Sarah's Tutorial: Corbin's Bend, Book 2 (6 page)

Chapter 8

Sarah turned herself around, and began to bend at the waist. Her hands trembled as she lowered her palms to the floor. She realized, again, with a start that went straight to her pussy, how little she was wearing here, in his office, in submission to him: a lacy bra, a lacy thong. A college senior in her underwear, long blonde hair pulled back, lithe white and pink body, bending now, knees flexed, in front of a clothed professor in a chair.

When she had adopted the posture he demanded, Professor Dunn pulled down Sarah's panties. No one had ever in her life done that–the few times she had ever been spanked on the bare by her parents had been at bedtime, when she was wearing only her nightgown. Certainly she had never let a boyfriend do it! First, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and tugged, pulling the little strip of fabric out from between her bottom-cheeks. Then, he drew the wisp of cloth down to her knees, where it remained, a reminder of what he had done–what she had allowed him to do. Once or twice Fred had tried to pull them down–not these, the ones Professor Dunn had just pulled down, but her everyday cotton briefs–and she had slapped his hand away, saying, "Those stay on, mister." But she had honestly wondered if he would grab them and rip them down and have his way with her.

“Ah,” Professor Dunn said. “Sarah, you are as lovely as I hoped. I am going to have a great deal of fun with you.”

Her own gaze affixed upon the wood floor of his office and so he said these words directly to her naked bottom.

Then he touched her, his fingertips upon her right bottom cheek.

“Oh!” she said.

The fingertips of his other hand came to rest on her left bottom cheek.

Gently now he opened her there, just pulling the two cheeks apart, to disclose her little secret, her little bottom flower.

“Mmm. Very nice. Pink and crinkly, just like a co-ed's bottom hole should be."

More heavenly tactile inspection ensued.

“Sometime soon I’m going to fuck you here, Sarah–right in this little bottom hole.” That same terrible feeling of twinned wrongness and rightness welled up in her, as she saw it in her imagination, saw him lowering his trousers, and his boxers, and putting the head of his membrum virile there. She felt her legs moving back and forth, trying to assuage the heat that would not cease to gather in her pussy.

"Hold still, young lady," he said, but that only made it worse. He removed his hand for a moment, and she heard him wetting his fingers in his mouth.

“P—please...” Sarah said, softly. Then she gave an inarticulate cry as he began to work her anus first with one, then with two fingers. Then Sarah made a gurgling sort of a shout when he touched Sarah's virgin pussy for the very first time with the fingertips of his other hand, moving very, very gently along the outer lips, and then just insinuating one finger inside the terribly wet cleft, to touch her clitoris ever so lightly. That sound continued as he kept up the caress for a few moments.

Then he stopped, and said, "It's time for your spanking, Miss Harshaw."

He withdrew his hands.

"Oh, sir..." Sarah said.

"I think you had better get over my desk." The blood sang in her ears. In a certain sense she was not inexperienced at this, but no professor had ever spanked her over his desk–something she had fantasized about since at least the age of twelve, when academic desks had really started to mean something to her.

Without hesitation, Sarah stood up and waited for him to move so she could comply with his command. She saw him glance over at his desk where only one stack of books and one stack of papers lay, which he now, having stood, moved quickly and decisively over to the credenza.

She had no idea how someone could convey dominance by moving books and papers from one surface to another. Was it even intentional on his part? She felt her pussy clench, watching, though, and felt the somehow wonderful fear of what was going to happen now gather in the pit of her stomach.

"Lay yourself down now, young lady," he said, and she did, lace panties still around her knees. She put her hands out, and grasped the far edge of the desk and, not sure how she knew it was right (right for her, right for him, right for the situation), she arched her back to present her bottom to him for discipline. When she was spanked as a girl, she would never, ever have presented herself like that–this was nothing like that. And yet, it was, in a way she didn't want to touch right now with a ten-foot mental pole.

She heard him reaching into his briefcase. Did he keep the paddle in there all the time? Was it in there during lecture? Would he call her up to the front and paddle her before the whole class?

The floodgates of her fantasies seemed to open in a way that grew more and more disturbing to her even as she could not deny that these images flashing through her brain were making her want to cry out submissively whether he touched her pussy, or her bottom, or just stood there behind her holding a paddle. She just wanted–no, she needed... this. She needed it like she needed food or air.

