Call Me (19 page)

“That’ll be great. I’ll see you there. And thanks for finally listening, Ace. I knew I’d convince you.” She exits my office with a look of triumph on her face.

“If this shit keeps up, it will be me trying to
convince
her
…that she’s mine,” I mutter, closing the door behind me so I can flag a few feminist film theory articles to help her—and maybe myself—before my next class.

Ace

I
’m sick.

I need to seek psychiatric advice or help or something.

I bet Mercer will know a good shrink.

I’m sitting on my couch on Monday night, following my meeting with Ellie, watching
Kill Bill
accompanied by a raging hard-on, one that springs to life whenever I think of her. Instead of going out with Mercer and our buddy, Dan, here I am. Just me, Beatrix Kiddo, and my rock-hard cock, along with memories of the wonder that is E.

Ellie Raine Hughes,
I blame you.

That punch-to-the-gut beautiful girl who steals a few seconds of my breath each time she walks into the same room as me. Today she impressed the hell out of me. I knew I was challenging her. Of course, Leia is an awesome feminist heroine to explore. What I didn’t expect was for Ellie to talk circles around each of my arguments and counterpoints, her quick wit and outside-the-box thinking were such a turn on. Never have I wanted to cross the teacher/student line with her as badly as I did today. Ellie’s determination alone makes her one of the sexiest women I’ve ever met. Couple that with her beauty and brains and, fuck me, I’m screwed. I’m not sure how much longer I can control these feelings. I might need to do some serious research on that contacting the chair option. If the little jump my dick just made is any indication of his opinion, I’d say he’s on board with the idea.

She’s all I can think about whenever anything remotely Tarantino-related comes up.
Shit, who in their right mind sits watching
Kill Bill
with a boner?
I seriously do need to see a shrink.

“Fuck it,” I grunt, taking my engorged cock out of my gym shorts, and taking the lube out of the side table. I put a generous amount on my palm before rubbing it all over my cock. Crouching down in the couch, spreading my legs a bit more, I allow my mind to begin playing the reel marked “Ellie”.

“Fuck, yes.” I stroke my cock to the images, picturing the curve of her ass, the sway in her hips as she walked past me this morning, the way her tits move when she’s breathing heavily, how they’ll look in my hands. “Oh shit.” I move my hand up and down, accelerating the pace. Don’t get me started on that delicious scent she gives off, whatever the fuck it is. It might as well be called “Make Me Jizz” in a bottle, because it’s a direct hit to my cock every single time I get a whiff of her.
God, how I want to taste every inch of her, see if her whole body smells as good as I imagine.
Soon.

Wrapping my hand around my pulsing cock a little harder, I start moving up and down my shaft, faster and faster while I continue picturing Ellie. I imagine it’s her hand in place of my own. Letting out a low growl, I pick up the pace, jerking myself off. “Fuuuck!” I shout, breathing heavily, my cum now covering my hands and stomach.

I’m struggling to do the right thing here. The right thing for both of us. I know there are ways around it, it’s a possibility to be together but why risk everything we’ve each accomplished so far? Why give the school’s governing body reasons to doubt either of our credibilities?

But goddammit, it’s becoming harder to resist her. That fiery hair when the light hits it just right, her smart mouth, and the way she puts a spin on her answers to all of my questions when in class. Challenging me, knowing full well I love it.

I fucking love it.

But how long can I resist crossing the line?

Ellie

M
y mind won’t
stop racing.

I keep replaying every encounter I’ve had with Ace over and over in my mind. Revisiting every stolen glance, harmless touch, and subtle innuendo we’ve shared. I’ve come to a realization. I, Ellie Hughes, am indeed irrevocably hot for teacher.

I stretch my knee out a few times to try to loosen some of the tightness I’m feeling after a hard physio session this afternoon. I hate to admit it, but I’m starting to agree with Doctor Robinson’s decision not to let me compete. But not even my knee pain can keep my mind from drifting back to Ace. Ace Ryan is handsome, smart, mostly kind, and—best of all—he challenges me. I wanted to punch him in the throat last week at our meeting: who the hell did he think he was, doubting my
Force
? Lucky for him, he converted from the dark side to my way of thinking.

