The Shape of Surrender (Ch. 05)
soppingwetpanties
This is Scott's unrequited fantasy of female domination.
Thank you Scott and Frank.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.
Chapter Five
Lila
It was 3 a.m. and my daughter Clara was anxiously awaiting an explanation for my unannounced four hour absence. I'd just visited the office of her sexy boss, Sabina Carlisle, a twenty-something book editor of Larkspur Editions, purportedly to deliver her a hoagie and fries, but really for her to find out if my interest in the BDSM power exchange was real or just of academic interest. She found out my interest was real, so I ended up spending a good part of that time worshipping Sabina's delectable asshole, not exactly the kind of thing you'd want to confess to your nineteen year old daughter.
I was on the spot and decided to give her a slightly sanitized version of the truth. My mind was still a bit fuzzy and I couldn't concoct a believable lie.
"I was with Sabina."
"Sabina? My boss?"
She was incredulous. Sabina was more than twenty years younger than me and could have been my daughter.
"Yes Clara. Sabina."
"My God... you were having sex?"
What else would we be doing in the middle of the night? I had no choice but to confirm her fear.
"Yes," I said, not being able to stop myself from dipping my head down low.
"So, your fascination with her breasts. The talk about a power exchange..."
Suddenly my sexual freedom didn't feel so free.
"I'm sorry."
I have to give Clara credit. She wasn't as irate as I thought she'd be.
"You don't have to apologize, Dad. I'm just surprised... no shocked... that you'd be with someone who's probably twenty years younger than you. What you do is your business... I guess."
"It just happened Clara. It wasn't planned...," I said, still struggling to make a proper apology.
"No wonder you and Mom broke up."
"We didn't get along for a long time," I argued.
"Mom's living with a woman and you're having sex with my boss, when you're old enough to be her father. It's all kind of hard to swallow."
Clara was spot on. I was feeling for her, but also mindful she harped on me to treat her as an independent woman, not a child.
"You're a big girl Clara and now you understand we all have adult issues. I know having to learn about your parent's sex lives isn't what you signed up for."
"Ughhh," she said in disgust. "It's pretty much the last thing I want to know about."
"Well just know that your Dad is safe and so is Sabina. It was consensual so let's leave it at that."
"Please," Clara said before yawning and stretching her arms over her head. "I've got to go to work tomorrow to help Sabina with her manuscript. She was supposedly pulling an all-nighter but that wasn't all she was doing. Good night Dad."
I escaped, but just barely.
* * *
Vivian called me the previous evening while I was with Sabina and Sabina took charge of my phone and answered it. The result was predictably bad, with Sabina giving Vivian some unwelcome sass. I was in deep shit with my Domme and dreaded my phone buzzing with a missive from her. There was nowhere to hide.
It was late morning and I'd just finished teaching my freshman intro
Comparative Thought and Literature
course and had an hour and a half to devote to office hours for those students. My office was located on the second floor of Seelye Hall, a Gothic inspired building finished in 1909, and was tucked away at the end of a quiet corridor -- a generous accommodation for an English professor.
The office boasted two tall arched leaded pane windows framed with limestone and beneath them was an old fashioned cast iron radiator painted in flaking layers of silver. It was furnished with ancient sturdy oak furniture, marred and scratched by heavy usage over the years. The creaky floorboards were covered with several mismatched Oriental rugs purchased at a flea market and the bookshelves were crammed with literary criticism, poetry collections and well-worn novels that I had good intentions to re-read. It was a place of comfort that was all mine.
No one had made an appointment for that morning so I spent the first forty-five minutes reading and correcting essays before my door opened and a perky blonde bounced in, one of the students in my intro class. She sat in the first row and asked good questions and took meticulous notes. I'd never had the opportunity to talk to her, but remembered her name was Lila Pennington.
Lila was a study in casual innocence who looked both studious and effortlessly flirtatious. Her blonde hair was pulled up with a hair clip and her face bore minimal make-up, just a touch of pink lip gloss and mascara that made her blue eyes brighter. She was wearing a sheer cream colored knit sweater, slipping off one shoulder to show the narrow strap of the sky blue camisole she wore underneath. Her denim skirt was high waisted, cut at mid-thigh, paired with scuffed brown ankle boots.
Something stirred in me when Lila came into my office. Her innocence was a diversion. I sensed trouble.
She sat in one of my two guest chairs, polished to a sheen with decades of use. The seating surface had been recently reupholstered with dark green leather. She crossed her legs, causing her skirt to ride up on her thighs. I couldn't help but admire her legs and her youthful beauty. She was trouble.
"What can I do for you Lila?" I asked her, interlacing my fingers and placing my hands on my desk, trying to look like a proper academic rather than a horny middle aged man in the company of a comely blonde. She was toying with me.
"I see you know my name," she said, somewhat surprised. She made sure she was sitting up straight so I could see the distinct points of her breasts framed by her tight sweater. She was proud of her body.
"You ask good questions in class. I make note of those students," I said truthfully. I also looked her up on social media because she was so damned attractive.
"I'm flattered," she said. "I really enjoy being in your class."
I could sense a subtle change in her tone and the way she sat in her chair, recrossing her legs at the ankles and opening her legs slightly to allow me to see the darkness between them and think about the treasures beyond. It was calculated... and seductive. I didn't need that right now but there it was... wrong time, wrong place.
"I appreciate that Lila. It's good to hear from good students like you. So what would you like to talk about?"
I was praying it was something benign, though I was getting a vibe she was about to come on to me. That usually happened once a semester, and usually went nowhere. I didn't cheat on Rose when we were married and the few years I'd been single there wasn't a student who sparked enough interest for me to test the boundaries of the school's prohibition on sexual relationships with students.
"So Professor Alden, I've been reading
Tess of the d'Urbervilles
and I'm struggling with Tess's relationship with Alec. Is Hardy critiquing male domination, or simply romanticizing it?"
Her pointed question made clear she'd carefully mapped out her seduction of her English professor.
I should have been rude and asked her to leave. I didn't. I knew I was going down a road that was going to lead to my ruin but I felt powerless to stop myself. Vivian had given me everything I ever wanted and now Lila was pulling on the same strings - the latent submissiveness that bloomed into full scale submission.
While Lila was studying my face as I pondered her question I wondered how I got into this situation. Her question was one I raised in my own mind when I read Hardy's work when I was a teenager. It made me realize the works of Hardy and Virginia Woolf may have served as the unconscious underpinning of my own fascination with the power exchange between dominant and submissive. I should have known at that point I was playing with a raging fire. To my credit I did make an attempt, however feeble, to sidestep her question.
"It's a great question Lila but I haven't given it a great deal of thought. Let me ponder it and I'll pull you aside after a class to discuss it."
She gave me a look I didn't expect. She looked hurt, like a puppy who'd been hit with a rolled-up newspaper.
"Why the long face Lila?"
"Well... Professor Alden... I didn't expect you to lie to me."
"Lie to you... how?" I asked, already feeling bad even though I didn't know what I did wrong.
"I've been interested in your entire body of work on the topic. You taught a senior seminar on "Voice and Vantage: Narratives of Power and Intimacy," and a good part of the syllabus delves into the exact question I've posed."
