May I?

"May I Cum?" She wrote it in slow, sweeping strokes, cursive. It was unnerving, yet arousing. Stay between the lines. Keep the letters consistent, the same sweep. Neat. With him, arms crossed, standing behind her. Anxious. Yet...

She paused and he was on her, again. This time it was his breath on her neck, his teeth biting into the top of her shoulder and those hands, those strong, unrelenting hands, coming around her, starting at her waist and sliding up under her blouse to cup her breasts, then slide out to her nipples, his thumb and forefinger pulling them out, pinching. Yow...Just as he did that, his crotch drove into her from behind, his hard cock riding against her ass, against the skirt.

Wanton. He was wanton. And so was she. But she tried to hide it, tried to be nonchalant. Why, she wasn't sure. He'd discovered her back in the corner of study hall, furiously playing with herself, fingering her clit and pussy thinking about him fucking her, fucking her with his dick, first from behind, and then in her mouth as she knelt. It made her soooo wet, so hot that she couldn't stop touching herself, getting off...

He backed off from her at the chalkboard, nodded, and she returned to writing.

"May I Cum?" She was shaking, now, and the bottom of the m slipped below the line. She moved to erase it, but he saw her. "One strike," he said.

She continued, getting into a rhythm, but her arm was getting tired. She paused. And he was on her again, this time his hands starting at her breasts, sliding harshly up under her blouse, the left one lingering on her right tit, the right hand sliding down, down, menacingly down to...Groping. He was groping her. Hard. Her breath quickened.

No. She didn't want that. If he didn't stop, he'd know.

Too late. His right hand curled under her pussy and then he deftly slid in a finger, a finger deep into her sopping, begging, slick pussy. Mmmm, he purred in her ear. There was no denying it now.

His hands worked in unision, the left massaging and pinching her tit, the right deep into her hot, wet pussy. When he slowly pulled it out, he brought it to her mouth, spreading her slickness over her lips, causing her to clean it off...and smile.

As she did that, his hands scrabbled over her ass, kneading, then pinching and finally biting...Hard. She cringed, pain and pleasure and felt her pussy slip even deeper into desire.

Then it was back to the board. Shaking, barely able to stand, knees wobbling, she made a mistake, of course. The top of the question mark on the next one slipped well above the line.

"Strike two," she heard.

There was the sound of his belt sliding from its loops, and then, there it was, curled on a small desktop...There. She flushed.

Now, it was one mistake after another. "Three strikes, I'll be up to bat soon," he sneered at the next one. Another one. Then another. She kept count, the count the only thing keeping her from losing it, from surrendering, from doing what she needed to ask permission to do.

Then she was done.

There was no doubt what was next.

He took her by the hair and paraded her from the chalkboard to the small desk, where the belt curled, coiled and ready.

He bent her over the desk, her face inches from the leather, smelling of him, smelling so good.

He slid her skirt up, then her soaked panties down to her ankles. And he held her there...She waited...And waited.

And then, ohhhhh, his tongue! Really? His tongue slowly tracing a line up and over her left cheek...then across and down her right cheek. Almost too much. Almost too kinky. She shifted her weight, arms resting on the desk, and felt him stand up, his hand, two fingers, sliding up her inner thigh, past her aching pussy and over her ass.

Then, yes, he reached for the belt, doubling it in his hand. His left hand steadying her ass...spreading her legs just a little, she realized so her foundation was firm. She'd never...but, oh, she did crave...

She sensed his hand raising..."You did count, didn't you?"

She grunted assent. She knew how many, but not how hard.

In an instant, she got her answer. THWAP. Hard. Very hard.

She could feel the red line rising across her ass. Barely a pause.

THWAP.

Ohhhhhh. Moaning now. Grunting with each strike, with the pain, with the freedom.

After the third strike, she managed to get out. "May I..."

"No."

After the fourth, "Please."

No.

After the fifth, "Please, may I cum."

No.

After the sixth, he paused. Her ass red, soon-to-bruise.

He reached down and grabbed her hair, forcing her head onto the desk top, forcing her legs out, deeper, wider, and working his fingers into her pussy, slurping in and out...Oh myyyy. The sound, the power, her aching ass.

"Please, may I cum?" Desperate, pleading, begging.

"Yes," whispered.

She did...her pussy wrapping around his fingers, spasming, gushing, the slickness sliding down the inside of her thighs. Release, total surrender. Gasping, aching, uncontrollable surrender. To the moment. To him. To her desire.

He gave her a chance to catch her breath...but she knew he wasn't done.

Using her hair as a handle, he swung her around to face his desk, the bigger desk. She knew. Hands on the desk. She offered her ass. And he took it, grunting, hands on her hips. His pants dropped to her ankles. His cock as a piston, driving, driving. Relentless. Balls slapping. Sweat flying. Her pussy grabbing his cock, pulling it in, surrounding it.

And then he exploded, shuddering, cumming into her. Hard. Gasping. Out of breath.

Mmmm.

I am pleased...

Smile. Yes.

He released her, padded around the desk and collapsed back into his chair, pants still at his ankles, his ass poised on the edge.

She smiled, thought briefly of the journey here, and then joined him, curling her legs under her so she could sit on the floor in front of the chair. And then she rose up just a bit and began slowly cleaning him, lips and mouth nibbling at the cum, his and hers, on his cock, suckling slowly.