Chapter Six
During the next week they continued by unspoken agreement to pretend at school that they didn’t know each other. She loved having their times together be completely separate from the ‘real’ world; a private Narnia they could visit where everything was different, and magic could happen.
Another agreement they made without even realizing it was to take things more lightly for a while. On afternoons when he didn’t have other commitments, such as the yearbook committee, he took to waiting for her around the first turn she made on her way home. She would find him sitting under a tree there, and she would get off her bike and he would walk her as far as her driveway, and then a little way in from the road. There she would put down her bike’s kickstand, and they would hold each other and kiss and press themselves against each other for a few minutes, but that was all.
What Peter didn’t realize was that what he probably thought of as ‘taking it easy’, Jane thought of as ‘getting him off guard’. So when she told him about her parents’ Saturday-night meetings (he had been lucky that first time) and invited him over, she figured that he was probably expecting nothing more than a little snuggle and smooch, maybe with some light groping thrown in.
His first intimation that maybe the evening was going to proceed a little differently than he had imagined was when he walked up the porch steps, shortly after her parents’ car had vanished down the drive, and found the front door swinging slowly open before he could knock…with nobody waiting inside.
He stuck his head in, called softly–“Jane?”–advanced a few more steps, called again, a little more loudly…and realized, actually an instant before he heard the door swinging shut behind him, that he had fallen for the oldest trick in the book.
Which, as it turned out, he didn’t mind very much–or, to be honest, even remember what he’d been thinking about an instant before–when he had whirled around to find her closing the door by leaning against it, arms crossed, and wearing only a pair of frilly pink panties. And an expression of pure mischief.
He had barely enough time to register this surprise when she gave him another by jumping up and throwing her arms around his neck while simultaneously swinging her legs off the ground so he would have to catch her in his arms. When he had done so, and was staring down, open-mouthed, at what he had caught, she kissed him greedily, slipping her tongue into his mouth for a moment.
When she withdrew, leaving him wide-eyed and gasping, she leaned towards his ear and whispered, “My bedroom’s at the top of the stairs on the right.” Said the spider to the fly, she thought to herself. And then lay her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes as if going to sleep.
When they were in the dimly lit bedroom and he had gently lowered her onto her bed, she slowly opened her eyes like Sleeping Beauty, stretched provocatively, arching her back and then running her hands down her thighs, and said, “That was so nice. I think you deserve another kiss.”
She reached up and took his hands in hers and slowly drew him down to lie beside her. Gently rolled him onto his back then climbed on top of him and straddled his chest. She took one of his wrists in each hand and slowly stretched his arms over his head as she leaned down to kiss him, running her hands up and down his arms.
Then she slipped the loop of nylon, which she had fashioned earlier out of her much-despised pantyhose then fastened to the headboard and hidden behind the pillow, over his hands and quickly tightened it around his wrists.
Quickly she jumped off the bed and snared each of his ankles in similar loops hidden at the foot of the bed…leaving him spread-eagled, helpless and speechless with astonishment.
When she was satisfied that he was securely tied, she once again straddled his chest, looking down into his stupefied face. She leaned down close to him, sliding her hands under the pillow beneath his head as if embracing him. She smiled teasingly, and said, “Why, Peter, I don’t believe you’ve said one word to me since you got here. Aren’t you even going to say hello?”
And when at last he opened his mouth to say something–not ‘Hello’, was her guess–she had swiftly withdrawn her hands from under the pillow and stuffed into his mouth a pair of her oldest, rottenest, most stained and otherwise disreputable panties, which she had hidden there. Which, moreover, she had taken the precaution of wearing day and night all that week.
His response, although certainly energetic and possibly eloquent, was in fact indecipherable.
She waited for him to finish–or give up, it was hard to tell–and said, “Why, Peter, I thought you liked panties. You certainly seemed to like those other ones of mine. Do you like these?” She rose to her knees and struck his favorite pose, rolling her hips sinuously back and forth so that they almost touched his face, and giving him a good look at her small–but nicely shaped, she thought–naked breasts.
And now she saw in his eyes a hint of a smile: an appreciative look that said, ‘Okay, I get it, this is a payback’. And he managed to nod.
But she was far from done with him. She said, “I thought you might. They look really nice from behind, too.” and, reversing herself, leaned her elbows down to the bed on either side of his pelvis, putting her frill-covered behind in near communion with his nose. She waved it lazily back and forth in front of him, saying, “Do you still think I have a cute little ass?”
Then: “Peter, I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
From her current position she could hardly help noticing that he had become aroused. No surprise there.
She said, “Peter, you really should learn how to iron your clothes…there’s a big lump right here.”–placing her hand on his zipper and moving it slowly up and down as if trying to smooth it out.
His response to this would have been understood in any language.
She opened his pants, unzipped them and pushed them down onto his thighs, leaving his erection still trapped inside his white briefs.
“Darn!” she said. “It’s still there. Maybe we need to apply more pressure.”
And with that she had reversed herself again, now straddling his hips. She settled herself onto the bulging outline of his cock, drawing a predictable response. She smiled at him and said, “Why, Peter–you look all over-heated. Here…”
She pushed his t-shirt up to his shoulders, then pulled it over his head and up to his bound wrists. She allowed her fingers to trail sensuously back down his arms and onto his now exposed chest, running her fingertips through the curly hair there, then beginning to circle and lightly pinch his nipples as she began moving her hips slowly back and forth on top of him.
He had by now closed his eyes and was beginning to speak in a language that was familiar to her, the words of which were mostly spelled with the letter ‘n’. For a moment, she too allowed herself to close her eyes and enjoy feeling him slide back and forth underneath her. She even began to answer him in the same language.
But she didn’t allow herself to surrender completely, and when she sensed that he was close to climaxing she suddenly jumped off him and stood beside the bed. He stared at her in disbelief.
She said, “Well, Peter, if you’re not going to even talk to me, I’ll go find something else to do.”
And she marched out of the room, to the accompaniment of a somewhat muffled scream.
She was actually gone only long enough to make a short visit to the bathroom. When she returned she was holding a jar of Vaseline. She sat down on the edge of the bed and rested a hand on the front of his briefs, giving the still-burgeoning erection beneath a short caress.
“Poor thing,” she cooed, “he’s all cramped in there. Don’t you think he’d like to come out?”
Peter nodded with comic vigor, now almost cross-eyed with desire and frustration.
Jane smiled sweetly and said, “All right.”
She put the jar on her night table and straddled his thighs before gently lifting the elastic of his briefs and pulling them down over his cock, leaning forward and giving the head a tiny kiss as she did so. Then she untied one of his ankles long enough to slide his pants and underwear free, leaving them bunched at the foot of the other.
After she had retied his ankle she went and stood at the foot of the bed. And just looked at him for a while, enjoying the sight of him stretched out naked in front of her with a huge erection and completely at her mercy. She saw that he was grinning at her–no small trick with his mouth full like that–and was sure that he knew exactly what she was thinking.
