An early morning breeze rustled the verdigris leaves of
summer and the scent of dew lingered in the blades of manicured grass she
walked by. The sounds of the bustling,
daily migration had mostly disappeared as the suburban neighborhood had emptied
hours before, the masses of workers heading into their cubicles merely a faded
memory. Now, only the sound of her flip
flops smacking the bottoms of her bare feet filled her ears, punctuated by the
occasional buzz of a cicada, or the whine of a desperate mosquito, hoping to
find a mark before the scorching sun of summer truly rose.
She’d been walking for over half an hour and the first beads
of perspiration had started to form upon her brow. She wiped her hand across
her forehead, the black and blue jelly bracelets she wore loose against her
wrist. She was dressed coolly though, a
simple but lacy peasant blouse that allowed some air to flow along her skin, as
well as a pair of tight blue jean shorts that cupped her bottom as if they’d
been painted on. Her skin glowed a
creamy white, almost unblemished, free of freckle or scar. Her nails were painted a soft pink that had
you been able to see, would have matched the half dollar sized areolas, capping
her small but well-rounded breasts. She
was lithe and possessed of that nubile form that held the youth and innocence
of a child, yet also bore the attributes of a woman.
She found the right house a few minutes later, the small
bungalow well maintained with a white picket fence and mowed lawn. Even the bushes were trimmed and she was
pleased to see the car in the driveway.
It meant that he would be home.
It had been almost two weeks since she had last seen him and she hadn’t
realized that their almost daily routine would become an addiction. But as school had ended she had found herself
at a loss, unable to find satisfaction in the self-induced pleasures her own
mind and hands could create, even when her imagination placed him squarely in
the center of her dreams. Finally,
despite the fact that she knew it was against the rules, she decided that the
only thing for her to do was visit him.
She opened the small gate and strolled up to the front
door. She felt no nervousness, nothing
but a tingly anticipation that left her damp and sticky. With utter confidence, she rang the bell and
folded her hands together, waiting patiently.
It took him only half a minute to answer the door and his attire
surprised her. He had always been
dressed in a suit, though he frequently removed his jacket. To see him in nothing but a pair of khaki
shorts and a polo shirt was almost outrageous.
She couldn’t help herself. She
stared. He was barefoot as well and she
had to admit that he was muscular and good looking. It made her tingle.
The little school girl looked up at him and opened her
mouth, but found that she had totally forgotten the speech she had mentally
written. She floundered for a moment
until he stepped back, holding the door open, clearly meaning to let her into
his home. She stepped into the house and
let her eyes adjust. The living room was cast in shadows, not because of some
dastardly plan on his part, but because the blinds were still closed. A taupe sofa stood against one wall, while a
very comfortable looking easy chair was positioned diagonally from it. A reasonably sized television was mounted on
the opposite side of the room and the coffee table that sat in the center was
clean. He shut the door as she looked
around. The walls had several pieces of
art on them, mostly nature photographs similar to the ones she had seen in his
office.
She turned to face him, feeling just a bit more stable as he
stepped closer. His body language made
it clear that her presence wasn’t unwelcome and the bulge in the front of his
shorts made it clear that her attire was pleasing to the eye. She couldn’t help smiling.
“I... um… I know this is unexpected,” she started off
saying. He let out a short laugh.
“Hardly unexpected,” he replied, interrupting her. The little school girl blinked as he
continued. “With as many times as you
showed up at my office during the year, I’m surprised you didn’t come last
week.”
The little school girl swallowed. She’d actually considered
it. It wasn’t like anyone was keeping
track of her. But she had tried to hold
off. To satisfy her own needs without
having to rely on him.
“I’ve been bad,” she blurted out.
“That was a given.
Just by coming here you’ve violated about half a dozen school
regulations,” he assured her, moving to the easy chair and sitting down. She remained where she was, standing on the
opposite side of the coffee table. “Just
for that you’ve earned several, serious punishments.”
Those words made her quiver and the dampness she felt
earlier actually became a distinct wetness.
She fiddled with the jelly bracelets on her wrist and tried to look
contrite.
He nodded. “Well, I
suppose we should begin the punishment,” he said simply. “Undress please.”
The words seemed so easy, so simple, and yet they contained
such force that she found her fingers going to the snap of her denim shorts
even before she actively thought about it.
Her thin and delicate fingers slipped into the loosening waistband and
pushed downward, baring the white and blue striped thong she was wearing
beneath. Almost immediately she could
detect the scent of her wetness and was glad she’d worn the panties. She’d considered coming commando, but had
figured she’s want the extra material for the walk.
