My Sweet Degradation (3 page)

He worked his bulbous helmet against my entrance and my body betrayed me all too easily. I had no doubt that he would be able to thrust into me without any difficulty whatsoever, and closing my eyes I prepared myself for just that outcome...

‘But maybe you're right and I've read you all wrong,' he goaded, as he drew the head of his stiff prick up and down my slit, to mock me with my own wetness. ‘I've done some pretty bad things in the past, but I've never forced myself on a woman. We both know what you really want, but I'm not gonna give it to you until you ask me to.'

The stable manager pressed against me once more, and reflexively I angled my hips to meet him, willing him to enter me fully, but just at the point where I felt certain he was about to slip deep inside he pulled back again and I was forced to whimper my frustration.

‘Say it,' he hissed. ‘Tell me you want me to fuck you.'

But I couldn't allow myself to give him that satisfaction.

Once again he tugged my hair so that my head was wrenched uncomfortably back, but it somehow only served to intensify the bittersweet sensation of his prick teasing me from behind, tight between my thighs, gently pumping back and forth against my wet pussy lips.

My mind battled with the desperate need for pure physical satisfaction, and the knowledge that I was demeaning myself so disgracefully, and I took desperate breaths through my nostrils, swallowing through a constricted throat.

‘Say it,' he growled. ‘Tell me and I'll give you just what you want.'

‘No, please...' I gasped, wincing as he wound his roped hand still deeper into my hair. Again I tried to push back, to make him fuck me without me having to lower myself by begging him, but once more he pulled away.

‘Say it. Tell me to fuck you like the dirty little slut you are, and I'll let you feel my stiff cock slide all the way inside your cunt.' My eyes filled with fresh tears of humiliation and finally, unable to take his taunting any longer, I gave in.

‘All right,' I whispered, utterly broken.

‘All right what?' he tormented.

‘Look, please,' I pleaded, ‘just fuck me.'

It was a bliss-filled agony to feel him teasing my pussy entrance in such a way; pushing into me, over and over, so that his swollen helmet would stretch me wide yet never quite enter. Looking back I suppose it must have been just as physically tortuous for him as it was for me, and I do wonder if he would simply have fucked me in the end, no matter what, but to my shame that was an eventuality we never met.

‘Say it properly and you can have what you want. Tell me you're a spoilt little bitch and you want me to fuck you.'

Again the tears overflowed. He had won and he was right; I
was
a spoilt little bitch and really did want him to fuck me. So with a deep, shivering breath I did as I was told. ‘Yes, yes I am,' I whispered, my submissive obedience thrilling me even further. ‘I'm a spoilt little bitch. Now fuck me,
please
...'

And Patrick finally gave me what I yearned for, with one powerful movement thrusting deep to sink the entire length of his beautiful prick deep within me.

‘Oh!' I sobbed, the sudden, overwhelming sense of satisfaction causing my head to swim and my inner muscles to clutch around the intrusion. But all too soon he began to withdraw, and I released a tiny cry of frustration as he pulled away. For an instant I actually feared he might leave me for good, that he was not yet done with his teasing, but then he sank into me again, harder and deeper this time while releasing a guttural cry of his own.

Patrick fucked me good and hard from behind. It was sex as raw and as animalistic as I have ever experienced, and I cried out with each electrifying thrill that rippled through my body. Beyond the physical pleasure I drew illicit satisfaction from the shameful knowledge that I had been tied up against my will, stripped as good as naked, and all so that the stable manager might abuse my body by way of a punishment.

In and out he pumped – harder and faster. His hands clawed at the tortured flesh of my ass cheeks, squeezing and drawing them apart to expose me more intimately still, and I cursed vulgarly with every powerful thrust of his hips, every slap of his groin against my buttocks, the rope burning my wrists as I leant into its biting grip for support.

I knew I'd not be unable to hold out for much longer, that my body was rapidly being drawn towards something colossal, and I forced myself to try and relax so as to extend the pleasure for as long as possible, but it was no good; the relentless pounding of his thick shaft alongside the extreme sexual tension that had grown within me from the moment Patrick had tossed me over his shoulder, meant I was fighting a losing battle.

And so it happened. Panting wildly I felt my orgasm suddenly surge with a molten heat. ‘Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,' I gasped, my legs buckling so that Patrick was forced to quickly wrap a strong arm around my waist as I surrendered completely. Over and over again I cried out, my climax crashing down on me in a succession of waves. And through it all Patrick fucked me just as perfectly as ever, only with shorter, more aggressive strokes, and as my body inevitably began to slow he succumbed to his own pleasure.

Perhaps it was meant as a final act of degradation, maybe it was simply how he liked it, but as I felt his muscles lock tight, as I listened to his breath catch at the back of his throat, he suddenly withdrew from my replete body and releasing an anguished growl, he spurted hot sticky seed all over my ravished bottom – a final insult to ‘daddy's little princess'.

In time that inevitable cold realisation, where irrational desire is superseded by rational thought, took hold, and the blood once again rose to my cheeks. Patrick must have experienced something similar as I suddenly felt the rope slacken completely, so that I could finally lower my aching arms to my sides.

I listened, without daring to turn around, to the sound of him pulling up and fastening his jeans. He then stepped around to the front of me and I watched as his fingers carefully worked at the knotted rope around my wrists. Once or twice I dared to look up at his face, yet he refused to meet my gaze, his expression remaining inscrutable. The rope eventually came loose and he quickly unwound it before allowing it to fall to the ground.

