The Little School Girl: Summer

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.”

Michael Alexander is the author of "The Challenge of Love" available now at fine book stores!