Will Cuts Class Ch. 02

A couple of weeks later she pulled nearly the same trick, but I was a little more prepared. This time, too, she wasn't being quite as forward. She sat patiently at the back of my classroom as I delved into the last 20 minutes of a lecture on rhythm.

"Let's take a look at the Owen poem, Dulce et Decorum Est," I said, deliberately not looking at her. "Regina, will you just read the second stanza aloud for us? I want you to notice the language choices here."

Regina stumbled through the stanza, and I pointed out the way the rhythm strengthened the imagery of awkward speed in the verse. As I was riffing on the phrase "guttering, choking, drowning," I scanned the faces to see who might actually be nodding in comprehension. Regina was, but then I suspected she had a crush on me and tended to hang on my every word anyway. Surprisingly, there were at least five paying attention. It was a brutal piece, which was one reason I used it.

I turned their attention to Whitman's "Out of the Cradle, Endlessly Rocking" and made the mistake of glancing at Bijou while the students were thumbing through their books.

She was wearing a tie. my slate grey Italian silk paisley, to be exact.

And that was my shirt, too. I looked away quickly, before I noticed anything else. But it was clear that I was going to have to cut class short again. There were only ten minutes left anyway, and a few of the truly uninvolved students were already shifting restlessly and stacking their books.

"Before next time what I'd like for you to do is pick two of the poems we discussed today, and read them aloud. Record yourselves if you'd like. Then be prepared to compare the experience with that of reading a printed work. Check your syllabus for the list of poems to look at before next week."

Regina was waving her hand. I couldn't ignore her, and worse yet, Bijou was in my line of sight if I acknowledged Regina. The rest of the students were halfway packed already, but I called on her.

"Can we use a different poem from one of the authors we read today, or do we need to use only these poems?"

Bijou crossed her legs, looking straight at me . The shirt was long enough that she was basically wearing it as a dress, over black tights. She leaned to one side, bringing her arm up to rest her chin on her hand. She was holding a key, and idly toying with it near her mouth.

On her wrist was another tie, wrapped thickly halfway up her forearm. A burgundy foulard, in this case. I struggled to remember what Regina had just asked. "Oh sure," I said, if you feel strongly about some other piece..." my mind did me the disfavor of creating the vision of bijou standing in front of the mirror putting a tie on, fussing with the double windsor knot at her throat.

"...because I just felt like there were a couple of other Dylan Thomas poems that I would like to use? Cause, like, I thought they were stronger? You know? Like Fern Hill? I mean, the meter would..."

I was trying to be courteous. I liked Regina, even though she was a bit of a standard type. With a bit of the wrong sort of encouragement, she might grow up to be Bijou. That was nothing I wanted to be involved with, however. I wished her well.

"A fine choice, by all means," I interrupted before she could get too involved. "It is an essential discussion, and one we don't have the time for in this class, the question of a poem's value when read aloud, and the differences between spoken and written works. You might," I said to Regina, struggling not to look three rows past her, "consider taking a look at Ginsburg's Howl for a real study in that difference. Find an audio recording if you can." With their internet access these days, students could find anything. Including each other's term papers, but oh well.

"I'll have extra office hours tomorrow morning, but I'll be gone for the rest of today, so if you have questions please feel free to e-mail me or come in to see me tomorrow. Thank you, everyone."

Regina was going to try to talk to me after class. I wasn't at all sure how I was going to get past her. Then my cel phone rang. I looked at the screen. It was Bijou. She smiled at me from the back row as I opened the phone. "Need an excuse to leave quickly?" she purred in my ear.

"Absolutely," I answered in what I hoped was an officious voice. Regina was reluctantly moving toward the door, watching to see if I hung up. "I know you've been working on that project pretty diligently." I busily gathered up my folders, trying to look hurried, and as I passed Regina, I gave her a quick smile and nod.

"I have the key," said Bijou's voice in my ear.

"I think we should get going on this right away," I said as I brushed past a few lingering students. Happily, they weren't paying attention to me because I could not have disguised my expression when I passed Bijou and realized she was wearing two ties around her neck, neatly knotted one above the other, and one on each wrist. my good ones, too, I thought rather ruefully. All the Italian mogador silk, for one thing. She'd learned just enough about ties to pick my favorites. And not quite enough to realize that I was probably about to destroy them. Or at least to put them through a few things that $120 silk ties are not designed to endure.

