Page 99 of Wicked Little Secret
The paddle knocks what little air remains out of me. I slump over the front of the desk, panting and shaking and aching as my mask finally slips.
It falls away, and next thing I know, I’m spilling my secret.
Hot, unshed tears brim my eyes and I’m telling Professor Adler about my father who was murdered decades ago. My mother who was ostracized. My childhood which began with the likes of Heather Driscoll, Samson Wicker, and their posse tormenting me.
The paddle slips from Professor Adler’s hand and thuds onto the floor. He gathers me up in his arms, lifting me from where I’ve collapsed against the desk and tilting my head to the side for a look at him.
“Why have you never told me this before?”
“I don’t normally go around telling every person I meet my trauma—or that I’m mimicking the crimes of some serial killer in a plot for revenge.”
His thumb strokes my cheek. “The authorities won’t trace Wicker back to you. We left the scene clean enough. No evidence or anything else traceable. The Valentine card will keep police occupied. Your alibi for that night is that you were studying late at the campus library. The computersystem will show you checked out a book. I have known the librarian Ms. Chlebek for twenty years. She will corroborate this. Understand?”
“Yes… but… why?”
“Jackson Wickerwasa terrible person. I have no sympathy for him.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“But understand,” he goes on, peering intensely into my eyes, “if you do something like this again, today will be a cake walk. I willnotbe happy with you.”
“Yes, Professor. I understand.”
“I don’t think you do, Miss Oliver. The punishment’s not over. Hands on the desk.”
Words escape me as his warmth fades and his arms disappear from my sides. He steps back as if waiting for me to get in position. A whine almost starts up in my chest. Pain still stings my ass cheeks from the wooden paddle.
I’m not sure I can take many more. Even as wet and turned on as I am.
I flatten my hands on the desk and spread my legs.
Professor Adler reaches into the drawer to withdraw two items I can’t make out before he’s disappearing behind me again. The back of my skirt’s tossed up over me so that I’m exposed and at his mercy.
Nerves flutter away. I focus on my breathing, waiting for the reveal.
I hear the click of a cap and then crinkle of a plastic bottle. “Have you ever been fucked up your ass, Miss Oliver?”
My eyes go big. “What?! No! Never.”
“Never?”
“No, Professor. Not once.”
“Well, today will be a first. We’ll begin byeasing you into it. Lucky for you, Miss Oliver, I brought the smallest plug today.”
A stunned breath sputters out of me. Once again, words elude me.
“Not so lucky for you, Miss Oliver,” he goes on, “you’ll have to wear it quite a while. That plump ass of yours should adjust nicely in due time.”
Slick, cool liquid slips over my flesh.
Lube.
His fingers gather the liquid, circling my puckered, untouched hole. I squeak when he penetrates me with a single digit, sliding in then out to begin preparation.
“Very, very tight,” he says. “I can’t wait to see this hole swallow the plug right up.”
His words are spoken so matter-of-factly yet carry an arousing element that makes my pussy spasm. I’m struggling to breathe as Professor Adler fingers my rear hole. He goes slow and gentle for a few minutes, then pushes me harder.