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Part 1-A – Jesus
I woke up and checked the clock in my tiny room and cursed – late for work again. I quickly sprinted to the bathroom and as I got there, saw that I'd just beaten Liz, my obnoxious church-lady housemate, apparently also late and running, to the bathroom.
Oh, well, she’d had the same chance as I did. Now she'd have to wait. Our other three housemates had long since left for work.
As I locked the door behind me she shrieked, and shouted at me through the door -- she seemed to believe that I'd deliberately waited till the last minute just to make HER late for work. Unusually obnoxious.
Amazingly, she continued shouting and pounding on the door, sermonizing (she's a Baptist and a great sermonizer) about my extreme inconsideration. She was yelling at me like I was a naughty child. “This is very rude of you. You must be feeling very small now. Simon. SIMON! Simon, I expect this misbehavior to stop right now. Aren’t you feeling small, acting this way?”
This was really getting annoying. I could hardly hear her through the shower, and yet she wouldn’t stop. Pound and shout. Shriek and pound. And the word “small” kept recurring, almost like an obsession of hers. Was this a sexual challenge?
I’d been considering for weeks what this misplaced missionary deserved, and I’d even gone so far as to purchase a couple of toys that might help teach her such a lesson, but I had never thought of a good way to begin. But now I thought I knew. And she had just called me “small” once too often.
Without turning off the shower, I padded out, naked, silently over to the door, which she was unbelievably still pounding on, challenging my manhood still. I mentally rehearsed the motions for a moment, then quickly opened the door, grabbed Liz by the front of her bathrobe, pulled her sharply into the room with me, and punched her twice in the solar plexus to quickly knock her wind out.
It was harmless but would keep her still for a minute or so. Her knees weakened and she clutched her stomach, trying to breathe. I took this opportunity to run back to my bedroom and fetch 5 pairs of handcuffs, a ball gag, a few other toys, and a key on a bracelet.
I had the toys and was back in seconds. Liz was still unable to draw a full breath, concentrating fully on trying. Her hands were still at her stomach, so I quickly yanked the yellow robe off her shoulders and down to her hands. While the robe pinned her arms down, I cuffed her wrists together just above the now crumpled sleeves. While she was trying to react to that, I reached down and did the same to her ankles.
She reached down, too late, to stop me cuffing her ankles, and the robe dropped to the floor. As she tried to pick it up, I used cuff pair number three to connect her ankle chain to her wrist chain. Now she couldn't straighten up, reach her face, or do much else for that matter. I regarded Liz naked for the first time.
Well, nearly the first -- I had once walked in on Liz in her bedroom by accident, but that was a short glimpse. That was when I had realized that her body was actually quite nice, even for a 20-year-old university girl.
Slender, blonde, shapely and taut, with slim legs, full hips, small waist and pert, conical b-cup breasts, her body was begging for recognition. And the full-length mirror I had caught her posing before, that first time, told me that she was aware of her appeal too.
In fact, even her face wasn’t all that bad, if you didn’t know her yet. Her mouth was a bit too wide, her lips a bit too thin, perhaps a little underbite on her. Not supermodel material, but not bad. I had honestly thought her hot, when I’d first met her. But knowing her better, she was ugly inside, and her face had lost its appeal for me.
Finally she was catching her breath, in great gasping heaves. I waited for a few of these great breaths so she could re-oxygenate, and as they were about to stop, used her wide-open mouth to pop in a large ball gag.
As she tried to take it out and realized she couldn’t reach, I efficiently strapped the gag on, and locked it behind her head. I didn’t see any need for her to contribute to the conversation, and her usual talk of Jesus was even more tiresome than her belittling insults.
I intended to be nice to her now, to make up for the brief violence, and it would be a lot easier if she didn’t talk.
Her heavy breathing continued for a while, snot bubbling through her nose and spattering her reddened face. “Poor thing”, I said, and gently wiped her face with a Kleenex, then helped her blow her nose on a second.
I wanted to be sympathetic but it was difficult. This woman was as close to evil as I'd ever met. (Of course, I was young.) Liz was a slob of a housemate, yet self-righteous, small-minded, and hypocritical.
She was constantly trying to convert me from my religion to hers, despite my repeated requests to leave it alone. She didn't just do it to me -- she did it to everyone. Very invasively.
Her dinner talk was about how Baptists were the only true Christians, and Christianity was the only true religion. Or about her Bible Study friends and her family, and how wonderful the parties she was throwing for them, in our house, with our help, but that she couldn’t invite non-Baptists to, of course. That’s right—we could help, but not attend. She expected us to “go the extra mile”, as if that explained it.
She preached constantly the virtues that she herself had none of, with constant recourse to such parables, biblical quotes, and churchy clichés. Maddening. I wondered if I could make her see this, now that I had a captive audience.
As she recovered, she began trying to harangue me through the gag.
“MMM-mm-MMMM! MMM-mm-MMMM!” Over and over. Probably “let me go,” in her most commanding tones. Oh yes, Liz was also a ‘voice of command’ type. She expected people to obey her because she shouted. Well, it wasn't working.
I picked her up under the knees and back, carried her over to the bath/shower, and placed her in it, sitting down at the back, facing the faucet. The shower was still running, so I went back in myself, in front of her, and continued shampooing my hair.
Shampoo got in her eyes, and she couldn’t wipe it out. I waited a bit and watched her clamp her eyes shut, whimpering, and then said “I’ll get that.”
I carefully rinsed my hands and wiped her eyes for her, until she could open them again. Then I went back to shampooing. She was looking at me, trying to shout again, her commanding tone changing occasionally to pleading, then back.
I washed myself thoroughly, taking special care with my own naughty bits, and ignored her for a while. (My cock had obviously registered her nearby decent body, but I pretended not to.) When I was all clean, I began on her. I redirected the shower toward her head, and she winced as the spray hit her face directly.
I soaked and shampooed her hair, and then carefully rinsed it clean. Washed the shampoo from her eyes again and wiped them clean and dry. Then I used the soap, and carefully sudsed up her shoulders, arms, chest, and belly. Her breasts felt quite firm and slippery. Mmm. Nice body, too bad about the soul.
