As She's Told

by Anneke Jacob

  At the top he took his hand out of me; I was down on my elbows and knees, breath shuddering in and out. Another smack, and I crawled into the bedroom. "Stay."

  A sudden change in pace. He squatted down next to me. I felt his fingers light on my burning ass, and then on my cunt, playing round the edges. A thumb gently circling on my anus. A whimper rose in the back of my throat.

  "I know what I'll call you," confided a deep voice in my ear. "'Hunhund.'"

  The two syllables both sounded the same, like 'who' with an 'n' at the end.

  "That's a nice Danish word for a she-dog," he said. Not exactly a bitch, as I found out later, with all that the English word implied. Just a female dog.

  But at that moment I was already so deep in humiliation and arousal that I hardly took it in. He went off and I heard water running, and then he was back.

  "Up on the bed, hands and knees. We're going to find out just what makes you come, my little hunhund. And what doesn't." The deep voice had downshifted, was warm, hypnotic, in rhythm with the stroking of his fingers.

  Sensation was fed by the heat of spanked flesh: fed, amplified. His hand tickling, sliding through hot wet folds. He was touching, moving away, touching again… tension building, building…. Then the fingers were gone.

  Sensation now at my nipples, circling and squeezing, on and on…. And a hand rubbing round circles on my ass, pressing the arousal deeper, deeper….

  I crouched there for what seemed like ages, clutched the bedspread, moaning low in my throat.

  Now fingers deep inside me, a tongue so sweet against my sensitized flesh, my swollen clitoris exquisitely licked and shifted and stroked…oh, god, here it came…! No. Tongue and fingers gone again.

  "Ah…ah…" I moaned. "Sir, please…!"

  No answer. My head sank into my arms. A long pause: my body abandoned, without contact, meaningless. And then the hands were back on my hips and he was sliding into me, and I cried out for it, shuddered and opened, angled myself to feel more, more – . But he stayed back, teased me, went deep so, so slowly…. His cock like sweet torment, pressing into me, 79

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  through me, if only he'd grabbed my arms behind me, I might… He withdrew.

  Something wet and cold on my anus, around it, pushed into it. Oh, god, he'd never done that before. I'd known it must be coming some time, was suddenly very scared. Involuntarily I tightened, hissed with pain.

  "Open, girl," he said, and I tried my best. "Open, that's right, open up, relax, open, more, yes…." His voice rose and fell in a hypnotic rhythm, and I found myself opening again for his fingers, able to take one, then two, then… oh, god! Something enormous sliding into me, too big; I cried out, wanting it to stop but it kept coming, pressing forward, hurting me, hurting, then backing up a little and then pushing forward again, further; back again and then so far forward that my mouth opened and no sound came out, would ever come out; I was invaded by something so thick and heavy that there was no room for me, for any form of consciousness. There was only an occupation, a superior force that rolled past any opposition like it wasn't there.

  I lay staked there, lost, could feel his hands stroking me, a confusion of the excitement building once more, reaching even higher this time, higher than I ever knew it could go. And yet there was no peak; I was on an endless plateau, so high in the clouds that I had no air to breathe. When he came he touched so deep inside me that I thought I'd faint. Then a long, slow withdrawal that seemed to go on forever. When I was empty I lay there with my eyes closed, unmoving. I heard water running again.

  Then he was turning me over onto my back, kissing the insides of my thighs. I opened my eyes. He bit me gently and said, "Can you make yourself come?" My hand moved to my wet cunt and touched it; that touch was a pebble falling into the centre of a pool, sending tiny, exquisite, preparatory waves through my body. Then I was caught back by the wrist.

  "No. I didn't say do it. Can you? Are you capable of it?"

  My hand twisted in his grasp, the other hand clenched, and my head rolled back and forth on the bed in frustration. "Yes! Please let me, sir…

  just… please…?"

