Sarah's Tutorial: Corbin's Bend, Book 2

Sarah's Tutorial: Corbin's Bend #2

by

Emily Tilton

Copyright 2014 Lazy Day, LLC and Emily Tilton

www.lazydaypub.com

Sarah's Tutorial: Corbin's Bend #2

ISBN: 978-1-62750-4256

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Copyright © 2013 Emily Tilton

Cover art by ABCD Graphics and Design

This book is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, any events or locales is purely coincidental. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission from the publisher LazyDay, with the exception of quotes used in reviews and critical articles.

Chapter 1

Professor John Dunn could hardly believe he got the job offer from Sandy Ridge College. True, he had been confident his credentials would prove satisfactory to the search committee and the administration of the college (how could they not, seeing as he was coming from an Ivy League university?), but when he thought of the reason why he had applied to such a small–though well-respected–institution as Sandy Ridge in the first place, the realization of his fantasies in this job offer still seemed incredible. Indeed, his job application had seemed almost a joke in comparison to the approval process for Corbin's Bend.

He was going to live in Corbin's Bend. Goodness help him, he started to become tumescent even as he read the letter from Brent Carmichael, the president of the town's residents' organization.

He didn’t have much to pack. Dunn, a widower with no children (he and his late vanilla wife, a colleague in the classics department, had decided early in their courtship, twenty years before, that having children would distract them from making the mark on the academic world they–she, really–so desperately wanted to make), had only his library and an old desk he wanted to take along; he didn’t even have many clothes to pack.

It helped that Sandy Ridge, an affluent institution, to suit its clientele coming mostly from the wealthiest suburbs of Denver, offered him a generous housing subvention and even a signing bonus to buy a few new things. Dunn's sizable personal fortune, inherited from his banking forbearers, would also come in very handy–together with the subvention, it had permitted him to buy into Corbin's Bend with enough equity to secure a sizable two-bedroom house.

Dunn surveyed the sum total of the property the moving company was about to load onto the truck. Then he looked down at a certain special duffel bag that lay at his feet, which would not go with the movers. He had already begun to think of that bag as his "Corbin's Bend Bag." In it he stored various things he felt sure he would soon find more consistent use for, at last. Looking at the bag, he could see one of those things–maybe the most important of them– outlined by the black fabric of the duffel: a long, thin, and flexible rattan cane. The thought of employing it on a deserving, bare female backside, in far off Colorado, made him smile.

Still smiling, he met the movers, signed their paperwork, and climbed into his car for the long drive west.

On his journey, Dunn had a good deal of time for reflection. He supposed he should consider the grave task of preparing to educate the undergraduates of Colorado, but after fifteen years at the job in a much more august sort of a place than Sandy Ridge, he judged himself up to the task. Thus, he excused himself for spending most of his mental energy thinking about his spanking-related pursuits, lost in a reverie of planning the scenes he might now have the leisure to enact, and–more importantly–the partners with whom to enact them.

Dunn's interest in spanking, and in some of the more advanced (as Dunn thought of them) areas of dominance-and-submission, was lifelong, but only in the final two years of his marriage. Desperate for relief from caring for a dying wife with whom he had never been sexually compatible, he made his first fumbling attempts to pursue it outside the physical bounds of his hand and computer screen. Outwardly, his demeanor did not appear dominant in any sense, really, and this softness of affect made his initial forays–meetings with women who listed themselves on one or another website as submissive–even more difficult. He was not an alpha male, at least to the subs who seemed to pant after alpha males thought of those herd-leading stallions of men. That had meant his first tentative steps into “the lifestyle”–a way of thinking about it that still seemed strange to him four years later–had been even more tentative than Dunn thought they must be for most new dominants.

* * * * *

He’d had two BDSM liaisons in the four years since he started practicing. (Dunn thought of "practicing BDSM" both as doing it in the real world and as working to improve his skills.) Over the course of the three months during which Dunn and Miriam had played frequently, it became clear that she didn't take it as seriously as he did, and she didn't think deeply about it at all.

Dunn and Miriam had never formally broken off their relationship. That relationship had consisted of Dunn coming to Miriam's apartment (once a week, in the beginning) to discipline her and then to enjoy her submissive erotic favors. The last time, which had occurred after a gap of two months during which they hadn't communicated at all, for no other reason than that they both claimed to be busy, had occurred several months before he received the offer from Sandy Ridge. When the letter arrived, Dunn had taken Miriam out to dinner to tell her that he planned to leave, and to tell her about Corbin's Bend. Miriam had professed happiness for him very convincingly, and said (more perceptively, really, than Dunn had thought her capable of), "I think that's probably what you need, John."

Although it they had spelled it out as a rule in her “Affidavit of Submission”, she had never called him “sir” consistently. He was happy enough to spank her for it during their sessions, but this failure had always irritated him. As far as he could tell, Miriam did it without intending to provoke discipline, but simply because she couldn't be bothered to remember. Certainly now, though, he thought, wasn't a time to insist, let alone to start a disciplinary scenario. That was probably a good bit of the problem. He needed a partner whom he felt compelled to pull out of a restaurant and take to the car for a spanking. Miriam had continued, "I mean, you're not a leather guy, or anything, but you really do need to live it. I like to pretend, but it doesn't go as deep for me as it does for you, I'm pretty sure."

