Chris – Chapter Three:
Christopher's door stands before me. The shiny brass numbers, 204, seem like they're challenging me as I hesitantly reach out my hand, hovering over the brass knocker.
The corridors I had walked in to get over here were dark and empty. Soft noises still issued from some of the student's room despite that lights-out was half an hour ago. I spent the entire journey on tenterhooks, terrified that I was going to be caught by the teacher on duty and demanded an explanation of. Every shadow seemed like a lurking figure, and I'd jumped at every sound. But the trip over had distracted me from any other of my thoughts, and now they were all rushing up on me.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself, and my hand is descending on the knocker when-
There is a click from the lock inside and the door is pulled open, revealing Chris standing in all his half-naked glory. He's clearly fresh from the student showers (even though its lights out!) with a towel draped casually around his neck and his hair flattened and wet with water. His shirt is very obviously in some place other than on his body, and water droplets stream down his golden, muscled skin to disappear under the waistband of his low-rise dark jeans.
Gulping, I notice that his jeans are both unbuttoned and unzipped, slung low on his hips, and I quickly look away, quelling the rising distress in my throat. His whole presence is overwhelming, a smack to the face, and he even smells good – wet, and clean and fresh – with a hint of something masculine and musky hidden just beneath. There's no denying that this boy would be attractive – IF I was a Female Student, and not a Male Teacher.
"Are you finished?" I quickly look up, swallowing, to see Chris looking down at me in amusement, one eyebrow arched as he leans with a raised arm against the doorframe. I glance down at my feet, simultaneously noticing that he is barefoot. He has perfectly clipped toenails.
Flushing, I sense his eyes on me, and I can tell he's checking out what I'm wearing too. Momentarily I forget the fighting spirit I had earlier and wish I'd changed into something a little better looking, and then I banish the thought from my mind.
This is not a date! I am here to be…here to be… and then I'm leaving! Chris startles me from my thoughts when suddenly he grunts in satisfaction. Surprised, I look up at him, and am immediately captured by his eyes. They are dark and hungry, and immensely satisfied. He likes my clothes?
Instead of making me happy, the thought makes me feel sick.
"Come in," Chris says, and wide-eyed I peer around him to gaze in the darkness of his room. He pushes the door open, holding it with one arm, seemingly amused at my reticence. "I'm not going to bite. Yet." He smiles. More softly: "Go on, go inside."
Taking a tentative step forward I hold my breath in fear as I pass beneath his arm. This is it: I can't go back now; I'm in the lion's lair. Chris' hand settles on the small of my back to guide me in, and I jump.
For an instant as Christopher shuts the door behind us we are left in pitch black. I stifle a scream as something brushes past me, only for a moment later for the room to flower into light as Chris switches on a soft yellow table lamp. He sits on the bed next to it with a heavy 'whumpf' and from his recumbent position watches me with amused eyes as I take in my surroundings.
The room is roughly the same size as mine, except a little less opulently decorated and with a long single bed pushed up against the far wall under the window. There's a desk on the right wall and a bookcase next to it, with the small table lamp that is now glowing cosily resting on a small beside table at the foot of the bed.
On the floor there are a couple of soft rugs, and teenage posters and prints of classics, including a huge spread of Elvis, decorate the walls. The room seems a little big for its purpose of housing only one boy, and I guess that normally a room this size would be expected to contain another occupant, the extra space most likely normally used for another desk and bed.
I relax a little in relief at the soft environment. It is less intimidating than I had expected. The picture of Elvis reassures me, although I can't imagine Chris, scary as he is, being a fan.
"You haven't said a word yet." Chris murmurs softly. I jump at the unexpected intrusion of sound into space, and turn. He's still watching me closely, lying long-limbed and beautiful on his bed, and self-consciously I tug at the overlong cardy I'm wearing. The silence stretches on and with it so do my nerves.
What should I do now? I gulp in horror. Surely, he doesn't expect me to take the initiative. Should I strip? Should I – should I -?
"Come here." Chris's soft command cuts into the silence like a knife cutting soft cheese. I almost sigh in relief at being told what to do, but struggle to move my body. It seems to have frozen up. On the bed Chris frowns. "Or do I have to carry you into bed like a virgin maiden? Daniel…" His tone is warning.
The use of my name seems to act as an activation code, because at his voice I feel my body unlock, and I shake my head and screw up my eyes at his words. "No… no…" I stutter incoherently.
Twisting my cardigan nervously in my hands, I take small, stalling steps towards him, eyes downcast. Every footstep is a battle in its own right as instinct tells me to flee from this predator. When I stop at the edge of his bed I can't force myself to look into his eyes, as I know to do so would cause me to turn tail and flee. Not that I suspect I would remain free for long.
"See?" Chris's voice is soft, as if he is rewarding me. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?" I flinch at the sound of Chris's voice, body quivering in fear, as I try to reason with my mind that I'm not about to be eaten by some large cat. Or at least, not eaten in that way.
