, to wrap my arms around her and hold her tight so she doesn't fly apart or explode as the pleasure rips from her.

And that's what I did. I pulled her against me with my left arm, crushed her against me so hard neither of us could breathe as my right hand continued to coax the orgasm out of her and I felt her shudder and twitch like a rag doll as she moaned and sobbed helplessly in my embrace.

I held her so hard I felt tears squeeze out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks, catching me by surprise as she came and came and I thought through my joy how absolutely foolish I was. This was only sex after all. This was only sex, to hold a woman's heart and soul in your hands and know she wanted you to do whatever you wanted to her and have her respond like this. This was only sex, when you touched each other in places no one else had ever touched and made you feel things beyond your ability to describe. Only sex where, for one brief instant, no matter how short and fleeting, the barriers fell away and you were somehow one with her—this stranger—and you weren't alone anymore.

It was only sex.

Only sex.

Chapter Six

The night was just setting in, the sky in the west was a forlorn and tattered pink under low gray clouds as I turned off the blacktop and pulled into the motel parking lot. A glance into my rearview mirror showed Emma's headlights behind me, dipping and rising as she made the turn and followed me in. We were out in an unincorporated no man's land, stuck between the far end of the airport runways and a suburban industrial park, heading to a strip of motels and weedy fields squatting in the shadow of the expressway, a place where no one stayed, where nothing was permanent.

I slowed down and cruised beneath the motel's huge and garish neon sign and past the front office, then back through the sparsely-filled parking lot. When I slid down the car window, I heard the distant whining of jet engines and saw the strobing of the runway landing lights reflected in the low cloud cover. It looked like heat lightning. My tires crunched on the dry gravel as I pulled into a spot and Emma pulled in right next to me. When we cut our engines, it was quiet enough to hear the crickets in the weeds and the soft hum of the motel's air-conditioners.

This night was soft and close and smelled of Midwestern earth and fertility. The place was so nowhere, Emma and I might as well have been the only people in the world.

I got out of the car and grabbed my briefcase with my school papers. I'd already stopped here before class to set up some things and this was all I had. Emma popped her trunk and got out of her car, locking it. She didn't even look at me as she got a tote bag out of the trunk and then closed it. She'd taken off the blue sweater she'd worn in class and draped it around her shoulders, revealing the tight, pink tank top she wore beneath. She wore a pair of khaki shorts and sandals and her long chestnut hair was pinned up on top of her head. I'd made her go into the ladies' room and put her hair up before we'd left the campus. I'd also made her take off her bra and panties and put them in her bag so she was naked beneath her shorts and top. With the arms of the sweater hanging over her breasts, I couldn't tell for sure whether she'd followed my instructions, but I had no reason to doubt it. Emma never disagreed with me.

When I'd called her the night before and told her I'd be taking her to a motel tonight, she'd agreed as well. It wasn't easy for her to talk at home because she had two roommates who didn't know about us, and she couldn't take calls on her cell because she had to keep that clear in case her boyfriend called from Atlanta. He was very jealous.

I took her arm. "We're on the second floor."

I'd intentionally picked this forlorn, anonymous motel, not because she didn't deserve better, but because at this stage in our relationship, it seemed appropriate—someplace seedy and furtive, a place that used its proximity to the airport as cover for what it really was: a rendezvous for people who wanted to have sex or meet for other small-time illicit activities. The nice downtown hotels with the rich carpets and silk sheets could come later. For now I wanted something more from Emma than I'd been able to get from meeting her after hours at school. So far, for all we'd done, it had still been basically a student-teacher affair and I wanted it to be more. This seemed to be the logical next step and I was excited, my excitement showing in the tight control I kept on myself.

Emma was excited too and I knew her well enough to recognize it. She showed it the same way I did, hardly saying a word, barely looking at me.

I gestured to the stairs and she started to climb. I followed, aware she was naked under her clothes, aware she must know very well what she was getting into. Her face was passive, but I noticed a glint of excitement in her eyes. Somewhere between here and the school she'd found time to adjust her makeup because her face was flawless despite the harsh, yellow-tinted lights. I'd never seen her looking more beautiful, placid and perfectly composed.

I directed her to the left. We passed by silent, firmly closed doors, the stucco walls tinged a sickly green from the motel's neon marquee. I stopped in front of 232 and swiped the keycard, pushed open the door, and we stepped into a typically generic motel room, so bland and featureless as to be almost invisible, the carpet brown, the walls orange. It looked clean enough, everything orderly and tidy—two beds, tightly made up, a closet, dresser with mirror, chest, television. It was only on second look that Emma noticed the end of a rope hanging over the top of the closet door, the collection of sex toys neatly arranged on a towel on the dresser.

I watched her face as she looked at the dresser. I'd laid everything out earlier—cuffs and chains, rope and clips, vibrators and dildos, clamps, whips and floggers—all neatly arrayed like a surgeon's instruments.

Emma's expression didn't change as she looked at the dresser but I felt her sudden surge of tension and excitement, and I saw it in her eyes and in the brief flare of her nostrils. I knew that for all her submissive proclivities and native talent, Emma was relatively naďve when it came to the actual tools and practices of BDSM. These things held a horrid fascination for her.

A jet whined overhead, so close the lampshades vibrated, the light trembling against the walls and ceiling, and that seemed to break the spell. I felt a sudden surge, realizing now why this was so important to me. All our other meetings had been acts of passion. This was something else. Alone like this, with my little toys on display, I was showing her who I was and what I wanted from her, and she could have rejected me on the spot and there would have been nothing I could have done about it. Despite what they say, D/s is always a co-operative affair. You can't force anyone to submit to you. It has to be given willingly, otherwise it's nothing but rape.

Emma didn't reject me. She didn't turn and walk out or tell me "no". She looked at those things and got excited, and I knew then she was willing. I knew then I'd been right about her and there was a connection between us beyond coincidence and happenstance. She’d had her own reasons for following me out here, and while neither of us might know what we were involved in, we both sensed it was something bigger than either of us and we approached each other with a sense of caution, of fear, a feeling that things might happen here we wouldn't be able to control and would change things for us—change everything.

I felt as though we both stood on some huge and elaborate machine that was suddenly starting to move, shuddering to life and bringing us closer. It made me dizzy, as if the floor were actually moving beneath my feet.

"Come here," I said.

Emma turned and came to me, arms at her sides, eyes lowered. I was aware of her femaleness as something deep and profound and totally opposite to my own masculinity, something necessary and complementary—the curves of her body and the delicacy of her face, her soft fluidity against my hard eagerness. I was aware of the urgency of my need for her. It was something that went far beyond the desire to just get laid or get off. So far it had been all sex between us and it had been wonderful as far as that went, but I now wanted more, and I didn't know what that was.

