Chapter 2

Dearest Mr. Darcy,

Forgive my presumption in writing this missive to you. It has been a month since our walk in the garden, and I have missed the pleasure of your company. I had thought we had reached an understanding of sorts on that day; however, your recent silence tells me that perhaps I am mistaken. Sir, my heart is, and has ever been, yours. Ardor, pleasure, delight—all these things you gave me, and yet the passing of these many days makes me fear your heart has changed.

The thought of you is a torment. Night after night, my mouth, my skin, the center of my womanhood—all of these cry out for your touch. I dream of you kissing me, embracing me, fucking me. I ache for you constantly. I am certain you are shocked by the lewdness of my language, but you taught me debauchery and I cannot unlearn the lesson. Have I done something wrong? Is there something about me that displeases you? Perhaps you do not want me any longer because I am no longer pure. Or perhaps it was my inexperience?

But Sir, were I the most depraved whore in England, I would still beg to be of service. Please, teach me how to please you. My cunt, my mouth—my body is yours.

If you have even a modicum of affection left towards me, end this torment.

Your devoted slut,

Elizabeth Bennet

=.=.=

"Letters play an important role in Jane Austen's novels. Write a letter from one character to another. Use the letter to expand the story, deepen our understanding of the character, or suggest an alternative 'might-have-been.'"

That had been the prompt. It was a softball question, meant to give easy points to students who'd been struggling in his class. He hadn't been planning on being particularly picky, either—anyone who made a clear effort would have gotten credit.

But he read Kyoko's letter in disbelief, and then he read it again. And then he read it a third time.

Her exam had been superlative, as expected. She'd answered each multiple choice question correctly, and her answers to the long-form essay questions were concise and well thought-out. She hadn't needed to do the extra credit portion at all, but he was certain she would—though he could not have expected this written so brazenly in her exam booklet. The letter was on the very last page of the exam booklet, black and white, in Kyoko's neat handwriting. It had been addressed to Mr. Darcy and signed by Elizabeth Bennet, but he knew what she was saying. The letter was for him, and its contents made him painfully hard.

It had been a month since he'd ravaged her. He'd given in to the very worst of his impulses and taken advantage of the one person he should not have touched. As intoxicating as the encounter had been, he'd been overtaken by guilt afterwards. It had been one month of torment. One month, haunted by the sight of her splayed open on his desk, offering herself. One month, haunted by the sight of her slender body putting on her gym clothes in lieu of the shirt he'd ruined and the skirt he'd defiled. He'd bought the morning-after pill before he dropped her off at the Fuwa residence and compounded his sin by giving her a thorough kiss goodnight. And then he'd spent the night tossing and turning, knowing he'd done wrong and yet being unable to regret it. The next day, he couldn't meet her eyes.

He could see her disappointment. He could see her pain and knew that she'd interpreted his actions as rejection—he wanted her to know that he had not, could not reject her…but neither could he continue what they'd started. He limited his interactions with her, taking care to communicate with her only during class and only about specific assignments. He began avoiding her after school, leaving immediately after the last bell so she wouldn't find him. But he couldn't hide his desire for her, either. His traitorous eyes would wander towards her as she sat in his class, roving across those long legs under her desk and the precious swell of her breasts in a new, intact school blouse. In the past, he'd always found ways to surreptitiously admire her body. But now that he knew what she tasted like, she was a constant presence in his mind. He was hungry for her, and he could not have her.

At first, she hadn't noticed. He'd catch her looking sadly out the window, wanting to comfort her but resolving not to do anything more to jeopardize their futures. And then one day, she turned and caught him staring—the rest of the class was watching a documentary on the TV. He could feel the electricity arc between them and for a minute, they were all alone again. She looked away first, blushing. But perhaps she'd realized what he was doing right then, because the next day, she looked far less despondent. Instead, he saw her doing small, subtle things. Her legs, spread just a little too wide under her desk, showing him a glimpse of panties that could never be described as 'decent,' 'modest,' or 'appropriate.' She would come into the room with a smile that was somehow both shy and coy; he would smile back and remind himself that he would ruin both of their lives if he grabbed her and kissed her in front of her classmates.