Her hands went to her shirt and grabbed it by the bottom,
pulling it upward and exposing her midriff and then breasts with one single
pull.
Her bosom was firm and high, two
large apples that seemed perfectly proportioned to the rest of her, so fresh
and barely ripe that they begged to be touched.
Her nipples were hard; two sharp points that stuck out another quarter
of an inch, rose colored tips upon the white cream of her bosom.
She kicked off her flip flops, sending both her denim shorts
and the footwear flying to the side to lie crumpled next to the couch. Her thumbs snagged the panties and slid them
down without hesitation. She wasn’t even
trying to be enticing or sexy. It was
simply the expedient undressing of a child who didn’t know how to be inviting.
And yet, the sexual appeal was there. The intoxicating scent of her own arousal,
the comely shape of her hip, the taper of her waist and widening of her bosom,
even the touch of color at her wrist where the black and blue jelly bracelets
lay beckoning. Her thin arms wrapped around her stomach and the three inch gap
between her thighs were almost visions of aphroditic beauty. Her sex was thin and narrow, the petals small
and her tiny clit barely visible despite her incitement. Her pubis had been shaved clean, making her
puberty and age seemingly even more nebulous.
She stood before him waiting and he nodded, quietly
appreciating her ambrosial allure. Her breathing was calm, but it still made
her breasts rise and fall delicately, captivating the eye. Finally he stood and
beckoned for her to follow. He turned
toward the open doorway that led from the living room deeper into the house and
she followed without thought, knowing that he intended to punish her.
He led her through a small dining room and into a spacious
kitchen. Square in shape, one corner was
dominated by a rectangular wooden table that would have easily seated four and
uncomfortably handled six. It was solid and
made of pine, a light amber color whose oiled surface seemed to reflect the
morning sunlight streaming through the back windows of the house. The yard beyond was green and filled with
flowers, vermillion and saffron ivories mixed with the hard amethyst of
periwinkle and orchid. A small gray
fountain trickled among the verdant hues and there was trumpet vine clinging to
the privacy fence encircling the yard.
“Climb up on the table and lie down on your back,” he said,
pointing to the kitchen table. As she
followed his orders and lifted herself up onto the flat surface, she realized
that his kitchen was clean. Nothing
seemed out of place. A large mixer stood
in one corner of the counter, while a stainless steel spice stand stood next to
a similar container that held a plethora of wooden spoons, stainless steel
whisks, and countless other utensils. As
she began to lay down, he stepped to the back door that led out into the
garden.
“Please wait here. I will return in a moment,” he told her,
then stepped out of the house. The
little school girl couldn’t help smiling, wondering what he needed from the
garden. The tabletop was cool to her
skin and it felt good, especially after the long walk. She took a big breath and then let her
fingers glide down her torso, starting at her collarbone and working their way
down over the tips of her breasts and down her stomach. There was a delicious shiver caused by the
sensation of her fingertips striking her nipples and when her hands found the
wetness between her legs she couldn’t help slipping a single finger into her
depths, moaning enthusiastically as her body responded to the slight
penetration.
She was still in the middle of her self-exploration when he
startled her, entering the kitchen once more.
In one arm he held two skeins of rope, while in his other hand was a
freshly cut switch, possibly Mexican sage or some other plant, stripped of its
identifying leaves. She didn’t stop as
he looked down at her, his face expressionless, and she continued thrusting her
forefinger through her petals with deliberate intensity.
He turned away and placed the rope and switch upon the
counter, only to pull a pair of kitchen shears free of the cutting block near
the stove top. While she masturbated
behind him, the silky sound of her flesh parting with each forceful thrust of
her hand, he cut ten foot lengths from the skein of rope. A dusky whimper came from her throat as he
turned back to her, his fingers coming to rest on her narrow ankle. With a deft touch he double wrapped the rope
around her flesh, binding her leg with the loose piece of hemp. She responded
with adding a second finger to the thrusting grind of her hand, the squelching
reverberation loud and obvious. He moved around to the other side of the table
and bound a second piece of rope to her other leg.
“Spread yourself open so that your legs dangle off the sides
of the table,” he instructed calmly.
Without a second’s hesitation she did as he asked, opening her legs and
letting her feet dangle off the sides of the table. He patted the end of the wooden surface. “Now
scoot down,” he said. She shimmied,
working her way closer to where he was standing, her hand still between her
legs, cupping her sex, working the two glistening fingers through her open
slit. Once she was within eight inches
of the end of the table, he stopped her with a gentle touch upon her exposed
inner thigh. She gasped, shivering. He dropped down and she felt the tension on
the rope, first one leg, then the other.
