The pain adds to my already building sensory overload, all of it feeding my arousal. “Say it, whore! Say it!” He yanks me up by the hair hissing ...n my ear, “I want to hear you say it, you fucking slut. Tell me how much you love it.” His hips never slow their tempo. He is brutally driving in to me, pounding my pussy. “Yes I love it, to be nothing but your fuck-holes, your fuck-toy, Sir,” I howl. Mr. Callahan lets go of my hair, and I drop down to the desk again. For a moment he pauses, not. Hearing them in the hallway that night had petrified me with fear, but I remembered clearly that it had also been an incredibly erotic turn-on. That night was the subject of one of my stories (Slippery When Wet). It made me realize that sometimes fear and sex can be connected at some level. And that is what was happening for me right now. I was scared of the consequences of being caught being a naughty voyeur, but I was also turned-on. Not only by what I had seen through the window as the man. More

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