Sarah's Tutorial: Corbin's Bend, Book 2 (4 page)

Chapter 6

I, the undersigned Sarah Jane Harshaw…

Seeing her name in that document, not written in on a line left to be filled in, but, through the magic of word-processing, actually in the document as if it were a fait accompli that she would swear she knew her professor planned to spank her, among what appeared now to be many, many other things, judging by the length of the document she held, had a sort of twofold effect on Sarah.

First, but not strongest, was the sense of wrongness. She was his student; he was her professor. How could he use her name like that, in a document intended to make it acceptable for him to spank her and fuck her? Yes, she had arrived intending to seduce him into something very similar, something not officially against the code of conduct, yet still, according to her church-every-Sunday upbringing–morally wrong. But in her perspective, that differed from using her full legal name and including it into his sexually explicit legal document.

Second, but much, much stronger, she felt a sense of erotic and, she had to admit, romantic rightness. She now felt absolutely sure that John Dunn, PhD, knew what she needed, and she was tired of pretending she didn't need it. She was tired of not letting her fantasies actually go where they really wanted to go, where she got spanked and fucked and caned and fucked and given to rooms full of men in black robes who showed her no mercy. She didn't care anymore that her father spanked her mother, and she would never end up like that, she had told herself as she planned the years ahead of her. She wanted this. She wanted him, and she wanted to be the girl in this affidavit, his girl.

Known henceforth in these presents as “the girl”…

She couldn't help it: she moaned aloud when she read that, and looked at Professor Dunn, asking (to her aching inward shame) whether he permitted her to begin touching herself yet. She saw him nod his head. She whimpered, and, with the feeling of wrongness now strangely increasing the feeling of rightness, of extreme, irresistible hotness, moved the tips of the fingers of her right hand naughtily (oh, so naughtily) inside the gusset of the lace thong, not from above, from her waist, which would have been naughty enough, of course, but from the side and below, from her right thigh, which, for reasons she had never really understood, seemed much more shameful and therefore, of course, much hotter. And she returned to reading.

do hereby affirm and acknowledge that John Dunn, PhD (Dunn) has informed me of the nature of the demands he will make upon me, detailed hereunder in Schedules A (personal deportment) and B (sexual gratification of Dunn), and of the corporal punishment to which I shall be liable should I fail to meet those demands, or if he should be pleased to punish me for some other reason, detailed hereunder in Schedule C (disciplinary consequences). I affirm and acknowledge that I have agreed to indemnify Dunn and hold Dunn blameless for any non-critical bodily harm or emotional distress these demands or the consequences of their denial may inflict upon me. I affirm and acknowledge I enter of my own free will into a sexual relationship with Dunn in which I will be, as long as the relationship exists, a submissive and subservient partner.

And she was, wasn't she? She followed his order to masturbate in front of him while he took pictures, at least. "Submissive and subservient," like her mother was to her father. The thought crept in, unbidden and unwelcome, and froze her fingers inside her panties.

But... not like them. Not like them, because Professor Dunn wasn't like her father at all, either in his personality or in his interests, and, above all, he clearly was open about sex in a way her parents weren't, a way that made her think that she had found at least the beginnings of an answer here in his office. She closed her eyes for a moment, and thought again of being naked, on her knees, in front of him, of feeling his hand stroking her hair, her cheek. Her fingers began to move, and her body relaxed. Another of the little sounds she couldn't help came from the back of her throat.

She opened her eyes and read on.

In particular, I affirm and acknowledge Dunn has informed me that his demands will include frequent use of my anus for his sexual gratification, and I have consented to be trained anally for the express purpose of increasing Dunn’s enjoyment of my anus.

That was the first page, with a place for her to sign and date the document. A brief glance revealed the three schedules had lines for initials in the lower right corners, as well. Sarah, the front of her lace panties moved to the side to allow her fingers the greatest possible range, which now–at the thought of the final paragraph–moved rapidly in the modest blonde thatch of her vulva, between her pink lips and around the aching bud at its top. Somehow she found the will to look up at Professor Dunn, not knowing what she wanted, but knowing she wanted it from him. At that moment, he took a picture.

Her bottom. He was going to fuck her bottom. He was going to... train her bottom. He wanted her consent to train her anus, so that... so that it would be more... pleasurable... more enjoyable for... for him... for his... for his c–c–

She couldn’t help it: She felt her fingertips moving of their own accord–frantically now. She leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes thinking of his cock. Wanting to see it, wanting to kiss it, wanting it to...

She heard the click of the camera.

How could he? It was... monstrous. But it was also (oh no–she was about to go over the edge, wasn't she? Thank God her eyes were closed.)... It was also too lovely, and magical, even to get her fevered imagination around.

Click.

Monstrous. How could he take a picture? Lovely. Shameful and thrilling. How could he want... that? How could she submit to... Oh, good lord, she was coming... She was coming as she never had before, in her underwear, on Professor Dunn’s couch, on a towel into which her shameful moisture ran immodestly, treacherously.

Click.

With the professor taking... pictures...

Her face had felt hot with shame, at the very thought that he had watched her read the part about anal training without demanding to leave at once, and now, in the aftermath of her titanic climax, she whimpered, moaned, gasped...

Somehow this document came straight out of one of her fantasies, as if this man knew exactly what she thought about when she played between her cheeks, thinking of the man who would dare to touch her there, who would put her over his lap and touch her there, who would take her to a room where he touched girls there, trained girls there.

“Good girl,” he said. “Keep reading.”

