Higher Education Ch. 1

In between classes she darted into the restroom to check her hair. Leaning against the damp sinks, she peered into the mirror, sighing at the errant tendrils that seemed to pull themselves, willy-nilly, from whatever arrangement she designed. She wet her fingers and raked them through the gold-brown skeins of hair, half of her mind attentive for the bell, the other twisting around her appearance, lamenting.

She didn't like her face. It didn't have the fresh perkiness that the cheerleaders had in such abundance, and it wasn't the emaciated thin-boned elegance she imagined possessing. Her heritage was northern, a scattered genetics that encompassed the Vikings who'd ruled northern Scotland, the slim darkness of the Welsh tucked into their folded valleys, the clear-skinned paleness of the Irish. Her forehead was high, fringed with tiny curls that escaped all holding, her eyes a dark and steady gray; it was a face where animation determined what the beholder found within it.

She was barely conscious of the bell when it rang; she'd twisted her body between two of the cheap sinks so that she could examine her eye makeup. In the back of her mind, she heard the slow dimming of traffic in the halls, but it wasn't until it whispered into silence that she realized how late she was.

"Shit!" and she extricated herself with a deft movement, brushing at the damp spots on her skirt at the same time she grabbed her stack of books from the shelf. A last glance into the mirror and she whirled out into the hall, her low-heeled shoes tapping briskly over the gleaming linoleum.

Ahead of her, she could see the door to her English class still standing open and she hurried her step; just as she saw her teacher's hand reach through the door to pull it closed, another hand closed on her arm.

"And just what do we have here?" the hall monitor inquired genially. 'Late again, Alayne?'

She hissed in resignation and let herself be towed away through the halls to the office.

'The school counselor?' she could hardly believe her ears.

The assistant principal shook his head at her from behind his desk. 'You've been late to class six times this week, Alayne. Your teachers say you're not paying attention, your grades are falling. I want you to see Mr. Borden. This afternoon.' He handed her a hall-pass. 'Now get off to class.'

She was steaming quietly as she trudged back through the halls to her classroom. A long afternoon of staring at a clock stood in front of her and she was not amused.

Her teacher accepted the hall-pass wordlessly and gestured her to her seat. Alayne settled back into her chair and tried to turn her mind towards the Romantic Poets.

When the final bell rang, Alayne lingered at her locker, slowly gathering books and papers against the hours ahead of her. The halls held that strangely deserted aspect of 'after school', everything echoed more largely.

She scuffed slowly down the hallway to the school counselor's office and knocked on the door. Mr. Borden pulled it open and looked at her appraisingly. 'Alayne Rikardson?' he asked, and to her nod continued, 'I've got to read over your file - why don't you come in and get a start on your homework while I go through it.'

Once in his office, she found an armchair beneath the window and settled into it, pulling her history book onto her lap to read the next assignment. Mr. Borden sank down behind his desk and was soon engrossed in sifting through papers. The room was so silent that she could hear the soft tick of his clock upon the shelves. She tried to concentrate on the Plantagenet kings, but her mind wandered.

Jamie was going to take her to the Homecoming dance and she had to decide what to wear, it couldn't be anything too daring or she'd be fighting his hands all night . . . she mused over her options, imagination painting her into a thin green sheath or perhaps the white dress with the swishing skirt . . .

She was suddenly aware that Mr. Borden was watching her, his eyebrows raised in quizzical inquiry. She flushed, realizing that she'd been conducting an imaginary flirtation before his gaze.

He leaned back in his seat, amused. "You're quite the accomplished little tease," he observed, his fingers setting aside a sheaf of papers.

She pressed back against the chair, her fingers nervously brushing the hem of her plaid skirt down over her bare thighs. 'I don't know what you mean,' she responded with studied dignity.

He laughed, the intent lines of his face relaxing. 'Oh yes, you do. I was watching you practice, remember.'