She's seventeen and she's your student, he told himself, over and over like a mantra. It didn't stop him from wanting her. It didn't stop him from remembering how tight she was, how she'd whimpered as he thrust into her for the first time. He remembered how wet her pussy had gotten as she listened to the filthy things he said to her, and then he thought of a million more ways to corrupt her not-quite-innocent flesh. He knew she wanted the same things he did, and it was that thought that made this torture particularly acute.

They danced around each other for weeks, neither one of them speaking.

Until now.

=.=.=

"See me after class, Mogami-san," he said, handing back her exam booklet. They were overdue for an actual discussion—he'd avoided talking to her for too long.

She blushed. Predictably.

"Yes, Tsuruga-sensei," she squeaked. It was adorable. It made him want to touch her. And he couldn't do anything about it. He watched as she checked her score and then subtly flipped to the back of the booklet. Her eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, as she took in the jagged edge of paper where her letter had been.

He'd torn off the page with her letter before giving it back to her, placing it in a locked desk drawer in his house. It was far too risky to give it back to her; besides, he wanted to keep it. It would be the only thing he would have of her, the only proof of that night. He treasured it; but he also knew it to be damning evidence. He'd thought long and hard about what to do about her—about them, really, and though he desperately wanted to give in, he knew what the correct course of action was. He would tell her that it had nothing to do with her inexperience. How it had nothing to do with her being 'impure.' He wanted her to know how much he treasured her, how he…loved…her.

And yes, he did love her.

That was the terrible thing. It had only been a month, but not being able to talk to her was killing him. He missed her. He missed her terribly, and as torrid as the sex had been, he would have gladly given it back just to see her every day again. There was something in her that made him feel as if their souls knew each other, like recognizing like. Yes, she was young; she was naive and inexperienced. But there was so much delight in the way she saw the world, in how she laughed, or teased. She would grow older and time would only make her a better friend and partner. He wanted to be there to see it. It would have been so much easier if it had just been lust. It would have been so much easier if he'd had some kind of crush that diminished as he'd gotten to know her. Instead, he found himself falling deeper and deeper in love with her, especially now when he knew she reciprocated at least some of his feelings.

But…again, he reminded himself: she was seventeen.

He was her teacher.

And teachers should not be fucking their students.

He needed to tell her, once and for all, that there could be nothing between them. He needed to tell her that they couldn't ever do that again. It would kill him to do it, but he needed to—what kind of pervert was he, taking advantage of her like that? Someday, maybe, once she was an adult, they could try again. If she still wanted to. Perhaps after she graduated from university.

He was going to tell her today, before anything else happened.

…Well, he intended to. Until she came through the door.

It turned out his convictions were as fragile as paper.

=.=.=

Kyoko was trying hard—very hard—to keep her crazed heart from beating out of her chest. The letter had been a bold move, she knew. And a risky one, for both of them. She knew that her exam notebook would land directly in his hands, but she had no guarantee that he wouldn't leave them for others to see. She'd written the letter on a whim because she couldn't stand it anymore. She needed to do something about the distance between them. She didn't understand why he'd stopped talking to her. She'd been so certain he cared for her when they'd been…together. When he began avoiding her, she'd been heartbroken—until she looked up and saw him staring at her with his heart in his eyes. Her heart told her that he cared, and she chose to listen to it. And in the meantime, she'd lie awake at night, feverish and desperate, thinking of the way he felt inside her.

During the past few weeks, she'd engaged in a series of behaviors that were entirely uncharacteristic for her. She'd never been the kind of girl who sought out lewd lingerie. Or the kind of girl who flirted on purpose—much less with a grown man. But she'd taken her hard-earned money and purchased those lacy, lovely things—the kind of things that made her feel pretty and desired. And she searched the internet for articles on how to seduce a man, feeling both utterly mortified and yet oddly aroused at the things they suggested. She hadn't had the courage to try everything she read, but…parting her legs and wearing lingerie were things that she could, at least, do subtly.

She knew he'd noticed, and she considered that a small victory.

It hadn't been enough. He hadn't said a word.

Well. At least he was talking to her now.

She finished out the day's classes, barely paying attention as she waited for the last bell. She walked toward Tsuruga-sensei's classroom with a sense of deja-vu, thinking of the last time he'd asked her to 'see him after class.' She didn't know what to expect; if she was honest, though, she knew what she wanted. And unless she'd misjudged him entirely, he knew what he wanted too.

