‘“Professor Hottie”? Why, you cheeky little cow! Is that what you call me behind my back?’ ‘Yes. Me and all the girls in the library. I thought you knew that.’ ‘I bet you encourage them, don’t you? I bet you speculate endlessly about me and that you always come up with the wildest stories and fantasies.’ ‘I might have done a bit. Well, a lot really …’ Still chuckling, he rolls off me and sits up. ‘Turn over. Show me that gorgeous arse of yours.’ Something breathtaking stirs inside me. A sense of weakening and melting, a mutinous pleasure at being ordered about and at giving in to those orders. I never wanted this before. I resented it before. But now it’s delicious, irresistible. So exciting it makes my pussy flutter and flow. My head fills with images of leather masks, dark rooms, the perspective of kneeling before a stern but beautiful master. This stern but beautiful master, none other. ‘You need a damn good seeing-to, madam,’ he says in the tones of a dictatorial schoolmaster, then adds, ‘And I don’t just mean a fucking.’ Which rather spoils the impression of an august and serious scholar.
