Page 29 of Folds
“Yes, Professor.” I bend over, chest against the cool wood of the desk, hips raised high.
I don’t try to hide anything from her. She can see and have all of me, my pussy and ass. It’s hers. I can still taste her cunt on my lips, feel the heat of her against my cheek, the way her folds parted for me as I pushed my nose deep into her lap, and I would do any embarrassing thing she asked to keep her close.
Professor Kane tried to hold me back.
I’m not sure why, when I’m begging for it all and more.
“You will tell me if it’s too much, Lucy,” she says.
I nod, eyes glazed and body eager, as I mumble, “Uh huh.”
“Speak up and look at me when I ask you a question,” she growls, cracking the broken pointer against her palm.
My pussy spasms at the command, and I twist, keeping my ass up and on display as I lock onto her gaze.
Professor Kane is hidden mostly in shadow, with only the silver light of the moon to illuminate her silhouette. Her frame is broader than I remember it being when I first entered, taller and curvier too, like her whole body has swelled in size. Her hair is nearly free of her tight ponytail, curling around her face in chaotic abandon. Cool light bounces off her eyes so they appear a glowing red; I could so easily lose myself in the intensity.
“I will tell you if it’s too much,” I sputter out. “I promise.”
“Good girl,” she smiles and my knees suddenly go weak. I can’t hold myself up.
Her arm shoots out, cupping my pussy, she lifts the weight of my large ass and thighs with one hand to set me back on my feet.
“Oh fucking Christ, you’re strong.” I nearly come on the spot, feeling her fingers, thicker than I remember, brush over my bare, sensitive folds.
But then, her hand is gone, and I’m left shaking as the first firm whack of the pointer strikes my ass. It sounds harsher than it feels, leaving my skin hot and tingling, but with little pain. Another whack, and my flesh hums. Another, and my hips jump to meet the stick.
“You’re so eager to please,” she says, curiosity lifting the deep huskiness of her voice. “Does pleasing me turn you on, Lucy? You are so very good at it. Tell me truthfully.”
Another whack, and I scream, “Yes, yes! I’ve never been wetter than when I’m around you. That’s why I could never sit still in your class.”
“Fuck, Lucy, ” she moans as she strikes again, my skin burning hot.
“I almost came watching you teach once,” I tell her. Each confession ratchets up my pleasure, as if the more I expose myself to her and the more she accepts it, the more physically and emotionally closer I get to orgasming. “You called out a student for cheating or something, and you were angry and beautiful… He was so scared…”
Another whack, and my ass jumps.
“I squeezed my thighs tight and held my purse in my lap, hiding my hand as I pressed the heel of my palm against my cunt. Everyone was focused on you. I couldn’t look away either; you looked like you were going to tear him apart. I almost got there… I was so, so close, but then the class ended, and I had to finish myself off in the faculty bathroom.”
“And you liked me terrifying him? You liked me being scary and aggressive and loud?” she asks, her voice suddenly cautious, and I don’t quite understand the question. How could I not be attracted to her when she can command the emotions of an entire room with only her voice?
“Yes. I love it all,” I gasp.
It is suddenly loud behind me. There is a growl and a hiss, metal squeaking over wood as desks shift and chairs rattle, but Professor Kane hasn’t told me to turn around, so I stay in position. The stick clatters to the floor once more, and then silence.
Something hot and wet—saliva?—drips onto my ass and slides down over my asshole. I want her to touch me there too, and I arch my back and shove my ass out, searching for her hand or thigh or any part of her she wants to touch me with.
“Please,” I beg, “it’s all yours.I’mall yours.”
“I know, Lucy. That’s the problem.” Her voice is so husky, it seems to vibrate over my skin. It awakens any sleepy nerve ending that hadn't already been thoroughly aroused by the caning until my whole body is just a sensitive bundle of nerves so desperate to be allowed to get off, I think I might scream.
Professor Kane’s surprisingly wide hand palms my pussy once more, and I cry out in relief. She called me a problem, but I can’t think about it now.
“There you go, my angel, my pet. This is what you wanted and what you took the cane for,” her voice, smokey with desire, rumbles as her fingers slide between my slick folds.
“Yes, yes.”
Her skin is thicker than I would’ve guessed, almost like leather, and she has soft, downy hair on her arms, tickling theinside of my thighs. Her nails are so long, the tips tug on the curls of my pubic hair. She is careful with them, curving her fingers so as not to cut me. The danger of it brings me closer to the brink.
