As he lifted me off his lap and stood up, his gaze never left me. Simply, "Come here," he commanded. I need your assistance in disrobing.

I loosened the buttons and slid the shirt down off his shoulders. Grasping the buckle of his belt, he slid it off, undid the fly, and stepped out of his underwear. He thrust his cock forward, all firm and fine and prepared.

I had to have it again in my mouth; I couldn't help myself. He laughed, and I found myself involuntary licking my lips. Asserting, "Nope," he corrected himself. Respect the rules. Put your hands back on the slats of the bed, and get back on it.

I took my place, glaring angrily at the situation. I longed to run my hands over his physique, to feel the firmness of his muscles and bones. He grinned and winked at my expression of anger, clearly enjoying himself. "The belt isn't far away, Chloe," he warned with a chuckle in his voice. That was a light smack in my book. I think you'll agree that severe punishment isn't what you're after.

Was I wrong to assume that? Perhaps. Maybe not. Yes, I was determined to take advantage of anything and everything he could show me; I was going to put myself entirely in his care and go wherever he led me. I held onto the slats, and he climbed down onto me.

I could hear him muttering, "Such temper, Chloe," as his mouth came down to mine. The pressure of his body on mine caused me to moan, and I opened my mouth wide to receive his marauding tongue. When I leaned over him like a brooding god, his erection bumped against my lower stomach, and I pushed my hips upward into his body, he took everything I had to give.

He stopped kissing me and moved his mouth lower, propping himself up with one hand while cupping a breast with the other. His lips and teeth descended on my nipple, sucking and biting in a way that made me delirious with desire. Moaning, I tried to stuff more of my breast into his mouth.

He growled, "Stay still," and then nipped my nipple to emphasize his point. A mild ache turned into a rush of pleasure, and I hissed in gratified lust as water rushed over my pussy.

Softly, "please," I pleaded.

Chloe, what are you looking for? He turned his head toward me and stared intently, holding me to an absolute truth with his eyes.

I turned red and begged him to mark my body, saying, "Bite it again." He gave me a reawakening jolt of lust as he smiled and complied. His mouth shifted to my other nipple and began nibbling, biting, and expertly bringing me to the brink of pleasure and holding me there.

The name "Professor Bretton" brought a groan from me. I wanted to feel him inside of me, wherever that might be: pussy, ass, or wherever. You're really putting the hurt on me.

He released his grip on my breast and moved his hand to the nightstand. A tube was being squeezed, and I could hear the drawer open and close. Hopefully, lube.

As he straightened, his hands moved down to my thighs and began to part my legs. He brushed past my pussy, went down, and found my puckered hole. His finger traced a tight circle around my bud, then pushed the lube into me as he stretched me out, added another finger, and wriggled them both into me.

For some reason, I let out a groan. Deeper inside of me, I needed him. For more depth, I pleaded. To quote Professor Bretton: "Please..."

The man slapped my thigh. He commanded, "Get on your hands and knees, Chloe." I immediately complied, releasing my grip on the slats and turning around so that my posterior was staring directly at Oren. He sat back and stared at me.

He told me to lay my head and shoulders down on the pillow. I buried my posterior in the pillow and raised my rear even further off the ground.

Nice, he remarked in a positive tone. Huskily he asked, "Do you know how wet you are, Chloe?" Your clothes are drenched. Can I get a reaction from you by putting my fingers in your a-ss? Is it exciting for you that I'm going to take you there? Drive my s*it up your a** and make you beg for more.

His words caused a tightening of every muscle in my body and a tingling of every nerve ending. I said, "Yes, Professor Bretton," with a red face and the relief that came from knowing my head was buried in a pillow.

He commanded, "Put your hands behind your back." Cut your cheeks open. Put your cute little a** in the spotlight.

For some reason, I let out a groan. Lust and shame swirled together as I obeyed, and my pussy gushed at the thought of what he was making me do.

"Such a good girl, Chloe," he said as I parted my ass cheeks; exposed myself to his gaze. "Here's what you are going to do next," he ordered. "Put both your thumbs in your ass."

I stiffened. Surely he wasn't going to make me do this.

"Do it now, Chloe." His voice had hardened. I whimpered, but complied.

I felt opened, exposed, completely without defences as I hooked my thumbs in my asshole, and opened myself before his gaze. As I opened myself, I could feel his fingers dance with mine; he added some more lube to my anal passage as I held myself open for him. I groaned in sheer lust; the illicit shame of what I was doing forgotten in the wake of overwhelming arousal and fevered need. Then I felt his hands clamp on my thighs, and his mouth was tracing a circle over my asshole, lavishing both the asshole and the thumbs holding it open with attention, flicking in me in a way that had me creaming and moaning and thrusting into him.

Again and again his tongue stroked my bud, and it felt like sin. The sweetest kind of sin.

