Fifty Days of Sin

Copyright © by Serena Dahl
2012

Published at Smashwords

Wednesday, 22 February

I’M REALLY NOT IN THE RIGHT
state of mind for work. I’m trying to plough through a stack of
papers, but when I know that Michael is due to knock on the door
any minute I’m prone to drift off into the land of fantasy.

I’m sitting at my desk when I
hear the knock, and I get up and open the door.

“Michael. Do come in,” I say
icily.

My visitor walks into the room
and shuts the door behind him. Every time I see him I am struck
anew by his physical attractiveness. Tall and athletic, with
slightly curly brown hair, a hint of stubble, blue eyes and
chiselled cheekbones, he is just my type.

“Hi,” he says.

I’m tall for a woman, and even
when I wear high heels Michael towers over me. But despite his
height advantage, I have the upper hand. And it’s not because I’m
the one with the doctorate, four published titles on my subject,
and a post as a lecturer at one of the greatest academic
institutions in the world, while he is just a final year
student.

I have the upper hand because
we’re embroiled in a game that we’ve been playing for some time
now.

“You’re fifteen minutes late,
Michael,” I reply with pointedly raised eyebrows.

“
Oh,” he says.
“Sorry.”

“Sorry? Is that all you’ve got
to say for yourself?”

There’s a little smile playing
around the corners of his mouth. He stays silent.

“Your lateness indicates a
certain lack of respect, Michael. When you make an appointment I
expect you to keep it. So why do you never turn up on time?”

“I was just running late,” he
replies.

“Is that all you’ve got to say
for yourself?”

He is silent, waiting, still
with that hint of a smile on his face.

“Come here,” I tell him and pull
a key out of my pocket. He takes it. “Lock the door, Michael.”

Obediently, he does as he’s
told, then turns around and looks at me in anticipation, a frank
look of lust on his face. I try my hardest not to break into a
grin.

“Take off your clothes,” I order
him, sitting down again in the swivel chair by my desk and facing
him.

He glances to the window. The
blinds are open; but it’s high up in the wall of the room and it’s
quite a small window. “Michael, we’re on the third floor and no-one
overlooks this room. The door is locked. Now if you keep on
hesitating you’re only going to make things worse for
yourself.”

I watch as he unfastens his
belt, then undoes the fly on his jeans and pulls them down. He
steps out of his jeans, Converse trainers and socks, then pulls his
t-shirt up over his head and flings it to the floor.

I understand from my colleagues
who tutor Michael in English Literature that he’s one of their most
promising students. Very intelligent and articulate, he has a real
enthusiasm for his subject and a disarmingly self-deprecating sense
of humour.

But right now, it’s difficult to
see him as anything except a sex object.

And he really does have a good
body. A little bit on the skinny side, but with quite developed
muscles for his age: he’s just twenty-one, only a few years into
adulthood. He obviously finds time to get to the gym; he has nice
abs, not too defined, just the hint of a six pack. About six foot
three, I would guess, with large powerful thighs and a very, very
nice bottom. I can’t see it right now, but over the last few weeks
I have become very fond of that firm behind. As for his face, he’s
a very nice looking young man indeed. Chiselled cheekbones,
slightly pouting lips, cute hair – mid brown and slightly curly -
and a covering of stubble where he didn’t shave this morning.

“That’s enough for the minute,”
I stop him. He’s standing there in a pair of tight black trunks and
nothing else. I look him up and down, making him wait to see what I
will order him to do next. As he stands in front of me, my eyes
linger on the package inside that tight-fitting underwear. He’s
already hard.

“You like it when I tell you
what to do, don’t you, Michael?” I ask, pointedly looking at the
evidence of his arousal.

“
Yes,” he
answers, one eyebrow raised.

“But you made a very big mistake
when you turned up late. Again. And what makes it worse is that I
know you did it on purpose.” He makes no reply to this, so I
continue. “You just wanted to provoke me, didn’t you?”

His sensual mouth moves. “Yes,”
he agrees.

“Well, Michael, you have
succeeded. You have provoked me badly.”

His smile has gone and his gaze
is dripping with erotic intent. He is wondering what method I will
choose to punish him.

I don’t make a habit of this, by
the way. Yes, I like younger men. Yes, I like to take charge. I
enjoy being on top, dictating the rhythm, doing things my way. I
like to appreciate the beauty of a toned and muscular young man
with a nice body; I like telling him what to do, and I like my sex
life. Fit, enthusiastic, virile young men always do it for me. But
Michael likes to be bossed around rather more than anyone I’ve ever
met before. It’s a little strange for me, but in a way it’s been
fun exploring the role-playing games he likes to act out. For all
my enjoyment in taking the lead, I’ve never had an urge to act as a
dominatrix, but it seems to be Michael’s thing. And when he’s very
turned on, it makes for some very satisfying sex indeed.

“Give me one good reason,” I
continue, looking him in the eye, “why I shouldn’t get you to take
off your underwear and bend over for me, and give you a damned good
caning.”

He pauses. It’s very obvious how
aroused he is, and Michael is a very well-endowed young man. In
truth, I want very much to take his nice big erection in my hand,
to feel how hard he is, push him down to the floor and mount him
here and now. But that would ruin the suspense. And I know that a
little teasing will make the whole experience a lot more intense
for both of us.

“I can’t think of one,” he tells
me.

“By the way, you’re not being
very respectful today.”

“Sorry,” he apologises.

I tut. “Sorry, what?”

“Sorry, Dr Gardiner.”

“That’s better.” I smile at him.
“You’re very lucky, Michael. As much as I would enjoy taking the
cane to your bottom, we’re in college, and I think the noise of the
wood hitting your flesh would attract too much attention. Not to
mention the noise you would make. So we’re going to have some fun
instead.”

