Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
The curtains, too thin to be fully effective, gave the room a warm yellow light as the early morning sunlight made them glow. It took Helen a moment or two to remember where she was but, there, right next to her, was Sam, still sleeping soundly. She cast her mind back to the previous night when, time and time again, she and Sam had explored each others bodies, finding new ways to touch, new ways to feel, new ways to share. She felt an overwhelming desire just to fling the curtains and windows wide and shout, to tell the whole world just how good it had been.
This joy, however, was brought up short by the thought of what would happen were she to actually do that. She knew only too well how some people felt, even in these modern liberated times; how she would never be able to face her parents or her preacher were she to admit what she had just done. And with that thought back came all the doubts, all the uncertainties, but, if this was wrong then Sam was wrong, Sam who had shown nothing but care and concern, sympathy and understanding. All her old beliefs had been shaken to the core, the rights and wrongs turned upside down. She could hear the preacher’s words in her head and they sounded like a diatribe of a hateful old man whereas Sam, sweet Sam, was just the opposite. She snuggled back down under the covers and lay still, watching her new found lover sleep.
Helen must have drifted off again because the next thing she knew was being woken by a kiss from Sam.
“Good morning, sleepyhead. Did you sleep well?” Sam asked.
“Like a log.” Helen replied contentedly cuddling up to Sam and returning the kiss.
“Good because it’s time to start his morning’s lesson. I’ll have breakfast in bed, tea and toast. You can make some for yourself as well if you want. Off you go.”
“Ok.” Helen slipped out of bed, grabbed Sam’s dressing gown from behind the door and went down to the kitchen. It didn’t take long before she had a tray all laden with teapot, cups, milk, toast and butter and was returning upstairs to the bedroom. She pushed the door open went in and put the tray down on the dressing table. Sam, who was now sitting up in bed, smiled sweetly at her.
“My, oh, my. We have got a lot to learn, haven’t we?” Sam said sweetly. “Let’s see if we can work out all the things you got wrong.”
“Wrong?” Helen echoed.
“Oh, yes,” Sam continued. “I seem to recall that last night we agreed that you needed training, that I’m the teacher, and you’re the pupil. Do you remember?”
“Yes, I remember,” Helen replied anxiously.
“Yes, what?” Sam demanded.
“Yes…err… Miss,” Helen returned after some thought.
“That’s better, but you’ve failed to address me properly several times already this morning and that alone deserves a good spanking. And you can add to that wearing my dressing gown without my express permission and failing to curtsey. All in all I reckon twelve smacks ought to do the trick.” Sam seemed amused by the prospect.
“Twelve smacks, Miss?” Helen wasn’t at all sure about this.
“Yes, and it will be more if you don’t get that dressing gown off right now.” Sam snapped.
Helen quickly took off the dressing gown and hung it up on its hook on the back of the door. Then she turned back towards the bed and gave a nervous bob in an attempt at a curtsey.
“That’s better. Now, pass me my tea and toast before it gets cold and come over here and stand next to the bed.”
Helen handed Sam her breakfast, adding another attempt at a curtsey for good measure. Sam told Helen to stay standing beside the bed; idly she brushed her fingers through Helen’s pubic hair commenting on how bushy it was, how it needed a good trim. She chided Helen for slouching, telling her to stand up straight with her arms clasped behind her back and her feet slightly apart. Being stood like this, with the semi-formal pose, the enforced silence whilst being critically examined and found wanting was horribly reminiscent of her school days, of being called before the headmistress and this was reinforced by the knowledge that she was awaiting chastisement. Was it this, or Sam’s busy fingers that was turning her on, making her so hot and bothered?
Whilst Sam was drinking her tea and eating her toast with one hand her other still played idly at Helen’s groin, gently teasing open her labia and probing within. For Helen this casual familiarity, having someone touching her in the most intimate way possible with no control, no way of stopping them, was striking a chord deep within her. The very way she was stood, stark naked, the position of her arms thrusting out her breasts, her open legs emphasising the availability of her sex, ran counter to every shred of modesty within her and she had to fight an overwhelming desire to cover herself but, as she was under orders, she was forced to stand like this and the threat of further spanking were she to refuse was somehow adding to the thrill, It wasn’t just the fact that Sam was undoubtedly skilled with illegal bahis her fingers that was turning her on, it was as much about the fact her fingers were there in the first place. Whichever, not being made of stone, she couldn’t help but respond and, somewhat against her better judgement, she found herself pushing her hips forward.