I could hear a condom wrapper tear, and then he moved close to me. His hands touched my ass, stroked my cheeks and spanked them; his lips reached forward and kissed me where his hands had struck. Aching pleasure bloomed all over me. He moved his hands, hooked his fingers over my thumbs, eased them out of my ass. He held my hands in the shelter of his palms as he moved forward into me, positioned the head of his cock at my clenching opening. I stiffened up involuntarily.

Smack. A firm stroke on my backside. "Relax, Chloe," was his swift rebuke. Then his voice gentled. "I'm just going to stay here, Chloe. You decide when you are ready to push back into me, okay?" He freed one hand from mine, wrapped it around my hip and touched my clitoris with the softest of touches; the gentlest of rubs.

I groaned, as a haze filled my mind. His touch was feather-light, he was refusing to stroke me hard, set up any kind of rhythm. For that, I would have to push back into his body, let his cock plunder my ass.

I wanted this. I knew I did, and he knew it too; my pussy had never been wetter. Perhaps it was the prospect of pain; perhaps it was because him taking me this way, with me on my knees, face buried in the bed was the most dominant of positions; but I was dangerously ready to push back into him.

His fingers stroked my clitoris slightly harder, and that was all it took. I pushed back, wincing at the sudden pain as my ass yielded to the head of his cock, and it was stretching me; stretching me painfully, and then his head was inside me.

"Good girl," he said quietly, his voice slightly hoarse. This had to be difficult for him, but he didn't push the rest of his length into me, he waited till I was ready; till I pushed back again into him, and with a feeling of complete fullness, he was buried all the way in my behind.

His fingers set a rhythm now on my clitoris, my reward for taking his length in me. "Do you want to come?" he asked me.

"Yes, Professor Bretton," I begged. I needed his fingers to take me to orgasm.

"Start moving against me when you are ready," he ordered, but despite the order, he was being kind, waiting for me to be comfortable before he started thrusting in me.

My hand gripped his as I rocked my hips, caused his cock to move in me. Heat was trickling through my body, and not just because of his fingers on my clitoris. No, the widening of my anal passage, the yielding of my muscles to his cock, these were all sending tremors of lust through my body. I could feel him slide in me, thick and hard; I could feel him leave my ass entirely, only to thrust back inside, imposing his will on my tight asshole, and finally, he took control and set the pace.

In return, I groaned and writhed and pushed back into him, eager and ready to be dominated by him in a way that defied explanation. His rhythm quickened, he slammed into me, and I slammed back against him; his fingers stroked quicker and harder on my clitoris; and I came, long and hard, nearly blacking out from the overwhelming ecstasy.

I was so tired that I slouched over, but he would have none of it. I received a swift slap on the rear that served as a timely reminder to elevate my ass once again. Intentionally pleasing him was high on my list of priorities.

The words, "I'm not going to live much longer, Chloe," were hammered into my skull. He moved with slow, deliberate strokes, driving intently into me; he grooaned as I felt his spasms, and we both fell exhausted into the bed.

Amazing, I thought to myself.

As he chastised me, I could detect a note of amusement in his voice. That's amazing, Professor Bretton, Chloe," he drewled. Just do it.

I burst out laughing; it was contagious, really.

***

I turned over on his bed to check the time after he got up to throw away the condom, and it was already rather late. 3 am.

After all that had transpired that day, I couldn't believe I had to defend my thesis that morning. Weeping on the floor of his office. Naked as a baby as I sucked him off on his terrace. I gave him a good ol' fashioned pussy slap in the face as he was licking me to ecstasy. getting a spanking from him. Finally, I pleaded with him to take my anal virginity, and my joy knew no bounds when he did.

There was a brief moment of pain. The sex high had worn off, and I was left wondering what had possessed me. I avoided risky behavior like this by sticking to the rules and storing any errant inclinations in my Kindle.

He had returned from the washroom with my belongings. Apparently he went out and got them off the terrace. As of this writing, he was still undressed. I felt his gaze upon me. Do you regret this?" he enquired.

A silly expression formed on my face. I said, "I feel like a bit of a slut." Honestly, I didn't know why I was telling him that.

When he looked at me, he shook his head, but his countenance had softened. Don't, he urged me. We are mature adults, and we both enjoyed ourselves. We may avoid unnecessary categorization by saying, "No labels, please."

I said, "I guess." It would take some reflection on my part to assimilate the new information about myself today and come to terms with the implications it had on my sense of identity. I'd always knew I like receiving a spanking, but today was different. Today, I felt an overwhelming desire to bring him joy; I yearned for him to have power over me. Even though I found reading about dominant and submissive relationships fascinating, I never imagined that I would feel such intense desire at the mere act of surrendering power in real life.

I said, "I need to get going."

He looked at me questioningly, but didn't voice his thoughts on my answer. As he entered the room to get his belongings, he said, "I'll take you home."

