Parent-Teacher Conference, Chapter 3
Miss Ava Valentine left Peter tied to her bed when she went out to the market to find them some lunch. It may have been a total of fifteen minutes. She justified the treatment; he deserved it for not following instructions as her pet: an affectionate term for her sub. The punishment would teach him a lesson. After she placed the deli sandwiches on plates and poured two tall glasses of sparkling water, she felt she had adequately prepared Peter's aftercare snack.
She entered her bedroom. "Why, hello there," Ava murmured seductively from the doorway. "You've been a good boy, I see." Peter had remained spread naked across her mattress though he could have escaped; the restraints weren't top of the line. This told her that he willingly took his entire punishment; he'd placed the outcome of his immediate future in her hands. It wasn't power she wanted but an understanding about their relationship—the balanced give and take where he gave and she took. However, Peter relinquishing his power to her was a bonus. She just hadn't expected him to give it up so willingly.
She sashayed over to the bed and climbed on top of Peter, straddling him as before but this time she had her clothes on. She unfastened his wrist restraints slowly and delicately. He was hesitant to touch her for needing permission, so he simply placed his hands by his sides. He caught a glimpse of her relaxed and reassuring face. She turned at the waist and unrestrained his legs. "Better?" she asked. She lay her chest against his abdomen, pulled her arms and legs tight against him, then she lay her head against his chest. "It hurts me more than it hurts you," she tried to say seriously but started snickering.
Peter let out a silent laugh, his chest bouncing her head slightly. "Right. Do you think that you may have taken that a bit too far?"
She raised her head and looked into his eyes, piercing him with their blueness. "Darling," she smiled, "I would never punish you without providing proper care afterwards." She slid a hand behind his neck and pulled her lips right into his with a kiss that made him forget his punishment but not the lesson. Her lips and tongue tasted sugary sweet. The sustained embrace caused him to become erect again. With his left arm wrapped around her, he swiftly flipped her onto her back where he had advantage. His hips pressed her legs apart and, determining from her gentle nail digging into his arms, she was allowing it. He ran his fingers up her skirt, caught the side strap of her bikini underwear, and he pulled them down swiftly. Because he'd been teased relentlessly for so long, he had been on the verge for what seemed like hours, and he was beyond ready to cum. He slid his hard cock right into her hot, wet pussy, then pumping like a piston, his cock swelled with hardness inside her even more. His breathing sounded like a train engine building speed. "Cum for me," she insisted. "Cum inside me." Her wish was his command; he pumped his load of hot cum inside her. At the finish, still inside her, he moved his face close to hers and kissed her sweetly. It was a gesture, he thought, but not of love.
They lay in the afterglow, both energized and exhausted, thinking about the intense build up, then thinking about nothing at all.
"You are becoming such a good pet. I want to grant you one fantasy." She said this calmly and assuredly, confidently, as if no fantasy were too extreme. Ava traced his chest with one finger. "Have you ever had a threesome?"
He laughed, remembering a missed opportunity. "Almost. I had the chance but hesitated. My friend went off with the girl and left me behind. It probably would've been sloppy and terrible anyway."
"Well . . . what's your type? Fair-skinned blonde? Tan body? Long curly-headed brunette? Tempestuous redhead? Do you like them slender, petite, athletic, bosomy?"
Peter couldn't speak for the disbelief. His mind was blown for the second time that day.
* * *
Ava Valentine arranged a two-bedroom Airbnb suite for the following weekend in Atlanta. He took her to dinner, and afterwards Ava took him to an upscale gentlemen's club. The bouncer let her and Peter in for free because he knew her. The bartender knew her. Even the headliner, Miss Sugar, knew her. She met them at the bar briefly and gave Ava a kiss on the cheek before going onstage.
The club was elegant, dark but not smoky. It reminded Peter of a classy cigar bar: dark wood flooring and walls, red velvet upholstery on all the oversized wood furniture, soft light emitting from the elegant light fixtures. The stage was something out of the roaring 20s vaudeville theater: a red velvet curtain with tassels at the hem, shimmering lights trimming the stage. The stage was shaped less like a theater stage, though, and more like a fashion runway with a pole at the end. All the waitresses were well-groomed, attractive, and wore a revealing but classy tuxedo-style short dress. The music playing was an instrumental blend of electronic and upbeat jazz—not the contemporary music from casual strip clubs.
