As Larry continued to watch the two women, I turned to scan the rest of the club.
It was one of my safe havens – with the exception of Larry, nobody here knew exactly what I did in the real world and I could honestly say the same about almost all of them. Sure, they knew me by my title, the Professor, and they could google me, using a snapshot, but it was against the rules and the punishment for breaking the rules was severe. I'd been a member for over 20 years, back when the fee was exorbitant for a freshly graduated teacher, but 1/100
th
of what it was today. I had scrimped and saved and yes, I reminded myself, there was a small inheritance I could have used for a down payment on a home. But looking back, this was far and away the best investment I'd made in my life. I purchased a lifetime membership, no annual fees, no increases. The incidentals weren't covered, but the drinks weren't any more expensive than a regular bar. And, with my newly minted 20 year pin, I got priority scheduling on the rooms and the stage. I'd been coming at least once a week, even when I wasn't training a new girl, and when I was, I thought with some guilt, sometimes once a night.
The memory of my younger self came back to me, as it sometimes did after a drink or two. I knew I was into something very different from my friends. When they played doctor with the neighbor girls, they didn't use straps. I didn't know what was happening, but I knew I had a keen sense for finding girls that wanted a strong actor in their lives. All through high-school my friends teased me about my choice of dates: mousey plain looking girls, flat-chested who would have melted into the wallpaper if they weren't standing next to me.
But I wasn't into appearances, except for their breasts. If they were an A-cup or smaller, I couldn't keep my hands off them. And I learned that as soon as they got over their shyness about being so small, they'd let me play however I wanted. During those experimenting years, I discovered that larger breasts weren't nearly as sensitive. A double bonus: shy girls embarrassed about their size and all too willing to let me play, combined with a sensitivity I learned to leverage. I worked it down to a formula and had a string of young women willing to do whatever I could dream up.
I looked around the room, enjoying the young people playing out their fantasies. Men and women – almost 50/50 – a huge shift from when I started – naked, bound, faces in agony or need. It's often impossible to tell from a distance. My cock twitched.
By the time I hit college, I had perfected my persona, with a half-dozen strategies for getting girls to go to bed. And by sophomore year, I was specializing in those types of young women who wanted to be dominated and whose breasts were small enough to keep my interest. Living in the dorms made it too difficult to play out our scenes, and when I finally moved into an apartment, my roommates weren't very understanding of the screams coming from my room. I found the club through a network of like-minded people, and for a few months I paid the drop-in fee to satisfy my cravings.
When the host suggested I consider a different payment plan, I knew what I had to do. And now I thank myself every time I step through the door.
"She is a beauty, but I'm surprised. Far too full for your tastes, right?"
I looked over at Larry, pulled from my daydream. "What?" I asked, confused.
Larry nodded back in the direction I'd been staring. I turned and watched as a young woman, dressed only in a leather collar and black flats, moved through the crowd at the bidding of her trainer. Her breasts were not overly big, but much larger than my usual fare. I smiled and turned back.
"I hadn't noticed actually. Thinking about how long I've been coming here." It was getting time to leave. I waved the server over and signed for the drinks. "Gotta go bud. Let me know what I need to know. Otherwise I know you've got it covered."
*-*-*-*
For the 20 years I'd known Larry, we never spoke outside of the club. I had met a lot of people at the club over those years, and I knew a fair bit about what floated their boats. But Larry? Not much. I knew he was in high tech, something having to do with technical sales, but other than the fact he had to travel a lot for his job, I hadn't learned much about his tastes.
Early on, when we first met, he revealed a little about his interests, showing me a website he'd built. Not only wasn't it to my liking, or taste, it left me a little shaken. Many "off" images, the details of which I've long forgotten, and I'm just as happy. He didn't show up for a while, and I thought maybe he'd been embarrassed, but a few weeks later he swaggered in, his usual self. I didn't have any further interest; the lesson taught me to be careful about learning too much about my fellow members.
But Larry took to me. Maybe because I wasn't totally grossed out by that first exposure, or maybe because I didn't ask him any questions at all. Or, as I sometimes pondered while I tightened the ropes on my latest pursuit he'd helped me snag, because I kept challenging him in new ways.
He and I had partnered on a dozen women over those years and for the most part, each presented a new obstacle to overcome. While many came from the college, certainly not all did. I literally bumped into a young woman at a coffee shop and was immediately struck by her beauty and poise. And her nearly flat chest. Larry was convinced I'd fallen in love at first sight after the drinks that night and promised me he'd help me get her. I figured she was a goner, a one-shot encounter and I'd never see her again. The next time we saw each other he gave me a small package, about the size of a cigarette pack and told me to just press the only button on it as soon as I was closer to her than anyone else.
