21. Killer Queen

21

KILLER QUEEN

DAISY

Someone's behind me. I can feel their energy, despite them trying their hardest to go unnoticed. It could be an animal, but my gut tells me otherwise. I hear the rustle of grass and flowers on the ground, the way they get squashed by a pair of shoes.

I'm always very aware of my surroundings. It's something my dad taught me. Danger always lurks where you least expect it, so you better be prepared to do whatever it takes to stay safe.

Which is why I'm clutching my gun inside the left pocket of my jacket.

I'm not worried. Adrenaline doesn't even course through my body anymore because I'm so used to being on high alert with every step I set outside.

I decided to go for a walk in my school break. I have two hours between classes, and most of my classmates use that time to study. But I wasn't feeling it. I needed some fresh air, to stick my nose in the wind.

There's no better way to keep your immune system in supreme shape than by going for a nice walk between the trees.

I lead my follower deeper into the forest.

I think I know who it is, but I'm not risking it by turning around and casually saying hello in case it might actually be a murderer. Scratch that―if the person behind me is who I think he is, then he is, in fact, a murderer. But he's not one that I'm afraid of.

The person behind me is getting bolder with his steps. Closer.

A dirty smile curves my lips. Bring it on, motherfucker.

I'm not sure if the next few minutes will result in me killing a guy or getting fucked against a tree. Either way, fun .

Taking a left turn, I disappear behind a large tree trunk and follow a steep pathway through some high bushes, more greenery surrounding me. Telling by the way nature is overgrown here, the path almost indistinct, this is not a passage that's getting used much anymore. Maybe only by the animals that reside here in the night.

Right when an arm flies out from behind me, I turn around quicker than the eye can see. Yanking my gun out of my pocket, I push it into the neck of the man whom I hoped was my follower.

Ah… I couldn't be more stoked.

A grunt leaves his throat as I push him forcefully against a tree, my gun digging into the underside of his chin. "Why are you following me, Professor? Again ."

I brush a strand of hair out of his face with my free hand, leaning further against him until my tits are pressed against his stomach.

"Christ, Daisy. Put the gun away," he growls, his eyebrows pulled together. Despite the predicament he finds himself in, I don't hear one single shred of true fear in his voice.

I would have been disappointed if I had.

He's the Sculptor of Death. He doesn't get scared.

"I don't think I'll do that," I say smugly as I look up at him. No matter our height difference―I'm the one in control right now. I'll decide when I've had enough. "Was seeing me get fucked not enough for you? How many times has it been now? Three? I thought you said you only followed me because you were afraid I might be in danger. What's your excuse now?"

He could dismantle me so easily. But he decides not to.

Instead, he just stays there with the back of his head against the tree bark, looking down at me. I'm not gentle with the gun either, the way the barrel reddens his flesh.

Holding eye contact, I know he can tell the exact moment that I feel his growing erection against my lower stomach, because I can't hold back my impending grin.

"I've admitted what I want from you. I think I deserve some answers as well, Mr. Gilbert. Are you gonna give them to me? And don't try to give me some bullshit excuse again, because that's getting old. I know exactly why you keep following me and why your eyes can't seem to look away whenever I'm near."

I push harder against his body, all the while the gun remains in the same spot underneath his chin. I try to see the truth in the dark crevices of his irises, and it doesn't take long before I do, feeling his heart pound in an erratic rhythm.

"Daisy…"

Slipping my free hand underneath his shirt, I start roaming it over his stomach. It takes strength to not roll my eyes in pleasure when my fingertips trail over the patch of hair that leads down to the bulging package in his slacks.

A loud growl leaves his throat when I move my hand further down, over the fabric of his slacks. "Fuck, Daisy. Goddamn it. Just put the fucking gun away so we can talk."

"Nope." My lips purse with an audible pop. "Open your belt buckle. Then your fly." It comes out like an order, which I suppose it is. When he squeezes his eyes in defeat, not doing as he's told, I take the safety off the gun.

"Jesus, fuck," he curses, before he suddenly complies to my demands after all.

I look down. "Open the buttons of your boxers too. And take out your cock."

I watch the inner battle play out all over his face. He wants to so bad, but he's also contemplating if he should just tear the weapon out of my grasp and choke me unconscious. Maybe even kill me.

