Lecture Notes

“Yes. You may find that you take to this kind of intercourse very quickly, or you may need more training, more reassurance. Either way, Beth, you will be opening that part of yourself to me ere long. It is not an optional element of our sex life, Beth, it is compulsory.”

“What if I don’t want it?” I suggest tremulously.

“How do you know you don’t want it if you haven’t tried?”

“I haven’t tried boiled sheeps eyes, but I know I don’t want them!”

“This is much more enjoyable than boiled sheeps eyes, take it from me. Come on, Beth. I am not going to hurt you. Will you relax and open up for me?”

“I’m…scared.”

“There is nothing to fear.” He is still moving his cock within me, slow, reassuring movements deep inside. I clench my teeth as his finger pushes again, assessing how much pressure it will take for the tight muscle to give. Then I hear the uncapping of a bottle and squeak as I feel cold, cold droplets falling down there. The oily liquid is massaged, slowly and tenderly, in circles around the target area. The long, lascivious treatment soon becomes exquisitely pleasurable and my teeth unclench, my muscles relax toward the warmth of his touch. I begin to moan with the intensity of the sensation, then, in time with a sudden hard stroke of his cock, his finger wriggles forward, breaching the barrier. It is as if my flesh gives way on his command, and the feeling is not painful, just unusual, an odd fullness.

“How does that feel, Beth? Is it uncomfortable?”

“Not really…” I squirm a little at the invasive probing of his finger, which seems to be taking measurements in there.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“How does it feel then?”

“Oh…it feels…full, and sort of…nice, but in an embarrassing way.”

“An embarrassing way? You find it humiliating, that I have a finger inside your arse?”

“I suppose so…oooh.” My muscles tighten against him involuntarily and I worry he will be stuck inside forever. Horrible visions of having to be carried out to A&E on a stretcher, still connected, flash through my mind, though I realise this is highly unlikely.

“So if one finger is nice but embarrassing…I wonder what two will be like?” He pushes a second finger up beside the first and I yelp a little because there is a brief burst of pain involved with this addition, but it soon recedes. “Push yourself back on me, that’s it. Keep relaxed, loose, open to me. Remember that this is rightfully mine; I am preparing it to be fully claimed.”

God, the way he talks is hot. I squeeze out all thoughts of discomfort, or fear, or mortification and focus on the feeling, which is powerful, very powerful, especially now that he is ramping up the force with which his cock is pumping into my other hole. His fingers move into a secondary beat; it is like counterpoint, his cock harmonising with his fingers which slip rapidly up and down my sensitive virgin tract, and it only takes scant minutes of this two-way stimulation before the quake blows.

Somewhere among the debris and smoke I hear his voice, “Mine, Beth, you are entirely mine,” and I register the gush of his seed and it is the most intense orgasm of all time, but so very…wrong, so taboo, perhaps I should be ashamed of myself? Should I be ashamed of myself, to enjoy the feel of a man’s fingers in my bum? I don’t know what’s happening to me.

Chapter Eleven

I have packed. Everything I need for the Easter fortnight. Clothes, toiletries, books, papers, webcam, er, butt plugs.

Sinclair has wrapped two, of differing sizes, up in a T-shirt and tucked them into the side of my case.

“What are they for?!” I exclaim.

“You may need them. I’ll instruct you further in due course. Also, I think…the vibrator. And some lubricant.” He tosses the items in. I am so glad I’m not going on a plane and having to pass this through the hand luggage scanner.

So my case stands ready in the hallway. I have eaten breakfast. There is an hour until my train.

All that remains to be done is…twelve strokes of the cane. Sinclair’s little parting gift to me, fulfilling all kinds of diabolical purposes – ensuring that nobody else will get to see my arse for at least a week, and that I will think of him every time I sit. So I am waiting outside his office door, as instructed, listening intently to try and work out what he is doing in there. All is silent.

I jump up from my slouch against the wall when the door opens and Sinclair, in the same pinstriped number he wore in that bloody video, crooks his finger at me. I swallow and follow. I am in the uniform again, but he has provided me with a better fitting shirt this time, so I feel more demure and oddly more ashamed. I hang my head when I come to rest before him, bracing myself for a tongue lashing before the posterior version.

“Refresh my memory, Beth, and tell me why I had to cane you only eight days ago?”

“Because I went into your office without permission, sir.”

“Correct. And now can you explain why I am having to punish you today?”

I grimace. “Because I went into your office without permission, sir.”