I undid the sweater and threw it on the bed. Her breasts were lush and vulnerable, her nipples were already pressing against the thin fabric of the tank top. The sight of the toys had aroused her, or maybe it had been my simple command. She kept her eyes down and didn't say a word.

I took her breasts in my hands and felt their weight, then rubbed my thumbs over her areolas and she sighed and closed her eyes in acceptance, instinctively pushing her chest into my palms, offering herself.

"We're alone now, Emma, and we're going to see if you like the things I think you'll like. You know I'll never push you too hard. I'll never make you do anything you really don't want to do. All you have to do is tell me to stop and I'll stop. I don’t want you to ever be afraid."

Her eyes were closed and she nodded, but I knew she'd never tell me to stop, no matter what I did to her. It wasn't in her nature. The one thing she could do was give her body, totally and without question. I just wondered whether that was enough anymore.

I slid my hands from her breasts and around her back, pulled her to me and kissed her, pressing my lips against hers. She was soft and warm and had a kind of trembling readiness, eager for more, and I wondered if she could feel my own anxiousness as well and how her kiss aroused me. I had to fight the sudden desire that threatened to overwhelm me and make me weak, that turned my strength against me and made me crush her to me and plunge my tongue into her mouth in my sudden fever to possess her.

Emma took my force and bent back like a willow in a gale. She knew the rules, that she wasn't allowed to touch me without my permission, and her arms hung nervously at her sides, but as my hands spread across her back and I pressed her to me, she seemed to melt against my body like sugar in the rain and her mouth opened to my kiss in a total and instinctive surrender, offering all she had. She inflamed me, and even as her body softened against mine, her nipples seemed to harden and push into me with a sudden blind urgency.

I broke the kiss and looked at her, my eyes searching her face. Submission isn't passivity and it isn't laziness. It's a kind of active surrender, a willing acquiescence and sexual invitation and Emma just radiated it with every fiber of her body. She drove me wild by not doing anything at all.

"You can touch me," I said.

Her hands came up and held my cheeks as she looked at me. I wasn't prepared for the power in her eyes, the depth and the clarity, the absence of any doubt. She looked at me like I was something beautiful, almost godly, her eyes studying me from chin to forehead, memorizing me. Then she closed her eyes and let her fingertips glide over my face, giving them their turn. She put her hands on the side of my head and opened her mouth, held my face like it was a bowl she wanted to drink from, then she tipped my mouth into hers, kissing me. I kissed her back and pulled her against me, overcome by what she'd made me feel.

She was such a strange mixture of angel and animal, almost spiritual one moment and filthy and  the next. Is that what drove me so wild about her? Because I had no doubt as to what I was. Like a beast, I pushed my cock against her so she could feel my erection and she moaned in acknowledgement. Her hands tangled in my hair and she held me tighter. Her ass flexed beneath my hands as she ground back at me.

She had a luscious mouth, a mouth that teased and promised and took its time, that invited my tongue in and sucked on it, licked it and dared it to do more, and already I sensed she was way ahead of me, more excited than I'd thought. She'd looked so calm and composed when we'd entered the room, but Emma was a girl who was able to keep up a cool front, and she'd obviously been excited for some time. All it had taken was this kiss to set her off and she was instantly on fire.

I slid my hand down her back, down between her buttocks, pressing her shorts up between her legs. She groaned and pushed back against me, grinding her crotch against my leg. She was caught between my finger and my leg and wanted them both and meanwhile her kiss never stopped. I increased the pressure and she bit my tongue and moaned with obsequious pleasure, her thighs quivering as she tried to center her clit over the bulge in my pants. I could feel her muscles working through her shorts and knew she was ready.

I let go of her and stepped back to the equipment on the dresser. Emma stood there looking suddenly cold and exposed and momentarily confused.

"Your wrists, Emma," I ordered, and she held out her hands.

She looked at the cuff as if having trouble focusing, and when she held out her hands, they were shaking slightly. I'd bound her before—with rope, with her own panties—but those had been spur-of-the-moment affairs. This was different. This was intentional, by design, with leather cuffs and metal buckles, implements meant for restraining someone. This was me telling Emma I was taking deliberate control of her.

She watched in mute fascination as I slid the leather around her wrist. She was all curves and softness and shadow and I'd never been so aware of a woman's femininity as I was when I slid the ends through the silver buckles and snagged them into place. I did one wrist and the other, then fastened the cuffs together in front of her with a sturdy chrome clip. She raised her hands and the rings jangled softly as she studied them, at the way the leather looked against her skin. There was excitement in her eyes, but also shame, and a bright blush had spread beneath her carefully maintained tan. I'd never seen Emma looking so nervous or so excited.

I led her over to the closet. Earlier I'd fastened a length of nylon rope to the inside doorknob, tied a loop in the end and passed it over the top then closed the door. Now I passed another length of rope through this loop and fastened the free end to Emma's cuffs, hauling on it and lifting her wrists over her head. I tied it off around the doorknob, leaving her standing there so her arms were raised, her elbows at eye level, her breasts crowded together.

"Yes," I said. "Yes, that's good."

Emma had lost her expression of cool equanimity now. Her lips were parted and swollen, her eyes wary, guarded and more than a little afraid. She was seriously helpless and naked beneath her clothes, strung up against a closet door in this little low-rent motel with a man she didn't know very well, a man she'd decided to give her body to and now she must be having her doubts. I could see her pulse in her throat and it was racing. My stillness made her nervous but I was in no hurry. Just looking at her was getting me insanely aroused.

She raised a leg and pressed a foot against the door, then put it down. She shifted her hips, trying to get comfortable.

"I can't move," she said. A silly thing to say.

I smiled. "Yes. I noticed."

I went over to her and leaned over her, admiring her in her helplessness one more time, then I just let my passion overwhelm me. I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back and slowly licked her lips. Emma shuddered with relief and opened her mouth, expecting a kiss, but I avoided that. Instead I just tasted her—her lips, the slickness of her lipstick, her yielding warmth and the nervous heat of her breath. I ran my other hand down over the doe-soft skin of her face, down her throat, between her tits, over the waist of her shorts and down between legs where I began to rub her, showing her just how defenseless she was tied like this.

She moaned a little, her fingers closing on the rope as she pulled, but the rope held. I could touch her anywhere, take anything I wanted, and there was nothing she could do to stop me. I reached up into the leg of her shorts and caressed the smooth, tender skin on the insides of her thighs and she whimpered. She pulled at the rope and brought her elbows together as if she could hide her face behind them.

"Mmm…" I sighed as I kissed her. Her thighs were like silk and I loved her helplessness, loved the fact she couldn't move. I leaned against her so she could feel my hard cock pressing on her hip and pushed it against her, slowly dry-humping so she'd know I was ready and she could be taken any time. When I slid my hand under her tank top, closing it on the warm globe of her tit, she groaned.

