Comfort Object (48 page)

His pelvis jerked in fits and starts as he rode out his own intense climax. His thick member pulsed inside my rippling walls until we both came to rest. My pussy walls contracted in soft, rhythmic aftershocks. With each wave, his cock seemed to swell anew inside me. My pussy still tingled with lingering sensation.

After a moment his fingers unwound from the collar and moved up my neck to twine in my hair. I felt the soft pull, the caress of fingertips. His hot breath teased my ear. We both realized at the same time that my arms were still stretched over my head. We looked at each other and laughed. His chest hair tickled me, and I laughed harder. He thrust his tongue in my mouth and kissed me, then drew back. He smiled down at me.

“You're mine,” he said, as if I didn't know it.

When we woke in the morning, his finger was still crooked through the ring at my neck.

* * *

Jeremy groused about having to move to Cambridge, but we both agreed a long-distance relationship just wasn't going to work.

“I want you by me, for me, under me, every fucking day,” he'd insisted as we lay together the night he came to take me back. “I don't ever want to be away from you. Can you live with that?”

“Yes, Jeremy.” I snuggled as close to him as I possibly could.

I'd slept that night wrapped in his steel embrace, neither one of us willing to let an inch of space between us. We spent the next day alternately making plans and fucking. We'd be in the middle of packing or making notes or phone calls when he would just pull me down and take me. If the woman at the electric company wondered at the short, urgent gasps peppering our conversation, she was too polite to inquire what was going on.

And I didn't mind it at all. It felt absolutely perfect to be available to him again, to be filled with him when he wanted it. I'd felt empty in so many ways without him.

The truck came for my things on Tuesday, and on Wednesday we flew out. We arrived in Boston and drove straight to the charming little house he'd bought me adjacent to campus. I didn't even want to know what he'd paid for it, but I figured money could buy just about anything.

Anything but love.

And it must have been love between us, for Jeremy to leave his luxurious LA mansion to move into my tiny, modest house. In fact, it suited us perfectly, and we both felt strange whenever we returned to the LA house, like two kids wandering around in some museum. The only thing he missed about his LA house was the state-of-the-art dungeon there. Before the summer session was over, he had Kyle arrange to move the equipment here.

Kyle visited us regularly. He still arranged Jeremy's trips and photo shoots, although his job now was to streamline these duties into the shortest possible time. He was good at doing it too, just as he was good at doing everything else. He seemed inordinately pleased that everything had worked out for us. Without him, I suppose, it wouldn't have. As I told him once, he had saved both of our lives.

For now, Jeremy was taking a break from filming. He planned to look at scripts that could be set in Boston or possibly New York. I told him I could always take a semester off if he needed me to. We both agreed that spending more than a week apart was absolutely impossible.

Most mornings when he was there, Jeremy walked to class with me. We held hands, ignoring the paparazzi who crouched behind the bushes to take their shots. It didn't bother us so much, now that we had nothing to hide. Although the silly, cloying TOGETHER AGAIN! headlines were a little ridiculous for a while.

“Beautiful day,” he always said as we walked, and I always agreed with him, because now, even the rainy, muggy summer days seemed beautiful and wonderful. He would walk me to the courtyard outside my classroom and kiss me lingeringly.

“Be a good girl today, Miss Ashton,” he'd say.

“Or what?” I'd ask, whispering in his ear.

“Or you know what,” he would reply, nuzzling me softly. “You know what,” he'd tell me with that smile that always made me shake.

I hurried down the sidewalk toward our little house. I looked ridiculous in my short, pleated schoolgirl skirt and skintight Harvard sweater, but I didn't care. I'd been studying for exams like crazy the last week while Jeremy stood over me supervising, and now I was about to get my reward.

As soon as I'd turned in my essays, I headed to the bathroom and locked myself in a stall to change into the little outfit Jeremy had tucked in my bag. The toy was there too, with a little trial-size packet of lubricant, like he'd fixed me some kind of twisted kinkster lunch. I inserted the plug gingerly, feeling like his naughty little slut even though he was nowhere near, which I'm sure was what he intended. Next I pulled on the silky crimson thong.

Ha, Harvard colors. He must have been planning this for weeks. I pulled the stockings on last, the ones made like kneesocks that ended just above my knee. They drove him crazy. I don't know why, but I was happy to wear them for the reaction they got.

