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October 2, 2007

Not until after English

She stumbled out of bed to answer the shrilling phone, still half asleep. She barked her shins on a pile of notebooks on the floor. Across the room, her roommate groaned and rolled over in her sleep. She hurried a bit more to get the phone before waking her roommate up.

“Hello?” she asked sleepily.

“Morning,” came the reply. She recognized the voice of her master immediately.

“Hello, sir,” she said, and her voice had a much more submissive tone. “Why did you call me?” She wished she was at his apartment. So much better, to lie with him and awake with her small hands bound in a bondage belt, with the warmth of his body nearby and having the excuse of fetters to allow her to lie in bed.

“I want you to come to the dining hall and have breakfast with me. Also, I want you to wear a skirt today. Above the knee, I think. And your stockings and garter belt.”

“Why?”

“You’ll find out after English. You can wear flats if you want, but bring your heels along in a bag. Oh, and if you wear underwear, it has to be something that comes off easily. Wear your silk ones with the bows.”

“OK, sir,” she said, wondering inside what he meant. She would be glad in an hour for having eaten, but right now she wanted more than anything to crawl back into bed and sleep. She had half an hour before class. But she obeyed, wondering why all the while.

He was no more tractable at breakfast. He allowed her to get three bowls of Captain Crunch, something he usually forbade on the grounds that it was junk, but anytime she asked why he wanted her dressed that way he only answered, “You’ll find out after English.”

English. Short Story Writing, specifically. The last class she had on Fridays, the only one she had with him. So many times, that had been the last thing she did before spending a weekend in erotic submission to him. The simple thought made her belly turn over.

The whole day she was unable to keep her mind off it. What did he have planned? A weekend of submission? Maybe. But that was hardly uncommon. So why all the secrecy? And why the costuming? In classes, she found herself writing his name and WHY? WHY? WHY? on her notes. She tapped her feet incessantly and waited for the class to end. She supposed people were looking at her. She didn’t care.

After lunch, which she ate with some friends, for he was on the other side of campus, she headed back to her room and got the required heels. Patent leather pumps, with a locking ankle strap and five inch heels. She wrapped them in paper towels and put them in a shoe box, which she put in her backpack. Three more hours! She would never make it.

Well, two more. Class started at two and ended at three. She had an hour before her one o’clock class, so she tried to call him but the answering machine picked up. Was he there, grinning broadly at the answering machine, laughing at her curiousity, or was he really not there? She could picture either. She wished he would let her see his schedule.

After trying for the third time she decided he was either not there or not going to answer. She tried to read the short story someone had written which was going to be discussed in class, but she couldn’t concentrate. She was too curious about what he had planned for her.

She glanced at her own reflection in the mirror. Deciding she ought to look nice for whatever he had planned for her, she applied some mascara and blusher and lipstick. This took up most of the time remaining.

If he blindfolds me after the work I did on that makeup, I’m gonna be pissed, she thought as she bounced across the quad.

In the last class before English she found herself looking out the window. Was that him out in back of the building, watching her? It had to be. No one else would lurk outside so boldly, as if they had every right to be there. Was he looking at her? Smiling at her? She couldn’t tell.

The hour dragged on. And on. She was growing quite impatient. Finally the bell rung and she was free.

English was absolute torture, she decided. She sat next to him as she always did, and kept trying to whisper in his ear. He would merely grin evilly, and conveniently stretch so that he would be out of range of her whisper. She passed him notes, as if she was a high schooler. He merely read them and put them in his notebook. When she dared say something aloud, he hushed her and suggested that she quiet down and pay attention to class.

The small, androgynous boy whose story was being presented that day gave her a nasty look. She frowned back at him. Under the table, his hand touched her skirt and pulled it up slightly, just enough so that he could feel her leg.

She leaned in close to whisper in his ear, and he let her this time.

“I obeyed,” she said.

“Good,” he said, and grinned again, that annoying satisfied cat-got-the-cream grin he had that he gave herwhen he knew something he did not intend to tell her. Sometimes it made her want to scream and jump up and down. Now was one of those times.

Finally, the class was over. He got up and headed for the door immediately. She threw her things in her backpack and raced after him. He was heading into an empty classroom. She ran in after him just as he was closing the door and turned to face him, breathless.

“Okay, it’s after English. So tell me.” she said.

For answer he merely took her arm and spun her around so that she was in front of him, facing away. His grasp was not painful but irrevocable. She felt handcuffs clamped onto her wrists. Then the slight click of the double lock being engaged on each. These were police handcuffs, and gave her very little room. Then he bent her over a desk, got something out of his bag, and spread her legs. She was surprised but pliant, not wanting to resist unless he hurt her. First his hands untied the bows on the hips of her panties and took them off.