  "No. Here, get up." He pulled me off the bed. My legs were shaking. He sat down in a chair, lifted me onto his lap, and stroked my breasts, my trembling belly. He tickled my pubic hair ever so lightly, gently brushed the lips of my cunt, then pinched my nipples hard, and I rested my face against 80

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  his shoulder and panted and mewled. Then he lifted me off and laid me face-down across his lap. "Do you think you could come if you were spanked or whipped?"

  It was hard to speak with his knee pressed into my diaphragm, and the hand rubbing my ass made it difficult to get words out, much less frame a sentence. "I – I don't know, sir. How can I know –”

  “Do you think you could?" His hand invaded my cunt, and I wailed.

  "Ahh! No, I don't think so without – that – that – ah!…" My legs lifted themselves out straight and trembled.

  "Are you feeling held down, Maia?"

  "Yes – almost – don't know – " I gasped.

  A big hand pressed hard across the small of my back, his other hand still inside me. "How about now?"

  I struggled between his hard hand and his hard thighs, suddenly galvanized. "Yes!"

  His hand withdrew from my cunt. The other hand still held me firmly against his knee. "And now?"

  I collapsed writhing over his lap, and my breath sobbed out of me. "Yes, but I need – please – "

  "No." His wet hand smacked down on me, a jarring blow. The other still held me firmly to his thighs. More blows, a rhythm of them now, and I was shaken, helpless, mindless. I was beyond pain, pushed beyond any familiar threshold. Further, further, but no trajectory, no end….

  The hand stopped, cupped tight and hot over spicy flesh. His voice.

  "Would you come, girl? If I kept going?"

  I was gulping for air. His voice echoed through my head, gradually coalescing into something that had meaning. It was a question. He wanted an answer. Slowly I shook my head, whispered, "No."

  He sat me up again, looking pleased. "Good. You can come easily if you're getting direct contact with your clit. Or if you're held down. Even quicker if it's both. Otherwise it's not so easy, is it?"

  "No…." Unconsciously I was rubbing my face against his chest, then my breasts, my belly….

  He set me on my feet and walked past me toward the bathroom. My hand went to my cunt. I'd never felt myself so wet. Along my slit my fingers slid and stroked, and I closed my eyes for just a moment. I was so close; if 81

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  only he'd kept his hand in me…that hand….

  His hand was on my wrist, pulling it firmly up behind my back.

  "Bad girl."

  I whimpered.

  His voice close behind me. "You didn't waste any time, did you? Didn't I say no?" Eyes under gathered brows searched my face. "But you're not listening."

  An explosive smack on my ass. I gasped and startled, and there were a thousand fingers on every nerve, and my lungs were reaching for air. I was starting to sink with the heavy weight of flesh engorging….

  A deep laugh. My glassy eyes looked up; caught his amused glint. "I forgot," he said. "Fuel to the fire. Let's try another approach." He hauled me into the bathroom, stood me in the tub, took the shower head off its hook and sprayed me with cold water. I squealed and shifted frantically to lessen the impact of the spray, without success. The water was getting colder and colder, and I was thoroughly aware and conscious now. He aimed it in a steady stream at my crotch and said, "Well?"

  Shuddering, pressing my legs together, I apologized for my disobedience, promised to do better in future.

  "I think you'd better," he said. "Now, spread your legs wide and lift your arms." I cringed. Slowly I shifted my feet, unclenched my tight hold on my torso and lifted my arms high. I winced a
s the spray played over my unprotected breasts and underarms, shook as the icy water slid over my shoulders and down my spine. Gasping and shuddering, I apologized for my disobedience, and I thanked him. At last he turned it off. I was shaking uncontrollably, but I kept my arms where they were until he took hold of them and helped me out. He toweled me briskly, but brought me naked and still cold back into the bedroom.

  "All right," he said, sitting in a chair, "it's time to get your mind off your own needs, woman. On your knees."

  All at once I flushed with shame; I'd hardly thought about his pleasure in the desperate need to reach for my own. What kind of useless slave did that? Dropping to my knees, I tried my fervent best to make up for lost time.