It did go deep for him. Somewhere around Iowa, he began to go over, in his mind's eye, all the scenes he had played with Joanna and Miriam, critiquing his performance as a Dominant and thinking about the new possibilities about to open for him in Corbin's Bend. He remembered what it felt like to have Joanna's bottom under his hand for the very first time, after he had said, in a voice that sounded strange in his ears then–soft, but not tentative despite the slight quaver in it (he had no quaver now), "I think you'd better get over my lap, you naughty girl."

Joanna had started to pull down her jeans then, but he had had the presence of mind to stop her and to say, "I'll tell you when to do that." In a certain sense, his life had begun at that moment, when he saw the look in her eyes that made him think that he probably was, after all, as he had thought since he could remember thinking about anything, a natural at this.

Thrilled and a little light-headed, he had spanked Joanna progressively harder. A guilty voice spoke in his head, to be sure. He had left his wife's hospital bedside only an hour before, and would return there after this transformation, thanking God for his ability to compartmentalize. But at the moment he told her to take down her jeans and panties. Watching her obey, reach under her hips to unfasten her jeans and pull them down, exposing lacy pink panties then lowering them to her knees, after thirty-eight years of fantasizing to orgasm about that very command, certain he would never say it aloud, and if he ever did, no woman would ever comply, made him even more light-headed, but also sent the thought through his brain like a lightning-bolt: this is who I am.

Joanna had submitted, if he remembered correctly, to four men before him. Her experience helped him immeasurably. He had said, cuddling her guiltily afterward, learning about the Daddy-dom side of his nature even as he learned aftercare, with her help, "It's not like vanilla sex at all, is it?" Joann had nodded, sagely, with a broad smile on her face. Dunn had felt then that he had begun well.

He thought about one of his last sessions with Miriam, when he had unexpectedly brought her to "Yellow" with the cane, punishing her for writing something naughty on a social media site that suggested she might be available. He contrasted the lecture he had given Miriam then about his rules for her conduct with the telegraphic instructions he had given Joanna at that first spanking session. The voice was the same: he never raised it. But in the intervening four years he had learned to act the part in a larger way, for his own and his sub's erotic benefit. Hearing Miriam gasp "Yes, sir!" in response to each time he said "Do you understand that rule, young lady?"' was not really fundamentally different from hearing Joanna say, "Yes, sir," the very first time he had said–hardly believing he was saying it–"I think it's time for you to pleasure me with your mouth." But it was definitely hotter–for him, and, he thought, for the young lady.

“Young lady” was his particular term for a submissive who, whether in reality or in fantasy, belonged to him. He didn’t use it exclusively: “pet”, “slut”, “little whore”, and, above all, “girl” also had power over him, but when he spanked, whether with his physical paddle or the paddle of his imagination, his instructions and admonitions were almost invariably directed to a “young lady”.

He thought, fondly and, truth to tell, with a growing erection, of the sounds Miriam made when he took her bottom with his cock, and of the way he said "Do you like that, young lady? Do you like getting what you deserve?" He wished that she had responded, even once, to these questions, but the whimpers certainly rewarded him enough.

From there, around the end of Nebraska, his mind turned to thoughts of what might await him in Corbin's Bend. What impressed him most about the marketing materials he had requested from the web, and then read, with some disbelief, ripping open the envelope while still standing in the doorway of his house, was the way the development’s founders designed it so as to permit the whole gamut of spanking lifestyles while still maintaining a baseline of community practice, above all in the permission, and the apparent normality, of public spanking.

But what would that mean to him, with his well-formed BDSM habits, exactly? One clause in a brochure had caught his eye: "Married couples and singles of both sexes are explicitly welcome to enjoy themselves in private in whatever way they choose, according to community standards of safe, sane, and consensual sexuality." So, no anal in the streets, but also no judgment from the neighbors if you should forget to draw the blinds one night.

He couldn't lie to himself–and didn't want to lie to anyone else–about one thing: he was looking for a playmate who might also become a taken-in-hand partner: so taken-in-hand that “slave” wouldn't be an inappropriate term for her, whoever she turned out to be. She must be truly submissive. She must indeed want to be his slave.

Maybe it was nothing more than a fantasy. Joanna and Miriam had been wonderful presences in his life despite the lack of that submission bond of which he had always dreamt. Whether or not he found what he always thought of as his own true young lady in Corbin's Bend, he felt sure he would find happiness there, if only because he would live with other people sharing a similar lifestyle.

Three weeks later, he gave his first lecture in the Introduction to Western Civilization course he'd been hired to teach. That was when he first saw Sarah Harshaw, before he knew her name. It was not love at first sight, for either of them. In later years, though, he always remembered the blonde girl in the front row had caught his eye, and that he had wondered whether she might be from Corbin's Bend.