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The afternoon began with the two of us entering my old university library. We walked hand in hand, without a word, though I distinctly remember catching your eye and smiling at you, squeezing your hand as I did so. I was dressed in dark dress shoes, black suit pants and a black collared shirt, sleeves rolled up, my tattoos contrasting with my professional demeanour. You were wearing a grey cardigan, buttoned up, over a white blouse and a red and black tartan skirt, slightly shorter than would be normally acceptable. This, alongside your long white socks and black heels attracted more than their fair share of glances. You had a black backpack on your back, and I was carrying a suitcase. I placed my hand on the small of your back, and guided you through the library. It was a winding journey, and the longer we walked, the fewer people were around. I took a detour through a a row of bookshelves, and abruptly I gripped your waist, whirling you around and pressing you back into the stack. As you gasped in surprise, I pounced and bit your lower lip, crashing my weight against yours. My tongue sought yours, slipping into your mouth and enjoying your moan as your legs parted, allowing me to press closer against you. Just as you began to melt into me, and your hands moved to the back of my neck, I broke away and smirked at you. I took your hand once again and pulled you away, with slightly more urgency in my step this time. Further and further we walked, and the library grew quieter as we passed fewer and fewer people. Finally, I stopped at a sturdy wooden door at the end of the corridor. Producing a key from my pocket, I turned the handle and ushered you inside without a word. Closing the door behind us, I surveyed the room – a sparse study room, with only two desks and two chairs. Your eyes scanned the room and came to rest upon me, and your face lit up with that same mischievous smile that makes my heart soar. “Sit. Book open. We’re here to study, don’t forget.” I manage to say in a flat, even tone, hiding my own eagerness. Internally, however, I was practically trembling with excitement. As you moved to a desk and leaned into your seat, I allowed my eyes to travel over your body – admiring your long slender legs wrapped in those white thigh-high socks. As you sat, I craned my neck to gain a glimpse of your thighs as your skirt shifted. You noticed the movement of my head and caught my eye, holding the same position and ‘adjusting’ your skirt, allowing me the briefest glimpse of your soft pale skin, and for the barest of seconds, something else. Something atop your socks. Something black, and strappy. My breath caught in my throat for a moment, and my fists clenched in response. I cleared my throat and Escort Karaköy attempted to continue in a broken voice. “Now, where did we leave off last time?” I was tutoring you in history, and perhaps unsurprisingly, I was a rather strict tutor. I placed my suitcase on the desk next to you, and paced around the room, hands behind my back. At first, I simply allowed you to write in silence, occasionally looking over your shoulder, checking your work. As the session went on, however, I began to break the silence by asking questions – querying dates of important events, or names of important figures in history. At first, you did quite well, not missing a question, and with each correct answer, I rested a hand on your shoulder and squeezed appreciatively, or ran my fingertips over the nape of your neck. I continued to pace the room, my eyes now no longer focused on your work, but instead on you – your subtle ministrations as you concentrate on the task at hand, the subtle flicker of your eyes, the pursing of your lips, the crossing and uncrossing of your legs. The session continued, and the questions resumed. This time, however, they were considerably more difficult, and I savoured the flashes of confusion and concern on your face as you carefully considered each answer. Finally, it happened – you gave your first incorrect answer. Instead of the usual congratulatory brush of my fingertips, I simply walked slowly towards my suitcase, and unbuckled one of the clasps without a word. I let the silence hang for another minute before asking another question, even more obscure than the last. Another wrong answer, and the second clasp was undone. You attempted to turn your head and peek at the suitcase, but I put an end to that with a sharp snap of my fingers. “Two wrong answers in a row, Kitten. Now’s no time to be focusing on anything but your study.” Again, I began pacing around you, watching your work. I could see a slight tremble in your writing, now, and you checked and double-checked your notes time and time again. Suddenly, I kneel next to you, my head just inches away from your ear, and ask another question. I see your eyes go wide and dart over your notes frantically, and I smile internally. I see your head drop as the realisation hits – you don’t know the answer. After a time, you simply shake your head in response, a look of genuine shame upon your face. I kneel for a moment longer, sighing as I lift myself to my feet. Once again, I pace over to my suitcase, and I lift the lid. Inside is a veritable treasure trove of punishment implements. Floggers, flayers, whips, crops, canes, paddles, clamps, collars, chains and all other manner of toys. Of course, you aren’t Kayaşehir escort aware of any of these. Your head is still hung over your books, and all you can hear is my suitcase opening, and a light metallic rustling. Finally, you hear the suitcase close again, and my voice, stern and commanding. “Stand, and place your hands on the desk. Don’t turn around.” You hesitate for a moment, and you begin to swivel your neck. Abruptly, I step towards you. “I said stand!”