She went and retrieved the Vaseline from her night-table and, reseating herself on the edge of the bed, opened the jar and applied just the tiniest dab to the head of his cock, using the tip of one finger to smooth it on, making little circles around the edge as she did so, and then grasping the shaft lightly with the other hand to make sure she could reach the part in back. This caused Peter to begin speaking in the ‘n’ language again and she knew he was dying for release. But she continued to smooth on the jelly in little dabs with the tip of her finger, gradually coating the shaft, and then his sack–nearly driving him mad as she did so.
But he definitely took notice when she slipped a grease-covered finger between the cheeks of his rear end. If he’d been able to think at that point he might have been glad that she kept her nails short–especially when it began to slowly worm its way into his passage, and then just as slowly out again, before repeating the process.
He was beginning to writhe a little, and his vocabulary had expanded to include the letter ‘e’…which Jane took to mean the word ‘please’.
But he had no words left at all when she reached over to her night-table and picked up a wooden hairbrush and, kneeling between his legs, laid it, face up, next to his cock. It had a long cylindrical handle, rounded at the end, and was thus quite similar in size and shape.
And in case he hadn’t made the connection yet, she picked it up…and began coating the handle with Vaseline.
When he saw this his vocabulary suddenly expanded again, to include ‘o’. As in: No. Oh no.
To no avail, of course.
She did unto him pretty much as he had done unto her.
And once he–and his passage–had gotten used to the idea, he obviously actually found it, as she had, erotic in the extreme, especially when she used her other hand to encircle his cock and slide up and down it in the same rhythm as she was using with the hairbrush. Which gradually increased, until he was thrashing around on the bed as much as his bonds would allow and screaming in the ‘n’ language.
And when she sensed that he had nearly reached the point of orgasm, she slid her free hand down onto his sack and…squeezed.
The resulting climax propelled drops of his juice as high as his forehead, and more certainly would have landed in his gaping mouth if it hadn’t already been full.
When he had finally subsided, she removed the panties from his mouth and solicitously wiped the come from his face and chest with them, saying, as if reciting a language lesson, “You came all over yourself. There is come on your face.”
Then she sat on the edge of the bed, and looking down at him with a somewhat malicious twinkle in her eyes, asked, “What do you think?”
He looked back, his eyes still slightly unfocussed, smiled weakly, and said, “I think I need a new slave. And some mouthwash. And probably a laxative. Whew.”
She laughed out loud, and kissed him, saying, “You’re not mad?” and he had replied that he guessed he’d had it coming, so to speak. Which made her laugh and groan simultaneously.
But when he asked her if he could get up now, she shook her head. Then she stood up, slipped her panties to the floor and stepped out of them. She climbed onto the bed and straddled his shoulders, positioning herself so that she was right above his mouth.
“Lick.” she said.
Chapter Seven
Afterwards, when she had caught her breath, she untied him, removing the rest of his clothing as she did so. Then she lay down beside him, snuggling into his armpit and laying her head on his shoulder, smiling as she realized that after all of their encounters this was the first time they’d been naked together. She was surprised at how easy it was.
She glanced over at her bedside clock. Her parents weren’t due back for at least another half-hour. She settled in with a contented sigh, her gaze traveling lazily from the forest of wiry chest-hairs in front of her down to his now fragile-seeming cock, lying small and soft against his abdomen, then to his legs, gradually disappearing into soft focus, his feet a distant mountain range.
He used his free hand to wipe her moisture from around his mouth, stretched and yawned, then was silent for a while. Then, as if addressing the ceiling, he said, “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”
She nodded without replying, knowing he would feel it. After a while, she said, as if speaking to herself, “I really like it when you…make me do things. You know, when we pretend I’m your slave. It’s like it’s okay that I’m doing all these things because I ‘have’ to do them, you know?” She half saw, half felt him nodding above her. “And I…I even like it when you…punish me for being bad. I don’t know why, but I do.”
She raised herself onto one elbow so she could look into his eyes, then found herself unable to do so as she continued, “I was kind of scared when I was tied to that chair and you started to…put your cock inside me. I thought it was going to hurt and I couldn’t tell you to stop with my mouth full like that. That’s what scared me.”
She was silent for a moment, remembering. “But then it didn’t hurt, it felt good. And when you started touching me while you did it–oh god, that was so…I thought I’d…”
She fell silent again. She glanced up at him, then quickly away, and said, “I even liked it that you didn’t ask me, really…” She raised her eyes to his and continued, “…but that still doesn’t make it right.”
He held her gaze as he nodded, soberly. Then he smiled and said, “Well, I guess I know how you felt, don’t I?” He continued to smile as he continued, “You’re pretty feisty for a slave; I don’t think real slaves tied up their masters and shoved things up their butts. Not without being asked, anyway.”
His smile became a grin as he shook his head in disbelief, adding, “Whew. That was intense.”
“Did you like it?” she asked.
“I guess I must have,” he replied, after a moment. “I mean, you saw what happened. I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard.” He raised his eyebrows comically. “At least, not by myself.” Jane smiled at this but said nothing as Peter went on, “But I think I like it better the other way around–you know, when I’m telling you what to do. And I think you do too, at least most of the time, right?”
She nodded, her face serious.
He continued, “I don’t know why I like it so much either.” He thought for a moment. “It makes me feel powerful when you pretend you have to do what I tell you, and I like that… But it’s also more because you’re willing to pretend. I mean, that first time, I know you weren’t pretending, you were really scared, and that’s why I felt so bad after. But now it feels like…if you’re willing to do all this stuff with me…” He looked down, and she saw him begin to blush as he went on, “then maybe you…really do like me.”
Jane burst out laughing. Then, seeing the startled look on his face, bent down and kissed him, warmly. “You idiot!” she said, still laughing. “I can’t believe you even thought I might not like you.”
She rolled over on top of him, her face close to his, and said, more softly, “I even liked you on that first day, even though I hated you too. When you came back and kissed me, I could tell you were sorry you’d scared me and made me cry. And anyway, you knew darn well that I started to like it by the end.
“And that’s another thing. I wouldn’t keep letting you tell me what to do if I didn’t really like it, no matter how much I like you. I mean, I enjoyed tonight, but that was just to pay you back for not asking. But the other night, when you…tied me up, there was just something about it…about being completely helpless, and knowing that you could do whatever you wanted with me, that just made me feel so…I don’t know, sexy, I guess. And then when you said I was beautiful and you pulled up my dress and were just…looking at me, it was even more–god, I just loved it. It made me feel like I was beautiful. Special.”
He hugged her tightly for a moment, and kissed her. Then he shook his head slightly and said, “Jane, don’t you know how beautiful you are? I never noticed you until that night I caught you in the coatroom, and even then… When I walked into the bathroom that first time I wasn’t even sure what I was going to do; I thought maybe I’d make you give me half of what you stole, or something. I figured you were just some creep.
“Then when you took off your glasses, and I saw how pretty you were, and it was like I was the first person to ever see you…like you’d been in disguise all the time we’d been in the same school. You were so beautiful…” His face darkened. “And then when I saw how scared you were, and I wanted to touch you so bad, and I thought maybe I could make you… Well, you know.”
He looked away.
