Chapter 2: Over the Edge

Bruce Walters had long pictured himself as living on the edge. Poets were expected to be a little wild, and he fulfilled that expectation -- maybe exceeded it. He’d never have hooked up with Janet if he hadn’t been living on the edge.

With Janet, however, he felt that he had gone over the edge. The University, which forgave him some excesses which his fellow instructors in English would never dare, wouldn’t forgive his living with a freshman who was simultaneously the daughter of one of the University’s trustees and enrolled in one of Bruce’s classes.

Then, too, the particulars of their life together weren’t going to win him any sympathy; they weren’t precisely Abelard and Heloise. Janet would taunt him, scream insults at him, mess up the papers or tests he was trying to grade, until he lost patience. Then he would give her a spanking. Janet was quite vocal during the spanking and the following fuck. The neighbors had to know what was going on -- one complaint to the police about the noise would bring the whole house of cards tumbling down

He experimented a bit. “Come here,” he said one evening before she could throw her usual tantrum. He grabbed her, sat on a straight chair, and turned her over his lap. Even though she still had her jeans on, the spanking must have been painful; she kicked and squealed enough. He unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans while she was still on his lap. Then he had her get up long enough to change her location and pull down her jeans. Across his lap the other way, he spanked her bare ass with his left hand.

“What did I do?” she wailed.

“Breathed. Now let me alone while I grade my papers.” But she wouldn’t. She grabbed the stack of graded ones to see what her friends and competitors had written, and what grades they had received. “Look,” he said, “you know they’d show those papers to you if you asked; while they’re in my hands, though, they’re confidential. Leave them alone.”

“Jesus, ‘Moby Dick was a symbol of America’s pursuit of domination over all nature.’ What a load of crap!”

“She spelled ‘symbol,’ ‘pursuit,’ and ‘domination’ correctly. She used the possessive correctly, which many of your classmates do not. If I graded down for putting loads of crap on those tests, nobody would pass. Hell! There are guys with tenured positions spouting worse crap and getting it published. Now give those papers back.”

“What did you give me?”

“I haven’t graded it yet. I’m going to take off for reading your classmates’ papers. Now give them back!”

“Can’t make me.”

“You complain about ‘domination over all nature.’ You know I can make you, and you know that it will hurt if I do.”

Logic and experience never had much influence on Janet, and they had absolutely none just then. He grabbed her and opened and pushed down her jeans. The papers flew everywhere, but -- at least -- he didn’t have to worry about her tearing them.

He pushed her over the back of his easy chair with her head against the seat and her legs dangling down the back. He held her hair down on the seat with his left hand and used his right to spank her ass. She had a belt in the jeans he had pulled down; he worked that out of the loops and used it to beat her when his hand grew tired. The belt was doubled over and made a loud sound on every blow. This scared him but didn’t seem to have much effect on her. When her screams and kicking finally subsided, he grabbed a rubber from the bedroom. Back in the living room, he pulled her back and fucked her while her face was still pressed against the back of the chair.

She came before he did. When he had erupted in her, he pulled out and snapped her jeans closed around her knees. Then he picked up the papers from the floor and put them in one of the desk drawers which locked.

He graded the rest of the papers in his office at the university, including Janet’s. He had an inspiration. He took a Xerox of her corrected paper with circles around her errors and clumsy expressions. That night, not waiting for her misbehavior, he forced her face-down on the bed, tied her wrists and ankles to the bed frame, and gagged her. Then he pulled her jeans down. He quoted from the paper, spanking her at every error. He switched hands, spanking her with one and holding the paper in the other. When both his hands were tired, he untied her ankles, and pulled her up to kneel on the bed.

Then he pulled on a rubber and fucked her doggy-style. Only when Janet had collapsed did he take off the gag and untie her.

Nothing he did seemed to faze her. She screamed or sobbed while he was hurting her, but she sneered at him until he did. A few days after the incident over the papers, he was fucking her hard and fast, but they were face-to-face and actually in bed. When they both had come, he noticed blood on his phallus. Had he damaged her?

She went into the bathroom, though, and returned with a string dangling between her legs. It was merely her period. He noticed that she behaved less wildly for that week -- although still more wildly than any other woman he had known. He underlined the number for that day on his office calendar. This had enough cryptic notes that nobody was going to notice one more.

In the bookstore buying some supplies, his eyes lit on the cheap plastic rulers. He bought one and took it home. That night, he spanked her with the ruler instead of his hand. The ruler had ridges and raised markings. These left marks on her ass, but she didn’t particularly complain.

He took to doing his grading in his office in the university. When his office hours were over, he locked the door rather than coming home. He did his grading, if not all class preparation. When he winged his lectures, his students didn’t seem to notice. Why should they? -- they didn’t seem to notice the lectures in the first place.

This was a frustrating time for his poetry, though. The second thing -- after his libido -- which benefited from life with Janet was poetic inspiration. Before her, he’d got into the rut of writing about his drinking; now he had lots of experiences which called out for verse. Inspiration she provided; what she didn’t provide -- didn’t even allow -- was the undivided attention verse needed. He jotted notes, fragments, ideas, images, on scraps of paper to slip into one locked drawer at home or another one in his office.