When I got upstairs I saw the closet door open just a crack. I glanced in both directions, heard people coming up the stairs, and ducked in, closing the door as quietly as I could.

She was sitting up on a utility table, cross legged, her hands open on her knees. She was barefoot. She smiled brightly at me . "I was hoping you'd come."

"You weren't sure I would?" I said. "Are you kidding?"

"I try very hard never to take anything for granted," she said, and raised one knee to rest her foot on the table top. The tails of my good blue pinstripe shirt hung down rather tantalizingly between her thighs. The shirt was mostly unbuttoned, and the only thing concealing her cleavage down to her bottom rib were the two ties. I wondered if she'd come to the class that way. I'd have bet on yes.

I approached her, already unbuttoning my shirt. "Here's the problem," I murmured. "I'm not going to gag you. I have some ideas for your mouth that may conflict with that. So I wonder if it's even possible for you to actually be quiet?" Or for me to do so, I thought to myself.

"I can only try," she grinned, looking immensely pleased.

"So. Are you trying to give me ideas with that outfit, or are you just being innovative with half my wardrobe?"

"I like silk," she said contemplatively. "And I like the sensation of something wrapped, all thick like this, around my wrists. It's just one of those esthetic compulsions."

"Let me see if I can help you with that, then. You did a terrible job tying those," I said as I moved toward her. We spoke in barely audible tones, because I could hear conversation out in the hallway; there were people everywhere.

"Oh yes, please, help me," she said, with a theatrically plaintive gesture. "I know they're all wrong. Had to use my teeth."

I experienced a moment of regret as I untied the burgundy tie and began to wrap it around her wrist. I knotted it with a proper four-in-hand, a little disconcerted by the mirror-image of my regular routine. I did the same with the other one. I paused for a moment to take my shoes off. Bijou had managed to find the only utility closet with carpet, and I suspected it wasn't an accident. I also suspected that we were not the only couple to have ever used this particular key. The room had a certain extra ambiance... A small desk lamp for low light, a couple of empty tables, a chair or two.

"The two around your neck are an interesting touch. Everyone will be doing it soon," I said, taking her hands and standing her up. I took both the ties on her wrists and led her to the metal utility shelf bolted to the wall in the back.

"Thing is," I murmured, almost to myself, "there are some decisions to make here." There were only two buttons to undo on the shirt, and I promptly undid them. I couldn't resist running my hands around her breasts, and rubbing my thumbs across her nipples. They were hard. They were always hard. The ties hung between her breasts. It gave the concept of a tie a whole new appeal for me .

I really had no idea what I was going to do, but I figured that I could just make it up as I went along. There were some operations that became obvious with a woman, four ties and a set of very strong shelves, but I was having trouble with all the myriad choices - I'd like to see her bent completely double, and then again the idea of her standing completely spreadeagled against the wall was appealing as well...

I was just going to have to experiment. I hoped she'd be patient with me . It was interesting, and amusing, how my mind worked so rationally on the technicalities without seeming to take any of the raw edge off my lust. my cock was immensely uncomfortable already, and every time I thought of another position for her, another thing I'd like to do to this particular body, it got even harder.

I struggled to focus for a moment. I didn't really want to tie her legs to the shelf, but I'd been thinking about that technicality since we'd been in that same closet a few weeks back. I turned her round to face the shelf and said, "I'm thinking you find those clothes really constrictive. Am I right?"

"You know me so well," she cooed, and stripped off the leggings. When she stood up again I moved up against her and pulled one side of the shirt back. It was an excellent picture, the formal pinstripe against the curve of her hip, the arch of her hipbone defined by the white lace bikini she'd left on. I was tempted to leave the shirt on, but it was too long; it would be in the way. I stripped it back off her arms and laid it aside.

"I believe this, lovely as it is, is going to be in the way as well," I said, stripping the bikini down her legs. She stepped out of it. The smile on her face was getting wider by the moment.

