Seducing Nicky

Author's note

This deeply personal narrative explores a young man's formative experiences navigating love, power dynamics, and self-discovery within his first serious relationship. Set against the backdrop of a mathematics department and steeped in the protagonist's complex relationship with guilt, desire, and control, the story delves into the raw and unvarnished reality of growing into oneself. Through moments of tenderness, cruelty, and eventual reckoning, the protagonist reflects on his own shortcomings and the limits of connection when love isn't shared equally. A blend of passion, regret, and self-awareness, this is a tale of what is given, what is taken, and what is ultimately left behind.

Based on a true story, with names and places changed to protect anonymity.

Part 1 - Ordinary Differential Equations

The first time I truly noticed her was on a mundane Tuesday morning. I arrived late to Ordinary Differential Equations class--nothing unusual for me--and found the front rows, my usual domain due to a stubborn refusal to wear glasses, completely occupied. This forced me to take a seat near the middle of the room, next to her.

We had started university in the same year, but somehow, in those three years, she had been invisible to me. She was one of those girls who blended seamlessly into the background, especially in a school of positive sciences where such anonymity was easy. About 5'5", with straight brown hair that just brushed her shoulders and deep brown eyes, she wasn't unattractive, but she wasn't strikingly beautiful either. She dressed in unisex clothes that masked her figure and added to her unassuming presence.

But that day, for reasons I can't fully explain, I noticed her. Or perhaps, more accurately, I noticed her body--specifically her breasts. Large, but not overly so, they had an understated allure that, until that morning, had escaped me. It was as though I was seeing her for the first time.

That night, back at home, my mind was consumed by her as she became the star of my private fantasies. I decided then and there to turn my imagination into reality. I didn't have a full grasp of the desires brewing within me--my youthful mind hadn't yet found the vocabulary or confidence to label them--but I knew one thing: I wanted her.

In the days that followed, I made an effort to get closer. Through casual conversations, I learned she was 22, originally from Aigaleo, and single. The field was open, the coast clear, and I saw my opportunity. The following week, another stroke of luck placed me beside her in Differential Calculus class. Determined not to let the chance slip by, I initiated more personal conversation. She responded warmly, laughing at my jokes and engaging with genuine interest. Her response emboldened me.

That particular morning, the professor was meticulously working through the Picard--Lindelöf theorem, a foundational proof in differential equations. As the class emptied, Nicky lingered, her brow furrowed as she stared at her notes. I noticed her struggling and took the chance to help. For the next ten minutes, I walked her step by step through the reasoning, explaining how the Banach fixed-point theorem tied everything together.

As we packed up to leave, I took a deep breath and, masking my nerves with casualness, asked her if she'd like to grab a coffee. To my surprise--and relief--she agreed with an eagerness that lifted my spirits. We spent the next hour chatting over coffee, the conversation flowing naturally, though nothing of real substance was discussed. When the ping-pong table became available, she surprised me by suggesting we play.

"Are you any good?" she asked with a confident smile.

"I know a thing or two," I replied, feigning modesty.

"Well, I'm pretty good," she declared. "Just let me know if I need to go easy on you."

What I didn't tell her was that I had been playing competitively since high school. Seeing my chance, I proposed a wager: "The loser buys drinks on Saturday at Hitzáz."

"Deal," she said with a grin.

Predictably, I wiped the floor with her, barely allowing her to score more than 13 or 14 points in any set. The thought of letting her win crossed my mind, but something instinctual told me to assert dominance--subtly, of course. The bet gave me an excuse to see her again, but more importantly, it planted a seed of dynamic control, a faint echo of my deeper desires.

That Saturday at Hitzáz, swaying to the soulful voice of Janis Joplin, I kissed her for the first time. It was easy, natural--despite Janis crooning warnings to the contrary. In that moment, everything else faded, leaving just the two of us locked in that kiss. It was a spark, a promise of what could come.

When I walked her home later that night, I kissed her again at her door, holding her tightly before pulling away. "Goodnight," I said, turning on my heel without waiting for her reaction. I felt her gaze follow me as I rounded the corner, sneaking a glance back to see her standing there, looking dreamily into the distance.

It wasn't long before our connection deepened. By Tuesday, I intercepted her on her way to class and kissed her in greeting, as though claiming her all over again. That evening, when I walked her home, she invited me upstairs. My desire was overwhelming, but I declined, citing an early morning class. Truthfully, I wanted to savor the anticipation.