She understood he was binding her open, making sure that nothing would
impede the application of corporal punishment she so desperately deserved.
She hoped he would run his hand along her side as he moved
around the table, but he did not, instead swinging wide in arc that brought him
back to the counter. A tall, tapered
candle appeared in a silver candlestick, which he lit with a wooden match. Another length of rope fell into his hand. He also plucked a hand towel from a nearby
drawer and when he returned to where she was laid out, he slipped the folded
towel beneath her head. She made a small
murmur of appreciation as he placed the rope above her head. He reached down and took hold of her wrist, the
one that wasn’t already working at her sex, and pulled it high above her head. He wrapped the thick hemp around her tender
limb, the jelly bracelets slipping along her limb.
“I need your other hand please,” he said calmly.
The little school girl pulled her hand from the viscous
swamp she herself had created and brought it up to her lips. Slowly, almost sensuously, she sucked her
fingers clean, letting out a soft moan as the flavor of her arousal permeated
her mouth. He waited patiently, but as
soon as she lifted her hand, he took hold of her wrist and began the binding
process, securing one arm to the other.
Then he pulled her taut, stretching her out upon the pine surface
tightly as he ran the rope underneath the table. In moments her freedom of movement had been
restricted to mere inches. She wriggled,
testing the bonds and found them satisfactory.
He said nothing as he turned back to the pantry and plucked
a bottle of cold pressed, extra virgin olive oil from the darkened depths.
He set it down between her outstretched legs
so that the cold glass was touching her inner thigh, only inches from her wet
and open sex.
He pulled out a chair,
moving it around to the end of the table where he loins were well presented,
and sat down.
She lifted her head,
already feeling the edge, an insidious desperation as she wanted him to touch
her.
Instead he picked up the bottle of
olive oil once again.
He unscrewed the
cap, and then with deliberate patience held it above her sex, tipping it gently
until a single stream of the oleaginous fluid fell onto her clitoris.
It coated the tiny nub peeking out from
between the delicate petals of her flower and began the inexorable downward
flow along her parted crevasse.
He put
the bottle down as she gasped, the oil cool against her hot flesh.
He put his hands on the table and then set his fingers
against her slit. With the barest
brushing movements he began spreading the oil across her skin. Her labia majora were barely ripples but he
oiled them lightly, working the oily fluid over her outer petals. The little school girl gasped, her bottom coming
up off the table as his fingers worked their way down all the way to her anus,
coating her entire pudendum. Her breath
caught in her throat and she was shocked at how her body responded. He had never, not once, touched her in this
manner before. It was beyond anything
she had ever felt. Her sex quivered in
anticipation and was not disappointed.
His fingers slid back upward, just barely grazing the now spreading lips
of her sex.
He parted her flesh, working his way inward, but at a
snail’s pace, drawing wet circles in the pink shadow of her inner petals. Her hips pushed upward, trying to force more
pressure from him, but it mattered not.
He was totally in control and with her legs spread wide, her bare and
dainty soles bound beneath the table, she had little capacity for
movement. The minutes crept by as he
slowly assaulted her sex with the gentlest of caresses, rubbing the film of
olive oil through every fold and dip, around and around her clitoris, until she
was practically quivering with need. She
didn’t know what to ask for, to demand of him, but she knew she couldn’t take
much more. Her inner sex had ripened and
was spread outward, a loving heart shaped softness that begged for a kiss.
“Why?” she gasped, lifting her head and looking at him. Her expression was a mixture of both marvel
and unbelief.
“It’s necessary to sensitize you for the punishment,” he
explained. She put her head back down,
twitching as he continued the incessant torment, the featherlike caress of her
petals. The minutes slid by and soon the
little school girl could barely lie still.
Her sex pulsed beneath his hand, her chest heaving with pent up
need. His fingers were covered with oil
but he ignored everything except the soft petals of her sex, tormenting her
mercilessly with barest of touches. He
grazed the delicate pad of flesh between her sex and bottom. He rubbed each petal of her labia minora
between his thumb and forefinger. He
touched the small brown button of her anus, sending tingling moans through
every fiber of her being.
Her toes curled under the table and the high pitched whimper
that escaped from her throat told him it was time. He stood, reluctantly pulling his hand away
from her soaked slit, only to retrieve the tapered candle that stood flickering
on the nearby counter. She was too lost
to notice, only sighing in relief as the terrible torment of softness stopped. He returned to his position between her
outstretched legs and with a heavy hand, set his palm against her wetness. She tensed immediately, the feel of him
strong against her slit. Her hips moved,
grinding her loins against his hand. He
picked up the candle and turned it sideways.
