He was as good as his word about not coming to her room, no matter what kind of persuasion she employed. He’d enjoy her attempts—and then laugh at her.
He did, however, make use of the cell phone he’d given her. He instructed her to use the vibrate option for the ringer, so he could contact her in class without her teachers or the other students being aware of it. She’s put it in the pocket of her backpack and rest her foot against it, so that she could feel when it went off, and know exactly when he wanted her.
It was amazing it wasn’t broken in the first month, they used it so often. She invented so many excuses to leave class that her teachers were giving her curious looks, but her grades were up, so they weren’t complaining.
Of course, Buffy’s teachers had no idea that her grades were up because William sometimes made a game of withholding satisfaction until she provided the proper declension of Latin nouns, or recited the dates of important battles. Until she proved she’d learned something besides the fact that he made a sound like he was being gutted when she sucked both his balls at the same time.
He was insatiable. She wondered, sometimes, what he did before came to the school, before they became lovers. Surely he couldn’t have left that voracious appetite unappeased. She thought about the girlfriend Cordelia had mentioned, and wondered about others, but didn’t want to ask. She didn’t want to do anything that might disturb their relationship. She still remembered the fear she’d felt when he told her to pack her things, and didn’t want to feel it again.
But still, she couldn’t help but wonder how long she’d have them to herself. The rest of the school year? Or maybe just until he got tired of her?
Yet it seemed like he would never grow tired of her. The tight, almost desperate way he held her, as if he feared she’d slip out of his grasp—the things he whispered—the heated, possessive expression in his eyes when he looked at her—none of it spoke of a man interested in ending a relationship.
But still, she worried. Until the next time she felt the phone ping against her foot, or opened her eyes to find him drowsing beside her, she worried.
As if prompted by her thoughts, the phone began vibrating against her foot, and Buffy shot her hand into the air. “Miss Eccles? May I be excused?”
The teacher frowned. “Are you feeling bad again, Buffy?” Buffy nodded mutely. “My heavens, I think you should see a doctor,” she scolded. “Tell the nurse, or Mr. Bloodsworth. This just isn’t right.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dammit. She’d have to get William to try to phone her more at lunch and after classes; if her teachers started talking to each other, they might put two and two together, and that would just blow.
~*~*~*~
William glanced up from the pile of documents in front of him and smiled at Buffy as she entered his office, carefully shutting the door behind her.
Then he remembered what he had to tell her, and his smile fell.
“Buffy, I’m not going to drag it out—I’ve got bad news.”
Buffy felt apprehension grip her. She was starting to hate the feeling. “What?”
“I know you wanted to stay here for Christmas break, but I just got word from your mother that she wants you home for the holidays,” he told her. Her face crumpled, and he felt like crap.
“I want to stay with you!” she protested, beginning to tear up.
“I know, sweetheart,” he soothed, drawing her into his arms and cuddling her. “But it’s just a couple of weeks, and then you’ll be back. And then we can make up for lost time—we’ll have that to look forward to,” he said temptingly.
Mmm—making up for lost time, she thought, beginning to recover. That sounded like make-up sex. Yes, that might be nice.
But god, she’d miss him.
“And I have a little surprise for you,” he added. She looked at him curiously. “Since you won’t be around for me to give you your birthday spanking, why don’t you go in there and bring back whatever you like,” he said, nodding towards his evil little closet.
She felt a little thrill run through her. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking of the room since her one visit to it, when he sent her to change her clothes before forcing her to weed the school’s flower beds. Just a few hours later his hand was on her ass. Not doing what she liked, but—actually, it turned out he was doing something she liked, but not what she was expecting. “O—okay,” she agreed, suddenly having trouble breathing. The very thought of going into that room again excited her so much she had the feeling she’d come as soon as he touched her.
Or possibly before.
She could feel her clit nudging its way from under its hood, brushing against the cotton of her panties. It created a delicious friction as she walked into the closet. She restrained the urge to touch herself through her schoolgirl skirt as she surveyed the room in front of her.
Ah, what to choose…they all looked so interesting—even the ones she couldn’t figure out how to use….
