Page 30 of Taming His Teacher

“You mind driving back if I want a drink?”

“Sure.”

I don’t bother explaining that if I thought I could actually trust anyone here, I’d be happy to get fucked up. Relieved. Let me forget for a few hours about Erin Brewster. She’s been making unwanted appearances in my dreams since I met her, but after graduation, it’s been worse. It’s worse because I know what it feels like to have her lips against mine, have her kiss me back.

For the most part over the summer I’d been too busy working, watching Caleb or sleeping. Showers were a three-minute exercise in waking myself up and scrubbing shampoo in my hair and passing whatever sliver of soap was left in the shower over myself.

But now, I’m busy but I’m not that busy, and I’m tired but not sacked out. My dick has woken up from its summer hibernation. And the girls. Holy fuck, the girls. They’re All. Over. I’m not used to their high voices echoing through the halls of everywhere, or their girl smells or the short shorts. Real girls actually dress like that?

I’d thought the flirting was bad at school dances when we’d meet up with the girls’ school in the next town over, but add alcohol and kids away from home for the first time and you get explosions of sexual aggression. I’m flattered by the attention but it feels wrong to me. They don’t know anything about me. How do they know I’m not an asshole who’d treat them badly? Do they care? They should care.

Pointless as it may be, I can’t get rid of the nugget of hope that someday, somehow, I might be able to be with Erin. That miniscule possibility is enough to keep her as the yardstick in my head against which I measure all others.

All I can think when the round little redhead who lives down the hall leans in my doorway to ask me to kill a spider is that she’s too insistent, not mild like Erin. The Asian girl who times her gym workouts to flirt with us when we’re coming and going from practice? Smells too spicy and wears too much makeup, not subtle like Erin. Even the knockout blonde in my multivariable calculus class? Not as smart as Erin.

Now sugar tits.Yeah, lady, I’m the designated driver.She taps my nose with an acrylic nail. “Coming right up, honey.”

I should’ve found some empty carrel in the library to hole up in. A number starts on the main stage and war whoops go up around me. I do my best to ignore the cowgirl strip routine going on, when there’s a hand on my shoulder.

“Shep. Come on, man.”

It’s Paul. He’s cocking his head toward a low-lit door in a corner of the club with its own bouncer. “What? We going to the champagne room?”

“There’s a reason I picked this shithole. Tudor’s coming, too. Come on.”

I drain my water, setting down the empty glass with a few bucks under it, and slip out of my seat, ignoring the boos of the guys whose views I block. I shove my hands in my pockets as we head over. Paul’s looking over his shoulder to make sure we aren’t being followed, but all eyes are glued to the girl who’s down to a G-string, chaps and a Stetson.

Paul thrusts his pointy chin at the bouncer, who nods us in, and when the door opens… Holy shit.

I’ve seen this in the occasional porno but never in real life. Holy. Fucking. Shit.

“Close your mouth, dude. Be cool.”

Paul nudges me with an elbow. I do my best to plaster a look of cool disinterest on my face, but this might be my biggest challenge ever.

There’s a girl strapped over some kind of bench and a guy is whaling on her ass with a… I don’t even know what to call that thing. It’s maybe leather? Got a handle and a bunch of separate strands that are spreading over her reddened ass cheeks with every blow. Whatever it is, it’s making the girl scream, but not in pain.

“Nice, right?”

“What the—”

“Sit down, shut the fuck up and enjoy. You want some more water, you pussy?”

“Yeah.”

We dump ourselves into seats at an empty table at the front to watch the show. Though I was watching a mostly naked chick with a bunch of guys a few minutes ago and I didn’t blink, this makes me squirm. The faux leather is tacky and the place grimy, but there’s something about this…

My uncomfortable musings are interrupted by the woman’s voice. She’s stopped screaming and instead she’s begging, her voice tight and desperate. “Please, sir, please, sir.”

“Please what, you slut?” the guy asks, punctuating his question with a hard slap of the tool to the backs of her thighs.

“Please, sir, may I come, sir? Oh, please.”

The tightening in my gut had loosened when he’d called her a slut, but it springs back tighter than ever.

“Go on, you horny little bitch in heat. I want to see you come.”

And she does. She fucking does. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I’m no expert and I’ve seenWhen Harry Met Sally, but I’m almost certain she’s not faking it. I can’t help but imagine how Erin would look; bound like that, begging like that,cominglike that, but for me, not this guy. I wonder if the girl likes the name-calling or if it’s something that gets just him off. Her cries of pleasure are ebbing and the guy’s stopped hitting her. He’s stroking her cherry-red ass and she’s mewling these gaspy sighs of satisfaction. It’s then I realize I’m hard as a fucking rock, and unlike during the talent show going on in the main club, I haven’t dragged my eyes away from this scene since we came in. My water sits in front of me untouched.

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