Let the Punishment Fit the Crime

With a pinched grip on her nipple, He backed her across the room. The look on her face was almost comical, He mused. Panic, pain, a dash of humor, perhaps. He wondered how long that little naughty grin would last.

“What did I tell you?” He all but purred at her.

She knew she was in for it. He had told her to be ready. Somehow the afternoon had gotten away from her. Work, errands, life, fuck it all, had gotten in her way today.

Her dentist appointment had begun the cascade effect. Later than she’d expected. And she had to get to the post office and mail the package for her Dad’s birthday. He was in Tuscon and there was no way she was getting out there just now.

Then the accident in the center of town. She’d been three cars back from it, but it was impossible to creep around it, so she, and about 20 other cars, had been stuck there until the cops came and sorted it all out.

If only it had stopped at that, it would have still been salvageable, she thought.  She stopped at the mini-mall to get His favorite wine. And walking past the dress shop, had seen the cutest outfit. She stopped, stared, looked at her watch. Surely she had 15 minutes to go try it on.

And then the corset and garters? Oh, she adored it, and pranced in front of the mirror, imagining His face, seeing her so decked out.She stood looking at herself, caught up in the fantasy. How would He react to such an outfit? Usually she served Him naked, but would this not entice? Arouse? Tease a bit?

Glancing down, she caught the reflection of her wristwatch.

OMG! She saw the time with a rapid uptick in heart rate.  In a mad flurry, she discarded all the sexy trappings, got her own clothing back on, all but throwing the clothing at the clerk, explaining her rush on “late for a meeting!” and dashed out the door.

At the liquor store, she found His wine, then had to stand in line for almost 10 minutes, while the three people in line before her hemmed and hawed over purchasing just the right lottery ticket.  She felt her jaw clench from the stress of knowing she was not going to make it on time, after all.


He was sitting in His recliner when she blew through the door. Her fast skid-to-a-stop was comical, He thought, rather like a cartoon.  Her arms would have pinwheeled in the air if she’d not been holding onto an assortment of packages.

He watched the struggle on her face as she absorbed His presence. She walked slowly towards him, still encumbered by her parcels, and knelt at His feet as was His desired greeting from her.  He sat and watched her for a long while.

No point in belaboring her rule-breaking just now. She was late, they both knew it, and He knew she had not accomplished the task He had assigned her this morning. He watched as one silvered tear ran down her cheek.


“Shoulders back.”

She adjusted, a struggle while still holding all the bags.


He loved to watch that struggle, when  her body, and her mind worked to accommodate His orders.  Every  thought just appeared across her face–resentment, annoyance, until finally relaxing into her submission. He watched her struggle with it, admired it actually.

Nothing really compared to seeing her fight her own will, pushing her agenda aside to submit to His.

It was a battle she fought frequently, yet one that He knew fulfilled her, completed her.

His hand smoothed across her hair, tucking strands behind each ear, opening her face to His view. He tipped her chin up and tapped her nose. Her eyes rose to His.

“upstairs” He murmured quietly.

She rose awkwardly, leaving her bags and parcels on the floor. He had said upstairs, not ‘put stuff away then upstairs’.

She was really glad she hadn’t bought ice cream.


She knelt on her pad on the floor, naked. Her clothing was placed over the arm of the chair until He was done with her. She watched His sock-clad feet approaching her.  He stood for a moment or two, long enough for her to smell the man-scent of Him, of cock-that heady musky smell-,  of the last lingering traces of His cologne, and the tang of sweat.

Her mouth watered with that scent, uniquely Him. Her pussy filled, swelling with the burgeoning sex-need His nearness engendered in her.

And then He walked away. She heard the click of the bathroom light, the slight grating sound of the mirror on the medicine cabinet rolling open, then shut.  A drawer in the cabinet opened and there was the sound of rummaging.

She opened her mouth to ask Him what it was He was looking for, but she fell silent, thinking she was already in hot water here, and didn’t need more.

The drawer closed with a thunk.

