Knocked Up and Tied Down Read online

  When she’s gone, I grab my red pen and start to mark up her paper. I laugh as I write, imagining her reaction.

  11

  Nicole

  I start class. It’s the last class that Dr. Leeds is supposed to teach anyway. I may as well get used to doing things on my own.

  “Dr. Nicole?” one of the students says, raising his hand.

  “Just Nicole,” I say. “I don’t have my Ph.D.”

  “Sorry,” he says, “but I wanted to know if Dr. Leeds has graded our stuff yet, or did you…”

  “He’s grading them,” I say. “I’m not sure when he’ll be done.”

  The student smiles. “I wrote some really hot stuff in there. I just want to see if he thought it was good.”

  I give a polite smile, then I think of the paper I slipped in there. Surely he’ll know it’s mine. The question is whether or not he’s already read it. He looked almost like I caught him doing something when I walked into his office just now, but it could just be that he was late for class.

  Still, I’m looking forward to talking to him after class to try to judge whether or not he already read my story. He’ll know for certain that it’s mine, as it wasn’t subtle enough to sneak under the radar. Especially when I changed Romeo’s gender right before they touched each other.

  Dr. Leeds walks into the class carrying a stack of papers in his hands. He looks up at me and says, “Keep going, Ms. Weissman. I’ll just hand these out.”

  I watch as he starts handing marked up papers back to the students. I realize with sudden nervousness that it means he’s definitely read mine. Is he going to just make it disappear and never mention it? Or will he actually give it back to me?

  I awkwardly continue my lecture while distractedly watching Dr. Leeds hand the papers back.

  When he’s almost out of papers, I watch him hand the very last one to a girl in the back of the class.

  “That’s all of them,” he says. “Let me know when you’re done, Ms. Weissman.”

  I finish delivering my final thoughts, and then turn the class over to Dr. Leeds. I didn’t get my paper back.

  “Well,” he says. “You’ve seen your assignments. That’s the last time I give you an assignment with the possibility of a sex scene.

  “Ah! Come on!” the student from before shouts, the one who thought of the lesbian pirate setting. “Dr. Leeds, you know my scene was fucking hot!”

  Dr. Leeds shakes his head. “None of you wrote a scene that was remotely hot. As much as I don’t want to discuss your sex scenes, can someone guess why the sex scenes were not hot? Aside from the clunky writing, the awkward descriptions, and the juvenile boys’ view of lesbian sex?”

  Some of the boys snicker, but a girl raises her hand. “Obviously I didn’t write a sex scene—”

  “And thank you for that,” Dr. Leeds says. “Thank you to everyone who spared me.”

  I bite my lip. Is he saying my sex scene was bad, too? Did he somehow not read it?

  “Well,” the girl says, “I’m guessing all the hornballs who wrote sex scenes lost the conflict. Once Romeo and Juliet get together, all the layers of conflict were gone, right?”

  “Right,” Dr. Leeds says. “Even a poorly written sex scene is a release. A release from all of the conflict you’ve built up. It should be a payoff. Assuming these scenes were well written, which they were not, you would still need to work in further conflict to maintain the tension. None of those scenes did that.”

  A student raises his hand.

  “Yes? Ryan?” Dr. Leeds says.

  Ryan holds up his paper. “It looks like you stopped reading mine at the sex scene. But I had another pirate ship attack them right before Juliet had her orgasm. So you got two layers there, Juliet still didn’t cum, and there’s another pirate ship attacking them.”

  Dr. Leeds sighs. “Fair enough, I didn’t finish reading anyone’s sex scene. But what Ryan described works well enough, doesn’t it…”

  I start to tune out the class. Is Dr. Leeds going to go cold on me? He’s barely looked at me for the whole class, and he’s pretending like I didn’t even submit a story. What if he just shuts me out again, and what if I have to be his TA for the rest of the semester—and his mentee for longer—while he just completely goes cold and professional on me?

  I half-listen to the rest of the lecture. Everyone groans when he says it’s the last class he’ll teach, which makes me feel even shittier. They’re groaning at the idea of having me teach them.

