“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Why do you not kiss me?”
He seemed surprised by the question. “You would like that?”
“Yes.”
“Some cruddy old man like me? Kissing you?”
He was fourteen years my senior, yes, but we were both adults. And he wore his fifty years quite well. I found myself surprised by his lack of confidence in this arena, when he so clearly had a strong sense of himself in most other areas of life. The professor could accept his role as master, but struggled with the role of lover. It made sense now, all the waiting.
“I would like to kiss you… and more… very much,” I said. I was nervous and shy to bring up my needs, and stammering a little as I spoke. “As long as it doesn’t take what we have now away. I mean, as long as you’ll still be in charge… of me.”
He stroked my hair a moment and I thought he might kiss me then, but he backed away as the last rope fell from my ankle. “Put your proper uniform on and start breakfast. I’ll be in my bedroom a moment. Getting ready.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Megan… one more thing. Tomorrow night I’m going to properly punish you for orgasming without permission. And that will fit the crime as well.”
I blushed as I agreed.
***That evening, upon returning from an excursion into town, he told me to change yet again. “I want you to wear your regular clothes, Megan, like on your days off. But more formal. Have you got any dresses or skirts?”
“Yes, but I was just going to start making dinner, sir.”
“Don’t,” he said. “I’m taking you out for dinner tonight.”
“Taking me out for dinner?” I checked. “Like a date?”
He put his hands in his pockets and nodded to me, uncharacteristically bashful about this proposition. “Is that alright with you?”
“Yes, sir!” I said, smiling.
Professor Brooks seemed relieved to see my joyful reaction to his request, and it surprised me. Did he really think I was only interested in our prolonged roleplay and nothing more? I thought tonight might be a good time to show him I liked more about him than serving him and squirming over his lap. He wasn’t just a fetish to me, he was a whole person that I’d really grown to care for over the past few months.
I tried to let him know this during our dinner date. He’d taken me to an absolutely beautiful restaurant, with candlelit tables out on a garden terrace. I felt like a princess in my evening gown, eating such decadent food and sipping on a glass of red wine. And the professor did these little things throughout our date that showed his attentive care. When I began to fret over the cost of the entrees, he shook his head and said I could have anything on the menu. His treat. And when the waiter came over, he placed both our orders together, speaking on my behalf. It was subtle, but I didn’t miss his quiet display of dominance. I do hope the waiter missed it, however.
All through dinner I found myself delighted by our conversation, which first found familiar territory in the latest historical findings (this is not as much of an oxymoron as it may seem) and then the novel we’d read together this past week. It wasn’t anywhere near as spicy as the one that began our games, but it certainly had some romance. This quickly led us back to the topic we may have both been avoiding, due to our own little insecurities and worries. Us.
“What are we?” he asked, more directly. “What are we, Megan?”
Our plates were empty now, and our wine glasses nearly so. The only thing keeping us at the table was where the conversation had gone.
“I guess I can say it this way,” I said. “If someone were to ask me out, I’d say, ‘I’m sorry, but I’m seeing someone.'”
“I’d do the same,” he agreed. “But I’m also your employer. This is messier than I’d like. I fear it’s unethical.”
“I’m fully consenting! How is that unethical? I’m thirty-six years old!”
Professor Brooks gave me a rather unnerving look whilst we were both in a public place. “Are you raising your voice to me, young lady?”
He was teasing me, but it did remind me to settle down. I was getting a little worked up over the idea that he might either fire me or decide to end our budding relationship. I couldn’t bear either choice. God forbid both. “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”
“Much better,” he said, sipping the last of his wine and patting his lip with a napkin. “I still feel as if we’re in a quandary, but I’ll admit I have no better plan. I certainly won’t take away your job. Especially not when you do it so well. Other than… a few mistakes that need immediate correction…”
I was relieved at his promise of job security, and it showed up as a shy laugh at his teasing. “Thank you, sir.”
“I guess we’ll stay as we are, then,” he said. “Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“Mostly,” he said again, and asked the waiter for the bill with a quick flourish of his hand. “Would you like to take a walk with me this evening?”
“I’ve always loved our walks,” I said.
Once the bill was settled, we ignored the car in the parking lot a while longer and walked through one of the most beautiful lakeside trails I’d ever seen. The amber trail lights highlighted all the ripples in the dark lake, and the gentle breeze rustled the thick canopy of summer leaves above us.
