The Nerd Girls (Stories of Domination and Submission)

by JJ Argus

  There were a few giggles, but only a few.

  “Up towards the naval,” she said, her fingers tracing along my lower belly.

  “April, hand me that quirt, would you, please? Thank you.”

  Now she had a thin... stick, if you will, in her hand. It was about two feet long, and very thin and springy, the last inch seemed split in two.

  “Model, back arched more,” she said.

  I felt her hand on my hair behind my neck and gasped softly as she tugged, forcing my head back more, my back arching further.

  “This is not a unique pose,” she said, her voice rather low for a woman, “because it accentuates the breasts, especially for those whose breasts might be imperfect, which is most of us. You see how in this position, the skin is drawn back more tautly across the breasts...”

  The tip of the quirt glided up along the underside of my breasts, then circled them as I felt my heart beating faster and faster. I knew my nipples were rock hard, but gasped anyway as she let the tip slap lightly against one throbbing pink button.

  “This is an excellent upper body pose for any female,” she said. “but if the breasts are fake, you have to be careful about how far she arches or that will become obvious.”

  She pulled a little harder, a little further, and then still further as I gasped helplessly, my head drawn almost upside down.

  “You see that this model has real breasts,” she said. “No matter how far she arches you aren't going to see scars or any outline of the silicone inside them.”

  Again, the quirt caressed the undersides of my breasts, then slid up to slap lightly at one nipple.

  “If the model's nipples are not erect, a simple ice cube can change that, but of course, in this model, that is not an issue.”

  She continued to slap lightly at my nipples, which ached and throbbed.

  “You can see her nipples are fully erect, and have been for some time.”

  She released my hair, and I wobbled a bit before she gripped my arm and straightened me.

  “Model, bend and grasp your ankles,” she said brusquely.

  What, I wondered, a bit dazedly.

  Her hand slid behind my neck, bending me over, and I belatedly put her words together with their meaning, blushing as I grasped my ankles.

  “Keep your legs straight, knees together,” she ordered me, bringing the quirt down across my bottom with a short, stinging slap.

  Then her voice altered as she addressed the girls.

  “This is an excellent pose from the sides,” she said, sliding the shaft of the quirt up and down across my bottom, “and from an oblique angle. From the rear. If you go immediately behind her, however, you risk veering from erotic to the pornographic.”

  She was behind me again, the quirt tracing along my inner thighs as I felt the blood rushing to my head.

  “Of course, you can play with shadows here,” she said. “in order to avoid the full-on view of her pussy. On the other hand, with the proper light, that too can be erotic rather than pornographic. It's all in what filters you use, and what position your camera is in. There is nothing particularly pornographic about female genitalia, after all.”

  I felt her the quirt sliding in a little further and my eyes widened under the curtain of my hair as it stroked lightly across my swollen mound.

  “The difference between eroticism and pornography is a very fine line at times,” she said. “Here, Tami, come in here, get a close up shot directly behind her of her pussy peeking out there. No, use this camera since it's connected to the big screen.”

  Big screen?”

  “There, now, this can be a very erotic picture, depending on how its filtered. It's not necessarily pornographic,” the woman said.

  Then her voice changed, and the quirt began to slap impatiently at my inner thighs.

  “Model. Spread your legs,” she ordered.

  Flushing, I shifted my feet apart on the floor.

  “Further,” she ordered, slapping harder.

  I winced and shifted my legs further apart as the girls all gathered behind me, my mind squirming and my stomach churning!

  “Now she has a very photogenic pussy,” the woman said. “Very pink, tight labia, as you can see...”

  The tip of the quirt traced up and down along my pussy as she spoke and I felt a flare of heat wherever she touched. Then the shaft pushed up between the lips of my sex, pressing in at an angle so that as she slid it not only slid between the lips of my pussy but across my swollen clitoris!

  “It would be up to you, depending on the intent of your photograph, to determine whether you want to show a pussy like this one, which, as you can see, is swollen with heat...”

  I gasped as she abruptly yanked the quirt back.

  “And as you can see from the quirt, quite... wet, or whether you want you picture to be of a different tone.”

  My face burned hotly, and my insides were swirling wildly. I felt heat and humiliation at the same time! And yet I had no real thought of... of, I don't know, grabbing my clothes and stalking out. The thought never even entered my mind!

  “Model, on your knees,” she barked, bringing the quirt down across my bottom.

  Gulping, I released my ankles and sank down onto my knees, fighting to control my breathing.

  “Face and chest on the floor, bottom up. Raise your legs up and back and reach back to grasp your ankles,” she ordered.

  I grunted with effort, a rush of heat and then more embarrassment spreading over me as I obeyed.

  “Now there is so much you can do with this pose. It suggests submissiveness, a meek readiness to await the attentions of the man, her master, who is about to mount her,” the woman said, slapping the quirt lightly against my pussy, then pushing it in again, the shaft pushing up between my pussy lips and sliding in and out, caressing my clit at the same time.

  “Model. Release your ankles and spread your arms straight out in front of you,” she ordered.

  I trembled weakly, but also grunted with relief and let go of my ankles, dropping my feet back onto the floor as I reached ahead of me. She was suddenly right next to me, looking down.

