Erotica Lecturer's Extra Lesson

Your class starts in less than five minutes and I'm sitting immobile in my car, wondering whether I should actually go inside. Facing you after last week will be nigh impossible. I still can't believe you did what you did... or that I allowed it.

Worse still is wrestling with the knowledge that I loved every minute. Your brutal abuse of my body was one of the most perverse and exciting things I've ever experienced, but I know I can never let it happen again.

I'm no man's toy, and certainly not one to be used by a virtual stranger! Just like that my decision is made; if I don't face you today I'll never get the experience out of my head or be able to move past it - past you.

Just like the week before I'm the last of your students to enter the classroom. I walk briskly into the room, sit down without looking towards your desk and take out my computer and notepad. Finally I look up and there's a sharp stab in my gut as I take in the scene before me.

Last week the front of the classroom contained only your large desk. Today the remaining space has been turned into...what? The word that sails through my head uninvited is "dungeon", but the connotations are too much to process so I go into mental reverse and settle on "play room". I can process that without acting on my overwhelming desire to flee.

When I eventually look at you I'm not surprised to see your stormy eyes studying my face. You've clearly been watching my reaction to the tableau and you're amused. That infuriates me and I hold onto the anger.

I can deal with you if I'm angry. It's the sense of total vulnerability I experienced last week that I know will be my undoing if I allow my mind to go there again.

And then you launch into your lecture and despite myself I'm again drawn in by your rich baritone; fascinated by your subject matter. You explain that as a writer of erotica one has to be able to move beyond one's comfort zone.

Good writers understand their readers' fantasies and play to their kinks to draw them into the story. "Erotica is all about creating fantasies so rich that they compel audiences to see and experience your words. If the narration is good, readers will actually live them for a brief time," you explain. "Audiences should be mesmerised by your characters and your story until the end; as the writer the control is yours."

With that, you start moving easily through the big and small items that adorn the dungeon (no, play room!), explaining the use of each one as you go. You have an array of furniture; a St Andrew's Cross, an adjustable flogging bench, a wicked looking human-shaped cage and a rope rig that hangs menacingly from the ceiling are just a few of the objects on display.

Each you describe, and weave short tales around how they're used. The stories are perverse, filthy and so exciting that I find myself shifting uncomfortably in my seat as moisture soaks through my lacy knickers. With those narratives the hour flies past, and all too soon you're wrapping up with a writing assignment for the week. The assignment is to research sexual bondage and how the equipment is used, then write a creative BDSM story. Your last words to the class are a reminder to leave the previous week's assignment on your desk.

I'm determined today not to be the last out, but as I drop my assignment in the basket I hear you say quietly: "Please remain for a minute. We need to discuss last week."

I'm frozen. I don't want to face you, talk to you. I want to rush out, but you clearly sense that because your long fingers snake around my wrist and you repeat just one word: "Please." This time, though, it isn't a request but an instruction and my feet become leaden.

One by one the other students leave and then it's just us. "Did you learn enough in our one-on-one class last week to write something really creative for your first assignment?" you ask.

My eyes meet yours, I find that core of anger again and I say: "No, I didn't. Your behaviour was vile; a complete violation and you should be grateful I didn't have you arrested!"

I expect you to recoil, but instead you start laughing and the rich sound fills the room.

"Arrested? Why? You loved every second of it. You were begging me for more!" you eventually splutter when you're able to speak. "Oh dear...I was really hoping you'd learnt something worthwhile. Clearly that wasn't enough to make you understand, which will make you a poor erotica writer at the end of the day. We can't have that, so I believe another extra lesson would be of benefit. Hopefully one more open exchange will finally make you think!"

And with that, you grab both my wrists with one hand. The other hand snakes around my body and smoothly unzips my dress in one motion. You let go of my wrists for as long as it takes to pull the dress down over my arms, and by the time the fabric whispers to the floor you have me back in a vice grip.

You spin me around, capture my elbows behind my back and your other hand finds my hair. With a single swirl your fingers are knotted and my head is yanked back sharply as you frog march me across the floor.

I hear the rasp of plastic and feel a sharp pinch around my wrists, then a second around my elbows. My arms are utterly immobilised behind my back with two simple cable ties. "That should hold you for a minute and prevent any attempts to gouge out my eyes," you chuckle.

Then you lift me bodily, swing me forwards and plant me astride the narrow central bar of the flogging bench. I feel cool leather encircling my ankles as you tighten cuffs, then the same as you close a second set of buckles behind my knees.

I try to turn my head to identify a rattling of metal behind me, but your hand returns to my hair and I feel my head being forced down hard against the padded bench.

