After that, I might be willing to open up some office hours. God knows I’ll need to burn off the extra energy that’s not spent working her over. Looking down at the girl in front of me, I tilt my head to the side and study her.
“You could just not be cut out for sprinting. Did you ever think of that?”
Her eyes widen for a moment, and I swear her face turns slightly pale. “No. No, you’re wrong. I’m a sprinter. My mother is a sprinter, my grandmother is a sprinter, and my great-grandmother sprinted in the Olympics. I have to be a sprinter. I just have to. Don’t you dare tell me I’m a long-distance runner. It’s just not true. I was bred for this. It’s in my DNA!”
With each word, her voice gets higher and faster, as if she’s about to dissolve into a bout of hysterics. What the hell is wrong with this girl? I mean, deep down, I understand where she’s coming from, but unless she’s being abused, forced to become a sprinter, I just don’t understand why it’s that important.
Trailing my gaze from her head to her feet, I look for any visible signs but see nothing. Then again, Ryker was able to beat me and not leave any marks, so it’s completely plausible that she’s being abused, and I’m just not seeing it. That and not all abuse is physical.
If that’s what’s happening, I can certainly empathize, but until she reveals that, I have to treat her like any other student, though, a bit higher strung. As much as I hate the man, I make a note to talk to Shrinky Dink about her. He may not be able to get me to talk about my abuse, but he might have better luck with her.
“Tasha hit the showers. We’ll talk about it next week. If you are indeed built for sprinting, I’ll get you there. I promise.”
Her face turns red for a moment as her hands clench into fists. It’s the impotent rage flitting through her eyes, the same that flits through mine. She certainly has demons. I only hope they don’t start to affect her ability to run. I meant what I said - she’s good. Is she the best? Not yet, but there’s potential.
As she turns around and jogs off, I watch her form again, noting the lines of her body. Her arms are too far out from her body; that’s certainly one thing I can fix next week to improve her time. That’s the fastest thing, and hopefully, it will give her enough of a dopamine hit to let her breathe and slowly work on the other things.
Unfortunately, when it comes to track and field, whichever part you take in it, it’s going to be a marathon and not a sprint. It doesn’t matter if you’re “bred” for sprinting or not.
Pulling out my phone, I open up the app and tap on Shelaine’s picture. Though I’ve already put in my claim, there’s still a week until I can actually act on it. My biggest fear is that some other Dominant will take notice of her and attempt to play with her.
I really wanted to get through at least a semester here without bloodshed, but more than likely, that’s not going to happen. There are just far too many variables that I can’t control, and I detest not being able to control them. If only I was able to have a visible claim on her somehow, something to tell any other Dominants to back the fuck off.
Perhaps I’ll mark her, carve my name into her mound. That will certainly scare many of them off. The problem is it would probably scare her off as well. Once we’re married and she can no longer get out from under my grasp, then I’ll use my knife to mark my property.
I get a ding from her, and I smile. Is it possible she’s thinking of me just as much as I’m thinking of her?
Submissive Shelaine: Luke, are you free for a moment? Or are you still teaching?
Dominant Luke: Is that how you address me?
Several moments pass without a response. True, we never really discussed my title, but damn, even the app has me as Dominant Luke. She could have at least started with that. For a hot minute, I contemplate punishing her but decide against it. She will no doubt make other, more egregious errors in judgment.
Dominant Luke: I don’t recall allowing you to be so familiar with me.
More time passes, but soon a series of dots pop up before her response.
Submissive Shelaine: Forgive me, sir. You have not told me what you wished to be called. Give me your correct designation, and it will not happen again.
Since we’re using this damned app, and I can’t see her face to face, I’m unable to tell if she’s being sarcastic or sincere. I so desperately wish I could be there with her, watching her face as her lips form the words, Master Luke, for the first time, but I still have so much to do today.
Dominant Luke: You will address me as Master or Master Luke. Do you understand?
Submissive Shelaine: Yes, Master.
A shiver runs through my body and settles into my balls. Groaning, I look about for a moment, making sure I’m alone before adjusting my cock. Just seeing the words, “Yes, Master,” typed out like that is pulling blood from my brain and into my dick.