To say that the atmosphere in the barn was awkward would be an understatement of epic proportions, but what possible, comfortable resolution could there have been? Of course there was none, and in the end it was all I could do to watch as the stable manager turned away and headed purposefully towards the open doors.

For some bizarre reason I felt the desire to call out to him before he left, but to say exactly what I wasn't sure. An apology, perhaps? Or a thank you? And then it was too late anyway; Patrick was gone, his silhouette swallowed by the gathering dusk outside.

As for me, I just stood there, wiping my tear-streaked cheeks against the hem of my top before awkwardly bending down to pull my breeches up with numb fingers and thumbs. I felt utterly spent. My backside burnt with a pain I had momentarily forgotten, and the sticky residue of his sperm trickled down a thigh as I refastened the press studs at my waist.

I tried to make sense of what had just happened, of what the stable manager had done to me and, more shockingly, of what I had begged him to do, but I only ended up confusing myself further.

Yes he had humiliated me, yes he had inflicted pain on my body worse than anything I had experienced before, but I had accepted it, craved it even, and it pushed me to behave in ways I never thought possible.

Stepping out into the courtyard I saw no sign of either Patrick or Charlie, yet I had no doubt that wherever they were they would be there together, each one happy in the other's company. I suddenly felt incredibly alone, and as I walked back towards my car I reflected that I really could behave like a spoilt brat at times, and that perhaps I should try treating people a little better. I suppose it would be easy to suggest that such a revelation came as a direct result of Patrick punishing me like he did, but personally, I'm not so sure. I have a feeling it was more to do with that profound sense of loneliness after an act so intimate.

Either way it didn't matter, as the end result was just the same; it was time for me to grow up.

 

 

 

The PE teacher had already buzzed ahead to warn me that she was sending over a naughty young lady in need of punishment. What she had failed to inform me of, however, was the reason
why
you were in trouble.

In the end I could easily have lost my job for the punishment I chose for you. Christ, let's be honest, I really
should
have lost my job for the punishment I chose for you.

 

There was a knock at the door...

‘Come!' I called, and tentatively you stepped into my office.

You were still dressed in your gym clothes: a tight, powder-blue top showing-off the contours of your firm breasts just perfectly. Below you wore a tiny gymslip that displayed far too much of your naked thighs, and on your feet a simple pair of white training shoes.

You looked good. You looked
too
good.

It wasn't always easy being the head of the school, you know; particularly when I had to discipline naughty sixth-form girls. Particularly when I had to discipline naughty sixth-form girls like you. Yes, you were a young woman, but I was your headmaster and from the very first moment that the thought had entered my mind I knew I was lost.

I could feel my prick beginning to swell as I stared at you standing nervously before me.

‘So, young lady, what have you been up to this time?' I asked, and in response you just dropped your head and stared down at your feet, your cheeks flushing a rosy pink.

‘Well come on, girl, I don't have all day!' Briefly you looked up at me through glossy eyes to offer an inaudible mumble, before staring down once more.

‘Oh for goodness' sake girl, speak up! I doubt anything you've done this time could be any worse than your previous indiscretions, now could it?' How wrong could I be?

Finally you looked up once more, your eyes piercing my own with the defiance of youth as you spoke in a full, clear voice. ‘Miss Jones caught me masturbating in the changing rooms, sir.'

It was my turn to blush now. I stared down at my desk, pointlessly shuffling papers from one side to the next and swallowing hard through a dry, constricted throat. Embarrassment wasn't the only emotion flooding my senses, however, and a second, much more powerful reaction began to exert itself. My cock stood fully erect inside my trousers and throbbed with an immoral desire at the thought of the beautiful young woman before me playing with herself when she thought no one was watching. I knew then for certain that I simply had to have you, and drew a deep breath in a somewhat futile attempt to calm myself and retain my necessarily austere demeanour.

Forcing myself to reassert the appearance of authority once more, I spoke again. ‘I see. Well, a young lady of your age should barely know of such things, let alone be performing them during school hours. You do realise I will have to punish you, don't you?' And timidly you nodded your head.

I had always prided myself on a sense of creativity where disciplining wayward pupils was concerned. Perhaps in this instance, however, I was a little
too
creative.

‘As you know, I believe it is appropriate to punish guilty students in a way that somehow reflects the crime they have committed. Remember that time you were caught littering and I made you clean the entire schoolyard?' Again, a wordless nod. ‘Well, I'm going to follow that principal now; if you enjoy touching yourself so much then you can demonstrate exactly what you've been up to, now, to me.'

‘But, sir...' you suddenly protested and really, you were right to do so.

‘No buts, young lady. My mind is quite made up. Now, pull over that chair, remove your underwear and sit down. I want to see what you find so stimulating about that body of yours.'

I watched, taking secret satisfaction in your all-too-evident discomfort, as you remained standing still in the centre of the office, staring at the floor while your cheeks burnt a deeper shade of red.

‘Good God, girl! Must I do everything for you?'

Standing up – my erection tenting the front of my suit trousers, but thankfully your eyes were firmly fixed to the floor – I walked around to the front of my desk and dragged across a low armchair until it was positioned next to you.

‘Lift up your skirt,' I scolded, and with nervous hands you did exactly as you were told, to reveal white cotton knickers that moulded snugly to the contour of your mound, the vertical line of your slit obvious beneath the thin fabric.

Slipping my fingers beneath the elastic waistband I quickly, and unceremoniously, peeled down your panties to expose what has to be one of the prettiest pussies I have ever seen.

‘What's this?' I questioned with feigned anger. ‘Have you been shaving your puss... your vagina, young lady?'