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Part 2a – Panty Patrol
The five of us in the house took turns to make dinners and to wash dishes, and tonight was Liz’s turn to make dinner. When I came home after work, she had apparently taken off her makeup, and changed into more comfortable clothes -- jeans and sweatshirt, the usual student uniform at the time. She seemed to be wearing a bra, too, and I wondered to myself how she'd ever get it all off in 5 seconds, later this evening, as she'd agreed.
She was preoccupied and didn't want to look at me, which I supposed made sense. Since she wasn't permitted to speak to me, it could get awkward to interact a lot in front of the others.
Plus of course, she had just been humiliated all morning and probably most of the day at work, too, with slutty-looking makeup, her bra missing, and feeling her soaked panties beneath her, with the taste of them still in her mouth. She probably didn’t feel all that comfortable around me now.
I expected that while changing, she'd finally had a chance to inspect her new "Superman" pubic hairstyle, too. I liked that she’d know she was owned.
I let her make her spaghetti, and decided to hang out in the dining room chatting with Richard and Betty, as they came in hungry. Chuck was late as usual, but he'd probably make it by the time dinner started.
I didn't have much to say to Richard or Betty actually. Betty was nearly as religious a Mennonite as her roommate Liz was a Baptist, though she didn't feel as great a need to talk about it. She didn't seem to have much else to talk about either though.
Richard mostly kept to himself. Even Chuck, who shared a room with him, said Richard was hard to get to know.
Chuck was more my speed, a polymath with interests in language, literature, and amateur psychology. But he wasn't there yet. So I gave up on Richard and Betty, and stayed quiet, thinking about what I'd do tonight with Liz.
As an interesting side problem, I wondered if there was some way I could use Liz to brighten up these boring dinnertimes, too.
Dinner time (and Chuck) finally arrived, just as I was getting some wicked ideas, which I stored away for later on. The spaghetti was overcooked and the sauce sour and watery, but I didn’t expect much from Liz’s cooking.
On the good side, though, she did bring the plates to the table herself, serving everyone carefully, me first. But she didn’t look me in the eye.
She was remarkably quiet at dinnertime. Instead of dominating the conversation with her smug assertions and manufactured arguments about her religion and her family, she waited for others to speak, and replied politely and non-religiously, glancing occasionally at me when she didn't think I'd be looking. I grinned a big friendly ape grin and looked right back at her.
After a few of these grins, she got quiet and looked down at her plate, leaving me and Chuck to make conversation. Chuck was studying Chinese in his spare time, and was willing to pass on some tips on how to read the stuff on Chinese menus, so that kept us both occupied.
I helped him with the dishes after dinner, which always meant hours of conversation, since he was the world's slowest dishwasher. I didn't mind; he was good to talk to.
I would have loved to let him know about my work with Liz this morning -- he hated her even more than I did -- but it didn't seem the type of thing to talk about, and I wanted to keep things quiet for now. I didn't know how he'd react, and I was afraid of buggering things up.
I noticed that Liz was hanging out watching TV with Betty, and it was already 10 by the time the dishes were done. At 10:30 I was expecting (hoping) Liz would show up in my room and somehow get naked within 5 seconds. This would be interesting.
I still wasn’t sure she’d even show up – she might have just agreed this morning so she could get to work, and she knew I couldn’t really force her with everyone else around.
At 10 I went upstairs and made my bed, tidied up a bit, and on inspiration, put on a "Superman" logo T-shirt, and came back downstairs to watch TV. Liz saw me come in, did a double-take at the T-shirt, then controlled it and went back to watching the tube. But her face was pale, and she was chewing her lip, and she seemed restless.
I went up to my room early, left the door open. Just before 10:30 she ran up to her bedroom, and a few minutes later she walked into the bathroom, flushed the toilet, and came over to my room.
Yes!
She was uncomfortable with the door open, and immediately closed it behind her, and looked at me nervously, fidgeting.
She still seemed to be wearing her sweatshirt, but I noticed the jeans had been replaced with sweatpants. Ugly, but that would help. She pushed off her running shoes with her feet.
I was curious about her state of mind at this point, so I took on a dominant posture and voice, and said "Lucky you're a bit early. You still have 5 seconds left to be dressed appropriately."
She quickly pulled off her socks and sweatpants, then paused, looked determined, and whipped off the sweatshirt. There was nothing underneath it but her perky boobs. Five seconds were gone, and she smiled at me uncertainly, seeking approval.
She was wearing only baby-blue panties with a little bow at the front. Not what we'd agreed on. The appropriate dress was completely naked. But there she was, posing and modeling panties for me.
Suddenly I realized two things. First, she had given up trying to bail. She was going to cooperate with a smile, though I wasn’t sure I understood why. And second, I now knew how I could make those boring dinners more exciting.