The first drop of hot paraffin fell, splashing on skin.
He judged the heat and lowered the candle, letting a second
drop fall upon the back of his hand. He
brought the candle even closer and only then did he feel that the burning heat
of the melted wax merited application to her sex. He moved his hand and the fourth drop that
fell splashed down upon her oiled and swollen clitoris. Her entire body bucked as the heat seared
her. Not once, never, had he done anything
like this to her. Her mouth opened as
the pain of the hot wax elicited a cry from her. Another drop fell, this time just a tad bit
lower as he began coating the petals of her sex, filling her slit with the
white molten paraffin.
The little school girl pulled hard on her bonds, straining
the table as her tiny limbs pulled. But
both his rope and furniture held as he continued to leave a spray of tiny
droplets over her outstretched and vulnerable sex. His hand moved back and forth and he actually
began letting hot wax fall upon the delicate area surrounding her slit. She screeched and bucked, her buttocks coming
up off the table and he continued letting the burning liquid pepper her pink
flesh. He moved the candle down her left
leg, leaving white circles the size of dimes along her tender inner thigh, his
face expressionless as he tortured her.
He again changed position and did the same to her other leg, and if he
was enjoying the pain-wracked moans and cries his action had elicited from her
it did not show.
The wax blended in with the creamy whiteness of her skin
except for the pinkness of her slit, still the layer of paraffin left its tell-tale
shine along her flesh. She was panting
with the heat of it and he put the candle back down in its holder. Slowly he stood, relishing the sight of her
tormented body. Her face was flushed and
there was a heat about her that came from more than just the scorching coat of
wax he had applied to her groin. She was
aroused, almost painful so, and that in and of itself lent pressure to her temperature. He picked up the bottle of oil and moved
around to the side of the table. As her
pain-ridden and needy eyes focused upon him, he poured a liberal amount of the
viscous fluid onto her left breast. She
sucked in a hard breath of air and then his hand fell upon her, squeezing and
kneading her flesh, spreading the oil across her soft mounds as his fingers
teased and flicked at the hard bumps of her nipples. It was almost more than she could stand and
her back tightened into an arch as he teased her.
He rotated around her body and stood at the opposite end of
the table, just above her head and outstretched arms. He applied another palmful of oil to his hand
and this time brought both meaty paws down upon her bosom, cupping her breasts
and smearing the glistening coat across each turgid nipple. He was rough with her, bringing whimpers of
pain to her lips even as her brow furrowed.
He pinched her nipples hard, twisting and turning them before pulling
until the oil made his fingers slip. It
was only then, when both of her breasts were completely covered in the luscious
oil did he wipe the excess off on her arms, tracing his fingers lightly across
her underarms and sides. She let out a
sharp laugh, the transition from pain to tickling too much for her nervous
system to handle quietly.
Once more he picked up the candle and held it above her
body. Her eyes tracked his movements and
she stiffened as she realized where he intended to let the wax fall next. The first droplet fell and stuck her less
than an inch to the right of her left nipple.
He corrected his aim before the next droplet fell and it landed
perfectly centered on the turgid, aching point.
The little school girl whimpered, beginning to twist under the torment,
but he moved in time with her, not caring so much that he hit the hardened tips
of her breast, but that he covered her soft mounds with hot wax. Patiently he coated her chest, scalding wax
building up until even her nipples had disappeared into the snow colored mold
that encased each luscious melon.
He finished by allowing some droplets of hot wax to fall
upon her tender underarms, the delicate skin turning pink from the heat.
She moaned and writhed upon the table, trying
to get away but it was to no avail.
He
had her secured in such a way that she had little recourse but to endure,
accepting the torment with the soft cries of her discomfort her only way of
protesting.
He set the candle down,
blowing it out so that smoke drifted away languorously, the scent of char
lingering in the air.
Whistling
mindlessly to himself, he moved back to the kitchen counter and reached for the
jar of kitchen utensils that sat near the stove top.
He selected a wooden spoon made of bamboo
with a broad, smooth back.
He swung it
experimentally a few times and seemed pleased with its finish and
function.
He returned to the little
school girl and stood near her bound hands, leaning over.
Her touch startled him. He had just been about to strike her
breast when her fingers had found the bulge at the front of his shorts and
began kneading and caressing it.
Contemplating the situation he laid the spoon down upon her chest, then
unbuttoned the snap of the shorts. The
clothing fell a moment later and he allowed her questing fingers to expose his
cock. Even bound she had the ability to grip him and her hands encircled his
firm length, squeezing and rubbing gently.
