A Good Student

BY : lilangelofheaven
Category: Sailor Moon > Het - Male/Female > Usagi/Mamoru
Dragon prints: 11036
Disclaimer: I do not own Sailor Moon or the characters used in this story, and I do not make any money from these writings.

A friend of mine says that a woman's biggest fear is abandonment and a man's biggest fear is responsibility. I don't know if I believe that, but I suppose that's as good an explanation as any for why I was living alone at the time I met Serena. I was twice her age and had had my full share of relationships of all shapes and sizes, and while I'd found them kind of interesting in a morbid kind of way, I'd come to accept the fact that I was pretty lousy at them. I was a spectator, not a participant, and it seemed best that way. To be honest, I was selfish, irresponsible, immature. I still am and suppose I always will be. I was no longer looking to change.

No matter how my relationships started out, they always seemed to end up the same way, as a burden and an imposition. I know that living with someone and loving them is a co-operative effort, a two-way street, but for some reason it seemed that the things I had to give up and sacrifice in order to keep the peace were never worth it in the long run. I was married twice, once for two and a half years, then, twelve years later, for four, and in both cases my wives had big plans for me. I couldn't live up to them. I tried, but making her happy by making myself miserable didn't seem like sound emotional economics.

They tell me that I probably wasn't really in love then—that when you love someone, you'll do anything to make them happy. I don't buy that. In fact, that seems like a pretty good working definition of slavery to me, but this is the kind of stuff I would hear from women, who seemed to have the moral high ground when it came to definitions of love and relationships. They certainly seemed to know what they were talking about, so I tended to keep my mouth shut and avoided the whole subject.

When I met Serena, then, I wasn't really looking for anything, or if I was, it was maybe the exact opposite of what was generally accepted as a normal relationship. If anything, I wanted to strip away all that jockeying for moral superiority and sense of social obligation and get down to the raw, primal genital imperatives of male-female attraction. I didn't want to get into a situation where I'd have to meet her friends and listen to her music and get involved in her life any more than was necessary, and I didn't want to impose all my crap on her either. I wanted to be her lover, not her friend, and meet in that place where our bodies and minds felt nothing but raw animal pleasure. From there we could see where the emotions led us and see if we couldn't develop some kind of arrangement that wouldn't get all suffocated under a mess of domestic trivia and crushed by interpersonal fatigue syndrome.

I wanted to see how long the two of us could keep this thing at the boiling point without getting overcooked.

Of course, it's impossible to have a sexual collision like Serena and I had that night in my office and come out of it emotionally unscathed. I spent that entire weekend sitting around in my loft in my cut-offs, thinking about her and aching. It was hotter than hell but I wouldn't even turn on the AC because that meant closing the windows and that felt like cutting myself off from her somehow, as if she might be sending me thoughts and pheromones on the breeze from way up in the burbs wherever she lived, so I just drank bottled water and sweated and remembered the feel of her skin and the way her muscles trembled against the ropes as I fucked her and she came on my cock. I could still smell her sex in the sweat of my body.

My novel was almost finished and it was entirely bullshit, I could see that now. The intensity of emotion I'd felt with Serena made me realize how false and contrived everything I'd written was. Yes, sex is sex and always intense. Sex deals with immediate sensation and literature deals with abstract ideas and they really can't be compared, but it was becoming clearer to me all the time that ideas were what you played around with when you couldn't get any sex. Intellect is pretty much maybe 80% the mind trying to figure out how to get the body laid. Whether it's writing books or solving quadratic equations, it's all loneliness and we're all stuck with it.

So I sat around and obsessed about Serena. She was upsetting all my theories. I mean, it was only sex after all, sex isn't the same as love. The problem is, I know what sex is, but I'm never sure about love. My own personal guide to love is that it's measured by how much I want to be with someone. By that definition, I was pretty much wildly in love with Serena.

I had her number and thought about calling her, but the last thing I wanted was to bother her. It wasn't just a case of not wanting to look uncool or needy, but it also went against my new non-relationship relationship rules. Besides, I was supposed to be the Dom, and in my ignorance at the time I thought that meant that I should be cold and aloof and unfeeling. That was nonsense, but what did I know?

At eight I went out to the bar down the street to get a beer and some cool air, and when I came back there was a message on the phone.

"Hi, it's me, Serena. I was just bored and wanted to talk but it was nothing important, and I guess you're out. You can call me if you get home like before eleven or so. Bye."

