Chapter 3: Rising Action
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The bathroom at @The Town House was a sanctuary of sorts, a respite from the peculiarities of their shared predicament. It was large, almost as big as the master bedroom, with a claw-foot tub nestled beneath a stained-glass window depicting a serene forest scene. The tiles were a cool, soothing blue, and the air was filled with the soft scent of lavender.
Emily sat on the edge of the tub, her heart pounding in her chest. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, hardly recognizing the woman staring back at her.
Her usually vibrant green eyes were clouded with worry, and her long, curly brown hair hung limp around her shoulders. She splashed some water on her face, hoping to wash away the remnants of confusion and fear that clung to her like a second skin.
The bathroom door creaked open, and Michael stepped inside, his dark hair still damp from his own shower. He was dressed in a simple white t-shirt and jeans, the casual attire doing little to hide the lean muscles beneath. He paused, his gaze meeting hers in the mirror.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice low and measured.
Emily nodded, turning to face him.
"Just trying to wrap my head around all this," she admitted, gesturing vaguely to the house around them. "I mean, who are we? Why are we here? And why can't we remember anything?"
Michael leaned against the sink, his arms crossed over his chest. "I wish I had answers for you, Em. But honestly, I'm just as lost as you are."
Em. The nickname sent a warm shiver down Emily's spine. She liked the way it sounded coming from his lips, liked the intimacy it implied. She cleared her throat, pushing the thought aside.
"Have you found anything useful in your searches?" she asked, eager to steer the conversation back to their predicament. "Not really. Just more... interesting decor." He raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. "Though I did find a collection of vintage porn magazines in the attic. Quite the treasure trove."
Emily rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help but laugh. "Of course you did. Because why wouldn't this place have a stash of old porn?"
Michael chuckled, pushing off from the sink and taking a step closer to her. "It was better back then, honestly. It was all scenarios, scenes, people pretending to be a specific role in that scenario. Not all of this 'see this hot actor play herself in the umpteenth movie of the year,' nonsense we have today. It was real, raw, and emotional. It was art."
Michael's voice broke through her thoughts, pulling her back to the present. "I don't think roleplay and real belong in the same sentence, but I get what you mean." Emily replied with a smile, appreciating his attempt to connect. "I was always partial to authoritarian gaps; maid with the master of the house, or college cheerleader with a college professor." she said, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. "There's something about the power dynamics, the control, that gets me going."
Emily shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the tub, Michael's proximity making her suddenly aware of the thin fabric of her borrowed robe. She cleared her throat, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground. "Well, whatever the reason, we're here now. And we need to figure out why."
Michael pushed off from the sink, pacing the length of the bathroom. "Like a character motivation." he paused as Emily groaned.
"No, here me out. Our memory is not completely borked, we all knew our names, we all knew our faces when we saw them in a mirror. What if stuff we're just passively saying now is a clue to our past? What if one of those roleplay scenarios you mentioned was the truth?" he asked, turning to face her.
Emily chortled, "Do I really look like a cheerleader, Michael?"
Michael's gaze swept over her, lingering on the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts visible through the thin robe. "You could be," he said, his voice low. "With the right uniform."
Emily felt a flush creep up her neck, her heart pounding in her chest. She swallowed hard, trying to maintain her composure. "And what about you? Do you feel like a college professor?
You seem to have the authoritative vibe down pat," Emily teased, trying to regain her composure. She stood up from the tub, her robe brushing against Michael's arm as she passed him to reach the sink. She turned on the faucet, letting the cold water run over her wrists, feeling the chill seep into her skin.
Michael watched her, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Is that what you think? That I'm authoritative?" His voice was low, almost challenging.
Emily turned off the tap, drying her hands on a nearby towel. She faced him, her expression serious.
"I think you have a natural command over people. You're calm, collected, and you don't take crap from anyone. That's authoritative, isn't it?"
Michael chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, when you put it that way..."
Emily smiled, leaning back against the sink. "So, Professor, what would you do with a cheeky little cheerleader like me?"
Michael's eyes darkened, his gaze intensifying. "First, I'd make sure she understood the rules. Clear expectations, consequences for breaking them."
Emily raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"Rules, huh? And what kind of rules would those be?"
Michael stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, commanding tone. "Respect, first and foremost. You'd address me as Professor at all times. No exceptions."
Emily bit her lip, suppressing a smile. "And if I forgot? Or... deliberately disobeyed?"
Michael's eyes flashed with a sudden intensity. "Then you'd earn yourself a punishment. Perhaps detention after practice, writing lines, or... more physical consequences."
Emily's heart pounded in her chest, her imagination running wild with the possibilities, the cleared her throat, "Well, it's a good thing we don't have the proper attire..." she started then paused as he pointed behind her to a sliding door. "A walk-in closet, in a bathroom?" she gasped, turning to face him, her eyes wide with surprise. "What kind of place is this?"