I hid my grin behind a scowl. “You've either broken your agreement already," I intoned, “or you can't tell the difference between wearing panties, and not wearing panties. No matter. Your punishment will correct both of these problems. I will tell you about it later.”
Her face fell. I didn't react, but took out a pair of handcuffs and continued, “Hold out your left hand.” She hesitated and I looked at her sternly. Reluctantly, she came forward and gave me her left hand. I snapped the cuff on her wrist, ran the other one down under and between her legs, and without further explanation cuffed it to her right hand, behind her.
She now held herself in both hands. There was just barely enough slack for her to stand up straight, but only with the chain up inside her crack a bit, so she was a little hunched over, grabbing her own panties from front and back, but no longer able to remove them. Which would be object lesson number one.
“But—” she began.
“Speaking too? You're really asking for lots of punishment for one night. I'll have to spread it over a whole week now.” She apologized wordlessly, but I met it with a stony face.
“You will be on panty patrol for the next seven days. I will explain after I am satisfied. Now get on your knees.” She knelt with difficulty, one knee at a time.
I removed my belt from my jeans, held it folded in one hand, and explained, “Removing the belt was my contribution. Now you will use only your mouth and teeth to remove my pants. Each time you slip or miss an attempt, I'll slap your rump with this little belt.”
I wouldn't normally use a belt on a bare bottom, but then hers wasn't bare, was it?
She looked despairing at first, but then gamely took the corner of my jeans in her teeth and worked the buttonhole around the button. It got halfway over, then slipped out of her mouth, and she yelped as I slapped her behind with the folded belt. I realized I'd hit the back of her right hand, which wasn't my objective.
I told her to keep her hand to one side, to avoid a repeat of this, and she tried. On the second try she got the button loose, and then applied herself to the zipper.
It took several attempts to lower it all the way, and she got a pretty good spanking as she did, but she managed it. Then she had to figure out how to pull the pants off my hips.
I knew this was very difficult, and had already figured out the one way sure to work. She would have to open wide, grab my pants crotch and the bottom of the zipper in her mouth, and hold on tight as she pulled it all straight down.
She didn't know this, but by stopping her attempts to pull from the hips, slapping her ass, and pointing where I expected her to go next, I eventually got the idea across.
I felt warm moist breath on my crotch as she bit the thickest part of the jeans, under the fly, and pulled down with her head. I helped her out a smidgen, sliding my hand down behind my pants and lowering from behind.
She may not have known. She repeated the process with my black cotton briefs, which was scarier, but fun. My erection was already present and accounted for.
And then before I could tell her what to do next, she started to lick, suck, and bite me like I was her dearest boyfriend. Hmmm.
This felt great, but it wasn't the impression I wanted to give. I should grab her ears and fuck her throat instead. I knew this, but somehow I just couldn't bring myself to stop a good thing. I decided to just pretend it was what I wanted.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that this strategy was dangerous somehow. But c'mon, turning down a free blow? Naaaaw. Next time.
Meanwhile, I enjoyed her ministrations until I shot a nice load into her mouth, holding her head hard so she couldn’t pull away. I commanded her to swallow, and lick me clean.
She obviously wasn't used to that, and was humiliated by it, but she was getting rather turned on herself (possibly because of where her hands were, and where the chain was), and she did a pretty good job. But next time, I told myself, it was a deep throat for sure.
But now I had a very aroused sex-slave on my hands, and needed to set things straight. "Stand up," I told her, and took my pants off as I watched as she brought herself standing, one knee at a time, hands otherwise occupied.
"Spread your legs and show me what you're doing with your hands." She blushed, turned sideways to hide her crotch.
I swatted her behind with the belt, and she immediately turned back to me, spread her legs as instructed. I inspected the action under her waistline. I saw that her front hand, the left that she usually frigged herself with, was already deep into the now mushy-wet blue panties.
I turned her around to see that she was trying to pull on her lips from behind as well, and that her fingers had already pulled aside the panties' crotch from that side, though it was definitely in the way. The chain was all tangled up in there too.
"Rub your boobs against my hands, while you finish yourself off,” I said, wondering if she could even manage it with the panties in the way and soaking up all her juice. She smiled shyly; she still thought of her body as her own. That would change.
She rubbed her nipples up against my palms, which was nice enough for me, though not very satisfying for her, and moaned in frustration for some time but couldn't come.
Again and again she tried, and she was getting tender from the chafing of the chain and panties. She was able to rub her clit, but it was too dry and tender. She could pull the panties aside or rub her clit with her front hand, but not both. She rubbed her crotch against mine, and looked up at me pleadingly. This time I would be strong.
“Nice try, panty girl, but I'm afraid you've blueballed yourself this time. You'll have to finish yourself off later, perhaps in the morning.
But tonight it was panties you wanted, panties you got. Never again, right?” She mimed agreement and non-verbally promised it wouldn't happen again.
“Good. It won't be a problem again for a week, since you'll be on panty patrol.” Here was my plan for livening up those boring dinners.