I looked around the room for ideas. There was a stack of five or six buckets in one corner. As quietly as I could, I moved them over to the shelves, dividing them into two short stacks. Then I loosened the ties around bijou's neck and took them off, putting one on each ankle and tightening it again.

"Can't tie your ankles to the shelves," I said slowly, as if I were merely thinking aloud, "so I'm thinking that I'll just loop these around these very noisy buckets." And I did so, urging her legs apart and threading one tie through a bucket handle on either side. "Obviously if you move, these will fall over and make a great deal of noise. And well..." I almost thought I heard her giggle. When I looked around at her face, she was struggling valiantly to look serious and failing miserably. Her eyes were filled with immense amusement.

She was breathing hard, too, already juicy with anticipation, and I caught a faint wave of her scent as I stood back up. She had an exceptional natural perfume, musky and floral all at once, that always caught my attention. At the moment it was making me a bit dizzy. Now she stood peacefully, her legs spread wide open, her hands moving naturally to join behind her back. The ties hung down like a tail behind her.

"Nice," I said, and took both her wrist ties in one hand. I yanked down on them, just a little, and she mewled softly. She enjoyed force; she'd made that clear, but I was still a little hesitant about it. I had no wish to go too far, and very little experience with that sort of game.

I did, however, have a raging erection and some very interesting pictures in my head of what positions I'd like to see her in next. And the only way to learn anything was, after all, to experiment.

"Hmm," I breathed. "I wonder how much this actually immobilizes you?" And keeping a firm grip on the ties behind her back, I began to run my free hand over her torso, pinching her nipples, stroking up the insides of her thighs, toying with the edge of the light dusting of hair on her mons. She writhed a bit, and her breathing got heavy. When I felt her arms move, I yanked downward rather firmly, keeping them still. She sucked in her breath and moaned. That was clearly the right answer. And more to the point, I felt a surge of heat in my groin that was surprisingly powerful. I loved the idea that she was actually rather helpless.

"So," I breathed in her ear. "If I actually did something you truly didn't like and wanted to stop, what would you be likely to say to me?"

"I'd say, 'seriously, stop.' Seriously is the word I'd use," she breathed, and then groaned as my hand went between her legs. She was swollen and moist, and her spine seemed to shake a little with the strain of staying still.

"So no matter how much you complain, I won't really have to listen to you unless you say 'seriously' to me, right?"

"Mmmmm, yeah," she cooed as I found her clit and stroked it. Then I pressed on it, holding perfectly still, and enjoyed how she struggled to rock toward my finger without moving too much. Her frustration was lovely to watch. Then I took my finger away completely, and her look turned to desperation, perhaps even a flash of raw anger. When her shoulders twitched in annoyance, I yanked a little on the ties again, wrapping the extra length around my hand to get a tighter hold. She sucked in her breath and moaned, almost too loud.

Oh hell yeah. This was fun.

I moved my hand down again, got her hips to begin to move, and then took my hand away as soon as she began to respond. She groaned, and gritted her teeth, her hips bucking in frustration. Twice more, and she began to whine, perhaps a bit too loud.

"Don't forget to be quiet," I said, pulling down a little on her wrists so that her shoulders arched back. "Goddd...damn," she hissed at me through clenched teeth. She was still grinning, sort of, though now it was a great deal more feral than her regular smile.

"But see, I'm bored with that now." I most definitely wasn't, but I had a few other thoughts as well that I wanted to try. "You just wait there while I think for a bit." I moved a few feet away and took off my shirt, and then reconsidered the idea of removing my pants -- there was always a slight danger of getting caught, and... I chuckled at the thought of it making any real difference whether or not I still had trousers on, given the rest of the scene at the moment.

"I'm trying to think what level is best on these shelves," I said, moving bijou's wrists round in front of her and taking the ties in one hand again. "For example, there's this bottom shelf." I drew the ties downward and she bent over, till her hands were only about a foot off the floor. I pretended to back up and scan the whole picture, and moved my foot so that it held the ends of the ties down. When she realized what I'd done, after I straightened up again, her spine tightened. I thought I heard her growl. I left my foot there, pretending not to notice. Not that she was buying it.

