A Good Student

The night was just settling in, the sky in the west was a forlorn and tattered pink under low gray clouds as I turned off the blacktop and pulled into the motel parking lot. A glance into my rearview mirror showed Emma's headlights behind me, dipping and rising as she made the turn and followed me in. We were out in an unincorporated no man's land stuck between the far end of the airport runways and a suburban industrial park, a strip of motels and weedy fields that squatted in the shadow of the expressway, a place where no one stayed, where nothing was permanent.

I slowed down and cruised beneath the motel's huge and garish neon sign and past the front office, then headed back through the sparsely-filled parking lot. When I slid down the car window I could hear the distant whining of jet engines and see the strobing of the runway landing lights reflected in the low cloud clover. It looked like heat lightning. My tires crunched on the dry gravel as I pulled into a spot and Emma pulled in right next to me and when we cut our engines it was quiet enough to hear the crickets in the weeds and the soft hum of the motel's air-conditioners.

This night was soft and close and smelled of Midwestern earth and fertility. The place was so nowhere, Emma and I might as well have been the only people in the here.

I got out of the car and took my briefcase with my school papers. I'd already stopped here before class to set up some things and this was all I had. Emma popped her trunk and got out of her car and locked it. She didn't even look at me as she got a tote bag out of the trunk and then closed it. She'd taken off the blue sweater she'd worn in class and draped it around her shoulders, revealing the tight, pink tank top she wore beneath. She wore a pair of khaki shorts and sandals and her long chestnut hair was pinned up on top of her head. I'd made her go into the ladies' room and put her hair up before we'd left the campus. I'd also made her take off her bra and panties and put them in her bag so that she was naked beneath her shorts and top. With the arms of the sweater hanging over her breasts I couldn't tell for sure whether she'd followed my instructions, but I had no reason to doubt it. Emma never disagreed with me.

When I'd called her the night before and told her I'd be taking her to a motel tonight, she'd agreed as well. It wasn't easy for her to talk at home because she had two roommates who didn't know about us, and she couldn't take calls on her cell because she had to keep that clear in case her boyfriend called from Atlanta. He was very jealous.

I took her arm. "We're on the second floor," I said.

I'd intentionally picked this forlorn, anonymous motel not because she didn't deserve better, but because at this stage in our relationship it seemed appropriate—someplace seedy and furtive, a place that used its proximity to the airport as cover for what it really was: a rendezvous for people who wanted to have sex or meet for other small-time illicit activities. The nice downtown hotels with the rich carpets and silk sheets could come later. For now I wanted something more from Emma than I'd been able to get from meeting her after hours at school. So far, for all we'd done it had still been basically a student-teacher affair and I wanted it to be more. This seemed to be the logical next step and I was excited, and my excitement showed in the tight control I kept on myself.

Emma was excited too and I knew her well enough to recognize it. She showed it the same way I did, hardly saying a word, barely looking at me.

I gestured to the stairs and she started to climb, and I followed her, aware that she was naked under her clothes, aware that she must know very well what she was getting into. Her face was passive, but I noticed a glint of excitement in her eyes. Somewhere between here and the school she'd found time to adjust her makeup because her face was flawless and despite the harsh, yellow-tinted lights. I'd never seen her looking more beautiful, placid and perfectly composed.

I directed her down and to the left. We passed by silent, firmly closed doors, the stucco walls tinged a sickly green from the motel's neon marquee. I stopped in front of 232 and swiped the keycard, pushed open the door and we stepped into a typically generic motel room, so bland and featureless as to be almost invisible, the carpet brown, the walls orange. It looked clean enough, everything orderly and tidy—two beds, tightly made up, a closet, dresser with mirror, chest, television. It was only on second look that Emma noticed the end of a rope hanging over the top of the closet door, the collection of sex toys neatly arrayed on a towel on the dresser.

I watched her face as she looked at the dresser. I'd laid everything out earlier—cuffs and chains, rope and clips, vibrators and dildos clamps, whips and floggers—all neatly arrayed like a surgeon's instruments.

