I bend my head, passively avoiding his glare, but he snaps, “Eyes on me.”
My mouth retorts, “I can’t do both,” not bothering to check-in beforehand with my brain.
He gives a surprised laugh. “Then just do the best you can. Put your hands behind your back.”
They’ve been resting on my knees and clasping them behind my back instead makes me feel unbelievably exposed. Every second I’m in this, it grows worse. Better to get it over with. Better to comply.
I twist my head to the side, catching his gaze from my peripheral vision as I extend my tongue. It hits against the side of his sneaker, recoiling at the strange rubber taste, and I close my eyes.
His hand fists my hair. “Keep your eyes on me, I said.”
They bolt open. I move my head, licking along the canvas of his shoe, shuddering as my tongue runs over a bump ofsomething. I don’t want to know what. I don’t want to play at guessing.
“That’s my good little pet,” Lachlan says in a voice so heavy with lust that it stirs something inside me, sending a thrill of excitement out to join the sagging horror of the moment. “Keep going.”
I draw back so I can start at the toe of his shoe again, flattening my tongue to press against more of the surface, my neck screaming as I keep my head angled enough for me to see him from my peripheral vision.
He nods in approval, and I’m dizzy.
My heart hammers from the embarrassment, from the watchful eyes. Most of all it hammers from being this near to Lachlan. To hear in his voice how much this turns him on. The thickening vocal cords, the deepening timbre.
The knowledge works into that wriggle of excitement and turns it into a rhythmic pulse of pleasure. I turn my head and lick along the inside edge of his sneaker. The sole has stiffened through wear. It smells like the Para Rubber store that my parents took me to as a kid. I’d inhaled the scent as they shopped for a paddling pool strong enough to last through the rambunctious summer but cheap enough for their budget.
Lachlan shakes the foot I’m working on, pulling it out of reach. “Now the other one.”
I obediently move to the right side, starting again. My thighs squeeze together as I hear students murmuring to each other. My cheeks flame as I realise some will film me with their phones, ready to turn me into the latest internet sensation, even if it’s only of interest within these school walls.
The long slow strokes of my tongue become less of a punishment and more like worship. His perfect form stretches above me like a god, directing me to do his bidding. Like any good supplicant, I obey.
“That’s enough.”
I sit back on my heels, looking up at him for my next instruction. Lachlan cups my cheek. “Open your mouth. Show me how well you’ve done.”
Some students break away, shuffling into their classes with teachers too well trained to mumble about tardiness. As the crowd thins, he moves closer, his thighs bumping against my chin.
My mouth opens wide, tongue out, showing him whatever he needs to see. He strokes my hair, gently then with increasing pressure, finally twisting my ponytail and tilting my head back as far as it will go.
“Keep it open,” he scolds me as my lips press together.
My jaw is stiff, like it’s getting a workout. My head buzzes too much to hold any further shame.
He spits into my open mouth. The wad lands near the back of my tongue, bubbly and warm. A shiver of exquisite revulsion twists through me as my mouth waters in response.
Lachlan’s voice is now impossibly deep. “Swallow it, then open and show me.”
I obey, and he spits again. It’s too soon after the last time and I have to pause for a few seconds, fighting my throat before it relaxes and I can swallow the second gift, automatically opening wide for whatever he wants to give me.
The grip on my hair loosens. Lachlan crouches in front of me again, level, his thick fingers holding my jaw so I can’t squirm away. “And what’s the lesson you learned today?”
It bubbles up from my memory. “No. Fucking. Spitting.”
His eyes crease with recognition but he shakes his head.
“That you c-can do whatever you like with no repercussions?”
He wrinkles his nose, shaking his head again while his warm breath skates across my lips, raising the tiny hairs on the sides of my cheeks. “That’s one hundred percent true, but it’s not the lesson.”
My stomach knots as I try to oblige. Try to tell him what he wants to hear.