  “Draw your belly in tighter against your thighs,” she barked, snapping the quirt across my bottom. “Your legs above the knees should be perfectly vertical before you shift your knees to the sides. That's it.”

  She ran the split tip of the quirt up along my spine now as she talked.

  “You see the delicate curve of the back here. The back is another often overlooked erotic area of the female body,” she said, tracing it all the way up to my tailbone, then slapping the tip of the thing lightly against my back opening.

  “She has a good anal opening, as well,” the woman said, making my face burn. “Do you know that pornographic actresses actually get their anal area bleached? This model is ready made for the porn industry.”

  There were more giggles.

  “But this area,” she said, the stick tracing around my tight little ring, “Is another overlooked zone. You can be creative here.”

  She took off her shoe and then placed it carefully on top of my raised back, so the high, stiletto heel was pressed right down against my puckered back opening.

  “Now suddenly we see, in this image, a suggestion of female dominance,” she said. “Instead of awaiting the attention of her presumably male master, she has clearly been claimed by some stronger woman.”

  Lights flashed as pictures were taken, and I blinked my eyes rapidly, my insides swirling with emotions and heat, with embarrassment and a strange, dark heat.

  “Here. Here's another message,” she said, and laid something down on my upper back, just below my shoulder blades.

  “A flog, as you see, conveys an unmistakeable message in a picture,” she said. “Combined with the shoe, it shows a girl waiting for her mistress to punish her.”

  She picked up the thing she'd laid on my back.

  “Here's a little trick, as well.” she said. “You take some artistic makeup
powder, red, and spread it on a board, then you take the long, thin laces of the flog and roll them in the powder.”

  “Model. Do not move,” she barked.

  I gasped as something hit my back! It stung, but... it was like it only stung a bit, but it stung a bit in a dozen different lines of sharp stinging heat which crossed my back just below my shoulder blades!

  “Now you see, I didn't hit her very hard at all, but despite that, you can see the red lines across her back. If you put the right amount of powder out and don't get silly, it will look very much like she was just whipped. Too much powder and it looks like claw marks or something. We don't want that.

  She hit me again, and then again, and I yelped and gasped, my breasts grinding into the floor as my wide eyes stared ahead at the far walls. All the girls had been snapping pictures behind me, but now most had moved along to the sides and were snapping pictures of my back.

  “You see, the criss crossing lines look like she's been well-whipped,” the woman said. “Now I quickly brush the powder off the flog, then lay it on the floor beside her, and the image conveyed is unmistakeably. This is a submissive girl who has just been punished by her mistress.”

  “Model, turn over onto your back,” she growled.

  My mind was spinning! But I rolled onto my side, staring at her stern face, then anxiously averting my eyes as I rolled onto my back.

  “Feet flat on the floor.” she barked.

  “We will have a look at a yoga pose called Bridges. Many of you should be familiar with it,” the woman said. “It highlights the female body well.”

  “Model,” she barked, her voice entirely different. “Raise your hips up off the floor. Arms at your sides. Your knees should be bent, feet flat, and body off the ground to the shoulders.”

  She knelt beside me and ran her hand up along my body from thigh to breast.

  “You should have a perfectly straight line here,” she said, “With no sag.”

  I knew the pose, though I had never done it naked, and blushed under their gaze.

  “Now spread your legs.”

  I bit my lip, flushed more deeply, and obeyed, shifting my feet apart on the floor.

  “That's it. There are many ways to get excellent photos from this pose,” the woman said. “But we're going to extend this. “April, assist me, if you would.”

  April knelt on my other side and I looked up at her nervously.

  “Model, push down with your arms. We are going to bow your body and raise it off the floor.”

  Their hands were under my back, lifting, and at the same time, pushing me in towards my feet.

  “Extend your arms, model,” she ordered.

  I gasped as I put my hands flat against the floor and they bent me further until I was standing, completely bent backwards, my hair on the floor, my arms almost straight under my shoulders, my head upside down. This was an awkward position to be in, much less naked. Much less with a dozen girls watching!

  “Notice how nicely displayed the breasts are, as well as the entire pelvic area,” she said, her hand skimming along my body.

  “April, get the flog again and roll it in the powder.”

  I gulped, then gasped as April brought the flog down across my belly, and then across my breasts.”

  “There is something seductively erotic about the look of these lines across such lovely breasts,” the woman said. “It speaks of a cruelty to something generally treated with tenderness.”

  Crack! The flog snapped down across my breasts again, and I shuddered.

  “Spread your legs a little, Model,” the woman ordered.

  Grunting, I obeyed, and the flog fell down between my legs.

  “Ow!” I gasped.

  “Oh don't be a baby. I hardly touched you,” the woman said brusquely.

  She snapped it down a second time, then a third time, as my pussy throbbed and ached!

  “Now you see the lines extending down between her thighs,” she said to the class. “That's a very exotic image.”

  “Amanda, come here,” she said.

  A short brunette came forward.

  “I love your boots,” the woman said.

  “Thanks,” the girl said.

  “Model, enough of this pose. On your belly.”