She heard something drop onto the nightstand, and in seconds, His feet re-appeared in front of her. He reached down, and began to pull her upright by her nipples.


“What did I tell you?” He all but purred.

“T-that You wanted me prepared and naked and waiting for You when You got home.” She responded, hating the quaver in her voice.

“And were you?”

“no, Sir, i wasn’t…” she took a breath as if to explain, then silenced herself. Her control tonight was a thin thing, but she held onto it.

“And your other task is yet undone, isn’t it, slut?”

She nodded, wincing as His fingers pincered harder on her tender nipples.

She felt the press of the bed frame against her calves, yet He continued to press her back, forcing her to step over it. His fingers still held  her nipples tight, controlling her every movement. With a final, painful twist, He released her. He lifted her to the swing suspended from the top of their bondage bed, securing  wrists and ankles to the four corners of the frame.


“I thought about blindfolding you,” He said, as He turned back to the nightstand. From up here, she could not see what it was He had in His hand.

“But I decided that I preferred you knowing what was happening, so you could fully absorb the consequences of your choices. For some reason, I think you will understand My rules better if I demonstrate.”

And He fell quiet. She watched  as He bent  over, His torso and head blocking her view as He bent over her splayed pussy.  His finger slipped into her cunt.

“You are wet, naughty girl.”

She flushed, then arched rigidly and yelped! What the fuck???  A second tug, and sharp pain. He stood upright and, opening the tweezers, dropped a single pussy hair onto her belly.

“Got it.” He said.

“Perhaps, next time when I tell you to shave, you’ll ‘get it’,  too.”

And He bent, implacably, to His task once more.

HNT 9/29/11 The HNT Daily News,

Dateline: sometime in September….

Dildo Dan was field tested for the first time today, by Master of nilla. No pussies were harmed during this field test*, although rumors of tremors in the North Eastern United States were reported. Dildo Dan is said to be a “surefire hit with all the sluts in America,” says Master of nilla, “judging by the amount of orgasms and quantities of pussy honey left on the bed following our extended experimenting.”

He continues…”Don’t just ask me, ask my slut…nilla? nilla? oh, nil-la….??”

The only reply heard by this reporter was giggling….and a soft humming sound…
*do not try this at home; she is a professional slut

Wow and Wow–and Randomness, too!

First of all, it just so happened that i was having my morning break and finally getting to check in with Master at 10:03 a.m. when i loaded my website and found it at 199,996….

i read His email, clicked back and reloaded at 10:08 and ta-da…200,003…!!!

Woot! Thank you everyone…that really tickles me. i know it’s  all just numbers in the ether, but still..i’m beaming a bit about it.


Yanno what? Every time i type “about it” it always, 100% of the time, comes out as abou tit. Never fails that i have to backtrack and fix it…isn’t that just odd? And on a sex blog, no less. *laughing*


Master and i exchanged emails today and He has opened His MOnday challenge to me,  to  my readers…

Here are His rules, going on the HOnor System now…….without googling, asking friends, checking in any format…can YOU identify what movie this quote comes from? As He says…either you will know it, or you won’t.

“You see, in this world there’s two kinds of people, my friend: those with loaded guns and those who dig. You dig.”

C’mon, guess…at least YOU don’t have an orgasm on the line here!!


i have lots and lots of stories backing up in my head of late, but despite staying up verrah late for almost a week, i am *swamped* in vanilla work, ergo, you all get more reality nilla than fantasy nilla, i’m afraid. Hopefully things quiet down by Friday so i can head  back to camp in Maine…aren’t you ready to head up there?

And i have a few other naughty things starting to form in my head, but seriously–if i don’t get a wee break soon, there will be HUGE dragons next week.

i am, frankly, exhausted, so i’m going to be a good little girl and go to bed, call my Master, and go to sleep.

Catch you on the flip side!


Damn that Master….


i *did* say ‘damn’ that Master. Let me back up…sit back, strap on your safety belts and lets zip back to Monday morning…..

