The Follow-Up

When I got home I cried. Then I took a shower and cried again.

I was going to get fired. Someone would find out, Chris would tell someone, let it slip that he had made a teacher cum, and it would be all over for me. I would be fired, probably arrested, I'd be smeared in the media and sent to live in a women's correctional facility for the rest of my life.

It didn't matter that I didn't want it and hadn't asked for it. It didn't matter that I had said stop. I didn't fight hard enough, and worst of all, I had enjoyed it. I couldn't get out of my head how it felt to have Chris bury his head between my thighs, how the orgasm had shaken me and left me exhausted. It was a mistake, but there was a huge part of me that just wanted to bask in post-orgasmic bliss and replay the whole event over and over. Which is why, at half past eight that night, I lay naked on my bed with a vibrator pressed against my clit.

When the doorbell rang, I contemplated ignoring it and letting my late-night caller think I wasn't home. It rang a second time, and just as I was never one to let a ringing phone go unanswered, neither could I let the door go unopened. I groaned in frustration and threw on my robe, tying the sash just as I got to the door of my apartment.

I'm not sure who it was I expected to see standing in the hallway of my building, but it wasn't Chris Austin. He stood with a slight grin on his face, his body relaxed and confident. He hadn't even changed clothes from earlier in the afternoon. I must have looked surprised, because his grin widened and he raised his eyebrows, letting his gaze slowly travel down my body. I became acutely aware of how the satin fabric clung to my still damp skin.

"Did I disturb you?" He asked.

"No, I was just..." I faltered. "I just got out of the shower."

"Can I come in?" He inquired, taking a step closer to me.

"N-no," I stuttered, well aware that if he stepped inside everything that happened earlier would probably be repeated.

"I can't come in, but you won't shut the door on me," Chris observed. "It looks to me like you're conflicted. You enjoyed this afternoon, but you feel guilty and ashamed." He was right, but I wasn't going to add fuel to the fire, so I stayed silent.

"Well, I'm not conflicted," he said, taking a step closer. He was standing close enough that I could have reached out and touched him. "I'm a little annoyed. See, you've had your needs satisfied, but I haven't had mine met. Don't get me wrong, I loved the taste of your cum on my lips, and the little sounds you tried to muffle were music to my ears, but I think it's a bit unfair. You see, in the hours since, my cock has only been growing harder, and I think you're the only one who can satisfy it."

Chris had dropped his hand to his crotch and was rubbing the bulge that strained against his jeans. I had never thought about it before, but now I couldn't take my eyes off of it, and I found myself involuntarily licking my lips.

"I can't," I managed to utter, shaking my head slightly.

"Ms. Kupala," he scolded. "I'm disappointed in you. Denying yourself what you obviously want is one thing, but preventing your students from fulfilling their potential? That's just shameful."

His argument made no sense, but I found my face flushed anyway. The stern expression he gave me made me take a step back, and he took advantage of the movement to cross the threshold and enter my apartment. I found his hand again at my neck as he pushed me back farther, and swung the door shut. He backed me up to the far wall, and pressed his whole body against me. I was trapped, and at his mercy.

"Now, I'm going to ask you a few questions," he breathed into my ear. "And it's very important you answer them honestly." He tightened his grip on my throat and looked deep into my eyes.

"Question One: Do you enjoy my hand on your throat?"

"No," I lied. I didn't want him to know how I craved the domination he was giving me. His lips pursed and his brow furrowed.

"You disappoint me again, Ms. Kupala. Now I'm going to have to discipline you." He took a step back from me, keeping his hand on my neck. With the other hand he tore away my sash, and pulled open my robe, exposing my breasts.

"It's a pity," he said. "Because you have beautiful tits. But I can't let you get away with dishonesty." With that he brought his hand up and swung it down on the soft, supple flesh of one of my breasts. The blow stung, and I cried out, but I didn't move to cover myself. The truth was, I loved the slap as much as I did the light choking.

"Now, let's try this again. Do you enjoy my hand on your throat?" I stayed silent and avoided his gaze. Twice more he slapped me, in the same spot, each time a little harder. I had been wet when I answered the door, but now I felt my juices leaking out of my pussy and dripping down my thighs.

"Do you enjoy," he grasped my nipple tightly. "My hand on your throat?" He pulled my nipple up, lifting the whole breast. My back arched from the pain.

"YES, yes," I cried and he released my nipple, letting my breast fall back down and bounce.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" He asked, rubbing my abused tit. "I just want you to be honest with me. Question Two: If I put my hand between your legs, would your pussy be wet?"

I nodded, still avoiding his eyes.

"Question Three: Is your pussy wet because you want me to fuck you?" I stayed silent again. If I said yes, then he would fuck me, and while I would enjoy it, my life would be over. I would forever belong to him and be at his mercy.

"Ms. Kupala, it's a simple yes or no question," he chided. "I don't know why this is so difficult for you. Perhaps you need more discipline." He pulled me forward by the neck, and pulled my robe the rest of the way off. I was naked in front of him, one breast reddened, and pussy wet and leaking. He steered me to the couch and pushed me down on it. Lifting both legs by the knee he pushed them up to my shoulders. My pussy and ass were on display for him as my back pushed into the cushions.