I washed her back, then rinsed it all off. And then lifted her by the hipbones and flipped her over onto her hands and knees. Since her hands were unable to move far from her ankles, this put her butt high in the air, weight on her shoulders, and her head on one side on the tub. I checked that she could breathe okay.
Then I cleaned her butt and legs. And crotch. Non invasively, just as she would probably do it to herself; like a nurse might. Let her wonder. Hmmm -- blond pubes. Never seen those before. Felt very soft and straight. She protested as I stroked them curiously. The pubes were not trimmed, running up onto her legs, since she was a slob.
Her ass was still in the air. She tried to tip herself over a couple times while I was washing her, but I had tipped her back up until she stopped. She had stopped "talking" for a while.
Okay, time for a little sermon of my own. I spoke to her ass, mostly, glancing down at her face once in a while for confirmation.
“Liz, you’ve just been very impolite.”
She snorted something obscene through the gag.
“Let’s not discuss that then. Let’s discuss your religious fervor instead. You have to realize that other people think of their religion as a private thing. If they don't ask you to discuss it with them, it's because they want to keep it to themselves. And in general, they'd like you to keep yours to yourself, too. Do you understand?”
She tried to speak, but I didn’t think she understood yet.
“It's just like everyone takes showers, but you were pounding on the door of mine. That's obnoxious, too. Showers are also private.”
"Maybe I could explain with an analogy. These here are your private parts."
I placed my hand on her. She grunted a sharp protest.
“You normally don't go waving them around in public. Here’s mine.”
I moved my hips forward, showing off my now very erect cock.
“You don't expect me to show mine in public either. And you certainly don't expect me to force you to accept mine.”
I paused to let her wonder if I was going to demonstrate. She looked at me silently, hatefully.
“In fact, having someone else forcing their religion on you feels much like having Jesus shoved up your ass.”
I used a bit of hair conditioner on my finger and swirled it around her anus. She shook her head and protested through the gag, but I thrust my finger inside her anyway. Her anus was tighter then I expected. She clamped down on my finger and I slowly removed it. She whimpered, which made my cock harder.
“That was only my finger.”
I reached behind me and picked up the Jesus figurine that she'd left by the sink.
“See this? This is Jesus.” I showed it to her. “And this is Jesus up your ass.”
Out of her sight, I brought Jesus around behind her still-raised ass, swapped him out for a nice butt plug and popped it in, hard. Even though the conditioner had lubed her opening, she squealed. It wasn’t a big plug, but in her presumably virgin ass, she probably believed she'd taken the whole figurine.
I let her continue to think so. I liked the idea of owning that bit of her mind, too. I was altering her reality a bit.
“Now do you understand?”
She nodded vigorously, and protested, probably demanding I take Jesus out. Her eyes showed discomfort, and shock, and she was using that commanding tone again. She was squirming, trying to tip onto one side, but I wouldn't let her.
“This is an important lesson, so I need you to remember it. Every time you try to force Jesus on someone, please remember what it feels like. Do you think you can remember this?”
Again she nodded vigorously and vocalized.
“Good. Now let's talk.” I turned off the rapidly cooling shower, and knelt down behind her, straddling her bound legs and arms, one hand on her butt. I changed the cuffs running from her wrists down to the ankle cuffs, clipped the bottom cuff directly to her left ankle, and removed the ankle hobbles entirely. Her right leg was free, but supporting her.
I kneeled between her legs, forcing them wide apart. Her upper body still rested on her head and shoulders, her arms uselessly bound to her left ankle below.
I ran the bathtub faucet behind me, put a little shaving cream in my left hand, and took a disposable razor in the right. Facing her from behind, I spread her legs a bit further with my knees, and lathered her. She jumped as I began to shave her pussy lips and inner thighs.
"Hold still, and cooperate. You don’t want any shaving nicks on these parts.” She stopped squirming.
“You'll need to remember this lesson for some time, so I'm giving you a gentle reminder of our meeting today, which should last a few days. I'm just going to shave you nice and smooth, so you will always feel a little different. This should remind you of the important lesson.
“The lesson itself, just you and me together, will be here in the bathtub, for just the rest of today.” She squealed and wriggled, but I'd anticipated this and lifted the razor away for a bit.
"What, you don't want to stay here with me and Jesus all day?" She made it clear this would be bad. I kept shaving until her lips and legs were bare from behind.
Then I put down the razor, tipped her over and helped her up to a sitting position. She had to draw her left knee up because of her hands attached to the ankle. I pushed her chest backward, and she grunted with pain from the weight on the butt plug. She had to lean back further, pulling her tethered leg back, to ease it. I forced her free right leg down and sat on it, leaving her legs far apart and scissored open. With more shaving cream, I trimmed her blond pubic hair away from where her legs joined her torso. She whimpered.
I knew what she was thinking. “I guess you're worried about your job, right?” She nodded.
“So you'd like to go to work right away, right?” She nodded again, faster.
“But the lesson's not done yet.” I got off her right leg and she drew it up automatically. I cuffed it to her wrists and removed the cuff to her left leg, sat on that one instead, letting me shave the other side.
“This lesson will take you several hours to learn. Nobody changes their behavior in just a few minutes. Can you?”
She paused, then lied by nodding her head. I didn't believe her and said so.
“But I’ll give you another option. Either you stay here with me for the rest of the day, while I teach you sensitivity to other people's religions, or...” By this time I'd trimmed her triangle to a neater but largish triangular patch in front, not reaching her legs or belly.
“...or I can let you go now, and you can come to me in my room for sex and sensitivity training, every night at 10:30, for the next two weeks.”
She glared at me from her awkward position, lying back, holding one leg. I didn't think she had a boyfriend, here in this strange city, so she shouldn't have had any trouble making such a promise. And with the disconnect between her religion and her actions, she couldn’t possibly be a virgin. I’d have bet on that.
Of all the five housemates, I was the only one with a private room (since mine was too small for two.) So this could work. Besides getting laid regularly, I’d have the opportunity to bring her into line, control her properly. My own tame God Squad member. I grinned at the thought.
She was either desperate to get to work, or to get Jesus out of her ass, or actually interested in the deal -- she was nodding, trying to get my attention back.
