bdsm novella

Chapter 2



The Hunt




She awoke groggily as sun rays beckoned to her. As she turned her head to glance at the dial of her clock, the red LED lights glared accusingly at her. She had slept in. Suddenly in a fury she quickly went through her morning rituals. It wasn’t until she was in her car on the way to work that she thought of him. She wondered for a few moments in time what could have been but brushed the thought aside as quickly as it had come as she pulled up to work.



“Lexie! There you are! You are late and your meeting about Hackner has already begun and there was a gentleman here earlier who was In search of you.”



“Thank you Sarah. I will be there in a moment. Let me just gather my notes.” As she walked into her office her eyes were instantly drawn to a single red rose laying upon her desk. She felt her heart stop for a moment before it began to flutter like a bird in cage. She slowly walked up to her desk and under the rose was a card with gold filigree and one word written in a bold scroll lettering. Tonight.



She felt her palms grow slightly sweaty. Could it be…No. No way a person would be so persistent. Especially for someone like her.



“Lexie…” She realized Sarah was still dutifully waiting on her so they could get to the meeting. She quickly grabbed the notes and left the card on the desk. But it burned into her brain hidden behind her eyes. Throughout the meeting she struggled to stay attuned. Her body had suddenly decided it was some animal in heat. Every brush of fabric seemed to caress her skin and make her more aware. By the time the meeting was over her panties were soaked and she was aching.



She went back to her office and went to search for her trusty vibrator. But as she searched her purse she realized in her fluster this morning she had forgotten it. She sat down in her chair and drew a heavy breathe. It would take longer to accomplish her needs without it. She sighed and got up and went back to work ignoring the building desire.



Sarah walked into her office with her last piece of paperwork and wished her goodbyes at such the late hour. She rubbed her forehead at the increased tension in her temple. She had to get home to fix the yearning desire. As she began to gather her work the forgotten card slipped from a pile of paper and fell to the floor. She leaned over and grasped the crisp clean card. The gold glittered in the softened glow of her desk lamp. She felt her heart begin to flutter again at the invitation. The one demanding word. Did he expect her to come tonight. She wanted to. With every beat she wanted to leave right now straight from her office to his. But she knew she wouldn’t. It would mean admitting what she wanted deep down. And that was unacceptable. She looked at the card one last time and then threw it into the trash can.



She grabbed her coat and then left. As she walked down the garage in the darkened night, the air was crisp and slightly cold with the new changing season. She pulled out her keys from her purse and as she began to open her car door someone firmly grabbed her and wrapped their fingers over her mouth cutting off her fearful scream.



“Shsh, pet. Don’t scream again or your punishment will be worse. Do you understand. Nod your head if you do.” She instantly recognized his deep voice, the one she had been fantasizing about since yesterday. She felt the press of his hard body against her back and the strength in his grasp. She nodded her head slowly feeling a creeping fear up her spine as the realization of what he had said sunk in. Her punishment. Punishment. Goosebumps crawled over her skin.



“Good pet. You were very bad. You did not come to me last night. You made me come get you. I am very displeased.” As he said this his freed hand from her mouth began to lightly caress her form. They slowly found the zipper on the back of her skirt and she felt the tug as the zipper was pulled down. She tried to pull away as she cried out “Please!…sto…”. A quick effective firm slap to her ass by the heel of his hand left a stinging imprint she was sure.



“Pet does not speak to me unless I allow her to. Understand. I am not pleased as is. Don’t push it.”



He continued his exploration as his hand began to slip under her skirt. She felt herself holding her breathe hoping he wouldn’t realize how wet she was. That he would suddenly loose interest. She felt his heavy breathe upon her ear as he began to whisper to her again.



“Has pet been being a bad girl. Has she been thinking of me. Have you touched yourself in the night imagining my cock inside you.” As he spoke these words it only added fuel to her lust and made her wetter at his vulgar talk. No man had spoken to her in such a way. She felt his hands travel further until he was at the top of her lacy underwear and he began to tease and caress her there, slipping a finger just under the hem and grazing the sensitive skin heightened and attuned to his touch. She felt a betrayal moan escape her lips.



“I thought so pet. When I first saw you pet I knew you wanted…needed this. Your a little whore aren’t you pet. Shall I check pet. Check how wet you are. Are you dripping pet. Your pussy lips drenched in your desire.” He pressed her cruelly against the car now as he roughly pushed her legs apart with his own. She grunted softly from his rough handling and began to protest. Another smack to her ass, this one harder then the other cracked through the air.



“Pet. You will like what I do to you and you will beg me for more. You will beg me to touch you. To fuck you. To taste you. If you don’t you will be punished. Now let me feel how wet your pussy is.” With that his fingers slipped under her panties and softly touched her soft, wet lips. She moaned softly and heard his satisfied grunt. “Mmmm. Pet you are absolutely dripping for me, and I haven’t even delved further.” She began to feel weak in the knees as he continued his on slaughter his fingers sliding up and down, trailing over her silkened skin. Then she lurched forward as his fingers found her exposed clit. It was swollen and seeking attention from under its protective hood and his form hand began to tease it. Slowly. Tortuously. She began to grind her hips into hand begging without saying so that she needed more.



“Pet, you are enjoying this. Tell me your enjoying this. Tell me you want me to finger fuck you right here and now. You would like that wouldn’t you, my little whore. Being finger fucked by a stranger. Tell me to do it Pet. I want to hear it come from your sweet lips.” Her breath had become ragged as she was so close. She mewled in protested distress. She wanted it but didn’t want to voice how much she wanted. How turned on she was…How close she was. “Tell me pet. Now.” His voice had lost any kindness and was pure masculine demand. In trepidation of what would happen she finally voiced her lust. “Please…ppplleeaasee…”



“Please…? what pet. Be specific.” His fingers were driving her nuts. They were everywhere but nowhere. They suddenly were just there, at the opening to her dripping pussy. “Ple…please, finger fuck me.” As she said this she felt a intense feeling of pleasure swarm her brain just by the release of words. And then the pleasure of words combined with the pleasure of such intensity as two of his fingers easily entered her wet love cave easily, she was so wet. And it wasn’t gentle nor tender. His fingers fucked her without care as they sought a destination and it was leading her there easily. “That’s right. You cunt likes this you little whore. Look how wet my cunt is. This cunt is mine from now on. It is only allowed to come when I say it can.” She began to groan unceremoniously. His words, his fingers, his strength were sending her over the edge. He was almost violently finger fucking her now, his palm directly hitting her clit with every thrust. “Beg for me to make my cunt come. Beg my little pet.”



“Please! Please! Let me cum! Let me cum Sir!” The words flowed naturally from her mouth without a second thought. “Good pet. Come.” His voice commanded her. Even if she wasn’t close she would have had to obey. His presence, his voice, himself. It demanded those around him to obey…and she did. Her body rushed with release. Her pussy grasped his fingers trying to milk them for something that they couldn’t provide. She heard in the distant his satisfied groan as she finished riding out her climax. She began to surface again when she heard his voice. “Good pet. I was going to punish you and since I dismissed it this time you will come with me now to receive it. And you WILL ask and beg for it. Understood.” All she could do was nod. She was overwhelmed, satisfied, fearful, unsure and wasn’t sure she wanted to continue what had begun.

I love new relationships and all of the “firsts” that come with them. This chapter has a few firsts, and even a space landing… Thank you FA_JF for your ongoing editing skills and advice (and your patience when I don’t always listen)!!



*



Patrick stays over the next evening too. It feels like we’re falling into an easy rhythm. So far we’ve always stayed at my house, but he asks that I come to his place for the first time this Friday. We’re both pretty wiped out when he arrives after work, so we just eat a simple dinner and watch a movie curled up on the couch together. Both too groggy to do much more than stumble to the bedroom when the movie is over, he puts me to bed promising wicked pleasures in the morning.



For once, I wake up first and as quietly as I can, sneak into the bathroom to relieve my aching bladder. I close my eyes and let out a groan as relief floods me. Slowly I open them and see that Patrick has slipped into the bathroom and is watching me intently with a slight smile across his face.



“Hey! A little privacy please!” I plead, as I quickly cross my hands over my lap. Patrick’s smile only broadens as he shakes his head and walks over; leaning down to give me a quick peck.



“Good morning sweetheart…,” he drawls. “Need some help there?”



“No!” I blush and laugh at the same time. “I can wipe myself just fine, thank you.”



“I’m curious why you’re feeling so shy. There isn’t a place on or more appropriately, in your body that my hands or lips haven’t explored.”



“I… I’m just….” I realize he’s right. He’s seen me at my most vulnerable, and having him in the bathroom as I pee is certainly pretty low on the list of embarrassments.



“You’re right. It just felt a bit soon to be peeing in front of each other… that’s all.” As I’m wiping myself, I give him a big smile. “The only thing I ask is privacy next week when I get my period.”



“If you think that’s going to detract me from fucking you you’re quite mistaken; but…if you want privacy in the bathroom for those days, I think I can live with that.”



As soon as I stand he slips by me and before I can get out of earshot he lets his own bladder go and I could swear there was a racehorse in the room, causing me to laugh myself to tears.



“Shower?” I ask.



“Absolutely…. Also, I believe I made a promise to you last night.”



True to his word, morning breath be damned, as soon as hot water is blasting down on us his mouth assaults mine with a deep and searching kiss. Our slick bodies caress each other as I’m drawn into his tight embrace; I feel his cock grow rigid against my belly. Pulling my body far enough back to grip the base in my hands, I begin to stroke it with an unerring and single minded goal. Pre-come forms pearly droplets at the crown; the sight of his milky seed has me mesmerized.



Patrick gasps and braces himself against the shower wall, but before ceding control to my intent, he lets out a growl and is upright once again. Looking down at me with a wicked grin, he forces me to release his cock; stepping back and seizing it in his own grip. I watch him stroke himself and my breath becomes irregular as I’m transfixed by the sight of his hand gliding over the rigid length. I study his movements; the way his hand twists at the top before pulling back, over and over again. His eyes remain locked on mine; monitoring the effect this has on me. My hands are fisted at my sides while my legs squeeze together in an answer to the rhythmic clenching of my pussy. My nipples stand out impossibly hard, while my breasts feel flushed and heavy.



He turns me around, placing my hands against the shower wall and spreading my legs shoulder-width apart. “Stay” is all he says and I obey. I feel him reach for the bar of soap, lathering it in his hands before cleaning me from head to toe with firm, massaging strokes. He adds a little more soap before washing my pussy and asshole thoroughly, fingers delving deep inside. Pulling the handheld showerhead down, he sprays my body clean, paying extra attention once again to my pussy and ass. The hard spray teases every nerve ending and I spread my legs even wider. Without a word he replaces it in its base and chuckles as I groan in protest.



“No matter what I do, keep your hands where they are.”



I nod, words escaping me as I feel him pull my hips back; kicking my legs apart until my pussy and ass are exposed and on display for him. He drops to his knees behind me. With a firm grip on my hips, he leans in and begins what could only be described as a feast of my pussy. His lips and teeth alternately suck and bite, driving me to the edge hard and fast. His tongue glides in rhythmic circles around my clit, before he captures it between his lips and sucks hard. My elbows give out and I fall forward towards the wall, cradling my head on my forearms. Without releasing my clit, he smacks my ass HARD, signaling me to get back into position.



With one hand, he pinches my clit between his thumb and forefinger, drawing back the hood. I briefly grimace in pain before a jolt of pleasure overcomes me. The tip of his tongue begins to firmly lick my exposed clit causing me to ride up on tiptoes in an attempt to decrease the intensity of sensation. Once again his free hand slaps the same ass cheek, on the same spot, and I force myself to brace my feet firmly on the shower floor once again. His mouth pulls away from my clit, but his tongue continues its exploration of my pussy, lapping up my juices from deep inside the swollen hole.



Strong hands grasp each ass cheek spreading them wide; the flat of his tongue travels over my perineum and up to my clenching asshole. I let out a cry of pleasure as I feel the tip make contact, then without hesitation penetrate the tight ring. Every nerve ending off the sensitive tissue sings with pleasure, and an act that at one time would have brought me great shame now has me begging in broken words to let me come.



Tears form in my eyes as I beg. “Please Patrick…please, please, please… May I come Sir? Please make me come Sir?” The last plea comes out as a question, and it’s answered by another hard slap to my ass.



“Shush,” is all he says.



I feel a whisper of hot breath against my ass before his tongue resumes fucking my tight hole. The sensation creates warm waves of lust to course through my body, until it’s all I can do to remember to breathe.



Finally, I feel him rise behind me and the head of his cock slowly penetrate my dripping pussy. It welcomes his cock like a long lost lover, clenching rhythmically with each thrust. Reaching above my head, he lowers the showerhead until I feel it slowly travel down my abdomen towards my pussy. Starting with the pulse setting, hard punches of water assault my clit in a slow, steady rhythm until every cell in my body throbs to the same beat. I can’t help myself, I begin to beg again.



“I can’t…I can’t. Please… I can’t do this. It’s too…too much.”



Switching to a constant hard stream aimed directly on the exposed head of the swollen mass of nerves, Patrick leans down and whispers in my ear, “come.” My orgasm hits me hard and fast. I hear a voice screaming and moaning, barely registering that it is mine. My knees buckle, but Patrick just tightens his hold around my waist as he plows into my pussy, the sound of our bodies smacking against each other echoes through the bathroom. Just before he explodes he pulls out and showers my back and bottom with his come. I close my eyes and catch my breath as he leisurely massages his come into my skin, then uses the water to gently rinse me clean.



Replacing the showerhead, he pulls me tight against him; his front to my back. We stay like this for a few minutes, both trembling despite the warm water. Once recovered, I turn around to cup his face in my hand, gazing at him through half-mast eyes. “Thank you, Sir.” The look of joy on his face these three simple words invoke makes my body flush with pleasure.



We’re quiet, yet tender with each other for the rest of the morning. The plans for the kitchen cabinets long settled, we sit in the backyard with our coffee and scones, toying with the idea of a trip the coast.



***



The rest of the week flies by. As Patrick wraps up his current job, refinishing an antique bar at a local restaurant, I’ve begun the arduous task of getting the interior of my house ready to paint. I go through, room by room, removing curtains, scraping off stickers from Addie’s youth, and taping off moulding. The days are filled with hard, physical labor and I’ve felt no need to go to the gym as I’m getting all the workout I need at home. Deep inside though, I know the real reason I’ve been avoiding the gym.