"God, I love you like this," I whispered. "Mine to use as I please. You make me so fucking hot, Emma!"

I kissed her, thrusting my tongue into her mouth and she whimpered, the back of her head softly hitting the closet door as I continued to massage her breast so hard her body swung back and forth. I let go of her hair and slid my other hand down and began to rub her pussy through the shorts and she gasped into my mouth at the feel of the rough khaki against her naked flesh. She thrust against me, wanting me to touch her with my finger, but I held off.

"Let's get these off, shall we?" I asked.

She closed her eyes and said nothing as I crowded her against the door, resting my forehead against hers. My hands went to the waist of her shorts and I slid the button through the hole, the backs of my fingers brushing lightly against her belly and making her jump. I felt her trembling as I touched the sensitive skin below her navel, and then I slowly—very slowly—lowered the zipper on her shorts, tooth by tooth. I took her lower lip between my teeth and held her there, pulling up on her shorts to keep the zipper taut and making the crotch dig into her delicate pussy as I unzipped her. It was mean, I know, but I loved being mean to her.

Emma moaned and moved her hips back and forth, trying to work herself off against the fabric, and her tight, liquid motion made the blood pound in my veins. She was such a hot little piece, the way she came alive under my hands, dangerously sexual. You'd never think it to see her in school, walking down the street, sitting in class—a girl like any other girl, nothing special—but entirely sexual. It was her medium, her natural element, the only place she really came alive—and how she came alive!

I got her shorts open and I knew she was waiting for the touch of my hands on her bare flesh but I stopped, left the shorts hanging open with the V of bare skin showing, all pink and vulnerable. I slipped both my hands up under her tank top and started squeezing and kneading her breasts. Her warm, pliable flesh was like human dough in my hands and my mouth was close enough to hers that I could taste her breath.

"Oh! Oh yes!" she sighed. Her hips rolled in tight, impatient circles and I pressed my cock against her so I could ride her urgency. She twisted against me, trying to bring her pussy into contact with the hard bar of my dick, hungry for something to rub against, the imperative of her own pleasure taking precedence over everything else now.

"You like this, Emma? You like being tied like this?" I asked her, and she moaned impatiently, too busy concentrating on her hips to give me a full answer.

She worked frantically, trying to get herself off on her own shorts, but all she managed to do was make them slip farther down until they hung uselessly low on the saddle of her hips. I helped her get them off, pulling them down then holding her so I could feel her work her thighs and pelvis to make the shorts slide all the way down her legs, undressing herself for me. It was a beautiful display, selfish and , a nasty little girl just dying to get her panties off for the bad boys.

Still, I didn't touch her, didn't give her what she wanted. I pushed my knee up hard against her pussy, lifting her slightly and giving her something to rub against. She was only too grateful for the ride and I felt her moist warmth searing through my jeans as she rubbed against me like a bitch in heat. I pinned her against the door as I peeled her top up and over her head, but because her wrists here clipped together I couldn’t get it all the way off, so I left it dangling from her arms. The heavy globes of her breasts were now exposed, covered with a sudden rush of goose bumps.

More than losing her shorts, losing her top seemed to make Emma truly naked. Her tits were gorgeous—generous, giving, vulnerable. No doubt part of the appeal of having her hands tied over her head was the way it left her tits so flagrantly exposed, so deliciously defenseless. I grabbed her bound wrists in one hand and pushed them up even higher, raising her breasts so I could bend my head and suck and lick her nipples. I nuzzled against her tits, pushing them around with my face. licking and biting as they jiggled and bounced against my cheeks like ripe fruit. I wanted to devour her, just eat her up, and the more excited I got, the more excited she got. She was ready to be devoured. I could feel it.

She was panting as I reached up and started searching for the pins holding her hair in place, removing them one by one until her hair tumbled over her face. The long silky strands hid her breasts like a curtain, parting just enough to let the pink-brown nipples poke through. She opened her eyes and looked at me through her hair like an animal through a jungle brake, wild and feral, waiting for me to strike, waiting to see what I was going to do next, ready for whatever I wanted.

I kissed her then, letting all my the passion just flood over me and take control. I kissed her and lost myself in her mouth as I held her hair in my fist and my other hand roamed all over her naked body, squeezing, caressing, possessing her, the heavy softness of her tits, her tight belly and the sweet flare of her hips. My hand went between her legs and she moaned and pressed her thighs tightly together as if suddenly afraid, a gesture that infuriated me. It was too late for that now, way too late to play shy and modest, and without pausing an instant, I slapped her thighs—two sharp little slaps on the insides of her thighs to make her open them and keep them apart—surprising her and making her cry out in alarm, right into my mouth.

I owned her now and we both knew it—how dare she try and refuse me? I slapped her thighs again and Emma trembled as she spread them wider. She whimpered and pulled on the rope as if suddenly having second thoughts but I was having none of it. I slid my finger against her naked crease and when I kissed her again I could taste her hot, shameful excitement, her nervous arousal.

"Don’t you close your legs for me, Emma!" I snarled. "Don’t even think of it. I own you now, baby. All of you. Or do you have a problem with that?"

"No," she gasped. "No. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"No, you were thinking. That's the problem. Don’t think. Understand?"

She was naked, her wrists tied to a closet door in this seedy motel on the edge of nowhere, but the things going on between us were deep and real and profound and I wasn't fucking around. I was in charge. When I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back and kissed her hard, she groaned. Her tongue shot into my mouth in eager invitation, showing me what she wanted my finger to do to her below, fluttering in my mouth, thrusting, teasing, and she hummed with pleasure.

I leaned against her, kissing her, playing with her pussy, and in a matter of moments, the smooth muscles of her belly were clenching, rolling with hungry and barely controlled urgency as she tried not to fuck back at me. She wanted to get off—her body wanted it—but she resisted, she fought. I felt the lady fighting with the whore inside, and it drove me wild. I knew which one I wanted right then. She knew it too.

She groaned when I slid my finger against her pussy, pushing it up into her. I felt that hot, tender tightness spread before my crude invasion and Emma kissed me, then dug her sharp white teeth into my lower lip and hung on as I fingered her. She was trying not to hurt me but I could feel the pain and humiliation as I fingered her like a cheap little sex toy, reaching high into her secret heat. Her tits shook as she trembled in the cuffs but there was nothing she could do. It hurt her but it felt good too, I knew it did. I knew just how it felt.

"Who owns you, Emma? Huh? Who owns you, baby? Whose bitch are you?"

I shoved my finger up deep inside her so my knuckles crushed against her labia and Emma let go of my lip and grimaced, pulling herself up against the door. She didn't answer. Her eyes were closed.

She made me crazy like this because I knew she loved it. I knew she loved the pain, the feeling of being used, of being tied up and violated. She loved it as much as I loved doing it to her, and it made me crazy. She was so fucking beautiful like this.

