Page 27 of The Education of Ivy Leavold
I couldn’t nod, not with the way he had my head pinned, but I squeaked out a yes.
“You consented and then you removed your ring and tried to leave. I can’t let that stand, Ivy. I cannot.”
And then there was a sharpcrackand a stinging burn that rocked my entire body. I cried out, moaning into the wood, searching for the right word to say, and then there was anothercrackand I shrieked, the flash of pain taking me more by surprise than the first.
He was spanking me. He was bending me over and slapping my bare ass with his hand. The word I needed—the word I was desperate to say—finally filtered through the pain.Bluebell.But at the same moment, I felt the wetness between my legs.
I was so aroused that I was almost dripping. I moaned again, not from pain this time, but from want. And did I want him to spank me again? I decided that I did.
I turned my head as much as I could, my mouth meeting his thumb, and I bit down as hard as I could. He hissed in anger, snatching his hand away, but he didn’t spank me again.
“I know what you want, wildcat. You may resist my teachings, but you can’t hide that greedy cunt from me. You want me to turn this beautiful ass red and glowing, and one day, I promise you, I will. You will learn to take your discipline any way I choose to dole it out.” He ran a hand from my neck down to my lower back, his touch soft and loving. “You are so beautiful right now, Ivy, bent over for me. I love it when you think you can fight me. But I will love it even more when you have succumbed to your discipline and you take your lesson with eagerness.”
He stepped behind me, so close that I could feel the fabric of his trousers on the back of my legs, and then without warning, he rammed into me, sheathing himself in one rough thrust. I was wet, but still not entirely ready, and so the thrill of pleasure I felt was serrated and jagged, the kind of feeling that curled my toes and hardened my nipples and clenched my core.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he said, and in his words was a slender crack in his armored control. He bent over me as he sawed in and out, kissing my shoulders and biting my back in ferocious bites, as if he wanted to devour me whole. I shuddered and rocked into him, his touch driving me wild. He took my hips in his hands and then swiftly kicked my legs apart to widen his access—and to let him plunge deeper. The wider stance meant I could barely touch the floor, and so he held me up by the hips, driving into me relentlessly as my toes scrabbled for purchase on the carpet.
“Ivy, I feel your pussy swelling. It’s getting tighter and tighter and there—your fingernails on the table. You’re about to gauge the surface.” He leaned in and rasped in my ear. “If you come without my permission, I will flay your ass raw and withhold your pleasure for days…or weeks. That trip to York will seem like child’s play in comparison to the deprivation I can wreak.”
His cock was so big—so big and so hard—and the way he had me lifted up meant that the wide head of his dick was stroking the irresistible spot inside. The spot that turned off my brain and made me into a rutting animal.
“I can’t stop,” I said breathily. “You…you’re too good and your cock…oh Julian, it’s making me feel so good.”
“Fuck.”
His name. It was his name that did it. I often forgot it was my best weapon; for whatever reason, it undid him, snagging at the cracks in his control. With a growl that bordered on a roar, he pulled out and grabbed me by the back of my neck—truly like a cat this time, snatching me off the table and forcing me over to the tall windows against the far wall. My bound hands made it nearly impossible to avulse myself from his grip.
He took my silk-wrapped wrists and lifted them high above my head. “What are you—” And then I was pressed—no,smashed—against the cold, cold glass, pressed from my swollen clitoris to my breasts to my cheek, which was turned to the side. The window was a cold shock to my system, and my nipples beaded uncomfortably as goose bumps raced across my skin. My climax retreated, oh so slowly, as painful as withdrawing a splinter from the skin. I whined against the glass, my breath creating fogged clouds that advanced and disappeared, advanced and disappeared, hypnotic in the way they matched the pounding of my heart.
“You will not come until I say.” Another stinging slap across my backside. “Is that clear, Miss Leavold?”
I nodded slowly, feeling almost like a snake under the charm of a pipe-player. My conscious mind tried valiantly to make sense of all the pushes and pulls of Mr. Markham’s will and my own, of the impossibly numerous sensations and tingling nerve endings and thwarted mating instincts. It couldn’t.
“Good,” Mr. Markham said, and then he patted my head, stroking my hair softly. “That’s a good pet.” His words sunk in through my misted mind, strangely soothing. “You want to make me happy, don’t you? You want to please your teacher?”
Yes. God yes.I nodded, eagerly this time. Yes, that was what I wanted. For his wide smile to crack that strict expression, for his faint smile lines to crease around those forbidding eyes. I wanted to hear him say that he loved me. I wanted him to praise me.
I was brought over to the sofa, led by my wrists, and then Mr. Markham sat. His shaft was slick and wet and dark now, though I could still see the blue traceworks of his throbbing veins, veins that fed the monster jutting out from his hips. “I’m not going to come in your cunt,” he told me. “But you are going to ride me until I am ready to. It is yourtaskto make me come.” He reached down and cupped his heavy balls, exposed by his open trousers. “I need to come hard, Ivy, do you understand? I need to drain every last drop.” He leaned back. “And if you accomplish this task well, you will be rewarded after your punishment.”
My cunt pulsed at the thought. Reward. Praise.
Love.
He inclined his head ever so slightly, giving me consent, and I climbed onto him as fervently as a sinner dropping to her knees in church. My tied wrists made it difficult to position myself, and he didn’t help. He rested his arms on the back of the sofa, watching me intently, doing nothing to guide himself inside my soaking wet pussy. Finally, I managed, and I drew in a sharp breath at how good he felt, how good it all felt, and I sank down to the root, wiggling a little to impale myself fully.
“Put your hands behind your head. I want to see those tits bounce.”
I did as I was ordered and began rocking myself on his cock, grinding my clit against him, feeling my orgasm pulse back into life in mere seconds—
His hands shot out and lifted me up, until only the head of his cock was still notched in my cleft. “No,” he admonished me. “Bad girl.” He let me sink slowly back down. “Up and down only. You are not to come. You are here to fuck me until I spurt, nothing else.”
I knew I was whimpering but my resistance was melting away.
Why fight? Why fight, because when I obeyed, he gave me that look of kingly approval and animal desire, fused into one terrifyingly perfect glance—like he was ready to give me his kingdom and fuck me until I sobbed all at the same moment. No, the fight was fading, leaving nothing left but us, but our true selves and our true souls, and the slick sound of my folds embracing his organ, a sound older than any other human sound.
I put my hands behind my head again and kept moving up and down, my thighs—strong from all of my climbing and running and walking—easily lifting me up and down, up and down.
“More,” he said lazily, leaning his head back. His eyes were hooded. “Faster.”
