A Dance for Him (10 page)

Everything is as it was last week - the wrapping myself up in my coat, sneaking downstairs to my car with my bag and clothes and towel, the careful drive over to Dr. Morland’s fancy suburb, which in itself feels like another world altogether.

The only different thing is the outfit I’m wearing - another variation on the schoolgirl theme, with a blouse and a little tie around my neck, and a plaid skirt that looks pretty much like a standard schoolgirl skirt, except that it barely covers my butt.

I’ve accessorised it with matching pink bra and panties, and a plaid hairband for that extra bit of faux-innocence - I couldn’t be any more obvious than if I were holding up a sign saying
Please despoil me, Mr. Teacher
.

He
is
my teacher, after all, and he seemed to like my stage dance at the club well enough. With any luck this will give him some ideas …

He opens the door, this time only after I’ve pressed the doorbell.

I wonder briefly if that’s a bad sign that he wasn’t listening out for me like he clearly was last week.

“Hello, Ms. Lytton. You look lovely today.”

“T-thanks, Dr. Morland,” I stammer - I certainly wasn’t expecting a direct compliment from him, though he seems a lot friendlier than he was the other day in class.

“May I help you with your coat,” he continues.

I nod dumbly in reply.

He helps me out of my coat quite gently, and though his hands linger on it slightly before he removes it from me, I can’t help but notice that he’s very careful only to touch the coat, rather than attempting to cop a feel or something.

It’s sweet but also a bit annoying. I mean, how blatant do I have to be here?

He does however do a double-take when the coat comes off - I have the vague impression that he was just about to take the coat off to the closet until my outfit registered in his mind.

Instead, he pauses, slings the coat over one arm, and looks me up and down appraisingly before he retrieves an envelope from his pocket and hands it to me.

“For today, Ms. Lytton,” he says.

I reach for the envelope, and he gives it to me, but not before a slight pause as we’re both holding on to the envelope, kind of like on Wednesday with the blue book.

Except that this time we’re both standing up, he’s standing
really
close to me, and I can feel both his body heat and breath on my skin, smell his delicious, indefinable scent.

He’s staring at me so intently that for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me …

But he doesn’t.

Instead he takes a deep breath - almost a sigh - and goes off with my coat.

When we get into his living room, he takes his seat on the couch, just like last week.

“And what would you like for music today, Ms. Lytton?”

I pause.
Why do I always forget to think about this
, I think, annoyed with myself, before I decide that I’m going to do things a little differently today.

“No music today,” I say.

He raises an eyebrow, but his upper lip quivers slightly, as though he were trying to suppress something - a smile? a sign of excitement?

“Very well, Ms. Lytton.”

I sashay over to an armchair close by him and start gyrating as I run my hands over my hips, flashing him occasionally.

Slowly I unbutton my blouse, pausing between every button to look at him meaningfully.

He’s now gazing at me in that way I love so much - hungrily, as though he could hardly wait for me to take off my top.

To reward him I blow him a kiss, undo my last button, shrug the blouse off, then flirtatiously throw it in his lap.

He looks surprised at first, before a hint of a smile crosses his lips.

He’s still staring, although I can’t help but notice that he’s picked up the blouse and is absent-mindedly running his hands over the fabric, as though caressing me by proxy …

So hot.

So hard not to think:
If only it was me he was caressing
…

I climb onto his lap, kneeling so that I’m not quite sitting on him, and play with my bra-clad tits, cupping them, squeezing them, pulling the top of my bra back occasionally so he gets a glimpse of my nipples.

He’s breathing more heavily now, and there’s something hungry about his gaze, about the way he seems to be trying to inhale as much as possible of my scent.

I push the straps of my bra off my shoulders and unhook it, freeing my breasts, which I then let brush against his cheek.

His lips part slightly, perhaps expecting me to offer him a nipple to suck, like I did at the club.

But I’ve got other ideas.

I get up from the couch and bend over with my back to him, exposing my ass and my sweet little pink panties - thoroughly soaked, of course, and clinging to my wet cleft, so he can probably see its outline.

A sound emerges from him, somewhere between a groan and a sigh.

Thus encouraged, I begin massaging my ass cheeks sensually as I begin dancing again, occasionally pulling them apart as I turn and look at him provocatively, checking out his massive erection and licking my lips as I do so.

And then I do what I’ve never done with anyone else - I stick my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and tug it downwards, exposing my ass, then allow that tiny scrap of fabric to make its way down my thighs as I wiggle my now-bare butt.

His eyes are huge, as though he can’t believe what I’m doing.

I smile at him, and continue dancing for a bit with my panties around my knees, then let them slide down further to my ankles before stepping partially out of them, so that they’re still around one ankle if not the other.

Now mostly naked except for my little schoolgirl tie and skirt, I climb onto his lap again and run my hands along the length of his arms, which are stretched out over the back of the couch.

“You want to touch me, don’t you, Dr. Morland,” I whisper. “Why don’t you just do it? Nobody’s watching here, you can do what you want with me.”

He remains silent as he looks at me with a strange expression in his eyes, and I can feel the tension increase in his toned biceps, but he still doesn’t touch me, which annoys me.

