Buffy wasn’t paying much attention to her Latin instructor—she didn’t even try pretending. Instead she just stared off into space and thought about the night before. How Mr. Bloodsworth—William, she corrected herself—had held her down and taunted her, touching her until she wanted to scream, and then buried his face against her until she really did scream.
And then later, in his bedroom, he’d used his hands to make her come again, come so hard she was barely aware of his cock bucking in her hand. It wasn’t until she was laying back, dazed, and he was leaning above her stroking his come across her belly, that she realized he’d gotten off, too. He touched her in wonderment as she panted and slowly returned to reality, then bent close and licked her body clean of his spendings.
She was barely aware that someone had entered the room and given the teacher a note until she heard her name being called. “Miss Summers, you’re excused for the rest of class,” Mr. Simms told her, waving her to the front of the room and handing her a folded slip of paper. “Don’t forget tomorrow’s assignment, it’s in your workbook.”
Buffy didn’t unfold the note until she had left the class and shut the door behind her. “Buffy Summers is to report to the headmaster’s office immediately.” Nothing else.
It wasn’t a very romantic note. Buffy remembered wandering into her first period late—he’d worn her out but good—and had just shrugged when the teacher had asked why she was late. What was she supposed to say? Sorry, the headmaster was fucking my brains out all night, and I overslept? Saying nothing was the tactful thing under the circumstances. Could the teacher have complained about her—about her tardiness, and her attitude?
The perfectly pleasant-looking middle aged woman in front of William’s office looked up when she arrived. “Miss Summers?” she asked. Buffy nodded. “Mr. Bloodsworth is expecting you. Please go on in.”
Buffy opened the door a little apprehensively and walked in. “Mr. Bloodsworth?” she asked nervously. She hadn’t actually called him William to his face yet, and besides, his secretary might be listening.
William looked up from his work. “Ah, Miss Summers, good. Come with me,” he told her, rising and walking past her out the door. Like the night before had never happened.
She hurried after him as he told his secretary he’d be back shortly and then left the building, obviously expecting Buffy to just follow after him. Which she did, of course. She followed him across the front of the building, down a lane, and finally to a small garage, which he opened to reveal the black Lexus she’d seen him driving the day before. “Get in,” he told her, unlocking the passenger-side door.
“Where are we going?” she asked, unable to contain her curiosity.
“We have an appointment in town,” he told her absently, sitting down and starting the car. “Don’t forget your seatbelt.”
“Umm…okay,” she replied, bewildered, obediently buckling herself in.
He didn’t seem inclined to talk as he drove through the pretty countryside, the woods surrounding the school displaying their fall colors of red and gold and brown. He had something on his mind, apparently, and she was too shy to broach last night with him.
Of course, she felt stupid for being shy with him. There was no reason to be shy. He liked her the way she was. Right?
“Where are we going?” she asked baldly.
That seemed to snap him out of his little trance. “Into town,” he repeated. “I’ve made you an appointment at the local family planning clinic. We have to get you on the pill, don’t we?”
To his bemusement, she blushed and ducked her head when he said that.
“Don’t you want to?” he asked carefully. She’d enjoyed the night before—he had little fingertip-sized bruises from where she’d squeezed him as she shrieked and thrashed—but perhaps he was assuming too much.
Perhaps last night had been a one-time deal for her.
“If you don’t want to, that’s okay, I completely understand,” he began awkwardly, feeling stupid and helpless. God, he’d made a fool of himself—lusting after her like a lecherous old man, the worst sort of pervert. Watching her with her saucy little walk, wanting to have her all to himself. She wasn’t his, she was only a young girl still—
He still wanted her! “Okay, no, that’s good,” she breathed in relief. God, he’d seemed so remote—she’d felt sure something was wrong.
She reached out to touch his knee. “It’ll, you know, be a while before it takes effect,” she pointed out. She felt him quiver under her touch, and a sense of her own feminine power blossomed inside her. He was masterly and beautiful, but she could make him tremble.
“I’ll get some condoms while we’re in town,” he said, his voice low. He was trying not to drive off the road; he wanted to pull the car over and thrust into her, protection be damned. Feel her tight heat around him, clenching him, milking him dry, while he ravaged her mouth and her little hands tightened on his tensing buttocks. Her long legs wrapped around his hips, her heels stabbing the backs of his thighs. Breathing in her needy sighs as she panted and going on and on until both of them came and their cream overflowed onto the car’s upholstery.
Drive. Look at the road, and drive.
“Where can we…you know,” she asked, moving her hand around. Stroking him. “At school?”