I wail in protest, but your voice is implacable: "If I want you to see something I'll tell you where to look. In fact..." The rattling ceases and a second later I feel the soft caress of velvet against my cheek. You pull on the fabric and move it upwards until it covers my eyes, then I feel you knotting it tightly around the back of my head. The strip of velvet is midnight black and I'm utterly blind.

Then something hard and rubbery is pressing my lips against my teeth with such force that I gasp involuntarily. As my mouth opens, I feel a hard ball forcing its way between my lips and you buckle the gag behind my head.

"You were just about to shout at me, weren't you?" you chuckle. "Let's forestall that; if I want your opinion for the next while, I'll give it to you!"

A second later the 'clack-clack" of metal against metal assails my ears again and then a sharp click; something is locking in place. When you raise my cable-tied arms behind my back and I feel silken rope whispering around my elbows I suddenly understand.

The rope rig is on a rail and you can move it. Right now it's directly above my splayed, prone position on the bench and you're tying my arms above my back. I feel rope coils looping around my forearms again and again, moving towards my wrists, but I sense there's enough play to allow me to swing my arms when you're done. That's your first mistake, I think gleefully.

Once the ends are secured around the back of my hands, I feel you cutting the cable ties biting into my flesh. I'm just about to swing my fists towards you when there's a sharp tug and my arms jerk upwards. They extend and stretch, my hands pointing to the ceiling and forcing my face and torso downwards into the soft leather covering of the narrow central spar of the bench.

With my legs secured by straps and the rigging pulling painfully against my shoulder joints I realise I can't move. A growl escapes around my gag and as I sense you stepping close to me I lunge my head in your direction, hoping to connect with something soft.

"Really? You're seriously going to try to head-butt me now?" you ask. "You want to attack me knowing the punishment that sort of behaviour earned you last week. You're a slow learner, little girl, and if you refuse to play nicely you're simply going to have to learn the hard way.

"Incidentally, I'd lie very still right now if I was you. Or not; entirely your choice, but before you decide you should probably know that there's a wickedly sharp scalpel currently about an inch from your left hip."

Your words make my body freeze and my vision behind the blindfold blossoms bright red as my mind screams in terror. What are you doing with a scalpel? Surely you're not going to cut me?

Then I feel your fingers slide under the band of my wispy lace knickers and a second later they melt off my body as the scalpel glides through the fabric like butter. A few more slashes makes my bra falls to the floor as well.

An instant later I feel your hand come to rest on the centre of my back, and you must be crouching down next to me, because your voice is suddenly very close to my ear.

"What'll be discussed in class next week is the importance of subliminal education in erotica; that every kink play must have a foundation of safe, sane and consensual. I understand that at the moment you might feel like you have no choice, but if you want to be untied now nod once and I'll do it immediately. If not, you have my word that I will do nothing that pushes you beyond what you can take. Now I need you to nod or shake your head; nod for 'untie me', shake for 'I want to stay'."

Those words instantly calm my mental storm and I know unequivocally I want to be exactly where I am right now. My pussy's slickness coats the bench's crossbar under it and the waves of desire coursing through my body are so intense that my stomach is roiling.

I shake my head hard, and you start stoking my back. "Good girl," I hear you say softly. "Now, if I remove the gag are you going to scream?" I shake my head again and feel you undoing the buckle at the base of my skull.

You gently pull the gag out of my mouth, then say: "Green means you're okay, yellow that you need a break and red means we stop instantly. Do you understand your safe words? I need you to say them."

Once I've repeated the colours back to you I feel soft lips rubbing against mine; a tongue gently probing as you kiss me. I whimper against your teeth and my pelvis grinds into the bench. You feel the movement too, and pull away.

At lightning speed you're upright and there's an explosion of stinging pain across my ass as your palm cracks down. "You're a bad slut! You're grinding; who said you could do that?"

I moan as heat radiates outwards from under your hand.

"So our first lesson today changes; you need to learn not to try to pleasure yourself without permission, and to stay still until you're told otherwise. Until I say so you do not have permission to move. If you do, it will be that much harder for you. Do you understand?"

I nod, but a second later I hear a swish and molten heat blossoms between my legs as multiple strands of your flogger curl around my ass and into my pussy.

"What do you say?" I hear you demand. Through the pain I manage to stutter:

"Yes Sir; no movement. I understand."

You're quiet for a heartbeat and then softly I hear you say: "That's better."

