Teach Me a Lesson (7 page)

* * *

LANCE COULDN’T FIND A STORE IN HIS SCHOOL DISTRICT THAT
sold the things he wanted. Which was probably a good thing. A sexual fetish shop probably wouldn’t raise any property values.

The store he’d looked up on the Internet after Charlotte left his office this morning—his personal computer, not his school-issued desktop—was along a stylish mall in a newly refurbished downtown only ten minutes along the freeway. He shared the sidewalk with mothers pushing strollers, poodles prancing at the ends of their leashes, teenagers rushing for after-school coffee drinks or pizza parlors, and a few lovebirds holding hands. The place he had in mind didn’t advertise sexual toys in the window, but instead displayed a variety of skimpy lingerie. Feathered Halloween masks were on sale now that October was over, although Lance figured the masks could be marked back up for Mardi Gras in a few months.

Stepping inside, he found the front room equipped exactly like the window. Racks of colorful bras and panties, a counter displaying bright jewelry and sparkly makeup, hooks on the walls holding costumes and sexy scraps of lace.

“May I help you, sir?” The salesgirl looked young enough to be one of his students. Or worse, his daughter. But if he’d had a daughter, he would have been against the nose ring, the blue hair, and the black fingernail polish, not to mention the short pleated skirt that barely covered her—

He needed to stop being so judgmental. “I’m just browsing,” he said quickly. Under no circumstances would he be able to purchase what he wanted from this . . . girl.

“The garters and bustiers are all on sale this month.” She fluttered exceptionally thick lashes at him.

“Thank you.” He smiled. Charlotte Moore would have a field day with him on this one. She probably recommended sex toys to her clients all the time to spice up their sex lives. Although he was sure that was probably minimizing what she did.

At that point, thankfully, the shop’s door opened again and two ladies entered, providing the diversion he needed to make it to the back room.

He wasn’t a prude, but the kinkiest he’d gotten—before he spanked Charlotte—was using his second wife’s vibrator on her. The experience had been pleasurable enough, until he’d realized she preferred using it on herself when he wasn’t around. Most men would have looked to their own prowess, but Lance had begun to understand that she enjoyed sex in ten-to-fifteen-minute bouts without all the mess and fuss of having to deal with anyone else’s orgasm but her own.

It was this kind of thinking that had given him ideas about Charlotte. He could spank the naughty little wench—
cocksucker
, that still had him laughing—or he could up the stakes with something special. The problem: He had no idea
what
. Hence his shopping trip. He was sure something would catch his eye.

The lingerie racks gave way to a narrow hallway filled with shelves of sexual gag gifts: inflatable dolls, inflatable penises, penis joke books, penis eraser heads. Hah, that would go over well at school.

The hallway opened up into a long room that was twice the size of the front area. Well, hell, here was where all the business was done. And here’s where all the customers were. Couples, women, men. There were shelves of how-to books, erotica for couples, for women, for gays and lesbians. All manner of vibrators covered half a wall, all shapes, sizes, colors, one-speed, two-speed, three-speed. Next to that hung cock rings, cock harnesses, cock plugs, cock pins—uh, no, thank you very much. He didn’t even
want
to know what they were used for. There were gels and heating lotions, wands that looked like feather dusters and would probably cost a hell of a lot less at a discount department store. Leather masks, headgear, hoods, handcuffs, ball gags, nipple clamps, blindfolds, floggers, paddles, leashes, collars. The assortment boggled the mind. But the handcuffs caught his eye. Regular police-style metal handcuffs, leather manacles, fur-lined, silk ties.

“Looking for you or her or him?” A husky voice right next to him.

He hadn’t heard the saleswoman approach. At least she was long past the age of consent, and attractive in an over-the-hill-actress kind of way. He preferred the actresses of his own generation, the ones who played tough, ball-busting executives.

“For her,” he said.

The woman fingered the fur-lined cuffs, sheepskin under leather, with a buckle. “These are comfy.” The blond highlights in her brown hair sparkled in the overhead lamps. She was several years older than Charlotte and had none of Charlotte’s softness.

“She’d probably prefer silk,” he said.