  He had me lick and stroke him from the feet up, using my mouth, my face, my tits, my hair. His orders, his hands, controlled me minutely, and I tried to ignore the heat that the cold water had only concentrated nearer my core, the 82

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  heat that was rising again with every taste of him on my tongue, each sensation of his hard grip in my hair, on my wrists.

  He made me go slower and slower toward the end, and I could feel his tension rise, until at last he had me release his penis from my mouth and give it one long, slow stroke of my tongue. A groan – how I loved that sound! – and the semen spilled from his cock, one spurt, another, and I licked it up as it slid down the sides, licked it from my lips where it fell. At last he leaned over me and kissed my forehead. "Good girl."

  My heart wanted to jump right out of my chest and nestle in his arms. I pressed my cheek to his belly and we stayed like that for a while, my arms round his hips, his hand stroking my hair. At last he tipped my head back and examined my face, touched my nipples and watched my breathing accelerate. "What have you learned, little girl?"

  I closed my eyes for a moment. His fingers were gently flicking the rings. The lust that had made a strategic retreat ambushed me again. I spoke in a light voice over shallow breathing. "I've learned…that it's your pleasure that matters, sir, not mine."

  "That's right. What else?"

  I tried a deeper breath. "You decide if I come or not. And – and I'm not to touch myself if you say no."

  "You're not to touch yourself at all unless I say you can. The minimum to keep yourself clean; that's it." He reached down and grabbed my cunt in his whole hand. My groan rose in pitch, up to a high, breathless whine. He stared at me, so close that I could see all the flecks of darkness in his eyes.

  The grip tightened. "This belongs to me," he said. "I decide how it's used, what it feels. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir," I breathed.

  He made me get dressed and he took me home. All the way there he sang behind the wheel, blues songs about a woman's jelly roll. I couldn't help laughing, though I was so horny I could have climbed the gearshift. I caught myself actually eying the thing.

  When we got home he put me to bed, letting me wear a nightgown, I think for the pleasure of drawing back the covers and lifting it to look at my pussy. He drew a long finger through the saturated curls, slid it gently into me and watched me writhe around it. Then he leaned down and kissed my pubis gently. I was beside myself, feeling the heat and magnetism of his 83

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  mouth, straining toward it. He sat up and his eyes raked my body, from splayed legs to soaked crotch, from stiff nipples poking through thin material, to flushed face. Then he gently pulled the gown down and covered me up again.

  "Be a good girl. I'll see you Thursday." He turned out the light and was gone.

  I could have howled. Actually I think I did howl, and I twisted onto my belly and heaved convulsively against the mattress. Oh, god, no! Forbidden.

  I buried my hands under the pillow, curled up on my side and squeezed my eyes shut.

  So close. I was so close. He'd tormented me for hours, and in the end had left me like this. How could he? I had to come. I'd never sleep like this.

  And how would he know, one way or the other? My hand slid down, encountered the waist chain, stopped.

  He'd know. He'd know because it would be all over my face. Or my voice would crack with it. He'd know because he'd ask and I wouldn't be able to lie to him.

  I had to obey him. I had to. I didn't own my body any more. It belonged to him. I had to wait. How could I even consider disobeying him? Guilt suddenly slapped me across the face and I wanted to cry.

  But I wasn't even going to see him the next day. He was only going to phone, because I had work to do. Oh, god, I'd never make it that long.

  Not fair! He got to come, I thought rebelliously, twice that evening as I recalled. He got exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it, and then he left me like this – .

  Of course it wasn't fair. He could give or withhold whatever, whenever.

  It wasn't supposed to be fair. My breathing quickened. I was getting even more desperate, thinking about this, and I groaned into my pillow. One touch…oh, god, I needed…. My hand slipped down, under my nightgown.

  No! No. Not allowed. I felt for the chain and clutched it hard. My thighs rubbed convulsively against each other.