"Come here when I'm talking to you," I said, and I used the finger inside her to pull her towards me. I drew her towards me with my finger inside her pussy, but with her wrists tied to the door she couldn't really move, could only take a shaky step, her hips thrust forward—a cheap, sleazy gesture that filled me with an obscene sense of power.

"I asked you who owned you, Emma. Who owns this pussy?"

"Oh," she breathed.

I pulled my hand to the side and she followed, drew her back and she followed again. I squeezed her, one finger inside her and my thumb on her shaved pubic mound and I turned her sideways. I spanked her on the ass and she pushed herself onto my fingers trying to escape the blow. She hid behind her raised arms.

Slapp!

"Now who owns you?!"

"You do!" she cried. "You do. You own me."

I pulled her back so she was standing in front of me, her breasts rising and falling, her face hidden in her fall of hair, and I began to finger her, rubbing her clit as I did. Emma was on fire and there was no hiding it. She trembled and made little mewling sounds as I touched her, and then gasped and shook and I heard her swallow what sounded like a scream. It might have been a little climax.

I had to get control of myself. My cock was hard and throbbing and already aching for release and we hadn't been at it for more than ten minutes. I had to calm down.

I stepped back and went to my equipment, leaving Emma hanging from the rope, panting and covered in a sheen of perspiration. I picked up some ankle cuffs and a spreader bar and came over. I knelt and buckled the leather cuffs around her ankles, making a conscious effort to ignore the proximity of her pussy, then clipped the bar to the cuffs so her feet were held apart at about shoulder width.

By now I had no doubts Emma loved what I was doing to her. She loved the rope, the submission, the possession, the passion and the roughness. But now we were getting into something new, something that went beyond just spanking and hot sex. There was something humiliating about the spreader bar, the way it held her ankles apart, exposing her and keeping her that way. There was no way she could close her knees or hide herself. This was a little piece of equipment designed specifically to make her into something entirely sexual, and I could tell it excited her.

I grabbed an 18-inch riding crop and a vibrator and put them on the closest bed where I could reach them. Emma leaned against the closet door, her feet held apart by the bar, her elbows up by her face, watching every move I made. I turned off the far bedside light and threw a red cloth over the remaining lamp to give us a suitable hellish and murky atmosphere, and then I walked over to her.

I pushed her hands back and lowered my head, sucking a nipple into my mouth and taking her pussy in my hand like I owned it. I touched her gently, aware she’d just come, but Emma recovers very quickly, and as soon as I touched her she sucked in a quick little breath and bit her lip against the pleasure. I stroked her like she was a nervous cat, soothing her, soaking up her warmth. My thumb slid slowly around her clit. She was very wet.

"Nice?" I asked her. "Nice being all tied up and held open like this? Nice having your pussy played with?"

She didn't answer, but I could tell by the fast, shallow way she was breathing she liked it.

"Nowhere to go, is there?" I teased. "All mine—that pussy—everything you've got is all mine."

I took my finger from her cunt and brought it to her lips.

"Taste it, baby. Taste what you're like when you're excited. Your own juice, Emma. Come on, don’t pretend you never tasted it before. Suck it. Suck my finger like it's a little cock."

She resisted for just a moment, then opened her mouth and sucked my finger inside. Her eyes closed and her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, and she was so fantastically beautiful at that moment, tied and bound and sucking my cum-smeared finger like a little slave. I had to taste her too. I wanted to taste that pussy too, her excited female juice.

I dropped to my knees and she gave a little squeal of alarm. I grabbed her buttocks in my hand and licked her belly, licked her thighs, bit them softly until I felt her tremble. Her mound was hairless and looked like a little girl's, all sweet and innocent, but I knew different. I felt her eyes on me as I knelt at her feet. I felt her trying to keep her cool—one part of her attempting to resist while the other part wanted to shove her pussy into my face like a little whore and have me eat her until she came.

I knew how hot she was, how coming once was never enough for her and how much she must need it, and I knew what torture it must be to be tied up and spread open like this and not be able to do anything about it. I felt her quiver as I dragged my tongue across her belly and teased the very edges of her pussy, bit her thighs and blew my breath on her clit. I knew how mean it was for me to spread her pussy apart with my fingers and reach my tongue for her and yet not touch her, to bitch-slap her cunt with the backs of my fingers like it was an insolent little punk until she moaned and started to beg me, pleading with me to do whatever I had to do to make her behave. I knew it was mean, but God, I loved it!

"Come here," I growled.

I reached through her legs and grabbed one of her buttocks and pulled her hips towards my face so she was thrusting her cunt out like a common whore. With my other hand, I parted her labia and held her spread for me, watching how her legs shook as she tried instinctively to close her thighs. I leaned forward so she could feel my breath on her and I could bathe in her pure female heat. Then, when I was sure she was watching, when I knew I had her total, undivided attention, I leaned forward and touched my tongue to her clit.

"Ohhhhhh!"

Just the tip of my tongue, the tip of her clit, the coalescing of my saliva with her female secretions, just that intimate and that obscene, so when I drew my tongue back, a viscous little strand formed between us, a clear little thread of mucus that finally snapped like a broken heart. As if that were the signal, I finally leaned forward, took a deep breath and began to lick her clit with long swipes of my tongue. I sucked it between my lips and tongued it as my middle finger plunged into her cunt and began to fuck her.

It was heaven, heaven. Heaven to have her tied up and spread wide and helpless before me, mine to use as I wished. Heaven to have her sexual soul between my lips and the tight channel of her cunt speared on my finger, feeling her shudder inside with filthy sexual pleasure, feeling that tight belly beginning to work, to cramp and bunch in a greedy search for more pleasure, feeling her melt and dissolve into a lascivious, sex-driven whore. I loved those feminine muscles—hot, hungry, sucking, pushing that pussy onto my mouth and fingers without shame or compunction, desperate for her selfish little come.

I flashed my eyes up at her as I ate her cunt, opening my mouth wide and sucking her soft flesh in. Her tits still hung like heavy fruit, the bottoms now covered with goose bumps, nipples stiff and projecting like bullets through the curtain of hanging hair covering them. Her eyes were closed, mouth open in rapture, her fingers spreading and then clenching as she hung from the rope in abject helplessness, the willing victim of my lust.

The muscles on the insides of her thighs quivered occasionally as she still tried to instinctively close her legs against the maddening probing of my tongue and fingers, but as I'd told her, there was no escape. Her ankles were held open by the spreader bar. My tongue swirled around her clit and plunged into her pussy. I sucked her clit between my lips and spit it out, pumping my fingers into her as Emma's head bumped against the door and she stiffened in a sudden spasm of overwhelming pleasure.