I noticed I was having trouble finishing the shaving job -- I couldn't reach properly between her legs. I lifted her free left leg, pushed her carefully over onto her back. Her right leg came with her arms, rising in the air, then hovering, bent, over her body as she displayed her mostly-shaved, slightly open genitals for me. She tried to hold her legs together, retain some vestige of dignity, but I placed my torso between them as I worked.
I finished between her legs, and pulled her stray left leg down again beneath me, leaving her on her back with one leg up.
“Here’s how it will work.” As I spoke, I used a new razor to shave a large letter "S", Superman-style, into her newly neat pubic triangle. I also carefully trimmed the bottom of the triangle, holding her labia down as I shaved them, leaving her lips and hood entirely bare. At last, her body was visibly mine.
“Every night at 10:30, sharp, you will be in my room, naked. You will not speak. You'll simply show up and wait for me to tell you what to do. After we have sex, I might wish to sleep with you, but I might instead tell you to return to your room. You will do as I say. This will go on for 14 days.”
“I may also wish to test you on your memory of this lesson. The letter "S" you see in the mirror should remind you of me. It stands for "Sensitivity", and "Silence", and of course it's my initial too. So you know you're mine. It stands for "Slave" too.
“Part of your job over the next two weeks is to keep the shaving job neat, and the "S" clearly visible. Do you understand?”
She nodded, bumping her head on the tub.
"Do you prefer this deal to staying here with me for the rest of the day?"
She nodded again, more carefully.
“Do you agree to all the terms?” I asked, carefully.
Part 1-B – Agreements
She nodded, quickly. She was still lying naked in the bathtub, handcuffed, with one leg raised and bound, the other leg trapped beneath me. Her eyes held resentment and betrayal; I strongly suspected she was lying, agreeing just to get out of this fix. But I could swear she was getting aroused too.
Her bare nether lips had pulled apart and were thicker, a little darker. And she had agreed to my terms faster than I’d thought she would. I pulled her arms to help her back up to a sitting position, and she yelped in pain from the weight on her butt plug.
I helped her kneel in the tub, and added one more pair of cuffs linking each wrist to the same ankle, around the outside. I removed a few extra cuffs. Now her wrists were linked together, and she was kneeling, hands loosely bound around the outsides of her legs, to her ankles. Her legs were not hobbled. Her eyes held a question now.
“You're asking me to trust you that you’ll hold to this deal and I have no reason to trust you yet. I'll give you a token of trust, and you'll give me another, okay?” She nodded.
“Would you like me to help out with Jesus back there?" She nodded.
“Okay, I will.” I pulled her forward, reached around and pulled the plug out of her ass. She squealed briefly, then looked relieved and relaxed. I made sure it was Jesus she saw coming back around, not the plug.
I wondered aloud, “Does humiliation turn you on, Jesus-girl?” She shook her head vigorously. I reached between her now slightly open pussy lips and stroked, feeling her extreme wetness giving the lie to her assertion. Fascinating.
Liz clamped her legs shut, wanting and not wanting to be touched there, but she had just found out something new about herself, and she knew I had too. “Apparently it does, darling.” Her eyes showed anger, and something else.
“Okay,” I continued, “for your token of trust, you can seal the deal by walking over here on your knees and fucking me.” My erection was straining and this was a great way to end the lesson. More importantly, she was far more likely to show up this evening as I demanded if she'd already started having sex with me. I had to establish control now.
She didn't want to, though. Perhaps, as I suspected, she had never intended to show up.
“Ah, I get it. You’re a devout Baptist and you’re a virgin, right?” She looked at me, her expression unreadable for a moment, and then I’d swear I almost saw a little smirk around the ball gag. At least she wasn’t going to lie about it.
“Didn’t think so. On the pill, right?” She nodded.
“Well, I’m not surprised you chose sex over God. Your body’s pretty hot, you know.” That last bit slipped out – I swear my erection had started talking through my mouth. Still she held back, though the combination of the religious humiliation and the compliment had definitely aroused her. Her pupils were dilated.
“Your choice, Jesus-girl. You can fuck me every night for two weeks as you just promised, starting now, and go back to work. But I won’t have sex with you against your will. You can still choose to stay here for the rest of the day -- no sex, just me and Jesus.” I picked up Jesus again; motioned to put him behind her.
I think it was the arousal as much as the promised discomfort that decided her. Liz shook her head "no", and walked toward me on her knees. I sat down in the tub, legs between hers, and watched as she knee-walked up toward my hips and mounted me easily, sliding her weight down onto my shaft accurately.
She was tight, but very wet and obviously not virginal. I gasped with pleasure, took her breasts in my hands. “That’s right, Jesus-girl. Be a good little slut and ride me hard.”
She pulled back quickly, her face screwed up with humiliation as the epithet hit home, probably because her own thoughts were not much different. She was angry, looked ready to leave, so I grabbed her nipples and pulled her back down again. She yelped. I could see the humiliation fighting with her arousal, and she slid down again, exhaling thickly.
She moaned a little, pressed herself into me, seeking to press me in harder, deeper. Then she raised herself again and came down hard.
“Good slut. You love the cock, don’t you?” She whimpered with the humiliation, but instead of stopping began riding me, coming up almost off my dick, then slamming down again hard, grinding her clit into me, painfully.
I realized after a few such impacts that she would need some help or I’d be bruised, so I grabbed her now-creamy cunt with my hand, anchoring it by sliding one finger inside between her and my cock, and rubbing her clit lightly with my thumb.
She gasped with pleasure as she rode me faster, more lightly. With my other hand I rolled her nipples, one at a time, feeling their shape and hardness, pressing and pulling them, rubbing in circles to match the action on her clit with my thumb. I wondered what some more humiliation might do.
“You’re the best little cowgirl in the world, aren’t you? You’ve done this before, slut, and you’re good at it. That’s right, ride that cock like the expert whore you are.” I saw her flinch visibly with each taunt, but it seemed to push her further and harder, and her cunt felt wetter, her clit swelling.
She rode me faster, and I slipped my middle finger further into her, pulled her toward me with it, pinched her clit back with my thumb. She was very close, but I was closer. I pulled her breast toward me with my other hand and bit her nipple with my molars. She cried out and gasped as she came, soaking my hand. My own orgasm came a split-second later and I filled her with it.