I objected, saying, "That isn't required."

It's true; yes. His tone was harsh. "Clean up and I'll see you in the lobby."

***

When I got back to my apartment and was snug beneath my covers, I said, "Magic 8-ball." When was the last time I did anything crazy like that?

The response was crystal obvious, but my thoughts were still a mess.

In my opinion, that's the case.

Time, as they say, made all the difference in the world. What they all stated, and there was some truth behind it. Months passed, and the constant flurry of teaching, grading, and research helped dull the sting of my broken heart over Jenny.

In the beginning of November, my phone rang, and I glanced at the display. Jenny. And I was the one to grab it.

I said with a drawl, "Jenny Stone." My tone was kind and playful. "How are things in the concrete jungle?" Hearing from her made me pleased; I felt no sadness.

She then named Oren Bretton. It's not as huge or as horrible as you may assume. How are you doing?

A good child. There's nothing I can say in the way of complaint. You?"

There was a little pause while she thought. I've been meaning to tell you for a while now, but we just began going out. It's not something I wanted you to find out about on Facebook or any other social media platform.

I braced myself for the ache, but it never came. The months had done their job, and the rip in my heart was now completely repaired. Really, I was happy for her.

"How does he treat you, kiddo?" This is what I probed her with. A lot of jerks who confused dominance with control gravitated toward our way of life.

She said, "So far." For example: "I keep threatening him that if he doesn't, my ex would come beat him up."

To be honest, it made me chuckle. If she had been my submissive and had spoken to me in such a manner, I would have laughed hysterically, then thrown her over my knee and spanked her until she was speechless.

Oren, how are you doing? "Who are you seeing?"

When Chloe Pond had requested me to stop calling her pet, a mental picture of her cunt stretched out in front of me and the fire in her eyes sprung into my thoughts. However, Chloe had already submitted her dissertation and relocated to the other side of the nation. There was no hope for anything more than a one-night stand. To put it another way:

I said, "not really."

The two of us went silent, into the same awkward pause that had been the last straw in our relationship's demise. Jenny and I had fantastic sex, but we never developed the kind of emotional connection that would have made our relationship last. We were almost in sync with one another, but ultimately fell just a hair short. It was a little chasm, but it had been significant.

Jennifer, after a long pause, was the first to speak.

"If you're ever in New York, Oren, look me up," she pleaded.

Will do, Jenny was my instant response. We parted ways, and I found myself gazing at a blank screen.

As I read the new email, I gritted my teeth in frustration. My insides were churning with annoyance.

There's no need to meet in person, I said to myself. And, "every fucking week, to boot." There was a lot of cursing, but it was necessary at the time.

I had no one but myself to blame for my predicament. I had only lately begun consulting for a Silicon Valley tech firm. I won't identify any specific areas, but let's just say that search engines, internet advertising, and more may all benefit from the insights provided by pure mathematics. I wanted to get a grant from the IT giant because of all their money. With the funding from the award, I could employ two more PhD students and put together a solid team to take on the topics I care about.

To that end, we had planned a joint endeavor. The project was sponsored by the VP of Technology, and weekly status meetings were requested through email from his assistant.

Oh, man. I knew the project would get a lot of attention, but the weekly trips to San Francisco were simply too much of a hassle for me to bear. And Friday was the day of the meetings. This was going to cause a major upheaval.

When asked, "What's up, Oren?" I heard a voice inquire in a humorous tone. I had just gotten a cup of the sawdust-flavored coffee that was essential to keep me awake and was in the break room when the email came through. When I raised my eyes, I saw Colin Baker. In addition to being an excellent professor, Colin was also a wonderful friend. Colin and his wife Karen were frequent diners with Jenny and me, and he was understanding but not shocked by our breakup.

I presented the email to him. My masters insist that I show up to meetings in person. It's located in the heart of Silicon Valley. Weekly on Fridays at 2:00 p.m. Regarding the next four weeks."

He gave me a grumpy look. What business, he inquired.

I identified the dominant company in the IT industry. Chloe is employed there, he said. You must have heard of Chloe Pond, right? My former doctoral student who just finished up this past summer? Please search her up and deliver the remaining letters to her at her earliest convenience.

I said, "No worries." Something interesting was happening for once. Chloe was an unusual contradiction of brashness and shyness; when she was undressed, she was forthright, upfront, and loud about her wishes, yet in public she normally stutters and stutters over her words. There was a tiny rumbling in my underwear as my cock moved about. In my mind, I couldn't help but worry whether she had found love yet.

***

Chloe:

After spending the night at Oren Bretton's, I considered dropping by his workplace to see if I'd be asked back to his home. But I hadn't said anything, and I think it was because I had a sneaking sensation that Oren may be extremely dangerous. The heart, not the body, is more important to me.