To my pleasure, he does as I say and his cock springs free, tapping against my stomach. He's so fucking hard. I can almost feel it burn, as if so much blood is pumping through it from sheer need . And I'm not even touching him yet.

I slip my hand inside the two layers of fabric, wrapping it around his balls and squeezing. I'm not soft about it either, doing it a little harder than is comfortable.

He needs to be able to handle what he dishes out. He likes to punish his women, so he better know how to take it, too. It's only fair.

"Bad professor…" I hum. "You want to corrupt me, don't you? And you're scared of that. You're scared you'll ruin me and take my innocence." I laugh out loud, then suppress it by biting my lip. "There hasn't been any innocence left in me for a long time. I think you know that now. So let me give you another chance to answer. Why do you keep following me, Mr. Gilbert?"

He bares his teeth like a predator, forcing his next words out in disgust. "I followed you because I can't get you out of my fucking head." I dig my nails into his balls and he furrows his brows in pain. "I feel sick for wanting you. For lusting after a student who is half my age―who could be my fucking daughter. I feel sick because I've spent all my life hating men like this. And now I'm no better than any of them. Because you're in every single one of my thoughts. I can't get you out."

My mouth opens on a gasp. "Say more. What do you want from me?" I release my tight grip and he takes a breath of relief. Not wasting any time, I wrap it around his cock instead.

Fuck me sideways. He's huge . I've seen it multiple times now, but to hold it in my hand and really feel it makes me wetter than I've ever been.

He shivers, squeezing his eyes shut. "I want to do bad things to you. I want to abuse my power as your teacher and force you to your knees. I want to thrust my cock so deep inside your throat that you can no longer breathe. I want to teach you other things besides Sculpture. I want to do all the depraved things I fantasize about when I think of you. I want to show you that those boys who touched you hold no fucking candle to me. They don't know what you need."

"And what do I need, Professor?" I feel a trail of arousal slide down my leg, my panties completely soaked through.

"For starters, someone who can hold on for longer than fifteen goddamn minutes." He pauses, then growls as he seems to recall the memory. "Pathetic…" he mutters. "You need it rough. You need pain and punishment…"

"Continue," I taunt, stroking him harder, faster.

"I want to tie you up with rope, splay your holes out before me as I fuck your tight, wet cunt. I want to sink into your ass and thrust inside so deeply, you can no longer remember any words. I want to make you beg for mercy. I want to spread you open and look inside. Fill you up with so much cum you'll sweat it out of your pores for days. Make you drink it like it's water."

My clit throbs. I want to touch myself. Better yet, I want him to touch me.

"Tell me more," I let out on an audible gasp that evolves into a moan. "Tell me how you would punish me. Tell me what you would do to make me feel pain."

His breathing turns erratic, just like mine, and he can barely get the words out. "I want to whip you with my paddles. With my cane. Make you feel every single tassel of my flogger as I turn your back red. I want to carve my fucking name into your flesh…"

I squeeze my eyes shut and slam my mouth against his. I don't kiss him; I only use his lips to muffle my desperate whimpers. His growl vibrates against my mouth when he grits out, "God, Daisy. I want to make you scream. "

I gasp again, and a strangled cry bursts out of my throat as I lose it from those words. Sweet Mary, mother of fucking fuck.

At the same time, warm liquid spills over my hand, and I keep stroking him as he lets out a painful growl. Our eyes are locked on each other's as I lean my head back, fire burning in his dark pools.

When I no longer move my hand, I can still feel him throb. Once we've both caught our breaths, I pull my hand out of his underwear and hold it up in the light. Pearly white cum covers my palm, and I smirk smugly. Sticking out my tongue, I lick it off, not missing a single drop as I hum my satisfaction from the taste of it.

He just stares at me with wide pupils, completely entranced. Slowly lowering the gun, I put the safety back on before I put the weapon back inside my pocket. I zip up his pants, tucking everything back inside, taking care of his belt buckle, too.

"Now, go. You don't want to miss class, right? You're on the clock." I swirl my tongue over my lips to lick up the last remaining bits of cum while I take a few steps back, motioning my hand for him to leave.

He's speechless as he slowly walks away, not taking his eyes off me as he disappears back into the forest.

Aww. I think I fried his brain.