Discipline & Desire

By Klayton Frost

Copyright © Klayton Frost

 

The right of Klayton Frost to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights and Patents Act 1988.

 

All rights reserved.

 

Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

 

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

 

Discipline & Desire

 

Cassie lies flat on her bed, face down with her hand underneath her. Her housemates are home, and gathered in the kitchen downstairs, and so she bites the pillow to keep herself from making any noise. She thinks of Julia. Beautiful Julia with her tight body and her bright blue eyes. Her pulled-back hair and slender hips. The soft curve of Julia's tits, hidden beneath her sweater. Cassie's fingers explore the cleft between her legs, rubbing in long, slow circles. Cassie shudders with pleasure.

She imagines herself and Julia alone in Julia's office. Julia pushing her back against the desk - steadying her with one confident hand, turning her face up and drawing her into a long, slow, open-mouthed kiss. She imagines removing Julia's sweater to discover those perfect, heavy breasts cupped in half-moons of black satin - the same black satin that arrows between Julia's slim legs.

Cassie is so wet that her fingers slip. So wet that she's dripping. She dips her fingers inside herself and can't help but moan at the sensation. In her brain, behind her closed eyes, she makes her fingers into Julia's fingers. She is lying on Julia's desk while Julia kisses her, and works at her pussy. Then Julia is kissing her neck, her breasts, her stomach. Down and down... and Cassie imagines that her fingers are not her fingers anymore at all, but Julia's sweet, wet tongue.

Something is quivering in the pit of Cassie's stomach now. The pitch of it rising. Her free hand makes a fist of the bedsheets and her body spasms a little, her hips rocking against her hand. She feels like a firework with a burning fuse, like a cup about to overflow. She bites down hard on the pillow and pictures Julia on the desk now instead of her. Julia naked (so beautiful, her skin so perfect) and spread and ready for her. And she imagines lowering herself to Julia, bringing her mouth to Julia's pussy and tasting her. Tasting her juices. Licking her clit, and feeling her writhe with pleasure. She imagines Julia's hands gripping her hair, pushing her down. Julia grinding her hips up against her.

Cassie imagines Julia coming, and that is enough to send her over the edge. She groans into the pillow once more, and the firework in her belly explodes, sending sparks skittering to the very top of her head, to the tips of her toes, all the way up her spine. She shudders, convulses, her hand cupping her spasming pussy. She cannot think - her mind is a screaming blank. All she knows is pleasure so intense it takes her breath away.

When at last her orgasm subsides, Cassie curls up in her bed and lies there, slowly regaining her breath. Lazy little sparks still spiral through her stomach and limbs, and each one reminds her of Julia. Beautiful, unattainable, impossible Julia. Cassie thinks that she may very well be in love.

***

Julia is her university tutor. Nineteenth-Century Literature - a class that Cassie has attended religiously ever since she set eyes on Julia in the very first session. Every Wednesday morning at eleven o' clock she finds herself in the middle of a crowded lecture theatre, looking down towards where Julia stands at ease, her beautiful face illuminated by the projector, shifting lines of type written across her skin. Cassie cannot take her eyes off the older woman. Even the way she talks is beautiful; she accentuates all her points with slow, easy gestures. She walks back and forth, talking as calmly to one-hundred-and-twenty students as if she were speaking to a friend over coffee. Sometimes she even takes her shoes off and leaves them by the podium. Cassie loves that little detail.

It's odd sitting there now, listening to Julia's lecture on the Victorian Romantics and knowing that - only twelve hours earlier - she had made herself come to an imagined image of this same woman. There she is in the flesh. The legs that Cassie imagined naked are sheathed in black tights. The generous curve of Julia's breasts is disguised by her sheer blouse. Her hair is tied back, tucked neatly behind her ears.

Cassie, despite her best intentions, has been too distracted to make a single note all morning. Instead she has been sketching Julia - a favourite activity of hers. Today's drawing is coming along well - a neatly-defined pencil sketch that captures the shape of Julia's body wonderfully. The face is, as yet, only a vague circle. Cassie is almost frightened to attempt it - Julia's face is the hardest thing to capture. None of her previous drawings (all sandwiched together at the back of her ring binder) quite do her justice.

Cassie is, in fact, so absorbed in her drawing, that it is only her own name that jolts her out of it.

"Cassie DeMarco! Stay behind a moment; I'd like a quick word." It is Julia herself who has spoken, and Cassie looks up to find that all around her the other students are packing away their notes and books, making ready to leave. Julia is looking up at her, the older woman's gaze as penetrating as a laser.

Cassie scrabbles to tuck her sketches away in her bag and gather up her things. By the time she makes it down to the front of the lecture theatre the last few students are filtering out the door. She perches on the edge of a desk, unduly nervous, while Julia collects up her notes. The door to the room swings shut and they are alone.

