I did a little swerve and gave him my whole attention. To each, an equal look.

If that's the case, I responded firmly to Professor Bretton, "I know what I want." I was laughing at myself on the inside for trying to elevate this night beyond its mundane nature. Giving it more significance.

His brow was lifted as he gave me a curious glance. I wasn't doing what was expected of me.

He questioned, "What do you want, pet?" There was no emotion in his voice.

I specifically said, "I don't want you to call me pet." You may address me as Chloe.

Clearly, I had surprised him. The first thing I saw was the astonishment in his eyes, followed by an expression I couldn't decipher for a split second, and then, eventually, that loathed amusement. His lips twitched as he stared at me, but there was no derision in his eyes this time.

As I waited for him to speak, my heart rate increased significantly.

'Chloe,' he said. As the saying goes, "I had a different prize in mind..."

He leaned up close to smack my pussy.

***

Oren

Okay, when she asked me to name her Chloe and I hesitated, I felt a tinge of remorse.

I didn't regret letting her con me or laughing at her or even suggesting we see how high we could leap. I didn't feel particularly bad about objectifying her on purpose, but I did feel bad about giving her such a mediocre introduction to BDSM.

Of course I recognized her; we'd shared a floor for the last five years. It was common for us to be the only two people on the floor in the early morning hours, when the building is quietest and no one is chatting or making noise. She was the one I'd seen in the break room microwaving water for tea and snacking on a candy bar from the vending machine.

On the other hand, I had never really given her much thought. During much of that period, I was in a committed relationship; yes, other women did exist, but they had no sexual allure for me. She was appealing in a soft, subdued manner, but I wasn't interested in her stammering.

My initial enjoyment at her genuinely enormous collection of bodice-rippers was soon replaced by anger; I was sick of the Fifty Shades of Grey poseurs who believed they understood what domination and submission was because they had a set of handcuffs and a blindfold. So I pushed, and she reacted in a manner I hadn't anticipated, and I was completely taken aback by my own excitement.

Worse worse, I was acting like a complete moron.

This was not meant to be the case; rather, the trust one partner offered to another during a session was supposed to be the deepest and most intimate of ties, much more so than that which can be achieved by physical contact. As an aphrodisiac, trust worked wonders.

I told myself, "Jenny would kill me right now for being such an asshole." Jennifer Stone is my three year girlfriend and submissive. It had been six months after the separation, and although though it had been the best decision for both of us, the wounds still seemed fresh. Whenever anything has been around for three years, it always left its mark.

I expected the customary jolt of agony that came with thinking about Jenny, and it was there, but Chloe's presence in my bed dulled the sting. This was a first; it was unique.

To myself I mumbled, "Ok, Bretton, ease off a wee bit, she's really meant to have enjoyment as well," as I lowered my lips from that lovely cunt.

***

Chloe:

I almost sprung off the bed, keeping myself in place only with a frantic grip on the headboard slats as his tongue kissed a slow line from the bottom of my pussy, all the way up to my clitoris, and he sucked it in.

He gave a scolding "tsk, tsk." Remember to remain still, Chloe.

I said, "I'm sorry, Professor Bretton." At that moment, I would have said anything to encourage his gradual probing of my pussy.

He coaxed me with, "Tell me what you like, Chloe," as his tongue slid in and out of my hot pussy. He grabbed my lips with his hands and pulled them apart, while his lips tugged at my inner lips. "I sighed.

Looking at her, he murmured, "Words, Chloe, use your words." "Tell me what you find to be effective."

Just good, I let out a sigh of relief. I moaned in pain as his tongue resumed its slow, full-slit licking. I pleaded for them to try harder.

That's a nice young lady, he remarked. He ramped up the intensity, pressing his tongue into my pussy and nibbling on my inner lips with his teeth.

Hissing, I hissed.

'Too much?' he questioned.

I pleaded, "Please," once again.

He laughed and did it again; I clinched in reaction, drawing my knees up to my chest automatically as the fire spread through my body.

Hardening his tone, he warned Chloe, "Keep your legs open, or I'll tie them down, and spank you hard for my trouble."

Fuck. In reaction to his tone, my pussy flooded, and he could tell since his lips was on me. I became a bright shade of scarlet so he'd see how much his roughness aroused in me.

As in, "You want to be spanked, Chloe?" inquiringly, he said. This night has just begun. His tongue kept attacking my pussy and clitoris, and then he slid a finger deep and hard into me.

When asked, "Please," I pleaded.

You can't come until I say so, Chloe. His tone was steady and calm.