Emma's expression didn't seem to change as she looked at the dresser but I felt the sudden surge of tension and excitement, and I saw it in her eyes and in the brief flare of her nostrils. I knew that for all her submissive proclivities and native talent, Emma was relatively naïve when it came to the actual tools and practices of BDSM. These things held a horrid fascination for her.

A jet whined overhead so close that the lampshades vibrated, the light trembling against the walls and ceiling, and that seemed to break the spell, and I felt a sudden surge of excitement. I realized now why this was so important to me. All our other meetings had been acts of passion. This was something else. Alone like this with my little toys on display, I was showing her who I was and what I wanted from her, and she could have rejected me on the spot and there would have been nothing I could have done about it. Despite what they say, D/s is always a co-operative affair. You can't force anyone to submit to you. It has to be given willingly, otherwise it's nothing but rape.

Emma didn't reject me. She didn't turn and walk out or tell me "no". She looked at those things and she got excited, and I knew then that she was willing. I knew then I'd been right about her and that there was a connection between us that went beyond coincidence and happenstance. She'd had her own reasons for following me out here, and while neither of us might know what we were involved in, we both sensed it was something bigger than either of us and we approached each other with a sense of caution, of fear, a feeling that things might happen here that we wouldn't' be able to control and that would change things for us—change everything.

I felt as though we both stood on some huge and elaborate machine that was suddenly starting to move, shuddering to life and bringing us closer. It made me dizzy, as if the floor were actually moving beneath my feet.

"Come here," I said.

Emma turned and came to me, arms at her sides, eyes lowered. I was aware of her femaleness as something deep and profound and totally opposite to my own masculinity, something necessary and complementary—the curves of her body and the delicacy of her face, her soft fluidity against my hard eagerness. I was aware of the urgency of my need for her. It was something that went far beyond the desire to just get laid or get off. So far it had been all sex between us and it had been wonderful as far as that went, but I now wanted more, and I didn't know what that was.

I undid the sweater and threw it on the bed. Her breasts were lush and vulnerable and her nipples were already pressing against the thin fabric. The sight of the toys had aroused her, or maybe it had been my simple command. She kept her eyes down and didn't say a word.

I took her breasts in my hands and felt their weight, then rubbed my thumbs over her areolas and she sighed and closed her eyes in acceptance, instinctively pushing her chest into my palms, offering herself.

"We're alone now, Emma, and we're going to see if you like the things I think you'll like. You know I'll never push you too hard. I'll never make you do anything you really don't want to do. All you ever have to do is tell me to stop and I'll stop. I don't want you to ever be afraid."

Her eyes were closed and she nodded. but I knew she'd never tell me to stop, no matter what I did to her. It wasn't in her nature. The one thing she could do was give her body, totally and without question. I just wondered whether that was enough any more.

I slid my hands from her breasts and around her back, pulled her to me and kissed her, pressing my lips against hers. She was soft and warm and had a kind of trembling readiness, eager for more, and I wondered if she could feel my own anxiousness as well and how her kiss aroused me. I had to fight the sudden desire that threatened to overwhelm me and make me weak, that turned my strength against me and made me crush her against me and plunge my tongue into her mouth in my sudden fever to possess her.

Emma took my force and bent back like a willow in a gale. She knew the rules, that she wasn't allowed to touch me without my permission, and her arms hung nervously at her sides, but as my hands spread across her back and I pressed her to me she seemed to melt against my body like sugar in the rain and her mouth opened to my kiss in a total and instinctive surrender, offering all that she had. She inflamed me, and even as her body softened against mine her nipples seemed to harden and push into me with a sudden blind urgency.

I broke the kiss and looked at her, my eyes searching her face. Submission isn't passivity and it isn't laziness. It's a kind of active surrender, a willing acquiescence and sexual invitation and Emma just radiated it with every fiber of her body. She drove me wild by not doing anything.

"You can touch me," I said.

Her hands came up and held my cheeks and she looked at me. I wasn't prepared for the power in her eyes, the depth and the clarity, the absence of any doubt. She looked at me like I was something beautiful, almost godly, her eyes studying me from chin to forehead, memorizing me. Then she closed her eyes and let her fingertips glide over my face, giving them their turn. She put her hands on the side of my head and opened her mouth, held my face like it was a bowl she wanted to drink from, then she tipped my mouth into hers, kissing me. I kissed her back and pulled her against me, overcome by what she'd made me feel.

