Mrs Vandermeer's Rules 4 free porn video

A day went by, then two. Two became three, which in turn became four, then five. Days filled with longing while my nights were filled with dreams, dreams from which I’d wake up to find my pussy drenched and my nipples as hard as rocks. I’d lay there, face buried in my pillow, hands clenching the edges, desperate to finish the job that my dreams had started as I replayed the memory of me, laying naked on the floor, Mrs. Vandermeer looming over me as I let go a stream of golden liquid…

Lick it up, you nasty little slut she’d order me, and God help me, I would, hands and knees on the floor, my hair trailing in the puddle of piss, lapping it up like a kitten would spilled milk, whimpering softly in the dark. If my parents only knew their daughter had become a raging nymphomaniac. I recalled her words, also wondering what my dad would think if he knew what I did, if he saw the pictures I kept hidden away on my lap top. It only made it worse, the image of me bent over his knee, my panties pulled halfway down my thighs, the imprint of his hand red on my pale ass, the sharp ring of his blow on my flesh as I…

That’s when I usually shook myself out of my fantasy world, my cheeks hot with shame and sexual desire both and did my best to think of something else. My thoughts would return to Abby, her ice cold eyes, her cruel smile, the controlled heat in her voice. Eventually I’d throw the covers off and slink out of bed, my thin cotton nightshirt clinging to me, outlining my tits, my nipples tenting the material. My panties were, of course, so wet that I’d have to throw a towel down before sitting at my desk and firing up my laptop. Then, I’d sit there in the dark, my face illuminated by the small screen as my own personal porn show unfolded. I’d stare at the images, remembering every moment, unable to look away, my knees slowly parting under my desk, my cunt aching to be touched, my thighs trembling.

I’d never thought of myself as particularly sexy, but seeing myself through Mrs. Vandermeer’s pictures, through her eyes, remembering all the times she’d called me her beautiful little slut, her sexy little fuck toy… it changed the way I saw myself. Me naked, my eyes full of longing, my lips slightly parted, my perfectly formed tits, my nipples pointing slightly upwards, my cunt already glistening. Me, tied to the bed, spread eagled, vulnerable and exposed. Me, arms pulled taut, suspended from the ceiling, clamps attached to my swollen nipples, my juices making shiny trails down my thighs, my mouth hanging open in apparent ecstasy. I’d find myself wishing that she’d taken more. I was hungry to see what I looked like when I was coming for her. I’d sit there, staring, shaking, unable to tear my eyes away, my heart fluttering out of control in my chest. Finally, I’d turn off my computer and crawl back under the covers, exhausted with unfulfilled need, eventually drifting off into blissful sleep.

It had been almost a week since I’d heard from Mrs. Vandermeer. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I wondered if I’d done something to displease her or if she’d tired of me and, perhaps, founds someone else to play with. The thought filled me with worry. I’d check my email obsessively; hoping to for one of her quick notes, but there was nothing. Just as I was about to reach my breaking point, a note arrived. My heart pounding in my chest, I opened it, my fingers literally shaking on my keyboard.

Miss Spencer,

Mr. Vandermeer and I have a function to attend this Saturday evening. I was hoping you’d be available to babysit. I’ll make it worth your while.

I forgot to breath. I might have even moaned out loud. I quickly typed out a reply, pausing before I hit send, a playful little thought worming its way into my head. I was alone for the evening, my parents out with some friends for drinks or cards or something. I hadn’t really been paying attention. All I’d heard was that they’d be out late as plans to ‘research’ bondage porn on the internet began to crystalize in my dirty little brain.

Leaning back in my desk, I lost myself in thought, planning out my evening in lurid detail. Even if I wasn’t allowed to touch my greedy little cunt, I could still have some fun and, hopefully, surprise Mistress Vandermeer, as I had begun to think of her, at least in private.

I went through my underwear drawer, making a mental note that, if I could get up the courage, I should go shopping for something ‘skanky’. I had a few pair of lacy panties and bras, which I normally wore whenever I visited Mrs. Vandermeer, but that was about it. It was the same with my clothes. I owned some cute skirts and tops, but nothing really daring. I thought about some of the images I’d found on line; indecently short minis, leather tops, lacy corsets, skin-tight rubber outfits, and sheer underwear.

Eventually, I had laid out my wardrobe for the evening on my bed; a matched set of emerald lace bra and panties, a pair of white pumps that I’d worn once when my cousin had gotten married, and my collar. Feeling somewhat giddy, the thought of what I was about to do filling my tummy with butterflies, I undressed, putting on my outfit for the evening, checking myself out in the mirror before continuing with my impromptu plans, adding a few touches, like a soft pink lipstick, a little blush, and a hint of mascara to bring the green in my eyes out a little. A few passes through my hair with a brush, and a couple of slow turns while I marveled at the girl in the reflection, and I was ready.