(can you tell i watched Terra Nova last night? Time traveling in my blog. heh.)

Okay, so i did a lot of prep work in my kitchen for canning (not caning!) yesterday but it was very hot in the northeast. It was 80 and very humid all day, and even now it’s only down to 68…this is rather strange weather for us. And the heat was fatiguing my kids, and made me wilt.  After working with a steaming, boiling pot of water to skin my tomatoes, and watching 5 pounds of ice melt in 20 minutes (egads) i decided to finish the canning process tomorrow.

er, that would be today, now. Not aisha’s  “now”, since she’s such an incredibly early riser,  but by 8 i’ll be elbows deep in the process.

And i have to do some errands, AND another run up to the garden as we only have 10 days left to harvest as, by community garden rules, we have to be “done” by Columbus Day, and break down our plots. So tomorrow we’ll go up and harvest our corn. We don’t eat it, it’s Indian Corn that we’ll decorate our front entry with…way cheaper to grow a bunch of corn (less than $1.00 and zero effort). That’s  opposed to buying a skimpy thing of corn-stalks for $10…as Master would say…NFW. (no fuckin’ way!).

Oh, and let me not forget to mention that we’ll be harvesting  still MORE tomatoes (seriously, i’m not unhappy to still be harvesting…i’ll be *thrilled* in January, just like in my story last Friday!).

And the kids want to pick apples. Which means i’m obligated to make an apple pie when we get home. And since i’m a waste-not, want not kind of woman, i’ll use the apple peels to make jelly.

Are you snoring yet?


This is as unsexual a blogpost as you’ll ever read here. And it’s all His fault. Seriously.

So, i have tired sore feet from being on them all day, and i stayed up later than i had meant to finishing up a project, and then i called my Master, and all the while knowing i needed to write my blogpost. But i digress, and we need to go back in time again to mid-afternoon…

Around 4, He sent me a little “game”…if i guessed the correct answer to a question, i could have an O.  I could not google it, call someone, or ask a blogfriend, it was something i had to know.

He gave me a clue about a movie. I forget the exact question now. A line of dialogue. And i guessed incorrectly the first time.

“Want a clue?” He says, helpfully in his next email, which i sneak-read an hour later.

“YES! Please!” i respond quickly.

My wife was late getting the kids into the shower, so it was more than an hour later that i could check my email on the qt and see His response. And i took my shot, and sent Him my answer.

And then i stayed up late watching tv and finishing a work project and just now got up to check out His response.

“Correctamundo. However, no O tonight, better luck tomorrow, slut.”

i swear (oh, and i did!)….i stared at the screen for 5 minutes, in disbelief.


B-b-b-but….i got it right!! i think to myself. So i send Him an email, but when i check, He’s not online. Well, dammit. So i go to send a text and i’m so frustrated that i cannot type. So i called.


yes nilla?

“YOU said i got the question right!”

you did indeed, smart little girl!

(and then i stutter again. Seriously i do not stutter. But i did then)

“B-b-b-b-but why???” (ohgawd, i’m whining…hate that!)

I had to give you a clue! Ergo, no O!

“Master????” my tone shifts into wheedle…just a little. He is not wheedle-able.




No, no no no,

He laughs, indulgently. Silly little slut. Played His game and got fucked.


Damn that Master!!

this is neither here nor there…but sometime today i’m gonna roll over to 200,000 hits…oh, mah, gawd!!! Freakin’ awesome!!!!!


Short ‘n sweet, this came to me one morning recently, just as i opened my eyes….

She knelt, eyes looking ahead as a finger probed her asshole. She tried not to wince, or moan, but the sensation was at once painful, and teasing on the edge of pleasure.

She held position as one finger became two.

Her Master lifted her chin staring impassively into her eyes as her bottom was deeply explored.

She felt the telltale heat of her blush begin to flush across her cheeks, as He watched her.

“Does that turn you on, slut?” He crooned to her, his voice soft, his words fringing on hurtful. She felt her blush deepen as his eyes bored into hers, as she murmured a soft ‘yes Master’.