Suddenly he smiled and since the bottle of oil was still there on the
table, he picked it up and poured a decent amount onto her hands. In seconds her caress had changed into a slick
fondle that made him groan. But even
with his cock in her slick fingers, rubbing his firm length with eagerness, it
didn’t stop him from picking up the spoon.
He aimed for her right breast and held the spoon
approximately a foot away from wax encased curve. He snapped his wrist forward and the flat of
the spoon struck the paraffin form, shattering it and sending wax chips flying
even as it flattened her breast, driving the wax shards and her nipple deep. Even as she cried out, her back arching from
the pain, he was already in the process of delivering the next stroke. Her fingers tightened around his cock, but
she didn’t try to hurt him. Instead her
fingers moved frantically, appeasingly, as he began beating her breast.
He switched to the other side the moment the flushed pink
flesh of her bosom appeared beneath the cracked paraffin. The crackle of the wax filled the air and
specks of melt flew across her body. He
brought the spoon down repeatedly until he’d cleared the worst of the melts
from her skin. Then he began alternating
blows, striking first her right breast then the left, back and forth, each
stroke hard and sharp and stinging. Her
fingers tightened around him, still not painfully, and it amazed him that she
could cup her hands in such a way, even while enduring such discomfort. He leaned forward and used his left hand to
plump her breast, squeezing it upward so that the nipple was a dramatically
more prominent target.
The spoon fell licentious and hard, the impact smashing the
turgid tip of her nipple flat even as the brilliant sting of the spank stung
the little school girl. She cried out,
her body twisting as much as the bindings would allow, her bottom sliding
against the pine wood top of the table.
Yet even within the throes of agony her fingers continued to pleasure
him and he found himself thrusting into her cupped palms. The spoon flashed violently against her chest
and a moment later he was surprised to find himself cumming, his engorged
member spurting chrism to coat her hands.
He found himself sighing, the spoon’s flagellation halted as she sucked
in a sharp breath of air, just on the verge of sobbing.
He sighed in relief and stepped back holding the spoon. His cock was already flaccid, softening as he
pulled a sheet of paper towels from a nearby holder and wiped himself
clean. Turning back to stare at the
little school girl he saw that she was trembling. He readjusted his shorts and he tossed the
paper towel away. Approaching her, he
pulled the chair at the side of the table outward and sat down. Her bare foot, still bound low beneath the
table grazed his thigh and he touched the tender sole, running his finger along
the arch. She quivered, her toes curling
to tighten at the friable sensation.
The spasm started along her sole and slipped up her body like a bolt of
lightning. Her leg tightened, the
muscles hard and corded as she tried to get away from the tickling torment of
his grazing fingers. And then, when her
entire body seemed poised to erupt she let loose with a laughing scream,
begging.
“PLEASE! PLEASE
STOP!” she cried out, gritting her teeth to keep from giggling madly. He kept
it up just long enough to make sure she didn’t think he was stopping as a
result of her entreaties. She sighed as
he stood, his fingers releasing her foot.
She took a deep, shuddering breath, closing her eyes as he moved back
down to the foot of the table, right between her outstretched legs. He lifted the wooden spoon again, but didn’t
feel the angle was right, so he once again moved to her side, just above her
hip, and looked down at her wax-clad sex.
With his elbow just below her sternum, he now had the perfect angle and
without a word of warning, he set the blade of the bamboo spoon itself against
the crusty shell and then began snapping the miniature paddle up and down with
harsh blows.
The first impact came as a surprise to her and the wax
spared her skin from the sting. Yet even
as the paraffin crackled and broke, her clitoris, already swollen from the heat
of its encasement, emerged beneath as the target and was immediately struck by
the broad back of the bamboo spoon upon the next stroke. A searing sensation exploded between her legs
as he struck again, knocking wax chips away from the thin folds of her sex, the
makeshift paddle landing with unremitting force. He broke into a pattern that even the upward
thrust of her loins, desperately trying to escape, her mind no longer even
consciously trying to avoid the heated blows, could shatter. Heat and pain and the sexual urgency of the
spanking made her cry out, her body heaving in desperation to mitigate the
stimulation between her legs. Everything
went white, then red, then black and her mouth opened in a raucous cry of
distress.
He stopped only when her pudendum was rufescent, the faint
shades of cobalt bruises already forming along her loins.
She sobbed, tears streaming from her eyes as
he studied her flesh, looking for remnants of the waxing.
He spotted a few drops on her outer thighs
and lifted the spoon again to deliver a number of excruciating strokes against
her leg.
