Wicked Wednesday: Jennifer in my office

The next day Jennifer came to my office as I’d told her to do, after school. She was wearing her new uniform. It was less cheerfully obscene than the too-small version her mother had bought, but she looked radiantly happy in it.

She looked at me, proud. Then she faltered, worried that I might think she’d chosen wrong. I said, “That’s perfect, Jennifer. It fits you perfectly. It looks, really, very good on you. Flattering. You did very well.”

She beamed. She wanted to feel confident. A girl who has felt a man’s cock harden for her has no doubt of her enchantment over him. But she still wanted to know she’d done right.

I pointed my finger at her, and made a little circle in the air. “Turn around.” She turned, so I could admire her from the back, looking back over her shoulder. I admired her, but I said, “I meant, twirl.”

She frowned, puzzled. She completed her turn so she faced me again. I said, “Twirl. In that skirt. Quickly, like a cheerleader.”

“Oh!” She spun so the skirt flared out and lifted. Her white panties and the sweet gap at the top of her thighs were exposed, then hidden as she came to a stop.

“Like that, sir?”

“Exactly like that. Good girl. You chose well. And no one else is to see you do that, you understand, except me.”

“I’ll twirl whenever you want, sir.”

I got up from my desk, and walked towards her. She stepped forward to meet me, and she kissed me again. I held her, and we pressed bodies together. “Now, little Jennifer, why are you here?”

“Sir?” It was too broad a question.

“In my office. After school.”

“Oh. Well, you wanted to see me in my new uniform, sir. Thank you, thank you!” I was holding her whole weight; she’d leaned into me with her hands around my neck, and relaxed.

“And you look perfect, Jennifer.” I kissed her, mouth to mouth, and she brought her hand up to stroke along my jawline. “And why else are you here?”

“I’m to tell you what I think about doing extra work for you. And taking extra… discipline.”

“Yes. You are. And what have you decided?”

“Of course, sir! I’d be so grateful if you set me extra work. I want to do better. And I know that if I don’t do my work right…”

“Yes.”

“You will make sure I do my best. With your hand on my bottom. Or worse. That’s as it should be, sir, isn’t it?”

“You’re a good girl, Jennifer. And of course I won’t accept anything less than your very best. I certainly won’t accept any excuses.”

“Yes, sir. I wouldn’t expect you to. Or want you to. I need direction, I know that.”

Note

This episode of Jennifer’s pleats and pleas is slightly ahead of time. When I left the Jennifer-and-Maddie-and-Lucy saga, Maddie was about to tell her headmaster about the time a girl called Lucy had go the cane for the first time, and licked Mddie’s cunt while she took that dozen strokes. That episode is still to come, but I’ve jumped ahead a bit, to where the story returns to young Jennifer Perch, and her adventures in the present. 

She’s discovering pleasures she’d never dreamt of, in one sense, while in another sense she’s dreamt of them for most of her life.

Wicked Wednesday: The Long Wait 5

In her bed, when she’d lost count of her orgasms and her body burned, she found herself sitting up, her back to him, his cock pressed against her ass.

He spread her legs, and put his right hand on her cunt. He patted, and the pats became blows. She knew, in her conscious mind, that he was spanking her cunt quite hard.

But it didn’t hurt at all.

His voice sounded strained, urgent: “Say, thank you, sir!”

And, lost, when his hand next landed, fingers spread on her soft, wet self, Ellie wailed, “Thank you, Master!”

She felt him hardening. “I think you’re right.” He sounded surprised.

Later, her face in a pillow, her ass up, being ridden, she howled again, a ululation of pleasure and of something wrenching, shifting inside her.

When she was finished he rode her hard, seeking only his own pleasure. She felt his whole body spasm when he came in her. She’d pleased him. That mattered.

When his body had relaxed he kissed her ear and rolled to lie beside her, his arm over her body.

“You called me Master.” 

She felt a chill. He was going to be sensible now. Restore sense. “I did. I’m sorry, I know you didn’t ask me to. It just felt right.”

“We’ll talk about it in the morning.” Her heart sank. “But if you meant it, then I’m happy to be –”

Ellie wriggled back towards him, her skin against his. She thought about sucking him hard again, but he’d fallen asleep.