Then Professor Dunn tapped Sarah's bottom with the paddle, and she said, completely overpowered by the arousal of that simple tap, "Oh, my God... oh, no..." and made one of those little whimpers that before tonight she had never made except when she was all by herself, masturbating, but that tonight she seemed to emit as if they were a form of polite discourse suitable for conversations with one's professor.

"Miss Harshaw," he said, "I fear I must administer condign punishment now, lest you think that trying to seduce a professor is something I look on lightly. The fact that you have apparently succeeded makes no difference whatever."

Then he began to paddle her.

Sarah cried out loudly from the very beginning. After every pistol-shot crack of the paddle on her behind, she let out a full volume yelp. The pain wasn't terrible–wasn't really even as bad as the worst spankings she had received at home, for things like coming home late from dances, and above all the one time her parents caught her drinking. But being over Professor Dunn's desk, with her pussy up against one edge, and her hands hanging on to the other, desperately trying not to shame herself by positively humping the desk to seek relief from the burning there, seemed to take away any power she had not to voice the pain, and arousal, and humiliation of the moment.

The only word Sarah seemed able to manage-"Sir," "Oh, sir... Sir... oh, sir"– would probably serve as the transcript of the actual language she uttered. Something about that word made it all (spanking, nakedness, office, desk, professor, crying) seem to work together to bring this amazing feeling ever higher inside her chest and lower down. To call Professor Dunn "sir" while he spanked her seemed to complete her transformation into something new, something that she was always supposed to be.

The paddling stopped.

"Good girl," said Professor Dunn, stroking her bottom tenderly. Sarah moaned. It was the most wonderful thing she had ever felt. She let her entire body relax and hang there over his desk and allowed the wonderful feeling of the gentle rubbing, and him saying "Good girl," just to take her. She didn't even feel the need for an orgasm, the way she had while he had spanked her. She just wanted to be a good girl, and to know he liked touching the part of her that posed such a problem in her imagination.

He opened her bottom up, again, which made her groan with the fiery warmth of the place he touched, and placed his forefinger (she thought) on her anus. She felt a cool gel-like substance on the finger, and it felt lovely to her, not ever having felt lube before.

But then–then... what was it?

“Uhh! uhh! Sir, you’re... n—no! Why? wh—why are you...” He replaced his finger with something else, well-lubricated, neither thick nor long, but definitely present.

“Easy, now, my girl, my little Sarah. You’ll wear this for the rest of the night and tomorrow, to get you ready for me, and to make you think of me. You may wear panties over it, if you wish. It won’t project far, but I’d suggest not letting anyone's hands near there tomorrow. You’ll have to be creative about how you sit in class, as well, and those tight jeans you wore yesterday to show off your perky little bottom cheeks will be out of the question. In fact, you should plan on wearing skirts most of the time, since they’re easier to feel a girl up under, and you’ll have something in your bottom hole more often than not.”

“Whhh—what... what is it? Sir, what—what did you p—put there? I—I d—don’t w—want to... P—please... please t—take it out!” Sarah's little bottom was open around the... the thing, and Professor Dunn seemed to indicate that something would be happening to her tomorrow, at the end of the day.

“No, Sarah. I’m not going to take it out. You’re going to wear it. It’s called a butt-plug, and I want you to wear it, so you’re going to wear it. Do you understand now? That’s what your tutorial is all about. A girl who wants to learn how to please a man must start by giving him his way with her. I like to see a girl with a butt-plug in her bottom, so you’re going to have to get used to it.”

He pulled Sarah's panties back up, over the butt-plug, and stood her up again. He turned her to face him. Instinctively, she put her hands back behind herself to feel her butt-plug there. Professor Dunn smiled. It felt big between her bottom-cheeks. She flushed crimson when she realized that it made her very, very wet, once again, in her panties.

That was when he really kissed her for the first time. He led her to the couch and sat down, then pulled her down gently into his lap. Then, with his right arm around her waist, he took her chin in the fingers of his left hand and turned her face to his, and kissed her deep and long. He also kissed her in a way that she realized was how the man she needed should kiss her, making her lips move with his, commanding her tongue with his, making her mouth his property.

"This is going to be trouble," he said, when he lifted his face from hers.

Something in her completely beyond her control made her snuggle herself into his arms, clad in the crisp Oxford cloth of his shirt, which closed protectively and warmly around her. "It's not against the rules," she said.