“Panty patrol means that for the next week, you won't be wearing panties at all, ever. You will also avoid jeans, trousers, and pantyhose. It's skirt time for the next week, including at the dinner table.
“Loose sweatpants or extra-large shorts are allowed on weekends, with no panties. You'll sleep bottomless, if you don't already. If you must wear hose, use stay-ups, or cut the entire crotch out of your pantyhose.”
Liz looked grave, thinking of work, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“The patrol part is for me,” I continued.
“I will be checking every day, maybe more than once, to make sure that bare pussy is feeling the breeze. Wherever you may be, if I say “panty check” you'll stop what you're doing, and quietly come stand or sit beside me.
“Of course, I won't say ‘panty check’ since that would make everyone wonder. I'll pronounce it ‘candyfloss’. But you'll know what I mean, if I say that word. Right?” She nodded, perhaps imagining what would come next.
“I will of course put my hand up your skirt, and plunge a finger or two up inside you, checking that all is well. There may be others about, so you will have to be discreet.
“It won't necessarily end there. You will remain where you are until I decide I'm finished fingering you.
“If I want you to come, then you'll stay until you come, as many times as I wish. Quietly. Nobody around is to notice. Understood?”
She nodded with a bit too much enthusiasm, and pulled aside the crotch of her soaked panties, hoping I'd demonstrate right now and give her the relief she craved.
“Not tonight. You're still being punished. But I'll tell you what you can do instead. You can sleep here with me for a while. I'll attend to you in the morning.”
I picked her up and laid her gently down in my bed, hands still chained back to front.
I covered her up, kissed her forehead, and lay down beside her. I read a book for a while as she lay there quietly on her side, cooling down, carefully not moving her hands. Then I turned out the light, put my arm around her breasts, and went to sleep, satisfied.
At five in the morning something repeatedly nudged me awake. I felt around, noticed there was a girl in my bed, and her hands were still chained to her crotch. “Not yet!” I complained. She shook her head, looked down at her crotch, then over at the door. “mmm-mm-MMM!” Oh dear. Bladder time.
Well, I didn't want her peeing all over the waterbed, so I made another little punishment out of it. I helped Liz out of the bed, told her to stand still and wait a moment. I told her she would have to take a little chance. She squeezed her legs together.
I removed the cuffs, told her to remove the panties and hand them to me. She did, with some evident relief at finally being outside them.
I then walked her to the door, and told her she'd have to get to the bathroom and back naked, and hope that nobody else was up at this hour. Then I opened the door but she shrank away from it. She looked around for her clothes, but I had them near the door, and I made it clear that she had no choice.
She was both reluctant and excited, so I stage-whispered, “Go!” She ran to the bathroom, and I watched, but nobody else seemed to get up. A few minutes later she barged quickly back into the room and shut the door.
“Welcome to panty patrol,” was my greeting, holding up her crumpled panties. “You won't be needing these for another week.”
Finally, she was naked in my room, and waiting for instructions, as promised nearly 24 hours ago.
I looked down at the nice Superman "S" I'd shaved into her pubes the day before, traced it lightly with my finger. I moved my fingers a little lower, and as she squirmed against my hand I couldn't help but notice that she was nearly dripping wet, still.
“Now I believe you were looking for a good fuck.” She smiled faintly.
Fortunately, my solid morning erection was waving hello, so I had the pleasure of using it for once. I didn’t know what to do with her mushy blue panties, so I handed them to her.
“Shouldn’t have worn these.” I said. “You know where they go.”
She grimaced but shoved them in her mouth herself. I commanded her to lie on her back, knees up. I pulled her ass just off the edge of the bed, lifted it, and entered her soaking pussy roughly, hard.
She whimpered a bit, but it was with pleasure, and her breathing kept time with my thrusts.
She wrapped her arms behind her knees as I held her ass off the bed’s edge with one hand, fucking her hard. As her moans got louder I shushed her.
I dipped a finger into her wetness and used it to stroke her clit as I pushed into her, deep enough to impact her cervix on each stroke. Her mouth opened wide and she bucked, let her legs go as she came. I was still hard and not quite there yet.
She looked ready for more, so I repeated the process with a difference. I turned around to the toy drawer and took a tub of Vaseline. Turning back, I pulled her legs up and rested her ankles on my shoulders as I kneeled by the bed.
With one finger I lubricated her anus, outside and in, as she whimpered. Then I pushed my straining erection into that tight rosebud, while my other hand monitored with a couple fingers up inside her pussy, thumb gently on her clit as she thrust it toward me. She was just as tight as she had been yesterday morning.
I had to work gradually into her ass, just a few millimeters more with each thrust. She closed her eyes and concentrated on relaxing. But she was aroused to near insanity – she whimpered with my strokes, her hands pounding the waterbed at her sides, biting down on her soaked panties and tasting her own arousal, getting close to her own climax already again.