Michael shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. "One that caters to very specific tastes, apparently."
Emily hesitated for a moment before stepping into the closet, Michael following close behind. The space was larger than expected, filled with rows upon rows of uniforms, costumes, and accessories. She ran her fingers along the hangers, her eyes scanning the various outfits.
"Look at this," she said, pulling out a cheerleading uniform.
It was a classic design, with a pleated skirt, a cropped sweater, and pom-poms attached to the sleeves. She held it up against herself, admiring the fit. "This could actually work," she mused, a playful smile tugging at her lips.
Michael leaned against the doorframe, watching her with an amused expression. "You know, most cheerleaders don't wear their uniforms quite that well."
Emily laughed, tossing the uniform back onto the rack. "Well, maybe I'm just a natural." She turned her attention to the rest of the costumes, her fingers trailing over the fabrics.
"And what about you, Professor? What's your poison?" she asked, glancing back at Michael.
Michael pushed off from the doorframe, stepping further into the closet. His gaze scanned the racks, pausing on a particular outfit. He reached out, pulling a crisp, tailored suit from the hanger. It was a deep, rich navy, with a subtle pinstripe running through the fabric. A matching waistcoat and tie hung beside it.
"This," he said, holding the suit up to his body. "I've always felt more comfortable in a suit.
There's something about the way it fits, the way it makes you stand tall, that commands respect." Michael said, his voice taking on a more authoritative tone as he spoke.
Emily raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Commands respect, huh? Well, Professor, I guess that means I should call you Sir while you're wearing it."
Michael chuckled, hanging the suit back on the rack. "Only if you want to earn yourself extra detention, Miss."
Emily laughed, turning her attention back to the costumes.
"Well, I guess we'll have to see how well these uniforms fit, won't we?"
Michael nodded, a smirk playing on his lips. "Indeed, we will. Though I must warn you, Miss, I expect nothing less than perfection from my students."
Emily rolled her eyes, but she couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. "Of course you do, Professor. Anything less simply won't do."
Michael left the closet to change in the bathroom proper leaving Emily the closet to herself. After they changed, they rejoined each other in the bathroom . Emily twirled around in her cheerleading uniform, the pleated skirt flaring out around her. Michael, now dressed in his crisp suit, leaned against the sink, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her with an amused expression.
"Well, Professor, what do you think?" Emily asked, striking a pose with her pom-poms.
"I think you look like you were born to wear that uniform," Michael replied, his voice low and approving. "But I must say, it's a shame you already broke the dress code with no panties." he said, lifting a pleat of her skirt to reveal her bare sex.
Emily stammered, caught by his brazen action, "Th-there were none in the closet ."
Michael raised an eyebrow, "That's no excuse, Miss. You should have asked for permission before removing any article of clothing."
Emily bit her lip, trying to suppress a smile. "Yes, Professor," she said, her voice laced with mock obedience.
Michael pushed off from the sink, stepping closer to her. "Turn around, Miss," he commanded, his voice stern.
Emily complied, turning to face the mirror. She watched as Michael reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, black leather paddle. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she kept her expression neutral.
"And what exactly am I supposed to do with this, Professor?" she asked, her voice steady despite the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
Michael held her gaze in the mirror, his expression unreadable. "Bend over the tub, Miss. We'll start with ten."
Emily's breath hitched, but she didn't hesitate. She bent over the edge of the claw-foot tub, her hands gripping the cool porcelain. She could feel the hem of her skirt riding up, exposing her bare ass to the cool air of the bathroom.
She wiggled slightly, adjusting her position, and heard Michael clear his throat behind her.
"Stay still, Miss," he warned, his voice firm. "And count each strike."
Emily took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. She felt the first smack of the paddle against her flesh, sharp and unexpected. She gasped, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the tub tighter.
"One," she managed to choke out, her voice barely above a whisper.
Michael paused, rubbing the spot he'd struck, his touch gentle yet firm. "Louder, Miss," he commanded.
"I want to hear you."
Emily took a deep breath, her voice stronger this time. "Two!"
The paddle came down again, harder this time, leaving a warm sting in its wake. Emily gritted her teeth, counting each strike as Michael delivered them with precise, measured strokes. By the eighth strike, her ass was a fiery red, and her breath came in ragged gasps.
"Nine!" she cried out, her voice echoing off the tile walls.
Michael paused, running the smooth leather of the paddle over her heated skin. "You're doing well, Miss.
Just one more," Michael said, his voice low and encouraging. Emily took a deep breath, bracing herself for the final strike. The paddle came down with a sharp crack, the force of it sending a jolt through her entire body. She cried out, her voice echoing off the bathroom walls.
"Ten!" she gasped, her body trembling as she fought to maintain her position.
Michael set the paddle down on the counter, his hands gentle as he helped her stand upright. He turned her to face him, his eyes searching hers. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice soft.
