Prologue
Present Day
The lights are dim now, and the audience have fallen silent, their eyes fixed on me. Down on my knees, hands tied behind my back, my naked cock is on display, clear for everyone to see how turned on I am.
My bare chest heaves with shuddering breaths. She is a goddess on the stage. She knows exactly how to draw the audience in with our scene. The audience’s voices hush to a whisper, drinks sitting beside them untouched. One gentleman sits leaning forward, his forearms on his knees, captivated by her presence. Even though dozens of people surround us, watching our every move, there’s an undeniably intimate feel. Just the two of us, as it always is and always will be, together through everything. I had almost lost this, her, our future, and there is nothing that will ever come between us again.
She walks around me slowly, her fingers brushing delicately along my skin, leaving shivers of anticipation in
Yes, Miss
her wake. She stands in front of me, her heels and stockings filling my view as I keep my head bowed, like I have been trained. The sheer nylon and her soft skin make me desperate to kiss my way up her legs, to hear her moans as I please her. Her fingers delicately trace my jawline as I tilt my head up to look at her.
Her black, velvet, corseted curves gleam under the stage lights. Her breasts generously fill her cups and make her luscious body even more defined.
She gazes down at me with her deep blue eyes that sparkle with mischief, making my heart and cock leap. I would do anything for Isabelle. I know this deep in my bones. I am hers, and she is mine.
The belt she holds in her hand unravels as she runs it through her fingers.
“Tell me, darling, do you want this belt? Want me to show my love for you?” She trails her fingers across my scalp, gripping my hair and tugging my head back, making me arch my spine. As she leans down, her breath feathers across my cheek, her lips mere inches from my face.
“Do you want me to make you cry out in pain and pleasure? To make you come like the dirty little man-whore you are?” she croons, knowing full well the answer is a resounding yes. And it will be until the day I die.
Alexandra Ravensbrook
Three Years Earlier
Yes, Miss
Chapter 1
James
As I sit at the front of the sweaty, noisy classroom, I look at the familiar dirty blue walls covered in theatre posters and sheet music. I take in the faces of the students filling the room. Some aren’t technically children anymore—half the class are now over eighteen. The chatter is loud and excitable, friends catching up on gossip and news from the half-term break. The past couple of weeks away from teaching start to fade into the background, not that much happened during that time anyway.
I flip through the class register, the pen scratching against the paper as I tick off each name, my mind wandering over the future lives of these kids. They’re all in their final year of sixth form, on the brink of university or whatever else they’ve got planned.
Charlie May Baxter—she’s the one who’s likely to end up pregnant first. Some things just seem to align that way.
Alexandra Ravensbrook
She’s always brimming with sexual confidence, yet it’s clear to any adult that she’s just a lost little soul, craving affection and love, but going about it in all the wrong ways.
Scarlett Jackson—sharp as a tack and quick on her feet. I easily picture her in politics someday, running circles around her peers. She doesn’t miss a thing. Her ‘Daddy’ is a local councillor, so she’s got her career mapped out. She’s heading to uni to study politics and business, apparently.
David Lowry—of course, he’s the one destined for prison. It’s almost predictable, sadly. He’s already had a few brushes with the law and barely shows up anymore. It’s a shame; he’s so intelligent, but he just won’t direct his talent to his education.
Lastly, there’s Isabelle Matthews. She’s a nice girl. Always a bit awkward, which I find endearing. She carries a touch of geekiness, but beneath that surface is a sweetness I struggle to ignore. Her sapphire blue eyes hold a maturity I often wonder about—especially for someone her age. It’s like her gentle, naive appearance is just a mask, and something much more forceful and determined churns underneath.
She’s striking and stands out in a crowd. Naturally, the teenage girls around her—and some of the boys—mock her and call her chubby. She wears her curves well, but it's
Yes, Miss
pure jealousy on those girls’ parts. That's teenage girls for you, masking their own insecurities with cruelty to others.
I’ve taught her piano in one-to-one sessions for the last year. She shows beautiful form and talent. She’s so quick-witted, too, never hesitating to crack a joke to break the tension and stress of a lesson as her exams near. She's been dating a lad from another college. Before the holidays, she seemed to have lost her sparkle. She was distant and distracted. Looking at her now, she appears a little happier. Hopefully, she has ditched that asshole she was dating. Some of the other teachers have heard of him, and what they say isn’t at all good.
None of this should bother me, and it certainly isn’t any of my business, but she is one of my favourite students and so full of promise. I would hate to see that go to waste over some scrote who didn't deserve her.