I try to convince myself that being eaten in that way will not hurt instead, but fail.
I wince as a finger comes out to brush gently along the curve of my cheek and my lip. They part softly beneath his touch.
"Now take off your trousers," he orders.
I baulk a little at this command, but with trembling hands I obediently reach up to undo the button on the front. Although I haven't looked at him in a while, I know he is watching me intently. Pulling down the zipper, I slowly push down the trousers over the rise of my butt and then down past my knees, my face on fire.
Delicately, I step out of the pool of material around my ankles and quickly pick them up, clutching them to the front of my body protectively.
"Put them down." Chris's voice comes warningly, and I hesitate. But face burning, I drop them. I feel his eyes stroke the length of my legs and back up the inside of them again, coming to rest on the plaid blue boxers I'm wearing.
For the first time in my adult life since my secondary school P.E. changing room sessions, I feel unconfident about my body. I don't do much exercise, mainly walks around the park if I have time, and I know that if my body isn't exactly fat, it is soft. Unlike him I lack the toned gorgeousness of a teenager in his prime. Instead of standing proudly upright in my own skin, I stand trembling and fearful in my creased boxers and socks.
"Boxers… I don't expect that." Chris's voice murmurs speculatively. I jump again at his voice. I so twitchy now that I feel as if I'm going to explode. "I had thought you were more of a tighty-whiteys type." Indignant, my head shoots up to glare at Chris accusingly, and I find that the blond young Adonis is watching me with laughter in his eyes. "But I'm not disappointed," he chuckles.
I glare at him. His golden hair has dried and lies flat around his head, and without the gelled spikes his whole appearance seems softer and less intimidating. He smiles at my angry expression and then I realise he was teasing me. But it's worked, and I no longer feel so stiff in his presence. I am tinily, minutely more relaxed.
"Get up here, then."
Taking stumbling steps forward, and fumbling with the bed covers, I clutch onto them tightly and pull myself up onto the bed, checking his position beneath lowered eyelashes.
"Don't look at me like that, or I'll rape you." Chris' voice comes, surprisingly hoarse, and I start. Looking up at him fearfully, I perch with my legs folded under my body and with my hands twitching nervously in my lap. My back is a little distance from the headboard, my bottom just missing the edge of the pillow. Christopher sits cross legged a little distance from me.
"You still haven't said anything yet." Christopher's voice, low and gentle, slips out into the room.
I stare at my hands.
"Daniel…" His use of my name causes me to shiver, the hairs on my neck standing to attention to the sound, but resolutely I refuse to look back up at him. Every part of me is acutely aware of him. I know that if I look at him now my nerve will break and I won't be able go through with this. He's too big and the idea of that body controlling mine scares me. But I have to do this, for the sake of my teaching career.
"Don't talk to me, please," I whisper. My hands tensely lace together on my lap. "Just get on with it."
He regards me silently. "Okay, for now. But when we get to the sex I'm going to talk to you-" My face burns at the word 'sex' "-or you're not going to know what to do." He pauses and reaches out a hand, fingers tilting up my face so that I meet his eyes. His gaze is serious. "I don't want you to get hurt because you don't know what you're doing." My face does not only burn, it blazes.
My eyes drop. "Okay," I whisper.
All is still for a moment as Chris watches me. I can't meet his heavy gaze. Is he - is he going to do it now? Then he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to my mouth, causing me to blink and my lips part in surprise. "Christopher?" My voice is breathy and not my own.
He doesn't reply.
Leaning forward, he again presses his mouth to mine, and when my mouth opens up more under his, letting out a little whimper in scared, half-remembered recognition, he gathers me up into his arms and pulls me up onto his lap, one arm curled under my bottom protectively, and the other supporting my back.
The sensations I had experienced in my office at lunch (was it only this lunch?) resurface and my body starts to go dizzy at the memory, this time from the heat and pleasure. Unconsciously I press myself against him.
From my new perspective I stare down at Chris' golden face. He looks up at me, his expression indiscernible. One hand caresses the side of my cheek. Without warning, his tongue slips into my mouth, and I gasp at the intensity of the kiss. I clutch at his chest weakly, his silky smooth skin firm beneath my hand.
"Hold me," he murmurs chokingly as we come up for air. Momentarily I remember where I am and what is happening but I try to forget. If I can just let myself relax... go along with the situation, then maybe it won't be as painful for me. Tentatively I bring my hands up to rest chastely on his shoulders, feeling the strong muscles corded within them, and then I wind my fingers tightly in his hair as the hunger of his kiss rocks me.
I tug at his hair unconsciously, and beneath me Chris groans. Against my will, it excites me a little. His tongue pushes into mine, and I surrender to his dominant handling, sinking back into the kiss.