The woman fingered those, too. Her nails were a hard red, her hands unlined, the diamond on her middle finger large. “They’d be a good choice.” She glanced up at him, her eyes an unnatural shade of violet. “New submissive you’re breaking in?”

He gave a wry smile. “More like she’s breaking me in.”

“Ahhh,”
she said on a long sigh. “You’re new to being a dom.”

“I’m not a dom.”

“But she wants to turn you into one.”

He didn’t actually know. But he figured Charlotte for a woman who liked fun and games. And she’d started a new one with him. “We’re both new at this.”

He wondered why he was telling this woman anything. Because she was a saleslady in a sex shop? There was a certain freedom in that.

“Perhaps you need a class or two to show you the ropes.”

“A class?” Oh yeah, this place really did boggle the mind.

“I give personal training. I’ll show you how to tie knots on her, how to truss her up, how to apply nipple clamps so they don’t do any physical damage.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a business card. “We can even dominate her together, if you’d like.” She winked. “Just until you get the gist of it. I’ve worked with a lot of couples. Are you interested in giving her to other men?”

He’d stood in front of an assembly of fifteen hundred students—if you weren’t afraid of teenagers, you weren’t afraid of
anything
—and he had never once in his life found himself speechless. Until this moment.

She slipped the card into the breast pocket of his jacket.

He took one step back. Discovered his voice. “I believe I’ll take the silk cuffs.” He pointed slightly behind and to the right. “And the feather duster.”

She laughed, batted his chest. “It’s a feather
teaser
, silly man. But I like your choices.” She lowered her voice, tapped the pocket where her card lay. “Just call if you need any pointers.” Then she grabbed one of the cock plugs—a bronze circlet shaped like a snake with a head that would go . . . inside. “And I found just what I was looking for.” Carrying her choice, she paid for it at a counter in the back. On her way out, she waggled her fingers at him.

Good God, the woman didn’t work there at all.

At the last moment, before going to the counter himself, Lance pulled a simple no-frills vibrator off the wall to add to the red silk cuffs and overpriced feather duster. Maybe he was a novice. Maybe he was even a prude. But he removed the woman’s card from his pocket and tossed it in a trash can by the register. Handcuffs, feathers, and a vibrator were as far as he was willing to go. At least for now.

6

THE PRINCIPAL’S HOUSE FORMED A T, WITH THE LIVING ROOM, DINING ROOM, AND KITCHEN ACROSS THE FRONT. THE BEDROOMS
were along the length of the T, down a hallway of windows facing a brick patio and a manicured green lawn bordered by a tall privacy hedge.

He’d lit a fire against the cooling November night and taken a seat on the living room sofa situated in front of another bank of windows facing the same patio and lawn as the bedroom hall.

“Now take off your clothes.” He flourished a hand.

“You’re joking, right?” Charlotte had barely walked through the door. He’d directed her to stand in front of a cherrywood coffee table, the fire deliciously warm at her back, the high heels of her shoes sinking into the thick, patterned Persian carpet.

“Don’t argue. Just take your punishment.” His face was impassive in the fire’s glow. He hadn’t turned on a lamp, the only illumination provided by the fire and the light spilling in from the foyer. Dressed in a black pullover sweater and black slacks, he wasn’t much more than a dark shape on the leather sofa.

“But—” It was like sex; you wanted a buildup, although there’d been very little buildup in the detention hall. And she’d gotten wet this evening as she’d showered, shaved, lotioned, and primped. “My clothes.” She pointed to the tight Lycra top that molded to her breasts and the black leggings outlining her hips and thighs. “I dressed for you.”

“So undress for me.” He leaned his elbows on his knees, legs spread wide, and lowered his voice to a seductive pitch that set her skin on a slow burn. “Tuesday was for high schoolers. Tonight’s detention is for big girls. I want you naked. I want to see your skin turn pink and your nipples get hard.” He sat back in his former nonchalant pose. “So take everything off, or I’ll have to come over there and strip you down myself.”

The firelight glowed in his eyes, the look scorching, and suddenly Charlotte wanted to do anything he asked. Crossing her arms, she grabbed the hem of her Lycra top and yanked it over her head, sending it flying and her curls bouncing over her bared shoulders. Then she slipped her fingers beneath the waistband of her leggings and bent, pushing them all the way to her high heels before she stepped out of the shoes.