An hour later, unable to resist, I returned. When she answered the door in her nightgown, her body silhouetted faintly by the light, I saw her as if for the first time--her figure, her femininity. She hesitated, unsure, but I took control of the moment.

"Get dressed," I told her gently. "Let's go for a drive."

Without waiting for her reply, I turned and headed downstairs, hoping--no, knowing--she would follow. Ten minutes later, she emerged, dressed and ready, her face a mixture of confusion and curiosity. She slid into the passenger seat without a word.

"Where does my girl want to go?" I asked, emphasizing the possessive.

"Wherever you want," she replied softly.

"The sea," I said, starting the car and driving toward the coast. When we reached a secluded spot overlooking the waves, the sound of the crashing surf filling the air, I parked the car and turned to her.

Under the sound of the waves, I leaned over and kissed her passionately, a passion she returned and more. I caressed her breast for the first time, running my hand lightly over her, and when I realized I had her consent, I squeezed her tightly. Then my hand went inside her blouse and then inside her bra. She indeed had large and firm breasts, and my cock was rock hard. I took off her blouse. She hesitated a bit when I went to take off her bra but didn't resist. Leaning over, I alternately sucked her nipples, squeezing the other breast hard.

We made out for about half an hour, and then my back started to hurt due to the awkward position. I straightened up and let her sit naked from the waist up in the passenger seat. She started to put on her bra, but I stopped her.

"Don't put it on. Stay as you are."

Nicky hesitated for a moment but obeyed. I turned on the interior light, and Nicky instinctively moved to cover herself because, truth be told, if someone parked next to us, they would see her.

I didn't say anything; I just took her hands and lowered them.

"You will stay as you are so I can admire you," I said.

I lit a cigarette and smoked it all without talking. When I finished the cigarette, I ordered her to get dressed. I took her home, kissed her, said goodnight, and went home to jerk off.

The next evening, she invited me to her place. She had already cooked. After we ate and chatted in front of the TV, we sat on the couch.

"You haven't told me much about yourself," I said, and it was true.

"Are you interrogating me?" she asked, laughing.

"More or less," I replied.

I leaned over and kissed her. As we were kissing, I pulled back and said, "Take off what you're wearing on top."

"Don't you want to take it off yourself?" she asked, quite passionately.

"No," I replied.

She undressed from the waist up, and I found myself admiring her breasts under full lighting.

"Take off your pants," I ordered.

She hesitated.

"Take off your pants, please," I said again.

Her mind went elsewhere.

"George," she said and hesitated for a moment. "I... I... I haven't done this before."

I smiled at her sweetly. "I don't have that in mind, babe," I said. "When and if this happens, it won't be like this."

Hesitantly and slowly, she took off her pants and was left only in a black thong. She also had a very nice ass and very nice legs. I even told her, "The way you dress does an injustice to your femininity."

She looked at me, not knowing what to say. I ordered her--because it was an orderly tone--to stand upright in front of me. She obeyed.

And then--realizing the first of my fantasies--I made her kneel in front of me. She knelt and stayed there kneeling.

"Tell me about yourself," I ordered. "Tell me and say whatever comes to mind."

She looked at me for a moment, lost.

"What do you want me to tell you?" she asked.

"Whatever you want," I replied. "Tell me about your dreams, your fears, what makes you happy, what makes you embarrassed... whatever you want."

There, kneeling, she talked about herself until her knees gave out. She opened her soul to me. Perhaps the awkward position she was sitting in was what opened her defenses and made her speak freely.

I saw that she couldn't stay kneeling any longer, yet she didn't ask to stand up. I made her stand up and sit next to me. I hugged her, kissed her, and caressed her.

We started making out, but this time I took it further and put my hand over her thong at first and then inside. I started playing with my fingers on her clit while Nicky was breathing heavily from the arousal. When she had completely surrendered, I undressed her from the waist down and started licking her. I had never done it before, nor had anyone done it to her, so she had no way to judge my technique. Then I got up and started kissing her, taking her hand and putting it on my pants. She caressed me, and then with her own initiative, she unzipped me and took it out from inside.

I took off my pants and boxers and was also naked from the waist down. I kissed and sucked Nicky's breasts while she stroked my cock, which was about to explode. Then, slowly and pressing her head, I made her lean over my cock, which was dripping with arousal. When she reached my lips, I said, "Take it in your mouth, babe."