From my position above him I feel a little more in control. Chris probably knows that. He directs the kiss but I'm no longer overwhelmed by the size of his body. From my position on his lap I can feel his increasingly hard penis through his jeans, and am constantly reminded that he is male, but I try to ignore it, concentrating on the kiss and his tongue and the patterns he is tracing through the thin cotton of my boxers on my skin.
It would all feel so much better if only I didn't know what was coming next, and I try to lose myself in the moment, and not think.
Christopher kisses me until he finally feels my body begin to relax. I slowly become limp and pliable, my soft form melting to press against his hard contours. His hand slips under the elastic of my boxers, pulling them slightly down the curve of my bottom, and rubbing gently, his questing finger finding the tight ring of my hole.
I tense at his touch, tearing my mouth away from his and quiver upright as he gently teases the small, hot entrance. Tenderly, he kisses the soft skin along my neck, trying to get me to relax, and murmurs softly "I'm going to put some lube on my finger, and put it in. Is that alright?" I stare straight ahead, unseeing, and when he presses a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth, asking "Daniel?"
I don't respond. My mind has retreated to a place in the misty corners of my brain where it won't get harmed.
Beneath me, Christopher continues his soft kisses to my neck, but all I can register in my distant state is the movement of his left hand behind his back as he reaches for some lube. Behind my back, where I can't see, he squirts some of the gel onto his finger as he briefly removes it from my ass, and then one hand comes down to part my cheeks, and I jolt as a single cold digit is pushed into my hole.
It doesn't hurt, not properly, but it feels kind of weird. I can't even feel it that well when it's actually up there.
It starts to move in and out, and I feel like I'm going to throw up. I'm vaguely aware that Chris has managed to insert his finger so that it's buried up the knuckle, and I cringe my body away from the intrusion.
I gasp as his finger brushes something deep inside me, and I jolt out of my stupor and clutch onto Chris's neck tightly.
"What's that?" I gasp. My bottom lifts slightly off of Chris's body, as if I'm trying to give him better access, and my chest heaves.
"There, huh?" Chris mutters, and finger brushing the same spot again my body jolts again and I squeeze his neck hard, panting. What is this? What is happening? Is this supposed to happen?
My hips move in time with Chris's thrusts as stretching me he inserts another finger. It's a little painful this time round, but the added presence of another digit means that when it hits that spot again the pleasure I receive from it is doubled. Chris kisses the shell of my ear tenderly as my face flushes red with another wave of pleasure, and holds my body tight.
"It's good, huh?" He murmurs as I pant into his ear, and quickly I shake my head in denial before he brushes the spot again and I tremble weakly.
"I think you're ready for three now." The third finger as it pushes in hurts, and I let out a little whimper of pain as Chris's fingers trail soothing patterns over my back. For a moment I am briefly brought back to my senses as the pain shocks through me, and I begin to struggle, afraid of the hard, large male form embracing me, but Chris holds me tight against his body, imprisoning me.
"Oww oww," I sob, but Chris doesn't stop, and instead continues moving his fingers until I am used to them. At long last they stop, and my body gradually relaxes around them, swallowing them up. I pant as Christopher holds me tightly. Finally, he withdraws all three, and I sag into his body.
To my mortification I realise that I am hard through my boxers, and I curl into Chris's chest ashamedly, hands squeezing my lap as I hide it. Christopher's arms wrap around me snugly, and for a moment I let myself relax into his warmth.
A minute passes, and I'm gently prised from his arms and pushed back onto the soft mattress. My head is supported by the fluffy pillow, and I gaze up at Christopher with wide, dazed eyes. His golden eyes crinkle in a smile as they look down at my floppy, pliable body, and his thumb pushes at my lips, entering my mouth.
Unconsciously, I suck on it. His eyes widen. "You're so cute."
He begins undressing me, working from the top down, first unbuttoning my cardy and manoeuvring my limbs out from it. Then he pulls my shirt over my head, smoothing a warm hand over my belly, and my sensitised body jolts up to meet his hand. He leaves my boxers untouched. All that remains on my body is that thin scrap of cotton, covering my erection.
Chris's expression turns more serious, and tensing, I watch as his hand drifts down to pull at his jeans. My eyes widen in fear, the pink fog from my mind swiftly disappearing. I imagine the things he wants to do to me, the pain he's going to cause.
The three fingers were bad enough, but how big is he? My relaxed hole is slowly tightening in nervousness, and the 'flee' option in my mind has suddenly switched on. As Christopher tugs the clinging, dark material away from his muscled thighs, working it around his ankles, I feebly sit up.
The door is only yards away.
Just listening to Between the Bars cover by Chris Garneau: its probably one of the most haunting songs I've ever heard. Listen to it!
I hope you enjoyed Chris and Mr Collins' developing relationship, and umm, sorry for the, uh... extensive... fingering... *cough cough* I hadn't meant to spend that long on it! Because of it this chapter is a little longer than the others!
Please drop me a review on this if you enjoyed it and follow if you want more smexyness! I'd love to hear your opinions on my characters :)