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A naive young woman is ensnared.
Hillary twisted, trying to kiss him, but he wouldn't let her. She pouted some more. He did what he'd been aching to do: sucked her lower lip into his mouth and chewed on it. She moaned and stirred, learning more deeply what it meant to want.
Jacob pulled away from her and started to put the car in gear.
"Just one more thing, please!"
He looked over at her. "Yes?"
"I want you to look at my legs." She lifted the hem of her dress to reveal the tops of her stockings. Lace garters made a path leading under her dress. The trail beckoned.
Jake slipped a finger into the top of one stocking. Using only that finger, he felt along the underside of the garter, lifted it, and snapped it against her leg.
"That didn't hurt, and you know it."
"I still want you to find out if I'm wearing panties."
Jake arched his brows and lightly teased her inner thigh with his fingertips. She spread her legs and leaned back. He gave her leg a little smack, rubbed the nylon stocking, and pulled the car away from the curb.
"You're a slut, Miss Fairchild."
"Not yet. But you could make me one."
"When do your parents expect you home?"
She laughed. "Like I care. They're out of town," she added at his stern look.
They drove on to his house. Hillary rested her hand lightly, possessively, on his inner thigh. He didn't push her away.
Once inside his home, he led her by the hand to his den. Hillary was surprised. She'd expected to see his bedroom.
The den was not lacking in romance. Jake had only himself to spend his money on, so despite being a public school teacher, he'd managed to outfit his quarters tastefully. The desk was a huge old thing from a by-gone era; the overstuffed leather armchair looked straight out of a nineteen-forties men's club. The lamps were heavy-looking brass. Old books lined one wall from floor to ceiling.
Hillary paused. The reality of what she was doing settled like a hawk on her arm: stunning in its close-up beauty, but weightier, more dangerous perhaps, than she had fully realized.
"Second thoughts, Miss Fairchild? I can still take you home."
"No. I want to be here."
"Very well. Have a seat." He gestured to a chair at the side of his desk, and took his place in the captain's chair.
Obediently Hillary sat and faced him. She crossed her ankles and leaned forward. The tip of her tongue moistened her lips.
Olaffsen cleared his throat. He opened a file that was lying on his desk. Hillary saw her high school mugshot clipped to the inside. "Miss ... Fairchild ..." he made his words ponderous, as if delivering a warning. He looked down the column of her grades.
"You've been a bad girl."
Hillary didn't know whether to laugh with delight or hang her head in shame. She hesitated.
"I've been bad," she admitted. She licked her lips again and shifted in her chair.
Jake fixed her with his gaze. "You know what the punishment is for bad girls."
Hillary swallowed. "Uh, a spanking?"
"That is correct, Miss Fairchild."
For a few seconds the girl could barely breathe. Her nipples were hardening under her dress. Color bloomed in her face.
Jake held out a hand to her. She took it and stood up with him.
"Put your hands on the desk, Miss Fairchild."
She did so, trembling with fear and anticipation.
"Now step backwards. Lean forward. Stick out your ass."
Hillary nearly hyperventilated. She did as he asked. Her breasts swung down and nearly fell out of her d__colletage. For the third time she licked her lips.
"Feet shoulder width apart."
The teenage girl obeyed. She had pictured passionate love-making in her teacher's bed. She had never thought of this.
Jake leaned close to her ear. "Last chance to go home, Miss Fairchild."
She shook her head.
"I didn't hear you."
"I don't want to go home." The trembling in her ribcage was beginning to ache.
"Tell me what you are."
"I'm a bad girl."
"I'm a, a slut." Hillary gasped out her freedom.
"What do you want, slut?" he hissed.
"Spank me, I've been bad..."
Olaffsen opened a desk drawer and withdrew a wo