In the morning they’d talk. But he’d taken her, and when she’d given him more he’d taken that too. Maybe she had a Master, and… He’d made her wait half an hour. Half an hour and thirty-four years. She followed him into sleep.

[The end]

Wicked Wednesday: The long wait 4

“Not for trusting me. For disobeying me, and for being silly about safety calls. This is the last time I’ll repeat this order: come here.”

Come here, Ellie thought. Here. I’m going to come, with you, here on my couch, for the first time. She felt light-headed. “This is when you tell me to bend over?”

“Just lower yourself over my thighs. Use your fingers and toes to keep yourself steady. Make sure you’re comfortable. I’m going to spank you. But you’ll be ok. I’ll look after you.”

That made no sense. But Ellie put her hand on his shoulder and leaned forward. He helped her down. She wriggled, exploring her new position, amazed that she might become used to it. He pushed the robe to her shoulders. She felt the air on her body. “One more thing. When I give you an order, I want you to say, Yes, sir. Just before you obey me. Can you do that?”

“Uh.” Ellie felt his hand, stroking her bottom. Then the lightest warning pat. “Yes, sir,” she said quickly. 

“Feet apart.”

“Yes, sir.” Ellie shuffled, opening for him. His cock was hard, under her belly. He wanted her. Well, that made them even.

His hand landed. The impacts moved from left to right, lower and higher, in a steady, unchanging rhythm. Slowly the smacks got harder, and Ellie could feel the heat. She must be red by now. There was pain, then more. Why was this heaven? She began to rock herself on his lap, pressing against his cock.

He spanked her hard now, so that it hurt, really hurt. It was still heaven. She made a throaty noise. At last he stopped. She felt his fingers trailing down into the cooler skin between her buttocks, and slid her feet a little further apart. He said, “Beautiful girl. Good girl.”

His fingers entered her, reaching deep, then pressing downwards. Oh god. He stroked her, pressing his thumb against her cunt, his fingers fucking her. Reaching deep inside her.

“Oh,” Ellie said, then, much later, “Ohf!” The sweetness surged and took her. Her orgasm cry reminded her of a wolf under the moon.

She gasped, head up, savage, then let her head fall forward and down, while he stroked her. Ge was pleased with her, she knew.

He kept her on his lap, praising her, stroking her. Finally he let her go, and she sank onto her knees before him, looking up at his eyes.

He smiled down at her. 

“I seem to remember, when we were talking. On the phone. You mentioned amazing fellatio skills.”

 

Wicked Wednesday: The Long Wait 3

2

The door opened. Ellie looked up at him. He was taller than she’d expected, blond, with a ridiculously fashionable haircut. He wore jeans and a good jacket. He’d sent pictures, but you never know until you actually meet someone. He smelled of walnuts, she thought. Walnuts and oiled wood.

He smiled at her, and her heart lifted. She’d been afraid of what he’d think of her. He said, as if he were surprised, “God, Ellie, you’re beautiful! And you’ve done as you’re told. You’re lovely. And good.”

She gaped at him, embarrassed, happy. She had nothing to say back. She couldn’t think.

He reached for her head. Ellie opened her mouth, expectantly, but he grabbed a handful of her hair. “Stand,” he said. She fumbled, trying to obey but clumsy, and he eventually pulled her up himself. His eyes were still kind, but there was something about his mouth. He said, “Put your hands by your sides. Now, please.”

She obeyed, frowning. Should she obey? Then she felt his hand land on her bottom.

The skin buzzed where he’d made contact. She’d let a man smack her. Now he smiled. “When I tell you to do something …”

“I do it, quickly?

He smacked her again. Her bottom … No, her cunt felt it. She’d imagined this many times, using both hands as she thought of it, till she came. The reality was as confusing and as arousing as she’d hoped. She felt the sex of it, the heat, the need it brought her, deep inside. 

His arms held her. He was warm. He stroked her, where he’d spanked. Then he let his finger slip between her buttocks, to stroke her cunt gently. Ellie gasped, and straightened, still in his arms. He was testing how wet she was, she thought. Then: No, he knows that I’m wet.

