~erotica~
As she slipped
into the sweet embrace of sleep,
her mind wandered on the thought of his hands.
She imagined them
gliding up her legs,
and gently pulling down her panties.
She felt them
softly part her thighs.
She visioned them
brushing her sensitive skin,
carefully scratching and caressing the delicate flesh.
Her mind floated
to the thought of his lips.
Light kisses on her thighs,
creeping a circuitous trail
towards their warm end
on her clit.
She mused on the thought of his tongue,
spelling out love poetry,
as she writhed to its slightest movement.
Her hands in his hair,
pulling his face in close.
Her moans of pleasure
as the warmth grew in her abdomen.
The sweet scent of her pussy juices
dripping from his mouth.
And that blessed surrender,
the agonizing ecstasy,
of fucking his face til she came.
Have you ever mixed cigar ash with pixie sticks? I have, to wonderful results.
Last night fortune smiled on me. Work finished incredibly early, as in 10:30pm, and I was able to make my way to Baltimore, where the Playhouse was hosting the Dirty Things party. I'd packed a toy bag, just in case I could actually make it, and found myself arriving for the get together, fully dressed in my work clothes, at 11:30pm.
When I arrived, I was greeted by the naked body of KnaveKarina. It seemed a bad bad man was teasing her so, not allowing her to close her legs when she came ever so close to a happy outcome. I hugged her, happy to see her once again, the first time since FetFest.
Making my way into the main play area, I was greeted this time by my Big Bro, who had made his way down from New York to stop by for the fun. Murphy sat with twixmebaby on the floor to his left. Slut sat in front of him, tied in an Ebby, as Bro abused her back. I was happy to be among my family and to have an actual Friday night (mostly) off. I disrobed down to my underwear and joined them on the floor.
After Murphy untied Slut, we all lounged about, happy to be in each others company. But, I had a nagging question. My main motivation for traveling to Charm City was Slut's request to tie me up. After her scene with her Sir, I wondered if she still wanted to play with me in that manner.
Indeed, she did.
I fully disrobed, tucked my clothes into my toy bag, and removed my smaller rope bag, just in case other fun was to be had that night. I then sat in front of her, awaiting instruction.
She bade me turn around. Her lips close to my ear, she simply asked, "Hard or soft?"
"Hard." Was there ever any doubt?
Slut began with hair bondage on my curls, which had been out and flowing all day. Cinching tight, Slut ran her cherry red cotton rope down my back and around my left wrist. After she had taken a moment to tie a cuff, she kept my mind on her as her teeth sunk into my arm. I yelped, surprised at the sudden pain. She also kissed and sucked on my neck. My mind remained there, on that floor, with her.
Slut next secured my right wrist, and brought the rope between my legs and around my right thigh. Slut had ordered me on my knees, to secure the rope around my leg, but now she began to push my back. I thought she wanted me to move forward, so I edged my way along.
"You're going down." Instead, she had wanted me on the floor. I leaned my body forward, not realizing until it was too late, that I no longer had my arms or hands to brace my fall. I landed hard on the floor, my face taking the brunt of my weight. For those of you who follow me on Twitter, you may have seen the fun outcome of my face meeting the floor.
No matter. I was not about to stop the scene.
Happy with her tie, Slut had me back in a crossed-leg position. She kissed my face, right at my rug burn, and then began her assaults. She punched my chest, slapped my thighs, and wove her rope around my nipple piercings. She then used these two new perky easy buttons to torture me further, twisting and pinching as she liked.
"Give me any color of the rainbow." She kissed and pinched, pleasure and pain nothing new for me.
"Red." I started to cry a little.
"Is that a red out?"
"No, it's a red, as in my favorite color."
"Good." She continued with her assaults.
I began to wail, but not loudly just yet.
"I want to be the reason you cry. I want to hear you scream." She continued to bite, punch, and slap me. Soon, the tears came. She licked the droplets from my face.
In a possible inadvertent move, she flicked at my left nipple, sending a surge of pain through me. I truly screamed, the excruciation overpowering any other sensation. I began to ball.
"If you want me to stop, you had better stop screaming." But I couldn't as she slapped the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs. I cried and wailed, and she loved ever moment of it.
Releasing my left and right nipple ropes, Slut began kissing me, her soft lips a salve to my pain. She slowly untied my binds with my head resting in her chest, the soft flesh of her breasts against my face.
My cries soon quieted. My breathing slowed. I came back from my sub space.
We cuddled, and Slut gave me Gatorade. I was floaty and happy. I was already quite pleased I'd made my way to Baltimore.