Her eyes darted to the clock and his followed. 'Two more hours, Alayne. So tell me, why are you always late to class? A boyfriend at a distant locker, perhaps?'

Two more hours of this inquisition! She groaned inwardly. 'No, nothing like that,' she replied.

He cocked an eyebrow at her again and got up from his chair, walking about the room, stretching. He stood by the window, looking out over the empty quadrangle of the school. 'I just finished looking at your grades, Alayne. You're not doing very good work this semester. What's distracting you?'

'I just have too many hard classes,' she said defensively.

His voice was thoughtful. 'No, I don't think that's it.' He turned and put his hands on the back of her chair, tilting it so that she was forced to look up into his face. 'I don't think that's it at all, Alayne.'

She couldn't help herself, 'Then what do you think it is?' she asked tartly.

He spun the chair slowly until she was facing him, still tilted back. 'What you need is some discipline in your life. And since you don't seem to find it necessary to find that discipline in yourself, it falls to those of us here at school to see that get it. What's your opinion?'

She rolled her eyes slightly but said nothing. His lean face tightened into speculation and he stared at her steadily. His unswerving regard unnerved her and finally her eyes fell and she shrugged slightly. 'I don't have one,' she said finally.

'Ah. I see.' He let the chair fall forward, nearly spilling her. He turned away to his desk and reached for something. 'Stand up for a moment, Alayne.'

Setting aside her books, she rose to her feet. 'Now what?' she asked tartly.

His hand grabbed her left arm and spun her around, twisting it up behind her. She let out a startled cry as he held her, whimpering as his hold tightened. 'Stop fighting me, Alayne. Stop it.' Slowly she stilled, her breath sobbing between her lips as the twisted muscles protested.

He relaxed his grip slightly. 'Good.' His other hand rested on the nape of her neck, the fingers sifting through her hair. She was turned again, this time to face the desk and then he pressed her down. 'Bend over, Alayne.' And despite her protests, he pinned her chest to the smooth wood of his desk.

'Now,' he said sternly, 'I am going to discipline you, Alayne. Your stepmother's agreed that this is necessary, so don't waste my time arguing.' And her eyes widened as she saw his free hand reach down and pull a flat wooden paddle from the desktop. She tried to break free, but his weight held her twisted arm and thus her body, and agony shot through with every attempt she made. She could feel his hand pulling up her skirt, then his fingers over the soft white cotton of her panties. He said thoughtfully, 'It really does work much better on bare skin, doesn't it?' and with a sudden insinuation of his fingers, he jerked the waistband down.

'Please, Mr. Borden, don't - ' she begged him, in an agony of humiliation, her eyes starred with tears.

'Oh, we can't stop now, Alayne. That would be very bad discipline, you know,' his voice was teasing, carrying a hint of pleasure within it. She felt his hand move over her, coolly exploring her. 'Such lovely pale skin, seems a pity,' he observed to himself. 'Still . . . '

She was not expecting it and the sudden crack of the wood against her made her scream and her body tried to pull away and fire sang again in the twisted muscles of her arm. His hand slashed down at her again, and again, and again, until all her world was stinging flesh and anticipation.

He was breathing heavily when he finally stopped. 'Ten strokes,' he said softly, and lay the paddle down. 'Only ten, Alayne.' He held her pinned still, and now his hand returned to explore her.

'I want to go home,' she wept.

'Oh dear no, not yet, Alayne. Your stepmother's paying for a full session this afternoon, and I'm certainly not going to cheat her. But I admit I'm puzzled as to what to do for the next two hours,' he informed her, and at that moment his fingers made it clear what he intended to do.

Gasping in shock, her whole body twisted as she tried desperately to pull away from the fingers rubbing against the lips of her pussy. Mr. Borden's hand tightened on her twisted arm, sending a fiery thrill of pain through her. For a moment she thought she'd succeeded, because his fingers left off their rough exploration, but it was only so that he could prison her left wrist behind her back, crushing it against the other. His weight pressed against her back, knocking her head down to strike sharply against the desktop. In a haze of dizziness and pain, she couldn't resist when the slim circlets were cupped about her wrists and swiftly tightened.