Yes, Professor Bretton, I moaned, unable to form meaningful words due to my need. There was just no way I could keep it in, no way I could hold back. As his finger slipped inside of me, I murmured, "Please."

"Excuse me, but..." He was muffling his words, and he kept his tongue in my clitoris the whole time.

Please, I moaned, stick another finger in my pussy.

His head jerked up, and he touched my pussy with his palm. Hard. When the tingling feelings of the swat spread throughout my body, I almost leaped out of bed. I snarled in desire and excitement.

He said, "Chloe, this is a cunt." Not a coward. Is that right?

There was a flush in my bathroom. I mumbled, "Yes, Professor Bretton." The term was at once obscene, scandalous, and thrilling.

He told me to "ask my inquiry again," his eyes twinkling with amusement at my fumbling.

I was embarrassed by how quickly the phrase "please, another finger in my cunt" slipped out of my mouth, and shocked by how readily I had agreed to his demand.

Smoothly he answered, "Of course," and twisted and inserted a second finger into my wetness. With a sigh, I tightened my hold on the slats. My thoughts was clouded by want, my body tingled with lust, and my whole universe shrank to the size of a tongue on my clitoris and two fingers in my pussy.

I was climbing the peak, hard and fast, and I'd forgotten his commands; I'd forgotten I required his approval to have an orgasmic experience. I held on to the slats, my thighs quivered as I battled to keep them apart, my hips pushed blindly upward in response to his probing fingers and flicking tongue, and suddenly I was at the top, freefalling down the other side in a magnificent freefall that made me feel like I was flying.

He could tell I was having an orgasmic experience because my muscles were clenching and pulsing under his fingers, but he still didn't pull his lips away from my clitoris. He licked it carefully, with light, delicate strokes that provided the warmest comfort. I was ready to go before I realized it, and I fell back into orgasm, this time with less pyrotechnics and more smouldering, like the dying embers of a yard fire.

He waited patiently for me to complete, his tongue and fingers encouraging me to make it through each and every one. At last, he withdrew his lips from mine, and he looked at me critically. He repositioned me as I still lay there, my legs spread wide and my hands grabbing the headboard above my head, my body drenched with sweat from the recent surge of heat and want.

He then said, "Two orgasms; neither with permission." A hint of humor could be seen in his eyes despite his serious tone. "Oh, no!"

It hurt, since I'd forgotten about that regulation. I remained silent, anticipating the next move.

"Chloe. You were sluggish to exit the shower, and when I instructed you to keep your thighs apart, you shifted them. I had two good ones! That's a serious desire for punishment on your part.

He drew himself up beside me, rested languidly against the headboard, and slowly nudged my fingers away from the slats. He motioned for her to come to him and patted his lap. "Face down on my lap; I'm going to give that precious little ass a good spanking."

***

I positioned myself on his lap and could feel his erection; he made no attempt to conceal his enjoyment of the scenario.

"Stop thrashing about; I don't want you hurting yourself, do you get it?" His tone was peaceful, but the relaxing strokes on my behind were everything but. My stomach was in knots and my palms were sweating as I prepared to be smacked by Oren Bretton.

I mused to myself, "I need a magic 8 ball." What kind of masochist am I to anticipate this spanking with relish?

The response came with a flutter of excitement and a flush of anticipation: "That is very certainly so."

I was completely insane, and not only because I was having inside conversations with a made-up Magic 8-ball.

***

When he told me to be quiet, I mumbled a "Yes, Professor Bretton." Then I went and messed up by asking a question.

Asking, "How many swats do I have to take until I learn my lesson?" I could sense the strain in her voice, but I could also detect the want.

Suddenly, he tensed. Pet, he drewled, his irritation evident in the stress on the term, "you don't get to ask questions. Are you getting it now? In this case, you get to do nothing.

I said, "I'm sorry."

Even now, his hands are the ones stroking my a$$, gentle strokes that make me melt into his body. As I laid my face down on the bed and closed my eyes, I felt a sense of calm wash over me. With one hand, he grabbed my wrists behind my back, further emphasizing his authority and domination over me. In spite of myself, I felt a flutter of anticipation rising within. It felt oddly liberating to get spanked by a guy who wouldn't allow me have any say in the situation.

Smack. I was given a sharp slap on the behind. The agony spread from my a$$ all the way up my body, and it was quickly followed by a wave of excitement. The spanked area was stroked in tiny circles by his hand.

He gently touched my a$$ and stated, "You've done this before, right?"

I said, "Kind of, not really." My previous lovers had refused to take charge when I requested them to punish me.

He said, "I won't stop spanking you till you safeword." Saying, "But you may let me know if it's too much, and I will slow down a little bit."