As I wondered what more fun I would get into, Lochai walked up to us. I greeted him with a hug on my knees. Delighted to see me, the subject of cigar play came up. I just so happened to have packed my cigar box and was more than happy to join Lochai downstairs for a smoke.
On the first floor, in a warm smoke scented room, Lochai sat on a couch while I rested on the floor. He had his own stash of cigars, but I showed him the ones I had to offer. Instead of smoking one of his, he gifted me a cigar and smoked one of mine. I unwrapped the cellophane, wet the end, cut it, and held my lighter as he puffed away.
Voodoo Princess, Lochai's slave, sat right behind me, also naked on the floor, quietly watching. Right after Lochai began his cigar, DarianIlRe and his female companion walked in. They wished to partake in their cigarettes. As they pulled out their smokes, I offered my lighter for them.
Everyone chatted, the conversation meandering through polyamory, kink, porn, and hair.
Lochai, taking full advantage of his cigar, leaned in close to me. He slowly breathed out his smoke into my face. I inhaled a little, but mostly enjoyed the feel of his breath on my skin and the nearness of him. The second time Lochai came in close, as he finished his wisps of smoke, he sneaked a quick kiss. "Come on, I had to." If I could've, I would've blushed.
As the ash on his cigar grew, I knew I would soon have a treat. Lochai, ready to dispose of some ash, had me lean my head back and stick out my tongue. He flicked the ash onto my tongue and I gobbled it up.
A female guest slipped into the room and sat beside Lochai. She did not understand why I enjoyed ash so. I explained I actually liked the taste, a sort of gritty and salt & pepper flavor.
Lochai spoke about how not everyone liked the taste, musing on how Emily did not enjoy that particular act. Even worse, there was something else she also didn't enjoy. "You know what to do."
Emily scurried over to the foot of Darian's female companion. Reluctantly, she placed her tongue on the woman's toe. Apparently, Emily hated feet. Lochai reveled in watching her squirm.
Her tortured ceased, Lochai once again had ash to give. This time, he broke it off in my hand and instructed me to spread it across VooDooPrincess' chest. I then happily licked off the ash, performing my service with glee. VoodooPrincess seemed to also enjoy it, encouraging me to make sure I got every single fleck across her breasts, stomach, and especially her nipples.
Soon Darian and his companion needed to depart. But, before he left, Darian gifted me three pixie sticks and instructed me to give away two of them. The third was all for me.
So when I say I have enjoyed pixie sticks and cigar ash, you can understand why I say it was a lovely outcome. A pile of pixie dust and a lump of ash in my hand, I crush the mixture together and sprinkled it onto VoodooPrincess' chest. I then happily licked it off of her, this time exploring her belly button as some of the mixture had made its way there.
Lochai, ever happy to aid in my service duties, kept providing me with ash. Once, I drew my initial on VoodooPrincess' body with my tongue and saw them emerge when I sprinkled the sweet and salty dust. I also created a smiley face on her stomach in the sweet gritty mixture.
Eventually, though, VoodooPrincess had to depart. Her birthday was in a few days and she had been offered a scene as a gift. She scurried upstairs, but not before gifting me with a kiss, both with our lips and our noses.
However, she came back almost immediately. The person with whom she was to have the scene needed ten minutes. So, with a pixie stick to give, VoodooPrincess spread the sweet dust on my body, and licked and sucked it all off. Taking more than her allotted time, she did have to eventually go, but we enjoyed the sweet repreive she was given.
As VoodooPrincess left, SirRonC came in. He sat across from Lochai and they talked shop about cigars. As they chatted, Lochai presented his left foot, on which he wore an ankle high boot. I politely asked if I could kiss his leather. He gave his permission.
I laid out on the floor, my face on his leather, and began kissing all over his boot. Once I'd loved on his one boot for quite some time, I sat up and he presented the other. I kissed and caressed his leather again.
As I laid, splayed on the floor, my face full of leather, I realized Ron and Lochai were talking about cigars but Ron did not have one. I offered some of my tobacco so he too could joy in the fun. He accepted my Acid Blondie, a short but satisfying smoke. With Ron, too, I unwrapped his cellophane, wet and cut his end, and held my lighter as he puffed away.
With his first ash, Ron flicked the lump into my hand. Lochai explained how I liked to eat ash. Ron said I could, by all means, eat the ash he'd given me. I said I would love to eat his ash, but asked if I could eat it out of his hand.