Addie and I email every day and skype every few days. Frank has kept her busy with sightseeing and time with his family. She’s already developed a crush on his neighbor’s boy who is thirteen, causing Frank no end of worry. Thankfully we’re getting on well with each other and I talk him through how to handle her first crush.



He tells me he’s dating an old girlfriend from his last year of Secondary school, but has yet to introduce Addie. I mention I’ve begun dating someone too, and we discuss how to get Addie used to the idea of her parents dating other people. It’s not that she believes we’ll ever get back together; just that she’s finally become adjusted to her new “normal” and we don’t want to upset her. I notice as we skype that neither of us flinch or seem bothered by the other’s dating; in fact, we’re both pleased that the other is happy in their life.



My cell phone rings as I’m careening through my front door on Friday morning, returning from the paint store with yet more supplies. Seeing Patrick’s name on the screen, I laugh at myself because every time he calls my stomach does flip-flops just as it did back in junior high. I realize Addie and I have more in common than I’d care to admit.



“Hey sweetheart, how’s my girl?” A warm glow radiates through my body at the sound of his gruff voice.



“Better now… I got a lot done today; almost ready to start painting.”



“That’s good. Although…how would you feel about taking a break from it for the weekend?” My heart skips a beat, imagining a whole weekend together. We’re both quiet, but I hear his even breath through the phone. “I’d like you to spend this evening through Monday morning with me, and I’d like you to submit to me for the duration.”



My breath catches. I think I know what’s he’s asking, but I’m not sure how I feel about it. “Um… What exactly do you mean by ‘for the duration’?” My voice is steady but inside a tremor is building on itself.



His tone is calm, but I can hear an undercurrent of excitement. “From the moment you walk in the door this evening, until the time you step out on Monday morning, you will accept your place as my submissive in every way.” There is a subtle, yet clear emphasis on the word ‘every’.



“Wait…. What?” Anxiety flares from within me, but something else too. Wetness quickly trickles into my panties as my breath becomes rapid and shallow. I’m on the cusp of protesting when instead I bite my lower lip and listen to his proposition.



“I’ve said it before; I’m not looking for a slave…. I’m not looking for 24/7 either. I would though, love the gift of your submission for more than a few hours on isolated days.” He pauses to find the right words, which also gives me time to process what he’s trying to say.



“You’re speaking of more than just sex,” I whisper.



“Yes.”



Once I realize what he is asking of me, every fiber of my being begins to scream internally that I can’t do it… that I’ll lose too much of myself. “What if’s” begin to ping through my brain. What if I begin to resent him, or even worse, what if I give him everything and he discovers it’s not enough? Forcing myself to quell the internal chatter I ask myself new questions. What would it hurt to try? He’s done so much for me; shouldn’t I give him this? Lastly… What if I like it?



I lift my head and brace myself as I give him my answer. “Ok, Patrick. I’m yours…. I’ll submit to you, in every way, for the weekend.” As soon as the words are out, an odd sense of calm washes over me; almost relief. The tremor that started at the onset of the conversation has transformed into a vibration that pulses through every nerve, gathering strength as it centers on my pussy and clit.



On the other end of the phone, Patrick let out his breath slowly; his relief is palpable and I know that I’ve pleased him. “Thank you, Corrine. Before the weekend starts, I want to assure you that I know how hard this may be for you, which makes it even more special for me. Bending your will to please mine is such an act of trust…of giving. I’m going to push you, but I promise I’m not going to abuse or take advantage of your submission; and as always, your safewords of yellow or red are available should you need them.”



I hear his words, but it’s hard to concentrate because my desire is amping up by the second. Unconsciously I had begun squeezing my thighs together and letting my free hand is caress the underside of my breast, slowly running my thumb over the tightly constricted nipple. Lost in sensation, I barely hear Patrick trying to get my attention.



He laughs a little. “You’re awfully quiet over there… That usually means you have unspoken concerns, or you’re excited. Which is it?”



“I’m, um…excited.” My cheeks flush at my admission.



A barely audible groan escapes him. When he speaks his voice is low and commanding. “Tell me. What has you excited?”



I attempt to put my thoughts together before I speak. My voice comes out more steady and clear than I’m feeling inside. “Well… As you said, everything we’ve done so far have been isolated experiences sandwiched between more, uh, traditional dates. Those times, when I’m submissive for you, don’t feel like games or sessions as they did with Robert.” I can’t quite find the words I really want to say, and I huff in frustration. “They feel…natural…peaceful.” I chuckle a little before adding, “…even when you were spanking me.”



“Those are the words of a true submissive, sweetheart. Do you know that?” He pauses briefly. “More important though, is that you’re MY submissive. You are MINE, Corrine.” His last words come out with a ferocity I have yet to hear from him, and they envelop me like a tight embrace.



“Yes, I’m yours.”



His voice, level again, adds quietly, “…and I’m yours.”



We’re both quiet for a moment. A rush of emotion surges through me and I want to blurt out that I love him, but for as 21st century as I am, I still seem to hold on to old-fashioned decrees about how soon you should confess your feelings, or whom should say them first. What’s not holding me back though is concern that he doesn’t feel the same. As much as I want to hear the words from him, I feel them with every look and every touch he gives me.



“Back to tonight… Your instructions are simple. Beginning when we get off of the phone, I want to lubricate and insert your small butt plug. No playing with yourself or other stimulation of any kind. By 3pm, I want you to have switched to your medium plug, then just before you come over insert your large plug and leave it in. If at any time you need to evacuate your bowels, remove the plug, clean up, then reinsert it.”



I decide that instead of an insurance adjustor, this time he sounds like doctor preparing me for a procedure. Judging by the flood of wetness in my panties at this thought, I consider sharing my long dormant doctor fantasy with him some time….



“Yes, Sir.” Neither of us comments on what these instructions are clearly implying. Tonight he plans to fuck me in the ass. I feel my tight hole clench involuntarily, unsure if I’m feeling anxiety, desire, or both. All I know is that there is no other man I would want to take my virgin hole.



We make a plan to meet at his place at 6pm tonight. He gives me clear instructions on what to pack, including the dress I wore when we stayed out at his cabin, some jeans, t-shirts and hiking boots. I’m curious what he has planned for the weekend but am also excited to let him take charge. The need to plan and control everything begins to ebb as the newly familiar feelings of passivity and acceptance flow in.



After we get off the phone, I use the bathroom, clean up, then retrieve my bag of toys. I pull out the three plugs, but look longingly at my large vibrator as I realize that I haven’t used it on myself since Patrick and I started dating. Picking it up by the base with one hand, I stroke my other hand up and down the smooth ridges.



Closing my eyes, I imagine that it’s Patrick’s cock cradled by my fist. Without conscious thought I lean forward, mouth open, and push the head of the vibrator inside my mouth. Using my tongue to lubricate the toy cock with my saliva, I push it deeper and deeper until I feel it straining to enter my throat. My already soaked panties become slick with juices, and the wet fabric begins to bunch between the lips of my pussy, rubbing against my swollen clit. I begin to rock my hips back and forth in a feeble attempt to gain friction as my mouth works over the cock.



Suddenly my eyes fly open as I realize what I’m doing; exactly the opposite of what he’d requested. Part of me would argue that I didn’t touch myself per se, but I know it’s a weak argument. I stop my hip thrusts and pull the vibrator from my mouth. Thick cords of saliva remain attached to the head of the cock as I pull it out. I collect the viscous fluid in one hand and lubricate the small butt plug. Pulling aside my wet panties, I push the plug in with one swift motion until the base is seated between my cheeks. Adjusting my panties back in place, I lower my skirt and get on with the task of painting; only now I’m miserably turned on.



Remaining in a constant state of unfulfilled arousal, I switch out the plugs through the course of the day until I find myself packing up the car with my bag and Griffin. Gingerly I sit myself in the driver’s seat, the large plug stretching and probing my tight asshole. I turn on loud music to distract myself as I drive across town towards my weekend of submission. I laugh out loud as I realize how fitting my choice in band is; Flogging Molly.



***



Whereas I live in the northeast section of the city, Patrick lives in the southeast. Although it only takes around fifteen minutes to get from one house to the other, the vibe of the neighborhoods shifts from being a bit edgier in the northeast, to a little more laid back in the southeast. Whereas the northeast is filled with art galleries and bars, the southeast has more coffee shops, parks, and food co-ops.



I pull on to his street and locate his house. It’s a big, old four-square that sits up on a little hill above the street causing it to look even larger. The house is painted a deep pewter color with white shutters and black trim.



As I’m parking, Patrick walks out of his house with Guinness in tow, a huge smile on his face. Griffin and I get out of the car and before I know it he grabs me off the sidewalk in a huge bear hug; lifting me high off of the ground. A quick cop of my ass assures him that the plug is in place. With wide eyes and a devious grin, he pushes the plug in deeper through my clothes causing me to let out a lustful moan. A little protective of me, Griffin begins to nip at Patrick’s ankles until he relents and returns me carefully back onto the sidewalk. Before heading up to the house, Patrick says he’d like to show me something, so I leash up Griffin before he takes my hand and leads me up his street a short distance.



At the corner of his street, just down from his house, is a gorgeous street mural painted on the pavement taking up the entire intersection. On the corner itself is a small, covered gazebo with a bench and a bulletin board housing multiple fliers. Patrick tells me that he built the gazebo over 10 years ago as a neighborhood meeting place, and that the mural had been designed and partially painted by his ex-wife Maureen. I do my best to appreciate its beauty, but I feel the sharp edge of caddy jealousy and even a little ire course through me. Rationally, I know it’s unfair since I don’t know her side of what went wrong between the two of them, but looking at what they once created together for their neighborhood shows me that at one time she was just as invested as he was in their marriage and community before letting it all go. My heart breaks for him. A flash of my own culpability in the deterioration of my marriage stings me as I realize I’m in no place to cast stones.

We head back to my car and grab my bag. Walking up the stairs that lead to his house, I see that along with the Bronco there’s a covered motorcycle in the driveway. I’d forgotten that during our first hike he’d mentioned that he owned one, but didn’t use it much for city riding. Removing the cover, he reveals with pride a 1976 BMW R75/6, with a black tank. It’s been since well before my marriage that I’ve been on a bike. In my mid-twenties I’d even taken the Motorcycle Safety Federation class with the thought that I’d buy my own, but never did. He asks if I’d be comfortable going for a ride on Sunday, and I nod with uncontained excitement.



As we approach the front door, he mentions that he and his wife bought it thirteen years ago; three years after they’d married. I remember that he’d mentioned that he married at twenty-five. Doing the math in my head I realize that makes him forty-one to my forty-two and I pause in the doorway feeling a bit stunned. For whatever reason, maybe the greying in his hair, I’d assumed he was older than me. Briefly I close my eyes as I process this new bit of information. He notices the change in my demeanor and asks me what’s wrong. I tell him it’s nothing, but it’s clear by his expression he knows otherwise and backs me out the door.



“Ok Corrine… You need to talk to me. Do you have reservations about this weekend?” Although his tone is serious, his eyes impart worry and concern.



“What?” I answer, stunned. “No! I have no reservations at all. I want this… I want to be here.” Summoning the courage to tell him the truth, I admit that I’m thrown off about being older than him.



Patrick throws his head back and laughs robustly. “Oh shit! You had me scared there for a moment!” Failing to see the humor, I step away from him, crossing my hands over my chest as I wait for him to stop laughing. Only then does he see how serious I am, but this only reignites his laughter once more.



“What is so fucking funny about this?” I want to come off as stern, but his laughter is infectious and I can’t help but crack a smile.



“What’s so fucking funny? Are you serious?” He just stares at me smiling for a bit, shaking his head. “Here I thought you were about to hightail it away from here…away from me and what I’ve asked from you; but instead you’re worried about a few months difference in our age?” Before I know it, he’s standing directly in front of me cupping my face in both hands; forcing me to look him in the eyes. “I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re ten months or ten years older than me. You’re smart as hell, turn me on until I can’t think straight, and every time we say goodbye all I can think about is seeing you again.”



The warmth in his eyes and the sincerity of his words knock the wind out of me. No words have ever made me feel so cherished, and all I want in this moment is to make him feel the same. Walking through his front door is the best way to start. Reaching up on my tiptoes, I gently kiss his lips. “Thank you, Sir. May we go inside now?”



His expression becomes pensive as he looks at me for a few moments longer. He nods his head once. “Ok….let’s do this.”



I’m not sure what I was expecting as we entered the house. Perhaps that he would ask me to kneel, or strip. I thought he might have a list of instructions on how to address him or behave over the weekend lest I get punished. There were no such guidelines offered. In fact, he was acting as he would on any other night, telling me about finishing his job at the bar and the aged bottle of whiskey they gave him as a thank you. We take off our shoes in the foyer, and he goes about giving me a tour.



The interior of his house is all old hardwood floors, antique rugs and comfortable furniture. There’s an odd assortment of industrial art and abstract paintings, along with an old refinished bar in his basement with original built in taps. I discover that he brews his own beer as a pastime and frequently invites friends over to watch soccer or basketball on the large screen television centered on the exposed brick wall. Overall, the house so far has a strong male presence. I suspect he must have purged any trace of Maureen from it after she left him.



His kitchen is small, but efficient. The defining features are an industrial grade oven that he salvaged from a restaurant supply store, and the beautiful butcher block counters. I smile as I check out his cabinets, the design not too far off from what I asked for myself, although the wood is a bit lighter than I’d requested.



What strikes me the most about his house is how alive it is with plants. From large potted ones to hanging spider plants and ferns, I’m in awe at the time and effort that must go into their care. I’m drawn to the far wall where a trellis runs from floor to ceiling. Rooted in to a large ceramic pot on the floor, is a vine-like plant with thick, dark green, curly leaves. It seems to have crawled up the trellis and taken over half of the wall. Long strands hang loose and a few have small bunches of pink flowers.



He walks up next to me, placing his arm casually around my shoulders. “It’s a Hindu Rope plant… also known as Hoya Compacta. My grandmother started this one from a clipping over 35 years ago. It was quite a feat to bring it here after she passed.



“It’s stunning. You never told me of your love for plants.”