My hands were shaking when I sat down and picked up the phone. She got it on the third ring. "Hi, Serena? It's me. Darien."

"Oh, hi." She sounded a little fuzzy, sleepy, but came alive at the sound of my voice. "It's nice you called me back. I didn't think you would."

"Of course I would. Why wouldn't I? How are you, Serena? Everything okay?"

"Mmm, yeah. I guess so. Just bored."

It was the first time we'd spoken since I'd walked her to her car after tying her wrists to her ankles and fucking her raw on the desk in my office at the community college where she was in my poetry class. The event hung between us like a huge weight we had to cautiously feel our way around.

"Bored? Me too. You should have come over here. I could have found something for us to do"

I could hear her sly smile over the phone. "Oh? Like what?"

"You know what."

"No," she teased. The sound on her end changed, as if she'd cupped her hand around the phone or moved it closer to her lips. "Tell me," she whispered. "I want to hear you say it. Please?"

I couldn't resist. She made me want to do it, and the words just spilled from my mouth before I could stop them, my voice low, my urgency real. "I want to fuck you, Serena. I want to tie you up and get my cock inside you and make you take it, every fucking inch. I want you to come for me till you can't stand it any more. You understand?"

I heard the dry sound of her breath. "Oh God," she said. "No one's ever talked to me like that before."

"Do you like it?" I was already getting hard.

"You must think I'm horrible," she said. "A real slut."

"I don't think anything like that."

She didn't say anything for a while, and then: "Darien, I have to tell you something. I've got a boyfriend. We're engaged. Well, almost engaged."

I'd already suspected as much. A girl like Serena doesn't go around unattached. I'd thought I was above it and wouldn't mind, so the brief stab of hurt surprised me but I pushed it down. I had no right to it.

"Congratulations," I said.

"Doesn't that make you hate me?"

"No. What does that have to do with me?"

She was quiet for a while, then said, "He's really a great guy and he's got a great job. We're just waiting for him to finish his training. He's with—" and here she mentioned some outfit I guess I was supposed to have heard of—UniServe or TeleCom or UniTel or something— "and he's doing three months of training in Atlanta. Then he'll be assigned to San Diego and we'll probably move out there. If we get married here first then the company will pay to move me too, but I'm not real sure yet. I don't know if we'll get married here or there, or maybe somewhere else, like in Mexico, you know? I mean, I'm not really sure of the details yet, but I thought you should know."

"Un-huh. And when's he done with his training?"

"About six weeks."

Silence. I wasn't sure what she wanted me to say. I had no plans for her that extended beyond the length of my dick. I was determined not to lie about that.

"He doesn't know about me," she said. "The kind of things I like. I mean, I tried to get him to do some of that stuff but he just laughed. He couldn't believe I was serious. He thought it was sick, 'cause I guess he's kind of straight. That's not good, is it?"

I shrugged but she couldn't see it. "You're not married yet, right?"

"No."

"Not even engaged."

"No. Not officially."

"Do you love him?"

The pause. The fatal pause. "I think so. He comes back and sees me every couple of weeks."

"Well what do you want me to do, Serena? You want me to not see you anymore?"

"No," she said. "No." There was no pause now. "I just thought I should tell you."

"Un-huh. Well, it bothers you. I can understand that, but you're an adult, honey, and you have to decide what you want to do. Just let me say that I don't want to interfere with your happiness or your life. I have no intention of asking you to break up with your boyfriend or do anything else you don't want to do. This is a physical relationship, Serena, physical and sexual, and beyond that, I don't expect anything from you and I'm not asking for anything. I want your body, Serena. I want you as my lover, that's all."

I was surprised to hear my own words, so clear and unambiguous, so reasonable.

I was even more surprised to hear the response from her lips a few heartbeats later—the hurried whisper, almost a sigh: "God! Why does that make me so hot?"

*****

We didn't talk much more that night. A roommate came home and she didn't want to use the phone, and we hadn't yet exchanged e-mail addresses. I didn't hear from her again until the Monday night before class.

"Hi, it's me, Serena. Did you miss me?"

"Like the sky misses the stars." I smiled, and in truth I had. The last phone call had only increased my desire, and now that I knew she loved being talked to over the phone, I let the words pour out of me. "I miss the feel of you on my cock, your body writhing against mine, your hair in my hands, the way you shiver when I shove my dick into you, the blinding ecstasy as I jet my cum into your hot pussy."