“I know. It’s all right,” Jane said softly
“I couldn’t believe it when you took your dress off and let me look at you. God, you looked so sexy in your bra and panties I almost came right then.”
She pictured that moment in her mind: her dress in a heap at her ankles, her sweater on the floor. Feeling his desire, his eyes devouring her. She felt her nipples begin to stir just from the memory.
He must have noticed, because he leaned down and kissed each of them for a moment, teasing them with the tip of his tongue until they were fully erect. Then he rolled onto his back and continued as if nothing had happened. “I mean, I told you the other night how much I love seeing you in your underwear. God, even the word ‘panties’is sexy to me.”
She raised herself on one arm and smiled down at him. “Really?”
He nodded.
Her smile continued, but her eyes got a playful glint in them. She lowered herself to whisper in his ear, “So you like looking at me in my…panties?” Drawing out the last word like an incantation.
And felt him stir.
She raised herself again and leaned over him far enough to snag from the floor the panties she’d been wearing earlier. Then she lay back down beside him and with one hand dragged her panties lightly over his already stiffening cock, just barely tickling it with the frills, knowing he could see it while she whispered, “And you like making me lift up my skirt so you can see my…panties?”
This time she licked his ear after she said it, heard him breathe in sharply, and saw his cock spring nearly erect.
Again she trailed her panties over it, pressing lightly with her fingers. He moaned, and she began to rub gently up and down as she cooed, her lips against his ear, “And you like it when I spread my legs so you can feel my…pussy…through my panties?”
He was writhing in earnest now, raising his hips and trying to press himself against her hand as she stroked him.
She wrapped the panties around his cock and began to pump in time with his accelerating breathing. When she felt he was nearing his climax she leaned in and whispered, “What if my parents came in right now…and saw me…rubbing your cock…with my panties?”
At this, with a huge groan, he exploded a second time, his come not traveling as far as before, but his back arching upwards until he was supported only by his feet and shoulders for a moment before he flopped back down with a loud exhalation and lay there, breathing in gasps, his mouth open.
When he was able to talk he opened his eyes, looked dazedly up at her and said, “Are you sure you want to be my slave? God, I think I’m yours.”
She smiled and kissed him, then ran quickly to the bathroom, returning with a wet washcloth. She cleaned him up, then kissed him again and said, “Next time, I’ll be your slave. But my parents really are coming home any second.”
She lay on the bed, watching him dress, then rose and, still naked, took his hand and accompanied him down to the front door. He kissed her, quickly but warmly, then turned and opened the door. She reached out and flipped on the porch light for him, but as she did so he grabbed her arm and pulled her outside onto the porch.
Before she could react he had wrapped his arms around her and kissed her deeply, his tongue slithering into her mouth, his hands gliding down her back, cupping and caressing her naked buttocks as he pressed her against him.
Now it was her turn to imagine her parents coming home–and finding her being kissed and fondled, naked, on the front porch. This vision, along with what he was doing, was enough to send her into another orgasm, and she held onto him tightly, gasping, as her hips jerked involuntarily against his.
When she had finished, he had simply smiled, kissed her again lightly, and said, “See you in school…slave,” and walked off into the night, his footsteps crunching on the gravel.
Chapter Eight
“Do you want to go to the Graduation Ball with me?”
He got up from under the tree where he’d been waiting for her, grinning at the look of bewilderment on her face. She’d hardly stopped her bike in front of him when he’d said it and was now at a complete loss. He gave her a quick hug where she stood straddling her bike, and said, “Sorry. Guess I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that. C’mon, let’s walk.”
They continued along their usual route back to her house while he explained. “I wasn’t planning to go, but my Dad… I can’t figure him out. We get along okay, but sometimes I think he’s mad at me all the time and doesn’t even know it. Ever since my mother… Well, I told you about that. Maybe it’s ’cause I look kinda like her, I don’t know. Anyway, it’s like he wants to keep me at a safe distance, in case I…you know, turn out to be like her, or something.”
He looked straight ahead as he walked beside her, his voice tight with shame.
“But this morning, out of the blue he suddenly asked me about the prom and whether I was going–I have no idea why. Maybe he suddenly remembered I’m graduating this year and put two and two together,” he added bitterly. “I told him I hadn’t thought about it, and that it was a little late anyway since the Ball’s next week, but he went on and on about what once-in-a-lifetime thing it was, and offered to pay for the tux and everything. I can’t figure him out at all. I mean, he completely forgot my Senior Prom in high school.”
He kicked at a small rock in the road, then turned his face to her and smiled. “So…you wanna go?”
She continued to walk on in silence.
He said, “C’mon, it’ll be fun. Nobody knows we even know each other. Think of how shocked they’ll be if we show up together.”
Finally, Jane said, “Peter, I’d love to, but…well, for one thing, I don’t think my parents can afford to buy me a formal gown. I told you how broke we are right now.”
His face fell. “Right. I didn’t even think about that. Sorry. And I don’t guess Dad’d want to spring for that too. We don’t have a lot of money either, what with paying to have my mother taken care of, and all. Damn.”
She leaned over and bumped his shoulder with hers. “It’s all right.”
They walked along for a while, lost in thought, then she said, “Anyway, I like having us…just be for us, you know?”
He nodded, then suddenly turned and hugged her so fiercely that she would have dropped the bike if it hadn’t fallen against her. And then she heard him say, softly, “I love you.”
Everything went still inside her. Then it was as if something hard in her chest had suddenly melted and she said, her voice a little quavery, “Oh Peter, I love you too.”
They stood looking at each other for a moment, then quickly turned away, embarrassed, and began to walk again.
After a long silence, she said, “I still think you should go to the prom.” He looked at her. She continued, “Your Dad’s right. You’re graduating. You should go, if it’s not too late to find someone.”
She gave him a smile that was a little sad. “Then next year when I’m graduating you can come home from Kenton College and take me to mine, okay?”
He’d argued with her the rest of the way but she had persisted, and finally he had reluctantly agreed to see if there was anyone to go with. Two days later he’d told her that one of the girls from his drama club group had agreed to go with him, although apparently not very pleased with the short notice.
The night of the ball she stayed home. She tried to watch television. She tried not to picture herself, beautiful as Cinderella, entering the hall on his arm.
She tried not to cry.
She went to bed early.
She was awakened by the sound of something rattling against her window. Her clock said it was 2:30 in the morning. She peered sleepily out the window and saw him, immaculate in his black tie and tuxedo, looking up at her.
He was wreathed in mist, and for a moment she thought she might be dreaming that she was awake. But then he beckoned to her, and she made her way silently downstairs and outside to him, pausing only to slip on a pair of rubber sandals. His white dress shirt seemed to give off a bluish glow in the moonlight and his face above it seemed dreamlike as she approached.
“Peggy got drunk and passed out early,” he’d whispered when she was near enough to hear. “About what I expected. I took her home and left her in a rocking chair on her front porch. Hope she doesn’t get seasick.”
She smiled at him, then yawned, and excused herself, asking, “How did you get here? Walk?”
“No. Dad let me have the car tonight. But I parked at the end of your driveway and walked up so your folks wouldn’t hear me.”