She felt an assplug slip into her, and an admonishment; “Don’t let go of that until I tell you you can.”

Then he was taking off her shoes and putting her feet into the five-inch pumps, locking each ankle strap with a small lock. Afterwards he scooped up his own bag and hers, took her wrists in the other hand, and marched her neatly to the elevator. She was grateful he did not make her try the stairs with these shoes and her wrists cuffed behind her back.

In the elevator, he hiked up her skirt and checked her; she was already moist in the excitement and surprise.

“What are you doing?” she asked for the first time since after English.

“Don’t ask. Don’t say a word.”

His car was parked in the lot nearby. He got her in the passenger seat, and then got in himself. He locked both doors, an unnecessary precaution since she could not open the door anyway, and then put her seat belt on. Donning his own, he started the engine and drove away.

Anytime she spoke, he immediately responded with an order to be silent. He hiked her skirt up to her waist and fondled her freely. This was dizzying. She was restrained, kept in a car, being taken to God knows where, and not even allowed to speak. It was incredibly exciting.

When he got to the Interstate, he stopped for a moment to put a pair of Gargoyle sunglasses on her. He had painted these with black paint, and she could see very little, but no passersby in cars would have any clue. Without being able to see, she had no real way to gauge time, since the radio was not playing and he was being fairly silent.

After maybe an hour, maybe two, maybe ten years, he pulled off the Interstate, and a short time later pulled over completely. He got out of the car, went around and let her out, and led her forward. She felt gravel clicking under her heels. Then, up three steps, and onto a porch of some kind. It sounded like concrete when she walked on it. She heard him fumble briefly with a key, and then she was being led indoors. Then he took the blindfold off.

She was in a wood-paneled den, with a fireplace and a few hunting trophies on the walls. There were two doors leading from the room. One looked like it led to a bathroom, the other to a bedroom. She glanced around at the place curiously.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“Like it?” She walked around briefly. “It’s beautiful. But how did you get it?”

“It was my grandpa’s house,” he said. “I’m in the process of getting it. Some yap about probate. Some other people in the family want it, I think. But it’ll be mine soon.”

Will it be mine too? she wanted to ask, but didn’t have the courage to.

He came up behind her and unzipped her skirt, pulling it gently but firmly off her. Then he removed the handcuffs, only to replace them with leather cuffs. Then he buckled and locked a wide leather collar around her neck. He removed her blouse and bra, and then locked her wrists behind her back. Then he buckled another pair of leather cuffs on her ankles.

“Let me show you the basement,” he suggested, as if none of what he had done before had happened. But she was very wet now, very excited as he forced her down the rickety stairs to the basement.

There was a door at the end of the stairs. He pushed her through this and locked it. Inside, the basement was finished. She saw a room on her left which he propelled her into, and she could see in the dim light several toys up on the walls and a spanking horse and a bed in the corner of the room.

“You like it?” he asked, his voice betraying an edge of sharpness.

“Yes-oh God, fuck me-,” she choked.

“Not yet.” He took her over to the spanking horse, spread her legs and fastened them to the legs of the horse, then freed her arms briefly to bend her over the horse and attach her wrist cuffs to the legs on the other side.

She heard him shuck off his pants and then he had a fistful of her hair, pulling her head up. In his hand she saw a riding crop. Her head could not rise far with her body spreadeagled and secured down.

His penis was stiff and dancing about, and she was wet and ready for him. But he forced her to lick it instead, lick it and suck it while he whipped her ass with the crop. This was a game she knew. She was to suck him while he whipped her until he came. Until he did, the whipping would get steadily harder.

She did what she usually did. She delayed him so that he would whip her harder. Eventually she passed into a sort of out-of-body experience: she could still feel the whip striking her, but it didn’t hurt anymore. She felt the cock in her mouth, everything seeming to happen very slowly, and she thought, I’m a cocksucker. And it seemed very good.

Finally he came, and she licked him clean, feeling tired and limp. He came around to her welted ass, and rubbed it gently.

“Why so tired?” he asked. She felt his cock slip into her from behind, but was too well bound to fight it. It felt good, slipping into her dark and wet depths. Her welts stung as he touched them. They had both broken out into a sweat.

“So tired already?” He began to pump slowly. “It’s gonna be a long weekend, sweetheart.”


anonymous author

[2,076 words]

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