Author: Elizabeth Heath
Category: Other
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"I'm sorry, is that stupid?" I frowned.
Of course it was stupid, how could that make sense to anyone?
"Not at all," he assured, "it's very mature to be so aware of all those emotions. This is definitely what you should write about."
It was comforting for him to validate the way I felt, fulfilling even. I smiled in appreciation at his kind words and slowly lifted my gaze to his, feeling more comfortable in his usually nerve wrecking presence.
"Thank you for the feedback, sir. I really appreciate you taking the time to help me, especially if I can improve."
"You're a dedicated student, Ashton. I'm always happy to help; it's what I'm here for, you know." His lips turned up into a smirk, and I practically melted in front of him. His smile was about the sexiest thing ever.
"Well, I better go. I have rehearsal for Cotillion and they stone you on the spot if you're late." I joked hesitantly, not wanting this time to end.
"Cotillion?" he inquired.
"Yeah, you know, white dresses, large staircases, demure curtseys while the president of the Daughters of the American Revolution declares we are officially open for business."
Mr. Christiansen gave a hearty chuckle at my sarcasm.
"My sister's daughter is taking part in that, I think. It's at the end of the month, yes?"
"Yeah, right after finals are over with." I nodded.
"Well then good luck on walking down a staircase." He grinned as I stood up to leave the classroom.
-:-
The school year came to a close much too quickly. I continued working closely with Mr. Christiansen on my personal narrative and the hard work paid off with an excellent grade. I spent an obscene amount of time in my bed at night fantasizing about how those sessions could have gone, imagining him doing all sorts of dirty, violent things to my body. There were a few time during our meetings when his gaze held mine longer than usual, but of course I had to brush it off, because it was probably just all in my head.
I figured out which girl was his niece, turns out her name is Jessica and she goes to another prep school not far from mine. None of my real close friends were participating in the ball, (most of them didn't have the society type parents) so I struck up conversation with her and eventually found a decent friend in Jessica. We were both in the same boat, just trying to please our parents since we didn't care too much about this stuff. It was nice to have someone to commiserate with during the long, sometimes painful, mandatory etiquette and waltz classes. I had impeccable table manners and could do the waltz since age 7, so I felt it all rather unnecessary.
Jessica and I arrived at the venue together, hair and makeup done, so all we needed to do was put on our dresses. When we walked in to the suite with the other debutantes, it was chaotic. Girls rushing around to take curlers out of their hair, crying over which lipstick would be the right color, freaking out over miniscule zits that mysteriously popped up overnight. Jess and I just found ourselves a corner to relax and share a bottle of wine while we passed the time until we needed to get dressed.
I was eternally grateful that the days of the mandatory hoopskirt were over, as I chose something much simpler. My white lace dress was form fitting with a sweat heart neckline, pooling out slightly is it fell. The soft cap sleeves added just a touch of elegance, and the back plunged a little lower than usual for a flare of drama with a silk chiffon sash to bring everything together.
The ceremony went off without a hitch, and I walked down the staircase without tripping, despite my slight buzz from the wine. School had let out just a few days prior to the ball, and after a grueling week of finals, I decided I deserved a night to let loose and enjoy myself. And the open bar helped me do just that. Jessica and I were well on our way to being wasted, toasting as we received our newly filled glasses from the bartender.
"Ladies, you look lovely."
Oh, that voice...
"Uncle Dan!" Jessica whipped around, throwing her arms around her uncle to greet him.
I, on the other hand, took my time to turn, knowing the censor in my mind was almost gone. I did not want to make an ass out of myself in front of the man whose face flooded my mind every time I played with my pussy.
"Jessica, you did wonderfully. As did you, Miss Gavin." He acknowledged me with a knowing smile.
I wish I had known he was coming, I probably would have decided against drinking.
"Thank you, sir." I smiled gratefully, and sipped my wine again.
"I have to go to the bathroom," Jessica announced, "I'll be right back."
And then there were two.
Mr. Christiansen waved to the bartender for a drink before turning back to me. "I trust that's sparkling cider, Miss Gavin."
"As you should, sir." I winked.
"So what are your summer plans?" he asked, taking a sip of his martini.
"I start my summer intensive next week, and by the time that's over with I'll be starting two-a-days for field hockey." I shrug. I wasn't really all that interesting.
"Well it's good to stay busy, idle hands and what not." He joked.
What I'd like to do with my idle hands...
"So, may I have this dance?"
Mr. Christiansen stretched out his arm, feigning the gentlemanly way of asking someone to dance. I smiled and nodded, downing the rest of my wine before taking his hand to the dance floor.
Now before you get all up in arms about the fact that I'm dancing with my teacher in public, let me remind you that the upper class needs not worry about silly things such as student-teacher scandals. In fact, this was the kind of place that no one was concerned because they assumed I knew it would be social suicide for myself and my family. It wasn't uncommon for the older generation at these things to ask for a dance with the newly outed-to-society women.
I rested on hand on his shoulder, and he took my other hand in his as we started to sway slowly with the quartet.
"You're quite the breath of fresh air, Miss Gavin." He mused as he looked down at me.
