That frisson again. 'I don't know,' I said saucily, biting my lip. 'Is it?'
There was a moment laden with significance, then he turned to the bed and emptied the contents of his golf bag. A thing that looked like a table-tennis bat, a leather strap, a crook-handled cane. A bottle of lotion and another of lubricant. A pack of condoms. The cloak and mortarboard, which he put back in the bag. We will not be role-playing, the action told me. This will be 'real'.
He turned back to me, clasping his hands together against his chest and looking me up and down. I shuffled diffidently on my Mary-Janed feet, feeling the hem of my kilt brush against my sock-clad knees.
'Your manners last week, young lady, left a lot to be desired, didn't they?'
'Uh . . . did they?'
'Yes, they did. And you will address me as ''Sir'' when you speak to me. You acted in haste and your impetuosity led to considerable embarrassment.'
'I know. I'm sorry, Sir.' I stared at the ground, just as if I was back at school, being berated for late homework. I would find it hard to take this seriously from most men, but somehow Dr Lassiter had that knack of unlocking your shame and playing with it. Was it something he had learned to do, or did it come naturally?
'I daresay you are, but that does not preclude you from suffering the consequences of your actions. You and I both know that you need a sharp reminder of what constitutes acceptable behaviour. Ask me for it, please, Sophie.'
My head shot up. Ask him? In words? From my own lips? I could tell that he was suppressing some satisfied amusement behind his mask of severity; he knew I had not been expecting this.
'I cannot proceed unless you have spoken the words,' he said softly. I supposed it made sense that he needed my explicit and unambiguous consent. Perhaps, then, it was only fair.
'Oh . . . right. Please will you . . .' I hesitated, not sure I could say the 'p' word, so weighted did it seem with mortifying sexual connotations.
'Please will I?' he prompted, gently but firmly.
My volume dropped to a whisper. 'Please will you punish me, Sir?' I looked past the side of his head, not wanting to see how his face reacted to my words. The wall mirror needed polishing, I noticed. This was Jade and Maria's floor; no doubt the lazy bitches had been slacking off again. I would have to have a word with Elaine, the head of Hospitality Services. I was jolted out of my dissociation by Lassiter's voice, strong and confident now.
'Indeed I will.' He beckoned me towards him, seating himself on the edge of the bed. 'Place yourself over my lap, young lady.'
Now was the time to giggle and make jokey remarks, but somehow I could not. Something inside me did not want this to be simple light-hearted fun. Something inside me really wanted to submit, to gain his approval, to be a good girl. It was all wrapped up in my feelings for Chase in one way or another. Perhaps I wanted it whipped out of me.
I lowered myself tentatively on to the sharply creased trouser legs of Dr Lassiter, hoping I wouldn't flatten them. Still, at least there was a trouser press in the room. My elbows sank into the duvet beyond him, while my legs rested in the featherdown at his opposite side. My lower torso was elevated, presenting my bottom as the target; he tucked my knees up against his thigh so that I was half-kneeling, raising my arse higher.
'Good, Sophie. Now, while you are under my authority, you will abide by my rules. You may cry and squeal as much as you like, but you may not try to shield yourself from your punishment, nor may you break position. If you do either of these things, I will bring a stronger implement to bear on your rebellious bottom. Do you understand me?'
'Yes, Sir.'
The words, the way they were spoken, the significance of them, were making me shiver. I shivered even more when he took the hem of my kilt and raised it to my waist, leaving my white cotton knickers and stripy socks on display.
'Are these regulation socks, Miss?' he demanded ominously.
'I'm . . . not sure.'
'I do not think they are. There will be an additional penalty to pay for those.'
Woe is me. His hand descended to the top of the socks, a finger running beneath the turn-ups, then it ran up my bare thighs and came to rest on the twin cotton-covered crests of my bum. He moved the hand around as if taking measurements, up the hill and down the dale and even swooping a finger along the valley, which made me jiggle my hips.
'Such pale skin you have, Sophie. Let's see if we can't put a bit of colour in these cheeks.' The first smack rang out, sudden and shocking enough to make me gasp, although not in itself terribly painful. The succeeding volley lulled me, made me think that this was, after all, a pleasure game, a bedroom folly. They were not hard nor fast, just little warming slaps that made me want to moan and push my bum out for more. His hand was firm but considerate, covering the entire area of my big school-issue knickers and sometimes straying over the elasticated border to my unprotected thighs, which stung, but in a good way.
He was lecturing me as he spanked away, but I was not catching much of it, though the steady rumble of his voice added to my enjoyment, enabling me to lose myself in the punishment fantasy. The sense of being at his mercy intensified the sensations, making much more of it than the usual bedroom rough and tumble. The warmth became heat, and the heat was not only on my rear cheeks. It had spread and was now oozing between the lips of my sex, a liquid fire that interfered with my ability to keep still beneath Dr Lassiter's hand. I began to grind myself against his thighs, wiggling my bottom and gasping.
He stopped abruptly and said my name in a warning tone. His fingers plunged between my legs, pushing the cotton up inside my streaming lips so that a damp stain spread across the whiteness.
'You are making a mess of these knickers,' he said, tutting. 'I think it's time they came down, don't you?'
'Oh!' I snuffled my protest, trying to trap his fingers between my thighs, but he escaped and wrenched the knickers down to my knees, keeping them there.
The air circulated around my wet pussy and warm bottom. He put his hand back down on my rear. 'Well, Sophie, your bottom is pink, but what colour are you? Still green?'
I nodded vigorously. Don't you dare stop, I said in my head.