“It looks like someone’s getting turned on,” Sam commented lightly. “Do you like this? Do you like me playing with you?”
“Yes, Miss,” Helen admitted in little more than a whisper.
“Do you want me to continue?” Sam asked.
“Yes, yes please, Miss.”
“In which case I think you ought to play with your nipples. I shouldn’t have to do all the work.” Sam’s forefinger, sliding smoothly through the increasingly lubricated folds of Helen’s vagina was concentrating more and more on the area around the clitoris, making delicious little circular motions.
Helen reluctantly brought her hands up in front of her and cupped her breasts. This was far more difficult; it’s one thing to submit to the ministrations of a captor, it’s another to actively participate. This went hard against everything that she had been taught as a girl; touching yourself for sexual gratification was so wrong…
“Come along.” Sam reproached. “Do it properly and stop hiding your breasts. I want to watch.”
Their eyes locked and, as if mesmerised by Sam, Helen moved her hands so that her nipples were grasped between the tips of her thumbs and index fingers. The tension within her, the stark contrast between the shame at acting so brazenly and the delicious feelings it was engendering, was pushing Helen rapidly towards a climax; she could feel her legs shaking, her heart pounding; she was getting short of breath…
“Ok, that’s enough. Stop now,” Sam said briskly.
“Please… I…” Helen stuttered.
“Get those hands off your tits and behind your back — now!” Sam barked. Helen hurried to obey.
“Right, I think it’s about time we got on with your spanking.” Sam slipped out of bed, went over to her dressing table and sat down on the chair in front of it. “Come along now, over my knee.”
It was a bit awkward in the crowded bedroom but Helen wasn’t going to back out now and, guided by Sam, she lay down across her lap. As Sam arranged her to her own satisfaction, taking her wrist and clamping it in the small of her back, Helen was finding that the line between reality and fantasy was getting blurred. Part of her, most of her, knew she was a grown woman, that this was some sort of sex game that Sam had initiated. However a growing part of her had reverted to childhood; she was that naughty little girl powerless at the hands of her teacher. She could feel Sam’s hand rearranging her, getting her settled and, in her mind, it was as if her skirt was being lifted, her panties pulled down. Her face burned with embarrassment, the embarrassment of being exposed, of being in the undignified position due to the penitent. All this added to the confusion of emotions that roiled within her, she was both scared and excited, she wanted to stop, this had gone far too far, but, for all her fears, she knew she needed to feel the punishment; she’d been a naughty girl and only a well smacked bottom could provide redemption.
She felt Sam lean forward, taking something off the dressing table and then, without any warning, the firm thwapp as the first blow landed across her buttocks. Sam wasn’t pulling her punches and the shock of the pain made Helen jerk and only the firm grip of Sam’s hand around her wrist stopped her from falling. However she had hardly registered this before the second blow fell, and the third, and the fourth.
As Helen bucked and writhed across Sam’s lap she was so deep into her role that she never once thought of protesting. The pain was sharp, intense, not unbearable but enough to make her tears fell freely as she begged for forgiveness and promised she’d be good in future. But these were the tears of a child, a little girl across her teacher’s lap and she never expected her entreaties to be heard, let alone acted upon.
At last it was over and, for a moment or two, neither woman moved, Helen was still crying and trying to get her breath back and Sam just held her, allowing her to recover. Then Sam, released Helen’s wrist, reached forward again and Helen felt a soothing coolness as Sam eased some sort of cream across Helen’s battered flesh.
“And is my little girl sorry?” Sam enquired. “Has she learnt her lesson?”
“Yes, Miss. Thank you, Miss.” Helen replied. The cool cream felt so soothing against the fire that was her buttocks and Sam was applying it liberally, spreading it far beyond the directly affected area. Helen felt Sam’s hand easing between her thighs and, without thinking about it, opened herself up further, making herself more available. She could feel Sam’s fingers getting closer and closer, she hadn’t realised just how aroused she was, it was as if one touch would push her over the edge. illegal bahis siteleri She flexed her body, offering herself up, hoping, praying that Sam’s fingers would go just that little bit further, surely she understood how much she needed it. She could feel the soft touch along the line of her labia, opening her up. Just one touch, that’s all she needed, just one touch on her throbbing clitoris…
“Right then.” Sam was suddenly all businesslike. “I think it’s time we both took a shower.”