  I hadn't bargained for this. In all my passionate need to be property I hadn't anticipated this. Being left on my own on the edge of orgasm with only his command to stop me. Not fair! He should have tied me down. Not fair to test me like this.

  I slept in fits and starts, dreaming mostly of being late and unable to 84

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  find my destination and at the same time secretly, excruciatingly aroused. I was in an office building, trying to reach something like the 125th floor, travelling in an arthritic elevator that stopped at every floor. I was frustrated and afraid because I was horribly late, but then it occurred to me that it gave me time to masturbate before I reached my destination. I lifted my dress and began touching myself, but I had to stop every time someone got on, start again when they got off. Just as I was on the verge of orgasm the elevator jerked and I woke with a start, my heart pounding. My hand was still on the chain, and I lay in a sweat of relief and frustration.

  In dream after dream the late and horny themes continued. I kept waking in a panic to find my hand safely outside the danger zone.

  When I yanked myself out of sleep the next morning I had no time to think or introspect about my night. I had forgotten to set my alarm, and I was late. The day took on a déjà vu quality: I ran to a succession of classes and meetings, more or less late for all of them, frustrated and snagged and stumbling on hurdles of secret, insidious lust. I thought my mind would clear as the day went on, but it grew worse, if anything. I continued out of sync, clumsy and distracted. I forgot about a room change and lost twenty minutes going to the wrong building. I mislaid a pile of journal articles and had to go back and search for them, while time ticked on. In the end I found them in my bag. I was hopeless in seminars, unable to think. And that night I had to write a take-home exam on social issues in information technology. I'd never make it.

  ***

  "Where are you going?" Val demanded. "I thought you said the place was on King."

  "Sorry." Anders looked over his shoulder and executed a tricky U-turn.

  "I seem to be on automatic pilot."

  She gave him a narrow look. "What's with you?"

  "What? Nothing." He edged past a left-turning car and was silent for a few blocks. Finally he said, "I experimented a little last night. I'm waiting for the results.”

  “Experimented how?"

  He gave her the barest outline, including how the night had ended. Val whistled. "You mean bastard. I didn't know you'd reached such heights of evil. That must have been fun."

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  "It was."

  "So what are you so mad about?"

  "I'm not – I don't know. I don't know if she's managed to hold off, that's all."

  "Oh, well," Val said, settling back com
fortably into her seat. "If she did, all the more power for you. If she didn't, you get to punish her. Once you wring the truth out of her. Either way you win."

  "I know."

  "But?"

  "Look, what did it come to? I spend the evening teasing the hell out of her. I toy with her, turn her inside out – but where are we now? I'm here and she's wherever she is. I don't know what she's doing." He had a vision of her outside the circle of his reach, teasingly just beyond his grasp. His hands gripped the steering wheel. "She could have come a hundred times by now,"

  he said between his teeth. "This is driving me fucking crazy."

  "Jesus. I thought I was supposed to be the one with no patience. You'll just have to wait. Give the girl some space and see if she passes the test."

  "Yeah. Only I don't want to test her. I want to run her. In real time."

  "You are one controlling son of a bitch."

  At the customer's condo Val began installing a ceiling fan and track lighting, while Anders measured space for cupboards. He forced himself to pay attention; mistakes in this kind of job cost too much. Then he had to work out designs with the owner, and come up with ways to get the most out of the cramped space. That was one part of the job he liked best, and it kept him focused.

  But once he had done the math and figured out the materials and done the ordering, his mind was back with Maia. Following her up St. George Street, watching her in and out of Robarts Library. Who was she with? What was she up to? Had she cooled down? Or had she defied him, made herself come after he left last night? If so she'd be spending the day consumed with guilt and apprehension. Had she held out half the day, then ducked into a washroom cubicle to masturbate? He could see her, her face against the cold metal of the stall, eyes squeezed shut. Why the vision of her standing up? Of course. Because she'd been standing last night when he'd caught her.

  He wanted to grab her, slap her hard, tie her hands to the stall and whip her, to hell with the noise…. He wanted her in his hands, now!