The halls were emptying quickly today—it was rainy, and many of the clubs hand canceled their meetings because of the weather.

Probably for the better.

She blushed, ashamed of her thoughts. Why was she assuming they'd do that? For all she knew, he was going to lecture her on her wildly inappropriate exam.

She reached his classroom door, placed her hand upon the doorknob, and took a deep breath in before twisting it open.

Now or never, she told herself.

She opened the door, heart pounding—

—and then promptly ran into his broad chest.

"Tsuruga-sensei!" He was about to exit the classroom, she could tell. He froze and looked at her in surprise, eyes dark and inscrutable. She looked into them like a deer in headlights—

And then his large hand closed itself around her wrist and pulled her into the room—his other hand slammed the door shut behind them. There was a jolt of recognition between them, and the pull towards each other was visceral and raw. He trapped her in a kabedon against the now-closed door; a fraction of a second later and they were kissing. Fiercely—her kissing him and him kissing her. She didn't know who started it. All she knew was that her arms were around him and his were around her, and he was bending down so that she could reach upwards. His tongue sought entrance to her mouth and she gave it to him, opening her lips and answering with her own. As badly as she wanted this, as often as she'd imagined it, the feeling overwhelmed her. Her memories of his kisses were pale versions of the real thing—the difference between seeing a picture of a fire and being burned by one.

She wasn't trying to get away but his hands found themselves around her wrists regardless—from there, he entwined their fingers as he trapped her hands above her head and against the wall. She let happen and then reveled in it, feeling her torso lengthen as her breasts rose upwards in offering. Small whimpers and moans were escaping her as she melted into him—he left her mouth to kiss and suck along her neck and she raised her chin to allow him. "Please Tsuruga-sensei," she moaned. "Please…" She cried out as he bit into her neck and then again as he suddenly flung himself back off of her body.

His absence was a shock. One second his body had covered her own, the next, she was alone and disheveled against the classroom door. Her vision cleared and she saw him, refusing to meet her eyes. He was wrestling with something, attempting to make up his mind. She saw his hands clench into fists as he mastered his breathing.

He looked at her with eyes blown wide open in lust.

Her heart stopped.

He took a step forward.

"You've been…a very, very bad girl, Mogami-san," he growled.

She was speechless. Her body answered for her.

She shivered and then felt the blush rise from the soles of her feet to the top of her forehead. "What…are you talking about, Tsuruga-sensei?"

"You don't know?" he mocked.

"N-no-o…" she breathed.

His rough hand took her chin and tilted it upwards. "You are a terrible liar." He held her against the wall as she trembled. "You know exactly what you did."

A moan escaped her throat and he pulled her forward again, making sure the door behind them was locked. He held her arms immobile behind her back. He moved quickly, half-dragging, half-pushing her back towards his desk. "Tsuruga-sensei!" She was panting now. She knew she was drenched. She could feel her lewdness soaking through her panties.

He took her by the neck again, throwing her forward onto his desk until she was bent over for him—just as she'd been for her spanking a month earlier. Roughly, he kicked her legs wide apart as she gasped. He only needed a single hand to hold her wrists trapped behind her, and he pulled her backwards to arch her back as his other hand unceremoniously raised her skirt to reveal her panties, already wet with her slick.

She heard him give a low, throaty laugh as a single finger traced her slit through the wet cloth. She was blushing red now, knowing she should be ashamed.

She wasn't. She'd dreamed of him doing just this for weeks. She held her breath as the pads of his fingers drew gentle circles on her flesh.

"Tsuruga-sensei," she moaned, "I'm sorry—"

"You dirty little girl," he said. "Don't think I haven't seen your little act." She felt him tense. He moved before she could prepare herself—

Slap.

She cried out at the impact of his hand on her skin, feeling the pain bloom and then fade on her skin. Her eyes went wide with surprise as he spanked her.

"Showing off these lewd little panties in class—"

Slap.

"Flirting with lecherous old men—"

Slap.

"And now—"

Slap.

"Writing obscene letters in your exam booklet, begging for cock." He was alternating between her two cheeks. "You disrespected this school, Mogami, writing these filthy, filthy words."