I laughed as I heard her catch her breath. She hadn't been expecting anything like that. "Am I going to see you after class?" I asked.

She suddenly grew grave, her voice quiet. "Oh God. I don't know, Darien. I really don't know. I've been thinking about all weekend and I don't know what to do."

I felt like an idiot for my dirty talk and it came out as coldness. "It's your decision, Serena," I said.

"Well, 'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may'."

"What?"

I recited: "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles to-day Tomorrow will be dying. Robert Herrick, seventeenth century poet, 'To the Virgins, to Make the Most of Time"

"I get it," she said. "But I'm not a virgin."

"Oh yes you are," I replied. "More than you know. A lot more than you know."

When she walked into class on Tuesday it was impossible to tell from her clothes what her decision about us had been. She wore a white cotton boat-neck top and a short denim skirt, unusually casual attire for her, and I didn't know if that meant she was comfortable with me now or she just didn't care. She kept her sunglasses on during class, but again, that might have meant she was hiding from me or it might have meant she was trying to conceal her lust.

In any case, I'd already decided to try and ignore her as much as possible during the lecture. What else could I do? But at the same time it was impossible not to be aware of her and what had happened between us. Thankfully, I'd rescheduled things so the lecture was an easy one for me, just playing recordings of various poets reading their own work. It was legitimate— wanted the kids to hear the poems as the poets heard them when they wrote them, the cadence and music of the language, something that doesn't always come across on the printed page—but I didn't have to do much. I'd have the students read a poem to themselves from the handouts, paying attention to how they heard it in their heads, and then put on a recording of the poet reading it in his or her own voice—the elderly, scratched brogue of Yeats, Eliot's eerie prissiness, the roiling madness of Ezra Pound, the ecstatic jazz of Kerouac, Gregory Corso's exuberant word salad, Edna St. Vincent-Millay's repressed and sublimated sexiness. The words rolled out and at the end I just turned down the lights and played recordings at random and we sat and listened. The power of the spoken word seemed to turn the cold auditorium of that third-rate community college into someplace special—a kind of campsite or temple or clearing under the stars where magical things happened, where evanescent feelings were captured and preserved in words and things were shown to us that we'd otherwise never see.

The poetry ended, the voices faded away, and the silence seemed like vacuum left in the room, as if a big train had just passed by. In the silence, I could hear someone softly snoring from one of the upper row but I didn't mind. These kids worked hard. Most of them had jobs. Sitting there and listening, I was reminded of why I'd chosen to try and be a writer myself, and I was proud, and that didn't happen very often. I had goose bumps on my arms.

I didn't want to break the spell by turning on the lights, so I just stayed where I was and announced, "That's all for tonight. Class dismissed."

I turned off the CD and the class gathered up their things and shuffled for the exits. I looked up and saw Serena sitting in her usual place, four rows up. She was slumped slightly in her seat as if she'd been thrown there, as if stunned. Her shoulders were back, and even in the darkness of the hall the shadows of her erect nipples were visible against the thin white fabric of her top. Her sunglasses were pushed up on her head and she was looking directly at me with a weird intensity, as if trying to cast a spell on me or maybe just capture my attention. Beneath the table her knees were spread apart quite plainly and her denim skirt was hiked up to mid thigh. It was too dark to see all the way up her skirt but there was no mistaking that gesture. She was offering herself to me, awaiting my instructions.

The room emptied as took my time, winding up the cord on the CD player, putting my notes away. Serena stayed in her seat, motionless until the door closed on the last student and their voices faded in the hallway. I looked up at her.

"Are you staying?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Yes," I said. "Very much."

I put the CD player away beneath the lectern. "Lock the doors. Take one of those folding chairs and jam the legs under the push-bars"

I'd discovered this trick on my own. The doors could still be forced from the outside, of course, but I liked the feeling of added security and of being locked in, and I liked the idea of making Serena do the locking. The cleaning crew didn't do this side of the building on my class nights anyhow, so there was little chance of our being discovered.

She stood up and smoothed down her skirt. I watched the tight roll of her ass as she climbed the broad stairs towards the back and almost disappeared into the darkness near the exits, then picked up a chair and slid it into place. She turned, pushed her hair back behind her ears, and started walking back down.

"Slowly," I said, my voice echoing in the empty room. "Walk slower. I just want to look at you."