He’s showing me he isn’t going to ask for my permission to touch me. She leant her head against his shirt, kissed his chest.

He said, “That’s right. Obedience means obeying quickly. Which reminds me: are you expecting your safety call?”

Oh, shit! He’d stressed it, but she’d already decided he was ok.“No. I–No, I forgot.”

He nodded, as if resigned. He let her go—she wanted his body back—and sat on the couch.

He looked up, and indicated his knees. “Ellie, I’m glad you trust me, but… First, I told you to have a safety call. You agreed that you do as you’re told. That’s how this works. Second, not having one is stupid and irresponsible. Come here.”

Ellie came to him. She looked at him, not sure whether she was afraid or if she was teasing him. “You’re going to spank me for trusting you?” 

 

Wicked Wednesday: The long wait 2

Ellie and Sir (his name was Richard, but she’d starting thinking of him, in her own mind, as Sir) had been talking for weeks since he’d replied to her ad. She felt she knew him quite well.

He could be professorial, but he didn’t take himself too seriously. He made jokes about his own absurdities. They weren’t very funny, but only a sane man would make them. He laughed at her jokes. He’d told her his name and address and where he worked. Those details had checked out. Some men’s hadn’t. He’d lectured her about having a safety call in place before she met anyone, including him.

But she’d told him her address only an hour ago. They lived just a few miles apart. He’d asked her if she’d like a visitor, but then before she could answer, he’d apologised for moving too fast. She’d said, “Yes”, interrupting him.

She’d heard the surprise and relief in his voice. But it was gone a few seconds later. He’d told her how she was to meet him, and that he’d punish her if she hadn’t complied exactly.

When she took her place, on her knees for him, she’d felt, for the first time in her life, that she was obeying.

She was submitting. Even that knowledge of her own mental state was pleasurable.

When he arrived she’d be looking up at him, her body presented for him. As if it was responding to that thought her fell open. She could move her hands and close it. But that’d be cheating; that would be no way to begin.

She heard someone’s steps near her door. Her heart thumped with anticipation, and just a little fear.

Wicked Wednesday: The long wait 1

1

Ellie waited. She faced her own front door, kneeling, in her dressing gown. Her knees were parted and her wrists crossed behind her back. She was obeying a man she’d never met. She’d left the door unlocked. Her knees ached.

She’d never done this before. Would he expect her to suck his cock? Her position suggested it. The position he’d told her to assume while she waited.

While they’d been flirting on FaceChat, he’d asked how she felt about blowjobs. She’d said she loved giving and was superkeen and supergood at it. There’d been a long silence. Much longer than she’d expected.

Eventually he’d said, “Goo-od. Yes, well, obviously I think that’s good.” Then he’d laughed. It was a good laugh, open, delighted, unselfconscious.

It was that, she thought, that had made her take the risk of meeting him. And of meeting him in her home, not in some neutral place. He’d suggested a coffee bar. When she countered by suggesting her home he’d sounded delighted. And then he’d given her instructions, on how she was to greet him.

So they could back out, either of them. But they weren’t expecting to want to. Ellie had waited, now for about twenty minutes. But she’d waited most of her adult life, so far. She’d decided to try to realise – to make real – something she’d dreamed of, lying on her bed, fingers and devices busy, crying out pleasure, but still feeling lonely.  

What if he said nothing when he arrived, just unzipped and pushed her head onto his cock? She hoped he’d speak first. That would be nicer. That would be cooler.

But it wouldn’t necessarily be hotter. She wasn’t sure. But if he was the man she’d seen on FaceChat, then she’d already decided she’d take that, open her mouth for him.

She’d be overwhelmed with sensation, full and needed, under his control, not hers.

Her hips moved. She wished she could touch her cunt. Her cunt, wet but empty: yearning. But she’d wait, doing as she’d been told.

He hadn’t told her exactly when he would arrive. He’d just told her to start waiting, facing her door, at six. He would make her wait, of course. 

Wicked Wednesday: Janie’s drop 7

The previous episode is here.