He had been holding one hand behind his back as they whispered, and now he extended it to her, saying, “They sure looked at me funny when I ordered two.”
In his hand was a white cardboard box with a wide purple ribbon and bow around it.
She took it from him. Inside, when she’d managed to slip the ribbon off and remove the lid, she found a corsage of red rosebuds.
She looked up at him and smiled. And began to cry, just a little.
He wiped her tears away with his thumb, smiling at her, then took the corsage and pinned it, with some difficulty, to the shoulder of the oversize white t-shirt she was wearing as a nightgown.
Then he took her right hand in his left and, placing his other hand in the small of her back, began to dance with her there on the lawn, quietly humming a tune to her as they waltzed in and out of the drifting mist. After a while he let go of her hand and simply held her as they danced, ghostly figures in someone else’s dream.
When the song ended, he bowed formally over her hand, and she curtsied in reply. They looked at each other, happy in this perfect moment.
Then he got a mischievous look in his eyes, and, leaning close, whispered, “I want to show you something. Undo my pants.”
She felt jarred by this, as if he had broken the sweetness of the moment with his request. Nevertheless she sank to her knees in the cool, dewy grass. She unbuckled and unzipped his pants and let them fall around his ankles.
There was something familiar looking about his underwear but it was mostly obscured by his shirt, so she lifted the ends above his waist to look. His underwear was way too small, for one thing, stretched to the limit across his hips and not even reaching halfway to his navel. And that pattern… Boys his age didn’t wear briefs with patterns, especially–she peered more closely–large and small red hearts.
A small hole where one had been cut out.
She dropped his shirt and quickly clapped both hands over her mouth to stifle her giggles. He had worn her panties to the prom!
She looked up to see him grinning down at her, saying, “I thought you’d like that. And, in case you were wondering: yes, I washed them first.”
This caused her giggles to redouble, to the point where he had to drop to his knees as well and muffle her, by pressing her face to his chest and wrapping his tuxedo jacket around her, until she was able to control herself again.
Eventually she raised her head, tears of laughter in her eyes, shoulders still shaking slightly, and managed to say, “P-p-peter, that is so…so…s-sweet!” before collapsing into giggles again, although not as helplessly as before.
When she recovered she raised her face to his and kissed him. She allowed her hand to drift between his legs and began to stroke him there, but he gently took her hand away and, holding it, said, “No. I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you tonight.”
He struggled to his feet and helped her up, then raised and re-fastened his pants. Then he took her face in his hands, kissed her, and said, “Go back to bed. I’ll see you soon.”
He kissed her again, then turned away, walking silently in the grass along the driveway until he disappeared.
She waited until she heard the distant sounds of his car starting up and driving away before going back inside.
She unpinned the corsage from her shirt and slept with it beside her pillow all night long, its perfume coloring her dreams.
Chapter Nine
“Have you ever wanted to be invisible?”
Jane had been waiting in line to get into the cafeteria for lunch when the sound of his voice made her start and turn around…to find him standing behind her and pretending to read the book he held open in his hands.
She had never told him about being the Invisible Girl.
She still often felt invisible when she wasn’t with him, especially when she was at home. But it seemed to her that lately, she was gradually, if sporadically, becoming more visible.
She had, of course, started paying more attention to her clothing for his sake. Recently, however, she had also started removing her glasses when she didn’t absolutely need them, such as between classes, or now, at lunchtime. She had even started wearing a lighter version of the make-up she had worn the night of the dance.
And somehow that had been enough to bring her into focus for some people. Two girlfriends with whom she had hardly spoken since high school had sat down with her at lunch and begun talking with her as if no time at all had passed, and had even invited her to a slumber party one of them was having. Boys she hardly knew sometimes said hello to her in the hallway, greeting her by name, which shocked her. Another girl she knew had come up to her and told her that a certain boy had asked her to find out if Jane was going out with anyone. She’d had no idea how to reply and had finally muttered something vaguely meant to be discouraging.
And just yesterday she had stood in front of her English class and read an essay, and while she still found the experience unnerving it hadn’t been absolutely petrifying. The teacher had even complimented her on the improvement in her delivery. As she sat down she’d noticed that she was actually breathing somewhat normally. She’d wondered, half-seriously, if being a slave could somehow give a person more confidence.
But her relationship with Peter was something she definitely wanted to keep invisible. So it seemed a violation of their agreement to hear him speak to her in public like this, even if he was pretending he hadn’t.
But it was kind of fun, too, like spies pretending not to know each other as they exchanged secret codes. There was no one behind him and, checking, she saw that the two girls in front of her were engaged in animated discussion. She moved away from them somewhat, turned her head slightly as if looking at something down the hall, and replied, barely moving her lips: “Sometimes. Why?”
Without looking up from his book, he replied, in the same fashion, “Oh, I was just thinking how cool it would be if you and I were both invisible right now.”
“Why?”
He darted a quick glance and smile at her. “Because then you could lift up your dress, right here in front of everybody. And I could get down in front of you…and kiss your thighs…pull down your panties…and lick your pussy. You look very nice, by the way.”
And with that he had closed his book and walked casually away, as if he’d suddenly decided the line was too long, leaving her as red-faced with embarrassment–and desire–as if he’d spoken loud enough for everyone around her to hear.
Later that afternoon she found him in the library, sitting in her favorite place. She thought for a moment. Then she walked towards him, as if she were going to speak to him–she saw him glance up at her in surprise–but instead swerved all the way behind him and continued on until she was in the part of the room that was hidden from the rest of the library by bookshelves. This area was, as usual, deserted. She stopped and turned towards where he was sitting. She saw him shift his position so that he could see her while still appearing to be reading his book.
Then, holding his gaze, she reached down with both hands and slowly began to lift up her dress, watching his expression as she gradually exposed first her panties, then her belly, and finally her bra. She cupped her breasts with both hands and toyed with them for a moment, then continued to hold up her dress with one hand while the other slid sensuously down over her belly to slide slowly in and out between her legs a few times.
Then she simply let her dress fall back into place and walked out of the library.
Chapter Ten
The next morning as Jane walked into her first class of the day her teacher handed her an envelope. It was official Ridgeton Community College stationery–the return address was embossed in the upper left-hand corner–and her name was typed in the address section.
Inside it was a form letter telling Jane that she was scheduled for a “Disciplinary Hearing” with her Student Advisor that afternoon.
For a moment her mind went completely blank. She hadn’t known there was such a thing as a Student Advisor at Ridgeton and could not for the life of her recall anything she had done that would require a meeting with this one.
When she examined the form more closely, however, she saw that she was to report to a “Mr. Peters”. And in the section marked “Reason for Meeting” was written, “Being a very bad little girl.”
Oh god, he was going to punish her again. Make her do humiliating things. Spank her. Or worse.
She could hardly wait.
All day long–and the day seemed extremely long, crawling by with excruciating slowness–she would suddenly snap back to the present and realize that she had again drifted off into a fantasy, combining elements of things he had done to her with feverish imaginings of things that he might do, or make her do.