"Am I?" I challenged, also with a smile. What the hell did that mean?
"You're not like your classmates, very reserved, mature for your age."
"That's because I wear panties under my skirt in your class." I roll my eyes.
Oh god, did I really just say that out loud?
He chuckles whole heartedly, clearly knowing what I was talking about.
"Well yes, there is something to be said for that, as well." He said, still smiling.
His grip on my back was firm, and it felt heavenly to be so close to the man I'd wanted for so long. I reveled in the feeling, the way he smelled, how his eyes caught the light of the chandelier above us. I would have been lying if I said I wasn't turned on. But perhaps that was partially due to the 9 glasses of wine.
"Does it get uncomfortable? For them to be so shameless about it, I mean." I inquired.
"Yes, it definitely does." He admitted.
"They just don't use their common sense. If I actually believed flashing my naughty bits would work, I'd have done it months ago. But it's not as if you'll just go blind with passion and take me right in front of the whole class, which is unfortunately what those girls really think will happen, eventually."
What the hell am I saying? Get ahold of yourself, Ashton!
"Months ago, huh?" he teased.
I blushed and tilted my head down, feeling like I'd just been caught. "No, probably not. I'm not that bold."
"So I've noticed," Mr. Christiansen said with an amused smile playing on his lips, "it's refreshing. Because you're right, most females- not just students- can be quite shameless when they approach me. So the way you blush, and get shy with me is endearing."
"Well, thanks.." I tried not to grin like an idiot, and I kept my eyes cast downward. "I'm not always this shy, though..."
He's making it sound like I'm a huge prude...
"No?"
"No... I don't live in a convent..." I defend, weakly.
I'd let you fuck
me senseless in the coat room and beg for your cum like a slut...
"In fact, I have a naughty side, too! I just hide it better because I'm classy." I smiled proudly. Was it obvious that I was drunk?
"I hardly believe that suits you." He countered.
"Oh yeah? That day I handed in my assignment early, when you caught me not paying attention? I was thinking about you pinning me to your desk and teasing me until I begged for you to fuck me like some wanton slut and own my body." I challenged.
Did I just cross a line?
No, I leaped over it with stilts and wildly long legs.
His eyes darkened a bit at my admission, but I was too drunk to care.
"We all fantasize about you," I say petulantly, "but I'm not stupid enough to believe I have a chance. You are my teacher, and unlike the mindless sluts, I actually have a grip on reality, drunk as I may be."
"Ashton..." he began.
"Don't worry," I interrupted with a lazy smile, "this won't be weird. I'm not going to start some cliche seduction plan, I will keep my panties on in your class, and you will write me a brilliant recommendation to Yale in the fall."
"Oh, I will?"
There was still a smile plastered on his face, which is probably why I was capable of being so bold.
"I mean, I hope you will." Well. That confidence was short lived.
"You know I think you do it on purpose." He declared.
"What?" I asked, caught off guard.
"Tease me with that little innocent act of yours, spending so many afternoons staring at me with your big eyes, all 'I need it, Mr. Christiansen', and then do things like taunt me with the knowledge that I can't really do anything about it."
My jaw must have dropped to the floor.
Was he serious?
"I bet you'd do so well on your knees, Miss Gavin." He whispered harshly, "and you're making it very difficult not to drag you out of here with a fist full of hair to find out just how well."
"It's scary the way you can read my mind..." is all I could think to say.
I felt the pads of his fingers putting more pressure on my back; I could tell he was weighing his options. I couldn't believe we were actually having this conversation, and he was actually trying to decide on whether or not to take me out of there to fuck. I had to press my legs together and try to alleviate some of the frustration that built up from this conversation.
"Head up to the fourth floor and walk all the way down to the end of the hall, there's a conference room that isn't used anymore. I'll be right behind you, I just need to say my good byes."
His eyes were dark. He was serious.
Holy fuck.
I discreetly made my way out of the room, and headed toward the other side of large hotel, so no one from the function would see me taking the elevator. I made my way in to the empty room he described, and looked around while I waited. The room was massive, tables and chairs covered in sheets. He didn't keep me waiting long, and I even jumped a little when I heard the door open. He just gave me a devilish grin and shut it quietly behind him.
Mr. Christiansen closed the distance between us, and we stood in front of each other as silence hung in the air for an excruciatingly long time.
"You're a little fucking tease, you know that? You test my control, but you just keep pushing and pushing."
His voice was matter-of-fact, calm, which was even worse than if he were shouting. It was a scary-calm, a calm-before-the-storm calm, and I knew I would have to appease him quickly.
"I-I'm sorry, I didn't do it on purpose, I really never thought I would ever even have the chance..." I babble on, but know that it's getting me nowhere.
Finally, I sigh and simply say, "I'll make it up to you."
"Yes, you most certainly will." His voice was no longer calm, but low, gritty.
Dangerous.
"Get on your knees."
I did as he asked – commanded – and dropped to my knees as easily as I could in my rather constricting dress. I looked up at him for guidance, for permission.
"You're going to do exactly what I tell you to, understand?" I nodded, licking my lips. His eyes closed when I did that, and I knew I'd pay for teasing him.
