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After English - free sex story
She
stumbled out of bed to answer the shrilling phone, still half
asleep. She barked her shins on a pile of notebooks on the
floor. Across the room, her roommate groaned and rolled over in
her sleep. She hurried a bit more to get the phone before waking
her roommate up.
"Hello?" she asked sleepily.
"Morning," came the reply. She recognized the voice of her master immediately.
"Hello, sir," she said, and her voice had a much more submissive tone.
"Why did you call me?" She wished she was at his apartment.
So much better, to lie with him and awake with her small hands bound in
a bondage belt, with the warmth of his body nearby and having the
excuse of fetters to allow her to lie in bed. 
"I want you to come to the dining hall and have breakfast with me.
Also, I want you to wear a skirt today. Above the knee, I think. And your stockings and garter belt."
"Why?"
"You'll find out after English. You can wear
flats if you want, but bring your heels along in a bag. Oh, and
if you wear underwear, it has to be something that comes off
easily. Wear your silk ones with the bows."
"OK, sir," she said, wondering inside what he
meant. She would be glad in an hour for having eaten, but right
now she wanted more than anything to crawl back into bed and
sleep. She had half an hour before class. But she obeyed,
wondering why all the while.
He was no more
tractable at breakfast. He allowed her to get three bowls of
Captain Crunch, something he usually forbade on the grounds that it was
junk, but anytime she asked why he wanted her dressed that way he only
answered, "You'll find out after English."
English. Short Story Writing, specifically. The last class
she had on Fridays, the only one she had with him. So many times,
that had been the last thing she did before spending a weekend in
erotic submission to him. The simple thought made her belly turn
over.
The whole day she was unable to keep
her mind off it. What did he have planned? A weekend of
submission? Maybe. But that was hardly uncommon. So
why all the secrecy? And why the costuming? In classes, she
found herself writing his name and WHY? WHY? WHY? on her notes.
She tapped her feet incessantly and waited for the class to end.
She supposed people were looking at her. She didn't care.
After lunch, which she ate with some friends, for he
was on the other side of campus, she headed back to her room and got
the required heels. Patent leather pumps, with a locking ankle
strap and five inch heels. She wrapped them in paper towels and
put them in a shoe box, which she put in her backpack.
Three more hours! She would never make it.
Well, two more. Class started at two and ended
at three. She had an hour before her one o'clock class, so she
tried to call him but the answering machine picked up. Was he
there, grinning broadly at the answering machine, laughing at her
curiousity, or was he really not there? She could picture
either. She wished he would let her see his schedule.
After trying for the third time she decided he was
either not there or not going to answer. She tried to read the
short story someone had written which was going to be discussed in
class, but she couldn't concentrate. She was too curious about
what he had planned for her.
She glanced at
her own reflection in the mirror. Deciding she ought to look nice
for whatever he had planned for her, she applied some mascara and
blusher and lipstick. This took up most of the time
remaining.
If he blindfolds me after the
work I did on that makeup, I'm gonna be pissed, she thought as she
bounced across the quad.
In the
last class before English she found herself looking out the
window. Was that him out in back of the building, watching
her? It had to be.
No one else would lurk outside so
boldly, as if they had every right to be there. Was he looking at
her? Smiling at her? She couldn't tell.
The hour dragged on. And on. She was growing quite impatient.
Finally the bell rung and she was free.
English was absolute torture, she decided. She
sat next to him as she always did, and kept trying to whisper in his
ear. He would merely grin evilly, and conveniently stretch so
that he wouldbe out of range of her whisper. sex slave She passed him
notes, as if she was a high schooler. He merely read them and put
them in his notebook. When she dared say something aloud, he
hushed her and suggested that she quiet down and pay attention to class.
The small, androgynous boy whose story was being
presented that day gave her a nasty look. She frowned back at
him. Under the table, his hand touched her skirt and pulled it up
slightly, just enough so that he could feel her leg.
She leaned in close to whisper in his ear, and he let her this time.
"I obeyed," she said.
"Good," he said, and grinned again, that annoying
satisfied cat-got-the-cream grin he had that he gave herwhen he knew
something he did not intend to tell her. Sometimes it made her
want to scream and jump up and down.
Now was one of those times.
Finally, the class was over. He got up and
headed for the door immediately. She threw her things in her
backpack and raced after him.
He was heading into an empty
classroom. She ran in after him just as he was closing the door
and turned to face him, breathless.
"Okay, it's after English. So tell me." she said.