How embarrassing, to have her ass poked and examined by another, a friend of her Master’s.

How embarrassing was it, to have them discuss her body as if she wasn’t there?

How frigging embarrassing it was, to be so turned on by it!

They talked about all of her. Her tightly puckered asshole. Her dripping cunt. Her swollen clit.

They talked about the pretty stripes across her ass, the contrast of the crimson lines crisscrossing her pale cheeks.

He dropped her chin, and rose.

She felt them behind her, the pair of them, looking at her there. 

Fingers in her ass, fingers in her pussy, the laughter of two dominants pleased with their game.

“Innocent enough to still blush,” came his friends comment.

“Yet skilled enough to please.” Said her Master,  proudly.

The blindfold slipped over her hair, covering her eyes, hiding the upper curves of her pinkened cheeks.

A cock pushed against her lips, as a cock pushed into her ass. Her gasp of pain opened her mouth, and in one hard thrust, her ass and throat were filled with cock.

It was  dream come true for her, a fantasy she had haltingly confessed to Him one day not long ago.

She recalled his excitement as she had admitted to such a slutty fantasy, yet now, as she was fucked hard from both ends, an inner smile overcame the blush.

9:36 p.m.

i got His 7:00 p.m. text at 9:03 p.m. i’d stayed up late to watch a show on t.v. while finishing up some work.

i’ve been staying up toooooo late, and i’ve been drag-ass tired this last week. Lots to do, more canning to accomplish, more harvesting (which will lead to yet more canning) and …my vanilla life is simply close to overwhelming just now.

And i told this to Master, that i needed to get to bed earlier than the midnight i’ve been running all week. Coz, yanno, i get these great ideas for stories as i lay in bed, and i spring up and write them. Likely coz i’ve not had day time to write all week.

it’s a conundrum to be sure.

So, back to the text.

you may have another  O tonight, same rules as last night’s orgasm. However.

the deed must be done by 10:00.

After 10:00 you are on ZNN.

So i called Him. And we chatted, shared our days a bit. He interrupts something i was saying.


Oh, oh, i have less than 30 minutes to get this O in!  And i was gifted an O this afternoon, which makes the 2nd O of the day a bit longer to chase.

And we chat for a bit more and finally He says “slut, it’s 9:36. Get to work. Goodbye.”

And we’re done! He’s so succinct like that!

And i put the clamps on my pussylips, and the pegs on my nipples, and retrieve Dildo Dan…and start. First trek is half-way up that mountain.

And i’m horny in my head. And a bit in my pussy…how can i talk to Him and not feel that deep need well to the surface?

So i press onward (heh heh…)….

and my pussy lips are throbbing with the clamps and that’s pretty erotic, and the vibe is hitting them and i’m really starting the climb now.

And then, i’m halfway there, and i have to stop. And inside, i’m worried. Twofold worried…will i be able to “re-catch” that amorphous slutty feeling, and what the fuck time was it.

i couldn’t help it. i grabbed my phone and pressed the button.


Geezuz!!! i guess it had taken some time to catch heat!!

Now my heart is fluttering and i’m thinkin..”oh my goddess, if i don’t get this O i’m totally screwed until Friday night — 48 hours away…”

And my body is saying “slut, fer gawdsakes, you had an O this afternoon, and you’ve been working all day, what the fuck do you expect of me…

And i flip Dildo Dan back on and then i’m powering on….my clit is throbby, my pussy lips ache…and my nipples are throbby.

And i think of sin.

isn’t that strange?

But there it is. No, not the church version  sin, subsister sin!

She talks often about pain…wait…let me find one of those relevent posts…..http://findingmysubmission.blogspot.com/2011/08/games-people-play.html …

she talks about having to cum with pain..and i get that.  Right now, at this moment, i’m remembering all her posts about pain and chasing orgasms.  And she talks about how hard it can be sometimes, the pleasure chasing the pain, then pleasure is ahead, then pain again….it’s like a race (that’s my interpretation, btw)..

