LANA

 

 

He steps back, his last command still resonating through the room as he creates distance between us.

"You want me to strip?"

He buries his hands in his suit pants' pockets and throws me a wicked smile.

"I want you to obey," he says. "Get undressed. Start with that lovely blouse. I want to see what I was denied the last time you were here."

I hesitate. My mind has yet to process what is happening, but my body already reacts to his command. My hands move up to the buttons of my blouse seemingly of their own volition.

I lower my eyes, fixating on my fingers as they fiddle with the top button.

"Look at me," he says. "Never look away from me."

Shit.

I slowly raise my eyes up to his, meeting his intense, dark gaze. The hunger in his eyes is evident, and it's turning me on to no end. Men never look at me like this. The last time I came close to dating someone was when one of the guys in my study group from junior year admired me for scoring the highest grade on the test we studied for together. There was never this kind of passion involved. This kind of sincere interest and lust for me. That's always been reserved for the pretty girls with the short skirts and the heavy makeup.

Though, I realize while slowly unbuttoning my blouse, I did follow the rules of the game a little today. I dolled myself up, hoping that he'd appreciate it.

But something tells me that I'd be here, held hostage by those ravenous eyes either way, mascara or not.

I untuck the blouse from my black pleated skirt and take a deep breath before I remove it completely, placing it on the desk next to me.

"Not there," he warns. "We'll need that space."

I want to ask for what, but the dark corners of my mind have an idea already. No need to make him say it out loud.

I take the blouse and move it to the chair I was sitting on instead, looking at him for approval.

He nods and urges me to continue.

"What should I... What next?" I ask.

My voice is shaky and thin. I've never heard myself speak like this.

Mr. Portland peruses me, scanning me from head to toe like a predator assessing his prey. I can practically feel his eyes on me, every body part that becomes the focus of his eyes pulses with excitement.

"You're wearing pantyhose," he notes. "I don't like that, get rid of them."

I'm a little startled at his statement. Of course, I'm wearing tights, it's cold out there and winter is approaching.

I slip out of my shoes and leave them under the desk, reaching beneath my skirt to pull the tights down as seductively as humanly possible. It's awkward, especially since he demands that my eyes remain on his and not on what I'm doing. I wish I could look away and hide my shame as I perform this humiliating dance in front of him. Finally, I manage to pull them down, and I neatly place them on top of my blouse on the chair.

He hums with approval. His hands are still in his pants' pockets as he continues observing me. He's not touching himself in any way, yet I can see a visible bulge between his legs that wasn't there before.

Oh my God, I made my teacher hard!

He notices my gaze on his crotch and smiles as I draw my eyes away, blushing.

"Not many girls have this much of an impact on me," he says, casually tilting his head to the side as he winks at me. "You should be proud of yourself. The anticipation of what's to come excites me more than anything else I could think of right now."

I'm standing before him, wearing nothing but my underwear and the pleated skirt. I can feel the warmth in my core, the pleasant quiver of arousal. He's not the only one who's overflowing with anticipation. I yearn for his lips and hands on me. It's agonizing to see him standing that far away from me, and it’s only fueling my thrill by watching me.

I'm not a dancer, let alone a stripper. Instead of seductively flaunting my assets for him to watch, I just stand there, shoulders slouching, insecurity trapping me inside that narrow cage that is my timid personality.

How can anyone find this sexy?

I cross my arms, clasping my elbows with my hands as if I was freezing. I'm not cold, but lost and exposed.

The smile on his face reveals that he very much enjoys what he's seeing. My heart skips a beat when he takes a step forward and approaches me, his tall frame hovering over me as he stops within arms’ reach.

He places his hands on my shoulders. The warmth radiating from his touch wraps around me like a soft coat. I feel calm but agitated at the same time. There's a sense of security about him that goes so well with the electrifying need of wanting to be touched by him.

Used by him.

The last thought shocks me, but it’s true. I want him to use me, to have his way with me, to fuck me mercilessly. The more I follow up on these disturbing thoughts, the more my heart jumps and my center pulsates with desire.

"I told you to look at me," he says, his voice calm but intimidating.

I hadn't even realized that I'd lowered my eyes to stare at his chest, while dwelling on my overly engaging thoughts.

I look up, meeting his dark eyes once again. Still, he's smiling. It's that beautiful dark smile, full of promises and a small dose of threat. Just the right amount.

"I'll take it from here, if you don't mind," he says. "You just be a good girl and do exactly what I tell you to do, understand?"

I nod. "Yes."

"While I love that terrified look in your eyes, you have nothing to worry about. We'll start out slow."

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me in for another kiss. I moan with content as our lips meet, nibbling and teasing each other before he forces his way inside my mouth, his tongue searching for mine with desperate need. Kissing him feels so natural, so familiar, as if we've done it a thousand times before.

I sigh when one of his hands travels down my spine, caressing my skin with just the tips of his fingers. Warm flushes run through my core, causing me to roll beneath his touch, pressing myself against him.