He laughs, and even looks a little embarrassed. “I figured I’d let my obsessive habits reveal themselves one by one. Don’t want to overwhelm you from the get go.”



Before heading upstairs, we briefly go to his back deck and yard. Unsurprisingly, there’s a bar set up, also with a built in tap. A large grill and smoker are set off to one side of the deck, while two refinished picnic tables, attached benches and all, take up the other side. The plants are as lush and varied as they were inside.



We head back into the house. After grabbing my bag, he guides me towards the stairs. As we walk up the stairs I’m acutely aware of the large plug that with each step simultaneously feels as if it is pressing deeper yet also slipping. I clench tighter to ensure it won’t fall out, and needless to say it is a relief when I reach the last step. I pause at the top in secret satisfaction with myself for my success, only to see the amused look on his face which makes it clear that my struggle was not so secret after all.



I roll my eyes at him and he just smiles harder. At the top of the stairs, there is immediately a door on the left where his home office is. Along with a traditional desk which has his laptop and printer set up, he has a drafting table currently covered in various sketches. Many photographs of finished work are haphazardly thumbtacked to the walls.



To the right of the stairs is a hallway with two doors on either side, along with a final door at the end of the short hallway. The door on the left leads to a sparsely furnished guest room, while the door on the right leads to the guest bathroom. His descriptions of these rooms are limited. I notice as we approach what I assume is the master bedroom his demeanor, and even his posture, have shifted. Just minutes before he projected ease and humor; now he radiates quiet intensity. In response, all thoughts and emotions come to a crashing halt as my mind begins to clear itself of everything except what is happening right here, right now.



We walk through the door and he sets down my bag. I take in his room; slate grey walls, off-white trim, wrought iron king bed with a large antique chest at the foot of it. There are old, wood nightstands with their own lights on either side of the bed. Two windows look out to the backyard, with large black-out shutters that are currently open. There are sliding doors that likely lead to a closet, and an open door that appears to lead into his bathroom. As with the rest of the house, a few paintings and plants decorate the room. A faded Persian rug covers most of the hardwood floor.



My perusal of the room is brief, as my eyes continue to be drawn to not his bed, but what is on top of it. I walk closer to the bed, but he stays where he is by the door allowing me to explore on my own. Lying on the neatly made bed, still in their packaging, are an array of leather cuffs, floggers, whips, vibrators, dildos, plugs, beads, clamps, a hand-held massager and rope. Almost the entire bed is covered, and I realize there’s more on one of the nightstands. Walking over I see some paraffin wax candles and a box. Picking up the box, I see that it’s a Chinese cupping set. I look at him in question and he just gives me a sexy smile.



Placing it back on the nightstand, I look back at the bed. It’s almost too much to take in at once, but curiosity and excitement begin to tingle inside of me. I go to pick up a flogger, but look back at him first. Patrick nods his approval, his eyes transfixed on me and my reaction to his collection. I pick up the black leather flogger; it feels heavy in my hand. Tendrils of leather hang from the handle, each with a single knot tied near the end. I run the ends of the flogger against my other palm, causing a chill to run down my arm. Placing it back on the bed, I run my hands briefly over the coiled, single-tailed whip. I don’t know whether its fear or avoidance, but I move on quickly to the next toys.



The collection of vibrators and plugs in various shapes and sizes is similar to my own. There is a box with a picture of a very large dildo with a suction cup which seizes my attention and makes my cunt twitch. Last year Robert had sent me a link to a video of a woman forced to fuck herself on one of these as she was flogged, and I’d masturbated more than once to it as I imagined myself in her place.



Again I look at him for permission and he nods. I remove the dildo from its packaging, and feel its weight and thickness before attempting to encircle my hand around it. My hands are of average size for a woman, but I can just barely touch my thumb to my middle finger. Between the length and the width it appears a little bigger than my favorite vibrator at home. I’ve never bought a dildo before, preferring the benefits of vibrations should I need them. I replace it into its box and lay it on the bed.



Lastly, I run my hands over the coils of soft hemp rope and briefly flash back to the feel of the nylon rope as it rested snug against my chest just last weekend. I feel Patrick approach me from behind until he is standing directly behind me with his arms snuggly encircling my own.



“I can’t tell you how hot it was to watch you scrutinize those toys. It almost looked like you were shopping at a farmer’s market, deciding which peach to purchase until I saw you flush as you picked up the flogger.”



“I, uh…like the flogger.” I look down as I say this, my flush spreading.



“I also saw your reaction to the whip, and at another time we’ll address that. Just know that for now I have no intention of using it on you any time soon.” Relief, but also an odd twinge of disappointment course through me. It’s true, the whip made me wary, but I’m concerned that my reaction to it may inhibit him from introducing me to whip-play; which by the fact that he bought one means it’s something that he enjoys. I’m about to protest but he stops me.



“Take note that I said it wouldn’t be any time soon; I didn’t say never.” The stern tone and certainty of his words make me know this is true, and my eyes close as I picture Patrick above me, the handle of the whip firmly in his grip. I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding and feel the familiar twinges of lust forming deep in my gut, causing my pussy walls to swell and my nipples to become tight and erect against the thin material of my tank top.



He pulls me even tighter into his embrace. “It’s important to me that you see that everything here is new; that it’s all for you.” He pauses before continuing. “As my marriage was crumbling, I tossed everything I had because it was too painful of a reminder for me… of all of the lies and deception that had become of us. Until I met you, I wasn’t even certain if I’d ever find a partner that I could share this with again. I don’t mean finding someone to play with, that’s easy enough to find in a club or online… I mean a true partner…someone to love.”



My breath catches as I hear his last words. I’m not sure if it’s an admission of love, or a just a desire for it. In this moment though, I don’t really care.



“I bought these earlier today, each one with you in mind.” His cock begins to harden against my lower back, and I reflexively grind my hips against him. “Be still,” he commands. “I’d considered having a little fun and taking you with me, but in truth I don’t think I could have handled the distraction.” He laughs a little before adding, “I was hard the whole time I was shopping as it was.”



I smile as I revel at the image of my dominant, always in control boyfriend unable to control his hard-on while shopping for toys for me…for us. I realize that even in my own mind, this is my first admission that he is, in fact, my boyfriend.



Patrick moves from around me, heading to the trunk and opening it. The inside of the oversized trunk appears to have been refinished, and has multiple pull out shelves and compartments. Meticulously he begins to remove items from the bed and packs them into the trunk. Every item appears to have its place predetermined by him. Remaining on the bed are only leather wrist cuffs, two carabiners, nipple clamps, and lubricant.



Steady gaze fixed on me; he walks back and instructs me to sit on the side of the bed, causing the butt plug to settle deep inside of me. I’m forced to look up at him and suddenly he looks larger than life, or more to the point, I feel very small.



“You’ve been waiting since you arrived here for some sort of instructions or guidelines for the weekend.” He says this as a statement as we both know it’s true, but he still pauses for a response.



“Yes Sir.” Every ounce of my attention is on him. His ice-blue eyes are bright and intense as he stands over me. My body, hyperaware of his proximity begins to respond on its own accord. Aromatic juices begin to seep in to my panties, as my breasts continue to swell.



Reaching down, he lifts my thin bra and tank top over my breasts, leaving them to rest on my upper chest; no longer of consequence to him. He inspects my flushed breasts briefly; perhaps ensuring that the marks and small bruises from the other night have faded. Taking both nipples between his fingers, he gradually begins to pinch them as he resumes speaking.



“Here are the rules for the weekend… One, in the house or when we’re alone together out of the house, I’m Sir. In public, I’m Patrick.” His grip on my nipples tightens, triggering a spasm in my pussy.



“Two, you will not deny me any request, sexual or otherwise.” Pinching my nipples harder, he begins to slowly pull them outwards. I respond with a throaty moan.



“Three, you will be punished if you break either rule one or two. The level of punishment will fit the infraction.” Both nipples are twisted ninety degrees and held there. I begin to breathe rapidly through my nose, not wanting to tempt fate by opening my mouth for fear that I might shout out in pain.



“Lastly, as we discussed earlier on the phone, I expect you to use your safewords if at any time you feel your emotional or physical well-being are at risk; this includes during punishment.” With one final tug he lets go and they bounce back to my chest. Briefly the pain ratchets up and my eyes squeeze shut as I absorb the pain.



“OPEN THEM!” My eyes shoot open in time to see him drop to his knees, alternately suckling each of my breasts, soothing the tortured nipples with his tongue. With a final lingering lick along my cleavage, he reaches behind me to retrieve the wrist cuffs. With a pair of scissors I hadn’t noticed on the nightstand, he cuts away the packaging and hands the cuffs to me. I feel the weight of the cuffs in my hands, stroking the black leather. They appear well crafted, and although the leather is new and still slightly stiff, there is also softness to them. Large gauge, quick release buckles are on one side, while O-rings adorn the other.



He buckles them securely to my wrists, ensuring that he can easily fit two fingers underneath while also making sure I can’t slip out. He turns the O-rings to the inside of my wrists, then secures them together in front of me with a carabiner. Instructing me to lay on my back with my head towards the headboard, he lifts my arms above my head, securing my wrists to the wrought iron headboard with the other carabiner.



Tilting my head back a little, I look in wonder at the thick black leather and chrome binding my pale wrists to the headboard. The visual alone creates a delicious sense of helplessness; but when I test the restraints and feel the tug of leather against my skin and hear the loud clang of chrome against iron, my body convulses as if I’ve been shocked. Pulling my legs tightly together and bringing my knees close in, I squeeze my cunt muscles and begin rapidly rocking my hips back and forth as I feel myself suddenly reeling towards orgasm. The plug in my ass stimulates me with each thrust and just before the wave crashes I feel my ankles grabbed, pulled down and apart. I can’t help myself when I scream “No!” and begin flailing against the bed.



“Corrine… CORRINE!!” I hear Patrick calling me, but it takes a moment for me to realize what just happened and I blush with embarrassment. “You’re fine sweetie… I know this is all new to you. It’s a lot to take in. That was a beautiful display, but holy shit… I can’t say I’ve ever seen someone almost come from just seeing themselves in wrist cuffs.” This makes me blush even more, and I turn my head away.



“Look at me.” I do, and am met by warm but incredibly impassioned eyes. “You are the most passionate, responsive, and oh so lucky for me, easily embarrassed little slut I’ve met.” He gives me a crooked grin as he slowly slips my skirt and panties down and off my legs. “Fuck. I love that no one else knows what a wicked little woman you are.”



Patrick slowly rises from the bed and in no rush removes his clothes. My eyes take in his long, trim runner’s body. His chest is rises and falls rapidly, in contrast to his slow, languid movements. My eyes travel down his torso, from the well-defined muscles of his abdomen to the sexy trail of hair leading to his very erect cock. It twitches and bobs as he casually massages his balls while staring down at me. Forgetting my restraints, I struggle to rise to him, only to land with a soft thud back on the bed.



Crawling over me, he straddles my hips; his cock and balls resting on my soft belly. At some point he’s picked up the nipple clamps and dangles them overhead for me to see. They’re wide clamps covered in black rubber; each with a screw to adjust the tension. He spends a brief time lightly pinching and twisting my nipples to make them erect before closing the clamps around each one, including some of the areolas. He places them in quick succession without allowing me to adjust to the first. I scream and buck, but he leans down penetrates my lips, muffling me by driving his tongue deep into my mouth.



We make-out like teenagers, grinding our bodies together, although mine helpless against his probing and punishing hands. One of his hands rests on the chain connecting the clamps, periodically giving it a light tug. His other hand alternately massages and pinches the flesh of my breasts and the undersides of my arms, each torment sending stabs of pleasure to my swollen, dripping cunt.



Pulling away from me, Patrick sits up on his knees as I continue to writhe before him. Grabbing two pillows, he stacks them, then tucks them under my hips and bottom.



“Spread your legs wide and place your feet on the bed, as close to your lovely ass as you can.”

My legs were still shaking as Russ helped me move from the dresser where he had so thoroughly ravaged my ass to the king-sized bed in the center of the room. He bent and kissed me deeply as he reached behind my neck to untie the knot that kept my breast binding in place. By the time he’d cum deep inside my tight ass, lack of blood flow had turned the flesh a deep purplish red that made my pussy drench the bedspread. He unwound the leather straps slowly and gently, knowing that my poor titties would hurt enough as the feeling came back to them without any unnecessary roughness on his part. The huge globes sprang free of their prison and I gasped. He knelt in front of me and kissed them softly, swirling his tongue around my distended nipples. “Thank you, baby girl,” he murmured, his face buried in my substantial cleavage. “That was amazing.”



Russ placed his large hand in the middle of my pale belly and eased me back onto the bed, then spread my thighs as far as they would go. He flipped the switch to turn off the vibrating dildo that was still buzzing away in my pussy and unbuckled the straps holding it in place. It slid out, accompanied by a rush of silky wetness, and Russ set it aside. He examined my red and swollen pussy for a moment before leaning in to run his tongue across my clit. I groaned, so exhausted that I didn’t know if I could take more of Russ’ erotic attentions, but my body reacted to him immediately as always. He grinned and took my labia ring between his teeth, pulling it playfully before rising to stand between my thighs.



He held out his hands for me and pulled me to my feet. He asked me to remove my skirt and I shimmied out of it quickly. Then he lead me to the bathroom and sat me on the counter while he ran a very warm bath, adding some fragrant bath oil to the water. When the tub was full, he motioned for me to get in. I sank down into the water, gasping as it lapped against my swollen asshole, then my aching tits. Bruises were already forming on the pale skin, some looking like Russ’ fingerprints, others the distinct shape of the riding bat, and still others the small red dots, petichial hemorrhages caused by the bindings he’d tied so tightly around the giant globes.



He traced a finger across some of the most vivid bruises and smiled. “Given a day or two, your breasts are going to be gorgeous, baby girl. Don’t you think?” I gulped and nodded, deeply embarrassed by the evidence of the abuse I craved so deeply. “Of course, we’ll have to give them time to heal before I torture them again, sweetheart. I don’t want to cause any permanent damage. So, I’ll have to come up with another way to punish you for cumming without permission earlier.”