I could adjust the lights from the podium, and I set them now so the auditorium was in complete darkness. There was only the spotlight over the podium and on the whiteboard behind it. Serena walked slowly down the steps, her shoulders back, her eyes flickering from the steps before her up to my face to see my reaction as I watched her in the simple act of approaching me, and act that was suddenly full of portent. She was getting excited. I could sense it from her, the way she had to restrain herself as she stepped down the stairs, pausing at each one, and the sense of power I felt was turning me on just as much as the sight of her. She was bringing herself to me at my command, and the very act was arousing us both, alone in that vast empty space.

She descended the last stair and came to the podium and I was going to talk to her, ask her if she'd made her decision, when I realized it was best not to say anything. She was here. What else was there to say? I looked into her eyes and took her hand and brought her close to me, so close I could feel the warmth from her body and smell her, so close that our bodies touched. I let the impending kiss hang in the air for what seemed like forever, till the tension became too much, over-ripe and swollen, and then I brought my lips down on that hot mouth and took her sweetness.

Serena doesn't kiss so much as she somehow surrenders with her mouth, with her breath, with her whole body, and my first thought was to pity the man who didn't fall in love with the delicious sin of that mouth. Her surrender brought forth a surge of male hormones in me, a rush of blinding sexual desire that made me feel like a conqueror—an emotional acceleration that turned me into an animal who seized her hair and held her mouth to mine like it was fruit of the desert. She shuddered before my onslaught and melted against me, and the more I took, the more she wanted to give until I felt like I was ready to crawl into her mouth and have her from the inside. She drove me insane.

Call it love or call it lust but it was good enough for me and it was more than good enough. It was exactly what I wanted and it was exactly what Serena wanted taken from her. I pushed her back until I had her pressed up against the whiteboard, never breaking that kiss, and I grabbed her wrists and held them against the board to let her know I owned her now and she was under my control. I leaned against her to show her how hard she'd made me. It was her fault she was being treated like this.

The whiteboard was covered with my own scribbles of poetic emotions we'd been discussing—love, hate, joy, fear, sadness, anger, desire, shame—and now I held Serena against it and worked her white cotton top up over her naked tits as she turned her face to the side to gasp for breath. She grabbed my hands to try and stop me and I shook her off angrily and grabbed her wrists again and pressed them against the board.

"You know the rules," I growled. "You don't touch me without permission!"

"I thought we were just going to talk," she said fearfully. "Someone could still come in."

"I don't give a fuck who comes in. When we're together I'm in control. You don't touch me or interfere, understand?"

She nodded and I went back to lifting her top over her tits. I wanted her naked and exposed under that spotlight, pinned against that whiteboard, but the top was snug. Halfway up I slid my hands under her breasts and ran my thumbs around her nipples and kissed her again, and again Serena opened her mouth to me in submission, closing her eyes and sucking on my tongue with meek supplication. Her nipples were wildly sensitive in a way I didn't remember from last time, possibly from being braless all evening, and rubbing my thumbs against them caused her to push her hips out at me and moan into my mouth. When I pinched them she gave a little shriek.

I knew I was going to fast for her, making her confused and dizzy with my sudden attack, but I liked it this way. I shoved her top up and lowered my head and took a nipple into my mouth, sucking it and lashing it with my tongue. She knew now she wasn't allowed to touch me, but she didn't know what to do with her hands, so all she could do was hold them up and squeeze them into frustrated fists or spread her fingers wide—lovely fingers with beautiful nails, the kind of nails that got a lot of attention. The shine of her nails got to me. For some reason they made me want to bite her breasts. She was all so perfect. I squeezed her tits in either hand till the nipples stood out then I licked and nibbled them till she hissed like a cat, arched her back and gave a little cry.

I reached down and grabbed the hem of her skirt and started working it over her hips but it was snug and she had to help me, moving her thighs together and rolling her hips. Soon enough I got it high enough that I could feel her panties between her legs. I was surprised. We had a kind of agreement that she wasn't supposed to wear underthings to our sessions. I touched her pussy and she stiffened. SO she'd been right. She really hadn't known whether she was going to go through with this tonight.

"Panties?" I asked. "You wore panties tonight?"

"I wasn't sure," she said nervously. "I wasn't sure if I was going to..."

I leaned back and looked at her, my anger flaring. "You weren't sure? You really weren't sure? Are you sure now, Serena? Or do you want to think about it some more?"