“You don’t have to pretend to be so proper, Dr. Morland,” I continue, slightly more tauntingly this time, as I move one hand to his crotch. “It’s obvious your cock wants me. I’m all wet and ready for you, I’m clean and on the Pill. What are you afraid of? Surely it’s not just that you draw the line between coming on a student’s ass while watching her finger herself and
actually fucking her
?”

I must have touched a nerve, because his eyes are now blazing.

“You little brat,” he hisses while staring at me. “Yes, you’ve done a few pole dances, maybe you’ve blown some dumb jock at a frat party, and you think you know everything there is to be known about sex. You couldn’t handle me if I gave it to you.”

I can feel my cheeks flushing, half with indignation at the idea that I’d “blow some dumb jock at a frat party” when all I want is him, half with the thrill of the challenge he’s just issued.

“Try me,” I say defiantly.

He grabs me by the wrist, so hard that it almost hurts, and pulls me forward abruptly, so that I tumble forward, my breasts pressing against his strong chest. His face is just
this
close to mine … and despite the fact that he looks furious, almost to the point of being menacing, I can feel my juices leaking down my thighs.

My body
wants
this. And so do I.

“You’d like that, Paige?” he hisses angrily. “You really want that? You want me to tie you up and spank you and fuck you senseless, send you away with my cum dripping out of your pussy? You want to be slapped and choked and have your hair pulled as I use you as my fucktoy? You have no idea what kind of a man I am, sweetie. I don’t do romantic moonlit serenades, I get off on dirty talk and playing rough.
Very
rough. If I have you, you’re going to have to submit to me fully. It’s all or nothing for me, baby girl, so make sure you know what you want before you say idiotic things like ‘try me’.”

I stare at him dumbly for a moment before what he’s saying registers with me.

And then I smile at him.

“At the rate you’re paying me, Dr. Morland, you deserve a full-service whore, to do with as you please,” I breathe, as I hold his gaze.

A strange look - almost one of pain - flashes through his eyes as he loosens his grip on my wrist.

“Are you trying to tell me you want to be my whore, Paige?”

“What do you think, lover boy?” I say challengingly.

He’s got a somewhat tormented look in his eyes as he looks at me - it’s almost as though he’s struggling with whether to take me up on my offer.

To encourage him I move my hand down to his crotch again and begin massaging the bulge in his pants, and it doesn’t take long before his eyes darken and take on a predatory, ravenous aspect.

“Well then,” he murmurs, his voice suddenly low and husky with desire, “I’d like to know if my whore allows herself to be kissed,
at the rate I’m paying
.”

Oh my God he wants to kiss me. I’ve fantasised about this for months, what the fuck does he think I’m going to say?

“When I said full service, Dr. Morland, I meant that I’ll do anything you want. Anything,” I breathe. “And yes, that includes kissing …”

I haven’t quite finished my last word when he grabs me roughly and presses me against his muscular body as his mouth closes in on mine.

I feel my knees weakening as he explores my mouth, as his hands run over my body, fondling my breasts, my ass, my thighs. I’ve wanted this for so long, fantasised about this for so long, but this is way more exciting than I ever thought it would be, which is probably why I’m wetter than I’ve ever been, and why his breath catches when his hand wanders between my thighs and he slips a finger into my soaking entrance.

Into my soaking pussy
, I suppose he’d probably like me to say, and such is the power of language that a shudder of excitement runs up my spine even as I just think it.

Perhaps that’s why he likes talking dirty …

“Fuck, you’re so wet, Paige, so tight,” I hear him murmur in my ear between kisses, as he begins working his finger, then two fingers, into my pussy, while his thumb plays with my swollen clit. “You really want it, don’t you?”

“Oh yes, Dr. Morland,” I whimper as his fingers open me up, stretching my narrow passage.

He smiles and continues fingering me, but stops when I’m just on the edge of coming.

I look at him, surprised, puzzled, desperate to feel myself being filled up again.

He doesn’t say anything, but I get my answer soon when he deftly flips me over so that I’m on my knees on the couch, then gets up, unbuttons his shirt and unzips himself, all in front of me.

He’s even more gorgeous than I thought possible, all broad shoulders and hard muscle, and even though I urgently need something in my pussy, I find my mouth opening instinctively for the magnificent cock that’s right in front of me.

He grins and slaps my face lightly with his cock. “Such a good little cock whore. But it’s your sweet little pussy I want right now … because I want my cock to taste of your pussy when you suck me off later.”

All I can do is look at him, wide-eyed, as he strides over to the other end of the couch behind me, and roughly pulls my legs further apart, so that I’m completely exposed and open and dripping, as though I were offering my pussy up to be used by him.

Which I am, of course …

It’s not long before I feel his fingers parting my pussy lips.

His cock follows soon after.

He’s so long and thick that it takes him a while to ease into me, despite my wetness, but once he’s in there it feels like heaven, as though every nerve in my inner walls was being stimulated.

Breathless, I rest my cheek on the upholstered armrest so I can look at him.

He smiles at me and begins moving in and out of me - first in smaller movements, possibly to get me accustomed to having that massive cock in me, then increasing them to the point where he’s moving in and out of me easily.