He presented his rather large palm to me. I poured the lump into his hand and, with one quick swipe, licked the remnants from my own hand. Before I began, Lochai explained to Ron that he should enjoy the experience much like when someone worships his boots.
Up on my knees, hands on my thighs, I gazed up at Ron, right into his eyes, and gave him a smile. I then ate my treat, softly licking and sucking his palm, happy to perform this service for him. He often said, "Oh, that's nice," as I caressed his hand with my lips.
Darian and his companion soon returned to our smokers' circle. As Lochai mentioned some of the things Ron could do to or with me, Darian asked if I'd ever had ash in my ass. I said I had had it all over my body, including my pussy, but not in my ass. Darian suggested I act as his foot stole and, when Ron had enough ash, he could use my ass as his ashtray. How could a girl say no to that?
As I relaxed on the floor, with both Darian and Ron's feet on my back, the group continued to converse. For a moment, I smiled, realizing how lucky I was that I was there. By all rights, I could've been at work, waiting for a party to end. I could've been home, sleeping, resting for work the next day (which is where I am right now, writing this). I could've been anywhere but there. I was happy life gave me this night of submission and service.
I never did get ash in my ass. People soon began filtering out. First Darian and his companion departed. As they left, Darian bent down and said how he missed seeing me. My life has been busy with work, and my social butterfly has felt quite stifled. I spoke about making an appointment for him to do my hair, and how I hoped to be out to a TNG Baltimore Happy Hour soon. He gave me a quick kiss before leaving.
Lochai left right after. It was getting late, and he needed to help clean up before kicking everyone out.
Ron and I were left for him to finish his cigar. He had one more lump of ash for me. Breaking it off into my hand, I asked if I could once again eat it out of his hand. He consented. I again took pleasure in caressing his palm, in licking and sucking every fleck of ash up. Once I finished, he leaned over, hugged me, and thanked me for providing my service. I was happy to have served that night.
Making sure all my cigar accessories were tucked away, I scurried back upstairs. I was greeted by Slut, who was fully clothed. Apparently it was after 2am, the official end time for the event. Looking at my face, she said I would definitely need cream to help it heal. I had not yet seen the damage from my tumble, but she said she would buy me a bottle of salve from a drug store on the way home. I redressed into my work clothes, which seemed awfully funny to me.
Then the hugs began. I embraced Murphy, as well as Lochai, before heading out with Slut and a wayward attendee in tow. After a quick stop at CVS, and Slut bandaging to my face, I dropped off both my passengers and finally climbed into bed around 4:15am.
~erotica~
Someone interesting walked by.
I could tell they were interesting not by their gait; it was average enough. And it wasn't what they carried; a briefcase was pretty normal in the middle of downtown. Their clothes were business and their air was hurried, all average. But it was something in his eyes, a cold steely resolve, that shook me, that made me wonder who that stare was meant for. Somewhere, in the far recesses of mind my, I wanted those eyes on me.
I imagined his leather gloved hands caressing cold against my hot skin. His teeth scraping against my flesh, tracing lines down my back. His tongue tickling my nipples. His lips on my neck.
I imagined his briefcase full of implements to use on my body. His shot gloves to pound into my frame, rocking me with each blow. A silk kerchief, soft against my body, but merciless when wound around my neck, forbidding my air. Plastic chopsticks, decorative, pretty. He'd wind them in my hair before releasing my locks so he could mark my skin with their stingy blows. And, both his favorite and mine, his knives, a twin set, with intricate patterns inlaid in the metal, foreshadowing the art he'd draw over my body.
I imagined the places he'd steal me away to, secretive hideaways only he knew about. His favorite would be the abandoned club in a seedy neighborhood, where no one dared to venture unless they had more than one gun. Dirty floors, once stained with booze, now christened with dust and age. The back room that used to be the owner's office, with a few old papers strewn here and there, and a broken chair left behind because who gave a fuck in the end.
He'd cuff me to that chair, and stand and wait. Wait for me to react. Wait for me to do something, say something. He loved my reactions when he stole me away, randomly, never when I yearned to feel his hands.
And I'd wait, wait til I could take it no longer. Wait til I had to say something, do something, because I wanted his hands on me, whether in kindness or in spite. I wanted his breath on my skin, his scent about me, his...his... I just wanted him, needed him, now.
And he'd smile when I finally broke. Smile because he knew he'd already won. Smile because that was the start of the real fun: the screams, the pain, the panting, and the eventual fucking.