"I know," he said, and kissed her again. "But I have to think that we both feel that there's something more going on here than a naughty senior seducing her history professor."

Sarah couldn't meet his eyes, but she nodded forcefully into his chest. He kissed her hair, her ear, her neck.

"Oh my God, Professor..."

"John."

"John, please... please fuck me now. I know–I know it will hurt, but... I want it so much... and I–I even... want it to hurt." She couldn't believe she'd said it.

"So you are a virgin, little Sarah?"

She blushed and nodded.

"I believe I told you, young lady, that you weren't going to get to see my cock tonight. Do you remember that bit?"

"Yes, sir."

* * * * *

"But this is something we'll have to take care of as soon as we can, isn't it?" Dunn could scarcely believe he heard himself say it. How did one make sure that a twenty-one-year-old really did want one to deflower her? To say that he was not averse to the notion was like saying that a tiger was not averse to having some meat from time to time.

Sarah looked up into his eyes, and the beauty of her young, apparently innocent–so apparently innocent that it made his heart ache–face, with its slightly turned-up nose just the tiniest bit too small, and the little mouth that he now found he just wanted to kiss, made him want to protect and violate her simultaneously. He put his right hand down to toy with her butt-plug experimentally.

Sarah said, "Oh! Oh, sir–please..."

Far from certain he was getting this right, he said in a low voice, “We will take care of it, young lady, but first you must make the preparations you have agreed to. Tomorrow morning, you’re going to make an appointment for a wax all over, especially between your legs. I want your little cunt" (she gave a tiny whimper at this terrible word, which he imagined she might never have heard spoken aloud before, let alone spoken about her own body) "made smooth for me, before I put my cock there. I'll give you the money for that before you leave tonight. You may take out your butt-plug for the waxing, and put it back in afterward."

It certainly seemed to be the right thing to have said, judging from the way Sarah was now actually panting, or close to it, with arousal. "Sir?" she said timidly, "may I touch myself?"

"No, Sarah. Such a bad girl! And you are not to abuse yourself between now and tomorrow night, either. Your cunt and bottom belong to me, now, and for the time being I will be the one to play with them."

The whimper, which he was quickly coming to think of as "the Sarah noise," already his favorite sound in the entire world, came again from her throat.

“At eight tomorrow, you’ll come to my house. The key will be under the watering can on the front porch. You'll take a bath. I’m going to be playing with my new toys all night, so I want them nice and clean. Bring the panties you're wearing right now: You won't need the bra.”

Chapter 9

Sarah found the key Professor Dunn had told her would be under the watering can, and, feeling very faint, let herself into his front door. It was almost eight.

Driving from Sandy Ridge to Corbin's Bend not to go home but to be deflowered by her kinky professor had been a very strange experience, but nowhere near as difficult as telling her roommate Marilyn where she was going. The decision to tell her hadn't been easy, but at least it was fairly obvious. To her knowledge, Marilyn wasn't kinky, but she was definitely more sexually active than Sarah, and she was almost sure that although Marilyn might disapprove, she wouldn't divulge.

"If I ever think you're in any danger, though," Marilyn said, after Sarah had confessed, well, that she had kissed Professor Dunn, and he had invited her to his house, and that she strongly suspected she wouldn't be a virgin the next time she saw Marilyn, "I am calling your parents and telling them everything."

God help her, Sarah knew that made all the sense in the world, but she still wanted to say, "Don't call them unless you know I'm dead." This thing with John (she always thought of him as John now, even though she also almost always, when imagining conversations with him, called him “sir”, and a little thrill of... love? well, certainly of arousal, went through the parts of her that felt so strange now–and of course, after the waxing, not a little painful)–this thing with John felt that way: Romeo and Juliet, Pyramus and Thisbe, Baucis and Philemon. One out of those three ending happily wasn't bad, right?

Getting waxed for John had been rather embarrassingly revelatory of the submissive nature in which she seemed to be having a crash course. She had gone in after taking two ibuprofen and drinking two beers–before noon. "I am a bad girl," she thought to herself, wondering if this were the kind of thing John might want to spank her for. As she got waxed, she was thinking about being fucked by her new tutor, and it had quickly become clear not just to her but to the middle-aged aesthetician doing the waxing that this was rather an arousing experience for her, as the noises she made in response to the ripping off of the wax strips sounded rather too excitable, and the moisture in the area had to be dried several times. This after she had already groaned too loudly as she expelled her butt-plug in the tiny bathroom of the salon, and dropped it into the plastic bag in her purse. "Don't worry, honey, it's normal," said the aesthetician, but Sarah could tell that it wasn't–quite.