"No. I'm sure. Really, I'm sure. Darien, don't..."

I pulled her skirt up and shoved my hand down the front of her panties, hooked my finger beneath the soft crease of her pussy and parted her lips. She was smooth and wet and I could feel her juicy little clit lick at my finger like a tongue as I rubbed back and forth. Serena moaned and gasped and dropped her hands to her sides, clawing at the walls as if trying to hang on.

I leaned against her and the feel of her pussy in my hand made me hot with lust and hunger and a feeling of ownership, with a feeling of power and control. I loved the way she came alive at my touch, the way she responded. At the same time, the idea that she'd even considered denying me what was so clearly mine filled me with anger. I slid my finger into her as if to remind her who she belonged to, pushed into her without apology as my thumb played with her clit. My face was right against hers and I stared directly into her eyes, daring her to tell me no, just daring her—almost hoping she would. The idea that she could have someone else—a boyfriend, a lover, a fiancée, even a husband—who could touch her the way I did or feel about her the way I did just infuriated me.

She looked at me fearfully but didn't say a word. Her legs parted slightly and I pushed my finger in deeper, violating her, penetrating her, trying to hurt her and she closed her eyes and grimaced but accepted it. There had to be no doubt here who owned whom, and yet inside I wondered whose heart was beating faster? Who was more excited? Who had the power and who was surrendering to whom?

I pulled my finger out of her and she relaxed slightly, daring at last to breathe. I took her arm—"Come here"—pulled her over to the lectern and pushed her face down over it. "Here, on your elbows, ass up, legs straight. That's it. Now spread them. Keep your face down"

Serena did as she was told, leaning her forearms on the wooden lectern, keeping her knees straight so that her trunk was almost parallel to the floor. Her top was still up under her armpits her tits hung beneath her, heavy and free, distended by gravity. I undid her skirt and pulled down the zipper then yanked it down over her hips and let it slide down her legs. She stepped out of it, giving a little mewl of embarrassment at appearing so naked and exposed in so public a place as an auditorium, but she didn't protest. Her panties were thin, robin's egg blue, stretched across the firm globes of her buttocks and low enough so the top of her asscrack was visible, tight enough so the ripe bottoms of her cheeks emerged from beneath as well. I ran my hand over her ass, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin, slick fabric as she looked nervously back at me over her shoulder.

"Eyes front," I said as I caressed the humid pit of her sex between her legs. "So you weren't sure? You weren't sure you were going to give me this ass tonight?"

"Darien, I—"

I drew my hand back and gave her a good hard slap on the underside of her right buttock—a loud one, a slap that echoed in the empty auditorium like a gunshot and made her squeal and rise up on her toes in surprise.

"Owww! Darien! No! No! That's not what I meant!"

"Keep your hands on that lectern! Don't you dare take them off of there, Serena!"

Whapp!! I slapped her on the left cheek, just as hard, hard enough to make her drop her head and gasp, her fingers digging into the edge of the lectern as if she had to hang on

Smackk!!! Slappp!!! Two more blows, one on either cheeks, hard and sharp, and now my hand was starting to sting and her ass was jiggling and beginning to redden. The sting felt good and as I spanked her again, Serena gasped and jerked her head up, her mouth open in shock and something else—surprise maybe, but surprise at her own reaction, at finding she liked it, liked being spanked like this, treated like a naughty little high school slut.

I spanked her again. I was standing behind her and just to her left so I could swing my right hand back and land my blows squarely on the center of her ass, right on top of her innocent blue panties as her buttocks quaked and trembled and clenched together in reflexive avoidance.

Her hands were holding onto the top of the lectern and she lowered her face and rested her cheek against them, her brows knitted against the pain as she awaited the next blow, and how the emotions tore at me as I spanked her! Her fragile beauty and the way she offered herself up to my punishment brought out something both savage and tender in me, and I stopped the spanking, reached in front of her with my left hand and found her pussy and began to caress her, massaging and stroking her the way I knew she liked, washing away the pain with soothing tenderness. I caressed her ass as well, sliding my hand over her slick panties, feeling the heat from her beaten flesh through the fabric. The softness felt good against my tingling palm.

