* * *
He leaned back and gestured at me, seeming to come to a decision. “Take off the rest of your clothes.” I kicked off my shoes and wrestled with my belt, rushing before he could change his mind.
Frowning, I went as slowly I as could manage, peeling my jeans down my legs at what felt like a snail’s pace, finally standing there in just my shorts.
I found myself in the same position as before, in the classroom, my back to him, with no idea what he was doing or thinking. The same anxious heat prickled my neck as I waited.
“Very sweet. Come over here and sit on my lap.”
I turned around to voice my displeasure, not a fan of being called sweet. Or anything nice. But my protests died on my lips when I saw the look in his eyes.
“I don’t do no.” His voice was cold and rough. “And I don’t do safewords or any of that shit. If you want this, you want it and you do what I say. If you don’t, you tell me now.”
“Come over here,” he said again. “You’re gonna like this.”
I didn’t argue this time, didn’t even hesitate. He stopped me when I stood in front of him, and tugged my shorts down, all but ignoring my leaking cock as he pulled me down onto his lap. His touch was heavy and firm, and it felt surprisingly nice to lean back against him, but also, well, just strange. I couldn’t remember the last time someone held me that way, but it hadn’t been anytime recently. For all I knew, it was Santa at the mall. But I sure as fuck hadn’t been naked.
His cock was hard underneath me, and I could feel the heat from his body against my back. He ran his hands from my shoulders, down my arms, and around me, and I started to relax despite myself.
“That’s right.” He stroked my stomach with his fingertips. “Good boy.”
I tensed again, started to bristle and squirm, and immediately, he tipped me forward, dumping the top half of my body onto the floor. I put my arms out to catch myself before my face smashed into the carpet.
“What—” I then I couldn’t form words, because as he hooked me under my knees, I knew exactly what he was doing. He pulled my legs back, tucked one on either side of him, and suddenly my body had completely flipped. I was face down, ass up, wheelbarrow style— a term I knew from watching a thousand spanking videos.
He rubbed his hand over the dimples on the sides of my ass, stroking the parts I’d been obsessing over. After a lifetime of never being touched, nothing had ever felt so intense, so incredible— his warm hands all over my skin, so close to everything I wanted him to be touching.
“Put your arms down,” he said, continuing to rub me. I’d been holding myself up, push up style, and lowered myself onto my elbows. My arms felt better, but my legs seemed to lose all their power, go loose and almost numb, like a magic trick.
“Let’s see how good you are at following directions,” he said. He played with the curve of my ass, scratched my thighs. “Tell me what you think is going to happen to you in this position. Ass up over my lap this way? I’ll bet you know, smart boy.”
I thought I did, but that word wasn’t in my vocabulary.
“You’re going to s-smack me?”
“Now that’s not the word you want to use, is it? I want you to say the word that makes all the blood rush to your cock. The one that makes you feel all kinds of naughty.”
The blood did rush to my cock, and my face, just thinking about it. If he was going to spank me, I was going to die. But I’d die without saying the word, because as filthy as some of my thoughts were, there were certain things I couldn’t say out loud.