Emily nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Yes, Professor," she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying out. Michael cupped her cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice filled with approval. Emily felt a warmth spread through her at his words, a sense of pride and accomplishment. Then a dripping sound could be heard under her feet. She looked down, her wetness had finally reached her knee and dripped to the floor . She blushed, realizing she had been so lost in the moment that she hadn't noticed her own arousal. Michael followed her gaze, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Seems like someone enjoyed their punishment," he commented, his voice laced with amusement.
"Maybe a little," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Michael chuckled, stepping closer to her. He reached out, his fingers tracing the curve of her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, until they rested on the top button of her uniform. His other hand unbuckled his pants, "Maybe we need to plug that leak, before I have to punish you further." he said, his voice low and husky. Emily's breath hitched, her eyes widening in anticipation. She watched as he pulled out his cock, thick and hard, ready for her. He grabbed her by the waist, lifting her up onto the counter, spreading her legs wide. He stepped between them, his cock pressing against her entrance.
"Professor," she gasped, her voice barely a whisper. "We shouldn't-"
"We should," he interrupted, his voice firm. "You need this, and so do I."
He thrust into her, filling her completely. Emily moaned, her head falling back against the mirror. Her lower cheeks were aflame with conflicting sensations. The ceramic countertop of the sink was cool against her tender skin, but it stuck to her sweat-slicked slices of cake, the friction with each thrust of Michael's hips sending jolts of pleasure-pain through her. She squirmed, trying to adjust, but Michael's grip on her thighs tightened, holding her in place.
"Stay still, Miss," he growled, his voice laced with authority. "Take your punishment like a good girl."
Emily bit her lip, her eyes locked with his in the mirror. She could see the raw desire in his gaze, the primal hunger that matched her own. She forced herself to remain still, to take every inch of him as he slid in and out of her, his pace increasing with each thrust.
The cool air of the bathroom kissed her heated skin, contrasting with the warmth of Michael's body pressed against hers. She could feel the tension building within her, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps.
"Touch yourself, Miss," Michael commanded, his voice low and gruff. "Make yourself come while I fuck you."
Emily hesitated for a moment, then tentatively reached between her legs, her fingers finding her clit. She began to rub in slow circles, her movements synchronizing with Michael's thrusts. The sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure building with each stroke of her fingers, each thrust of his hips.
Emily's moans echoed off the bathroom walls, mingling with Michael's grunts of exertion. Their bodies moved in perfect sync, their reflections in the mirror a dance of raw, primal passion.
Michael's hand snaked up her torso, pushing her uniform top up to expose her breasts. He palmed one, his thumb flicking over her nipple, sending a jolt of electricity straight to her core. Emily gasped, her fingers moving faster, her body tensing as she neared the edge.
"Pull my hair, please... Professor!" she pleaded, her voice breathlees. Michael obliged, taking command of her head with her locks, keeping her gaze locked with his in the mirror. The added sensation of his strong grip on her hair sent Emily spiraling closer to the edge. She could feel her orgasm building, her muscles tightening, her breath hitching. "That's it, Miss," Michael encouraged, his voice low and gravelly. "Come for me. Show me how much you love being punished." Emily's body responded to his command, her climax crashing over her like a tidal wave. She cried out, her fingers digging into his shoulder, her nails raking across his skin.
Her body convulsed, her inner walls clamping down around him as waves of pleasure washed over her. Michael groaned, his hips stuttering as he joined her in release, his cock pulsing within her as he spilled himself deep inside her.
They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies pressed together, their breaths ragged and uneven. Michael's grip on her hair loosened, his fingers gently carding through her curls as he helped her ease back down from her high. Emily's eyelids fluttered open, her gaze meeting his in the mirror once more.
Michael's reflection wore a satisfied smirk, his chest still heaving from their shared exertion. She couldn't help but smile back, her body still humming with the aftershocks of her orgasm.
"Well, Professor," she said, her voice still breathless. "I must say, that was... educational."
Michael chuckled, his hands gentle as he helped her down from the counter. "I'm glad you found it so, Miss. But I'm afraid I'm not any closer to remembering who I am, you?" he asked, his voice softening as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Emily shook her head, her eyes clouding with frustration. "No, I haven't remembered anything else. Now I just have this fear, you know? What if Alex is my husband?" she replied with a disconcerted, questioning look.
"Or mine," Michael added with a chuckle to his voice, that then faded to reflect her anxiety. "We could be loved ones or married to others. And they could be looking for us."
The significance of the situation weighed on them both, clouds of worry and confusion forming over their heads. Emily took a deep breath and placed a comforting hand on Michael's shoulder. "Let's not speculate yet," she suggested. "Maybe we should check the house again for any clues regarding our identities, or possibly more info about this place."
Michael nodded, taking her suggestion as the best course of action for now.