But, seriously, how does one go about telling their professor that they’d like to explore the obvious connection, along with what’s under his clothes while we’re at it, too? I’ve looked up U of T’s codes of conduct on the topic and it’s not like it can’t happen, we’d just have to follow the outlined steps. Steps that include writing a letter to the chair and admitting a transgression, which in turn would have them impose third-party involvement where my grades are concerned. It would mean that Ace’s judgement would come into question, requiring another person to oversee my grades, and I’d hate to have him put under a microscope like that.
Jesus, slow down, Ellie. Next you’ll be standing outside his window in a wedding dress, a love song blaring from the boombox over your head.
It’s probably just some schoolgirl crush, a one-sided fantasy I’ve clearly created, a side-effect from working as a Phone Sex Superhero. Then again, he acts as though he’s interested, his words and body language matching my own when we’re together.
Ugh. I hate this.

Beep, beep
.

Thank goodness, saved by the beep. I don’t bother looking at the screen—I need the distraction.

“Breathless Whispers. Let me leave you breathless,” I say sexily into the line.

“It’s Ben.”

“Hey, Ben. I’m glad you called me, I’ve been lonely sitting here, I’ve missed talking to you. Have you been being a good little boy like Mommy asked?” I roll my eyes at how insane I sound, asking him this. Talk about customer service. But this is Ben’s thing, so I give him what he wants.

“No. I’ve been bad, Chanel. So bad, I need you to punish me. I masturbated at work this afternoon while sitting at my desk.”

“Oh, Benny, you have been a very bad boy. Mommy’s going to have to punish you
hard
for that. You know you’re not supposed to touch your cock in public,” I tell him in a low, scolding tone. Ben and I have been talking for about a month now, I’d guess he’s in his early-twenties and might have a few “mommy” issues. He’s into punishment. Nothing gets him hotter than when I virtually spank his bad boy ass. The first time, I had to move the mouthpiece of my headset away so I could giggle. I never expected elastics to have such an impact. Now I play along, being his punishing “Mommy”, as he’s come to call me. Every call involves him wanting me to consequence him for masturbating in public somewhere: a park, a cab, the TTC, a train, and now at his work.

Grabbing my container of elastics, I give Ben the command I know he’s waiting for. “I’m ready to punish you, Ben. You know the drill. Naked, on all fours, ass up, on your bed. Wait for me while I get the best tools to punish your naughty ass. And do not touch yourself. Do not stroke that hard naughty cock of yours.” I extend a thick elastic band across my thumb and index finger then position it over the sleek black desktop, ready for the show to begin.

“Are you hard, Ben?”

“Yes.”

“Are you Mommy’s bad boy?”

“Shit, yes. I’m so bad.”
Snap, snap, snap.
“Argh! Fuck. More!”

“I bet you liked that. Your ass is turning a nice shade of pink, Ben. Mommy’s just warming up. Would you like more, my naughty boy?”

With a grunty moan, he mutters, “Harder. It feels good.”

“It’s not supposed to feel good, Ben.”
Whack, whack, whack
. I slam a ruler down hard on the desk. “You’re a bad boy taking that big juicy cock out at work. Stroking it where anyone could see. Is that what you like, Ben, the rush of getting caught? Men and women watching you touch the smooth skin as you move your hand up and down, slowly at first, then faster and faster?”

Whack, whack, whack!

“Oh shit, yes, yes, ahhhhh…Mommy…thank you…”

I smile. Satisfied, once again having helped my little fucked-up friend, Ben.
Wonder where he’ll whip it out next week?
I put my elastics and ruler away.

I’m about to change my status to yellow, when the line beeps.

Noticing it’s Jake, I decide that heating up my coffee can wait…

Ellie

G
ood thing it’s
been quiet thus far tonight.

I decided to work the seven- to eleven p.m. shift because I have a paper due for my Film Noir course. It’s probably my favourite class this semester—aside from my classes with Ace—but for different reasons, obviously. We’re studying the femme fatale, and I’m seriously killing this assignment. I decided to go with a slightly modern, subtle femme; I’m defending Winona Ryder’s role in
Heathers
as being one of the greatest femme fatales of all time, not simply the 80’s.

But I’ve been falling a bit behind lately with my course load. Between working three- to four nights a week, school, plus going to physio and the gym, I find I’m starting to struggle a bit with my thesis for Ace’s class. I can’t seem to pinpoint the appropriate feminist perspective to apply and defend to help prove my thesis. Thankfully, Ace has been willing to meet with me when I need, and replies to my emails quickly. He really is a great support, not to mention how much I’m enjoying spending time getting to know him, bit by bit. I’m hoping to pick his brain a little more at the upcoming group work session.