She took it and didn't know what to do with it. I guided her. I told her to lick the tip, play with it with her tongue, and then slowly take it in her mouth as much as she could. Then to start moving her head up and down, taking it in as much as she could and reaching up to the tip. And again. I told her to be careful with her teeth, told her to put her lips around it, and that she didn't need to worry about the rhythm; I would give it to her.

The blowjob went very well, considering it was her first time. She couldn't take it very deep, but she really gave her best.

"I will finish in your mouth, and you will swallow it all," I said in a husky voice but with a tone that left no room for objections. I grabbed her hair and, pressing her, started to speed up until I finally finished, and a respectable amount of semen filled her mouth. She swallowed it all without the slightest objection.

For three weeks, this happened. Whenever I had a hard-on, I made her give me a blowjob, and she always did it willingly until she learned to take it all in her mouth. Slowly, I had her believing that I command and she obeys. Nothing harsh, just that any decisions concerning the two of us, I would make. From what we would eat and where we would go to what movie we would watch.

One evening, after we had made out and while she was sucking me after taking it well in her mouth, she stopped. Kneeling in front of me, she asked me to make love to her.

"You're not ready for that yet," I said matter-of-factly.

"No, babe, I am," she assured me.

"You're not," I said. "The first time I make you mine, you will be completely surrendered to me."

"I am, George," she said. "I am yours."

"Are you?" I said. "Let's put it to a test."

She looked at me uncertainly.

"Get on all fours and lick my feet," I ordered.

She looked at me for a few seconds, indecisive. Just a few seconds. Then she got on all fours and started licking my feet.

I raised one foot and brought my toes in front of her mouth. "Lick them," I ordered.

She obeyed.

She licked them for a while until I stopped her.

"Did I pass the test?" she asked, clearly annoyed.

"No," I said. "You didn't pass. I don't want a long face."

Something inside her seemed to break.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, with tears in her eyes.

"Because when I make you 'mine,' you need to already be mine."

"I am," she said again. "I am yours."

I put it in her mouth, and she took it deep inside. When I decided she was wet enough, I pulled back. I stood up and took her hand to stand up too. I made her get on all fours with her hands on the back of the couch and her ass standing naked, lustful, and defenseless in front of me.

"Are you mine?" I asked.

"I am yours," she replied.

I gave her a moderate spank on the buttocks and pressed my cock against her asshole.

"Are you mine, Nicky?" I asked again, simultaneously pressing my cock lightly.

"Yes, I am," she replied.

She was very tight, and I had difficulty getting inside her. Nicky was in a lot of pain and showed it.

"If you want, I'll stop," I said.

She didn't say anything but didn't pull back at all. I pulled out slowly and then put it back in. And again, but harder and more abruptly. She moaned but didn't stop me. Then I started fucking her hard and fast. I fucked her hard because I wanted to hurt her. I no longer saw it as a challenge; I just enjoyed fucking her violently in the ass. When I felt I was about to finish, I slowed down my rhythm to hold back and then again. And again and again. Until her ass opened up, and I no longer felt it tight, until I started to feel that if I didn't finish now, later it would have opened so much that I wouldn't be able to finish.

With a final thrust, I buried myself in her ass and felt the explosion below. I sat motionless while my cock throbbed, filling her ass with hot cum.

I pulled out and left her on all fours, going to the bathroom to wash up. When I returned, Nicky went to the bathroom too--running--and came back and sat next to me.

"So?" she asked.

"So?" I replied.

"I asked," she said.

"And I answered," I said, letting her know I didn't want to continue the conversation.

She didn't continue. I took her in my arms, kissed her, and we went to her bed. I took her in my arms, and we fell asleep.

For another month, the only thing we did was her giving me blowjobs and me taking her ass every 4-5 days.

One day, I told her to come to my place. I had decided she was ready, and although my action seemed foolishly romantic, I wanted to give her what she dreamed of.

I cooked for her--well, I boiled some brisket, but I did what I could--we drank in the living room, she her drink, me my orange juice, and I took her hand and led her to my room, the door of which I had kept closed.

In the room, I had joined the two single beds into one double, and on the nightstands, I had lit scented candles. And, don't laugh, I had spread the bed with rose petals.

Nicky gasped at the sight and cried. I hugged and kissed her tenderly, undressed her, laid her down, and started kissing and licking her entire body until she was ready to explode.

