Geoffrey's Rules (10 page)

I was whimpering, of course, by the time he finished the words, and yet while he delivered them, he laid not a finger upon me. Then he began, and I learned how it was that an orgasm can sometimes be a form of punishment.

With his right hand, he gathered the fabric of the gusset of my panties into a narrow strand. “There we go,” he said, “there’s that shaved cunt. I’m going to have a lot of fun there, make no mistake. Master loves to fuck a tight little pussy like that one. Never fear, Chloe. You’ll have a big cock in there before too long—I know that’s what you want.”

I gasped at the cool crudity of the words. He gathered the fabric of my panties into the valley between my bottom cheeks. Then, with his right hand again, he tugged forward on the fabric, and with another satisfied “Here we go,” he pulled it inside my labia.

I groaned.

“There’s nothing quite as nice as the sight of a girl riding her panties,” he said softly. With both hands now, he moved the fabric that commanded my pussy and my bottom back and forth. I felt it sliding slickly through the center of my wanton arousal. Soft, submissive cries were coming from my throat, I realized. I felt my arms and legs tense against the cuffs of the spreader bar, and that tension seemed to increase the feeling that I was being dominated tenfold. My master had put me in the spreader bar because I was learning to serve him properly, and now he was teaching me a lesson about his ownership of my entire erotic being. Suddenly, the fingers of his right hand were inside my panties, as he worked them under the rolled strip of fabric, freeing it from my lips, and beginning to playing roughly upon the most sensitive place of all, where my clitoris still remained hooded. It did not remain so for long, though, for with his skillful fingers, Geoffrey opened me there and showed me the disciplinary nature of an excess of pleasure.

“Do you like that, little slut?” he asked. “Answer me now, Chloe.”

“Yes, sir!” But in a certain very important sense I did not mean it at all. Geoffrey was forcing my body to feel a pleasure that made me writhe against the cuffs that bound me.

“Whose cunt is this?”

“Yours, sir,” I screamed. Now his left hand was inside my panties, too, at the back. The fingers were pushing into my vagina. I cried out at the invasion. They began to pump in and out of me, as the fingertips of his right hand continued their assault upon my clit.

I was sobbing with the terrible, tormenting pleasure now. “Oh, sir, please,” I moaned.

He withdrew his left hand. Now I felt it down the back of my panties, not very far—just far enough so that he could put its middle finger right upon my anus. “Oh, sir, no… please…” I groaned. The finger pushed just a little.

“I venture to say, Chloe,” he said quietly, “that as naughty a girl as you are, you have never actually put anything in here that didn’t belong—like a finger—let alone had anyone else put something there.”

“Yes, sir,” I sobbed.

I heard Geoffrey chuckle. “I think you mean ‘no, sir’.” The finger pushed a little more.

“Yes, sir. No, sir,” I gasped.

“Well, now you’re going to come with my finger in your bottom. You don’t have a choice, so you had better just make up your mind that that’s the way you’re going to have your orgasm. Indeed, I should probably tell you that making sure that as many of your orgasms as possible occur when your bottom is being made to open for me in one way or another is something I shall strive to achieve.”

The finger was inside, and I cried out. As many times as I had fantasized about it, I had always been far too ashamed to put anything there. But I was owned, now, and if my master wanted to use me there, he would use me there. Geoffrey had not ceased to force pleasure upon my clitoris all the while he had been invading my bottom, and now at the thought of the indignity he was doing me, I went over the cliff of orgasm with a scream that left me light-headed with lack of oxygen. I felt myself swaying in the spreader bar, and I knew I was going to lose my balance and fall forward, but I felt Geoffrey’s hands on my waist, steadying me.

“Good girl,” Geoffrey said. “There you go now. Are you my little slut?”

“Yes, sir,” I managed to say.

Geoffrey patted my bottom, as if I were a pet who had done a particularly satisfactory trick. “So you know, I am very, very hard right now, Chloe. My flesh is practically crying out to take you right now.”

“Oh, sir, please. Please fuck me now.” The sentiment only got me spanked three times hard.

“Naughty. That’s why you’re not going to get that reward just yet.” He stooped down and released my wrists and then my ankles from the spreader bar. “You may stand, Chloe,” he said. “Do it slowly, or you may faint.”