Whatever the case may be, things moved at a rapid pace. A week later, I left to travel around Thailand and Vietnam as my graduation gift to myself, thanks to the hefty sign-on bonus my new company gave me when they hired me to lead their search analytics team. After being away for six weeks, I packed up my things and relocated from Bismarck to San Francisco, which is on the other coast.

Time sped by as the weeks went by with little notice. When I first arrived in my new city and state, I had a long list of tedious tasks to do. Changing my address on my driver's license, finding a new place to live, and being hooked up to utilities like power, heating, and the internet. All of them worked well to make me forget Oren's mocking laughter, hot, hot touch, and delighted gaze.

In other words, it's virtually efficient. Daytimes, I had the thrills and challenges of my new career to keep me occupied; evenings, I was left to my own devices. Even after three months, the memory of the night Oren spent the evening with me is shockingly fresh.

I had to cope with the truth that, despite my best efforts to block out Oren's influence, I had liked every single thing he had compelled me to do. To the contrary, I had pleaded with him to take advantage of me sexually. I was just as responsible for my capitulation as he was.

Submissive. A filthy and nasty term, that. My inner feminist turned on me. The question was posed, "What type of progressive, contemporary lady wanted a guy to treat her as he was playing with a toy?" Inwardly, I was scolding myself. And the same unwavering response came back from me every time. What my body had conveyed to me was not a mystery, and I was aware of this. Extreme pleasure, the likes of which I had never previously known.

It nagged in the back of my mind until one day I accepted it. My first question to a close friend who came to me with a similar situation would have been whether or not the man in question treated her properly. In such case, I would have informed her that their bedroom business was none of anyone's concern except their own. It was then that I made the decision to be more compassionate toward myself.

***

"Have you made any weekend plans yet?" Apparently Agnes wanted to talk to me. Few of us in the high-tech industry of Silicon Valley could afford the luxury of dedicated office space. We had an open space for our eight-person statistics team with cubicle walls at waist level to give us the impression of seclusion.

I turned to see Agnes, who was sitting next me. She was standing, her body angled to see over the partition at me. It was Friday at 4:30 o'clock and time to wrap up for the week.

I pushed the computer away from me and leaned back in my chair as I said that I was considering hiring a vehicle and driving to Kentucky or somewhere. Last night I had unpacked the last of my belongings; today I felt free to finally get out of my flat and do some exploring. It had been a month since I had left my apartment in San Francisco other than to go to work and pick up takeout from the several inexpensive Indian and Chinese eateries near my workplace.

She was halfway through reciting the names of a few of her favorite vineyards when she stopped abruptly. Instead, she said, "Holy crap, Batman, attractive guy alert."

"Tormodagain?" In an effort to hide my boredom, I attempted to seem interested. Agnes had a thing for Sanjay, my superior at work. She raved on and on about what a fantastic guy he was. I could see why; he was stunning, although emotionally empty.

She answered, "Yes," and she continued to stare intently at the person who had caught her attention. But he isn't alone. Really, really, hot company, to put it mildly.

I wanted to see what was going on, but the orientation of my cubicle made it impossible for me to sneak a peek.

Her cheeks flushed scarlet as she shouted, "Shit, they are heading this way," and dove inside her cubicle.

The blue eyes that had been following me around in my nightmares for the last three months finally met mine as I swiveled in my chair to look up. That would be Oren Bretton.

The words "Chloe," spoken by my supervisor, penetrated the sudden sweltering that had settled over my body. Oren has informed me that "you two are familiar."

I forced myself to glance up and tried not to flush.

He said to me, "Hello Chloe." His speech had a slow drawl that made my skin crawl. When he asked me whether I wanted to be taken in the cunt or the ass, the memory of that moment from three months earlier flooded my mind. I forced down a gulp as a surge of want travelled up my throat.

My face reddened rapidly as I said, "Professor Bretton," and then remembered I was still playing by his rules. His lips trembled as though he were attempting to suppress a guffaw. Jerk. When I stared at him, my face flushed with shame and rage.

Oren, I replied, trying to sound calm and collected. "This is really unexpected."

Oren is helping us with our search engines, as Tormodexplained. "He'll mostly be on Anya's squad, but there might be some overlap with ours." As a result, I let out a sigh of relaxation. The thought of spending each day at the office with him gave me a brief but palpable case of terror. My happiness, however, did not last long. Why don't you come with us to the pub next door on Friday nights like we always do, Oren?

Oren looked at my face and grinned, laughter clearly visible in his eyes. It was a slick "I'd love to" on his part. The question, "Chloe, coming?"

Unfortunately, Tormod was present, so I had to pretend nothing was amiss lest I become the subject of rumors and suspicion. "Sure thing, give me ten to fifteen minutes to wrap this up."

I'll give you a ride," Oren said. Sanjay, will you be joining me?