I’d half hoped he’d forgotten about my transgression, distracted by the novelty of breast bondage and the feel of his cock in my ass. But I should have known better. In all the time I’d known him, I had never been allowed to orgasm without begging for permission first. I tensed, wondering just what he’d do to me. In the past, he’d forced me over the hood of his car in a crowded nightclub parking lot and fucked me til I came a dozen times; toward the end, there were half a six guys watching, urging Russ on as he tore up my pussy. I would’ve happily taken them on, but I knew Russ wouldn’t share me, so I had to content myself with the fact that my audience was jacking off as I got fucked.



And then there was the time that he made me go into the confessional of a Catholic church and describe to the poor priest in detail how I had sucked Russ’ cock on the way to the church, playing with my pussy the whole time I was confessing. When I heard the priest’s breathing grow heavy and fast, I knew he was joining me. The thought of the priest with his cock in hand as he sat in the confessional made me cum so hard that I had to confess to that as well.



Another time, I wasn’t allowed to leave his apartment for a week. During that time, I could only wear a corset, stockings and fuck me pumps, even when he was away, working on-base. Periodically, he would text me an order to take photos for him as proof that I wasn’t disobeying him. Every time he came home, I had to lean over the arm of the sofa for him to spank my jiggling ass until it was covered in welts before he fucked me from behind. And I wasn’t allowed any relief that whole week; as soon as I got close to orgasm, he pulled out and walked away.



So, my punishment could be just about anything.



I remained silent, except for the occasional painful gasp as Russ began to massage my tits, his hands coated in soothing oil. Of course, the pain was accompanied by an answering throb of my clit. “I have the perfect punishment,” he said at last, continuing to knead my swollen and bruised titties. He didn’t say any more, just began to wash me all over with creamy body wash. Once I was deliciously clean, Russ gestured for me to stand. He wrapped a thick towel around my body and helped me to step out of the tub.



Back in the bedroom, Russ ordered, “Bend over and hold your ankles.” Wary of more punishment, I obeyed without delay. I felt a familiar cool liquid dripping onto my swollen asshole, then Russ’ thick finger working it inside me. Despite myself, I got wet again and my breathing quickened. I couldn’t believe he was going to take my ass again so quickly. He removed his finger and left me there, my ass on display for him. He rummaged around in my overnight bag for a moment, then returned. I felt a prodding at my reddened rosette and I tried to relax my sphincter. To my surprise, it wasn’t Russ’ thick cock; it was the obscenely thick, 8″ long butt plug he had asked me to buy. “I want to make sure you stay open for later, baby girl,” he murmured as the plug slid into me, held in place by my tight hole, and slapped me affectionately on the ass afterward.



He ordered me to re-dress myself and we left the hotel room. In short order, Russ had procured a cab and discussed our destination with the driver in private before I was allowed to get into the car. As I settled in, Russ unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out for me to stroke. I rocked a little in my seat, trying to find a comfortable way to sit with the big plug inside me. The drive wasn’t long enough for me to make him blow another load, which deeply disappointed me. I had hoped to have my tummy full of his cum before we reached our destination. Tucking his cock away, he helped me to exit the cab and I almost stumbled when I saw where we were. The storefront had a neon sign in the window, advertising, “Piercings of all kinds.”



I turned to look at Russ, my face white with shock. I knew what my punishment would be: having both nipples pierced. While I loved my labia ring, I had resisted his urging to get additional piercings. He smiled smugly and I knew he had me. If this was my punishment for not begging for sexual release, then I would have to do it. I had no choice… unless I never wanted to see him again. Given the way he dominated me in bed and spoiled me out of it, that wasn’t going to be an option.



We entered the store and a very cute young woman greeted us. Every inch of her arms not covered by her tight latex bustier was covered in tattoos. She wore a pair of leather short-shorts that clung to her heart-shaped ass and showed off her tanned, toned legs with ended with feet in heavy Doc Marten boots. Her short, spiky black hair was tipped in vibrant purple and her big blue eyes were ringed in heavy black eyeliner and thick mascara. Russ explained what he wanted and she led me to a private cubicle. “I’ll need to see your breasts in order to determine what size jewelry to use,” she said in a very professional voice.



I obediently unbuttoned my blouse and removed my bra. When she saw the swollen, discolored flesh, her eyes widened. I blushed furiously, even as my ass clenched convulsively around the plug. As usual, my punishment was well thought-out. Russ knew that I had never shared my desire for tit torture with anyone but him and he wanted to make sure that at least one other person knew my naughty secret. She reached out and touched my nipple in a clinical fashion, evaluating it’s thickness and length. Even that light touch brought tears to my eyes. Russ stood behind the girl, smirking at me.



She turned away to prepare her tools. From there, it went quickly. She clamped my right nipple, which caused me to cry out. She quickly slid the needle through my flesh, following it with a stainless steel stirrup ring. Once she had the ball closures in position to keep the ring from coming out, she turned to the other breast and gave it the same treatment. A quick discussion of cleaning procedure followed, then I dressed myself, wincing as my bra pressed against my newly pierced flesh. Russ thanked the cute little piercer, paid the bill, and held the door for me to exit the building.



“That should be a long-lasting reminder that you must ask for permission to get off,” he said as we settled into another cab, headed back to the hotel, where I knew Russ was just getting started.

As Jim worked away in the stables dressed only in his socks and trainers he felt alive, liberated. The warm weather had continued and the temperature had reached the low eighties so it was much cooler working like this and the joy, the freedom of not having his penis constrained was pure bliss. What derailed this contented train of thought was the sudden realisation that, under the dual guidance of Miss Worthing and Mrs Johnson he had come to accept this nakedness as normal. Less than a week ago, if you had told him that he would be comfortable working buck naked under the watchful eyes of two such women he would have called you mad.



His freedom, however, was short lived. It was just gone two thirty when he heard Mrs Johnson’s car pulling out of the yard and soon afterwards Miss Worthing, who had changed back into her normal outfit of jodhpurs and white blouse, entered the stables, striding down the aisle with a face like thunder. She caught up with Jim at the far end of the stables where he was polishing the brasswork.



“I hope you’re satisfied with yourself,” she said. “Thanks to you I’m going to spend tomorrow subbing to Michelle Johnson. I don’t know what you’re looking so smug about, just because you’re her little pet puppy dog.”



“I’m sorry, Miss Worthing,” Jim replied. “I didn’t mean…”



“You didn’t mean…,” Miss Worthing mocked. “I know what you meant. I saw you scampering around after her with your tongue hanging out. You seem to be forgetting that you work for me, young man; that I’m your employer, I’m the boss; I’m the one who gives orders around here. You’re mine, not hers and I’m the one that decides what games you play. Is that quite understood?”



“Yes, Miss Worthing. Of course, Miss Worthing,” Jim replied, crestfallen. He had, after all, just been following orders when he’d first become Mrs Johnson’s ‘puppy’.



Well, make sure you don’t forget it. Now the girls will be arriving soon so it’s about time we got you dressed again. Come along.” Miss Worthing led Jim to the tack room where she unlocked the cupboard and got out his boxers and cargo pants. However, before he was allowed to put them on there was the inevitable return of the penis cage. Miss Worthing was none too gentle as she refitted it.



As Miss Worthing stood over him, watching him getting dressed, Jim thought through all she had just said. Could it be that she was jealous? From the start Miss Worthing’s cool detachment had been part of the conundrum. He’d never known what it was that guided her treatment of him. With Mrs Johnson it couldn’t be clearer; here was a woman who got her kicks from treating him as her puppy dog. For Mrs Johnson the sex was out in the open and, on the very first session, he’d had his face between her thighs. Now, and only now, was it becoming clear that Miss Worthing was not quite so cool and detached as she had seemed; whilst she was far more subtle it seemed she was driven by the same desires. Mrs Johnson, with her up-front manner, had forced the issue and it was now crystal clear that they were no strangers to playing sexual games, games that they enjoyed together, games that might soon involve Jim as well.



Once Jim was dressed again it was but a short time before the evening rush. Soon after three Mrs Johnson re-appeared with Kirsty and her friends and, from then on, Jim was far too busy to think about anything but getting the horses, and their riders, out into the paddocks or returning them to their stalls and settling them back in. Mercifully Amanda and her friends seemed to have taken the day off and Jim had no distractions and was even able to finish quite early. He was just doing his last minute checks, making sure all was in order before leaving for the night when he saw Miss Worthing approaching down the main aisle.



“No girls tonight,” she said almost conversationally as she approached.



“No, Miss Worthing,” Jim replied.



“That gives your poor backside a night off at least,” she laughed. “Amanda has no idea of subtlety, does she?”



“I wouldn’t know, Miss Worthing,” Jim replied wary of the direction this conversation was going.



“Oh, you know all right; I saw the marks earlier and I’ve seen enough beaten backsides to be able to spot the marks of a riding crop. But maybe you’re the sort that like having his backside leathered. Maybe you’re the sort that gets off on pain. After all Amanda showed me quite a pretty little picture of you tugging away at yourself. Is that what turns you on, having your arse whipped?”



“No, Miss Worthing. It’s not like that at all,” Jim replied.



“Is it not? What is it like? What about Michelle Johnson? Do I gather you get off on being her little puppy dog? You certainly seem to,” Miss Worthing went on.



“Yes, Miss Worthing,” Jim muttered.



“What was that? Speak up.” An edge of steel had entered her voice.



“Yes, Miss Worthing, I like being her puppy,” Jim said, louder this time.



“Do you indeed. Why do you think that is?”



“I don’t know,” Jim replied.



“You don’t know,” Miss Worthing echoed. “And what about me? We both know you like kissing my boots; the evidence for that is quite clear. Is it the boots or who’s wearing them that counts?”



Despite Miss Worthing light, conversational tone, Jim felt that they had arrived at the crux of the question.



“It’s… It’s a bit of both. I mean, I don’t know exactly what it is, I’ve never felt like this before but there’s something about it that… that… that feels right. I like kissing boots but it wouldn’t be the same with anyone else.”



“It wouldn’t be the same with anyone else.” Again Miss Worthing echoed Jim’s last words as if mulling them over. “What about Mrs Johnson? Don’t you get off on kissing her boots, or her feet, at least?”



“That’s different, Miss. With Mrs Johnson it’s fun; it’s a game we play. With you it’s serious.”



There was a long pause. Miss Worthing just stood, her hand on her hip looking intently at Jim who felt like a bug under a microscope.



“Good answer,” she said at last, “good answer. Don’t forget to lock up before you leave. Goodnight. See you tomorrow.”



She turned on her heel and strode off down the stables leaving the speechless Jim standing there, wondering what had just happened.



******



The next morning Jim was in a much better mood. He’d had a decent night’s sleep and had awoken feeling alive and refreshed. More importantly, whilst he was still quite rightly scared of Amanda and her cruelty, he was far more prepared to deal with whatever Miss Worthing and Mrs Johnson might have in store for him. It was becoming clear that there was a certain ‘fit’ between him and the two women, that he was, as Mrs Johnson had declared, a ‘natural’ and, whilst he was apprehensive about what they would put him through he was learning about needs deep within him, needs that could only be met by serving women like them.



Once at the stables he had got the morning routine off pat. He had a quick look round to make sure all was OK before making sure Morning Dew was ready and waiting and giving Miss Worthing’s boots a quick polish. Then, as seven o’clock approached he climbed up on the chest, dropped his trousers and boxer shorts and stood, waiting for inspection. Miss Worthing seemed distracted when she arrived and she gave his caged penis only the shortest of checks.



“As you know, thanks to you, I’ll be busy for most of the day so I’ll be leaving you in charge. Get the horses out in the paddock; it’s another fine day and they can have a good run-around. Then sweep round and get everything ready for this afternoon. Understood.”



“Of course, Miss Worthing. I’m sorry my behaviour yesterday is causing this inconvenience,” Jim replied.



“We’ll discuss the ‘inconvenience’ you caused later. Now come along, time’s getting on.” Miss Worthing sat down so that Jim could put on her boots and then they went off to fetch Morning Dew.



It said a certain amount for Miss Worthing’s flustered state that, when she returned from her ride she sorted out Morning Dew herself instead of handing her over to Jim. She even helped out, taking some of the horses out to the paddocks before disappearing off to the house.



Jim was up in the hayloft when, shortly after nine o’clock he heard Mrs Johnson’s BMW X5 pulling into the yard. He glanced out of the window and saw her park up and go directly to the house. A few minutes later he heard the doors to the stables open and two sets of footsteps coming down the aisle. Feeling that discretion was the better part of valour he stayed in the hayloft but, as he was directly above the tack room, he could clearly hear the conversation going on below him.



“Let’s see, what shall we take?” Mrs Johnson was in high spirits, evidently looking forward to her day. “There’s so much to choose from. Shall we go ponygirl today?”



“Whatever,” Miss Worthing said, resignedly. “It’s your call, and you know it but can we hurry up please, you know we agreed to keep the lad out of this.”



“I’m not sure that ‘agreed’ is the right word,” Mrs Johnson replied. “You asked and I haven’t said ‘no’ yet. Anyway, why should my little puppy dog be deprived of all the fun?”



“Please, Michelle, I’m… I just don’t want him to see me like this.” There was an air of desperation in Miss Worthing’s voice.



“In which case I suggest you ask a little nicer,” Mrs Johnson said, an edge of steel in her voice.



“Please, Mistress, please have pity on your slave and grant her humble request that your puppy is not to see her like this,” Miss Worthing pleaded.



“That’s better. Now, which of these boots are yours? These ones? And is this your tail?” Mrs Johnson was evidently picking bits and pieces out of the cupboard. Jim was bemused to find that certain of the items were Miss Worthing’s; it would appear that this was far from the first time she had been a ponygirl.



“Right, all sorted? Then we’d better start getting you changed,” Mrs Johnson said firmly.



“What, here! What if the lad comes? What if he sees me?” There was more than a touch of panic in Miss Worthing’s voice.



“Then you had best hurry up and get done before he comes back from wherever he’s gone.”



“Michelle… Mistress, please…,” Miss Worthing’s panic was obvious now.



“Stop snivelling and get on with it,” Mrs Johnson snapped. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of what happens to disobedient little ponies? I’ve some scores to settle since the last time, when I had to go sub to you, so, if I were you, I wouldn’t be giving me too many excuses to use the crop; is that understood?”



“Yes, Mistress. Certainly, Mistress,” Miss Worthing said meekly.