He was right, for although I did straighten up as slowly as I could, nevertheless, when I was standing I nearly fell again, and only Geoffrey’s arm around my bare waist kept me from doing so. Gently, he guided me over to the sofa. He sat and pulled me not over his lap but into it. He tightened his arms around me, and suddenly I felt a rush of emotion that seemed to originate from somewhere near the pit of my stomach. It was love, but even that greatest of emotions can’t really describe what I was feeling. Or perhaps that moment was the first time I felt real love. Perhaps I was feeling the kind of love that felt like real love to me, although it wouldn’t feel like real love necessarily to anyone else.

In any case, Geoffrey King, my master, was holding me tight on his lap.

“Yum,” I said, softly.

“To whom do you belong, Chloe?” he asked in a quiet murmur.

“To you, sir,” I replied.

“It’s almost time for your punishment,” he said in the same tone.

“Yes, sir.” Inside the love there arose now the fluttery feeling that I remembered from Wednesday.

“Because I want you to understand how thoroughly I have taken you in hand, you’ll be naked when I punish you.” The fluttery feeling grew, but I said, “Yes, sir, I understand.”

“Good girl,” he said and kissed the top of my head. I turned my face up to him, and he kissed my lips, and that went on for a lovely long while. It would almost have felt vanilla if I hadn’t been stripped down to my panties that were now soaking with my own arousal, while he was still fully clothed.

“Alright,” he said, finally. “Stop trying to delay your punishment. Stand up in front of me. It’s time for me to take your panties off at last.”

On legs that were far from steady, not only with the lingering weakness after my orgasm, but now also with the arousal that had reawakened as he was kissing me, I stood before him.

“Hands behind your head,” he ordered. I realized that he had been completely right at lunch when he had told me about the way that shame is ever-renewable. When I once again adopted the submissive posture he had requested, I felt the same shame I had earlier, although in the intervening period so much had already happened to make me a much more experienced submissive than I had been only half an hour before.

“When I have the honor to take down a girl’s panties for the first time,” Geoffrey said, looking up into my eyes, “I like to make sure that she understands what it means when a man takes down a girl’s panties.”

He ran his forefinger underneath the waistband of the garment in question around from my left to my right over my belly and made me shiver. “Chloe, what does it mean when a man takes down your panties?”

“Um, does it mean that he is going to… to use me?”

“That’s an important part of it,” he said. Now he began to run the fingertips of his left hand up and down over the damp fabric and, beneath it, my pussy-lips.

I whimpered. My mind searched for something more fundamental. “Does it mean that he’s having his way with me?”

Geoffrey rewarded me with a kiss upon my panties, just over my clitoris. “Yes, exactly.”

He put the fingers of both hands inside the waistband of the panties at my hips. Tugging alternately left and right, he lowered them with thrilling slowness, until they were just at the middle of my thighs, right below my pussy.

“Consider now, Chloe, that I am taking down your panties not to give you pleasure—” he teased me cruelly, with the tip of his tongue, for just a moment—“but to chastise you for your faults in your duty to your master. Consider that you are losing your underwear in order that your bottom may pay the price.” He pulled the panties down all the way to my feet. I was naked before him.

“Over my lap now, girl,” he said, and he pulled me about, into position. I bent over his legs. It felt much more intimate on the sofa, where I could lie across him and not feel that I was upended quite so much.

“You have a very long punishment coming, Chloe,” he said. “You broke rule four, and you were late, a violation of rule one. You used the word I told you not to use four times, and you have said all sorts of naughty words besides. After I warm your bottom with my hand, we are going to go upstairs to my bedroom, and you are going to be caned upon my bed.”

“Oh, Geoffrey, please, I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“You’re ready for what I say you’re ready for, sweetheart.” He began to spank me. I was able to endure his hand in silence for a minute or two, but then I began to squirm and to cry out in pain. He wrapped his left arm around my waist and held me fast over his lap. “Naughty girls mustn’t squirm,” he said. The spanking got even harder. Instead of moving from my bottom cheeks to my thighs and to the spot in the middle, he began to dwell on each of them for four or five spanks.

My eyes were watering, and the water began to run down in tears. Geoffrey stopped spanking and began to rub. “There, there,” he murmured. “Nice and warm. Time to go upstairs.”