"Okay," I finally managed to mutter.

Then the serious spanking started.

At first, his blows felt more like smacks than actual pain. Even though the sound made me tense up, the sensation of warmth was pleasant. Then he started hitting me harder, slapping the same spot on my skin over and over again until I was writhing in his grip, wincing as the pain shot through my body.

Longing found me in the midst of it all.

What do I say? Suddenly, I found myself in Oz, just like Betty did. Before, the world was only visible in black and white; now, it's awash in dazzling, full-color technicolor. Extremely distressing coloration, which caused me to wriggle and moan and writhe on his lap, but also to keep my arms exactly where they were and raise my posterior to meet his palm halfway.

It wasn't just that this was the realization of an erotic fantasy I'd had since reading my first bodice-ripper as a teenager. It wasn't even that I found his body to be physically appealing. Something about the way he took control, making a decisive move to take away my freedom of choice, made this inevitable.

It hurt like hell, but it was extremely erotic. To put it bluntly, Oren made me feel subservient. That was the turning point; up until then, I had submitted to him, but it was my submission that counted. Now that I was sprawled out across his lap with his hands firmly grasping my wrists, he had complete power over me and I was at his mercy to be punished or pleased in any way he saw fit. As a result, I felt more independent than ever before.

My reddening bottom felt every swat. My skin felt warm, tender, and flushed. He scratched me playfully with his fingernails, and it hurt. The flip side was pleasure, which I was happy to experience.

Slowly but surely, his palm began to feel different. Now the blows were gentler and slower in coming, with tender ass rubs bookending each smack. As if on autopilot, I spread my legs wide and curved my behind towards him. Then he smacked my pussy after gently touching it for a while. He smacked me again, this time with a quick, firm thumb on my clitoris. A finger was jabbed into my dripping wetness, and my cheeks were smacked twice. My moans of pain gave way to something more guttural and primal as he seduced me with his touch, and I heard myself do it. I was making the sounds of a woman who longed to be claimed by her man.

When I realized what those sounds meant, I felt my face heat up. I cringed at the thought of the message I was sending him: that I was there for his pleasure and his pleasure alone.

Juice dripping from my pussy, his finger found another opening. In turn, my body tensed.

A soothing stroke across my arse was followed by a hard spanking along the crease. All he said was, "Relax." As I tried to calm down, he ran his finger in circles around my puckered asshole before gently inserting it, but only to the first knuckle.

It was out-of-place, against the rules, but ultimately essential. My body betrayed me and I felt myself pressing my arse into his finger, grimacing as I pleaded with him to go further.

His question was, "Cunt or ass?" In which sock did you want to f**k me? When I was naked and kneeling on the patio stones in his backyard, he fucked my mouth deeply and hard for his pleasure, his blunt words made me blush with shame.

I muttered, "Ass." I shut my eyes tightly, unable to recognize myself in the being that lay on Oren's lap and used my voice to speak passionately about wanting to engage in forbidden acts.

His fingers returned to my pussy, transferring the moisture there to my arse, and he added a second finger, which went only to the level of the first knuckle. With his fingers he twisted and turned me until I felt safe enough to lean into him and let him into my most intimate spaces.

Has this been your first time? he questioned. While sitting up in bed, I shook my head. Up until I felt his finger there, I had never given it much thought, but now I wanted much more.

A single "hmm" escaped his lips. When he was done, he picked me up, flipped me over, and tucked me into the crook of his shoulder. He had not yet removed his clothes, while I was exposed. As I hid my face in his chest, I felt weak and exposed.

Are you sure you want me to fuck your ass?" he asked. I sensed his gaze on me, but I averted it by keeping my head down. His fingers wandered down to my pussy and he began to stroke me while surveying the gushing moisture there.

"Yes. No. I said softly, "I don't know." I could almost touch his grin.

Then he said, "Tell you what, Chloe," as his finger followed the contour of my jaw. If you insist on this, I'll take it easy. I'll try to be as gentle as possible. If you don't find it entertaining within the next ten minutes, we'll stop. It was the first time he'd kissed me that night, and he only kissed my lips briefly. His fingers cupped my breast, pinched, and gently yanked my nipple away from my body.

Nonetheless, there's no reason for us to resort to such measures. There is no need to continually increase the stakes here. I'm here to ensure your safety, and the fun we're having is mutual.

My eyes landed on him. There was no mocking amusement in his eyes for the first time that night. Simple honesty. This eased some of the tension I was feeling.

Indecisively but firmly, I said, "I want this." But, Professor Bretton, please be gentle.