I was so close now. Just three more nicely manicured yards to pass before I reached our den of depravity. I felt like running, but that wasn't something I really liked to do when I had a toy in my ass, even with a thong over top of it. I slowed down instead, in case he was looking out the window. I tried to look like a well-behaved but slightly-in-need-of-correction coed on her way home from acing an exam. By the time I neared the house, Jeremy waited in the doorway.

“Come in, Miss Ashton. You're a little early.”

“Well, I…I didn't want to be late, Professor Gray.”

“Have a seat over there by my desk.” He pointed to a wooden chair against the far wall, then shut and locked the door.

I sat down on the hard seat and squeezed my knees together. I was so wet already. I had been since the moment I'd turned in my exam. He crossed to sit behind “his” desk, which was actually mine, then leafed through some papers with a frown. I sat and waited, buzzing with lust. Finally he sat back and fixed me with a hard stare. I squirmed as his gaze traveled lower. He cleared his throat.

“Penelope, if you sit on that lovely skirt like that, it's going to get all wrinkled in the back. Perhaps it would be better if you pulled it up and sat with your bottom directly on the chair.”

“Oh okay,” I said, rearranging myself.

“Much better. Now let's talk about your test results. I looked over your essays…”

With a flourish, he took out a pair of fake, intellectual-looking glasses and perched them on edge of his nose. I tried to stifle my laughter, but one wild giggle escaped.

He looked up at me from over the lenses. “Too much?”

“They're awesome, Jeremy,” I said, trying to compose myself. “Please leave them on.”

“Stop laughing, then, you little goofball.”

“Okay,” I said, schooling my face back to a serious gaze.

“So these essays…” He went on, scowling at me through the glasses. “I realize you're a highly intelligent girl, and a Harvard student,” he added, nodding at my tight-fitting sweater, “but the ideas in these essays are just, well, far too scandalous and temerarious for a young girl like you to express—”

I totally cracked up again at
temerarious
, but being the actor, he was somehow able to keep a straight face and not fall out of character every thirty seconds like I did.

“Young lady, I don't find this situation at all funny.”

I made a great show of trying to collect myself. “I'm so very sorry, Professor Gray.”

“Have you been drinking, Penelope?”

Oh my God, he was going to kill me. I burst into helpless laughter again.

“Very well,” he said. “I see now your essays are not the only thing completely uncontrolled and lacking in discipline. In my opinion you are a very ill-mannered and saucy girl.” He took off the glasses and fixed me with a dire look. I tried to look partly apologetic and partly scared.

“I'm afraid this kind of behavior really needs to be dealt with strictly. I wouldn't be a good teacher if I allowed this sort of thing to go on. Stand up, Penelope, and bend over the desk for me. And turn up your skirt to expose your bottom.” The stern tonality of his professor voice resonated straight to my clit.

“Oh, Professor Gray, I can't! That would be so humiliating!”

“Nevertheless,” he said, putting his glasses aside, “I think a very strict paddling is the only thing that will bring you in line. So I'm going to have to ask you again, Penelope, to stand up, bend over my desk, and turn your skirt up.”

I sighed and draped myself over the desk, sulking and pouting. I stole the opportunity to press my clit right against the edge. While I'm sure he noticed, he pretended not to.

“That's right. Bend right over,” he said as he opened the drawer and pulled out a thick, broad wooden paddle that I knew very well. I shivered with the familiar thrill of anticipation. Excitement tied up in knots of dread. “Your skirt now, please.”

“Oh, Professor, please just paddle me over my skirt. Please, I'm so ashamed—”

“You'll be more ashamed before this is all over. Your face will be a red as your behind when I'm done with you. Quickly now. The longer you make me wait, the more licks you're going to get.”

Licks
. God, I hope I got some real licks later. After scenes like this, I often did.

“Yes, sir.” I lifted my skirt to expose my crimson thong and the toy planted between my ass cheeks.

“Good Lord Almighty,” Jeremy said. I muffled my laughter in the desktop as he paced back and forth behind me, tapping the paddle against his hand. “What on earth have we here?”

“It's…it's an anal plug, Professor Gray,” I whispered, pretending to be ashamed.

“And you are wearing it because…?”

“I don't know, Professor. I can't explain…”

“Perhaps because you're a horny little cum slut.”

“Yes,” I said softly. “That could be why.”

“And you love to have your little asshole violated, because you're such a little fuck-happy whore. You love to have a cock shoved up inside there, drilling you and using your ass until it's full of cum. Is that it?”