He still looks at me, wondering
what form this fun will take.

“Take off your boxers,” I order,
and he hesitates, then pulls them off and steps out of them. The
sight of him standing in front of me, fully erect and tingling with
anticipation, is strange in a way because of his complete
passivity, but I have to admit it’s a very nice view.

“Now touch yourself,” I tell
him. His jaw drops.

“You want me to wank in front of
you?” he asks incredulously.

I stifle a grimace. These young
people can be so inarticulate.

“That’s exactly what I want you
to do, Michael. I want to watch you.”

He takes his erection in his
hand, and starts to move. He looks embarrassed at first, and then I
can see that he’s enjoying the fact that I’m watching. He looks me
in the eye all the time, and as I see him getting closer to orgasm
I say, “Tell me when you’re going to come. Beforehand.”

“I’m going to come soon,” he
says.

“Stop.”

He stops, still holding
himself.

“Take your hand away, Michael. I
don’t think it’s time for you to come yet.”

He does as he’s told, but I can
see resentment in his face now. Really, I don’t quite understand
how he can get a kick from this when I can see how annoyed I’m
making him. This is play, but he’s not faking the irritation he
feels.

“I think I’ll come instead,” I
declare, and stand up. I walk over to my antique leather sofa and
lie down on my back. It’s a three-seater sofa, and I am able to
stretch out the full length of my body on it.

“Come over here, Michael, and
pull up my skirt.”

He does as he’s told, his huge
erection bobbing as he walks over, and lifts my skirt up, revealing
my white lacy knickers.

“I won’t be needing my
underwear, Michael. Take it off me and put it on the table. Fold it
nicely now.”

He obeys, carefully, easing the
soft lace over my hips and down the length of my legs. I feel
deliciously exposed, nearly dressed but with my skirt hitched
wantonly up, showing Michael my most intimate parts. Of course, I’m
sure I don’t feel as exposed as he does, naked and erect and doing
my every bidding.

“Use your tongue on me,” I
command. “And put your fingers inside me. I’m going to time you.
And if you don’t make me come in three minutes, I’m going to pick
up your clothes, leave the room, and lock you in here all night.
And in the morning the cleaner will let herself in and find you
naked in my room. Would you like that?”

“No,” he answers through gritted
teeth.

“You’d better get started then,”
I say, looking at my watch. He immediately lowers his face to lick
in between my legs. The sudden sensation with no foreplay at all
makes me squirm, but very quickly I become accustomed and start to
really enjoy the feeling of Michael’s tongue on me.

I was wet already at the sight
of his athletic body, so his fingers slide easily into me, giving
me a double sensation of pleasure. He’s trying hard to bring me to
a climax as quickly as he can, but he’s good; he’s done this plenty
of times before – albeit without a time limit – and he knows
exactly how to please me. I push his head down harder, urging him
silently to increase the pressure. He responds, and the sensation
becomes sweeter and I edge further and further towards orgasm.
Then, silently, I come. I make sure I don’t make any noise, as I’m
acutely aware that there are people around in the corridor, so I
don’t want them to hear me moaning. Straight away I look at my
watch.

Michael looks up at me
expectantly. I pause, keeping him waiting.

“Two minutes thirty-eight
seconds,” I tell him. Actually this is a lie. It took about four
minutes, but there’s no way I’m locking a naked student in my rooms
in college overnight. “You have redeemed yourself, Michael.”

He allows himself a smile.

“You’re forgetting something
though,” I remind him. He looks blank. “What about your
manners?”

“Oh. Sorry. Thank you for
letting me make you come.”

“Thank you for letting me make
you come, what?”

“Thank you for letting me make
you come, Dr Gardiner.”

“That’s much better, Michael.” I
stand up, still knickerless. “Now it’s my turn to strip. You can do
it for me.”

He does as he’s told, first
unbuttoning my blouse and throwing it on the floor. “Tsk,” I tut.
“Fold it nicely.”

“Sorry, Dr Gardiner.” He grins
at me sheepishly and does as he’s told, placing it on the coffee
table with my knickers. Then he unfastens my bra, takes care to
fold it and places it on top of my blouse. I kick off my shoes, and
all that’s left is my skirt. He reaches around to pull open the
zip, then kneels to take it off and I step out of it, naked now.
Even though I’d never have chosen to act the dominatrix if Michael
hadn’t been keen, I have to admit that the sight of him kneeling on
the floor in front of me doing my bidding is rather erotic.

He stands again and I reach into
my handbag, pulling out a condom. I tear the foil and for the first
time I allow myself to touch his erection as I roll the latex onto
him. I love the feel of his hardness under my hand and I know he’s
absolutely desperate to come now.

“Lie down on the sofa,” I
command him, and he does as he’s told. Then I’m on top of him, wet
and ready, and I sink down onto him. He’s rock-hard and he fills me
completely as I push him easily inside me, still so wet from the
orgasm he just gave me, and I suppress a tiny moan at the pleasure
as he goes deep inside me.

I move slowly
at first, pushing right down the length of him every time as I
savour the feeling of deep penetration. I’m exulting in the feeling
of power as I control the rhythm, and gradually, knowing exactly
what I’m doing, I start to move higher up and down his shaft and
faster.
Oh, that’s so good.
I lean down to kiss him hard on his lips and I
feel myself becoming more and more aroused again. I straighten up,
still moving on top of him, and I take hold of his hands and place
them on my breasts. “Touch them,” I tell him, and the sensation as
he caresses my nipples with his thumbs sends additional waves of
pleasure to my sex.

He takes his hands off my
breasts and takes hold of my hips, wanting to force the pace. For
half a minute I let him, but I know exactly what’s going to happen
next. I slap his hands and, quite deliberately, stop moving on top
of him.