Jim could hear the rustle of clothing and the jingling of the various metallic bits of ponygirl tack as Miss Worthing got changed below him. He decided that it was time to be elsewhere and, as quietly as he could he made his way towards the hatch leading back down to the stables. Maybe he could sneak out into the barn without being detected. However, he’d hardly gone one step before a loose floorboard creaked loudly under his foot.



“Was that someone up in the hayloft? Either you’ve got some damn big rats or we’ve got an eavesdropper,” Mrs Johnson said cheerfully. “Shall I go and find out.”



Jim froze, caught like a rabbit in headlights. His heart raced, where could he run to? He heard the tack room door open, footsteps across the floor of the stables, the creak of the hayloft ladder, and Mrs Johnson’s head appeared through the hatch.



“Ah, I might have guessed as much. What a naughty little puppy; listening in on his betters when he should have been working. I think you had better come with me.” Mrs Johnson said but her voice showed more amusement than anger.



Jim followed her down, out of the hayloft and across the stables to the tack room. He’d got some idea of what to expect; after all, he’d seen Kathy in ponygirl gear and even worn it himself but as he followed Mrs Johnson into the room his jaw dropped. Kathy had had a certain sweet naivety but, at only eighteen, she had been a mere girl; now, stood before him in all her glory, was a magnificent woman. The pony boots emphasised her height and complimented her long, well toned legs. Her harness consisted of a wide belt with straps that separated her breasts which, accentuated by the way her hands were fastened behind her back, stood firm and proud. Around her neck was a wide leather collar forcing her to hold her head high and proud but despite the bridle, or possibly because of it, the head it encased was captured but never tamed. Jim felt as if he had never seen anything, anyone so beautiful, so superb. Overcome he fell to his knees.



“Look what I found in the hayloft; one horny little peeping tom. It looks like your plan of not being seen by the lad has gone out of the window,” Mrs Johnson laughed. “Does your Mistress all tied up make you hot, little puppy, does it make you horny?”



But neither Jim, nor Miss Worthing paid Mrs Johnson any attention. Jim just knelt in worship whilst Miss Worthing glared back at him, mortified that she should be exposed like this.



“Puppy… puppy…”



“Yes, Mrs Johnson?” Jim realised that she had been talking to him and he’d been too transfixed to notice.



“Snap out of it and concentrate. You had best get used to exactly who’s in charge around here. Get off your knees and let’s get you sorted out. For a start you’re a little… overdressed.”



“Of course, Mrs Johnson. I’m sorry, Mrs Johnson,” Jim replied. He stood up and started undressing, folding his clothes and putting them on a chair.



“There, that’s better. Now, let’s take that nasty cage off you.” Mrs Johnson already had the key handy and she reached down and unlocked it. Immediately Jim’s penis sprung forward.



“Oh, look, what an eager puppy you are!” Mrs Johnson exclaimed. “Rock hard and ready for action. Now, hands behind your back, come along.”



Jim did as he was told whilst Mrs Johnson fetched a pair of cuffs which she used to lock his wrists together. Then she told him to kneel whilst she put on his collar and leash. He was firmly back in puppy mode again. However, she didn’t stop there.



“Here, puppy, look, I’ve got a bone just for you.” Mrs Johnson held out a rubber bone similar to the one she had used to play with him in her garden. But this one had straps attached to both ends and, once it was in his mouth these were fastened behind his head, gagging him.



“There, that’s all sorted. Now, I think we’ll be far more comfortable back at my house, much less risk of being interrupted. We can have such fun, playing in the garden. Come along.”



Taking Jim’s leash in one hand, and the reins attached to Miss Worthing’s bridle in the other she led the way back down the aisle of the stables and out into the yard. Miss Worthing’s thighs were strapped together in a hobble which limited her gait and meant that they had to take their time. She took them to her X5 and opened the tailgate. Miss Worthing was the first to go in followed by Jim. It was quite cramped and they were squashed together. Jim tried to move to a more comfortable position but, in doing so, fell heavily on Miss Worthing with his head landing on her breasts which earned him a scornful stare. He was all too aware that it was his fault that Miss Worthing was being put through these indignities and he wondered what reprisals were coming his way.



It wasn’t more than five minutes later than they were pulling up outside Mrs Johnson’s house and she jumped out and went round to open up the tailgate.



“Here we are, now we can get down to business. Isn’t this fun. Come along,” Mrs Johnson said brightly as she helped them out of the car and led them around the side of the house. As they made their way into the back garden Jim was again struck by the difference between Kathy and Miss Worthing as pony-girls. Kathy had had a certain amount of aptitude but grace had eluded her. Miss Worthing, on the other hand, even with the hobble, moved her whole body in a fluid, natural way that was both elegant and stylish. Maybe it was the added height from the boots, maybe is was the tail which cascaded down behind her, maybe it was the way her backside swayed as she walked but Jim felt he had never seen anything so beautiful or, for that matter, so erotic.



When they got to the garden Jim noticed that the blue holdall was already in place next to the sun loungers beside the pool; Mrs Johnson had obviously been well prepared. He was taken to the edge of the patio where he was told to kneel and wait. Then Mrs Johnson took Miss Worthing to the centre of the lawn, removed the hobble and letting out the reins. Calling out one command after another she put Miss Worthing through her paces, both figuratively and literally, much as Amanda had done with Kathy but, once again, the contrast was stark. It would seem that neither woman was a stranger to this and, whilst Mrs Johnson was calling out steps and manoeuvres with names based in real equine dressage, Miss Worthing was responding with practised grace and style. However it was not good enough for Mrs Johnson who was constantly finding fault and keeping score.



“That will do.” She said at last. “I make it twenty seven faults, so that’s twenty seven strokes with the crop but that can wait; all this pony work has made me thirsty. I think it’s time for a drink and, as it’s Helga’s day off, you’re going to fetch it for me. But, just to make it interesting, I think it should be a group effort, both of you going to get it so, first, a little re-arranging.”



‘A little re-arranging’ turned out to be quite major. Firstly the boots were removed from Miss Worthing’s feet. Then Jim was brought to stand face to face with her so that they were nearly touching. Then the hobble was re-applied but this time it held Miss Worthing’s left thigh to Jim’s right. Another one fitted to the other side locked them together thigh-to-thigh, stomach-to-stomach, groin-to-groin. Then their wrists were freed only to be re-fastened to each other as if in some strange parody of dancing partners, definitely cheek to cheek. A final strap, placed just under the armpits and running right around them, held them so that every part of their bodies, from their knees to their shoulders, were locked together in a tight embrace.



“There, isn’t that sweet. Now you have five minutes to fetch me a lemonade and lime. For every minute over it will be one more blow with the crop so I suggest you get moving.



Jim tried, he really tried, to be as helpful as he could but they were never going to be anything but clumsy. It didn’t help that they were both gagged which meant that they couldn’t communicate. Eventually Miss Worthing, by sheer force of personality, led them in their strange dance into the house and through to the kitchen. Finding the lemonade and lime cordial was the least of their problems. Even something as simple as unscrewing the cap off a bottle took plenty of co-ordination and it was taking them some time to get themselves sorted. It certainly didn’t help that Jim had had an erection ever since they had been locked together and the more they moved, the more he felt himself being rubbed against his goddess and the harder he became.



“Twelve minutes! Oh dear, that’s seven more penalties, your poor little botties are going to be so sore by the time we’ve finished.” Mrs Johnson took a long cool pull at her drink. “What’s more, you forgot to garnish it with a slice of lime. You’re not doing very well. Now how about the two of you amusing me by dancing together whilst I enjoy my drink. Fetch the iPod and docking station from the kitchen.”



By now Miss Worthing and Jim had got reasonably co-ordinated so it didn’t take quite as much effort to go back to the kitchen to fetch the iPod. They took it back and placed it on the table next to Mrs Johnson who selected a suitably smoochy number. Miss Worthing and Jim made their way to the lawn where Jim had the sense to let Miss Worthing lead. He knew nothing about dancing beyond the little he’d seen on Saturday night television. Even if he had it was going to be hard to be graceful locked together in this tight embrace. The extent to which they failed was highlighted by Mrs Johnson’s hoots of laughter and catcalls.

As Jim made his way back to the stable block he was, once again, left wondering what had just happened. No one could have missed the sexual tension that there had been between them, in his mind he could still feel Miss Worthing’s big toe rubbing against his nipple and his penis, crushed in its cage, was letting him know just how aroused he’d been. But more than that, it wasn’t just the way he felt about it, he could have sworn Miss Worthing was getting turned on too. Why then, why had she stopped; why had she left him like this, a coiled ball of frustration with no way of getting release.



Back at the house, Celia Worthing chuckled to herself as she pottered around the kitchen, putting some lunch together. She’d seen the look on Jim’s face as he had massaged her feet; how he had looked up at her with those big puppy dog eyes, the look of worship, the look of adoration and, even more, the look of disappointment when she had sent him away. Sure he was young but still it amused her to play with him like this and to see the pained expression on his face when she had dismissed him. Poor little thing, perhaps she should have let him have some more — no, keep ‘em wanting, that was her motto.



But it wasn’t quite as simple as that she admitted to herself as she tossed together some mixed leaves for her salad. Jim wasn’t the only one who’d been left wanting. The memory of this dripping wet boy emerging from the shower the previous evening crossed her mind. He might be young, he might be inexperienced but there was something about him that got to her. And it wasn’t just the physical side; he was a nice lad and good to have around. That he was a little over eager had been demonstrated by his keenness to play as Michelle Johnson’s puppy but, if that could be kept under control he certainly had the skills to satisfy and those he didn’t have, well, he could be taught. ‘Yes, indeed.’ She thought to herself. ‘I’m going to have some fun with him this summer and after that… who knows.’



By three o’clock Jim was far too busy to be bothered by anything other than getting ready for the afternoon. He’d swept, he’d polished and he was quietly proud of the way the stables looked. The first to arrive was, as ever, Mrs Johnson dropping off Kirsty and her friends. As Jim helped with the saddling he thought to himself that Kirsty must be the keenest equestrienne the place had. Mrs Johnson stood to one side and watched but beyond acknowledging Jim’s polite ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Johnson.’ it was far too busy for either of them to do anything more and, once her offspring was mounted and heading for the paddock, she got back in her car and drove off.



At four o’clock some of the older girls started to arrive. Jim was relieved to see that Amanda and her friends weren’t amongst them. Kathy turned up a little later but she pointedly ignored Jim and insisted on managing Truffles by herself. But, even without Amanda’s interruptions, Jim was kept busy enough with all the other riders that, before he knew it, it was seven-thirty and he was starting to pack up for the night.



“Is that it? Are we all done for the day?” Miss Worthing asked as she came up to Jim who was checking that all the stall doors were properly closed.



“Nearly finished, Miss Worthing,” Jim replied.



“Good. I’m quite pleased with how you’ve settled in here. It’s all going to change from tomorrow, of course. Today was the last day of the school term and from now on we will have clients here from dawn to dusk,” Miss Worthing laughed, “well, they would be if they could but they’re limited to between nine in the morning and six at night. Even so you’ll find that we don’t have the days to ourselves the way we have had this week.”



“Of course, Miss Worthing,” Jim agreed.



“But that just means we’ll have to make the most of what time we do have, doesn’t it? Now then, we need to re-apply the cream, make sure that soreness stays under control. Come along; get along to your box in the tack room.” Miss Worthing took the riding crop she was carrying and, playfully flicking at Jim’s rear end, drove him to the tack room where he climbed on the box and, without having to be told, dropped his trousers and boxers. Miss Worthing took the tube of cream from her pocket and, squeezing some onto the tips of her fingers, started to massage it in around the base of his genitals.



“You like me doing this, don’t you?” Miss Worthing looked up and gave Jim a smile.



“Oh, yes. Yes, please, Miss Worthing,” Jim replied hoarsely. Given the state of his penis as it swelled within its cage he could hardly deny it.



“And am I a cruel bitch for keeping you all caged up?” Miss Worthing enquired sweetly.



“Oh no!” Jim surprised himself with his vehemence.



“You seem very certain.” Miss Worthing gave Jim’s testes a little squeeze.



“It’s just…,” Jim stopped. How could he explain how he felt when he didn’t even know himself? Yes, of course it was ‘cruel’ of Miss Worthing to tease him like this, of course the discomfort of his poor penis squeezed into its cage was only just bearable but, and this was the crux of the matter, the only thing that would have hurt more than the teasing was if she were to stop. There was something about the loss of control, about offering himself up to this magnificent woman that spoke to a need deep within him. He didn’t understand it, there was no way he could explain it, but he’d never felt any compulsion like this before.



“Please, Miss…,” he tried again, “please, I….” The steady play of her fingers, stroking, caressing his genitals was not helping. There was a feeling that he was on the brink of exploding, that, caged or not, he would lose control and come.



“Let’s see if this makes it any easier,” Miss Worthing said. She gave him another little squeeze, took a step or two back, and pointed at the floor in front of her. Jim, feeling like he was in some sort of dream, got down off the box and knelt down.



“Now then, let’s try again, lets see if we can get this sorted out,” Miss Worthing said. “Is that your place, down there on your knees?”



“Yes, Miss,” Jim agreed.



“And to make sure we completely understand each other, your place is on your knees in front of me; is that so?”



“Yes, Miss,” Jim’s heart was racing.



“And not at anyone else’s feet. You wouldn’t, for example, have any little hankering to be someone else’s puppy dog?” Miss Worthing asked.



“No, Miss. Not unless you ordered me to be so,” Jim replied.



“No, Miss, indeed. You’re mine, and mine alone, aren’t you?” There was an edge of steel in Miss Worthing’s voice.



“Yes, Miss,” Jim confirmed.



“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Now we’ve got that sorted, now you know where your place is, make sure you don’t ever forget it.” Miss Worthing turned towards the door. “Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And, laving the hapless Jim still kneeling on the floor, she turned and left. Jim was once again left wondering what was happening. What was this hold she had over him, why was it he was so quick to bow before her. He felt doubly frustrated; his penis threatened to burst its cage and every fibre craved relief but more, much more than that, why, oh why did Miss Worthing leave him hanging like this. He wanted so much to show her that he could be, would be, everything and anything she wanted, if only she’d give him the chance.