She was such a strange mixture of angel and animal, almost spiritual one moment and filthy and obscene the next. Is that what drove me so wild about her? Because I had no doubt as to what I was. Like a beast I pushed my cock against her so she could feel my erection and she moaned in acknowledgement. Her hands tangled in my hair and she held me tighter. Her ass flexed beneath my hands as she ground back at me.

She had a luscious mouth, a mouth that teased and promised and took its time, that invited my tongue in and sucked on it, licked it and dared it to do more, and already I sensed that she was way ahead of me, more excited than I'd thought. She'd looked so calm and composed when we'd entered the room, but Emma was a girl who was able to keep up a cool front, and obviously she'd been excited for some time. All it had taken was this kiss to set her off and she was instantly on fire.

I slid my hand down her back, down between her buttocks and pressed her shorts up between her legs and she groaned and pushed back against me and then forward, grinding her crotch against my leg. She was caught between my finger and my leg and wanted them both and meanwhile her kiss never stopped. I increased the pressure and she bit my tongue and moaned with obsequious pleasure, her thighs quivering as she tried to center her clit over the bulge in my pants. I could feel her muscles working through her shorts and knew that she was ready.

I let go of her and stepped back to the equipment on the dresser. Emma stood there looking suddenly cold and exposed and momentarily confused

"Your wrists, Emma," I ordered, and she held out her hands.

She looked at the cuff as if having trouble focusing, and when she held out her hands, they were shaking slightly. I'd bound her before—with rope, with her own panties—but those had been spur-of-the-moment affairs. This was different. This was intentional, by design, with leather cuffs and metal buckles, implements meant for restraining someone. This was me telling Emma I was taking deliberate control of her.

She watched in mute fascination as I slid the leather around her wrist. She was all curves and softness and shadow and I'd never been so aware of a woman's femininity as I was when I slid the ends through the silver buckles snugged them into place. I did one wrist and then the other, then fastened the cuffs together in front of her with a sturdy chromed clip. She raised her hands and the rings jangled softly as she studied them—the way the leather looked against her skin. There was excitement in her eyes, but also shame, and a bright blush had spread beneath her carefully maintained tan. I'd never seen Emma looking so nervous or so excited.

I led her over to the closet. Earlier I'd fastened a length of nylon rope to the inside doorknob, tied a loop in the end and passed it over the top then closed the door. Now I passed another length of rope through this loop and fasted the free end to Emma's cuffs and hauled on it, lifting her wrists over her head. I tied it off around the doorknob, leaving her standing there so that her arms were raised, her elbows at eye level, her breasts crowded together.

"Yes," I said. "Yes, that's good."

Emma had lost her expression of cool equanimity now. Her lips were parted and swollen, her eyes were wary, guarded and more than a little afraid. She was seriously helpless and naked beneath her clothes, strung up against this closet door in this little low-rent motel with a man she didn't know very well, a man she'd decided to give her body to and now she must be having her doubts. I could see her pulse in her throat and it was racing. My stillness made her nervous but I was in no hurry. Just looking at her was getting me insanely aroused.

She raised a leg and pressed a foot against the door, then put it down. She shifted her hips, trying to get comfortable.

"I can't move," she said. A silly thing to say.

I smiled. "Yes. I noticed."

I went over to her and leaned over her and admired her in her helplessness one more time, then I just let my passion overwhelm me. I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back and slowly licked her lips. Emma shuddered with relief and opened her mouth, expecting a kiss, but I avoided that. Instead I just tasted her—her lips, the slickness of her lipstick, her yielding warmth and the nervous heat of her breath. I ran my other hand down over the doe-soft skin of her face, down her throat, between her tits, over the waist of her shorts and down between legs where I began to rub her, showing her just how defenseless she was tied like this. She moaned a little and her fingers closed on the rope and she pulled, but the rope held. I could touch her anywhere, take anything I wanted and there was nothing she could do to stop me. I reached up into the leg of her shorts and caressed the smooth, tender skin on the insides of her thighs and she whimpered. She pulled at the rope and brought her elbows together as if she could hide her face behind them.