  Dr. Leeds stands at the doorway as the students filter out, and he still doesn’t look at me. I consider just walking out with the students and not saying a word to him.

  Actually, I decide, I will walk out with them. If he has nothing to say to me, then I have nothing to say to him.

  Just as I walk past him, though, he grabs hold of my arm. “Ms. Weissman.”

  I feel a paper hit my hand, and I look down to see my story marked up in red.

  I step away from the students and look down at it. With embarrassment, I realize someone might read it. I look up at Dr. Leeds and see him talking to Greg about his story, and I take my own story and sit down at a desk far away from the students lingering in the doorway.

  He’s completely marked up every punctuation error, poor stylistic choice, and historical inaccuracy. Judging from his markings, there’s absolutely nothing he liked about my story. I skim past the lead-up and into the sex scene.

  The first time I make Romeo a “he” is circled in red. “Ms. Weissman, Romeo has suddenly become a man? Are you even trying?”

  He marks up the rest of the scene similarly.

  “Why would a pirate wear a baby blue scarf? Do you know how expensive that color of fabric would be in the late 1700s?”

  I nearly crumble the paper up and tear it to pieces, but I skim to the bottom, just in case.

  All he wrote was, “I need to see you after class. That’s an order.”

  I look up to see he’s still occupied with other students. I wait patiently until the final one is gone. He shuts the door, locks it, and looks over at me.

  “Ms. Weissman,” he says. “You forgot to put your name on your story. Were you embarrassed by its poor quality?”

  I hold it up to him. “It looks like I was right to be embarrassed. You hated it.”

  He shakes his head as he walks toward me. “I didn’t hate it.”

  “You didn’t have a single positive thing to say about it,” I say, shoving the paper into his face.

  He’s soon standing right in front of me and looking down at me with a dark expression brewing in his eyes.

  “I’m critical so you can improve,” he says. “I do have one good thing to say about it.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, finding my voice has suddenly sunk down to a whisper.

  “It got me hard,” he says. “Rock hard.”

  I look at him with wide eyes. I’m speechless. He’s finally looking me in the eye and acknowledging this thing between us.

  “In the garden,” he says, “back in Oxford, I’d planned to tie your hands behind you. I was going to bind them so tightly that you couldn’t touch me, and then I was going to touch you, Ms. Weissman.”

  “Oh,” I croak out. “I’d...I’d always wondered.”

  “But,” he says, suddenly reaching up to his tie. “Using it to choke you. That’s what you wanted?”

  I stare in awe as he undoes his tie. I look back toward the door.

  He laughs. “Now you’re worried?”

  “What if—”

  “I locked the door. There’s no window.”

  I look at my watch.

  “No classes are scheduled in here for over an hour,” he says. “Besides, the risk of being caught is...you have to admit it enhances everything, doesn’t it?”

  My lip trembles. Everything is too intense. I don’t need the added danger of being caught for this to be anything other than mind blowing. He’s—

  “Turn around,” he says, pulling his t
ie taut between his hands. “Ms. Weissman.”

  I turn around without hesitation. I’ve wanted this for too long to do anything other than to fully obey and fully submit to him.

  Is he going to tie my hands back behind me, or is he going to choke me? My heart pounds in anticipation. Whose fantasy will he make real?

  He grabs me by the wrists, and he forces my hands up above my head. He pulls down the projector screen until it’s just above my head.

  “Grab hold of it,” he says.

  I grab hold of the ring that dangles off the middle of the screen, and then I feel him wrap his tie around my wrists. His tie is red. It’s not the baby blue one from before. The bright red stands out, a contrast to the fantasy, reminding me that this time, it’s real.

  He tightens the tie, and it binds my wrists together, while also holding them to the ring of the projector screen.

  “This will require real restraint from you, Ms. Weissman,” he says, not letting go of my wrists.

  With one hand, he grabs a marker, uncaps it, and draws a horizontal line across the whiteboard. It’s a few inches below the screen.