"Oh God! Coming! Oh! Coming!" she squealed, and I lashed her clit with my tongue. I held her pussy pressed to my mouth as I felt her loins tighten and pump against me and she gasped and moaned and jerked in her bonds like a marionette. I licked deep, scooping up her juice, then licked again and swallowed her down—essence of Emma, as powerful an aphrodisiac as I'd ever tasted. My dick was hard and aching and oozing in my pants, throbbing to get at her, but I wasn't done yet.

She collapsed against the door, quivering and gasping, half-turning as if to shield herself from more abuse. I stood and stripped off my shirt. It was hot in there by now and both of us were sweating. I wanted to feel her skin against me, and I would have taken my pants off too except I knew that would just lead to me fucking her sooner, maybe just taking her as she was against the door, bending my knees sand sliding my dick right up into her as she hung from her wrists, holding her ass and humping her like an animal ‘til I shot my load into her. It would be nice, but I had other things to try. Control. It's all about control.

So she liked the ropes. She did well in bondage. Okay. That was a start. Now what about the whip? What about the vibrator?

I had no doubt about the vibe. There are some women who are embarrassed by their reaction to it, but I've never found any who didn't really like it. I turned Emma to the front and brushed her hair back from her face. The flush of orgasm was still on her face, her eyes closed, lips parted. I kissed her because I wanted to, because she was so beautiful. Then I rubbed the vibrator across her lower lip.

"Suck it for me, darling," I whispered. "Pretend it's my cock. Show me how you suck it."

She opened her mouth like a baby bird and her pink tongue came out as I slid the tip of the vibe inside. Emma closed her lips over it with a look of deep satisfaction and sucked. I could feel her tongue swirling around it and I smiled. She was a natural. I slid it slowly in and out of her mouth and she moaned softly. Her lips were sensitive enough so she found the friction erotic in itself. That was good.

I removed the vibe and turned it on, then slid it down her tits, over her nipples, slowly awakening her from her post-orgasmic haze. She sighed. I alternated working on her nipples with first the vibe and then my mouth, sucking and teasing them into sensitivity again, and then, when Emma seemed recovered, I slid it down to her pussy.

"Ohhhh! Oh, yes! Oh God, that's good!" she moaned.

"Is it, baby? You like that? Around your clit like that? Back and forth? Slow?"

"Yes. Yes. Just like that."

It didn't really matter. I just held it against her clit and she moved her pussy over it as she wanted—pumping slow, then faster, faster, then pushing, then backing off and starting over. I studied her face, the way she licked her dry lips, the sound of her breath as her hips worked, the sound of the vibrator, the pitch changing as it was engulfed in her hungry, searching pussy.

Again—heaven. Just standing there, leaning over her, so close she could arch her back and press her naked tits against me, holding the buzzing vibrator as the bound Emma worked herself off on it, getting herself more and more aroused, and making me hotter and hotter ‘til I thought I couldn't stand it any more. I ached for her, needed her. I wanted to fuck her, shove my cock in her and hurt her with it, make her cry out for me. She was driving me wild—driving me to that state.

Her hips pumped steadily, no more slowing down. She was getting close—very close—and she pursued her come with a fierce and single-minded dedication, almost ignoring me. I reached down on the bed and picked up the crop, never moving the vibrator. I picked up the crop and leaned back and slapped the end against her right breast.

"Oww!" Her eyes flew open in surprise.

"Don't stop," I said. "I want you to get off."

"But—"

"Don't stop! You're going to come for me, understand?"

Her hips started moving against the vibrator again but tentatively this time, because her eyes were on the whip now, watching in disbelief as I brought the crop back. It hovered threateningly in the air and then struck, slapping her left nipple—a hard, flat sound, rude and nasty, just enough to make her feel she was being driven, being driven like an animal under her master's hand.

Emma was a good girl, a nice girl, and she'd never seen anything like this, let alone had anyone actually do it to her, use a whip on her own ripe and virginal tits. Someone was doing it now, though, and she understood exactly what it meant—the sharp slap of leather on innocent flesh, the sting, the defenselessness. She twisted in the ropes and pulled at her bonds, her excitement growing as I pressed the buzzing vibrator between her legs.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!"

I spanked her tits with the whip, one then the other, the tops, the undersides, the nipples, the areolas. They peaked, grew even stiffer and seemed to be reaching for the whip on their own, reaching for the abuse as if they wanted it, as if they wanted to be broken and punished. Emma looked down at her tits in shame and confusion as if she couldn’t believe their betrayal, as if this body couldn't be hers.

I knew what she was thinking—she wasn't like this, she didn't like being whipped or treated this way—but the look on her face said otherwise and the sounds escaping her clenched teeth were sounds of frantic excitement. She began to arch into the whip, pushing her chest at it, wanting it faster and harder. Her hips pumped hungrily at the vibrator.

I began to whip her thighs, the insides, the outsides, holding the vibe in place and working around it, increasing the force of the blows so they made a vicious sound as they landed on her skin and began to leave red marks. Emma loved it and her hips worked hard, fucking the vibe, fucking the whip, trying to make love to them both, giving herself to the pleasure and cloying pain as her ass bumped softly against the closet door and she grunted and groaned with the effort. It was the final indignity, being buzzed and beaten to orgasm like she was nothing but an animal—a racehorse being driven down the final stretch by a feverish jockey using spurs and whip, foam-flecked, panting.

God knows why she drove me so crazy, why I wanted this so much. It wasn't to hurt her. It wasn't because I hated her. It was because I just wanted her so much—everything she was and everything she had. I felt like I held her heart in my hand, her body and soul quivering at the touch of that whip.

"Oh! Harder! Harder! Harder!" She began to tremble uncontrollably and she grabbed the rope with both hands, staring down at her own pussy as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

At the last second, I dropped the vibrator, just dropped it on the carpet and shoved my finger into her. I pulled her towards me and turned her so I could slap her behind and I held her with my finger in her pussy as I lashed her ass with the crop, swearing at her, begging her, imploring her—"Come, baby! Come for me, Emma! Come for me, damn it! Give it to me, you gorgeous whore! You bitch!"—and that was all it took.

She threw her head back and screamed and I dropped the whip and grabbed her, crushing her against me as if I could feel her right though her skin. I held her tight and shoved my finger deep inside her, looking for that special place, the heart of her femaleness, the center of her come. Her hips lurched and jerked in an uncontrolled orgasmic dance, her contractions so intense I felt her internal muscles bear down on me, felt the hot stream of shameful lubricant ooze from her pussy and run over my fingers like a secret confession, a private gift I knew she'd given no one else in her life. I held her and held her as if I could somehow absorb her into my body. I felt her trembling inside.

