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After grabbing a towel from one of the closets, I wiped off the cum and wetness from her thighs and around her pussy lips, then pulled her skirt up her legs to cover her. She watched my every move, even when I walked to the trash and dumped the towel.
“Why do you do that?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Clean me up when we’re finished.”
“Aftercare,” I said. “I thought we talked about this.”
“We did, but I just … can’t believe it,” she whispered to herself.
“It’s my job to make sure you’re okay.”
“Yeah, but … nobody has done something so nice for me before,” she whispered.
My chest tightened, and a frown tugged at the corner of my mouth. I parted my lips to respond, but I couldn’t come up with anything that didn’t sound so forced. No I doubt that’s true or someone surely has.
Truth was that I had stopped searching for a submissive for so long because I felt the same way. Nobody that I was interested in cared about me, about my past, about my needs. All they cared about was themselves.
Especially my birth parents.
She laid her hands in her lap and smiled softly at me. “Thank you again.”
I placed my hand on her knee and gently squeezed. “You don’t need to thank me.”
Sierra lifted her hand a couple of inches off her lap, paused for a moment, as if she was reassessing our current position, then swiped some hair off my forehead. I closed my eyes, enjoying the fluttery touch of her soft fingers.
A moment of easy silence passed between us, and then I finally gathered hold of myself, grasped her hand, and helped her off the desk. She winced slightly, taking her time sliding off the wooden table.
“Are you sore?”
She blushed. “A bit in the nether regions.”
“Do you have a bath at home?” I asked.
“A bath in my apartment?” She laughed softly. “No.”
I paused, wondering if what I wanted to say next would be crossing a line. After all, she was still my student. She trusted me to teach her the ropes, and she wasn’t my submissive. Not yet. But I had crossed many lines already, from the moment I had stayed in Michelle’s office while she signed up for my class.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Can I run a bath for you?” I finally asked.
She widened her eyes. “I, um … you don’t have to. I’m sure I’ll survive.”
“I want to.”
She opened and closed her mouth a few times. “Where’s the bath?”
“I have a highrise about a block down the road,” I said. “I’ll bring you home right after.”
“It’s dangerous to go home alone with a man I just met,” she said.
“Then, I’ll grab a heating pad for you from the office and bring you home instead.”
“No,” she said, pulling her phone out of her backpack. “It’s okay. Let me just text my friend your address, and we can go. But not for long. I have an internship and classes all day tomorrow.”
“Th-this is your home?” she whispered, stopped in the middle of the foyer.