That was another thing she had not told Marilyn, of course.

John lived on the other side of Corbin's Bend from her parents, thank goodness, since his part of the development was the newest, and theirs was the oldest. There was very little chance anyone would notice her and, if someone did, she could say that Professor Dunn had asked her to bring him some notes, or even invited her over for a meal.

The house was beautiful and new, and Sarah found herself fantasizing about what it would be like to live there, to be Mrs. John Dunn. Would she go to graduate school if they got married? Weren't people saying that PhDs in the humanities were a bad idea these days? Without even understanding why, she thought about the paddling he had given her the night before and wondered where in this house he might spank Mrs. John Dunn, should the occasion arise. Where would John want to spank his wife? In the bedroom? In the living room? In his office?

Probably everywhere, she thought, and giggled. She was giddy with the notion that she was here, in his house, and that he was going to come home and find her waiting for him expressly so he could fuck her. Belonging to him, being waxed for him, having a sore bottom that he had given her–above all having his butt plug deep inside her backside–all these things seemed like such a fundamental realization of her identity that being Mrs. John Dunn, slave-wife to the amazing John Dunn, PhD, didn't seem such a strange thing to try on for size.

He had left a note for her on the kitchen table.

Dear little Sarah,

Here are my instructions for you. Please remember that I will punish you if you fail to follow them.

First, take off all your clothes. In my house, you will usually be naked, so you had better get used to it as soon as possible. In fact, don't continue reading this note until you are naked.

She obeyed. How could anything be so shameful and so wonderful at the same time? She folded her clothes, and piled them on the bed in the guest room. Her only adornment now was John's butt plug, which was purple. She had seen it for the first time that morning when she had had to remove it to answer certain biological needs. That had been another horrible, wonderful thing. Sleeping with the butt plug–or, rather, “sleeping” with it, had felt rather extraordinary. It was neither horrible nor wonderful, just a constant reminder of this strange thing that had happened, this strange transformation she seemed to be undergoing and was incapable of resisting, let alone stopping. She was now a girl who slept with a butt plug when her professor told her to. That was different from the person she had been the previous night, to say the least.

But removing it and looking at its modest purple length, soiled with her body's shameful waste, washing it with antibacterial soap, putting it back in, thinking about what a good girl she was because she was putting her butt plug back in the way her professor would want her to do: all of that had about it the very same simultaneity of lust. It was a lust that not only comprised apparently equal parts of stomach-knotting, whole-body blush-making shame and limb-loosening, panty-soaking arousal, but, more than that, brought the two sides, embarrassment and desire, together in a kind of endless synergy. The shit on her butt plug both disgusted her and made her desperate to put the lovely, lovely thing back inside her.

And all of it was in the service of John. It all had meaning because he thought she was worth putting a butt plug in, was worth paddling, was worth waxing, worth fucking. Was Sarah losing her mind, or was this a kind of love she had never thought could ever befall her?

Second, now that you are naked, go into the bathroom and draw a bath. You'll see that I've put some bubble bath out. Please use it. While the water runs into the bath, please take out your butt plug. You may leave it on the counter in the bathroom. When the tub is full, get into it. While you soak, please think of last night, and in particular of when I had you on my lap. You may touch yourself, but you must not bring yourself to climax. You may soak for as long as you like. I only ask that you be sure your charms are as clean as you would like them to be when you are deflowered. Go do that now, then come back and read the next instruction.

Sarah returned to the note, naked and rosy from the tub and very, very unsatisfied.

Third, go into my room. You will find a bottle of lube on the nightstand. Take it, then lie on your back on the bed and lift your knees to your chin. Lubricate your anus thoroughly. The lube is silicone-based, and thus won't dry out.

Then put your lacy thong back on. Sit in the chair near the TV. You'll notice there's a towel on it so you don't ruin my furniture (I know how naughty you are!). Please sit on the towel. Turn on the TV and push play on the DVD player. While you watch the girl on the DVD getting it, play with yourself, without taking off your panties. If I find that your panties aren't soaking wet when I arrive, you're going to get a spanking.

Professor Dunn

On the screen, a redheaded girl was struggling to take a very big black cock into her mouth. Her eyes had a hint of desperation in them.

