The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 5 (12 page)

“What does a slut do, girl? Show me.”

Clare looked at the massive cock, poking its head out of the open fly of the professor’s pants, and she knew. She knew exactly what a slut does. She got down on her knees and took it in her hand, held it reverently and then said, “She worships it, sir.”

“Yessssss,” said David as she lavished adulation over his cock with her tongue, then took the head into her mouth and sucked it down, feeling the hardness thicken, filling her. He continued to stroke for a while inside the willing wetness of her mouth.

“Up now, girl. I have so much more to teach you,” he said as the elevator slowed down. Clare rose and he allowed his erection to subside a bit before zipping up his pants. The doors opened to an empty hallway.

“One day you will crawl down this hallway for me, girl, and you won’t care who sees.”

Clare tried to visualize his words. Her body responded, nipples turning upward toward his hands, legs spread for his touch, her cunt moist and ready. But the idea seemed hard to imagine intellectually, and yet . . .

“Are you willing to come into this hotel room with me? Are you ready to let yourself go? To surrender control to me? Because once we enter this room, I will expect you to do so. If you don’t I will be a stern master. I will punish you for it.”

Clare’s lower lip trembled as they paused outside the door. “Uh . . . I’m not sure, sir. I’m, uh, well, I’m nervous about it. I don’t know what you expect. I don’t know if I can comply.” A tear rolled down her eye. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

“One day you will be my little slut. One day you’ll beg for me to strap you down onto a bed, to cover your ass and back with long red lashes. I know this. But for now, you’ve shown honesty and courage, and even a bit of trust towards me. That’s enough. Let’s go have that drink.”

“What?” Her whole body shuddered and she expelled the breath she’d been holding on to. “You mean you aren’t going to . . . uh, we aren’t going to . . . have . . .urn. . . sex?”

“What I have to teach you is so much more than sex. Now come along.”

Clare was quiet as they rode down the elevator. He did not force her to do anything else. The silence should have been awkward, but it wasn’t. Her curiosity and arousal alleviated the awkwardness.

That night David chatted with her about literature, asked about her taste in music, wine, art, and travel, but the subject of power did not come up again. Clare found herself enjoying the evening very much and relaxing. Professor David Saint-John was a master at everything, including charming conversation.

He escorted her back to her apartment, a hole in the wall near the University of Montreal that she liked to think of as Bohemian. She used to live in her own house but, now that she was a full-time student again, she’d needed the cash, so she’d downscaled. It was very late, but she invited him in.

“Not this time, Clare.” He took her hand lightly in his and looked in to her eyes. “You have slender wrists, Clare. Imagine them bound with cuffs and chains, my slut. See you Monday. Have a stimulating weekend.”

Clare spent a restless night, tossing and turning and using her vibrator. The image of kneeling below him as he stroked her head, the memory of the taste of his precum, and the word “slut” culminated in a massive orgasm. She had never really thought about sex in terms of control and surrender. Mostly it served to relieve a temporary itch, and she always hoped that it would provide intimacy, but none of her relationships with men had done that so far. There was always something missing. Perhaps this was it.

Her workload at the university was heavy, so she spent the weekend working on papers, researching in the library and reading. She stayed up late with her collection of Nin books, reading until the early hours of the morning.

On Monday morning, she lingered over her toilette, shaving her pussy, legs and arm pits smooth and dabbing jasmine on her erogenous zones: the valley of her neck, behind her knees, around her areolas. She gazed at her face in the mirror. Was she pretty enough? Was she young enough to hold a man like David’s attention? She had lived such an ordinary life; what could he possibly see in her? She realized that she’d been in hibernation all her life. Maybe she didn’t want to sleep any more.

She couldn’t concentrate in any of her classes that day. David’s class started at three pm; it was her final class of the day. She wondered if he would like her dress. She’d chosen her most sophisticated black dress with abalone buttons all the way down the front, almost to the floor. But she’d left the buttons undone from mid-thigh down, hoping to give him a flash of her long legs. She imagined undressing for him, unbuttoning the buttons with clumsy fingers as she trembled with excitement. Would he punish her if she took too long or had trouble undoing the buttons? Maybe he’d lash her with a whip, unraveling the black threads of her ordinary life.