But she couldn’t quite yet. She lifted her eyes to his. She didn't really know him at all, she realized, at least in the conventional sense of "I grew up outside Boulder, where did you grow up?" and "I like Bach, but you like Beethoven." The expression in his eyes, though... did she fool herself, or did she somehow know exactly what he was thinking? She observed an obvious layer to his thoughts, of course–probably her roommate Marilyn could tell her that bit, it seemed so clear on the surface. He was thinking, "I like it when Sarah Harshaw plays with herself on my couch, and I'd like to do many terrible (as viewed by most of the world) things to her." But there was also another layer: a better, more marvelous layer. Sarah realized that Professor Dunn was thinking that he and Sarah were alike and different in certain very specific ways. He was thinking that made the fact that he was her teacher and she was his student unimportant, and perhaps even entirely irrelevant. He was thinking, that is, that these likenesses and differences only occurred between people once a millennium, or perhaps even less frequently, and they would be in the wrong with respect to the universe if they didn't continue on to the spanking and the anal sex, so the rules of Sandy Ridge College and Corbin's Bend and whoever the fuck else wanted to register an opinion on a professor spanking and bottom fucking his senior tutee made precisely zero difference.

A life began to unfold in front of Sarah unexpectedly: literature, art, and travel; kissing at the Louvre, at the Parthenon; fucking in Rome, in Istanbul. Learning each other. Sarah learning so very much about what it meant to be an intellectual and a citizen of the world; Professor Dunn learning how new the world–the real world, of pulsing rhythms and lightning-fast communication, Sarah's world–actually was..

“Sir?” she said. He raised his eyebrows. “How did you... know?”

“About what, Sarah?”

“About... about my... my... a--...”

“Your anus? You’re going to have to learn to say that word, I think. But we can save that lesson for a day or two, especially since it will be fun for me to have your first time asking for bottom-sex on video. Are you asking how I know that certain girls need anal training, or how I know you do?”

She could barely speak. “Ah... unh... certain girls."

"Well, young lady, that's actually the easy part. I hazard a guess you decided that your desires in that department are strange and wrong?"

She could do nothing but nod.

"At the very least, whether anything else in this regard happens between us or not, I can assure you those desires are not strange and wrong. Who knows what percentage of the population longs to be trained in the 'narrower passage', as Pauline Réage puts it, and what percentage longs to train them that way, but I can attest, based on my research and my experience, that there are millions of us, on both sides of coin."

"Um."

"So, certain girls, with more than one of whom I have had experience, need the kind of tutorial I am offering you."

"Um. S-so." It was on the one hand very strange to sit there, having a more or less intellectual discussion about anal sex, dressed only in her lace thong and bra, her right hand still resting on her inner thigh, its fingertips moist with the proof of her wanton nature, of her need for what Professor Dunn was apparently contracting to give her. On the other hand, it felt like she wanted to kneel in front of him, in that chair, and lay her head in his lap; to give him a blow job, oh, yes, but much, much more to feel him stroke her hair, and hear him say, "Good girl."

SCHEDULE A: Personal deportment

The girl shall, when requested, wear the clothing Dunn specifies.

The girl shall, whenever requested, go to the nearest lavatory to change into the clothing Dunn requests she wear.

The girl shall purchase, with funds provided by Dunn, any article of clothing Dunn requests she purchase, and wear that article upon Dunn’s request.

The girl specifically consents in advance to the wearing of:

a garter belt and hose;

a corset;

leather cuffs;

a leather collar;

any sort of panties Dunn would like to see her wear;

No. So matter of fact, though, as if he knew what she imagined when she locked the door and put on those panties and touched herself as she watched my hands, in the mirror. The man–the older man in the fantasies–told her to show him her naughty panties, to walk around in only her naughty panties, to get on the bed and spread her legs, and give him a close-up view of her naughty panties.

The lewd fire started flaring up again. Sarah looked up from the page into Professor Dunn's eyes and saw a gratifying absorption in her actions. Her eyes locked on his, she moved her right hand to her left breast, worked her fingers inside her lacy bra, and began to play with her nipple, which stiffened instantly, and caused her to close her eyes and draw a deep, erotic breath. Sarah was a bad girl, an irredeemably bad girl.

no panties, no matter how else Dunn requests her lower body be covered and where Dunn requests that she appear so attired (i.e. the girl waives her right to refuse to wear e.g. a miniskirt with no panties to class);

a locked chastity belt preventing the girl or anyone else but Dunn, who holds the key, from touching the girl’s pudenda and/or anus;

an anal opening device, commonly called a “butt-plug,” of no more than three inches in length and one inch in diameter, and made out of rubber, plastic, or leather.

She had heard the phrase “butt-plug” certainly, but, honestly, she had thought it was a joke, and so she really did have a moment's disbelief such things actually existed. As soon as she realized they must exist, or Professor Dunn wouldn't have put the thing in his document, she felt the blood rush to her loins. She pictured it, and her own bottom taking it. She pictured him putting it in. She thought for a moment that if she hadn’t been so moist down there, her underwear might actually catch fire.

The girl shall observe the following specifications in her personal grooming.

The girl shall shave her armpits and legs at least once a week.

The girl shall at Dunn's expense have her pubic area waxed.

A girl in Sarah's dorm had the full Brazilian. Sarah had tried to pretend that she found it as ludicrous as Marilyn had professed to find it, but her real reaction–which she tried to deny, even to herself, was envy, and even a pulse-quickening, shameful spark of desire. She had fantasized about asking the girl if she could see her vulva, just for informational purposes.

The girl shall, when Dunn requests, with a view to gratifying himself by enjoying her within the succeeding several hours, make the following particular preparations for Dunn’s enjoyment of her.

The girl shall clean her pudenda and anus thoroughly with a moisturizing cleanser and water.