It was after class on Thursday evening. As usual, I waited for the other students and the audience to file out. We'd been together for about a month and a half. It was working out well. At least I thought so. Thomas still asked me on a regular basis to let him fuck me. I was patient about it, but I really wished he'd let it rest. I couldn't understand why he persisted, when I could bring him to moaning, trembling orgasm with my hands and mouth.
I was dating for the first time in my life, and enjoying myself. Thomas could be a cold, exacting bastard in the classroom, but away from it he was... sweet. At least with me. I had to buy a better grade of clothes for the places he took me. I began to suspect that Thomas had some money stashed away somewhere, because I couldn't see how he could afford a Jaguar and the sort of entertainment expenses he was racking up on a professor's salary. His birthday fell in early November, and I knew I wouldn't be able to afford anything impressive, so I decided to go the personal route.
I had gotten on intimate terms with that love seat in Langely's office. I spent a lot of time sitting or lying on it with his face buried in my crotch, lavishing my pussy with tender devotion. He never seemed to get tired of it. I bought him slip covers for it as part of his birthday present, because we'd gotten some rather embarrassing stains on the cushions. Tonight I was going to give him the second part of his present.
He'd been eyeing the small white cardboard box and envelope I'd settled on the desk beside me. All during class his gaze would wander back to it, and he'd look at me questioningly. I just smiled.
At last the class had emptied. I carried the box and envelope up to the front and set them on the desk before him. "Happy birthday, Langely."
Smiling in anticipation, he ran his hands over the box. I wondered what the rest of the class would think if they saw him like this. His face was as bright and eager as a twelve year-old. He lifted the lid and peered inside. "Oh, Emily! That is gorgeous." The cake was small, no bigger around than a good sized saucer and only three inches high, but it did look pretty nice, if I said so myself. It was frosted with smooth, shiny white icing, and the top was covered in yellow roses and green leaves in royal sugar icing. The sides were festooned with icing ribbons, and there were decorative shells of the same sweet stuff bordering the bottom. "What kind is it? Where did you get it?"
"It's sour cream deep chocolate, and I didn't buy it. Kurt baked it, and I decorated it. Kurt says happy birthday."
His smile stiffened a little at the mention of Kurt's name, but he said with forced graciousness, "Please tell Kurt thank you for me. You decorated it? Emmie, you never cease to astonish me."
I shrugged. "I couldn't leave the house much. They had video courses in cake decorating. I'm never at a loss for something to give as a gift." I pushed the envelope toward him with one fingertip.
He picked it up. "You got me a card, too." He sounded pleased. I thought he was going to be even happier when he opened it.
"Not exactly."
Looking puzzled, he opened the envelope and pulled out a stiff piece of pasteboard. You can do a lot with computer graphics and a later printer. The card was five inches by three inches. It was a deep burgundy, and the pale gray, ornate printing looked almost silver. It read This coupon good for whatever you like... except you know what. "What's this?"
"It's an Emily Benoit gift certificate. Redeemable one time only for any one service of your choosing... except."
He sighed. "Except a straight fuck."
"You've got it."
"No, I haven't. That's the problem."
"Don't start, Thomas. It's your birthday, and I'm being nice."
"Yes, you are. Can I redeem it tonight?"
"You may. That's the whole point of the coupon. You choose."
"Then I want to redeem it at my place."
I hesitated. I'd never been in his place, he'd never been in mine. We had sex in his office, in his car, in study rooms around campus. There was a chapter of his old fraternity on campus, and once we did it in their basement recreation room. A very drunk frat boy and his equally drunk girlfriend had walked in on us. Luckily we weren't doing anything that would startle a Mundane, and Thomas had his head up under my skirt, so he wasn't recognized. The girl punched the stupidly staring boy on the arm, hard, and slurred, "See there? I told ya other guys did it!," then dragged him back upstairs. Thomas was so excited he drove me to a screaming orgasm, and he came without either of us laying a hand on his prick.
But going to his home would make it all somehow more personal. More intimate. For some people the concept of home is strong. It isn't just the place you sleep, if you know what I mean. I'm one of those people. I don't casually invite people into my home. Shut up, I can hear you out there. Kurt is different, okay? You should know that by now.
Thomas was watching me with wary hope in his eyes. Oh, what the fuck am I afraid of? It's not like I have to worry about him raping me. Quite the opposite, actually. "Okay."
I was glad I agreed. His face lit up. "We can have the cake there. Have you eaten yet? I have a lasagna put together, ready to slip in the over. And I could make garlic bread."
"You don't have to tempt me with carbs, Langely."
He shrugged. "I'll do what it takes."
I shrugged back. "You don't have to do anything. I want to come." And I found that I did. It would be nice to be with him somewhere really private. Thomas was pretty wild, even when he was trying to be restrained so as to avoid attracting attention. What might he be like when he could let go in the privacy of his own home?
He had a condo on the ground floor of a large, exclusive looking complex. It was surrounded by some nicely kept land that included trees, a pool, tennis court, and recreation area complete with barbeque pit and tables. There was even a small stream winding through the grounds. Very nice. I found out later that he came from old money. He had a sizeable trust fund left to him by his grandfather that enabled him live comfortably, even without a steady salary. So that explained why he could be so casual about playing academic politics. He didn't really need the job.