The world seemed to swim around Sarah. She had never seen a real, hardcore porn movie before. She had never seen another girl with a cock in her mouth, or even another cock besides Fred’s tame white one. Sarah sat down on the towel in the modern leather chair near the TV.

Almost immediately, the black man decided that he would give it to the girl in the ass, and told her so. The girl said something like “Mmmmm,” and placed herself on her hands and knees on her bed. It looked like they were in a little girl’s bedroom. There were teddy bears and frills. The screen showed a close-up of the girl’s bottom, with her girlishness lying pinkly under a pink, cringing anus.

She was really going to get it there. The big black cock, held in a big black hand, came into view. He applied its massive head to the girl’s anus.

The idea that John had decided Sarah should watch porn had a very strange effect on her. It seemed to split her into two people. There was innocent little girl Sarah Jane Harshaw, who couldn't even understand what these grown-ups were doing to each other in this dreadful video. And there was bad girl Sarah, who had worn a butt plug for almost twenty-four hours, and had herself waxed for the express purpose of pleasing the older man who was coming to fuck her in every way a girl could be fucked. Bad girl Sarah loved little girl Sarah Jane, but she knew that what she needed wasn't teddy bears and frills. It was butt fucking like the girl on the screen experienced.

Or, actually, she did need the teddy bears. But only if John would fuck her in the ass after she'd cuddled them for a while, and if, after he had used her poor little body to his heart's and his cock's ease, he cuddled her, and her teddy bear, and called her a good girl.

Sarah ran her fingers up and down the front of the lacy panties. Her pudenda seemed to grow softer. She felt the moisture begin to arise in the pussy that had undergone such terrible distress at the salon that morning. The lace clung to her bareness in a way it had never done before, when her lost, golden curls had been there. The girl on the screen had been shaved or waxed too. Sarah wondered whether the black man who gave it to her had done it himself. He had certainly seemed to enjoy kissing and licking her bare little privates before he started to fuck her.

Now the screen showed her face. The girl waited for the big black cock to begin forcing its way into her bottom. She looked back over her shoulder apprehensively.

The screen showed, from above, the cockhead going in. The girl said, “Oh, fuck.” She had a big black cock in her bottom. Sarah gasped and shuddered. “Fuuuck!” the girl said, drawing out the vowel in a kind of moan of pain. Had she had a cock in her bottom before? Had she ever had something so big there?

Now the black man fucked the redheaded girl very hard in the ass, so that she cried out every time he drove his big black cock into her little bottom.

The pretty red-haired girl had faced the headboard of her little-girl bed, with its pink painted hearts. Now the black man pulled his cock out of her and turned her over. Sarah could see in her eyes that she wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with her. He took her knees in his hands and pushed them back until her whole pubis lay open to him, bare and congested with the fucking.

With the slightest of positioning ceremony, he drove the big black cock into the little pink bottom hole.

Sarah's right hand’s fingers moved very quickly inside her little panties, for she had let them slip from the top of her inner thigh, where they stroked the edge of the panties, up and under the lacy front panel. From time to time she took her hand out, self-consciously, and tugged the lace onto her girl-flesh so John would not spank her when he came home to fuck her own bottom. She put the fingers of her left hand to her mouth to wet them slightly, then moved that hand to cup her peach-like breast, and let her moistened fingers play gently with its nipple.

With long, slow strokes, the black man fucked the cute red-haired girl in the ass. Her face was a mask of passionate discomfort: eyes closed, she bit her lower lip, emitting moans of mixed pleasure and pain with every stroke of the enormous cock into her little pink fundus. Her black lover held her knees open wide as he fucked. Now he told her to play with her pussy, in a tone that said she would have to do what he said. She put both hands down and began to give her girlish quim a frightful wanking, as if to distract herself from the painful fullness of her bottom.

Suddenly, with a heart-rending scream, the red-haired girl climaxed (or, Sarah, supposed, pretended to), just as the black man gave a satisfied grunt. He pulled his cock out and once again turned the girl over, so he could smear his sticky essence on her little pink bottom cheeks.

Sarah noticed only now that Professor Dunn stood in the doorway, watching her watch the porno and play with her hairless, lace-covered Sarah-ness. When she saw him, she froze, her fingers still playing between her pussy lips and upon her anus, her knees splayed wide across the chair, the way the girl in the video's had been by the black man's hands.