"Please, please—Tsuruga-sensei—ah!" She was squirming underneath his blows, relishing the pain and yet wanting to avoid it nonetheless. "No more—please—mmm!—please—"

"No," he snapped. He spanked her again, hard, as she cried out. "This is what you deserve, Mogami-san."

"No—no—I—"

"Still saying no?" he asked. He redoubled his efforts and the blows came raining down on her ass as she bucked forwards and backwards, trying to escape his grip. "This is what you want. Right?"

She moaned incoherently, pushing back into his hand.

"Confess," he said. He allowed her a few moments of respite before beginning again. "I want to hear it in your own words. Tell me what you did."

"Unggh—I—ah!" She shook as a particularly hard slap pushed her forward. "I—wrote—ah!—Tsuruga-sen—sei—fuck—"

"Language," he interrupted sternly.

"—a—letter—"

"Why did you write me a letter, Mogami-san?" His voice was dusky, low…and cruel.

"Because—because—oh—ungghhh—"

"Hmm?" he asked, pausing. She sagged forward in relief, afraid that this was only a temporary respite. He grazed his fingers against the reddened globes of her flesh.

"Because I'm a dirty slut," she moaned. "Because I'm a dirty slut—" She gasped as his hand found its way to the gusset of her panties again. She moaned as his finger circled her cloth-covered clit, the feather-light touch teasing her into desperation…moaned as she felt him push aside the cloth.

She cried out when his finger plunged into her, fast and rough.

His finger thrust inside her once, twice—and then stopped. She moved backwards onto them, wanting more, but he held her still.

"Good girl," he said. "I like it when you tell me the truth."

"Yes, sir." Her voice was barely audible.

Swiftly, he let go of her hands and removed himself from her core. "So wet," he mused. "So fucking wet. You must really want my cock, Mogami-san."

His sudden absence left her hungry and empty, and she nearly sobbed in protest. She'd expected him to take her further, to wring out her ecstasy until she broke. Was he going to make her beg? She melted onto the desk, her knees threatening to buckle under her.

"Keep your hands on the desk." A steady hand pressed against her inner thigh, keeping her from bringing her legs together.

Wordlessly, she raised up her hands and placed them on his desk's wooden surface. She heard him moving behind her as her skin tingled with heat from his blows. She was tensing and relaxing, her muscles shaking in anticipation. She didn't know what she was waiting for, but she remained bent over obediently, even knowing how lewd she must look.

She felt him looming behind her, but he didn't touch her. Instead, he placed a pad of paper and a pen next to her.

Before she could ask, he spoke. "Since spanking doesn't seem to have much effect on your behavior, I thought we'd try a different punishment."

She moved to raise her head but he put a restraining hand on her hair. "You will write a hundred lines for me, Mogami-san."

"Lines, sir?" she asked.

"'I am a dirty slut,'" he growled. "Write it. A hundred times."

She took a deep breath in and held it, wondering if she should protest. Her rational mind told her she must protest, but…

But her body was dripping at the thought of it.

"Yes, sir," she said, finally submitting to his demand.

"I'm glad to see we understand each other," Tsuruga-sensei said softly. "Get started, Mogami-san. Now."

Hesitantly she picked up the pen. Her fingers were shaking as they closed around it. Bringing the paper closer, she began.

I am a dirty slut, she wrote.

Behind her, she could feel him moving around once more.

I am a dirty slut.

She heard him move his chair towards her, felt the air shift when he sat down in it. She could feel him; nearly taste him in his proximity.

I am a dirty slut, she wrote again.

She could feel his gaze on her. Was he going to watch her like this as she wrote all of them?

I am a dirty slut.

His breath—oh god, she could feel him breathing against her down there, he could see how wet she was…oh fuck, he was coming closer—

I am a—

"AH!"

He pulled her now-ruined panties down to her knees. She dropped her pen in surprise, mid-sentence.

"I don't see a hundred lines there, Mogami." How was he so calm? She was falling apart in front of him, and he sounded as calm as if he'd been lecturing on the proper use of commas. "Pick up the pen. Continue."

She picked up her pen again…

—dirty—

…and then dropped it as rough hands pulled her apart down there, splitting her nether lips and exposing her dripping pussy to him.

She clenched in anticipation. He must have seen it because he parted her further. "Keep going, Mogami. Or maybe I should spank you some more?"