When Miss Sugar emerged on stage, Peter thought she looked radiant. She wore a peach corset trimmed with white lace and a matching pair of panties that were modest in the front but almost non-existent in the back. Peach lace garters held up each of her delicate white thigh high stockings. She made walking in four-inch high heels seem effortless, for she seemed to glide from point to point across the stage. Peter saw that she had a head full of strawberry blonde hair, her body curvy and her breasts voluptuous. She was energetic based on her quick, high-heeled walk and her broad welcoming smile. She walked to downstage right, paused, then slowly and erotically walked down the catwalk to the pole. Placing her hands on her thighs, she gracefully squatted against the pole, running her hands down her smooth legs, caressing them as she went. She leaned forward so we could all see mounds of cleavage spilling out of her costume. She rose slowly and seductively, then she sashayed back upstage and paused again. Keeping her back turned to the small audience, she lifted her right foot and ran it along her left leg all the way up into her short dress, and then placing it wide apart from the other foot, she slowly bent over for everyone to see what was under her short skirt. She was covered by her costume, but still Peter was shaken when she ran her hands over her ass. Her stage show was a graceful undressing of everything except her garters, hose, and shoes. After teasing every gentleman in the joint from the stage, Miss Sugar walked down the stairs to her audience and worked her way around the table area. She was damned good at getting as close to the men as she could without crossing any lines—almost sitting in their laps and leaning her head back so they had tits in their face, standing behind them and running her hands down their chests and within inches of brushing against the erections behind their trousers, and placing her head in their crotches and covering them with her long hair in a pseudo-blow job. When Miss Sugar reached their table, she straddled Peter's legs, placed her hands on his shoulders, and moved her tits all around his face. Her nipples were so close to his lips that he could have touched them if he stuck out his tongue.
Meanwhile, Ava moved her hand from where it rested on Peter's arm and she ran it over his zipper, finding his erection. He was having fun tonight, Peter thought. He'd never been to a strip club with a woman, much less one who let him flirt with the dancer.
After Miss Sugar's show, she walked over to their table. "Mind if I join you?" She'd changed into a shimmering but sheer dark blue mini dress that showed everything underneath.
Ava looked around. "Peter, do you mind getting Miss Sugar a chair?" He pulled one over, and when she began to seat herself, she reached out for his steady hand for a gentleman's gesture.
"How were your tips, Miss Sugar?"
"The gentleman over in the corner by himself tipped me two crisp hundred-dollar bills just for coming to his table. I didn't do anything really except bend over in front of him."
"You'll never get that in teaching!" Ava laughed. "Miss Sugar was my mentor when I started teaching," she explained.
"Teaching? You teach, too?"
"Not anymore. I had to quit when my school found out about my dancing. It wasn't like I was dancing and undressing in the classroom, but they offered to let me go without any scandal, so I took it. By then I was making far more at dancing, and it gave me more pleasure than grading papers and teaching about Mesopotamia."
"No doubt," Ava agreed.
"Why did you quit dancing?" Peter asked Ava.
"Who said I did?" Ava responded. With that, Ava got up and went backstage. Peter wasn't expecting any of this at all.
Miss Sugar leaned over to Peter and whispered, "She has a lot of surprises for you tonight."
After the next number, Ava appeared on stage. Peter couldn't believe how ravishing she looked, how she owned the stage and the whole room, too. She wore a black leather two-piece outfit; the top held up her breasts, a sheer black fabric barely covered them, and her bottoms covered most everything in the front but went up her ass in the back. It hugged every curve of her body. She wore high heels and black stockings attached to a garter belt. Her hair was tucked into a black leather hat. She carried a riding crop in one hand and kept slapping it against her thigh as she walked. He could have easily mistaken her for an eighteen-year-old by her looks.
At first, she sashayed around the stage surveying the clients and not pausing for any money. She let her hair down around her face and spill over her shoulders. Then she made her way down the catwalk in a manner that said: "I'm going to fuck all of you tonight." She took to the stripper pole and climbed it to the top, securing herself by crossing her legs. She gracefully bent over backwards, holding onto the pole with one hand. Her hair flowed and shined under the stage lights.
The entire time Peter thought about how he'd often fantasized about strippers, and now he was fucking one, and he'd be fucking her again tonight. He watched her exquisite body and remembered the indescribable things they'd done together already. He'd seen her completely naked; he'd kissed those tits; he'd eaten and fucked that pussy. He wished all the men in the room knew what he'd done to her. It excited him to think about it. Peter loved watching her perform for the men, but he hoped they didn't try to touch her. It would upset him because he didn't like to share. Toward the end of the show Ava came to his table and gave him a taste of things to come when she straddled him in his chair, put her tits in his face, then leaned over to kiss Miss Sugar on the lips. Peter was overwhelmed by all the dirty looks he got from the other gentlemen.
When the club closed, the three took an Uber to the Airbnb, rode the elevator to the eleventh floor. Inside the room, Ava stayed in the short black dress she wore out. Leaving her stage name and presence behind, Miss Sugar tuned into Ginger—still very much elegant but bubblier and more playful. She was now wearing a strapless red mini-dress.
Ava unpacked her grocery bag in the small kitchen while Ginger mixed everyone another drink. "It's called the nipple twister," Ava laughed as she handed one to Peter. Ginger lifted her glass. "And boy do I love having my nipples twisted! Cheers!" Peter and Ava clinked their glasses against hers.
Peter watched Ginger with special interest. He liked her hair style better off stage; her up-do hairstyle onstage was part of her act, and it drew your eyes more to her cleavage that spilled out of her corset. In the light of the room, her strawberry blonde hair fell in large waves down to her chest. Out of her costume and stage makeup, she was sweet-faced with flawless buttery skin and shiny green eyes that darted wherever she saw movement. She had a button nose that made her look younger than she probably was, and her sumptuous lips begged to be kissed. While Ava was bewitching because of the control she had over every precise movement or word, Ginger was bubbly and vivacious.