Serena began to grind herself against my hand, tentatively, as if checking to see whether the storm had passed. When she received no further spanks, she grew bolder. She began to search for pleasure, rolling her hips and her ass as she pushed her pussy against my fingers, working herself off. She became hungrier, more desperate. My fingers pressed the fabric of her panties up into her sticky slit and it felt as though she might somehow actually open up and take me inside, and at that point I realized she was about to seduce me with her need. I drew my right hand back and started spanking her again—Slapp!! Whapp!! Crackk!!—smacking her ass as I continued to massage her pussy, mixing pleasure and pain, sweetness and thunder, till Serena was clinging to the lectern and almost sobbing, humping and writhing like a bitch in heat, not sure which way to turn.

Now I was sweating too, my hand numb, my dick throbbing and oozing in my pants. I stepped back and pulled off my necktie as Serena writhed and moaned against the lectern, swiveling her ass shamelessly. I grabbed her wrists and used the tie to bind them behind her back. She didn't resist, just lay there with her face against pressed against the hard wood as I roughly tied her wrists together and she panted with urgent excitement. Even as I pulled the knot tight her ass continued to weave and undulate in obscene invitation as if it had a mind of its own and was hungry now for more punishment, more pleasure, for whatever I wanted to give her.

I pulled down her panties—pulled them down till they were stretched just above her knees—and exposed her naked buttocks and the swollen and glistening pussy that was nestled between them. I played with her and spanked her some more till her ass was a bright red and her moans had turned into a hoarse and urgent panting. Her hands were twisting in the bonds and her thighs were trembling, her copious lubricant was seeping over my fingers in shameful excess and dripping onto the floor, a sight that only made me spank her harder. I aroused her and punished her for being aroused at the same time. She stopped trying to protect herself or avoid the spanks, sticking her ass up high and humping savagely at the hand invading her pussy, desperate to get off.

It was bizarre, obscene. We were like the centerpiece in some classroom demonstration of carnal depravity, the overhead spotlight illuminating us on the dais as she bent slavishly over the lectern with her cheek pressed against the wood, her hands tied behind her, naked ass in the air while I spanked her and fingered her cunt and she moaned and writhed and gasped, the sounds echoing off the darkened walls. I was feverish with desire and couldn't resist her anymore. I fell to my knees behind her, grabbed the fronts of her thighs and pulled her ass back to me and buried my face in her cunt like an animal

"Oh! God!" she cried at this new outrage.

My nose pressed against her asshole and my tongue pierced her lips, sucked greedily at her flowing juices, slurped at her cunt, the lewd, slushy sounds enough to give even me goose bumps. I was sick, insane with lust for her. She clenched her ass and I felt it trap my face in the hot valley of her crack and I just slapped her again to make her let go, then reached around and began to frig her clit, beating her off and spanking her clit like it was a naughty little monkey, slapping my fingers into the wet sticky trough of her pussy.

Her cheek was pressed into the lectern, her face rolling back and forth so that her voice was muffled, but I heard her groans and entreaties and her nervous pleas. "Oh God! God, Darien! Someone could come in! Someone could come in!"

"Yeah. Let 'em," I said, my mouth full of her flesh

Before us was the entire auditorium, all these empty seats facing us as if peopled by ghostly observers, all of them watching us, watching Serena having her cunt eaten out from behind by a man squatting on his haunches like a lunatic ape. I got my pants open and pulled out my cock as I ate her and started beating off, my wrist rocking easily on that big stalk, working the skin up and down as I sealed my mouth against her pussy and pierced her with my tongue or let it slither along her juice-filled crease. When I pulled my mouth away, her mucus coated my lips and I pressed my mouth against her ass and flicked my tongue maddeningly against her tightly clenched asshole, making her squeal and lift her foot reflexively as if to push me away, as if this final outrage were just too much.

It wasn't too much for me. I grabbed her ankle and planted her foot right back down on the floor. Yes, I licked her asshole. I spread her asscheeks and tried to work my tongue into her and she screamed and clenched her butt until I slapped her again to make her relax to show her there was no part of her I wouldn't take if I wanted to.

And once we established that—once she accepted that every piece of her was mine—I stood up with a look of grim satisfaction on my face and opened my belt and let my pants drop and my cock spring free. I looked down at that beautiful body bound and bent before me. I knew then that she was mine—mine to have, mine to fuck, mine to do with as I pleased. The previous sessions had been seductions on my part and I'd taken her, but this time I'd waited for her to come to me, and she had. She'd come to me and that made all the difference. She was complicit in this affair. She'd accepted the terms, and she knew very well what they were.