  He grabs my wrists once again with both hands. “When I let go, only your own strength will keep your wrists up. If you go slack, you will pull the screen down. If the screen crosses this line that I’ve drawn...I will stop.

  Before I can ask him what he’ll stop, I feel his strong hands press me into the whiteboard. I look back over my shoulder at him.

  “Face forward, Ms. Faria.” he says.

  He grabs the marker once again and draws a circle just in front of my face. He drops the marker uncapped onto the ground. “Keep your eyes within this circle, or again, I’ll stop. I will let go now. Do not let the screen pull down.”

  He lets go, and I flex my muscles to hold my arms up high above my head. I even stand a bit on the tips of my toes to avoid any risk of pulling the screen down.

  I let my muscles relax just a hair, not because I am tired, but just to test how much leeway I have. I feel the tie get tighter around my wrists, and I feel the ring being pulled ever so slightly, though still not enough to move the screen down. He’s given me only an inch or two of leeway. If I pull down hard even in one careless moment, I’ll go below the line he’s drawn for me.

  “I’m going to finally do what you want me to do, Ms. Faria,” he whispers. I don’t even flinch at him using my old name. “I will only stop if you make me stop by disobeying.”

  Do I really believe that he’d stop? Would he really be able to deny himself after all these years, to finally touch me, and then just...stop? I’m not willing to test it. I believe that Elijah Leeds is capable of things that all other men are not, and denying himself what he wants seems to rank high among his skills.

  “Now you know how I feel, Ms. Faria,” he whispers into my ear. “I’ve wanted to act on this for so long, but I’ve had to restrain myself. I’ll not give you the luxury of being truly bound tight. You have to keep yourself in check now.”

  I bite my lip, but I can’t resist answering him. “You think it’s been easy for me? I’ve—”

  “Shh,” he says, his hand suddenly clasping tightly over my mouth. My nostrils flare as I’m forced to breathe through them. “Now stay there. I will be the one who moves.”

  I feel his presence move away from my ear and face and shoulders. The absence of him leaves an ice-cold vacuum behind me, and just when I can no longer bear it, I feel his hands clutch my lower ankles. His fingers wrap tightly around, and his thumbs press into my lower calves.

  I’m wearing a short skirt—as I always do now when I’m around Dr. Leeds—and I nearly whisper thank yous for wearing something that gives him such easy access. I thought that every day might be the day, and my diligence finally paid off today.

  I’ve shaved clean every morning as well, just in case, and his hands slide slowly up my silky smooth calves. I consider looking down to try to find him, but even moving my eyes down without tilting my head would bring me outside of the circle he’s drawn. I decided years ago that if Dr. Leeds ever gave me the chance to obey him, that I would submit fully. I won’t cheat and break his rules, even if there is a zero percent chance he’d even catch me peeking outside the circle.

  When his hands reach the soft flesh of my lower thighs, my knees nearly buckle in. I fight to keep myself stable, tightening my muscles. Then I feel Dr. Leeds’ lips press warm and wet against my thigh, just below the line of my skirt.

  My eyes roll back in my head, and I clench my muscles now involuntarily. The wetness between my legs is growing. I feel tension in my shoulders, and I realize I’ve pulled the projector down a fraction of an inch. I pull my shoulders back and stand tall again, and the bindings around my wrists slacken as I stand straight once again.

  Dr. Leeds laughs even as he runs his lips along my smooth thighs.

  “I’m wondering how far I should go now,” Dr. Leeds says. “I could build a lot more tension if I stopped here.”

  A squeak escapes my throat, and he wraps his hands around my legs, and then I feel his tongue run along my skin.

  “Quiet, Ms. Faria. I’ll decide what we do here. These questions I’m asking are for me alone to answer. I want you to be quiet as a mouse, which means you may only squeak.”

  Is he calling me Ms. Faria intentionally? I don’t dare correct him, not right after he ordered me to not speak.

  “I can’t stop now,” he says. “I have to go further.”

  His hands grip my thighs above the line of my dress, which means he’s touching my ass. I moan audibly, only later realizing that moaning may not be allowed, but he doesn’t say anything.