I started out by taking some pictures of myself in what I thought were sexy poses, lining up the shots so that I could use the phone's timer and then set in on my desk while I sat on the edge of my bed, cupping my bra and spreading my legs, my lips shaping a lurid kiss for one, laying sideways for another while sucking on my finger as I imagined I would a cock. For the final shot, I stood, pulling the damp crotch of my panties aside so that she’d get a glimpse of my dirty little pussy.

I’d planned on stopping there, but I didn’t. I was getting into it. It was fun and, the more I thought about what I was doing, sending lewd pictures to the woman I was having an affair with, the more turned on I got. I took a few in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, pulling down one of my cups so that she could see my erect nipple in one, then taking my bra off entirely for another. Glancing at the clock, I figured I had a few hours to get creative. It felt so naughty to be wandering around my parent’s house, half naked so I took a few on the couch in the living room, peeling my panties down around my thighs, then around one ankle. In the last shot, I was naked except for my shoes and my collar, my noticeably damp underwear dangling from between my teeth.

I had a sudden flash of my mom and dad coming home early and catching me in the act, their shocked faces. It only made me more determined to continue, this time posing on the dining room chair and then, beneath the table, sitting on my heels, my knees spread as I rubbed my cunt up and down against the table leg. It felt so good that I didn’t want to stop, at least not until I realized that I was on the verge of breaking her rules by playing with myself.

Giggling, I crawled across the room, pretending I was on a leash and being led towards the bathroom. There I posed on the toilet, blushing hard, a funny feeling washing over me as I managed to catch myself in the act of pissing. Once I’d broken that barrier, nothing was sacred.

In my parents room, I posed on the bed, rubbing my cunt against their pillows, imagining my mom and dad breathing in the fragrance of my overheated pussy as they slept. Closing my eyes, I imagined being tied to their bed, like I had been to Mrs. Vandermeer’s, limbs spread, blindfolded and helpless, waiting for them to come home and find me…

My heart was pounding out of control. My skin felt too hot, and I had to remind myself to breath. One of the sites I’d recently discovered online had stories, as well as how to’s, on something called self-bondage. That is, the practice of tying yourself up. Just the thought of being discovered, at the mercy of… yeah, my mom and dad. Really bad idea. If only I could find a way to do it and have Mrs. Vadermeer find me…

I lay on my parent’s bed, staring at the ceiling, imagining the scene. Her walking into her bedroom, finding me tied to her bed, gift wrapped in red ribbon and blindfolded. Perhaps it would be after one of her faculty parties and I’d be babysitting. The kids would be in bed and she and her husband would push open the door, a little drunk, and there I’d be, her nasty little fuck toy, my cunt leaving a dark stain on the quilt, struggling to escape, filled with the realization that I’d made a mistake, panic coursing through me. Of course, it would be too late. I’d hear her cruel laugh, feel her hands upon me and then... Mr. Vandermeer's hands... 

He was her age and just as fit. Dark eyes, a full head of hair that he kept neatly groomed, a neat goatee that gave him a devilish look. I could hear her voice in my head, telling him that I was her nasty little love slave, and that I’d never been fucked by a man before, offering him first shot. He’d hold me down, pawing my breasts roughly, his belly pressed against mine as he drove his thick cock into my slick hole, fucking me slowly at first, and then faster, harder, both of them laughing while I twisted and turned, trying to escape the trap I’d set for myself, penetrating my tight hole while she watched, not stopping until he exploded inside of me, unloading gallons and gallons of hot cum inside of me…

I moaned, my breath ragged, as I reeled my imagination in. I was dangerously close to disobeying Mrs. Vandermeer again, my hands stroking my belly, caressing my thighs, brushing my heaving mound. With great reluctance, I fled the room, ending up, once again, in my own bedroom where I downloaded the pictures I’d taken into my ‘collection’ file, attaching them to the reply I’d typed earlier, quickly sending them before I could change my mind, my heart in my throat when I realized what I’d done.

This time, her reply was quick; perhaps half an hour or so.

Tomorrow night. 7:45pm Sharp. Don’t be late. Thank you for the beautiful gift. I am very proud of you.

That night, strangely enough, I slept like a baby, my dreams unremarkable. For once, I wasn’t up at the crack of dawn.

o-O-o

I’d arrived a little early, but not noticeably so. Mr. Vandermeer opened the door for me. I don’t think he noticed how hard I blushed, recalling my fantasy of the night before involving him fucking me while I was tied helplessly to his bed. As always, Abby left me instructions on the fridge, going over them quickly, business-like as usual. I should mention that I was wearing a pair of cargo pants, an old  Taylor Swift tour tee, and a black hooded sweat shirt that didn’t completely hide the collar she’d told me to wear whenever in her presence. I was waiting for her to notice, a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading though me at the quick smile she shared with me when she caught a glimpse of it.

