Teach Me Tender, Teach Me Rough Read online

  Victor took his place behind Chloe’s ass. He ordered her to spread. In an act of absolute faith and total submission she parted her knees, fully revealing her moist pink lips.

  He could tear her to shreds if he wished.

  “Are you ready, Chloe?” He sounded patient, magnanimous.

  “Yes, Master,” she replied, trancelike. “Whip me…”

  He landed the first blow, the leather dancing, a whirling, choreographed, miniature dervish that ended in the snapping of the tip on her white buttock, just to the right of her asshole.

  Chloe did not budge.

  He landed a second blow, harsher, raising an instant welt.

  She lowered her head, her strained breathing the only indication of her suffering. Cameron couldn’t imagine the pain involved…or the pleasure for that matter, because Chloe’s sex was clearly dripping, simultaneous to her beating.

  Two more followed in rapid succession, one landing the long way across the ass, the other cleaving her buttock cheeks.

  Chloe broke discipline crying out.

  Victor reacted savagely, lashing her back, one blow that brought her down to her belly. He said nothing, waiting for her to struggle back into position.

  “Wider,” he commanded, compelling her to spread her legs further.

  “Count to five,” he ordered now, insuring her verbal participation.

  With a broken voice she demarcated her own misery, a clean separation of blows, though there was scarcely any break, one following so quickly on the heels of the previous.

  “Chloe,” he called her name when he was done.

  She struggled to turn and face him. Looking up at him there was nothing but devotion in her eyes.

  “Put this away.” He dropped the whip on the floor in front of her.

  “But…”

  He gave her no chance to finish. “No,” he said simply with a callous finality that cut Cameron to the quick.

  The cruel bastard…to reject her after all this.

  “You,” Victor said now to Cameron. “Go home, student, the lesson is over.”

  Chapter Two

  Craig was sound asleep when Cameron got home. She was so horny she could hardly wait to get her clothes off. Her breasts actually hurt as she peeled away the cups of the sweat soaked cotton bra.

  It was like a guilty secret, the dark wetness between her thighs, the musky evidence of her submissive arousal staining her panties.

  She shivered as she touched herself, raking her fingernails over her belly, fantasizing. How was Chloe suffering right this minute? She had taken so much for Victor and asked only his love in return.

  He’d rejected her without a second thought. Would she be tied to the mattress and left for the night for a proper dose of humiliation? Or would she be put in that terrible little cage, whimpering and naked?

  Cameron hated to wake Craig just for his hard cock but she needed it so bad. She couldn’t help herself, right?

  Slut.

  She slapped her own ass, compelling her body forward. Whatever pride held her back, she must abandon it. She didn’t deserve to be a lady, no composure, no reserve. Not after what she had seen tonight, what she had felt.

  She had been jealous of a poor, whipped woman. And she’d been angry, too, wanting Chloe to suffer more, the stupid bitch, sucking up to Victor.

  Master’s little pet. All the good it would do her tonight. Only her whipped, welted ass for company. How dare Chloe talk down to her, like Cameron was the dummy? Who was it did the shoe licking tonight and who got to watch?

  Sure proof of Cameron’s superiority. As if she needed it.

  But, oh, to have a man kiss you like that, just how he wants to, absolutely no civilized restraints. They were all like that, weren’t they--every man a wild beast deep inside wanting his female in chains?

  Victor was one of the honest ones. That was the only difference.

  So what did that say about Craig? Damn him, anyway.

  Cameron crawled into bed, teeth bared. He would have to beat her down or she would tear him to shreds.

  Fuck Victor for making her feel like this.

  She would be damned if she went crawling back to him another time. And that’s what it would be, too. Crawling, politely begging and saying thank you for the privilege of putting up with his shit.

  Like he was god’s gift.

  “Craig…Craig.” She grabbed at his upper arm, pushing her breasts into him from behind. “Come on, baby, wake up.”