God, the fucking. Dirty, rough, closer to animal savagery than love making. Often, he ripped off my clothes, threw me about, and thrust with the same passion as his previous punches. I always, always screamed. And I always, always came. Multiple times. He'd pull my hair, scratch my back, wrench my breasts, and choke me, his lips next to my ear. I'd hear him breathing heavy as I patiently waited for him to return my air.
We'd be dusty, sweaty, scraped up messes after. He'd always pack a change of clothes so I could go back to work. Or continue my errands. Or go visit my friends.
And I'd go back to waiting til the next time he'd grab me. The next time I'd be caught in his stare. The next time we'd be sweaty, on the floor, panting from exhaustion.
The last fumes of alcohol wearing off, and the more potent intoxication of sleepiness setting in, I thought I'd take a moment to think about what I'm thankful for. Since Turkey Day is a week gone from us, I think I will save the official Thankful blog for an evening where I am not so sleepy drunk.
For this post, I'm going to muse about what I am thankful for today/tonight.
I rather enjoyed NYRCampSlut sitting in my lap tonight. She hugged me, spilled her drink on me, and gyrated in a rather fun fashion. It was awesome to see her in what had been two weeks since Tied Down. It was especially nice that our time together was spent in such close proximity.
I appreciated talking about IMsL with ManKraken! and ElectricCupcake. Running down my current list of events, I have eight that I plan to attend, though that list may still expand (holy shit).
IMsL, of all the events I will be present for, is the most elusive in my mind's eye. I have no feel for how it will be. I have never ventured to San Francisco. And, worst of all, I know it will be a burden financially. Still, I am looking forward to the adventure, and talking with the two of them about their past experiences helped energize me further for what is to come next year.
I love my kinky Happy Hour. It had been about a month, or more, since I'd last shown my face. I missed seeing familiar folks, missed the hugs, missed the love and affection freely and easily given and shown. I missed the loud conversations, very generous pours from the bartenders, and the fairly decent food. I was very happy to be back, and even plan to go next week as well.
Work didn't suck. Yeah.
I am reading this book that is so full of rape, it is ridiculous. And yet, I love it. Am I right in the head? Mostly. It is the Dark Jewels series, and, as ManKraken! and I discussed at DOHH, it seems as if there are two pages of writing to get you to the next rape. But, somehow, the author still makes it hot and interesting, to the point where I was trying to read while slowly creeping through rush hour traffic today. I'm only about 175 pages into a three book series, but I am greatly looking forward to what is to come next.
So, yeah, my life doesn't suck. Today was a rather good day.
And I even got to write tonight. What more could a girl ask for? (Well, there is sex. And that book did make me incredibly horny before Happy Hour. But, no matter. When I do not satisfy my carnal urges, I often transfer the energy elsewhere. Today, I was bubbly at Happy Hour, and got myself to write before passing out in my bed. I call that a win, ecstasy or not.)
I know I put undue pressure on myself almost all the time.
When it comes to work, there are times when I dread walking out of my front door. Recently I've been put in a semi-leadership position, asked to take on more responsibilities. Granted, this also means extra pay, but with the added money came added pressure for the gigs to go well.
Starting off, it was not so bad, as they gave me solo assignments. Recently, though, I've been put in charge of people, the same folks who previously worked with me as same level colleagues. I dealt with my anxiety by changing my view of my work. Instead of seeing each new gig as a threat, I took them on as challenges, and many who know me well enough know I like to rise to challenges.
In my personal life, I often heap mounds of pressure on situations. This was especially true when I first became highly active and social in the kink community. When I was just with the Ex or going to Bound Friday nights, it didn't matter. I had little expectations. My Ex was anti-social, so any interaction with him and kink outside of the bedroom was a treat. Coming out of college and exploring the very fringes of this new world, everything was amazing.
But, going out on my own, having been in a kinky relationship for so long, with little other gauge as to how things were, I shoveled tons of pressure on myself when I went to my first Happy Hour. I thought I had to make the best impression, I had to be the best me, or these people wouldn't like me and there went my chance to learn and grow in kink. It wasn't until I got there, started talking to people, and finally let myself let go that I realized adding pressure to the situation only harmed me.
So, a few paragraphs of rambling aside, I'm writing this because even now, I still add pressure to situations that I need to relax into. I still have to remind myself to breath, let go, and give into the will of life. I still have to stop myself from adding undue pressure on almost everything. However, with much practice, my venting time has shortened, my recovery quickened, and my stress has diminished, in general, a bit.
I'm a work in progress.
I've spoken about how I want to live my life before. Guess what...I'm doing it again.