She no longer bought him scotch, and he never learned where she’d got it at her age. He bought vodka for both of them and drank most of it. He had only one screwdriver for breakfast -- usually with four aspirin for the hangover. If he took too long on his work at the end of the day, however, he started envisioning the inevitable collapse of this lifestyle. Then he’d come home with those demons haunting him. He’d have a screwdriver then to take the edge off those visions.

She usually came in later than he did and joined him on his fourth or fifth drink. They’d eat at home -- at a local diner if they were feeling especially daring -- before her nightly tantrum, spanking, and fuck.

One night, she tripped over an extension cord, which pulled a lamp over. While he was putting the lamp back, she kicked at the extension cord repeatedly until it was entirely out of the socket. “Stupid cord,” she said.

“Stupid girl,” he replied. When he tried to plug the cord back in the socket, he found she had bent one prong so it no longer fit. When he tried to bend it back, it broke off in his hand.

“Junk,” she said.

“Well, it is now.” Then he had a thought. “Or maybe not.” He caught her up and pushed her over the back of the easy chair again. He whipped the seat of her jeans with the doubled-up cord. When she kept kicking and screaming, he stopped to pull down the jeans and snap and belt them below her knees. He pulled off her panties and rolled them down until they constricted her above the knees.

Then he went back to whipping her with the doubled-up cord again. He could see the welts forming, even a little blood oozing out of some welts. Still, he didn’t stop until his arm was tired. “Now stay there,” he said.

“I’m going to be sick.”

“You are sick.”

“I’m getting nauseous.”

“Have been for months. Vomit on the chair and you’ll be breathing that smell for any number of future beatings.”

She did stay there until he went into the bathroom. When he got back, he made himself another pitcher of orange juice without making any comment on her location. He sat there drinking stronger and stronger screwdrivers until the pitcher was empty. He didn’t offer her any.

“I’m making my own,” she said. She got an unopened bottle of vodka out of the cupboard.

“Leave that alone.”

“You can’t make me.” He rose to his feet. She was right; he couldn’t make her. He could barely steer himself into the bathroom for another piss. He went from there to the bedroom, stripped with difficulty, and crawled into bed. Later, she held his phallus; but he was too drunk to perform.

He needed three screwdrivers and a handful of aspirin to get him going the next morning. Janet wasn’t in class, but she didn’t miss much. He managed not to make an ass of himself in front of any of his classes, but his lectures were hardly impressive.

He had four more aspirin later in the morning, and two when those wore off in the afternoon. He locked the door of his office and dozed when his hours were over.

When he got home that night, he left the booze alone. He had a pile of Nation magazines with the crossword puzzles undone. He took one off the bottom of the pile but couldn’t get anywhere with it. When Janet wasn’t home by dinner time, he cooked one of the frozen pizzas. Suddenly, the odor of the cooking sickened him. He turned the stove off and rushed into the bathroom. He got to the toilet just in time. After vomiting, he brushed his teeth and went to lie down.

Soon, though, he was hungry. He finished cooking the pizza and had a slice. By the time Janet got back, he had eaten more than half.

“I had gym class today,” Janet said when she sashayed in at 9:45.

“You had English 102, as well.”

“In the shower, a girl asked where I got those marks.”

“What marks?” he asked.

“The ones from your stupid electric cord.”

“You got them on your ass. I’d think a girl in the shower could see that.”

“I told her that my lover was into causing pain,” she said.

“Really? You didn’t give her my name as well?”

“You know I’d never do that.” Bruce didn’t know anything which she would never do. Act her age, maybe; but he believed she’d do anything stupid. “I didn’t really tell her about your whipping me, either. I told her I fell down.”

Probably, by no means certainly, she’d told the girl either that she’d fallen down or that she had a lover who was into giving pain. If she’d been asked, if she’d attended gym class, if her schedule even had a gym class that day. Well, she wanted a spanking; and he wanted an early night. “Are they still visible? I don’t believe it. Let me look.”

He went over to the best chair for a spanking, and she came over and dropped her jeans and panties. “They’re not that visible,” he said. Then he grabbed her and turned her over his knee.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“For lying. For telling me you’d told a girl I was into causing pain.” Was she really going to pretend she hadn’t expected a spanking when he moved to this chair and told her to bare her ass?

“But that was the truth. Ouch!” The welts were barely visible, but they seemed to increase her sensitivity.

“All right. I won’t spank you for saying that. I’ll spank you for telling me that you said you’d fallen down instead.”

“Ow! That isn’t fair.”

“What isn’t? You told two stories. At least one of them is a lie. I’m spanking you for telling a lie. I don’t need to know which one was a lie.”

When he spanked her ass, he covered both cheeks. Lower on her leg, he only spanked one thigh. She winced and cried more loudly when his fingers hit welts on the inside of that thigh. Getting an idea, he started spanking the near ass cheek. His fingers, curling around that cheek, struck her labia a stinging blow.