"Cassie," says Julia, as though tasting her name. Cassie swallows. "Tell me: how are you getting on with the course, do you think?"

Cassie shrugs. She is very aware of a blush creeping up her cheeks, but she tries to ignore it. "Okay, I guess," she mumbles.

"You'll look at me when we're talking please," says Julia. She says it quite calmly, quite without heat, but the effect on Cassie is nevertheless electric. She feels her spine straighten almost on reflex, and finds herself looking into Julia's penetrating blue eyes. "That's better," says Julia. "Now, I couldn't help but notice that you were drawing instead of taking notes. Would you care to explain yourself?"

Behind her ribs, Cassie's heart is thudding like a jackhammer. Her mouth is so dry that she can barely talk. Her mind is blank - she searches desperately for an excuse, but there simply isn't one. "I'm sorry," is all she manages.

"Sorry?" says Julia, sounding almost amused. Then she carries on briskly, "Well, since you've been drawing on my time, I think I'd rather like to see the results." And she holds out a hand, clearly expecting Cassie to hand over her pile of drawings. Horrified, Cassie shakes her head, making Julia click her tongue in irritation. "Now, please," she says. The slight inflection of anger in her voice is enough to send Cassie burrowing through her bag.

Perhaps, she thinks, as she hands over the pile of scraps and scribbles, her artistic ability is limited enough that Julia won't recognise herself. Cassie watches her tutors face as she flicks through the images one by one, pausing for a few seconds on each. There is a look in her eyes that Cassie can't quite read. Recognition? Worry? Anger? Cassie hovers wordlessly, waiting for Julia's verdict.

"Well," says Julia at last. "These are... interesting." She passes the sketches from hand to hand, and for a moment Cassie thinks she's about to give them back. She doesn't though. She turns around and places them on top of her lecture notes. "I'll hang onto these for now," she says. "And we'll arrange a tutorial to speak about your... behaviour during lectures. Tomorrow evening? Six o' clock in my office."

Cassie, is unable to do anything but not and mumble her assent. With a brisk nod, Julia gathers up her things - Cassie's drawings included - and sweeps from the lecture theatre.

***

At home that night, lying in bed and listening to her housemates play video games in the lounge downstairs, Cassie wants to touch herself again. She's on edge, nervous about the meeting tomorrow. When she thinks about Julia telling her off she feels an odd, squirmy feeling in the pit of her stomach - an excitement so intense it has its own gravity. She wants to masturbate so badly it almost hurts. And yet she's afraid too, certain that if she touches herself again that Julia will somehow know, will be able to read it in her guilty face.

Instead, too frustrated to sleep, she stands and goes to her window, looks out and down at the tiny concrete patch of garden. She opens the window and feels cold air rush across her skin. In the glass she can just about see her silhouette - the curve of her thighs and the small mounds of her breasts. Her narrow neck, her shoulder-length hair. Does Julia ever look at her the way she looks at Julia? Does she think that Cassie is attractive?

In a matter of hours the two of them will be closeted in Julia's tiny office. Nobody else to see. Cassie dreads the embarrassment of it, the humiliation of having to explain her sketches. She dreads the inevitable telling off, the possibility of disciplinary action. And, at the same time as she dreads these things, she wants them to happen more than anything else in the world.

***

Cassie spends two hours before her scheduled meeting with Julia applying makeup, fixing her hair, changing her clothes again and again. She needs to look pretty, but not as though she's made too much effort. She pins up her hair on one side and then lets it down. She likes the way it frames her face. In the end she settles for jeans and a loose top, thin enough that you can see her bra through it, if you look.

Despite all her preparations she still arrives outside Julia's office early. The building is quiet, and the sun is beginning to sink below the horizon beyond the window at the end of the hall. There is nobody about but Cassie, and the cleaner pushing a vacuum around three floors below. She pads back and forth down the corridor, her heart in her mouth. She is afraid to knock. She raises her hand, bites her lip, and then raps twice on the wood. It feels like stepping off a diving board.

"Come in," says Julia, and Cassie enters. She's seen the room before, but only once and only in passing. It is neater than many of the other offices, but crowded too. Every shelf is laden with books - as is the surface of the desk and the windowsill. There is the usual desk and chair, but also a potted cactus beside the mousemat, and a dreamcatcher in the window, casting its complex shadow across the room. Julia sits behind the desk, seeming entirely at ease. Cassie notes the curve of the older woman's neck, the way her hair is tucked back behind her ears. Cassie swallows. "Please sit," says Julia.

No sooner has she settled in the one available seat, than Julia has produced the stack of drawings as if from nowhere and placed them on the desk in front of her. Cassie stares at them, until Julia motions for her to pick them up. Cassie does so cautiously, expecting sharp words at any moment. But none come.

"Look through them," says Julia.

"Okay," says Cassie, and begins to flick through the drawings. Julia taps the desk.

"No. Slowly. Pay attention."