She let out a scream and bucked
again, but he was finished.
She lay
weeping, clearly distressed.
The spoon was laid gently on the table and he went to one of
the cupboards. A simple glass was
extracted and he went to the refrigerator.
The light tinkle of ice striking the glass filled the kitchen and he
moved back to the little school girl lying on the table. He reached into the cup and plucked one of the
cubes out of the glass. Holding it
gingerly, he pressed the edge of the ice against her left nipple, rubbing it
back and forth. Even as she gasped and
stiffened he slid his other hand down her body, across her stomach and over the
sharp bump of her hip. He found the hot
but still slick flesh of her groin and slipped his hand over her slit.
The timbre of her voice changed as he slid his finger into
her well. She was still slick, despite
the pummeling her cunt had received and he was equally astonished to find her
aroused as he penetrated deeper. Her hips again began to rock, rising up to meet
him, and the sound of her squelching slit working itself upon his extended
digit filled the air. Of course he
continued to rub the ice across her nipple, watching it harden and rise,
runnels of clear water slipping down her skin to slide to the table top. And once her left nipple was achingly stiff,
he moved to the other one and began again.
Finally his fingers couldn’t take the searing intensity of the ice
either and he dropped the sliver into her navel. She twitched, but with her bonds and the
pressure of his left hand delving between her outstretched thighs, there was
nothing she could do about it. He let
his fingers rest until the chill was gone, concentrating on the steady churning
movement he was conducting in her sex.
It became quickly evident that she was approaching an orgasm
herself and he slowed the finger length probing of her depths in order to delay
that release. Her breath quickened and
her entire body began to pulse, rising up in short little bursts as desperation
quickly overwhelmed any lingering discomfort.
He lifted his thumb and pressed it hard against her clit and it was like
he’d just shocked her. The cry that
escaped her throat was not one of agony, or desperation, but of overwhelming
pleasure and he realized that he might not be able to stop her. He reached for the glass of ice and plucked
another cube of frozen water from the tumbler.
She was unprepared for the sensation when he pressed the
searing cold object to her clitoris and it burned into her just as violently as
the hot wax, or the pussy spanking she’d received immediately afterward. Again she cried out, but not with the
alchemical sexual release she’d been expecting.
Instead she was kicked backward into the realms of sexual torment,
pressure waves building inside her with diabolical villainy. Her bottom rose and fell on the pine table
top with rigid spasms that belied the overstimulation of her nervous
system. Her eyes closed as her brain
tried to sort the stimuli, separating each pulse of neuro-activity into its
basic elements; pain and pleasure. And
yet she couldn’t separate the two.
Somewhere in her mind she knew that ice pressed to her clit should hurt,
and it did, yet it didn’t. And she knew
that the incessant movement of his finger, buried deep inside her, should feel
good, and it did, yet it didn’t. Her
body translated her indecision into a series of trembling jerks that rocked her
body from shoulder to ankle and had she not been tied down she might have
literally shaken herself off the table.
His fingers were again turning numb and rivulets of icy
meltwater had slid through her petals and into her depths around his thrusting
finger. He pulled his left hand out of
her sex and then pushed the half melted cube into her sex. Her body didn’t like that and she bucked
again, her pert bottom rising up out of the wetness of oil, water, and pussy
juice that had begun to collect beneath her.
He knew what needed to happen to the little school girl next
and he stepped away from her to retrieve the needed implements. Fortunately they were there in the kitchen
and a simple visual search through a nearby drawer produced the three plastic
clamps that routinely were meant for keeping potato chip bags closed securely. He brought them back to the table and since
her sex was still steaming from the ice and torment, he picked up the first
plastic clamp and judiciously applied it between her legs. He didn’t just snag her clit either. He clamped the entire strip of labia minora,
that swollen pair of folds that just barely peeked out from between the flat
and smallish outer lips of her sex. It
can’t have felt good, but in her present state it couldn’t have felt bad
either. He loved the way the clamp
masticated her flesh, pressing her petals together and mashing them tightly. He left her like that, listening to her
whimpering as she again tried to thrust her pelvis forward, trying to free her
clit and slit of the tight clamp holding her closed.
As she dealt with this new torment he pinched the other two
clamps open and set them on her breasts, making sure that each plastic edge
just barely caught the raised tips. Each
clamp was too heavy to remain upright and they fell forward, painfully pulling
each of her nipples downward toward her toes.
Her eyes snapped open as the agony hit her and she stiffened, pulling
hard on her bonds. Her ribs stood out
along the side of her body as she suffered and the sounds of misery and need
that escaped her lips were music to his ears.
