Contractual Obligations, part three, fini

He looked at the subject, strung up in the middle of the room. The high vaulted ceilings had once heard a more heavenly chorus, but this chorus was one that he loved.

He’d bought the old chapel several years ago. Long in the past it had become disassociated from the campus he sometimes worked for.

His work would be groundbreaking, he knew. He could remain objective, not having a connection with any of the sluts who passed through the doors during his research.

He knew that someday he would be recognized for his theories about The Pleasure/Pain Continuum.

It was the thrill of research that stirred his blood as he raised the crop and slashed down upon her exposed bottom. Her groan of pain thrilled the statistician in him, not the man. The bright red welt, and later the blue and purple bruises were only marks of data to be woven into the theory he was creating.

A flurry of blows rained down upon those sweetly rounded cheeks, making her twitch and struggle.

“It’s far to early into this session for such histrionics,” he told her peevishly. He slagged the crop between her thighs and smacked her pussy smartly.

She jolted and cried out a that shocking pain. He put the earbuds into his ears, and began listening to his favorite composer, Bach. The dark and sonorous tones drowned out most but the strongest of her yelps.

He played the crop up one leg and down the other, admiring the welts that appeared on her flesh. He ran his hand down her leg, enjoying the hot raised bumps on once-smooth flesh.

Then he cupped her pussy, sliding his fingers around the swollen lips there.

There was heat here, no doubt. And wet. His finger slid into her hole. It was pulsing and unbelievably hot. He’d learned to enjoy fingering his subjects holes, often making them cum 5 or 6 times without surcease.

There was great power in the orgasm, he learned.

He could make them do just about anything he wanted, just by withholding one, keeping them on the edge. Or by giving them so many they couldn’t cope with just one more.

Either way, with just a bit of time, precision and a bit of fucking…he fucking owned them. He thought about that from time to time, the power in owning an army of women.

Why, he could change the world. With an army of women just dying for release, or more appropriately, lusting for it?

He slipped his fingers from her before she could cum.

oh yes, the power was all in his hands.


i have no idea where this story came from. it just appeared in my head one day after a nap. it doesn’t have a true beginning or end, and that is why i scrambled the order up a bit. Will this be the forever end? dunno. This sort of dragon is very unpredictable, you know! ~n~