I couldn't stand anymore. As soon as it was decent but before she'd even stopped twitching, I untied her wrists from the door. I picked her up in my arms and carried her over to the dresser. She couldn't walk because the bar was still chained to her ankles so I just carried her in my arms as she kept her eyes closed and pressed her bound wrists against her breasts as if in prayer, still trembling with the aftershocks and looking like a frightened deer.

I carried her over to the dresser and put her down in front of it. Both of us were shaking, me with need, and Emma from the force of her orgasm. I turned her around and gently bent her over the dresser so she was leaning on her forearms, her legs straight and knees locked, ass up like a bitch waiting to be mounted. I stepped back and looked at her and began to tear off my clothes, kicking off my shoes and socks, pulling down my pants and shorts in one motion and throwing them aside, my eyes never leaving her. Aside from the rapid rise and fall of her breathing and the occasional helpless tic or tremor in her thighs and ass, Emma was perfectly still, as if the slightest movement might set her off again. The image that came to mind was she was waiting to be mounted, like a heifer or mare, waiting to be inseminated by her bull or her stallion, and that's what I felt like—something wild and bestial.

My cock was hard and swollen, aching with need and sore from being bruised inside my clothes. It felt like a fire-breathing dragon standing out from my loins, a rocket tethered to the earth only by the enormous weight of my balls. Emma stole a glance back at me and down at my cock and quickly looked away, dropping her head between her shoulders as if she was sorry she'd seen.

I was too naked, stripped too bare. My lust and my need were too apparent and I must have been terrible to look at, like looking into the face of the sun. She moaned softly as I approached her, a soft, almost beseeching sound. I could see the marks of the whip on her ass.

I put my bare foot on the spreader bar between her ankles and stepped on it. There was enough play so I could press it solidly against the floor and Emma adjusted her stance. I moved both feet so I stood squarely on the bar, holding her in place so she couldn't move her ankles. The head of my cock was inches from the wet vertical slit of her pussy. I could see the juice oozing out of her. She was drooling for me.

I put my hands on her hips, felt her softness, her warmth. I slid my hands up and under until I cupped her naked, hanging breasts and then down again, luxuriating in the feel of this body I owned.

How many woman had I had in my life and how much sex, always confused and compromised, complicated and hedged with conditions and permission, tangled in words and explanations and apologies, or part of some emotional deal or trade, a reward or prize or part of a package? How many women had I lusted after and wanted with a pure and simple desire, just to know their softness and beauty and the sweetness of their embrace, their kisses? How many had I ached for and resented, compromised myself for and tried to please? How twisted and contorted I'd become and how lonely, how wounded and angry, choked with complicated lies and rationalizations over women and my love for them.

And now, with Emma helpless and bent before me, waiting for my thrust, how very fucking clean I felt—how strong and alive and unashamedly male. I felt like Poseidon, like the Bull from the Sea, pure and bright, everything as perfect and obvious as male and female, light and dark, cock and pussy. She was something I wanted, something I wanted so deeply I had no words for it, only this raw hunger, and suddenly I wanted to hear her say it too. I wanted to know we were here for the same thing.

I ran my hand down her flawless back, from her shoulder to her ass, then back up. She arched beneath my hand like a cat.

"What do you want, Emma?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "Tell me. What do you want, baby?"

Her pussy was open, inches from me. She didn't know what to say.

I repeated it. "Tell me what it is. Do you want me, baby? Do you want my cock?"

"Yes. Yes. I want your cock, Conner. Please."

"Why?"

"Why?" She turned her head and looked back at me. "Oh God, Conner! You’re asking me why?"

I smiled. I was enjoying this. "I'm asking you why."

She said nothing.

I leaned forward. The red dome of my cock touched the sticky ring of her hole and I felt her flesh give. She twitched inside and shocks of pleasure raced to my brain. A kind of sensual darkness began to absorb me and the words began to spill out beyond my control.

"Because you want to be owned, Emma? Because you want someone to use you, to find their pleasure in you? To take it from you, take that pleasure?"

I looked down. I was slowly pressing into her without even meaning to, leaning forward. Her cunt was dimpling inward as my thick head pushed into her, tucking her flesh inside. The heat was growing, the pressure, her grip on my cock.

"Because you want to feel me? Feel me inside you, all over you, fucking you, making you my whore, my fucking whore, my sweet, filthy, fucking whore? That's what you want? To be mine, my slave, my bitch, my lover? My cumslut, my dirty fuckdoll, my sub, my goddamn fucking cunt? To be everything to me? Is that it? Is that what you want? You want my filthy fucking love? My heart and soul?"

"Oh Conner! Oh God! God! Conner!"

She wailed and I pushed my cock into her and pulled her onto me at the same time, leaning back and grabbing her hips and holding her like a water skier holds his rope as I stood on that bar to keep her feet fixed on the floor as I made her take me. I was like a maniac as I fed my prick into her, entering her, taking her, filling her with it, beyond rational thought. I kept my eyes locked on her face as I did, and I felt chills as I realized I was part of her now and she was part of me. This was bigger than any sex I'd ever known, and I was closer to her than I'd ever been to another human being in my life, this stranger, this girl I hardly even knew.

"Oh Jesus, Emma!" I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, making a bow of her back. "Oh Christ!"

She gasped and she must have known how I felt just from the way I fucked her. I could see her face in the mirror, her eyes flying open in shock as I finally lost control and shoved it all the way inside her in one huge stroke, mashing her pussy flat and trapping my balls against her clit. I rose up on my toes and grabbed a double fistful of her hair and pulled her even tighter on to my aching cock, pushed harder, wanting every millimeter inside her. I wanted it deep. I wanted to hurt her. I felt her grab and suck on me with muscles I didn't even know women had.

"Oh God!" I moaned. "God, you are so fucking good!"

She was still throbbing and trembling from the vibrator orgasm, little tremors and twitches in her legs and her internal muscles, so I just stood there and tried to control myself, waiting for her to calm down. I let go of her hair and tried to relax, tried not to move, and Emma clutched at the edge of the dresser with her bound hands, resting her face against the cool surface. I waited. It was hard, but I waited.

I waited ‘til I felt her move, ‘til I felt her seem to firm up beneath my hands and around my cock, ‘til she got some strength back, and then I reached over and got another vibrator from the towel next to us on the dresser. I could have just fucked her, but honestly, I was afraid to move. I was afraid that if I so much as pumped once or twice I would come like a fucking fountain inside her so I decided to play with her some more instead and make her do the work. I decided to make her my slave and my toy, to turn her own sexuality against her. I waited ‘til she was starting to push gently against me, testing my hardness, and then I turned on the vibrator and pressed it against her pussy and Emma reacted with a start. Emma jumped. It was as if someone had hit a button and Emma cried out and came alive.