I entered her as gently as I could, managing to make the pain of her first time nothing more than a minor discomfort.

I started moving while kissing her at the same time. At some point, when I felt I could put a little more force without hurting her, I did. I took her slowly until I felt I could start normally. I buried myself inside her, and my reward was her moans of pleasure.

"Now you are mine," I whispered to her and increased my pace.

Part 2 - Dreaming of Curved Surfaces

She swallowed. She always swalloed.

"I love you, babe," she said, her voice trembling with sincerity. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," I replied, lying through my teeth. Guilt pricked at me again--a sharp, familiar pang. I wished, desperately, that I could love her back. But I didn't.

I opened my arms, and she nestled into my embrace, her warmth pressing against me like a question I couldn't answer. I ran my fingers through her hair, softly, rhythmically, until I felt the tension leave her body. One moment, she was with me, and the next, she had surrendered to Morpheus.

I sighed, staring into the darkness, lost in the labyrinth of my own thoughts.

Without realizing it, sleep claimed me, too.

The skin on her back is smooth and clean. Virgin.

The whip falls with force.

One.

Slight redness.

Two... three...

Four.

Five... six... seven...

The intervals are irregular. I feel her fear. I sense it. The pain... the pain is the icing. The fear is the filling. Her surrender is the fruit.

Eight... nine... ten...

I look at the redness on her back. She is no longer a virgin.

I have left nothing untouched on her.

She cries softly, and her crying arouses me. It is not a sexual arousal; it is something else...

Magnificent... Unbearable.

I turn her around and push her forcefully against the icy wall. It is cold and irritates her fresh wounds.

She looks me in the eyes. What is this, a challenge?

I go to the fridge and empty a few ice cubes into a bag. I hold two ice cubes outside and crush the rest. I spread the ice shards on her bare breasts. Her body tenses, but her mouth is sealed, and she is bound. I rub the crushed ice on her frozen nipples. I kneel and bite them, one by one.

Hard.

My hand is between her legs. I caress her in front with the ice cube while her body shivers. I take the ice cube and place it behind her. I push it to go inside... I know it won't fit, I know it can't go in, but...

I push even harder and hear her moan.

I return to spreading the crushed ice in front, on her chest and belly. The shards fall to the floor. I take the other ice cube and torture her shoulders with it.

Her skin in front is frozen. It is smooth and shiny. It is also virgin.

I take a short, thin piece of wire.

Her breasts are bare and defenseless.

One... two... three...

She moans and shakes.

Four... five... six...

I look into her eyes.

Seven...

Eight...

She is magnificent. Magnificent!

I wake up. Nicky is lying naked beside me, sleeping with her back turned.

It was a dream. My cock is about to explode.

I shake her gently and touch her. She wakes up with puzzled annoyance.

"What are yo..."

"Shhhhh" I tell her. "I want to take you. Now."

She turns and looks at me to see if I'm serious.

"Take me in your mouth," I command her.

She hesitates for a moment... but as always, she obeys. She goes down and takes me in her mouth. I have crazy urges, and for a while, I play with the thought of just coming in her mouth. Although half-awake, she does it well, and her obedience is the biggest aphrodisiac.

But... the dream... the dream...

I stop her.

"Get on all fours" I command her.

She knows what that means. She looks at me pleadingly.

I shake my head no.

She sighs and gets on all fours.

"Count" I tell her.

My hand falls gently on her buttocks.

"One"

"Two"

"Ow, three... aaaaow four"

"AAAAAAA... f... five".

"Say it" I command her.

Silence.

"Aaaa, six.... aaaa... seven"

"Say it," I command her again.

"... P... please... take me... take me from behind."

"Properly!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAH, eight.... AAAAAAAH... nine... Fuck me... in... in AAAAAAAH ten... in the ass... AAAAAH eleven... twelve... Fuck me in the ass..."

She said it.

I go beside her and kiss her deeply again. I push my tongue down to her throat. She moans. She fills me with desire.

That's what I wanted.

I go behind her. I press against her, grab myself with my hand, and slowly push inside her. Her pleasure, her moaning, makes me even more aroused. I am all inside her. I pull out slowly... slowly... slowly... and push myself all inside her. And again. And again. And again.

I can't hold back... I feel the familiar explosion and sit motionless with my body throbbing, releasing deep inside her. I hold her still until I am empty. The image of her on all fours, head down, back and waist curving towards the bed, and filled with me is magnificent.

