Page 11 of Teach Me (Deviant Players #1)

Chapter Six

I was dropped off at home with strict instructions to spend the next week watching porn.

It was, without a doubt, the most ludicrous homework any teacher had ever given me.

I hadn’t watched porn in years. Who needed it when they had a hot lecturer to play with?

But after a few days of reluctance, I gave in to the assignment.

It was an odd way to spend the holidays. I put on my favourite Christmas pyjamas, made popcorn, and started watching videos on his list until I fell asleep.

When my phone rang the next morning, I answered it without opening my eyes. ‘Hello?’

‘Happy Christmas, sweetheart,’ my mother chirped. ‘How’s… what’s that sound?’

Shit. I quickly muted the video. ‘I’m just, eh, it was an advert.’

‘An advert?’ She paused. ‘Are you with a boy? Are you in trouble?’

I almost burst out laughing. Maybe I was. Crushing so hard on my lecturer that I had forgotten what my parents raised me to be: the opposite of what Dr Braithwaite envisioned me as.

‘I’m not seeing anyone, Mum. I’m working on my dissertation.’

‘Yes, you insisted on staying at university this Christmas to focus on your coursework,’ she said in a terse tone, and just like that, the crushing guilt returned. ‘What’s his name?’

‘There’s no boy. It was research. I’m…’ I blinked at the woman on my laptop screen, who was getting fucked in both holes by two men, her face pinched in pain. Or was it pleasure? I quickly looked away. ‘I’m studying the effects of pornography.’

My mother went quiet. So quiet that I had to check she hadn’t hung up on me.

‘Mum?’

‘You expect me to believe the university gave you permission to watch pornography?’

‘It’s a valid study,’ I argued, but it was useless. My mother had married her high school sweetheart and never looked at another man again. Rarely looked at my father anymore, either. I’d found his porn collection as a teenager. My mother had grounded me for the rest of that summer.

‘This is what you’re getting into debt for?’ Her voice lowered to a harsh whisper, a warning that my father was within earshot. ‘This is what we’re paying your rent for?’

I slammed the laptop lid shut.

‘Maybe it would be better if you came home, Ophelia.’

My throat thickened. I tried to quash the guilt she wanted me to feel by focusing on Dr Braithwaite’s encouraging words. He didn’t let me feel ashamed.

‘It’s a valid study,’ I repeated, my voice weaker than I would’ve liked.

‘Ophelia…’ She sighed. ‘We need to discuss this in person.’

I rubbed my forehead. ‘I can’t come home now. I haven’t got the money for petrol.’

‘We gave you an extra fifty pounds earlier this month for?—’

‘I got a parking ticket.’ Which I still couldn’t afford to pay, so it would double by the time my student loan came in.

‘A parking ticket? Ophelia, this isn’t like you.’

‘Mum, I’m fine, but I can’t go home now. I need to get this research done.’

‘You would rather stay in Ladeworth to watch pornography than?—’

‘Happy Christmas. I’ll speak to you soon,’ I said and hung up.

For a long while, I sat on my bed and stared at my phone, wishing I had Dr Braithwaite’s number. I wanted to hear his voice so badly. With him, there was no judgement. I needed that in my life.

It was also abundantly clear that my parents would disapprove of the lifestyle he was introducing me to. They wouldn’t approve of him either. They would accuse him of corrupting their innocent daughter.

Was he?

I opened my laptop. When the video resumed playing, I wondered if he liked this.

Did he want me to watch them so I knew what he planned to do to me?

He was obviously conditioning me, but I didn’t know how I felt about sex this rough.

Uncomfortable, yes. But still turned on.

I kept it muted, preferring not to hear the woman’s fake moans while the men continued fucking her.

And they would be fake. I’d made that argument too many times with my ex-boyfriend. Pornography was fake. Real women didn’t look like this. They didn’t sound like this. But maybe I was wrong. Dr Braithwaite had also criticised me for being too quiet.

My heart sat in my throat as I moved on to the next video, which showed a woman tied to a cross while a man flogged her bound breasts.

I winced at every strike. Pain didn’t appeal to me, but the woman appeared to be enjoying herself.

Did Dr Braithwaite want to tie me up? The thought of being trussed up and used by someone appalled me, but by him ?

I slammed the lid shut and fell back on my bed, staring at the ceiling.

Perhaps my mother was right; it would be better if I went home for a while.

If I did, I wouldn’t have to continue logging my arousal, fantasies, dreams, and masturbation.

I had initially complied with his order.

Not in detail, but enough for him to know I wasn’t holding everything back.

On the evening before our next meeting, my fingertips hovered over the keyboard for a long time.

