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“It’s time to break in your new accommodations.”
Whitney sorts through the skimpy outfit, holding up the pleated skirt to prove it’s barely long enough to cover her breasts, let alone her ass. My cock pulses with anticipation.
“A schoolgirl outfit?” Her tone is light, teasing. “Did you pick this one out because you’re a sucker for schoolgirls?”
“No. It reminds me of the first day he saw you walking down the street, on your way home from school.”
Whitney’s kohl-lined eyes widen, her lips parting slightly as I step close to her, invading her space as my hands find her hips.
“I’m going to do to you all the things I wanted to do that day but couldn’t,” I rasp, my cock hardening swiftly as she shivers from my touch.
“I didn’t think you remembered me. That was so long ago, and you left in such a hurry.” Her voice is breathy, her dress enticingly soft beneath my fingers.
“How could I forget?” I counter, letting my hands slide lower to find the hem of her form-fitting dress.
11
WHITNEY
My heart stutters unevenly in my chest, responding to his question like a startled deer. Why the fact that he remembers me has such an impact on me, I haven’t a clue. I suppose knowing that the moment affected him as much as it did me validates the connection I feel to him. And at the same time, that only terrifies me more.This is supposed to be a business arrangement, devoid of emotion, but when two strangers who meet in the street for less than five minutes remember the encounter over a year later?That feels like something more.
Fighting to regain control of my body, I ignore the tingles of anticipation rippling up my spine as Ilya’s hands slide down my hips to the hem of my dangerously short dress. His lips linger close to mine, his warm breath caressing my skin as his eyes hold mine for a breathtaking moment. But he doesn’t kiss me, which somehow feels more erotic. Then his gaze drops as he slowly guides my dress up over my curves. Reaching one hand behind me, I undo the top of my neckline, the single button the only thing that might hinder him from removing my dress entirely.
I lose sight of Ilya only for a moment as my dress covers my eyes, and then he tosses it aside as his gaze travels down to my bra-clad breasts and lower still.
“Lose the bra as well,” he demands.
I do, reaching behind me to unclasp it before allowing the straps to slide down my arms and onto the floor.
“Now, put on your outfit,” he growls after a long moment of silence. He steps away from me, allowing me the space to follow his orders even as his eyes continue to undress me.
With shaking hands, I sort through the fabric once more to pull on the plaid pleated schoolgirl skirt that wraps snuggly around my hips and hangs just low enough to cover all but the bottom of my ass. The shirt is little more than a slip of fabric that mimics a short-sleeve collared uniform shirt, but rather than buttons, it has two strips of fabric meant to be tied in a knot between my breasts. I pull it tight, observing that it barely contains me, even as it presses my breasts together to create impressive cleavage. I add the final touch of a cutesy tie that clips around my neck and settles over my cleavage without hiding much of my breasts at all.
“These too,” Ilya commands, tossing me a pair of knee-high stockings.
Stepping out of my combat boots, I slip the socks on, then I stand straight, waiting for my next instructions.
“Now, lie on the bed, and do your homework.” Ilya’s voice shifts into the deeper, more dangerous tone that tells me our scene has begun. And he tosses a textbook onto the bed along with a spiral notebook and pen.
It takes me a moment to orient, seeing as we aren’t in a club. I don’t really know how to handle this situation–when there won’t be a clear-cut end because this is my room, apparently, for the foreseeable future.Will he spend the night with me? Will the scene continue for the entire weekend?The thought both thrills and terrifies me. I don’t know that I can handle an entire weekend of being with Ilya, but that won’t stop me from trying to enjoy it to the fullest.
I do as Ilya says, padding lightly to the bed as my eyes linger on his inscrutable face. I lie flat on my belly, extending across the length of the bed, and prop myself up on my elbows. I open the textbook and notebook before picking up the pen. With a quick side glance, I observe Ilya watching me, but I don’t say a word. Instead, I turn my eyes to the text and skim the page of American history.
Ilya remains out of my direct line of sight, and while I sense his eyes on me, I pretend like I’m concentrating on my reading–a schoolgirl determined to get her homework done. Absently, I bend my knees and cross my legs at the ankles, swinging my feet together like I have countless times as I study. It’s an easy role to fall into, not far off from the truth, honestly. I have textbooks to read about the history of dance, the famous styles and choreographers, how dance has transitioned over the years. I’ve even had a few core classes at Rosehill covering science, math, and English.
Ilya remains silent, a ghostly presence for so long that I start to wonder if his plan is to simply watch me work. If that’s the case, he might have let me actually get some homework done. I push the snarky thought aside. I should know better than to think his kink could include watching me be studious–even if my ass cheeks are hanging out beneath the skimpy skirt.
Then Ilya’s fingers graze my calf and slowly make their way up the inside of my leg to my knee. Rough calluses tickle my flesh as his touch slides higher still, leaving my stockings behind as they climb toward the peak of my thighs. Warm excitement pools in my belly at the gentle touch and the confidence with which he strokes me.
I gasp when his fingers find my panties and brazenly slides his hand beneath me, cupping my pussy as he finds my clit. My head snaps in his direction as my heart leaps into action.
“What are you–”
“You need to focus on your work,” he growls. “Your studies are important.” His hand pauses as his gaze narrows, telling me he’s displeased with my response.
I bite my lip and turn my eyes back to my book, my hand clenching my pen as I try to focus once again. As soon as I seem to be working, Ilya starts to move once again, his hands fondling me, exploring my thighs, my pussy, my ass cheeks. He flips my skirt up, revealing my cotton panties, and for a moment, I wonder if I ought to have changed those too. But no, he wants a schoolgirl, innocent and dressed as such… kind of.
His fingers curl around the waist of my panties, and he pulls them down over my hips, exposing my flesh inch by inch. As the heat intensifies between my legs, I start to squirm, my thighs squeezing together instinctually.