The place was decorated with a lot of white space and pale woods. The couch in the living room was interesting. It was more of a platform than anything else: backless, with arms and frame made of thick, square beams of highly polished wood. It was pretty comfortable, actually. You could prop your back against the wall with pillows tucked behind you, and stretch your legs out in front. It was almost the size of a double bed.
We sat on it and watched a video while the lasagna bubbled in the oven. Thomas turned out to be a more than decent cook. I didn't cook much myself. After twenty years of being sole cook in my family, I'd gotten a little tired of it. I only cooked now occasionally because it was so much fun to watch Kurt eat.
After dinner I watched as he tucked the few plates into the dishwasher and wiped down a few surfaces in the kitchen. He wouldn't let me help. "My kitchen, my mess, my responsibility." My God. I tried to decide if he was missing a woman's work gene that most men seem to have. You know what I mean, the one that makes it near impossible for them to wash a dish, bend over to pick up a sock, or aim well enough to get their used undershorts in the dirty clothes hamper.
I was beginning to get curious as to what Langely wanted for his birthday present. He had avoided any mention of it since we'd left school. It was going to be a sexual favor, that much was obvious. He certainly wasn’t going to ask me to paint his closets.
Langely folded the damp rag neatly, laying it over the sink divider to dry. "Would you like to see my toy collection? I'd like to show them to you."
I felt my eyebrows climb. "Oh, we're going to need props tonight, are we?" He smiled. I drained the last of my wine. "Lead on."
There was a large cedar chest at the foot of the king size brass bed. Thomas knelt beside it. I squatted next to him as he lifted the lid, his attitude that of someone showing off his most prized possession. He reached in and lifted out a fitted tray, then another one. The chest had three storage levels, then.
The first tray held smaller items, mostly nipple clamps. They went from a couple of simple wooden clothes pins to an elegant silver pair that were joined by a near hair thin silver chain, with a tiny drop pearl in the center. Creative kink, I thought.
The second tray, deeper, held a wide variety of binding items. There were dog collars, leather and suede straps, cord, varying sizes of chains, scarves, a ball gag, a set of handcuffs, cock rings, and a few things I'd probably have to ask Kurt about.
The deepest storage area, the bottom of the trunk, held clothing and props. There was a leather and studs body harness and a hood mask complete with strategically placed zippers. I picked up a simple shirt made of thin material, and gave Thomas a questioning look. "Cheesecloth," he explained. His voice lowered suggestively. "It rips beautifully."
I recognized the riding crop he'd purchased that Saturday when I first guessed his secret. That seemed like a long time ago now. There was a ping-pong paddle, the handle wrapped in tape for a better grip. Didn't want it to slip in a sweaty palm, did we? The array of possibilities presented by this collection was stunning. It could have supplied a slew of Kurt's videos with no strain on resources.
Finally I said, "Very impressive."
He shrugged modestly. "I usually pick up something when I go to that store, and there are catalogues. But what's really turned it around is the Internet. You can find anything on the net."
"So I've heard. Do you go cyber-slutting on the web, Tommy?"
He smiled. "Hurtsogood2000 on leathernet."
I shook my head. "And I never cease to amaze you. So, what have you decided on for tonight’s festivities?"
"Oh, let's see." He dithered over the selection of kink paraphernalia like a woman with a box of Godiva chocolates, looking for a praline creme. He picked up the ball gag, turning the red rubber sphere in his hands, then replaced it. "No, I want to be able to scream. Sometimes I nearly burst a lung trying not to yell when you're sexing me up."
"Thank you."
"That's it, get full of yourself." He took out a soft leather cock ring, one that would snap snugly around the base of his cock, with added straps to hold and separate his balls. "I intend for this scene to last a little while. I'm going to make you work."
"You're scaring me," I said dryly.
"Be afraid. Be very afraid."
"Oo, quoting horror movies! You sure know how to get me hot."
His expression was suddenly more serious. "God, I hope so." There was a moment of silence as we stared at each other.
I could sense this moving in a direction I wanted to avoid, so I said, "Come on, that can't be all. Not with your deliciously perverted mind."
Next he pulled out what looked like a set of interconnected leather straps, studded with chrome and bearing three buckles. I examined them more closely, and found that it was actually a collar and cuffs set. The cuffs were fastened on either side of the collar so that the hands would be bound up behind the neck, in the classic submissive position. His hand hovered over the ping-pong paddle, then he chose the riding crop. After another moment’s thought, he added the paddle to the growing pile anyway. Finally he took out two more items and placed them on the bed. He looked at me through his eyelashes, waiting to see my reaction.
First reaction was surprise. They were a tube of personal lubricant, and a dildo. The artificial cock was amazingly lifelike. Well, that is if you were John Holmes. The monster had to be at least a foot long. I was positive that the last few inches had to be meant to be used as a grip After a moment, I wondered why I was surprised. I already knew Langely was bisexual, and Kurt had explained to me the wonders of the prostate gland.
I ran my hand over the length of the thing. He watched me, and ventured, "This is what I want, Emmie. I'm sure of it."
"I didn't ask you that, Thomas. I respect you enough to believe that you know your mind. I just want you to consider that I haven't done anything quite as heavy as what you're asking for. I'll do my damndest to only hurt you to the point of pleasure. But you have to promise me that you'll use the safe word if I go too far. I mean it. Don't hold back because you think I want it. You're safety is the most important thing. That, and your pleasure."
"I promise."
"What's the good word?"
He smiled. "Crystal."