She screamed. A few more blows like that left her sobbing.

He stood her up, got up himself, and lowered her onto the chair. He went to bed. He woke in the night with her hand on his phallus. He could see her wince in the dim light as she lowered herself around him. She continued, nevertheless, until she had an explosive orgasm. His echoed hers.

He almost threw out the screwdriver he made as his wake-up ritual the next morning. He drank it, though, and used it to wash down two aspirin. He spent another full day at school, getting his grading almost caught up. He stopped at the bookstore on his way home for several more rulers. At home, he put one of these in his drawer on the nightstand. He hid the electric cord under the cushion of the easy chair. He fixed and ate one TV dinner. He managed to finish most of the crossword puzzle before Janet got back. “You ate without me,” was her greeting.

“Yes.”

“You could have waited.”

“Yes,” he said again.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because you’ve got our relationship all wrong. This is my apartment; my name is on the lease. You’re my student. You are underage. Eighteen is generally considered an age for deciding for oneself like an adult, but your emotional maturity is about six. I’m in charge here. Now repeat after me, ‘Bruce, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I’d get back; I apologize, and I won’t do it again.’ Then we’ll start from there.”

“You are crazy, absolutely crazy,” she said.

“That isn’t what you’re supposed to say. Say it!”

“No!”

He grabbed her and pushed her against the wall behind the easy chair. She kicked at his ankles while he unbuckled her belt and opened her jeans. She was wearing tennis shoes, though, and they did only minimal damage. He soon got the jeans far enough down to confine her legs. He pushed her over the back of the chair again. Holding her against the back with his right hand, he managed to extract the electric cord with his left. “You can’t,” she screamed. But he could and did.

When she was sobbing helplessly, he asked, “remember your speech?” She shook her head, maybe this was just part of the general writhing. “‘Bruce, I’m sorry.’” He brought the cord down on her ass in a vicious blow.

“I’m sorry.”

He’d accept that. “‘That I didn’t ask how late I could come home.’” He brought the cord down again.

“That’s not what you said.”

“‘That I didn’t ask you how late I could come home.’” He whipped her as hard as he could, repeating the blow immediately after.

“‘That I didn’t ask how late I could come home.’”

“‘I apologize.’” This time the blow was lighter. It still hurt -- he could see her flinch -- but it was lighter.

“I apologize.”

“‘And I won’t do it again.’” He didn’t strike her this time, but he brought his arm back for what would be a mighty blow if she didn’t say her line.

“And I won’t do it again.”

“Okay. Apology accepted. But, since you were a bad girl, you’re going to go to bed without your supper. I’ll let you up in a minute. When I do, go into the bathroom, take care of contraception and other things, and come to bed.”

“You can’t.”

“I think we went through that discussion. But, since you’re here so conveniently arranged, we can have it again.”

“No. Please don’t.”

“Okay. Will you do what you were told?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll let you up now. Next time, though, you might find ‘Yes sir’ more effective. It’s certainly more appropriate.” And he did let her up.

She stood behind the chair for a minute, eying him and rubbing her ass. After that, however, she pulled up her jeans and went into the bathroom. He hid the cord in his briefcase and locked that. Then he stripped in the bedroom. After Janet came out in her baby doll nightgown, he took his own bathroom time and joined her in bed. “You really hurt me,” she said.

“You really misbehaved.”

She lay on her back, winced, and turned over onto her stomach. Instead of accepting that invitation, he lay on his own back. Her hand slowly tickled up between his thighs. When his erection was firm, she straddled him and lowered herself around him. He pulled the ruler out of the drawer. When she raised herself, he struck her ass with the ruler. He struck her with the back which had fewer markings than the front, used less than his full strength, and was in a bad position for developing any strength at all; but it still must have hurt. She came down rapidly around his phallus and cried out. He repeated his actions, and she repeated hers. Her forceful motions were bringing him to his climax more rapidly than usual, but -- even so -- she came before he did.

He tossed the ruler over on the nightstand. Partly, he was too tired to put it away; partly, he was curious whether she would try to take it out of his reach. It was still there when he came back the next evening. She came home soon after he did and brought a half gallon of ice cream with her. She cooked them both a full meal with canned stew, vegetables, and salad. They had some of the ice cream for dessert. She asked whether she might have a drink after dinner, and he mixed them one screwdriver each.

When he hauled her over to the easy chair, her “What have I done?” was more pleading than defiant. He grabbed a wastebasket and placed it within easy reach.

“Done? Done wrong? Absolutely nothing, my dear.” He pulled down her jeans and panties, however, and pushed her over the back of the chair with her feet just off the ground. Clued in by the calendar and her change in behavior, he was prepared for the string hanging out of her cunt. He removed the tampon and dropped it in the wastebasket.

When he’d entered her fully, he reached her tit with his left hand and her clit with his right. He stroked these sensitive points, only moving in and out enough to stay firm, until she began to convulse. Then he drove vigorously back and forth in her spasming depths until he erupted.