  He reaches back down and grips my upper thighs, then I feel his hand slide slowly up, raising my skirt as they rise.

  I arch my back so that my ass sticks further out. I feel soaking wet, and I want to do anything I can manage to get him to touch me there sooner rather than later. An intense fear overtakes me, and I worry that he’ll decide he’s gone “far enough” before he even touches me between my legs. My pussy is burning for him, and if he leaves me without so much as touching it, I might spontaneously combust.

  “Mmm, Ms Faria,” he says. “I think I’ve decided how far I’ll take you.”

  I wait for him to go on, but he doesn’t elaborate. He’s decided, but he’s not planning on telling me.

  “You should know,” Dr. Leeds says. “Ms. Faria, before we go any further. I’ve never been with a woman for more than a year. I don’t...believe...in settling down. I want to tie you up, I don’t want you to tie me down, you understand?”

  Dread fills me up, but he’s ordered me not to speak. I don’t nod, because I don’t understand. Did I wait six years just to be his temporary plaything? Is he about to say that I’m different?

  His hands pause, just short of my panty line.

  “Ms. Faria?” he asks. “Nod if you understand.”

  I’m gushing wet now. All I want is for him to touch me, and delaying it is physically painful. I nod just so he’ll touch me deeper.

  His hands grip my ass through the thin fabric of my panties. He squeezes the thick flesh of my ass and I yelp and moan. I feel the bindings on my wrists tighten, and I force myself upright again, terrified I’ll pull the screen down in a moment of weakness.

  Suddenly, without warning, Dr. Leeds pulls my panties down. I feel a brief chill as my wetness is exposed, and he pulls my feet up one after another to fully remove my underwear. I can’t see what he does with them. I’ve closed my eyes long ago, as I can’t see anything within the small circle he’s drawn for me anyway.

  I feel him hike my skirt up, folding it over itself until my bare ass is exposed. He grips my naked ass cheek for the first time, and then his lips press against my earlobe. The warmth of him against me feels perfect, like something I never want to let go. I try as hard as I can to not think of what he said earlier. About not wanting to settle down. I want to imagine that his warmth will be near me forever and always, it’s to
o painful to think of having him, and then—one day—he’s just gone.

  He presses against me, I feel the cool cloth of his trousers against my bare skin, and then a warm bulge presses into me. It’s thick and impossibly warm, and I rotate my hips, trying to get his thick manhood pressed between my legs. As if having him even graze my wet mound through his pants will entrap him.

  “I’m going to make you cum, Ms. Faria,” he says.

  His warmth is gone once again, but then I feel his hands clutch my hips. His fingers slide around forward across my belly, and then down. He goes further and further down, until he’s just an inch from my swollen clit. He pauses there briefly, and then I feel his body press against me once again.

  “I give you permission to turn your head,” he says. “To kiss me, Ms. Faria.”

  I feel his stubble graze against my chin, and I turn my head toward him.

  Our lips press together, and I wait for him to take control. His tongue slides into my mouth, and my hands move to grab him, but his tie is still tight around my wrists, so I focus instead on the feel of his kiss.

  My eyes remain closed, and Dr. Leeds’ scent overwhelms me. He massages my tongue with his and still I can feel his body pressing against me. He’s nearly behind me, but his head is leaning over my shoulder and tilted to accommodate the way he’s tied me up.

  He runs his hands up my sides as he kisses me, and his fingers lightly graze my breasts through my blouse. I try not to focus on how wet I am between my legs, instead savoring the wetness of his tongue pressed against mine.

  It feels as if we’re dancing, even though I can barely move. I dare not turn around or rotate my body for fear I’ll bring down the screen. He’s given me temporary permission to bring my eyes from the circle, but not to bring the screen below the forbidden line.

  After a moment that transcends time, Dr. Leeds pulls his mouth back. I can still taste him on my tongue and his dark eyes meet mine. “Now face the circle again,” he says.

  I obey without hesitation. I even press my forehead into the circle, as if I was a little girl being punished by the teacher. In some ways, I am just that, I realize.