I'm a switch, and have always had conflicting emotions regarding partners and lovers, play vs affection vs love. It's not easy for me to resolve even the most basic facts about myself.
The kind of domination I seek to inflict on others is silly. It's petulant. It's annoying. I like punching people, poking them in their side til they yell, pushing people til they break not from physical pain but psychological torment. When I'm in that space, I'm petulant, a right little brat given the keys to the kingdom of your body and, more importantly, your mind.
Yet I burn to be dominated, to be controlled, to be owned. I would never, ever, act or even think about my Dom-ly side when I am at someone's knee or under someone's hand. That side of me no longer exists when I am taking your pain, enduring your trial, acting as the vessel for your inflictions.
I want to be owned. I want to be collared. I want to feel like I belong to someone. Yet I know I cannot be in any relationship that stifles my freedom, that stops me from being who I am. I want to fuck and be fucked. I want to love and be loved. I want a cage without a lock, as it were. Is this even possible?
I guess since I want it, and will not accept anything but it, that answers my question.
I'm feeling my way through this life, like I'm stuck in the dark, touching the walls to find my path, which is a scary scary place, especially for me. I think, thus far, things are going okay. I don't believe I've broken too many hearts. I haven't had my heart ravaged, yet. And I can count quite a few people as good friends.
There is always a nagging in me, though, as I've spent much of my life solo, not by choice as much as circumstance. And by circumstance, I mean my haphazardly scheduled job, my insecurity issues, and my ever present fear of asking for what I want. Not to mention, the two "relationships" I have had were not worth the price of admission. In fact, I imagine they have tainted my outlook on my future prospects, a truth I work against everyday.
Yet still, I'm here. I haven't given up. I'm stumbling threw as best as I can, asking for help and advice when I need it, reading a lot, listening even more, and learning as much as I can. Most important, I never stop growing or changing. I think that is a pillar of my poly, along with communication and openness.
Change is important. One needs to be able to adapt, to bend, to compromise. I will never go so far as to give up who I am and what I want (never again, at least; that was a hard lesson to learn). But I am willing to give halfway. I am willing to listen, trust, and learn. I am willing.
Now, just to find other willing ones...
~erotica~
Mr. Ebon looked like he stepped out of one of those recruiting commercials that played during the breaks of football games: buzzed cut hair, sleek trim muscles, a solid gait you could set a metronome to. The only difference was his uniform consisted of a starched tie, crisp folds in his collared dress shirt, and pressed black dress pants. He did, however, sport polished black boots that shimmered with each step. He was a former Marine and still carried the air about him.
To say I had a crush on this man was to discredit the length and breath of my affections.
Everyone feared Mr. Ebon's History classes, especially AP US. He was strict, unyielding, and calculating. He knew what to quiz you on for understanding, not just memorization. His required reading went well beyond just chapters in a textbook. Instead of churning out fact crammed teenagers, he sought to create fierce thinkers, sharp minds, leaders. Most people prayed for a C; I was bound and determined to be his first A+.
On the first day of my senior year, I walked into class early and sat front row center. As if I were not in the room, he continued his work, jotting down notes and occasionally glancing at his computer. He never looked at me. The classroom filled, all ten of his brave pupils in their seats. The period bell rang, he stood, stepped to the front of the class, and spoke.
"Ten. Good, I like even numbers.
"My name is Mr. Ebon and this is AP US History. If you're here, that means you've heard the rumors about how difficult this class is and decided to take it anyway. For that, I will give a small sliver of respect. The rest you will have to earn through effort, hard work, and excellence.
"I've taught this class four times previously. In each instance, students have cried, begged, threatened me, thrown something, or gotten up and walked out, never to be heard from again. Which one will you be?"
The smart ones didn't cower at his warning. I sat, straight backed, meeting his gaze, ready to live up to his challenge.
Twenty page term papers, 200 page books on military battles, founding fathers, and other important American leaders were fruits I bit into to each evening. Staying late, with no car and parents who's job didn't end til 6, I had more than enough time to immerse myself in his teachings.
On a crisp fall Friday evening, having finished the night's homework, but still at least an hour before my ride would show, I decided to take a stroll throughout my ancient school.
Whetherly Academy was a co-educational private school. Students wore uniforms, parents paid tuition, and everyone carried an air of the elite they knew themselves to be. I, however, was a scholarship student. My squared shoulders and small knowing grin came from my core truth: I was smarter than any of them and would someday have what they had, but I would have earned it.