6

Paul arrived on Monday morning. Janie clung to him while he listened to Monica’s report.

Monica had punished her twice on Sunday, till she’d cried. Paul noted that, of course.

janie sat up straight, her arms bound behind her back. Her bottom and legs still burned.

When they were home at last, he said, “You were good. Mostly. I’ll deal with Monica’s report on your punishments later. What does that mean?”

It means you’re going to punish me, Master. Every stroke Mistress gave me, you’re going to give me again.”

“That’s right. But that can wait. By the way, she’s not your Mistress any more. Call her Monica.”

Janie nodded. “Yes, Master.” Memories of that party flooded her mind; she’d been paddled and spanked, and whipped and used. “She made me – ” Then Janie stopped. There was no point in complaining. 

“It was a lesson for you, Janie. You obey me because you enjoy it. I don’t think I could do anything that you wouldn’t get off on.”

“True.”

“But you don’t get to submit just for your pleasure, Janie. You don’t want to  choose what you submit to. You just submit. That’s what you want. That’s your deepest self.”

Something moved in her, and she felt herself dropping, down to her smallest, sweetest place. “You love me.”

“You know that.”

“You know me!”

“Well, I should, girl. We’ve been–“

“No Master, listen! I mean, please. No one’s ever known me, fully, and still loved me anyway. Before.” 

Paul was silent. He looked at her for a long time. She waited, somehow half terrified. Eventually he held his hand out to her. She took it.

[The end.]

Wicked Wednesday: Janie’s drop 6

The previous episode is here.

4

The party was in the countryside. Only women attended. Some wore dark, severe clothes. Others wore little outfits that emphasised powerlessness and accessibility. Others, like Janie, were naked.

Monica introduced her as “coquette”.

Janie found herself demonstrating her new skills, while Mistresses stood, skirts lifted. She wasn’t expected to make them come, just show obedience. But a blonde, plump woman, obviously a friend of Monica’s, whispered in Monica’s ear.

Monica replied so Janie could hear. “Certainly! We’ll take coquette upstairs. She’s new, and not very enthusiastic unless encouraged. I use a paddle.”

The woman took a hairbrush from her purse. Wooden. Janie knew the hairbrush well. Paul had one himself, and it was heavy and hard. It hurt. The woman said, “This works.”

“Stand, coquette.” Janie scrambled to her feet, redly aware of their gaze.

“She’s under protection, Maria, so I’ll be there too. But I won’t get in your way.”

The two women made Janie walk ahead of them, up the stairs.

Coming downstairs, Janie caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her bottom and thighs blazed red from Maria’s hairbrush, and her face wore two angry red patches, where Maria’s thighs had gripped her fiercely for the second and third orgasms.

Janie thought, I don’t think I’ve ever looked so … violated. She hadn’t desired Maria, but yes, she acknowledged, she’d been aroused by what she’d done.

Later, another Mistress took her upstairs, and made Janie serve her, again and again.

But when she was satiated, the Mistress demanded a taste of “little coquette’s cunt”. She put her hands under Janie’s sore buttocks and raised her a little before tasting her delicately.

Then not delicately. At last Monica said it was time that she came, and Janie screamed and writhed, as if her body were suddenly flooded with joy. She came gloriously, if not entirely willingly.

Afterwards she wept. But not unhappily.

The next episode is here.

Wicked Wednesday: Janie’s drop #5

The previous episode is here.

Monica had said that Janie was better, when she was afraid. There was a pause. Then Janie said, “Yes, Mistress.”

“So. Here’s why you shouldn’t come, little Janie, unless I tell you to. Have you ever spent a night hanging from the ceiling by your ankle cuffs, getting a whipping every hour, on the hour?”

Janie thought about what that might be like. She had no doubt that Monica would do it. “No, Mistress, never.” Her voice was awed.

“I’m half tempted to give you the experience, then. You’d never disobey me or your Master again. Would you?”

Janie shook her head, eyes wide. “No, Mistress!”