Alayne heard him laugh softly, and his hold on her slacked slightly. She could hear herself sobbing, the rasp of swift breath across her dry throat, the thunderous rhythms of her heart nearly deafening her. Her mind was curiously blank. Shock, she felt herself note automatically. Alayne was at once devoid of sensation and acutely sensitive, there was an error in translation between her self and her body that she could not resolve. I should be afraid, she thought numbly, conscious of a slowly burgeoning excitement spiraling through her, I should be afraid.

With the side of her face pressed against the warming wood of the desk, Alayne could see Mr. Borden reach for the telephone and dial a number. As his fingers pressed the buttons, his hips moved slowly against her ass and she could feel him. That's his cock oh my god that's . . . in reaction, she twisted slightly, ignoring the sharp throb movement shot through her arms and shoulders. Cupping the receiver against his neck, he reached down with his free hand and stroked her ass, his fingers trailing down her thighs. He spoke only a single word into the phone when it was picked up at the other end.

"Now." And he clapped the receiver down onto he cradle and suddenly both of his hands were on her.

He was not rough but he was strong; her attempts to resist his explorations were effortlessly overcome; held against the desk, she could not prevent him from spreading her legs.

Her ass was still stinging slightly, his hand over it felt cool. Her teeth bit suddenly down on her lower lip, drawing a tiny drop of blood, her helplessness made her tense, her senses finely strung.

Slowly his forefinger moved down the crack of her ass, pausing a moment to circle her tight ass hole, press lightly into it; Alayne bit back a moan. She could feel the muscles of her thighs tightening unbearably as his finger neared her most secret place. Deliberately, he pressed the tip of his finger into her tight cunt, rotating it gently inside of her.

"Are you a virgin, Alayne?' he questioned her softly, his face so near to hers she felt his breath along her neck. "Are you just the little cock tease I think you are, or have you actually given it up to someone?" he paused for a moment, then said, his voice rougher. "I'm going to find out anyway, you know. Tell me - are you?"

She swallowed, her mouth so dry she could barely speak. His hands added to the threat, tightening on her, a rough finger thrusting into her ass hole. She cried out, her body jerking.

"Tell me!" he ordered her again.

"Yes!" she managed finally, tears of humiliation and pain brimming from her eyes.

The counselor made a sound very like to a purr. "Ah, that's so good . . . if your cunt is tight enough, I'll leave your ass alone for now," he promised her in a silky voice.

She could feel his fingers stroking across her clit and felt a hot, sullen ache begin between her legs. They played over her expertly, and soon she could feel them sliding, and knew she was becoming wet. Massaging her clit harder as he felt her involuntary warming, his own breath was coming faster now, she could hear him. But it was all at such a distance, those physical distractions, when there was this incredible expanding bubble of heat that was claiming her, swelling against her very skin. Dimly, she was aware of a voice calling out and she wondered at it . . . until she realized it was her own.

When she could think again, there were tears on her face and a recumbent urgency between her legs; it coiled there, awaiting another touch.

She felt his hands on her ass now, spreading it and pulling it back, her feet scrabbled against the slick floor for a moment and then she felt a thick hot pressure sliding across her pussy. He stroked the swollen head of his cock through the wet folds, across her still throbbing clit. She moaned softly, squeezing her eyes closed. I can't make it stop I can't I don't want to I don't want to make it stop oh god.

When he finally thrust into her, she cried out sharply for a moment as he pressed against her hymen, and then he was through and he sank into her tight cunt until she could feel his balls pressing against her ass. His cock was so big that it hurt, and she squirmed beneath him and felt his hands move up to claim her hips. He pulled back slowly, and beneath the pain of it, she felt the start of an unbearable friction.