I stood behind her, my feet planted on that spreader bar, reaching around her and holding her pussy open with one hand while the other played that buzzing dildo lightly over her aroused little clit and Emma moaned, she groaned, she snarled and began to move her ass in abject surrender, not even trying to control herself anymore. She squeezed her pussy around me and pumped with her thighs. She rocked back and forth, sucking my dick inside her and spitting it out, her tight cunt sliding along the shaft like a ring of slinky steel.

"Fuck me! Fuck me!" she spat, savoring the filthiness of the word. "Harder! Fuck me harder!"

And I did, I did. I dropped the vibe and grabbed her hips and started to slam into her so hard that she grunted like an animal, her tits slapping against the flat top of the cheap dresser. I reached between her legs and started to play with her again, knowing how it drove her crazy, how she loved being touched. I masturbated her as I fucked her, beating her off like some naughty little boy as my big pole slid in and out of her juicy cunt like the giant drive shaft of a runaway locomotive.

"Come on, baby!" I hissed. "Come on, Emma! Give me that come, bitch! Give me that filthy fucking come, you little slut! Give your daddy what he wants, baby! Give it to me! Give it to me! All over me, baby. All over my big fat cock!"

I frigged her, slapped her, spanked her clit, fucked her ruthlessly as she clung to the dresser and whined and snarled like an animal, and then I just pressed my hand against her cunt and shook it, frantically, shamelessly making her cunt vibrate around my straining cock like she was nothing but a goddamned vibrator built for me and me only. I beat myself off using her pussy as my machine, frantic with lust.

That was too much. That was just too much for her, and through the red haze of my own incandescent climax I heard her gasping wail—"Yes! Yes! Coming! Oh God! Conner! Conner! Coming! Coming!"

"Oh fuck yes! Coming too! Here, baby! Here it is! Take it, Emma! Take it!"

She clung to the dresser and lifted her ass like a bitch in heat as I threw my head back and felt that scalding release start deep in my balls, the soles of my feet, roaring up for her like a torrent of magma. My body was at her command now and I think she must have known it, she must have felt that too. I had no more control then than she did and had no choice but to give it to her, my dumb stupid cock sunk deep in her pussy, my body clenched as I spewed my cum into her in agonized, paralyzing pleasure, one jolt after another.

For a moment I was totally free, far beyond thought, pure sensation and energy, with Emma coming and hunching beneath me with sighs of luxuriant and breathless pleasure, her ass rolling as she sucked my seed inside her. I could feel the heat coming off her body, my sweat seeming to sizzle as it fell on her skin just as my cum seemed to sizzle as it splattered inside of her, like water on red-hot steel.

I fell forward onto the dresser, cock still sunk inside of her, catching myself on my hands as I continued to come, growling and moaning as I poured that cream into her in one flawless, gushing stream.

There was a satisfaction in the way she took it. She lay flat on the dresser with her ass in the air, the slightest smile on her face, almost a smugness, as if she had some secret arrangement with my body that I'd never understand, something dark and feminine and private and it excited me to think that she might know some part of me so well, so instinctively. My orgasm left me weak, almost a child, and yet it seemed to give her some strange strength and sense of fulfillment. She was terribly beautiful, even down to the recumbent, feminine line of her back, her satisfied lips, her eyelids now heavy and filled with peace.

I was reluctant to leave her, but really, she was lying on the dresser and I was on top of her, so I lifted myself up.

"Oh Conner, don’t move…"

I managed to kneel and unclip her ankles from the bar, then pulled her over to the bed where I collapsed onto the duvet, pulling her down with me, both of us covered in sweat. Instantly, she nestled into the crook of my arm and formed herself against me, her thigh over mine, breasts against my ribs, her body like a salve against my raw nerves. I held her and ran my hands over her skin, and when I felt the welts on her bottom I winced. Emma didn't say anything. She just rubbed her cheek against me, proud of her marks. Strangely, I felt proud, too, and held her tighter, my heart filled with her. She'd earned everything I could give her. I felt in her debt.

She lifted her hand to stroke my chest but then hesitated. She lifted her head. "May I touch?" She was only half teasing.

I smiled. "Of course. We're just people again. No rules. People touch."

She laid her head back on my shoulder and played with my chest and I dropped into a feeling of deep peace. I felt as if I were lying on a beach and Emma was the sun and the sea and her fingers were the waves breaking over me. I thought how I'd never felt so fulfilled from an act of sex, drained not only of tension but of a kind of fury I hadn't even been aware of, something I carried around with me as a constant companion, this hunger for a woman's softness and comfort.

I felt a terribly deep and perverse pride knowing Emma was filled with my cum, that I could feel the warm stickiness oozing from her pussy as she ground herself contentedly against my leg. I closed my eyes and thought of how she was still being fucked as my sperm still beat their way inside her, looking for that target. I knew she was on the pill, but I liked to think of them finding her egg, entering her again in another cellular fuck, fusing with her—my essence and hers, genes and strands of delicate nucleic acids unwrapping and wrapping around each other like lovers' limbs with blind chemical passion.

The idea was getting me aroused—the simple, basic biology of it, like a force of nature, like gravity or heat or light—and though Emma couldn't possibly know what I was thinking, she must have been able to feel me stir and she instinctively responded, pressing against me, already offering herself to my reviving need, ready for whatever I might want.

There was a sudden burst of melody from her bag—her cell phone, some classical rondo played too fast, annoying and absurd and clamoring for attention, and my first reaction was to swear at her and tell her to turn the damned thing off, but then I remembered how scrupulous she was about answering her boyfriend's calls, and how I'd promised her never to interfere in her outside life. That applied even here in this motel where I'd just tied her and whipped her and fucked her and come inside her.

"Go ahead and answer it." I started to rise. "Let me get my pants on and I'll go outside and leave you alone. I'll grab a cigarette." I didn’t want to embarrass her.

"No," she said. "No, not now. I don't want to talk to him tonight."

"I thought he gets all suspicious if you don't answer."

She raised her head and looked at me. "Do you think I can talk to him right now? Do you really think I'm that good a liar?"

The phone rang six times and then stopped. Emma put her head back down on my chest and I felt like an asshole.

"He calls every night?" I asked.

"Usually, yes. Unless he goes out with his friends."

"He's jealous?"

Her voice was flat and regretful. "More like possessive."

"Can I ask…?" It was awkward, but I wanted to know. "Are you like this with him? Sexually? Does he know about all this?"

She didn't seem upset. She spoke calmly, her face against my chest. "No. But then, I don’t think I knew about 'all this' myself—before you. This is all new to me, you know that, don't you, Conner? You don’t think I'm like this normally?"

She lifted her head and looked at me and I felt embarrassed yet shamefully proud. I kept my face passive, but inside I burned with terrible male ego.

This was what I'd wanted from her all along, wasn't it? Not just sex, not just physical sensation, but conquest, ownership, a place in her heart—something I might think of as love. I wanted to be the first. I wanted to be the one she'd always remember. I was ashamed to admit it to myself after I'd sworn to keep it physical, but I wanted her love.