An image for the difficult times.

... they'll come, too.

For now, they're still far away.

We lie down, and I wrap her in my arms.

"I love you," I tell her softly and she smiles back at me.

"I love you, too," she replies.

Only M. feels it completely.

I wish I could, too.

"What in earth got you in the dead of the nignt? We have an early morning wake-up for topology-I" she teases, her voice light with curiosity.

I smile at her.

"In topology, analysis marries algebra, and analysis wanted to remind algebra who's boss."

"Why are you so worked up about algebra?" she quips with a grin.

"As the fundamental theorem of analysis goes: algebra is useless almost everywhere," I reply, my smile faint but lingering. "Someday, I'll prove it."

She chuckles softly, her smile warmer now. I gently stroke her hair, and eventually, she falls asleep in my arms.

Me?

I stay awake, still caught in the dream.

"Someday..." I murmur to myself.

Part 3 - Dominated Divergence

Almost six months had passed since Nicky and I began seeing each other. Our relationship was peculiar, shaped more by circumstance than intention. I was at an age where certain urges called to me, but I lacked the maturity to understand them or handle them well. Nicky, on the other hand, was deeply devoted, infatuated even, but more submissive to her feelings for me than to me as a person. Back then, I didn't even think of her as "submissive"--I learned the term a year later--but it was clear that in this dynamic, I held the upper hand.

Having her whenever and wherever I wanted gave me pleasure, but it also filled me with a strange sense of guilt. Not pity--that word feels too heavy--but something close to responsibility. Somewhere deep inside, I knew I was taking more than I was giving. And yet, I was too selfish, too young, and too caught up in my own desires to care deeply enough to change.

I won't lie: guilt has always been a defining part of me, and it's intricately tied to my sadism. I knew I had that streak in me from an early age. Now, I wear it openly, letting the world see the dragons, so anyone who approaches me knows exactly what they're getting into. But back then? I thought I was crazy. I thought it was only a matter of time before someone figured me out, locked me away, and threw away the key.

I liked hurting her--not physically, but emotionally--and even more, I liked the fact that she endured it, not because she had to, but because she chose to, for my sake. I didn't love her. I didn't adore her. I wasn't even impressed by her. My only concern was not to let my cruelty show too clearly, to avoid being exposed. We didn't do anything extreme or dangerous--my fantasies stayed locked away--both for her safety and mine. But I still pushed her too far sometimes.

One time, I crossed the line. That was the beginning of the end.

It was our sixth year, and I was knee-deep in my elective course, Real Analysis. I'd been obsessed with analysis since my third year, mastering every introductory course and moving on to postgraduate material. Algebra, on the other hand, was my Achilles' heel. To me, the music of analysis was like a hauntingly beautiful rock ballad, while algebra sounded like grating noise.

Nicky, however, excelled at algebra. So, we struck a deal: I'd help her with Real Analysis, and she'd help me with Linear Algebra. We'd tackle topology together. You see, analysis is about limits, algebra is about operations, and topology? "As Gauss united, analysis and algebra shall not be separated," as we liked to joke.

Aside from studying, I worked at the university, which often kept me late. Nicky would wait patiently for me, usually in some empty office. I had a car, so we weren't bound by public transportation schedules, and there was no rush to leave.

It must have been May. Lebesgue's Dominated Convergence Theorem was on the syllabus--one of the last topics in an introductory Real Analysis course. That evening, I was configuring a server, while Nicky wrestled with a deceptively simple question: Is the existence of an upper bound for an integrable function truly a necessary condition? The theorem assumes it as a given, but she wanted to know if there could be a proof that worked with fewer assumptions. It was the kind of question that could consume a mathematician for weeks, maybe months. I'd faced it before and spent countless hours chasing counterexamples until I finally found one.

When I finished my work, I was gripped by two competing desires: one primal and immediate, the other more insidious. Lust tugged at me, but so did the temptation to draw the night out, to delay gratification and savor the tension. Instead of heading home, I suggested we grab coffee from the campus cafeteria and sit outside by the stairs overlooking Knossos. It was one of my favorite spots, quiet and with a view that stretched far beyond the campus.

As we sat, I watched her, really looked at her, trying once again to feel something--anything--beyond fleeting desire. She was shorter than me, about 5'5", with short brown hair she'd cut because I'd asked her to. She wasn't ugly, but calling her beautiful felt like a stretch. At best, she was cute, but even that felt like a concession. She was sweet, but her mind didn't captivate me. It wasn't a lack of intelligence; she just lacked that ineffable quality I needed to be truly impressed by someone.