"Now, you're going to hold your legs just like this," he said, letting go. I caught them, and obediently held them in place. He instructed me, "do not move, no matter how much it hurts."

He stood for a minute and looked me up and down. I hoped that he was admiring the view, but the serious look on his face made me unsure. Then lifted his hand, and just like he had with my tit, slapped the tender flesh between my legs. The slap was wet sounding, and I was embarrassed by how apparent my own arousal must be. He slapped me again, and it stung my clit enough to make me jerk. Three more and the pain was making me breathe heavy, and the juices leaking out of my pussy had dripped down the crack of my ass. Each slap increased in force, and while I jerked and cried, I never once let go of my legs or tried to move away from his blows. Eventually he stopped and looked at me quizzically.

"Ms. Kupala, am I to assume from your continued silence that you enjoy having your cunt spanked?" He asked. I finally looked him in the eye and bit my lip. He sighed and shook his head in disappointment. "I see you're not going to admit to what you want, are you? Fine, I'll just have to take what I need, then."

Chris grabbed a hold of me and pulled me up. He turned me around and pushed me back down on the couch, this time so my upper body was draped over the arm rest. I heard him unbuckle and unzip his pants, but instead of going straight between my legs, he looped his belt around my throat and pulled it tight. The pressure on my neck was ecstatic, my breathing became more labored, and the blood flow to my head was restricted. I ached for relief and arched my back, turning my ass up for him to access.

Teasing me with his fingers, Chris smeared my juices across the backs of my thighs and up my ass. He took two fingers and jammed them inside my hole, thrusting vigorously. When he told me to push out, I obeyed, and it wasn't long before my dripping pussy unleashed a flood of juices, soaking my already damp thighs and seeping into the fabric of the couch.

"Good girl," he murmured, and lightly slapped my ass. He kneeled on the couch behind me, and I felt the head of his cock rub against my lubricated slit. While his fingers had loosened me up a bit, I was still tight, and when he slid inside me, opening me up, a deep and long groan came out of me.

His thrusts started out slow and measured, letting me get used to him inside me, but he soon picked up the pace. Every time he thrusted, letting his hips smack against my ass, my neck strained against the belt constricting it, choking me. Then he would pull out and the belt would loosen, allowing me to gasp for air.

The heavy breaths coming from him turned into grunts as he continued to pound into me. The slapping of his hips against me were loud and stung in a deliciously tortuous way. He grabbed a handful of my ass and squeezed it, leaving a lingering pain that signaled that bruises would be found there tomorrow morning. Then his thumb came to rest on on the tight bud of my asshole.

I froze, consumed with desire for him to push his finger deep inside, and yet terrified that he would. Almost everything I had fantasized about only a day ago had come to pass, and here he was, about to fulfil my final desire. With a small amount of pressure, Chris pushed his thumb past the ring of my asshole. I moaned as I spasmed around him, new waves of pleasure coursing through my body.

Chris gave me a moment to adjust to the intrusion, and then he pulled his cock out of me. Replacing his thumb with the head of his cock, he started to push in to me, and I started to squirm. One finger inside my ass could not compare to the girth and length of a cock. He had not done enough to loosen my tight ring, and it was painful for him to push inside. I couldn't scream, because of belt tightened around my neck, but tears began to pool in my eyes and slide down my cheeks. By the time the head of his cock was fully inside, my hands were reaching back to try to push him off me. He slapped them away.

"This isn't for you to enjoy," he told me cruelly. "This is for me." With that he put his full weight behind his thrust, and forced his way into me until his hips were once again resting against my ass. I felt like he had ripped me, and was sure that some of the lubrication that eased his journey was my own blood. Soon he was thrusting into my ass with as much vigor as he had my cunt. The pain settled into a dull throb, and I gripped the armrest to endure it.

Eventually, he pulled out of my ass with a pop, and came around to stand in front of me. I hadn't realized that he had worn a condom until I saw him pull it off in front of my face and drop it on the floor. He gripped my hair at the top of my head and turned my face upwards, then gripped his cock and pointed it at my face.

"I've heard that cum is good for the skin," he commented. "So I'm gonna do you a favor and cum on your face instead of in your mouth." He stroked his cock quickly and ejaculated. The cum hit my face in warm ropes, landing on my cheek, nose, and forehead. Then Chris used his cock to smear the sticky white substance around until it coated my whole face.

It was humiliating to be bent before him, my face covered in his cum, my asshole aching in pain, and my cunt still aching with need. I wanted him to follow his orgasm with my own, but I couldn't bring myself to break my silence and ask him. Instead, I stayed bent over the armrest of my couch, my eyes downcast.

He dressed quickly before squatting down in front of me and forcing me to look him in the eyes. "Remember," he warned me. "This is our little secret. No one can know, or you'll be in big trouble." Then he left my apartment.

I didn't move from the couch, but reached my hand back between my thighs and pressed it against my clit. I masturbated furiously, determined to finish the job Chris had neglected. It didn't take me long to bring myself over the edge, and I collapsed on the couch in satisfaction. Then I made a plan.

First, I was going to get up and wash the cum off my face. Second, I was going to call in to work for an emergency leave of absence. Last, I was going to pack my things, and get the fuck out of this city. Perhaps if I went far enough, I could leave my mistakes behind me.