"I never thought about it," I lied.

She rolled over onto her stomach and looked at me. "What am I to you, Conner? Do you have a lot of girls you do this with? Am I just one more? I want to know. I think it's fair you tell me. You owe me that much."

I was slow in answering. I'd been waiting for this but I still wasn't sure what to say. "I thought we had an agreement. We keep our private lives out of this."

"No," she said. "It's too late for that. I want to know. Look at me, Conner. Look at me."

She raised herself up on her elbows, gathered her long hair and swept it back behind her head, then arched her back so her breasts stood out. They were criss-crossed with lines and marks from the whip, some no more than faint pink lines, some of them raised and angry-looking welts against her smooth, innocent flesh.

"Look at me. Do you think I'd let just anyone do this to me? Do you really think I've done this before? That I just give this to anyone?"

Guilt welled up inside me, guilt and a sickly pride, a dirty kind of lust and self-satisfaction, and I knew she felt the same thing, showing off her wounds, shaming me with what she'd suffered at my hand. I did owe her, and not just for the whipping.

"His name's David," she said, sinking back down. "Naveed, actually. He Americanized it to David. His family's Lebanese and he has no idea I'm this way. He'd die if he found out and I don’t know what I'm going to do. I never suspected either, never thought I'd get off on this so much. At first I thought it would just be fun, like a fantasy. I've always had these fantasies—being kidnapped and tied up, made to do things—but I thought they were just fantasies, that the reality wouldn't live up to the dream. It does though, doesn't it?"

Her eyes searched my face, looking for an honest answer, for confirmation.

"Yes." It was what I'd discovered too. It was even better than I'd thought it would be.

She nodded. "Yes. And now I don't know. I don’t know what to think. Now it's like I don’t even know who I am. Conner, no one's ever done these kinds of things to me. No one's ever made me feel this way. Can I tell you something? Can I trust you?"

"Yes."

"I'm scared."

She was beautiful, heart-breakingly beautiful—her eyes and her lips, the stripes on her naked breasts, her vulnerability.

I was scared too. I was unsure about what I'd gotten into and I didn't want her to see, so I reached up for her and pulled her down against my chest and held her close, felt her press against me. I'd never had a woman make me feel so much.

"There is no one else, Emma" I whispered. "There are no other girls, and I haven't done this kind of thing or felt this way with anyone for a very long time. A very long time. Believe me, Emma. This is something special, and I'm kind of scared too."

My words brought her relief, brought her comfort, and we huddled there together, protecting each other from our fear, soothing each other—then feeling it, wallowing in it. Is that what love is at the start? Being able to scare yourself, being willing to let someone else scare you with what they make you feel? Being afraid excited me and it excited Emma too. It made her rub against me like you might rub against a shark even though you knew it was dangerous—sheer madness, playing with the danger and loving the fear. She teased me, provoked me, kissing me soft and hot and deep and stretching and writhing against me like a cat. Her arousal was sharp and urgent and in her excitement, she reversed our roles, grabbing my wrist in her slim fingers and making as if to hold me down as she kissed me. She lifted her leg and rubbed her smooth thigh over mine, ground her sticky cunt against my hip as if to remind me what she was there for. She moaned as my sweat stung the welts on her tits.

A jet roared overhead and Emma raised her mouth from mine, her hair spilling over her dark face, her eyes glowing. She touched her nail to my lower lip, looking at me in wonder.

"I feel like two people," she said. "One of me's the good girl David knows in Atlanta. The other one's your whore right here in this motel. How did you do this to me?"

I grabbed her head and kissed her, biting at her ripe lips. My hand slid down to her whipped ass and squeezed possessively. I parted her cheeks and my finger played at her anus. She groaned.

I let go of her lip. "Which one do you want to be?"

"What do you think?"

We melted together in a kiss, her nostrils flaring, her breath hot on my cheek as her hips pumped against my leg with slow, steady force. She was going to get herself off with or without me and was already well on her way. I could tell by that little shudder in her rhythm. Her finger circled my nipple, teasing it to erection, daring me to do something, and then she raised her thigh still higher ‘til she was sliding the soft inside against my turgid cock.

I didn't need any more arousing. Without a word, I slid out from under her and got behind her as Emma laid down on her stomach, spread her legs and raised her ass. I got between her thighs behind her and got myself in position, then bridged over her and grabbed her wrists and held against them against the mattress.

She was on her chest now, ass cocked up, legs spread. I was on my knees and hands, holding her wrists, my prick waving around over the wet cleft of her pussy like some grotesque boom swinging in the wind, looking for her.

I lowered myself and found her easily, like sliding into a funnel.

"Ohh…"

Another jet flew overhead, shaking the lamps. They seemed to be coming hot and heavy now as I slid my cock into her and she parted her legs even farther, her knees sliding against the bedcover, her ass pressing eagerly up into my belly. I levered myself up over her so I could watch her fingers tighten into fists as my prick sunk home into that tight meaty channel and I started fucking her. Her long hair obscured her face like a thousand strands of silk and she writhed on my cock like a butterfly on a pin, delirious with pleasure.

She was so good, so fucking good, and crazy with the feel of her and her tight grip on me, my thoughts suddenly turned inexplicably to all the people in the jets overhead—people with plans, with briefcases full of papers and contracts, money and photographs, people coming and going with lonely and hungry eyes or eagerly running back to families and lovers and dying relatives and newborn nieces and nephews. And I thought of all these people out in the dark and looked at Emma beneath me grunting and snarling as she took my prick and my flesh and she worked herself off on me and squeezed me with her body and I started fucking her hard, hard, squeezing her wrists and rocking the bed, my loins slapping against her ass. I fucked her and I gave myself to her and I melted into her and fused with her—this beautiful girl and gorgeous whore, this woman and cunt and source of life and joy and pleasure. I fucked her and I fucked her and I never wanted to stop, my ecstasy all the more intense because of the filth it grew out of, like a diamond found in the muck, a pearl plucked from the slimy ooze.

"God I love to fuck you!" I gasped. "I fucking love it! And I love you, Emma! I fucking love you, you know that? I don’t care what you think. I love you, you bitch! I fucking love you!"

They were words. They weren't promises, they weren't agreements or negotiations. They were explosions of breath—ejaculations of the soul—but they said how I felt. They were true. They were truer than most things I'd ever said in my life.

I was close. I was close. It was all I could say. Her name, holding her wrists and fucking her, gasping, almost sobbing—"Emma! Emma! Oh God, Emma!"

"Oh yes, Conner! I love you too! Give it to me! Give it all to me! I love you too, baby! Fuck me! Fuck me hard! I'm going to come! Take me, Conner! I love you too! God, I love you!"

       ~~~To be continued~~