She had to restrain herself from sneaking off into the girls’ bathroom to touch herself; she wanted to let the anticipation build. Near the end of the day she did allow herself to visit there, but only to use the toilet, and to check her appearance. She hoped he would like the way she was dressed (He was so cute to say that yesterday, right after talking so dirty to her.) in a rose-print blouse, matching dark red skirt and a wide black belt, plus her usual penny loafers and white knee socks.
When the school day finally ended she had to force herself to dawdle, to take her time closing up her books and putting away her notebooks and pens and glasses while the classroom emptied out, when what she wanted to do was simply jump up and run to find the room designated on the meeting form.
She wanted to see him looking at her as she took her clothes off…hear him telling her to do things she shouldn’t do…feel him violating her with his fingers and his cock. When she finally stood up to leave she could hardly walk for the quivering sensation between her legs.
She made her way with deliberate slowness down the hall to her locker and stored all her books and supplies there. Then she followed the classroom numbers until she reached the back part of the building, where she found the one she was looking for.
The window in the door was covered over from the inside with pink construction paper, on which the words “Yearbook Staff” had been scrawled in black magic marker. Ah. Peter had been on the yearbook staff, and although the yearbook was now complete he would still have a key. After quickly making sure there was no one around, she knocked.
When the door opened, though, she thought she must have come to the wrong room by mistake. The man who opened the door was obviously college faculty, judging by the badly fitting blue suit and striped tie, the slicked-down hair and the heavy, black-framed eyeglasses. She wondered for one panic-stricken moment if this really was Mr. Peters, a faculty member she hadn’t seen before.
But then she remembered the “bad little girl” line on her form and simultaneously noticed that the somber glasses frames had no lenses in them. Oh god, it was…
“Miss Harkin? I’m Mr. Peters. Come in, please.”
He held the door open for her and shut it behind her as she walked in. The front half of the room looked like any classroom in the school: an old wooden desk and chair; a blackboard running the length of the wall behind them; and facing them, several rows of combination chair-desks. The back of the room held the only residual evidence of yearbook activity: several long tables littered with layout sheets, rulers, scissors, marking pencils and glue. The back wall held a chaotic montage of black & white photos in various sizes. The venetian blinds at the far side of the room were closed.
“Sit right there, Miss Harkin,” he said, gesturing to the seat directly facing the wooden desk.
“Yes, Mr. Peters,” she replied, trying not to smile. She sat, and looked at him expectantly.
He pulled out the wooden chair and sat down at the desk, facing her. He opened the book that was lying there, and began to read.
For a few moments she simply sat there looking at him, enjoying his transformation. She thought he must have borrowed the glasses, and probably the suit, from the drama department. The heavy black frames, combined with the cheap suit, the longish sideburns and the slick hair, made him look more like an intellectual gangster than a faculty member, really. It was so cute!
But…when was he going to do something to her?
All day long she’d been imagining walking into a room like this and immediately being made to bend over, or kneel in front of him, or something. The quivering sensation between her legs had only increased since she’d sat down. She wanted him to come kneel in front of her and spread her legs apart with his hands, to kiss and nuzzle her there…
He turned a page.
Minutes went by.
He turned another page.
Was this some kind of reverse punishment? To let her imagine all kinds of things, get herself all worked up, and then ignore her?
When he turned another page she was ready to scream. Instead, she forced herself to think.
After a moment she lifted her feet onto the metal rung between the front chair legs. Then she put her head down as if tired, resting it in the crook of her left arm and leaving her right hand lying in her lap.
She waited until she heard him turn another page. Then, little by little, as if dozing and unaware, she allowed her knees to begin drifting apart. Soon her legs were gaping, giving him, she believed, a clear view up her skirt. She wished she’d worn something prettier than the plain yellow cotton panties she had on, knowing how much he liked such things, but at least they went with her outfit.
She waited.
And heard him turn a page.
Hmm…
She allowed her right hand to creep forward, grasp the hem of her skirt and pull it, by infinitesimal degrees, up to her waist so that her panties were almost completely exposed. He could hardly pretend he didn’t notice now.
Another page was turned.
O-kay, she thought.
She slowly slipped her hand between her legs and began to caress herself, not caring if he was watching or not.
She called up the memory of being tied to a chair in this position, her skirt up like this. Imagined him standing before her, touching her there with the conductor’s baton. Remembered that day in the library, touching herself under the table while he watched. Remembered her panties suddenly sliding down her legs, the feel of his lips there, his tongue sliding up and down…
“Miss Harkin!”
She sat up so quickly that she felt dizzy for a moment and it took several seconds to focus on “Mr. Peters”, who was glaring at her as if outraged.
“Miss Harkin, I am shocked by your behavior! You should be ashamed of yourself! What do you mean by such a vulgar display!”
Vulgar display? Where had he come up with that? Drama club?
“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Peters.”
“You certainly should be. Why, I have a good mind to… Stand up, Miss Harkin.”
She did so, her skirt falling back into place.
“Turn around.” She turned so that her back was to him.
“Now, show the whole class exactly what you were doing.”
The whole what?
Then she understood.
She whirled around to face him. “Oh please, no, Mr. Peters!” she cried in mock distress. “I’m sorry, really I am. I won’t do it again, I promise! Please, Mr. Peters, don’t make me…”
He slammed his hand down on the desktop, silencing her. Then in a cold, quiet voice, he said, “Do it, Miss Harkin. Now.”
With feigned reluctance she turned to face the empty classroom. She pictured her English class sitting there, looking at her as they’d looked when she’d read her essay to them. Imagined them, boys and girls she knew, watching as she reached down and began to raise her skirt…
She turned back to ‘Mr. Peters’ as if to beg one more time to be let off, but was stopped by his glare and a pointed forefinger, indicating that she was to go on.
She faced the classroom again, and slowly raised her skirt up to her waist.
She pictured the whole class–the boys, especially–leaning forward intently as her panties were exposed to them. Pictured it so clearly that she blushed and felt her eyes fill with tears of humiliation.
For a moment, she tried to shake off the fantasy, to remember that she was alone with him; that no one else could see what she was doing.
But then, without knowing why, she surrendered to it, allowed it to fill her mind and take her over: she was standing in front of her English class, holding up her skirt, letting them all see…
She couldn’t bear it! Tears running down her face, throat tight with shame, she turned her head and said, nearly sobbing, “P-please…Mr. Peters…”
“I’ll tell you when to stop, Miss Harkin. Go on. Show them what you were doing.”
She began to sob in earnest as she held her skirt up with her left hand and, moving her legs apart, began stroking herself between her legs with her right. She imagined the shocked look on her classmates’ faces.
Then she pictured several of the boys trying stealthily to touch the sudden bulge in their pants as they watched her. This made her smile, even as she continued to cry. And she found that it excited her as well.
“Are you all right, Jane?”
It was Peter’s normal voice: concerned, not knowing how much of what she was doing was pretend. She nodded twice, vigorously, still sobbing.
“Very well,” came the cold voice of Mr. Peters. “Continue, Miss Harkin.”
She continued, now filled with a curious blend of shame and excitement. In her imagination she saw some of the girls in the back row sneaking a hand under their skirts, their knees slightly apart, as they watched her.