She sat through the entire class, not saying anything, not raising her hand. His voice crackled against her skin like fire. She watched his hands poised on his thighs as he sat on the desk and remembered how they held her head. His suit pants were the same ones he’d worn on Friday, the ones she’d knelt before and unzipped. She thought of crawling over to the desk on her hands and knees and opening her mouth to suck his cock, to take his come down her throat.

“Clare!” she heard suddenly. The sternness of his voice brought her out of her reverie. “Please see me after class.” The other students tittered.

She trembled nervously, fidgeting with her papers and pen while she waited for the slow tick of the clock to turn over to five pm. At the end of class, an attractive, well-endowed blonde lingered by the professor’s desk. Clare felt that David was stretching the conversation with the young student just to torment his willing slut. Finally the blonde left and they were alone.

“Close the door. Quickly.” Claire drew a sharp breath and rushed to close the door, her long black dress rustling against her naked legs.

“My slut has been daydreaming today. What about?”

Clare blushed and hesitated and then answered truthfully. “About Friday, sir, and everything we talked about.”

“Is that it?”

“Uh, no. I also thought of undressing for you. Undoing my buttons at your command.”

“Good girl. You have such a natural instinct to obey, don’t you?”

“I don’t know, but I thought about what would happen if I took too long. Would you punish me?”

Clare took shallow breaths as the professor moved gracefully toward her, like a leopard to his prey. “Do you think you deserve punishment, my little slut?”

“Yes, I do, sir.”

“What for?”

“For not paying attention to you, sir.”

“That’s right, smart girl. Now come here and bend over my desk.”

Clare wobbled on unsteady legs to his desk and pressed herself over the solid wood desk.

“I don’t need you to unbutton your slut dress, girl.” He yanked it up above her breasts and the buttons went flying off, abalone shining in the light from the blinds, which were closed against the late afternoon sunshine.

Clare cried out. “I’ll make you crawl for those buttons later, girl. And you’d better find every single one.”

He placed his hand on her finely shaped ass cheeks and caressed the soft curves of her naked bottom. “So soft and unmarked, girl. I think it’s time you were spanked.”

Clare felt a draft of air move over her body as he lifted his hand and slapped it hard against her ass. She drew a sharp breath and let out a tiny squeal.

“Do you deserve to be punished, slut?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then stop your squirming and take your punishment.” With that he began to cover her ass with sharp stinging slaps, alternating with circular caresses. Clare held herself still and quiet from then on, but couldn’t help the juices from overflowing her aroused cunt and trickling down her leg. She felt his fingers trace the come along the inside of her thighs.

“Well, girl, you are wet. I’m going to enjoy taking you. Making you mine.” His hand resumed spanking her ass. “Next time, I’m going to cane you, like the bad little school girl you are.”

Clare moaned as the thought of being punished like a naughty schoolgirl aroused her body and her mind. She felt his fingers enter her sopping sex.

“You are wet, girl. What kind of a slut gets aroused by a spanking?” He plunged his fingers in and out of her, but she forced herself not to move. It was difficult, but she did it, biting down hard on her lip to keep from screaming. Her ass was hot and sore from the strong hand, which had smacked, cupped and then caressed her flaming buttocks. She’d never had a spanking before. And she wanted it. Wanted him to keep going. But he stopped. Removed his fingers from her cunt.

“Get up, girl. Are you ready to crawl for those buttons?”

“Yes sir,” Clare said breathlessly.

“Get on the floor, on your hands and knees, my slut. Pick up every one with your mouth and deposit them at my feet.”

Clare lowered herself to the floor, her open dress causing her to feel cold tile against her nipples and cunt. She raised herself onto her hands and knees and crawled along.

“Spread your legs open when you crawl. I want to see those cunt lips, slut.”

She spread her legs and awkwardly crawled to the first button, trying hard to retrieve it with her tongue, which was parched and dry from her deep breaths of desire and frustration.

“Bend lower, girl. Use those teeth.” The button was large and flat, and eventually she managed to secure it with her teeth and keep it between her lips as she crawled back to the professor’s feet.

“Now drop it, girl.” She allowed the button to drop and it bounced, landing quite far away from the professor’s black leather shoes. “No, slut, that’s too far. Go back for it and put it at my feet.”

Clare moaned in frustration but would not give up. She retrieved the button, the floor beginning to wear on her knees and hands. Her body was sore at the end, but she managed to find all of the buttons and place them at his feet.