I was no more than 4 inches into her squeezing ass when she came, explosively this time, perhaps the result of waiting most of the night for it. I, too, had been waiting, and her spasms did it. I shuddered and filled her with semen, momentarily losing the ability to speak, frightened by the unprecedented intensity myself.
I pulled out after a while, gently put her down on the bed, took the panties out of her mouth, stroked her cheek comfortingly, and took a quick bathroom break to clean up.
Part 2b – Control
When I returned, Liz was under the covers. I didn’t want things to get too familiar between us, so I didn’t wish her to stay there. But I did want to remind her I owned her.
So I brought her clothes, sat her up, and put her shirt on her. She was tired but she tried to help, and I stopped her, told her to relax, and was dressing her like a mannequin instead. That gave me an idea.
I put her sweatpants on, pulled up to just above the knees. Then I brought her with me over to the edge of the bed, sat her on my lap, with my right thumb up inside her pussy. She put her arm around my shoulders, leaned back on me. I felt like a ventriloquist.
“Say ‘I am Simon’s fuckpuppet’,” I demanded quietly. She didn’t answer.
With my left hand I pulled her jaw down and up, spoke the words for her while bending my thumb up inside her. “I am Simon’s fuckpuppet.” She didn’t resist, but didn’t cooperate either.
I played with her clit with my right index and middle fingers, circling gently and insistently, pulling moisture from within her. My left hand wandered around inside her sweatshirt as she squirmed on my thumb. I pulled the sweatshirt up and perched the hem atop her breasts so I could reach and see them better.
After a few minutes she was flushed and sliding around on my thumb, bouncing on my lap, quite enjoying herself, though sleepy. I rubbed her clit lightly with my fingers, toyed with her breasts with the other hand. By now we really did look like a ventriloquist act, albeit a rather kinky one. I’m sure she was aware how this looked. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it. “Say it now, or you don’t finish,” I prompted.
She bounced on my thumb, but was silent. “You will say it eventually, and mean it too,” I said. “For now, you go to bed.”
Then I extracted my hand and stood Liz up, pulled the pants up and the sweatshirt down, and sent her back to her room. She moaned and wanted more, reached for my hand, but I slapped her hand back. I reminded her “no panties tomorrow, fuckpuppet,” and waited for her to leave.
As I went back to sleep for that last two delicious hours, I wondered what she'd tell Betty. Then I considered how the seating arrangements at dinner would get more interesting tomorrow.
* * *
Tuesday I woke up late, a little slow from lack of sleep, but at least satisfied, rather than horny as usual. I got up to take a shower and, as usual, Liz was in it already. I glanced around – the other bedroom doors were open and all the others were gone.
Liz was the only one besides me who usually didn’t shower until 8, so that had to be her. Everyone else had left by now. But I wasn’t one to go pounding on doors.
I waited quietly outside the bathroom until she emerged, head turbaned with a towel, yellow robe as usual. “Nice headgear, fuckpuppet. Looks just like candyfloss,” I grinned.
She moaned, and mimed that she was late for work. I ignored this, pushed her back against the wall, pulled her robe open at the bottom, checked for panties (amazingly, she wasn’t wearing any fresh from the shower), and then checked all the way up inside her, in case she was hiding any panties up there.
She wasn’t, but she was rather wet and warm from the shower, and feeling stressed, and I couldn’t resist. Though I’d already had her twice earlier this morning, I was rather turned on by her shaving job, incorporating my initial, and once I’d started fingerfucking her, I just couldn’t stop.
I’d left her half-finished the night before, so she was ready quickly. Her protests gradually became moans of arousal, and she deliberately straddled my hand and pressed down on it for more.
When she was thoroughly ready, so was I. I threw her robe off, lifted her by the ass a few inches, slid her down onto my erection, and had her up against the wall beside the bathroom door: hard, furious, urgent.
Her stress from being late added to my excitement, if not hers. She wrapped her arms around my neck as I held her rump and used her entire weight to fuck her with.
After just a couple of minutes of hard pumping, her tight little pussy did its work and I came inside her, most of my cum dripping back out of her onto me or down her clean thighs. She was almost finished herself, but not quite. Ah, well, the life of a slave is hard.
I put her down. “Stand up, legs apart.” She stood before me wearing just a towel on her head, on the second floor landing, her thighs still dripping our juices.
I slid one finger up the inside of her left thigh, gathering the dripping liquids, then put the finger before her mouth. I told her, “Lick it clean.”
She was still aroused, and gave it an enthusiastic try, sucking my finger clean, though she obviously didn’t like the taste once she tried. I repeated with her other leg and she licked my finger clean less enthusiastically. I told her to finish the job with her own left index finger, and she hesitated.
I tried something new, a carrot instead of a stick. “Come on, Jesus-girl. Get yourself all clean and maybe you’ll get a reward.”
