Professor's Little Pet

"Excuse me, but..." He was muffling his words, and he kept his tongue in my clitoris the whole time. Please, I moaned, stick another finger in my pussy. His head jerked up, and he touched my pussy with his palm. Hard. When the tingling feelings of the swat spread throughout my body, I almost leaped out of bed. I snarled in desire and excitement. He said, "Chloe, this is a cunt." Not a coward. Is that right? There was a flush in my bathroom. I mumbled, "Yes, Professor Bretton." The term was at once obscene, scandalous, and thrilling. He told me to "ask my inquiry again," his eyes twinkling with amusement at my fumbling. I was embarrassed by how quickly the phrase "please, another finger in my cunt" slipped out of my mouth, and shocked by how readily I had agreed to his demand. Smoothly he answered, "Of course," and twisted and inserted a second finger into my wetness. With a sigh, I tightened my hold on the slats. My thoughts was clouded by want, my body tingled with lust, and my whole universe shrank to the size of a tongue on my clitoris and two fingers in my pussy. I was climbing the peak, hard and fast, and I'd forgotten his commands; I'd forgotten I required his approval to have an orgasmic experience. I held on to the slats, my thighs quivered as I battled to keep them apart, my hips pushed blindly upward in response to his probing fingers and flicking tongue, and suddenly I was at the top, freefalling down the other side in a magnificent freefall that made me feel like I was flying. He could tell I was having an orgasmic experience because my muscles were clenching and pulsing under his fingers, but he still didn't pull his lips away from my clitoris. He licked it carefully, with light, delicate strokes that provided the warmest comfort. I was ready to go before I realized it, and I fell back into orgasm, this time with less pyrotechnics and more smouldering, like the dying embers of a yard fire. He waited patiently for me to complete, his tongue and fingers encouraging me to make it through each and every one. At last, he withdrew his lips from mine, and he looked at me critically. He repositioned me as I still lay there, my legs spread wide and my hands grabbing the headboard above my head, my body drenched with sweat from the recent surge of heat and want. He then said, "Two orgasms; neither with permission." A hint of humor could be seen in his eyes despite his serious tone. "Oh, no!" It hurt, since I'd forgotten about that regulation. I remained silent, anticipating the next move. "Chloe. You were sluggish to exit the shower, and when I instructed you to keep your thighs apart, you shifted them. I had two good ones! That's a serious desire for punishment on your part. He drew himself up beside me, rested languidly against the headboard, and slowly nudged my fingers away from the slats. He motioned for her to come to him and patted his lap. "Face down on my lap; I'm going to give that precious little ass a good spanking." *** I positioned myself on his lap and could feel his erection; he made no attempt to conceal his enjoyment of the scenario. "Stop thrashing about; I don't want you hurting yourself, do you get it?" His tone was peaceful, but the relaxing strokes on my behind were everything but. My stomach was in knots and my palms were sweating as I prepared to be smacked by Oren Bretton. I mused to myself, "I need a magic 8 ball." What kind of masochist am I to anticipate this spanking with relish? The response came with a flutter of excitement and a flush of anticipation: "That is very certainly so." I was completely insane, and not only because I was having inside conversations with a made-up Magic 8-ball. *** When he told me to be quiet, I mumbled a "Yes, Professor Bretton." Then I went and messed up by asking a question. Asking, "How many swats do I have to take until I learn my lesson?" I could sense the strain in her voice, but I could also detect the want. Suddenly, he tensed. Pet, he drewled, his irritation evident in the stress on the term, "you don't get to ask questions. Are you getting it now? In this case, you get to do nothing. I said, "I'm sorry." Even now, his hands are the ones stroking my a$$, gentle strokes that make me melt into his body. As I laid my face down on the bed and closed my eyes, I felt a sense of calm wash over me. With one hand, he grabbed my wrists behind my back, further emphasizing his authority and domination over me. In spite of myself, I felt a flutter of anticipation rising within. It felt oddly liberating to get spanked by a guy who wouldn't allow me have any say in the situation. Smack. I was given a sharp slap on the behind. The agony spread from my a$$ all the way up my body, and it was quickly followed by a wave of excitement. The spanked area was stroked in tiny circles by his hand. He gently touched my a$$ and stated, "You've done this before, right?" I said, "Kind of, not really." My previous lovers had refused to take charge when I requested them to punish me. He said, "I won't stop spanking you till you safeword." Saying, "But you may let me know if it's too much, and I will slow down a little bit." "Okay," I finally managed to mutter.