The professor brought out a plastic bag.

“Now open the bag, girl.”

She sat at his feet, looking up at him warily. What was he going to make her do now?

She snapped open the bag and pulled out a beautiful silk dress, gasping at its beauty.

“I’ll take your black dress and get the buttons sewn on by another one of my slaves. This is your reward for being so obedient and truthful, girl. Now put yourself together so we can show you off. Dinner is at 7:00 pm. I expect you to be ready.”

“Thank you, sir.” The dress fit perfectly, and Clare went in to the women’s washroom to fix her makeup and calm herself.

Once again that night the two spent a pleasurable dinner and afterward, David drove her home, but once again did not enter her apartment.

He did not contact her the rest of the week, and by Friday she was feeling insecure and angry. Maybe she deserved an ordinary life. In an ordinary life, men kissed her but she never felt intimate with them like she did with David. Men came into her apartment and fucked her, but David never did. They’d never even had sex. She was confused and frustrated.

In Friday’s class she made sure to pay attention. After class, he didn’t call her over and she marched past him. She was walking quickly through the parking lot when suddenly she heard his voice, not loud just strong: “Clare, stop.”

She did not stop at first. The parking lot was empty. She didn’t know what to do. She wanted what he did to her, but she wanted more, and he wouldn’t give it to her. She knew that if she ignored him, their relationship, or whatever it was, would be over. She would be back to occasional sex with unmemorable men. Back to her ordinary life.

She stopped. He got into his car and drove over to her. “Get in.”

She entered the car and fastened her seat belt. Not sure what to say. He just drove on until they reached a hotel in downtown Montreal. “It’s up to you, Clare. We can go into the hotel where I have a room for the night. You can let me control your body. You can let me into your mind. Allow me to unleash your deepest fantasies. I can tie you down and whip you, or you can leave now.”

Clare thought of the spanking and how good it felt. She thought of how freeing it felt when he held her head as his penis took her mouth. She wanted him to take her again. She needed more than an ordinary life.

“Yes, sir. Please take me.”

The two rode up the elevator and she assumed her position at his feet.

He’d always been attracted, sometimes fascinated by the smooth hairless crotches of women. Not just the fact that some women wished to shave their sexual parts, or more likely in the pursuit of fashion, wax them. What also exercised his imagination were the deep-set motivations behind the decision to reveal their cunts so openly, to regress to a state of far from innocent childhood, unprotected by a bush of curls or a minor forest of imitation barbed wire in all shades of colors and textures. Quite often, he had convinced a lover to allow him to trim her pubic hair and, on one occasion, to actually allow him to shave her fully. The experience itself had proven most erotic and the ensuing fucking had acquired an extra dimension. It was summer and the South of France and, the next day, he had half jokingly suggested she refrain from wearing her thong under her short skirt when they went out dining and she had playfully agreed. A memory that lingered with him much longer than the intensity of their love-making. But she had drawn the line at returning to that nude beach some miles away from the port where they were staying with her cunt in full naked display. He had failed to persuade her to do so, and his innocent request had visibly irritated her. It would seem that a hairless cunt was a private matter that should only be witnessed by a lover of long standing. By coincidence or otherwise, this was to be their last trip together.

His next mistress was already shaven. Had been so for years, long before he emerged on her scene. It seems the practice was widespread amongst young women in Germany and, having noted the fact during endless telephone conversations and email exchanges, this was one aspect of hers that had immediately attracted him to her in the first place. And her jovial willingness to sleep with him. Undressing her for the first time, in a hotel room in Frankfurt that smelled of illicit sex already, proved an exhilarating experience, but also a sort of anti-climax as he finally unveiled the silky smoothness of her cunt, and the red gash of her sexual parting in a wet state of readiness. The thought briefly occurred to him that it would have been so much more exciting to have witnessed her passage from hairiness to utter nudity himself. Maybe it wasn’t the state of nakedness of a mons veneris that did these strange things to him, but the very act of revelation, the passage from hirsute parts to billiard-ball shininess. He hadn’t had much time to reflect on things though with her, as he quickly discovered the ever so slightly masochistic streak that illuminated the young woman’s sexuality, as she greedily invited him to twist her nipples between the vice of her abandoned hairpins once he had set her dark auburn hair loose.