Then ‘Mr. Peters’ walked out from behind his desk and went to stand behind the last row, hands behind his back, as if observing her effect on the class. Jane stared into his eyes as she continued to stroke herself, her mouth open, tears still running down her face, the crotch of her panties beginning to moisten beneath her touch.
“I don’t believe the class can see what you’re doing very clearly, Miss Harkin. Take off your skirt. And your blouse.”
She dropped her skirt and covered her face with her hands. “No, Mr. Peters! Please don’t make me! I’ll do anything…”
“Indeed you will, Miss Harkin. And right now, you will take off your skirt and your blouse. Or shall I ask the class to help you?”
She saw herself with her classmates clustered around her–holding her arms, unbuttoning her blouse, pulling off her skirt, their hands all over her.
She moaned out loud with excitement…and came.
She fell back against the desk, grasping the edge with both hands. She kept her gaze fixed on him, letting him see her shuddering in orgasm.
Somehow, having him look at her while she came–plus the fact that she was still, amazingly, fully dressed–seemed to multiply the intensity, as if she were not only experiencing it but could see herself as he must be seeing her: chest heaving, pelvis twitching, eyes half-closed and mouth wide open, gasping.
Oh god…
‘Mr. Peters’ walked through the rows of chairs and stood in front of her, arms crossed over his chest.
He shook his head as if disappointed, and said, “Really, Miss Harkin–what are we going to do with you? You are not only a very bad little girl; you are disobedient as well. I’ve told you twice to take off your skirt and blouse and you still have not done so. I’m going to give you one more chance. And to be sure you make the most of it I want you to go to the blackboard and write ten times: ‘I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.’ Go on.”
She turned and slowly walked around the desk to the blackboard. She picked up a piece of chalk and began to write, as close to the top as she could reach: I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.
She knew that Peter was just giving her some time to recover, but still there was something deliciously bad about writing such a thing on a school blackboard where anyone could see it. Not that anyone else would know who had written it–but she knew.
I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.
She imagined the class watching her write; wondering if she was really going to do it. The boys staring at her back, excited, trying to imagine her in just her underwear.
I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.
Whenever Mr. Peters tells me to. She imagined Mr. Peters walking up to her in the supermarket and saying, “Take off your skirt and blouse, Miss Harkin.” Saw herself taking them off in the middle of the aisle and placing them in her basket. Continuing to shop in her bra and panties, customers staring at her.
I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.
From the corner of her eye she could see Peter–sitting at the desk and reading his book, pretending to be Mr. Peters–and felt a surge of affection for him.
She loved him: loved the sexy, secret things they did together, loved that he found her exciting, loved that she could please him. She wanted to go over and whisper in his ear, “Peter, I’ll take off my clothes whenever you tell me to.” She wanted to see the bulge in his pants and know that she had created it. She forced herself to continue writing.
I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.
She felt herself beginning to become excited again. She wanted to find out what would happen next. She wrote faster.
I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.
I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.
I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.
I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.
I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.
She put the chalk down in the tray, and went to stand in front of the desk, facing him.
He continued to read.
This time she knew better than to wait. She turned to face the classroom. She undid her black leather belt and dropped it on the floor. She reached behind her and opened the back of her red skirt, unzipped it, and tugged it down until it fell loosely around her ankles. She stepped out of it and nudged it aside with her foot.
In her mind’s eye she saw the class leaning forward, felt the intensity of their stares. She unbuttoned the sleeves, and then the front of her rose-print blouse, then pulled it back off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor behind her.
She saw one of the boys, a pudgy kid with glasses, try to muffle his mouth with one hand as he said ‘Ohhh!’ and clutched at himself frantically with the other hand–and knew that she had made him come. She smiled directly at him to let him know she knew, as he tried to cover the spreading wet spot on the front of his pants.
Then she stood with her feet apart, slowly raised her arms, and clasped her hands behind her head, feeling her breasts rise as she did so, enjoying the effect she knew this would have on the boys.
She saw that several of them were now rubbing themselves with only minimal attempts at concealment–a notebook held over the lap; a shirt-front pulled out–as they stared at her breasts, at the wetness between her legs.
It made her feel like the sexiest girl on earth.
She saw one boy in the back row trying to surreptitiously edge his chair closer to the girl sitting next to his. Saw his hand join hers under her skirt. Saw her suddenly sit straight up, eyes wide, as if she’d received an electric shock. Saw her look sideways at the boy, alarmed…then slowly close her eyes. Saw her knees drift a little further apart. Jane smiled.
Then all activity ceased, and Jane saw the boy and girl whip their hands back into their respective laps as she heard Mr. Peters close his book and scrape his chair back as he stood.
He walked slowly back to his place behind the last row. He put his hands in his pockets and looked at her, studying her.
She wondered if he minded that her yellow bra and panties were so plain. She remembered what he’d said about naked versus undressed, and wondered if the fact that she still had on her white knee-socks and penny loafers somehow made it sexier for him. She sneaked a glance down at herself and decided she liked the effect–it did make her look more undressed.
“Better, Miss Harkin. That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”
“No, Mr. Peters.”
“Good. Now explain to the class why you were touching yourself in such a disgusting way.”
Suddenly she was in front of her real English class again, about to read her report, but she was in her bra and panties, and everyone could see her.
She blushed furiously. She tried to speak. Her lips moved, but nothing came out. She glanced at Mr. Peters, then away. Then she took a deep breath and addressed the class.
“I was thinking about a boy. I wanted to lift up my skirt so he could get down in front of me and lick my thighs. I wanted him to…pull down my panties…and…and kiss my pussy.”
She dropped her arms to her sides. She ignored the gasps of her classmates as she walked through them, then past Mr. Peters to the back of the room.
She picked up a wide steel ruler from one of the tables. She walked back and stood in front of Mr. Peters. Then she knelt, holding the ruler out to him with both hands, like a scepter. She looked up at him and said, as clearly as she was able, “I’m a little slut, Mr. Peters, and I should be punished.”
She put the ruler into his hands, then rose to her feet, turned and marched to the front of his desk. She pushed his book off the desk so that it landed on the floor with a bang. She spread her legs as far apart as she could then lay across the desktop–head turned, arms extended to grasp the sides…and waited.
She heard him walk slowly toward her…and stop. She could tell he was standing very close. She wondered if he was going to rub himself against her the way he had before.
Then she heard him turn around.
“Well, class? You heard her. How many of you think she should be punished? Raise your hands.”
There was a pause.
Then: “All right, the majority votes ‘yes’. Now, everyone who voted ‘yes’, form a line right here–quickly, please. Good. Now, one at a time, each of you take this ruler and spank Miss Harkin with it…like this.”
She was completely unprepared when the flat of the ruler hit her behind with a loud Whack! The unexpected, searing pain caused her to lift her head off the desk with a gasp, then whimper as she put it back down.
“Each of you will only spank her once,” Mr. Peters continued, “but you may spank her as hard as you like. Then hand the ruler to the next person in line and go sit down.