“Good slut,” I repeated, soothingly, over and over, as she leaned against me. I had my arm around her shoulders, while I kept my other hand in her pussy, massaging gently as my cock softened and slipped out. She shuddered twice and was still.
I slid out from under her and washed myself off. I ran the water and washed her pussy again, inside and out this time, and cleaned the conditioner out of her ass. She moaned token protests. Then I got out of the tub and dried off, went to my room and dressed, leaving her kneeling naked, clean, wet and helpless in the tub.
I came back dressed. I undid and removed all the cuffs except those holding her hands together, leaving her gagged, and handed her a towel, saying, “Good girl. You can get dressed for work now. Come to me downstairs for help with your hands.”
And I left the bathroom, taking my other toys and key with me.
****
As I was finishing breakfast in the kitchen, Liz came downstairs. I'd called in late for work, so I was relaxed. She was wearing grey pantyhose and a grey knee-length skirt, nice work shoes, and a ball gag – she couldn’t call her office and was now very late. She looked stressed and resentful, not to mention topless.
She was carrying her white starched blouse and bra, and a pastel pink dress jacket. She couldn't put the top on over the cuffs, so she was holding her extra clothes over her bare chest. She looked pretty good, if I ignored her resentful eyes and stretched lips. She'd put her makeup on already, the best she could with the handcuffs and the gag, and done her hair.
She was in a hurry. She stood beside me, glaring, arms holding the clothes to her chest, wrists toward me to be unlocked.
“I can’t see your titties any more. I think I’ll wait until I can,” I said. She blushed and glared, looked up at the open kitchen window, back at me in disbelief. This was not a private room. I looked her in the eye and waited. Slowly she lowered her arms, partly exposing those nearly conical breasts I had just recently met and befriended, turning her body away from the open kitchen window.
“Put the clothes down. Good. Come over here.” I got out my key, paused. “You’re too hunched over. Stand up straight, arch your back, hands behind your neck.” This was hard on her – Liz had never followed anyone’s commands before, and wasn’t intending to start.
The open windows were too much for her. She reached out fast for the key but I pulled it back. She stood there impatiently, holding out her cuffs to be unlocked, ignoring my demand. She said something obscene through the gag.
I went back to my breakfast and ignored her. She snapped angrily at me, and I sipped my tea and looked away.
After my tea was finished, I finally looked back up at her, though she’d been trying to speak for some time. Liz was standing exactly as I’d demanded, back arched, displaying her perky breasts just for me in the kitchen.
I smiled and weighed her boobs in my hands, squeezed them gently, pinched and rolled the nipples until they were hard again. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore me, so I came round behind her, turned her to face the open window, and continued to play with her nipples, now straining hard with embarrassment.
I continued until she felt a bit aroused again, began to moan a bit, and suppressed it. I knew she just wanted to get to work.
Then I took pity on her. I removed the ball gag, and she gasped and retched a bit, brought her hands down. I cleaned her face gently with more Kleenex, put her hands back behind her head and offered her some water, held it to her lips, hand on her back as she drank.
She coughed and spilled some water on her chest, and a single drop rolled down onto one still-hard nipple. I grinned and licked it off. Then I politely cleaned the rest off her chest with another Kleenex. She whimpered.
I helped her finish her water without further interruption.
Finally, with her humbly silent at last, I took her hands back down, removed the cuffs from her wrists so she could leave.
She looked me in the eye, and slapped me hard on the cheek.
Instead of reacting to this (I was half-expecting it), I instantly grabbed her wrist and cuffed it again, then reached out for her other arm, yanked it over and cuffed it too.
I had anticipated I might need the cuffs and toys again, so they were sitting on the chair next to me, under the table.
I held one wrist and pushed it back inward, driving her to her knees, letting me put another pair of cuffs on her pantyhose-clad ankles.
I stood her up again with a little wrist pressure the other way, then pulled her arms down so I could add the third pair to hold the wrist chain to the ankle chain, and she was now once more bent over double. She was yelling obscenely, loudly, so I pulled her hair back behind her and quickly popped her gag back in, buckled it on. I was glad I was able to restrain her with just brute force and speed this time – it told her I could do it again anytime.
"Oh boy," I said, "are you in trouble now...."
While she breathed heavily through her nose I unzipped her skirt and slid it down her legs. Quickly I slid my hands under the waist of her pantyhose and pulled them down just past her knees, along with the pink cotton panties beneath them. She tried to stop me but couldn't reach. She protested, shouting, commanding through the gag.
I walked around in front of her, unclasped her shoes. I slid the pantyhose and skirt a little further down her calves, and added cuffs from her lower left calf to her left wrist, and another on the right.
Then I removed the other cuffs, leaving only one linking each ankle to a wrist.
Now behind her, I pulled her hips toward me, and she fell, unable to right herself. I caught her between my legs and lowered her gently to a sitting position. Then I walked around in front again, removed her shoes, and pulled off the skirt and pantyhose, now conveniently below the new cuffs.
She was sitting naked on her ass, on the kitchen floor, wrists and ankles linked, hunched over, legs slightly bent and spread before her. Before she could figure out that she'd be much more comfortable with crossed legs, I went round behind her and lifted her up, by the behind, until she was standing again.
Now bent over double, and breathing somewhat heavily through her nose, with snot messing up some of her makeup, she was trying to command me to do something again.
I neatly folded her clothing and put it on the kitchen table in a neat pile. I stood before her and said "Look at me." She raised her head, cramping a muscle in her neck, since it was a hard angle. She stopped talking and quickly lowered her head.
“Okay,” I said, “we'll make that easier.” I walked around behind her, took a nice kitchen chair, and sat down comfortably, straddling the back. Her straight legs were supporting her slightly oversized ass, which stuck up as the highest point on her body. Liz’s newly shaved pussy pointed directly at me, and at the kitchen window.
It looked like a young woman’s pussy, hardly used, closed, and taut. Her head was down between her knees. "Look at me," I repeated. She opened her legs slightly to see me, and looked at me, upside down, between her legs, with gag in mouth. Her eyes held worry, and anger, and resentment.