“Good girl,” was all she said, but it was enough. I spent the rest of the night mooning over her while playing Sorry with the her kids, watching Monsters Inc., then putting them to bed while I hung out in the living room and waited for them to return. From what Mr. V. had told me, they’d be gone until close to midnight. It was just after ten so I pulled out my laptop and kept myself busy surfing the web until they returned, shortly before twelve.

“The monsters behave for you, Miss Spencer?”

I wondered if she knew that, even in this setting, her voice sent thrills up and down my spine and made my knees weak.

“Yes, Ma’am.” I nodded my head, my voice soft, my heart tripping like a jack hammer. “They’re always good.”

“There’s a little something extra in there for you, honey. Thank you. Would you like a ride home?”

I gazed into her eyes, wondering what would happen if I said yes. She gave me no indication of how she expected me to answer so, finally, I shrugged, and gave a little shake of my head.

“No thank you. It’s a nice night out. I’m good.”

I didn’t bother opening the envelope until I got home and had my bedroom door closed behind me. A little extra would have been, maybe, twenty dollars. She’d given me three hundred! That, and a handwritten note.

A token of my appreciation, Shannon. Buy yourself something we’ll both enjoy. If you’d like, email me and I’ll be happy to pass on some suggestions. I will be expecting you on Wednesday at 5pm. Instructions are to follow.

Abby Vandermeer

o-O-o

I put the money she’d given me to good use. After sharing my thoughts on wanting to be able to dress up in something sexy, maybe even kinky, she’d suggested the name of a local store the specialized in such things, assuring me that the environment was both private and comfortable. I was nervous going in. I mean, I’d never even been in an adult bookstore before! When the store clerk, a woman about Abby’s age, greeted me I must have turned bright red. Thankfully, she took pity on me and guided me around, opening up an entirely new world of kinky possibilities. Some things I was at least familiar with from my visits to the world of online porn or from the time spent with Mrs. Vandermeer. There were all sorts of ways to tie or cuff people up and I’d at least seen pictures of most of the gags they had on display. Paddles, crops, floggers, whips (the sight of those made me shiver with fear, not at the thought of them being used on me, but at my how wet they made me). The case full of toys that Lillian, the name of my ‘sex sherpa’, referred to as electro-play however, was new to me. Tens units, violet wands, fuck machines… I lingered over them until I’d gathered enough courage to ask a few questions, my curiosity sparked. I wondered if Abby knew about them and made a mental note to discretely mention them to her. Off course they had butt plugs and dildos and vibrators of all shapes and sizes, as well as nipple clamps and cock rings and pretty much everything you’d expect and more. I felt like a kid in a toy store.

We visited the clothing section next and, once more, I was a little overwhelmed at the variety. Shyly, I asked Lillian’s opinion about this, or that, doing my best to pretend I wasn’t totally turned on; every time I moved, my nipples rubbed against my top (daringly, I’d worn a thin white cotton tank and no bra. At one point, I caught my reflection in the mirror, blushing as I realized how obviously hard my nipples were, poking lewdly through the material. Thankfully, Lillian pretended not to notice).

She told me that I was welcome to try on anything I’d like. I had a sudden vision of her helping me into one of the leather harnesses, the straps framing my tits and cunt. In my fantasy she offered to demonstrate one of the floggers on me, the cat o’ nine tails, leaving my back and ass striped red, ordering me to turn around so that she could do the same to my breasts and cunt, each flick of the knotted leather tails bringing me closer and closer to coming, until my screams alerted everyone in the shop that I was in the throes of an earth-shaking orgasm.

Not for the first time, I wondered if I was turning into a nymphomaniac. It seemed that all I could thing about was sex. While my friends were busy talking about all the things girls my age usually talked about -clothes and boys -I thought about Mrs. Vandermeer and all the things I wanted her to do to me. I even dreamed about her, usually waking up at least once or twice in the middle of the night, feeling feverish, my panties soaking wet, wanting badly to finger fuck my dirty little cunt so I could come over and over and over. I’d lay there, trembling, silently reminding myself that I wasn’t allowed to, desperately gripping the sheets, afraid that my self-control wouldn’t be enough to stop me…

“This would look on you.”

Lillian had reached a section of rubber clothing; dresses, panties, bras, corsets, stockings, gloves, and cat-suits. There were even hoods. I reached out, running my fingers over the slick, shiny rubber, nodding in agreement. I remembered seeing pictures of women dressed in rubber in my surfing. I liked the way it clung to them, leaving little to the imagination. I wanted to look that good for my Mistress.