Another hour and I’m done for the weekend. I booked off Breathless Whispers Saturday and Sunday this weekend, something I haven’t done since I started. I figured one weekend off in three months isn’t too greedy.

The familiar beep brings me out of my Ace-induced thoughts. I smile, seeing that it’s Jake calling again.

Picking up the line after the second ring, I feel excitement brewing in my belly. I find myself looking forward to Jake’s calls more and more.

“Breathless Whispers, how can I leave you breathless tonight, Jake?” I purr sexily, hoping we can get right into it tonight, as thoughts of Ace have me a little more eager than normal. Jake and I have had a few calls that have been more companion than sexy lately, but I’m hoping tonight isn’t one of those calls.

“Chanel, you sound sexy, lovely. Have you been waiting for my call?” he demands, voice firm.

“Honestly, yes. I’ve been sitting here thinking about you. I was hoping you’d call, that we could play.”

“I’m happy to hear that. It’s actually my birthday. I’m about to go out and celebrate, but I wanted to take the edge off first. I knew you could help me out. I want you to strip for me. I want some birthday sex, beautiful. Think you can do that?”

Smiling, I reach into my camouflage messenger bag, and grab my iPod, the perfect song already in mind.

“Happy Birthday, Jake. Get ready for me to blow your mind, birthday boy…” I tell him, confidently scrolling down to “Birthday Sex” by Jeremih before placing it on the docking station and turning up the volume so that Jake will be able to hear when I hit play. More confident than I think I’ve ever been, I’m ready to blow his mind. That’s what Jake does for me, he gives me the boost I need, never judging. He always seems to support me, like he knows I falter, and when I’m unsure he helps to move our scenes or roles along. It’s as if he calls to help me practice, and I want to give him this without hesitation or doubt. Then Ace’s face pops into my mind again, giving me the final push I need. I’ll do this as if it’s for
him.

“Lay on your bed, Jake. Close your eyes, listen to my moves, my voice, and my excitement at getting to do this for you. I’m so wet and we haven’t even begun. It’s what you do to me.”

“Fuck. I can’t wait. Your voice alone gets me so hard. Tell me, is it your real voice or one of those voice changer things?”

“Aaaah, let’s not worry about that. Let’s focus on giving you a happy birthday.”

“All right, I’m ready. I’m laying on my bed.”

“Perfect.” I put the phone on speaker, hit play on my iPod, and stand in the room’s open space, facing the mirror so I can mimic what I’d do if I were actually stripping for a man. Or better yet, one man in particular:
Ace
. As soon as the sexy lyrics can be heard throughout the room, I begin to sway.

“Happy Birthday, Jake. I’ve just stepped into the bedroom. I’m wearing a black silk robe, and garters attached to sheer stockings peek out beneath the silky material. I’m inching in closer towards the centre of the room, and my hips begin a gentle sway to the music’s sexy rhythm. A hint of my cleavage pokes out the top of my robe. Stopping at the foot of your bed, I reach for the clip in my hair and release it, letting my long curls fall, cascading down my chest and back—”

“Fuck, you’re beautiful, that sexy as fuck hair. I can’t wait to run my hands through it.”

“Soon, handsome. I have a show to give you first,” I assure him, pulling him back to my show. “Picture me again, Jake, see me as I turn, giving you my back, my hair reaching down, kissing just above my ass. I’m undoing the robe’s ties, sliding it off my shoulders now, exposing the soft skin of each. I turn to look at you over my shoulder, our eyes catch, your intense eyes make my breath hitch, and I want nothing more than to please you. I lower the robe completely, tossing it aside, leaving me in nothing more than a black-and white lace teddy with bustier top, my ass cheeks exposed waiting to be spanked, caressed and kissed by the birthday boy. Would you like that, Jake?”

“Hell, yeah, Chanel, shake that ass for me, lovely. God. You really are perfect. I’m so fucking hard. Tell me what’s next.”

“I’ve turned around to face you. Climbed up onto the foot of your bed, my legs on either side of yours, you try to touch me, but I swat your hand away. I’m still not done. Reaching behind me, I unclasp the top of the bustier, my heavy breasts needing release. Being under your intense gaze is too much, my body’s overheating, ready to combust if you don’t put your hands on me.”