“You broke our agreement already. I'm disappointed in you.” She shook her head. “What, you think I'd trust you to keep it after you hit me?” She looked sullen, didn't reply. I took a Kleenex and carefully wiped some snot off her face as she stared at me between her legs.
"You will eventually realize that you have been at fault here, and you will desire to make it right, to pay whatever price is necessary. When you feel that way, and not before, you may sit down comfortably on the floor." I continued to watch her, through her legs. “If you sit before you feel that way, I will know it, and you will be punished.” She watched me, resentfully, feeling exposed and angry.
I waited, and she remained standing defiantly, though it must have been painful by that point. Her face was quite red, and her knees were slowly bending as the hamstrings pulled. I took out the disposable razor, came over to her, and said "don't move for a bit -- I missed a spot."
I dry-shaved a little stray fuzz from between her butt cheeks, near where they joined her legs. She trembled with humiliation and sore muscles. "Okay, now I'm done".
With a sigh, she sat down on the floor and crossed her legs, for the first time looking natural and comfortable. Her ankle-to-wrist cuffs were almost unnoticeable in this position, not putting any strain on her. She was so relieved that she forgot to be embarrassed that she was exposed and spread open. I walked around in front of her and looked her in the eye.
“Okay, Liz. Penalty time. You've fucked up, and to make it right, you'll need to agree to some extra terms. Ready?” She nodded, a tear in her eye.
“First, for the slap, it's three weeks you'll be coming to see me, not two. Fair?” Liz shook her head, shouted in wordless frustration. No. Perhaps she thought her one time this morning had been generous enough.
“Okay, stand up. On your feet.” She remained seated, cross-legged, glaring. I understood why, but it wasn’t acceptable. I went to the freezer, took out the ice cubes, popped a round one out, melted it a little in my hand.
I put my other hand between her shoulderblades, pushed her forward and down so far her butt came off the floor, and then quickly forced the ice cube into her ass, hard. She jumped, squealed and shouted, shook her body like it was on fire.
“I've been very good about keeping everything to agreements and suggestions and choices, Liz. But every time you refuse a direct order, you’ll be punished, and I suggest you don’t ever do it again. Understand?” She ignored me a while as she jumped and squealed. Eventually she numbed a bit and settled down.
She had heard my question and she nodded, moaning with the cold intruder, shivering, forlorn. She stood as I’d commanded, with her head upside down, between her legs once more, but squirming, now unable to stand still as the ice burned her inside.
“You sat down before you were willing to admit you were wrong. Bad move. I warned you there would be punishment. This time, stay standing until you're sure you're ready to admit that and pay the penalty.”
Her legs couldn’t hold up so easily this time, her ass was cold, and the fight had gone out of her. She sat down once more, still squirming, and turned herself to face me. She nodded, grunted unhappily. I thought she was ready now.
“As I was saying, it's four weeks you'll be coming to my room for sex. It was three, but now it's four. Understand?” She nodded, sadly.
“There's more. You won't speak at all to me during those four weeks, not in my room, not outside it, not today, not ever unless I specifically say you can. You will also not speak of religion to anyone but your family and Bible Study friends. Agreed?” She nodded.
“You will be coming to my room for four weeks, so you're probably expecting time off for your period. You don’t get that excuse. During your period, you'll wear tampons. And you'll bring a clean ass, well lubricated. You'll have to show off the little string when you come in, so I’ll know what end of you to fuck.” She shook her head, drew breath, eyes shocked.
“Haven’t you had anal sex before?” I said in pretended surprise. She stared.
“Well, maybe we can start you on that shortly,” I continued, ignoring her glare. “I hear it gets better with practice.” She shook her head, moaned in the negative.
"Are you refusing to please your man?" She paused, and tears came to her eyes. She didn’t seem ready to give in. “You like that ice cube, I see. If my dick’s not good enough for you, I could make a nice frozen dildo instead.” She moaned and shook her head.
“All right then. Do you agree to come to me during your period, naked, with your ass lubricated and ready for my pleasure?”
She was ashamed, but nodded quietly. She was sitting hunched over her crossed legs, very humiliated, and amazingly, I imagined I could see a bead of wetness in her open vulva, which I'd swear was not there before.
“You will not be wearing any clothes by 10:30 each evening. I don't care how you manage it, but when you enter my room, you will be naked within 5 seconds. Agreed?” She thought, then nodded meekly. Now I was sure about the wetness.
“And one more thing. I'm sorry about making you later for work, but I must know that you are trustworthy. You will spend the next 45 minutes, right here, being a perfectly obedient sex slave.
“This is your practice for this evening, and how you will convince me that I can trust you to keep your word this time. You will not only do everything I say without question, you will do your damnedest to convince me you're enjoying it. Agreed?”
* * *
I put a piece of writing paper and a pen before her, on the kitchen floor. "Write the following. 'I have been bad, and I need to be punished. I will be yours from now until August 13, every night, to be corrected and disciplined. This I vow before God and before those I love.'"
She had stopped questioning, and wrote the words as fast as she could. She had her knees up, each ankle still tethered to a wrist. “Now sign your name, and date it.”
She did so. “Now write your home address, not this one, but where your parents live.” She did this too.
“Write your mother's name and your father's, and the minister's.” She looked up at me, her eyes a question. I looked hard and stern, and said, “Don’t forget to smile while you follow orders.” She tried to fake a smile around the gag, couldn’t, looked back at the paper and wrote the names. I looked at them and nodded. I took the paper away and folded it, kept it.
"Stand up,” I told her. She did, a bit awkwardly, with each wrist still attached to a calf. With my left hand, I stroked her from behind, checked her pussy for wetness. There was very little left. A small trickle of dirty water was leaking down her leg from her numb ass.
I wiped it off her carefully with paper towel. She whimpered with embarrassment, and I asked soothingly, “Would you like to go to the bathroom, pee and clean up a bit first?” She nodded. “Well, it's going to be impossible to get up the stairs with those cuffs on,” I pointed out. She nodded again, nervously.
I came around in front of her, stood between her legs, and reached around behind to lift her naked butt. She was light, and now her linked arms and legs were wrapped around me as I carried her by the buttocks. I carried her over to the double kitchen sink, sat her on the edge of it. “You'll have to make do with this. I'll help.” I slid her back a little. Her naked back faced the open window. “Start by peeing in the sink.”