“Which would she like best?” I wondered aloud, blushing shyly as her response.

“Your girlfriend?”

“My… Mistress.”

She laughed, but it was a kind laugh, more of a warm chuckle, not the snicker I half expected.

“She’s a lucky woman. If it was me, I’d want to see you in these…”

By the time I left, I was the proud owner of a pair of open crotch red rubber panties and a matching bra with cutouts for my nipples. I was also dripping wet at the prospect of actually wearing them, almost wishing I’d taken Lillian up on her suggestion that I should take advantage of the full length mirror in the dressing room, recalling her soft murmur of disappointment when I declined. Again, the image of her demonstrating various toys on me reared crept into my head and played havoc with my emotions, not to mention my body.

My other regret was leaving behind a white rubber mini-dress that zipped up the front. Yes, it had been a bit pricey but I couldn’t erase the image of being suspended by my wrists, my toes barely touching the hardwood floor, as my Mistress slowly unzipped me. Then, with a cruel smile, she’d rake her nails over my tits, my tummy, my mound, leaving bright crimson lines of pain in my flesh. I shook so much at the thought that I actually had to stop outside the shop and lean against the concrete wall until it passed.

When I got home, I hid my new acquisitions in my closet, taking great pains to camouflage them, mortified that they might be discovered. Then, there was nothing else to do but wait. I did my best to keep busy by cleaning my room, my mind in turmoil as I constantly checked my computer, hoping she’d sent instructions for our upcoming meeting on Wednesday. When her reply finally came, three hours later, I almost wept with relief.

o-O-o

I arrived at the backdoor at 4:50, preferring to be a few minutes early rather than to risk her displeasure at being late. I’d spent the last two hours nervously getting ready, locked away in my bedroom. As far as my parents knew, I was going to go out with some friends for pizza and a movie, and I wouldn’t be home until later. Seeing as how I wasn’t prone to getting into trouble, they were pretty easy going about my comings and goings. If they only knew what I was really up to.

I took my time dressing, putting on a modest black cotton skirt, the hem just above my knees, and a black and blue striped V-necked sweater, checking each button several times to make sure they were securely fastened. After all, what I wore beneath them was scandalous in the extreme. Black flats completed my ensemble and, of course, my collar. I put that on last. Not particularly sexy, I thought, appraising myself critically in the mirror. It had been a mistake, putting on my collar last. If I’d had that reminder, I’d have dressed to please her. If I showed up looking like this, she’d punish me. Strangely, it was the fear of disappointing her, rather than that of being disciplined, which motivated me. No one who thought they knew me would have never recognized the girl who snuck out the side door and drove over to Mrs. Vandermeer’s house in my ‘brand new’ lemon-yellow Yaris.

This time, I was to come to the back door and wait, so I waited, planting my ass on one of two wooden benches on a cozy wooden deck, wringing my hands, my heart fluttering every time I thought I heard a noise from within, amazed at how ten minutes could seem like an hour. The backyard was typically suburban; manicured lawn, a wide variety of flowering bushes and plants lining a ten foot tall wood plank fence. A pair of young maple trees had been planted on opposite sides, casting shadows in the evening sun, a pair of lawn chairs and a small table beneath one of them.

When she finally opened the door, I heaved an audible sigh of relief, followed by a soft gasp. She was magnificent, framed in the doorway, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, her eyes chips of sapphire. She was dressed in black from head to toe. Black knit pants that clung to her like a second skin and rode so low on her hips that I doubted they’d ever been worn in public, a familiar looking leash wrapped around her waist like a belt. A long sleeved, high necked top that likewise hugged her curves, leaving little to even my overactive imagination; I could see her nipples trying to poke through. Patent leather pumps with a three inch heel helped her to tower over me, not that she needed the extra height. Even barefooted she had several inches on me.

“On time. That bodes well for you, Miss Spencer. On your feet, girl. I want to take a good look at you.”

Before she’d even finished, I was on my feet, eager to obey her commands, fighting the urge to fidget as she swept me slowly with her gaze, lips pressed tightly together. I held my breath, unconsciously crossing my fingers behind my back.

“Is this how you normally dress, young lady? You look like a slut.”

Her voice was very business-like, reminding me of her vocation; a professor of political science at a prestigious university.

“No, Ma’am,” I answered, biting my lower lip in chagrin, all too aware of what I looked like. After I’d shed the mundane skirt and sweater, I’d combed my closet, recalling the small cache of ‘going out clubbing’ clothes that I’d been bullied into buying by Heather, one of my closest friends. I felt a twinge of guilt, realizing I hadn’t talked to her for weeks now. Once, we had shared everything, but how could I even try to explain what had been going on in my life lately? I was at a loss. After all, I didn’t really understand it myself.