"No—please—"

"Then write," he said. "Concentrate. I know you can do it," he added sardonically.

She moaned and continued.

—slut.

He was impossible to ignore. His hands were gripping her tightly by the hips as her torso lay on the desk. He was using his thumbs to hold her slit open. He really was trying to torture her, wasn't he? She knew there could be no hiding how this little exercise was driving her insane. She could feel herself dripping; she couldn't help herself.

She began again on a new line, gripping the pen hard. Her hand was shaking, but she was keeping it together—all he was doing was looking, right? She could keep writing. She managed two lines and then—

"Sen-se-i," she cried out.

His tongue was on her cunt. She gasped and bucked forwards at the feel of it. It felt like nothing else—wet and hot, just as she remembered. "Mmmhh," she moaned. It was just the tip, circling around her nether lips and teasing her as she writhed.

"Keep writing," he whispered into her. She felt the words against her flesh. His face ground into her—she blushed and kept trying to write, failing at each word.

"I know you can do it, Mogami-san," he mocked. He sucked her folds into his mouth, first the left and then the right as she moaned helplessly for more.

"Tsu-ru-ga-sen-sei," she ground out, "P-p-please—"

"Hmm?" He'd started licking her now with the flat of his tongue, broad swipes covering the length of her core from her clit upwards. He was going agonizingly slow and she couldn't help trembling at the feeling of it.

"—Please, more…ah! More—faster—"

He stopped altogether and then her body rocked forward as he pulled backwards and spanked her. "This is a punishment, Mogami. You will write, or you will be spanked." One of his hands left its grip on her hip as his finger found her clit again. "Did you think this was for your pleasure?"

She ground against his hand like an animal in heat. "Yes…yes…"

"No." Again, he took his hand away, holding her still once more. "You don't get to dictate any of this," he said. "Keep writing."

She moaned and took up her pen, trying—oh, trying so hard. But he was driving her crazy, his tongue circling her clit and then moving away as she whimpered and tried to press herself against him. Her hands managed to keep her grip on the pen, but whatever marks she made were illegible. But he stopped whenever she did, and so she kept going—one scribbled sentence after another.

She knew she would never make it to a hundred lines, and she was also sure she wasn't meant to. The point, perhaps, was to reduce her into a moaning, begging mess of a slut. He was succeeding. The way he was holding her apart made her feel so empty—she wanted to clench against the hard length of his manhood, but he simply kept teasing her with his tongue.

"Please…" she whimpered. "Please—" Being with him reduced her to a creature of wants. Please, yes, more, ah—these were all she could say. She was not eloquent, not in the throes of her lust. Her body spoke for her, turning and twisting, writhing and bucking—she gasped and moaned what she could not express otherwise.

She was gripping the pen in her fisted hand, rolling her hips towards him. She'd given up on writing anything down, but he was circling her clit in earnest. She was close. Very close. She was sure he knew it, because he..slowed down. His tongue was still flicking at her core, but he knew she needed more. He must. Her legs were trembling beneath her. She wanted him to bring her to the pinnacle, but he was teasing her. Was it deliberate?

Hesitantly she brought her free hand towards her center. She would go crazy if she didn't. She needed this—something faster, harder. But her begging was falling on deaf ears.

Suddenly he stopped altogether, letting go of her. He caught her hand, captured it in an iron grip before she could reach her clit. She gasped and then cried out in frustration

"No," he growled. "Keep your hands where I can see them. He forced her to place the errant hand over her head before letting it go. "You are such a filthy little slut. I don't think you understand this, Mogami, so I will tell you."

His hands were back, but no longer holding her hips. He splayed out a hand on her lower back and she was reminded all over again of how big they were—long fingers, wide palm. "You only cum when I allow you to cum."

She startled as his fingers found her clit once again, circling the nub of flesh. Rougher now, no longer the feather-light caresses from before. He touched her as if he owned her, cupping her pussy and then spreading her lips apart before beginning all over again with her clit.

She heard someone moaning and realized it was her own voice, begging for him to do something.

"I should leave you like this," he said. "Leave desperate. Leave you begging."

She nearly cried. So much frustration was pent up in her. So much want. After a month of being away from him, she felt primed and ready to explode. If begging was what he wanted, then she would beg.