She registered shock and disbelief. Her face darkened. I looked her in the eye for a bit, but she resisted. She hunched over, away from the window, and looked sullen, ready to hold out for some time.
I noticed that the ice cubes were still out on the counter. Not good, couldn’t have them melting. I walked the two steps to the ice cubes and she protested loudly, begging for my attention. I turned back toward her and saw her sit up and begin to urinate in the sink. I put the ice cube tray in the freezer, then turned back to watch her.
She reddened as I drew near and watched the chaotic stream emerge, intermittently, from between her outer lips, having trouble emptying her bladder with me watching. I leaned on her legs, smiling, amused, and her embarrassment grew.
The liquid splashed sporadically around the sink in all directions, coming in spurts. When she couldn’t squeeze out any more, I ran some water into the sink behind her, rinsed it off, and used my hands to wash her off once more. I carefully cleaned her in front, beneath and behind like a baby, with a little soap and running water.
She was flushed and keening with embarrassment. Her hands were still on her legs, unable to help or to stop me. "Very good," I said, "but you got some on the counter-top. You're a naughty girl. You need to be punished, don’t you agree?” She looked mortified, whimpered, but I waited sternly for her meek nod.
Each wrist was still bound to an ankle, and she was gagged, but she had no other bindings on her.
“Bend your knees back.” As she brought her legs up behind her, her arms followed, and automatically went behind her. I tipped her over sideways, brought her knees straight, then laid her on her front across the kitchen sinks, hips on the edge between the two of them. Her ankles were kicked up behind her back, cuffed to her hands. Her breasts hung down in the washing sink, her legs over the drying sink.
“You'll need a little spanking now,” I said, and slapped her rump, gently at first. Her hands and legs tried to get in the way, so I stopped and told her to spread her legs and arms so that her rear was totally exposed. She had no choice; she did so, and I spanked her slowly until her bottom was a lovely red. She yelped with each slap, but the gag muffled it down to moans.
My other hand massaged her breasts, pulling and pinching her nipples as they hung in the sink. A quick finger check showed that she was now quite wet inside again, her swollen pussy as red as her behind now.
I looked out the open window, wondered if anyone was watching as I continued stroking her from inside with my thumb, fingering her clit gently. “That’s a nice red bottom,” I said, “I wonder what they think of it across the street?” There was nobody around, but she couldn’t know that.
She gasped, tried to sit up, tried to shout something in anger, but could barely raise her head, and moaned as I continued to stroke her clit, then spanked her some more, harder, and back to the clit, until her breathing was thick and hoarse, and she was close to climax.
“You’ll never see dishwashing the same way again, will you, exhibitionist slut?” I taunted, and rubbed her nubbin fiercely. She caught her breath, shuddered, and orgasmed, choking with fury, over the sink.
“Good girl”, I told her, petting her back and behind as if she were a cat. She was near tears with embarrassment and anger, yet more aroused than she had been when we’d had sex in the tub.
Part 1-C – A Model Slave
I lifted her down off the sink, and placed her feet once more on the floor. Her wrists went down with her legs, and she was bent over once more, her ass up toward my hand. I dried her wet behind and legs with a dishtowel, gently, proprietarily. She seemed too exhausted to object further.
I slipped my finger back inside her still-wet quim, just because I could, and said, "Walk with me." I took my equipment and walked her into the living room, with her ass still in the air, her legs swinging as she walked. I was sure she’d never forget doing the baby elephant walk in such a humiliating way. “Good little elephant,” I teased. “Right this way.”
There was a 1960's ugly sofa-bed there of a nondescript brick color and indeterminate age. I extracted my hand, seated her on the couch. While she sat there, bent over, I took a sturdy 50-pound wall eye, and screwed it with pliers into a stud behind the couch, height flush with the couch's top. Then I put a collar around her neck, with a D-ring at the back. I locked the collar on with a small padlock.
Then I changed her cuffs over. I linked her hands to each other, removed one of the wrist-to-ankle cuffs, and used it instead to cuff that ankle to one foot of the couch. I removed the other wrist-to-ankle cuff and cuffed that leg to another foot of the couch, a meter away. A length of chain and two sturdy little padlocks locked her collar to the wall eye, with only a few inches' slack.
She was now sitting in the couch, legs spread far apart, head up and straight, but unable to move her neck or legs very much. I removed her handcuffs and her arms were free.
"Stay there," I joked, and went back up to my bedroom, and to hers. I brought down her makeup kit, a good SLR camera, a tripod, and two good umbrella lights. She freaked out, seeing these, and I let her. She waved her arms, tried in vain to remove the gag, shouted through her nose, reached behind her to remove the locked collar. But she couldn’t really do a thing.
Her neck was firmly attached to the wall, and the sofa bed weighed a ton. She couldn't lift it while sitting on it; I doubted anyone could. I just waited for the storm to die down.
"This is your test of obedience," I continued. "You will be my model as well as my slave, and you will be good at it." I tested the lighting, arranged the umbrellas to get a good shot, and took a few test snaps. She covered her face and breasts and stared at me sullenly, and I knew she’d refuse to cooperate.
I looked her in the eyes. "Remember what happened the first time you broke one of our agreements?" She stared, then lowered her eyes. I persisted, in a stronger voice. "And the time after that?" She nodded meekly. "Then can I trust you, for once, to stick to one this time? So you can get out in the promised 45 minutes and go to work?" Again a meek nod, and she dropped her hands to her sides, eyes low.
“Very good. Now I'd like to try to trust you with some more freedom, so don't disappoint me. You need to get used to holding your own tongue. I'm going to take the gag out. If you speak or scream, I have a much bigger gag for you that will really stretch your jaw, understand?” She nodded vigorously.
“If I remove your gag, can you be silent?” She nodded again, not pleased but impatient.
I removed the ball gag, and she coughed and dry-retched a bit. I gave her a glass of water and she drank it herself, hands and mouth both free. Her legs were still forced wide, cuffed to the couch legs.
When she had recovered, I handed her the makeup kit and mirror. “Fix your face up. Lots of dark eyeliner, please.” I waited while she did.