"Sorry," mumbles Cassie. She starts again, lingering on each sketch, drinking in the detail as much as she can. Here is one of Julia's face, her mouth open mid-word, her hair a tangle of heavy lines. Here is one of Julia in profile, a hand raised as though making a point. There is silence in the office except for the rustling of paper. It feels as though it takes forever for Cassie to make her way through all the pictures, and by the time she is done she can feel her face blushing hot red. She puts the drawings back on the desk. Julia is watching her still, inscrutable.

"They're drawings of me," she says. It's not a question, but Cassie still nods confirmation. Julia absorbs this. Then she says, "Why?"

With the question, it feels as if the air in the room has perceptibly thickened. Cassie can barely breathe as she searches her brain for an answer. "I... I just... I was just bored," she manages at last.

A small frown crosses Julia's face, and she shakes her head. "Bored?" she says. Cassie nods. She tries to meet Julia's piercing gaze, but cannot.

Then a strange thing happens. "Stand up," says Julia. Cassie obeys, rising nervously to her feet. Julia stands too, and walks around the desk, each footstep careful and deliberate. She stands so close to Cassie that the younger girl can smell her scent - a complex, quiet perfume, like apples. "Turn around," says Julia, "and put your hands on the desk."

"I..." Cassie almost questions the instruction, but bites back her words at the last moment. Julia's tone indicates that she expects to be obeyed. Cassie turns to face the desk and puts her palms flat on the wooden surface. She has to bend her legs a little to do so.

"Take a step back," says Julia quietly. "Now spread your feet a little wider apart." Again, Cassie follows her instructions. She is burning with curiosity now, and with another feeling too - a deep and dark sense of excitement. Something is about to happen, she can feel it. Something that will take them beyond the ordinary bounds of tutor and student. "Now look down at the desk, and don't move."

Cassie bites her lip, and looks down at the dark wood of the desk. She can hear Julia moving lightly behind her, but can't see a thing. It feels as if every single one of her nerves is on fire. She is aware of each breath and each heartbeat. When Julia places a hand on her shoulder, she almost jumps. Her heart somersaults.

The next thing she knows, Julia has raised a hand and brought it down hard, smacking her firmly on the backside. Cassie feels the sting of the blow through her jeans - and although the pain is not great it takes her breath away and makes her weak at the knees. A groan escapes her lips, prompted as much by surprise as by hurt, shock more than pain. Her arms tremble, and she rises up on her tiptoes, jerked by the force of the blow. But she does not move. She stays standing, just as Julia bid.

And then Julia smacks her again, on the other side. Harder than before. Hard enough to make Cassie catch her breath at the pain. She rocks forward again, but keeps her place, her mind whirling. Can this really be happening? Everything about it is impossible and humiliating and yet...

Julia delivers another two swats, each a little harder than the one before. Cassie has to bite her lip to keep from making any noise, and her hands are in fists against the wood of the desk. She wriggles, shudders. In between each blow there is pleasure almost equal to the pain, and the contrast is so great and improbable that it makes her feel as though she's melting.

Julia spanks her a dozen times in quick succession. Then she stops. Then there is silence again, and the two of them standing apart in her office - Cassie bent over the desk still, breathing heavily, trembling from head to toe. Julia behind her. The moment stretches, and then...

"Sit again," says Julia, striding back around to her side of the desk. Bewildered, adrenaline still pulsing through her system, Cassie sits. Julia too retakes her place on the other side of the desk, then leans forward. Her eyes drill through Cassie like lasers. "You will not lie to me again," she says. "The next time you lie to me, I'll use a belt. Do you understand?"

Cassie can only just manage a nod. Julia's voice feels as though it's plucking at strings inside of her, sending strange and wonderful resonances through her whole body with each word. Her backside hurts, stings in the most delicious way imaginable. She longs to be bent over the desk again. She longs for Julia to use a belt on her. But she does not dare disobey. She cannot.

"Now tell me why," says Julia curtly. An order this time.

"I... I just wanted to draw you. I... I think you're really pretty. No, not pretty. More than that. Attractive. Beautiful. I... that's just what I think. As soon as I saw you the first time I thought... Well, I just had to draw you. I'm sorry. Is that okay?"

"And what else?" says Julia.

"Else?" whimpers Cassie. What else can she possibly want to know?

"There's more. I know there is. Don't try to hide anything from me." Julia speaks with a confidence so complete that Cassie feels tiny by comparison. She knows what she must confess.

"Sometimes... I'm sorry... Sometimes I think about you... when I... you know... when I touch myself."

Julia sits back a little in her chair, satisfied, and Cassie breathes a sigh of relief. Her body is filled with a welter of conflicting emotions. She is confused, she is aroused. She wants to touch Julia and feel the older woman's mouth against her own. She wants Julia to hold her down and hurt her. She wants to bridge the space between them in this quiet little room. She wants Julia.

***

The End

***

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