Dominant Luke: Good girl. What is it you want?
Submissive Shelaine: I know you said I can come when I get home, but it’s mandatory to send a request via this app anytime I want to pleasure myself. So, I’m formally requesting permission to get myself off when I get back to my dorm.
Dominant Luke: And if I say no?
God. Is this what flirting is like? Normally, there’s no back and forth, no witty repartee. It’s all a mass of need and limbs. I never had to take the time to really cultivate a relationship outside of Parker and Lana, and even then, I was their third, the man they called in to spice things up. I didn’t have to flirt my way into either of their pants. I understood what my duties were when it came to them.
Submissive Shelaine: Then I’d have to respect that., though, if you want me to beg, I will, Master.
Dominant Luke: Beg for me, submissive. Tell me just how badly you need to get off.
My brain swims with need as I wait for her response. This is the side of relationships I was never privileged to have. Is this how all couples behave? Or are we just outliers? In a way, we’re both virgins, her physically and me emotionally. As much as I’m going to teach her about sex, she’s going to teach me about being a boyfriend, fiancé, and soon, a husband.
Submissive Shelaine: … … … …
The dots appear and disappear as if she’s trying to formulate her thoughts, but it’s not working. Is she shy about this? Or does she really not know what to say? I’m enthralled as I watch the struggle in her dots. I never realized something so mundane as sexting could be so exhilarating.
Submissive Shelaine: Oh, oh God, Master Luke. My body burns. I ache. I need to come. Please. Please let me come.
A snort of laughter shoots through me as I read those words. They’re not nearly as erotic as I was expecting, but then, I don’t really have anything to compare them to. As a smile curves my lips, I type out my response. Somewhere in that dead lump I call a heart, a thump reverberates through my body.
It’s a warmth, a pulsing that makes me feel alive. Fuck. It just makes me feel. The things I felt toward Lana and Parker are tame compared to this. What slams into me is an inferno, a maelstrom. It robs my breath and sanity. Each moment I’m with her, whether in person or through this app, that feeling continues to grow.
It frightens me. Scares me to my deepest core. Love isn’t this easy. It’s not this pleasant. Somehow, someway, it’s going to fuck up, and it’s going to be my fault. I don’t know how to love. How can I promise something that has no meaning or definition for me?
Even as the word love flits through my brain, there’s nothing tangible to hold onto. Love is pain. That’s all I know, and that’s all I know to give. Hopefully, Shelaine is everything I think she is - someone that can take my pain and realize the feelings behind it. But even if she isn’t, she’ll soon learn. I’m not giving her up because she might have a learning curve.
True, with others, I hurt them just to stop the pain inside, but to hurt her will be something far different. In this way, I can share myself with her, give her a piece of me, a small part that no one else has ever had before.
Dominant Luke: You may get yourself off tonight, but make sure you let me know when you start to touch yourself. As stipulated earlier, I want you thinking of me while you're rubbing your clit. Imagine it being my tongue or fingers. Like it’s me there with you, pleasuring you. And only stimulate yourself externally. I don’t want anything shoved inside of you except for me next week. That means fingers, dildos, cucumbers, nothing. And that goes for both holes. I want you dripping and needy when I finally shove my cock inside your pussy, filling it up as only I can. Understood?
It takes several moments for her response, and I can only imagine how flustered she is. I really don't care about the dildos. Unless she’s using a massive one, nothing she uses will compare to the girth of my cock. I know how tight she is, and I know how big I am.
It will take a lot of coaxing just to get my head into her entrance. This is more about the principle of the matter. I have no clue if she’s used toys inside before, and even if she has, I still consider her a virgin. This isn’t about some antiquated view of virginity. This is about control.
I want to be the one to make her gasp as I fill her up. I want her so tight when I finally shove myself in that she winces. I want her to feel every fucking inch of my cock as I drive home. I want her beyond sensitive and needy. That’s why I don’t want her to fuck herself with anything. I want her to crave my cock.
Submissive Shelaine: Yes, Master.