The outfit I’d finally decided upon had only been worn once, and that in the dressing room under the watchful eyes of my friend. The Blue and black plaid pleated skirt wasn’t just short, it was barely decent. On the ride over, I’d tugged at the hem continuously, sure that anyone glancing through my window would be able to see my panties; the ones with the crotch cut out, my puffy lips protruding obscenely through the gap. By the time I’d discretely parked several houses down, my seat was slick. In fact, the whole car smelled like pussy.

My top wasn’t much better; a pristine white and semi sheer capped sleeve number, it was two sizes too small, showing off my navel, the red rubber clearly visible beneath it. The leather collar buckled securely around my throat seemed tame in comparison. I felt practically naked, humiliation coloring my cheeks. At least I’d thought to hide my face with a pair of large round sunglasses. Even my shoes ‘reeked’ of sex. Cherry red pumps with three inch heels.

“If you were my daughter, I’d turn you over on my knee and spank your slutty little ass, Miss Spencer.”

The corners of her mouth curled upwards at my hopeful expression, her smile evolving into playful laughter.

“What am I going to do with you, baby. You never fail to delight and surprise me. “

I felt a flood of relief sweep through me, responding to her amusement with a sassy, if tentative, grin.

“Hopefully, you’re going to make me scream, Ma’am.”

“Yes, but from pleasure or pain?”

“Does it matter?”

The words were so soft she couldn’t possibly have heard them and yet she nodded, understanding me better than I understood myself, crooking her finger, drawing me towards her on an invisible leash until I was standing, and then kneeling before her.

“Good girl. I’m very proud of you.”

She leaned over, running her fingers over my dark brown hair, stroking my head like she would an obedient pet.

I smiled shyly, purring, her words filling me with warmth. It wasn’t sexual, although I admit to feeling the stirrings of unquenchable desire stirring in my loins. There was affection in her voice, and intimacy, perhaps even love. I felt cherished as well as desired, perhaps even loved; not the unconditional love that my parents gave me, but something deeper, something I’d never been on the receiving end of, at least before I’d met Mrs. Vandermeer. I suddenly wanted to tell her how much she meant to me, how beautiful she made me feel, how I only wanted to please her, to give her pleasure. I wanted to demonstrate how much I loved her for what she’d awoken in me by being her obedient and nasty little slut.

Instead, I bent even further, my palms flat against the weathered deck, and kissed each of her toes, the polished leather cool against my lips. I could almost feel my eyes glazing over with lust as her fingers tightened. Her fist clenched in my hair as she coaxed me up, this time squatting, tilting my head back so that she could attach her leash to my collar.

“Ready to play, baby?”

She didn’t wait for a reply, straightening her long legs, commanding me with a tug of the leash, not to stand, but to follow her into the house on my hands and knees, giggling to myself as I watched her ass sway sexily back and forth, recalling the night I’d tongue fucked it.

She led me through the house, pausing at the door to the library, guiding me to her side with the leash. I looked up at her, a question in my eyes, recalling her words from our last meeting; I was only allowed to enter naked.

“I just wanted to show you something, baby.”

Her eyes sparkled as she turned reached out and turned on the lights, illuminating the far wall.

“I wanted to surprise you.”

It took me a minute to figure out what she meant by that. Chewing my lip, I let my eyes adjust a little, letting out a shocked gasp when as I focused on the framed photos hanging from the dark paneled wall, easily recognizing the subject. Someone, hopefully my Mistress, had enlarged the photos she’d sent me copies of and turned them into black and white framed stills.  Somehow, the simple act of removing the color turned them from porn to art, at least at first glance. I stared, unable to move, or speak, or even breathe, taking in the details. The ones where I’d been tied to her bed, I’d been blindfolded. If I hadn’t known it was me, I might never have guessed. The ones from where she’d hung me by my wrists, however, were a different story. There was no mistaking the identity of the girl with the red rubber ball in her mouth, cruel looking clamps tugging at her nipples, faintly shining streams trailing down the insides of her thighs.

“Oh my God…”

I felt like crying. How could she put those up for just anyone to see? A image flashed in my mind, that of a small party, cocktails and hors d’oeurvres and small talk while strangers leered at my photos, making crude remarks, perhaps even asking the host the name of the dirty little slut…

A tug of the leash interrupted my thoughts. Obediently, I followed, the buzz of imagined conversation still boiling in my head, all too aware of how the folds of my cunt slid against each other as I crawled, lubricating my inner thighs as well.  I hated to to admit it, but  was actually turned on by my thought of being on exhibit, lusted after by anonymous guests. So wrapped up was I in my thoughts, I stopped paying attention to where she was leading me. Not that it would have mattered. Where my Mistress led, I simply followed like a good little bitch. This time, she led me the dining room.