And i’ve never been too bothered about it before. i love the pain. And to be completely honest, i crave it, need it, to cum. Not always, but often. And He plays with that, sometimes not letting me have nipple pain, just teasing my clit until i’m so wound up i can’t help but explode…

But this night, all i could think about was the time limit..like sins post here: http://findingmysubmission.blogspot.com/2011/08/call.html and i thought…i’m chasing that fucking orgasm, and time is ticking, i hear it in my head..

or is it the heartbeat echoing from my clit?

And i’m working for it, dying for it, lusting for it. And it hurts, my pussy lips, my nipples…all afire, and pushing away the orgasm, even while they incite me to higher “lusty” places….

… it won’t.





And i’m flopping like a fish on my bed, (and isn’t that as unsexual an image as i’ve ever put in your head before??! ) and i’ve lost my fantasy, and i’m feeling.


feeling alright.


Turned on.


A lot of pain.

and lust.

So wet.

So needing to cum.

Chasing the orgasm. And i hear the clock in my head, like Captain Hook’s alligator in Peter Pan….

And honestly, i don’t think i can make it. It’s gotta be almost 10!

i can’t look.

i need to look.

i’m so close.

What the FUCK time is it…

and i exploded.

Literally, like a cum balloon (oh, goody, two gross images in one post. Aren’t you glad you get this for free?!)…my legs are shaking…not trembling…my arms are numb, the dildo is vibing painfully intense against my pussy and i’m bent like a bow…arching and cumming and squirting and so. fucking. alive.


i thought i might be dying.

my heart…racing …no…thundering in my chest…and i think…ogods, how will this look on the obit page?

and then i laughed and knew it would be okay.

i got the feeling back in my nipples first.


intense whallop of pain there, followed by the swollen ache of my clamped pussy lips…

I grabbed my phone.


thank you goddess….i made it.

i texted Him…something simple and innocuous…”mission accomplished”…that might have been too long actually, my fingers were still numb…*laugh*…

and then after a few more minutes, i sat up and wrote down the salient points so i could recount this tale to you.

er…except for the flopping fish part…that’s pure “day or two later” mode talking there!

Thank You, Master for one whopping, powerful, unbelievably intense Orgasm–it was worth every second of frustration…then again…You know that already, don’t You?!





To Cut…or Not to Cut…

a Haircut.

Who would think, in this day and age, that i would angst so profoundly about a freaking haircut?

It’s been on my Family Calendar since May—- Oct 4,  Haircut.


Right now, i look like an old hippy woman. My hair is U-shaped, the shortest pieces on the front/sides come to the middle of my boobs. The longest part in the back now comes below my bra strap.

And it’s thick.

And oh, the bangs. Cut “uneven”…pixie-like…i don’t like even, straight across bangs on my round face. Okay, it’s “heart-shaped” but whatever. Still ’round’ in my mirror.

Been thinkin’ since May (after getting permission from Master) about getting the front cut into long layers…google Carrie Underwood and that’s the cut i’m thinking of.

Forbidden to cut the back length AT ALL, i’m still waffling about the layers around my face.

It would open my face.

Yet…It would be incredibly difficult keeping hair out of my face, something i do now with a “demi” ponytail–just the crown pulled back, sometimes braided as a single tail, while the back hangs loose. And i cannot wear a hairband as they always give me headaches.

And i French Braid it a lot.

Dear Gods i cannot believe i’m writing an entire BLOGPOST about this angsty shit. For real?? nilla, get a grip woman!!

The reality is….it’s hair, it will grow back.

The reality is…i want Him to like it.

The reality is…i’m not a big fan of changing hairstyles.

The reality is…i’m a coward!!!



This is rather pathetic, isn’t it?? *laughing at myself*

Do i want to do something this drastic? In places, it would be a loss of 8 inches (19 cm) of hair….

Gawds. i just re-freaked myself out.


i’m asking for you all to weigh in. Do it anon, or sign your name. Send me an email –but i’m asking you…and YOU and You…

send thoughts.

or at the very least, a bag to put over my head if i go ahead and do it— and hate it….