“Miss Harkin, you keep count…and thank your classmates for helping you. All right? You first, Mr. Wilson…”
He had named a boy they both knew. He wasn’t in her English class, but it didn’t matter. In her imagination she could see him, perspiring, his hand sweaty as he held up the ruler, looking at her behind. She could also see that he had an erection…
Whack!
Even though she knew it was coming it still hurt like blazes, literally. She gave a grunt of pain, and said, in a near-whisper, “One. Thank you.”
“You next, Miss Selton.”
She must have been shy, or felt sorry for her, because she felt only a light tap on her behind.
“Two. Thank you.”
“Miss Jarzembowski?”
Oh no. She was a huge girl who looked like she should be on the football team.
WHACK!
“OW!”
The force of the blow tore the cry from her, harder than any of the ones preceding it. She felt the tears spring to her eyes and her voice broke as she said, “Th-three. Thank you.”
“Mr. Soren?”
Whack!
She sobbed, “Fo…four. Thank you.”
In her mind’s eye she could see the classroom: the scattering of empty seats among the full ones; the line of students waiting to spank her, some embarrassed, some excited but trying not to show it. And everyone staring, watching her behind bounce inside her panties each time she was hit by the ruler.
She was completely mortified. And she wanted more.
She wished Mr. Peters would make her touch herself now, while she was being spanked. Still, imagining her classmates lined up to spank her, and never knowing when the next blow would land, or how hard it would be, was exquisite torture.
In fact, by the time the final student–number sixteen!–had come up to bat she was gripping the desk as hard as she could to keep from writhing in a mixture of pain and desire. As it was, she was helpless to stop herself from whimpering and moaning, although she did it as quietly as she could.
She wanted desperately to simply turn onto her back and thrust her hand inside her panties.
She was barely able to whisper, “Ssss…six…teen. Ohhhh…. th-thank…you…”
And she was so lost in her arousal that it hardly registered when Mr. Peters said, “Thank you everyone. Please open your books to Chapter Seven. Miss Harkin, you will remain where you are until the end of class. Oh…and Miss Harkin? Pull down your panties–I want the class to see what happens to students who misbehave.”
She knew she was supposed to say, ‘Yes, Mr. Peters,’ but barely had the strength to bring her arms back to her sides, and still moaning and sobbing, push her panties as far down her thighs as her hands would reach, the tight elastic scraping like steel wool over her welted behind as she did so and making her cry out softly. Then she returned her arms to their outstretched position and gripped the sides of the desk.
She pictured the class, staring in horrified fascination at her reddened behind, at the raised lines of angry welts crossing it. Saw the boys peering between her legs above where her panties were stretched across her thighs. She knew she was still very wet there, and having them see it made her wetter still. She would give anything to be touched there right now.
Where was Mr. Peters? Was he looking at her? She began to move her hips up and down slightly, signaling. Maybe he would see how she was going crazy. Maybe he would put his hand…
She heard his footsteps and then saw him coming around the desk. Then she couldn’t see him because of her head’s position on the desk, but heard him pull out his chair and sit down.
There was a pause.
She heard him get back out of his chair, take a couple of steps, pause, walk back and sit down again. She heard something being propped against the edge of the desk, less than an inch from the top of her head. Heard him open his book.
“All right class, continue to read Chapter Seven until the end of the period.”
Silence.
Oh no you don’t, she thought.
She drew in her arms and pushed herself upright. She pulled up her panties, ignoring the pain and enjoying the startled expression on his face as she did so.
“Miss Harkin!”
She ignored him as she marched around the desk and went to the blackboard. She picked up a piece of chalk, and in letters so huge that they took up the entire rest of the blackboard she wrote:
I WILL LET MR. PETERS PUT HIS COCK UP MY ASS.
Then she dropped the chalk to the floor, and came to stand in front of his desk again.
She took the book out of his hands and threw it on the floor.
Glaring at him, she reached behind her back, unfastened her bra, and dropped it on the desk in front of him. Then she pulled her panties down to the floor, stepped out of them, picked them up and dropped them on the desk as well.
Then, wearing only her white knee socks and loafers, she stood with her legs apart and leaned down until her forearms were on the desk and her face was practically touching his.
She stared into his eyes, as if to say,…Well?
He smiled back at her and, without taking his eyes from hers, pulled open the top drawer of the desk, fumbled inside it for a moment, then took something out and placed it on the desk between them.
She looked down and saw a small jar of Vaseline.
Then she heard him begin to rise from his chair, and looked up just in time to hear him say, over her head,
“Class…dismissed.”
Chapter Eleven
She came twice more that afternoon.
The first time was just after he entered her, having applied Vaseline to her and to himself.
As he slid into her, he leaned down and said, softly, “Tell me what I’m doing to you, Miss Harkin.” and she had replied, gasping, “Putting…your cock…up…up my ass! Your cock is up my ass, Mr. Peters! Oh, god!”
And nearly fainted from the intensity of the orgasm that washed over her.
He had held her by the hips as she bucked against him, and waited until she was done.
When she had quieted, he asked softly, in his normal voice, “Do you want me to stop?” Thinking, perhaps, that she had had enough.
And she had, really–she felt totally wrung out, physically and emotionally. And she loved it that he was willing to stop, even though he was standing with his pants around his ankles and his unsatisfied cock inside her.
But she wanted to give him the same kind of pleasure he had just given her. Plus, it was another chance to talk dirty to him.
So she looked seductively over her shoulder at him and said, “Why, Mr. Peters! I took off my panties just so you could put your cock up my ass. If you don’t keep going I’m going to tell the principal you made me strip in front of the class. You wouldn’t want me to do that, would you, Mr. Peters?”
He shook his head, dazed.
“Then you just keep your cock in my ass until I feel you come. Come in my ass, Mr. Peters, or else I’ll tell on you.”
He hadn’t actually needed that much persuading, obviously, but it thrilled her to be able to excite him like that. He began thrusting in and out of her before she had even finished speaking, moaning softly and looking at her as if in disbelief that she was talking to him that way.
He slid his hand underneath her and began to stroke her between her legs and she was astonished to feel herself beginning to respond. Again.
She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but very soon her moans began to join his in the rhythm of his hand and cock. As the pace began to accelerate, she began to babble: “Oh, Mr. Peters! Mr. Peters! Your cock…in my ass! Come in my ass, Mr. Peters! Oh god, come in my ass! COME IN MY ASS, MR. PETERS!”
And of course, he had–and the groan that accompanied it was almost as loud as her final shout. And this was when she had her second orgasm as well, a long, slow, rippling warmth that seemed to start in her toes and spread upward until it filled her entire body with a kind of tingling glow. She drifted away into it, floating…
And only returned to herself minutes later, when she felt him rising to his feet from where he’d been half-lying on her back, and felt his cock withdraw from her.
She quickly pushed herself upright as well, then turned and drew him into an embrace. She laid her head against his chest, and he rested his chin lightly on her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her.
After a while he said, simply, “Wow.”
She nodded her head against his chest.
He pulled back, then, and looked at her. “Did you really like that? ”
She nodded again, her face serious.
He continued, “Really? All of it? I mean, you were crying, and I thought….”