"Mmm..." I sighed as I kissed her. Her thighs were like silk and I loved her helplessness, loved the fact that she couldn't move. I leaned against her so she could feel my hard cock pressing on her hip and pushed it against her, slowly dry-humping so that she'd know I was ready and that she could be taken any time. I slid my hand under her tank top and closed it on the warm globe of her tit and she groaned.

"God, I love you like this," I whispered. "Mine to use as I please. You make me so fucking hot Emma!"

I kissed her now, thrusting my tongue into her mouth and she whimpered, the back of her head softly hitting the closet door as I continued to massage her breast so hard that her body swing back and forth. I let go of her hair and slid my other hand down her body and began to rub her pussy through the shorts and she gasped into my mouth at the feel of the rough khaki against her naked flesh. She thrust against me, wanting me to touch her with my finger, but I held off.

"Let's get these off, shall we?" I asked.

She closed her eyes and said nothing as I crowded her against the door, resting my forehead against hers. My hands went to the waist of her shorts and I slid the button through the hole, the backs of my fingers brushing lightly against her belly and making her jump. I could feel her trembling as I touched the sensitive skin below her navel, and then I slowly—very slowly—lowered the zipper on her shorts, tooth by tooth. I took her lower lip between my teeth and held her there, pulling up on her shorts to keep the zipper taut and making the crotch dig into her delicate pussy as I unzipped her. It was mean I know, but I loved being mean to her.

Emma moaned and moved her hips back and forth, trying to work herself off against the fabric, and her tight, liquid motion made the blood pound in my veins. She was such a hot little piece, the way she came alive under my hands, dangerously sexual. You'd never think it to see her in school, walking down the street, sitting in class—a girl like any other girl, nothing special—but entirely sexual. It was her medium, her natural element, the only place she really came alive, and how she came alive!

I got her shorts open and I knew she was waiting for the touch of my hands on her bare flesh but I stopped, left the shorts hanging open with the V of bare skin showing all pink and vulnerable. I slipped both my hands up under her tank top and started squeezing and kneading her breasts. Her warm, pliable flesh was like human dough in my hands and my mouth was close enough to hers that I could taste her breath.

"Ohhhh! Oh yes!" she sighed. Her hips rolled in tight, impatient circles and I pressed my cock against her so I could ride her urgency. She twisted against me, trying to bring her pussy into contact with the hard bar of my dick, hungry for something to rub against, the imperative of her own pleasure taking precedence over everything else now.

"You like this, Emma? You like being tied like this?" I asked her, and she moaned impatiently, too busy concentrating on her hips to give me a full answer.

She worked frantically, trying to get herself off on her own shorts, but all she managed to do was make them slip farther down till they hung uselessly low on the saddle of her hips. I helped her get them off, pulling them down then holding her so I could feel her work her thighs and pelvis to make the shorts slide all the way down her legs, undressing herself for me. It was a beautiful display, selfish and obscene, a nasty little girl just dying to get her panties off for the bad boys.

Still, I didn't touch her, didn't give her what she wanted. I pushed my knee up hard against her pussy, lifting her slightly and giving her something to rub against. She was only too grateful for the ride and I felt her moist warmth searing through my jeans as she rubbed against me like a bitch in heat. I pinned her against the door as I peeled her top up and over her head, but because her wrists here clipped together I couldn't get it all the way off, so I left it dangling from her wrists. The heavy globes of her breasts were now exposed, covered with a sudden rush of goose bumps.

More than losing her shorts, losing her top seemed to make Emma truly naked. Her tits were gorgeous—generous, giving, vulnerable. No doubt part of the appeal of having her hands tied over her head was the way it left her tits so flagrantly exposed, so deliciously defenseless. I grabbed her bound wrists in one hand and pushed them up even higher, raising her breasts so I could bend my head and suck and lick her nipples. I nuzzled against her tits and pushing them around with my face. licking and biting as they jiggled and bounced against my cheeks like ripe fruit. I wanted to devour her, just eat her up, and the more excited I got, the more excited she got. She was ready to be devoured. I could feel it.