I race home to make myself look better, butterflies rising up through my stomach into my chest the entire way to my place. When I get home, I see my mom's car in the driveway, meaning she's home earlier than I had hoped. I may have to sneak out if she tries to ask too many questions... since I don't have too many answers.
"Hey, honey," she says, greeting me from the kitchen, her voice slightly distant.
"Hey, mom," I reply, watching her enter the room and stare me up and down.
"Why do you have a collar around your neck?" She asks, her face puzzled.
"It's called style. I like it," I explain, assuming she won't question it too much in contrast to the remainder of my wardrobe being slightly edgy, too. She shrugs, and sits down in front of the TV in the living room.
"I'm gonna go do homework," I tell her, making my break for the stairs.
"Was detention that bad?" I nod my head, and run up the stairs. Once I enter my room, I close the door gently and gaze into the mirror hung above my dressed. I looked like this all day? My hair is all messed up, a tousling of dark brown hair, full of static, and my clothes made me look like they had been worn for a month straight then left on the floor for weeks, all crumpled and faded. I start picking up clothes off my floor, rummaging through them for my best and cleanest pair of skinny jeans. It takes me about 20 minutes to find them crumpled on the floor under my bed. I pull them out and shake the wrinkles out, returning their shape. I sniff them and they don't smell too bad. I pull off my pants and slide on the jeans. I hop up and down until they're over my ass and resting comfortably on my hips. I lay on my bed, breathing hard after all the effort to get my pants on. I stand back up with a new mission: shirt. Out of all the shirts I have, which one do I wear? I don't even know what he likes. I've been in his class three years... Come on, Frank, there has to be something! Fuck it. My brain hurts. I'll just put on one of my favorites, Misfits, or should I wear a Black Flag shirt. Why is this so fucking hard? I strip my shirt off and put on the shirt that smells the cleanest, which is the Misfits tee. I wear my Black Flag shirt too much, the black is fading into a dark grey. I head into the bathroom and take a closer look at my face. There aren't too many pimples today, so I should be okay. I run a brush through my messy hair. I try my best to fix my hair but it's not working with me today, it's sticking up where it shouldn't be, curling in on my face and looking fuzzy. I check the clock, 4:39. I almost jump. I'm gonna be late. I brush my teeth really quick and barely get the chance to put any eyeliner on. I hadn't worn any in awhile but special occasion, right? I run out the door, ignoring my mom who's trying to ask me where I'm going.
When I get to the library, it's 5:03 and I feel like he's going to be pissed. I spot him inside at a table with a coffee cup in his hands. I walk over to him, his attire hasn't changed and I see him smile as he notices that mine had. Oops.
"Hello there, Frank," he says, raising his hand and pointing to the seat beside him, showing me where to sit. I sit down and his smile gets wider as he makes eye contact with me. I can feel my breath become more rapid as thoughts flood my mind about what he could possibly be thinking about. I feel his foot rub against my leg, running up my thigh, a smirk on his lips. He rubs up and down on my inner thigh with his foot. I push his foot off my leg and he frowns.
"Aw come on, I was just playing," he says, a playful smile plastered on his soft face.
"But we're in public, people could see us," I reply, my heart beating in my throat.
"That's all part of the fun, babe."
"You know you could get in trouble, right?"
"It's a risk I'm willing to take."
"Are you sure?" He answers my question with a nod. He stands up and straightens his clothes. He reaches his out his hand for me to grab and I do. He helps me to my feet and continues to hold my hand, making me follow him to a conference room in the library. He pushes me into the room and closes the door behind us, turning the lock. He pulls down the blinds and turns back to me. He grabs behind my thighs, lifts me in the air and sets my ass on the table in the middle of the room. He stands between my legs, so close that I can feel his warmth on my chest, and he begins kissing me. His hand runs down my back, giving me shivers. His tongue makes its way into my mouth, tasting me. I can tell he was smoking very recently by how strong the taste is on his tongue. He trails the kiss down my neck, biting and sucking on it gently, his fingers playing with the collar that I'm still wearing. I let out a couple of soft moans, enjoying the feeling of his hot breath and lips on my neck. I know this is wrong but I'm okay with it because it feels so damn good. His hand moves from my back to my crotch and he starts massaging me through my pants, causing them to get increasingly tighter. He takes his mouth off my neck and reaches his hand under my shirt, slipping it off over my head. My chest feels exposed and vulnerable to his touch. He runs his fingers through my hair without saying a word, his heartbeat ebbing through his fingertips on my temple. He stares into my eyes before kissing my forehead. I watch him intently as he undoes each button of his shirt very carefully before moving to his tie. He loosens it gently, before sliding it off and setting it on the table beside me. My eyes are mesmerized by his movements, as he very carefully notices.
"Now if only you'd pay attention to me in class like you're doing right now," he smiles. His shirt falls to the ground and he moves for his belt buckle, undoes it and removes it from the loops on his pants. He bites his lip, setting the belt beside his tie, and starts looking me in the eyes before he speaks.