He hadn’t really thought of it, actually. He was the headmaster of the school, but he didn’t have some sort of ducal privilege that allowed him free reign with the students; they’d have to be discreet. “My house,” he told her finally. “No one goes there except me. No one would know.”
She nodded.
“You got up to your room okay last night?” he reassured himself. He’d watched from a distance as she’d returned to the dorm last night; he couldn’t stop himself from making sure she made it inside safely, but accompanying her would have been dangerously blatant.
As it stood, he wasn’t sure how safe it was to bring her out of class and drive her into town, but he wasn’t just going to tell her to catch a bus after school. He’d had reason in the past to drive students into town, usually for urgent family concerns or the occasional sensitive situation in which the students’ families wanted special care taken with their children. It was unusual, but not enough to raise eyebrows.
She nodded. “My roommate woke up and I had to make up some story, though, about falling asleep while studying in someone’s room,” she told him.
“Do you think she believed it?”
Buffy shrugged. “I don’t think she was awake enough to care,” she said honestly.
Perhaps he should arrange for Buffy to have a private room, he thought absently. Not that he’d visit her there, of course—that was far too risky—but it would prevent any suspicion from developing on the part of her roommate. That might not be necessary, though.
They’d be more careful in the future.
~*~*~*~
There wasn’t an exam, to Buffy’s relief—she was taken to an exam room, but she was just asked a bunch of questions and then filled out some forms, and they handed her the pills on the way out. William was waiting for her in the reception area, a small paper bag in his hand. A bag with a box in it.
Actually, she found out later, it had a few boxes in it.
“You’re supposed to take them at the same time every day,” he said hollowly, opening the car door for her.
She stared at him. His voice sounded funny, and he had a strange look on his face. “I know, they told me,” she dismissed. “Did something happen in there? Did they say something to you?”
He was silent for a few minutes as they left the town behind them and sped through the woods. Finally he said, his voice tight, “They thought I was your father.”
Oh.
Buffy couldn’t think of anything to say.
Abruptly he swerved off the road, flipped off the engine and turned to her with his eyes burning. “They thought I was your father,” he repeated. She started in surprise as he suddenly reached over and grabbed her, dragging her from her seat until she was on top of him.
He stared at her, his gaze hungry. “And it didn’t bother me nearly as much as it should,” he rasped, crushing his mouth against hers.
They clung together fiercely, pulling at each other’s clothes. He yanked her shirt out from her waistband and pushed it up. He didn’t bother to unhook her bra, that would take time, just dragged it up with the shirt until her she was revealed to him. “Mine,” he whispered harshly, his hands lifting her forward to meet his mouth, tasting her nipples first with tender little licks before sucking them into his mouth and drawing strongly on them, one after the other, until she was grinding her teeth together, trying not to scream.
She wrapped both arms around his neck, pressing closer to his greedy mouth even as she shamelessly rubbed herself against his thigh. God, she was going to finish before he’d even unzipped his pants.
“Can’t wait,” she whimpered, pushing into him. He grunted against her breast and reached over with one hand to fumble with the bag on the dashboard, finally tearing the box open with a vicious rip. A moment later his knuckles rubbed against her as he unzipped his pants and she gasped and pressed against them, desperate.
Another time he might have tried for more finesse, but he was beyond the niceties. As soon as the condom was in place he pushed her thong aside and thrust into her, and they both groaned at the sensation. Neither moved for a few moments as they both drank in the sensations.
Finally Buffy began to rise and fall on top of him. Her head fell back as she rode him slowly, feeling the hard plastic of the steering wheel against her back and the equally rigid muscles of his thighs beneath her. His hands gripped her hips, not guiding her but worshipping her, urging her on. “Perfect….” He whispered, awed by way they fit. She was so tight, her pussy fit him like a glove. Every time she rose on his cock he felt her muscles clinging to him as if loathe to release an inch of him.
Above him, her panting began to quicken and he reached between them, nudging her panties aside so he could roll her clit between his fingers. She clenched and gasped and squeezed him so tight he thought for a moment she might emasculate him, and then pleasure seared him and he stopped caring.
Maybe he blacked out for a few minutes, or maybe his spirit just left his body or something. The next thing he knew he looked up and she was staring down at him, her shirt and bra still pushed over her beautiful tits, which were wet from his mouth and exposed to any who drove past them.
“That was nice,” she whispered, dazed.
“Nice,” he echoed stupidly. He wished he could think of something good to say, something she’d remember for the rest of her life, but he was just happy to have regained the power of speech.
Well, if he couldn’t tell her how much he’d enjoyed it, he’d just have to show her.
He felt sure he’d find a way.