He helped me to my feet, then stood. I looked up into his face, suddenly desperate to see if he was enjoying himself. The heat in my bottom had begun to spread deliciously forward into my bare pussy, and I was feeling the rightness of this—of everything that was happening—very deeply. Naughty girls like me needed to be taken in hand, yes.

To my surprise and joy, I saw him smiling down at me, with a benevolent, tender look on his face. Without warning, he gathered me into his arms, as I put my hands up in front of me and let them rest upon his chest in its beautiful, blue broadcloth shirt. Geoffrey rested his chin atop my head for a long moment, then he said, “How are you doing? Anyone’s first real BDSM session is very, very intense. I want to let you feel that intensity, but I don’t want you to be overwhelmed.”

“Oh, sir,” I said. I rested my cheek above my hands on his chest, where I could feel the powerful masculine muscles moving as his grip around my shoulders shifted slightly. “I’m wonderful.”

“Yes, you are, good girl,” he said and kissed the top of my head.

“I’m scared of the cane, though,” I confessed quietly.

“You should be,” he said.

I shivered. “That’s not helpful!”

“Certain help I give, and certain help I don’t.”

“Oh, sir.” I thought of the canes in the videos and of the way the girls screamed. Surely he wouldn’t hit me as hard as the girls got hit in the ones that really made me moisten my panties? The more civilized ones weren’t so bad, I guessed, but I thought of the way the bottoms looked afterward…

“I think it’s time to remind you of your safeword,” he said. “If you want to stop, say ‘Java’. Got it?”

I nodded.

“Now, get your naughty bottom upstairs. I’m right behind you.”

Then I walked naked through my master’s house. His being clothed, together with the elegance and cleanliness of the place, made me feel like I was an erotic toy whose modesty was part of the fun; making me walk naked through his house made Geoffrey feel that I belonged to him, I was sure. How much more could a girl belong to a man than if she’s kept in his house without any clothes?

Also, I thought with a blush, it was becoming very clear that Geoffrey took an aesthetic pleasure in looking at me and seeing that I was his possession.

“Oh, what a lovely red bottom,” he said, making me feel even more ashamed, but also of course even more aroused.

The stairs were not difficult to find. Climbing them, though, was a new humiliation, because I knew Geoffrey had a lovely view of my backside and of the secrets between my thighs as I did so.

“Look at that tight little cunt,” I heard him say behind me, and the thrill of abasement went through me again, this time centering precisely in the region I knew my master was looking at for his own enjoyment.

I was, for him, a tight little cunt, and I loved it. That feeling would have to be examined, but for now, I just wanted to feel that way—that my master was going to ride me, and call me a good girl, because my little cunt was so tight. The caning, though… it was part of it, and I loved feeling that I deserved it and that I was going to get what was coming to me, but I was afraid of the pain.
Java
, I thought to myself.

At the top of the stairs, I stood still, hesitating at the end of the short hallway I found there. Geoffrey reached into the room that opened just off the landing and turned on a switch, and I saw that it was his bedroom. It was a single man’s bedroom, beyond doubt: blacks and browns for furniture and walls, a dark green comforter on a king bed with a dark wood headboard featuring sturdy-looking slats (to tie me to? I shivered).

What was atop the bed was what really made me shiver; it was unabashedly a piece of sex-furniture: a wedge shaped cushion, ready to receive a naked girl who was going to be enjoyed.

“Over the cushion, now, Chloe,” Geoffrey said. “Spread your knees and get that bottom up in the air. You’re going to learn what my rules are all about now.” His tone conveyed so much degradation that I felt more like a naughty girl than ever as I clambered onto the high bed and crawled towards the plush black wedge. I hesitated for a single moment, looking at it, picturing what I would look like to Geoffrey once I had obediently arrayed myself there. Then I complied, and I was what I had pictured: a slut laid over a bolster, ready for caning and ready for fucking. A red bottom, and between that bottom’s cheeks a tight little cunt and an even tighter little asshole. Head lowered to the comforter; brown hair in a French braid with a little bow on the elastic with which I had tied it. Little white and pink body—relatively shapely, or at least shapely enough that Geoffrey had paid me those lovely degrading compliments that had sent shame and joy coursing through my veins.