When she returned to the office he was licking his lips lasciviously. “Show me what you’ve got there,” he rasped.
She hesitated for a moment, glancing at the door. “Did you lock it?” she asked.
He smiled. “Oh, yes. And when you were gone I sent my secretary out with a long list of errands that will take her hours. We can make as much noise as we want. Now,” he instructed, “show Daddy what you’ve got.”
Buffy rubbed her thighs together in anticipation and brought the device out from behind her back. It reminded her of a mutant pompom—several thin leather strands connected to a narrow handle. It looked almost innocuous…except she doubted anything in that room was innocuous
He was studying the item too, his eyes downcast, the thick fringe of dark-blond lashes preventing her from reading his expression.
“Ah, the short flogger. Very nice,” he said silkily. She shivered at the intent in his voice. “This is much more subtle than the paddle was,” he told her. “This can give a dull thud—or a sharp crack. Which did you have in mind?” he asked, reaching out to take it from her and allowing his fingers to brush hers.
“I—I don’t know,” she admitted.
To her surprise, he set the flogger aside. “Then I guess we’ll have to experiment. Take off your panties,” he instructed her, making her shiver yet again at the reminder of that first time in his office. She obeyed, feeling almost as nervous as she had then, and even more aroused. “Now go over to that chair over there,” he continued, his voice smoky. “And lean over it.”
Buffy obeyed, walking over to the chair and bending over.
“That’s it, my girl—my sweet girl,” he crooned, reaching out and stroking her skirt up over her ass. He drew his hand over her bottom, squeezing first one cheek, then the other. She sighed in pleasure. “Yes, you like that, don’t you?” He insinuated his clever fingers between her legs, and she widened her stance to accommodate him.
She thought he was going to continue to caress her, but he pulled away. The next thing she felt was the flogger, brushing gently against her ass. She could feel each strand of leather feathering against her, the buttery flats and the hard edges. “Do it,” she breathed.
A second later he drew back his hand and brought the flogger against her buttocks with a dull thud.
“Like that?” he asked. “Or like this?” he continued, snapping the leather against her sharply. She gasped at the intermingling of pain and pleasure.
She didn’t know. She couldn’t decide. They were both so good. “B—both,” she gasped.
“Whatever you say, lover,” he told her, his hand at her hip holding her still as he brought the flogger down again. She looked so beautiful bent there with her skirt up. He peppered her ass with dull thuds, only occasionally introducing a harsher crack. Too many sharp blows and the skin might break, and she wouldn’t be able to sit down, or other, even more important, things.
Besides, when she wasn’t expecting the sharper blows they made her quiver all the more.
Moving closer to her, he nudged his knee between hers and pushed her legs farther apart. She pushed back at him, anticipating him filling her at any moment.
Instead he stepped back. When she started to straighten up to ask him what was wrong she felt his hand on her back, pressing her down again. “What—” she began.
And then he snapped the flogger again, and the strands slapped between her legs. She gasped. “Wha—what are you—” He did it again, and her knees buckled.
This time he dropped the flogger and stepped behind her, quickly unzipping his trousers. He pushed into her without any further preliminaries. He knew he didn’t need them.
“God! Yes,” she gasped, her voice shredded.
He grasped the tender backs of her knees and pushed them farther apart. She broke off her aroused ramblings, a sharp, rising scream escaping from her. “Love you. Love you so much, baby,” he grated, pumping furiously inside her. He nudged the hair away from the side of her neck so he could nuzzle her as he felt the luscious waves that signaled an incipient orgasm overtake him. “Love you so much.”
Her pussy strangled him as she came. He reached around her and began fingering her clit, mercilessly driving her towards another climax. “Come on baby, come to me. You know you want to,” he urged her. She screamed so loudly and for so long that her voice finally became hoarse. In a distant part of his mind he was grateful for the age of the building—its stone walls were thick.
Finally he spasmed inside her. His knees gave out, and he sunk slowly to the floor, pulling her with him. She rested in his lap, the final contractions of her orgasm still fluttering around his shaft. “Did you say something?” she asked, dazed.
He chuckled weakly and kissed her damp temple. “Never mind, baby,” he told her shakily. “Never mind.”