He watched as each twitch, each muscle spasm, and each wanton thrust of
her loins made the clamps wiggle. He
stepped back and went to the sink, washing his hands. He knew that the best thing to do now was to
leave her that way, to lay there and suffer.
It took him over twenty minutes to prepare and he left her
there in the kitchen, bound with her legs spread and the triplicate clamps
tight upon her tender bits. When he returned, ready to continue her punishment,
her body was still twitching, her hips thrusting upward with regularity. He
left the clamps on her as he released first her legs, then unbound her wrists.
Carefully he helped her sit up.
Wisely she didn't try to remove the chip clamps, even after
she slid to the floor and had to spread her legs to keep the plastic vise
hanging from her labia from digging into her thighs. To him, the sight of her waddled step was
amusing and he led her out of the kitchen and into the back of the house toward
the bedroom.
To the little school girl, the master bedroom seemed
spartan, almost devoid of personality. There were no pictures, no art, and even
the furniture itself seemed utilitarian. The comforter had been turned down,
almost to the foot of the bed, exposing the fitted and top sheets. But in
contrast to the crisp white linens were seven black leather belts laid out upon
the bed. Arranged in a series each one sported a simple silver buckle and
looked supple.
"Climb up upon the bed and lie down on the belts, face
up," he ordered. She nodded obediently and gingerly pulled herself up on
the queen sized mattress. Trying not to
damage the pattern of belts, she lay back gently until she was able to stare up
at him.
She was unable to actually close her legs and he reached
down, his fingers grasping the plastic clamp. She gasped as he opened it,
freeing not just her clitoris, but also her entire labia from the pressure. He
tossed the clamp away even as his fingers trailed down her leg. At her ankle he
moved her feet together and began wrapping the shortest of the leather belts
around both her lower limbs. It took less than a minute for the leather strap
to be secured and he moved to the next belt, securing it just beneath her
knees.
She expected him to move upward to her knee, since she could
feel the supple leather of another belt along her lower thigh. But instead he
went toward her bosom, wrapping one of the longest straps just above her
breasts, trapping her arms straight against her sides. The belt just beneath
her breasts came next and when the one around her waist was buckled tight her
hands were held immobile against her hips.
It was then he produced the massager. It was a plug in
variety and sported a wide rubber bulb at the tip. He didn't activate it, but
he did set it down in the juncture of her thighs, making sure that the rounded
end was pressed firmly against the little school girl's clit. Only then did he
secure the last few belts, binding tight the massager against her flesh.
She tried moving but found it awkward. The belts kept her
arms and legs tight against her body, along as single axis and while she could
twist and bend, there was little she could accomplish beyond the range of
movement the belts permitted. Worse, he had tightened the leather strap around
her thighs enough to make sure that no matter what she did the bulb of the
massager would be permanently mashed against her clitoris. He turned it on.
The little school girl gasped as the first waves of
exquisite pleasure burst from her clit, tightly pressed to the white rubber
bulb of the vibrator. She moaned, then whimpered as the sexual tension built,
combining with the latent needs that had developed while tormented upon his
kitchen table. Her hips began to rock, thrusting against the new stimuli, only
to discover that doing so only quickened her pulse.
He moved to the end of the bed where he produced a small
bottle of lotion. Uncapping it he poured a liberal amount of the saponin like
cream into his hand. She smelled lavender as he began spreading it on to the
soles of her feet. For a moment it felt incredible, his long fingers gliding
across the delicate arches, but then his fingers began to twist in odd ways. He
began tickling her, a torment in and of itself that far outweighed some of the
sexual pressures he had inflicted upon her.
She began squirming, gasping and then crying out, the laughter bubbling
up from inside her as the fast paced stroking of her insoles drove her
carefully mad. She bucked and twisted,
almost violently and he had to use one arm to hold her down.
“Please!” She screamed breathlessly, eyes tearing as he
tormented her. “Please stop!”
He ignored her and continued, half laying across her in
order to keep control. Her chest heaved
and he felt one of the light plastic clamps attached to her nipples pop off as
her antics drover her against him.
Finally he let go of her feet and she settled back down with a rippling
sob of relief. He looked up at her. Her left breast was now bare and he plucked
the other clamp off her right nipple and put the two little plastic vices
aside. Then, with a simple flick of his
thumb, he turned the massager to a higher setting.
Instantly she stiffened and her sobs of relief turned into
an astonished gasp. Her hips bucked,
which only served to rub her sensitive slit and clitoris against the now
violently shaking bulb. He reached out and grabbed hold of the little school
girl and with a single quick movement, rolled her over onto her stomach. She had no recourse to stop him and probably
wouldn’t have even had she been able.