  He stirred, making those little sleepy sounds.

  Fuck, he was too slow.

  Rolling him onto his back she made a play for his cock. He stiffened in a hurry between her greedy lips.

  “Cameron,” he murmured. “Take it easy, sweetie. Let me do something nice for you.”

  She came up for air, her hair a tangled mess around her face. “Nothing nice…”

  How the hell could she explain?

  “Just fuck me, baby.”

  He tugged her upwards, face to face for a kiss.

  Gentle, equal, giving.

  Asking permission.

  “God damn it, Craig.”

  “What, Cameron? Jeezus!”

  She rubbed herself like an alley cat, knowing that she must beg, shaming herself by spelling out exactly what it was she needed. “Can you just take me, push your cock in me and…and get off?”

  He looked at her genuinely perplexed. “But I love you, baby.”

  “I love you, too.” She was close to tears. “Just…just do this for me.”

  Craig tried to calm her, thinking she needed reassurance. Taking matters into her own hands she climbed on top of him, impaling herself on his long, hot shaft. Grasping her hair, she pulled tight, making it hurt, like he was forcing her to do this, making her be his slut, his little fuck toy.

  She began to bounce up and down, her breasts shuddering, her pelvis slamming against his. Moaning, she tried to hold back her orgasm.

  This wasn’t about her, not for her pleasure.

  Except it felt so goddamn good.

  She imagined Victor, watching, smirking.

  The things he had done to Chloe…

  Everything had led up to the monster whip, the one he had called the snake.

  Like the snake in Eden, ripping and seducing every ounce of pride and freedom from its victim, making her crave the pain, the violation, the sizzling possession.

  “For fuck’s sake, girl!” Craig growled in protest now, clearly thrown by her frenetic fucking performance.

  Good, they were getting somewhere, finally.

  Just need to channel the emotions, she thought.

  “I just wanted you to act like a real man…for once.”

  Craig’s eyes flashed, wounded.

  “What’s the matter?” she taunted. “Need to run home to mommy? I’m sure she’s waiting.”

  The insult hit too close to home.

  “Bitch,” he snarled.

  Craig flung Cameron onto her back, pinning her hands overhead. Almost at once her insane resistance turned into soft acceptance, legs splayed wide, pussy receiving him in a single thrust.

  “Oh, Craig, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  Craig fucked her hard, beyond speech at this point.

  “Yes, that’s it, honey. Punish me with your cock. Show me what a bitch I am.”

  He reared back, roaring like a lion. His seed blasted into her. She felt taken, used, but it wasn’t enough.

  She wanted more.

  But what exactly?

  “Sweetie, I don’t know what came over me. Are you all right? Here, let me…”

  “Don’t touch me.” The last thing she needed was his hands on her, gentle and loving.

  Didn’t he know what she was, where she belonged?

  “Cameron, where are you going?”

  She went straight to the bathroom, locking herself in. He gave up trying to get her to come out after a half hour of knocking and pleading.

  “Suit yourself.” He sighe
d at last, displaying that damnable even temperedness of his. “At least this way you will have a head start on your morning shower.”

  In no mood for levity, Cameron sat against the tub, hugging her knees, just as Chloe had prior to her whipping. Tears stung her cheeks. She tasted them, salty and bitter.

  Between her legs, come was dripping, hers and his. Wicked and dark, she applied her finger tips, swathing. Over and over she sucked her fingers clean imagining that she had no choice, that she was someone’s property, there for amusement and humiliation.

  Victor lived for stuff like this and she had no doubt his sadistic mind was endlessly inventive. He would be fascinating to interview…but what if he wanted more?

  She couldn’t afford it.

  I’ll talk to Professor Myles, she told herself. I will excuse myself from the assignment, ask for a new topic and if he asks for a reason I will tell him it’s no one’s business.

  It wasn’t like she had chosen the topic. Slips of paper had been passed around the room and when she opened hers she had read the four letters, so deceptive in their simplicity.