"You showed up 3 minutes late, Frank. I'm gonna have to teach you a lesson. You need to be disciplined. You need to be punished," he says, his voice deeper than it had been moments ago. He picks up his tie and loops it around my eyes, restricting my vision. I learned quickly yesterday that the thrill of being blindfolded belonged to the intensity of the other senses when one of them is deprived... and, I love the intensity. His fingers grip my waist, and he flips me onto stomach. The table is cold against my bare skin. He pulls my pants off with surprising ease, considering the effort I had to put in to get them on. I place my hands in front of me, preparing to be belted.
"Does 10 sound like enough of a punishment?" He asks, his words echoing through the silent room. I nod my head repeatedly. The belt strikes me and I let out a moan, the pain causing pleasure as it courses through my body. I tense up before the belt hits me again. I feel a hand on my ass and he massages it for a moment before releasing the belt back on my skin. As the belt strikes keep coming, they get increasingly harder and so do I. We make it to 9 before the tears start falling from my eyes. The skin on my ass was still raw from yesterday and he had reopened the cuts, causing it to hurt more. He kisses me between my shoulder blades.
"One more," he says. I nod. I clench my fists, waiting for the pain. When it comes, I let out a loud moan because I know it's over and as much as it hurt, it felt good. Everything falls silent for a moment, before I hear him walking around the room. The noise of a zipper being undone tingles through my ears, as he rummages in the bag he brought with him. Not long after, he zips the bag closed and walks over to me. The buckle of the belt knocks against the table and he asks for my wrists. He's fashioned handcuffs from his belt and tightens them, restricting my hands behind my back. Mr. Way fiddles with his pants for a moment before they crumble to the ground. The sound of a bottle opening echoes through my head as he spreads my legs open gently. He gets closer to me and I feel his thighs rub against mine as he lines himself up, pouring lube onto my ass, and massaging my hole with his thumb. Slowly, he pushes himself into me and my mouth falls open. Sweat drips from my forehead down my cheeks as he pulls out halfway before slamming himself back in.
Mr. Way increases his pace, making my breathing more rapid and my moans more frequent. The table beneath us creaks with each movement, and I ball my fists as I feel immense feelings of gratification course through my every nerve. He says my name and it sends a tingling sensation through my dick. He moans my name two more times before he comes in me, slamming himself into me really hard, moving the table forward a little. He rides out his orgasm, jerking gently within me, before giving me his full attention. He allows me to turn over, and I feel his tongue on my cock, as he slowly inserts one finger into my ass. I want so badly to touch him in someway, but I am unable to. This frustrates and exhilarates me all at the same time. His hands and mouth send warm sensations across my body, and I come in his mouth. He helps me to a seated position and undoes his belt from my wrists and the tie from my eyes. His cheeks are red, and sweat is beading down his face. I lay back down on the table and he climbs over me. Our chests are pressed together and I can feel his heartbeat in sync with mine. He smiles into my neck and gives it a kiss.
"That was fun," he tells me through deep breaths.
"Yeah, it was." I feel stupid for not having come up with something better to say but my mind is fuzzy from the pleasure. We lay silent for a moment, regaining our breath and coming down from the intensity of the scene. Mr. Way is the first to make a move, and he stands up and begins to put his clothes on, fumbling with his belt buckle due to shaky hands. I do the same shortly afterwards. He peaks through the blinds and immediately closes them.
"Looks like we've got an audience," he informs me, sounding nervous.
"Shit," I say, panic setting in about the consequences of what we've just done. He nods sternly.
"It was probably my fault," he explains. Well, seeing as I never made an advance towards him in the first place, I'd have to agree with him. He fucked me first.
"They'll leave eventually, right?" I ask, remaining hopelessly hopeful. He shrugs, turning away from the window to think.
"Hopefully."
A couple of moments of thinking and worrying pass when I think I may have a plan.
"I have an idea," I whisper in his ear. He raises an eyebrow, seeming to say "go on" without needing to.
"Do you know anybody who lives around here?" I ask him, trying to sound a lot more confident in my idea than I actually am.
"Yeah," he looks at me with confusion apparent on his face.
"Have them come and pull the fire alarm, we wait until the place is mostly clear and we run out with everybody else and go our separate ways," I explain, attempting to sound positive.
"That could work..." He ponders the idea. He pulls out his phone and dials a number hastily.
"Yeah, could you do me a favor? I'm at the library and I need you to come pull the fire alarm. No it doesn't matter. Yes, I get what you're saying. Please! Thank you!" He says into the phone, the muffled voice of the recipient too distant to really hear.
"He'll be here soon," he informs me. I nod. Minutes later, the fire alarm is going off throughout the whole building and the sprinklers are on. We wait a minute, as a couple of panicked screams ring through the library as people shuffle to exit. Gerard peaks through the blinds, and opens the door. He grabs his bag and runs out, and I follow behind him. We make it into a crowd and we lose track of each other. Once we're divided, I break from the crowd and start walking home, ignoring the people who are scared and asking me what happened.