Helen was flabbergasted. How could Sam leave her like this, right on the edge, so close to her release? She let out a groan and wiggled her buttocks as if to offer herself.
“Come along now, punishment’s over, what do you say?” Sam gently eased Helen off her lap so that she was kneeling on the floor in front of her.
“Thank you, thank you, Miss,” Helen said laying her head on Sam’s lap. She could smell the sweet smell of Sam’s arousal; she wasn’t the only one to be close to the edge. She kissed Sam’s thigh, maybe she could persuade her…
“No time for that.” Sam was blunt, matter of fact. “Come along now. We both need a shower; the hot water tank isn’t big enough for two we’ll have to share.”
Sam stood up and headed for the door. Exasperated, Helen cold only follow, wondering if Sam’s hot water tank really was that small or whether it was just an excuse for more contact. Whichever, she was still the pupil in this relationship and she had to follow.
When they got to the bathroom Sam looked in the medicine cabinet and produced an electric razor with a selection hair trimming attachments. Helen had little choice but to stand there as Sam selected the shortest clipping length and, in no time, had Helen’s pubic bush trimmed to a light fuzz. She then handed the razor to Helen
“Here, you tidy up a bit, trim round the edges; I’ll sort out the shower.” Whilst Sam fiddled with the taps, getting the right temperature, Helen sat on the edge of the bath and used the razor to get to the bits Sam had either missed or couldn’t reach easily. She had to hurry as, in no time, Sam had sorted out the right temperature and was urging her into the shower. Inside the cubical it was rather cramped and it was only practical that the two women should wash each other. Here the Mistress/pupil role was gone; it was simply two women sharing the pleasure of the hot water cascading over them. When Sam got to washing Helen’s newly shaven pubic mound the touch of the soap on the fuzz that was left was a delicious tingle and Helen felt her arousal, never far suppressed, building up once again. To her dismay she couldn’t stop herself, opening up, pushing her groin forward, putting her arm around Sam’s shoulders and pulling them together, riding Sam’s hand, acting like the worst sort of brazen hussy.
“You like that, don’t you, you little slut?” Sam teased.
“Ooh, yes please, Miss.” Helen replied breathlessly.
“Well, there isn’t time now, you’ll have to wait. Come along, my back needs washing.”
Their shower over, they returned to the bedroom and Helen realised that she hadn’t any clothes to wear. Her underwear was OK, if a bit manky, but her dress… She picked it up off the floor and looked at the tattered remnants. How could she have been so carried away, the tear was right across the bodice, it was only fit for rags now.
“Sam,” she said tentatively. “I need to nip next door to fetch something to wear. I can’t wear this and I need some clean undies.”
“Oh, no you don’t. I’ve got plans for you.” Sam replied with a laugh. “We’re going shopping, we’re going to get you a new dress, something a bit sexier than those dowdy things you normally wear and, as for undies; I don’t think you need bother today. Here,” She rummaged about in a drawer and produced a tracksuit. “You can wear this until we get you sorted.”
“But, Sam…” Helen protested.
“But nothing,” Sam replied curtly. “You’ll do as you’re told or you’ll get another spanking, is that understood.”
“Yes, Miss,” Helen said meekly as she took the tracksuit and started to put it on. It was somehow deeply disturbing to be without a bra or panties. Sure, in purely practical terms they made little difference; she didn’t need panties under the tracksuit and she was realistic enough about the size of her breasts to acknowledge that she didn’t really need a bra either but it wasn’t the practicalities which disturbed her; there was something much deeper, something that made it feel as if she were going out naked, that anyone who saw her would know. She knew this was ridiculous but she couldn’t shake the feeling. She grabbed a quick bite of toast and a lukewarm cup of tea before reaching for the hairdryer to sort out her still damp hair. Meanwhile Sam had got dressed in jeans and a tee shirt and they were nearly ready to go when she reached for her mobile and pressed a speed dial number.
“Hi, Bernard,” she said once the connection was made. “Do you remember that favour you owe canlı bahis siteleri me? Well, I’m calling it in. I need a haircut, this morning, yeah, I know it’s a Saturday but, come on, you really owe me.”
