A Teacher With Two Lives and One Sexual Desire. Part 8

Part 8

I stood up, staring at her body. "Turn over," I commanded. She hesitated for a moment before complying. I watched as she rolled onto her stomach, her body arching in a sinuous curve. She was perfect.

I raised the whip, my arm swinging down in a slow smooth arc. The crack of the whip filled the room, the sting of the leather against her beautiful ass, a sharp contrast to the sensual moan that escaped her lips.

"That’s for disrupting my college classroom," I said, my voice firm.

I struck her again, the whip leaving a small red mark on her skin. She moans, her body tensing with her hands between her legs. But she didn't move, didn't try to crawl away. She stayed there, taking her punishment, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her orgasm building.

"That was for looking so sexy tonight," I said smiling, my voice low.

I threw the whip aside, my hand reaching for her. I turned her over, her body firm and so inviting in my arms. I could see her hard nipples, the sexual pleasure in her brown eyes. I could see the need, the desperate desire for release.

I lowered my head, my mouth capturing hers in a fierce kiss. She moaned into my mouth, her body arching against mine. I could feel her hands on my back, her fingers digging into my skin. I could feel her nails, her teeth, her tongue. She was wild, untamed, a force to be reckoned with.

I broke the kiss, my hand reaching for her. I guided her to the edge of the chaise, my body positioning itself between her legs. I could feel her heat, her wetness, her pure and desperate need. I could see the desire in her eyes, the plea….

I entered her slowly with 3 fingers, my body savoring the feel of her. She was tight, wet, hot. She was heaven. I could feel her muscles clenching around my fingers, her body arching against mine. I could hear her cries, her moans, her pleas. I could see her eyes, her lips, her body. She was everything.

I set a slow, steady rhythm, my long fingers moving in and out of her. I could feel her body responding, her hips moving. I leaned down, my mouth capturing hers in another fierce kiss. I could taste her, feel her, hear her. I could see her, touch her, and love her. I could have her, all of her, every inch of her.

I broke the kiss, my mouth moving to her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. I could feel her hands in my hair, her fingers pulling, her nails digging. I could feel her body tensing, her muscles clenching. I could feel her breath coming in short gasps, her heartbeat racing. I could feel her body arching, her hips bucking.

I could feel her orgasm building, her body on the brink of release. She tensed, her orgasm crashing over her. “Mistress” she screamed, her body convulsing as she came hard.

The next morning in our house I think I was still turned on from the previous night. I walk toward the kitchen in my heels already. I feel different, I dress for work, yes…But it feels more like I dress for myself. My long legs, the lift of my posture, the confident sway I don’t bother hiding anymore.

A charcoal pencil skirt, sleek, tailored, hugging my hips and thighs like it was made only for me. The hem grazes the top of my knees, showing enough black pantyhose to make my stride look longer, more graceful, more… aware.

My blouse is a soft, pale blue, the fabric cool and smooth as it brushed against my hard nipples when I first slipped it on. Now, it clings to my skin and the delicate material molding itself to my round breasts. Just enough to suggest what lies beneath without revealing too much. It’s a subtle, intimate reminder of the power in restraint, patience and the tension in what could be unrestrained.

My fingers trail down my neck, slow and deliberate, as I catch my reflection, hair pulled into a high ponytail for the first time in years. A few deliberately loose strands brush my cheekbones, soft as a whisper. I stopped pretending.

My black-framed glasses lend me that crisp, academic sharpness, but the heels I chose, four inches of glossy, dangerous elegance betray me. They cut through the polished façade like a secret. My calves tighten as I shift my weight, the arch of my foot straining against the slender strap.

I let my hand drift lower, fingertips skating over the hollow of my throat, down to where my blouse dips just enough to tease. I smile, my fingers trace the curve of my breast, light, testing. A flush rises, heat pooling low in my stomach then between my legs…I better stop.

The mirror watches, silent, as I bite my lip. Look at you professor, it seems to say. All that control... and yet. My fingers press harder and it makes me feel like the woman I’ve been becoming at night… is starting to show her face in the daylight.

When I push open the kitchen door, Daniel is there, hunched over his coffee, half-asleep.

Then he looks up. The change in his eyes is instant, a blink of surprise, then a slow, dawning awareness as he takes me in.

His gaze moves from my ponytail… to my glasses… to my erected nipples… then lower, down the long, straight line of my legs.

“Wow,” he breathes before he can stop himself. I pretend not to notice.

“Morning,” I say, stepping toward the counter. I can feel him watching the flex of my calves, the shift of my hips, the faint whisper of nylon.

“New perfume?” he asks after a beat. I slide the coffee machine toward me, my skirt tightening around my thighs as I reach.

“Mmhmm yes it’s Mademoiselle. Do you like it?” His brow lifts, eyes narrowing with curiosity.

“Yes…You seem… different lately,” he says carefully.

As I step outside, I sense it fully: Daniel isn’t just noticing. He’s waking up. And he’s realizing the woman he married might not be the woman standing in front of him anymore.

Not completely. Not anymore.

Part 9 to come…
I dare you to imagine where I’m going with this story.
Ashley

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