Physically, though, it was a different story. She'd been an athlete in her teenage years, and it showed. Her legs were long and toned, her butt firm and perfectly shaped. But her best feature, undeniably, was her chest--large, firm, with perfect proportions for... exploration. Her body was the reason I stayed, the reason my feelings never climbed higher than my lower head.

When I met her, she'd hidden herself in unisex clothes, the kind that made her blend into the background of our male-dominated math department. She'd described herself as a tomboy, but I saw no boyishness in her. If anything, her indifference to pleasing the opposite sex felt more like defiance.

That changed because of me--not because she wanted it, but because I did. She started growing her nails, painting them, and wearing more feminine clothes, guided by the suggestions of her friends and my preferences. She didn't wear makeup, which I supported, but I liked her in tight jeans or short dresses. Anything that offered "easy access" was ideal.

I remember staring at her that evening, torn between the lust she sparked and the guilt she stirred. She was a reflection of my worst tendencies--my selfishness, my cruelty, my inability to truly connect. And yet, I couldn't let her go. Not then.

And so, we sat, sipping coffee, talking about nothing, the silence between us heavy with the things left unsaid. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the stairs. I knew this wouldn't last. But for that moment, I let myself pretend it could.

I ordered her to come and sit on my lap, facing me. She hesitated for just a moment before obeying. Earlier in the office, she had removed her bra, and now her breasts were bare beneath her blouse. Following my instructions, she always left the first two buttons open, whether or not she wore a bra. It was a simple rule, one I'd become accustomed to enforcing. With a figure like hers, I saw no reason for modesty.

I liked the idea of exhibitionism, of pushing boundaries. Back then, though, I was too young--and too scared--to entertain the full extent of my fantasies. I didn't even know how to articulate them, much less act on them. Since I couldn't yet explore those darker urges, I found other ways to exert control. For now, making her show just a little more skin in public was enough to scratch the itch.

I unbuttoned two more buttons on her blouse, exposing her fully to me. My hands slid over her breasts, squeezing firmly. She flinched slightly, her eyes darting left and right, scanning the empty surroundings for any sign of someone watching.

I pinched her nipples, forcing her attention back to me. "Eyes on me," I commanded.

"But-" she began, glancing over her shoulder.

I pinched her harder, silencing her protest. "You. Look. At me."

Her anxious gaze shifted back, locking with mine. I could feel her pulse quicken as I continued to play with her, alternating between teasing and gripping. I slipped a finger into her mouth, and without hesitation, she began to suck, her tongue flicking against my fingertip.

The tension between us was electric, a dance of power and surrender. I could feel her shift imperceptibly, her hips pressing against me as her body responded instinctively to the moment. She wanted me, and I felt a mix of triumph and disdain at how easily she succumbed.

"Let's go," I said abruptly, breaking the spell.

She stood up quickly, straightening her blouse. "Your place or mine?"

"The office," I replied curtly, turning on my heel and walking off without waiting to see if she followed. I made it nearly to the entrance before I realized she wasn't behind me. When I turned, she was still standing in the same spot, frozen.

"Are you doing this again?" I asked, irritation creeping into my voice.

She didn't answer, her eyes downcast.

I shook my head. "Fine. I'll be in the office," I said flatly and walked away.

Part of me wanted her to come after me. Another part didn't. I wanted to be alone.

Back in my office, I booted up the primitive internet of the time. It was a refuge, a distraction from myself. The newsgroups were my favorite playground, filled with flame wars that raged endlessly over the pettiest of topics. At the time, it was Babylon 5 versus Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. We were in the middle of Babylon 5's third season, and its storytelling had soared to new heights, long before Battlestar Galactica would reinvent itself as a gritty masterpiece years later.

I leaned into the chaos, ready to argue why Sisko had no chance against Sheridan, how the Shadows would have steamrolled the Dominion, and why the Vorlons would turn the Cardassians into minced meat.

Good times.

I'd also discovered IRC by then. My evenings were often spent on a channel run by two sharp-witted women who reveled in their ability to ban anyone faster than I could. Truth be told, I stumbled onto the world of BDSM entirely by accident, learning the ropes (pun intended) through a series of kickbans from #BDSM on Dalnet.