Most of my fantasies involved him. When I first started having them, they were innocent dreams of Dr Braithwaite taking me against the wall in his office or going down on me in the lab.

Now I wanted him to pin me against his desk and spank me, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Or how to tell him.

I typed a few words, then stopped. Deleted them and started again. This happened three times before I scolded myself. He wanted me to be honest, so I shared my fantasy of being bent over his desk while he hit me with a ruler.

After I submitted the entry, I wondered how he’d had this much effect on me already. I hated admitting it to myself, but my heart rate quickened at the thought of what else he would do. But why?

I blamed hormones and neurotransmitters.

Chemicals.

In the end, that was all lust – and love – boiled down to.

Friday evening, I climbed the steps to his office.

The door opened before I could knock. Dr Braithwaite wore dark suit trousers and a blue shirt, with the top buttons undone, as always.

He smelled heavenly, like he’d recently showered.

I shuddered in delight, imagining him jerking off to the memory of us in his office.

He gave me a knowing smile. ‘Good evening, Ophelia.’

‘Evening,’ I whispered, inching past him. The curtains were shut. His office was warm, lit only by the desk lamp, and a curious song played on a wireless speaker propped on the desk.

‘The Lumineers’ Ophelia ,’ he explained. ‘I thought it was fitting.’

I studied his small smile. Was there a hidden meaning in the lyrics, or had he chosen the song because of the name?

He gestured for me to sit. ‘Did you have a nice Christmas?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never spent it watching porn before. How was your Christmas?’

‘Uneventful,’ he said with a surprising resignation.

I eyed him as I sat in the armchair and pulled out a printout of all the videos I’d watched. ‘This is a dirty attempt at conditioning, you know.’

He quickly scanned the paper. ‘You didn’t watch the last ten?’

‘I fell asleep.’

‘Did it bore you?’ He rested against his desk. ‘Your diary entries suggest otherwise.’

I crossed my legs and smoothed my black skirt over my knees. ‘I don’t like pornography.’

‘Perhaps you skipped those videos because they depicted a rougher kind of sex than what you’re used to?’ The glint in his eyes suggested he had read my fantasy about being spanked.

‘I’m not interested in double penetration, bondage, and pain. It looked…’ I blew out a breath. ‘They made me uncomfortable.’

‘Uncomfortable.’ He pursed his lips. ‘Can you elaborate, please?’

I shrugged because what was there to say? The women seemed to enjoy themselves, but they were beaten and subdued, used as a toy, and it irked me.

‘It didn’t seem respectful,’ I settled on. ‘They were treated as less than human.’

‘It was consensual. This is what they wanted to be treated as.’ He rubbed his stubbled chin, studying me. ‘Have you ever been hit with a ruler?’

‘Umm, no.’ I stared at the floor, the tips of my ears burning.

‘It hurts. It’s loud.’ The purr in his voice drove me crazy. ‘Much harsher than my hand.’

I shifted in my seat.

‘And being fucked when your arse is sore only adds to the burn.’

‘Oh. I… I didn’t know.’

‘Eyes on me, Ophelia.’ His mouth curved when I lifted my chin.

I wanted to tear my eyes away from his, burrow deep into the ground where he couldn’t see me, but he already knew how his words had affected me.

‘The idea of being spanked turns you on, even though you know there’s pain and humiliation involved,’ he added, his gaze dropping to my thin jumper.

His second instruction was to skip my underwear, and now my hard nipples said more than I appreciated.

I crossed my arms over my chest. ‘It’s cold in here.’

He pushed away from his desk. ‘Allow me to warm you up, then.’ He crouched before me, pressing my thighs apart to make space.

Before I could object, he leaned forward and took my nipple into his mouth, sucking on it through the coarse fabric until I couldn’t hold back my moan.

He repeated the motion with my other nipple before leaning back to admire his handiwork, the hardened buds poking out even more.

‘Warmer?’

I shuddered with need. ‘I know what you’re doing.’

‘Do you?’

‘You’re conditioning me, training my body to remain in this perpetual state of arousal until I submit to whatever degrading act you want. It’s not going to work.’

‘Isn’t it?’ He put his hands on my bare thighs, his warmth seeping into my skin. ‘Is there another reason you skipped those videos?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Are you afraid to admit you like rough sex?’

‘No,’ I scoffed. ‘Because I don’t.’

‘Did you masturbate to the fantasy of being spanked?’

Unable to speak, I nodded.

‘And did you enjoy yourself the last time we were together?’ The mirth in his voice was impossible to ignore, and so were the delicious memories of the last time I was in his office.