He fucked her slowly, one of his hands sliding down into her hair, knotting it between his fingers. Ruthlessly, he pulled her up from the desk, arching her back against him. Tears of pain sprang into her eyes at the grip in her hair, the sudden lash through her taut shoulders. He took a small step backwards, sank into his chair and pulled her down onto his lap. He pulled her knees apart and made her straddle him. As his hips thrust up slowly from the seat, his hands reach beneath her blouse and squeezed her high breasts with rough fingers. She gasped at the sensation when he twisted her nipples sharply and drove himself up into her. Then one of his hands moved between her legs and started to stroke her again.

A slow shiver started within her, and he relentlessly exploited it, feeling her grow tighter and hotter and wetter as he drove himself up into her.

He whispered softly against her shoulder, "That's it, Alayne . . . cum for me again . . . I knew you were going to be a hot fuck." He was getting slightly breathless as his own explosion got nearer. "I am going to fill you with my cum, Alayne . . . you're such a cock-loving little slut . . . "

She was crying out incoherently, dizzy with heat and a building flash of pleasure; deep in her mind she was filled with shame at her lack of resistance, but that only heightened the crushing pressure within her. She could not stop it; with a choked sob, she surrendered to it and let it carry her away.

As she shuddered beneath the waves of sensation, she felt him explode within her . . . an addition of heat that sent her reeling again.

For a long slow time, there was no sound but their mutually ragged breathing. Exhausted and beaten, Alayne found herself leaning back against his chest. He smelled musky, and there was the added scent of sweat and sex, a hot rich fragrance rising to her nostrils. She could feel his cock twitch inside her, the thick heat of his cum as it coated her thighs. His hands circled her waist and he lifted her from his lap.

She stood there, motionless, staring at the frosted glass of his door, which she suddenly noticed was slightly ajar. Behind her, she heard him zipping his trousers and rebuckling his belt, and then there was a soft click and the handcuffs loosened and slid from her wrists.

"Put on your panties, Alayne," he said, pushing the wad of white cotton into her fingers. Mechanically, she stepped into them and pulled them up and smoothed her skirt down over her thighs. Her whole body ached and throbbed, partly pleasurable, partly not.

"Our two hours aren't up, but I think you've had enough for this afternoon," Mr. Borden said from his respectable seat behind his desk. She turned and looked at him, her eyes dazed. A sense of unreality strung through her, she could find nothing to anchor herself to.

The counselor leaned back in his seat and smiled at her mockingly. "And I believe there's somebody waiting for you outside. You really shouldn't keep her waiting."

She was beyond being able to understand anything, she simply stared at him. After a moment, he rolled his eyes and called across his office, "Dora, you'd better come in here and get her."

Her stepmother's face had an expression Alayne had never seen before, a predatory calculation that nearly stung her to full awareness. She turned to Mr. Borden. "Well?"

His smile was wicked. "Tighter than anything I've ever had - including you."

She ignored the jibe and nodded towards the bookcases that lined the walls. "Get it all on tape?"

"What do you think?" he stretched in his seat and looked up at her.

"Make sure I get a copy. I couldn't see everything from out in the hall," Dora said, grabbing Alayne's arm with a firm hand.

"You got it," he responded in a brisker tone.

Her stepmother guided Alayne towards the door; she was unresisting. As they walked slowly down the hall, Dora's fingernails sank into her arm. "You do understand, don't you," she said in a poisonously sweet voice, "that all it will take is one word from you, and that video will be on the Internet faster than you can spit." She smiled. "Just imagine Jamie and all his friends watching you cum for the camera."

They were outside, then, in the fading sunlight. Alayne got into the car; she didn't know what else to do.

"Just tell me why," she whispered finally, slow tears beginning to slide down her cheeks at last.

"I have my reasons," Dora said tartly, turning onto the street from the parking lot. "You'll find out what they are soon enough, don't you worry."

To Be Continued...