My acquiescence does nothing to spare me, though, and as the next blow lands I scream when the tips of the flogger land on my clit with unerring accuracy. It takes all my control not to jerk my body away from you, away from the fire. I bite my lip as blow after blow rains down, creating rivers of white hot heat across my ass and inside my pussy. An eternity and a further 10 strokes later I hear you put down the flogger; a sound that makes my body sag with relief.

"Such a good girl," I hear you say. "Obedience like that deserves a reward." You grasp my hips and pull my body backwards a few centimetres, over the edge of the bench. The move wrenches my arms higher and I moan. "If you hold still it won't hurt," you tell me. "Wriggle and your shoulders will ache for the next week!"

I hear your steps approaching my head, then your fingers grasp either side of my jaw and you squeeze. "Open wide!" you say. My mouth opens and in an instant is filled by your rock hard cock. You put one hand on the back of my head and fuck my mouth hard, pushing your cock into my throat. You hammer into me relentlessly until I gag and tears squeeze out from under the blindfold. With your thumb you gently wipe them away, then you step back and your cock slides out from between my lips.

"Well done, you talented little cock sucker," you say. "That almost deserves a reward. But you do not yet have permission to move and you definitely don't have permission to cum. Do you understand me?"

I immediately respond with "Yes Sir!" and then hear you take three brisk steps away.

I establish your new location when I feel two fingers slide effortlessly into my sodden pussy, then curl forwards. The sensation makes me cry out with pleasure, but I will my body to remain still. Your assault of my pussy becomes more intense. Your other hand moves to start circling my clit and I scream: "Please Sir! Please let me cum. God, please let me cum!"

I hear you chuckle behind me. "Such a wanton little fuck toy. How badly do you need release?"

My brain is overloading and the only word I manager to whisper is: "Please..."

But then your hands are suddenly gone and I wail. "Be patient!" you growl.

I feel your cock plunge into my pussy once, twice, but before I can cum, it's gone too. I'm totally empty, but every nerve ending is screaming for release and eclipses the fire still raging across my sensitive flesh from the flogging.

Then I feel your fingers pulling my ass cheeks apart and convulsively I jerk away from you. A sharp slap follows the movement. "Lie still or say your safe words!" you order, and instantly my body goes still.

Your hands return to my cheeks and I feel your cock pressing hard against the tight bud of my ass. I've never had a man inside there and I gasp: "Please... No!" Your response is to push harder and there is an instant of white hot pain as you finally enter me.

You hold still for a second listening to my scream then you plunge your cock deep into me. And you don't stop. Your pelvis is piston-like ramming into my virgin ass.

You lean forwards and your hand snakes around my hip, lifting me from the bench and sliding across my pussy. Your fingers curl inside me while your thumb rubs quickly over my clit. "Cum for me, slut!" I hear you growl. "Cum now!"

My brain is overloaded by explosions of pain and pleasure. Just as I think I can't possibly obey, an orgasm so massive hits me that my body jerks like a stringed puppet.

The movement sends waves of pain shooting through my shoulders but I barely feel it. Then I cum a second time, a third time.

My world contracts to a pinpoint of sensation and my cries are so deep, so low that my voice entirely vanishes. A moment later I hear your breathing quicken and a deep rumble start in your chest as your cock pounds into me even harder.

Then you cum and your cock spurts a fountain so hard that I can feel the jet through the sheer condom.

Your cock slides out of my body and I hear a snick, then my leaden arms drop onto my back and you pull off the blindfold.

You fold your body onto my back and whisper in my ear: "Such a good girl! Your little ass was so tight, you resisted and then you started cumming for me so hard. You know what that makes you? You're an anal slut who likes to be filled and mark my words; you'll soon beg for me to play in that tight little hole again."

My spent body lies underneath your tall, hard frame and I'm a little shocked at what I've just done. The overriding sensation, though, is raging desire to do it again. I loved being bound, helpless, spread and used.

I'd never before understood the exquisite pleasure that could come from just the right amount of pain and I sense my body could learn to take more. The thought excites me beyond measure and I moan softly.

"You greedy little fuck toy! You want more, don't you? You want me to make you scream, make you ask for your pleasure; make you beg for it.

"You're going to do all those things very soon, and just to make it interesting I think while you're so nicely tied up we should get your pussy and your ass filled at the same time."

My eyes widen in shock. You can't mean what I think you mean. You wouldn't do that!

I feel your weight shift off my bound body and I turn my head as you saunter towards the door, doing up your zip as you walk. With a wolfish grin you say: "I'm just going to fetch someone. I won't be long but be a good girl while I'm gone nevertheless and please - don't go anywhere!"

(Part III to follow)