She nodded again, more vigorously, saying, “I know. When you started pretending the class was watching, I started to see it. In my mind. As if they were really watching me, you know, lift up my skirt and everything. And I started to feel…as bad as I really would feel if I had to do something like that. That’s when I started crying, and you asked if I was okay.”
Peter nodded and Jane went on, “But then I realized that…even though I’d hate it if it really happened, I really liked pretending it was real, for some reason. Even if I was feeling ashamed at the same time; even while I was crying…it was sexy, too.” She smiled at him, and continued, “I imagined that all the boys were looking at me and touching themselves.”
He smiled back at her, then gently disengaged himself, and pulled up and fastened his pants. Then he stepped behind the desk, and reached beneath it to retrieve a box of tissues and some skin lotion. Then he came back to her, turned her around and knelt so he could clean her up and soothe her poor behind with the lotion.
As he attended to her he said, thoughtfully, “I guess we should work out a signal of some kind, so I can tell if you really do want to stop. You know, because it’s fun when you pretend you want me to stop, but I want to make sure I can tell the difference.”
She understood immediately. “We need a special word or something. But an ordinary word, not a, you know, sexy word. So unless I suddenly say…ice cream…or pencil, or something, you’ll know it’s okay, even if I’m crying, or telling you to stop.”
She felt his hands stop their ministrations.
After a moment he replied, “All right…but are you sure it’s okay? When you started crying today I thought I’d–”
She looked back over her shoulder at him as he knelt there. He met her gaze and said, “I don’t ever want to hurt you.” Then he laughed, a little sadly, and continued, “Of course, I’m saying that right after beating your behind to a pulp with a metal ruler.”
She turned around and knelt to face him, taking his hands and saying, “Peter, I gave you the ruler, remember? But I know what you mean. I know you care about me. And I told you before: I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t like it. Maybe that means I’m weird–I guess we both are–but there it is. I’m…just glad we found each other.”
They embraced again for a moment, and then she said, “Let’s get out of here before the janitor comes in and finds ‘Mr. Peters’ with a naked student. Which reminds me: what do you think?”
She rose to her feet and put her hands behind her head, posing for him, turning this way and that.
“I know you like seeing me in my underwear, but this is pretty sexy too, don’t you think?”
She watched him rising to his feet and taking in the contrast between her slim nakedness and the innocence of her schoolgirl socks and shoes.
“Oh, god yes.” he replied. He swallowed. “God, I’m getting hard again just looking at you.”
“Really? I don’t believe you.”
She reached out and laid her hand against his zipper. Sure enough, she could feel something, if not hard, then at least upright. She began to stroke it.
He swallowed again, then half-heartedly tried to push her hand away, saying, “I thought you didn’t want the janitor to see us.”
“I’ve changed my mind.” she replied, continuing to stroke and squeeze him there, and getting that mischievous look on her face again. “He seems like a nice old man. If he comes in, I’ll just tell him that bad Mr. Peters made me take my clothes off and spanked me, and now…” She moved close to him and whispered breathily, “…he’s making me unzip his pants…” She did so, and reached inside. “…And take out his cock.”
She brought it out, now fully erect and still slick with Vaseline. Then she hesitated for a moment. She wanted to put it in her mouth, but considering where it had been recently she didn’t think that was such a good idea. Then a memory of something he’d done came back to her.
“And then I’d tell him that that nasty Mr. Peters is making me kneel down in front of him…” She did so, and looked up at him, continuing, “…and play with his cock…” She began to slowly pump him up and down with one hand. “…and his balls…” She added her other hand. “…just because…” Pumping him faster. “…he wants me…” Faster. “…to make him…come all over me.”
“Oh god…” His eyes were closed, and he was completely at her mercy.
She saw that he was close, and began to pump and stroke him mercilessly, saying, “Yes…he wants…to come…right…on…my…face!” As she said this last word, she extended the middle finger of the hand that was stroking his balls, and shoved it, slippery with Vaseline, up his behind.
He started to come immediately…and loudly.
She raised her voice over his, and said, “Look at me!”
She saw his eyes open, then widen in awe as she positioned herself so that his come spurted directly onto her face, the droplets landing on her forehead, eyes and nose, and running slowly down over her mouth and chin to drip onto the floor. She held herself still, continuing to look into his eyes even when the dribbling semen made her blink.
He continued to stare at her as he caught his breath, but his expression was not as pleased as she’d thought it would be. He looked a little confused…disturbed, even.
Finally he said, “That was very sexy. Thank you.”
He sank to his knees, reached for the box of tissues and began to clean off her face. She looked a ‘But?’ at him as he did so.
He saw it, hesitated for a moment, then replied, “It’s just that…it’s one thing to pretend that I’m doing bad things to you. Making you take off your clothes and stuff like that.
“But when I…came on you, it felt like I was really humiliating you. You. The real Jane. I’m sorry, I know that doesn’t make sense. Especially since I did it that other time.”
He thought for a moment while reaching for another tissue. “It’s like…if sexy stuff was all we did together I’d probably like it. I did, that other time, before I really knew you, but this time it felt weird to me because I…because you’re…”
He sighed in exasperation, then looked up at her shyly from under his eyebrows, and said, “Because I love you….And it almost felt like I was pissing on you.”
He looked so sad at this that she felt her own eyes begin to well in response.
She hugged him tightly to her, saying, “Oh, Peter, I’m so sorry. But it was my idea, remember? You didn’t make me do that, I wanted to. To…do something special for you, that’s all. And it didn’t make me feel bad or anything…really!”
He looked at her doubtfully and said, “Are you sure? I mean, did you like it?”
“I wouldn’t go that far…it didn’t do anything for me, but…I really liked that I was doing it for you.”
She hugged him again, hard, and looked into his eyes.
“Honestly, Peter, I didn’t mind it at all. If you think it’s sexy, then don’t worry about hurting my feelings. It’s okay. Really.”
She smiled devilishly at him, then jumped to her feet and walked over to the blackboard. She erased the middle row of ‘I will take off my clothes whenever Mr. Peters tells me to.’ and wrote, ‘I will let Mr. Peters come on my face whenever he wants to.’
Then she turned and smiled at him again, as she walked back to him and pulled him to his feet.
“Come on, Mr. Peters. Help me get dressed.”
He quickly gathered his regular clothes from where he’d hidden them under the desk and changed back into them.
And as he helped her into her clothes–she once again decided to carry her panties in her pocket rather than feel anything so close to her tender skin just then–he asked, “What about the code word?”
She thought while she pulled her skirt on and tucked in her blouse. Then she looked at him and said, “Invisible”.
Peter raised an eyebrow. “Invisible? Why that?”
She fastened her belt around her waist, ran her fingers through her still-sweaty hair, then turned to him and said, “Because nobody really saw me until you came along.”
Then she took his hand, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, and began to lead him from the room.
When they were almost out the door, he stopped her and said, “Don’t you want to erase the board?”
She looked back at what she had written there, shrugged, smiled and said, “Why? It’s all true. Besides, the janitor deserves a treat.”
Then she pulled him out of the room and closed the door behind them.