As I quietly roamed the halls, almost tip-toeing to avoid the creaking of the hardwood floors, I somehow made my way to the History wing.
Buildings have a life all their own when no one is around. The lights were off, allowing what little sunshine left to cast an eerie glaze across the floor. Classroom doors stood open, inviting, but nothing to offer inside. Desks with chairs in all manner of pushed in or pulled out whispered the lessons already taught for the day. But there was one door closed, so I decided to open it.
Peaking my head inside, there he sat, just like the first day of classes, working. Slowly retracting my head, a loud creak from the floorboards informed him of my presence.
"Good evening Ms. Ivory. Is there something I can do for you?" Mr. Ebon had not even looked up from his desk, yet he knew it was me. Or had he glanced my face when I did not notice?
"No, sir. Just killing time til my ride arrives."
"And the twenty-five pages on Gettysburg I asked you to read?"
"Completed, along with some cursory notes before your lecture tomorrow." This gave him pause; his hand stopping and his eyes finally met mine.
"I see. Well, if you have nothing better to do, why don't you have a seat? I, too, have nothing but time to kill, what with the pathetic group of children known as my Freshman World History class who cannot write a five page summary well for all the sand in Sri Lanka."
He beckoned me to the desk in front of his. After school, alone, with a man I adored, no one around to judge me except him, I decided to relax, a bit. I hopped up on the desk, sat with my legs crossed, and pulled out from my bag my latest knit project, a black and orange scarf for Halloween. I made sure to not look at him til I began a new stitch. When I did glance up, I think there was the slightest of smiles on his face.
"You knit?"
"Helps pass the time. And since I never leave before seven each night, I have time."
"Seven?"
"My parents own a General Store; they don't close til six. And it would take three buses for me to get home. So, I wait. Gives me time to finish homework and work on other things."
"Other things?"
"I write a little. I knit a little. Occasionally I'll pull out my sketchbook and roam the halls for inspiration. Things to pass the time."
"Friends?"
"I'm on scholarship, Sir. How many rich kids you know want to be friends with some poor girl? Well, to them I'm poor. My family lives comfortably enough. We just don't ride around in Benzes and sip cherry after dinner. Oh my, I've been blathering on and you have papers to grade."
"Stop. I invited you to sit. Chatting is a part of sitting."
"Ok. Sir, if you don't mind me asking, why did you become a teacher? I know you're ex-military. Why the change?"
"I took a piece of shrapnel during a munitions exercise. It made me unfit for duty in the field. They offered me a desk position, but if I couldn't lead my men, I didn't want to stay."
"And teaching?"
"G.I. bill. I wanted to get a degree in something. Why not study what I thought would be my life, military history. I never thought things would play out as they have, but teaching is well enough. How about you? What do you wish to do with your years?"
"Oh, I don't know. I haven't even thought about a major yet."
"Your college applications are in?"
"Soon. By December. I was giving myself a break because of my birthday."
"Your birthday?"
"Yes, today Sir. October tenth, ten ten. Easy for people to remember, though I have no one is this school to tell."
"Well, happy birthday Ms. Ivory. As of today you're now allowed to vote, be drafted, and drink a beer in some states."
"Yeah, I'm legally an adult."
"Excited?"
"No, sad."
"Excuse me?"
"It's just... I don't see myself as an adult. I'm a student, a smart learned plucky student who knows all the answers and does what she is told, when she is told, whatever she is told, however it is to be done. I take comfort in knowing exactly what to do because you have told me to do it. I feel safe in this room, completely centered and true in this room. In this room... I am the shit." My hand quickly covered my mouth as my cheeks turned red. "I am so sorry. That was inappropriate. I'll go." I quickly hopped off the desk, grabbed my bag, and turned to leave.
"Ms. Ivory." The sternness in his voice stopped me.
"Turn around." I slowly pivoted on the balls of my feet. He stood, his height towering over me.
"Come here." I put down my things and walked slowly to face him by the side of his desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out a ruler I had not seen before, wooden and old. "Hold your hands at your sides, out and up, side-by-side, palms to the ceiling."
I stood there in supplication to his whim. Swiftly, he lifted and came down with the ruler across the insides of my hands. It stung, but I only flinched slightly.
"Now, gather your things and go." I turned and quickly grabbed my backpack and knitting.
"And Ms. Ivory." I stopped dead in my tracks. "Please come by and chat with me again Monday evening."
"Yes, Sir." With hast I exited his classroom, silently closing his door and making my way down to the lobby to wait for my ride.
The weekend seemed to crawl by.