NO! WAIT! Stop the presses… a POLL…click yes or no and done. Easy peasy.


and now, something a little bit different.  A farewell to Summer, as well as a welcoming of the Autumn; a season of harvesting the fruits of the summer now passed. A season of preparation for harder times ahead. A season to gather in, to gather together, and to celebrate our humanness, together.  Blessed Mabon, dear friends…and Will…a nod to You and your stories of ….planting…. 🙂 ~n~

She was hot, sweaty, wrung out. Her hair hung in tattered tendrils, her bun long since fallen, her make up run down and off her face. She smelled of hard work, her feet throbbed, and she had a crick in her neck from peering into the canner.

One last steamy blast as she lifted the lid, and with tongs in hand, pulled the last six bottles from the ‘bath’.  She plopped the lid on, turned off the burner, and carefully moved the last of the hot jars to her cooling rack. There, lined up on the counter were sixteen jars of sealed tomato’s.

She could barely wait for her shower. She plopped her implements into the soap-filled sink, and turned, her mind on the cooling shower she’d fantasized about for the last several hours. It never failed that she’d wind up canning on the hottest, the most humid of summer days.

Still, it made for sweet memories when the snow blew ’round the house, the wind howled, and shivers were her constant companions. Each jar held a memory of heat, the blazing of the summer sun as she’d harvested each round ripe fruit, and the sweltering work of preparing and “putting by’ all this bounty.

He stood directly in her path, and she let out a yelp of shock.


He cocked his head at her. That look. That intense, hot look.

She shook her head, ‘no’. She may have even mouthed it. He took her arms, pulling her into him and up, lifting her to her tired toes. Exhaustion fell away as the heat from his mouth burned it off. Hotter than the canning jars, hotter than the summer sun, she thought, as he took from the bounty of her mouth.

Her nipples flared to life, her pussy swelled and seeped.

He pulled her to him, cradling her pelvis to his hard and rigid need. They both felt the throbbing call of body to body, and in moments were naked. The room was steamy with the heat of her work, yet the counter was cool under her back and ass as he pressed her up against their work-island.

His mouth tore from hers, and fell to consuming her succulent tits. His cock probed at her moist entry. The hard pressure of his rigid shaft, pressing against her soft moist lips, made her melt. Her thighs parted, just enough to allow his head to slip against her juicy slit, and slide deeply into that wet cleft, that sodden passage.

In one hard hip-thrust, he was inside her, filling her hole as she had filled those jars earlier, packed tight with hot juices. And he stayed, packed inside her body, pressing mouth and teeth to one nipple, then the other.

She felt the answering throb in her belly, her inner muscles already clamping hard around his cock. He withdrew a bit, then returned, a series of parries and feints, teasing her pussy with his rutting.

Pulling out for a moment, they both felt that loss of heat. Quickly, he turned her around, and her hands fisted on each side of the island, even as his cock returned to her cunt. His legs pressed against the back of her thighs, his belly against her ass, as he slowly, tortuously entered her from behind.

‘more’ she wanted to yell, but she was beyond speech.

And then he was plunging into her, boiling inside of her body like a Fury come to life. The sounds of the jar seals popping provided a sharp counterpoint to his grunting thrusts. One, two, three, his hips jabbed his cock into her softness, to the pop, pop, pop as each jar cooled, sealing out the air, sealing in the summer.

“fuck, I’m going to cum in your belly,” he said, his voice as raw and ragged as she felt. “got no rubber” he moaned.

“fill me,” she begged, wanting to be as full of him as she could be. Full of his cock. Full of his seed, full of the fruit of that seed.

It was time to say good-bye to summer, and to preserve those laboriously earned fruits. It was time to harvest, and keep, and savor.

HNT- Door Knocker

He subtly dared me. Just this much shy of outright telling me to do it. He is so sneaky. And the thought filled my head. Couldn’t put it aside. He says it shows His handiwork well.