  I gasped and sank down onto my bottom, my head throbbing from having been upside down. Then I rolled onto my belly and the woman moved the girl in front of me.

  “April, tie her wrists behind her back. No, on second thought. Shackles would look better.”

  I blinked dazedly. What?”

  April came forward with a pair of thick, heavy metal shackles, and she and Tami fit them around my wrists, then locked them together behind my back. The woman then knelt with a matching collar in her hand. She combed my hair back brusquely, then yanked it up and back so that my head and shoulders were lifted off the floor.

  She slipped the collar around my throat as I stared at it.

  'Lock the collar, April, then fit a chain to it,” she said.

  “Yes, Ms. Conway,” April said quickly.

  My shackles wrists were lifted up along my spine, up between my shoulder blades, and a chain was locked between them and the back of the collar even as the woman held my hair tightly.

  “Now,” she said. “Model, start licking her boot. Do it slowly.”

  What?!

  There was a hissing sound, like paper being cut, then the quirt cut down down across my bottom, harder than it had before. It stung, and I gasped, then stretched my head forward to lick at the girl's boot.

  “That's it. Lick up and down along the toe, then higher.”

  Cameras whirred and clicked all around me.

  The quirt snapped across my bottom again, and I winced.

  “Stick that tongue out, model,” she said.

  I gasped and obeyed, and the girls took more pictures.

  “Now, model, draw your knees in and raise your bottom high. Spread your legs wide.”

  I obeyed, gasping, feeling like everything was surreal, like this was some kind of strange, dark dream. I raised my bottom and then licked again as the cameras clicked, and as the quirt snapped across my bottom several times, her voice ordering me to put my tongue out further, to lick faster.

  “Stop,” she barked abruptly.

  I stopped gratefully, panting.

  “April, Get those two man things you used in your last photo shoot.”

  What had she said?

  April trotted over and Ms. Conway knelt behind me. Then her hand slapped against my bottom.

  “Model, legs further apart,” she barked.

  I obeyed, then my eyes went wide as I felt her fingers at my pussy, felt something thick and round pushing into me.

  “Shouldn't you lube that up or something?” some girl asked.

  Conway snorted in amusement. “This bitch is sopping wet,” she said.

  She pulled the thing back and then two long fingers slid deep into my hot, throbbing pussy. They pulled out almost immediately, and she held them up so they could see as she pushed the dildo against me and then into me with her other hand.

  “Wow,” one girl said.

  I moaned, horribly embarrassed but helplessly aroused as she twisted the dildo from side to side, forcing it deeper and deeper, until it ached deep inside me.

  “The other one,” she said.

  Then she jerked back on my hair and as I cried out in surprise, and in pain, she pushed a second dildo into my open mouth, pumped it in once, or twice, then slid it right down my throat. She only kept it there a moment before pulling it free, dripping with saliva, and I coughed and gasped as she placed it against my back opening and began to twist and push it into me.

  A dozen girls stood around watching, whispering to each other, raising cameras to snap a few pictures. I just groaned, kind of shell-shocked by it all, my mind spinning like a tire on ice, not knowing what to do, how to react, what, if anything, to do!

  “There. Now start licking,” she ordered.


  The cameras flashed from all around me as I licked at the girl's boots, the two dildos almost fully embedded in my pussy and ass, but easily visible to their cameras.

  “You can play with the lighting on this to highly individual areas on her body you want to,” Conway said. “I would recommend a long, horizontal bar from head to bottom, and pictures taken at such from a rear, oblique angle which shows both her licking the boot, and the penetration. This conveys her lust and passion for male organs, but her obedience and submission to a woman.”

  She let them snap more pictures, then I felt my hair grasped, and cried out as I was lifted bodily up and back onto my knees. I realized only then that she had removed her pants. She was wearing the T-shirt and high heels, and nothing between. I gaped at her shaven sex, my wide eyes darting up to meet her own cool gray ones.

  “Look at this face,” she said, twisting my head first to one side, then the other.

  “It's very difficult to fake that look of intense arousal for the camera. That is why you're so lucky if you can find a model like this, who is so completely controlled by her own lusts. The camera can tell the difference between feigned and unfeigned heat.”

  “Now lick me,” she growled, drawing my mouth in against her sex.

  I moaned as she rubbed my lips against her, her fingers twisting in my hair, pulling at it, wrapping long, blonde tendrils around her fingers so she could tug and pull at the same time she pressed me in against her.

  I began to lick at her, dazed, feverish, astonished, moaning as she continued to pull and twist at my hair.

  She stood above me, powerful arms reaching down, long, athletic legs straight but spread apart as she pulled me forcefully in against her and the cameras snapped.

  “Has no one taught you how to perform on a woman?” she demanded coldly.

  I gasped as she pulled at my hair again.

  “I don't settle for trying,” she growled. “You will perform.”

  She guided me in how to lick, where to lick, how fast to lick, how much pressure to put, when and where to suck, how to curl my tongue and flick it across her clitoris.

  “Your tongue needs stretching,” she said at one point.

  My scalp was burning as she continually tugged and twisted on my hair, pulling on it.