When I reach up to touch him, he pushes my hand aside, growling a warning in between our kiss. I'm disappointed. I want to unwrap his marvelous torso and do what I didn't dare do last time.

"Please," I breathe.

"No," he simply replies, pinching my side.

The surprise pain makes me flinch, followed by a moan as he caresses the same spot softly. His other hand is at my back, going for the clasp of my bra and unfastening it within a second. The bra falls down to the floor and we pay no attention to it, the intensity of our kiss not slipping for even a moment. My breath accelerates even more when his hands move around my waist, stroking along my ribs until they reach my lower breasts.

He groans as he greedily cups them, kneading my flesh, and I can't help but sigh with lust. I've yearned for his hands on me, and now that they finally are, the sensation is even more remarkable than I expected. His touch is so erotic, so careful, and hungry at the same time.

Until it turns into pain. While still holding my small breasts in his big palms, he pinches both my nipples between his fingers. Hard. A bolt of pain darts through my chest, causing me to throw my head back and ending our kiss with a desperate cry.

"Hush," he warns, letting go of my nipples. "You can't be loud in here, baby girl."

I try to look past the fact that he just called me baby girl and the question of how I feel about that, and stare at him in shock.

"But it hurt," I argue, my voice weak and hoarse.

He smirks at me, his hands still cupping my breasts. I shiver in fear when he takes my nipples between his fingers once again, threatening to repeat the painful pinching movement.

But he doesn't. He squeezes them ever so slightly, observing the reaction on my face as he does. My nipples are still pulsating with a taste of pain, and I slowly realize that I like it.

Even more so, I want him to do it again.

"Do it again," I whisper, looking at him with pleading eyes.

A triumphant smile spreads across his face. "You're not the one giving commands here."

Instead of twisting my nipples between his fingers again, he bends forward, planting kisses along my neck, my collarbone and my décolleté while he makes his way over to my left breast. I moan and tilt my head back when he lifts my breasts with his hands and wraps his lips around my left nipple. It's a soft kiss at first, his tongue circling around my areola before he starts sucking on my nipple. I've always been sensitive in that area, but no one ever knew how to work it as well as Mr. Portland does.

He continues to suck while gently kneading my breasts in his hands. He moves over to the right and regards it with the same caring treatment as he did the left one before, sucking and licking on my sensitive nub until I'm dizzy with lust. I close my eyes, trying to enjoy the feeling without paying attention to the nagging questions hammering behind my forehead. His touch is so forceful and so gentle at the same time, it does insane things to me.

I know he doesn't want me to touch him, but it's getting harder and harder with every minute. I yearn to tear his shirt off, to give back what he's giving me, to ride on the wave of arousal that has gotten a hold of me. He's getting me close to coming, without even touching me where I really want him to.

A sudden strike of pain yanks me out of my blissful vertigo. He straightens up, holding my nipples in a strong clasp, pinching and twisting so much that the pain is almost blinding.

I groan in pain, but make sure not to cry out loud. His mischievous smile is fixated on me, as he literally pulls me up by the nipples until I'm standing on my toes, almost losing my balance if it wasn’t for the desk behind me, on which I seek support.

"Get up there," he hisses, nodding toward the table pressing into my back. "Get up and spread your legs for me."

I want to protest, but he's still holding my nipples in a tight grip, pulling me upward and leaving no choice but to follow his command. I jump up on the edge of the desk, sliding backward just a bit so that I can place my feet on the edge.

He pinches my nipples extra hard one more time, causing me to let out a pathetic whimper before he releases them, cupping my breasts as he gently pushes me back.

"Lay down," he orders.

I obey, breathing heavily as I lie down on the cold surface. My tortured nipples are still screaming from the pain, throbbing as the ache slowly turns into a hot pulse. I'm lying on the desk, my hands stretched out next to my torso, staring at the ceiling above me as I process the aftermath of the intense strain that Mr. Portland just put me through.

I've never felt like this. I feel drugged, dizzy, mindless with lust.

I want more.

I don't even care about the awkward position he asked me to take. So far, every command he directed me to follow has only led to more pleasure. When he hooks his fingers beneath the seam of my panties and coaxes me to close my legs so he can pull them down, I don't let shame overrun the intense thrill that all of this is giving me.

Mr. Portland removes my panties, leaving me with nothing on but my black skirt, before he pushes my legs apart, exposing myself to his hungry eyes. A rush of heat spreads through my body as his gaze fixates on my entrance.

"Fuck, what a good girl you are. You're dripping wet for me, so welcoming," he assesses - and I almost die of embarrassment.

His eyes move from my center up to my eyes, his dark with mischief.

"You know I must taste you," he whispers.

Before I have a chance to process this particular announcement, he's down on his knees, his face disappearing from my line of sight and his hands wandering along the inside of my upper thighs.

A few moments later, I can feel his breath on my wet core. I inhale sharply, paralyzed by his actions and tense with anticipation.