She was very exposed in this position. The indentations in her spine led appealingly to the division between her cheeks, set rather wide apart by her stance. my hand naturally moved to her cunt, toying with a finger or two, exploring the little variations in her lips, dipping into her occasionally. She was definitely moaning, very low and suppressed. I moved one finger down to her clit and stroked until I could definitely hear little desperate gasps from her. With my other hand I stroked down her spine, heading for her little hole, where I pressed and flickered a fingertip. Her spine jerked and she gasped. It gave me more ideas.

I played with her similarly for a moment or two, getting her energy up and then taking my hands entirely away to watch her tighten and rock in frustration, but I knew that position wasn't something she should stay in for very long, especially breathing as heavily as she was. So I moved my foot, and bent over to pick up the ends of the ties.

"Fascinating," I said. "Do you know, you're really exposed like that. Sort of, well, vulnerable. It has a certain appeal." Since she hadn't actually unbent her torso yet, I sent two fingers suddenly deep into her pussy, thrusting in and out somewhat forcefully. She was incredibly juicy, and the heat around my fingers made me want to force my cock into her right then.

But I stopped, and she couldn't suppress a fierce groan. "But there are some problems with that. There are places on you that I can't reach as well." I slowly lifted up on the ties so that her arms raised to a shelf about two feet up. She felt it and gripped it, pushing herself upward with obvious effort.

That was a nice look too, her back straight and her head at what could only be thought of as cock-level. In fact, the thought blotted out my other ideas momentarily. I took one of her wrists away from the shelf and moved to lean back against it so that I was facing her. I let her put her hand back to steady herself, and rather deliberately undid my pants and freed my cock. It hung directly in front of her face, and she moved forward, raising her head.

"Uh-uh," I chastised in a low whisper. I took a handful of her hair and held her mouth just away from the tip of my cock. The elegant machinery of this arrangement, this moment, pleased me and made me nearly insane with hunger. I held my cock in my other hand, pointed directly at her lips, but did not let her move. Her whole body was shuddering and a thin whine of frustration escaped her. This was seriously fucking with her, I realized, and that turned me on a great deal more than I had expected it to.

"This is fascinating," I murmured. "You are absolutely desperate for that right now, aren't you?" She whined an assent. "You know what's really odd about this moment is that as much as I absolutely love your mouth on my cock..." I paused, reminiscing, but also enjoying the fact that she seemed to be shaking all over.

"...yeah... Love your mouth on my cock..." I allowed her head to get about an inch closer, so that her lips were just brushing the tip. And then no further. A growl exploded out of her. It was quite genuine, that growl, and realizing that, I found myself even more fiercely aroused.

"Anyway," I forced myself to sound perfectly casual, although the fact that I could feel her breath moving down my shaft made that nearly impossible, "what's fascinating to me at this moment is that as much as I enjoy the idea of you sucking me off, right here and now," and I let her mouth slip once, just over the head, and then pulled her back rather sharply, evoking a positively desperate cry from her, "I am enjoying even more the state it seems to be putting you in for me to not" and I brushed my cock back and forth over her lips to punctuate my words, "quite...let you...do it."

Now her whine was constant and she was definitely having trouble being quiet. Her body was tight as a bowstring, and I could see her fingers clenched white on the edge of the shelf. I thought I might like to see the look on her face, so I very gently drew her hair upward, supporting her shoulder with the other hand. She was off balance with her legs trapped like that, and I couldn't have her falling over, particularly since I suspected she wasn't particularly aware of her stance at the moment.

She lifted her hands away from the shelf and with my help, slowly came upright, and the gaze that met mine was stunning, to say the least. The look on her face was completely animal, absolutely wild with frustration. I might even say there was fury in her expression. Pure fury.

It was disconcerting enough that I lost track of any sort of "character" I might have been trying to stay in. I was suddenly worried that I'd gone too far. I peered into her eyes, trying to get some sort of handle on where she was. As I looked at her, her expression changed. Her face slid gradually from that hungry, consumed desperation into a smile so fierce and amused it almost frightened me equally. Boudicea may have had this same gleeful challenge in her expression as she prepared to take off a Roman soldier's head.