“Jesus.” There was a new hoarseness in his voice. “Put on the heels again.”

Kicking aside the leggings, she did as he bid, once again standing before the firelight, this time in only underwear and high heels. In the window’s reflection behind him, the firelight shone like a corona around her.

“Perfect.” He rose, skirted the coffee table, and strolled around her to stop at her back. In the reflection, their coronas merged into one, and the warmth of the fire was replaced by the blazing heat of his body. As he loomed behind her, she felt deliciously overwhelmed by his height, her heart in her throat, a throb deep in her belly.

He leaned down. A warm breath whispered across her nape. “Hands behind your back.”

The order sent a shiver through her, straight down to her clitoris. She crossed her wrists at the small of her back and watched him in the window as he reached for something on the mantel. He didn’t bind her with rope as she expected, but instead wrapped something silky around her right wrist, then her left.

“Silk handcuffs.” A tantalizing breath whispered over her again. “Too tight?”

She shook her head and answered as well. “No-o.” Her voice cracked.

She’d asked for a spanking. He was escalating. And drawing her oh-so-willingly along.

He reached to the mantel again. The firelight danced around him as his shadow separated from hers, but she couldn’t make out the object. Until he trailed something soft down her spine, leaving tingles in its wake. Feathers.

He tapped the inside of one foot with his shoe. “Spread your legs wider.”

Charlotte readjusted. Featherlight, he caressed the line of her thong where it bisected her cheeks. She watched him in the window, his gaze intent on her body.

“You have an amazing ass.” He stroked back and forth, up and down. Between the fire and the closeness of his body, her skin was ablaze. She understood what Lola had said, that the words were as important as the actions. It was the whole package that got her blood pumping.

“No spanking this time?” she ventured.

He glanced up, breaking his concentration on her butt. “My dear Miss Moore, your infraction was so egregious that you will need multiple punishments, one of which may or may not be a spanking, depending on how I feel.” His voice dropped to a mere breath of sound. “So stop directing. Stop questioning. And simply do what I tell you.”

“Yes, Principal Hutton.” There was definitely something to be said for giving up her control. She was nothing more than a mass of nerve endings begging for his attention.

The exquisite torture continued, her spine, her bottom, the backs of her thighs, up along the inner thigh, then the feathery softness between her legs. Charlotte barely trapped the moan inside. Then he trailed the waistline of her thong, following it around to the front until he stood before her.

“I’m told it’s called a feather teaser,” he said, his head bent as he swished it—three feathers on a wooden stem—across her mound. “Your breasts are definitely a temptation. I don’t know how I can concentrate on your punishment.” He raised just his eyes. “Perhaps they need their very own punishment.”

Yes, yes, please
. But Charlotte didn’t beg.

The feathers teased their way up to the swell of her breasts above the bra’s demicup. “What a blessing your breasts are, Miss Moore,” he murmured. “I had no idea.”

He surely had, since she wasn’t one to button all the way to the top, but she loved the way he talked, the words a stroke as exquisite as the feathers. She would remember everything for her clients, how each mini-event in the evening affected her, the physical sensations, the emotional tidbits.

With a flick of his wrist, the front clasp of the bra snapped open. Instead of pushing aside the cups, he tickled the feathers beneath the lace. Her nipples peaked. This time, Charlotte allowed herself the moan.

“That sounds like you’re enjoying your punishment, Miss Moore.” His eyes suddenly gleamed with evil intent and he pinched her. Hard. Electric jolts shot straight to her center.

God.
This
was what she’d counseled couples on when their love lives had gone stale. Make each caress unique. Savor one individual touch at a time. Don’t rush. Role play. Drive your partner crazy. The principal was certainly using every technique in the manual.

He pinched her other nipple, stroked the feathers back and forth between her legs. It didn’t matter that she wore the thong; he pushed her to the edge. Her limbs trembled, her belly quivered, her breath panted from her lungs. She didn’t realize she’d closed her eyes until he was suddenly flush against her body, the hard imprint of his cock on her belly.