I think that He thinks it looks like a door knocker. Coz *His* name for the post was “Avon Calling”….

Funny Master.


here be dragons…..

She shook hands with Mr. Bridgeston, ignoring, as she had these last 15 minutes,  his rather obvious ogling of her boobs. Parent-teacher conferences were always interesting; this year’s were no exception.

She had big boobs, she taught a mean English Lit class, she liked dancing and stiletto’s and sex.

But she still hated it when parents of her students ogled her. It was creepy.

“Thanks again for stopping by,” she reiterated as she steered him out the door of her classroom. She nodded and waved as he trudged back down the hallway towards the front stairway.

Thank God, last conference. She wanted nothing more than to head home, toe off her shoes, and collapse on her sofa with the remains of the pint of B & J Monkey Chunks. Maybe catch the last of that sitcom on tv, or catch up on blog reading.

The hallway lights flickered, once, twice. The warning that the janitorial staff was preparing to lock up broke her from her reverie, and made her gather her papers in a hurry. They only gave 10 minutes for clear out after the warning, and then *bink* she’d be here in this old building in the dark. Fine enough to be here during the day, but the old, ivy covered school was a bit less appealing in the dark.

A shadow fell across her desk, and she looked towards her door with a quick shiver of alarm, followed just as quickly with a sigh of relief. It was Devi, the head of the janitorial services staff. He opened the door.

“Just about ready to head out Miss?” he asked in his kind way.

“Getting the last of my things together now…be right out,” she replied, reaching for her briefcase. He left the door open as he continued walking down the hall. She reached for the stack of folders on the corner of her desk and hit them just right, sending them in an arc towards the floor. Some landed in her trash can, the others skidded across the high-polished floor.

“Oh dammit!”  she mumbled,  crouching down and starting to gather the papers quickly. Student progress reports could not be left out where other students could gain access to them. Damn, damn, damn.

She crawled under desk 5-2, retrieving the last slip of paper when the lights went out. She thunked her head resoundingly on the underside of the desk, and saw stars for a moment or two. She gained her feet, wobbling for a moment, trying to orient herself. Her shades were drawn, and no light permeated the darkness.

“Devi?” she called, as she felt her way to her desk. “Devi?”

Blindly she stuffed papers into her satchel, and felt for her purse. Of course she’d walked to school today, and would likely break a leg trying to exit the building on her way out. Up on the third floor as she was, it was a distinct possibility that she might trip down the long flight of stone steps, worn smooth by thousands of feet over the 100 years the school had been here.

She took off her heels, stuffing them in her case as well, and began making her way down the hallway.

“Susan?”A voice came from ahead. It was Rob from the math lab!

“Oh thank goodness you’re still here!” she exclaimed, making her way towards the welcome sound of another voice.

“You’re here late,” he commented, reaching for her arm.

“Same to you,” she replied. “I had a late last parent visitor.”

“Well, it was rather planned that way,” came a familiar voice from the darkness behind where Rob stood in the doorway of his classroom.

She jolted in surprise. Mr. Bridgeston? What the hell was he talking about? Why was he still in the building?

“Come in for a moment, Susan, we were just talking about you.”

A frisson of unease coursed down her spine, and she shivered involuntarily. Robert’s hand reached out, capturing her wrist and pulled her into the classroom.

As she entered the room, a small lamp flicked on. Mr.  Bridgeston stood, finger on the switch, and a smile on his mouth. The door behind her closed.  She looked to Robert for clarification, but he didn’t return her glance, just pulled her over to his desk. She assumed he meant for her to take his chair, but she noted, in one sweeping glance, that his desk was uncharacteristically cleared of all items.  Rob was a packrat and had, or so the faculty joked, never thrown out a single student gift, ever.

Yet now the desk was clear.

A second lamp switched on from the other side of the room. She glanced over and saw Devi, and she stared in complete shock as she watched him pull on his cock.

His enormous cock.