It must have been humiliating for Liz to clean her now-bald pussy for me like, well, like a cat cleans her ears, reaching down and wiping first her thighs, then her lips, then eventually between them, and licking it off each time and swallowing. I watched her intently, grinning. She was making little involuntary whining sounds high in her throat as she blushed hotly.
As my own erection returned from watching the show, I teased “Nice pussy – cat!” Sure enough, with that bit of taunting, she got even wetter, and had to clean herself even more. She was flushed and breathing thickly again by the time she was done.
Liz looked up at me, waiting for her reward.
I pushed her back against the wall again, reached beneath her with my right hand, slipped two fingers into her pussy from below, then worked a third in, making her grunt and squirm. “Ride my hand,” I ordered quietly, and she did. I let her continue to ride, playing a fast little tune on her clit with my thumb, for several minutes.
As she rode my hand, I knelt beside her, and gradually lowered my hand, and she had to bend her knees to stay with me. I pressed her shoulders down a bit, keeping her impaled as she sat against the wall. Her clit was visible and larger by now, pressing up against my thumb as I pinned it and released it.
As she got close to a sitting position, her legs were getting tired, and I slipped one knee under her legs so she could support herself as she rode.
She moaned with each touch. When she was riding my knee, with much of my right hand inside her, very close to a climax, I turned to her, took her lower jaw gently in my left hand, and said “You know what to say now.”
She shook her head.
“Say, ‘I’m Master’s little fuckpuppet.’”
She stood up suddenly, shook her head, her face screwed up and near tears. Her juices covered my hand and her inner thighs.
“You know this will just keep getting worse, don’t you?”
She nodded, her face almost apologetic, but with a vestige of pride.
“No reward yet then. On your knees, hands behind your head.” She was really stressed now, but she complied. She licked my hand clean when I put it close to her.
“Now suck me off and then go to work.”
* * *
At Tuesday dinner, Liz sat, as usual, at the head of the table, and seemed animated, talkative once more. But this meant she was less under control, too. She replied to one of Chuck’s comments with one of her favorite parable-based expressions about “going the extra mile” and I caught her eye and pointed a finger.
She reddened, fell silent, and ate quietly. I mentioned, a bit loudly, that the jello dessert Richard had made tasted just like candy floss. Richard asked what was wrong with it, and I told him no, not to worry, it was a compliment. In fact, I babbled, I really liked candy floss.
By now, Liz had walked over, bringing her dessert, and quietly seated herself beside me. There was no extra chair there, so I scooted over to let her share mine. Since both Liz and I acted natural about it, I guess nobody thought to ask why. At least, not aloud.
Since she had one buttock off the chair, it was pretty easy for me to slip a couple fingers up inside her, and I noticed she had been anticipating this – she was quite wet.
We both finished off our jello as I danced my finger where her inner lips met, while plunging two more fingers deep inside her to bring out more lubrication. I kept up a stream of inane comments about the jello, and my favorite desserts, as I massaged inside Liz’s pussy discreetly.
After some time I pushed my thumb into her anus, and she suppressed a little scream, turned it into a hiccup, did her best to keep silent. Betty looked at her strangely, but said nothing.
Liz was unable to speak, but she avoided moaning. Her breathing seemed a bit heavy, that was all. Her far leg was trembling violently from supporting half her weight, and from the excitement.
The others got up to clean off the table, but I kept her there until she seemed about to come, then very close.
Then I stopped, and said “Later. And you may not come until tonight in my room.” She pouted with disappointment. I had just thought of this extra level of control, and was really enjoying it.
I cleared off the remaining plates on the table and brought them into the kitchen, disappearing quickly upstairs before anyone asked why my hand smelled funny. Liz didn’t seem to be in the mood to hang out with others either. She retired early.
* * *
Of course, by 10:30 I was still expecting her in my room, and she was there. She came in straight from her room, wearing her work outfit, the same navy skirt, but her shoes and socks were gone already. Her blouse had the top 2 buttons undone, as well as the shirtcuffs.
She quickly pulled off her blouse over her head, unzipped the skirt and stepped out of it, and was naked well within 5 seconds. Her pussy lips were open and swollen, and damp, and I knew what she’d been doing in her bedroom alone. Her hand immediately strayed between her legs, and I believed she’d been holding back as ordered.
“You didn’t come without permission, did you?” I asked sternly. She started to play with herself, shook her head no, looked pleadingly at me.
“Good slave,” I said. “But you forgot yourself earlier, and spoke of your religion.” She looked a bit frightened, as well she should be. Last time we’d spoken of religion, I had put Jesus up her ass, and she probably expected it again.
Well, my thick dick was bigger than that butt plug I’d used on her last time, and it seemed a more than adequate substitute to me.
I said, “Detention time.” I put a spiral notebook and pen on my desk, but stopped her sitting in the chair, wanting her to bend over the desk to write instead. I remained standing behind her.