“More lipstick, darker in color, make your lips a bit fuller. Even more eyeliner. Blue shadow. Good.” I asked for the makeup kit back, put it away. Now she was ready, and looking quite sexy.
"Which hand do you normally masturbate with?" I casually asked. She started to protest, remembered the big gag, and sat very still.
“Interesting -- you do know the difference between public and private information. Have you added religion to the private list yet?” She nodded, sadly.
I didn’t let on, but the sad face combined with the hot slut makeup and naked spread body had me nearly coming on the spot.
“Good. But you've agreed to be my slave for this morning, and I say that your private information is mine now. All of it. What hand do you masturbate with? Don't say anything; just put that hand between your legs.” She crossed her arms and glared, and I looked at her, amused.
“That was a direct order,” I casually mentioned, “I guess you want to see how this can get worse?” She instantly placed her left hand between her legs. “Good. Notice how much better you feel when you’re shaved? Touch and see.” She had been curious herself.
She touched herself, stroked the softer skin between her legs that was now bare and sensitive, spread and exposed. She forgot I was there for a moment, stroking gently, until I snapped a photo, and she looked up angrily.
“I can see you enjoy that,” I smiled, “But I know you’re already wet, so insert two fingers, good, further in, and now tilt your wrist down, and hips up. I want to see the letter "S" in your pubes, and a bit more pussy.” Flushing with embarrassment at the direct talk, she posed her hand and body for the camera.
She was still wet, and it was obvious she would like to have her fingers in there, if only nobody were watching and taking pictures. I took two shots while she was working on it, looking at her own crotch, pretending not to play with her clit, then I waited for her to look up.
“Now keep looking at me, and gently bite your upper lip. Chin down, eyes up, look sultry. Other hand on your opposite breast.” She followed the instructions surprisingly well, and I finally got my first proper porn photo. This one was good. The collar on her neck was suggestive, the chain was hidden behind it, the wall eye likewise invisible. The cuffs on her feet were out of the frame. It was a lovely cam-girl porn shot, with no visible restraints. The flushed face and chest didn’t look bad at all. I took a few more like it.
"I like these shots; you look like a lovely girl who's just sat down at home to think of her boyfriend, instead of going in to work. Now rub your clit, work your fingers in and out, and really try to get turned on for me. Play with yourself in earnest.”
Yet another intimate detail about herself she had to show me now, and a very humiliating one, but then that seemed to make her wet, too. She hesitated, looked up at me, pleading, as her fingers began to drip with her own juices.
“Be a good little slut and hump your hand for me, my little cover girl.”
She whimpered and screwed up her face, almost crying with humiliation, but couldn’t, or wouldn’t, resist any further. “Play with yourself for the camera. C’mon, fuck your hand! More clit action!” I encouraged her aloud, watched her stroke her clit and rub her pussy, but didn’t notice for a while that my other hand was down inside my pants.
I took several good shots, encouraging her aloud to increase her embarrassment. “That’s right, stroke that clit! Slide your finger around it! Tug those little lips!” I made her keep it up for 10 minutes or so until she came, naked and sweating, flushing and bucking against the couch. And got it all on film.
“Now, I need hardly mention that these shots should not be mailed to your parents and minister, right?” She looked up, shocked. Click. Another good one. She'd just realized why I had asked for her home address.
“Well, don't worry, as long as you do everything I say for the next four weeks, I promise that they won't. And now I can really trust you, right?” She nodded, defeated utterly. I took the cuffs off her ankles, leaving her tethered only to the wall by the neck. Her legs drifted slowly closed and I took my own shoes, socks and pants off, gently stroking and enjoying myself.
* * *
I fetched her work clothes from the kitchen, and handed her white blouse to her. "Put this on, no buttons yet." She slid it behind her and got both arms into the sleeves, pulled the front closed. "Put your hand inside, play with that nipple,” I said. "Push the blouse a bit, let me see the nipple.” She looked up and glared, but obeyed.
“Don’t forget to smile, other hand back inside your pussy, pretend you're about to come again." She stopped glaring, let her mouth open slightly, bit her lip, and I took some pictures, moving her neck as necessary to keep the chain and eye hidden.
"Now put your skirt on,” I continued, handing it to her. She slipped it up over her knees, onto her waist, and zipped up. "Good,” I say, “now bunch it up, and put that hand back up underneath it, and keep on strumming that pussy. Massage both boobs too.” This time she looked much naughtier than naked, and her growing reluctance showed that she knew it, (Click), but something was missing. While she rubbed and grunted, I slid her pink panties back on, but left them around her ankles. Perfect. Click.
“Pull your panties up. Bunch up the skirt more, slide the crotch to one side, and keep strumming,” I continued. I came over to her and did up the top blouse button. Click. Then the bottom two. Click. “Put the panties back where they belong, and rub your clit through them. Don't worry, they're already pretty wet.” Click.
By now she was nearly fully dressed, and looked like she'd just sat down and undone a couple of blouse buttons and shoved her hand up her skirt. I had a lovely set of photos, which when reversed, would look like a striptease masturbation masterpiece. The wide-eyed naked shock photo, immediately post-orgasm, would make an excellent finale. I let her button her blouse and put her shoes and jacket on, to complete the set. This finished off the roll.
I told her to imagine how all this would look in reverse, as I took the jacket and shoes back. She flushed right down to her chest, gritted her teeth.
After the hot photos, I wanted her again. And I knew just how. "Good, now unbutton the blouse, let it hang open. Slide the panties back off."
She didn’t like to pull her own panties off in front of me, but managed. “Good, obedient slave,” I taunted. “You’re starting to understand what your clothes are good for.” She surprised me with a faint smile as I put her soaked panties into my breast pocket.
“I will flip up your skirt now, and fuck your little virgin ass. What do you think of that?” Her smile disappeared, and she nearly shouted. She clamped her lips shut and shook her head, moaning emphatically.
“Now, that’s not how a proper sex slave behaves, is it?” I asked sternly. She continued to shake her head.
“You know I could just threaten you now, and you’d do it anyway, right?” She stopped, looked resigned, nodded faintly.