When Jim got home that night he was, as ever, too late to share his evening meal with the rest of his family but his mother had plated his up and a few seconds in the microwave was all that it required. He was sitting at the kitchen table wolfing it down when the front doorbell went.



“Hello Miss Worthing,” Jim heard his mother say once she had answered it. “Jim’s in the kitchen, I’ll fetch him for you.”



“Please don’t trouble yourself,” Miss Worthing replied. “I’m just dropping off this for him. I won’t stop; I’ve left my engine running. Goodnight.”



“OK, then. Goodnight.” His mother returned and, moments later she appeared in the kitchen carrying a parcel wrapped in brown paper.



“Miss Worthing dropped this off for you,” she said.



“Thanks mum,” Jim replied. He could tell his mum was curious and he had it half open when a glimpse of pink lace gave him second thoughts. Maybe it would be better opened in private. “It’s just some stuff for tomorrow,” he bluffed.



As soon as he had finished his supper he put the plates in the dishwasher and went upstairs to his room. He tore the brown paper off the parcel to reveal a bundle of pink satin and lace. As he separated it out he saw that it was a collection of panties, each and every one decidedly feminine. Although they were clean they were not new and Jim guessed that Miss Worthing had sorted out some of her older pairs. They certainly had her sense of style and class. A piece of paper fell out of the bundle and he picked it up and read it.



No more boxers. CW



Blessing the presence of mind that had kept him from opening the package at the kitchen table and wondering just how he was going to keep this from his mum he put them away, hiding them at the bottom of his desk draw. However, before he went to sleep, he got them out again and laid them out on the bed. One pair in particular called to him and he slipped them on. The fit was a bit awkward over the bulge of his caged penis but they were definitely wearable. He looked at himself in his mirror; somehow he looked a curious mixture of vulnerable and ridiculous. He had half a mind to wear them to bed but he needed them fresh in the morning so he slipped them off and hid them away again.



The next morning Jim got up, grabbed a quick bite of breakfast, and headed down the lanes to New Farm. It was an odd feeling, knowing that he was wearing delicate feminine panties and no one else would know — with the notable exception of Miss Worthing, of course. This was his first Saturday at the stables and he knew enough to know that it was going to be busy.



However, busy or not, Miss Worthing was still there to inspect him at seven o’clock sharp. She smiled to herself as, glancing down at his feet, she saw the pink panties puddled around his ankles; not that she’d really expected otherwise. However it was a busy day and she had to get on. She had had a good look at the skin at the base of his penis and commented on how well the cream was working before she told Jim to pull up his panties so that she could see how they looked on him.



“There, they fit perfectly,” she smiled at him. “What do you say?”



“Thank you, Miss Worthing.”



“Yes, very sweet; I left you seven pairs so you don’t have any excuse for not having a clean pair on every day. Make sure I never find you wearing anything else.”



“Of course, Miss Worthing. Just one thing…,” he added nervously.



“Yes?”



“It’s about getting them washed…,” Jim really didn’t want to raise this but it had been worrying him. “I can’t exactly put them in the washing basket at home…”



“Don’t be a silly; they’ll need hand washing anyway so it would be best if you were to do them here; use the sink in the utility room. Maybe, if you were to wash mine then you could do yours afterwards…,” Miss Worthing said pensively, as if this had just occurred to her. “Once they were dry you could iron them as well.”



“Thank you, Miss Worthing,” Jim said with relief, “I knew you would think of something.”



Miss Worthing could barely suppress a chuckle over how easily Jim had been recruited to wash and iron her underwear. She sat down and held out her foot, ready for Jim to put on her boots. Indeed, she was still chuckling inside as she mounted Morning Dew and rode off into the paddock.



It was barely nine o’clock when the first girls arrived. Whereas the midweek crowd just wanted to ride at weekends the girls wanted to be involved in the full range of stable duties; Jim guessed it would remain so for the whole of the summer holidays and made a mental note to ensure that the tack room was always suitably tidy. It’s one of life’s oddities that a teenage girl who wouldn’t dream of tidying her bedroom will quite happily spend all day mucking out her pony’s stall and Jim’s time was taken up with keeping track of what was where, who had what, and which girl was the last one to borrow the polish. What was noticeable was that of Amanda’s friends only Kathy made an appearance so Jim was left to look after their horses.



At four o’clock Mrs Johnson came to pick up Kirsty but, before doing so, sought out Jim, finding him in the tack room untangling a bundle of reins and strapping which had been dumped there.



“Hello, puppy,” she called out.



“Hello,” Jim quickly glanced around, making sure none of the girls were within earshot, “Madam.”



“Hmm… Celia keeping you busy, I see. Too busy to come and have another play session, perhaps?”



“Please, Mrs Johnson, you’ll have to ask Miss Worthing about that,” Jim replied cautiously.



“Will I? Has she decided to keep you all to herself?” As ever Mrs Johnson seemed to treat the whole thing as a huge joke.



“I really couldn’t say,” Jim replied and, at that moment, Kirsty appeared killing the conversation dead.



At six o’clock, somewhat exhausted, Jim went into the tack room to take five minutes to himself. He felt like he’d hardly stopped all day. His packed lunch had been eaten in quick bites between sorting out the endless minor problems that the busy stables kept throwing at him.



“What’s this slacking?” Jim hadn’t heard Miss Worthing enter the stables and now, here she was standing at the tack room door.



“I’m sorry Miss Worthing,” Jim stuttered, leaping out of the chair.



“And I’m bored with traipsing all the way over here every evening to check up on you. I’ll still check up on you from time to time but in future I want you to report to the house when you finish for the night,” Miss Worthing continued. “Come around to the back door and knock before entering. Oh, and I’m not having you tracking mud all over my kitchen. My house is not the place for work clothes so, once inside, you will wear nothing except your panties. You can put the rest of your clothes in the log box next to the back door. Understood?”



“Yes, Miss Worthing.” Jim remembered seeing a large wooden affair used for storing logs which had a hinged lid on the top. The thought of entering Miss Worthing’s house was scary enough, let alone doing wearing nothing but the panties but, scary or not, he once again felt the familiar discomfort as his penis swelled against its cage.



“Good, now it’s inspection time.” Using her crop Miss Worthing prodded at Jim’s backside and, herding him before her walked him around the stables. Mostly Jim’s hard work paid off but, from time to time, Miss Worthing would find something not up to her exacting standards. When they had finished they returned to the tack room.



“Well, I suppose that wasn’t too bad,” Miss Worthing conceded. “But if there’s any more slacking I’ll be forced to,” she flicked the crop across Jim’s backside, “take steps. Goodnight; sleep tight.”



Jim watched as she walked away, his mind spinning and his left buttock smarting slightly from where the crop had landed. The image of him naked except for the panties, kneeling in front to Miss Worthing as she prepared to ‘take steps’ swam before him and his feelings about it were very ambivalent. It was very scary, there was no doubt about it; he was getting deeper and deeper into something over which he had no control. On the other hand… his constricted penis reminded him of just how much there was an ‘other hand’.



Sunday was very much a repeat of Saturday. Jim woke early and, choosing the next pair of clean panties, dressed and went in to work. Miss Worthing’s inspection was as thorough as usual and she declared that there was no more need for the cream, for a while at least. By nine o’clock the stable yard was in chaos as various parents dropped off their offspring and the clamour of young female voices filled the stable block. For the third day in a row there was no sign of Amanda and Jim was beginning to wonder if she’d given up or maybe gone off on her summer holidays. It gave him the excuse to saddle up Dark Pleasure and take him out for a gallop. Whatever his personal feelings about the owner there was no doubt that this was one of the finest horses in the stables and he enjoyed the freedom as he raced around the paddock, letting off steam for him as well as the horse.



At six o’clock he was shooing out the stragglers and hurrying to finish off his chores. His agitation, his desire to see what was in store for him meant that he was struggling to keep his cool as one of the girls took ages searching around for a missing glove. Finally, exasperated beyond belief, he found it for her and finally managed to lock up for the night. Then he crossed the stable yard and went round to the back of the house. Shaking slightly he took off his tee shirt and, lifting the lid of the log box, placed it inside. His trainers and socks followed and then, his nerves now like taut wires, he pushed down his trousers, rolled them up and put them too inside the box. He closed the lid and knocked on the door. Suddenly he couldn’t remember whether he was to wait or go straight in. He reached out his hand for the door knob but, wracked with indecisiveness didn’t turn it. Then he saw a shadow through the frosted glass; Miss Worthing had arrived. In a moment on inspiration he dropped to his knees just as the door opened.



“Very pretty, very pretty indeed,” Miss Worthing smiled down at him, “now come along in.” Turning her back on him she walked away and Jim followed until they were in the lounge. Miss Worthing sat down on a chaise longue and told Jim to come and stand next to her.



“Stand up straight,” she urged. “Don’t slouch. That’s right, chin up, hands behind your back, feet slightly apart. There, that’s your waiting position. Now, fetch me a drink. Make me a gin and tonic. You’ll find everything in the kitchen”



Jim went into the kitchen and, as fast as he could, searched around until he found a glass, the drinks cabinet and the ice dispenser on the American fridge. He even remembered that Mrs Johnson had demanded a slice of lime in hers and, sure enough, there were limes ready and waiting in a basket on the worktops. He put the drink together and took it back to the lounge. Miss Worthing took it from him and took a sip.



“Hmm… Maybe a little less gin next time,” She commented. She reached out with her free hand and started to stroke his hips and upper thighs almost as is she was stroking a dog or a cat. Idly she drew the tips of her nails across his flesh sending electric sparks through Jim’s body causing him to shiver.



“Stand still. I can’t be doing with fidgets,” she said as her hand strayed towards his inner thigh. Softly, sensuously, she ran her fingers up and down between his legs each time never quite reaching his groin. Jim struggled to retain control as a groan of pleasure threatened to escape his lips.



“You seem very tense,” Miss Worthing said, “perhaps I should stop.”



“Please, please don’t stop, Miss Worthing,” Jim begged.



“But you’re getting all excited,” Miss Worthing replied as if to a small child. “Too much excitement without any relief can be bad for a young lad like yourself. Now, when did you last get relief?”



“Thursday, Miss Worthing,” Jim replied. “Thursday, when we were at Mrs Johnson’s house.”



“So, lets see, that’s Thursday, Friday, Saturday and now Sunday.” Miss Worthing emphasised the count by stroking the underside of his testes through the lacy material of his panties. “Four days without relief, I’m not sure that that’s good for you. Maybe, for health reasons, I should let you come; what do you think?”



“I think it’s up to you, Miss Worthing.” However much Jim needed to come he already knew how this game was played.



“It is indeed. But if you’re going to be allowed to come then first you’ve got to earn it. Now get on your knees and wait there.” Miss Worthing swallowed down the end of her G&T and put the empty glass on a table. Then she stood up and went towards the door. “Don’t move a muscle,” she said as she left, closing the door behind her.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession.”



“Yes, my child.”



“Father, may I depart from the usual ritual? It’s me. Sister Helga.”



“Of course. Would you prefer to confess face-to-face?”



“No! I mean, what I have to tell you is . . . Well, it’s quite unusual. I’m not sure I could look you in the eye while doing it.”



“Just relax and tell me about it, Helga. I’m here to bring absolution, not judgment. Just tell me how you have sinned.”



“That’s just it, Father. I’m not sure what I’ve done wrong.”



“I don’t understand. Tell me what’s troubling you.”



There was an awkward silence as Sister Helga sought the right words to say.



“Father, am I a good person?”



“Of course you are.”



“Do I not live by the Beatitudes and the Golden Rule?”



“Yes, of course.”



“Am I not obedient? I try very hard to be obedient.”



“I’ve never known anyone of such unquestioning obedience. You are an example to all the other members of the convent.”



“Then why am I being punished?”



Father Murphy hesitated.



“Why do you think you’re being punished?”



Sister Helga breathed a sigh of despair. “Ever since I reached puberty, people have behaved strangely around me. Like I was different from other girls.”



“What do you mean?”



“What I mean is, most boys would get anxious around me, and those who actually had the courage to talk to me would suggest the most shameful things! And most of the other girls wouldn’t talk to me. They would behave like I was a threat to them—even though I just wanted to be their friend.”



“Why do you think people acted this way?”



“I think it was because . . . Well . . . ,” Helga fell silent. She had never talked about this before.



“My breasts are very large,” she said at last.



“Yes. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”



“And my waist is very small.”



“Yes.”



“And I have always had very athletic thighs and buttocks.”



“Ohhh, yes.”



“And I think . . . I know this is foolish. But sometimes I think God made me this way because of something I’ve done. That it’s his way of telling me I’m a bad person.”



“Nonsense!”



“But being this way makes it harder to be good. If you only knew the temptations that have been put to me! If you only knew how I’ve been tested!”



“Many women would consider such gifts a blessing.”



“Bad women! Women who sin!”



“Certainly you can find ways to use your gifts for good. People listen to you. They trust you. Your natural beauty makes you a valuable messenger for God’s word.”



“Then why am I being punished?”



“I still don’t understand why you feel that way.”



Helga sighed again. “As you know, the convent—that is, the building itself—shares its east wall with St. Augustine’s School for Wayward Girls.”



“Yes.”



“And it shares its west wall with the School for Troubled Boys.”



“Yes.”



“Yesterday, when I was in the convent—showering . . .”



“Yes?”



“. . . I discovered . . .”



“Yes?”



“. . . a hole—in the shower wall. When I look through it, I can see the janitor’s closet in the boy’s school.”



“Really? A hole?”



“Yesterday, someone in that closet looked through that hole, and saw me showering! I didn’t notice at first because of the design in the tile. But when I discovered it, I looked through, and I saw someone run away. He had been looking at me!”



“Oh, my poor child! I’ll tell the custodian to have it repaired immediately.”



“I feel so ashamed!”



“Now, Helga, you mustn’t blame yourself. You know what teenage boys are like.”



“Oh, it wasn’t a student! That closet is always kept locked.” Helga wiped away a tear. “I try so hard to be good. I thought this sort of thing would end when I joined the convent.”



“My dear Helga, joining the convent doesn’t change the nature of the world. I’ll find out who’s responsible.”



“It couldn’t have been a student. After it happened, I asked the janitor to show me the room, and he said he couldn’t because he didn’t have the key. That room isn’t used anymore. It hasn’t been for years.”