But the channel was quiet that night, so I returned to the newsgroups, scrolling to see if a particularly juicy flame war from two days earlier was still raging.

Just as I was about to roll up my sleeves and dive in, I heard the door open behind me.

My office wasn't much. A desk and a small library to my left took up most of the cramped space. The entrance was to the right, and the desk was pushed against the back wall. A narrow strip of space between the desk and the window barely allowed for a single person to squeeze through sideways. The window overlooked a hall filled with SUN workstations, where the other students in my group usually worked during the day. By now, though, it was nearly 9 PM, and the area was deserted.

Nicky entered the room quietly, her footsteps soft against the floor. She didn't say a word as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Her eyes flicked toward the window, confirming the hall was empty.

I watched her, waiting. She hesitated for a moment, then moved toward me, her expression a mix of uncertainty and resolve. Whatever was about to happen, it would play out here, in the dim glow of my office, far removed from the outside world.

"Unbutton all the buttons on your blouse."

Even though she knew we were alone, she looked nervously left and right but obeyed.

I motioned for her to come behind the office and approach me.

"Do you know what I want?" I asked.

She guessed.

"Tell me what I want."

She hesitated.

"Tell me what I want," I repeated sternly.

"To take you in my mouth?"

"Say it properly."

"To give you a blowjob," she said hesitantly.

I had played with her breasts and nipples for a while and then put my finger in her mouth, and she started sucking it.

I had become aroused. I took it out of my pants and boxers and sat back in the chair. She knelt in front of me, took it in her hand, held it for a moment, and then leaned over and took it in her mouth. She didn't gag, so I lowered my pants and boxers to my shoes. Then I held her head gently, both to give her rhythm and to put it in her mouth as much as I wanted.

She had learned--not without difficulty--to take it deep in her mouth satisfactorily. I have a thing with blowjobs; if I don't squeeze, I won't finish, and the other person might lick me to death. Three or four times in my life, I have achieved this relaxed, all thanks to my current partner. Nicky didn't have the same talent, but she tried hard.

The trick to squeezing more easily is to hold my breath. With music playing in the background, Nicky bobbing her head up and down as she blew me, and me holding my breath, we didn't hear the door to the hall open. Nicky, from where she was, couldn't see or hear, only moans of sucking escaped here and there. One of the students in my group entered and greeted me from the window. I now had my right hand on her head and had leaned back in the chair behind the desk. From where the student was, the only thing visible was that I was sitting sideways to the desk and the screen. He approached to ask me something and then saw. He didn't speak, and I just nodded my head left and right, trying to keep the rhythm and not let Nicky understand. The student smiled and left, winking.

That was it. Letting out the breath I was holding, I came in her mouth, holding her still. Even though she woke me up with a blowjob every morning, I don't know how long I had her; it was the softest orgasm I had experienced until then.

She swallowed it all, as always, and looked at me smiling.

I felt such sudden revulsion that I barely restrained myself from slapping her. I smiled at her hypocritically, and she stood up and buttoned her blouse.

I wanted to explode.

"Did you finally find out if the upper bound condition is necessary?"

"No, by the time we got down, I hadn't found the solution, and then I had other concerns," she said playfully.

"What concerns did you have?" I asked sternly.

"To satisfy you with my mouth."

"Say it properly."

"To give you a blowjob."

She had tried the belt on me before. She didn't enjoy it, but she obeyed.

"How many lashes?" she asked simply.

"No lashes, belt," I said, and she flinched.

Yes, we hadn't done that before. There's a first time for everything.

"Belt? No... not belt... I don't... I don't know if I want it," she said.

"You didn't ask me," I said. I really didn't like her reaction; she didn't impress me, and I wanted to explode, either with the belt or with a good scream.

"No belt," she said.

"Then find out why the upper bound condition is necessary. End of discussion, let's go."

I saw what she was thinking, and I enjoyed it.

I had decided that the end would not be delayed. She didn't impress me, and even if she found a reason to do it herself, all the better.

Throughout the walk, she didn't let out a sigh. Under these conditions, it was probably impossible for her to think calmly and logically to find the solution to the problem, and I had bet on that.

We reached below her house.

"Did you find it?"

"No," she said.

"Ten," I said.

"No, with the belt," she said.

"Then good night," I said.

She snapped.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she asked.

Here be dragons.

"Because I like to hurt you," I said honestly. She was the first person I had openly confessed my nature to.