For answer he merely took her arm and spun her
around so that she was in front of him, facing away. His grasp
was not painful but irrevocable. She felt handcuffs clamped onto
her wrists. Then the slight click of the double lock being
engaged on each. These were police handcuffs, and gave her very
little room. Then he bent her over a desk, got something out of
his bag, and spread her legs. She was surprised but pliant, not
wanting to resist unless he hurt her. First his hands untied the
bows on the hips of her panties and took them off.
She felt an assplug slip into her, and an
admonishment; "Don't let go of that until I tell you you can."
Then he was taking off her shoes and putting her
feet into the five-inch pumps, locking each ankle strap with a small
lock. Afterwards he scooped up his own bag and hers, took her
wrists in the other hand, and marched her neatly to the elevator.
She was grateful he did not make her try the stairs with these shoes
and her wrists cuffed behind her back.
In the elevator, he hiked up her skirt and checked
her; she was already moist in the excitement and surprise.
"What are you doing?" she asked for the first time since after English.
"Don't ask. Don't say a word."
His car was parked in the lot nearby. He got
her in the passenger seat, and then got in himself. He locked
both doors, an unnecessary precaution since she could not open the door
anyway, and then put her seat belt on.
Donning his own, he started the engine and drove away.
Anytime she spoke, he immediately responded with an order to be silent.
He hiked her skirt up to her waist and fondled her freely. This was dizzying.
She was restrained, kept in a car, being taken to God knows where, and
not even allowed to speak. It was incredibly exciting.
When he got to the Interstate, he stopped for a
moment to put a pair of Gargoyle sunglasses on her. He had
painted these with black paint, and she could see very little, but no
passersby in cars would have any clue.
Without being
able to see, she had no real way to gauge time, since the radio was not
playing and he was being fairly silent.
After maybe an hour, maybe two, maybe ten years, he
pulled off the Interstate, and a short time later pulled over
completely. He got out of the car, went around and let her out,
and led her forward. She felt gravel clicking under her
heels. Then, up three steps, and onto a porch of some kind.
It
sounded like concrete when she walked on it. She heard him fumble
briefly with a key, and then she was being led indoors. Then he
took the blindfold off.
She was in a
wood-paneled den, with a fireplace and a few hunting trophies on the
walls. There were two doors leading from the room. One looked
like it led to a bathroom, the other to a bedroom. She glanced around
at the place curiously.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
"Like it?" She walked around briefly. "It's beautiful. But how did you get it?"
"It was my grandpa's house," he said. "I'm in
the process of getting it. Some yap about probate. Some
other people in the family want it, I think.
But it'll be mine soon."
Will it be mine too? she wanted to ask, but didn't have the courage to.
He came up behind her and unzipped her skirt,
pulling it gently but irrevocably off her. Then he removed the
handcuffs, only to replace them with leather cuffs. Then he
buckled and locked a wide leather collar around her neck. He
removed her blouse and bra, and then locked her wrists behind her
back. Then he buckled another pair of leather cuffs on her
ankles.
"Let me show you the
basement," he suggested, as if none of what he had done before had
happened. But she was very wet now, very excited as he forced her
down the rickety stairs to the basement.
There was a door at the end of the stairs. He pushed her through
this and locked it. Inside, the basement was finished. She
saw a room on her which he propelled her into, and she could see in the
dim light several toys up on the walls and a spanking horse and a bed
in the corner of the room.
"You like it?" he asked, his voice betraying an edge of sharpness.
"Yes-oh God, fuck me-," she choked.
"Not yet." He took her over to the spanking
horse, spread her legs and fastened them to the legs of the horse, then
freed her arms briefly to bend her over the horse and attach her wrist
cuffs to the legs on the other side.
She heard him shuck off his pants and then he had a
fistful of her hair, pulling her head up. In his hand she saw a
riding crop. Her head could not rise far with her body
spreadeagled and secured down.
His
penis was stiff and dancing about, and she was wet and ready for
him. But he forced her to lick it instead, lick it and suck it
while he whipped her ass with the crop. This was a game she
knew. She was to suck him while he whipped her until he
came. Until he did, the whipping would get steadily harder.
She did what she usually did. She
delayed him so that he would whip her harder. Eventually she
passed into a sort of out-of-body experience: she could still
feel the whip striking her, but it didn't hurt anymore. She felt
the cock in her mouth, everything seeming to happen very slowly, and
she thought, I'm a cocksucker. And it seemed very good.
Finally he came, and she licked him clean, feeling tired and limp.
He came around to her welted ass, and rubbed it gently.
"Why so tired?" he asked. She felt his cock
slip into her from behind, but was too well bound to fight it. It
felt good, slipping into her dark and wet depths. Her welts stung
as he touched them. They had both broken out into a sweat.
"So tired already?" He began to pump slowly. "It's gonna be a long weekend, sweetheart."
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