I shook my head, imagining what a creepoid I'd look like trying to get close to her.
"Look," he coached me, "if she's in line, just come up next to her pretending to look at the menu, or better yet, strike up a conversation. It's not hard, Jim. At least, not yet." He smiled as usual at his overtired double-entendres and pushed the thing at me.
I felt like one of my 1
st
years going to that coffee shop every day at around the same time I'd seen her, and after a week I was ready to call it off, when she walks up to the door at practically the same time I did. I held it open for her, my finger ready on the trigger, and as soon as she passed, I pressed the button.
I met up with him that night.
"Did it." I held up the device, grinning.
"Great! Hand it over and she's practically yours." He brought out his phone, did something or other and in a few minutes showed me the results.
"Hoooolllly shiiitttt," I exhaled. The entire contents of this woman's phone was laid out for me: contacts, calling history, photos, notes, calendar, her Candy Crush history...everything.
"Jacquelin Parquet," Larry read, taking a drink. "I see why you fell for her."
"Okay, so, you caught her digital shadow, how does this help?"
He looked at me like I was an idiot. I
was
an idiot. This was the first time he'd used this exploit with me. "Okay, let me spell it out for you. 1) You've got her entire itinerary here, every day. 2) You know what her interests are from her browsing history...let's see...shit! She's single – look at her FB status. Just broke up in fact. 3) You can see what kind of trash she reads...yep...check it out, gothic romance novels! Fucking perfect, Jim! She's ready for a stranger to whisk her away and do with her as you will!"
He laughed and kept scanning the files. "Ohhh ho!" He turned the phone to me – several pictures she'd sexted to some lover from a while back. My cock twitched at her figure: breasts small enough to cup in my palm, a long torso and longer legs, meeting together at a shaved vertical slit. I couldn't resist.
Three weeks later she was tied up in one of the rooms begging me to let her cum, her nipples pinched and pulled out from her chest, her hands shackled to the wall behind her, her eyes brimming with tears and deep deep gratitude. Jacky. We lasted a long long time. It was the first time I thought I was truly in love. I mean, I probably was in love, but I wasn't ready to commit beyond what we had going. When her job moved her out of state, I wasn't about to give everything up and move with her. We broke it off. I went into a mild depression for months until my hunger grew bigger than my feelings of loss. That was five years ago. I thought about her a lot and we'd kept in touch, holding out hope we'd get back together if she ever moved back.
For whatever reason, I trusted Larry implicitly. He'd never done anything to destroy that trust, and even if he was some undercover cop, he'd been complicit in so many violations of local, state and federal laws that I don't think he'd be able to defend himself. The procedure at this point was pretty formulaic: He had what he needed from Carolyn's phone, or would have by the end of the night and somehow Tee would show up at my office door in the next couple of days, ready to beg for my help. It was a game of sorts that he and I played: I'd mention a passing interest in a new prospect and he'd devise a way to get them to approach me. He'd never tell me what he was doing unless I asked, but that was like looking at the answer to the crossword puzzle. I rarely did, but sometimes I needed a little help.
Carolyn wasn't in class the next day, and looking at her college profile, I saw she was taking a short leave to help a family member who was very ill. I caught Tee's eye from the back of the room, but she looked away, shifting uncomfortably.
At the next office hours, the following day, I looked up at a knock to see Tee standing in the doorway, clutching her bag.
"Professor?" She looked terrified.
"Tee! What's the matter? Are you okay?" I got up from my chair and walked around the desk to meet her half-way.
She was sobbing as I led her to a chair. "What's going on? Should I call the medical center? Did someone attack you?"
She looked up confused and shook her head, crying some more. "I...it's...fuck, fuck fuck!!"
I pulled up a second chair to sit next to her, holding her hand and rubbing it gently.
"It's...Carolyn, god-fucking-dammit!" She looked at me as if that was enough and I shook my head confused. "It's her! She's the one who keeps sending me the photographs! Look!!" She slipped her hands away and pulled up her phone, swiping. "Fuck! She's the only one who had this and she's telling me to go back to that creepy chat room!"
I couldn't make out the photograph very well, but it was clearly Tee, stretched out, stripped bare; the URL printed across her belly. I resisted licking my lips, looking back at her. I looked even more confused. What was Larry doing? "Ummm, soooo, if it's her, then what's the problem? She's your friend, your lover, I guess, so why don't you just call her and tell her it's not funny and stop it."