That wasn’t enough for me. “But that wouldn’t be right,” I continued. “You’re a sex slave with a contract, and a genuine desire to please your master. You should be begging me to use you any way I can. So you will be begging me to fuck your ass before I do it. Otherwise, it won’t happen. Is that fairer?” She said nothing, looked skeptical.
"Now put your hands on the couch. Good, and your knees too.” It was a bit awkward changing to an all-fours position with her neck held so close to the wall, but natural once she managed it. She was wearing only her unbuttoned blouse and good skirt. She would know she was mine even when dressed up for work.
I flipped the skirt up all the way to her breasts, and pressed it up a bit so it wouldn't fall back on its own, and began to play with her now worn and tender pussy. But I was gentle, and the humiliation seemed to have kept her moist.
I stood behind her, put one knee up on the couch, dipped my left index finger in her wetness, and then circled her pulsing asshole with the wet finger. She moaned, surprised and panicked at first, relaxed a little but didn’t want to admit to enjoying it a bit.
I took some vaseline on the left hand and continued to circle her ass, while playing gently with her inner lips with my right hand. When her ass was more relaxed, I put the vaselined finger up inside it, and gently penetrated her vagina with the right hand at the same time, filling her up.
She protested weakly, but as I played with her already-stimulated clit shaft, her protests slowly turned into happy moans. My two hands could feel each other in there, through the thin dividing tissue. I continued working her sphincter until it felt more relaxed, as she whimpered at the new sensation.
I used one thumb to keep her clit stimulated as I continued working her ass and pussy together, gradually with more and more energy, eventually bringing her close, then tantalizingly close, to what promised to be a dramatic finish. Then I took my right hand out of her pussy and watched as she moaned in disappointment.
She whined, and I stroked her lips gently, kept my left index finger still in her ass, keeping her aroused but no further. She pressed her pussy up against me. “Do you want to come now?”
“MMM-mmm”, she moaned and nodded.
I stroked her a little more vigorously, asked again. She growled in her throat with need and impatience, tried to hump my hand, pressed her ass back against my finger.
“You may speak now, if you wish to beg me to fuck your ass.”
“Okay, Simon, do it.” she said thickly.
“That’s not begging, and it’s not proper slave attitude either,” I said, backing off, rubbing her swollen clit gently, tantalizingly. “You’ll have to do much better than that.”
She was close again, needing to finish, and I wouldn’t let her. She tried to clamp her legs together and I pulled them apart. I continued sliding my finger in her ass, now up past the second knuckle. I played with her unmercifully, until her breathing was strained and her body flushed.
“Try begging again,” I urged.
“Yes!” Liz said hoarsely, pressing her ass up against my hand, pressing her clit harder against my teasing thumb. “Use my ass! I beg you to fuck my ass, Simon!”
I was excited but hid that, gently playing with her needy clit now. She was well past her time and was desperate to finish, and I was carefully slowing down when she got close. “I don’t know if I want to, slave. And I haven’t given you permission to use my name. Bad slave.”
She was panting, needing to come. She strained to think of what to say.
“Oh, please, Sir – please forgive this unworthy slave and – and use my ass. I promise it will be yours – whenever you wish – if you’ll just fuck me now – in the ass and make me a happy slave.”
Wow. “Sir.” And unsolicited promises. This was better, much better than I’d expected.
“Good slut. I will help you. You’ll need a gag,” I said.
I took my right hand from her pussy and took her soaked panties from my breast pocket, told her to open her mouth. She widened her eyes as she understood what I wanted, hesitated, then, still desperate to climax, let me stuff the panties in. I went back to stroking her inner lips and clit, and told her that this time she would have to hold the panties in her mouth herself, without a strap.
“If they fall out for any reason, there are more ice cubes in the freezer for you.” I waggled my finger in her ass.
She shuddered and though they must have tasted awful to her, I knew those panties would stay in her mouth.
Then I again brought her very close to her climax. She remained on her hands and knees, waiting for me doggy-style. By then I was sporting a solid-mahogany erection.
I quickly slathered it with vaseline, and guided it into her ass from behind, pressing hard as her ass pushed back, then seemed to suck me in. I felt my dick’s progress with my right hand in her vagina. She cried out, but bit down on the panty gag.
I could slide in only an inch, but it was enough for now. Gently, adding lubrication, I worked deeper into her, using my foot on the floor for extra leverage. Her body shook as she moaned with pain and pleasure.
As I fucked her ass I could feel the ridge of my cock sliding back and forth, through her, with my right hand’s fingers still inside her wet core, my thumb rubbing her clit gently and fast.
I moved in her gently for some time, penetrating deeper when I could, as her ass appeared to alternately push me back and then pull me inward. She was tight around me, very tight for my thicker-than-usual cock, and I could barely hold back my own climax, despite having come not long before. Her breaths shortened, and she whimpered.
She cried out as she came, and after a pause, shuddered and came again, and this set me off –waves of juice came from me and filled her virgin ass. She slumped against the back of the couch, face near her neck tether. Liz was entirely mine, and she knew it. Jesus hadn’t stood a chance.
I pulled out of her and she moaned. I went into the kitchen and cleaned myself up, put my pants and shoes back on, and returned to find her still slumped on the couch, her ass facing me, skirt still flipped up, uncaring. I told her she could spit out the panties now, and she pushed them into my hand with her tongue.
I turned her around to sit on the couch and put the panties over her toes, back up on her legs. I fetched her pantyhose and put those on her too, pulling them both up properly. She was as compliant as a doll by now.
I decided to forget the bra. I sat her back up normally, did up her blouse, added the jacket on top, and removed the neck chain and her leather collar, leaving her dressed for work. Her makeup was more than a bit heavy, she was braless and her panties were soaked and dirty, but she was ready to roll. She had even had her pee.
"Off you go now. See you tonight, slave." She nodded submissively and tried to go up the stairs to the bathroom. "Stop,” I said. "You've already cleaned yourself up as much as you have time for. Now get off to work before you get fired."
She paused, apparently considered ignoring the order, decided not to. She turned around, looked for her purse. I handed it to her, and she left the house, in a hurry, glancing back once to meet my eye.
It was a minute's work to put away the camera and lights, and remove the screw in the wall. I fetched my keys, pocketed the roll of film, and headed out. This would be a good month--I could feel it now.
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