Serena waited breathlessly as I moved into position behind her. My handprints were all over her ass, her juice was dripping from the pouting, swollen lips of her pussy. She didn't move, didn't breathe as I ran my hands over my property, then shuffled forward with my pants around my ankles, shuffled forward and pressed the head of my cock against her opening.

I felt her stiffen for an instant. Her pussy seemed to suck inward in sudden, automatic reflex, then I took hold of her hips and leaned back like a cowboy and slid that long shaft into her cunt and could almost hear it sizzle like a bar of white hot iron quenched in a trough of oil.

"Ohhhhh! Darien! Darien!!!"

"Fuck!" I spat.

The pleasure was so intense I felt like I'd been punched in the gut, and already I felt my balls churning, ready to spit. She was so hot, so tight, so perfect, and it was her—Serena—mine. So she had a boy friend, she had a fiancée. She'd had men before and she'd have them again. But for tonight, this one was mine: my slave, my beauty, my lover, my woman—and she was all that I could ever want. I pushed in deeper and felt her hot ass press against my belly and heard her moan of fulfillment as I stuffed her so full of cock that she finally slid forward on the lectern, unable to take anymore.

"Oh yessss...!"

I could look down and see my shaft stretching the tight ring of muscle at the entrance to her pussy. I could picture that hard meat inside of her, pressing against her tissues, stimulating her secret nerve endings, sending hormones gushing through her bloodstream and hot, shuddery ripples of pleasure along her nerves, her legs, her spine, up to her fevered brain. She was tied, helpless, naked in that auditorium, panties pulled down around her legs—there to be fucked and take it, there to be used, to be filled with my come.

"Jesus!" I swore. "Oh fuck!"

I grabbed her hips and started fucking into the slick clutch of her cunt, punching my hips into her and pulling her back onto my thrusting shaft, hearing the wet slap of her ass against me, her lewd, helpless moans. Her tits were swinging back and forth like sandbags as I fucked her. My balls were swinging too, and as I pumped her against me I felt viscous strings of our commingled juices swing against my thighs and stick there as they seeped from her pussy.

"Good, isn't it?" I snarled at her. "You like being fucked like this, Serena? You like driving me so crazy I fuck you like this?"

She just moaned, too overwhelmed with the lewdness of her position to speak. I reached over and grabbed her hair, pulled her head up so she arched her back and I suddenly increased the tempo, double-timing, fucking her so fast that the slap of her tits against her chest joined the obscene chorus of sexual noises we were making. Her long, constant moan of salacious pleasure was punctuated by sharp, involuntary, animal-like grunts as I punched into her, sending my tool slithering deep and knocking the wind out of her.

Through the hot red haze of my primal fucklust I remembered her clit, how she loved to be played with—that hot, swollen love bud nestled between her lips and I reached down into her swampy cunt and spread her apart and forked my fingers around it and then squeezed just enough to make her whine, then started beating her off as I fucked her, sliding my hand up and back while holding her hair in one hand and pulling her face up like a headsman's trophy.

"Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" she chanted mindlessly, overcome by the double sensation of being fucked and played with. I could shove my dick into her and hold it there and then vibrate her clit so fast I could feel it in my shaft, like she was a human vibrator. It felt good. It felt insanely good.

There was nothing Serena could do but scream. My hand was in her hair, her chest was pressed against the podium and her wrists tied behind her back, my cock was pumping in and out of that sweet little cunt and my fingers were digging and vibrating against her engorged clit as her juice poured and slopped over my fingers. She screamed—screamed in pleasure and total submission, screamed as her I took her and rode her hard and gave her just what she wanted. Screamed as I felt her cunt convulse and her body begin to hunch and jerk against me, out of control as she came, legs shaking, choking on her own cries of release, hands twisting in her bonds.

I pulled up on her cunt, pulled it tight like a rubber glove around me and shoved deep, rising up on my toes to make her take every last fucking inch of cock, then I grabbed the back of her neck and pushed her down against the lectern as I felt it start. I wanted to hold her right there as I shot it into her—right there—mine, mine! I threw my head back in ecstasy and growled like a lion with his kill as I felt the thick bolts of come gush up from the well of my soul and thunder down my cock to spew hard and heavy into Serena's quivering sheath, one after another, each a burning jolt of fiery bliss and absolute triumph, an explosion of fulfillment, sending my soul into her—my need, my strength, my love.