Helen could hear Bernard’s protests but, once Sam was on a roll, she was unstoppable and they ended up with an appointment for eleven thirty. Once this was sorted they headed out for the town centre.
Helen couldn’t help but be concerned. She had a few pounds left in her purse but, truth be told, finances were a bit of a problem that month. Some unexpected bills had come in including an outstanding debt that Rob had accrued but which had been in joint names. It was part of the ongoing injustice that she was finding she was liable for all sorts of things which she had never dreamed would come back to haunt her. The net result was that shopping was not high on her agenda. Sam, however, was as unstoppable as ever and, hand in hand, they headed for the market.
When they got there Helen was aghast at what Sam was looking at. Helen’s tastes were conservative, it didn’t do to dress up like a floozy, nice girls didn’t dress provocatively, all the maxims from her childhood had steered her towards the more conventional end of the range. She certainly had never considered buying clothes from the market, that was ‘low’ and ‘not done’. However, that was exactly where Sam was taking her and, before she knew it, Sam was holding up dress after dress, measuring them against her. She finally plumped on a halter neck sun dress in primrose yellow. The market stall had an area cordoned off with tarpaulins to act as a changing room and Sam hustled Helen inside to try it on. Helen was horrified; she would have to take off her tracksuit to try on the dress and she had nothing on underneath. However her protests were brushed aside by Sam; Helen was fast learning that when Sam set her mind to something then nothing was going to stop her. Once she had got the dress on things weren’t much better; the day was plenty warm enough but, even with panties on, she would never have dreamt of going out in public dressed like this; round the pool or in the privacy of her back garden, maybe, but out on the street, never! However, before she could say or do anything Sam had bundled up the tracksuit and left the changing area. Helen could hear her through the tarpaulin paying for the dress and asking for a bag for the track suit. Once again she looked in the full length mirror in the makeshift dressing room. Maybe it wasn’t too bad; the hemline was mid thigh so, as long as she didn’t bend over it shouldn’t be too risqué, the dress was meant to be worn without a bra after all, and, well, she didn’t have any choice did she?
Once she was back outside she couldn’t stop thinking about her lack of panties. There was a slight breeze and she could feel the dress moving as she walked. She felt as if the slightest misstep would have the dress around her waist, that the whole world, or at least all those visiting the market on this busy Saturday, would see just how she was dressed, just what a trollop she was. She crossed her arms in front of her, subconsciously trying to cover her breasts but Sam insisted that she carry the shopping bag and took her other hand so she could do nothing to protect her modesty.
When they got to the hair salon Helen immediately knew which one was Bernard. He was dressed in a bright floral shirt and tight leather pants and he wore an ornate necklace which sparkled in the sunlight which filtered through the shop window. She had seldom, if ever, seen such an openly ‘out’ gay man. He minced across the salon and greeted Sam with a kiss on each cheek.
“Sam, sweetie, super to see you. Your hair looks fine, I only did the other day. What’s so urgent that I have to do it again on a busy Saturday,” he asked.
Sam grabbed Helen by the arm and pulled her forward.
“This, this is urgent. It’s not me that needs a hairdo, it’s my friend Helen here who needs bringing into the twenty first century. Something a lot shorter, not too lezzy but… Well, you know what I mean.”
Bernard went over to Helen and played around with her hair.
“Yeah, I can fix this,” he said after a while. “Why don’t you go next door to the café, leave girlfriend and I to sort it out.”
“No way, I want to stay and watch,” Sam insisted.
“An artist cannot work whilst critics are watching. If you stay then there’s no haircut.” Bernard was suddenly her equal.
For a moment the two protagonists just stared at each other before, reluctantly, Sam left and Helen and Bernard went over to the chairs.
“Look, Helen,” Bernard said once she was settled. “Are you sure you want this. I know what Sam is like; I know it can be difficult to say no to her. Is this what you want or what Sam wants.”
Helen sighed with relief. Sam had pushed her from pillar to post, never giving her the chance to say ‘no’ and now Bernard was offering her a way out. Now she understood why Bernard had insisted that Sam go next door, so that they could have this chat; he obviously did know Sam well. But that left the question, did she want the cut or not?
“I don’t know, Bernard, I really don’t. What do you think? Will shorter hair suit me?”
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32