“Do you trust me, baby?”

The last time she’d asked, I’d ended up blindfolded and tied to her bed, the photographic evidence hanging on the wall of a stranger’s study. I’d also ended up on the receiving end of some of the most intense orgasms of my life.

I rocked my hips back, sitting up on my heels, my palms flat between my spread thighs, finger buried in the plush carpet. I nodded slowly, my gaze never leaving her face, wondering at the flicker of relief in her expression. Did it mean that much to her? I wondered at that. Somehow, it made me feel safe.

“Of course I do.”

She smiled, hearing the same thing I did; the husky desire in my throat as I sensed the wait was over. Whatever it was she had planned, she intended for it to happen here. Desire and anticipation teased me, dancing across my exposed nipples and my moist cunt like invisible lovers. I’d been waiting for this moment since she’d sent me home the last time, warning me not to even think of touching myself. She must have known that it had been next to impossible to think of anything else.

“What if I told you that I was going to do terrible things to you in here, baby? Things you might not like?”

My breath caught in my throat. I could hear my pulse pounding in my head, sending blood straight to my clit, making it throb until I thought it might explode as I answered her with a wordless moan, my eyes rolling slightly back, my fingers clenching into the rug as I hung on for dear life.

“Please,” I managed, my hips slowly moving forwards and backwards, humping an imaginary lover, my bare belly filling with each breath. As long as she made me come, I would soon be beyond caring what she did to me; hurt me, humiliate me… hell, she could even torture me for all I cared. I thought of the whip Lillian had shown earlier in the week, and of how I’d closed my eyes that night, drifting off to sleep, only to dream of being tied between rough wooden posts, Mrs. Vandermeer wielding it, the sharp crack, the kiss of intense pain against my flesh, my back arching painfully as I screamed…

I’d awoken in a hot sweat, burning with desire, grinding my drenched pussy against my mattress, insane with lust. It had taken all of my will power to stop myself from rubbing myself raw against the sheets until I passed out from orgasmic bliss, frustrated and confused…

“Up on your feet, slut.”

I felt a not so gentle tug on my collar, forcing me to my feet. I pulled at the hem of my skirt, the gesture automatic, blushing at her mocking laughter.

“Are we feeling suddenly modest, Miss Spencer? Suddenly regretting dressing up like a cheap slut? Really, baby, It’s a little late for that.”

She gave the leash a sudden yank, surprising me. It was all I could do to keep my balance, my ankle almost turning, clumsy on my three inch heels. She grabbed me, steadying me, her hand in my hair, pulling me painfully forward by the roots. I let out a startled curse which she silenced with the palm of her hand, leaving my cheek burning.

“I warned you, slut.” Her voice was full of menace. Gripping my jaw in her hand, she forced my head up. There was no mercy in her ice cold eyes.

“And remember, you dirty whore, you’re mine to do with as I please. If you don’t like it, too fucking bad.”

I tried to pull away from her, suddenly afraid. This time she grabbed my arms in both hands, her nails digging painfully into my tender flesh, starting a fresh wave of tears.

“Stop it!” she barked, and I obeyed, trembling in her grasp, unable to move.

“Good girl.”

This time, her voice was soothing, even if her grip still hurt.

“I need you to listen to me carefully, Shannon. Very carefully. Can you do that?”

Not knowing what else to do, I nodded my head slowly, unable to keep a wayward whimper from escaping. Her voice patient, she continued.

“Do you understand what a safe word is?”

I swallowed, nodding. I’d visited enough BDSM websites by that time to have an idea about the basics, at least.

“Good. I need you to pick one for us, something easy to remember, so that if something happens that you feel uncomfortable with, you can stop it. Like what happened right now. And I need to know that I can trust you to use it, if you need to, baby. I won’t ever get angry at you if you do.”

“Promise?”

More than anything, I didn’t want her to be disappointed in me. She held my gaze, her smile sincere as she nodded curtly.

“I give you my most solemn oath, Miss Spencer. In fact, I will only be disappointed in you if you don’t use it. It’s very important to me that I keep your trust. To do that, I need be able to trust you as well.”

I thought about that for a while, mulling it over while absently chewing on several stray stands of hair that had ended up in my mouth. Finally, I broke the silence.

“Me too. I mean, I promise, Mrs. Vandermeer.”

“Good girl.”

“Enchilada?”