“But if you come, Janie, that is what will happen to you. So control yourself, little slut.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Monica fucked her for perhaps an hour, sometimes excruciatingly slow, while the little vibrator worked inside her, sometimes fast, pounding Janie’s bottom with her belly and thighs, the artificial cock bigger and longer than Paul’s. Janie had to fight the urge to release, sometimes gritting her teeth and crying with the fight to keep her orgasm at bay. 

At last she begged, nearly exhausted, “Please. Please, Mistress.” 

Monica withdrew. She rolled from the bed onto the floor. “You do not beg! Stay in place, Janie. Bottom arched up, just a little more.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Janie did her best to comply. The first stroke of the riding crop landed across her thighs, about two inches below the crease of her buttocks. It felt like pleasure, like the missing, vibrating cylinder. Janie huffed air through her nose. The next stroke landed an inch higher. Janie fought for control while Monica whipped her. She never been in danger of coming from the ministrations of the riding crop before.

Janie lost count of the strokes. Monica was panting lightly when she’d finished with her. Her body burned while Mistress warned her again about what would happen if she came, and allowed her, at last, into bed. Monica’s bed. It was after midnight, and Janie was exhausted.  

Before she slept she reflected that there was nothing terrible about how Monica tasted, or anything bad about the feel of her wet pussy in her face. It was ok. But it hadn’t done anything for her, sexually. So why was she so wet? Why did she need, so hard and so desperately, to come?

The next episode is here.

Wicked Wednesday: Janie’s Drop 4

The previous episode is here.

3

Janie spent Friday night, after her punishment, being taught to pleasure a woman. Monica kept the terrible leather paddle in her hand while Janie served her, and Janie felt it often.

There were so many things in cunnilingus that she could do wrong, she discovered. She had to discover, focus on and follow the rhythms of Monica’s desire, serving her, pleasuring her, responsive to her every change in timing or intensity.

When she was mistaken Monica used the paddle on her bottom, harshly and frequently.

She never showed Monica any lack of enthusiasm. That terrible session when she bent over the trestle while Monica paddled her: that was enough to make her forget any scruple, any distaste, any lack of pleasure in applying her tongue, her lips and nose to Monica’s cunt. Paul had sometimes punished her more painfully, but never so coldly. She was terrified of being so ruthlessly and painfully thrashed again.

In the meantime Monica lounged under her, sometimes holding Janie’s hair and pushing her head down, sometimes squeezing her face between her strong thighs. Sometimes Monica gasped with pleasure, and there was a respite from that agonising paddle.

But only for a few seconds, and never with a word of praise. 

Janie served her Mistress’s pleasure, every muscle in her body, and all of her concentration, directed at pleasing her Mistress and avoiding punishment. She would do nothing that incited Monica to punish her.  

At last Monica announced she was satisfied. (She’d come four times, Janie thought rebelliously: she bloody well ought to be satisfied. Then she turned white with terror, just for having that thought. Somehow, she feared that Mistress might know.)

Monica ordered her onto her bed, on her hands and knees, thighs widely spread, bottom arched up. Her Mistress put a blindfold round her eyes. She was aware of rustling sounds and then a click behind her.

And then a presence, cocklike, pressing at her cunt, and pushing forward. Monica was riding her, fucking her, with a strap-on. At first she wondered what could be in it for her Mistress, since she could receive no sensation from a silicon cylinder. 

But then there was a tiny sound, and the cylinder inside her began to buzz, slowly at first and then insistently. The cylinder began to drive into her, and nearly out again, and in. Her Mistress was fucking her, her hips swinging, the device in her cunt driving Janie higher and higher. Janie made a joyous sound: so much pleasure she wanted to sing.

Then there was a flash of pain: a riding crop striking hard on her left flank, then again on her right. 

“No, Janie, you haven’t earned an orgasm. I could feel you getting near, little slut. But you’re to control yourself. You’re here to serve, not to get off, little slavegirl. You may not come, is that clear?”

Her cunt clasped that strap-on. It still pushed her, relentlessly, to pleasure and release. Please, she wanted to say: oh, please, I want it so much. Please let me come. Please. But she said, “Yes, Mistress.”

“You have a lot to learn, Janie. Still, a little fear seems to improve you. At least you’re likely to be trying.”

The next episode is here.