“Write 'I will not discuss religion with non-Baptists. This I swear in Jesus' name,” I commanded. She bent over, wrote this down. Her left hand remained between her legs.
“Write it again.” She did.
“Now keep writing that promise, over and over, and don’t stop, no matter what I do. And be quiet.” Liz shivered, and kept writing her punishment phrase, and masturbating.
Behind her I took off my pants, lubed up my already hard dick with some vaseline, and, since she was conveniently bending over naked in front of me, pressed it into her ass. She yelped.
I grabbed her breasts and pulled her body towards me, thrusting in a little further. She started to cry out again, then bit her lip and silenced herself. I whispered in her ear “Keep writing. Remember Jesus? He’s back in your ass, just like you shove him up everyone else’s.” She whimpered, and her knees shook. But she kept writing.
I continued to add more lube, and worked my lubricated dick slowly deeper into her tight behind. She grunted with pain each time, whimpered.
I let go of one breast and slipped a couple of fingers inside her pussy, where I met with her left hand, which was already rubbing her clit and into her passage, furiously.
Even with all the lube, the ass-penetration was much harder going this time than the previous time, when I’d carefully prepared her and relaxed her sphincter. But this wasn’t supposed to be fun, it was punishment.
Her body was beginning to respond – she was starting to push back towards me with each attempt to penetrate her deeper. I was being careful, since I didn't want to cause injuries that would make her unavailable for next time.
I checked her work, and she was still writing, though her handwriting was shaky and slow, and she had trouble staying on the lines. Even with the pain, her pussy was lubricating still and her breaths were hoarse, whimpery.
She was close to orgasm already, and her hand was scratching mine in an attempt to frig herself faster than I was going.
I told her “You may not come without permission, understand? Slow down if you need to, but wait until I give permission.” She moaned and nodded agreement.
I managed to work myself into her asshole a full 5 inches, very slowly, as she yipped with each successful thrust. She was speeding up and slowing down with her own fingers, and I speeding up and slowing down my fingers to match hers, to keep her from coming too soon.
When I felt I was close, I said “You may come when I do, but not before.” She nodded, her body shaking. I continued, slowly, with her help now, and I had penetrated her ass a good 6 inches when I filled her ass with hot spunk, and she gasped with pleasure and pain, and orgasmed so violently she nearly hit me in the nose with her head.
I stayed in there for several minutes afterward, reminding her to keep writing, feeling the tight squeeze of her ass muscles keeping me hard. I pulled hard on her swollen nipples while she wrote, pinching and mauling them a little this time instead of my usual gentle treatment.
I was amazed to see that she was still getting turned on by the rough treatment, perhaps interested in trying again. Was there nothing I could do that she wouldn’t like? Hmmmm.
I stopped her writing, turned her to face me. I pressed down on her shoulders and she knelt for me. “Good girl. Now you need to clean my cock.” I said. Her eyes widened, knowing where it had just been.
“Please, Master, I’ll be good, I’ve done everything you want, please don’t make me do that,” she spoke for the first time. I slapped her cheek, hard.
“Silence, fuckpuppet. You do not choose your punishment. But you can make it harder. Now you will be bound while you clean me.”
At this point she could have just grabbed her clothes and run out of the room. She could have hit me back. Instead she wept, and didn’t meet my eye, and held out her hands for binding. I noticed she’d called me “Master” on her own. The suggestions were beginning to work.
I put a leather cuff on each wrist, took her hands and led her to the waterbed, laid her on her back. From the nearby drawer I took out some new toys.
With some purple bondage straps I’d bought after work yesterday, I bound her ankles to her thighs, leaving her legs in a permanent frog position above her. The straps had D-rings on each side, and I clipped each inner thigh to a wrist cuff.
She could reach her pussy now, but not much else. I told Liz to start masturbating, and she was embarrassed, but began while I watched, averting her eyes. I pulled her head to look at me, looked her in the eye, touched one of her hands lightly while she worked her pussy. She was forced to look at me while I watched and felt her play with herself.
I picked her up off the bed, put her butt on the floor, and held her balanced there on her behind, knees up to her chest. I waited while she continued to play with her pussy. Her face was at just the right height.
I put my dirty cock in her mouth, waited while she cleaned it off, wincing. After a few seconds, she gagged.
I pulled out for a bit, let her recover, then entered her mouth again. She opened her mouth gamely, but this time she gagged right away, retched a bit. Her hands stopped moving.
I gave in. She had tried. I picked her up a bit, propped her up on the floor leaning back against the waterbed, told her, “While I’m gone, masturbate fiercely, but do not come.”
I donned a robe and went to the bathroom to clean myself off. Chuck was there as I went by his room on the way back, and he wanted to speak, but I put him off gently and continued into the room, shielding the open doorway with my body as I entered.