"Lean forward, unzip my pants, and un-tuck my cock." I kept my eyes fixed on his as I expertly leant forward and unzipped pants. He was already painfully hard underneath his boxers, and it didn't take much encouragement for his erection to spring free.
There was already pre-cum leaking out, and I automatically rubbed the fluid around his swollen pink head. His hips automatically pushed up when I did that, and he reprimanded me, "I don't recall telling you to do that, Ashton."
"S-sorry, sir. What was it that you wanted me to do?" The lust that had his eyes in slits made me feel suddenly embolden, and I added in a throaty whisper; "did you want me to suck on your thick hard cock? Because that's what I really want."
He gave a strangled gasp, and then suddenly his hands were fisted in my hair and the tip of his cock was at my lips.
"Of course it's what you want you greedy slut, open your mouth and take it."
I did as he said, and he immediately speared his cock into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat. I took deep breaths through my nose as he began thrusting his length in and out of my mouth. All the while, he was groaning and swearing under his heavy breathing.
"That's right...all of it... fuck... you hot little slut, that mouth...you're mine now..."
His hips started moving more jerkily when I began swallowing his length with each thrust, and I knew he was close.
"You little cock tease, make me cum in your mouth..." he moaned out, his head falling back and hands still entangled in my hair. "Swallow it all like my good little whore..."
He thrust a few more times before emptying his cum in to my hungry mouth. I swallowed everything I could, and licked up his cock to make sure.
His post orgasmic euphoria was short lived, as the vibrating of his cell phone brought us both back to reality. He pulled it out of his pocket and sighed before silencing the vibrating.
"I'm sorry little one, but I have to go. This is not over though, mark my words." He lowered his head to my eye level, before kissing my forehead. "You were fantastic."
And just like that, he was out the door.
The End.
The Girl in the Cellar
"Is this going to be it for me?" I ask my faceless captor.
I, Naomi Spencer, a young rich girl confined in a dark cellar for two weeks, have fallen in love with the man who kidnapped me while I was sunbathing on a summer afternoon next to my pool. My greatest hope is that the man who intends to extort a ten million dollar ransom for me shares my sentiments.
At the age of twenty-six, I am an orphan. My father, a scion of the family through whom I inherited my wealth, died of alcoholism when I was a young child. My mother was killed in traffic accident three years ago. The beneficiary of a trust fund, I have nonetheless decided to be a productive member of society, having gone to law school, and now work as a public defender.
My uncle, who controls the family finances, has refused to pay the sum that will earn my freedom. He and the rest of the old monied New Englanders who are slowly draining the fortune of nineteenth century shipping magnate, looked askance when my daddy took as his bride the daughter of poor Roman Catholic Filipino immigrants, a waitress at the yacht club where they dined and rubbed shoulders with other idle heirs.
The rules of the trust fund entitled me to a comfortable monthly stipend to spend however I so chose at the age of eighteen. That I am an activist for the underprivileged has estranged me from the rest of my family.
I worry that my uncle, with whom I have had a tempestuous relationship, would prefer that my captor restore the family honor by ending the life of the maverick, conceived out of wedlock, and restore the family honor. So the faceless individual who holds me in captivity has decided that witnessing him torture me will stir up whatever feelings of empathy exist in the cold hearts of
my relatives and bring my ransom payment.
"No, you're still worth more alive than dead," Faceless replies.
From the tiny cell encloses me, through the iron bars I am staring at a noose dangling from a hook in the ceiling. I count thirteen turns in the three-quarter inch thick hemp rope. Beneath the noose, a footstool is in place on which for me to stand before I am suspended. If things go according to his plan, I will dangle at the end of the rope, strangling under my own weight.
I was clad in a white bikini when I was taken. My captor tosses the flimsy little number through the bars and I am able to catch it before it hits the concrete floor.
"Put it on," he commands me.
Every time he visits me his face is hidden by a black ski mask, which reveals only his dark brown eyes and luscious lips. He dwarfs me at six feet. Through the tight knit turtleneck and jeans, the only clothing I have seen him wear, I can tell that he is trim and muscular.
I am naked except for a long sleeve white men's shirt, which I unbutton and let fall off my shoulders to the floor.
"Why don't you let me hang naked?"
He raises his right hand and scratches his chin, pausing momentarily in thought.
"No, what the video needs to convey is that every day they don't pay, you're that much closer to being dead, not that you're being violated."
"But if I'm dead, there'll be a few million more dollars for them to split between them, since I don't have any heirs. My family will probably break out the champagne when you kill me."
He unlocks the door to my cell and steps inside. I plant a kiss on his lips, wrap my arms around him, and bury my head in his chest. The manacle clamped around my right ankle attached to the fetter leading to a concrete block prevents any possibility of my escape
"I don't want to kill you. I just to make them hurt, just like they did to my family."
My captor had related the saga of how our attorneys had been able to weasel out of compensating his mother after the death of his father, who had died of cancer related to his years of asbestos exposure during the cleanup of toxic waste generated by the family firm.
"Then you picked the wrong Spencer to kidnap. They would have paid top dollar for one of the debutantes."