We held hands all through the walk, and talked and laughed a lot. The happiness just radiated out of both of us, I could see the sparkle in his eyes and knew mine must look the same. There was only one doubt in my mind that whole time. I asked him about it the moment our conversation flickered out. “You said… mostly? Back in the restaurant? We’ll stay mostly the same? Mostly?”
That was when he kissed me. It was a gentle kind of kiss, no tongue, but his soft lips caressed mine and lingered there for a moment, as though searching for something. I sighed in pleasure, returning his affections, wrapping my arms around his upper back. I tilted my head further to the side and continued what he started.
When we finally separated, it was nothing but the lapping of the lake and the rustling leaves overhead for a few long seconds. He seemed to be in his head and I was in mine. It was even better than I expected, kissing him. His lips were as warm and soft as his heart.
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay?” What a thing to say, I thought. Like most intellectual types, he did sometimes say things without thinking, like his brain was too busy focusing on other matters and rarely concerned itself with keeping up with social standards. I was used to this enough by now for my heart not to break immediately. I waited as he patted his jacket, searching.
The professor pulled something from his pocket, handing me a rectangular box, half the size of a book. It was all perfectly wrapped up in thick silver paper with a beautiful blue bow, like he had a shop do it for him. “Open it.”
I tried to not open the box too eagerly, but my smile gave me away. Soon I found myself holding a dainty silver locket up in my hands, dangling from a matching chain. It was in the shape of a heart, and decorated with intricate engravings around a ruby.
“I love it,” I said, and it made him smile.
The inside was empty at this point, as he must have just gotten it recently. So he asked me, “What will you put inside?”
I pointed to him and then to me.
“I hope just our pictures,” he joked. “I’m very pleased you like the locket. There’s a whole fascinating history behind lockets!”
“Tell me,” I said. I wasn’t just humouring him. I really wanted to know, because the professor chose this particular gift for a reason. Just about everything he ever did had a clear reason behind it, which was a more unusual trait than one might guess.
“Lockets were once used as talismans to keep the wearer safe and protected. Then they became a symbol of secret, rebellious support for the recently executed British king. After that, they’re what you know them to mean today. Love.”
“And which of those three meanings did you have in mind?” I asked. I thought it was a joking, rhetorical question, but his answer surprised me.
“All of them. I will keep you safe and protected, and you will be much loved. And, I suppose, what we do behind closed doors is our own secret, rebellious business.”
He really took my breath away with that, and I had nothing to say but a very dumbfounded thank you, thank you as he gently hooked the locket’s chain around my neck. I’ve read about submissives being collared, and this was like that, I knew. At least once he told me I’d be protected under his care, I knew he’d just officially claimed me as his own. I was delighted. My fingers kept reaching for my heart-shaped locket, holding it, feeling the safety it promised me.
“I love it, sir,” I told him. “I love it. I never want to take it off.”
That night we made love for the first time. We were in my bedroom, kissing under the covers like two teenagers. Soon I wore nothing but the locket. His hands explored me more thoroughly than usual, feeling my breasts and sliding up my thighs. For the first time I saw him naked too, and he allowed me to explore him as he’d explored me.
There was a delightful bit of power in watching him turn into putty under my touch. He couldn’t help but moan and shut his eyes as I stroked him. I could see why dominant types enjoyed this, but it wasn’t quite in my nature. So soon enough I was on my back again, and spread open to accept him inside me. He checked if I was sure, and I was sure. So he filled me, and I moaned and panted as he worked up a rhythm. It was frantic, having been too long for both of us. I squeezed my fingertips into his shoulder blades and began to push hard against his every thrust into me.
“Megan,” he warned me. “I’m-”
“Ahh,” was all I could say in response, something like a scream and a moan all in one.
Then he did the same, and his pleasure peaked instantly. He lay hot and panting against me a moment, catching his breath. “Oh,” he said. “Ooh. You’re lovely. Let me help you. Let me take care of you.”
I knew what he meant, but also knew he’d be exhausted after all that. And it was still summer, after all, with all its languid heat. So I showed him the secret hiding place where I’d kept my vibrator, and unfortunately he saw my other toys. The small anal plug. The dildo. It made me flush a deeper red than was already on my cheeks from our lovemaking. He held the anal plug under the little lamp on the bedside table and said, “Hmm.”
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