There was Liz, looking froglike and helpless, leaning back against the waterbed and frigging herself furiously, two-handed. She didn’t stop as I entered the room. Her knees were up nearly to her shoulders, her heels off the ground. I was very pleased to see her, my new fuck toy, helpless and doing as I’d commanded.
It was time to teach her to deep-throat.
“Open wide,” I said, reaching into my toys drawer.
She shuddered, and opened her mouth, submissively. I put a special bit in her mouth, and strapped it behind her head. She would be unable to bite down, but the bit would depress her tongue more than most, leaving a nice passage to her throat guaranteed.
“Your pussy is your own job tonight,” I continued, as she worked one hand on her clit, the other inside. She was whimpering a little, moving faster.
“But your mouth is mine,” I continued. “Whisper now. Open wide and say “eeeeeee”. She repeated the magic vowel, mouth wide open, while I sprayed several doses of Chloraseptic anesthetic spray down her throat. That should handle the gag reflex.
I pressed her head over my now-clean cock, grabbed her ears and pushed into her mouth, all the way back to her throat. She was horribly uncomfortable, I’m sure, since she was snorting and blowing snot while trying to breathe. But she didn’t gag much.
I kept my erection down her throat for long periods, as deep as it would go, feeling her warmth, then as she gagged, pulled it back for a bit so she could breathe, then repeated the process.
Her own muffled moans were coming faster. After several minutes, it became just wonderful and I shot the full load down her throat.
I pulled partly out, lifting her head and she had to swallow most of it to breathe. I have to admit, it was uncomfortable for me to be this hard on her. I tried to hide that.
After she swallowed, she coughed and sputtered for a while, getting snot and drool and cum on my body, and I helped by removing the bit in her mouth.
Finally I said, “Now you can clean my cock, as well as the mess you’ve made on me.” I waited patiently while she meekly sucked and licked my body clean of all her mess and mine, swallowing it all. She was obviously still revolted but no longer protesting, and somewhat turned on, if anything.
“Good slave. Now you may come.” I said comfortingly. I had her suck my softening cock dry as, moaning loud enough to be heard through the wall, she brought herself to a shuddering climax with her knees up.
I picked her up and put her on the waterbed, on her back. I checked her legs to see that they were not bound too tightly, that they were the right color and had plenty of slack under the straps. They might cramp up overnight, but she’d let me know if that became a problem.
Her cunt was still quite wet, and I cleaned it with my fingers, feeding her juices to her. She was starting to get used to the taste; she had stopped protesting.
Then I put the covers over her, slipped into bed, and turned off the lights. She started to protest that she was still frogtied, but realized that it wouldn’t help, and lay there in the dark beside me, knees, hands in her crotch, feet in the air, trying to sleep instead. As I fell asleep, my hand under the curve of her breast, I think she was beginning to play with her pussy again.
Part 2c – Fuckpuppet
At five in the morning she rolled over onto me to wake me, moaning and nibbling my ear. I woke up, irritably, and realized that she again had to pee. She was still neatly frogtied, legs raised, arms down. “This time,” I whispered, “you’ll have to wait a bit.”
Since her bottom and pussy were about as available as they could be, I sat cross-legged on the bed, and picked her up bodily, one hand on a buttock, the other under her opposite arm.
It was that time of morning when I was always erect, whether awake or not, so I just slid her down onto my erection and pumped her whole body like a sex toy. The sense of her helplessness and my control was inspiring.
As I raised and lowered her body, I told her, “Think about what you are now. Feel how used you are. Tell me.”
She mouthed, “Fuckpuppet,” but didn’t, perhaps couldn’t, say it aloud. I grinned wickedly and continued using her effectively armless, legless body as a unit, shifting my grip on her as I pumped her up and down, now on a breast and buttock, later on her hips, or one hand under her bent knees and one on her back. She squirmed and grunted, possibly from the full bladder as much as anything.
I told her “You may not come this time.” Her eyes widened, and she moaned.
Her discomfort and humiliation kept her wet, and brought me to a shuddering release, quickly, which was good since my arms were tired. I shot a full creamy load inside her. She was nearly ready to come, but obediently did not. I was just glad she didn’t lose control and pee in the bed.
Then I unbound her, and she collapsed. Her legs were like jelly. I massaged them gently, then harder. Treating her like a rag doll, I put her blouse and skirt back on her, then tilted her up to a sitting position, stood her up and down until she could bear her own weight. Then I walked her around the room until her legs worked again, and sent her off to the bathroom and her own bed.
She looked at me pleadingly but I was firm. I whispered, “Remember, tomorrow no panties, no Jesus. You may not come until I say you can. And remember what you are now.”
* * *
Wednesday morning I was up earlier than I expected to be, and I actually had time after my shower to eat a nice breakfast. Richard and Chuck had already left for work, and Betty was just starting her breakfast already.
