No Ordinary Affair (6 page)

The sight of the huge house affected me as it did the first time I’d seen it. The place was so grand and work on it was obviously continuing. The workmen, who had gone for the day, had been busy gutting the interior and stacks of old wood lay outside in the garden.

I wondered what Ethan Willoughby did for a living that could put him in a position to afford such renovations. I couldn’t imagine what it would cost, or what it would be like to have that kind of money. Life was a financial struggle for Mark and me. Each purchase was carefully weighed and we were constantly finding ways to get more use out of our old things or buying secondhand. I hardly ever bought anything new; that’s how I’d come by my job with
Miss Parsham, actually
. I’d been looking for a decent set of dishes to entertain some of Mark’s co-workers when I spotted her ‘Help Wanted’ sign.

Ethan Willoughby had indicated he was single, and I imagined whomever he eventually settled down with would be fortunate to be poking through thrift shops out of fun rather than necessity. In my minds eye I could see myself on his arm, clad in the pretty, feminine dress he’d picked out for me as we selected historically accurate objects to grace the Drumlin house.

My face reddened a bit. “Stop it,” I ordered myself. “He’s your teacher.”

It was easier to say that than to delve into the reality, that he was a rich man and I was simply a dalliance willing to play his game. And as I pulled up beside his vehicle I was more than eager to be in it.

I turned to the door of the school, and with each step sunk deeper into a past I longed to revisit, into a submissive state I was born to. The stairs creaked as I went up them and then there I was, in the classroom.

I looked around. Professor Willoughby was nowhere in sight. But on the board written neatly in chalk was the line. “I will not seek to avoid instruction.”

“Professor?”

When there was no answer I walked over and picked up the fat lump of chalk sitting in the tray under the board. And I began to write. It was strangely exciting, this simple act. I’d been commanded to write this line a hundred times and so I would.

Ever so often I’d look over my shoulder, thinking I’d heard the creaking of a board that signaled his entrance. But each time I was disappointed.

By the thirtieth line my arm had started to hurt and I shook it as if to remove the tingling numbness that clung to the muscles. Professor Willoughby was supposed to be here. His car was outside. So where was he? I was starting to feel tired of my task, and even a bit silly at doing it with no one around.

I walked over to the window, thinking possibly he was outdoors and I would catch a glimpse of him. But he was not and I turned back, disappointed and walked over to the podium where a book sat, a leather-bound class ledger. My fingers traced the cover and slipped under the edge. But just as I was about to open it, I heard my name.

“MARY!”

I jumped and turned around.

“Etha—Professor Willoughby! You’re back!”

He walked in briskly, his expression furious. And suddenly I felt my situation wasn’t a game, but was real. He’d caught me about to go through his private property.

He strode past me and walked over to the wall, removing the cane in one brisk movement before turning to walk purposefully back to the podium. As he did he raised the cane and I backed up, terrified as he brought it down with a hiss to land with a loud “THWACK!” across the cover of the ledger. The sound echoed around the room and I brought my hand to my mouth to stifle my frightened cry.

“Did you open it?”

“No!” I said frantically. “I was going to but…”

“WHY?” He shouted the word and I jumped again.

“I don’t know! I was just waiting and bored and…”

“Bored?” He looked at me and laughed. “Were you not given a task to do?”

“Task?” I asked stupidly and he reached out then to grab my ear. I yelped as he pulled me across the room to the board.

“How many lines did I tell you to write, Mary?” he asked.

“One hundred.”

“And how many have you written?”

I looked up. “Thirty,” I answered in a shaky little girl’s voice that now came all too naturally.”

He turned and directed me to the same table he’d bent me over the d
ay before. 
“Naughty, lazy, nosy girl,” he said, pushing my skirt up.

“No, please. You’re so angry!” I was suddenly frightened. What if he hurt me in his rage?

“Angry?” He sounded indignant. “Don’t give yourself so much credit. I’m not angry with you, merely disgusted. The state of you young people today, unable to finish the simplest task without oversight! Well, my dear, let me guarantee you that after I’m finished with your bottom you’ll never think to snoop again. And when you’re set about an assignment you will surely finish!”

He pulled my panties down, leaning as he did so that I could feel his breath against my skin as he delivered the last line of his diatribe.

“Part your legs.”

“Sir?” I looked behind me, fearful.

“You heard me, lass. I’ll not have you clenching up for this. Part your legs.” He paused. “AT ONCE!”

I whimpered as I obeyed, knowing as I did that he could see my shaved pussy and realizing that whatever this was, it had moved beyond the bounds of acceptability for any decent married woman. And yet I could not summon the strength to rise and lay there, panting with fear as, from the corner of my eye, I saw him raise the cane.

Blinding.

That’s the only word I can think of to adequately describe the type of pain I felt when Ethan laid that cane across my bare bum. For a moment I saw stars that turned to little spots that swam through the tears in my eyes.

“No!” I cried and tried to jump to my feet but he pushed me back down and forced a hand between my thighs to wrench them back apart.

“Mary, you will hold your position if we have to stay here all day. Is that what you want?”

It certainly was not. I could barely cope with the thought of another swipe of that cane as the first welt went from searing to an intense throb. But I could not resist him, either. The need to relinquish control to him, even though I knew how bad he would hurt me, was so powerful that it held me in place as surely as his hand. As I assumed the position a second time I timidly forced my bum out even though I did not want to.

The next stroke landed across the lower half of my bottom, catching me just above the thighs. I had jammed my knuckle in my mouth in anticipation and screamed around it, feeling tears and saliva collecting under my chin which rested against the table.

“Naughty, naughty Mary.” I was aware of him raising his arm a third time just before the hiss and crack of the cane left another explosion of pain in its wake. “Trying to avoid school, pilfering her teacher’s things. I’m so disappointed in you. From another girl I’d expect such behavior, but from you, a pretty…”

“THWACK!”