“I promise I will handle this situation myself.”



“The janitor said he’d worked here for twenty years, and he’d only ever been in the room once—and that time, you had to unlock the door for him.”



The silence that followed was terribly, terribly awkward.



Helga didn’t want to continue, but did.



“Only you have that key.”



Father Murphy still said nothing.



“WHY WERE YOU SPYING ON ME?” she cried. “I know what a good person you are, so I know you wouldn’t do that sort of thing unless you thought I deserved it.” Helga did her best to control her emotions. “Please, just tell me! Why am I being punished?”



She waited for a reply.



“Father?” she asked when the silence had become unbearable. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”



“Two rosaries,” blurted Father Murphy. “Pray two rosaries for forgiveness.”



“Aren’t you going to tell me what I . . .” Sister Helga fell silent. She heard Father Murphy’s breath catch in his throat. Was he crying? Or was he . . .



“Father, are you masturbating?”



“Just keep talking!” gasped Father Murphy.



Sister Helga ran from the confessional in tears.



Alone, Father Murphy continued his prayer. “Oh god oh god oh god oh god . . . ohhhhhhhhh, lordy!”



Saying goodbye to her friends at the convent was difficult, but she could not stay. Her faith had been shattered beyond repair, so she chose instead to return to school to pursue her other dream—that of getting her master’s degree.



She soon found a new direction for her life within the chemistry department of a prestigious university where she quickly drew the attention of one of her professors.



“Do you know why I chose you to be on the research team?” asked Dr. Watts.



“Because I’m one of your best students?” said Helga, beaming with confidence.



“You are. You have an intuitive grasp of our work that my other students lack.” This was the truth. Helga was extraordinary—a model student for the chemistry department.



“You’re very kind, Doctor,” she said, blushing.



“Not at all.” Dr. Watts chuckled good-naturedly. “I didn’t bring you on the team just for your good looks.”



This was a lie. As an expert in the emerging field of commercial aphrodesiacs, Dr. Watts knew it could only help to have someone of Helga’s obvious appeal helping to draw attention to his work.



“What exactly is this research about?” she wanted to know.



“A colleague of mine donated to me a unique plant,” he said, picking up the potted flower on his desk. “This was grown from a seed taken from the original. He told me that its scent had the ability to arouse the libido of anyone who smelled it, and he hoped that I could learn the secrets behind its chemistry.



“As you may know, most so-called aphrodesiacs are no more than placebos, so I was naturally skeptical. To my surprise, the plant had an astounding effect on the lab mice it was tested on. I asked my colleague where he found this plant, hoping he could help me find more. But he claims it’s only found on a remote and inaccessible island in the Pacific—where its scent has a profound effect on the local population. He told me a tall tale about an island of dominant women who operate a kind of sex school there. Obvious nonsense, of course, but the plant’s attributes are real.”



He offered Helga the plant hoping she would take it—and perhaps even inhale deeply—but she merely looked and nodded with polite interest.



In the days that followed, Helga got to know the other two members of the research team. Artie and Jay seemed like nice fellows, but she was sometimes apprehensive about the way they would stop talking when she entered the room, or would abruptly look away when she made eye contact with them, as if she wasn’t supposed to know they saw her at all.



The truth was, they did see her. And seeing her made it impossible to think about anything else. Maybe the scent of the flowers was to blame.



One night she worked late, using the amphitheatre of the empty lecture hall to enter some test results into her laptop. It was a warm evening, so she had slipped off her lab coat and was working in her tank top and shorts. She sat in the front row typing while sipping an energy drink. She was listening to her iPod through tiny earphones, so she didn’t hear Artie and Jay whispering about her. She believed they were in the lab down the hall, but they were actually in the back of the room staring at her.



“I love hot weather,” whispered Jay. “I wish I lived where it was always hot and women always look like her.”



“Yeah,” agreed Artie who was more guarded about sharing his private thoughts. He was carrying a tray of test tubes, not because he needed them, but because they made him look like he had a reason to be there.



Helga sipped her energy drink and seemed to grow restless. She wiped some perspiration from her neck and absent-mindedly tugged at her tank top as though it were suddenly a little too small.



Distracted by her activity, Artie rattled his tray indiscreetly.



She didn’t look up or notice they were there.



“We shouldn’t be staring at her like this,” said Jay. “What if Dr. Watts saw us?”



Artie finally decided to risk speaking his private thought out loud. “Jay, you know how we’re always joking about the flower serum and what effect it might have if we used it on a human girl?”



Jay knew he was talking about the active chemical which they had extracted from the flowers. Finding a way to refine and mass produce the substance had been the subject of all their research.



“Sure,” said Jay. “We even figured out how much we would need for a human dose. Of course, human trials haven’t been approved yet, and until they are, testing it on a human would be wrong.”



He giggled inappropriately.



Artie wasn’t laughing. “Yes,” he quietly agreed. “It would be wrong. Except . . .”



Helga took another sip from her energy drink and held the can against her face. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. Then she slid the can along the inside of her thighs and gasped in quiet pleasure.



“Artie,” whispered Jay. “What did you DO?”



“I did it when she was in the bathroom,” he confessed. “Nobody saw me put it in her drink.”



“Artie, do you know what you’ve done?” asked Jay. “That experimental drug that hasn’t been approved for human trials!”



“I just thought if I gave her a little, I could ask her out, and she might say yes. And if I gave her just enough, she’d be sure to say yes.”



Jay stared at him judgmentally. “Artie, you remember the mice we tested? They weren’t in the mood for dinner and a movie. I’ve never seen animals assume those positions before.”



“But she’ll be all right? I mean, the mice were okay.”



“The mice were happy, but okay? I’m not sure. And with the doses we just gave her—?”



“What do you mean ‘doses?‘”



Jay looked away with sudden guilt. “Okay, I gave her some, too. But just a little bit.”



“What? She could have seen you!”



“You didn’t see me!”



“Oh my god, what if we’ve killed her?”



They looked at Helga. She seemed to have regained her composure and was diligently typing at her laptop. The music from her iPod still played in her ears.



“See?” said Jay. “She’s fine.”



“What if she’s not?” whispered Artie. “You’ve seen the lab results. Right now, we can assume that her cortex is entering a state of accelerated activity. Her nerve endings are being saturated with endorphins. Her blood pressure is elevated, and her perspiration rate is accelerating to keep pace with her increased pheremone production.”



“Man, that’s hot.”



“What if she needs a hospital?”



“Who needs a hsopital?” asked Dr. Watts. Neither of the boys had seen him enter the room.



The boys guiltily stared at the floor. Under the withering gaze of their professor, they eventually whispered their confession to him.



“I see,” said Dr. Watts. “I see that I’m working with immature, irresponsible frat boys—with no impulse control.” He made no effort to hide his disappointment. “Do you know what could happen? By adding your doses to the one that I . . .”



It took the professor a moment to realize he had just incriminated himself as well.



Watts raised a judgmental finger to silence them. “What I did was different!” he whispered. “I’m a scientist!”



The conversation degenerated into a series of rapid-fire whispered accusations which failed to address the problem. Again the professor silenced them with an upraised finger.



“If what we’re saying is correct, we have unknowingly given her three doses of an extremely concentrated experimental aphrodisiac.” He paused meaningfully. “Is that what we’re saying?”



Artie’s voice quavered when he said, “I gave her two.”



Jay slapped Artie on the back of the head.



“All right,” said Dr. Watts. “Four doses, then. That means, theoretically, that some of the effects on her brain could be . . . permanent.”



“What?” hissed Artie.



“Only theoretically,” whispered Dr. Watts. His tone suggested that he had already given this subject some thought. “And theoretically, this could cause some of her natural libidic tendencies to become exaggerated. If, for example, her inner nature was to be submissive, the drug would cause her to become excessively obliging and compliant to anyone she was even remotely attracted to. She wouldn’t be able to help herself. For example, she might . . .” He paused wistfully. “But I digress.”



“Is she submissive?” asked Jay along a new line of thought.



“Isn’t it obvious?” asked Dr. Watts.



“Does it matter?” asked Artie. “We’ve damaged her brain!”



Only theoretically,” said Watts. “There’s no need to panic. She may be fine. We’ll just watch her for a while and see that she’s all right.”



They looked.



She was gone.



She had left her things behind—her laptop, her iPod, her notes, her flip-flops, her labcoat, her tank top, her denim shorts . . . .



They stared at the items on the floor while the implications settled in their guilty minds.



They looked around the lecture hall, but she was nowhere to be seen.



Dr. Watts insisted that they must find her.



They stepped into the hall. It was hard not to notice a pair of panties hanging on the knob of the door to the main lab where the rest of the flowers were growing. The door with the panties was ajar, but the room beyond was dark.



Cautiously they entered the dark room. For stealth, they did not turn on the lights.



The sweet smell that greeted them was already familiar to them. They knew it as the smell of desire. However, they did not immediately see Helga.



Until, one by one, they noticed a pair of bare feet standing on a countertop where a bit of light fell from the window to illuminate a dark corner of the lab. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, they saw the feet were connected to the most spectacular body they had ever seen. The body glistened with natural oils secreted from Helga’s skin as she towered over them.



She stared at them in judgment.



“I was beginning to wonder,” she said casually from the darkness. “I was beginning to wonder when you boys would come looking for me.” She slid down easily from the countertop and stepped toward them. She wore nothing but a smile, and it was strangely terrifying.



How much has she overheard? wondered Dr. Watts.



“We were washing the test tubes,” blurted Artie, holding up his tray in evidence.



Helga paused and seemed to consider the worthiness of his response. “That sounds very plausible,” she said. “Well done, Artie.”



She looked each of them in the eye, one by one, and turned back toward the counter. “Do you always think about me when you’re polishing your tubes?” She turned toward them and rested her naked bum on the countertop. “Your debate about me seemed very heated earlier.”



“Helga,” started Dr. Watts, taking a stab at being the responsible adult in the room, “we think perhaps you may have ingested some of the flower extract.”



“Really?” she asked with incredulity. “But that would be wrong.” She smiled again.



Something about her eyes suggested that they should run, but for some reason, they didn’t. Maybe it was the scent of the flowers.



“Well, yes,” said Dr. Watts. “Of course, it was probably an accident.”



“Liar!” she snapped at her professor. “I think you should try again.” She leaned forward from her perch on the countertop. Her body tensed as if ready to pounce.



Jay felt as if it were his turn to say something. “Do you feel,” he asked with newfound caution, “different?”



She seemed to look at something far away. “Different?” she asked thoughtfully. “Oh, yes.” She ran her fingers through her hair as if for the first time and exhaled heavily. “Yes, I can definitely feel something going on in here. Something liberating! I wonder what’s inside me.”



She parted her legs in their direction.



Dr. Watts reasoned that Helga wouldn’t need a doctor as long as she was under the observation of a trained scientist with a background in commercial aphrodisiacs.



It was the scent of the flowers.



“I think we should get you someplace where you can rest,” suggested Dr. Watts.



“Maybe you’re right,” said Helga. “Someone should walk me home.”



“I will,” said all of them.



“I have a car,” added Dr. Watts. “And I’m a scientist.”



“Good,” said Helga, holding out her hand for the keys. “I’ll drive.”



This seemed like a perfectly reasonable request in the flower-filled room.



“Run along,” Dr. Watts told the boys as he gave Helga his keys. “I’ll handle this.”



“No, bring them,” said Helga as she left the room. “I need a lot of handling.”



In the days that followed, Helga’s friends and classmates noticed that she had changed. She was oddly more confident, and decidedly more authoritative, than she had ever been before.



As for Artie, Jay and Dr. Watts, they were never seen on campus again. It took almost a week before anyone reported them missing.



In fact, the last person to hear from any of them was a mailman, and he never fully understood what it was that he had witnessed.



It happened when he was delivering a heavy package to an address which had received many such packages that week. He had no idea what the busty young redhead did for a living, but he had started to look forward to these deliveries because she nearly always answered the door in a breezy white silk robe.



“Another package that didn’t fit in your mailbox,” explained the mailman at the door. “You’ve been getting a lot of them lately.”



“Yes, I have,” said Helga. “I’ve got some projects going on in the basement—three of them.” She looked at the label on the package and shouted to someone the mailman couldn’t see. “Good news, boys! Your asshooks have arrived! Isn’t that good news?”



The mailman let it pass. He didn’t want to admit that he didn’t know what asshook meant in college slang.



When no one answered the redhead, she repeated, “I said, ‘Isn’t that good news?’!”



The mailman heard some faint screams which he was sure must have been from a television. Then he remembered he had a job to finish. “You also have a letter,” he said, giving her an envelope.



“Thank you so much,” said the redhead eying him intently. “Actually, if you have time, you could help me with my projects.” She stared at him the way a cat stares at a mouse.



Something in her eyes told him he should run.



He did—stumbling back toward the mail truck with an urgency he couldn’t quite understand.



Helga looked at the letter which she was genuinely surprised to receive. It was from Darlene Carmichael, her former student.



Dear Sister Helga,



I know you’re probably not expecting a letter from me. The nuns said you moved to a different convent, but I hope they can forward this to you.

Sweat draped my forehead like a curtain by the time we pulled into our driveway. The vibrating cock ring Natalie had placed just below the head of my throbbing cock was doing its job; I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stop myself from cuming. I was holding back so far through sheer force of will, but it couldn’t be much longer. I sighed in relief when Natalie leaned over and clicked the vibrator off. I glanced down as she removed the ring; my pre cum was running freely, like a runny tap.



She smiled at me, and I smiled back. Her eyes, done up with the faintest shades of green makeup, twinkled at me as she pulled the key to my handcuffs from her little purse. “I didn’t think you’d make it all the way home,” she admitted. “I was looking forward to punishing you. Not to mention watching your cum spurt out without anyone touching it. That would have been hot. Oh, well, plenty of time.” She grinned, and reached for my seatbelt buckle. Her blond tresses brushed against my cock, tickling, as she struggled to free me. It felt good.



“You are unbelievably cruel,” I told her. I pointed at myself with a jut of my chin. “I can’t believe you did that to me. And you wanted to punish me? Harsh!” I laughed. “What were you going to do, whip me or something?” I chuckled at the thought.