"Why, what did I do to you?" she asked, crying.

"You did nothing to me. I like to cause pain."

She was the first person I had opened up to so deeply.

"I love you," she said.

"And I love you," I lied.

... adding a bit of guilt to my sins.

"Let's go," she said.

"Ten," I said. "Ten with the belt."

She nodded decisively. I saw her struggling hard with herself; she couldn't digest it and didn't see my luck.

We went up to her apartment.

"Undress," I said.

She had a light nightgown on, so there was no need to wait. We both got undressed, and I made her kneel in front of me. Her body was another matter. In the position she was in, with her ass sticking out, she was superb. When I took her from behind, I usually did it with Nicky reluctantly, and only because it hurt her quite a bit.

Today... today I would enjoy her as I wanted.

I caressed her gently at first on one and then on the other buttock. I took out a clean handkerchief from the drawer and folded it twice.

"Bite it. There's no need to count, and there's no need for the apartment building to hear us."

She gasped and opened her mouth, biting it hard.

I held the belt in my hands. I tightened it and folded it.

I gave her five or six trial folds, and the sounds of her fear at each blow were among the most pleasurable feelings I had ever experienced.

When I felt satisfaction from the trials, I started her with slight jerks that gradually increased in intensity. From then on, only instinct spoke.

I hit her, and the "mmm" she gave me was my reward.

"One," I began, my voice calm, measured. "If the sequence does not converge..."

The room was still, save for the faint sound of my breathing, steady against the growing intensity.

"Two," I continued.

The air seemed heavier, the silence punctuated by the low, strained moan that followed.

"... then we can construct a sequence of pointwise convergent functions..."

"Three," I said softly, as though the words carried no weight beyond their abstract meaning.

Another sound, stronger this time, raw. The contrast was jarring, deliberate.

"Four. Of which, however, the pointwise supremum may be missing..."

My tone did not falter, the cadence of my explanation as precise as the mathematical framework it described.

"Five."

A sob. A crack in the air.

"Six."

The sound deepened, trembling. Crying.

"... with the result that the limit may not exist outside the integral," I continued, unbroken.

"Seven. Eight. Nine."

The numbers fell like stones into a well, disappearing into the silence that followed each one.

"Why is the limit of the sequence in this case..." I paused, the weight of the moment stretching the space between us.

"... different from the limit of the sequence defined through the integral"

"Ten."

The word hung in the air, final, immutable, as if the world itself had paused to hear the weight of that number.

I loosened the belt and let it fall to the floor with a muted thud. The silence that followed was broken only by the sound of her soft, uneven sobs. She lay crumpled, unable to sit, her red, irritated skin a vivid testament to what had just happened.

I sat motionless for a moment, staring at the marks, the consequences of my own actions weighing on me in a way I hadn't anticipated. I didn't know what to do. The power I had held only moments before now felt hollow, an empty echo reverberating in the quiet room.

Finally, I stood and went to the bathroom. I grabbed a washcloth, soaked it in cool water, and wrung it out. Returning to her, I knelt down and gently dabbed the cloth over her reddened skin. She didn't flinch, didn't move--she was too exhausted, too spent. I wasn't sure if my touch was comforting or just a reminder.

I caressed her softly, my hand trembling slightly as it moved over her. She turned her head to look at me. Her eyes, glassy with tears, met mine with a mix of pain, love, and something else--something that felt like finality.

"This will never happen again," she said, her voice steady despite the exhaustion etched into her face.

I wanted to say something--anything--to bridge the chasm that had suddenly opened between us. I didn't love her, and I knew that. I wished I could, but the feeling wasn't there. Still, I lied. I told her what I thought she needed to hear.

"No, babe, it won't happen again," I said softly. "I love you."

She didn't respond. I didn't expect her to. The silence that followed was its own kind of answer, heavy and resolute.

She had reached her limit, and we both knew it. She loved me, but whatever had bound us together had frayed beyond repair. Her rebellion wasn't just an act of defiance--it was her way of reclaiming herself, her dignity, her sense of who she was.

I n the weeks that followed we didn't try anything like that again--not even a playful smack--Nicky didn't have it in her anymore, and she didn't want to. A month later, we parted ways. It wasn't explosive, nor was it particularly amicable--it was the kind of ending that left no room for bitterness, only an uneasy quiet. Enough to stand each other if we ever crossed paths again, but not enough to keep us in the same orbit.