She stared blankly at me for moment. Then, the clouds parted and a smile like sunshine graced her face. causing her eyes to crinkle at the edges. It looked good on her, I decided. Of course, to me, everything about her was beautiful. I’d spend hours, sometimes, sitting up in bed, a pillow clutched to my chest, recalling every detail of her face; the way I’d sometimes catch her looking at me, a smile softening her features, her eyes holding a hint of surprise at some unvoiced thought. Of course, just as powerful were those times when her smile was cruel, her eyes full of fire and ice, sending shivers of fear up and down my spine and filling my cunt with hot lust. Both had become more precious to me than life itself. I lived for her glances, the sound of her voice, her touch. Gentle, tender, harsh, or painful, it made no difference. They all signified the same thing; I belonged to her.

“Enchilada, than. Would you like to use it now, baby? Or would you like me to continue…?”

Taking a deep breath, I thought about that. She’d taken me by surprise before. Now, knowing that it was all part of the game, and that I could stop it if it got to be too much for it, I was ready. Or at least as ready as I could be. Her question suddenly made sense to me. Did I trust her enough to not cross the line; to hurt me as much as I wanted to be hurt, but no more. With that in mind, I put myself in her hands and surrendered my trust. I was ready.

"Continue, please?"

Even then, I wasn’t prepared for what happened. Without warning, she grabbed me by my collar and pulled me along, propelling me until we reached the dining room table. It was a sturdy piece of rectangular furniture, carved from oak, a pair of chairs lining both sides, and one at each end. The one at the end nearest to us, she brusquely pushed aside, forcing me roughly against the edge of the table, bending me over until I was pushed flat and pushing me flat against the hard surface.

It tried not to struggle, but it wasn’t easy, fear pumping adrenaline through me. Not that it made a difference. The element of surprise was on her side, for one and, a part of me, the part that craved such rough treatment, was more than happy to surrender to her.

“Don’t you dare move!” she hissed, her voice harsh.

Cowed, I simply lay there, breathing hard, my head turned away from her, my cheek resting against the hard surface, unable to decipher the sounds I was hearing. One by one, she began laying out various objects in front of my face. Several lengths of black silk rope, carefully coiled. A wicked looking length of braided raw-hide, I think it was called a quirt. And finally, a leather harness with an intimidating dildo attached to it. I had little doubt that she mean to use them on me. All of them. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. As for the state of my cunt, I could feel that wonderful warm trickle teasing its way down the insides of my thighs.

“That’s my good little fuck toy.”

She tapped the toe of her shoe against the inside of my left ankle. Taking the hint, I moved it slightly to one side. Then she tapped the other, alternating back and forth until my legs were spread wide, the edge of the table pressing sharply against my hips.

“I’m going to tie you down, baby. And I’m going to make you scream. And then, I’m going to ravage that tight little cunt of yours. I might even fuck you up the ass. And you’re going to like it.”

I let out a pitiful whimper as she began wrapping my ankles with strands of smooth rope, attaching them to the legs of the table so that the balls of my feet and the heel of my shoe touched down on the floor.

"No."

“Oh, yes, Miss Spencer. In fact, you’re going to beg me to do it. Think of it. You’ll finally get both your cherries popped. Or did you want to save one of them for your daddy?”

I pressed my face into my bicep to muffle the sound of my moan. Once again, she had planted the seed. Squeezing my eyes tight, I tried not to think about it, but it was too late; an image of my dad, his strong hand flat against the small of my back, my cunt lips glistening and swollen, an invitation for him to plunge his meaty cock into my tight slit…

“No!” I cried, not sure what I was objecting too. Not that it mattered. Mrs. Vandermeer moved on to my other ankle, securing my legs wide open, leaving my dripping sex exposed and at her mercy.

“Sluts don’t get a choice, baby. If I want to fuck that dirty little ass of yours until you scream, too fucking bad for you.”

There was an edge in her voice. My spine tingled and my thighs quaked as she ran her hands up my leg, and under my skirt, her fingers tracing the edges of the cut out framing my steaming pussy, stroking along my swollen, quivering lips.

“Next, I’m going to tie your arms down, baby. You’ll be at my mercy. I can do anything I want to you. That’s what you want, isn’t it.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

My voice shook. I knew it was what she wanted to hear, but it was no less true because of that. It wasn’t just what I wanted, but what I needed, as well. Something inside me, some sick, twisted part of me, craved what she offered.

“Now what, cunt? What comes next? Maybe I should just leave you like this for a while. Perhaps go get dinner, spend some time with my husband. How does that sound to you?”

I groaned, pounding my fist against the table in desperation. She wouldn’t do that to me! That was cruel beyond imagining.

“Tie my arms down. Please?”

“Are you sure, baby? Is that what you really want?”