I wished her a cheerful good morning, and she gave me a peculiar look, but returned the greeting noncommittally. Betty left shortly, not talking to me.
I finished my breakfast slowly and was about to leave, wondering if Liz had slept late or left early, when I saw her coming down the stairs, a bit more quickly than usual.
She seemed pleased to see me, and paused on the stairs, showing me her shortish pink skirt. She flashed me, lifting the front of the skirt so I could easily see that there were, in fact, no panties under it. I could also see her big shaved “S” and the marks on her thighs from last night’s bindings.
This was too easy. Monday this girl and I had had a healthy loathing for each other, and she was deeply religious and priggish. Today she was an exhibitionist slut, volunteering for more, and seemed to enjoy her humiliations. But not yet an admitted fuckpuppet.
"That's the right outfit, all right" I said. "But I choose the time to check, you do not. The time will be tonight, at dinner. Richard's cooking. Don't be late." With that, I left for work.
The bus was slow in coming, and before it arrived, Liz had joined me in the crowd at the stop, apparently skipping breakfast.
She seemed a bit embarrassed to see me this time, standing on the other side of the crowd, and I had a notion why. I had told her I wouldn't check until dinnertime, so maybe she was trying to get away with something.
I said out loud, “I would just love some candyfloss right now,” and turned to look directly at her. Reluctantly, she made her way through the crowd toward me, and when she came near, I slipped my hand up the back of her skirt.
Sure enough, she was wearing some forbidden panties. This would be fun to punish.
I looked directly at her, as she looked down in shame and anticipation. “Hand them over,” I commanded quietly. She was shocked.
She motioned at the dozen people nearby, waiting for the same bus, some of them in arm's reach. Waving served only to draw attention, and she wilted with embarrassment.
“Now,” I said, in a voice she could only interpret as a direct order. She turned her back to most of the crowd and quickly peeled off the panties from under her skirt, down over her shoes and back up into her hand, and handed them to me.
I was facing the others at the stop, most of whom were watching by now, thanks to Liz. Three teenaged girls giggled uncontrollably, while a young bearded guy our age was unable to hide his interest. I ignored them as I examined her panties.
They were not her usual standard cotton briefs. They were cheap black-and-red polyester "lingerie" with a lace-and-satin look, the kind student girls buy to impress their boyfriends. Not her usual style at all. I took them and pocketed them, wondering if this was a set-up.
The bus finally arrived, and I brought her with me onto the bus, and onto a forward-facing double seat. The bus was crowded, and more people got on with each stop. But it didn't matter. I slipped my hand behind her, under her butt, and pulled the back of her skirt up.
Liz sat beside me, desperately trying to look normal as my hand, beneath her short pink skirt, plundered her slippery depths, while making gentle circuits with my thumb around her swollen pearl.
She was breathing heavily, hoarsely, and looking around to see if anyone was noticing our lack of discretion. It probably would have been easier to miss if I hadn’t been holding her slutty panties in my other hand, up against the handbar of the seat ahead.
The young bearded man who had noticed the panties coming off was sitting across the aisle, one seat behind, making no attempt to hide his interest. She noticed him, then tried to ignore him. I kept working her pussy, until even the people standing nearby were looking pointedly away.
She was flushed and panting, looking like she’d just been running, but managed to keep her moans silent as I brought her nearer and nearer to her finish.
My right hand was still beneath her, partly inside her, and it reminded me of our ventriloquist act, so I reached my left hand over to grab her jaw, panties under her chin, and said, “Say it.”
She knew I wouldn’t let her climax until she did. She whispered, “I’m your little fuckpuppet,” and smiled winningly. I tugged her inner lips, massaged her clit a little faster.
“That would be good enough, if you hadn’t just been wearing panties. Bad girl. Now try again, out loud.” I continued massaging her clit, keeping her close to the edge.
She cringed, but repeated hoarsely out loud, “I’m -- your little -- fuckpuppet.” I felt her wettening with humiliation as her breathing quickened.
“And that would have been good enough if you had said it before in private, when I told you to. Now it’s too late for privacy.
“Say ‘I’m his little fuckpuppet,’” I continued, still discreetly massaging her inside and out, very fast now, “Loud, loud enough for that young man over there to hear you.” She was whimpering and ready. She nodded. I tugged her clit, hard.
“I’m his little fuckpuppet!” she shouted as she came, and gasped. She stiffened against the seat, then collapsed. Several heads turned. There was a faint round of applause.
I let her go and she blushed down to her chest. She whimpered with embarrassment, hid her face in my armpit. A minute later she poked her head out and noticed she’d missed her stop a while ago. She got up in a panic and pushed her way off the bus, feeling, not inaccurately, that people were staring at her.
I ignored the people looking at me after she’d left. What could they do? I sat there grinning, wiping my hand off on her fancy polyester panties until I reached my stop. When I left the bus, I dropped them into a trash bin on the way.
Panty patrol had been a good idea.
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