He leans forward, his lips meeting my entrance. I arch my back, moaning as he starts to lick along my swollen labia, left first, then right, then left again. He starts drawing circles with his tongue around my throbbing nub, driving me crazy with need. I want him to move closer to the center, to touch my most sensitive spot, the pulsating center, the hub of my longing.

His circles are getting smaller, drawing closer to my swollen clit. When he finally draws his tongue across that magical spot, I can't suppress a loud moan of relief, arching my back and spreading my legs as wide as possible.

He hums with relish, working my throbbing center with his skillful tongue. I squirm on his desk, the hard surface pressing against my back, as I bathe in his treatment. He adds a finger, gliding inside my wetness with ease, then another, stretching me gently while his tongue continues working its magic.

I'm going to come. Soon.

Does he want me to come?

He bends his finger inside of me, finding another spot to increase my pleasure. I groan, hitting my elbow on the table as I lift my arms in a spasm.

"I'm gonna c-"

He stops. A mere second before my orgasm explodes, he withdraws his face and fingers at once, getting back up on his feet and looking down at me with dark and narrowed eyes.

"No, you're not," he says.

I stare at him, my cheeks flushed with heat and a sudden sense of shame overcoming me in light of my exposed position.

"Get up," he says, reaching his hand out for me to hold.

I sigh and take his helping hand to sit up on the edge of the desk, folding my hands in my lap and looking up at him expectantly.

He leans down and grants me a kiss on the lips. A passionate but quick peck, nothing more. I can taste myself on him. His face remains close to mine, looking at me with his characteristic attentiveness. I wait for the next command as I stare into the darkness of his eyes.

Instead of telling me what to do, he holds me by the shoulders and helps me to sit up. His hands are back on my tortured nipples a moment later, and he regards them with a painful squeeze before he continues.

"Get down from the table and turn around," he says. "Hands on the table, ass to me."

I obey and reluctantly place my hand at the edge of table, turning my back to him.

"You can look prettier than that," he says. "Arch your back. Show me that pretty ass."

I blush as I follow his command.

"Good girl."

His praise sends another wave of lust through my core, and I flinch with arousal when I feel his strong hands on my bare behind. He caresses the pale skin on my ass cheeks, and just as I'm beginning to relax and lean into his gentle touch, he withdraws his hands and uses one of them to land a painful slap on my ass.

I yelp, biting my tongue a moment later. I can't be loud in here.

"Hush!" he warns. "You deserve this."

His hand lands on my ass again, and again, sending hot stings of pain ringing through my entire body. It hurts more with every strike against my flesh, the fiery song of ache drowning out every other thought and sound. Yet, I find myself hollowing my back between every blow, my entrance hot and wet with desire, begging for him to touch me again. To be inside me.

I have never been spanked before, and especially not like this. It hurts a lot more than I thought it would, and it feels a lot better than I ever imagined.

I'm panting and sweating by the time he stops. My body is processing the pain, while my mind tries to cope with the fact that I'm more aroused than I've ever been in my entire life.

I'm burning, desire throbbing through my entire being. I feel as if I could come instantly, with just the touch of the tip of his finger. 

But he has other plans.

"Get dressed," he whispers from behind. "We're done for today."

A wave of horror unfolds through my body.

What? He's sending me home like this? After all he did?

"I thought we were just getting started...," I whisper helplessly as I stand up and turn around to him, ready to get down on my knees and beg him to finish me off. I'd do just about anything for a proper climax right now. He can't leave things like this!

"We are," he concurs. "You've a lot to learn, Lana. The first lesson is that you will be punished for bad behavior."

I'm suddenly aware of my own nakedness, and quickly fix my skirt to cover myself as best as I can, lowering my eyes in the process.

"And this is how you punish me? By leading me on and then humiliating me by not stopping when..."

My voice breaks off. I feel so utterly ashamed. I never knew how crushing it could feel to be denied a climax when it was already within reach.

I flinch when his hand touches my cheek, softly caressing the skin along my jaw line, and then he puts his index finger beneath my chin and lifts my head up to look at him.

"I did not lead you on," he says. "But, yes, this is how I'm punishing you for being such a condescending brat during our first encounter. For rolling your eyes at me and for failing to show me the respect I deserve."

Asshole.

Tears are threatening to appear. My vision blurs as I fight them. I'm not going to cry. How pathetic would that be? To cry like a baby because I wasn't allowed to come.

But it's so much more than that.

Mr. Portland observes me with a smile. There's nothing cunning or mean about it, no spitefulness. Yet, I can't help hating him in this moment.

"You sweet, sweet girl," he whispers. "You'll learn. And you'll be better next time, right?"

Next time? Is he going to do this again? Knock down my walls of protection just to humiliate me in the long run? So I could learn? Learn what?

To obey. To submit.

"Excuse me," I say, evading his touch as I turn to the pile of clothes on the chair. "I have to go."

"Yes, you do," he agrees.