My seatbelt clicked free, and she pulled back a moment, her eyes locked on mine with determination. “Not something,” she announced. “Exactly that. Though I did buy a paddle to go with the whip, and I’d like to get some use out of it as well.”



I chuckled, but noticed something in her eyes. My god. I think she was serious!



She pushed me forward, and gently started working on my handcuffs. “I should make you run for the house without putting that thing away, for being lippy, mister,” she muttered; I kept silent, not sure if she would seriously go through with it. When she finished, I sat back and looked at my cock, and then her. She laughed; “Yes, you can tuck it back in your pants. And hurry up.”



She left the car, and started for the house. For the second time that night I struggled to stuff my erection back into my fly, and then darted after her. I met her at the door, noticed one arched eyebrow, and then immediately unlocked and opened the door for her; somehow, I knew that’s what she was waiting for. She stepped past me with a smile, but stopped just inside the door. She beckoned me in with a wave of her hand and a beaming smile, so I stepped around her and into the front hallway. She closed the door behind me, locked it, and leaned up against the shut door, facing me.



“Strip,” she ordered. Back in the privacy of our home, it was a command I had no issue with at all. I rushed to obey. No sooner than I had finished, she barked another order; “Kneel.” I dropped to my knees, my ass resting on my heels, and looked up at her expectantly.



She frowned, but stayed silent; she passed me the handcuffs. Knowing what she meant this time, I quickly snapped them on, locking my wrists behind my back. I glanced up and smiled again, but she only continued to frown. Finally, she snapped, “Is that how your mother taught you to kneel at church? You look like a bum!”



Quickly, I straightened up. Her frown faded, and her beautiful smile returned. “I’m really having fun.” She said. “I’m not being too mean, am I?” she answered, out of character.



“No,” I answered, meaning it. I was having fun. And I was incredibly turned on by this aggressive side of her. I’m sure it helped that I trusted her completely, and knew it was really just a game, and it would be over eventually. Even if I wasn’t sure I wanted it to end. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this horny,” I admitted. “Though some of that public stuff at Mario’s was pushing it a bit. But yeah,” I grinned defiantly, and shook my hips a bit, waggling my hard on at her. “Bring on date night.”



Her eyes narrowed. “That was rather disrespectful. You’re going to regret that little gesture later, slave. But right now? Seeing you like this has me all horny, baby. You have work to do.” She hiked up her dress, and I nearly lost it at the sight; she was leaning back against the door, her shoulder blades resting against the wood. Her hips and pelvis were thrust forward, her legs slightly apart; the heels she must have kicked off as soon as she walked in the door. The slinky black dress was now pulled up around her waist; it seemed I wasn’t the only one that hadn’t worn underwear to dinner. Her pussy was freshly shaved, and I could see the drops of moisture on her lips. She was biting her lower lip just a bit, and there was a bit of a flush to her pale cheeks. She looked hungry.



I did not need an invitation. I knew what she wanted, and I wanted it too. I could almost smell her from a few feet back. I shuffled forward on my knees, and pressed my face into her bare crotch. I stuck my tongue out, and worked it up and down her slit; above me, I could hear her moan softly. My fists clenched behind me, muscles tensing against the cuffs as I wished I was free; how I wanted to reach around and grab her ass, giving the cheeks a firm squeeze. Her sweet taste flooded my senses, and I closed my eyes as I enjoyed her.



Above me, she let out a long, deep moan. She stuck her pelvis out further, trying to push me in deeper. I knew what she wanted; but I figured it was time I turned the tables, if only a bit. I withdrew my tongue, and pulled back a little. Pursing my lips, I kissed her thigh, just about a hands width away from her now very wet vagina. I kissed again, just a millimeter closer, and again. I led a trail of kisses up her thigh, to the crack of her leg; she made a sound like a purr, and sagged a bit against the door. I trailed my lips along the line that separated her thigh from her pussy, careful that my mouth stayed clear of her lips. Gently, just barely making contact, I brushed my lips against hers; then pulled back when she sighed. I switched my attentions to her other thigh, repeating the pattern. She was panting now, desperate for my touch on her pussy. Her juices were flowing, actually running a bit down the inside of her leg; I reached out with my tongue and snagged a drop, loving the flavor.



I kissed ever closer to her sweet spot, my tongue and lips making gentle trails on her skin, paths along the slopes of her thighs that all led to one revered destination, all the while avoiding her pussy, teasing her like she so enjoyed to tease me. I felt her legs quivering; “Stop teasing me,” she moaned from above. I smiled, and planted a quick, soft kiss on her clit, pulling back again; at the contact she let out a sudden quick cry –when I pulled away, she made a sound like a growl and a curse at once.



Suddenly, with another curse and a muttered threat of retribution, she pulled away from my mouth. She pushed me back, and with a hand behind my neck, lowered me to the ground, careful not to hurt my arms, pinned behind me. With her dress still pulled up around her waist, she stood over me, her feet to either side of my head. “You don’t get to tease me, mister,” she said with a smile, looking down on me, towards my feet. She left me no opportunity to retort; she dropped to her knees, and her dripping pussy made a slapping sound as it collided with my face. Her thighs clamped against the sides of my head, cutting off a lot of sound. Her lips parted, and my nosed prodded between her folds. I stuck my tongue out again, moving it up and down her slit, tilting my head to get better reach. I could hear the muffled sounds of her moans, and I pushed my tongue deeper into her tunnel.



I felt her lean forward, her hands resting on my chest; her clit was now easily within reach. My tongue darted out like a snake, flicking across the sensitive little bud, and I felt her shudder above me. “Yes,” she cried. “Oh god YES! Rub my clit!” Slave or not, I had little choice but to obey. My own hips were thrusting up in time to my flickering tongue, my lonely cock hard and throbbing as it waved around in the air, bouncing to my desperate motions –but I didn’t spare it a single thought, focusing instead on that burning nest of sweetness, perched precariously on my face. Above me, Natalie cried out; it started as little more than a whimper, one long never ending note that steadily grew in volume and intensity. Her hips started to rock, her pussy rubbing against my lips and tongue; they rocked harder, faster, my tongue now still as her grinding did all the work; her cry had turned into screams.



When she came, her legs clamped even harder; her pussy mashed down into my face, hard, as if she was trying to cover my face entirely with her opening; I couldn’t breathe, I could barely hear -but I could feel the spasms running through her thighs like lightening. Could feel her hard little clit against my tongue; I pursed my lips, and gently sucked on the nubbin. Her screams stopped, abruptly, as the orgasm now silently crashed through her. Her juices flooded my face, more than I had ever imagined my wife could produce. I kept sucking gently on her clit, and I could feel her body nearly convulsing.



Finally, she tilted her hips, and the seal between us parted with a wet sound. I felt her hair on my tummy as she leaned forward, her arms across me as she struggled for breath, resting atop of me. I let my own head fall back to the floor, enjoying the view of her flushed pussy and tight little asshole, and took a deep, welcome breath.



We lay like that for long moments; just resting, just enjoying each other. And then I felt her breath on my cock. “Oh my god, that was good,” Natalie whispered back at me; she began tracing the underside of my shaft with a fingernail, gently. “I didn’t even know I could cum that many times. You are a very good slave, honey.”



Still enjoying the view spread before me, I shuddered at her gentle touch. I had to hope that her pleasure might mean some relief for me. “You came more than once? Wow, you were hot. I aim to please, mistress.”



I felt as well as heard a soft giggle; “Mistress. I like that, slave boy. For the rest of date night, you will call me Mistress, slave. Got it?” She emphasized the point with a firm squeeze of my cock.



“Yes, mistress,” I laughed.



She giggled at my answer. Pleased, she suddenly popped the head of my cock into her mouth. The warm wetness of her mouth, as her tongue swirled around me, was heavenly; I moaned into her ass, and she squirmed a little at my breath on her sensitive bits. Even faster than she had started, she again pulled free. She stood up above me, and made a show of lowering her dress, and then fixing her hair. I could only just stare up at her, desperate. My nostrils where filled with her scent; my cock throbbed with a heartbeat of its own.



“Poor baby,” she lamented, her voice dripping sex. “All tied up, and getting no attention, after doing such a good job eating my pussy. I guess you want to get to the bedroom, slave?” I nodded rapidly, and she laughed at the desperate look on my face. She steadied me, and helped me climb to my feet. She took my cock in her hand, and used it like a handle as she started deeper into the house, pulling me along behind her. We passed the stairs, and she looked back at me with a smile; “You wish. I said this is date night. Whoever heard of a dinner without the movie?”



In the living room, she undid my hands, and then sat down on the couch, her feet tucked under her. I started to sit next to her, and she arched an eyebrow, freezing me in place. “Wine, slave. And maybe a drink for yourself.”



I mumbled a comment, and she looked at me sharply.



“I guess my new toys are going to get some use after all. I think I had better start keeping track. Let’s she…” she held up her hand, and started ticking points off on her fingers. “One just now, for your mumbling -even after I let you get yourself a drink. One for waving your junk at me at the door. That was just rude. Teasing me when I wanted you to fuck me with your tongue, that’s worth two. Let’s see…you were a bit of a smartass in the car, that’s five. Hell, your whole attitude is a bit inappropriate for a slave; let’s just call it ten. Ten offenses.” She looked at me, grinned at the shocked look on my face, and then made a waving gesture with her hand, dismissing me.



I moved away, and glanced down at my nakedness. Our living room was located near the front of the house, most of the big windows covered by drapes. The kitchen, though, was at the back of the house; I could see two problems. First, I had to pass in front of the big bay window in our dining room to get to the kitchen, and that window was mostly uncovered; second, the kitchen itself included wall to ceiling windows and a glass sliding door, all leading out to our deck. I would be on display for anyone that looked.



“The neighbor’s…” I started to protest.



Natalie answered with a disinterested tone; “then run fast. Really fast; I’m thirsty.”



I made a dash for it; at least our lights were off, and I couldn’t see any activity from the neighbor’s house. My hands I kept cupped protectively over my privates; the sound of Natalie laughing followed me into the kitchen. I poured a glass of wine and a big rum and coke for myself, trying to keep myself hidden behind the counter, just in case someone was passing through the woods behind our house. When I was ready, I realized with my hands full I would be unable to hide, or run; I blushed, and moved as quickly as I could back to the living room.



I handed Natalie her wine, and set my drink down on the table. “Put the movie on, please, hon,” she asked. She nodded towards the coffee table, where I could see the blue packaging of a rented Blu Ray. She must have rented it that afternoon. I picked it up, and looking at the cover, groaned in dismay; it was a chick flick.



“Problem?” Natalie asked.



“Um, no. No, this is fine. I’ll put in on now.”



“Hmm. Mistress?” she added. “I believe that is now eleven infractions.”



“Sorry, Mistress.” I turned, and put on the movie.



The movie was as horrible as I had expected, from the little I actually paid attention to. Something about a girl falling for a guy; the guy had a secret; when she found out, she broke up with him; then they reunited; there had been some kind of misunderstanding, he wasn’t such a douche after all; all was forgiven; everyone lived happily ever after. Or maybe that was every other chick flick I had ever been forced to see. But the movie really didn’t matter; Natalie made sure I didn’t really watch much of it.



As soon as I sat next to her, she put her bare feet in my lap, and smiled at me over the rim of her wine glass. I started rubbing, withholding the sigh I felt. I rubbed her feet for at least twenty minutes, before she had me rub her calves for another twenty –after getting her another wine.



Eventually, she withdrew her feet, and patted the couch next to her. I scooted closer, smiling. She continued to watch her movie, but reached over and idly began playing with my cock; it had softened, likely because of the horrible movie, but quickly hardened at her touch. I closed my eyes, and laced my hands behind my head, just enjoying her touch.



She started by coating my cock and balls with baby oil, getting everything nice and slick. Then she was gently kneading it; her hand just softly squeezing and releasing, with a bit of caressing, as if she was playing with a stress ball. Her hand occasionally dropped lower, cupping my balls. She rolled them in her palm, lifting them a little against gravity, even bouncing them a softly in her hand. For at least ten minutes, she gently ran her finger up and down the shaft, the lightest touch, just her fingertip. I was moaning, leaking, and begging for more.



Her hand tightened on the base of my shaft. “Mmmm…” I moaned, enjoying her grip. Slowly, so slowly, her hand moved upward, her grip tight enough that I could feel my skin tugged despite the lubrication. Upward it went, almost too slow. I was arching my hips upwards, trying to force her hand faster, to no avail. The circle made by her thumb and forefinger reached just below my head, and her motion slowed even more, stopping just short. I groaned, and my hips bucked slightly. Suddenly, her hand jumped into motion; on screen, someone was crying, and I couldn’t care less. Her hand was a blur, focusing only on my head, her well lubricated grip like a tight little vagina, pumping rapidly on the head of my throbbing cock. I felt my hips turn, my back arch, as my whole body willed for more, trying to force myself up into that one small point of contact.



She let go again, and my hips thrust as if I was on top of her, pounding away, but my cock tasted nothing but air. I cried out, a wailing, pathetic sound, and my eyes opened to stare at my cock; I would swear I could actually see it throbbing, pulsating.



“My hand is tired,” Natalie said next to me, focusing on the movie. She was wiping her hands off with a paper towel, a good sign she was done. She finished, and handed me the roll of paper towels; “Clean yourself up. That stuff will stain the couch.”



I almost felt like crying. This kind of torture was inhumane. But I cleaned myself up without protest, and handed the roll back to Natalie. “God,” she said, turning to look at me. “You would not believe how horny I am, and I just came a bunch like an hour ago. This is so hot, we should have done this years ago.” She opened her legs, her skirt again pulling up around her waist, and let herself sink into the couch, shifting forward so her ass was on the edge and her feet were on the floor. “Eat me.”



There it was; it didn’t matter how horny I was. I could only cum once, and I would be out of commission for at least an hour or two. But she could cum infinitely; something she had never had much interest in. Now, though, she was insatiable. A sex machine. She was constantly aroused, which means I was too. I realized then; I would go as long as she wanted without cuming, if it turned her on this much. I loved it.



Eagerly, I dropped to my knees on the floor, between her thighs. I looked up at her, from between her smooth, milky thighs, and said “I love you, hon.”



She smiled, and reached forward to push my face into her sopping wet pussy. As I started to lick, I heard her comment; “That’s Mistress to you, slave. Twelve infractions. And I love you too.”

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