"No—Sensei please—please don't leave me like this—I need—I need—"

"I know what you need," he said. Two of his fingers entered her, eased by the slickness of her cunt. He was thrusting them inside her just as she needed. "Cum for me, slut."

"AH! Sensei—mmmm—yes—yes—yeesss!"

It happened in slow-motion. That's what it felt like to her. Silence, a slow buildup, and then an overwhelming cacophony as the wave of pleasure crashed into her and pulled her under. The sounds she was making were too loud; the words coming out of her mouth were vulgar. Her entire body fell over in release as her pussy squeezed down on his fingers.

=.=.=

He knew he should feel guilty.

He didn't.

He watched as her orgasm overtook her. He couldn't stop the groan that came out of his mouth—not when her pussy was pulsing on his hand like that. Gently, he took his hand away from her still-quivering core. It took everything in him not to take his cock out and ravage her, then and there.

It was the sight of her trembling, half-collapsed on the floor, that took the edge off of his lust. He managed to calm his baser instincts and focus on caring for her.

She was still panting. She stumbled as he raised her up, holding onto her and then placing her on his lap. He rubbed at her tense muscles gently, putting away his roughness as she recovered. She curled up into him, eyes closed, nuzzling against his neck. He held her close in his arms, wanting to prolong the afterglow.

He was painfully hard for her. In the natural progression of things, he'd be balls-deep inside her now, savoring that wet, velvet heat. But this was not natural, and he wasn't going to fuck her. Not here, not now. He could do at least that much. He'd intentionally avoided keeping a condom in his wallet as a deterrent, just in case, and he didn't want to risk her future because he couldn't control himself. He'd never meant to take it this far. Just this afternoon, he'd meant to talk to her about why they couldn't do what they just did. Instead, he'd just…made it worse. For both of them.

He could pinpoint the second she woke from her orgasm-induced haze.

Her body jerked awake. He felt her breath quicken as she tensed up.

"Tsu-Tsuruga-sensei…" Her gold eyes opened slowly and focused their gaze on his face.

"You were out for a little bit," he told her. "After you came." He said it as a matter-of-fact but she blushed anyway.

"Thank you," she said shyly. "For taking care of me." Her hand rose up to tuck a lock of his hair behind his ear.

He gave her a rueful smile. "For corrupting you, you mean?" He was being sarcastic, but it was true. "For treating you like a filthy slut?"

She didn't say anything in response. She rose upwards to kiss him, instead. He let her lead this time, parting his lips to let her tentative tongue in.

Their kiss was soft and sweet, and when it ended, she smiled gently. "For teaching me," she said quietly, "how to be a dirty slut."

His eyes grew wide as he felt her run her hand alongside his cock, still hard and trapped in his clothing. Just the feel of her hand was enough to drive him to distraction, but he found it in him to stop her. "Fuck," he muttered. "Mogami-san…Kyoko…" He grabbed her hands and pulled them away from him.

She froze. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just thought…that perhaps you might want to…um." Her voice faded into silence as she avoided his gaze.

"I do," he said. "I want that very much."

"Then…why?"

"Because you are seventeen, Mogami-san…and you're my student. I don't want to ruin your life. I want you so badly that it drives me crazy—but I know better than to take advantage of you."

There was a haunted, forlorn look in her eyes. "So…so you don't want me. Not really." It was a matter-of-fact statement.

There was turmoil twisting in his gut. He didn't want to hurt her. He wanted her, in so many different ways. And he also knew that he didn't have the strength to fight against those feelings.

"I do," he said again. He held her tighter, mind racing. "I want you. I want to do unspeakable things to you, have you screaming out my name as I take you over and over. I want to ruin you for any other man. Do you understand?"

"I understand." Her hand tightened on his arm. "Tsuruga-sensei."

"Yes?"

"I want it. To be your dirty slut." He could hear the blood rush in his veins. "Teach me."

He stared at her. She stared back, as if to challenge him.

"Very well." She heard the conviction in his voice. "But not here. Not in the school. If you want this, you will come to my house."

She nodded.

"This Saturday," he said. "Come in the afternoon. Be prepared to stay the night. Make some excuse to the Fuwas."

She trembled. He felt the goosebumps rise on her skin. "Tsuruga-sensei…" She took a deep breath in. "I'll be there. Sir."