I poured it into her—marking her, branding her, making her mine—standing above her on the podium like a king over his slave and watching my cock jerk and spit into her body as if it weren't even mine—as if our bodies spoke directly one to another—and even in my moment of triumph I felt her take possession of my soul just as she took possession of my come. I felt her conquer me with her very submission, and I knew as the final pleasure of climax seeped through my body like warm honey that I was totally lost.

There was no place else to go and so I'd opened a folding chair down in front of the lectern and sat there with Serena in my lap, naked except for her top. I was dressed, and that was part of it, a sign of her status. She didn't seem to mind, and in fact, she found my desire to hold her afterwards strange but terribly gratifying. Apparently she'd always felt that revealing the wild and submissive side of her sexuality would somehow disqualify her from receiving affection afterwards, as if she were no more than a whore. My need to hold and caress her and keep her close almost seemed to embarrass her at first, and it took her a while to realize that I was serious and not just doing it to patronize her.

I loved to hold her, though. I especially loved to play with her and feel my come dripping from her pussy. It was like a mark of ownership, and it made me proud in a terribly selfish, embarrassingly male kind of way. So she sat there in my lap with my left arm around her, her legs slightly apart as I kissed and nuzzled her breasts and slid my fingers around, smearing my come over her thighs, lost in that post-orgasmic sense of peace and fulfillment.

"Darien?"

"Yes?"

"This is dumb, but do you mind if I talk?"

"About what?"

"You know. About him?"

I never stopped licking her breasts. "If you want," I said. I really didn't care.

She seemed to be gathering her thoughts, and whether consciously or unconsciously I don't know, but I started playing with her pussy. Serena's arms were around my neck, and she tightened them slightly and leaned back a bit so she could open her legs more. That made her breasts more accessible and I sucked a nipple between my lips and began to suck as my hand of its own volition started to seriously massage her pussy.

I didn't do this on purpose. I wasn't trying to shut her up or distract her, but Serena's extremely orgasmic. It's one of the amazing things about her. She turns on extremely quickly and has a very short latency period between orgasms. It was something I was just discovering at the time but had not yet fully realized.

"What?" I asked. "What did you want to say?"

She was already breathing faster.

"Never mind," she whispered, her hand gripping the back of my neck. "It's not important."

I lowered her till she was more nearly lying recumbent across my lap and continued playing with her, sliding my fingers over her come-slick clit and up and down her crease and Serena seemed to go limp and tense at the same time. I could look down at her face and see the pleasure of my hand take her and render her helpless. Her hips started to move.

"God, when you touch me!" she gasped. "God, Darien! What are you doing to me?"

I found her clit. I knew what she liked. Her hips started to move with purpose now, lewd, obscene purpose, pumping, lifting against my fingers, the muscles in her stomach knotting. She opened her eyes a slit and looked at me.

"You make me so bad!" she whispered.

"I love you this way!" I said. "Now give it to me, Serena. You know what I want. Give it to me!"

"Ohhh!"

She bit her lip but she couldn't refuse. I could almost see her nipples tightening on her breasts, her labia swelling. I definitely could feel her clit becoming turgid and rubbery and resisting my touch. She was wonderful to watch—a lesson in female sexual response.

"Ohhhh... Oh, God, Darien!"

When Serena comes, she gives it to you. It's like something she has to get rid of, something she has to eject from her body, through her cunt and her skin and her mouth and her eyes—a terrible coiled up ferocious pleasure that starts somewhere inside and bursts out of her. My urge is always to hold her, to wrap my arms around her and hold her tight so that she doesn't fly apart or explode as the pleasure rips from her.

And that's what I did. I pulled her against me with my left arm, crushed her against me so hard neither of us could breathe as my right hand continued to coax the orgasm out of her and I felt her shudder and twitch like a rag doll as she moaned and sobbed helplessly in my embrace.

I held her so hard I felt tears squeeze out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks, catching me surprise as she came and came and I thought through my joy how absolutely foolish I was. This was only sex after all. This was only sex to hold a woman's heart and soul in your hands and know that she wanted you to do whatever you wanted to her and have her respond like this. That you touched each other in places that no one else had ever touched and made you feel things that were beyond your ability to describe. Only sex that for one brief instant no matter how short and fleeting the barriers fell away and you were somehow one with her—this stranger—and you weren't alone anymore.

Only sex.

Only sex.


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