. You feel my hand grasp your shoulder and squeeze – no longer the same appreciative gesture, but much harder, more demanding this time. I pull you upright, and toss your chair away as I do so. It clatters loudly across the room, and you cringe in response. I draw my lips closer to your ear and growl menacingly. “Three strikes, Kitten. Three wrong answers. Now, hands on the desk in front of you, face straight ahead.” I watched as your hands, shaking slightly, moved from your side and gripped the edge of your desk. I removed my hand from your shoulder and let it trail down your back, walking along your spine. As I passed over your lower back, I pressed down with my palm, arching your lower back. Again, my gruff, solemn voice breaks the silence. “Lean forward. Legs apart.” This time, however, you detect another inflection in my voice. Desire? No, not quite. Something closer to… hunger. You moved into position almost subconsciously, spreading your legs and arching your back. I exhaled deeply and took a step back, admiring your wonderfully compliant nature, your exquisite pose. I allowed my eyes to travel up from your ankles, over your shaking legs, your skirt now sitting higher than before, the tops of your long socks now visible. There it is again, I thought to myself, as I saw that same flash of black. Instinctively, I reached out, and you jumped forward slightly as you felt my hand make contact with your thigh over your skirt. For a moment. I rest my hand there, enjoying your warmth through the thin fabric, before I begin to raise your skirt higher. “And what do you think this is, Kitten?” I said with a gasp, as more and more of your black garter belt was revealed. “I don’t remember telling you to wear this.” I endeavoured to keep the stern, strict tone in my voice, but even I noticed my voice cracking, the husky, breathy notes breaking through. Without warning, I moved my hand to the base of your skirt and pulled it upwards, leaving it messily wrapped around your waist. You whimpered in shock and fright, and for a second I could see your hands wavering on the desk, considering pulling your skirt back down. To your credit, you remained in that pose, and your eyes never moved from staring straight Küçükçekmece escort bayan ahead. Mine, on the other hand, were drinking in the strikingly beautiful sight revealed before me. I stifled a groan as I saw the gorgeous black garter belt clinging to your thighs, the intricate lace patterns on your sheer black panties. As your breaths came quicker and shallower, I savoured the way your back arched and fell with each intake, as if you were tempting me to touch you. It’s almost like she’s doing this on purpose , I thought to myself, and grinned wickedly. I could feel the need to touch you growing in the base of my stomach, but I shook my head and refocused on the task at hand. Straightening up to full height, I ensured your skirt stayed pooled around your waist, and left a hand against your thigh, now bare save for the straps of your garter belt. The feel of your soft, smooth skin sent shivers down my arm, and the sight of your firm, round ass had my head swimming. “Three wrong answers,” I repeated, beginning to pace behind you once again. My shoes clicked against the hard floor, each step punctuating the silence. “You know how this works. That’s two for every incorrect answer. And you’ll count them for me. If you miscount, I’ll be starting again”. I let my words hang in the air, not even my footsteps breaking the silence. Allowing myself a rare moment of tenderness, I leaned in close, brushing my lips against your ear and asking “Ready, Kitten?” With your nod of approval, I returned to my standing position. Before I began, however, I allowed you to hear it. The sharp snap filled the air, and I saw your head spark up, ears slicking back like a cat struck with fear. A soft whistling filled the air before – *WHACK* “Ah! O-… One!” you cried out, as the shock of the first blow made you lurch forward and grip the desk to maintain your balance. The sting was localised, but sharp. I could see your shoulders rising and falling quicker now, as you gasped for breath, sucking in air in preparation for five more of the same. I pause before lifting the implement again, admiring the fresh red welt that begins to rise on your pale skin. You hear me take several steps to your left, and *WHACK* . Another blow, perpendicular to the last. “Two!” you exclaimed, letting out a long breath in the attempt to diffuse the pain. Your mind races, attempting to deal with the pain radiating from your ass, focusing on keeping your pose and posture perfect, trying to keep your arousal from becoming evident. Above all, though your curiosity to discover the implement of your torture was almost too much to ignore. You snuck a look over your shoulder, and you saw it – the wooden ruler in my hand, raised for another swat. My eyes were fixated on your shapely behind, and they looked almost ablaze – the fire of lust and hunger evident in my gaze. I noticed your movement, and my eyes darted to you, glaring angrily. I said not a word, simply staring at you intensely, and you quickly returned your gaze to the front of the room.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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