She doubted she’d ever seen a man so endowed before. It was almost freakishly large. And while, all of a sudden, there was a sudden knowing of what was about to occur, there was a rush of lust to accompany it.

Ogod. Good girls didn’t get wet thinking about being force-fucked at work.

Good girls didn’t salivate when they saw a giant cock in front of them.

Good girls didn’t understand that there were three of them and one of her and find that frighteningly erotic.

She had tried so hard to be a good girl.

She knew fighting would be futile. Robert alone was a foot taller than her.

“You’re going to be fucked.”

Mr.  Bridgeston was matter of fact.

“I’ve been watching those tits all year, and I can hardly wait to push those knockers together and titty fuck you.  Just like the big “J”here wants to fuck your round little ass, and Mr. Numbers wants to bury his cock in your pussy.”

“You’re going to have a very busy night tonight,” added Robert.

“So many cocks waiting to taste you. So many of us, watching your little fanny move up those stairs day after day. So many titty jiggles to turn us the fuck on. When we’re done, we’ll move on, and the next group will move in. You can call it the mega-teachers union meeting…and you’ll be the one uniting us!”

“Put your ass up over that desk,” ordered Devi.

“Wait! I want her nekkid first,” said  Bridgeston. “Take your clothes off, whore. Nice and slow. Do it good or I’ll have to whip you until you do it the way I like. Just like in the movies. Slow and sexy.” He fingered his belt threateningly.

She swallowed hard. The reality of what was being said was beginning to crash in on her. She was going to be fucked like a whore, by a lot of the staff.

The door to the classroom opened, and more teachers filed in. Mr. Monroe from Statistics. Mr. Connolly from History. Mr. Jones from Economics. Her eyes grew blurry with unshed tears as she slowly lifted her sweater up and over her belly, then tucking her arms inside, she slipped one arm, then the other out of the sleeves.

Lastly, she undid the one button at the neckline, and hesitantly tugged the hem up until her round tits appeared, framed in a lacy peach bra.

There was clapping, whistling and a lot of dirty comments about her stripping, and her tits.  She couldn’t believe how many men were in the room.

She pulled the sweater up over her head and closing her eyes, she dropped it onto the floor. When she opened them, Mr. Salinsky stood directly in front of her. He had a penknife in his hand.

The Principal made quick work of slicing up her bra straps, nicking her left shoulder in the process. He leaned forward, and sank his teeth into her flesh, biting down, while sucking and lapping at the small wound he had made.

She arched and screamed at the pain of his teeth, trying to push him away. Suddenly, there were hands and men surrounding her, touching her. Hands on her tits, her nipples, her ears. A finger in her mouth, one up her nostril. Hands pulling her hair.

And hands loosening her skirt, stripping her down to skin in moments. Fingers tickled across her belly, between her pussy lips, pinching and pulling and poking. She felt one intrusive finger pressing at her little brown rose.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak.

“You’re wet, you little fucking slut!” Voices merged around her, and she was shifted, moved. Fingers continued pinching at her helpless tits, even as she was bent over a desk.

She felt the press of a cock at her pussy. Even as she opened her mouth to protest, she was assaulted by the disgusting scent of male piss near her nose, as another hard, throbbing shaft pressed against her mouth. Her ear was pressed against the desktop, and with one eye she could see the dirty spotted underpants of the man in front of her. The taste of urine on his cock made her gag, her eyes water. Her hair was grabbed and head canted to accept the dick at a better angle for him, and she saw who the dirty cock belonged to.

Mr. Bridgeston.

“Take it, whore. They say your little cunt is wet, and I can hear how juicy it sounds, so open up and take my cock into your throat. Deep, all the way deep.”

He pressed hard into her mouth. It was useless to protest. It was useless to fight.


She wobbled her way out of school in the predawn hours. Her hair was matted and stank of piss and cock juice. Her thighs and tits were sticky with it, her face bore dry splotches of cum.

Her clothing was wrinkled, her make up, gone.

What a fucking night it had been. And if she didn’t hurry home and shower, and get dressed, she’d be late for school.