“Yes! Tie my arms down, Mistress!”

“And then what, Miss Spencer?”

I focused on the quirt that lay mere inches from my face and, beyond that, the huge rubber cock, fighting for breath as I imagined her fucking me with it, ramming it into my virgin cunt, tearing my asshole apart with it. I was terrified, tears streaming down my face, sobbing as I answered her question.

“I want you to hurt me. Please. I need you to whip me until I scream and then fuck my dirty little cunt with your cock.”

“And what about your pretty little ass, baby?”

“Yes,” I whimpered, my eyes tightly closed, trembling from head to foot. “My ass belongs to you. I belong to you.”

She secured my arms out in front of me, stretching me across the table, rope coiled around my wrists. I struggled, a sudden panic crashing through me, but it was too late. I was trapped. My body felt hot. Strands of hair stuck to my face. I could feel her eyes on me, simply enjoying the sight of me, knowing that I was hers to do with as she pleased. Finally, I gave up, collapsing against the tabletop, breathing heavily, my heart pounding, hands flapping slowly, grasping the air one last time before lying still as well.

“Good girl. Just accept it. Surrender to it.”

I nodded, my cheek laying in a puddle formed by my tears, fingers curling once more as I felt her hands against the back of my calves, sensuously massaging my taut muscles, relaxing me. God, it felt so wonderful, her feather light touch tender as she worked her way, torturously slow, past the dimples in my knees to my wide open thighs, raking her nails gently over my flesh, teasing me masterfully, coaxing my cunt to flow more freely until I could feel my juices clinging to my engorged edge, than falling to the carpet.

“Your cunt knows what it wants, baby.”

I let out a frustrated groan as she grazed my spread open lips with her finger tip, gathering up my honey. I heard a soft, sucking sound, followed by a pleased sounding sigh.

“You taste wonderful, baby. Like peaches. I could spend all day just feasting on your cunt. Would you prefer that? My tongue travelling up and down your delicious little slit, making you come over and over until you’re too exhausted to even moan?”

My back arched, pushing my belly against the oak table top, my ass and hips raising to present myself to my mistress, my cravings in full control of my actions.  I heard someone moan. It seemed to go on forever. Eventually, I realized that it was me, my mouth open wide, drool pooling on the table top. 

“It’s so tempting, baby. Tongue fucking your dirty little fuck hole. Maybe I won’t let you come, just keep you on the edge, never letting you spill over until you can’t stand it anymore…”

I almost climaxed when I felt her rough tongue against my clit, circling it playfully before slipping between my fleshy lips, parting them with the tip. Frozen, my eyes wide and unfocused, I stopped breathing as she abandoned my throbbing clit and targeted my other opening. I could feel her through thin rubber that barely covered my tight little pucker, pressing and prodding, feeling her adjust my panties and expose me further.

“Would you prefer my tongue in your ass, baby? Or would you rather save it for my cock?”

My hands clenched into fists, and I began to fight my bonds once more, mindlessly pulling at the ropes that kept me stretched across the table and at her mercy, my nipples throbbing painfully as they became almost painfully swollen, the holes cut in my rubber bra cutting into my areola.

“It’s your choice, baby. Do you want me to make love to you and treat you like a captive princess, or do you want me to stripe your thighs and ass red with my quirt. If you ask nicely, I’ll even whip your throbbing clit and your greedy little pussy until its nice and wet so I can ravage you with my big rubber cock. It’s your choice, baby. Why don’t you think about it while I take care of some business in the other room. When I come back, I expect an answer.

“No, please don’t go,” I pleaded, desperate to feel her velvet tongue delving into my most intimate places again. How could she be so cruel and abandon me like this? I hate the sound of her laughter, mocking me as I began to thrash uselessly in my bondage.

“Think about what you want, baby. Don’t worry. I’ll come back and check on you. And, when I do, I expect an answer.”

She left me there, the sound of her heels muted by the carpeting, leaving me in empty silence, doing my best to rub my pussy against the table edge. It was all in vain, leaving me frustrated and slick with perspiration, the room suddenly seeming too warm. Finally, I simply gave up and lay still, my clit pulsing with lust, my warm juices slowly turning my inner thighs slick. Choose, she had said. How could I, when I wanted both? I felt a small smile teasing the corners of my mouth upwards at the ultimate cruelty of my situation.

To be continued…
 

o-O-o

A few notes.

Thank you to everyone who has commented, written, or otherwise encouraged me to keep at it – this has been labor of love, and it’s been an honor to share it, especially when it has gotten such an overwhelming response. Don’t worry, part two will be up as fast as I can get it written.

Dedicated to a lovely young woman who wrote me a very moving letter – you know who you are.