“….sweet, smart girl. So disappointing.”

I barely caught the end of his sentence, having nearly drowned them out with my own cries.
 
The throbbing in my pussy intensified with each blow, despite the pain and humiliation I felt. Even if this were a game I was sincerely regretted my actions. He was right; I had no right to sneak into his book and I felt ashamed of myself for that, and for being so desirous of his discipline, and so callous with my own marriage. My Trifecta of Shame. Perhaps that’s why I held my position, why I relished the pain. I didn’t just want this caning; I deserved it.

“Stand up.”
 
My legs were shaking as I obeyed and I turned to him, my face a mess from tears. He regarded me in silence.
 
“Now that’s a chastened young lady, I’d say,” he remarked quietly but I could tell his comments weren’t directed at me but to himself. I also noticed that he’d removed his coat and underneath wore a V-necked cardigan with a tie. My heart constricted; it was quite similar in style to the sort of thing Mark wore to work.

“Very well then,” he said. “Now you shall finish what you started.” He took my by the shoulders and turned me around, tucking the hem of my skirt into the waistband. My knickers remained around my knees where he’d put them.
 
“To the board with you. No, no. Leave the knickers be. And finish your lines.”

I sniffled pitifully, abandoning my attempts to pull up my underpants as I walked in tiny, painful steps the board as quickly and gracefully as my knicker-hobbles would allow me. Once there I picked up the chalk with my shaking hand and continued to write the line over and over.

It was an hour before I was done, and Ethan Willoughby, who had been going through some papers and humming to himself
,
walked over to the board to inspect my work. I held my breath as his eyes scanned each line, looking for a dropped letter or misspelling or some other unacceptable imperfection.

“Good girl.” The words were like a balm, his smile only bringing me pleasure second to the pleasure his pain had. I could not explain it to myself, this deep desire to please him even as the hurt in my bottom continued to come in waves so strong they almost sickened me. I dare not venture back to see the state of my bottom; I only knew it must be a terrible sight.

“Come, Mary, take my hand. Let’s have a talk, shall we?”

I looked at his open palm, not knowing whether to put my hand in it. For as odd as it may seem, even though he’d just seen my naked bum – and more – I felt this to be a very intimate gesture. But I complied just the same, pulling up my knickers as I did as he walked me over to a chair at his desk and sat down, pulling me onto his lap as he did.

I squirmed with discomfort.

“Do you think it pleases me to hurt you?” he asked, and I was at loss for an answer. Was he speaking as Ethan Willoughby, landowner and newcomer to the region or as Professor Willoughby, ghost of teachers past?

“I think you are simply doing what you have to do,” I said, and I knew right away by his expression that I’d given the right answer.

He pulled me to facing him on his lap and when I looked down I realized I was straddling him. Instinctively I started to pull away but when I did he took my hips in his hands and soothed me with soft shushing sounds until I stopped moving and looked up at his handsome face, mesmerized.

“Normally I don’t get involved with my students,” he said. “Especially such spirited ones. But your willfulness, Mary, is just an extension of your intelligent personality. That’s why I’m so glad you have found your way into my class. I and I alone am equipped to channel that willfulness into more acceptable behavior, to bring out the woman we both know is there.”

His lips found mine and I neither resisted nor acquiesced as he kissed me.

“No,” I began as I processed what was happening, but his arms were around me and then one slid down to squeeze my sore bottom.

“Yes,” he said. “I cannot teach you until you learn to completely submit to me in every way, Mary. Only then can I bring out the natural beauty I see in you.”

I opened my mouth to his, feeling the tongue with the beauty of the words still on them. They were familiar words and I remembered now, how he’d spoken of taking things and making them blossom. Houses, schools, women. Was I the only one? I must be. I had to be. He’d picked me. Of all the women in town, he’d picked me.

His hand was under my shirt now, his left hand kneading my right breast as the nipple swelled and hardened under his palm. I threw back my head as his hot mouth blazed a trail down my neck and raised my hips as his other hand pulled aside the sodden crotch of my knickers. I could feel the head of his cock, already released from his slacks, pressing against my clit and I ground into him and then felt him slip deep into me, drawn in by my own need.

I came almost immediately, intoxicated by the mingling sensation of lingering pain and intense, primal pleasure of Ethan’s thrusting hips.

“That’s a lovely girl,” he was saying into my hair. “That’s a lovely, clever girl.”

He pulled at the front of my shirt and I heard the sound of buttons clattering onto the floor and then felt his mouth on my breast, tongue thrusting and teeth worrying the tender nipples.

“Professor!” I cried, jogging up and down on him, keeping the rhythm as my hair spilled across my face and skin flushed with heat and excitement. “Oh, god, Professor!”

“Mary. Lass!” He pulled me to him then and I felt him pulse, felt him pump into me. I wrapped my leg around him, around the back of the chair and squeezed as if I could lock us together, right there in that moment.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that. When
I next looked out it was dark. 
Mark. I looked around frantically.
 
“What time is it?”

He looked down at his watch.
 
“Half past eight.” He stood, tipping me from his lap. “You’d best get home or your parents will worry. I trust you’ll keep the details of this particular detention to yourself?”

“I, uh, yes….of course.” I was tucking my shirt back into my skirt now even as I looked down with horror at my shirt. Three buttons were missing and I pulled the sweater I was wearing over the gap and hurriedly buttoned it. I needed no mirror to know that I was a complete, well-fucked mess. My makeup had surely run from all the crying, my hair was a rat’s nest from where Ethan Willoughby had run his hands through it and my bottom….I didn’t even want to think about what it looked like, so scored as it was from the cane which now hung innocently on the wall.