  BDSM.

  He wasn’t sending her a message, was he?

  She tried to imagine his response when she refused the assignment. Would he offer one of those little shrugs, or maybe arch an eyebrow. Maybe he would clear his throat in that subtle way of his.

  It was at this point she remembered the journaling portion of the project. Could she really write down all that had happened? If she did, she wouldn’t be able to show a living soul, least of all Jeremy.

  Her eyes flickered once, twice in the direction of the hairbrush on the back of the sink.

  Slut.

  The word popped into her head as if of its own accord. Victor had called Chloe a slut. She lived the title, performing to his specifications, no holds barred. Cameron was different. She had one man. She had normal sex.

  But she had enjoyed her time in the club. It had aroused her. And she had wanted Craig to treat her like a little bitch afterwards.

  Slut.

  Cameron reached up for the hairbrush, gently pressing it to her lips.

  Go on, you have it coming.

  “No,” she whispered but it was too late. She was on her feet, pushing out her insolent, virgin ass.

  The brush hurt. Blow after blow making her sting and squirm. She whimpered to keep back the moans. Irresistibly her hand went between her legs. It was the biggest orgasm of her life, fast and hot, a volcano that brought her to her knees, panting, helpless she took hold of her nipple. Pinching it, squeezing, gasping for life she rubbed her knuckles over her clit torturing herself with a second orgasm and then a third…alone on the bathroom tiles, no master to enjoy it, no hand to push her head down, down to his feet….to kiss and lick.

  At long last she collapsed onto her side in a ball, half sleeping, half crying.

  The dawn brought reason back, but with it came a whole new host of fears.

  What if it’s too late to resist?

  What if I’m stuck as a submissive?

  No, not just submissive, she thought, her belly tightening into a hot ball.

  There was another word for it.

  Chloe was one.

  A slave.

  Cameron shivered, turning the shower on.

  The water would wash it all away…it had to.

  ***

  “Miss Blaine.” Jeremy Myles announced her arrival without looking up from his desk.

  Cameron tried to keep her voice from quivering. Myles was a good looking man, intense with dark hair and a dark goatee. He had a body, too, she had seen him swimming at the recreation center, intensely slicing the water, lap after effortless lap.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you,” she managed, feeling naked and cold as the gallows in the doorway. “I could come back another time.”

  Myles’ brow furrowed in instant disapproval. She found the expression unsettling. It was like everything had been multiplied, the least little thing cutting her to the quick.

  Scratch that, the least little thing done by the males in whose presence she found herself. First Craig, now Jeremy. Not to mention all the clueless studs she had passed on the way here, fraternity boys, jocks, lacking the slightest notion of a woman’s real needs.

  In her mind they were transformed, though, into gods, lords of wrath and punishment and control.

  “What else are office hours for, Miss Blaine? Come in and have a seat.”

  The leather wingback seemed impossibly far away. She tried to make it in one step, half leaping and sliding herself deep into the rich material. Taking a breath, she took in her surroundings. Jeremy Myles office had that typical professorial look to it, books piled everywhere on the desk, the floor and on a full set of floor to wall bookshelves.

  She noted the single photograph of a young woman in a black turtleneck on his desk. She looked beautifully sad, her lips pursed, eyes faraway barely catching the light of the camera.

  If Cameron were some silly undergraduate and not a doctoral student she would ask who the woman was. Instead she got right to business. “I would like a new assignment for the field project.”

  There, she had said it, the worst was over.

  “Oh?” He leaned back, the very picture of open-mindedness.

  It was her cue to offer an explanation. Fortunately she had given the matter thought. “Remember how you told us we must never pursue any research that endangers our personal relationships?”

  He arched a single clean brow. “And this has happened to you…so soon?”