The new position only made the undulations of her body in response to
the interminable pulsation of the massager more pronounced. Her hips churned and she began thrusting,
using the weight of her body and the firmness of the mattress beneath her to
press the massager bulb deeper into her sex.
He moved around to her bare soles and exposed his shaft, pulling his
boxers down. He was only semi-rigid, but
it was enough and he slipped his cock through the lotion slick arches of her
feet, rubbing himself along the soft insoles.
The little school girl moaned. Orgasm was rapidly approaching for her and
she recognized the throbbing solid length of his cock. She knew he was pumping for a reason, though
she wished he were inside her instead of just playing with her feet. She twisted her ankles slightly, trying to
get more of her arches together to create the receptacle for him. But even as she tried to be more of what he
needed, she heard a sharp whistling in the air and scorching line of agony
suddenly was drawn upon her buttocks.
He thrust his hips as his hand wielded the switch he had
brought from the garden earlier.
It cut
through the air with a hiss and a second line of smoldering heat was kindled in
the white curved sea of her bottom.
Her
wails of anguish merely made his throbbing cock harder and he laid another set
of wheals upon her fair skin.
She moved
frantically, both in response to the torture that he inflicted upon her ass,
but also the intense vacillation of the massager.
Her constant whimpers and cries filled
the
room and her bucking merely made both the switch and the vibrator’s torments
worse.
The rigid member between his legs was rock hard and he pulled
away from her feet and shucked out of his boxers. With the switch still in his hand he placed
three more strokes upon her rump, eliciting the intoxicating screams of anguish
he needed. Then he aimed carefully and
with a single stroke, cut a line of deep crimson across the smooth and creamy
arches of both her feet.
She sobbed, legs curling up as her desperate body tried in
vain to protect itself from further abuse, yet the vibrator still buzzed
merrily and mercilessly against her clit.
She felt the bed shift as he climbed up on it and then he straddled her,
just below her derriere. The little school girl gasped in alarm as she felt his
lotion slick cock slide between the dark crack of her ass and then his weight
was upon her. He pumped, jamming himself
against her, his aim so accurate that she cried out in pain even before he
managed to penetrate. Her bottom opened,
still slick from the oil and he worked himself in, past the ring of muscles,
over her heartfelt objections, the pain and pleasure, the need and hate and
want. Her world condensed and then
expanded in waves of images and color and sounds and scents that felt
hyper-real to her and then he was in her, pumping, the agony and ecstasy of his
thrusts driving her into the orgasmic climax he had been building her up
to. She found his rhythm, her body
responding in ways she could never have consciously accepted, and then after
only a few moments, they both exploded.
She trembled beneath him as the waves of pleasure began to
ebb, even as his shaft softened inside her bottom and was tugged free by his
movements. He climbed from her body and
left the room, leaving the massager head still pressed to her clit, still
running, her body still secured by the leather belts. But even as she felt the sensitivity that
bordered on acute pain, her body exhausted by the ordeal, he returned and
blessed stillness came a moment later.
He began unbuckling her, the leather straps pulled from around her limbs
until she was free. She curled up into a
ball upon the bed and he left her there, sniveling as her brain finally caught
up to the tensions of her punishment. He
didn’t try to soothe her, or touch her again.
Instead he left.
It was a full thirty minutes before she emerged from the
master bedroom. He was sitting in the
living room, fully dressed again, drinking a soda. There was a glass of water for her on the
coffee table and she drank it down gratefully.
Her discarded clothes lay next to the glass, ready. Slowly she put them on, pulling each piece of
summer clothes over her tormented body.
Her breasts were already turning a lovely shade of blue green, lined
with dark red welts. Her bottom, so sore
and tender that it felt as if it had been dipped in molten lead, looked like a
series of dark vermillion ridges. And
her feet? It hurt to take a step. Finally she was dressed and she looked at
him, waiting.
“I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” he said simply.
“You aren’t to visit any of the faculty’s
personal residences.”
The rule, she
knew, was there for a reason.
She
swallowed and then nodded.
She looked
around once, trying to decide if he really meant they were done, but then bit
her lip. She was so sore and it hurt to walk.
Her bottom ached especially.
But
as she opened the front door she couldn’t help smiling. It had been almost
exactly what she had expected and she knew one very important thing.
She looked back at the principal and gave him
a mischievous and wicked smile.
“I understand the rule sir,” she said, her tone low and
sultry as she put one flip flop clad foot over the threshold. “And I’ll see you tomorrow.”