  She cleared her throat, knowing she was skating now on the thin ice of self revelation. “I had something of a seminal moment last night. I, um, transferred something on to my boyfriend I shouldn’t have.”

  His expression was clinical, non-judgmental. “Are you saying you observed some act of BDSM play at the club last night and then you went home and wanted your boyfriend to act out something new with you, is that it?”

  Cameron squirmed in the seat, fighting the unwanted warmth in the seat of her jeans. How could she ever tell her handsome teacher she had beaten her own ass with a hair brush after damn near forcing Craig to rape her?

  “It’s a little more complicated,” she evaded.

  He pursed his lips. “And you’ve reflected on the experience in your journal?”

  Cameron looked down at her hands.

  “Miss Blaine, you can’t possibly reach any conclusion without some serious self-analysis. I structure the assignments as I do for a reason.”

  “Yes, I know…I’m sorry.”

  Her cheeks turned red now as she pictured Victor in the room, in the flesh, listening in, smiling in that hellish way of his.

  Why had Jeremy given her this assignment, that’s what she wanted to know.

  “I’m not a submissive.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Cameron blanched. Had she said the words aloud? To whom was she talking? Herself, Victor, Jeremy? The entire world?

  Cameron looked down at her lap, mortified. It had been hell this morning, walking around terrified of being rejected by the man she loved, feeling like the biggest basket case on the planet.

  She had hovered around him so badly after her shower he finally had to tell her to back off.

  “Cam, I can put my own sugar in my coffee, jeezus, will you chill out.”

  “I’m sorry, baby.” She had almost broken down in tears. She hadn’t known whether to confess her weird infidelity with the hair brush or run away screaming for the nearest loony bin.

  “You know,” Jeremy said gently. “It’s not unusual for people to go into psychology as a means of compensating for their own perceived problems. Generally they are no more messed up than others. They were just born with a certain hypersensitivity.”

  “If you’re trying to tell me I’m not crazy, I know that. I just can’t deal with BDSM. Is that so terrible?”

  Resorting to the oldest trick in the book, Jeremy turned the tables “Do you think
it’s terrible?”

  Something in her snapped. “Don’t try and analyze me, not over this. You want to know how last night went, really? Fine, I’ll tell you. First I took your little Willie Wonka ticket and I watched this asshole sadist beat and humiliate this totally sweet model and then I went home so freaked out I jumped on Craig like a bitch in heat and after that I hid in the bathroom and punished myself with a hairbrush.”

  Jeremy didn’t flinch. “How did your boyfriend take it?”

  “He got so mad he fucked me like an animal and you have no idea how embarrassed I am about the whole thing.”

  “You didn’t climax?”

  “There wasn’t time.” Cameron felt her defenses breaking down. She wanted to tell him more, if only he would listen.

  A single brow snapped upward, the motion reminding her of Victor’s lightning fast whip. “There wasn’t time or you held yourself back?”

  Her silence spoke volumes.

  Jeremy shrugged. “The way I see it, you let your boyfriend help you work out a psychosexual tension point through mutually consenting role play, sounds perfectly appropriate to me.”

  Cameron wondered if she should tell him about beating herself with the brush afterwards. Likely he would have some clinical explanation for that, too, but for some reason, she didn’t want it reduced in such a way.

  Let it stay secret…sacred almost.

  “It was like I needed to be held down and violated,” she said. “When he tried to be kind to me afterwards I wanted to be sick.”

  “You never felt this way before with him?”

  She shook her head.

  “So your visit to the club triggered some subconscious impulses.”

  “Is that really possible?”

  “Anything’s possible when it comes to sex. I assume you’ve had fantasies, somewhere along the line.”

  “Fantasies?”

  “Imagined scenarios of submission, forced sex, corporal punishment?”

  The room heated quickly. It was supposed to be counseling but it felt dirty. “When I was a teenager, late at night, I would touch myself under the covers, thinking about…whips and such.”

  “You would imagine men punishing you with a whip?”